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Blaine can tell by the grin on Sam’s mouth that he’s not going to like what comes out of it. It’s that strained smile that screams ‘awkward’ and, coupled with the way he had jumped up from the couch to his feet when Blaine entered the apartment, his whole demeanor radiates nothing but bad things. Instantly, the excuses for why Sam doesn’t have the money for his share of the rent (again) echo in Blaine’s mind, but he shoves those thoughts away before they make him queasy.
He sits his messenger bag in the armchair next to him, closes his eyes in plea as he says, “Please, Sam, if it’s bad news keep it to yourself, I’m too tired to-“
"Oh no no no, dude, nothing’s wrong."
The assurance ends in choppy water, the tense undercurrent plain as day, doing little to put Blaine at ease. He sighs, his shoulders moving heavily with it.
"Well, whatever it is, can it wait until I’ve at least had a nap?" Blaine asks, bordering on a whine as he straightens his spine and rolls his neck. "I’m pretty sure half of my stage fighting class tried to murder me today, and I’m just-"
He cuts himself off at the prolonged uhhh coming from Sam, opens his bleary eyes to look at his friend.
"What did you do?" Blaine asks.
Sam rolls his jaw, stares at corner to Blaine’s left.
"I sort of might have set you up on a date tonight," Sam says, slipping his hands into his back pockets. "Accidentally."
Blaine feels his eyes bug out of his head as heat hits him, the total shock of Sam’s words raising a blush to his face and ears. He feels his mouth work for a moment, opening and closing with his lack of comprehension. “Wh- How do you accidentally do something like that?”
“I’m sorry, okay, I was at the photoshoot and he just kept coming on to me and I didn’t know what to do anymore. So I told him I’m not into dudes, but then I felt like a douchebag because I sort of yelled it at him, and I told him I was totally okay with gay dudes and that my best bro is gay, so then he kept asking about you and-“
"And you thought it’d be a good idea to set me up with a guy I’ve never met that doesn’t take no for an answer. That’s great, thank you so much-"
"He’s not a bad dude, though. He comes on strong, but he’s not a complete jerk-"
"And you didn’t even text me or call me first, like- How long ago did this take place?"
"I wanted to tell you in person because I know it wasn’t fair, but this could be a good thing for you.”
Blaine’s jaw tightens, his narrowed eyes boring into Sam, who stares back without a flinch.
"What’s that supposed to mean?”
"Dude, it means that all you’ve done since you got to New York is go back and forth between here and school. You never hang out with anyone else or go any other places-"
"I have places."
“Food places, man, that doesn’t even count.”
Blaine crosses his arms. “I’ve met plenty of people.”
"Because they sell you food."
He shakes his head, passes his tongue along the backs of his teeth. “Alright then, tell me how I should be living my life. Since, apparently, you have a say in it.”
Blaine sees the sag of Sam’s shoulders, ignores the guilt of overreacting and exploding on his best friend as he reminds himself why he’s justified in feeling how he does. The thought of being alone with that guy makes Blaine’s skin crawl, even if Sam claims he’s not all bad.
It is true, though, that he hasn’t done much of anything besides stick around the house and zip from class to class at NYADA. The only time he ever truly talks to anyone new is when he stops for food, a habit he really needs to start curbing, now that he thinks of it; he already knows some vendors by their full names, and there’s starting to be a lot more of him to know as well.
His relative solitude is something he has noticed lately. He doesn’t ponder long on the reasons behind it — Is he not taking to New York well? Is he sabatoging himself? — and he’d never considered anyone else noticing how detatched he’s making himself in his new home.
"Look, I know you’re mad," Sam says. "And I’m not saying you shouldn’t be. Kurt, he’s- He is a little pushy, and he does talk about himself a lot, and he says a lot of pretentious stuff, but there are good things about him, too."
"Like what?" Blaine asks, skeptical even as the smile starts to peek out on his face.
"Well, he’s really not a bad looking dude."
"No homo, though, right?"
Sam rolls his eyes. “Shut up. He’s also into clothes a lot. I- really don’t know if he does the whole bow tie thing like you do, but- that’s something.”
