Title: The Boy from the Lima Bean
by: kaiyrah
Characters/Pairs: Kurt/Blaine
Rating: PG13
Word Count: ~5900
Spoilers/Warnings: None.
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: AU. There are three things he knows about Kurt. One, he's a barista at the Lima Bean. Two, he does community theater. Three, he's totally going to take Blaine out for a movie date this Friday.
A/N: Inspired by two things: the fact that Blaine sucks at romance, and the song "Taylor the Latte Boy." Also I just want to say that the David-Blaine combination is rather tragic (or hilarious?) because I can't help but think "Five foot ace of clubs WHAT THE EFF?"

How is Congress divided, and how many members are there in each division? Bicameral legislature, Senate has 100 and the House of Reps has... 453?

Blaine flips the notecard over and groans. "Crap. 435? Why do I keep mixing it up...?"

It's only his first semester in college, but already he misses the protective walls of Dalton. Just a little. At the very least, he'd still be with the Warblers and some of his closest friends, and the school was small enough that the teachers were all familiar with the students if not by name then by face.

To make matters worse, he's had the misfortune of choosing one of the worst poli sci instructors in school - she even has a frowny face on RateMyProfessors! Blaine has no choice though; Rees' section is the only one that doesn't conflict with any of his other classes. Hopefully he can scrape by with at least a C.

If not though, he can find some way to entertain himself come the final day. Last semester, Thad apparently bubbled in a giraffe on his scantron after he gave up on the exam. He said Rees had given him the dirtiest look on earth when she saw the paper.

Hopefully it won't come to that.

The cafe's buzzing with people, and already all the tables near the sockets are occupied. So much for using his laptop. "Guess I'll just have to study the old-fashioned way..." Blaine mutters, and he pulls up on the strap of his slipping messenger bag. When the couple in front of him finishes paying and steps aside, his eyes are cast down at his pockets as he searches for his wallet. "Uh... could I get a medium drip and a..." There it is. He fishes it out and looks up triumphantly at the - wait.

Whoa. Hello gorgeous. Instead of the blond surfer-looking guy with Bieber hair and enormous lips that he's used to seeing on Thursday afternoons, Blaine faces a boy who's actually much more his type. He's not as tall as surfer guy, but he's still taller than Blaine, with sturdy arms and a lean frame. His hair's coiffed up into a pompadour reminiscent of young Elvis, and his skin is like porcelain, his nose sharp and just slightly upturned, his lips thin but set on a wide inviting mouth, his lashes dark over blue-gray-green eyes that are unbelievably beautiful and as the boy stares at him, Blaine's pretty sure that he's forgotten how to breathe.

"Wow. It's not my birthday yet," he says without thinking about it, and only after the fact does he clap a hand over his mouth in horror because oh god did he really just say that? The cute barista bites down on his bottom lip, trying desperately not to laugh. His Sharpie's poised over the paper cup as he writes Blaine's order. "And your name please?"

"Um. Blaine."

"Blaine?" Cute barista asks in confirmation and begins to write the name down.

He nods, holding his breath. "Blaine. It's my name, I swear. Not a major appliance."

The barista looks at him funny and Blaine suddenly wants the floor to swallow him whole. Or maybe he wants to die instead. That's a sensible option, since apparently he royally sucks at spitting game with cute boys, because seriously? The appliance joke again? He's heard it more times than he can count and frankly he's gotten sick of it yet here he is, saying it to a complete hottie who's gaping at him like he's a mutant. The more he thinks about it, the more humiliating it is, and his ears turn red and jeez why is cute barista taking forever in getting his order down? Hopefully when this little disaster is over he can just walk out all cool-like, pretend like he didn't just make himself out to look like a giant tool, and maybe possibly never come back.

Which would suck. Because their cookies are delicious. And so is the boy at the register.

Then suddenly cute barista is snickering and setting the cup down for his coworker to fill up and he smiles at Blaine. "I haven't seen that movie in years."

"It's a good movie," Blaine says, admiring the boy's smile and while his mouth is open in pause, he wonders if it'd be pushing his luck to say, Hey speaking of movies, how about you and me go out to see one this weekend?

