Chapter Text
8 minutes.
He's 8 minutes late.
Blaine shakes his wrist, as if the movement would magically rearrange the numbers on his watch. It doesn't. He's never late. Why? Why was he so careless today? There's no time to find an answer.
He takes the final couple of blocks running. Maybe it's fate. Or it's just one of those days when nothing goes as planned.
When he finally turns the last corner and reaches the entrance of the familiar café-bakery, he leans against the wall and decides to give himself a moment. He takes a few deep breaths to slow his racing heartbeat.
Okay, maybe he needs more than a moment. (Mental note for later: Never skip cardio again!)
He turns and takes a step closer to the door, hazel eyes scanning the people through the glass curiously — not that he knows what he's looking for.
He can hear the faint murmur behind him, interrupted by the laughter of children passing by. Blaine feels the curious glances burning his skin. Or maybe it's just the sun. It feels like an unusually warm day despite the fact it's the end of November, and he really hates the idea of going inside. But a quick look at his watch tells him that he has no choice — he's already 10 minutes late.
Blaine groans, quickly opens the door and hurries inside. The place is busier than usual, with a line stretching nearly to the door, but Blaine bypasses it and heads straight to the counter.
“Psst!” He leans over the counter, trying to catch his friend's attention. “Hey!”
Santana glances up from the coffee machine, slightly annoyed, searching for the source of the voice, until she finally notices Blaine. Her bored expression takes on a new form in a fraction of a second. A loud laugh bursts from Santana's throat, but she becomes serious as the realization suddenly hits her. Blaine can only describe the new expression on her face as pure horror.
He can't blame her.
“Believe me, I know,” Blaine assures her quickly as soon as Santana steps closer to him, fighting back the urge to run his fingers through his hair nervously.
“What the hell are you wearing? What is wrong with you?!” Santana snaps, looking Blaine over in disbelief.
Blaine decides to skip both questions; the first one is obvious, and the second one… well, he doesn't know the answer to that either. “The usual, please, and a slice of gingerbread cheesecake. Oh, and, um… a straw,” he adds after a brief hesitation.
“A straw.” She repeats the word while folding her arms, her eyebrows drawn together in confusion. “For the medium drip or the cake? I wonder which one makes sense in your crazy mind.”
“Where is he?” Blaine asks, ignoring his friend’s words again. He knows that nothing good will come of it if he shows any sign of acknowledging her teasing. He glances over his shoulder, as if he could find the answer on his own. “Has he ordered anything yet?”
Santana hums thoughtfully. “Just when I thought you were boring and couldn't surprise me anymore, Anderson. What kind of perverted game is this?” She asks with a frown before her eyes widen comically. She suddenly raises her hand, as if trying to stop him from speaking. “No, please, don't answer that.” Blaine groans, losing his patience, and Santana changes her tone. “You can't go there like this, Blaine. You'll ruin everything.”
“Do I look like I'm enjoying this?!”
Santana snorts. “I have no idea what you look like, that’s the point,” she snaps at him. “I made this happen. All you had to do is—”
“Santana, stop! At least I'm here. I feel awful enough as it is.”
“As you should, when you look like an idiot!” The customers waiting in line begin to grumble, and Santana gives in with a loud sigh. “Of course he's ordered, he's been here for twenty minutes. Just a latte, table 4,” Santana says, pointing in its direction only with her chin. “You know I’d love to stay and watch this disaster unfold, but I have to go.”
With that, she steps back to the coffee machine, and Blaine quickly moves toward the table in the middle of the room.
* * *
22 minutes.
12, if Kurt doesn't count the time he arrived early. But that's just the right thing to do, so he definitely counts it. 22 minutes.
He sighs.
In fact, he's been sure for a while that he's been set up. And it’s okay. He’s a bit upset about it, yes, but if he wants to be honest to himself, he feels also… relieved. It’s just one less thing to worry about.
The only thing still keeping him there is the last two sips of his lukewarm coffee and a half-finished sketch he's been working on. He prefers to work on his designs at home, in peace and quiet—which is definitely not the case here—but as long as he has guests, he can't work at home either. Although they decided to spend Thanksgiving in New York because of Kurt's busy schedule, Burt would definitely disapprove of Kurt being occupied with work at home while they’re there. So this short time is precious — he’s almost grateful for it. Almost.