Blaine nods, walking closer. Sam sits back down again only when Blaine has, watches him closely like he’s waiting on a verdict.
"His name is Kurt?"
"Yeah. I don’t know his last name."
"You work with him."
"He wants to do a one name thing." Blaine stares at Sam until he shrugs a shoulder and adds, "A lot of the models over there are weird."
Blaine blinks, shakes his head as he rolls his eyes. He breathes a chuckle before he says, “What’s he look like?”
“Tall — taller than you but his hair makes him look way tall. Sorta muscley but not a lot. He’s got a lot of bone structure, y’know-” Sam circles his splayed hand in front of his face until Blaine nods, trying to keep from snickering.
"And where is this date taking place?"
Sam reaches into his jeans pocket and pulls out his phone, saying, “He gave me an address for this bar, let me pull it up-“
Blaine can feel the tiredness in his eyes, the empty ache in his chest that howls for sleep. It was against every ounce of his better judgment the moment Sam let on that this Kurt is the type that doesn’t let up even when the signs are there for him to quit. There is nothing left in him to coddle any lame dates tonight, and the fact that he’s even passively going along with this is quite the surprise. He can only figure that the thought of becoming a ghost on the streets of New York City frightens him more than the potential necessity of punching a stubborn man-child in the nose one good time.
*
In the back of the cab, Blaine checks the texts Sam sent him for the hundredth time. He’d stared at the address for most of the ride, his palms sweating with the paranoia of not knowing the place he’s headed to. His fake ID got him into a couple of bars and clubs back in Ohio, but he has no clue about this place or its policies or how strict they are about them. The worry cranks the volume on the voices of doubt in his head that are relentlessly questioning why he allowed Sam to talk him into this.
He yawns into the back of his hand, flinches when the cab driver lays on the horn for some angry reason, as he glances over the other texts.
Besides being tall and taller, this guy he’s meeting — Kurt No-Last-Name, as Sam had mentioned earlier — is a kind of pale guy with dark hair, exact hair color long forgotten. Big shoulders and big shoe size. (Blaine rolls his eyes hard enough to hurt at the slew of winky faces that follow that tidbit of information.)
Sam also gives him an overview of the things he should expect the guy to say — either to give him a sense of familiarity beforehand, or as a warning not to laugh at the wrong moment, because apparently No-Last-Name is a very serious guy. He is deeply moved by astrology and the zodiac, the closest thing to religion for him; he doesn’t dye his hair, avoids tanning, and shys away from changing much of his appearance at all, primarily to maintain brand recognition. The wildest one is his stance on plastic surgery and why it’s so darn expensive if it’s the poor that need it so much.
The tiredness aches in Blaine’s eyes at the thought of holding a single conversation with this guy, much less being doused in his personality all evening. He wonders how long he should stay before faking an emergency and escaping.
As he’s debating time limits, the cab comes to a stop in front of a squat, rather unremarkable building. There’s a small line to the door and a bouncer checking cards, but nothing about its dingy brick and flickering neon exterior has the sleek and shiny quality he’d expected all New York City clubs would have. It doesn’t even have windows.
He hears the cab driver sigh loudly, and turns to pay her before he’s sure that he doesn’t want to just be taken back home. It’s a scary thought, to tell this fierce, no-nonsense woman that he’s changed his mind.
The cab tears away as soon as he standing upright on the sidewalk, and he’s on his own.
After a moment’s hesitation, he walks to the back of the line, focusing on his phone so he can ignore the looks as he passes by. He feels like a spotlight is boring down on him, singling him out as the guy who doesn’t know what he’s doing. It’s now, standing alone with no one to talk to as he waits, rhythmically scraping the toes of his shoes along the sidewalk, that he wishes he would have brought Sam.
Or rather, his brain corrects, that he would’ve accepted Sam’s offer to come along with him. At the time, Blaine thought it would be too much pressure to have Sam with him; that he might be pressured to enjoy himself, to stick around longer, to put in the effort he doesn’t want to give. Now, though, he feels like a kid lost in the mall, nervous and unsure of how to get back to what’s familiar to him by himself.
