Blaine first finds Wander his senior year of college, after spending three years looking for it. Not Wander specifically, but one of its kind. It becomes his little reprieve from the bustle and noise of New York, a place where he can go with his books and papers or to write music over a cup of coffee. It’s quietFa and quaint and by the time December comes, he’s there every day. He brings his friends to the open mic nights on Fridays, drags himself out of bed on Saturday mornings to get breakfast, finishes out his semester studying for finals at the table in the corner. And it only made sense to apply for a job there after graduation, an easy way to pay the bills until he gets his career moving.

His big break takes longer coming than he’d hoped, and after a year, he’s still working at the coffee shop. It would be a lie to say he hates his job; he loves the art of coffee making, talking to the customers, learning the regulars’ names. He convinces the manager to let him play sets on Saturday evenings, covers of the Beatles, Madonna, Michael Jackson, Sting, Whitney Houston, Queen, and whatever else is playing on the radio that week.

It’s one of those Saturday nights that he first sees Kurt Hummel. Blaine is playing one of his favorite Beatles covers, slow and sweet and letting the guitar almost overpower his voice. Kurt, although Blaine doesn’t yet know his name, is sitting with his chin propped in his hand, watching with a fond smile. Papers are scattered on his table, a cup of coffee off to the side, ignored for the music, even as people chat around him. Blaine isn’t able to tear his eyes away for the rest of the song, but by the time he finishes his set, the man is gone.

Several weeks pass before Kurt comes back to the shop, long enough for Blaine to trade in his khakis and polo’s for Levis and heavy wool sweaters. Wander fills up faster than usual in the cold, people hurrying through to grab their cup of coffee on their way to work in the morning, lingering in the evening to avoid going back outside for a little longer. Blaine eases into the feel of the season, hanging candy canes and paper snowflakes and mistletoe around the shop. The radio stations start playing Christmas music, the customers tip more generously, and it starts to snow.

It’s a rare slow day, when Kurt returns. Early Saturday afternoons tend to be quieter, the spare time more often used to get ahead on holiday shopping. Blaine is behind the counter, humming along to Bing Crosby’s “White Christmas” on the radio and shuffling through the day’s receipts. It takes him an embarrassingly long time to notice Kurt leaning against the counter, watching him.

He flushes and hurries to grab the pad of paper and pen sitting by the register. “What can I get you?”

Kurt rattles off his name and coffee order to Blaine, who passes it along to the girl mixing drinks, and picks out one of the pastries in the window. When Blaine hands over the receipt, their eyes meet, and if Blaine had thought before that Kurt didn’t recognize him, he isn’t so sure anymore. Kurt smiles and moves aside to wait for his coffee, giving Blaine time to look him over out of the corner of his eye. Kurt’s wearing jeans that make his legs go on forever, heavy Doc Martens, and a sheepskin coat that Blaine’s sure he couldn’t ever afford. His hair is coiffed carefully into a quiff that gives him several extra inches and Blaine suddenly wishes he had gelled his hair that day instead of leaving the short curls hanging unfashionably over his forehead. It’s not until later, after he’s left that he realizes the man now has a name. Kurt.

Kurt comes in every day after that, always ordering the same thing and settling into the same table to write until precisely three o’clock, when he gathers up his things and slips out. Blaine wishes he had the nerve to say something to him, anything, but that’s too much, too exposing, so he keeps his mouth shut and his head down.

Christmas Eve creeps up on him and he has nowhere to be, so a few days before he puts up signs for a little concert at the shop and prods some of his friends into working that night. They leave the lighting dim and Blaine plays mostly instrumental arrangements of songs, a mix of holiday tunes and classical music and more recognizable songs off the radio, on his guitar on a stool in the corner, eyes closed.

There aren’t too many people who find their way in, but its enough to be more than worth it, to see people who would otherwise be alone sharing tables and conversation on a night that’s supposed to be about family. Blaine doesn’t look around until he starts strumming the opening chords of Sinatra’s “Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas.” There’s a few couples holding hands, friends leaning against each other, new acquaintances swaying gently, and, in the corner, Kurt.

He sets down his guitar at the end of the song and sets up the old record player in the corner before making his way over to Kurt’s table. He shoves his hands in his pockets as he approaches, trying to keep from panicking. It’s too late to back out, Kurt has already seen him and is smiling over the rim of his coffee cup and, God, this was a bad idea.

“Hi,” he says, too breathless to be suave.

Kurt grins. “Hi.”

Blaine rubs his hand on the back of his neck, a nervous habit he’d picked up from his brother. “So, we’ve never exactly been introduced, even though you’re in here all the time. I’m Blaine.”

Kurt grasps his hand firmly. “Kurt. Would you like to sit?”

Blaine relaxes a little and perches himself in the other chair.

“You’re a really great musician,” Kurt says quietly. “I loved that version of ‘Blackbird’ you did a while back.”

