Blaine found himself looking around the room, his mind blank. How was he supposed to find Kurt? All that the Rachel girl had told him about Kurt's appearance was that he had a "great head of hair." He couldn't very well go up to every single man in the place, assume they were gay, and ask, "Excuse me, do you know a short brunette who talks a mile an hour and thinks your hair is superb?"

He shifted from foot to foot, weighing his options as the kitchen door opened and closed behind him. This was insane. Insane. This was so unlike him. He never did things like this. He wasn't usually so spontaneous... the whole night was just crazy. A girl he had just met, at an audition he shouldn't have even gone to, set him up with a supposedly handsome gay guy that she conveniently knew, leaving Blaine with no real description to find aforementioned guy. Why was he even doing this?

Because you need to, he told himself. You need this. He would sit down, he decided. He could do that, just sit and wait and see if anyone came up to him. That would be okay.

He resisted the urge to go sit down at the piano bench— he would just get distracted and lost in the music— and instead sat down on one of the bar stools in the corner where he could see Cooper's front door. He checked his watch and relaxed a bit when he saw that it was only 7:12. It wasn't too late; Kurt might be running a bit late. Who knew how far away he lived? After all, Blaine knew nothing about him besides the fact that he worked in fashion, loved music, and apparently had hair that was to die for. Just in case, Blaine ran his eyes over the people sitting along the bar; the only guy he saw was about fifty and had a mullet, and somehow he didn't think that Kurt Hummel, self-acclaimed fashion genius, would be caught dead in a mullet.

Blaine settled back on the stool, leaning his arms against the counter behind him in a manner that he hoped looked nonchalant and sexy. Or at least didn't look like a way to hide his nerves, which it was. He hated waiting, but waiting is what he would have to do.

Ten minutes passed. Blaine told himself that twenty-two minutes wasn't that late. Maybe Kurt Hummel was having car problems.

And twenty-five minutes late wasn't that bad. Kurt had probably just fixed his car and was on his way to the restaurant now. He'd probably burst in and meet Blaine's gaze from across the restaurant, and they'd have one of those cinematic moments where they would run into each other's arms and realize they were absolutely perfect for each other.

And, really, a half hour late wasn't terrible. It was late, but not horrible. Maybe Kurt's car was still broken down, and he needed to find a cab, but there were none going by. The weather was kind of windy tonight. Maybe that's why he wasn't here yet.

By 7:40, Blaine began to think that he'd missed Kurt. He peered around the restaurant again, but all he could see were happily dining couples. He thought he could even see a gay couple sitting near the door, the guy facing him telling an animated story to his date. Blaine tried not to feel bitter at the sight.

At 7:45, Blaine gave up. Kurt Hummel wasn't coming. Either he forgot, or was too busy, or Blaine had been pranked by a girl who dressed like she was still in middle school. Whatever the reason, he had been stood up. For some reason, all he could feel was a numb sense of relief. It was almost better this way, better to be hurt before he met Kurt than broken afterwards. Yes, things were better this way.

Santana breezed past him then, her hair coming undone from the ponytail she wore it in at the beginning of her shifts. She looked frazzled, and Blaine felt guilt wash over him; usually he was around to help out on the tables, but tonight he had wasted forty-five minutes waiting for a specter. He waited until she had taken another table's order, then grabbed the back pocket of her apron as she flew past him. She stopped and turned to face him, her brow creased in puzzlement.

"What's up, Anderson? What happened with the date?" She peered around him, as if Blaine was hiding a guy behind the bar counter or something.

"He didn't show up," Blaine said shortly. "I don't want to talk about it. Do you need some help out here?"

Santana looked stricken. "Oh, sweetie..."

Blaine sighed and rubbed a hand through his hair, causing a few locks to spring free of their carefully applied confinement of gel. "Look, it's fine. I'm fine. I just need to be doing something right now, okay? Where can I help out?"

