The First Time

I do my thing and you do your thing

They meet – somehow – on the street. It's not quite a meeting, but rather an impossible series of encounters. More than eight million people crammed into 469 square miles and Kurt still manages to run into him time and time again. He sees him in line at the Starbucks around the corner from Kurt's office building. He catches up to him jogging through Central Park, sharing a path until one of them veers off. They pass in the doorway of a store as he is walking out and Kurt is going into it. Standing on opposite ends of a Subway car heading down to the theatre district. Waiting in the lobby of the Al Hirschfeld during intermission of a show.

Oh, there you are.

Kurt would be surprised to see him there, at a weeknight production of Kinky Boots, but he's just not. Not anymore.

"You should say hi," Kurt's boss, Isabelle, nudges him at least once a week. Kurt keeps telling himself next time. Next time he'll wave hello, or introduce himself. Or maybe buy the guy's coffee. Next time.

The other boy catches his eye through the crowd of people milling about. He's standing in a circle of guys who all look about his age. Kurt and the guy nod politely at one another, and Kurt just knows by the slow blink of his golden eyes and the smile that quirks his mouth that the other boy recognizes him too. He's really kind of gorgeous, Kurt thinks, with his dark hair and his bright bowties. But the guy's attention returns to the tall blond boy standing next to him and Kurt sighs. He wishes he had a drink. The whole thing is ridiculous. He should just introduce himself. They see each other more than often enough; clearly they have some similar interests. What can it hurt? The least he can get is the other guy's name so he'll know what to think of him as the next time they pass each other, which they undoubtedly will. And then maybe he can get Isabelle off his ass about it.

Just do it, Hummel.

Kurt musters up his courage, squares his shoulders, and walks towards the circle of friends. He smoothes a few wrinkles from his clothes and is thankful he dressed up a bit for the show. It's nothing too flashy – just a nice pair of skinny jeans, his favorite boots, and a form fitting long-sleeved shirt with a snug vest on top. Not over-dressed, but not too casual or sloppy. He even left his scarf at the office; he likes the way his collarbones look in this shirt. He resists the urge to check his hair.

The guy glances up as Kurt approaches.

"Excuse me," he says. The guy's beautiful eyes widen and his mouth falls open a little. "I'm Kurt."

"Blaine," the guy says and he reaches out to shake Kurt's hand. His palm is warm and his grip firm. Kurt doesn't want to say he feels sparks as their skin meets.

"So," Kurt begins. His heart is pounding and he thinks he's sweating. "This is going to sound like a line, but I've seen you around a lot."

Blaine's broad shoulders relax as he laughs. "Oh, thank god it wasn't just me. I thought maybe I was accidentally stalking you. Or that I'd imagined you." His eyes disappear into the folds of his toothy smile.

"I can assure you I'm very real."

Blaine licks his lips and Kurt swallows. They stare at each other and Kurt has the wild urge to grab Blaine's hand back, pull him out of the theatre, and race into the bright night of New York City together.

"Hey, Blaine?" One of the guys standing around them says suddenly. "We're gonna go grab some drinks. We'll see you back inside when intermission is over, ok?"

The look of gratitude Blaine shoots his friend makes Kurt's stomach swoop happily.

"So, what do you do, Kurt?" Blaine asks when the other guys are gone and the two of them are left alone.

"I work at Vogue." Kurt preens at the impressed look on Blaine's face. "I'm just an assistant's assistant right now, but I'm working my way up. I want to design my own line, or run the magazine. Or both. What about you?"

"Grad student at NYU. Musical theatre. I just – I want to perform. I like to entertain people." He sounds humble about it, but Kurt's pretty sure he's magnificent.

"Oh, so next time we meet at a theatre it'll be backstage at one of your shows." Kurt beams and Blaine blushes, his cheeks staining a pretty pink. He's so fucking adorable Kurt almost can't stand it. He's already so glad he found the courage to say hello.

"Well, I'm pretty sure we're going to meet again long before anything like that happens. Don't we have a date with a crosswalk coming up?" Blaine tilts his head a little coquettishly. "Or will it be that Starbucks again?"

