A/N This is a re-write. For the Klaine Valentines Challenge Day 1 'Lost In Your Eyes'.

Confit de canard

Boeuf bourguignon

Tartiflette

Aligot

Pansette de Gerzat

Far Breton

The order Kurt places has enough rendered pig fat and cream in each dish to give a full-grown water buffalo a heart attack. Normally Kurt would shy away from rich, calorie-laden foods, but when a once in a lifetime opportunity presents itself, you grab it with both hands and you don't let little things like waist lines and cholesterol levels get in your way.

You hold on tight and you don't let go.

This is a lesson Kurt has learned recently.

Usually he might be concerned with the people around him watching him and thinking he's a glutton, but right now he couldn't care less. He isn't going to allow anything or anybody to minimize his enjoyment of his first ever real vacation.

It has always been his dream to travel to Mont Blanc and stay at the magnificent Hotel Liberty in St. Gervais, to take his morning coffee on a patio with a view of the Alps at sunrise, to learn how to ski, to eat decadent meals prepared by world famous chefs, to stay in a hotel room larger than his apartment in New York, to live the life of a rich socialite … and he is, even though, in reality he's spending every cent he has - his entire life savings.

It would have been nice to have someone else to share this experience with, but love doesn't seem to be in the stars for Kurt Hummel.

Kurt opens the recent issue of Vogue Paris and starts to read the featured article about popular vacation locations to enjoy with children. The picture in the forefront is a young girl with long golden hair braided down her back. She's dressed in a stylish white blouse –the fabric light and flowing; the soft, ruffled collar falling loosely around her neck. She stands beneath a lacy white parasol that is shading her pale but freckled skin, and inquisitive blue eyes gaze at a point somewhere off camera. The girl looks strikingly like his mom from old pictures of her as a child that his dad once showed him. He can't stop looking at her, but he can't stand looking at her either. The image grabs at his heart and squeezes tight. He swallows hard to dislodge the lump in his throat and turns the page, scolding himself for being anything but blissfully happy.

That is the rule – to always be blissfully happy. Do not squander a second on any other lesser emotion.

Unfortunately, this isn't the first time since he's arrived in France that he's broken that rule.

"Hello, darling. Have you been waiting for me long?"

A mysterious man in a black Armani suit sits in the seat beside him. He takes Kurt's hand and kisses it, gazing at him intently with unfamiliar hazel eyes.

Gorgeous hazel-gold eyes, Kurt has to admit, but Kurt still grabs his hand away, the pages of his magazine flipping on their own when he releases his grip.

"Excuse me?" Kurt stares at the man who seems to have mistaken him for someone else. "Can I help you?"

"Actually, you can." He pulls his chair closer to Kurt's, giving Kurt no means of escape other than to lean his body awkwardly away. "There's a man following me. He just walked in - short brown hair and brown eyes, wearing gray slacks and an aubergine shirt. Do you see him?"

Kurt rolls his eyes but looks over the stranger's shoulder, and indeed, there stands, at the entrance to the dining room, a man with brown hair and brown eyes wearing those exact same clothes.

"Why is he following you?" Kurt asks coolly, trying to return to his magazine.

"Because we hooked up last night, and now he thinks he owns me," the man whispers unapologetically. His candor startles Kurt, but he tries not to show it.

"How can I help?" Kurt asks, but his tone doesn't hide that he is thoroughly unconcerned with the man's dilemma as he turns to the next page in his magazine.

"I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend."

Kurt's eyes flick up to the man, this time not caring if he looks surprised or not.

"Absolutely not!" Kurt objects.

"Please?" the man pleads. "If I have to spend one more night pitying this guy, I'm going to throw myself off the mountain."

"Don't do that," Kurt says offhandedly. "That would be a waste of a fine suit."

The man sighs, and it tugs at Kurt's heartstrings … but only a little. Kurt knows what it's like to be hounded and harassed. He wouldn't wish that upon anyone, especially not at this vacation paradise. Kurt peeks over his shoulder again at the supposed stalker searching the dining room. He smiles at what he sees.

"So, was that hookup with him, or him and his wife?" Kurt asks, watching as the stalker is joined by a beautiful blonde wearing a vintage Gucci dinner dress.

The hazel-eyed stranger scoffs without turning around.

"Probably his beard," he replies confidently.

Kurt looks again, and this time, he laughs out loud.

"Then how do you explain the six-year-old?"

The man's hazel eyes widen. He throws a look over his shoulder at the couple and their little girl getting a table on the other side of the restaurant.

