Fic: Caffeine and Love 2/2 [Glee]
Title: Caffeine and Love
Author: teaboytoaliens
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers/Warnings: None.
Word Count: ~11k
Summary: In between cleaning stainless steel counter tops and making cups of coffee at his job as manager of Anderson Coffee Inc. in Midtown Manhattan, Blaine dreams of breaking out of the shell he’s been trapped in all his privileged life-though of course his father would never allow him to strike off on his own. When someone sets up shop in the abandoned building next to the coffee shop, Blaine thinks nothing of it save that at least his father won’t complain about it going into disrepair anymore. That is, he thinks nothing of it until he meets Kurt Hummel. Then it basically all goes to shit.
Disclaimer: I do not own any aspect of Fox's Glee nor do I make that claim. Original creations of this story, including, but not limited to, characters, settings, and plot, are copyright to me.
Author's Notes: Written for naderegan at the kb-holidays fic exchange.
February
From: Porcelain
To: Cliched
Subject: Valentine’s Day
I think it’s a load of crap. Just a stupid greeting card company ploy to get the masses to buy cards and chocolate and flowers galore. Who needs an excuse to eat chocolate?
Your thoughts?
---
From: Cliched
To: Porcelain
Subject: re: Valentine’s Day
While nobody should need an excuse to eat chocolate, Valentine’s Day is one of my favourite holidays, despite my history with it. I’ve always thought that there was something romantic about a day all about laying yourself on the line and telling someone you love them.
I once serenaded the Junior Manager of a Gap store and was soundly rejected. His name was Jeremiah, and I thought I was in love. I wasn’t. I don’t know if I ever have been.
---
“That asshole!” Blaine tells his reflection in the bathroom mirror, throwing the towel he’d been using to dry his hair to the floor with a smack. He puts his hands on either side of the sink and leans in to rest his forehead on the mirror.
Blaine hasn’t been able to think of anything but the dinner business meeting with his father he’d attended last night, during which daddy dearest ragged on him the entire time about the drop in customer sales since December. He’d wanted to know what, exactly, Blaine is doing wrong this time.
The problem is, Blaine had finally decided sometime around two-thirty in the morning, not that he’s doing anything wrong, but that Kurt Hummel is a jerk and his stupid tea house is stealing all Anderson Coffee Inc.’s precious business. He’d even heard that Hummel had hired more staff because of the unexpected popularity of the tea house.
Blaine hates tea now. He used to just not care too much about it, but now he absolutely loathes the stuff.
In fact, the only thing he hates more than tea is Kurt Hummel.
At least I have Porcelain, Blaine thinks to himself as he picks up his towel and hangs it up before grabbing his gel bottle, I think he’s the only thing keeping me sane anymore.
---
From: Porcelain
To: Cliched
Subject: re: re: Valentine’s Day
You make a fair point, though I’m still skeptical. I’ll be spending this Valentine’s Day with my roommate and chocolate. We’re having a spa night. You?
I, too, once thought I was in love. I was young, and the guy in question was my crush for years before he became my brother. You might think that things are a bit awkward these days, but we’ve worked past it. If you’ve indeed never been in love, I do believe you can join the club. Extra fee for VIP membership (but it’s worth every penny).
---
From: Cliched
To: Porcelain
Subject: re: re: re: Valentine’s Day
I am spending Valentine’s Day at work with one of my favourite people. He’s the only elderly member of my staff, and he is wonderful. He was also kind enough to offer to work the afternoon shift as well as the morning so that some of my younger employees could spend the day with their significant others, despite the fact that he has a partner himself. A man I can respect.
I find it hard to believe that your crush could become your brother and it not be awkward for the rest of time. I hope you have fun with your roommate. Give yourself a clay mask for me, all right?
Also: what benefits would a VIP membership to the club offer exactly?
---
“I’m telling you, he hates me just as much as I hate him,” Kurt insists, his face mask on the verge of cracking. “Today I passed him on the street and I swear his eyes were boring holes of fire through my head.”
“I think he’s just intimidated by your business,” Rachel says, brushing another layer of pink nail polish onto her big toenail.
“He should be,” Kurt scoffs, resting his head on the couch and closing his eyes. “We’re doing extremely well, after all. Some of our business must be leeching off his.”
“Undoubtedly,” Rachel agrees. “Let’s talk about something else. How’s your mysterious guy?”
“Cliched is fabulous. We recently decided to make mock email addresses and email each other rather than bothering with handwritten notes.”
“That’s probably a good thing,” Rachel says, screwing the lid back on the nail polish and wiggling her toes. “You have quite the collection after less than a month. Might as well save trees.”
Kurt makes a noise of agreement.
“What do you two talk about, anyway?”
Kurt shrugs. “All sorts of things. Our families, what’s going on in our lives, our thoughts about stuff. I know all about his family, that he reads Vogue cover to cover and worships coffee, that he’s lived his entire life in New York City, including for university as a business major, and he used to think nothing happened in Ohio until I informed him that I was born there. As well as a bunch of other things, of course.”
Rachel nods, impressed. “Do you think you’ll meet anytime soon?”
“No, not soon,” Kurt says. “We’re taking it super slow. He’s as busy with work as I am, and I’m actually really liking getting to know him anonymously.”
“If that’s the way you like it,” Rachel says, shrugging. “I think it’s time you washed that mask off, by the way.”
Kurt glances at the clock on the wall. “You’re right. Come on, I’ll help you with that hair treatment thing when I’ve finished.”
---
March
From: Porcelain
To: Cliched
Subject: I seem to recall a little something...