What’s worse, he realizes as he gives the bouncer his card with a trimmering hand, is that he may know some of this guy’s features but he has no clue what he actually looks like. Sam didn’t have a picture to show him and without him here, just about the only thing Blaine can do is walk up to any strangers who fit the bill and ask for their names. And maybe ask what their horoscope is for the day, just for a sense of security.
His heart pounds as he walks through the door, all semblance of thought extinguished with the pulse of the house music against his eardrums. It’s significantly warmer inside than it is outside, and he rolls up the sleeves of his button-down.
The flashing lights aren’t as bad as he expected them to be, but he still has trouble navigating the groups of people clustered together or a person cutting through his path to get to the dance floor. The building isn’t large to begin with, so he imagines it doesn’t take much to have this place packed to the rafters any night of the week. It takes him longer than it should to get to the bar, panting just a bit and already starting to sweat.
The bartender eyes him, like he can tell Blaine’s underage, and Blaine grins at him before he hops onto the stool and turns around to face the crowd. There are people wall to wall and virtually everywhere in between, the crowd so thick it’s daunting just looking at it. Finding any specific person in this crowd, talking over this music just to ask for a name, feels like the most impossible feat in the world — and he isn’t prone to using the word ‘impossible’ loosely.
As he’s scanning the crowd, hands clasped between his thighs, feeling incredibly too young, a voice to his right breaks through the wall of techno sound, shouting, “I need another sour appletini and a rum and coke.”
Blaine glances over to see the previously-empty stool beside him has been taken by— exactly who he’s looking for.
At least, he hopes it’s him. Tall, pale skin, brown hair styled high and wild though that could have happened from being here for a while, and oh god Blaine’s left him waiting.Why say nine o’clock if you’re going to get here so early?
"Kurt?" he calls, hoping simultaneously to be heard and to not be yelling too loud. He says it like a question because it still is, even if he’s hoping with all his heart that the answer is yes.
The man turns his head to Blaine, and while he was gorgeous in profile, nothing compares to seeing his face full on. He doesn’t look anything like Blaine had expected when Sam described him, but somehow it still makes sense. His features, instead of having the typical sharp-cut lines all squared away, suggest something much more otherworldly.
He isn’t like anyone Blaine had seen before.
And yet he still possesses most of what Sam told him. There’s the leanness of his body, the broad shoulders, the killer clothes, making him the most beautiful and put-together man in the world. But he also has a certain air that is evident before he’s even said a word. A detached quality in his eyes, in the way his eyebrows draw down slightly, that fires a distinct question back at Blaine, the why are you talking to me? all over his neutral expression.
Blaine swallows hard one time against the clench of his heart before saying again, “You’re Kurt?”
The man doesn’t react for a moment, and Blaine feels suspended in time as he waits. Then, with the smallest smile, the man nods; the grin it puts on Blaine’s face is enough to make his cheeks ache.
"I’m Blaine," he says, holding his hand out to Kurt, who shakes it, smile slowly growing.
In spite of the race of his heart, the moment is stilted in a way that confuses Blaine. He’d imagined Sam would have shown Kurt a picture — he knows his friend has several of him, some normal, some not.
"It’s nice to meet you, Blaine." Kurt is still straining his voice over the noise, but it’s no less beautiful to Blaine.
"I apologize if I kept you waiting for very long," Blaine says, turning on the stool to face Kurt, laying his arm on the bar. "This is kind of last minute for me."
Kurt raises an eyebrow, staring at Blaine in a way that makes him feel like he’s said something wrong. Blaine can only be thankful when the bartender walks up then and hands Kurt his two drink, though it does insight an avalanche of doubt in his mind.
Did he order for me? It’s like he barely recognizes me, though. Did he bring another person? Is this even the right guy? No, he has to be, look at him, it’s Kurt, of course it’s him. What’s going on?
Blaine looks over to see Kurt eyeing him, before sliding the glass of rum and coke along the bar to Blaine.
"What matters is that you’re here now, right?" Kurt says, radiating a sweetness that teases and knocks down the last barrier of intimidation in Blaine’s way. Their fingers brush as Kurt lets go of the glass and Blaine grabs ahold of it, and the touch sends electricity through his arm. For the first time this evening, Blaine doesn’t feel any regret.
