Not the Boy Next Door Fiction

7/30/2019 Not the Boy Next Door Fiction

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– 2 –

Not The Boy Next Door

author: wordplay / wordplaying

artist: contesstylus / pencilpushingenthusiast

beta/epub & pdf design: sillygleekt

summary: Blaine Anderson is a struggling musician with a new

job. This is the story o everything he fnds there.

Completed as part o kbl_reversebang 2012!

word count: 10,500

rating: R or the story, G or the art

author’s notes: This was a bear o a story to write. Thank you

to whenidance , mybrieeternity and hedgerose or early conversa-

tions and support. colfer , contesstylus and canuckjacq provided very

useul and thoughtul comments on early drats, so thanks also to

them. I am especially grateul to sillygleekt or her absolutely tire-

less support and very insightul discussions on every single drat

o this story. I could not have fnished this without you, T, and I

hope you know how much I appreciate you, as a beta and a riend.

Finally, enormous thanks are due to contesstylus , who most o you

will know as pencilpushingenthusiast , not only or beautiul and

inspirational work, but also or being so accommodating when I

came to her with a ully hatched plot, or providing so much addi-tional art in support of the story, and for being such an absolute and

enthusiastic pleasure to work with. Thank you, CB, or everything.

WE ARE DONE!

artist’s notes: Illustrating this brilliant little story was an ab-

solute joy! I had the honor of working in tandem with the ever-

incredible wordplay on this project as part of kbl_reversebang

2012, and every captioned piece you see here was crafted under

her absolute genius direction. Thank you, Lovely, or allowing me

to play in your sandbox for a little while; it’s an experience I would

echo again in a heartbeat.

Disclaimer : The characters o Kurt Hummel, Blaine Anderson and allrecognizable references to the television series Glee are property of Ryan Murphy and 20th Century Fox.

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the pub is all dark wood and warm sunshine at two

o’clock in the aternoon, and Blaine stands behind the bar

and ddles with the ties to his apron.

“So, yeah. Welcome, I guess. There’s not much to it. The

bar is counter service in the aternoon, too, but mostly it’squiet until the cops start driting in around 4:30. You’ve

tended bar beore?”

He glances up rom the mess he’s somehow already

made o strings and sti black abric and smiles at his

new coworker.

“Oh yeah. Denite veteran o the service industry with the

wounded psyche to prove it.”

Tracy leans on the bar, chin on her st, and looks him

over. “Actor?”

“Musician.” He says it like he means it, and he concentrates

on his apron so that he can ignore how weird it eels to

say. He’s gured out the problem now—all those loose

threads still dangling rom the sewn ends o the ties have

not the boy next door

– 3 –



tangled together, and he yanks them loose then wads

them into a ball.

“Hmmm,” she says, watching him. “You sure? You’ve got

a good ace—expressive eyes. You ever tried it?”

He shoves the ball o thread into his apron pocket and

nally looks up at her. Her eyes are bright through theboredom, and he recognizes the look o a woman nd-

ing a new project. Just or a second she reminds him o

his mother.

“I went to an all boys high school; we didn’t have a drama

department. We had one hell o an a capella choir, though.”

She tilts her head and her eyes glance up at his hair, down

at his shoulders. “Catholic?”

He likes the way she talks in questions, like it’s not worth

the eort to try to be subtle about her nosiness. The pub

is quiet in the aternoon—there’s one solitary guy sitting

across the room with his back to them, his head buried

in his laptop, and the only noises are banging and scrap-

ing rom the kitchen. He leans back against the bar and

glances at her.

“No. Well, I mean, yes—I am. Was, I guess. Sort o. Butthe school was more prep.” Her eyes light up. “All o the

Latin, none o the nuns,” he jokes, turning to ace the back

wall and examine the setup there. It all looks ne, easy,

amiliar; there are more microdistillers than he’s used to,

– 4 –



but there’s a reason his hours had started to dwindle at

his old job and this place was hiring.

“Lucky you,” she says, and he leans over to poke at the

bottles and grins at the smile he can hear in her voice. “All

the homoerotic poetry, none o the guilt.”

“You know a lot about homoerotic Latin poetry?” he says,reaching out to straighten a bottle o vodka.

“You aren’t the only one amiliar with the service industry,

buddy. Musicians, actors, and eternal students. I’m door

number three.”

“What was the bit about the eyes, then?”

“That was firting.”

Blaine’s hand knocks against the bottles when he spins

around a little aster than he’d meant to, but he’d expected

some snappy comeback out o Tracy, not the sweetly sar-

castic voice he’d actually gotten in return.

There’s a guy standing there, sliding an empty bowl onto

the countertop and raising one brow at him, and Blaine’s

rst impression is that he has really, really great hair.

“It was not!” Tracy’s standing straight up now, owning

every inch o her height, and Blaine grins at the way

she’s scowling across the bar. “Tell me he doesn’t look

like an actor!”

– 5 –



The guy turns and looks him up and down. The brow

still hasn’t come down, and when their eyes meet Blaine

grins—he has really pretty eyes, too—and he smiles back.

For a second too long, maybe, and then the guy’s smile

alters a little.

He’s still looking at Blaine when he says, “I don’t think so,

Tracy. Look how real his smile is.”

Blaine grins harder.

“Blaine, this is—”

“I’m Kurt,” he says, rushing in beore Tracy can nish hersentence.

“—Kurt, which I was getting to. He’s a new regular. On good

days it’s the grilled chicken salad with avocado instead o

dressing and a glass o water. On bad days, bring him a

cheeseburger and a martini and stay the hell out o his way.”

“How will I be able to tell?” It comes out playul and firty,

and Kurt smiles a little so he’s not even sorry.

Kurt shoots a look at Tracy that might be laced with death,

and she smirks at him across the bar. “Oh, you’ll know. He

mutters, and that sweet ace looks pretty much like it doesright now.” Tracy leans over the bar and cups Kurt’s chin,

cooing while he glares at her.

“Ouch,” Blaine says with a small wince.

– 6 –



Kurt gives him an apologetic smile while he bats Tracy’s

hand away and says, “Don’t worry about it—things seem

to be looking up.”

What Kurt has said hits both o them just when Tracy says,

“Now that? That is firting.”

* * *

And maybe it was, but the next ew weeks are pretty dull.

Blaine gets up, checks his email beore he goes out or a

run, goes to work and does his job but also checks his email

compulsively rom his phone, comes home and maybe

goes out. The best part o throwing himsel into trying tomake it as a musician is talking to people; most nights he

ends up in bars, shaking hands and kissing cheeks, doing

his best to nurse one drink all night long because he can’t

aord any more than that. But he’s meeting people, and

there are opportunities everywhere, even i they always

seem to stop short beore they all into his hands. He tries

not to take it as a sign.

The early shits are just as slow as Tracy had said they

would be. He does a lot o prep work—lling saltshakers,

checking stocks, rolling silverware. Sometimes when

the pub is mostly empty he’ll sing while he works, run-

ning lyrics under his breath while he runs through theshit’s tasks.

