Blaine wasn’t sure why Rachel had suddenly taken such an interest in him, but when she had shown up at Cooper’s earlier that morning, she had talked at him at one hundred words a minute until he had agreed to whatever she was proposing. Not a second later, she had hooked her arm around his and dragged him outside, only giving him enough time to shout goodbye to a bemused Cooper. Now he was sitting across from her in a quiet Starbucks, trying to keep up with her insane chatter and wondering when and if she would stop her monologue to take a breath.

            “—and I talked to my boyfriend, and he thinks we could find out who’s been casted for the larger roles as early as next week!” Rachel beamed at Blaine and patted his hand on the table affectionately.

            “Your boyfriend?” Blaine asked, chewing around a bite of biscotti. He had found that one of the best strategies for handling Rachel was to just repeat the last thing she had said in the form of a question. So far, it had worked perfectly.

            “His uncle’s the casting director,” Rachel informed him proudly, as if it were only through the boyfriend’s ingenuity that he had been born related to someone in the business.

            “He’s his uncle’s nephew?” Blaine asked, more than a little distracted. Rachel’s phone was sitting on the table, and it had just lit up with a new text from Kurt. He wondered what it said. He could just imagine the way Kurt texted— witty, with dry humor and probably perfect grammar.

            He tore his gaze away from the phone, only to see Rachel looking at him with a mixture of pity and amusement. He quickly lifted his cup to his lips to avoid her knowing gaze.

            “Blaine,” she started, a sigh hiding underneath her words, “if you really want to talk to him—”

            “So you haven’t gotten a callback or any notice from anyone about Wicked?” he asked abruptly, purposefully steering the conversation into a more comfortable territory—or at least, a subject in which he could hold his own without turning into a stammering idiot. Thankfully, Rachel dropped the topic of Kurt in favor of what seemed to be her obsession.

            “Not yet,” she said, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. “I mean, it’s only been a week, but if I was absolutely perfect for the part, they would have said something by now… wouldn’t they?”

            Blaine swallowed the last bite of his biscotti and placed his hand on hers. “Just give it time. If they don’t pick you, you’re crazy. I heard some of your audition when I was backstage. You gave me goosebumps.” He smiled at her.

            “Thanks, Blaine,” she said gratefully, giving him a shy smile in return.

            “It’s the truth,” he said simply, returning to his coffee.

            “Oh, how did your audition go?” she asked him, scooting forward in her seat in excitement.

            Blaine shrugged noncommittally. “I’ve had better,” he admitted. After talking with Rachel for the past hour about all the preparation she had gone through to be perfect for her audition, he was embarrassed about his own lackluster efforts. “It was kind of a last-minute decision.”

            “I had the impression that you weren’t too gung ho about the whole thing when we talked at Cooper’s,” she said, nodding.

            “I wasn’t, really.”

“So what made you come?” she asked him, her eyes brimming with curiosity.

Kurt.  He couldn’t confess that, of course. He had woken up on Tuesday and begun to get ready for a meeting he had at the firm, as planned. It wasn’t until he was in Cooper’s car with the engine running that he realized he wasn’t going to the office. His eyes had landed on the crumpled flyer that he had haphazardly thrown onto the floor of the car, and almost without any effort on his part, he had ended up in front of the theater.

He hadn’t known that Kurt would be there at that moment; he hadn’t even seen him. But something had been wrong ever since he came back to New York. Ever since he left New York for the first time. It wasn’t until he was walking into the theater with sweaty palms and shaky legs that he felt… right. It was almost as if his body had recognized the proximity of Kurt and realized that it was the exactly what he needed to relax.

It was too crazy to admit to Rachel—he still wasn’t sure he had fully admitted it to himself. So he avoided her question clumsily. “Thanks for letting me know about the auditions, Rachel,” he finally said, running his fingers through his hair absentmindedly. “I mean, there’s no way I’m getting the part, but I’m glad I auditioned.”

            “Don’t say that!” Rachel said, her eyes widened in shock at his self-deprecation despite the fact that she had spent the last hour telling him the very same thing about herself. “You have to be confident in yourself. That’s one of the first things I learned in Glee club, and it’s probably the most important lesson I learned in high school.”

