I’m sure a lot of people have regrets about high school—and why wouldn’t they? I’m sure the number of people who did stupid stuff in high school far surpasses the number of people who had a good head on their shoulders. Not that I didn’t do anything stupid—on the contrary, in fact. I’m just a firm believer in the fact that mistakes make us who we are today. That being said, there really isn’t too much I can complain about.

I was loved in high school. Isn’t that exactly what every teenager wants? To be loved? To know that they are worthy of somebody’s affection? To know that there is somebody in the world who wants to give them everything? Well, let me tell you—that desire never fades. The only difference is that you’re older and hormones are not the sole instigator for almost all relationships. Adults are more logical, which makes our perilous journey toward love even more treacherous.

In college, I used to laugh at high school. I would remember all the fights I had, the heartache, the tears, the joy, the stress—it all seemed so trivial. And it is. Undoubtedly. But as soon as I got my college degree and Real Life was standing before me like the fiery gates of Hell, I wasn’t laughing anymore. In fact, I craved for those reckless days when even the most insignificant events seemed like the end of the world. When it felt like I had everything figured out—the world in my hands—just because I had no clue what lied ahead. It was fun. It was carefree. It was youth.

Don’t worry—I’m really not that cynical. I’m 22 years old—still in my prime—and just got offered to intern at New York's best up and coming fashion magazine. Who cares if I can’t make a relationship work for more than a few months and have relentlessly endured some of the worst dates known to man? That’s nothing to be cynical about, really.

It's just life.

The coffee is better in New York. I would even be so bold as to say that everything is better in New York, but particularly the coffee. I was hesitant to leave behind the good and faithful Lima Bean in Ohio, but if a minor shift in my coffee location was the price to pay for living in the city, I was more than willing to oblige.

I sat down at my usual table with my usual grande non-fat mocha like I did every Tuesday morning. I barely managed to take a sip before I was joined by my usual companion.

"I have exciting news for you," She beamed, cradling her chai tea with both hands as she took the seat across from me.

Enter Rachel Berry, my best friend and partner in crime in almost every endeavor we share. Not much has changed about her since high school except her heinous sense of style. After much convincing, she allowed me to do a complete remodeling of her wardrobe before we moved to the city together. I told her that I simply couldn't be seen with a girl in tights and animal sweaters while roaming the streets of New York.

Rachel and I both started out attending NYADA after high school. It was exactly what we both had always dreamed of--musical theatre 24/7. The kids were friendly, the classes were challenging, but somewhere along the line I had a change of heart. I'm sure it had something to do with the fact that my eyes were opened to the severe limitations that sadly befall countertenors in the world of Broadway. Regardless, I transferred to NYU after my freshman year to study Fashion Design.

Rachel, on the other hand, remained at NYADA, but not for long. Halfway through her junior year, she was chosen to participate in a reading for a new Broadway show called Wild Child. She nailed the performance, the show got picked up for production and the rest, as they say, is history. Rachel dropped out of school a month later and has been working ever since.

The look on Rachel's face was just entirely too smug and satisfied. I placed my mocha down calmly and gave her my best bitch-stare. "Rachel Berry, I swear on my entire collection of Gucci cufflinks, if you've set me up on another ridiculous blind date..."

I knew by the glimmer in her eye that I was right. Lately, Rachel has gotten into the nasty habit of circulating my name (quite unwillingly) throughout the dating circuit. I've gone on at least one date for the past few weekends, all of which had ended in disaster. Or disinterest. Rachel's eyes turned pleading in an instant and she gripped her tea eagerly. "Oh, Kurt, Ted is really nice! He's in the show with me."

"I don't care if he's the King of Scotland," I told her pointedly. "Your little game of matchmaker hasn't left me with much success."

Rachel sighed sharply. "You know, you do this with every single guy I try to set you up with."

"Perhaps that's a sign that you should stop setting me up," I roll my eyes. "Besides, there's nothing wrong with having high standards."