Most o the time he’s on his own now that he’s settled in,

although sometimes Tracy or Bryan will be scheduled

alongside him. They leave him alone or the most part,

– 7 –



although Tracy will occasionally swing by and quote a bit

o Martial at him, just or un. That’s how he learns that the

Romans had dierent verbs or the way that penetrated

sexual partners would move their bodies when they were

being ucked—one or boys and one or girls. It’s an equal

opportunity kind o pleasure, and sometimes when he’s

bored he rolls his avorite o the two words over on his

tongue: ceveo. It’s an apt word, that hard ‘k’ sound rolling into luscious vowels. He really needs to get laid.

There’s not a prospect in sight, though, and even that

moment with Kurt-o-the-happy-day-salads seems like a

long time ago. Kurt comes in every day, and every day so

ar has been a salad day, which is good, he guesses. Kurtcomes in and nods at Blaine, and Blaine says, “Your usual?”

and Kurt smiles beore he slips into his seat. He pulls out

a laptop or a tablet and works while he eats. Sometimes

he comes early, when the room is empty, and sometimes

it’s later in the day when he has to jockey or a seat. He’s

always alone, never with a riend or a date, and when the

room lls up he sits and drinks his martini and stares into

space. I it’s quiet Blaine will watch him, and it looks or

all the world like he’s simply listening , this tiny smile on

his ace and his ngers twitching.

It’s all very mysterious, but it’s not like he has a lot o

time to think about it. Everything is busy, always busy,because this is New York. And when he asks the guys in

the kitchen to add a ew extra slices o avocado to the salad

because “come on, that is just pathetic,” Kurt smiles up at

him, brilliant and surprised, and Blaine says, “We have to

make sure you keep coming back.”

– 8 –



* * *

By September Blaine’s eased into the job, secure that

there’s no way he’s getting red. Bryan leaves to try his

hand as a cater-waiter and Tracy starts dragging in late,

her head lodged in whatever she’s reading that week.

Somehow he’s become almost senior, and everybody is

so dependent on his reliability that he could probablybring his guitar in and sing to the customers and nobody

would bat an eye as long as the bar was stocked and the

kitchen didn’t start backing up. He starts using the time

as productively as possible—he responds to emails on his

phone and he goes through all the alternative weeklies he

can get his hands on, looking or showcases and open micnights. He makes long lists o places he could try to get

in, and he remembers his ather’s ace the last time they

ought beore he let or New York, the way his ather had

put his oot down against Blaine’s choice to make a go at

music, not ater Cooper was still struggling, and how it

had been the absolute last straw, his last stand. He works

even harder.

One perect early autumn aternoon he’s just wrapping up

his research or the day and is lingering over the comics

pages when Kurt comes in and pauses at the bar, watch-

ing him.

“Hey there,” Blaine says, dropping the paper on the bar and

cradling his chin in his hand. Kurt looks as put together

as he always does; it’s another knitwear day, and as much

as Kurt seems untouchable, the sweater looks really sot.

“Have we nally hit a cheeseburger day?”

– 9 –



Kurt’s smile is uncertain, suddenly, and he glances down

at the paper again or a moment beore he looks back up.

“No. No, not at all. Just... surprised, I guess.”

“I do read,” he says, but he sweetens it with a smile.

Kurt rolls his eyes. “Thanks or clearing that up.”

Blaine stands up and picks up the paper, glancing down

at the drawings on top. He grins and taps at the one in

the bottom let corner beore he oers it up. “Want the

paper? There’s some un stu in here. I’ve been reading

this one since college.”

Kurt leans orward, his smile brightening, beore he steps

back again. “No, I... thank you, really. But that’s ne. I’m

going to go—” and he waves at a table toward the back.

“Okay—I’ll bring your ood when it’s ready.”

Kurt is head down into his laptop when he slides the salad

onto the table, and Blaine goes back to the bar to nish

tearing out the strip that had made him smile. It’s just a

drawing o a regular guy, baseball cap on his head, saying,

“I already know what I think about gay marriage. I think

I’m ready or grandbabies, so I want my son to nd a man.”

It strikes exactly the right note, now that President Clintonis wrapping up her rst term with another push at DOMA,

this one certain to succeed. It’s a dream he couldn’t have

imagined 10 years ago, and now even a comic strip this

simple can be drawn without raising an eyebrow.

– 10 –



He digs blu-tack out o a drawer and sticks the cartoon up

on the edge o a shel, and when he turns around to ace

the bar he thinks he sees Kurt grinning up at him rom

under his lashes. He grins back at him, and sings under his

breath or the rest o his shit, smiling extra bright when

he sees that Kurt’s let him an extra $2 above his usual tip.

Good moods really are contagious.

* * *

A ew weeks later the bar is quiet when Kurt comes in

and drops his bag on the bar with a heavy sigh. He leans

orward, bracing his hands against the bar, and says, “I

think the day his nally come.”

Blaine eels his adrenaline spike and he drops his pencil

where he was doing the crossword. “Oh. Wow. Okay, how

do you like it?”

Kurt moves into action, shoving his bag to one side and

climbing onto a stool. “Medium. Swiss. Mushrooms i

they aren’t going to take too long.” By the time he’s done

rattling o his order he’s settled himsel down, elbows on

the bar, looking grim.

“We have good avocados today—I checked earlier or you.

Want some on there?”

Kurt’s smile is sweet, tired, a little touched, but he only

says, “Perect, thank you.” He drops his head orward so

that his orehead is cradled in his palms, then lits his

– 11 –



head and says, “And no mushrooms then. Sorry,” beore

he drops it back down.

When he returns rom the kitchen Kurt is still sitting there,

head in his hands, so Blaine takes a ew steps to the side

and shakes a martini as quietly as he can, wrapping the

shaker in a bar towel to mufe the noise. When he slides

the glass into the shadow between Kurt’s ace and the bar,Kurt lits his head a raction and, orehead still cushioned

in his hands, oers a weak smile.

“Just ollowing orders,” he says. “I can make you something

else, but—”

“No,” Kurt interjects, sitting up straight or the rst time.

“No, this is perect. Thank you.”

He takes a sip rom the martini, and nods when Blaine

slides him a plate o olives.

“Wanna talk about it?”

Kurt tilts his head, and Blaine watches him right back.

“Part o the job description?”

“Something like that. Although I should warn you: conver-

sations behind this bar tend to end up as lyrics.”

Kurt swallows the olive then snorts out a wry laugh. “You

should have me sign a disclaimer, then.”

– 12 –



“No way—I can’t aord to get material anywhere else,

and I can’t risk people turning me down.” Kurt tilts a

brow in acknowledgement as he nods and takes a sip o

his martini.

“Fair enough. There’s nothing here that hasn’t been sung

a million times.”

Blaine’s heart drops because that can only mean one thing.

“Oh. Broken heart?”

Kurt glances up, only a fash o bright blue beore he’s

looking down into his drink again. “Nothing quite that

dramatic. It’s just... something that I thought might hap-pen that obviously isn’t.”