            Blaine quickly looked up. “Glee club?” he asked, trying but failing to keep the interest out of his voice. “Did K— I mean— what was your Glee club like?” He knew Kurt had been in Glee club, but he wanted to know how he had liked it. Whether he had gotten a lot of solos. What his voice sounded like when he sang. Whether he missed it. But he couldn’t possibly ask any of that. He couldn’t possibly let Rachel know how much he cared. It wasn’t his place to care.

             “Glee club was amazing. The kids in New Directions were and are my best friends.” Rachel smirked at him, wagging her finger in remonstrance. “But I’m assuming you want to know about Kurt?”

            Blaine sputtered, almost choking on a mouthful of coffee. “Oh… no. No. I wasn’t—I mean, I just—

            Rachel laughed. “It’s okay, Blaine. I know you like him.”

            “I didn’t say that,” he told her, frowning.

            “You didn’t have to,” she said simply, handing him an extra napkin to wipe up a bit of coffee that had dribbled onto his cheek. “It’s written all over you.”

            Blaine bit his lip, not sure how to respond to that. He could go blue in the face telling himself to stop thinking about Kurt, but if Rachel could see through his efforts so easily… He would have to try harder.

            He stood up, gathering his almost empty cup and the napkin he had used to clean up. “Listen, it was nice having coffee with you, but I should go.” There it was—his fight-or-flight response, coming to the rescue in its typical fashion. Blaine wondered if maybe he had been made wrong. Maybe some crucial part of his make-up had been left out. Or maybe the universe had a particular brand of humor that he wasn’t in on.

            Rachel looked up, surprised. “What, already?” She sighed. “I pushed too much, didn’t I? Kurt’s always telling me that not everyone wants to hear my opinion all the time…”

            Kurt. Again. Blaine needed to leave, now. He needed to get away from dangerous subjects—or at least, he needed to get away from the subject of Kurt. “It’s not your fault,” Blaine lied, picking up his briefcase. “I promised Cooper I would help out at the restaurant today. He’s going to kill me for taking off for coffee with you.”

            Rachel’s brow was furrowed, but she thankfully didn’t question him any further. “We’ll do this again, though, right?” she asked, looking at him anxiously.

            Blaine nodded and mustered up a sincere smile. “Definitely. I had a great time talking to you.”

            Rachel wouldn’t let him leave until they had decided to meet again for coffee the following week. He was actually grateful that she was so persistent in being his friend. Whatever her reasons, he was flattered that she seemed to enjoy spending time with him. She was a bit overwhelming at times, but in the end, Rachel was a sweet girl. And as much as he denied the fact to Cooper, he was lonely. He had a feeling that, if he gave it enough time, he and Rachel would end up being friends. After all, Kurt had to like her for a good reason.

            Not that it’s any of my business who Kurt likes or doesn’t like, he reminded himself as he drove to Cooper’s. He focused on the clouds outside, the way they hid behind buildings before emerging bright and pristine on the other side.

            Today, he was happy. And that was all that mattered.

            Blaine maintained his good mood for the approximately ten minutes it took him to drive to Cooper’s and park in his brother’s spot. Then, with the typically terrible timing that his father seemed to proudly cultivate, his phone started ringing.

            Blaine closed his eyes for a moment, feeling a sudden weariness crashing over him. That was all it took. One phone call, one insistent “Dad is calling you” notification flashing across his screen. One second to ruin his day, to remind him that he wasn’t free, as much as he tried to deceive himself.

            He took a deep breath, then answered the phone.

            “Blaine,” his father answered before he even had a chance to say hello. His voice was shaking with a tightly controlled fury. Although Blaine couldn’t say what the source of his anger was, he could guess who the target would be.

            “What can I do for you?” Blaine asked tiredly. A better question would have been, What have I done wrong? or How much of a disappointment am I this time?

        “That’s a good question, Blaine,” his father snapped, “because you obviously can’t complete one simple task that I set you to!”

            Blaine pulled the keys out of the ignition and leaned back in his chair, pressing his head against the seat’s headrest. His father didn’t require an answer, most of the time. He would use Blaine’s silence as an opportunity to throw insults and condemnations at him, to remind him yet again why he would never end up as good as his father, or even half as successful as Cooper.

            But the other line was silent, only the sound of his father’s breathing leaking through the receiver.