"Or the Park." Kurt finds himself taking a step closer to Blaine. "58 miles of pathways and you just have to run the same couple of miles as me." Not that Kurt minds. Blaine looks amazing in running shorts.

"God, it's so weird! I mean, seriously. There's a moment when it just becomes absurd, you know?"

"Yeah, the first 150 times I saw you were fine, totally normal, but this was the last straw." Kurt grins.

"At this point, we might as well be married." Blaine freezes after he says it, mouth hanging open in shock. His eyes have gone wide and a flush is traveling down his neck. Kurt's throat feels dry.

The house lights flash the five-minute warning.

"I-" Blaine starts but Kurt jumps in.

"Do you want to get a drink after the show?" He asks. His heart is pounding again, but he's got enough courage for this. "I know you're here with your friends, but-"

"I'd love that." Blaine smiles again, bright and delighted. Kurt's heart flips.

"Okay."

The Second Time

You are you

Blaine has plenty of patients he sees every day. His is a busy hospital and there are a lot of people he looks out for every long shift. They come and they go; they get better or they don't. Sometimes they're his to take care of only for just a few hours; others stay for weeks. But he tries to give them all the same level of care and attention. He shouldn't play favorites – that's not his job. But he can't always help it. Sometimes he's just drawn to a patient, or their family.

It's the case with room 206. His patient is a middle-aged man, a few days post-op after major heart surgery. He's maybe one of the kindest, most genial men Blaine has ever had the honor and privilege to be nurse for.

"Good morning, Mr. Hummel," Blaine says, taking the chart off the door. He loves to begin his shift with this patient.

"How many times I gotta tell you to call me Burt before it sinks in?" He's got a gruff kind of a voice. Deep. Authoritative. Fatherly.

"You know it's just my way of waking you up, Burt." Blaine grins. He checks Burt's vitals and makes his notes on the patient's chart. He's thankful the man is improving more and more every time he pokes his head in on him. But Blaine tries not to think of how it means Burt will be leaving soon.

"Do you mind if I take a look?" Blaine asks, gesturing to the stark white bandage peeking out from Burt's hospital gown.

"'Course not. It's your job, son." Burt pushes the blankets down to his waist.

Blaine shoves down the little wriggle of happiness he feels every time Burt calls him 'son.' He inspects the long incision on Burt's chest and is pleased to see how well it's healing. He remembers the day Burt arrived at the hospital. Blaine had been down in the ER squaring up some paper work when a paramedic team had come rushing through with a gurney. He hadn't known then that the man lying comatose with an EMT on top of him, pumping at his unmoving chest, would become the highlight of his shifts. And more.

"Big plans for the weekend?" Burt asks while Blaine is carefully inspecting the edges of the incision. He always asks about Blaine's day and always listens to the answer.

"Nah. I work Saturday. I'll probably just sleep through Sunday." His hours at the hospital are horrendous sometimes, but he loves his job.

"Handsome kid like you must have someone waiting at home."

Blaine blushes. "Nope. It's just me. Well, and my cat, Pav." It sounds sad when he says it aloud.

"Dad," a lovely voice calls from the doorway and Blaine shivers at the sound of it. "They didn't have Popular Mechanic, so I grabbed GQ and Vogue." A tall young man with pale, freckled skin and perfect hair slips into the hospital room.

Kurt. Blaine's heart picks up pace. His hands tremble a little.

"Oh hey, Blaine." The man says in cheerful greeting. His eyes brighten when he sees Blaine, and Blaine feels the heat gathering in his cheeks. His belly swoops and he wishes, just for once, that Kurt could see him in something other than boring old scrubs.

"Morning, Kurt." Blaine clears his throat and doesn't miss the way Burt smirks at them both.

"So, Blaine," Burt interjects, when Blaine and Kurt spend just a little too long staring at each other not saying anything. "When d'ya think I'm going to get out of this joint?"