He nods. “I know that eeling. His mistake or yours?”

It takes a minute, but then Kurt looks up again, this time

with a smile teasing at the corner o his mouth. “Wow,” he

nally says, a little breathless.

Blaine ddles with his apron, and grins at Kurt’s expres-

sion. “What? It’s a air question.”

“No. No, it is. It’s just that it’s also exactly the right question.”

“So it’s his mistake.”

A voice calls rom the kitchen, letting Blaine know that

Kurt’s burger is up, but Blaine holds his gaze until Kurt

says, “Well o course it is,” and then grins.

– 13 –



* * *

And just like that, Kurt starts sitting at the bar. Neither o

them say anything about it; it’s simply their new normal.

Kurt is back to his salad the next day, and i it’s quiet Blaine

will lean against the bar and chatter with him while he

fips through the paper. On the ourth day Tracy comes in

and both eyebrows threaten to hit her hairline when shesees them there opposite each other, Kurt gesturing with

his ork while he talks about the phone call he’d had last

night with his stepbrother, who is a mechanic somewhere

in the Midwest. Kurt rambles on while Blaine stares Tracy

down, and when she gives him a dirty grin and a wink he

shrugs and turns back to Kurt and his story.

As the all passes Tracy grows more and more desperate,

reading at a small table in the corner unless things are

really busy. She begs Blaine to pick up shits or her, and

considering that she’s got most o the late shits nailed

down and he’s going nowhere ast, he’s happy to do it; the

late shit means more money, and he’s not in a position

to turn that down.

It’s not like he’s doing anything else with his evenings,

anyway. His guitar still sits by his bed, and he’s still making

phone calls and playing showcases every once in a while,

but lately he’s gotten stuck reading through JonathanKozol’s back catalog, because the state o public school-

ing in America is really quite appalling. While he drits to

sleep he daydreams about making a change, a dierence,

with only a piano and a room ull o kids and the right

way o thinking.

– 14 –



* * *

One lazy, drizzly aternoon in mid-October Kurt lingers

ater lunch; even ater his shallow bowl has been cleaned

away, he sits there at the bar and chats with Blaine while

he isn’t helping other customers. Their conversations go

everywhere—the provenance o the uniquely ornate clock

at the end o the bar, the latest developments in the DOMAbattle, the newest singles on the radio, Kurt’s crazy down-

stairs neighbors and how much Blaine wants a dog.

There’s a lull at around 3:30, and Blaine stretches and

goes or the boxes o silverware and napkins, dropping

them onto the bar with a heavy thunk. “Don’t you havesomewhere to be?”

Kurt waves the question away with the hand that had

been toying with his water glass. “I work in publishing

and theater, I make my own hours.” He lits his head rom

where it’s been resting on his st and says, “Here. Slide

some o those over. It’ll go more quickly with two hands.

Well, our, I guess.”

He shows Kurt how to do one, and then gets stuck watch-

ing Kurt’s ngers, long and sure, olding the napkin neatly

and rolling the silverware within it. They work quietly or

a ew minutes, and then Kurt says, “So how’s the musicthing coming, then?”

Blaine bobbles his head back and orth. “I mean, it’s slow,

but I think it’s good. I’m meeting a lot o people, so that

can’t hurt, right?”

– 15 –



“Are you playing? Do you have a regular thing?”

“Nope.” Blaine lets the word pop out o his mouth, like

it doesn’t bother him at all. It actually doesn’t, not that

much, and that’s a little worrisome but he’s easing into it.

“There’s another showcase coming up, though, that I think

I’m going to play in.” He pauses or a moment, unsure o

himsel, beore he dives in. “You should come.”

Kurt’s smile is brilliant. “I would love that. Let me know

when and I’ll try to clear my schedule.”

“You don’t even know i I’m any good!”

“So are you?”

Blaine thinks about it or a minute. “I think that... you

know, I think I am. Good, I mean.”

Kurt snorts, and Blaine grins down at his silverware be-

cause it’s so uncharacteristically inelegant. “There’s a

ringing endorsement.”

“Well, I mean... it’s like that cartoon. From the same strip

I showed you the other day?”

When Blaine looks up rom the silverware, Kurt’s ace isunreadable.

“‘ Not The Boy Next Door’ ? Nothing?”

– 16 –



Kurt shakes his head, his eyes wide, and Blaine goes back

to his silverware, lining o the pieces on top o crisp white

napkins. “So, one o the characters is this girl—total prin-

cess type, headband, really prissy clothes—and one o my

avorites is this one where it’s just her, sitting there looking

sad in ront o a ull-to-bursting trophy case and saying,

‘I just want everybody to love me. I don’t know why I’m

not amous yet.’”

A ew seconds later Kurt asks, “And that’s what you want?”

“No, o course not. I want to... I don’t know. To make art

and help people. Which sounds dumb, but when I think

about what it will look like when I’m successul, that’sall it is—one person whose lie is a little bit better rom

my music.”

The look on Kurt’s ace is... actually, he has no idea what

that look is, because there’s a grin around his mouth but

his eyes are very wide, sort o shocked. Finally Kurt says,

“You take all o your lie wisdom rom cartoons?”

Blaine snaps a napkin in Kurt’s direction, and Kurt rears

back with his hands held high, a smartass grin on his ace.

Blaine says, “Hey, it’s a once-a-week indulgence. A man

has to live or something.”

“I suppose so,” Kurt says. “You should give me the inorma-

tion on the showcase. I my schedule allows it, I’ll be there.”

For the next 10 minutes they roll silverware, mostly quiet.

Blaine can’t help stealing little peeks at him, though—at

– 17 –



the expression o calm ocus, at his hands, at the way his

hair alls over his orehead. When Kurt sighs and says,

“Okay, that’s enough o that—back to work, I guess,” he

pauses and stares at Blaine beore he says, “What? Why

are you smiling?”

“No reason. Thanks or the help.”

* * *

It’s another week o lunches beore his showcase, and he

shoves a fier over the bar with Kurt’s salad one day. It’s

just a small thing, a Thursday night singer-songwriter

event at a bar in Brooklyn, but Kurt grins at it and says,“I’ll be there.”

Blaine spends the next week gearing himsel up or it. It’s

only a showcase, the silliest o things to get worried about.

He’s had riends attend them beore—he’d hung fyers at

the boxing gym beore he’d quit going because o money,

and Tracy had come to one two weeks ago—and ater all o

his meeting and greeting he has riends there; it’s the same

group o them in and out o these showcases and open

mics and songwriter nights, and they’re ercely, jovially

competitive, and some o them he is getting to know and

even like. But he wants to impress Kurt more than he’d

realized. Kurt’s opinion somehow matters.

The night is rainy—o course—so the crowd is smaller than

expected, but he sits at a table near the corner, his guitar

case at his eet, and tries not to watch the door.