*
Blaine gets his last name ten minutes into their conversation, along with the names of his best friends, his hometown, and his high school glee club.
He learns that, like Blaine, Kurt saw New York City as his destiny in high school. Like Blaine, he had dreams of Broadway and musical theater and his name in lights. Like Blaine, he had auditioned for NYADA, but unlike Blaine, he didn’t get in. Twice.
"It was a low blow, especially when NYADA was all Rachel wanted to talk about."
"Didn’t she drop out to be in Funny Girl?" Blaine asks, spinning his half-empty glass in his hand on the bar.
Kurt squeezes his eyes closed, whines, “I thought I was safe from this talk with you!”
"I’m sorry, I’m sorry!" Blaine laughs. "Word travels at NYADA and pretty much everyone knew Rachel Berry. But you’re right, I’m being nosy."
Kurt slowly opens his eyes again, grinning in a way that makes Blaine giggle some more.
It’s a complete flip of what Blaine had expected the evening to be. The conversation flows between them without mention of any outlandish beliefs, any lull is filled with warm looks that are either the alcohol or pure affection. If he could even think about pulling away for a second, he would text Sam to tell him the jig is up and that he may have bought the ‘pretentious prick’ prank at first, but that he’d have to come up with something more believeable if he ever wants it to work on anyone else.
Not Blaine, though; with any luck, and a lot of hope, he won’t have to be set up with any more guys for a while.
He doesn’t know if it’s too soon, but he already feels so much for Kurt. It’s only their first date, and a really casual one at that. It’s possible that they might (might) part ways at the end of the night and never speak to each other again. It tears Blaine’s heart up to think about it, especially when all he wants to do is doodle hearts with Kurt Hummel written in the middle.
What appeals most to Blaine is Kurt’s can-do attitude that keeps him active and everywhere, from working part-time as a waiter to putting together his own band to interning at vogue.com. The last of those catches Blaine’s attention because it’s the first thing Kurt set out to do after his NYADA rejection.
"It was the last thing I thought I’d ever do. Surprisingly, since I’ve been dedicated to fashion since I could flip through a copy of Vogue on my own."
Kurt rubs his thumb along the stem of his empty glass, before pushing it away with a finger.
"It was second nature to me for so long that I forgot it was my world," he adds, rolling his eyes like an afterthought. "If that even makes sense."
"Yeah, I get it," Blaine replies, chin propped on his fist, elbow resting on the bar. "Just looking at you, it’s clear that things like that come naturally to you. I mean, your outfit tonight is incredible, and-"
Blaine feels a blush unrelated to the stifling heat creep onto his face at the thought of his next comment. He feels too lightheaded to flirt how he wants to, worried of coming off more perverted than suave.
But Kurt catches where Blaine cut himself off, says, “And what?”
Blaine shrugs. “And just looking at you, I can definitely see why you would be a model.”
Kurt’s eyes widen, his mouth falling open a bit before closing again, apparently speechless. His surprise is surprising to Blaine, who, even if he’s finding that the ‘high and mighty model’ stereotype isn’t befitting of Kurt, didn’t expect him to be so modest about his own appearance.
"A model?" Kurt says like a burst. "Oh, no, I’m not-"
Blaine waits, but Kurt seems all out of things to say, so he supplies, “Still not used to hearing things like that?”
Kurt shakes his head and, for a moment, his face is illuminated enough to show the pink blush on his face. In a way, Blaine gets it; he’s known Sam to get in his self-conscious moods, where every flaw is career-damaging even if Blaine can’t see what he’s pointing out. It’s common and it’s natural, especially in an industry where having the perfect look is pretty much an entry level requirement.
Blaine smiles at him, nudges Kurt’s knee with his own. “That’s fine. Stick with me and you’ll never have to doubt how gorgeous you are again.”
Kurt stares at him for a moment, seeming beyond words, before he gives a laugh and shakes his head.
"You are too much, you know that?"