Your birthday is this month, isn’t it?
---
From: Cliched
To: Porcelain
Subject: re: I seem to recall a little something...
Indeed--the seventeenth.
---
From: Porcelain
To: Cliched
Subject: re: re: I seem to recall a little something...
Luck of the Irish? How do you feel about gifts?
---
From: Cliched
To: Porcelain
Subject: re: re: re: I seem to recall a little something...
I am, in fact, Irish. Trust me to wear green on my birthday every year without fail.
I wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Why do you ask?
---
From: Porcelain
To: Cliched
Subject: re: re: re: re: I seem to recall a little something...
Give me your address and I’ll send you something. Do not argue. I expect a gift in May.
--
“I shouldn’t do it,” Kurt says to himself.
“No, you shouldn’t,” Brittany agrees.
“Yes, you should,” Puck counters. “Don’t you want to know who this guy you’ve been mooning over for months now is? I do.”
“Stop encouraging him!” Brittany protests. “If he wants to know, he should ask. Communication is important in a relationship. Nick told me that; he would know because he’s been with Jeff for, like, centuries. I think it helped me and Santana.”
“But this is a foolproof plan to just check it out, scope out the goods, you know? The guy handed over his address.”
“Cliched didn’t expect Kurt to do that with it!”
“Will you two please shut up?” Kurt says, sighing. “I wasn’t even talking to you.”
“Clearly we don’t care, dude,” Puck says. “Come on, what’s it going to hurt to find out who the guy is?”
“It’s bad idea,” Brittany insists.
Kurt blinks down at the note paper he’d written Cliched’s address down on. “You’re right, Brittany,” he says. Puck glares at him. “But I’m going to do it.”
Puck grins even as Brittany’s smile slips off her face.
---
In all honesty, Kurt feels pretty bad about doing this. He and Cliched had agreed to stay anonymous until they mutually decided otherwise, and Kurt knows that he shouldn’t break that promise. But with Cliched’s address at his disposal, he really can’t help himself.
Which is why he’s standing outside an apartment building a good few blocks from the tea house in the opposite direction of his own place. It looks just swanky enough to fit Cliched’s MO, and it matches the address on his note paper.
He hadn’t even intended to get his address for this purpose. He’d just wanted to send a birthday present. It was all Puck’s fault--he’d suggested this.
Kurt takes a deep breath and pushes open the door to the lobby, spotting a security guard just inside the doors. I’ve come this far, he thinks. I might as well take the plunge.
“Excuse me.”
“Yes?” the guard asks, raising an eyebrow.
“I was wondering if you could tell me who lives in apartment 317?”
The security guard shakes his head immediately. “Definitely not. Confidential information, them’s the drill.”
Kurt bites his lip. He did not come all this way to walk away empty handed--even if he shouldn’t have come in the first place. He pulls a couple bills out of his jacket pocket. “Are you sure about that?” he asks, carefully holding out the hand with the money tucked into it.
The security guard’s eyes flicker down to Kurt’s hand, then back up again. He looks conflicted, and for a moment Kurt is afraid he’s going to reject him again. But the guard reaches out and takes the money from Kurt. “I’m not positive about his name, but it’s a young guy, mid-twenties. Bit short, with brown hair that he gels down every day.”
Kurt frowns. “What does he dress like?”
The security guard shrugs. “Normal. Maybe a bit formal sometimes, but I think he’s a business man, so that’d be why.”
“You’re sure you don’t know his name?”
The guard slowly tucks the money Kurt had handed over into his pocket. “No, it’s escaping me at the moment.” Kurt sighs and pulls another twenty out of his own pocket. The guard takes it with a smirk. “Oh, it’s coming back. Anderson, I believe. Blaine Anderson.”
---
April
Blaine clicks his pen aggressively, leaning his back against the pastry case and staring at the back wall. He hasn’t had any contact with Porcelain since receiving his birthday gift--an assortment of green candy and a new coffee mug--despite repeated attempts to email him.
“Is there something wrong, Blaine?” Tina asks.
Blaine clears his throat, setting the pen down on the back counter. “Sort of,” he admits, surprising himself.
“What is it?”
“I haven’t heard from Porcelain in over a week. I’m afraid something’s happened to him.”
Tina frowns. “Maybe he’s just busy.”
Blaine shakes his head. “He’s always been busy, but we still email each other multiple times almost every day. This is seriously weird.”
“Huh,” Tina says. “That is weird. Any ideas about what might have happened?”
“None.” He shrugs. “Other than death and terminal illness, both of which I sincerely hope aren’t the case, I haven’t the foggiest idea.”
“Well, I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation,” Tina reassures him. “You’ll see.”
“I hope so.” Blaine sighs.
---
From: Cliched
To: Porcelain
Subject: Are you okay?
You haven’t responded to my thank you email or the one about the fish, and I’m starting to worry that you’re dead or dying. Please respond?
---
May
From: Cliched
To: Porcelain
Subject: Is anyone out there?
Porcelain, I am seriously scared. I know it’s not like we’ve ever met, but you know more about me than anyone in my life, and I count you as one of my best friends. Please tell me where you are. Even just one word.
---
From: Porcelain
To: Cliched
Subject: re: Is anyone out there?
You know, maybe it’s time we did meet.
---
Kurt is sitting in the corner booth of the tea house, staring at his laptop screen and wondering if this is really a good idea.