– 18 –



When it’s nally time, he looks up rom tuning just in time

to catch Kurt in prole. He’s removing his scar, running

his ngers through his hair, and ordering a drink all at the

same time. He turns his head and his eyes light up when

they meet Blaine’s—and just like that, Blaine nishes all-

ing and lands, his heart wide open.

Oh.

He’s not sure how he makes it through his set. He sings

love songs, tender ballads and bitter pop laments, and

he knows his eyes steal to Kurt ar more oten than they

should, snagging on his neck, his hands, his bright eyes,

and he only hopes that everything he’s eeling isn’t writtenacross his ace. By the end he kind o hopes it is, because

Kurt’s smile is sweet, open, and maybe it will be just this

easy. He can open himsel up here, or this room and this

man, and there won’t have to be words, or an awkward

transition—it’ll just... happen.

He nishes to applause, ranging rom tepid through polite

to enthusiastic, and he says thanks and puts his guitar in

its case and starts making his way back to the bar. He gets

caught on his way, though—a kiss to his cheek rom Teddy,

a hug rom Lainey, and a ervent squeeze rom James,

who crows out, “That’s my boy!” He laughs, every time,

because this eeling is amazing—the joy o perormance,the thrill o discovery—it’s been the most perect night,

and he can’t wait to get to Kurt to nish it, to put a cap

on it, to seal it with a kiss.

– 19 –



By the time he makes it to the bar, though, Kurt is gone.

He asks the bartender, and Mike says, “Yeah, the guy with

the martinis. He just let, man.” He immediately turns

and runs or the door, but the street is empty, taxis and

a crowd o umbrellas, and when he makes it back inside

James says, “Dude, you’re all wet!”

He thinks he laughs.

* * *

Kurt comes in the next day at two o’clock. Blaine is aware

o him the moment he walks into the room, but he waits

until Kurt’s bag thumps onto the bar to look up, to smilebrightly at him.

Kurt’s ace is drawn, a little anxious, and Blaine says, “Oops.

Another burger day?”

His smile is weak, not making it past his mouth, and Blaine

wonders suddenly how oten that’s the case, i maybe

he’s simply never noticed. “No,” Kurt says, “just the usual,

please.”

Blaine goes to the kitchen rather than calling out, asks the

guys to slip on some extra avocado, and when he’s back

Kurt is looking down at the bar, blushing a little.

“You got out o there pretty quick last night,” he says.

“Weren’t happy with what you heard?”

– 20 –



His head whips up so ast that his hair shakes and bobbles

with it. “Oh! Oh, god no! No, it wasn’t that at all.” Blaine

grins, because Kurt tripping over his words is absolutely

adorable. “You were amazing, Blaine, really. Truly. I have

sat through some awful perormances in the name o

riendship, but you were spectacular. Really. Couldn’t take

my eyes o o you.” Kurt’s eyes widen as he says that, but

he doesn’t look down again, so Blaine grins.

“Oh. Well, good! I mean, that’s great! Thank you! I’m

touched.” Kurt grins at him, everything suddenly easy

again, so Blaine pushes his luck and says, “I wish you’d

stuck around, though. I really wanted to buy you a drink,

maybe hang out somewhere that wasn’t, you know—here.”He waves his hand around the bar.

Kurt tilts his head to the side and looks at him, a tiny grin

playing at one corner o his mouth. “Really? You seemed

very busy, aterward. Lots o adoring ans, it looked like.”

And just like that, he gets it. “What, those guys? No, no

way—those are my... well, they’re my colleagues, I guess.”

Kurt’s expression is unmoved, still curious. “You play these

circuits, these gigs, over and over again, and eventually you

start to recognize people. And there’s nobody else to tell us

we’re great, although god knows we keep waiting, so you

have to, you know. Do it or each other. It’s part o our job.”

“Oh.”

– 21 –



That’s all he says, but the smile is hitting his eyes now, and

when somebody calls his name rom the kitchen Blaine

says, “Be right back.”

He slides Kurt’s salad onto the bar and says, “There you

go. Now. Tell me: what was your avorite part?”

Kurt’s laugh rings out longer than it probably should, andBlaine eels way too relieved.

* * *

Another week and a hal passes. Tracy is ully lost to poetry

in dead languages now, and Blaine is picking up moreand more o her shits. He’s spending less time trying to

chase down gigs as a result, and James texts him to ask,

“Hey—where are you?” He texts back when the bar is ull,

“Work is crazy. I think I’ll make it back, but no time soon.”

It should bother him more than it does, but he’s happy.

He loves talking to people at the bar about their lives and

their problems, he loves having time or the movies he

checks out o the library, and he sees Kurt every day, and

every day it eels firtier than the day beore. Tracy even

comments on it, sniping under her voice, “Oh my god, isn’t

it time you admitted your eelings and stuck your tongue

down his throat?” but he hipchecks her over and over

until she grins and then carries on.

Lie is too good to care much—he’s bringing in money,

he’s enjoying his job, and yesterday he and Kurt had spent

like three minutes pressed palm to palm, comparing the

length o their ngers on the pretense o talking about

– 22 –



playing guitar and piano. And yes, it was ridiculous, and

juvenile, but Kurt’s hands were warm and strong against

his own, and his eyes were pretty and playul and so blue,

and he’s enjoying this, this long slow build into something

that he thinks might be pretty incredible.

On Tuesday Kurt’s in high spirits when he throws his

bag against the bar, and he perches on the stool and says,“ I am on vacation!”

Blaine drops the paper and leans against the bar. “Well

look at you, all glowy today.”

“Did you not hear me? Vacation, Blaine.” He bounces onthe stool, and Blaine laughs to see it.

“Does that mean you’ll be leaving us?”

Kurt rests his chin on his st and grins playully, his eyes

crinkling at the corners. “It’s only or a week. My parents’

wedding anniversary is this weekend, and I can get away,

so I’m headed home or the rst time in a ew years to

see them.”

“Sounds like you’re sae to have a drink, then,” he says, and

he starts pouring.

“You have no idea how excited I am and yes, absolutely.”

He watches Kurt watch him, grinning to himsel when

he sees Kurt’s eyes lingering on his orearms. Kurt leans

orward then, seemingly on impulse, and says, “Have a

drink with me. My treat.”

– 23 –



Blaine watches him while he strains the martini—he’s

done this so oten that he can do it by eel and the sound

o the liquid hitting the glass, and right now he eels like

showing o a little—and grins at Kurt while he starts

making one or himsel.

When he’s poured his own glass, Kurt holds his up, and

they touch glasses and drink, grinning at each other. I he weren’t working, he’d lean over and kiss Kurt right

now, taste that smirk that’s there at the corner o his wide

mouth. The moment holds until it’s held too long, and

then Kurt looks down and takes another sip.

Blaine does the same and says, “Hey, you want somelunch?”

Forty-ve minutes later Kurt is standing awkwardly by

the bar, ready to go.

“So you’ll be back, what? This weekend?”

“Not until early next week, I think.”

Blaine pouts. “We’ll that’s no un. I’m going to have to tell

the kitchen to halve their avocado order. You’ll come in

when you’re back?”