Hm. Nah. He can't pull off that arrogant douche thing. Sounds like he's trying too hard. Besides, he's not even sure if this guy's gay. He's pretty (and smells really nice - is that Dior Homme?) but that doesn't automatically give him the rainbow flag. Blaine's been wrong about these things before.

"Can I get you anything else, Blaine?"

Oh my god he said my name! And not just in a repeating-after-me-kind-of-way, but I said it like two minutes ago and he actually remembered! "Uh, yeah! Two biscotti. One regular and one chocolate-dipped, please."

Cute barista slides out the plate of biscotti for him and totals the purchase, and when Blaine pays up and receives his change, he sets off toward the wall, determined to disappear into it until he needs to pick up his order. Could he be any more of a loser? Ugh, why do boys have this effect on him? Seriously, what business do they have making him into a bumbling incoherent mess? They have nothing to gain from it. Absolutely nothing. He sighs dramatically. The world's out to get him. It's just that simple.

"Medium drip for Blaine!" He ambles up toward the counter, willing himself not to make any eye contact as he grabs his cup. At least until he realizes that a pale, beautiful hand is still anchoring the cup to the counter, and he looks up straight into cute barista's eyes.

"Have a good one." Cute barista smiles at him, and his heart melts a little. "And come back soon, okay?"

Blaine's speechless and he can only nod as cute barista turns back to the register and oh my god did he just throw a coy wink over his shoulder? He did. He totally did. Then the blender goes on and drowns out every noise in the vicinity and it could not have had better timing because Blaine's pretty sure that he just squealed like a thirteen-year-old girl.

Without warning, Blaine bursts into Sabrina's room and flops down on her bed on top of all her study materials, cradling an empty Lima Bean cup to his chest.

"Hey!" She swats at him. "Get out! Unlike you, I actually study for mid-terms."

"I study," Blaine says defensively, and he winces a bit at the binder rings digging into his back. He rolls over to face her and sighs. "Sis, I think I'm in love."

"Yeah, and I think you're irritating. Come on, knock it off. I gotta study."

"I just want to have a chat with my older sister and she's pushing me away," Blaine pouts. "She's horrible."

"God, you're such a baby." She sticks her sock-clad foot in his face and he wrinkles his nose in disgust as he rolls away.

Sabrina pulls the binder and textbook closer to her. "Thank you." She gives one final glare at Blaine before turning her attention back to her notes. "Let's see... Which of the following agonists would be used for cardiogenic shock, cardiac arrest, heart block, or heart failure? Alpha-1... Ugh, I don't know..."

Blaine gives another dramatic sigh and holds the cup under his chin. "My sister hates me."

"Yeah I do, a little bit!" Before he can even throw up a hand to defend himself, his sister picks up a clicky-eraser and throws it at him. He flinches as it smacks his forehead and bounces right off, and automatically he reaches up to rub the spot of impact.

"What the hell, Sabrina?"

"Obviously you're not going to leave me alone unless we talk." She claps the binder shut and closes the book. "Fine. So talk. Who's the lucky boy?"

He smiles and sits up, scooting closer to her. "He's a barista at the Lima Bean. Light eyes, fair skin - totally dreamy."

Sabrina eyes the coffee cup uneasily. "And the cup...?"

Proudly he turns it around to display his name written in a rather hard, angular cursive. "He took my order today."

"You kept the cup? Blaine, that's disgusting."

"I washed it out!"

She gives him a face that says are you serious right now? and he stares right back. "What?" He cradles the cup to his cheek as if it's one of his most prized possessions - and at the present, it really is. Is that sad?

...Yeah, probably.

Then she shakes her head and rests her chin in her palm. "Okay, whatever. What's his name?"

His name? That's easy, it's - and then it occurs to him that he'd never even bothered to look at cute barista's name tag. Whoa, seriously? He's disappointed in himself. He wracks his brain, trying to remember if he'd at least gotten a glimpse, but nothing comes to mind. "Uh... That's a good question. Yeah, I don't know his name."

Sabrina raises a perfectly threaded eyebrow. "You don't know? Wow, some stalker you are. You keep the cup that he gave you but you don't even know his name?"

"Shut up. So what if I don't know his name yet? Let's just call him Ned for now."

"Ned?"

