Like anybody else, Blaine had a certain amount of free will, could make most of his own choices.  He just had a job to do, a mission--to be an imaginary friend to children.  And it wasn't a bad job by any stretch of the imagination, so to speak.  He oftentimes found himself smiling just because he loved his job so much.

Still, he liked the vacations he got between assignments.  He never had any idea how long they might last, so he'd learned to make the most of every day, to live in the moment.

Blaine's flat was in SoHo, one of his favorite parts of New York City, or any city, for that matter.  And that night he got back to his brownstone at around eleven, thoroughly shaken about seeing Kurt.  Adult Kurt.

Wow.

By the time Blaine made it up to the second landing on his way to his fourth-floor walk-up, he could feel the rock music thrumming down from above.  He didn't have any doubt where it was coming from: Noah Puckerman's place.

Noah Puckerman.  Or, Puck, as he had immediately told Blaine he preferred to be called after they first met.  Blaine wasn't sure what to make of the devil-may-care, lug of a man-child.  He was pretty friendly, out-going, always made an effort to say hello when they crossed paths in the stairwell or in the lobby.  In fact, as Blaine got to the fourth floor, Puck was just greeting a couple of women at the door of his apartment.  The women were tall, slender, and beautiful, apparently snickering at some joke that had just been told.  Puck was muscular, with a grin that Blaine assumed was hard to resist despite the questionable mohawk he sported.

"Blaine, my man!  Come join my party," Puck called from across the hall.

"Uh, thanks, but I'm kind of tired tonight," Blaine said, attempting to duck into his apartment but Puck was already making his way toward him, and then Blaine found a heavy arm draped over his shoulders.

"This is J.Lo!  And this is Britney Spears," Puck said with a flourish, nodding at both women.  The tall blonde gave him a look.  "They're both models," Puck looked at Blaine as if that held any weight for him.  "Ladies, this is Blaine.  He's great.  He's a secret service agent, but don't tell. Shhhh."  It was clear Puck was already a little more than buzzed.

"I'm not an agent," said Blaine as he was dragged into the crowded, loud, and overheated party in progress in Puck's apartment.  He heard Puck mutter, "That's exactly what a secret agent would say," before he wandered off.

"Hey there. Hi." He was tugged aside by one of the women.  She was the brunette with tan skin and piercing eyes whom Puck had called "J.Lo."  "I'm Santana Lopez.  And Puck is a bonehead."

Blaine smiled at her.  "Hi, how are you, Santana?"

She frowned.  "Not great, but let's not get into that.  We just met."

Blaine sensed something was troubling her, and he couldn't resist--he'd never met a lonely, depressed soul he didn't want to try and help somehow.  Was it his fatal flaw?  He had no idea.  He had stopped worrying about things out of his control a long time ago.  Well, mostly he had stopped.

"No, it's okay, I'm interested," he told her.

"Sure you are," she laughed.  Someone passing by pressed beers into their hands and she immediately went to take a long drink from hers.  "Because strangers, much less friends, just love listening to others' problems, right?  I'm not looking for a pity party, honey."

"No, I want to.  Please?"

She narrowed her eyes at him and seemed to consider him for a second before making up her mind.  She took another sip from her bottle and grabbed his arm, leading him into the kitchen where it was less crowded.  She proceeded to tell him about how she wanted to become a social worker, which she was working on at Columbia, but all the money from her contract with Ford was too tempting.  But that wasn't all.  Every once in a while her eyes would flicker over to where the blonde (Britney?) and Puck were huddled in a corner, talking close.  Blaine wondered if there was something going on between them.

Finally, she looked into his eyes and smiled almost sweetly.  "Blaine, you live across the hall right?  Let's get out of here."

"I'm--I'm not--" Blaine stammered as she pulled him through the packed flat, managing to make him bump into nearly every single person they passed.

When they reached the doorway she turned and fixed him with an amused stare.  "Don't worry, ‘I'm not,' either." Blaine was visibly relieved.  "I just want to talk in a place where I can hear myself think and doesn't reek of old Chinese take-out."