"Shoot," he mutters, turning back to Kurt with a wolfish smile on his face. He raises his hands in defeat. "You caught me. Okay, I'll admit it. I'm not hiding from anyone. I saw you sitting here alone and I wanted to meet you."

"Ahhh," Kurt says, but indulges in a better look at the handsome interloper seated beside him. The hazel eyes, dark and shimmering with the reflection of his smile, seem much more honest now, but his grin still carries a hint of mischief to it.

"Blaine Anderson." The man offers Kurt his hand as well as his name. Kurt looks at the hand extended his way - perfectly manicured fingernails, a gold Rolex on his wrist, and Harry Winston Ocean cuff links all scream rich, pretentious, and high maintenance.

Kurt stares at him, lips pressed together. He raises a challenging eyebrow at this enigmatic man.

"Come on," Blaine begs, inching closer. "Won't you at least tell me your name?"

Kurt narrows his eyes at Blaine, trying to calculate the risk of letting this man into his private bubble, even if only a hair. Kurt doesn't know exactly what Blaine's true intentions are, but he seems relatively harmless. Kurt has spent too much time playing things safe - the dreams he didn't pursue, the plans he had made and backed out on, they all lie behind him in a trail of the things his life should have been. He can't keep giving in to fear – not anymore. He decides to take a chance. Besides, dating this guy is definitely not an option, all things considered, so why not at least give him a name?

"Kurt," he says, taking Blaine's hand and giving it a firm shake. "Kurt Hummel."

"Well, Kurt Hummel, can I invite you to …?"

The kitchen doors bang open, cutting into Blaine's question. A small garrison of waiters rolling carts wheel into the dining room, heading straight for Kurt's table. Kurt's face grows unnaturally red, but he fights the sudden onrush of color as best he can while dish after dish is piled onto his table, garnering the attention of every person in the restaurant – customers, staff, and all.

"I … I'm sorry," Blaine says, his grin dissolving. "I didn't know you were already here with someone … or possibly your family … friends … maybe even everyone you've ever met. I'll …"

Blaine stands from his seat, but Kurt reaches out and grabs his arm.

"Would you like to join me for dinner? As you can see, I may have over ordered a tad," Kurt says, trying to deflect his own embarrassment through humor. Blaine watches the last waiter give up trying to find an empty space to put more dishes and leaves his cart beside Kurt's table. With the army of waiters gone, the eyes of the entire dining room are pinned on Kurt and his colossal meal.

"Sure," Blaine says, sitting back down. "Why not? I haven't eaten in about three and a half weeks."

Kurt chuckles, handing Blaine a set of silverware wrapped in a cloth napkin. "I don't stand on ceremony. Dig in."

Blaine unwraps his silverware, looking Kurt over curiously. He's bowed his head, his hands folded in front of his face with his eyes closed, whispering something against his skin.

"Do you say grace before every meal?" Blaine asks when Kurt opens his eyes.

Kurt's brow knits at the question. "I wasn't praying," he says, his tone laced with bitterness.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry."

"It's … it's alright." Kurt reaches for an empty plate and serves himself a portion of Cassoulet. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound testy, but I don't believe in God. It's kind of a sore subject for me."

"So, what were you …?"

"I was saying hi to my mom and dad." Kurt shrugs. "It's a thing I do on Fridays. It used to be tradition to eat Friday dinners together as a family. That way, no matter what happened during the week, we were guaranteed at least one night together."

Blaine smiles as he reaches for an empty plate. "That sounds nice," he says. "We didn't have anything like that in my house growing up." Blaine looks at the dishes on the table, trying to decide between the baked Camembert or the Hachis Parmentier. Kurt watches Blaine deliberate, then makes the decision for him, scooping him a generous portion of each.

"Didn't you eat dinner with your parents?" Kurt asks. Blaine puts his plate down in front of him, digging into the succulent meat with his fork.

"Not if my older brother could help it. He didn't really do the family thing." He puts the first bite into his mouth and lets it melt onto his tongue. He closes his eyes and, with lips locked tight around his food, moans in the back of his throat. The sound immediately attracts Kurt's attention.

His whole body's attention, too.

"God, Kurt! You definitely know how to order a meal!"

"W-well I ordered everything on the menu." Kurt stammers, but recovers quickly. "I had more than a fair chance of getting something good."

"That's another thing" - Blaine opens his eyes, barely catching Kurt staring as he swiftly switches his focus to his own food - "why the big meal?"

Kurt watches Blaine devour another bite with the same favorable reaction – his eyes closing, his mouth working slowly, savoring every bite.