Santana looked as though she wanted to protest, but she just pursed her lips and directed him to one side of the room while she left to serve the other. He was grateful that she had dropped it. The last thing he wanted to do was go back over his rejection. All he wanted to do was go back to the apartment he shared with Cooper and sleep for a couple of days, but he knew he had to try to keep himself present or he'd start wallowing in self-pity.

Blaine showed a few entering customers to their seats, delivered their drinks, then took their orders to the cooks in the back. The place was still busy, but the steady trickle of incoming diners had slowed down. Santana and Kelly, the other waitress working tonight, were still rushing around with harried expressions. As Santana rushed past him yet again, he called, "Hey, is there anything—"

"Can you just check up on that table over there? I think they're ready to leave," she shouted over her shoulder, jerking her thumb to indicate which table she meant. Blaine glanced in the direction she had pointed and groaned. The gay couple from before. Of course. Just to rub salt in his wound.

Blaine looked around in desperation, but no tables needed his immediate attention. He might as well get it over with. With a sigh, he approached the table.

"Are you finished?" he asked its occupants dully, not even bothering to wear a smile or look up from his order pad. He heard one of the men trail off and belatedly realized that he had interrupted their conversation. He was too upset about his night to feel guilty about it, though, and decided that one night of lost decorum was deserved in his case.

"You work here?"

Blaine raised his head in time to see that the guy he had interrupted was a) cute in a puppy-dog manner, and b) probably cuter without the sneer of contempt he was currently modeling. Blaine realized he wasn't wearing his apron or nametag, which was probably the source of the confusion. He didn't care to explain his situation to these two strangers who obviously didn't have a problem finding and maintaining dates, though.

"Yes. Yes, I do," he answered mechanically. "Is there anything else I can get you?"

Puppy Boy turned to address his partner, the guy in a red pea coat whose back Blaine had seen earlier. "Do you want dessert now, or should you and I save that for later?" He winked at the other guy, and Blaine resisted the urge to gag.

"Do I know you?"

An awkward silence arose in the time it took for Blaine to realize that the classically high voice coming from Pea Coat was directed at him. He blinked and focused on the guy's face instead of his clothes. "Me?"

"Yes..." He was looking at Blaine with his head tilted, his brilliant eyes trained on Blaine's. Blaine wanted to look away, but those eyes... they were mesmerizing.

"Um. No," Blaine said, still staring into the boy's eyes. Blaine shook his head a bit, distracted, then made a quick scan of his face. He looked to be around Blaine’s age, maybe a couple years older. He had high cheekbones, eyes that looked like they were made of distilled ocean whirlpools, carefully styled hair, and he dressed like an aristocrat. The clothes were common in New York, but Blaine would have remembered that voice if he had heard it before, and he definitely would have remember those eyes.

The boy was still gazing at him, his eyes narrowed a bit. His gaze made Blaine fidget. “Uh, is there anything else I can do for you?” he muttered, forcing himself to look at Puppy Boy.

“I guess we don’t want dessert, right?” He looked at his date to confirm, then rolled his eyes when he saw that his date was still staring at Blaine.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, giving a soft, tinkling laugh that Blaine immediately and inexplicably wanted to hear again. “I just... I swear I know you. Not your face, but... I don’t know, your voice is so familiar.”

Blaine shrugged. He didn’t like being noticed, even if it was by an extraordinarily handsome and obviously gay guy. He hadn’t done anything noteworthy with his life, so being noticed meant something bad or embarrassing, neither of which were memory types he cared to dwell on at the moment.

Puppy Boy sighed loudly, and both Blaine and Pea Coat looked at him. “Can we just get the check, then?”

Blaine nodded. “I’ll be right back.” He turned on his heel, grateful at the chance to walk away, but was stopped by that musical voice.

“Wait.”

Blaine turned, eyebrows raised expectantly. The boy looked as if he wanted to say something, but just gave a puzzled smile and shook his head. “Can you call for a cab, too, please?”

Blaine nodded and walked back into the kitchen to get their check. The weird thing was, the boy was slightly familiar. There was something about him that jogged something in Blaine’s memory— nothing specific, but enough for him to feel that he hadn’t been entirely honest when he said he didn’t recognize the guy.

