"I DON'T CARE WHAT YOU NORMALLY DO! DO IT ANYWAY. JESUS CHRIST, DOES THIS COMPANY ONLY HIRE MORONS? MORONS! HOW HARD CAN IT BE?" yells the patron--clearly not very pleased.

Kurt simply sighs, presses a few buttons on his register, and hands the woman her sales receipt without any comment. He NEEDS this job. As much as he's loathe to admit it--Kurt Hummel lets people walk all over him for the sake of making rent.

Starbucks was the first place that would take him. The day he formally interviewed for the job, ("Position"? It's an eight dollar an hour McJob." snarked his internal voice--the Bastard.) he'd shown up--freshly showered, wearing something semi-clean and pressed, resum� in hand. As he entered the bustling store-he took notice of debris littering the floor. Discarded drink sleeves, crumpled napkins, empty Splenda packets fluttering with each puff of air coming in with the draft of the constant opening and closing of the door.

This place looks as tired as I feel, he thought. Kurt hadn't had long to dwell on the idea--a fresh-faced and beaming young man approached him right away.

"Kurt?", asked the man, seeming bouncier with every second that passed, "I'm Joey, one of the managers here at our little spot." He extended his hand to shake Kurt's with a dramatic thrust.

Kurt nodded, put on his best, "why, yes...I'd ADORE working here, thanks!" look, and shook Joey's hand vigorously. Joey ushered them both to a small, vacant table somewhat out of the way of the swirling chaos and noise filling the room. As Joey flipped through the pages of his resum�, Kurt did his best to keep his expression neutral--hoping it was clear and vaguely hopeful, and prepared himself for the questions he was fairly sure would follow.

"Well, Kurt...you have a rather...extensive, and might I add--impressive, resum� here." Joey noted, eyes still on the page in front of him.

"Oh, shit. Here it comes", Kurt thought. Unsure if that might have been his cue to pipe in, he thought better of it--and remained silent. With an unsettling flick of his wrist, Joey clapped the papers together, and looked at Kurt.

"So, what brings YOU to Starbucks, Kurt? What about our company interests you?' he inquired perkily.

"He is not really serious, is he? I...well, money is helpful, I've learned. I've always dreamed of wearing a polyester apron daily? Coffee makes me able to NOT kill people?...oh, no--he IS serious." Kurt tried earnestly to stop the monologue running in his head, worked out a response he hoped sounded sincere.

"Well, Joey...I've had a bit of a rough time of things lately, and am looking for a great team environment to ease my way into. As you can see, I've got some experience in retail positions, and I work well with..."

Joey cut him off. "Uh, well...Kurt? It says here that you've worked in clothing design and costuming for various theatrical companies and design houses. How, exactly, do you think that translates into retail experience?", his demeanor suddenly hard-edged, and infinitely less bubbly.

Kurt sighed, too tired to continue playing earnest, job-seeker. "Look, Joey? May I speak frankly?" he wondered.

Joey nodded, his face unreadable, "Yes, please."

"I haven't worked in anything retailesque in years. I was great at my college's bookshop, I manned a little coffee cart outside our Arts Center for a while--learned how to make a mean cappuccino. Perhaps surprisingly--I know my way around a motor and other car-related things, my father owned an Auto Repair shop. I'm not afraid to work my ass off, dirt washes away with a good scrubbing...

See, I've been in a business for the last almost decade that is glamourous, stressful, crazy...I am, er, was, really good at what I did. The problem was-I got a little lost. Derailed. I got wrapped up in a world that can be amazing, but that can also drag you under and drown you if you're not careful.

My life is in this weird place. For the first time in my adult life, I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing--where I belong, or how I ended up where I am. Ignore my facts on paper? I'll show up daily--on time. I'm clean, I play fairly well with others, I can make change, and if I didn't have coffee on an almost constant basis--I would die." Finishing his honest plea with a soft sigh, Kurt simply looked Joey in the eye.

The man just sat, his gaze fixed on him, unblinking, for a seemingly endless minute. Huffing out a soft sigh of his own, he swallowed thickly before responding. "Are you in any sort of...trouble? I can't ask you what kind outright--but if you can read between the lines, yeah?"

Kurt emphatically shook his head, "No. No, not any sort of trouble that requires monitoring by court systems. Clean record. I'm...in a program. I'm not going to tell you exactly which one, but maybe you can do a little between the lines reading of your own? I don't really care to talk about that much, but...I WILL if it means that I'll maybe be able to be employed. Pay my bills, all of that?"

