It had been five days, not that Kurt was counting. Each day that ticked by after the show felt like a mark in time, his life now catalogued as Before Blaine and After Blaine. Everyone in the office wanted to know, How did it go? What was he like? Was he so amazing? Kurt smiled and gushed and used words like magical and handsome and perfect. But he didn't say everything. He didn't talk about how his body temperature was still elevated and his pulse still quick. He didn't talk about how he could still feel Blaine's hands on his skin, Blaine's breath in his hair. He didn't talk about the song that Blaine sang…to him.

Kurt didn't tell anyone that maybe he'd been wrong about Blaine. 

He kept replaying their conversation, going over and over every detail;  Blaine's expression, his body language, the way he'd pressed into Kurt. He obsessed over his own fear, his tendency to jump to conclusions. The entire situation had been surreal from the start and Kurt hadn't been able to find his footing. He never fully believed it was happening and didn't know how to respond when it was happening. But it didn't matter now. It happened. It was over. He needed to move on.

But how do you move on from someone like Blaine Anderson? Kurt murmured to himself. It was Tuesday afternoon and Kurt was printing out cover options for a new artist meeting. An email came in saying he had a delivery at the front desk and needed to pick it up before end of business. Kurt texted his assistant, Spencer, to pick up it for him and leave it on his desk. It wasn't until hours later, most of the office gone for the night, that he returned to his office to see a delicate square vase spilling over with red and yellow roses. Kurt's arc lamp was the only light on in the room, casting a spotlight on the bouquet. Kurt sat down at his desk and pulled out the small card nestled inside the flowers. He read the message once and called Frankie.

“You're calling me. Why are you calling me? Are you on your way home? Do you want to come over and drink wine? I need wine.”

“I'm still at the office.”

“Fuck, is there a glitch with the iTunes pre-sale because if so that is total bullshit. I checked and re-checked it with the NY office and everything was working when I left.”

“I'm looking at a dozen red and yellow roses,” Kurt said, his voice even.

“Is this some sort of riddle? You know I hate riddles. Get over here and drink wine with me.”

“They're from Blaine.”

Frankie paused, her silent shock coming through loud and clear. “Blaine? Like BLAINE, Blaine?”

“Like Blaine, Blaine.” Kurt closed his eyes and leaned back as far as his ergonomic chair would allow.

“Okay, I'm guessing you mean that asshole prick from Pretty In Pink who, yes, is a fictional character, but seems more likely to send you roses than Blaine Fucking Anderson who was a total douchebag little artist shit!”

“I've never seen that movie. And I never said Blaine was a douchebag.”

“You've been moping.”

“I have not.”

“Kurt, look down at your feet right now.” Kurt looked down and realized for the first time that day he was wearing his running shoes…to the office. “That dude messed with your head. Ever since whatever happened at Robert's, and while I respect that you don't want to talk about it but FUCKING TELL ME ALREADY OH MY GOD, you've been in some sort of funk and…wait, was there a card?”

“Of course there was a card, did you think I just assumed Blaine Anderson sent me flowers? I saw the flowers, I read the card, I called you.”

“Read it to me.”

Kurt cleared his throat and held the card up, his eyes scanning over the slanted handwriting. He wondered briefly if Blaine had written it himself. “It says: Kurt, You've been on my mind ever since we met. I deeply regret the way we left things at the bar that night and I'd love a chance to make it right. Then it's just signed with his name.”

“Wow.”

“Exactly.”

“First of all, how did he fit all of that on the tiny flower card?”

“The handwriting is really small,” Kurt said, turning the card over in his hand. “What the hell?”

“What? What now?”

Kurt stood up from his desk and walked to the window overlooking the gravel parking lot. “Holy. Fucking. Shit.”

“KURT! WHAT!”

“The back of the card, I just looked at it. There was a P.S. that said to look outside.”

“Outside? What the hell is outside?”

“There's a limo idling in the parking lot.”

“Oh my god, KURT!? I saw that limo when I left today but I just assumed it was some fancy lawyer from that law firm on the first floor. I didn't think anything of it IS HE IN THERE? IS HE IN THE LIMO LIKE SOME SORT OF TWISTED SCENE FROM PRETTY WOMAN?”

“Stop trying to make my life into a movie.”

“Kurt, why are you so calm about this? Every single thing you have said to me on this phone call has been fucking insane. Are you okay?”

Kurt laid his forehead against the window and looked down at the limo, backing away immediately when he realized maybe Blaine could see him. “I think maybe I was wrong about him.”

Frankie was quiet for a moment, thinking. “What do you want to do?”

“I…I don't know. I want to give him a chance, I think, even though the flowers and the limo are bit…much. Why would he do this? He doesn't even know me…we barely had a conversation.”

“But it's Blaine.”

“Yes, that is the key issue in this scenario. It's Blaine.”

“Well I'll give him this, the guy is definitely making an effort. Isn't that what you always say you want? Someone willing to make an effort? Yes, the flowers and the limo are borderline stalker but it seems like he's trying. And like we just said, it's Blaine, Kurt, your dream guy. I get that this all seems too unlikely to be real but…he's just a dude. Take a deep breath, change your shoes and go see what he has to say.”