“Blaine!” The sound of Cooper’s exasperated voice sounded from right in front of him, and Blaine let thoughts of vaguely recognizable boys leave his mind. “Am I going to have to ban you from the kitchen?” he threatened. “It’s just a date, for god’s sake!”

“The date...” Blaine hesitated. He really didn’t want to delve back into the topic. He didn’t want any more sympathetic looks and reassuring words tonight. “...is over,” he lied. Cooper studied him, giving Blaine the distinct impression that his brother was once again displaying his particular skill of knowing when Blaine was lying, but thankfully didn’t push the subject. Blaine grabbed the check and walked back out of the kitchen. There were enough people coming in and leaving now that he thankfully sank back into the comfort of distraction.

Thoughts of the boy with the beautiful eyes avoided him for the rest of the night.

Kurt shoved his hands in the pocket of his pea coat in a last-ditch effort to retain some body heat. Now that he was stuck out in the cold waiting for his cab, he wished more than ever that Rachel had revealed some hitherto unknown considerate nature and left the car for him. He wanted nothing more than to go home and collapse on his bed. The entire night had been a disaster.

"Well, that was fun." Blaine's voice came from a place that was much too close to Kurt for comfort. He was huddled up against Kurt's side for some reason, and if Kurt wasn't attempting to hold onto some semblance of politeness, he would have shoved him off long before. "Kurt?"

Kurt hated the way his name sounded on Blaine's tongue. He savored the word in a way that was far too familiar for having only known Kurt for a day. Kurt gritted his teeth, ignoring him. Fortunately, the cab arrived before Blaine could say anything else. Unfortunately, the cab's arrival brought with it another set of questions.

"Your place or mine?"

Kurt abandoned his strategy of ignoring Blaine and instead turned to him, disbelief coloring his cheeks. "Excuse me?"

Blaine grinned his stupid, cocky grin and took a step closer, crowding Kurt's space even more. He leaned in toward Kurt's ear. "I said," he whispered, his warm breath ghosting over Kurt's ear, "your place or mine?"

It took all of Kurt's self-control to stop himself from leaning away. He was not going to back down first. He wouldn't give Blaine the satisfaction. After a night of being ignored and subtly insulted, he had to have at least one small victory. He would not back down.

"Neither," he answered, still staring straight ahead at the road.

Blaine chuckled. "I didn't know voyeurism was your thing, but it's kind of hot." His mouth moved from Kurt's ear to Kurt's mouth, and before Kurt knew it, Blaine's lips were moving roughly against his.

The contact lasted only a second before Kurt shoved Blaine hard, sending him stumbling back several feet. Kurt was shaking, but he wasn't sure whether it was in anger, shock, fear, or some combination of the three.

Blaine caught his balance just before he almost fell off the curb. He wheeled to face Kurt, his face red. "What is your problem?" he shouted. Passersby were starting to stare at them now. The cab driver was watching with wide eyes from his car. Kurt didn't care. All he wanted was to get far, far away where he could force his heart to stop pounding and his lips to stop tingling in peace.

"Don't . . . ever . . . touch me again," Kurt said slowly, calmly. He was afraid that if he opened his mouth too wide or spoke too loudly, he would either start yelling or sobbing. This was high school all over again. The entire evening had been too close for comfort.

Kurt turned away from Blaine and got into the waiting cab without looking back. He gave the driver his address and settled back against the seat, purposely losing himself in thought.

Maybe he just wasn't cut out for dating. Every time he had tried to, it had ended up being a disaster. Maybe no one existed for him. Or maybe he was going about the whole thing wrong. Who said he had to go looking for his soul mate? From now on, he would focus on his internship. If Lady Fate wanted him to have a guy, she could cover him in gift wrap and a bow tie and maybe then Kurt would know it was the right guy for him. Until then, he'd rededicate his passions into fashion design.

The cab came to a stop right behind the Bug in front of his apartment. Kurt realized with a sliver of dread that Rachel must be home. He really didn't feel like rehashing the events of the night right now, but no doubt she was waiting up to find out how it had gone.

