Two Months Later

Kurt sank down in the comfortable leather chair he'd been sitting in for an hour. He should have listened to his coworkers and arrived to the meeting at least a half-hour later than its scheduled starting time of 10 a.m. As an intern, he had been told to arrive early or don't come at all. Now that he had an actual paid position with a team of designers, however, being late was apparently in.

He looked around the room, surreptitiously gauging whether his fellow fashion designers were as impatient to begin as he was. Most of them looked calm— bored, even.
There were ten people on the team, including Kurt. All of them were recently promoted interns, but had been on the team long enough to grow accustomed to Anthony’s supposedly frequent tardiness.

Seven of the members had been on this team for over six months now, and were itching for a promotion. Kurt and two other interns had been drafted out of internship only a month before. One of the other ex-interns, Brendon, was a good-looking but standoffish guy who was currently chatting animatedly with the other, Alyssa. They were both young, maybe a couple years older than Kurt. He had hoped that maybe he could find friendship with them; but after a month of trying to strike up conversation, it became obvious that they had been friends long before he'd moved to New York and had no interest in expanding their tightly knit circle to include him. Kurt had a feeling that Brendon disliked him for some reason.

Sure enough, Brendon and Alyssa turned to look at him, Brendon with a sneer and Alyssa with something that looked curiously like pity. He quickly looked down, his cheeks warming as he heard Brendon give a derisive snort. Even among professionals who shared his interests and ambition, he was spurned. He felt like the new kid, and dressed like one too. All his team members wore plain black suits, only adorned with a necklace or a watch; he hadn't gotten the memo. He felt extremely conspicuous in his sequined jackets and various accessories, but he really didn't own anything subtle. Once he'd moved to New York, he'd completely embraced the side of him that McKinley had tried so fervently to suppress. Now it seemed as if, even in the fashion industry, he was too... loud.

"Hello, hello!"

He looked up to see Anthony stroll into the conference room, straightening his tie unnecessarily. Kurt was gratified to catch a glimpse of bright pink socks under Anthony's pants and see that Anthony was wearing a large, golden wristwatch. At least someone appreciated individuality. Kurt sat up straighter in his chair, totally focused now that they were actually getting somewhere. Anthony moved to the front of the room and clapped his hands excitedly, rocking back on the balls of his feet as he looked each of the team members in the eye.

"I have some great news for all of you!" Anthony grinned, practically vibrating with excitement. He always brought a ton of energy to a room, which Kurt appreciated immensely.

“Now, I hate to be a namedropper but I do have some connections in many different industries,” Anthony told them. “Most notably, on Broadway. I spent a lot of my early career working as an Assistant Costume Designer for various productions, and I made some friends.”

Kurt usually hated it when snooty fashion people talked about their connections, but Anthony seemed to be a good guy. He seemed grateful for the combination of luck and talent that brought him to the top of New York’s fashion industry, rather than egotistical.

“Now, I am very pleased to announce that I have the opportunity to offer one of you that Assistant position. Think of it as an apprenticeship with a designer who has won Tony’s and several other nominations for her work.” Anthony paused, letting this all sink in, before he continued. "How many of you know who Susan Hilferty is?"

Kurt gasped before he could stop himself.

Anthony laughed. “I can see Mr. Hummel recognizes the name. Kurt, why don’t you elaborate for the rest of the team.”

Kurt swallowed, his throat dry. “She’s, um— she’s fantastic,” he breathed. “She’s designed over 300 productions. Wicked, Spring Awakening, How to Succeed.”

Anthony nodded, looking at Kurt appreciatively, then addressed the rest of the room, who were staring at Kurt with varying degrees of surprise and resentment. “One of you will be a part of Susan’s Wicked revival Broadway tour. You‘ll be working in close contact with her and the actors. Susan is a good friend of mine, and she’s the first person I worked under. I owe my career to her, so this is a big opportunity.

“How are you going to choose?” Brendon asked, looking nervous.

Anthony shrugged. “Impress me. You’re all on your way to becoming individual fashion designers. Your job is creativity. I’m not going to hand ideas to you.” He looked at Brendon to get his point across, then at each of them in turn. “If I were you, I’d start by thinking about what you can contribute to our Summer Season.”

