Kurt knows he shouldn’t complain, that there are men and women who would kill to be personally trained by champion of the sex trade Sue Sylvester; he doesn’t care. The woman is a cruel mistress. She has an uncanny knack for interrupting Kurt’s personal life at the most inappropriate moments. Kurt sighs in annoyance and opens one eye as he tries to determine what insistent noise has ruined his favorite mid-morning routine: a bubble bath and Broadway musicale. When he realizes that it’s his work ring tone that is ringing, he reaches for the remote for his wall set stereo and turns down the volume. Then he stretches to reach his cell phone on the counter.

“Hello?” He can barely contain his frustration as he holds the phone to his ear, turning over in the tub to rest his arms on the rim. He curses under his breath as he manages to slosh water all over the floor (just in case he was thinking about leaving the bathroom without seriously injuring himself).

“Ah sweet Porcelain. It’s good to know that no matter what ill ails the rest of the world you will always be so full of cheer and happy to hear from me. I’ve got a client for you this afternoon.”

Kurt immediately reaches for the notebook that never leaves his side as the sound of Sue’s voice fills his ears. Kurt takes the phrase ‘little black book’ to a whole other level; some of the entries he has in there would make a sailor blush.

“I got a young one for you, new money, up and coming Broadway star, looking to blow all that fresh smelling green in one go and Sue Sylvester is glad to help. First time with an escort, very vague over what it is that he wants, asked for a girl.”

Kurt has to lift an eyebrow at this. One of the many reasons Sue is so good at her job is her ability to get as much as she can out of the client -- even despite their hesitation at being grilled. For a lot of them calling for a prostitute is humiliating enough without then facing the Spanish Inquisition, but Sue refuses to take no for an answer. She takes her clients pleasure seriously, because their pleasure is her gain, and she refuses to lose out to her competitors. She has shark-like instincts that Kurt has learned to rely on but even still -- if the client has outright asked for a girl then Kurt has to wonder why she is calling him.

“Sue, you are aware that I’m male right? I mean I know you like to call me Lady Face but...”

“Look Porcelain, this kid doesn’t know what he wants or which way is up. That’s the problem with your generation you know, so obsessed with the way things look. I saw Mr. St. Jame’s little musicale on stage and the tightness of his tights left me scarred for weeks. My doctor still can not explain the scar tissue building up on my retinas. Jesse can say girl all he wants but you’re still up lady.”

Kurt heaves a small sigh. “OK, when?”

“Appointment’s scheduled for 12.30pm”

He brings his phone down to eye level to check the time. Shit. This was typical Sue. “Ms. Sylvester, it’s almost noon now!”

”It’s an in call.”

“That’s beside the point. My body isn’t some machine, I need to warm it up right. You know I need at least an hour to prepare!” What’s infuriating is that Kurt knows Sue doesn’t care. She knows, of course, that if Kurt doesn’t take the client then one of the other hopefuls dying to become her new star will.

“You have plenty of time to do something about your frighteningly pale skin. I suggest investing in pigment.”

Kurt can hear her smirking. Sometimes Kurt really hates that, but he can’t really imagine a different Sue and their relationship (odd as it is) seems to work. Sue might insult him at every turn but he’s learned to pick out the genuine compliments she buries in the dung heap. Kurt has also reconciled himself to the danger of his business, and once or twice has had to use his code word for rescue. He was gratified to learn that as much as she might threaten him with his replacability, Sue Sylvester will allow no one to harm him and seems to take great affront at the men who would try to.

Kurt, already resigned to going to work, gets out of the tub, stumbling as predicted with so much water on the floor, and scowls.

“I haven’t even had lunch yet. Who requests a prostitute when the rest of the city is tucking into paninis and lattes?” he asks as he regards his naked form critically in the mirror. He is on the taller side, and as Sue constantly pokes fun at, pale. He works out regularly, and has nice tone to his body, but to his critical eye he is looking a little stretched these days; like there isn't enough skin to quite cover all of him. He really needs to stop replacing meals with sex and coffee. He can almost see his ribs and that won’t be good for business.

“Plus I’m kind of hungover, I was with Matthew until God knows when this morning, you know that. You should have phoned Brit, she’s always up for more clients and is actually a girl.”

“Brittany's out of commission. Her boyfriend saw her picture on the website, recognised that weird cat tattoo she’s got on her back.”