“O course I will. You really have to ask?”

Blaine shrugs and watches him, and the moment stretches

until Kurt’s smile ades a little bit and they’re still staring.

Kurt nally rolls his eyes and taps twice against Blaine’s

– 24 –



paper where it’s olded open to the comics page. “Read

your paper,” he says. “You never know what you’ll nd in

there.” Then he winks, and is gone. Blaine watches him go.

* * *

The week passes slowly. Blaine works, he goes out on

Wednesday and cheers or James and Lainey, and enjoystheir sets without wishing or one o his own. And he

thinks about Kurt, about that last long stare, about what

will happen the next time he sees him. In quiet moments

at the bar and on his run and in the shower, in every mo-

ment that his mind is ree to wander, he thinks about

firting over lunch. He thinks about asking him out, abouthow he should do it, about kissing him and holding his

hand and sometimes even tasting his skin. And he starts

to make plans.

* * *

Friday night Tracy comes in and smacks both hands on

the bar, startling the cop who’s sitting there nursing a

beer. He nishes up weakly with, “And that’s why I don’t

think just talking to her will work but, um, thanks man,”

beore he slinks o.

“Thanks, Tracy. He was just settling in.”

She glances ater the cop and says, “He’s pathetic enough—

he’ll be back. Have you been checking Not The Boy Next

Door this week?”

– 25 –



“Oh, shit, no. I orgot—they’re doing that special thing,

right? Are you ollowing?” He remembers the editor’s

note, now, just a little text announcement under Tuesday’s

comic that they’d be doing daily online installments o

this strip or the next week in an eort to try something

a little new.

She smirks at him and says, “You are so lucky to knowme. This is today’s.”

She umbles or her phone and holds it out until he takes it.

It’s hard to see the image at rst, but then his eyes widen

and he wipes his hand on a bar towel so he can drag two

ngers across it.

Tracy is saying something, but he can’t hear anything over

the buzzing in his ears.

“Where’s the rest o it? What did I miss?” His heart pounds

as he shoves the phone back toward Tracy and drums his

thumbs against the bar once she takes it, and he instantly

thinks back to the last time he’d seen Kurt. ‘Read your

paper. You never know what you’ll nd in there,’ he’d

said, and Blaine had been too busy grinning at him and

watching him leave to think about it. That was the day with

the drawing o a amiliar-looking tumbler, though—he

remembers smiling because it was the same type o glassthey use at the bar or water. But it can’t... that’s just not....

Tracy navigates or a second, and he drums his ngers

against the bar, all rhythm gone. She nally hands it back

– 26 –



over with another smirk and says, “That’s Tuesday’s. The

other ones are in the other tabs—just scroll over.”

He looks again at the drawing—at the water glass and the

wrapped silverware. The second drawing makes him smile,

because oh my god, he almost missed this. And in this con-

text, in this room, with this sequence o images... the impli-

cation is so clear that he can’t believe he didn’t know beore.

– 27 –



“Avocado,” he breathes out, and it’s all he can do to get to

the next tab.

And then it’s Thursday’s drawing, and he he grins at the

phone and sighs out, “Oh my god, he was adorable!”

The indignant tilt o his chin and his crossed arms, his

tight level mouth, all paint a picture o a boy who knows

what he wants. Blaine doesn’t think it’s dicult; he thinks

it’s wonderul.

Tracy leans over the bar, and he lowers the phone down so

they can both look at it. “Disgusting. Man, he really was.

And doesn’t that little rown look amiliar?”

Blaine looks at it a little bit longer, because o course it

does, and then he pulls the phone back toward him and

fips to today’s entry, the picture that had sent him into

a tailspin.

– 28 –



He’s been looking in the mirror every day or years, star-

ing at himsel and wondering who he could become, andhe would recognize his own eyes anywhere. He’s always

thought they were unremarkable—expressive, maybe, like

Tracy had said, but not particularly beautiul. And now

here they are, so careully rendered, and he can’t help

remembering the conversation Kurt had walked into all

those weeks ago, back when they rst met.

He reluctantly hands the phone back to Tracy. Every-

thing reminds him o Kurt now but even so, there is only

one person that could be—those salads, that rown, the

wrapped silverware. He never could have known beore

this moment, but in retrospect the clues all into place

in one long line. Kurt’s hours, his job in ‘publishing’, thestories about his riends. Kurt had even talked about his

dad, and he’s been looking at the everyman or so long

that he never... well.

– 29 –



He takes a deep breath and then blows it out. “It’s a week

o those, right?”

“Yep. Know anything else that’s supposed to last a week

right about now?” Her smile is wicked, knowing.

Blaine simply says, “Hey, can you text me the link or

those? I want to make sure I keep up with them romnow on.”

“Done, but hey. I’m going to need to swap some more shits

with you, i you can.” He pulls a ace, but she says, “You

owe me,” and she’s not wrong.

* * *

Saturday morning Blaine is up with the sun, and he lies

in his tiny studio and reaches or his phone. Yesterday’s

strip is still up, and he brings his phone close to his ace

to study it.

The lines are so dierent. There’s so much warmth here,

a kind o realism that is completely dierent rom what

he’s used to seeing rom this artist. From Kurt, he now

realizes, and he lies in bed and reconciles what he knows

o the tender-hearted, deensive man he knows and the

cartoonist he’s been ollowing or years now.

Kurt is strong, rigid, sarcastic and bitchy and kind. He

loves his ather ( oh, his father, he thinks as the penny drops

again, and oh god he wants to meet him so badly) and his

riends and his laptop and his avocados.

– 30 –



And, apparently, he is interested.

He doesn’t squeal like a little girl, but he might kick his

eet. A little.

He rereshes the browser three more times, and then

makes himsel get up and go or a run. He leaves the phone

at home, on purpose, to make himsel wait. When he stag-gers back up the stairs an hour later, though, he drags his

shirt o over his head and drops it on the foor while he

scoops it rom his nightstand.

There’s a text message rom Tracy: “Oh my god! Are you

Abelard or Heloise? It’s ocial: once you two get your shittogether, you are nding me a man.”

He grins and rereshes the page one more time, smiling

harder when there’s a link at the bottom pointing him

to the next page. He clicks the link, and waits or it to

come up.

– 31 –



“Oh, Kurt,” he whispers. “How could I not?” Kurt is reach-

ing or him, or maybe he’s reaching or Kurt. He studies

the nails, the long ngers, and he grins when he thinks

about how they elt against his own. It ades when he

thinks o how close he had almost come to missing this; i

Tracy hadn’t said something he might never have known

this sweet, careul revelation o Kurt. It would have been

such a loss.

That aternoon he goes to the bar. It’s a Saturday night and

the room is ull and the money and the alcohol are fowing.

He stays late to cover or Tracy and he goes home with a

pocket ull o tips and goes to bed early.

Sunday passes in a haze o laundry and compulsively check-

ing his phone. It doesn’t go up until 2:30, and when he does,

he texts Tracy. “Check the website. Look amiliar? Note the

time, so I’m coming in or a ew minutes tomorrow. Please

don’t make this a bigger deal than it already is.”

