"Kurt!"

    Kurt winced and held his phone away from his ear as Rachel's voice came shrilly through the receiver. "Rachel. Inside voice," he reminded her as he leaned back in his swivel chair and set his pencil down on his desk. A conversation with Rachel meant that his Art Design homework would have to wait until later.

    "I'm not even inside!" The deafening cacophony of New York traffic underlined her words.

    "I don't care. Inside voice."

    "Fine."

    Kurt could hear the pout in her voice, and he smiled. As loud and incorrigible as Rachel (frequently) was, she was still his best friend, and he couldn't help but love her.

    "Listen, Kurt," Rachel continued, excitement bubbling over in her words. "Today I met this guy, and—"
   
    Kurt groaned. "Oh god, save me. Those are the most terrifying words to ever leave your lips."

    "It's not a guy for me," she huffed, sounding mildly irritated. "I told you, I have moved on since high school and I am not letting Finn or any other guy distract me from my dream of one day becoming a Broadway star."

    "Yes, yes, so I've heard," Kurt said dryly. Rachel had recited this little speech to him multiple times since they had moved to New York. This hadn't stopped she and Finn from "trying the long distance thing" and subsequently breaking up seven times in the five years since they had moved out of Lima. "Okay then, if the guy's not for you, who's he for?"

    "You, of course!"

    "Oh no," Kurt said quickly. "No-no-no. No. Never again. Remember last time?"

    "Kuuurt, come on! How was I supposed to know he was married when he seemed genuinely interested in going out to dinner with you?"

    "Oh, I don't know," Kurt said, his words laced with sarcasm. "Maybe the ring on his finger. Me, I figured it out when he showed up to what was supposed to be a romantic, candle-lit dinner-for-two with his Hulk of a husband!"

    "Okay. Okay. I'm sorry," she said, not sounding very apologetic at all. "But this guy is smart, single, and really, really cute." Rachel sounded so enthused that Kurt wouldn't have been surprised if she were jumping up and down in the streets.

    "That sounds too good to be true. Are you sure he's gay?" Kurt was suspicious. Surprisingly enough, the list of gay, eligible bachelors in New York had not been as extensive as he had thought it would be.

    "He sounded interested in meeting you."

    "That doesn't mean anything, Rachel."

    "I met him at an audition for West Side Story."

    Kurt laughed. "Okay, that settles it. I'll do it."

    "Wait, really?" Rachel's disbelieving tone undeniably translated to, "I didn't think it would be that easy."

    "As weird as it sounds, I trust your judgment. Sort of." He paused. "Well, mostly I'm just agreeing because you won't stop bugging me if I don't and this guy actually sounds relatively normal when compared to the others you've tried setting me up with."

    Rachel squealed loudly, and Kurt had to hold his cell away from his ear again until she was finished. "Yes! You're not going to regret this, Kurt!"

    I hope not, he thought. Rachel was known for her disastrous attempts to improve his love life. Still, it had been months since the last time, and he had to admit he got lonely, what with Rachel out every night taking classes and auditioning, and him stuck in their shared two-room apartment doing work for his internship. "So, what's this guy like?"

    "Adorable. You'll love him. Dark hair, gorgeous eyes. He's a bit shy, but once you get to know him, he's great," she gushed.

    Kurt nodded, forgetting that Rachel couldn't see him. He didn't want to get his hopes up, but the guy did sound, well, perfect. "So, what now?"

    "Oh, leave everything to me," Rachel said briskly, transitioning into organizer-mode. "You're just going out to dinner, to get to know each other. I made reservations at Cooper's for 7:00 p.m. tomorrow night, so you'll just meet him there and—"

    "Rachel," Kurt interrupted, exasperated. "You made reservations already? Before you even knew if I'd say yes?"

    "Kurt." Rachel sighed. "Do you really have to ask that?" She paused to let him consider this, then pushed on. "Okay, so you meet him at Cooper's at seven, and . . . have fun! Listen, I have to go. My tap class starts in ten minutes, and I need at least seven minutes and forty-five seconds to properly loosen my muscles. See you tonight?"

    Kurt snorted. "Yeah, if you can find me under the mountain of fabrics and measurements I'm buried in."

    Rachel clucked in sympathy. "Well, get as much of it done as you can so you don't have to worry about it tomorrow on your date!"

