It was like a habit that Kurt couldn't shake, after that. He'd been ignoring it for so long, the yearn and want tocreate, and that one day he'd spent giving into his curiosity had flipped a switch somewhere inside him that put it at the forefront of his mind.

Work was still boring, still mindless and dull. It wasn't as though he had the ability to do as he pleased while he was stuck behind a desk, staring at a computer screen for hours on end and with quotas to meet. Quantity and quality were important, but at the time they were focused more on quantity to keep the department from becoming swamped with undone tasks. His fingers were constantly at his keyboard, the click-clack of typing only drowned out by the music he listened to almost non-stop through his headphones. That was the only way to keep from feeling completely stifled, to have that melodic reminder that there was something more out there than just computer screens that made his eyes feel blurry and the constant list of things being done.

Thereweremoments of reprieve. It was the same moment that Kurt had to take off his headphones and give into the white noise of the office due to his phone ringing. It was the only time during his day that his hands abandoned their place on the keyboard and shifted to a pen and paper, ready to take down whatever information the person on the other end of the phone had to offer him. At least, that was how it was before.

The thing was, the people on the phone tended to tell him way more than was ever helpful and expected more from him than he would ever be able to give. That led to so many minutes on the phone, just sitting and waiting for them to stop so he could tell them what he could and try to get them to hang up. It was a waste of time – or at least that's how he'd always felt about it before. He used to just sit and wait, albeit impatiently, knowing how much he had to do and how little time it would take to answer their questions if they would just give him a chance instead of rambling on. But that was before.

Every time his phone rang, the motions were fluid and the same. He'd stretch to reach the receiver with one hand while pausing his music and pulling off his headphones with the other. By the time the phone reached his ear and propped against his shoulder, his hands would have moved to grab the pen and pad of paper sitting off to the side. It was usually covered in numbers and names, each one a different call and with a line drawn under so he could just keep using the same piece of paper until it was full. At least, that's how it'd been before.

Now that the switch was flipped, there was the scribble of information given to him toward the top, and the rest of the page filled with drawings the longer he was kept on the phone. It was almost absent, how it happened. Kurt would feel himself zoning out like usual and the pen would just scratch across the page as a means of keeping him there in the moment. The drawings were nothing really, usually a still life of whatever was in front of him or whatever was on his mind, quick and easy and done in minutes because once the phone call was over it was back to fingertips and keys on a keyboard.

That was enough for him to feel a constant tug inside him, trying to pull him back to Brooklyn. It was ridiculous, he thought, because he could just as easily dig out his art supplies from wherever they were hiding in the back of his closet – and he did just that after two days of mindless drawing at work. It wasn't the same, though. His apartment was nice and mostly quiet, though the walls were thin and his neighbors sometimes loud, but it wasn't the right space. When he got home, there wasn't anything inspiring him to sit and justdo.

It reminded him of college and the times he would try to get work done in his dorm room rather than having to trek across campus to the art building. The problem with that, just like the problem with his apartment, was that there were too many distractions. There were television programs to catch up on that were collecting on his DVR, dishes and laundry to do, cleaning that needed to be done, emails to be read and the Internet to get lost in for hours on end. He'd always ended up having to go to the art building to accomplish anything back in college, just like he knew he'd need to be somewhere other than his apartment to do the same then.

The hesitation Kurt had about going back seemed simple in his mind. Sure, Blaine had given that invitation but he was wary of just showing up out of the blue. At least the time he'd gone before, there had been an indicator of the fact that he might – whoever TCOCHA was getting into his computer and prodding him on. Given the span of time of the entire weekend, he wasn't sure when an appropriate time was. What if he went and there was no one there? What if he went and there was someone there who he hadn't met? Brittany had seemed nice and friendly and like she would let anyone inside, but what if there was someone who was more wary when they answered the door?

Kurt almost wished that box would pop up on his computer and TCOCHA would talk to him again, but the entire week went by and he left work Friday evening without even the faintest trace.

It was almost like the anticipation was coursing through him like adrenaline, and that was probably what made Kurt wake up so early the next morning. He'd resolved that hewouldgo but he still hadn't figured out when. He certainly wasn't about to head over there soon after he woke up, since he'd done so early enough to sit out on the fire escape outside his window with his coffee and toast and watch the sun rise over the buildings of Manhattan. It was one of his favorite ways to spend the morning, up above the sounds of the city and nothing to rush him along.

The anticipation still pushed him along, into the shower and to get dressed, gather his bag and sketchbook and get to the subway station. Despite his concern about who would be there, if he would even be welcome as Blaine had indicated before, Kurt felt more relaxed as he sat on the train than he had the first time. It was still a little early, but the ride was long and he figured he would find a coffee shop once he got to Brooklyn if the door was locked and no one was there.