"I don't know, he looks like a Ned." Blaine shrugs. "Maybe."

"You continue to amaze me with your idiocy."

He mock-frowns at her. "You know what, I don't need you judging me."

"I don't remember wanting to be involved in this conversation in the first place." She rolls her eyes and shoves his shoulder, and he tips over, sinking into the bed on his back. "Crushing on some guy you don't even know... what are you, 12?"

He chuckles, clutching the cup to his chest once again. "It's just... ah, I don't know, Sis. He's exactly my type. You know? And he has these arms and these cheekbones and this jaw - "

" - And these hands and legs," Sabrina says dryly. "Body parts, I get it. Most humans have them."

"Don't interrupt me. And these hands and legs - " She throws her hands up in exasperation. " - And that waist! Oh my god that waist. I'm getting shivers just thinking about it."

"Ugh, gross - go take a cold shower then! Don't make a mess on my sheets, I just washed them!"

He takes a deep breath and looks up at Sabrina, who's looking at him like he's gum on the bottom of her shoe, and he taps her knee absently. "I'm serious though. Should I ask him out?"

She sighs and swats his fingers away from her knee. "You want my honest opinion?" He nods, and she leans over to ruffle his hair, and he laughs quietly, turning away from her hand.

"You should probably learn Prince Charming's real name first before you try to mack on him."

"...Good point."

He is not a stalker. Really. He's just doing some extensive research. On Ned. If that's his real name anyway, and he's kind of hoping it isn't. He just knows that he's absolutely gorgeous and works at the Lima Bean. He'd like to know more, though. And that's why he camps out at the coffee shop pretty much all day Friday (thank god for four-day school weeks)... and Saturday... and Sunday.

He's more than a little disheartened when he walks into the coffee shop Monday afternoon and his dreamboat isn't there yet again. Tons of paranoid thoughts run through his mind (does he know I'm here and doesn't want to see me, did I smell bad on Thursday, does he hate me ohmygod I don't think I could handle that) but he forces himself to calm down and shut up; it's perfectly normal to not work on the weekend, even if the weekend is really the best time to work since he's assuming that Ned is a student and probably has class on the weekdays and no, he didn't take an hour yesterday to ponder Ned's schedule or extracurricular activities. Nope.

Still Blaine can't help but feel like he's been stood up four days in a row. It's more than a little ridiculous because hello - they're so not dating, and Ned probably won't even remember him if they ever meet again, but the thought doesn't make him feel better at all. It makes him feel like crap.

It's Tuesday afternoon now and he almost doesn't even want to try to go in today, but he's pulled two all-nighters this week studying for mid-terms, so a caffeine boost would help out a lot today. That and he's really craving a Lima Bean snickerdoodle.

Sluggishly he drags his feet into the coffee shop and parks himself at the back of the line. He spends the next few minutes doing a couple runs of his informative speech in his head, and when he's almost satisfied, he nods to himself and takes a minute to stare at the menu board, despite the fact that he already knows what to order. He's about three people away from the register when he hears a very distinct laugh, and out of curiosity he peeks out from the side of the enormously tall gentleman in front of him only to yelp in surprise.

Ned is there hiding giggles into the back of his hand, and he's just as gorgeous as he was five days ago. Blaine ducks behind the tall gentleman once again and covertly whips out his cell phone to check his teeth and smooth down his hair and - shit, his hair! He'd been studying like a demon last night and only managed a quick power nap this morning just before leaving for class, leaving no time to gel his hair down. Oh no. Oh no oh no, this can't be happening. What if Ned doesn't like curly hair? Of course he doesn't - he's perfect. He probably hates scruffy guys, which sucks because Blaine is positively rockin' the derelict chic today.

He can't do this. He'll just have to come back on Thursday. At least he knows for sure that Ned works then. He'll come back when he's all clean shaven and gelled and has actually had a shower. He's all ready to sneak away and pretend like he was never here, but the giant in front of him steps aside and Ned's smiling at him and asking, "Hi, how are you?"