It doesn’t sound like a warning to stop, so Blaine doesn’t take it as one. He chooses instead to watches as Kurt glances over at the dance floor. Blaine can’t say if the place is any more or less packed than before — he hasn’t focused on anything other than Kurt this whole time.
"Well." Kurt pauses to level Blaine with a playful look. "Would Prince Charming like to dance?"
"Absolutely."
*
His legs feel like jelly when he first stands up after sitting for twenty minutes, but once he’s in the crowd and pressed so close to Kurt, he wonders why they haven’t been doing this the whole time.
Like everything else about the evening, dancing with Kurt is surprisingly great. It’s not too serious or too invasive, even though they have to stay on each other or else get taken away by the crowd. (Oh no, I have to rub against Kurt’s very solid, very very nice body, what a tragedy.)
Better than that, though, is how free Blaine feels with Kurt. When he’s free-styling, he isfree-styling, there is no semblance of sense to it, and Kurt seems to be much the same way. There’s no need to prove anything or tone down any part of himself. It’s the most fun he’s ever had dancing with anyone in his life so far.
They haven’t been dancing for very long — maybe three songs, if the music wasn’t blending together like it is — before Kurt grabs Blaine’s hips, easing him to a stop so they’re standing pressed up hard against each other.
"Let’s get out of this crowd," Kurt says against Blaine’s ear, voice full of intent, and Blaine nods with enthusiasm.
Blaine leads the way, Kurt’s hands holding tight to his hips, as they move away from the sound system and closer to the front wall of the club. The crowd is thinner there, with small groups gathered at tables or standing along the wall. He heads for the corner when the guy leaning there texting moves, and in a flash, Kurt spins him around, crowding him into the corner.
"Is this okay?" he asks, his voice lower and more gravelly than it’s sounded all evening, likely due to speaking so loudly for so long, though Blaine isn’t inclined to call that the only reason.
Blaine breathes hard, tilts his chin up as he says, “Yes.”
Then all he knows is Kurt’s lips pressed hard against his, knocking his head back against the wall. His hands move up to hold Kurt’s jaw, feels the way the hinges move under his palms. Their lips move fast and rough together, mouths open to each other. Blaine can taste the latent spike of the appletini Kurt had, feels the sweat in his hair as his hand moves to the back of Kurt’s head.
It’s behavior he’s not normally given to in public; the way his legs open wide to let Kurt press closer, how they move together with a different intent than they had been while they were dancing.
He’d started getting hard the moment Kurt whipped him around and he saw how dark his blue eyes were. Now, he can feel the line of Kurt’s hard cock against his own, and he throbs in his jeans, feeling overheated and wild.
"We should probably go," Kurt mumbles against Blaine’s lips, panting hard.
All he can say in return is, “okay.”
*
Kurt casually mentions that his apartment isn’t too far away from where they are now. It wouldn’t be much trouble at all to walk there.
Blaine casually nods and says that he should walk with him anyway, just in case. Kurt rolls his eyes, as if Blaine’s playing dumb, and links their arms.
They fall back into conversation like they had in the club, their voices hoarse and much quieter than before.
"I’m really glad I decided to go out tonight," Blaine says. "I almost told Sam to shove it."
Kurt bursts with a laugh. “Well, good thing you didn’t then.”
"At first, I thought it was going to be a disaster, but I’m honestly so glad Sam set us up."
The nighttime air is quiet, only filled by passing cars. Blaine feels the tug on his arm as Kurt’s pace starts to slow.
Then Kurt says, “I can honestly say that I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Blaine’s eyebrows draw down, unthreading his arm so he can turn to face Kurt, who has stopped walking.
"What? My friend Sam, from earlier today?" Kurt shakes his head, so Blaine adds, "He said he met you at the photoshoot, and that you-"
"Wait, wait," Kurt says, holding out a hand. "You actually think I’m a model?"
His heartbeat thrums in his ears, and he can’t tell if it’s that or if his voice is as weak as it sounds when he says, “Are you not?”
The shock steals across Kurt’s face and Blaine doesn’t know what’s happening.
"Oh, honey, I think you might need to call your friend right now."