    "Yes, ma'am." He smiled. "Have fun with tap." Rachel made a distracted sound of agreement. "Oh, wait— are you still there?" Kurt asked hurriedly, a thought occurring to him.

    "Yeah, what is it?"

    "This guy . . . what's his name?"

    "Oh, right. It's Blaine."

    "Blaine?" Kurt tested it out in his head. Blaine. Kurt and Blaine. Blaine and Kurt. It wasn't a name he heard every day. He liked that.

    "Yeah. Blaine And—"

    "—erson!"

    Blaine jumped, his fingers stumbling discordantly over several piano keys. He craned his head around to see Santana Lopez, one of his coworkers. She rolled her eyes at his confusion.

    "Come on, Anderson. You only get paid for playing the piano in your dreams. This place is packed tonight; we need your help out here."

    "Oh. Sorry." Blaine sighed and pushed himself away from the gorgeous Baby Grand in the corner of the restaurant. "I guess I got kind of..." he waved his hand around in the air. "...carried away."

    "Mm." Santana tossed him an apron. "Well, how 'bout you carry away some of the dirty dishes on my tables so I can get out of here at a reasonable hour tonight? Auntie Tana's got better things to do than stick around here all night."

    Blaine raised an eyebrow as he pulled on an apron over his button-up dress shirt and tied it around his waist. "Like what?"

    Santana smirked. "Wouldn't you like to know? Don't worry, Short Stack. You'll always be my one true hobbit." She walked past him, hips swaying as she moved to take a table's order.

    Blaine smiled after her fondly. Santana could be difficult, but she was basically his only friend in New York. She was the first person he had told about being gay since he had moved here three years before. He remembered her blinking in surprise when he told her, then smacking his butt and saying, "Damn. Well, that's one fine piece of ass I won't be tapping." They had been fast friends ever since.

    Blaine surveyed the restaurant. It was only five, but three quarters of the tables were already occupied. Santana was right— Cooper's was booming. Its great prices, food, and live entertainment made it popular with locals and tourists alike. Blaine was lucky to be working there.

    He cleared the tables nearest him of dishes, then walked into the kitchen to drop them off. Cooper himself was in the back, shouting at a terrified busboy.

    "— because the next time you drop a stack of plates, I'll be taking the cost out of your paycheck. Got it?" The boy— Eric, Blaine thought his name was— nodded once and scurried back into the kitchen. Cooper sighed and ran a hand through his wavy locks, then spotted Blaine. His eyes lit up.

    "Hey! Nice of you to join us."

    Blaine smiled ruefully. "Maybe I shouldn't. I see you're back to yelling at the poor busboys. I thought we talked about being nice to people and, you know, not making them petrified of you?"

    Cooper scowled. "What is this restaurant called?"

    Blaine rolled his eyes. "Cooper's."

    Cooper nodded triumphantly. "Exactly. I'm in charge."

    "Your megalomania continues to astound me."

    "Oh, come on. I have to keep the dream alive. And in order to do that, I need to know my employees fear my every move. SPONTANEITY," he shouted as Eric reentered the kitchen, making him jump and almost lose his grip on another stack of plates. Cooper snickered, then turned back to Blaine. "See, Blainers? He's learning."

    Blaine groaned. "Please don't call me that." He dropped the dishes he was holding into a sink full of foamy water, then turned to face his brother. "It's unprofessional."

    "What should I call you, then?" Cooper asked, a wicked smile flickering over his features. "Bumble B? Clark Kent? Tink?" You're small and feisty like her...," he mused, tapping his finger against his chin thoughtfully.

    Santana breezed into the kitchen then and tagged an order for the cooks. "Clark Kent? I like it. Mind if I use that?"

    Cooper smiled at her. "I'd feel insulted if you didn't."

    "On second thought, Blainers is fine. Perfect, actually. I love it. You can call me that," Blaine said hastily.

    "Oh no," Cooper said, his smile growing wider. "Tink it is, buddy."

    Blaine glared at him. Maybe ignoring him would be his best strategy. It never worked when they were kids, but Cooper had better things to do than torture his little brother when he had an entire restaurant to run. Blaine turned back to the sink and pushed the sleeves of his shirt up as he prepared to wash the dishes. Cooper and Santana were still giggling behind him, but maybe the noise of the clinking dishes would drown them out.

    "Woah, hold up, Tink," Cooper said as Blaine picked up the first plate. "What are you all dressed up for?"