Kurt winces, feeling a moments sympathy for his colleague. It is hard to have friends in Cheerios, considering most of them will gladly poison the others to get a leg up, but there isn’t a mean bone in Brittany’s body. Kurt likes her, even if she isn’t the sort of girl to have wine and exchange wit with; there is a sweetness to her that brings out Kurt’s more protective instincts. He doesn’t have a boyfriend waiting cluelessly in the wings, but there is Blaine and he knows how he’d feel if it were him.

“Oh my God, poor Brittany. Do you think she’ll come back?”

“Yes. Poor Brittany, because she’s the one with angry clients to deal with. If I had a heart it would be torn all apart by her tragic love affair with robot boy. I’m losing thousands of dollars! I wouldn’t take her back if she came with a letter signed by the Pope on God’s personal stationary.”

To this, Kurt can only roll his eyes because he seriously doubts that God doesn’t have anything better to do than hand out personal recommendations for prostitutes.

“Bye Sue,” he sighs, hanging up. A moment later he’s laughing despite himself. He sticks his head around the door and looks at his bedroom clock. 12:05. He needs to get a move on if he is going to be ready to meet the elusive Jesse St. James.

You need to know that being a prostitute is actually pretty hard work.

Kurt has rituals and he sticks to them meticulously. Since he’s already washed up he pats his hair (never blow drying, unless he can douse it in the proper protective serums which he just doesn’t have time to use just now), enough so it’s not dripping wet, but just so that the strands still lay damp against his cheeks.

Before he does anything else he reaches in the drawer beside the sink and pulls out a butt plug– non-vibrating. It’s not to get him hard, just enough to open him up so there’s minimal preparation needed. One of the many things he’s learned in the past year is that you just can’t rely on a client to do it for you. Some days Kurt likes a little roughness, but he isn’t looking to rip anything and some men don’t care what kind of harm they do.

Next the skin is taken care of: powder, oil and moisturiser, and yes, Kurt is fussy about his skin. He’s got his working name to uphold and skin like his doesn’t come cheap or without care. He always makes sure he’s clean shaven; stubble rash doesn’t go down well, especially when clients are married. That, and Kurt doesn’t like facial hair marring up his face. As much as it pains him he wears generic deodorant and doesn’t wear any sort of perfume or aftershave; a professional never sends his clients home smelling like another man.

Normally Kurt will wear a bit of makeup, which isn’t as prissy as it sounds, and in all honesty he’d probably do it even if he wasn’t in this line of business. Nothing garish or anything like that. Concealer covers up the imperfections that creep in despite his best efforts, especially when a client has been overzealous on his neck, or when a client has kept him up all night. At the moment he falls into the latter category. He’s tired, and the sleepy raccoon look is not sexy in the least. Kohl eyeliner accentuates his eyes making them look almost impossibly deep with desire whether he’s turned on or not, and highlighter cream adds an air of boyish innocence.

The amount of clothing (or, of course, lack thereof) varies depending on the client, but since Jesse is a newbie, Kurt has to make his own decision. It’s the middle of the day and he’s only booked an hour, which means he’s probably limited for time and won’t bother with foreplay. Kurt walks out of his bathroom and into Porcelain’s private bedroom, and over to his wardrobe to flick through the rails and rails of clothing (all of it designer, but much of it things Kurt could never walk around in without raising some eyebrows) until deciding on a deep blue satin robe that reaches just above his knees. He loves the way this one makes his eyes pop, and he needs a pick-me-up after a shit night and what is sure to be a shit afternoon.

He decides to forego underwear; it only gets in the way when you do what he does, although he has a very wide selection if the situation calls for it.

He just has time to brush his teeth and trim his nails when he hears the buzzer go. Whatever Kurt had on his mind is now completely forgotten; for the next hour, Porcelain is on the client’s time.

*************************
Jesse St James lays sprawled on the four poster bed in Porcelain’s bedroom, which incidentally resembles a Venetian courtesan’s boudoir. The bed is king-sized and covered in dark red and black sheets, plush cushions scattered across the head of the bed. The large window lets the light in and is covered in netting to give the two men inside privacy.

Kurt is proud of the tastefully erotic pictures and photographs in frame hung on all the walls. The wall opposite the bed is almost completely mirrored with an ornate dressing table in front. Its surface is covered in bottles of lubricant, massage oils and pleasure enhancers in all sorts of different scents and flavors. Hanging silk drapes surround the bed and the door, adding the finishing touches to a sensual paradise where his clients can escape the tedium and sometimes misery of their everyday lives. Kurt redecorates it quite often. This room is his personal masterpiece, and in a strange way his finest achievement.