23 minutes.
"Do you mind if I join you?" A pleasant voice rises above the loud noise of the crowded coffee shop, and before Kurt can look up from his sketch he's working on and answer, the man has already plopped down uninvited in front of him.
Great.
Kurt knows it's a busy time of the day. Or the year, most specifically. Tomorrow is Thanksgiving, so most of the people just come to pick up their orders—or naively try to buy a pie at the last minute—but once they're here, they stay for a coffee or cake.
But not Kurt. He's not a last minute person — he got everything prepared already, and while he's here, dealing with this very much questionable decision in his life, Carol keeps everything in hand. She’s the only person Kurt dares to leave alone in his kitchen.
He's pretty sure he'll be home to help soon, though. The place is full, he can't occupy a table for two with just a latte and a sketchbook for so long. And he's really getting tired of this dance. He starts his usual monologue — for the last time, he decides.
“Sorry, but I'm actually waiting for some—” Kurt recoils when he finally glances up and sees who has joined him. That's…a look. There's long, green hair literally everywhere; from the feet to the hands up to the top of the green-painted head. Over his tablemate's nose there’s a built-in mask, which makes it kind of impossible to see the person behind it. Hazel eyes looking back at him under the grumpy, green eyebrows, and a lopsided Santa hat is sitting on the top of this whole green disaster.
Okay, that's new.
“It's me,” he interrupts Kurt's thoughts.
Kurt raises an eyebrow. “Me as in… the Grinch? Because yeah, thank you, I can see that.”
“No.” The man chuckles nervously. “I'm Blaine.”
Kurt's expression shifts from confusion to something too similar to the horror on Santana's face, in a heartbeat. “Fuck,” he blurts out, his eyes widen. “That's exactly why I'm not dating.” Although this is definitely a new low, he adds to himself. Kurt closes the sketchbook in his lap, then leans on the table and buries his face in his hands. He wishes he could just snap his heels together and find himself somewhere else. Somewhere where Rachel is, so he can kill her for this nightmare. What was she thinking when she set up Kurt, who spent 24 minutes choosing the most appropriate brooch for the occasion, with someone who shows up on a first date dressed in costume from head to toe? Who does that?!
“I'm so sorry, but I was already running late, and—”
“Ssh…” Kurt hushes him. He raises one hand towards Blaine blindly to silence his tablemate, almost punching him in the face with the unexpected gesture. “Let me process this first!”
And Blaine does just that, waits quietly until the waiter arrives with his order, not wanting to make the situation even worse. If such a thing as worse is even an option at this point…
“Here, enjoy,” the waiter says as he places the coffee and cake in front of Grinch a few minutes later.
“Thank you, Sam.”
Sam blinks, confused. “Blaine?”
“Yes, it's me,” he waves and smiles shyly, though he's not sure anyone can tell through his mask.
Sam gasps in realization. “You dressed up as Grinch for your date! Such a cool idea, I love it! You could be a superhero next. Oh, you should be Nightbird!” He exclaims enthusiastically before he gasps in excitement, like he just had the best idea ever. “Or we could both—”
“No, Sam,” Blaine raises a hairy hand to stop his friend’s word vomit, before he gets completely carried away. “It wasn’t on purpose.”
“Wasn't it?” Kurt asks sarcastically, dropping his hands to the table and finally looking at Blaine again. “Did you just fall onto a freshly painted Christmas tree then got attacked by some green feathered birds on your way here?”
I deserved that, Blaine thinks, nervously fiddling with the straw while trying to ignore Sam's laughter.
“You should have dressed up too,” Sam says, turning to Kurt.
“Yeah, well. I got the notice too late,” Kurt notes dryly, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “My Rudolph costume is at the cleaners.”
“Oh. Bad timing,” Sam mutters sympathetically.
Kurt stares at Sam in disbelief before turning to Blaine to ask if this guy is real, but something distracts him. He narrows his eyes. “Will you drink your cake with that straw?”
Instead of answering, Blaine just puts it in his cup (yes, his no-fancy drip coffee looks ridiculous with a straw) before leaning down to take a sip. “I've probably already licked more paint off my mouth than I care to admit, I don't need more.”