He feels frozen, like all the movement was stolen from his body, all the air taken from his lungs. It takes him a moment to even register what Kurt had said, so confused because everything has been so perfect, it’s all come together so smoothly all evening. How does this even happen?
Kurt is still standing there, his fingers drifting along is own neck in a slow, absent movement as he watches him, worry written on his face.
Blaine rips his phone from his pocket, prepared to call his friend until he clicks the button and finds the lock screen covered in texts from Sam and an unknown number.
From Sam (8:45PM): im giving curt your # alright?
From Sam (8:45PM): if you cant find him text him.
From Unknown Number (9:03PM): Hey its Curt. Are you there yet? Sam sent me a picture so I’ll be looking for you. ;)
From Unknown Number (9:22PM): You’re late. Are you here yet?
From Sam (9:30PM): dude hes sayin youre not there yet, are you alright????
From Sam (9:31PM): call me when you get this alright?
From Unknown Number (9:42PM): Nice.
From Sam (9:45PM): dude
It’s been a half-hour since he’s gotten anything else, and from how it ended, Blaine can only guess that Curt had found him. What exactly he saw when he found him is questionable, but-
"Oh my god." Blaine looks up to find Kurt’s closer than before, looking down at Blaine’s phone. His eyes are the widest they’ve been yet, mouth parted as he stares down at the screen, then up at Blaine. He brings a hand up to his mouth, says, "I feel so awful."
“You feel awful? How do you think I feel?”
"How do you not know what your date looks like?"
"I never saw him, Sam was the one that set me up!"
"And you still went?"
Blaine’s mind reels for an answer before dropping the line of his shoulders into a slump. Blaine stares at Kurt, who stares back, his face morphing from complete shock to narrow eyes and a wobbly grin that gives way to loud, unbridled laughter.
Blaine watches him as he clutches his stomach, folding forward with the force of the laughter, and he can’t even think of anything to say. He tempted to tip Kurt over and leave him there, but settles instead for biting the cheek and glaring at him.
"How-" Kurt cries out, but another bout overtakes him. He tries against a few seconds later, breathing heavily. "How does that even happen?"
"I’m wondering the same thing," Blaine says, looking back at his phone. He unlocks it, opens his thread with Sam but he isn’t even sure what to say. ‘I know you got me a Curt, but I like the one I found better. Even if he does make fun of me’?
"I’m sorry for laughing," Kurt says, still catching his breath. Blaine looks at him and even though his face is still bright and grinning, he believes he’s sincere. "This is just the craziest thing I’ve ever heard of."
Blaine chuckles, shakes his head in disbelief. Never has there been a day wilder than this one, at least not by Blaine’s standards. He wonders if he didn’t actually get knocked out in stage fighting class, because nothing that’s happened since then has felt real.
"I think this may have turned out for the better, though," Blaine says, lips curling into a grin. "According to Sam, that guy would’ve talked about himself for two hours then tried to stick his hand down my pants."
Kurt curls up his nose. “Yeah, this is a whole lot better than that.”
Blaine nods.
"Even if I did laugh at you."
He thinks he can hear the question underneath Kurt’s words, and his smile widens.
"Well. It was kind of cute."
Kurt smiles, and in the silence, Blaine feels more exhausted than he’s ever been but also more alert. All he wants to do is sink into Kurt and leave the rest of this craziness behind.
“So,” Kurt says, rocking on his feet. “My place is only about a block away. You’re still invited, if my cute laughter didn’t completely turn you off.”
Blaine rolls his eyes, feels the warmth in his cheeks, before he falls back to Kurt’s side and offers his arm.
They walk a few more feet, pressed to each other’s sides, before something occurs to Blaine.
"Who was that other drink for?"
"Hm?"
"At the bar, when I first asked your name?" It still mystifies him, how they basically have the exact same name, how is this even real?
"Oh! It was for my friend Elliott," Kurt says. "I sort of ditched him for you."
Blaine’s eyes sink closed. “Why are so many innocent people getting stood up tonight?”
"Hey, at least my guy will understand." Blaine shoves his body into Kurt’s, knocking them to the side a bit, making Kurt laugh. The sound pierces the nighttime air, and nothing has sounded more beautiful.