They are horizontal on the bed, Kurt’s head between Jesse’s legs and his mouth full of cock. One or two escorts at Cheerios will perform oral without protection, but not Kurt. The taste of the latex isn’t the best, and the chances of catching an STD just from giving head are relatively small, but it still isn’t worth the risk, and if, like him, you know what you’re doing then the condom isn’t going to make a difference to the client’s pleasure.

“Tell me something you fantasise about,” Kurt whispers seductively, letting the other man’s cock fall out of his mouth with a purposeful pop. There’s a mood he’s trying to create here, an energy he must sustain, because Jesse, being an escort virgin, is as skittish as a colt.

“This,” Jesse answers softly, looking down at Kurt through heavy-lidded eyes and reaching to grasp a strand of Kurt’s dark hair. He’s professional enough not to show his annoyance.

He needs to be more direct. Not that unusual, especially considering Jesse came here wanting a girl but isn’t seeming to have too much of a problem with Kurt having his cock in his mouth. Damn Sue Sylvester and her scary instincts. Kurt crawls up Jesse’s lean body until he’s hovering over his erect penis. He reaches for the lube always strategically placed by the bed, and coats his cock liberally with slow, deliberate movements. He smiles as he hears Jesse’s breath hitch.

“Where would you like to fuck me?” he asks in a voice that can only be described as sinful.

The only answer Kurt gets though is a guttural moan as he sinks down onto him, relishing the delicious burn until Jesse is fully seated inside him, rock hard and absolutely exquisite. This Kurt loves. He closes his eyes and savors, letting Jesse settle.

“Would you like to fuck me in an alley?” he asks with raised eyebrows, still holding still. “In a dirty alley? Bent over a filthy dumpster?”

“…. on a seat!” Jesse manages to pant as Kurt starts moving slowly, rotating his hips instinctively.

“Yes! On a seat!” Kurt agrees vehemently despite the randomness of it. He’s heard everything. “Where are we? In a house? In an office? I’m a lowly temp and you’re the big, powerful boss who seduces me?” If only. That might have made Kurt’s years as the office bitch more bearable.

“In an theatre,” Jesse pants, his hands finally coming to rest on Kurt’s hips and Kurt allows him to guide the pace.

Bingo. Seats. Theatre. Jesse is a Broadway prodigy. Kurt can totally set this scene. “I’ve been so bad Jesse,” he moans breathily, increasing his pace as Jesse’s cock continually hits his prostrate. “I couldn’t hit that note. Couldn’t stop looking at you. Picturing this. Us. You need to punish me, I’m such a bad boy.”

“I should spank you!” Jesse finally blurts out, and Kurt can tell he isn’t far from coming. He doesn’t actually spank Kurt though, which is a shame; it’s been months since he’s had a good spanking. Jesse does however grab one of his ass cheeks firmly, squeezing roughly as his other hand frantically strokes Kurt’s cock.

“Yes! Spank me Jesse! Spank me!” Kurt cries out as Jesse comes loudly into the condom, and it isn’t long before he follows suit. Once they both regain their senses, Kurt gently climbs off of him, removing the condom himself from Jesse’s softening cock and tying the end. He throws it into the bin across the room.

“That was incredible!” Jesse pants as Kurt lies down next to him. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me, believe me, it’s nice to have someone who knows what he’s doing for a change.” That’s not entirely true; a lot of Kurt’s clients are fantastic lovers, but in this job flattery can go a long way, and Jesse was a pretty good fuck. That makes Kurt’s job a lot easier.

Kurt can see him getting twitchy, like he’s uncomfortable in his own skin and doesn’t quite know what to do with himself.

“Stay,” he instructs softly, kissing the other mans lips gently. “We’ve got plenty of time.”

“I thought that prost--” Jesse quickly stopped himself. “People in this career don’t like to be kissed.”

“Pretty Woman, really? And you still insisted on a girl.” Kurt chuckles as Jesse’s blush intensifies. “The whole kissing thing is a myth, at least it is for Cheerios. Sometimes I enjoy the kissing just as much as the sex.” Jesse stares at Kurt for a few moments with a frown of contemplation.

“Why are you telling me this?” he asks after a few moments, clearly intrigued. “I thought you would want to get rid of your customers as soon as they climax.”