After he’d discovered that the man he’d been slowly potentially falling in love with and the man who is his worst enemy were one and the same, he’d done the first rational thing that came to mind: called Mercedes and yelled at her for trying to set him up with fucking Anderson. He, as she had complained many time since, had not even let her get a word in edgewise before abruptly hanging up on her and going home to rant to Rachel, who found the whole problem absolutely hilarious.
He hadn’t been nearly as amused.
Mercedes had managed to actually talk to him the next day at work--she’d first berated him for being a snoop and then pointed out that just because Cliched’s name was Blaine Anderson didn’t mean that he was magically the polar opposite of the guy Kurt had been getting to know.
“Haven’t I always told you that you’re misunderstanding him? Clearly Cliched is his true self. I’ve been sick of you complaining about the boy for ages,” she’d said.
“So you decided we were a match made in heaven?” he’d yelled. She’d only had a shrug for that.
But after an entire month of stewing over the problem, Kurt had found that he actually missed Cliched. He kept thinking of things he wanted to tell him before realizing that he wasn’t talking to him anymore. After a while of that, the idea of him being Blaine didn’t seem so bad. The idea of continuing to talk to him anonymously, however, was unappealing no matter how he looked at it.
So he’d finally replied to his email in order to set up some time and somewhere to meet, and now they were meeting for dinner at a place Blaine had picked out on Friday night.
Part of Kurt wanted to email Blaine right now and call it off.
The other part was trying to decide what the hell he was going to wear.
---
Blaine paced back in the small space he’d claimed next to the window of the restaurant he was meeting Porcelain at. He’d decided, after much deliberation, to dress nicely, but not to dress up, so he was wearing his nicest pair of dark wash jeans and a white button down shirt with a red cardigan over top. He’d taken special care to gel his hair nicely and finished the ensemble with his nice sneakers--not the ones that he’d had since his early college days.
He looked quite put together on the outside, but on the inside he was far from it.
What if he thinks I’m ugly? What if I’m just not his type? What if he think I don’t have any sense of style? What if...
“Hi,” someone says from behind Blaine. He whips around, nearly falling over. “Whoa, steady.”
Blaine wrinkles his eyebrows. “Kurt Hummel?” he asks suspiciously. “What are you doing here?”
Kurt puts his hands into the pockets of his sweater and sits back on his heels, biting his lip nervously. “I’m Porcelain,” he says, not daring to make eye contact with Blaine. “And you’re Cliched.”
Blaine’s world comes to a dizzying stop around him. “...what?”
“I know how you must feel,” Kurt says quickly. “I was surprised, too.”
“I don’t believe you,” Blaine says stupidly.
Kurt sighs. “Your birthday’s on St. Patrick’s Day, you have serious daddy issues, and your resolution for this year was to start living your life, which is still really cliche.”
In all the what ifs that had been rolling around in Blaine’s head, what if he’s my worst enemy hadn’t been one of them. “How did you know it was me?”
Kurt winces. “I paid your security guard to tell me who lived in Apartment 317.”
Blaine blinks. “Seriously?”
“Yeah,” Kurt says.
“Well, uh, okay. That doesn’t explain why you didn’t respond to my emails for a month.”
“I was busy yelling at Mercedes,” Kurt quips. “I thought she was kind of stupid for setting me up with someone I complain about on a daily basis.”
Blaine snorts. “Remind me to do the same to Sam. ...wait, you complain about me? What have I ever done to you?”
Kurt’s eyes widen. “What have you done to me? You’re a total jerk!”
“What are you talking about? If anyone’s a jerk, it’s you.”
“Oh yeah? How so?”
“Your stupid tea house has stolen practically all my business, and every time I see you on the street, you look like you wish I was dead.”
“I look like I wish you were dead? You look like you want to slice me into pieces! And it’s not my fault my business outshines yours.”
Blaine frowns. “Well, I need someone to blame it on.”
Kurt rolls his eyes. “Do you think maybe we could go inside instead of standing out here on the street yelling at each other?”
“Good idea. But this is not over,” Blaine warns.
“You sound like Rachel.”
“Rachel?”
“My roommate.”
“Oh, I suppose I know all about her.”
Kurt nods. “Indeed you do.”
---
For a moment their table is completely silent as they stare at each other, then they abruptly burst into laughter. Kurt dabs at his nose with a napkin, afraid he actually did snort out his Diet Coke.
“Oh my God,” Blaine chokes out through gasps of laughter. “This is dumbest thing that’s ever happened to me.”
“I can’t believe I’m at dinner with someone who hates my guts,” Kurt says.
“I can’t believe I haven’t left yet,” Blaine counters.
“I guess Mercedes was right,” Kurt says. “It was really just a misunderstanding. I swear I just meant that I didn’t have time to visit the coffee shop. You make fantastic coffee, you know.”
“And I guess I had no right to get snappy at you,” Blaine says. “And I’m deeply sorry for throwing out good food, I swear.”
“I accept your apology.” Kurt smiles over at him. “Also, I don’t believe I’ve told you, you look good tonight.”
Blaine smooths down the front of his cardigan. “Thank you. You do, too.”
“I do believe we are now officially on a date, with formalities and everything,” Kurt says.
“That is what I was hoping would go down tonight,” Blaine says. “You know, before I found out Porcelain was you.”
Kurt leans forward. “And now that you know it’s me? Do you still have ideas for what could go down? Because I do.”
Blaine’s eyes widen and he laughs nervously. “I might... have an idea or two.” He tries to look seductive and probably comes off all wrong, especially judging by the way Kurt laughs.
“Are you two gentlemen ready to order?” their waiter asks, posing with his notepad at the ready.
“I think we are,” Kurt tells him.