"Eager to escape my tender mercies?" Blaine retorts, grateful to Burt for breaking the moment. He loves to banter with Kurt's dad, or to just sit and chat with him whenever he can. Sometimes he takes his breaks in room 206 – perched in an uncomfortable chair and listening to one of Burt's endless supply of stories. And if that means Kurt is occasionally (okay so maybe more than occasionally) there too, well that's just a bonus.

"I think Dad's just worried about the upcoming avalanche of bills." Kurt sits down in one of the chairs and crosses one long leg over the other. Blaine tries not to stare at the tight stretch of fabric across his thigh and focuses on double-checking Burt's IV drip. Kurt is his patient's son. It's not right, to think of him the way Blaine does. It's not proper.

It doesn't matter. Blaine's in so deep he'll never surface.

"These rooms ain't cheap, son. And I'm just a mechanic."

"Don't worry about it, Dad," Kurt says, flipping open the Vogue resting on his lap. "We'll figure it out. Besides, you need to conserve your strength by not worrying about money."

"Well, you know," Blaine muses absently. "If we got married, you'd be eligible for my health insurance." Blaine doesn't realize what he's said until he hears the heavy silence that follows. He looks up from the chart in his hands. Kurt is staring at him with those lovely ocean blue eyes.

"Oh, I – oh god. I didn't mean to, that was – I'm sorry," Blaine stutters. His face is burning and his heart is in his throat. He thinks about bolting from the room, quitting his job, and moving to a new country.

Kurt just blinks up at him with those bright eyes of his that Blaine tries so hard not to gaze into. "Well," Kurt begins and a smile starts to curve his mouth. "Generally a date or two comes before a marriage proposal."

All of the breath in Blaine's body whooshes out of him with a relieved barking laugh. He wants to sink into a little puddle on the floor. "Dinner, at least."

"I suppose I could make an exception for Nurse Anderson though."

Blaine is smiling and he can't stop. Kurt's cheeks are pink and Blaine feels brave. "Let me at least get you a cup of coffee."

"Do you want me to leave you two alone?" Burt asks. Blaine just laughs and Kurt catches the grin his dad sends him.

The Third Time

And I am I

Kurt really loves owning his charming little shop in the Upper West Side.

Sure, running Lizzie's Bakery is harder than he'd ever dreamed it would be when he first came up with the idea. He'd been pulling another tray of perfectly crispy biscotti out of the oven when the notion struck, a little bit like lightning.

"Why don't I do this?" Kurt asked himself, and he couldn't think of enough reasons not to try. He imagined a quaint little storefront with lace curtains in the windows and a hand-painted sign. He imagined rows of delicious baked goods and wooden tables that were always occupied.

His dad, of course, thought he was crazy.

"It's not gonna be like your tea parties, kid." Burt had said, but he was smiling. But then Kurt had told him what he was planning on naming the bakery. Burt's eyes had softened and he'd taken a deep breath. He'd clapped his big, familiar hand on Kurt's shoulder and offered up any and all help and support he could.

Kurt kind of loves seeing his big, gruff dad in a flour-dusted apron, layering butter and dough for croissants.

But the bakery is demanding. It's early mornings pounding out bread dough and long hours serving customers, making sure everyone is more than satisfied. It's literal blood, sweat, and tears. It's worrying about making the rent for the first year before the shop found its steadier feet, never mind paying his employees, or himself. It's not having much of a life outside of the walls and back kitchen until he learns to let Santana take over more.

But as hard as it is, it's even more rewarding. It took a little while (New York City isn't short on places for its residents to go for delectable treats), but people love his bakery, his food. Lizzie's is getting written up in articles and raved about on the streets. Most mornings, there's a line out of the door and sometimes Kurt even runs out of certain selections before 11am. A successful business. A lovely apartment. Good friends. A wonderful father.

All in all, Kurt Hummel knows he has a pretty damn good life.