Kurt shakes his head with a slight smile. “I love my job," he answers simply. "Honestly, can you think of a better way to get paid? I can't. And you’re paying a lot, and if clients are willing to pay this much money then they almost always want something other than just sex, otherwise they would just pick up someone at the street corner. There’s no formalities and it costs them a quarter of the price. Then again some people just want to flash their cash.”

Jesse laughs at the last statement, clearly relaxing as Kurt speaks candidly.

“Sorry, I guess you’re right. I don’t normally do this sort of thing... in fact, this is the first time I’ve paid for sex in my life.”

“What changed?” Kurt presses gently. There is something Jesse wants to tell him, it is written all over his face. This is Jesse’s time and he can use it however he wants to.

Jesse looks down, suddenly embarrassed once again. Kurt manages to bite his tongue and not state the obvious; five minutes ago, he was bouncing up and down on his cock begging to be spanked, they have no reason to be coy.

“I’m fantastic, you know, a real catch, but there’s… nothing, forget I said anything.”

Jesse St James is adorable when flustered Kurt decides, never mind the arrogant attitude. He kisses his lips slowly once again, murmuring against them. “Tell me.”

Jesse sighs as he pulls away, pushing dark strands of hair from his eyes. “I’m in love with a girl I shouldn’t be. She’s entirely unsuitable for me, and one of my main competitors. I may have entered a relationship with her with the intent of breaking her. I’ve always gotten everything I’ve ever wanted. It makes sense you know, I mean, I deserve it. There’s nothing I won’t do to win, and usually I’m cool with that but this time... This time, I hurt someone and there isn’t anything I can do to take it back. I don’t want to even, at least not the winning part; but losing her, it’s absolutely miserable. I find myself in the absolute depths of despair.”

Kurt’s pretty sure his eyes say a lot right now, and none of it is encouraging, so he schools his features into something a bit softer.

“That must be hard,” he struggles to sympathise.

“If only she didn’t insist on breaking into the business right this instant. I can’t have people focusing on some bar karaoke singing novelty while I am on the brink of my first Tony.”

“Does it really matter that much?” Kurt asks softly, his fingers idly trailing up Jesse’s bicep. He couldn’t help it that a bit of attitude was leaking into his voice. He’d run across more than a few drama queens in his life but this guy takes the cake. “She’s a girl, it’s not like she’ll be stealing parts from you, and it might actually be fun to share something special with someone you love. This whole Broadway thing might actually be important to her. You could help her.”

Jesse frowns as if the idea is so unheard of that it deserves the deepest concentration. After a moment he shakes his head slowly. "The truth is, she far outshines me, and I can’t accept that.”

Jesse sighs again and Kurt strokes his hair much like he would an adorable (if exasperating) pet.

“At least you can admit it to yourself. That’s progress,” Kurt tells him sincerely. “I’ve slept with a lot of men who are all types of silly and shallow and very few of them have the guts to admit it to themselves.” Kurt can’t judge Jesse, he knows all to well the type of bravery it takes to face the parts of you that are just plain twisted. Kurt has quite a few of those himself.

*************************

I know what you’re probably thinking right now. You’re probably wondering about Kurt’s family, his friends. I said he wasn’t alone in the world or desperate, and he isn’t, so you’re naturally wondering how a man like Kurt can do what he does and have none the wiser.

If you’re Shane, then you’re wondering about Blaine. How can Blaine not know and would it have changed anything if he had? Yes. It would have changed everything but not the way you’re thinking; not for the better.

Here is something you need to know about Kurt and the way Blaine fits into his life. Blaine is not rich (though his parents are) and could no more sweep in and carry Kurt away like some prince on a white charger than he could grow a set of tits, but he would want to, and that is the glue that has kept them together all these years.

Blaine is no smarter than Kurt, and certainly has no more answers to life's complications and mysteries, but Blaine, despite the image his business casual attire might portray, is the worst (and therefore best) sort of dreamer. Blaine sees potential everywhere and good in everyone.

Really knowing each other, that’s a mutual thing. Kurt knows what few people don’t: Blaine is an unconditional giver, an uncontrolled sun giving out light and heat and keeping none for himself. It’s beautiful, it’s brilliant, but a star, even the biggest and brightest, only burns so long. Kurt can be kind too but he has no problem knowing when he needs to hold back, and when he needs to crack open and bare all. Kurt lives in twos, remember? He is both intensely private and shamelessly open.

So they are a perfect fit as friends, you see. Blaine is good for Kurt and Kurt is good for Blaine, but they have learned the hard way that they are not in love. Or at the very least, Kurt is not in love with Blaine the way that Blaine was in love with him once.