Kurt raised his hand. Brendon snickered and Kurt put it down quickly. “How long do we have to—” Kurt waved his arm around— “impress you?”

“You start now. I’ll pick someone in two months or so, near the end of May.” Anthony winked at Kurt, then said, “Impressing me also means knowing a bit about your field of work. You might consider doing some research or at least asking Mr. Hummel who Susan Hilferty is.” With that, he turned on his heel and left the room as suddenly as he had entered it.

The room was silent for only a second before it exploded into a frenzy of activity. Kurt sat in his chair, stunned, as the rest of his team gathered their papers and filed out of the room, chattering excitedly as they made plans and discussed how best to get on Anthony’s good side. Kurt was shocked that Anthony even knew his name, let alone complimented him. Still, he knew not everyone would be pleased at him being singled out.

“Perfect Kurt Hummel,” Kurt heard Brendon mutter as he left the room with Alyssa. Kurt glared at his retreating back. Brendon was just jealous, obviously, but it stung to be hated by someone who never gave him a chance.

Get used to it, he told himself firmly. The world he lived in now didn’t allow for self-pity. He collected his assorted notebooks and tucked them under his arm, his mind already spinning with ideas. He would get this internship even if it killed him.

The end of May arrived with a light breeze that hinted of the summer to come. The deadline for his work inched closer and closer, and it was not unusual for Kurt to spend hours at a time holed up in his room with nothing but drawing pads and swathes of fabric to keep him company. Pencil smudges became well-acquainted with the bags under his eyes, and his hair seemed to be in competition with his clothes to see which could be in the highest state of disarray.

He had been working for the past two months on a portfolio full of sketches and design ideas for the company's Summer Line. He didn't think the others on his team would be as ambitious as to create an entire portfolio from scratch with only two months to work on it, and he was hoping this would push Anthony to choose him. He wanted this job more than anything. No, he needed it. Wicked represented everything that his life had been up until now: the underdog succeeding against all odds. All he was missing was a love interest and the green skin. Of course, if he spent any more time under the dull overcast of the lights in his apartment, his skin might just turn that color by itself.

The only reprieve he allowed himself was going to Cooper's on Friday nights and listening to the new singer they'd hired there. Kurt had quickly become more than a little obsessed with the guy.

That Friday night, Kurt was once again at Cooper's, sitting at the bar, sipping on a glass of Fernet chased with a bit of ginger ale and feeling increasingly frustrated as the guy onstage crooned an acoustic version of Can't Take My Eyes Off of You.

Kurt hated that he didn't know who this guy was. He recognized him, of course— the curly hair, his short stature and broad chest, and especially those eyes that were a light brown mixed with all the best of golden sunsets. He was the same waiter for which Kurt had felt a familiar tugging in his memory a couple months ago. A man with many talents, apparently.

But that wasn't what was driving him crazy. It was his voice. Kurt recognized that voice.

"But if you feel like I feel, please let me know this is real. You're just too good to be true, I can't take my eyes off of you," the man sang, his voice floating softly down toward the diners, who chattered obliviously over his song.

Kurt smiled a bit; he was the only one enraptured by the performance, and he couldn't even explain why. Every Friday, he was drawn like a magnet to the restaurant, to this boy whose voice played in his dreams like a song he'd once heard but had forgotten. He told himself that it was just because of the burning curiosity he had to find out where he'd heard this guy before, but it was more than that. It was stupid, but he felt as if he had some weird connection with this boy whose voice was melted honey.

Every Friday, Kurt fought the urge to stay, to wait for the man after he finished performing, to introduce himself. Every Friday, Kurt listened as he finished his last song and exited the stage with a small scattering of applause from the few who had appreciated the music. Every Friday, Kurt watched from a distance as the man reentered the dining room, guitar case in tow. And every Friday, Kurt left Cooper's and made his way home, disappointed.

"Kuuurt!"

Rachel's singsong voice called from behind the closed door of his room. Kurt sighed, set down his pencil, and rubbed his hand wearily across his eyes. "Yeah?"

She knocked once, then peered her head inside. "Can I come in?"

"Rachel, you and I both know you'll come in anyway, so I don't even know why you bother knocking," he pointed out.

She ignored him and entered the room, holding her arms suspiciously behind her back. "Did you forget what today is?"