Joey tilted his head, looking for all the world like a puppy sussing out a particularly confusing situation. "Okay. Kurt, here's the deal--I've hired ten people in ten days, and have already had six of them not show up for their first shifts. It's not easy, there's multitasking challenges constantly--and it never feels calm in here. I love this job...mostly. You seem like the kind of guy who can appreciate a lack of sugar coating--I'm offering you a position. I'm more than a little worried about the idea--but I like your honesty. You sure you want in?" he asked.

"Joey? I need a chance. I've screwed up so much in the last year, I have to have something that I can NOT screw up. A paycheck would be nice, but, yeah, I'd like in." Kurt admitted.

And like that? He'd gotten another firm handshake, a lopsided smile, and a directive to, "Be here tomorrow. Early. Six."

#

Lately, Kurt never wants to leave his bed. If he could--he'd set up a small refrigerator directly next to it, and have a chamberpot at the ready underneath. As a child, he'd loved gathering as many blankets, pillows, and quilts on top of himself as he could. Many rainy days, he'd burrowed into the huge piles, feeling the air grow warmer and warmer around himself while he huddled underneath--breathing softly, talking to his stuffed animal friends.

At thirty, he's found himself back in a place where humid air, shadowy filtered light, and the idea of stuffed animals as his only friends--comforting.

He'd grown up to be a man with many acquaintances, a person who commanded respect. Kurt had worked so damned hard to be heard, to be appreciated. It literally makes his brain freeze, thoughts stuttering to a standstill whenever he tries to pinpoint his fall. That's what he thinks of it as, My Fall.

Scrubbing a hand wearily over his face, Kurt flings his fortress of covers off, and forces himself out of bed. Looking around his small room, he still can't quite believe that the vista which greets him has become his reality. Sparse furnishings...mismatched items. Bookshelves rescued from the side of the road, a dresser missing a knob--left behind by the last occupant of the space.

Reality. A thing which imbues Kurt with just enough energy to walk down the hallway, towel clutched to his chest like a terrycloth lifeline, and into the cramped bathroom to shower. As he shuffles into the room, and kicks the door closed softly with the heel of his foot--he stops short of walking right onto a sharp, plastic, toy dinosaur.

Damn it, Lauren...I think your kid sheds toys behind himself as he walks, he thinks grumpily. It's not like Kurt doesn't love children--he does, but he hadn't banked on his new roommate being a single mother with a precocious kid when he'd circled a "Roommate Wanted" ad a few months back. The only thing that had screamed at him from the black and white print had been SOBER ROOMMATE SAUGHT. He'd chuckled to himself then, as he'd sipped the coffee he'd scrounged up enough money to buy so he wouldn't feel guilty for taking up a table for hours at Barnes and Noble.

The reason for the laughter? He met the criteria for sobriety. Kurt Hummel--the headstrong, brave, kid who escaped Ohio, and made a name and a life for himself in the "Big Bad City", had fallen so far out of kilter and off-track that drink and drugs and anonymous sex had ripped him so deeply at the seams. He'd lost his job, his apartment, his friends--but most hurtful? The prideful glint in his father's eyes. Burt was still there for him-yes, but his honest, green eyes couldn't disguise a new, more hardened look when he glanced Kurt's way.

Sobriety. Well, at least he had that to hang on to. A new job. A system clean of mind-altering substances. It wasn't much-but it was a new start.

Rushing through his shower, Kurt mentally laid out his plans for the day. He expected the list to be long, but in the end? It was pretty simple: Show up. Show up at Starbucks and try not to run out the door screaming within an hour. Smile. (Or, try really hard to anyway). Work until it's time to clock out. Go home. Attempt to interact with Lauren and Caleb. Sleep.

Lather, rinse, repeat. Do it until something, anything resembling a new life starts to take form.

This, the thirty-fifth day of his employ by Starbucks Coffee Company, (not that Kurt is in any way counting, or anything.) runs the same way it has since the beginning. His shower, dressing, and six block walk to the store passed in a blur--and Kurt hasn't had a solitary moment to stop moving. Until 8:43am on the dot. A slight, bespectacled, customer on line causes him to gasp. Gasp and freeze in his tracks. Clenching his jaw, unable to look away from the man ten feet away--Kurt stares. Curly hair, tamed a bit more than usual--plain, black, wool peacoat, faded blue jeans not standing out particularly. It's the eyes.

Deep hazel, knowing. Blaine Anderson. Kurt's looked into the eyes of hundreds, thousands, of other people before. This pair is seared into his memory--his skin.

The person, holding his head at a slight tilt--gazing at Kurt in open wonder? Knows Kurt's secrets--his deepest shames, most scarred and wounded hidden bits. Kurt isn't sure if he adores him with every fibre of his being--or if he hates him in equal measure.

Blaine. Light, dark, truth, fear, parts of Kurt himself mirrored back behind those wire-rimmed glasses. And, he's next in line.