Sam laughs again, drawing both their attention to him. “I bet you're going to poop green!” he exclaims, laughing even louder.
“Thank you Sam, that's all,” Blaine says through clenched teeth, nodding to his friend to signal that it's time to leave. Sam is a great friend—most of the time a blessing—but this friendship definitely has its price as well. Sometimes he feels like his brother sent Sam into his life to make sure someone else embarrasses Blaine when he's not around. If that's the case, Sam does an excellent job. He shakes his head, turning back his attention to his date. "I was held up and didn't have time to get rid of… this,” he says, gesticulating all over himself. “But I didn't want to stand you up either. So here I am."
“You were late anyway.”
“I know. I'm sorry. Can you believe that children are more interested in the Grinch than in Santa? I couldn't just push them away and tell them I had other things to do.”
“Why? You're the Grinch. That's exactly what you should have done.”
Blaine opens his mouth to respond, but he doesn't know what else to say. It seems Kurt made up his mind the moment he saw him. Maybe even sooner.
“Look,” Kurt continues, “I was going to call this off anyway. I had a moment of weakness, but blind dates aren't really my thing.”
“Blind dates aren't anyone's thing.”
“Exactly.” Kurt looks Grinch up and down. “I can tell you don't do this often either.” He looks around, sensing the strange glances out of the corner of his eye. It took Kurt years to finally climb out of the bottom of the food chain, and now look. Here he is, dating Grinch in the middle of a crowded New York café. Life always slaps you in the face when you least expect it. He sighs wearily. “I'd better go now,” he decides. “I was just… well, you know. Holidays are coming, I was a little desperate. But not that desperate.” He gestures over Blaine's costume. “No offense.”
Blaine tilts his head. “You can tell your words are offensive if you feel the urge to put ‘no offense’ at the end.”
Kurt blinks. “Yeah, well… I'm sure you’re a nice guy, but this is… weird, you had to admit, and just not worth it.” He chuckles humorlessly.
Grinch raises his thick eyebrows questioningly. “How do you know it's not worth it?”
“My instincts are good.”
“You're rude.”
“And you're green, for God's sake. Green!” Kurt snaps, successfully closing the argument.
Blaine leans back in his chair in surrender, watching Kurt packing his art stuff away. He's not sure what to think of this guy. He's harsh, but Blaine can understand the disappointment it's coming from. Who would wish for a date with the Grinch, after all?
He tries to gather his thoughts about what he actually knows about Kurt.
Santana said he's handsome; check. (Well, in Santana's words “I swear, Anderson, you'll beg him to pin you to the wall in a heartbeat!”) He's easily one of the most gorgeous men Blaine has ever seen.
He's nice (“Which means he's boring, just like you!”); for now, definitely wrong.
He’s a fashion designer. (“Can you imagine? Maybe he could teach you what to wear to finally look like an adult!”) More than that, he works at Vogue.com — Blaine recognized him right away. The same captivating blue eyes stares back at him from the header of his favorite weekly column, with the most funny and accurate sketches of the New Yorkers’ sometimes pretty much questionable fashion taste. No wonder he's horrified by Blaine's appearance.
What else he knows… They're about the same age. Kurt moved to New York about 10 years ago for uni and loves living here ever since, just like Blaine. He has a good sense of humor. He loves musicals, especially the classics. Blaine's eyes light up and he clears his throat.
“Is it really the color that bothers you, or if I were Elphaba, you'd stay?” He smiles.
“Don't be ridiculous,” comes the instant reply from Kurt while closing his bag without glancing up, but the little curl forming in the corner of his mouth doesn't miss Blaine's attention. Neither the way Kurt bites his lips to keep himself from smiling. That's something. “I actually do own a matching costume to that, so…” Kurt confesses, an adorable blush appears on his cheeks.
Blaine's smile reaches his ears, and he really hopes Kurt can tell the difference between a grin and a grimace under his mask. Their first impressions of each other are definitely not the best, but he finally feels a little bit more confident now. Their friends wouldn't set them up for no reason at all. How could they know if they don't even try?