---
Blaine walks into the coffee shop two hours late the next morning with a shit eating grin on his face.
Santana spots him first and puts her hands on her hips. “And where have you been?”
“I can be where ever I like,” Blaine says. “I don’t get paid by the hour.”
Sam frowns. “Yes, but you’re always here.”
Blaine shrugs. Santana’s eyes go wide and she drops her hands. “Did you get laid? Hot damn, you so did.”
“Didn’t you have that meeting with Porcelain last night?” Sam asks. “How did that go?”
“He got laid,” Santana says.
“I wanted to talk to you about that,” Blaine says, pulling the bow on his apron tight as he turns to Sam. “Why the hell did you think it was a good idea to set me up with Kurt Hummel, of all people?”
Santana looks like she’s about to fall over. Sam swallows. “It was my girlfriend’s idea?”
“Wanky,” Santana says.
“Maybe you shouldn’t be so whipped,” Blaine says. “Hadn’t you only just gotten together when I first started sending notes to Porcelain? You had to know it was a bad idea--don’t I tell you all the time how much I hate him?”
“Sure, but...” Sam struggles to find something to say. He exchanges a glance with Santana. “You got laid! That was the goal.”
Blaine rolls his eyes and punches Sam in the shoulder. “Mission accomplished, dude. I even got tea in bed this morning.”
“Who are you and what have you done with our boss?” Sam asks. “He hates tea.”
“Feel free to keep him away, though,” Santana says quickly. “I think I’m going to like you.”
“I can fire you,” Blaine warns.
Santana sighs. “I knew it was too good to be true. It’s still dear Mr. Anderson.”
---
September
From: Cliched
To: Porcelain
Subject: You better still check this email.
Dearest Kurt,
As the summer draws to a close, I recall all the things I was doing at the beginning of September last years and all the years before that. To tell you the truth, I haven’t the slightest clue what I might have been doing beyond preparing for a new school year back when I went to school.
But this September is different. We’ve just returned from a two week long visit to Ohio (where things do happen, I’ve discovered!) during which I met your family (who were all I expected and more). I’ve spent this entire summer pursuing music again, and I have you to thank for that. My father is none too happy about my new life plan, but it’s my life, so he’ll just have to deal.
Speaking of my father dealing, I have a proposal for you. As you know, the coffee shop still gets significant patronage, but it’s nowhere near the capacity of the tea house, and we’re liable to go under by the New Year. I have a plan to stop that--we knock out the walls between Hummel Tea and Love and Anderson Coffee Inc. and revamp the entire place into a new business: Caffeine and Love. What do you think?
Moving away from business, I’m writing this email to tell you more than just what we’ve been up to, as you obviously aware of all that.
Kurt, these months with you in my life have been some of the best of my life entirely. Even when I only knew you as Porcelain, you brightened my day with a simple email. Now you can do the same with a smile from out on the street or a quick text message. I can’t tell you how much you mean to me with simple words.
I want to wake up in the morning sun with you every day. I want to run around the park with you, laughing at absolutely nothing. I want to go out for dinner in fancy French restaurants where I can’t pronounce anything and you speak flawless French that I can’t understand a word of. I want to listen to you sing in the shower every morning, and I want to see you cheering for me from the audience when I have a gig at a bar. I even want to fight with you--one of the things I love best about our relationship is that it isn’t perfect, but it feels perfect anyway.
I love you, Kurt. Thank you for helping my New Year’s resolution happen.
Blaine
---
From: Porcelain
To: Cliched
Subject: re: You better still check this email.
Sometimes I think I should never have stopped calling you Cliched. If the glove fits...
I love you, too, you jerk.
Kurt
PS: I’ll call you when I get off work.
---
Epilogue: January
“This was a terrible idea,” Kurt says, his words turning into fog next to Blaine’s ear.
“It was your idea!” Blaine says back. Someone jostles into him, pushing him closer to Kurt, which is quite the feat, as they’re already huddling together for warmth.
“I’m so cold! And there are so many people!”
“What were you expecting? Because I told you about this.” Kurt pouts dramatically. Blaine laughs. “Oh, come on, baby, don’t be like that,” he teases. “We can stay home where it’s warm and dry next year, I promise.”
“Damn rights,” Kurt mutters.
“Hey, Kurt?” Blaine says after a moment.
“Hm?”
“What were your resolutions this past year? You never told me.”
“Success for the tea house,” Kurt replies. “And I wanted to find love.”
“Oh, is that all? Those are more like wishes, not resolutions.”
“Shut up, jerk. They came true, anyway.”
“They did?”
“You know they did. Look, the countdown is about to start.”
“You ready for this?” Blaine asks.
“As I’ll ever be,” Kurt replies.
Ten! Kurt shuffles his feet around so he and Blaine are facing each other more.
Nine! Blaine smiles and places his hand on Kurt’s cheek.
Eight! Kurt smiles back and puts his own hand over Blaine’s.
Seven! Kurt tugs Blaine’s hand off his face.
Six! Blaine grimaces and takes Kurt’s other hand in his.
Five! A snowflake lands on Blaine’s eyelash.
Four! Kurt brushes it away.
Three! Blaine glances up at the sky, then looks back to Kurt’s face.
Two! Kurt waggles his eyebrows at Blaine.
One! Blaine and Kurt lean in to each other and lock lips.
Happy New Year! Blaine’s hand goes back to Kurt’s face as they deepen the kiss. Kurt attempts to dip Blaine and only ends up knocking into someone, breaking them apart laughing.
“Happy New Year, Porcelain,” Blaine whispers, leaning his forehead against Kurt’s.
