Kurt's first thought upon waking up is, oh my God, why did I drink so much last night?

His second thought it, Hang on. This mattress is too hard. These sheets are too scratchy. Where the hell am I?

Then he opens his eyes and sees Blonde Robert from Arkansas laying next to him, and goes from wondering why he had so much to drink last night to wondering why he didn't drink more.

He doesn't do this sort of thing. Ever. Aside from the fact that he hasn't got this drunk since he was fifteen, he has never has a one-night stand in his life. Nothing has ever been just about sex; it has always led to a long-term relationship. Even Dean his ex, started off as a slightly tipsy flirtation that quickly became far more serious – they were together for three years, all in.

One glance at Blonde Robert, laying on his back with his mouth wide open, tonsils on display to all and sundry, has Kurt vowing that there will not be a repeat of that any time soon.

Kurt sighs and slumps back against the pillow. He regrets that movement pretty quickly, however: the pillow is thin and flat, and he hits his head on the rock-hard mattress. He wonders how on earth he managed to sleep last night – or this morning, technically, he supposes – and chalks it up to the combination of alcohol and sex.

How is he going to get out of here? He doesn't think he can face the idea of having breakfast with Blonde Robert, or, God forbid, having to spend the day with him – he strikes Kurt as the clingy type, who'll dig his claws in and never let go given half a chance.

Undeniably the easiest way out is to simply slip away without waking Robert. It certainly sounds attractive; but Kurt can't bring himself to do it. It would be so easy – slide silently from the bed, collect his clothes, dress in the living room, dart out of the door before Robert is any the wiser. But he can't do it; he slept with Robert, he ought to do him the kindness of explaining why it was a mistake.

Robert stirs next to him, rolling on his side. "Oh, God," he mutters, apparently having woken. "Oh my God…"

Kurt rolls over to face him. "You too?"

"Oh, God, I am so sorry," Robert says, eyes wide as he takes in Kurt looking back at him. "I didn't mean it like that, I swe-"

"I know what you meant," Kurt assures him. "I'm kind of freaking out too."

Robert sighs, sounding relieved. "I just don't do this. Not normally."

"Me neither."

"Not that it was…bad, or anything…"

"No!" Kurt says. "No, I mean, it was…really good, But…"

"But that was it," Robert supplies, a distinct expression of relief gracing his features. He isn't quite as good-looking in bright sunshine and without the aid of alcohol.

Kurt nods, propping himself up on one elbow. "Pretty much."

"Same here."

"Oh, thank God," Kurt breathes, pushing any feeling of having been insulted aside. "You know, I was just trying to work out how to tell you all this without hurting your feelings. I felt like a jerk, just sneaking out."

Robert chuckles. "I'm kind of glad you didn't, otherwise I would have felt like a jerk."

Kurt sits up and swings his legs out of the bed. "Well, now both of us can't stop feeling guilty," he says, starting to collect his clothes from the floor. "So…I'll just go now?"

"Uh…yeah, I guess. It was nice to meet you, Kurt."

"Nice to meet you too, Robert," Kurt says, pulling his shirt on. "Maybe I'll see you around?"

"Yeah, maybe."

"Okay, well…bye," Kurt says slowly, waving over his shoulder before slipping out of the room, through the apartment door, down the stairs and out into the street. Part of him is aware that that conversation should probably have been much more awkward than it was, but he's not going to complain. He achieved his goal in getting out of there without hurting Robert's feelings, and he now has a story to tell Lauren that will get her off his back.

As he throws out his arm to hail a cab back to his apartment, he can't help smiling. That could have been much worse, after all.

From: Lauren

Where were you last night? ;)

To: Lauren

Like you don't already know.

From: Lauren

Yeah, but I want you to say it.

To: Lauren

I'm not saying anything.

From: Tina

Kurt! Did you go home with that guy last night?

To: Tina

Oh, for God's sake, not you too!

From: Tina

What?

To: Tina

Lauren's bugging me about exactly that.

From: Tina

She says you did.

To: Tina

She doesn't know what she's talking about.

From: Quinn

Kurt, did you go home with that blonde guy? I turned around to look for you and you were gone.

To: Lauren, Tina, Quinn

This is insane! Yes, OK, I did sleep with him, but we both agreed it was a one-time thing. Happy?

From: Quinn

Yes.

From: Tina

Very. Though I would have preferred it to be Blaine. The sex, not the one night stand, nothing more thing.

From: Lauren

Guess so, Hummel.

From: Santana

Saw you got yourself some man-candy last night, Hummel. Kinky enough for ya?

To: Santana

Santana!

From: Santana

Just asking. Was it?

To: Santana

It was fine, thank you. But how did you know?

From: Santana

I used my eyes. If you'd used yours, you would have noticed someone else looking for you.

To: Santana

Who?

From: Santana

I don't know, some curly-haired hobbit.

To: Santana

O.O

When Kurt enters the office at 10:02am, it is at a run. He vaguely registers that this may be the fastest he's ever moved. He certainly never ran this much in PE in high school, and very little could convince him to do so even now. But this is important; he needs to talk to Tina.

He makes a slight detour and snags Lauren and Quinn, and, after a moment's thought, Santana as well. She'll be able to explain better than Kurt could at the moment.

"Tina," he says breathlessly, skidding to a halt by her desk. "Tina, I need you."

"Kurt, what…?"

"After I left last night, there was a guy looking for me, and it sounds like it was Blaine."

Tina's eyes widen and she places a hand over her mouth. "My God, Kurt…how do you know?"

"Santana texted me," Kurt says, tilting his head towards the slim Latina girl in question.