– 32 –



* * *

By the time he wakes up the next morning at 10:30, the

website is already live. The drawing is enormous and takes

a while to load, and he has to scroll across the screen just

to take it all in.

He breathes through his joy. Each line captures so much

warmth o the place, o their interaction. The detail is

breathtaking - the bottles, the clock, the peace o the scene.

But the central gures draw his attention, and as he lies

in bed he can’t help but stare.

And grin. It hasn’t been much o a mystery or a while

now, but seeing it in black and white, in clear and careul

pencil strokes and not just something he’s made up to keep

himsel occupied and entertained is exactly what he needs

right now. That’s him, and that’s Kurt, gazing at each other

– 33 –



across the bar, and this is happening. Kurt looks beautiul,

declaring himsel or the artist he is, pencil nally in hand,

and he can’t wait to see him again.

* * *

Kurt comes through the door at 1:55, his bag banging

against his side just like usual. He’s in that avorite greycardigan o his, and a blue scar hangs around his neck,

wrapped against the chill.

Blaine picks up the shaker the minute he sees him, and he

watches his own hands pour the martini beore he slides

it over. Kurt meets him there, and as he lets go o the glasshe lets his ngers drit across the back o Kurt’s hand.

“Welcome back. You are incredibly talented. And you’ve

been holding out on me.”

Kurt blushes, but he takes a sip o the martini. His eyes

meet Blaine’s over the lip o the glass, and in the aternoon

light they look so blue.

Kurt puts the glass on the bar and slides onto a stool. “So

you saw them.”

“I did. I – Kurt.”

Kurt sighs and opens his mouth to say something, but just

then Tracy passes behind him and nudges Kurt on the

shoulder, knocking him orward a little. He turns to look

– 34 –



at her, but she’s gone past, hurrying to deliver plates to a

pair o tourists in the corner.

Blaine says, “I switched shits with Tracy so I can be o

today; I’m not actually on the clock right now. You wanna...

I don’t know. Get out o here? See each other somewhere

else?”

Kurt’s smile is delighted. “You came in just or me?”

“I gure ater the week o eort you put in, hanging out

here or a ew minutes wasn’t much o a hardship.” Kurt

looks down at the hands sitting inches rom each other on

the bar and smiles, and Blaine reaches over to nally holdKurt’s in his own. Kurt’s hand is still a little chilled rom

outside, and he tightens his ngers around it and strokes it

with his thumb. “Hey. I need to hang up my apron. Come

back with me?” Kurt looks up rom their hands, and his

smile is beautiul.

The silence is thick between them when they meet at the

end o the bar, and Blaine hates that it’s suddenly so awk-

ward. The small oce where the sta hang their aprons

is quiet, so Blaine says, “I was thinking—you haven’t had

lunch yet, have you? Because you... I mean. You usually

eat here. So do you want to go nd somewhere to grab a

quick bite? Somewhere without a Tracy?” He turns to Kurtwith a grin when he says it, and Kurt is leaning against the

door watching him, a hint o a smile in his eyes.

“I want to try something rst,” Kurt says quiet and low.

Blaine turns around ater he hangs his apron on the peg,

– 35 –



and Kurt has come closer. It’s dim and dingy and the

mufed clatter o glass and metal rom the kitchen beats

an uneven rhythm, but Kurt’s eyes are still sot. “This is

where this is going, right?”

Blaine reaches out to him and gets him by the arm, because

he’d hoped it was beore and he’ll be damned i he lets it

go anywhere else. He tugs a little, and says, “I hope so.”

“Then let’s make sure.” Kurt’s eyes close as he leans in

and kisses him.

It’s a sot brush o breath and Kurt’s sot lips, the bite o

gin over sweet peppermint, and Blaine’s heart soars; Kurtcame ready to kiss him. His mouth is gentle, though—so

tentative and careul, just in case—so Blaine grips his arm

tighter and squeezes his eyes shut and ocuses on Kurt’s

mouth against his own. It’s the gentlest motion, lips slid-

ing against each other, and ater a ew seconds Kurt slides

back, looks down at him and whispers, “Okay?”

Blaine studies his ace, his wide, earnest eyes judging

and assessing him. Kurt is always watching, and there

are things that Blaine knows his ace must be saying but

he can’t quite trust that Kurt is reading them right. He

wants this to be very clear; Kurt’s made his declarations

twice now.

Blaine uses his grip on Kurt’s arm to tug. He’s done with

tentative explorations and taking it slow. “Come back here,”

he whispers, and he takes Kurt’s mouth again, slipping his

tongue out to slide against Kurt’s. Kurt kisses careully,

– 36 –



methodically, always testing and already it makes Blaine

crazy or him, so he slides his hands around to press Kurt

in tighter. Kurt is solid against him, the wool o his car-

digan sot and scratchy against his ngers, and when he

slides his hand into the small o Kurt’s back and sucks at

his tongue, Kurt whimpers into his mouth.

He grins into the kiss and pulls away in a series o smallkisses, nishing with a kiss to Kurt’s nose. His eyes are

unocused, his pupils wide, and when he whispers, “Really

okay. Come have lunch with me,” Kurt nods and rests his

orehead against his own.

* * *

They go to a caé two streets over, where they sit and stare

at each other, unable to stop grinning. Blaine won’t let go

o his hand, and he can’t stop eeling Kurt’s skin. He traces

down each o Kurt’s ngers and lingers over the calloused

little dent in his middle nger—“hazards o the proession,”

Kurt says. Blaine loves it.

The waiter comes twice to see i they’re ready to order, but

both times they’re pulled out o conversation and have no

idea what’s even on the menu. Ater the second time, Kurt

looks at him and ater a long pause, his gaze thoughtul,

he says, “Obviously you know that I live nearby. Wouldyou like to come back to my place?”

* * *

– 37 –



Kurt’s apartment is small but well-kept, and Blaine gets a

vague impression o muted colors and clean lines beore

Kurt presses him down onto the soa and leans over him.

Blaine fips them over a ew minutes later, pushing Kurt

onto his back and into the soa so that he can hover, so

that he can get to more o him.

When Blaine mouths gently at the tender lobe o his earand runs his ngers under the waistband o his trousers,

Kurt gasps out, “I can’t go to bed with you yet—I don’t

even know you.”

“We’ve been getting to know each other or months.”

“Right, but not dating .”

He props himsel up above Kurt and looks down at him.

His hair is disheveled and his lips are red and his eyes

are wide. “I’m Blaine Anderson. I grew up in Ohio but

got here as soon as I could. I’ve slept with ve people and

had two real boyriends, and both o those relationships

ended well. I’m trying to make it as a musician, I play the

guitar and the piano and I sing. My dad still wants me to

go to law school, and all my mother wants is or me to be

happy, even i it’s just tending bar. I like movies better than

books because they take less time; I like boxing better than

running but running is cheaper.” He leans in and mouthsat Kurt’s throat, letting his tongue slide along silky skin

and stubble beore he continues, his voice quieter now that

he’s close enough to Kurt’s skin to taste it. “I’ve wanted to

kiss your neck or weeks, and it’s as good as I thought it

would be, but now I really want to take o your clothes.”