“Happy New Year, Cliched.”
Author: teaboytoaliens
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers/Warnings: None.
Word Count: ~11k
Summary: In between cleaning stainless steel counter tops and making cups of coffee at his job as manager of Anderson Coffee Inc. in Midtown Manhattan, Blaine dreams of breaking out of the shell he’s been trapped in all his privileged life-though of course his father would never allow him to strike off on his own. When someone sets up shop in the abandoned building next to the coffee shop, Blaine thinks nothing of it save that at least his father won’t complain about it going into disrepair anymore. That is, he thinks nothing of it until he meets Kurt Hummel. Then it basically all goes to shit.
Disclaimer: I do not own any aspect of Fox's Glee nor do I make that claim. Original creations of this story, including, but not limited to, characters, settings, and plot, are copyright to me.
Author's Notes: Written for naderegan at the kb-holidays fic exchange.
February
From: Porcelain
To: Cliched
Subject: Valentine’s Day
I think it’s a load of crap. Just a stupid greeting card company ploy to get the masses to buy cards and chocolate and flowers galore. Who needs an excuse to eat chocolate?
Your thoughts?
---
From: Cliched
To: Porcelain
Subject: re: Valentine’s Day
While nobody should need an excuse to eat chocolate, Valentine’s Day is one of my favourite holidays, despite my history with it. I’ve always thought that there was something romantic about a day all about laying yourself on the line and telling someone you love them.
I once serenaded the Junior Manager of a Gap store and was soundly rejected. His name was Jeremiah, and I thought I was in love. I wasn’t. I don’t know if I ever have been.
---
“That asshole!” Blaine tells his reflection in the bathroom mirror, throwing the towel he’d been using to dry his hair to the floor with a smack. He puts his hands on either side of the sink and leans in to rest his forehead on the mirror.
Blaine hasn’t been able to think of anything but the dinner business meeting with his father he’d attended last night, during which daddy dearest ragged on him the entire time about the drop in customer sales since December. He’d wanted to know what, exactly, Blaine is doing wrong this time.
The problem is, Blaine had finally decided sometime around two-thirty in the morning, not that he’s doing anything wrong, but that Kurt Hummel is a jerk and his stupid tea house is stealing all Anderson Coffee Inc.’s precious business. He’d even heard that Hummel had hired more staff because of the unexpected popularity of the tea house.
Blaine hates tea now. He used to just not care too much about it, but now he absolutely loathes the stuff.
In fact, the only thing he hates more than tea is Kurt Hummel.
At least I have Porcelain, Blaine thinks to himself as he picks up his towel and hangs it up before grabbing his gel bottle, I think he’s the only thing keeping me sane anymore.
---
From: Porcelain
To: Cliched
Subject: re: re: Valentine’s Day
You make a fair point, though I’m still skeptical. I’ll be spending this Valentine’s Day with my roommate and chocolate. We’re having a spa night. You?
I, too, once thought I was in love. I was young, and the guy in question was my crush for years before he became my brother. You might think that things are a bit awkward these days, but we’ve worked past it. If you’ve indeed never been in love, I do believe you can join the club. Extra fee for VIP membership (but it’s worth every penny).
---
From: Cliched
To: Porcelain
Subject: re: re: re: Valentine’s Day
I am spending Valentine’s Day at work with one of my favourite people. He’s the only elderly member of my staff, and he is wonderful. He was also kind enough to offer to work the afternoon shift as well as the morning so that some of my younger employees could spend the day with their significant others, despite the fact that he has a partner himself. A man I can respect.
I find it hard to believe that your crush could become your brother and it not be awkward for the rest of time. I hope you have fun with your roommate. Give yourself a clay mask for me, all right?
Also: what benefits would a VIP membership to the club offer exactly?
---
“I’m telling you, he hates me just as much as I hate him,” Kurt insists, his face mask on the verge of cracking. “Today I passed him on the street and I swear his eyes were boring holes of fire through my head.”
“I think he’s just intimidated by your business,” Rachel says, brushing another layer of pink nail polish onto her big toenail.
“He should be,” Kurt scoffs, resting his head on the couch and closing his eyes. “We’re doing extremely well, after all. Some of our business must be leeching off his.”
“Undoubtedly,” Rachel agrees. “Let’s talk about something else. How’s your mysterious guy?”
“Cliched is fabulous. We recently decided to make mock email addresses and email each other rather than bothering with handwritten notes.”
“That’s probably a good thing,” Rachel says, screwing the lid back on the nail polish and wiggling her toes. “You have quite the collection after less than a month. Might as well save trees.”
Kurt makes a noise of agreement.
“What do you two talk about, anyway?”
Kurt shrugs. “All sorts of things. Our families, what’s going on in our lives, our thoughts about stuff. I know all about his family, that he reads Vogue cover to cover and worships coffee, that he’s lived his entire life in New York City, including for university as a business major, and he used to think nothing happened in Ohio until I informed him that I was born there. As well as a bunch of other things, of course.”
Rachel nods, impressed. “Do you think you’ll meet anytime soon?”
“No, not soon,” Kurt says. “We’re taking it super slow. He’s as busy with work as I am, and I’m actually really liking getting to know him anonymously.”
“If that’s the way you like it,” Rachel says, shrugging. “I think it’s time you washed that mask off, by the way.”
Kurt glances at the clock on the wall. “You’re right. Come on, I’ll help you with that hair treatment thing when I’ve finished.”
---
March
From: Porcelain
To: Cliched
Subject: I seem to recall a little something...
Your birthday is this month, isn’t it?