"What about Greg?" She challenges.

My eyes narrow. "What about him?"

"What was wrong with him?"

"His last name was Cummings," I explain detestably.

Rachel's brow furrowed. "So?"

"If we got married, my name could possibly be Kurt Cummings," My lips search for another sip of mocha. "That just sounds wrong."

"And Davis?"

I shrug. "Davis was nice..."

"But?" Rachel prompted, annoyed.

"We had nothing in common," I determine, earning me an incredulous look from Rachel.

"He was an actor, Kurt!" She insisted enthusiastically. "I'm sure you two could have discussed musical theatre for hours."

This time, I heave a sigh and stare aimlessly at my coffee cup. "I don't understand why you can't grasp that I'm not interested in dating right now. I have my career to think about--"

"That's the oldest excuse in the book," Rachel interjected.

But I continued; only slightly miffed. "We can't all get our dream job straight out of college--not even. I don't want to be an intern for the rest of my miserable existence."

Rachel's expression softened and her head tilted to the side like it always did when she backed down from an argument. I could feel her chocolate eyes boring a hole in the middle of my face, but I was determined to keep my gaze fixed downward. I didn't want her pity. "Oh, Kurt... You shouldn't give up on yourself. You won't be an intern forever--you just need to show them how amazing you are."

I pursed my lips doubtfully, but Rachel was having none of that.

"Have you shown them your portfolio yet?" She wondered after another sip of chai tea.

I laughed--most likely a nervous reaction--and flashed Rachel what I'm sure was a very demented and disbelieving smile. "Rachel, please. This is a fashion magazine, not show and tell."

"Your designs are good, Kurt," She leaned her elbows on the tabletop and finally managed to catch my fleeting gaze. "But they're never going to amount to anything unless you show somebody--"

"Another time, perhaps," I interrupt, waving the issue off with my hand. "Someday when I'm not belittled to the measly task of coffee runs."

Rachel cracked a smile and leaned back into her seat again with her tea. We changed the subject and chatted a bit longer before the clock told me it was time to head off to work. I gave Rachel a quick kiss on the cheek and walked the nine blocks to Exquisite Fashion Magazine headquarters.

I consider myself extremely fortunate for getting this internship position immediately after I graduated from NYU, despite how much I complain about it. A professor of mine knew someone on the managing team and recommended me very highly for the position. I like to think that it was my charm and impeccable fashion sense that landed me the job, but I'm no fool. Like many industries, it's all about whom you know.

"Morning, sunshine," I'm greeted by my co-worker almost immediately after I stroll through the front door. Enter Lucas Kitt. He never fails to greet me every morning with a dashing smile and a suave head nod. Some days it's a wink. Either way, his flirtatious advances always seem to be present, which usually results in me half-joking about reporting him for sexual harassment in the workplace.

"Lucas," I reply with as much enthusiasm as I could muster on a Tuesday morning. I settle myself down at my makeshift desk all while trying to ignore Lucas' blatant staring from over the cubicle wall.

"Are you busy toni--"

"I have plans," I blurt out without really meaning to. I glance up at Lucas and offer him my best apologetic grin. "With my... roommate."

Lucas is nodding now, but I have a feeling that he didn't buy my lie for a second. And for good reason. My lying skills have always been horrendous.

"Maybe next time," He suggests while I nod with feigned hopefulness. The only hope I have for him is that he takes a hint one of these days. My stunning act of sympathy is interrupted by one of my managers walking by, a pencil tucked behind her ear and her nose stuck in the air.

"Intern, get the coffees," She says without so much as a glance. Two months at this place and I'm still the nameless intern. Great. I sigh and shuffle around for my bag, hoisting it over my shoulder and heading back out the doors.