            “I’ll do better next time,” Blaine offered, his words devoid of any emotion but passivity. He wasn’t even entirely sure what his father was upset about. He certainly hadn’t told him about the Wicked auditions. He would be disowned or dead by now if he had.

            “I can’t expect anything from you,” his father spat. Blaine could practically see him, pacing the length of his office, running his hand through his hair in agitation—traits that Blaine had inherited. “How can you skip a meeting when we’re in the middle of the final stages of setting up this firm, and then turn around and tell me you’ll do better?”

            Ah. That’s what this was about. The meeting he had skipped on Tuesday. Blaine wondered which employee had told his father that he hadn’t shown up. Maybe Richardson, who had stared at him with barely disguised contempt when he announced he was spearheading the revival of the New York branch. Or it could have been Williams, who had flat-out announced, in Blaine’s presence, that he did not support “the gay invasion” and never would. The musings had no venom in them, though; his father demanded loyalty and submission, as Blaine had well learned by now. Anyone who didn’t adhere to those standards faced the consequences.

            “I’m sorry, sir,” Blaine said, reverting to the formal title he used on his father whenever he wanted to appease him. “Missing a meeting when there is so much on the line is inexcusable. It won’t happen again.”

            Usually that was enough to mollify his father’s ire, but apparently he had crossed a line this time. “Damn right it won’t happen again,” his father growled. “If it happens again, you can say goodbye to this trust, Blaine. Do you understand what I’ve given you? Not just a job, but a future. If you want to throw all that away…”

            Blaine heard the quiet threat that rested underneath his words. If he wanted to throw that away, then he was also throwing away his family. While he couldn’t give a damn about his father, his mother was another story. “I understand, sir.”

            “What exactly was so important that you left a roomful of my colleagues waiting?”

            “I was…” He hesitated, his mind reeling. What could he say? Not the truth, obviously. His father’s anger at him missing a meeting was nothing compared to how livid he would be if he knew that Blaine was still singing—and even worse, was actively pursuing musical theater. He had to lie. “I was sick.”

            “Sick?” His dad would have stopped his pacing by now, his eyes narrowing as he tried to sniff out Blaine’s lie. “With what?”

            “The stomach flu,” Blaine said immediately, the lie coming easily to his lips. Cooper had had it two weeks before. “I caught it from Cooper.”

            “And you’ve recovered already?” His father asked coolly. “How remarkable.”

            “I have a great immune system,” Blaine answered. He knew he was playing a dangerous game, but there was no way his father could prove that he was lying. He would tell Cooper to cover for him on the off chance that his dad called to verify his story.

            “Well, we can’t afford for you to be sick any longer. Make sure you and your brother keep yourselves healthy,” his father ordered.

            Blaine bit back an angry retort. It figured that his own father didn’t even care about his health unless it was a deterrent to his precious business. “Yes, sir.”

            He waited for a response, but a second later, the dial tone sounded. He had been hung up on. Of course. He had served his purpose for tonight.

            Blaine shoved his phone into his pocket and let out a frustrated groan. He hated not being able to talk back to his dad when he was being so unfair. He hated that he still felt obligated to bow down to his every wish. He hated how one word from his father turned him into a little kid again, powerless to do anything but nod and say “yes, sir.”

            He climbed out of the car and slammed the door shut. He heaved a sigh and looked up at the sky, but this time, the freely moving clouds were a mockery rather than a comfort.

            When he stormed into Cooper’s kitchen a minute later, his brother took one look at him before stopping him in his tracks and turning him around to face the door again.

            “Go have some fun,” Cooper ordered, seizing the apron from under Blaine’s arm. “You look like you did when you were eight and I hid your favorite toy.”

            “I don’t want to have fun,” Blaine muttered, trying to snatch the apron back. But Cooper held it up above his head, and Blaine hadn’t yet lost his dignity enough to try jumping for it.

            Cooper tossed the apron on the counter behind him, then grabbed a metal tin that was lying next to it. He held it up in front of Blaine’s face.

            “You see that?” Cooper asked, pointing to the tin, where the grainy reflection of a surly, scowling man with half-gelled, half-wild hair was staring back at him. “That is not the face I need customers to be greeted with. You’ll make them lose their appetite.”

            “Gee, thanks, Coop,” Blaine said sarcastically.