He searched his memory. It wasn't a major holiday, so he should be off the hook. "Um... Friday? The day that Anthony reviews my portfolio, makes his decision, and my life is either made or destroyed?"

She sighed. "I think you're stressing yourself out far too much over this, for the record."

"This is Wicked, Rachel. You of all people should realize how important this is to me."

"I do understand," Rachel protested. "I am planning on auditioning, you know. She pulled her hands out from behind her back, revealing a cupcake perched in the center of one palm and a small, nondescript shopping bag held in her other. "May 27? Ring any bells?"

"Oh!" Kurt blinked, surprised. His birthday. He was twenty-four today. He had thought of it briefly the week before, but only to mourn the possibility of having to go out and be social when he should be working on his portfolio. Since then, he'd delved so far back into his work that the date had completely slipped his mind. He took the cupcake and present from Rachel. "Thanks, Rach. You really didn't have to get me anything."

"You're my best friend," Rachel said with a bright smile as she sat down on the corner of his bed. "Of course I did. Now open up your present!"

Kurt set his cupcake down and dutifully searched beneath an abundance of wrapping paper to find a gorgeous Alexander McQueen scarf that he'd been eyeing just a few weeks ago. Kurt stared at it, shocked.

"Rachel, you— I mean, this is really beautiful, and oh my god it's fantastic, but— I can't—" he stuttered, holding the scarf out in front of him helplessly. He knew how expensive the scarf was. He and Rachel had both had mini-heart attacks when they saw the tag out while out window-shopping.

Rachel took the scarf from his hands and looped it around his neck. "You're welcome. And don't you dare try to tell me you can't keep it, because you and I both know you love it."

Kurt smiled, still staggered by the gift. "I... yeah, you're right. It's amazing. Thank you so much."

"Happy birthday, Kurt." She gave him a tight hug, then stood up, looking apologetic. "Look, I feel really bad about this, but J— James asked me out tonight. I could always cancel if you wanted to do something, but I knew you were still working on other stuff for work and I wasn't sure if—"

"Oh, no, go ahead," he told her. She went out with this guy a lot but Kurt was just happy she had finally let him know a name at least. It was unusual for Rachel to not be brimming over with anecdotes about the guys she dated. When it was Finn, Kurt had been treated to several hour-long discussions on Finn's favorite breakfast foods. But for some reason, with this James guy, Rachel had only told Kurt that he was the son of a director and had been mum on any other details.

Rachel hovered over him uncertainly. "Are you sure you're okay with it? I feel really bad leaving you here on your birthday."

Kurt waved his hand in the air. "No, no, it's fine. Birthday or not, I have to get this stuff done. You're actually doing me a favor. One less distraction."

Rachel bit her lip, considering, then nodded. "All right. I'll probably be late tonight."

"Do you know when exactly you'll be home...?" Kurt asked, trying to sound casual.

Rachel seemed to buy his act, or at least thought it was innocent enough of a question. "Um, maybe 10 or so?"

"Okay, great," Kurt said, trying not to let relief bleed through into his voice too much. He wanted to go to Cooper's that night, if he got enough work done, as a bit of a birthday present to himself. Rachel didn't know about his weekly excursions to see the live entertainment; Kurt had a feeling that she would think it was weird, or unhealthy in some way. Anyway, he didn't want to share the singer with Rachel. He felt strangely possessive of the boy he'd only spoken to once.

"I'll see you later, then. Have a good birthday. Don't work too hard." Rachel kissed him on the cheek, then left him to his work.

Kurt dutifully worked for the rest of the day, trying not to check his cell phone for the time too often. He felt jittery and anxious. He knew Anthony was making his decision, and he knew that he was on a major threshold of his life.

At 7:00, Kurt shut his notebooks. He couldn't do any more work that night. He told himself that it had nothing to do with the fact that the live entertainment at Cooper's started at 7:30. No, that wasn't it at all. He was going to go out because it was his birthday. He was going to have a few drinks, have some fun. He was going to get a little stupid. After all, he deserved it.

Kurt leaned back, forgetting he was on a bar stool, and promptly spilled the rest of his Fernet over the counter as he tried to regain his balance. "Oops," he giggled a bit loudly, setting his glass down on the counter and ordering another drink. He was glad he had walked to Cooper's. He thought he might be the tiniest bit tipsy. He wondered where Santana was. He hadn't seen her all night. He had hoped to talk to her, find out who the performer was.