Blaine smiles nervously and steps up to the counter as he ponders which is the worse option - running away right now like a freak or just quickly making his order and sitting in the far corner table? Probably running. Besides, if anything, he might look so unclean right now that he looks like an entirely different person. When he comes in all suave and dapper on Thursday, hopefully Ned won't even remember the scruffy bastard from Tuesday. "Uh, I'm fine, thank you. Medium drip."

Ned begins to initial the cup and a little voice that sounds suspiciously like Sabrina screams at him NAMETAG! NAMETAG! This shocks him out of his daze and he automatically looks down at the left side of the apron at the little piece of plastic, which says...

Kurt.

He blinks. "Huh. Not Ned after all."

Kurt raises an eyebrow. "I'm sorry? Was it Ned?"

Belatedly Blaine realizes that Kurt asked for his name, and he shakes his head furiously. "NO! I mean. No. It's - it's Blaine." God, could he get any more awkward?

Kurt writes the name on the cup and Blaine leans forward a bit on the counter, rocking on the balls of his feet. Hopefully this doesn't look too desperate, although he's probably crossed that line a long time ago in Kurt's mind, and that thought immediately stops his motions.

It hits him. Kurt. He knows cute barista's name. It's Kurt. Kurt. He says it mentally a few times, smiling with each repetition. Kurt Kurt Kurt.

"So," Blaine begins, his eyes on Kurt's nametag. "Kurt? Like the Sound of Music?"

...Crap, did he just compare this gorgeous creature to a singing boy in lederhosen? His cheeks color a shameful red, and he averts his eyes because he's done it. He's officially killed any chance he has with this boy. No one would be complimented with that comparison. Someone shoot me.

Then the unexpected happens - Kurt laughs. Clear, loose, unrestricted laughter, and he's smiling too, so Blaine guesses this is a good sign. He hesitantly smiles back.

"I'm sorry," Kurt says between chuckles. "You looked so depressed when you said that just now. I'm not insulted, so you don't have to feel bad. That's one of my favorite movies - Julie Andrews is legendary."

So... Kurt is beautiful, he makes good coffee, and he's a fan of Julie Andrews? How is he even real? "Well... I didn't know if you'd be offended. Should I have gone with Kurt Cobain instead?"

Kurt shakes his head dismissively. "No, I much prefer the Von Trapp version. My mom was also a big Sound of Music fan, so that's who I was named for anyway. When I was younger, I played Kurt in the Lima community theatre production too, if you can believe it."

Blaine smiles, leaning over the counter a bit more. "You did community theatre?"

"Still do sometimes, but I take smaller roles now that I'm in college. I don't have that much time anymore, you know?" Kurt finally sets Blaine's cup down and his coworker scoops it right back up to fill. "Oh, so did you want anything else? A croissant or cookie perhaps?"

Besides your number?, he's tempted to say, but that sounds both cheesy and desperate. God knows he's already the king of cheese, no need to make it worse. "Yeah, can I get a snickerdoodle?"

"You sure can." Kurt smiles indulgently as he opens the case to fetch the cookie. Blaine hopes that he's not imagining it when Kurt's slender hands linger on his a little longer than typically necessary to give him his bag and change.

He's already driven several cross streets down when he realizes that he's failed to get Kurt's number.

"Tell me why I'm here again?" David shakes his head.

"Moral support." Blaine grabs his arm and pulls him up toward the register. "Come on. I need all the help I can get."

Kurt looks up to greet the next customer, and his smile intensifies when he sees Blaine step up to the counter. "Hi again. Medium drip?"

Blaine grins, trying his best to ignore the way his stomach flips. "You bet. David, you want anything?"

Kurt's eyes (beautiful eyes in that hypnotizing blue-gray-green mix) shift over to David, as if he hadn't noticed he was there at first. Gradually his smile dims until his mouth is set in a thin line. Blaine furrows his brows at the change.

"Yeah... grande latte please."

"Okay... Medium drip and a grande latte," Kurt says, his gaze clouding over slightly. "Anything else?"

Blaine motions at David to sit down. When he leaves, he turns back to the register and smiles uneasily at the blank expression on Kurt's face. "Nope, that's it today. Hey listen - "

"Your total is 5.68," Kurt interrupts.