It was a different experience entirely than the first time he'd gone there, because the slight fear he'd had was replaced by more nerves. Kurt just hoped that someonewasthere, preferably someone he had already met, so he didn't feel like a bit of a fool just standing on a doorstep and not knowing when he should have come. However, if there was one thing that living in New York had taught him, it was to walk with confidence and act like he knew exactly what he was doing. So once he was off the subway and down the street, directions that had gotten etched into his mind after just one journey, he strode up to the door like it was the most natural thing in the world and rang the doorbell.

There was no answer, and Kurt tried the handle on a whim but it was locked. He supposed it was still a little early, and who knew when someone would get there. Therehadbeen a coffee shop between the subway station and where he was standing, and he'd figured getting something more flavorful than the coffee at his apartment wouldn't hurt anything. It wasn't until he was turned and headed back to the sidewalk that the lock clicked and the door opened, but he didn't notice until he heard his name.

"Kurt?" He glanced over his shoulder and stopped, spinning on his heel because there was Blaine – a slightly tired and disheveled looking Blaine, but still him nevertheless. Kurt had dressed down slightly due to it being the weekend, and that he was planning on sitting in a room by himself, and apparently so had Blaine. He looked warm and comfortable, like being wrapped up in a blanket on a cold fall day, and Kurt hoped it hadn't been obvious that his gaze was lingering on the way Blaine's shirt hung on him but Blaine didn't look like he'd noticed.

"Sorry," Kurt replied, moving the few steps back toward the door and keeping his hand tight around the strap of his bag. "I know it's early but I didn't know what time would be good to come."

"No, it's fine," Blaine said, shaking his head and offering him a smile. "Great, even. Where... were you going?"

"Coffee." Kurt gestured back down the street. "I saw a place when I was walking..."

"Oh perfect." There was a moment of Blaine disappearing behind the door, but then he reemerged pulling a bag across his shoulders. "Mind if I join you?"

"No, of course," Kurt replied, watching as Blaine stepped out and let the door latch behind him, checking to make sure it was locked before falling into step beside him as they walked up the sidewalk. It was a quiet trek up the block to the coffee shop, and Blaine held the door open for them both when they arrived and was greeted by name by the barista behind the counter. Kurt raised an eyebrow at him, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth when the barista moved to get Blaine's coffee without waiting for him to order. "Come here often?"

"Just about every morning," Blaine admitted, but he smiled as he moved in closer to the counter. "I could make my own coffee, but I can never make it quite as good as they do here! Plus I like starting my mornings with familiar faces."

That statement caught Kurt's attention more than anything else. He studied Blaine carefully a moment before being prompted by the barista if he wanted anything. "Oh yes, a medium non-fat mocha, please?"

"Just put it with mine," Blaine said to the barista, and Kurt once again found himself reaching for his wallet too late as there was already being money passed across the counter to pay. "I mean..." Blaine faltered a little when he realized Kurt was staring at him, and his gaze moved up to meet his. "I hope that's okay? I just figured, you came all the way out here so I could at least get your coffee..."

"If you really want to," Kurt answered slowly, and as they walked to the end of the counter, the smile that lit up Blaine's face completely took over any hesitation that had been there moments prior. "Can I ask you something?"

"Anything."

"You do photography, right?" Kurt asked, and he got a nod in response. "Do you do Strangers in the City?"

"Nowwho's the one doing research?" Blaine replied, his eyes almost twinkling as he grinned. "But yes, I do."

It was the one segment of the magazine that Kurt thought he'd gotten right when trying to pair it with an artist. It was partially because Blaine had said he did photography, but it wasn't like those were the only photographs in the publication. These were pictures of people, though. They were pictures, always black and white, of people around the city just going about their lives. It had always been one of Kurt's favorite parts because it was so humanizing to a city that could seem stark, rushed, and full of dark spots.

From the little Kurt had seen of Blaine, from their brief time together earlier in the week and then that morning, he wasn't surprised at all that it was his doing. He seemed like the type of person who would see that which other people overlooked, which is exactly what his pictures were. Moments that would be lost in the hustle and bustle if not caught by his camera. They were always simple but looked so refined – a portrait, a moment of kindness, people reuniting, seeming almost staged for how perfectly they were captured and framed, but never looking posed.

"I love those," Kurt said absently, not realizing he'd actually said it out loud until Blaine thanked him. He flushed, reaching for his drink when the barista set it down on the counter. "You're welcome. I... you're very good,they'revery good."

They made it back to the warehouse without much else conversation, which was fine because it was a short walk. There were just so many questions floating through Kurt's mind but he didn't know where to start, or what might seem too intrusive. It felt like such a gift, having this world opened up to him, but he felt like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"I'm really glad you came," Blaine said as he unlocked the door and held it open to let Kurt in before him. "I was hoping you would."

