Kurt spent the day before his date with Blaine Anderson holed up in his room, comparing almost imperceptibly different shades of blue fabric for a presentation board he had to present on Monday. He had the whole weekend to work on it, but he knew he'd be able to enjoy himself much more if this were out of the way. He held two patches of gauzy fabric up to his eyes, looking from one to the other as he tried to determine what exactly made one baby orphan blue and the other cotton candy blue. He glanced back and forth for a moment longer, a headache pounding just behind his eyes, before giving up. He threw both fabrics on top of his desk, where they joined the alarming clutter of magazine spreads and cardboard figures that seemed to swim before his eyes. He needed a break.

He pushed away from his desk and used his feet to propel his swivel chair over to his bed, where his iPod lay abandoned where he had fallen asleep with it the night before. He put his earphones in and pressed shuffle; he didn't particularly care what he listened to, as long as the music took him far away from deadlines and fabric.

Kurt loved fashion. He really did. It was just that, when he was a kid, he had always envisioned himself performing in New York. That was what had kept him going in high school— the thrill of performing, and the blissful anticipation of following his dreams in the big city. Unfortunately, his dreams had had a bit of a struggle with reality. It had stung when Rachel had gotten into NYADA and he hadn't, but he always had his backup plan. Fashion. College had gone quickly and easily for him. Life in New York had turned into a workable routine. School, work, and coming home to Rachel, who was always brimming with stories of NYADA and the people she had met there. It hadn't taken long for his bitter smile at her excitement to turn sincere.

The truth was, when he had pictured himself in New York all those years ago, he'd always thought he would have someone to storm the city with; he'd always imagined a handsome guy on his arm, supporting his every endeavor. Rachel wasn't even there for him that often, since she was always off auditioning for one thing or the next. She had invited him to come along and audition as well, but ever since high school he'd been terrified of rejection. He hadn't really sung since Glee Club. He wasn't sure if he could even remember how to. Maybe it was the sort of thing you lost as you got older, like innocence or blatant honesty.

Kurt pressed a button on his iPod, checking the time. 5:54 p.m. It was almost time for his date. He found it ironic that Rachel was the one setting him up now, when she had come to him for advice about guys all those years ago in high school. What was he thinking? He didn't know a thing about relationships. He had been an outsider his entire life. He had friends in Glee Club, of course— Rachel, Finn, Tina, Mercedes— but none of them ever totally understood him. He's been alone for years. He'd never met that special someone, that missing piece that would soften his edges and fit around him perfectly. He hadn't even been kissed since the disaster with Karofsky. Alone in high school, and virtually alone in New York. He didn't have friends in the fashion world; it was far too cutthroat for that. Relationships, even friendly ones, didn't last long. He'd tried going to a few gay bars but had abandoned those attempts after a few nights, realizing that he had no interest in dating guys who went to gay bars to pick up guys. He really hoped Blaine wasn't one of those creeps who was only looking for a one-night stand. He needed more than that in his life. He needed someone to hold him together before he fell apart.

"Snap out of it," he said out loud, his voice rusty with disuse. God. This was why he shouldn't be alone. He always did this when he was left to his thoughts. He beat himself up and made things seem ten times more desolate and dramatic than they actually were. He needed to get out of his room before he went crazy.

He stood from his chair, stretching from feet to fingers. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror on the wall and groaned. He looked like a troll doll. His hair was standing on end after hours of running his fingers through it in frustration. That could be tamed. The bags under his eyes from the late night he’d had would hopefully yield to concealer. He would have to ask Rachel if he could borrow some of hers. He was surprised she hadn’t come into his room to bother him yet. She had texted him after her tap lessons the day before and told him not to wait up for her. Apparently she’d had a late night, too, but Kurt could only wonder whether her night had included a plus one.

Stifling a yawn, Kurt exited his room and padded down the hallway and into the living room. “Rachel?” He shivered and glanced at the thermostat. Rachel usually woke up first and turned it on so their apartment was warm when he got out of bed. But by this evening, after an entire day without the thermostat being on, the February air had seeped under the cracks in the walls and had turned their home into an icebox. He moved to crank the temperature up, then walked down the hallway to her room. He pressed his ear to the cold wood, listening. He didn’t hear anything.