Blaine swallows and hands over the money. What's going on? Kurt was in such a chipper mood earlier, and now he looks... well, he's not exactly sure what that look is, but it isn't good. When Kurt gives him the change, he tries again. "Kurt, I - "

Kurt sighs and shakes his head. "I can't talk right now, Blaine. I... I have to get your coffee. Busy day today."

And just like that, Blaine feels like he's been socked in the gut. It's a BS excuse. There's only one woman ahead of Blaine and there's no one behind him right now... but he lets it go, and he snags a packet of Splenda just before sitting down at David's table with their coffee. The next few minutes are spent in silence, staring in the general direction of the register.

Was it something he did?

"When you invited me for coffee, I thought we'd actually you know, talk. We might as well be sitting at different tables right now."

"Sorry, David," Blaine says, watching Kurt as he chats up a small brunette in colored tights. "I was just thinking about... stuff."

David empties the Splenda into his cup. "By stuff you mean the barista?"

"Did I do something wrong? I thought he was into me. He even knows my coffee order."

David rolls his eyes. "There's a good reason for that. You've been coming here for like, three weeks now, and you always order the same thing. You order the same thing regardless of which coffee shop we go. Crap Blaine, even I know your coffee order."

"You don't count."

"Should I be offended by that?"

"What I mean is that we're friends. Kurt and I aren't friends yet. But he still knows my order."

"Lots of baristas remember the orders of their regular customers."

"David!" Blaine slams his palms down on the table, and David jumps a bit in his seat. "I'm trying to tell myself that Kurt's interested, and I need extra convincing, especially since he gave me the cold shoulder just now. Why are you bringing me down?"

"I'm just being practical," David says defensively. "Besides, if you want to find out whether he likes you or not, why don't you just ask him out already? That way you can stop whining. Oh, and so you'll finally have someone to be gushy with. I guess."

"You think I haven't tried that?" Blaine slides back in his seat and groans. The mission for Kurt's phone number so far has given him abysmal results. Sometimes he went in but would only chicken out after a couple minutes of small talk. Sometimes he would go in with extra spurts of courage, but Kurt would either be busy in the back room or his friends would come up to chat with him while he was working. Today was supposed to be yet another attempt, but somehow he's already screwed it up. And he's not even sure how. "Just... ugh. This is getting ridiculous."

"How do you think I feel? I have to hear you bitch and moan about the guy whenever we talk."

Blaine holds up a hand to silence David, and his eyes shift back and forth as he mulls ideas over in his head. "Oh, wait! What if I sing to him?"

David throws him a hard stare. "Need I remind you of the Jeremiah incident?"

How could he forget? The Gap Attack was probably the single most humiliating moment of his life. Just the memories alone send Blaine burying his face in his hands. Jeremiah had been so angry with him, and not to mention he'd lost his job and Blaine had outed him and everything and it was just - a complete and utter disaster. "It's still fresh in my mind."

"I rest my case," David raises an eyebrow. "Besides, not all of us are still in Ohio. Wes is at the Naval Academy, Nick's over there in California - it'll be kind of hard to get a Warblers reunion going, even if we go along with your idea. I mean, I guess you could go back to Dalton and ask the current Warblers to help you out, but they're not used to singing with your voice anymore."

Blaine's hands roll into fists on the table. "Let's just drop it, okay? I get it, I'm bad at talking about my feelings, and I'm even worse at telling guys that I like them. We'll just leave it at that. I'll just be alone forever."

The silence that follows is incredibly tense. David's probably thinking really badly of him right now - Blaine had always managed to look so poised and controlled at Dalton, and now he's showing a whole side of himself that David's never seen, and probably doesn't care to see. He shakes his head. "Sorry, David. I'm really sorry, it's just... I don't know, I thought maybe I could find a way to make it work out this time?"

For a long time, David says nothing. Just stares down at his hands. Then he sighs. "Listen, Blaine. However you want to approach this guy is your choice. I know that serenading is kind of your thing, so if you want to do it, then go ahead. Just... just try not to make too big a spectacle out of it. And I know that might be kind of hard for you since you love to please the crowd, but it'll probably mean a lot more to him if you go it alone. It'll sound more sincere, I think. And whatever you do, don't follow him around the coffee shop, okay?"