The bartender mopped up the puddle of liquid he had spilled and handed him another drink. Kurt took a sip, then set it down and watched the stage. His favorite live entertainment was coming to the end of the show, and as usual, had abandoned his guitar in favor of the piano that had taken up permanent residence on Cooper's front stage. The man was sitting in front of the piano, softly playing the introduction to a melody that Kurt couldn't quite place.

Kurt knew his performance habits by now, having seen them week after week. He always started off slowly, running his hands over the instrument, plucking at a string or playing a note absentmindedly like the music was talking to him and telling him what to do. Kurt shivered a bit as the music began to pour from the stage, transforming into a haunting melody that Kurt hadn't heard for years.

Then the man started singing, his eyes closed while his fingers raced each other across the ivory keys. Kurt closed his eyes, too, tuning everything out. Nothing existed at that moment— not the diners who talked over the performance, not the distant clinking of dishes from the kitchen. Nothing existed but the music.

"Before I met you, I was all right..."

That insistent tug of familiarity was stronger than ever. Kurt was so close to remembering something. Where had he heard that voice before? Where?

"We'll be young forever..."

Teenage Dream. Western Ohio's 2012 Sectionals Championship. Of course. Kurt remembered sitting between Rachel and Quinn, watching an all-boys a capella Glee club side-stepping in unison to a Katy Perry song. He remembered leaning over and whispering to Quinn that their lead singer would be cuter without the bed of gel on his head, and he remembered laughing when Rachel shushed him because she was "trying to scope the competition, Kurt!"

He remembered. Kurt was so relieved at the realization that he wasn't crazy. This was the same boy that he had been so impressed with at Sectionals. He looked a bit different now— more mature, now that he wore a v-neck that hugged his chest instead of the stupid private school uniform, and now that he had stopped restraining the curls that had hidden under all that gel. His voice was different, too. Stronger, more controlled. But this was, undoubtedly, the same boy.

Kurt watched the rest of the performance, his mind at war with itself. He should introduce himself.

No, that would be weird.

"Don't ever look back..."

But why shouldn't he introduce himself? There was no harm in just saying hello, right?

"Don't ever look back..." Onstage, the song was over, the last word trailing off and leaving a strange stillness within Kurt.

He watched as the man thanked the room (although few patrons were actually listening) and walked offstage. He waited until the man had reentered the dining room and was walking toward him, and then Kurt Hummel swallowed the last of his drink and made a decision.

"Hey, that was really good," he offered up when the man was a couple feet away. He looked up, surprised, his eyes trained directly on Kurt. Kurt's heart thumped faster and he fought to swallow, his throat dry, as the man approached him. He was more handsome up close; Kurt had realized that months ago when he had waited on him. But now, when it was just him and the man, and those auburn eyes were bearing into him, it was almost too much to handle.

"Thanks," he said, his eyes searching Kurt's face, an unreadable expression in them. "I don't get that a lot."

"I can't imagine why not," Kurt told him. "Your voice is amazing. It's been awhile since I last heard it." Kurt imagined the alcohol he had drank coursing through his veins, emboldening him, diminishing his inhibitions.

The man blinked. "You're— I remember you."

Kurt sat up straighter. "Do you really?"

"Yeah. Your eyes— I mean, I just—" He stopped, flustered. "I waited on you, like four months ago. You were on a date..."

Kurt groaned. "Oh, don't remind me. That guy was a jerk. Blaine."

The man just stared at him, looking startled. "How do you know my name?"

"What?" Kurt shook his head. "No, I was just— Blaine was the name of the guy I was on a date with that night."

"Oh. Oh." The man tilted his head, looking at Kurt with something like suspicion in his eyes. "It's just... my name's Blaine, too. So I thought you were, I don't know, stalking me or something. Because I've seen you here before. On Fridays." He paused. "What did you mean when you said it's been awhile since you heard my voice? You were here last week."

Kurt hesitated, not sure what to make of this. This guy, Blaine the Singer, had remembered him from four months ago when he was on a date with Blaine the Jerk, and had also noticed him sitting in the corner of Cooper's and watching him like a creep every Friday. It figured. Kurt had finally gotten up the courage to talk to him, and he had come off like a stalker. He was probably seconds away from calling security.