Coffee runs are like a way of life for me now. I know everyone's order by heart and I've mastered the skill of balancing four coffees in a carrier down the bustling New York streets. I suppose I don't mind it much. If there's one thing I know a lot about, it's coffee. I make my way into the 5th Avenue Starbucks and approach the barista who I'm fairly certain knows me by name at this point. The coffees are prepared to perfection and placed in a carrier, but while I'm stocking up on sugar packets and individual creamers, something--someone, rather--catches my eye and leaves me completely stunned in place for a good minute or so.

Enter Blaine Anderson. Just as energized, youthful, and dreamy as I remember him in high school. We were in love--so in love. Honestly, he was one of the only things that made my later teenaged years bearable. He was my rock--my foundation, my biggest supporter, my everything. I was fully prepared to spend the rest of my life with this boy.

And then I let him go.

Life changed drastically during my freshman year of college--so did our relationship. I hopped on the plane to New York with every intention of keeping him in my life, but, as I quickly learned, life has a funny way of doing things on its own accord. The first few months weren't horrible. We chatted on the phone every evening, scheduled regular Skype dates, and texted every moment we could. For a little while, it seemed normal--like maybe it wouldn't be so difficult after all.

Some time after Christmas is when I could feel it falling apart. I got into the habit of silencing his phone calls because I didn't have the time to talk. I cancelled Skype dates almost every week because I had to meet with my study group. It just became too much... Catching up with Blaine started to feel more like an obligation rather than something I looked forward to. So after a week of internal conflict and one long, tearful phone call later, I was single again. We haven't spoken since that day.

And now here he stands with coffee in one hand, Blackberry in the other and--good god--when did he start ungelling his hair?

I needed to leave. Not only was I still holding a drink carrier with about four steaming lattes that needed to be delivered, I wasn't exactly fully briefed on the proper protocol for greeting your ex-high school sweetheart after not having spoken for about four years. And I wasn't interested in finding out. I turned on my heel and quickly headed across the coffee shop, avoiding eye contact with anyone who passed me along the way. I was nearly to the door when I heard his voice.

"Not even a hello after all this time?"

I felt my face burn red and my heart palpitate inside my chest before I even turned around. I could sense the trace of a smile in his voice and I didn't even want to think about how adorable he looks when he smiles... I couldn't very well stand here like an unresponsive idiot after I was addressed so plainly, so I spun around and laid my eyes on Blaine Anderson once again.

He looked older. Not old, just... mature. The sharp angles of his jawline were even more defined, and his lips remained plump, full, and ever grinning. He had finally stopped gelling his hair--I idly wondered what had made him give in--and it now curled freely in a perfect state of disarray. He still stood a few inches too short, and his style has changed slightly, I noted. He wore a mustard colored cardigan over a gray v-neck with jeans that were actually the proper length. And I would bet money on the fact that those were the same oxfords he wore all throughout high school. Then there were his eyes. The same honey color I grew to love so much, but twinkling with newfound maturity and experience.

"Um... hello," I muttered, eternally grateful that I was holding a carrier full of coffee to eliminate the awkwardness of deciding how to greet him. Would a hug be in order? A handshake? Blaine seemed to sense my internal struggle and he chuckled to himself.

"I'd invite you to sit with me, but it looks like you're a little busy...?" Blaine's eyes darted to all the coffee I was carrying, the smirk never leaving his lips.

My mouth opened and closed while the words formulated inside my head. "Yes, well, I..." I'm a lowly intern who has been deemed as unworthy for anything better than coffee runs and managing the copier machine. "...I have a, um... meeting... to attend."

Blaine's eyebrow quirked suspiciously while I rambled. Lying was never my forte and being bullshitted was never Blaine's.

"Well, then," He took a sip from his drink and grinned brightly over the lid of his cup. "I wouldn't want to keep you from your... meeting."

I mumbled some sort of pathetic goodbye and hurried out of the coffee shop without a single glance back. It baffled me how two people who were once so close could suddenly become strangers. I used to know everything there was to know about Blaine Anderson... And now he's nothing more than an old acquaintance.

Yet still, after years apart and dozens of fond memories filed away, I found myself wanting to know everything about this boy all over again.