– 38 –



Kurt’s groan is deep and breathy and sounds nothing like

‘no’, so Blaine bites gently at his Adam’s apple and nudges

his hips closer. “What else?”

Kurt’s head strains back against the armrest, and his voice

is breathy and rushed. “I’m Kurt Hummel. I wanted to

be a Broadway star or a ashion designer but ended up in

a costume shop beore I became an editorial cartoonistwho sometimes still works as a dresser, and that path is

way too long and convoluted to trace out now. I grew up

in Ohio, too, and we should talk about that. I tend to take

riends as lovers instead o having real boyriends, but

I’ve thought or a while that it’s time to try something

new. This’ll never work, though—I like books and movies,or dierent reasons, and I’m a yoga and Pilates person.”

Blaine’s ngers work at the buttons o Kurt’s shirt in the

small space between their bodies, and he scratches against

sot, warm cotton until he gets to skin and the muscles o

Kurt’s abdomen fex under his ngertips. “Bendy.”

“Quite.” Kurt says, and his voice is rich and playul.

“You’re right,” he breathes against Kurt’s mouth. “That

sounds horrible.”

Kurt’s ngers dig in. “And all that boxing has let youwith these shoulders, my god . It’s completely impossible.”

He pauses his exploration o Kurt’s throat to look down

at him. Kurt’s eyes are wide, his pupils swallowing the

blue. “You orgot to tell me that you like grilled chicken

– 39 –



salad with slices o good avocado instead o dressing, or

that your avorite indulgence is a martini in the aternoon.

And there was nothing about blue being your avorite

color, or that you like abrics that eel good under your

hands, or that you have a wicked sense o humor and a

very tender heart.”

“Those are just details,” Kurt insists.

“What’s your avorite favor o ice cream?”

“I don’t eat ice cream,” Kurt says, and it comes out so auto-

matically that Blaine leans down to bite against his neck.

“Liar. Come on, your absolute avorite.”

“Ben & Jerry’s Strawberry Cheesecake,” he gasps out, all

in one long string, and Blaine sucks a kiss to his throat

as a reward.

“That’s what I thought.” He props himsel up to look at

Kurt again, and then leans down to whisper against his

ear. He can’t stand being too ar away. “It’s all details. I

know you, but not as well as I want to and not as well as

I’m going to. Can I take you to bed now?”

“We’re not going anywhere,” Kurt says, as he tumbles themto the foor and pins him there.

* * *

– 40 –



They end the day in Kurt’s bed; Kurt pulls on a pair o

boxer bries and a hastily buttoned shirt and uses his

laptop to order Thai and leaves to answer the door with

promises to bring everything back to bed. Blaine lies on

his back across Kurt’s bed, his limbs heavy, and looks at

the room in the dying light rom the window. Kurt’s laptop

is plugged in and charging on the corner o his desk, and

something about that makes him smile; it’s out o context,new but nothing like unwelcome.

They’ve spent the aternoon and into the evening moving

rom couch to foor and nally to bed, and Blaine’s ready to

settle in or the oreseeable uture. Their hands had never

let each other; even when they pulled away or some o the best conversations Blaine has ever had, their ngers

had been interlaced or sliding over warm skin. Kurt is

ull o stories, about growing up in Lima and working in a

costume shop and his dad’s bizarre stint in Congress and

a crush he’d had over the summer that had come crashing

down around him just in time or a cute bartender to bring

him a cheeseburger with avocado, and Blaine had smiled

and kissed him gently. Blaine had told him so much, really.

About his amily, about past boyriends, about the things

he loves about music but the way he might be growing

past the wish to make it a career. Kurt had listened while

he’d rambled through an explanation o that last thing,

his eyes sot and his ngers driting through Blaine’s hairand down his jawline, and then he’s said, “You’re good—I

think you could do it i you want to. You could make it in

a way I never could, I think, but you have to want it more

than anything else.” Blaine hadn’t thought he could ever

want anything more than what he had right then, and

– 41 –



when he’d said so Kurt had leaned down and whispered

against his mouth, “Okay, that deserves another kiss,” and

then they hadn’t really talked or another 45 minutes. Not

with words, anyway.

When Kurt comes back with ood he’s ull o shy smiles,

and he sits a ull tray on the bed. “Nice to be serving you,

or once,” he says, and Blaine slips his hand up underKurt’s shirt to get to his skin. All aternoon he hasn’t been

able to stop touching him, his palms hungry or the sweet

slide o him, and Kurt turns and smiles down at him ondly.

“Do you not want to eat?”

Blaine grins up at him and leans up to him, stealing anotherslow kiss. It’s been hours o this now, and the urgency is

gone, but he still eels drunk on it, on the reality and the

possibility curving out ahead o them. “I could eat,” he

mumbles against Kurt’s mouth, and just then his stomach

grumbles.

Kurt pulls back, breaking the kiss with a laugh. “We

skipped lunch. Here,” he says, as he holds out a ried

spring roll.

Blaine grins into the bite, and Kurt smiles at him while

he does. He alls back onto the pillows to chew, and Kurt

raises a brow at him. “You expect me to eed you?”

He swallows and says, “I don’t know. Seems air. How

many lunches have I brought you? And this is just one

meal. I think you should have to work or it.” He beams

up at Kurt, who scos.

– 42 –



“What have you been looking at or the last week? I think

I did work or it, thank you,” and he takes the next bite o

spring roll or himsel.

Blaine pushes himsel to seated and says, “Okay, point.”

Kurt drags over the tray and says, “Exactly. So eed your-

sel. And then we can shower.”

They eat quickly—everything is so good, and Blaine can’t

help eeding Kurt. He looks sot, his hair mussed and his

shirt askew, and while Kurt chews noodles Blaine takes

advantage o the opportunity to push the shirt o one

shoulder and pepper kisses across his skin.

“You are ridiculous,” Kurt says as he lits a dumpling to

Blaine’s mouth in return. “Hurry, eat, and we can get back

to that!” Blaine captures his hand on the way back down

to the bed and holds it between both o his own. He gets it

by the wrist and holds it up, and when he nishes chewing

he looks at Kurt and holds his own up to it and then grins,

cocking one brow at him.

“Yes, yes, you’re very firty.”

He slides his ngers down to lace with Kurt’s and says,

“It worked, didn’t it?”

Kurt kisses him sot and sweet then, his mouth tasting like

coriander and sh sauce, and Blaine can’t stop grinning.

Five minutes later he pulls away, gasping, “Wait, let me—”

– 43 –



and he moves the tray o the bed, pushing it into a corner

underneath a drying rack draped with sweaters.