"I don't know what I'm doing," Kurt admitted, but it wasn't really what he meant. He knew what he was doing in the sense that he was there for a purpose, but it was more so to what end? Blaine just smiled, shrugging as he took a sip of his coffee.

"Whatever you want." Blaine said it like it was so easy, so simple, and maybe it was – for him. At least he seemed to be aware that not everyone worked that easily. "You came here of your own volition, so I'm assuming you had some idea of what you wanted to do."

"I guess what I meant," Kurt began again, cupping his mocha between both his hands and staring at it as he mulled over the words, "is that I don't know what is expected from me."

"I don't... have expectations," Blaine replied, his voice soft and gentle. Kurt looked up to meet his gaze in time to see him shake his head. "I don't. I mean, I know this whole thing is a little crazy and even I have a hard time believing it's real half the time, so it's strange. Yes, we provide artwork to people and yes, we have a publication, but it's not like I was expecting you to come in here and start... producing for us. If you want to, that's great, but I wasn't even sure that you were coming back so I definitely didn't have any expectations for you. There's no pressure here."

Kurt was left to his own devices in the same room where he'd been before, same supplies and everything. It was quieter than it had been, but he supposed that was due to them being the only two people there – no Brittany or anyone else to add background noise. Blaine had mentioned needing to develop his film, and Kurt thought that if he found himself there more often he would have to truly explore the whole space considering there was actually a dark room on site.

It was easy to lose track of time when he was there in that room, nothing to pull him out of what he was doing. Kurt made a few trips back and forth from the supply room because he couldn't resist the opportunity to just play around with everything available to him there. That thought alone made him think back to earlier that week, the other girl with Brittany –coming here and playing with us,she'd said. Maybe that was really all there was too it, just a place to play around and imagine, explore, but Kurt hadn't realized anything like that could exist still for adults.

His shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows early on, charcoal lingering on his fingers but he didn't notice until he went to drink the last of his mocha and left fingerprints on the cup. It wasn't until he went to switch to something else that he cared, not wanting to get black smudges all over the pastels that he'd gotten from the supply room before he'd really sat down to start. That was the first time he wandered any further into the building than he had before, because he wasn't about to wipe his hands off on any of his clothes and he figured there had to be a bathroom there somewhere. It was easy enough to find, and even just being able to find his way around that little bit more made the place seem less unfamiliar and foreign.

By the time Blaine reappeared with a light knock against the doorframe, Kurt had managed to spread out several drawings across the table in front of him. He thought maybe it was the free rein that was making it so easy and so haphazard all at once. Even when he'd been in school, there had usually been parameters or guidelines to follow for what he was doing, but this– this was completely different. It was whatever he wanted, however he wanted, and getting a handle on how to pull it back and focus had taken at least a good hour and a few wasted doodles.

"How's it going?" he asked, crossing the room to move closer to the table and look down at what Kurt had done. "Oh wow."

"It's fine," Kurt replied, running a hand through his hair and glancing over to see where Blaine was looking. It was what he'd done with the pastels he'd found, mostly just the ocean and waves crashing, an experiment to get used to the medium more than anything else. "That's... I was just messing with the colors."

"If that's you just messing, I'd love to see what it looks like when you actually try," Blaine said, his eyes twinkling with a smile as he looked at him. "Enjoying yourself?"

"I am. How are your pictures?"

"Oh they're fine," Blaine answered, waving his hand dismissively before letting it drop down to press his fingertips into the edge of the table. "Are you going to come back?"

"What?" Kurt blinked up at him, his brow furrowing.

"Well I don't know how long you were going to be here today but I'm assuming you'd planned on leaving," Blaine went on, his index finger tapping on the table absently. "Not right now, obviously, but at some point. I was just wondering... if you were going to come back again."

It wasn't a question that Kurt had been expecting, and it didn't help that Blaine looked over at him through those impossibly thick eyelashes of his in such an inquisitive and hopeful way. Truthfully, he hadn't thought about anything past that day, but he knew deep down that he would want to. The hours that he'd spent there had been some of the most alive feeling of recent years, the city and real life blocked out and nothing but whatever he wanted to put down on paper or canvas to worry about.

"I'd like to," he replied, gaze flickering over the pages scattered on the table before moving back to meet Blaine's. "Honestly though, I feel... bad? Not that this is bad, this is amazing, just that I'm getting something out of it and you aren't."

"Who says I'm not?" Blaine asked, his head tilting to the side.

"The other people who come here, I'm assuming they contribute pieces and work you can use," Kurt went on, absently straightening the pastels and pencils that were still out of their cases. "I'm just messing around and using your stuff, it hardly seems like a fair trade."

"So give me something you want printed."

"You're joking."