Here’s the second thing you need to know about Blaine and the way he fits into Kurt’s life. Kurt might not be in love with Blaine but he loves Blaine. Here is why. He’s had a shit day on top of a shit week and still he’s laughing as he sees Blaine’s eyes light up when the barista slides their orders across the counter. As they take their food to their table near the window, Kurt muses that no one treasures food like Blaine Anderson. To see his eyes regarding a plate full of chocolate chip cookies is akin to watching an sculptor appraise the David.

Blaine now works as an management analyst for this massive record company and he looks the part complete with excessively gelled hair, but Kurt is fond of the exuberant child still peeking out of Blaine’s eyes as he digs into his food. He would have to be tortured before he admitted it but he even misses the out of control mass of curls Blaine sported while they were in college. But they’re both grown men now and this more polished look suits him as well.

Blaine’s at the bottom of the ladder but he’ll of course gradually work his way up and eventually he’ll be earning megabucks, maybe even as much as Kurt does. That of course means they don’t see each other as often as they’d like or as often as they were used to in the old days. Blaine works long hours trying to impress his boss and Kurt of course has to jump to it whenever Sue says so.

Not that Blaine knows it of course. As far as Blaine and the rest of his friends know, Kurt spends his days working just over the border in New Jersey as a purchasing agent for a men’s clothing chain called Clarks.

They’d made a promise to see each other three times a week, but their days off aren’t always in sync so it is naturally easier said than done. Before this particular coffee date, they hadn't seen each other for over a week, and have spent the past hour catching up over a late lunch, and for Kurt at least, between clients.

“One of these days, Blaine, you will choke and suffocate and I refuse to resuscitate you,” Kurt warns with a roll of his eyes as Blaine literally inhales the cookies on his plate in between taking giant gulps of his coffee.

Kurt sips his mocha like a civilized human being, thankful the cup hides his grin. Blaine should really be appalled at his manners, he is a grown man after all.

“Kurt, some of us need energy to get through the work day. We can’t survive on air and sass alone.” Blaine at least has the decency to swallow before speaking, something that is definitely not always a guarantee.

“I prefer to call it class, something you should learn, and I think the rest of America watching you eat crumbs off your vest agrees with me.” Kurt doesn’t bother hiding his look of repulsion -- because seriously, they both have good jobs now. Blaine shouldn’t still be eating like they’re starving post grads, but his eyes are laughing.

“Jeremiah’s got me on this diet," Blaine complains this time with a full mouth. “He thinks I need to lose weight, so I have to sneak my sweets in when he’s not around.” This is so ridiculous that Kurt forgets to remark on his bad manners, because he’s never heard anything so stupid.

“Blaine, you’re tiny,” he remarks disbelievingly and Blaine flashes him this hilariously indignant look.

“Okay tiny? I’m not that much shorter than you, Hummel, let's not jump to tiny.”

“Blaine, neither of us are ever going to be labeled brawny. We might as well own it.” Blaine lets it go, but not without some half-hearted pouting and Kurt smiles into his coffee.

“Jeremiah’s gotten into this whole vegan healthy heart tree hugging phase. He’s really concerned that if I don’t restrict my diet to grass and roots I’ll drop over dead before I’m forty,” Blaine explains after a few moments not without some thinly veiled irritation. And because Blaine can’t ever really talk mean about anyone, he adds, “It’s not all bad. Having an office job means I work out less. I have been gaining a little weight.”

“On that we agree at least. You do need to eat better, I’ve been telling you that since I met you. But I’m not above pointing out that you’re still thinner now than when we were together and I never put you on a diet!” Kurt can’t help it. He doesn’t like the boyfriend. Blaine knows that and largely ignores Kurt’s opinion on the matter. More about the boyfriend later -- let’s just say Kurt and Jeremiah don’t exactly see eye to eye and leave it at that.

“That’s true, but other than that, you were the worst boyfriend in the world,” Blaine points out without any bitterness, happily sucking on his stirring straw.

“I won’t argue that. And don’t do that,” Kurt chastises knowing fully that he’s just a little bit envious of the straw. Blaine smirks at him like he knows exactly what Kurt is thinking and stirs his drink again just so he can make a show of sucking on that damn straw. Kurt gets even by stealing one of his cookies.