    Blaine blushed but didn't turn around. "I, um, have a, uh, date. Tonight."

    Cooper grabbed the plate from Blaine's hand, and Santana grabbed his shoulder and turned him so he was facing them. The two shared a glance, their expressions creepily similar, as if Christmas had come early.

    "Awww," Cooper cooed. "Blushing Blainers um-has an uh-date!" He clapped his hands in excitement.

    "Nice going, Anderson! So you're not a total prude!" Santana raised her hand for a high-five that Blaine studiously ignored. He turned back to the dishes, but Cooper spun him around again.

    "Not so fast, bro. Where'd you meet this guy?"

    "Is he sexy?" Santana chimed in. "Oh, yeah, he is. Look at his face, Coop."

    "Is he nice?" Cooper demanded.

    "How's his ass? 'Cause, speaking objectively here, if you meet a guy with a better one than yours, you should totally snatch that up before someone else does." She paused, her mouth falling open in a perfect 'o.' "Oh my god, are you a bottom, Anderson?"

    "Santana! You're talking to my brother!"

    "Well, yeah. Who else am I supposed to ask? I figured you wouldn't know much about Blaine's wild sex life, so—"

    "Enough!" Blaine shouted, exasperated. "Can you two not announce this to the world? It's nothing serious. I haven't even met him yet, this is just an introductory dinner, okay?"

    "You haven't met him yet?" Cooper glanced at Santana, as if checking to make sure she was as baffled as he was.

    "Oh, honey, please tell me you haven't resorted to internet dating." Santana said, pity coloring her voice. She patted him on the arm. "Listen, just because you haven't met anyone yet, doesn't mean you never will. I'll take you gay clubbing. It'll be fun."
   
    Blaine sighed, resigned to owning up. "No, I— I met this girl at an audition, and we started talking, and she was telling me about this friend of hers, and... I don't know. She just kept going on and on about how perfect this guy was, and she asked me if I wanted to go out with him, and I just... I said yes. Okay?" He hoped that if he spoke quickly enough, they would stop asking him questions.

    "Wait..." Cooper narrowed his eyes, and Blaine's hope plummeted. "You met her at an audition? Are you— did you tell Dad?"

    Santana's eyes widened. "Family talk. Okay, I'm out." She hurried out of the kitchen with a plate of food from the counter, sending one last look back at Blaine and Cooper.

    Blaine looked down at his shoes. "No."

    Cooper sighed and closed his eyes. Blaine wondered what he was thinking. He opened them a moment later. "Blaine, you know he's not going to be happy if he finds out you're going to auditions again."

    "I'm not going to auditions. I'm just— it was just one, okay? I'm not going to get a callback anyway, so it doesn't matter. It's nothing."

    "Blaine—"

    "Just drop it, Coop," Blaine said shortly, cutting him off. He didn't want or need to see the pity in his brother's eyes, didn't want to see the same realization that he couldn't live his dreams because they didn't match up with his father's. "I'm not going to drop out of college or anything. I'm almost done, anyway. I'll get my stupid Business degree, and go work with Dad, and we'll all forget I ever wanted anything else. That's how it works in our family, right? We forget about it and it goes away."

    Cooper studied him, worry in his eyes. "Blaine, I..." He trailed off. "I'm sorry, Blaine. But you know how he gets. It's better for everyone if you just..." he stopped again, hesitating.
   
    Blaine nodded. "It's fine."

    They looked at each other for a moment longer, eyes saying much more than words could. Cooper's said, It's not fine, and I'm sorry, and Blaine's said, I know.

    Cooper finally broke the tension. "Listen, I don't want you to get your clothes all messed up if you have a date tonight. Why don't you go help Santana take orders out there?"

    Blaine smiled, grateful. Cooper always knew when he shouldn't be left alone with his thoughts. "Yeah, I'll do that." Cooper nodded and turned away, presumably to start yelling at more people. "Thanks, Coop."

    Blaine grabbed an order pad and walked into the dining area. After consulting with Santana to figure out which tables he should take, he walked over to an elderly couple who looked about finished with their meal.

    "Hi, there," he said, plastering on his best smile. "Is there anything else I can get for you two?"

    The woman smiled at him, her eyes sparkling. "You're the young man who was playing the piano earlier, right?" He nodded. "Well, you have a lovely voice. Do you sing professionally?"

    Blaine's smiled dropped just a fraction. "Not anymore."