Still, he wondered if she had finally found someone besides Finn, despite her assurances yesterday (and thousands of times before) that she wasn’t going to let guys distract her. It would be like Rachel to declare that one day and go crazy over a guy the very next. He wasn’t sure if she would go home with a guy . . . but then again, both he and Rachel had been so busy lately that they hadn’t really been talking much. For all he knew, she could have been seeing someone for awhile. Or maybe this was some sort of secret fling. It wasn’t entirely unlikely. He just hoped she wasn’t sleeping with a director or something crazy like that.

Rachel lived in the chaos of unintentional spontaneity. In some ways, she was made for New York. Kurt had always been jealous of her ability to adapt. She hadn’t spent a day in New York before she was out auditioning and schmoozing it up with directors at inclusive parties that God only knew how she found her way into. He, on the other hand, had spent the first two weeks of their New York life calling his father every four hours and watching re-runs of The Bachelorette while missing home like crazy.

Kurt knocked on Rachel’s door but heard no sounds of rustling within. He knocked again. Still nothing. “Rachel?” he called, his voice a hesitant whisper. Nothing but continued silence greeted him. He opened her door, shielding his eyes just in case, but no one called out. He curiously lowered his hand and glanced around the room. No Rachel. The only sign that she had been home the night before was the pink duffel bag she always carried from audition to audition. She must have slipped in during the late hours of the night and left again sometime earlier. He had been so engrossed in his work, he wouldn’t have noticed. But it was unlike her to leave without saying anything to him, especially considering he had a date for the first time in awhile. Normally she’d be driving him nuts with her comments and enthusiasm. He made a mental note to investigate what was going on with her when he was less stressed out. For now, he had a date to prepare for.

Nearly an hour later, Kurt had moisturized his face, found some of Rachel’s concealer under the sink, calmed and styled his hair, and dressed in what he hoped was appropriate for a first date. He wore his favorite pair of jeans and a red peacoat, thinking that he would wait for any subsequent dates before he pulled out the really unique stuff he had in his closet.

Frosty wind bit at his fingertips as he stepped outside of their apartment to brave the evening. His fingers fumbled with the key as he locked the door, and he absentmindedly wished he had decided to wear gloves.

Turning around, Kurt realized that Rachel had taken their shared VW Bug with her, wherever she was. A stir of annoyance seeped through him. They usually made a habit of telling each other when they’d need the car, but Kurt had assumed Rachel would leave it for him for his date. Cooper’s was a good ten minutes away without a car. There was no way he was walking in this weather. He’d have to call for a cab.

Luckily, they lived on a fairly busy street. A cab came by in less than a minute, and by 6:47, he was walking into Cooper's front door, rubbing his hands against his arms to warm up.

"Good evening!" The chirpy voice of Cooper's front desk woman greeted him. "Just one tonight?"

"Ah, no, I'm meeting someone," Kurt told her. "I'm just going to wait over in the bar area."

The woman nodded, already turning her attention to a couple who had walked in behind Kurt. He strolled past the desk and toward the bar, glancing around surreptitiously as he went. It wasn't until he had seated himself on a bar stool, sipping at a glass of lukewarm water, that it hit him.

He had no idea what Blaine Anderson looked like.

Of course. Leave it to Rachel to ruin my chances. Again. All he had to go on was "gorgeous eyes," and it's not like that was even a factual description. Beautiful to Rachel wasn't necessarily beautiful to him. Maybe he could have someone go onto the small stage that Cooper's used during live performances and do a PA for this Blaine guy.

Yeah, but then I'll sound like a mother who's lost her kid at the mall, he realized. Kurt glanced at the watch on his wrist. 6:52. He was still early. Maybe the best thing to do would be to wait a bit longer, then call Rachel and get some more information. Who knew, maybe Rachel had been a bit more thorough describing him to Blaine, and Blaine would find Kurt first.

He took another sip of his water, his mind wandering. He wondered what Blaine Anderson looked like. The name conjured up images of polo shirts and skinny jeans. He was probably a tall guy, with light brown hair. Maybe freckles. Rachel knew his type, so he wouldn't be totally out there. His eyes might be blue, or green. Something different. Lean, but with a build that says he definitely worked out. Blaine Anderson. He sounded like a beaded-bracelet-on-the-wrist type of guy.