When he turns back to the bed, Kurt is sprawled across

it, arms thrown out to the sides, his dick straining again

against the ront o his boxer bries. Blaine grins and takes

to the bed on one knee beore he kisses his way down

Kurt’s neck. His skin is so sot, pink and white, and the hairon his chest is this gorgeous dusting o pale brown. He’s

already hal in love with Kurt’s belly, with the way kisses

make the muscles tense against his tongue. He watches

Kurt’s ace as he eases the boxer bries back down; his

eyes are glassy, his mouth red and wide open.

“Oh, I guess we can shower later,” Kurt gasps out, his hands

coming to rest in Blaine’s hair.

Kurt’s dick is rosy, long and thick and Blaine wants to

breathe him in, wants to swallow him whole, and the

best he can do is suck him into his mouth, to hold him

there. He suckles the head, uses his hands to push Kurt’s

thighs wider, and lets his lips slip down so that he’s deep,

the head tickling against his sot palate so he can prepare

to swallow around him.

Kurt gasps out, “Oh god. Yes. That... suck it, Blaine.”

It’s a lthy perect present, hearing that come out o Kurt’s

mouth while Kurt tugs gently at his hair, and he moans

around Kurt’s dick. And he does what he’s told.

* * *

– 44 –



Six weeks later, Blaine is back at the bar, serving and pe-

riodically glancing at the door, waiting or Kurt; he’s been

pushing to next week’s deadline and it’s already ater ve,

but he promised to come by once he was done. He hasn’t

been around as much the last week or so, ater he nally

broke down and conessed to Blaine that he was so tired o

eating out or lunch every day, and now that they’re in and

out o each other’s space so oten they don’t need time atthe bar in quite the same way.

Last night Blaine slept over at Kurt’s again, and it’s prob-

ably ar too soon but this morning Kurt stood in his tiny

scrap o a kitchen and drank graperuit juice and slid

something across the counter. It was a key to his apart-ment, and then right ater that Kurt’s mouth was cold

and tart and smiling against his own. Blaine grins at the

memory and ngers the key in his apron pocket.

He gets busy or a minute, and suddenly Kurt is right in

ront o him, pushing his way through Happy Hour crowds

and rowning a little at the close quarters.

“Hey there!” Blaine cries, and he pushes his weight onto

his hands and leans over the bar or a kiss, short and sweet,

and when Kurt bites at his lip a little he pushes up again

and dives in or a second kiss, making this one last.

Tracy, naturally, responds by shouting Catullus at the

top o her lungs, as has been her habit these last ew

weeks. “ Da mi basia mille, deinde centum,” and Blaine

breaks the kiss to settle back behind the bar and swat at

her with the back o his hand.

– 45 –



“Don’t be jealous,” Kurt snipes. “I told you—get through

nals and we’ll nd you a man.”

“How, by aggressively taking me out to lunch?”

“You’re the one who wanted two gay wingmen. You gure

it out,” Kurt says.

“No, I meant it. I have to keep giving shits to your boy-

riend there and I’m seriously broke. You should take me

out to lunch.”

Blaine draws beers or the pair o cops Kurt pushed up

next to and grins while he listens to them banter and bitchat each other. He loves Kurt like this; last week he’d met

Rachel and, besides the shock-and-awe actor o meeting

Kurt’s cartoon princess in the fesh, he’d loved sitting there

and watching them harass and nurture each other. Kurt

thinks Rachel is spoiled and entitled, and Rachel thinks

Kurt is ar too bitter, and they’re both ercely loyal to the

other. He’d sat there, his chin propped on his st, and

watched them bicker, and his hand had stolen under the

table to grab Kurt’s to squeeze it, because he’d been araid

he would accidentally start blurting out conessions i he

didn’t. Kurt had turned and given him a heart-melting

smile, and then turned on a dime and started bitching

at Rachel again. He’s sure he ell in love a little bit more,right then.

Kurt makes one more smart remark to Tracy, “... and when

we do go out, or god’s sake, put something more appealing

on. You look like an ill-advised Fashion Plates experiment,”

– 46 –



and then he slaps the same gay weekly where Blaine reads

his strip down on the counter.

“Have you looked at this today?” Kurt inquires, his eyes

warm.

“Nope, no time. I was late getting out o the house this

morning—” Kurt’s grin is sot, shy. “And then I went run-ning, had to shower, and then get here. Good one today?”

Kurt turns it around and slides it across the bar.

And it’s him. It’s Kurt’s usual style, caricatured and styl-

ized, but that’s his hair, his weirdo eyebrows (and Kurthad sworn he loved them, but he should have known

when he wouldn’t stop tracing them with his ngers one

lazy aternoon that something was up), and his smile.

Kurt’s three avorite characters sit side by side at a bar:

The Princess with an over-garnished cocktail glass by her

hand, The Drag Queen with a simple glass o dark wine,

and The Everyman with a beer. All o them are sitting

with their heads sunk into their hands across rom him.

And across the bottom is his caption: “Wanna talk about

it? I’m desperate or new lyrics. That’ll be $8.”

He stares at it until Tracy grabs it out o his hands, looks

at it and crows, “Oh my god, we have a celebrity bartender.”

Kurt raises a brow at him, and Tracy grabs his arm and

asks him where the blu-tack is and then says, “Oh ne.

Kiss him again. I’ll gure this out.”

– 47 –



“You made me a character?”

“You have a very interesting ace. And I don’t have a New

York working artist type—there’s stu I can’t have any o

them say, not without it changing the meaning or threaten-

ing the integrity o the character, and my agent is trying

to get me into the Voice, so. I had to.” Kurt’s chin is high

and he has his arms wrapped around himsel, so Blainenods his head toward the end o the bar and starts walking.

When Kurt gets there he’s already talking, “I’m sorry, I

really should have—” but Blaine grabs him and pushes

him up against the wall at the end o the bar next to the

kitchen window, and presses him into a kiss. There is somuch he wants to say, but Kurt’s hands futter around his

back and his hair beore his arms nally wrap rm around

his shoulders. Hal the room is catcalling and Blaine is at

work, so this can’t go on or too long, but he can hear Tracy

yelling, “No, really, somehow he is a celebrity bartender.

Since when is that a thing?” in the background and laughter

chasing ater it, and he is overwhelmed with it.

This is a place where he belongs, and this joy is too much,

and he pulls back and says, “ Kurt. I love it.” He waits, just

or a second, but he’s known it was true or weeks already

and it’s so easy to say now, so he rests his orehead against

Kurt’s and whispers, “I love you.”

“Oh. Okay. Good. Me too.” There he is again: wide, happy

eyes, smiling mouth, color high on his cheeks. Blaine

wants to look at him or a very long time, and he wants

him to always look this happy.

– 48 –



He watches Kurt’s smiling ace and thinks about Kurt’s

work, about the way he’s come to understand it as they’ve

wrapped their lives up tighter and tighter together over

the last ew weeks. The Princess, The Drag Queen, The

Everyman: they’re all part o Kurt, part o what makes his

voice what it is. And now he’s one o them.

He says, “Okay. Good,” and then he kisses him again.

* e n d *

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Not the Boy Next Door Fiction

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