He takes a minute to think about David's words. And he's right - Kurt would appreciate something more intimate, more sincere. Okay, think, Blaine. Think. There must be a way to get his point across to Kurt - other than actually saying it out right. He needs to give his feelings a head start with another method before he can actually talk about them.

The rest of the conversation with David comes easy. They waste time with small talk, mostly catching up, talking about school and work and their mutual friends. He's still at a loss as to what to do with Kurt by the time David leaves. He cleans up at the table and tosses his cup, and that's when he sees a single flyer on the bulletin board that stops him in his tracks.

The Lima Bean: now featuring live indie music Wednesday afternoons.

A smile grows on his face as he continues reading. It says to contact the manager for inquiries and then lists a number, and before he can think twice about it, he's saving the number into his phone.

His golden opportunity has arrived.

It took just a bit of convincing the manager (a Mister Will Schuester) to allow him to play next Thursday rather than Wednesday, but in the end he finally agrees. When he walks in on Thursday, Kurt gives him a strange look, eyeing the guitar case in his hand. He merely shoots a smile in reply, and then the tech guys arrive and help him set up.

In just a little while, everything is ready - the mic's on a stand, speakers flank his little corner pseudo-stage, and a stool sits just behind the mic.

This is it.

The coffee shop's background music stops. He settles onto the stool, slips the guitar strap over his head, and waves at the curious patrons. "Check, check, check." His voice echoes from the speakers, and he nods. "Alright, cool."

Kurt looks at up him from the register, and Blaine's pulse begins to pick up speed.

"Good afternoon, I'm Blaine Anderson. I'll be providing you folks with some acoustic covers this afternoon. The first song in my set is actually for someone here... right in this coffee shop. I'll just call this individual 'K.'"

The customers begin to murmur, and they switch stares back and forth. He catches Kurt's eye across the room. Kurt frowns at him, mouthing What are you doing? He shakes his head smiling. "I've always been better at expressing myself through song rather than words... So 'K,' this one is for you."

He fishes a pick from his pocket and lowers it to the strings and begins to strum a very easy, relaxed tune that quickly has the audience members nodding their heads to the beat.

There's no combination of words I could put on the back of a postcard,
No song that I could sing but I can try for your heart,
Our dreams, and they are made out of real things,
Like a shoebox of photographs with sepiatone loving,
Love is the answer at least for most of the questions in my heart ,
Like why are we here? And where do we go? And how come it's so hard?
It's not always easy, and sometimes life can be deceiving,
I'll tell you one thing, its always better when we're together.

He glances in the direction of the register several times during the song, and he sees that Kurt often has to support himself on the counter, or on a piece of kitchen equipment. The expression on his face is strange - he looks both awestruck and hurt, and it's only Blaine's integrity as a performer that keeps him from stopping the song all together to go over there.

Instead he keeps playing, keeps smiling to the crowd despite how Kurt's expression makes his stomach do backflips. There'll be time to talk later. He just has to be patient.

There are more than a few girls scattered around the coffee shop giving him eyes, but he pointedly avoids eye contact. When the song concludes, he visibly relaxes as the audience applauds. He even hears a remark or two about how lucky this 'K' person is.

Well, he hopes so.

Blaine looks in the direction of the register again, and - oh no. What the hell? Kurt isn't there anymore. His eyes scan the coffee shop - no, nowhere in sight. Where could he possibly have gone; his shift is nowhere near over yet. The audience begins to call to him to play more though, so he refocuses and is horrified to realize that he had only been planning on performing this one song. When did he get so scatterbrained?

Oh right - when he saw Kurt for the first time.

Desperately he thinks of the other songs he knows off the top of his head, and ultimately he ends up playing "Your Song" and "L-O-V-E" despite the wide difference in genres of the originals. Even still, the audience seems to love it, if the hollers and cheers he gets at the end of "L-O-V-E" are any testament to that.

"Alright folks, I'm going to take a breather. Sit tight," he says, voice scratchy, and as he kneels to riffle around his belongings, it occurs to him that he didn't bring a water bottle with him. He shakes his head and begins to pull his wallet from his back pocket, and that's when a pale hand offers him a venti-sized cup filled with water.

Wait. He knows that hand. Blaine turns around to see Kurt and nearly bumps into a nearby table in his effort to quickly stand. "Kurt! There you are."