Blaine can feel his face heating and wonders if he’ll be eternally with red cheeks around Kurt. “Thanks. But they’re amazing songs already, I just try to do them justice.”

Kurt is shaking his head before Blaine even finishes his sentence. “Don’t sell yourself short,” he says warmly. “You’ve got an incredible talent. Do you write your own music?”

Blaine nods, fiddling with a napkin. “I’ve never played them here, though.”

Kurt tilts his head inquisitively. “Why not? You’ll get more attention playing originals than covers. And I’m assuming you don’t want to work in a coffee shop for the rest of your life, even one as lovely as this.”

Blaine can’t stop himself from ducking his head. “Maybe,” he says finally.

He jumps a little when Kurt’s hand slides to rest over his own, warm and firm. “I, for one, would love to hear them.”

Blaine smiles. “So what do you do? I see you in here writing all the time.”

Kurt withdraws his hand and Blaine feels the loss twisting through his stomach. “I write for a fashion magazine. I write about current and upcoming men’s fashion trends.”

Blaine feels his eyebrows go up. “Which magazine?”

“Vogue,” Kurt mutters, rubbing his fingers along the rim of his cup.

Blaine suddenly feels incredibly self-conscious about his own clothes. “Wow,” he breathes. “That’s incredible.”

Kurt smiles. “I really wanted to be designing, when I first started, but I ended up writing and I love it even more. So it all worked out, I suppose.”

“You’re lucky,” Blaine agrees. “To be doing what you love.”

“You don’t love your job, then?” Kurt asks, and it sounds like he already knows the answer.

Blaine laughs a little. “Don’t get me wrong, I love this place. It’s a great job. But to be performing every day, my own music? That’s what I really want to be doing.”

Kurt smiles sympathetically.

“I should get back up there,” Blaine says eventually, rising reluctantly. “We’re closing down in about an hour and I want to do another set.”

“Can I make a request?” Kurt asks.

Blaine blinks, surprised. “Sure.”

“Do you know ‘O Holy Night’?”

“I love that song,” Blaine says softly.

“My mom used to sing that to me on Christmas Eve when I was little,” Kurt confesses, and Blaine knows better than to ask why she doesn’t sing it anymore.

“I’ll make that my last one, if you’re sticking around.”

Kurt nods, a grateful smile lighting his face.

Blaine doesn’t introduce the song, just watches as Kurt leans back against the wall behind him and lets his own eyes fall closed as the music seeps through the room. The hushed conversation, clinking of glasses and plates, bustle of filling orders and cleaning tables is replaced with an almost reverent silence. Blaine thinks, this is Christmas.

--

I’ve seen the paths that your eyes wander down

I wanna come too -

--

January blurs into February, set apart only by the whirlwind of Valentine’s Day. Blaine and Kurt strike up a quiet kind of friendship, chatting a little while Kurt waits for his order, exchanging music and book recommendations, discussing new fashion trends and politics and movies. Blaine wonders if Kurt is gay. It’s possible, he thinks, between the voice and the love for fashion, but he doesn’t want to presume. And although the World Health Organization finally removed homosexuality from its list of diseases not too long ago, the generally negative attitude towards the gay community doesn’t suddenly disappear, even in New York.

Blaine is terrified to reveal himself to anyone, because after everything that happened to him in high school he’s decided that in the closet is a much safer place to be, despite how cowardly it makes him feel. Blaine knows that people probably assume Kurt’s gay without a second thought, and he doesn’t want to make that mistake, but at the same time he’s insanely jealous that Kurt is so proud and confident in himself. That’s something that Blaine has never quite achieved.

The decision to come out to Kurt on his own terms is taken from him in one fell swoop by his brother, who decides to drop by without a warning. Cooper appears at Blaine’s side as he’s talking to Kurt and drapes an arm over Blaine’s shoulders.

“Is this your new boy?” Cooper asks brightly, and in Blaine’s opinion, much too loudly.

Blaine flushes red and promptly drops the sugar dispenser he’d been refilling. “Cooper!” he hisses, glaring at him.

Cooper smiles genially and turns to Kurt. “Cooper Anderson, Blainer’s older, wiser, better-looking brother. Pleasure to meet you.”

Kurt looks a little startled, but otherwise composed as ever as he shakes Cooper’s hand. “Kurt Hummel. And Blaine and I aren’t dating.”

Blaine wants to disappear under the counter, but decides that’s childlike and definitely cause for ridicule for all eternity by whoever sees, so he shoots an apologetic look at Kurt. “Cooper,” he warns. “You didn’t say you were in town.”

Cooper shrugs and snags a toffee from the little glass bowl by the register. “It was a last minute visit, and I though I should stop by a surprise you. Aren’t you glad to see me, B?”

Blaine sighs. “Of course, Coop.”

Cooper grins and ruffles his hair, Blaine swatting his hand away. “Good! Because I’m crashing on your couch tonight. I’ll see you later, Blainers. Bye Kurt!”