After paying the cab driver, Kurt dragged himself up the steps to the second floor, stopping in front of door 204. After a moment of mentally preparing himself to face the tornado that was Rachel, he opened the door.

"KURT!"

One step in the door and Rachel had thrown herself at him, her arms wrapping around him as she squealed into his chest. He stifled a laugh and peeled her off of him. "Jeez, Rach, at least let me inside!"

"Sorry, I just missed you." She laughed and took a step back, letting him move around her and to the couch, which he collapsed on with a relieved sigh.

"I saw you yesterday morning," he pointed out, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards despite his bad night. Rachel had that effect on him.

"I know, I know," Rachel said, waving her hand in the air dismissively. She threw herself down beside him on the couch and leaned her head on his shoulder. "But I have so much to tell you."

"You... do?" Kurt asked, surprised. He figured she would be dying to know about his date, but instead she seemed anxious to get something off of her chest. Nervous, almost. "Does it have something to do with where you were last night?"

Rachel straightened up, and Kurt was even more surprised to see her face redden. "Well, yes," she admitted. "I was— well, don't laugh, Kurt, but I was out."

Kurt waited for her to elaborate, but she said nothing. "You were out."

She nodded, biting her lip.

"On a date?" he asked, being careful not to sound too judgmental.

She nodded again. "Oh, Kurt, I know I keep telling you that I'm going to forget about dating, but I met him at an audition and he was so supportive of me, and I really, really like him, Kurt."

He glanced at her, noticing the far-away gleam in her shining eyes. He knew that look. He had seen that look a million times before, and he had been there to pick up the pieces after things fell apart. He knew he couldn't convince her not to date this guy, whoever he was; once Rachel started pursuing something, she only stopped when she crashed.

He searched for a truth he could say without insulting her. "Well," he finally said, "I'm glad you're happy. But, just for the record, I wouldn't rely on guys you meet at auditions."

She gasped and turned to face him completely, bringing her legs up on the couch. "Oh my god, I totally forgot! How did things go with Blaine?"

Kurt heaved a sigh and ran a hand through his hair, not even caring about messing it up at this point. "It was a disaster," he told her. "He was a complete jerk. He spent the entire night either talking about himself or coming on to me. About an hour into the date, he told me he was only interested in a one-night stand. Then, when I told him I didn't want to have sex with him, he kissed me."

Rachel's mouth dropped open. "No."

"Yes!" Kurt had to admit, he actually did feel better telling Rachel about the terrible night he'd had. She was a great audience, laughing and slapping her hand to her mouth at all the right places.

"What did you do?" she asked with wide eyes.

"I pushed him away and told him to never do that again. Then I just left."

Rachel shook her head slowly. "I'm so sorry, Kurt. I had no idea he was like that... I mean, he seemed so nice when I talked to him! He was a perfect gentleman." She narrowed her eyes. "Why would he act one way to me and then totally different with you?"

Kurt shrugged wearily. "I don't know. Maybe he had made a stupid bet with his friends that he could hook up with me. Maybe he just gets off on messing with people. But you are officially not allowed to send me on blind dates ever again." He patted her knee. "It's not your fault. People aren't always the way they seem."

Rachel looked uncharacteristically thoughtful at his words. "Do you..." She trailed off, then seemed to find some inner resolve. "Do you really think that?"

"Well, it was kind of proven tonight, wasn't it?"

Rachel nodded, still looking distant. "People can change, though, right? Without it having to be some sort of act?"

"Yeah..." Kurt stared at her. "Rachel, are you okay? You're being weirdly introspective tonight."

She smiled at him, but the gesture wasn't all there. "Yeah, just thinking."

Kurt stood up from the couch, stifling a yawn. "Okay, well, I'm going to go drown the taste of Blaine's lips from my mouth and then go to bed. You want to have breakfast out tomorrow?"

"Oh, I can't," Rachel said apologetically. "I'm meeting—" She stopped, and Kurt had the feeling she had been about to say a name. "I have a date with my, um... my date," she finished lamely.