And then there's Blaine. The sweet, adorable music teacher with the mess of dark curls and big, brilliant eyes who comes in at least a couple of times a week on his way to work. He's gorgeous, with his easy smile, his battered old leather book bag, and the way he finds Kurt the moment he walks through the door. If Kurt checks his hair in the muddled reflection of the stainless steel fridge when he sees Blaine through the storefront window, and makes sure he doesn't have flour on his nose, well, he just wants to look presentable to his customers.

That warm, sunny morning, Blaine's jaw is dark with scruff and his dark blue cardigan sets off the richness of his skin tone. Sometimes Kurt wonders if Blaine tastes like caramel-tinged buttercream. Kurt wipes his palms on the edge of his apron.

"Morning, Kurt," Blaine says, his eyes crinkling with his smile, and Kurt's stomach swoops happily the way it always does.

"Morning, Blaine."

There are a few people in line in front of Blaine, but Kurt ducks in to snag an almond croissant from the pastry case. It's perfectly browned and he knows the filling is just the right amount of sweet to tease the tongue without overpowering everything else.

"Almond today, huh?" Blaine asks. His eyes are fixed on Kurt. The way he watches Kurt do his job, with those golden eyes of his, makes Kurt's cheeks flush and his heart race. His normally steady hands tremble.

"It feels like an almond kind of day," Kurt responds instead of the words he wants to say.

I think you're adorable.

"Do you have time to eat it here?" He asks, even though he knows Blaine's given himself 15 extra minutes just so he can sit and enjoy his breakfast inside the bakery. Sometimes he can't – sometimes Blaine is in a rush and Kurt has to put his order in a little to-go bag and watch as he slips out of his shop and back out onto the busy street.

"Yep," Blaine says cheerfully. "I'm gonna snag my table and stay a moment. I'm giving the kids a test today and I'll need these few minutes to gear myself up for it."

The fact that Blaine is a teacher never fails to make Kurt warm and wriggly inside. "Lemme get your coffee and I'll bring them over."

"You know you don't have to do that."

"Customer service, Blaine. It's all about providing excellent customer service." Kurt winks and Blaine blushes. If he let a little hint of a suggestion of something more, well, who can blame him? He tries not to flirt – Blaine's been coming into his shop for months and neither of them has made a move – but he can't help it sometimes.

"Can't say no to that." Blaine pays and leaves a larger tip than he should. Kurt watches as Blaine slides into a chair at his favorite table – the one in a corner with a view out of the window. It also happens to be right in Kurt's line of sight from behind the counter.

Blaine gets a medium drip with a little milk and a dash of cinnamon. Kurt started adding the cream and spice for him after watching him do it for weeks. He likes to know exactly how Blaine takes his coffee. He tries not to think about how he could make this for Blaine in his own kitchen.

Kurt brings the mug and the plate over to Blaine's table. Blaine glances up from his phone as he approaches and Kurt's breath hitches in his chest at the warm morning light catching in Blaine's eyes.

"Can I tempt you with something for later?" Kurt asks. "A little afternoon treat? I've got some cookies just about cooled in the back. It'd be on me." Kurt wants to cock his hip and touch his own neck, anything to get Blaine to keep looking at him.

"Oh, no need to tempt me. I know what you can do. I mean, we should get married so your famous Oreo Stuffed Chocolate Chip cookies are legally half-mine," Blaine says as he reaches for the cup of coffee.

Kurt freezes. Blaine's eyes go wide like he can't believe what he's just said.

"I-" Kurt starts. His palms are sweating. He desperately tries not to think about the delicious wedding cake he could bake.

"Ok," Blaine claps his hands around the mug. "I know this is probably completely untoward, and you're probably taken, but I just need to – can I take you out sometime?" It comes out in a rush and then Blaine sucks in a breath.

Kurt swallows. Blaine's cheeks are red, but he's staring hopefully up at Kurt through those long, thick lashes. "Yeah," Kurt breathes out. "I'd really like that."

Blaine sighs visibly. Suddenly, the chair closest to Kurt slides back, pushed by Blaine's foot. "Can you sit for a minute? I know you're busy, but-"

Kurt settles down in the chair, smoothing his apron across his lap and resting his elbows on the table. "It's my shop, isn't it? I can stay as long as you want."