            “I’m running a business here, Blainers. But I’m also your older brother. And I am advising you to go occupy yourself until we close tonight.” He tossed the tin back on the counter. “And not by yourself,” he added as an afterthought.

            Blaine grimaced. “And what if I don’t want to occupy myself?”

            Cooper grinned. “Then—and I’m speaking as your landlord of sorts now—you can expect to be locked out of the apartment until tomorrow.”

            “You wouldn’t,” Blaine said, narrowing his eyes at his brother.

            “Maybe not.” Cooper raised an eyebrow. “But are you willing to risk it?” He paused, waiting for an answer, then smiled smugly when he received none. “I didn’t think so.”

            Blaine sighed as Cooper started pushing him out of the kitchen doors and into the dining room, but didn’t protest any further. He knew that Cooper was stubborn and probably would lock Blaine out of the apartment for the night. So, he allowed himself to be thrown out of Cooper’s, but it wasn’t until he was back in the car, the engine rumbling impatiently, that he realized he had no one to spend the day with.

            He mentally ran through the list of people he knew in the city. Cooper was obviously working, as was Santana, so both of them were out. He had just finished having coffee with Rachel, and while she would probably be delighted to spend another couple hours discussing Wicked and Glee club, he would feel desperate if he called her right after telling her he had to leave to help at the restaurant. And there was no way he was going out with any of the guys from the firm. The last thing he needed was to give his father’s spies more evidence of his shortcomings.

            Well, that’s pathetic. Twenty-four years old and alone in New York City. He literally couldn’t find even one person to spend a couple hours with. What had he been doing for his entire life that had left him with an inability to retain some best friends?

            He pulled out his phone and began mindlessly scrolling through his contacts list. There had to be someone he knew who lived nearby and with whom it wouldn’t be awkward to connect with.

            Adam from the Warblers, no, I barely knew him… David’s out, he lives in Connecticut now… Garrett from college? No, he was kind of a pretentious prick, now that I think about it… Hiram… Ingrid… no, no…Kurt…

        His finger paused, hovering over the little black name on his screen. Kurt Hummel.

            He could.

            But he shouldn’t.

            Why not?

            Nothing was stopping him from just calling Kurt and asking him if he wanted to hang out. It wouldn’t have to be a date. It could just be two people—two sort-of friends—spending a day together. There was no harm in that, right?

            After another minute of fighting with himself, he pressed the Call icon next to Kurt’s name.

            “What did you two talk about?”

            “Kurt, I already told you—”

            “Look, I’m just curious,” Kurt insisted.

            Rachel had come back from her unannounced coffee date as smug as a kitten. All morning, she had been taunting him with vague hints about Blaine, dangling details over his head with a grin that bordered on psychotic. He was going to go crazy if she didn’t tell him something of value. It was taking all of his self-control to hide from Rachel the fact that his interest went beyond professional motives. He had a definite thing for Blaine Anderson.

            “What do you want me to tell you?” Rachel asked, calmly sipping what he could only assume was fermented fragments of his soul. She looked at him owlishly, her mouth still spread into that crazy grin.

            He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to convince himself to breathe before he could reach over the kitchen table and throttle Rachel. “Did he say anything I would be interested in?” he asked, careful not to flat-out ask what he really wanted to know— if Blaine had mentioned him.

            “Oh, Kurt,” Rachel said, shaking her head at him like he was the silliest thing she had seen all day, “you know I can’t tell you that.”

            “And why not?” Kurt stared down at her imperiously.

            “Because that would betray the trust that Blaine and I have!” Rachel said, her voice somehow more shrill than usual.

            “You do realize that I am your best friend?” he asked slowly.

            “Yes,” she said, exasperated. “But how would you like it if I told Blaine how you feel about him?”

            “How I—Rachel—I don’t—“ Kurt sputtered, feeling his ears warming up. “I don’t even know him.”

        Rachel took another sip from her mug, smiling at him. "Then why do you care so much?"

            “Okay, just—just stop with that look,” Kurt hissed. “We kissed once. Once. It didn’t even mean anything because we were both drunk. Then he disappeared for a year and we’ve only spoken twice since he’s been back. I don’t feel anything for him other than a casual interest, and I’m sure he feels the same way about me.”

            Rachel smirked. “You keep telling yourself that, Kurt.”

