A/N: Fluffy, futurefic, PG, misguided romance.

Adam glances down the conveyor belt at the items being bought by the pixie-ish looking man standing in front of him. The man stares back at Adam, a shy grin curling his rosy lips as he waits to hand over his money.

Working as a cashier at this boutique little catch-all market isn't Adam's dream job by far, but it does have its perks. Money is one of them, of course - the biggest one since he would be done with his master's degree soon, and then the age-old tradition of dodging the college loan officer would begin.

Another is the people watching. As a performer, it is essential that he experience people from all walks of life. Believe it or not, Adam can tell more about people from the things they buy then from any amount of conversation.

His favorite combinations of products so far have been one can of baby formula and twelve six-packs of beer; a box of chocolates, a bottle of wine, and a meat cleaver; and the pièce de résistance- a bottle of lubricant, a Winx DVD, sixteen cans of aerosol whipped cream and a box of condoms.

In the three years Adam has spent working at this store, never once has he found himself drawn to a customer. He imagines an invisible wall between him and them – a line that should not be crossed. So he's surprised at how this one customer has managed to capture his attention so completely. Though the man in front of him, rolling endlessly back and forth on the balls of his feet, isn't necessarily Adam's type per se, the items on the belt are painting a picture that is quickly winning him over.

James Patterson's Invisible – only one of Adam's favorite James Patterson books ever.

"I've read this," he says nonchalantly as he scans the book and puts it into a shopping bag. "It's fascinating. A real page turner."

The man smiles wider and nods.

Adam moves on to the next item - a container of gourmet chicken noodle soup, the kind they make from scratch here at the store. Chicken noodle soup is one of Adam's all-time top choice comfort foods, and he can definitely appreciate a person who spends a little extra money to get the best.

A blueberry scone from the bakery – it might be an overplayed stereotype, but in this case it's definitely true; being British, a love of scones is certainly a given.

Adam scans a bottle of Camus - a nice mid-brand cognac. Cognac is one of Adam's guilty pleasures. He sometimes slips a bit in his coffee at bedtime, especially when he feels under the weather - just a nip, to help him sleep.

A bar of Yardley's lavender-scented soap – Adam's grandmother always used this soap. God, Adam misses her so much.

A dozen sterling roses – for some reason, sterlings are extremely difficult to get in the city. The store where Adam works stocks them once in a blue moon and he tries to buy them when they do. He's a little sad to see this bunch go, but considering everything else, maybe this time he can let it slide.

To top it all off, this month's copy of Vogue, indicating a man with an interest in fashion, style, and sophistication. Adam likes to consider himself fashion-forward, though he hasn't exactly graduated from the casual 90s retro grunge chic of flannel shirts and Boho knit caps.

But he'd be willing to learn from someone knowledgeable giving him some pointers.

If Adam were ever to fall for a man based on his purchases, then this man is perfect.

Adam watches the man fidget uncomfortably, as if he knows his purchases are being scrutinized. He bounces on his feet and takes odd peeks out of the window at a blue Honda parked out front.

He probably left his doors unlocked, Adam surmises. Adam would prefer to believe that as opposed to the possibility that he's creeping this poor man out and he can't wait to grab his bags and run.

Adam gives the bags a final once over before he loads them into the man's waiting shopping cart. Would it be too awkward to ask him out? This might not be the most appropriate of circumstances, and Lord knows what his manager would think. Adam isn't desperate, but it feels like decades since he's gone out on a proper date. He considers himself to be outgoing - he's definitely not shy - but he can never seem to find someone he shares any interests with. His type or no, this man seems oddly tailor made for him.

And he has blue eyes.

Adam is a sucker for a beautiful pair of blue eyes.

"I'm going to need to see some i.d.," Adam says. When the man furrows his brow, Adam explains, "for the liquor." Adam points to a sign hanging behind him at the register that explains the rules on carding for alcohol purchases in New York City. "It's the law."

"Oh…oh yes, of course," the man says, shaking his head and giggling, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet. He opens it, pulls out his driver's license, and hands it over.

"Chandler Kiehl," Adam reads out loud.

"That's my name, don't wear it out," Chandler says, giggling again.

"I'm Adam," Adam says in introduction, handing Chandler back his driver's license.

"I know," Chandler says with a nervous hop. "It's on your name tag." Chandler reaches a long finger and taps the name tag pinned to Adam's navy blue polo shirt.

"Right." Adam looks down at the tag, then back at Chandler. "Chandler," Adam repeats, letting the name roll around on his tongue. "Look, this might seem weird…" he starts out, trying to sound as sincere (and look as non-threatening) as he can, "I mean, I've definitely never done this before, but can I maybe ask you for your phone number?"

Chandler's eyes open wide, his smile overwhelming his face.

"Ooo-la-la!" he exclaims, blushing to his roots. "Of course you may!"

Adam hands Chandler a pen and a scratch piece of paper, and Chandler quickly but neatly scrawls out his name and number. When Chandler's done, Adam takes the pen and the slip of paper back. He looks over the number, setting it to memory, and puts the paper safely in the pocket of his khaki slacks.

"So, I'll call you tonight?" Adam asks.

"Sounds like a plan," Chandler says, handing over a hundred dollar bill, keeping his hand out for the change.

"There you go," Adam says, handing Chandler the change, his own smile growing to match Chandler's effervescent and infectious glee. "Do you need any help out to your car?"

"Nope," Chandler practically sings. "I think I've got it. It was nice meeting you, Adam."

"It was nice meeting you, Chandler." Adam says with a wink.

"Et vous, aussi," Chandler coos. He skips away, pushing the cart with his bags inside, swaying his hips in case Adam is watching him leave.

Chandler carefully puts the bags in the back seat of his car and closes the door. He climbs into the driver's seat, still aglow and giddy, doing a tiny dance as he buckles up his seatbelt. Then he turns to the passenger seat, which is reclined all the way with his best friend laying back on it, a tissue pressed to his nose.

"Dank you so much vor dis, Chadler," Kurt mumbles around a cough, sniffling when he catches his breath.

"No problem," Chandler says with a wave of his hand. "I promised I would take care of you until you got better, and so I shall. How are you feeling?"

"I veel like cwap," Kurt says, blowing his nose. "Der waz no way I waz going to be able to go in that store and buy my gwoceries."

"Well, I do have to say you have some interesting tastes," Chandler comments, looking over his shoulder at the bags in the back seat. "Oh! But you totally missed out on the hot cashier Adam."

"Oh?" Kurt raises a brow, silently asking for details.

"Yup," Chandler says dreamily. "He's tall, blond, British…"

"Did he have a cute accent?" Kurt asks with more interest. Kurt is a sucker for a man with an English accent.

"The cutest!" Chandler chirps, putting a hand dramatically over his heart. "And the best thing is he asked me for my number!"

"Weally?" Kurt asks with a twinge of jealousy.

"Yeah, out of the blue," Chandler explains, starting up the car. "I don't really understand it. I barely said a word to him."

"Well, maybe it's just meant to be."

Chandler smiles at the thought of fate steering him in the path of this handsome man.

"Maybe." Chandler sighs.

Kurt smiles at his besotted friend and closes his eyes, daydreaming of a mysterious man asking for his phone number.