The Last Time

And if by chance we find each other

Blaine spends weeks and weeks thinking about how he wants to do it. What exactly he wants to say, what the lead-up to the moment should be like. Romantic, of course. Meaningful. Perfect. It's only the most momentous question he's ever going to ask. He's only asking for Kurt to be his forever. But what about the details? The details are important too.

Should it happen in the morning? When Kurt is soft and sleepy and the dewy sun brings out the beauty of his freckles? Or should Blaine ask him in the evening? When the moon and the stars shine in Kurt's eyes and he's had a glass of wine to calm his nerves so he's not a stuttering mess? Blaine wonders if he should do the proper thing and get down on one knee to present the ring – the ring that's tucked away in a shoebox in the closet. Does he need to ask Burt for permission first?

(He should probably ask Burt first.)

Blaine thinks about putting together some grand, heartfelt gesture for Kurt. A song, perhaps. He's always felt the most comfortable expressing himself through another's lyrics, but he feels these words should come from him and him alone. A picnic in the Park, maybe, but it's really too private a moment for something so public. Blaine knows he's going to cry and kiss Kurt into oblivion, and he doesn't need anyone else watching him. He has half a mind towards decorating their apartment in roses and silk and spelling out his question in petals on the floor. But he's seen enough romantic comedies to know that something invariably goes wrong with best-laid plans. So he pushes those aside and tries to come up with something else.

He just wants to be married to Kurt. He's ready. He's been ready for years, ever since he was barely seventeen years old and so desperately in love with his beautiful boy he couldn't breathe. He doesn't really care how it happens – where they are and who asks whom. Blaine's just tired of waiting for the future he already knows is happening.

It all leaves Blaine lost in his thoughts of how's and when's and where's while he stands shoulder to shoulder with Kurt as they wash the dishes after dinner.

"So, I think we should reconsider our agreement to not take any classes together next year," Kurt says, handing him a plate. It's Blaine's turn to dry while Kurt scrubs. He hmmms to let Kurt know he's listening.

"I know we said we shouldn't," Kurt continues. "That it's gross when couples are in the same class and they spend the whole time making gooey doe-eyes at each other and blowing kisses instead of paying attention." Kurt waves two forks around, splashing sudsy water, and Blaine snorts. He's so in love it hurts. "But between my internship and your job, I feel like we hardly get any time together during the school year. I hate seeing so little of you." He pouts and Blaine wants to kiss it away.

Blaine hates it too. Sometimes he feels like he goes days with just a good morning peck, a good night kiss, and dozens of texts in between. (They're good kisses though.) But he always wants more. More time with Kurt wrapped up in his arms; more lazy days spent planning their future together. He just wants more of Kurt. That's not too much to ask, is it?

"And besides, it'll be my senior year. It's my last chance to pass you notes in class." Kurt knocks into Blaine's shoulder. His smiling eyes are sea blue in the low lighting of the kitchen and the shadows highlight his cheekbones. His hair has fallen across his forehead and he's wearing one of Blaine's old, worn t-shirts. He's gorgeous.

"Marry me," Blaine blurts out. The words fall from his lips the way music falls from his fingers. Kurt blinks down at him, mouth falling open. Blaine hears a dish clatter to the bottom of the sink.

"I – I was going to – I want to plan something big for you, something special, but-" Blaine is blushing bright red and stuttering. Flustered. This isn't what he'd intended.

Kurt cuts him off with a swift kiss to his mouth, intimate and familiar. His wet, soapy fingers slide across Blaine's jaw and around the back of his neck, pulling him up close.

"Yes," Kurt breathes out against his lips. "Yes, of course."

Blaine melts into Kurt's body and doesn't worry that the ring is still in the closet or that he's barefoot in their tiny kitchen wearing sweatpants that have a hole in them. Kurt's arms curl around his shoulders and hold him tight. Blaine can taste his smile.

"It doesn't matter how you ask," Kurt murmurs. "It's always yes."

It's beautiful.