Kurt offers him a small smile. "Figured you might need this."

Blaine nods, sipping the water gratefully.

"Can we talk?"

Yes, finally! "Um. Yeah, I'd like that." Blaine follows Kurt outside. The sun's just beginning to set, rays glaring down on them, and he has to squint in order to see Kurt. Which really isn't fun, but it certainly beats out the possibility of people overhearing this conversation back inside.

"So that song you did in there," Kurt begins. "Was it... for me?"

"Yeah. What did you think of it?" Blaine asks, and for a few seconds he forgets how to breathe normally.

Kurt smiles wryly. "Can I be perfectly honest? I'm not a big fan of Jack Johnson."

...Shit. He thought he had it all figured out, thought he knew Kurt's taste enough to present a song that would be to his liking. He thought it would be all perfect and romantic but no, he just made himself out to look like the world's biggest idiot, and this time it's even worse than his foot-in-mouth complex when he made that birthday comment on the day he first met Kurt. Kurt.

Stupid sexy unattainable Kurt.

Blaine forces a smile. "Oh. Sorry, I guess I didn't think about that, I - "

"Still, it was a really sweet gesture," Kurt says softly. "No one's ever done that for me before."

His heart thumps. Courage.

"I'm shocked. They should have," Blaine answers, stepping closer. "You're really something else, Kurt."

Kurt gives a shaky laugh. "You don't even know me."

"You're right," Blaine admits. "I don't know you. But I was hoping we could change that."

...Okay, did that really just come out of his mouth? He must be making some sort of face at his own lack of game whatsoever, because Kurt bursts into a short fit of laughter, and despite his embarrassment he soon joins in.

"Wow. Straight from a cheesy romcom," Kurt says, nudging Blaine's shoulder.

"Ugh, now you know how uncool I am."

"Well, I figured you might be one of those awkward types," he answers with a teasing lilt to his voice, then his expression sobers up considerably. "But still... you shouldn't be singing to me like that if you have a boyfriend."

...Wait, what? "Boyfriend?"

Kurt blinks innocently. "That guy. The guy you were with when you came in last week."

Last week? Last week he came in with... "Oh god! You mean David?"

At Kurt's nod, he feverishly shakes his head, wrinkles his nose in disgust. "God no. No no no no. David and I went to high school together. We're friends yeah, but he's definitely not 'the boyfriend.' Plus I have pictures of him and his girlfriend on my phone!" He takes his phone out of his pocket and begins to open the camera app. "I can show you if you don't believe me."

Kurt laughs and covers the hand holding his phone, stilling his motions. "No, that's okay! If you got that grossed out just by the thought of it, I completely believe you."

They share a few more moments, letting nothing but quiet laughter pass between them. Then when the chuckles die down, Blaine's eyes shift to Kurt's hand, which is still holding his, and Kurt follows his gaze. He begins to move his hand back, but Blaine puts his free hand on top, effectively trapping his fingers.

"I meant what I said earlier," Blaine says softly, giving Kurt's hand a brief squeeze before letting go. "Allow me a do-over though."

Kurt raises an eyebrow, and Blaine squares his shoulders and faces the other boy, looking straight into his eyes. "My name is Blaine Anderson. I'm 18 years old, and I'm quite ashamed to admit that I'm a major loser. But still, if you'd let me, I would very much like to get to know you better."

A slow, genuine smile stretches across Kurt's face, and just as he opens his mouth to reply, one of his coworkers pops her head out the door for a quick second. "Kurt, your break's over! Hurry up."

Blaine groans in frustration. Seriously? Clearly the world hates him. There's no way that the timing is this coincidental. "Go ahead. Duty calls."

Kurt bites back a smile and reaches into the pocket of his apron. He hands Blaine a folded napkin. "Just so you know, Thursday nights after work are strictly dedicated to Grey's Anatomy." That's all he says, and with a wink that turns Blaine's knees into jelly, he turns back and enters the coffee shop.

Thursday nights? Curiosity gets the better of Blaine, and as he tries to compose himself, he unfolds the napkin. He nearly splits his face in half from grinning.

Kurt Hummel
419-371-0372.

end.