"Can I buy you a drink?" Kurt finally asked, and then mentally slapped himself. That was an even creepier thing to say. He was so bad at this social interaction stuff.

Surprisingly enough, Blaine sat down on the stool next to him. Kurt opened his mouth to ask him what he wanted, but before he could, Blaine called out to the bartender.

"Hey, Johnny, can you get me a beer? And..." Blaine turned to Kurt. "I'm sorry, what's your name?"

"Kurt."

Blaine's brow furrowed, but he turned back to the bartender. "And another one of whatever Kurt's drinking."

"So you work here?" Kurt asked, trying to smooth over the awkwardness in the air.

"Who are you?" Blaine swung his legs around the bar stool, turning to face Kurt completely. He looked a bit upset for some reason, but Kurt had no idea what he'd done wrong.

"I'm just a guy," Kurt said, bewildered. "I swear I'm not a psycho. It's just that your voice was really familiar to me when you talked to me in February, and it's been bugging me all this time, and I finally realized tonight— you were a Warbler."

Blaine nodded slowly. "Yeah. And you are...?"

"We competed against each other." Blaine still looked blank. "In high school? At Sectionals? I was in New Directions."

Blaine's eyes lit up. "Oh! No way! Are you from Ohio, then? Well, yeah, I guess you'd have to be. Whoa. That's... really cool." He laughed, a deep sound that filled up his entire body. "I'm sorry for freaking out, but you know how you said you dated a Blaine?" Kurt nodded. "Well, I almost dated a Kurt."

Kurt raised his eyebrows. "How do you almost date someone?"

"You plan to go on a date with them, and then you get stood up," Blaine explained.

Kurt winced. "Ouch. I'm sorry."

Blaine shrugged. "Well, it's not your fault. I'm over it, it wasn't really a big deal."

The bartender handed them their drinks then, and Blaine clinked his beer against Kurt's glass. "Here's to meeting strangers who aren't really strangers!"

Kurt laughed. "And here's to nicer Kurt's and Blaine's than we've met in the past."

Time slipped by quickly as Kurt spoke with Blaine about anything and everything. Blaine told Kurt about graduating college and his plans to work for his father, and Kurt told Blaine about Wicked and how nervous he was to hear his boss's decision. They reminisced about Glee club and marveled at the fact that they had not only competed against each other, but ended up living in the same state. The counter in front of them became cluttered with empty bottles and glasses, as both men got progressively drunker. Kurt knew he should probably stop drinking when the alcohol started tasting like water, but instead he switched to beer so he could keep going. It all tasted the same after awhile.

"So," Kurt said slowly, trying to wrap his mouth around the words, "today is a very special day."

Blaine laughed. Kurt had found that the more alcohol Blaine drank, the more prone he was to random and loud bursts of laughter. It was kind of endearing.

"Today is my birthday," Kurt whispered, taking another gulp of his drink. Cooper's had the best drinks ever.

"Yeah?" Blaine frowned. "I feel like such a jerk. I didn't even get you a present."

"It's not too late, you know." Kurt glanced at his watch, struggling to make the numbers stop swimming in front of his eyes. "It's only 10. How about a kiss for the birthday boy?"

Kurt wasn't sure what made him say it. The small part of him that was still able to feel embarrassment wanted to snatch his words back as soon as they had left his mouth. But without any hesitation, Blaine leaned forward and his lips connected firmly with Kurt's. He closed his eyes instinctively. Blaine's hands cupped his face as his lips moved wetly against Kurt's, Kurt's bottom lip caught between both of Blaine's. Kurt placed his hands against Blaine's chest, needing something to anchor him, and he felt Blaine's heart thumping languorously beneath his skin.

Blaine broke away after a few seconds. The kiss had been sloppy and had tasted of alcohol, but Kurt still felt warm and dizzy.

"Happy birthday." Blaine grinned at him, and Kurt couldn't help but giggle.

"That was—"

"Yeah," Blaine agreed before Kurt finished. They shared a laugh, then quieted, looking at each other. Blaine leaned in slightly, and Kurt felt his breath quicken, anticipation building in him, but—

Kurt's cell phone buzzed in his pocket. He pressed at its buttons through his jeans, but it continued vibrating insistently. With an apologetic glance at Blaine, he dug it out of his pocket and answered it.