“Please stay!” Blaine leans closer, trying to grab Kurt's hand but misses it, so he pulls it back awkwardly. “At least until we finish our coffee. You can go back to your sketchbook, or just let's start over and forget it was supposed to be a date, if this is what you want,” Blaine tries, pushing the cake closer to Kurt with a soft smile. “I ordered this for you. For making you wait. It's delicious, you'll love it.”
Kurt stares at the Christmas cheesecake in disbelief. “First the kids and now this… You're the worst Grinch ever.”
“Thank you?” Blaine replies hesitantly.
Kurt's gaze lingers on the cake for a while, as if he's trying to find the answer for his decision from it, and Blaine takes the opportunity to take a closer look at Kurt.
He’s dressed quite simply, but it is the kind of simplicity where every element of his outfit has clearly been planned with a lot of care and effort. Kurt wears black boots, black jeans and turtleneck, but to top it all, he has an extra-long, form-fitting, leopard-print cardigan that breaks up the monochrome black and definitely steals the show. An absolutely eye-catching brooch shaped like a bird's feather and decorated with crystals sits on the cardigan, which only the more careful observer would recognize as actually being a quill pen. Above the angelic face, his chestnut hair is loosely combed back, held high and securely in place by some kind of otherworldly magic. Only a small lock of hair falls (probably deliberately) forward onto his forehead, enhancing the light, airy effect.
Effortlessly stylish — that's how Kurt Hummel would describe himself in his column, Blaine thinks. He can't help but smile at the thought. He has always been curious about who is really hiding behind those lines, sketches and a profile picture.
He'll stay.
“Ihavetogonow,” Kurt blurts out suddenly, the words merging together into one mass as they rush out of his mouth. He drinks the rest of his coffee in one gulp, and the smile fades from Blaine's face. Not that it makes any difference to Kurt, who clearly prefers to look anywhere but Blaine. “I—I have a thing, and… you know. But thank you,” he adds.
“You have a thing in the middle of our date?” Kurt finally looks up and their glances meet again. Blaine lets out a humorless laugh. How can this mesmerizing gaze be so much colder in reality? “Right,” he says gently, before breaking eye contact. “Go then.” He leans back in his chair, pulling the cheesecake back in front of him.
Hearing the disappointment in Grinch's words, Kurt seems to hesitate for a moment… but grabs his bag and leaves anyway.
* * *
“Completely unpredictable!” Santana states with undisguised sarcasm in her voice when she plops down on Kurt's empty chair a few minutes later. “Outrageous!”
“Stop!” Blaine watches as a hand reaches over towards him and pulls the cake across the table.
“Do you think I can ask for the security camera footage? I'm just curious, no particular reason.”
Blaine finally looks up, only to give Santana a murderous glare.
“Oh don't be angry with me, you can only blame yourself! You shouldn't have taken it so half-assedly,” Santana says as she digs the fork into the cheesecake. “Damn, he's crazy for leaving this behind.”
Blaine presses his lips together. Sure, he thinks. He's crazy for leaving the cheesecake behind, not him. Nice. “I didn't take it half-assedly,” Blaine lies, crossing his hairy arms, but uncrossing them immediately. He desperately needs to change into something less itchy, uncomfortable and hot.
Santana looks Blaine up and down meaningfully while chewing. “Yes, you did. The only reason you're here is because you didn't have his number to cancel. You made it pretty clear.”
“You do realize I never asked you to set me up with him or—or anyone, right? Quite the opposite,” he adds, leaning closer to emphasize his words.
“Well, someone had to do something! I couldn't stand looking at your pathetic, sour face any longer.”
Blaine opens his mouth to protest, but instead just rolls his eyes and turns his head away. He knows Santana means well, even if she expresses herself poorly.
“I told you he's cute,” she continues. “It ain't my fault that you didn't even try. But I'm sorry nonetheless, B. Honestly,” she says surprisingly kindly, reaching for Blaine's hairy, green hand and squeezing it. “And now I need your table, we're full,” she changes her tone. Grabbing the cake and standing up, she urges Blaine to do the same.
“Wow. From reproachful to understanding to insensitive in the blink of an eye... that's talent,” Blaine grumbles but he follows her anyway – he knows the drill.
“Thanks!” Santana grins, and before Blaine could tell her that he didn't mean it as a compliment, she's already gone.