"Hey— Kurt? Kurt!"

Kurt's head snapped up from his drink. He knew that voice. Santana Lopez came waltzing over and stopped in front of him, resting a tray against her hip. "Santana?" he asked, needing the verbal assurance that he was right.

"Well, if it isn't my favorite gay! Well . . . second favorite." She laughed, then gave him a once-over. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm here for a date. What are you doing here?" She looked exactly the same as he remembered her from high school. Curvy, self-assured, and with a deadly beauty that he was sure had destroyed more than a few men and women. "Is Brittany . . .?"

"Oh," she said, looking uncomfortable. "Um, no. She— we broke up." Santana looked away, vulnerability coloring her face. "She's still in Ohio." She brightened up. "But she's finishing up college! She's doing Dance at Ohio University." Santana allowed herself a small smile, looking proud.

"That's really great!" Kurt grinned. He was surprised how much he missed Brittany; she was always good for a laugh, and they had grown a lot closer during the student council presidential elections during their senior year. It was a shame that she and Santana had broken up, though. He had always thought that they helped each other. "What have you been doing these days? Besides, um, this," he added awkwardly, waving his arm around to indicate the restaurant.

Santana rolled her eyes. "Okay, no, Cooper's isn't exactly my dream job, but it pays the rent." She shrugged. "I've done a couple commercials. Modeling, mostly."

"Anything I've seen?" Kurt asked, intrigued. A lot of people in fashion design had turned onto its path only after realizing that modeling was a career choice wrought with failure. He didn't know anyone who had ever actually made it.

"Probably not. Low-scale stuff, mostly." She craned her head, looking down the row of bar stools. "So, you have a date? Where is he? Is he your boyfriend?"

Kurt shook his head. "It's a first date." He glanced at his watch. 7:01. "And he's officially late," he muttered.

"You should let me set you up." Santana smiled her Cheshire grin. "I know a guy who could use a date real bad."

Kurt raised his eyebrows. "I like my men punctual, not criminal. Anyway, Rachel's got the monopoly on setting me up."

"Berry? No way, is she living here, too?" She paused. "You know, it's funny— and I'll kill you if this gets to her— but I kind of miss that loud-mouth."

"You should come over sometime! We'll have a McKinley Reunion or something. I could always use a model for my designs."

"Oh, I will definitely take you up on that offer, Hummel." She glanced behind her at the steadily filling restaurant, then turned back to him. "I should go before I get yelled at. But here, let me give you my number."

Kurt dutifully pulled his phone out and added Santana's information before she was pulled back into the line of duty. He sat back in his seat with a smile, caught up in nostalgia. He wondered how the others from New Directions were doing. He felt guilty for losing contact with them so easily, but college and the bedlam of moving from the dorms to an apartment had kept him busy and also made it harder to keep track of information. He hadn't even known that Santana was living in New York. He'd have to ask her what she knew about everyone else the next time they talked.

A tap on the shoulder brought him out of his reverie. He turned his head to see a cute guy standing in front of him. He looked to be around Kurt's age, with floppy brown hair and big brown eyes that made Kurt instantly trust him. They stared at each other in silence for a moment, Kurt in anticipation and the other guy looking nervous.

"Kurt?" The guy smiled at him, and Kurt felt something in his chest flutter.

"Yeah, I'm Kurt," he said a bit breathlessly. "Are you Blaine?" The guy nodded after a brief pause. Kurt smiled, internally screaming Rachel's praise. She was right; he was adorable. Kurt didn't see what was so special about his eyes, but considering the guys Rachel had set him up with in the past, he was counting his blessings. Kurt patted the stool next to him and glanced at Blaine's hands while he moved to sit down. Thank god he's not wearing a ring.

"So, you're Blaine," Kurt said, still reeling at his luck. Rachel was the best.

"You can call me whatever you'd like." Blaine smiled, his eyes roaming over Kurt's body in a way that was simultaneously invasive and flattering.

"This is kind of awkward, huh?" Kurt asked, feeling a bit nervous. He hadn't done this in... ever. He'd never really gone on a date before, let alone a blind date. He suddenly felt completely unsure of himself. What if he looked terrible? What if he was socially inept and Blaine left him at the end of the night thinking he was insane?