"Hello?"

"Kurt?" It was Rachel.

Kurt sighed. "Yes. Who else?"

"Kurt, where are you? I just got home and I was worried because I didn't know you were going out and it's really late and there was a message on the machine from your boss and—"

"Wait, wait, slow down," Kurt said, his head pounding. "There was a message from who?"

"From whom," Rachel corrected him, and Kurt resisted the urge to reach through the phone and throttle her. "A message from Anthony. He said he wanted to talk to you and I guess he called like two hours ago? The message said it was important."

Kurt's mind was racing. He had to get home. "Can you pick me up?"

Rachel huffed. Kurt could tell she was irritated. "Where are you? Are you drunk?"

"Cooper's," he answered, ignoring her second question.

"By yourself?"

Kurt glanced at Blaine, who was staring at his lips, and swallowed. "Not— not exactly. Just... can you please come get me?"

"Fine. But I will have you know that this is very unlike you and—"

"I'm hanging up now," he said, and clicked end call. He knew he would be in trouble with Rachel later, but even when he was totally sober, her voice was a bit loud. Now, after who-knew-how-many drinks, it was unbearable. He'd make it up to her later.

"Problem?" Blaine asked, his eyes slowly dragging from Kurt's lips to his eyes. Kurt was struck again by how beautiful his eyes were, the way they seemed to oscillate between green and brown depending on the light.

"Not really. My boss called apparently, and my roommate's freaking out, so I guess I should head home. I—" he stopped, not sure what to say. "I hope I can see you again?" he asked, hopeful.

"I'm here every night," Blaine said. "So, yes."

"Good." Kurt stood from the bar stool, balancing himself with one hand on Blaine's shoulder. "So, I'm going to go. Thanks for the, um... thanks."

Blaine grinned at him. "Thank you."

Blaine stayed on the bar stool until the last customer had left Cooper's. He didn't really think he'd be much of a help taking orders, and anyway, Cooper had hired a new waitress so things weren't so hectic around the restaurant. He asked Johnny for another water and sipped it, his head already pounding after the amount he'd had to drink that night.

"Blaine, there you are!" Cooper sat down on the stool next to him, the one that Kurt had occupied an hour earlier. "Where've you been all night?" Cooper leaned in and sniffed him. "Whoa, someone's drunk. What happened to you?"

Blaine sighed. "I think I just kissed a guy. And I don't even know his last name."

Cooper blinked. "I don't think I've ever been more proud of you in my entire life."

"It's not funny, Coop."

"Are you kidding? This is hilarious!" Cooper slapped him on the back. "Congratulations. You are now officially an Anderson. I was wondering. The DNA tests were inconclusive."

Blaine groaned. "My life is like a bad Kelly Clarkson song."

"That's a bit optimistic of you," Cooper said, rolling his eyes.

"How so?"

"That's implying that there are good Kelly Clarkson songs."

Blaine tried to punch Cooper in the arm, but missed. "Shut up. Kelly is one of the best—"

Cooper's phone rang then, interrupting Blaine's diatribe. He pulled it out of his pocket and stared at the screen, frowning.

"Who is it?"

"Dad." Cooper pressed accept and held the phone up to his ear. "Hello?"

Blaine watched as Cooper's expression grew darker.

"Is that really necessary? He's doing fine— yeah, okay." Cooper held the phone out to Blaine wordlessly. "He wants to talk to you."

Blaine took the phone, steeling himself up before speaking. "Hello?"

"Blaine." It always amazed Blaine how his father could load single syllables with so much disappointment and disapproval. He was particularly good at it when saying Blaine's name.

"Sir," Blaine said, because that was how he was expected to answer. Expectations meant a lot in his family.

"I heard you graduated college. Congratulations. Are you ready to come back and work for me?"

"I thought that was the plan," Blaine said, confused. He got his Business degree. His father didn't think he could be a good lawyer. He didn't say as much, but Blaine knew it was because he was gay. The plan had always been for Blaine to get a degree in Business, then come back to California and work on the business side of his dad's law firm.

"Good. I've already bought your flight. Your mother can't wait to see you again."

His mother. Of course. His father could wait forever and never see Blaine again, for all he cared.

"When am I leaving?" Blaine asked, his voice dull.

"Tomorrow."