            “Rachel—”

            The muffled sound of a ringtone interrupted his words. He stalked out of the kitchen, shooting one last glare at Rachel, and followed the noise to the couch. He fished his phone out from between the couch cushions, where it must have fallen the last time he had sat there, then glanced at the screen. An unfamiliar number with a New York area code was calling him. Probably one of the Wicked crew, looking for Susan’s number. He was supposed to be off today, but most of the crew didn’t seem to respect human necessities like rest and relaxation.

            “Hi, you’ve reached Kurt Hummel,” Kurt droned on autopilot. “If you’re looking for Susan—”

            “No, this is—this is Blaine. How are you?”

            Kurt froze, his mouth open mid-sentence. “Blaine,” he repeated dumbly.

            “Yes?” Blaine asked, sounding as if he weren’t sure he had called the right number.

            “Blaine,” Kurt said, feeling more than a little awed. Blaine had seemed so reluctant to talk to Kurt the last time they’d spoken, and he hadn’t seemed eager to plan any further conversations with Kurt in the future. He seemed to have no problem with Rachel, but when it came to Kurt, he was distant. So to have Blaine calling him right now, sounding so friendly, was messing with Kurt’s version of reality.

            “Hi,” Blaine said, and there was definitely a hint of laughter in the word.

            Kurt found his words at last. “Blaine, yes, hi,” he said, scrambling to recover from his initial faux pas. “Why are you calling?” Kurt winced as soon as he asked the question. Way to be polite.

            Rachel peeked her head around the corner, a mouthful of vegan banana bread bulging between her cheeks. She pointed to the phone, a quizzical look on her face.

            Kurt  flapped his free arm at her, mouthing Go away.

            Rachel, as he should have expected, approached his side, crowding next to his ear to listen to the receiver.

            He shifted away from her just in time to hear Blaine talking.

            “I had coffee with Rachel earlier,” Blaine offered.

            Kurt nodded, not sure what Blaine was trying to say, then realized that he couldn’t be seen. “So I hear,” he answered drily, glancing at Rachel, who was trying to sneak around him to place her ear near the receiver again.

            “We, um, we had a lot of fun,” Blaine continued.

            Kurt rolled his eyes. He really didn’t need someone else telling him what good friends Blaine and Rachel were becoming—especially if that person was Blaine. “I see…”

            “And then I was supposed to go to work—at Cooper’s, I mean—not that I work there, per se, but I help my brother out…” Blaine trailed off, giving a little cough that Kurt couldn’t help but think was slightly adorable.

            “Uh-huh,” Kurt prompted. Obviously Blaine wasn’t calling just to tell him about his day…. Or was he? He couldn’t seem to make sense of the guy.

            “Basically-Cooper-told-me-to-distract-myself-and-I-was-thinking-I-don’t–know-maybe-you-wanted-to-do-something,” Blaine said in a rush.

            There was a quiet pause while Kurt tried to process and comprehend what Blaine meant.

            “Do something?”

            “Do something. With me,” Blaine clarified. “Today.”

            Kurt licked his lips nervously and glanced at Rachel, who had obviously heard everything, judging by the gleeful look on her face. She nodded at him in encouragement, gesturing at the phone, but he could only lower it from his face and stare at it, dumbfounded.

            “Say yes,” she whispered, probably just loud enough for Blaine to hear.

            He nodded mutely, then shook his head. Blaine was asking him out. Blaine was asking him out. Blaine was asking him out. How could he compute this? It was impossible.

            Rachel groaned impatiently, then snatched the cell phone from the limp grasp he had on it. “Blaine?” she asked. She paused, listening. “Yes, it’s Rachel. Kurt can’t talk right now, but he says he’d love to.” She glanced at Kurt for confirmation, but he could only nod at her again. “Okay… yeah… perfect. Bye, Blaine!”

            Kurt held his hand out for the phone, which Rachel gently pressed into his palm.

            “Did Blaine just ask me out?” he was finally able to ask. “Or was I dreaming?”

            Rachel pinched his arm without warning.

            “Ouch!”

            “Nope, not dreaming.” Rachel giggled. “The man of your dreams, maybe…”

            They grinned at each other, then hooked arms and headed to Kurt’s room.

            They had two hours to make a game plan.