“I can't go home to-”

“Kurt Hummel, I know you keep a spare pair of Michael Kors boots in your bottom desk drawer. Put them on along with an unnecessary layer of hairspray in your perfect hair and go out there.”

Kurt walked over to his desk and pulled open the bottom drawer. There was a spare shirt, the boots and two cans of maximum hold hairspray. He smiled. “Have I told you today that you're my favorite human?”

“Love you, too. Go get him.”

———————-

Kurt pushed open the heavy glass door leading out to the parking lot. The sun had just dipped below the Nashville skyline and there were only a couple of cars left in the parking lot along with the shiny, black limo idling near the door. Kurt walked toward the passenger door in the back and waited, nervous. Nothing happened. A moment turned into a minute and oh, god, what if he'd been wrong about this entire thing? What if Blaine wasn't out here waiting for him? Now he looked like an idiot standing next to a limo waiting for nothing. 

The driver door opened, startling Kurt. “Are you Kurt Hummel?”

“Yes,” Kurt said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I'm afraid Mr. Anderson has fallen asleep.”

Kurt's eyes widened. “How…how long have you been out here?”

The driver pulled his phone out of his pants pocket. “About five hours?”

Kurt's chest tightened. “May I?” he said, gesturing to the door.

“Of course,” the driver said, opening the door for him.

Kurt slid inside, sitting close to the door. The limo was lit with low lights across the edges of the floor, casting Blaine in shadow. He was curled up on the seat, his head resting on a jacket next to the window. His lips were parted and his long eyelashes fanned out over his cheeks. His left arm was outstretched, his hand resting between his thighs and his right arm was draped over the door. He looked relaxed and peaceful and…beautiful. 

Kurt wasn't sure what to do.  

“Blaine?” he said, so softly he barely heard it himself. Blaine didn't stir. Kurt reached over, his hand hovering over Blaine's shoulder. “Blaine?” He touched Blaine's shoulder and gently shook him.

Blaine inhaled sharply and raised his thick eyebrows without opening his eyes. “I'm up, I'm up,” he said, rubbing his hands over his face and rolling his head from side to side. He opened his eyes and saw Kurt sitting there, his hand still raised over Blaine's shoulder. “Oh. OH. Shit, hi! Oh my god, I fell asleep didn't I? I'm so sorry, shit. I wanted to make this grand gesture and sweep you off your feet and fuck,” Blaine said, his voice going soft, “I screwed up again, didnt I.”

Kurt smiled and folded his hands in his lap. “No, you…what, uhh…what are you doing here?”

Blaine looked at him, his eyes wide and, if Kurt allowed himself to believe it, a little desperate. “After that night last week, the way you left, I just felt terrible. I realized I came on pretty strong and,” he bit his bottom lip and looked down at the leather seat between them, “you were right to leave. I was an asshole.” Blaine looked up at him, eyes still heavy with sleep. It made him look younger, the usual sexy confidence replaced with a vulnerable smile.

“You weren't,” Kurt said. He realized he meant it. “I'm glad you're here. I've been thinking about that night, too.”

“You have?” Blaine shifted in his seat, half-turning his body towards Kurt. “I thought it might be too weird, showing up here unannounced. I guess I thought…I don't know what I thought. I just wanted to see you.”

Kurt blushed, hiding his a smile behind his hand. “It is a bit overwhelming. How did you…” he shook his head, his shoulders raising in a question.

“Tec, my manager, he called your friend.”

“June,” Kurt said, under his breath.

“Right, June. She said you'd be in the office today and I had a few days off from the tour and…here I am.”

“Here you are,” Kurt said, his hand falling down onto the seat between them. “I'm sorry about the other night.”

“Don't be, I'm the one who's sorry. I totally misread the situation and came on too strong. And just to be super clear, I don't view you as a conquest or some fan fuck. I don't do that.”

Kurt quirked an eyebrow which made Blaine laugh.

“Okay, okay, I've done that…a few times. But it's not who I am. Or…it's not who I want to be.”

They fell into silence, each sneaking glances at the other

“So,” Kurt said, his voice cutting through the silence, “how do you view me?”

Blaine laid his head on the headrest and sighed, reaching over to take Kurt's hand. “Can I take you to dinner? We can talk about it?”

Kurt wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the entire situation but he couldn't. His heart was racing and Blaine's thumb was tracing a slow line up and down his hand and Blaine was looking at him, his eyes sincere and full of…want. Kurt looked back at him, willing himself to stay in the moment, to believe it was true.

Yes, I will go to dinner with you and anywhere else you want. Yes, yes, yes. I want you and it seems like you might genuinely want me and I fear I may fly into orbit from how incredible this feels and how sweet your words are and how I want to crush my body into yours and die from amazing.

“Yes,” Kurt said.

“I'm so happy to hear you say that, you have no idea. I was so nervous to come here. I thought you'd blow me off for sure. But I hoped…I hoped you would say yes.” Blaine's voice was quiet, reverent. Kurt could feel the words on his skin. “But, before we go to dinner…”

“But?”

“I have been in this limo all fucking day and I really have to pee.”

Kurt's laugh burst out of him, bright and happy, filling the small space between them. “Come on, I'll let you inside the office,” he said, opening the door and pulling Blaine by the hand.