Blaine slumps over the counter with a groan as the little bell over the door tinkles gently behind Cooper.

Kurt looks like he’s trying to valiantly hold back laughter and pats Blaine’s arm. “He’s not so bad.”

“He’s horrible,” Blaine says, voice muffled by his hands. “I’m so sorry, Kurt.” He glances up to see Kurt smile.

“I do have a question, though.” Kurt lowers his voice. “Blaine, are you gay?”

Blaine turns red and ducks his head. “Yeah, I am,” he mutters.

Kurt grabs at Blaine’s hands, gripping them tightly. “It’s nothing to be ashamed about,” he says fiercely.

“I know,” Blaine whispers, glancing around cautiously. “Can we talk about this later, please?”

Kurt sighs and squeezes his hands gently before releasing them. “Of course.”

Blaine feels the knot in his stomach start to relax. “I’m not trying to avoid talking to you, I swear. It’s just that it’s kind of an ugly story and we really shouldn’t talk about it here.”

Kurt smiles fondly. “Blaine, calm down. It’s fine. I’ll leave you my pager number and we can work something out, okay?”

Blaine’s shoulders slump in relief and he nods. “Thank you.”

--

Kurt returns to Wander that night, just before closing. He sits at his usual table and watches as Blaine moves quickly around the shop, cleaning tables, straightening chairs, wiping counters. He finally locks the door and flips the sign to “closed” and joins Kurt at the table.

“So,” Kurt says.

“So,” Blaine mutters, keeping his gaze locked on the table.

“Blaine, look at me,” Kurt whispers. “I’m not mad at you for not telling me, and I certainly don’t hate you for being gay. I’m sure you’ve guessed that I am too.”

Blaine shakes his head and finally meets Kurt’s eyes. “I didn’t want to presume.”

Kurt laughs. “Okay, well now you know. Are you going to tell me what happened to you that made you so scared of coming out? Or should we forget the whole thing and talk about something else?”

Blaine takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders. “At my high school there was a Sadie Hawkins dance, my freshman year. And I had just come out, so I asked a friend of mine, the only other gay guy in the school. While we were waiting for his dad to pick us up, these three guys, um, beat the living crap out of us. We hadn’t even so much as touched, the entire night. But it was enough that we were there together.”

“Blaine,” Kurt breathes.

“I transferred to a new school and I crept back into the closet. It was a coward’s way out, and I’m so ashamed of myself for doing that, but I was terrified. I’m still scared.”

“Blaine,” Kurt says more firmly. “You were just keeping yourself safe. That’s nothing to be ashamed about. Everyone comes out in his or her own time, and that’s fine. I’m not going to force you to.”

Blaine rests his face in his hands, feeling like crying, but Kurt pries them away and presses them within his own in the middle of the table. “Thank you,” Blaine whispers.

“There’s nothing to thank me for,” Kurt replies. “You’re my friend.”

Blaine nods and a tear creeps out from the corner of his eye. Kurt stands and tugs on his hands until he’s held tight in Kurt’s embrace, head tucked in the curve of Kurt’s neck. He’s never felt safer.

-- 

It becomes Kurt’s habit to stay late on Saturday nights, after Blaine’s set and after everyone has left and the door’s locked. Blaine will make coffee for both of them and they’ll turn out all the lights except the ones over the counter and sit in a corner and talk for hours into the night. Kurt finds out Blaine plays piano as well and insists that he has to hear him play some time. Blaine invites him back to his apartment because the shop doesn’t have a piano and sits in shock for several moments when Kurt gets up to go immediately.

Blaine plays with his eyes closed, coaxing notes out of the piano from the memory in his fingers. A dance in black and white. He barely registers Kurt against his side; shoulders, hips, thighs sharing heat. He doesn’t open his eyes until the last phrase fades and his fingers slide off the keys.

“That was beautiful,” Kurt says, barely a whisper.

Blaine looks at him then, breath catching in his throat at how close they are.

Kurt leans his forehead against Blaine’s. “Tell me it’s okay.”

“Kurt.”

He seems to understand and Blaine’s world melts away to the give and take of Kurt’s lips against his, Blaine’s hands curled at Kurt’s waist, Kurt’s fingers threading through Blaine’s curls to tip his face up.

“Stay,” Blaine breathes. “Don’t go.”

Kurt doesn’t ask if he means tonight or forever, just carefully laces their fingers together and kisses him again. 

Kurt wakes folded around Blaine and he knows that he won’t want to sleep alone anymore. Blaine feels smaller like this, back warm against Kurt’s chest, legs tangled together, Kurt’s arm wrapped snug around Blaine’s waist. Kurt lets himself just look until Blaine stirs, turning in Kurt’s embrace and wriggling to touch a dry kiss to Kurt’s lips.

“Hi,” Kurt says softly, pushing Blaine’s rumpled curls off his forehead.

“Hi,” Blaine whispers. “I’ve been looking for you forever.”