"I'm learning how to throw caution to the wind," Kurt explains when he can find a voice to speak. Thankfully, it resembles his own.

Blaine opens his eyes at Kurt's answer. This time, Kurt doesn't turn away. Blaine's eyes twinkle in the light of the candles lit all around the room. His smile grows wider, more playfully mischievous.

"Then we're going to need some wine," Blaine says, raising a hand to summon a waiter. "Some really good wine." He winks at Kurt's bemused expression. "Expensive wine. And I'm buying."

Blaine and Kurt spend the night eating and drinking, but most of all talking - about their childhoods, about their jobs, about the schools they attended, the places they've traveled (though Blaine's list is considerably longer than Kurt's), their favorite pets, where they want to retire. After only about a tenth of the food is eaten and a bottle of Chateau Latour 1955 polished off, Kurt is certain – absolutely and undeniably certain – that he's falling in love. Not simply infatuation or lust - though both of those emotions could easily abound around a man like Blaine - but honest to goodness, picking out China patterns and wondering what their children will look like love.

The night starts to come to a close, and Kurt hasn't even begun to exhaust all the ways in which he wants to know Blaine. So many questions come up after another one gets answered. He's such an interesting man, an exciting man, and Kurt is overwhelmed by him. But it's getting late. The restaurant is empty and the maître de has been hovering in the doorway for hours giving them stink eye, waiting for Kurt and Blaine to call it a night. The conversation wanes, and Kurt can tell by the look in Blaine's eye that he's hoping for more, but Kurt isn't ready, regardless of his epiphany.

Blaine senses Kurt's apprehension. He doesn't want to ruin a perfect evening by forcing Kurt to come up with a way to let him down easy. He takes Kurt's hand, holding it in both of his, and rubs his thumb over Kurt's knuckles.

"What are you doing for breakfast tomorrow?" Blaine asks.

"Don't you mean today?" Kurt jokes. Blaine shakes his head.

"Okay, Mr. Specific, what are you doing in, say, four or five hours?"

"What did you have in mind?" Kurt asks, trying his hand at flirting, wincing internally at how rusty he's become over the years.

"Well, I figured we could order absolutely everything on the menu again, my treat, but let's eat it on my private patio. I have an incredible view. It's definitely worth looking at, especially at sunrise."

Blaine chews on his inner cheek as Kurt considers, watching Kurt's mind working through the clear blue of his eyes. Kurt bounces his head back and forth, prolonging Blaine's torture as he waits for an answer, praying for a yes.

"Okay," Kurt says. "I'll have breakfast with you. That sounds lovely."

"Great!" Blaine squeezes Kurt's hand, torn between pulling Kurt closer and kissing him, or maybe just giving him a hug. In the end, he lifts Kurt's hand to his mouth and kisses it, letting his lips linger against the soft skin, breathing in deep, reluctant to let go.

Kurt gasps at the delicate press of Blaine's lips against his skin, absorbing it into every nerve. It bounces around his body until it settles in his heart, causing the suffering thing to race, pounding in his rib cage like a tribal drum.

It takes Blaine three tries to convince himself to stand from his chair and back away, holding Kurt's hand until the last possible second when Kurt's fingers slip from his grasp. Blaine's smile is muted, tired, but it excites Kurt with its warmth and promise.

"I'm in 23," Blaine says.

"23," Kurt repeats, not mentioning that Blaine's room is not that far from his own – though that's probably already assumed in a hotel with only 25 rooms.

Kurt watches Blaine walk away, grinning till his cheeks hurt at the thought of seeing him again … and in only a few hours. How is he going to get to sleep? He won't. It's impossible.

While the waiters pack up his food and send it ahead to his room, he daydreams of the possibilities. Blaine mentioned during their conversation over dinner that he works in New York. If things work out between them, their vacation romance (if it turns into that) doesn't necessarily have to end with this trip. They could go home and date and fall in love and be a real couple.

Kurt looks at the plates spread out around him, the copy of Vogue Paris forgotten on the empty chair to the other side of him, the photograph of the beautiful little girl staring off into nowhere. All too quickly reality crashes in on him, and everything around him becomes a painful blur.

Kurt never put much weight in the idea of 'love at first sight'. He was sure after everything he'd been through that it didn't exist for him. And as depressing as the concept of never finding your one true love seems, he would be happier right now if he hadn't found a man who could possibly fit the bill so perfectly, so completely.

Because how do you tell someone you can realistically see spending the rest of your life with that you don't have much time left to live?