---
From: Cliched
To: Porcelain
Subject: re: I seem to recall a little something...
Indeed--the seventeenth.
---
From: Porcelain
To: Cliched
Subject: re: re: I seem to recall a little something...
Luck of the Irish? How do you feel about gifts?
---
From: Cliched
To: Porcelain
Subject: re: re: re: I seem to recall a little something...
I am, in fact, Irish. Trust me to wear green on my birthday every year without fail.
I wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Why do you ask?
---
From: Porcelain
To: Cliched
Subject: re: re: re: re: I seem to recall a little something...
Give me your address and I’ll send you something. Do not argue. I expect a gift in May.
--
“I shouldn’t do it,” Kurt says to himself.
“No, you shouldn’t,” Brittany agrees.
“Yes, you should,” Puck counters. “Don’t you want to know who this guy you’ve been mooning over for months now is? I do.”
“Stop encouraging him!” Brittany protests. “If he wants to know, he should ask. Communication is important in a relationship. Nick told me that; he would know because he’s been with Jeff for, like, centuries. I think it helped me and Santana.”
“But this is a foolproof plan to just check it out, scope out the goods, you know? The guy handed over his address.”
“Cliched didn’t expect Kurt to do that with it!”
“Will you two please shut up?” Kurt says, sighing. “I wasn’t even talking to you.”
“Clearly we don’t care, dude,” Puck says. “Come on, what’s it going to hurt to find out who the guy is?”
“It’s bad idea,” Brittany insists.
Kurt blinks down at the note paper he’d written Cliched’s address down on. “You’re right, Brittany,” he says. Puck glares at him. “But I’m going to do it.”
Puck grins even as Brittany’s smile slips off her face.
---
In all honesty, Kurt feels pretty bad about doing this. He and Cliched had agreed to stay anonymous until they mutually decided otherwise, and Kurt knows that he shouldn’t break that promise. But with Cliched’s address at his disposal, he really can’t help himself.
Which is why he’s standing outside an apartment building a good few blocks from the tea house in the opposite direction of his own place. It looks just swanky enough to fit Cliched’s MO, and it matches the address on his note paper.
He hadn’t even intended to get his address for this purpose. He’d just wanted to send a birthday present. It was all Puck’s fault--he’d suggested this.
Kurt takes a deep breath and pushes open the door to the lobby, spotting a security guard just inside the doors. I’ve come this far, he thinks. I might as well take the plunge.
“Excuse me.”
“Yes?” the guard asks, raising an eyebrow.
“I was wondering if you could tell me who lives in apartment 317?”
The security guard shakes his head immediately. “Definitely not. Confidential information, them’s the drill.”
Kurt bites his lip. He did not come all this way to walk away empty handed--even if he shouldn’t have come in the first place. He pulls a couple bills out of his jacket pocket. “Are you sure about that?” he asks, carefully holding out the hand with the money tucked into it.
The security guard’s eyes flicker down to Kurt’s hand, then back up again. He looks conflicted, and for a moment Kurt is afraid he’s going to reject him again. But the guard reaches out and takes the money from Kurt. “I’m not positive about his name, but it’s a young guy, mid-twenties. Bit short, with brown hair that he gels down every day.”
Kurt frowns. “What does he dress like?”
The security guard shrugs. “Normal. Maybe a bit formal sometimes, but I think he’s a business man, so that’d be why.”
“You’re sure you don’t know his name?”
The guard slowly tucks the money Kurt had handed over into his pocket. “No, it’s escaping me at the moment.” Kurt sighs and pulls another twenty out of his own pocket. The guard takes it with a smirk. “Oh, it’s coming back. Anderson, I believe. Blaine Anderson.”
---
April
Blaine clicks his pen aggressively, leaning his back against the pastry case and staring at the back wall. He hasn’t had any contact with Porcelain since receiving his birthday gift--an assortment of green candy and a new coffee mug--despite repeated attempts to email him.
“Is there something wrong, Blaine?” Tina asks.
Blaine clears his throat, setting the pen down on the back counter. “Sort of,” he admits, surprising himself.
“What is it?”
“I haven’t heard from Porcelain in over a week. I’m afraid something’s happened to him.”
Tina frowns. “Maybe he’s just busy.”
Blaine shakes his head. “He’s always been busy, but we still email each other multiple times almost every day. This is seriously weird.”
“Huh,” Tina says. “That is weird. Any ideas about what might have happened?”
“None.” He shrugs. “Other than death and terminal illness, both of which I sincerely hope aren’t the case, I haven’t the foggiest idea.”
“Well, I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation,” Tina reassures him. “You’ll see.”
“I hope so.” Blaine sighs.
---
From: Cliched
To: Porcelain
Subject: Are you okay?
You haven’t responded to my thank you email or the one about the fish, and I’m starting to worry that you’re dead or dying. Please respond?
---
May
From: Cliched
To: Porcelain
Subject: Is anyone out there?
Porcelain, I am seriously scared. I know it’s not like we’ve ever met, but you know more about me than anyone in my life, and I count you as one of my best friends. Please tell me where you are. Even just one word.
---
From: Porcelain
To: Cliched
Subject: re: Is anyone out there?
You know, maybe it’s time we did meet.
---
Kurt is sitting in the corner booth of the tea house, staring at his laptop screen and wondering if this is really a good idea.
After he’d discovered that the man he’d been slowly potentially falling in love with and the man who is his worst enemy were one and the same, he’d done the first rational thing that came to mind: called Mercedes and yelled at her for trying to set him up with fucking Anderson. He, as she had complained many time since, had not even let her get a word in edgewise before abruptly hanging up on her and going home to rant to Rachel, who found the whole problem absolutely hilarious.