Kurt just nodded. He was burning with curiosity, but he knew Rachel would tell him more in her own time. Still, he couldn't help but feel a pang of annoyance. This always happened when Rachel found new guys; he got shunted to the side while she got all caught up in the thrill of new love, then she came crawling back to him when it was over.

He swallowed his irritation. "Okay. Fine. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Kurt."

Cooper waved goodbye as the last two busboys left the kitchen. With a tired sigh, he made a few final swipes of the counters with an old rag.

"Hey, Anderson the First— I'm outta here!" Santana peeked her head in through the kitchen doors to say goodbye, stopping when she saw him cleaning the counters. "Why are you always the one who's stuck here cleaning up on Fridays?" she asked, eyeing the cloth in his hands with distaste.

He shrugged. "I know you guys have got better things to do on Friday nights." Staying late was worth it if it meant ensuring the loyalty of his employees. His father had taught him something useful.

Santana fully entered the kitchen, making sure the doors had closed behind her before she spoke. "Listen, go easy on Blaine tonight, okay?" she said in a low voice.

Cooper tensed up, felt his heart beating faster. "Why?"

"Because," Santana said as she hopped up on a countertop, "your brother just got stood up. And he's taking it kind of... well, he's not great."

Cooper made a beeline for the door, but Santana grabbed his arm before he could go charging into the dining area.

"Hey, what do you think you're doing?" she snapped, her eyes flashing dangerously. "I told you to take it easy. Just don't bring up dating for a bit, all right?"

"He's my brother," Cooper retorted sharply, yanking his arm free of Santana's grip. "I don't need you telling me how to handle him."

Santana just raised her eyebrows at him. Her taking this so lightly made Cooper even more annoyed. He clenched and unclenched his fists, knowing she wouldn't tell him anything unless he calmed down.

"Tell me his name," he ground out through gritted teeth.

"What?" Santana looked at him as if he were crazy, which he could be when it came to Blaine.

"Tell me the name of the guy who hurt my brother so I can go kick his ass," Cooper carefully explained.

Santana leaned back on her hands, looking bored. "So, Blaine got the brains and you got the brawns, is that it? What a dynamic duo."

Cooper glared at her, but she just rolled her eyes at him.

"Listen up, Braveheart," Santana said coolly. "I don't know the guy’s name, but even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you. You can’t protect your brother from the world.”

“I can sure as hell try,” Cooper growled.

Santana shrugged and pushed herself off the counter in one fluid motion. “You see if he’ll let you.” She moved toward the door, then stopped in front of it. “You missed a spot,” she said without turning around, and then she was gone.

Cooper threw the dish rag down on the counter and followed her out, flicking the lights off on his way. Santana walked past Blaine and patted him on the head before shooting Cooper a meaningful glance and leaving with the wave of a hand. Cooper stood in front of the kitchen doors for a moment, just watching Blaine. He was sitting on the piano bench, playing a slower, more melancholy version of what Cooper recognized as Silly Love Songs. This was worse than Santana had made it out to be.

He crossed over to the piano bench and sat down beside Blaine, who continued playing without a pause or indication that he noticed Cooper’s presence.

“How you doing, bro?” Cooper asked quietly.

“I’m okay,” Blaine answered just as softly, and then he turned to flash a smile of fake complacency at Cooper, never missing a note.

Blaine always did that— bad things would happen and he’d fold into himself and mold his face into whatever he thought his audience wanted to see. It was his coping mechanism. That frozen smile was what Cooper would come home to see whenever Dad had yelled at Blaine because Cooper wasn’t there to yell back. It was the same smile Blaine wore after Sadie Hawkins, the smile of a guy who was so hurt that he couldn’t bear to hurt anyone else. That smile turned Blaine into a helpless kid trying to please the world. That smile broke Cooper’s heart.

“Blaine,” he started uncertainly, then stopped, not sure of what he could or should say. “Maybe that guy just forgot.”