"Just relax," Blaine told him. "By the end of the night, I'm sure we'll be totally comfortable with each other." He laughed, but Kurt didn't join in. Maybe he had praised Rachel too quickly. Blaine seemed a bit too...forward, for Kurt's taste.

"So, should we maybe— do you want to get a table and eat?" Kurt gestured toward the dining area.

"Oh yes," Blaine said, his smile growing wider. "I'm starving."

Kurt forced a smile. "Lead the way, then."

Blaine balanced a pile of dirty dishes in one hand and shoved the kitchen door open with his shoulder. He squeezed between two busboys, making his way toward the sink, but—

"Blaine, what are you doing?" Cooper grabbed his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks, and glanced at the large clock on the wall. "It's almost seven. Don't you have a date to be . . . dating?"

Blaine nodded quickly, not trusting himself to speak. I can't do this. His heart was pounding painfully. I can't do this. His palms were getting sweaty. I can't do this.

"Blaine?"

"I can't do this!" he blurted out loudly, frantically. "I can't do this, Coop!"

Cooper eyed him, nodding slowly, then seemed to come to a decision. He pried the plates from Blaine's grip and set them down on a counter, then grabbed Blaine's arm and dragged him into a storage room in the back.

"If you're planning on holding me hostage, I'd do it somewhere where there's less food," Blaine said, attempting to crack a joke. Cooper, understandably, ignored him.

"What's wrong, Blaine?" Blaine didn't say anything, not knowing where to start. Cooper leaned back against a shelf, fixing him with his most determined stare. "Look, I've got all night. But you have a date that you will be going on, so I suggest you start talking right about, oh—" he looked at an invisible watch on his wrist, then back to Blaine— "now."

Blaine opened his mouth, then closed it again, thinking. "I just— I can't do this, I don't know how to do this." He swallowed. "I haven't done this since..." He broke off. He couldn't face that. Not again. Not ever again.

Cooper broke the silence. "You aren't fifteen anymore, Blaine."

"I'm just as scared as if I were," Blaine retorted. He closed his eyes, and images flooded into his head. "Why should I put myself back in that situation again, Coop? The last time I went out with a guy, I—"

The school parking lot, Blaine and Zac surrounded by angry guys, Zac's hand being torn away from Blaine's, thinking runIhavetorunIhavetorun, and the last thing he sees before he's facedown on the concrete is Zac running away

"Blaine." Blaine opened his eyes, blinking his way out of the memories, to see Cooper staring at him, chocolate eyes filled with concern. "You're twenty-two. You can take care of yourself now. And besides, I'm here this time. Nothing's going to happen. You know that, right?" He held Blaine's gaze until Blaine nodded. "Nothing like that is ever gonna happen again. Especially tonight. This isn't Ohio. You don't have to be afraid anymore."

Blaine laughed, the sound hollow in his ears. "I'm not afraid of being hurt... physically. I'm afraid of being left again."

Cooper sighed. "Blaine, you know you can't control that. You don't get to choose whether you get left behind or not. I'm sorry, but you can't. And that's no reason to stop living. People still care about you. Not everyone leaves. I'm still here, right? And that's a real accomplishment, 'cause you can be quite the overbearing little bastard sometimes." Cooper winked at him, and Blaine couldn't help but give a faint smile. "Look, I can't guarantee things are going to be fine. But you will be, in the end." He let that sink into Blaine's head for a moment before clapping him on the shoulder. "So, go have a good time. Please."

Blaine nodded. "I will. I guess I was just..."

"I know."

"Thanks, Coop." He tried to let his voice fill in all the unsaid gratitude that had built up over the years.

Cooper smiled, and somehow, Blaine thought he knew. "That's what I'm here for. Have a good date, Blainers." Cooper left then, and Blaine thought he heard him mutter something about premature grey hairs as he went.

Blaine took a minute to collect himself before he followed Cooper out of the storage room and into the kitchen. He glanced at the large clock in the wall. It was already 7:09. He hoped Kurt hadn't been waiting for too long. Straightening his tie, he pushed open the kitchen doors and entered the dining area, looking around with his head held high.

He was ready. He could do this. He had confidence. He had poise. He had...

...no idea what Kurt Hummel actually looked like.

Well, shit.