"No," Blaine said evenly, shaking his head. "Kurt, do you think you would have come here if you didn't have areason?You wouldn't have been invited if you weren't someone with the talent to match what we do, so no, I'm not joking. I've seen your work before, what's was available to see when we were looking into you – again, not creepy, sorry – and then when you were here the other day, that was beautiful. It was looking beyond the surface, beyond what was right in front of your face. Taking a place that was common to you and portraying how you felt about it, all in one piece."

His hand slid over across the table top and to Kurt's, taking it and gently pulling him to his feet. There was a swooping sensation in Kurt's stomach as he stood, but he wasn't sure if it was because of how Blaine was talking or the way their hands fit together and how Blaine didn't let go. There was still residue from the pastels on his fingers and he knew it was getting onto Blaine's hand, he could see the smudges of blue and green on the back of it as his fingers shifted, but Blaine either hadn't noticed or didn't care – Kurt wasn't sure which.

"So I know you've looked through our magazine," Blaine said as he led Kurt down the hall back to the room where Brittany had been the day before. Kurt had glanced in when he'd first gotten there but hadn't taken much of it in. There was paint everywhere, which wasn't surprising given the state she'd been in when he'd seen her, but there were also long canvases all along the floor. Blaine gestured in and Kurt stepped past him, their hands slipping apart as he moved across to where he could look at them closer, not recognizing what they were until he was right overtop and could see them clearly.

"Patterns and Variations," he murmured, eyes following the footsteps of paint along the canvas, colorful and bright and some overlapping. It hadn't ever occurred to him how big the canvases would be when all he saw was printed on the page, but he'd never really thought about the fact that he was looking atfootprintsso of course it would be to scale with them. He'd known what they were, because that was the entire point of the series, but they'd never stuck out to him until then.

"Brittany didn't paint until a couple years ago," Blaine offered from the doorway before coming into the room. "She danced professionally, and then she got hurt and the physical therapy to get back to where she had been was intense and they recommended she try something as a creative outlet to relax since she couldn't dance like she normally would in that situation."

"So she does this..."

"She does other things too; she's a pretty good painter with her hands, too." Blaine was smiling when Kurt looked back at him, and he stepped over to the paintings. "But this is how she really got it through, being able to combine what she wanted to be doing and what she was able to do. It seems simple, right? Putting paint on her feet and dancing across the canvas – seems simple but she does so much more than just that. It's just that not everything is meant to be printed, meant to be put up on display somewhere.

"That's why it doesn't matter if you just want to 'mess around' and use the stuff we have here," he concluded quietly. "Some things are just for fun, or just for you, but it's all part of the process. Believe me, you're not putting anyone out by using what we have in there – we have good funding. If you don't want to contribute to anything more than yourself, that's fine, but please don't make that choice because you don't think you're good enough. I've seen enough of your work to know you are."

By the time Kurt left to head back to his apartment, Blaine had given him a key. Everyone who worked there had one, he'd said, and if Kurt was going to come back it was only right that he did too. It was a show of trust – obviously that he trusted Kurt to have free access to their space, but also that Blaine trusted that he would make good use of it. It wasn't just a key; it was an invitation that gave him the freedom for whenever he wanted or was able.

More than that, it was an acceptance. Kurt held the key in his hand the whole subway ride back to his stop, turning it over, tracing the teeth of it, almost as if he were trying to memorize it purely on touch. It was symbolic not only of what he'd started to do in his free time but also that he was accepted by the people surrounding that choice – well Blaine at least, but by the way he'd been speaking it felt like the rest were there in proxy. After all, what hadn't felt like acceptance that first day? He'd been welcomed in and given anything he could have wanted to work with practically no question. Kurt felt like he was part of something, even though he'd just barely dipped his toes in the water of whatever that something was, and that felt exciting.

Maybe that was why he felt like he wanted to go back as soon and as much as possible, because Kurt couldn't remember the last time he'd felt that excited about something. It was purely creative and nothing that drained his motivation like his job did, though he had been explicitly clear again in talking to Blaine that he wasn't about to quit his job for whatever it was Blaine expected from him. And Blaine had been explicitly clear again that there were no expectations.

That was just how it was, simple and without preamble. It still took a good bit for it to register with Kurt that Blaine actually meant it when he said that, almost with everything else that came out of his mouth. There was such sincerity in his words that it was difficult not to get wrapped up in them, or at least that how Kurt felt. It made him believe in what Blaine said despite not knowing too much about him at first, though he did return the favor of researching him just as Blaine had done to him. Technology made it easy to find out so much about a person even with the smallest starting point, and Kurt was grateful to have had that to work with to put his mind more at ease.

Having the ability to go and lose himself in his artwork anytime he wanted without the question of whether there would be someone to let him in or not, well that was both a blessing and a curse. It was wonderful to have that ability, but having the knowledge that he could meant that was all Kurt wanted to do.