Blaine didn’t answer until a minute later, after he had played the last lingering note of Silly Love Songs. Then he turned to Cooper with that same smile. “Yes,” he said, in a voice that might have sounded cheerful if Cooper hadn’t known better, “I’m just forgettable like that.”

Cooper didn’t know what to do. He hadn’t seen Blaine this despondent for years, and the whole thing was brought on by a guy he hadn’t ever met before. Maybe getting Blaine angry would elicit a better response.

“Don‘t get all pathetic on me!”

No reaction. Blaine just turned back to the piano, his fingers hovering over the keys like he was making up a set list in his head.

Cooper sighed. “What’s his name, Blaine?”

Blaine’s head shot up as he twisted to look at Cooper, the old fierce light in his eyes. “Just leave it alone, Coop.”

Cooper shook his head, determined. “I wasn’t there for you when you needed me the most—”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Blaine interrupted firmly. “You were in college.”

“It doesn’t matter. Remember when you broke your wrist trying to climb that tree in the backyard?”

“Coop, I was four,” Blaine protested weakly.

“I don’t care.” Cooper snorted. “You made me promise always to be there for you when you got hurt. It was a pinky-promise. I broke it. That’s some serious shit.” He paused. “Just tell me what his name is.”

Blaine looked suspicious. “Why are you asking? What are you going to do?”

“I’d just like to know for future reference. I promise I’m not going to go all Ninja Turtles on him. Santana would kill me.” Cooper held out his pinky, and Blaine hooked his own pinky around his brother’s.

“Kurt Hummel,” Blaine told him. “But it doesn’t matter. I’ll be fine. I mean, I never even met the guy. It’s not like my heart is broken.”

Cooper didn’t say anything. He knew better. Blaine might not have known Kurt Hummel, but he was just one more person who Blaine had put his hopes on, and one more person who had let him down.

“I’m sorry, Blaine. I’m sure there will be other guys like him.” He shook his head. “No, I mean, not other guys who will stand you up, but other guys for you to date.”

Blaine nodded. “It’s better this way. I’ll be graduating in a couple of months and then heading back to California to work with Dad. Any relationship probably wouldn’t have lasted.”

Cooper bit his lip, wishing he could do a better job of comforting Blaine; but once again, he’d failed him. He searched for something to cheer Blaine up, his eyes immediately landing on the piano. “Hey, Blaine,” he said slowly.

“You’ve got a Cooper-has-an-idea look right now. Should I be worried?”

Cooper ignored him. “You know how Consider the Lemming usually takes our Friday night live performance gig?” Blaine nodded slowly, not seeing where Cooper was going with this. “Well, they broke up. Apparently Sam slept with Fred’s sister, and it was a huge problem, and anyway”—Cooper grinned at Blaine, excitement coloring his voice— “I was thinking you could take their place.”

Blaine didn’t say anything for awhile, which worried Cooper. He figured Blaine would be ecstatic for the chance. He had loved performing since he was a kid; he’d often forced Cooper to put on little performances for their parents when they were home. This was like that, except it would just be Blaine and he’d be paid.

“I don’t know...” Blaine looked down at the piano. He looked nervous for some reason. “I mean, I mess around on the piano, but I don’t play when people are, you know, actually listening. I don’t know if I’m really that good anymore. I don’t want to drive your customers away.”

Cooper laughed. “Please, if they haven’t been driven away by my lack of interior decorating skills and Santana’s charming personality, a bit of piano and guitar isn’t gonna bother them.” Blaine still looked unconvinced. “Oh, come on, Blaine, you know you’ll love it. This is for you. Customers focus on their food, anyway; they probably wouldn’t notice if I hired a troupe of talented monkeys to do jigs up there every Friday.”

Blaine played a scale slowly on the piano, his fingers moving absentmindedly over the keys, before he placed his hands in his lap and gave Cooper the first real smile he had seen from Blaine all night. “I’ll do it.”

Cooper stood up from the piano bench, pulling Blaine up after him. “You‘re not going to flake on me, are you? You‘re sure you want to do it?”

“I’m sure.”

And they shook on it.