“Give that back!” Blaine calls out indignantly, causing the mother with her young daughter at the next table to glare at the pair of them. Kurt smirks, savoring the crisp of the cookie and Blaine smiles apologetically (because Blaine cares like that) at the woman and her kid as he snatches his beloved dessert back out of Kurt’s hand. He stares at it so comically appalled that Kurt can’t help but laugh.

“Look at that, you’ve ruined it. Look at how much is gone! How big is your mouth?!” Blaine whines, unsuccessfully trying to stop his lips from turning up at the corners.

“Not so big, but it gets the job done. Surely you remember?” Kurt replies with another smug smirk and he absolutely loves the way Blaine flushes. If Blaine’s mouth wasn’t once again full of cookie Kurt is sure Blaine would have come up with some equally savvy comeback, especially when Kurt adds insult to injury by blowing him a kiss. Blaine swallows and glares.

“You are without a doubt the bitchiest person I know," Blaine accuses gesturing with his straw as he emphasises each word. Kurt takes it from him before he can hurt himself.

“You love me.”

“I never said I was sane," Blaine chuckles as he watches Kurt sip his coffee.

“No one would argue that," Kurt agrees.

They chat inanely after that, mostly about Blaine’s work and the lack of anything good on TV anymore, but eventually time runs out and Kurt needs to get home to prepare for his next client. It’s his turn to pay and Blaine raises an eyebrow when he catches a peek at a few of the fifties tucked in Kurt’s wallet, but he says nothing. It seems that their time together gets shorter and shorter these days and Kurt always hates it when they go their separate ways, but he’s also mindful that he’s got a client in two hours.

Blaine doesn’t seem to be in any rush to be anywhere and so they walk slowly back to Kurt’s apartment, chatting idly about work and their families, and gossiping about old college friends and the latest developments in their dull lives.

Kurt lives in a nice neighborhood on the edge of an even nicer neighborhood. His own apartment is fairly modest, as not to arouse too much suspicion, but the neighboring blocks are full of properties that are absolutely beautiful, places he’s always fantasised about living in, but he’s constantly worried that one of his clients might end up his neighbor -- it isn’t just their escorts that they like expensive.

“How does anyone ever afford to buy houses like these?” Blaine asks almost dreamily as they stand looking up at a particularly splendid town house. “Yesterday I saw a one bedroom condo with an asking price of over one million!”

“It probably had a fantastic view. That makes the price go up," Kurt reminds him.

“For one million I’d want a view of Hogwarts!” Blaine grumbles. “Right now I’d settle for a little townhouse with a view of a cesspit as long as it was mine. I think I’ve lived so long in apartments I’m forgetting what a real house feels like.”

“Maybe someday,” Kurt answers with a shrug, tucking his arm in Blaine’s and Blaine grins up at him.

“Someday when we’re making a fortune we’ll buy somewhere like this. Wouldn’t that be great, having a place to call our own, a real place?” Kurt blinks at Blaine, wondering if he realizes the implied togetherness wrapped up in that statement. When Blaine squeezes his arm and gazes up again at the house Kurt sighs.

It’s quite frankly amazing that there is no awkwardness between them. Blaine can be in an completely committed (if wrong) relationship with Jeremiah and still come up with these pipe dreams that they both know are just whispers and smoke and be completely comfortable with it. That’s the thing that gets Kurt, and he doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve a friend like Blaine who lets him touch, who dreams with him, who has seen him at his ugliest and been on the losing end of his failings and still wants to be there when Kurt remembers how to dream again.

“Yeah, like that’s ever going to happen,” Kurt says with a slight snort because one of them has got to be the realist and Blaine has always seen the world as it should be and not necessarily as it is.

“It could!” Blaine insists without any heat and Kurt rolls his eyes.

“And maybe someday I’ll retire early and then I’ll sell my memoirs and live off the profits," Kurt deadpans.

“Your memoirs?” Blaine repeats with a hint of amusement. “You’re an purchasing agent for Clarks. Who’s going to want to read about that? Unless of course you decide to listen to me and start singing again, or do something with fashion like you’ve always wanted to -- either of which you’d be stellar at by the way. I can’t see anyone bothering elsewise. You don’t even like to talk about your job. You always say it’s too boring.”

“Oh Blaine,” Kurt answers sweetly, ruffling his curls in that way he knows always irritates him. It takes forever for Blaine to gel it into place for work. “Just you wait and see. You have no idea how interesting people might find my life."

Maybe someday he will, Kurt thinks. Kurt will tell him, and Blaine will once again know every part of him and still want to be right where he is. Kurt will tell him, right after they buy that house with the view of Hogwarts.