He hadn’t been nearly as amused.
Mercedes had managed to actually talk to him the next day at work--she’d first berated him for being a snoop and then pointed out that just because Cliched’s name was Blaine Anderson didn’t mean that he was magically the polar opposite of the guy Kurt had been getting to know.
“Haven’t I always told you that you’re misunderstanding him? Clearly Cliched is his true self. I’ve been sick of you complaining about the boy for ages,” she’d said.
“So you decided we were a match made in heaven?” he’d yelled. She’d only had a shrug for that.
But after an entire month of stewing over the problem, Kurt had found that he actually missed Cliched. He kept thinking of things he wanted to tell him before realizing that he wasn’t talking to him anymore. After a while of that, the idea of him being Blaine didn’t seem so bad. The idea of continuing to talk to him anonymously, however, was unappealing no matter how he looked at it.
So he’d finally replied to his email in order to set up some time and somewhere to meet, and now they were meeting for dinner at a place Blaine had picked out on Friday night.
Part of Kurt wanted to email Blaine right now and call it off.
The other part was trying to decide what the hell he was going to wear.
---
Blaine paced back in the small space he’d claimed next to the window of the restaurant he was meeting Porcelain at. He’d decided, after much deliberation, to dress nicely, but not to dress up, so he was wearing his nicest pair of dark wash jeans and a white button down shirt with a red cardigan over top. He’d taken special care to gel his hair nicely and finished the ensemble with his nice sneakers--not the ones that he’d had since his early college days.
He looked quite put together on the outside, but on the inside he was far from it.
What if he thinks I’m ugly? What if I’m just not his type? What if he think I don’t have any sense of style? What if...
“Hi,” someone says from behind Blaine. He whips around, nearly falling over. “Whoa, steady.”
Blaine wrinkles his eyebrows. “Kurt Hummel?” he asks suspiciously. “What are you doing here?”
Kurt puts his hands into the pockets of his sweater and sits back on his heels, biting his lip nervously. “I’m Porcelain,” he says, not daring to make eye contact with Blaine. “And you’re Cliched.”
Blaine’s world comes to a dizzying stop around him. “...what?”
“I know how you must feel,” Kurt says quickly. “I was surprised, too.”
“I don’t believe you,” Blaine says stupidly.
Kurt sighs. “Your birthday’s on St. Patrick’s Day, you have serious daddy issues, and your resolution for this year was to start living your life, which is still really cliche.”
In all the what ifs that had been rolling around in Blaine’s head, what if he’s my worst enemy hadn’t been one of them. “How did you know it was me?”
Kurt winces. “I paid your security guard to tell me who lived in Apartment 317.”
Blaine blinks. “Seriously?”
“Yeah,” Kurt says.
“Well, uh, okay. That doesn’t explain why you didn’t respond to my emails for a month.”
“I was busy yelling at Mercedes,” Kurt quips. “I thought she was kind of stupid for setting me up with someone I complain about on a daily basis.”
Blaine snorts. “Remind me to do the same to Sam. ...wait, you complain about me? What have I ever done to you?”
Kurt’s eyes widen. “What have you done to me? You’re a total jerk!”
“What are you talking about? If anyone’s a jerk, it’s you.”
“Oh yeah? How so?”
“Your stupid tea house has stolen practically all my business, and every time I see you on the street, you look like you wish I was dead.”
“I look like I wish you were dead? You look like you want to slice me into pieces! And it’s not my fault my business outshines yours.”
Blaine frowns. “Well, I need someone to blame it on.”
Kurt rolls his eyes. “Do you think maybe we could go inside instead of standing out here on the street yelling at each other?”
“Good idea. But this is not over,” Blaine warns.
“You sound like Rachel.”
“Rachel?”
“My roommate.”
“Oh, I suppose I know all about her.”
Kurt nods. “Indeed you do.”
---
For a moment their table is completely silent as they stare at each other, then they abruptly burst into laughter. Kurt dabs at his nose with a napkin, afraid he actually did snort out his Diet Coke.
“Oh my God,” Blaine chokes out through gasps of laughter. “This is dumbest thing that’s ever happened to me.”
“I can’t believe I’m at dinner with someone who hates my guts,” Kurt says.
“I can’t believe I haven’t left yet,” Blaine counters.
“I guess Mercedes was right,” Kurt says. “It was really just a misunderstanding. I swear I just meant that I didn’t have time to visit the coffee shop. You make fantastic coffee, you know.”
“And I guess I had no right to get snappy at you,” Blaine says. “And I’m deeply sorry for throwing out good food, I swear.”
“I accept your apology.” Kurt smiles over at him. “Also, I don’t believe I’ve told you, you look good tonight.”
Blaine smooths down the front of his cardigan. “Thank you. You do, too.”
“I do believe we are now officially on a date, with formalities and everything,” Kurt says.
“That is what I was hoping would go down tonight,” Blaine says. “You know, before I found out Porcelain was you.”
Kurt leans forward. “And now that you know it’s me? Do you still have ideas for what could go down? Because I do.”
Blaine’s eyes widen and he laughs nervously. “I might... have an idea or two.” He tries to look seductive and probably comes off all wrong, especially judging by the way Kurt laughs.
“Are you two gentlemen ready to order?” their waiter asks, posing with his notepad at the ready.
“I think we are,” Kurt tells him.
---
Blaine walks into the coffee shop two hours late the next morning with a shit eating grin on his face.