"But she hasn't seen Blaine, how does she know it was him?" Quinn asks. She's always the one who comes up with the sensible questions to prevent a room from descending into hysteria.

"She described him to me," Kurt explains. "I'm fairly sure it's him." He jabs Santana with his elbow. "Tell her."

"Ouch?" Santana says, glaring at him. When she is met with no sympathy, only curious gazes, she sighs heavily. "He was kind of short, with dark, curly hair, and his eyes were about the same colour as Fabray's here." Kurt and Tina lean in towards Quinn, who looks bemused, and peer at her eyes before pulling back and nodding at each other. "He was pretty cute, actually: if I weren't a lesbian and he didn't set my gaydar screaming, I'd totally tap that."

Tina and Quinn stare at her; Kurt opens his mouth as if to speak, then closes it again, having thought better of it; and Lauren just laughs, holding up her hand for a high-five.

"Okay," says Tina after a moment of silence. "That definitely sounds like Blaine, doesn't it, Kurt?" Kurt just nods, unable to speak around the lump in his throat. "But how did you know he was looking for Kurt, Santana?"

Santana rolls her eyes, as if it should be obvious. "He came and asked me if I knew, and I quote, 'the beautiful brunette man sitting in the corner with the blonde guy.'" She raises her eyebrows at Kurt. "He has it bad, Hummel. How many times have you met him?"

"Once."

She whistles long and low. "Jesus…"

"Uh, uh, uh, Lopez," Lauren says. "You can't just stop there. What did you tell him?"

"I said, yeah, he's my friend. I mentioned that you like yourself a tequila sunrise and the hobbit went to buy you a drink, but when he turned round you'd disappeared."

Heavy silence follows Santana's words. Kurt looks shell-shocked, as if he's been hit by a subway train. Then he explodes.

"Why on earth didn't you phone me? Oh my God, what am I going to do?" He can feel himself panicking, his heart rate speeding up. What if he's screwed this up already, before there even is a 'this'?

Tina grips his shoulder and looks up into his face. "Calm, please? You know what you need to do."

Kurt shakes his head, still on edge.

"You need to get outside, find him, and actually talk to this time. Now go!"

After combing the streets for an hour, Kurt is at breaking point. His feet ache from walking, and he's run out of places to look. New York is huge; Blaine could be anywhere. He could be in Brooklyn or Greenwich or Queens; in a café or a bar or curled up in front of NCIS at home. (Or perhaps he'd prefer to watch Ellen, or Project Runway – Kurt doesn't know, and that worries him slightly, that he can feel so drawn to someone he barely knows.)

Kurt heaves a sigh and slumps back against the wall of a tiny, cream-coloured coffee shop. The plaster is cool against his back and he closes his eyes. In the split second that he is unaware, someone walks into his and trips over his feet.

His eyes snap open. "Oh, God, I'm so sorry!" he helps the man to his feet, then claps a hand over his mouth.

It's Blaine. Of course. Really, how could it be anyone else? It's like his life has decided to become a cheesy, made-for-TV movie.

"I've been looking for you everywhere," he blurts. As soon as the words are out of his mouth, he flushes, wishing the ground would swallow him whole. Unfortunately, he's not that lucky.

"Really?" Blaine asks, looking adorably confused. He's smiling, though. Maybe this will go better than Kurt anticipates. "Why?"

Now, what to say? Blaine had been looking for him last night. It probably wouldn't be too odd for Kurt to tell him that he is looking for him because he wants to talk to him, kiss him…No. That would be a bit weird. And where's the mystery?

"I, uh…I wanted to hear you sing. I really enjoyed listening to you yesterday."

Blaine grins. "Oh, yeah! I noticed you in the crowd. You didn't stay, though." He looks a little disappointed, and Kurt is ninety-nine per cent certain it isn't his imagination.

"Yeah, well…" Kurt says casually, heart thumping. "I had to go get ready, I went out with my friends from work."

"I think I saw you," Blaine says. He looks calm, but Kurt notices his thumb flicking against his index finger. "You were down by 7th Avenue, right?"

Kurt nods, trying to ignore the fluttering in his stomach. "Yeah, Fifty-Five Bar on Christopher Street."

"It's nice in there," Blaine offers; and good God this suddenly got awkward. Kurt's trying desperately to find something to say when he is interrupted by Blaine: "I saw you with Blonde Robert."

"Is that how everyone knows him?" Kurt asks with a snort.

"Pretty much," Blaine says. "He's a regular and God is he dull."

"I have to agree. I feel bad, because he was really sweet, but alcohol was the only way I got through that conversation." Kurt doesn't ass that there was a lot more going on than just talking: that's over-sharing, no matter what Lauren and Santana might think.

Blaine opens his mouth to speak, but at that moment his phone rings, cutting him off. He digs it out of his pocket and peers at the screen. "Oh, I'm sorry, I have to go," he says, sounding genuinely apologetic. "What's your name, again?"

"I'm Kurt."

"Well, it was really nice to meet you, Kurt. I'm Blaine."

Kurt giggles (shut up! You're not a sixteen-year-old girl!). "I know, you said yesterday."

"Of course. Well, if you want to see me play again that much, I'll be on East Seventy-Fifth Street at lunchtime on Monday. You should come."

"That sounds nice." God, way to be enthusiastic.

"I'll keep an eye out for you, then." Blaine smiles broadly, holding out his hand to Kurt, who shakes it. "See you later then, Kurt." Blaine waves over his shoulder as he disappears into the crowd, leaving Kurt alone at the side of the street, trying to work out what actually just happened.