Santana spots him first and puts her hands on her hips. “And where have you been?”
“I can be where ever I like,” Blaine says. “I don’t get paid by the hour.”
Sam frowns. “Yes, but you’re always here.”
Blaine shrugs. Santana’s eyes go wide and she drops her hands. “Did you get laid? Hot damn, you so did.”
“Didn’t you have that meeting with Porcelain last night?” Sam asks. “How did that go?”
“He got laid,” Santana says.
“I wanted to talk to you about that,” Blaine says, pulling the bow on his apron tight as he turns to Sam. “Why the hell did you think it was a good idea to set me up with Kurt Hummel, of all people?”
Santana looks like she’s about to fall over. Sam swallows. “It was my girlfriend’s idea?”
“Wanky,” Santana says.
“Maybe you shouldn’t be so whipped,” Blaine says. “Hadn’t you only just gotten together when I first started sending notes to Porcelain? You had to know it was a bad idea--don’t I tell you all the time how much I hate him?”
“Sure, but...” Sam struggles to find something to say. He exchanges a glance with Santana. “You got laid! That was the goal.”
Blaine rolls his eyes and punches Sam in the shoulder. “Mission accomplished, dude. I even got tea in bed this morning.”
“Who are you and what have you done with our boss?” Sam asks. “He hates tea.”
“Feel free to keep him away, though,” Santana says quickly. “I think I’m going to like you.”
“I can fire you,” Blaine warns.
Santana sighs. “I knew it was too good to be true. It’s still dear Mr. Anderson.”
---
September
From: Cliched
To: Porcelain
Subject: You better still check this email.
Dearest Kurt,
As the summer draws to a close, I recall all the things I was doing at the beginning of September last years and all the years before that. To tell you the truth, I haven’t the slightest clue what I might have been doing beyond preparing for a new school year back when I went to school.
But this September is different. We’ve just returned from a two week long visit to Ohio (where things do happen, I’ve discovered!) during which I met your family (who were all I expected and more). I’ve spent this entire summer pursuing music again, and I have you to thank for that. My father is none too happy about my new life plan, but it’s my life, so he’ll just have to deal.
Speaking of my father dealing, I have a proposal for you. As you know, the coffee shop still gets significant patronage, but it’s nowhere near the capacity of the tea house, and we’re liable to go under by the New Year. I have a plan to stop that--we knock out the walls between Hummel Tea and Love and Anderson Coffee Inc. and revamp the entire place into a new business: Caffeine and Love. What do you think?
Moving away from business, I’m writing this email to tell you more than just what we’ve been up to, as you obviously aware of all that.
Kurt, these months with you in my life have been some of the best of my life entirely. Even when I only knew you as Porcelain, you brightened my day with a simple email. Now you can do the same with a smile from out on the street or a quick text message. I can’t tell you how much you mean to me with simple words.
I want to wake up in the morning sun with you every day. I want to run around the park with you, laughing at absolutely nothing. I want to go out for dinner in fancy French restaurants where I can’t pronounce anything and you speak flawless French that I can’t understand a word of. I want to listen to you sing in the shower every morning, and I want to see you cheering for me from the audience when I have a gig at a bar. I even want to fight with you--one of the things I love best about our relationship is that it isn’t perfect, but it feels perfect anyway.
I love you, Kurt. Thank you for helping my New Year’s resolution happen.
Blaine
---
From: Porcelain
To: Cliched
Subject: re: You better still check this email.
Sometimes I think I should never have stopped calling you Cliched. If the glove fits...
I love you, too, you jerk.
Kurt
PS: I’ll call you when I get off work.
---
Epilogue: January
“This was a terrible idea,” Kurt says, his words turning into fog next to Blaine’s ear.
“It was your idea!” Blaine says back. Someone jostles into him, pushing him closer to Kurt, which is quite the feat, as they’re already huddling together for warmth.
“I’m so cold! And there are so many people!”
“What were you expecting? Because I told you about this.” Kurt pouts dramatically. Blaine laughs. “Oh, come on, baby, don’t be like that,” he teases. “We can stay home where it’s warm and dry next year, I promise.”
“Damn rights,” Kurt mutters.
“Hey, Kurt?” Blaine says after a moment.
“Hm?”
“What were your resolutions this past year? You never told me.”
“Success for the tea house,” Kurt replies. “And I wanted to find love.”
“Oh, is that all? Those are more like wishes, not resolutions.”
“Shut up, jerk. They came true, anyway.”
“They did?”
“You know they did. Look, the countdown is about to start.”
“You ready for this?” Blaine asks.
“As I’ll ever be,” Kurt replies.
Ten! Kurt shuffles his feet around so he and Blaine are facing each other more.
Nine! Blaine smiles and places his hand on Kurt’s cheek.
Eight! Kurt smiles back and puts his own hand over Blaine’s.
Seven! Kurt tugs Blaine’s hand off his face.
Six! Blaine grimaces and takes Kurt’s other hand in his.
Five! A snowflake lands on Blaine’s eyelash.
Four! Kurt brushes it away.
Three! Blaine glances up at the sky, then looks back to Kurt’s face.
Two! Kurt waggles his eyebrows at Blaine.
One! Blaine and Kurt lean in to each other and lock lips.
Happy New Year! Blaine’s hand goes back to Kurt’s face as they deepen the kiss. Kurt attempts to dip Blaine and only ends up knocking into someone, breaking them apart laughing.
“Happy New Year, Porcelain,” Blaine whispers, leaning his forehead against Kurt’s.
“Happy New Year, Cliched.”