Blaine's place was in fact fairly tidy and nicely furnished.  It was the apartment of a professor at NYU who was in Prague for sabbatical.  Blaine had a knack for finding great apartments, it was just another perk of the job.

Santana surveyed the place, seemingly pleased, before flopping down on the couch, tucking her legs up underneath her.  "You know what?  I think I'm done talking.  Come, sit, tell me your life's story."  She patted the cushion next to her.  "So, who is he?  What happened?  What's your damage?"

Blaine laughed at her boldness.  "It's funny you should ask.  There was someone, sort of.  And then today, I think I found him again.  Kind of.  Uh, it's complicated."

"Isn't it always?"  She said critically.  She pointed a manicured finger at him.  "I've decided I like you.  And it would appear my plans for the night have been shot.  Do you have scotch?  Any sort of alcohol?"

Blaine did (or rather, the professor did) and he pulled out a bottle of rum--which he would replace-- as well as a few Cokes from the fridge.  They talked until four in the morning, at which point they both passed out on the couch with Santana curled up in one corner and Blaine in the other.

In the morning, gentleman that he was, Blaine made a full breakfast.  Santana woke up grumpily, only becoming amicable once Blaine had pushed a mug of coffee into her waiting hands.

She commandeered his shower, and by the time she left was in a considerably better mood.  "Thank you, Blaine.  I had a... you're not so bad."  She went so far as to kiss him on the cheek.  "He's a lucky man."

"Who?"

"Kurt.  The one you wouldn't shut up about last night, during all those rum and Cokes."  She smoothed down her dress as she stood there in his doorway.  "Good luck with him."

At 7:30 AM, I was the very first one in at Bell Books Publishers (with the exception of the mail boy, a tap-dancing, hip-hopping college sophomore called Mike whose energy so early in the morning should be criminal.)

It was only four in the morning in Los Angeles, so I could only send e-mails there.  But it was noon in London, and that meant that my phone ringing now was more than likely Shelby Corcoran, one of the heads of the production company in charge of the film for Imagine Me and You.

"Kurt!  I'm so glad you picked up.  We're having a slight problem.  Seems that Sebastian doesn't like the kid we've cast."

Sebastian was Sebastian Smythe, the British heartthrob who was playing Blaine.  For some reason, everyone had insisted that Blaine have an accent-it apparently made him more lovable.

"Sebastian says he doesn't relate to the boy.  But believe me, Kurt, we chose well with this one.  He's brilliant, a real heart-tugger."

I sighed.  "Look, call Sebastian's agent and tell them it's not too late for us to find someone else."  I wasn't entirely sure that I was true. But as much of a hand that I had in casting decisions, Sebastian was not my first choice.  The higher-ups wanted a star.  But if he did not like working with children, I would have to put my foot down.

Shelby laughed down the line.  "You might just have a future in the entertainment business," she said before hanging up.

At nine sharp, my personal assistant, Emma Pillsbury, showed up at the office.  Emma was crisp, honest, punctual, and so neat and clean it was almost quirky.

"Good morning, Kurt," she said as she placed a stack of mail and phone messages on my desk.  "You get Employee of the Month again."

"Morning," I said.  "I know.  I'm completely pathetic, aren't I?  Please don't answer that."  She looked at me with wide eyes and shook her head.  I began to sort my messages, placing the "urgent" in one pile, the "can wait" in another, and finally the "call if you're feeling particularly masochistic today" in the final pile.

"Your dad just got in, by the way," she said crisply, turning on her heel and heading toward her own desk.

"Okay, good, I'll go see him--" but before I could finish, I heard two unmistakable voices outside my office.  My dad and Jesse.  I immediately felt apprehensive.

"You're still around?" my dad said in his sarcastic tone.  It was no wonder where I got my own attitude from.

"Kurt and I are inseparable.  What can I say, he's stuck with me," Jesse answered, and I noticed he was holding a bouquet of pink tulips that must have set him back a pretty penny.

"Oh, Kurt, look who decided to actually show up," my dad said, walking over to give me his signature shoulder-squeeze.  He gave me a meaningful look and I just bit my lip in response.  I watched him head down the hallway toward his own office before I turned back to Jesse.

Standing there with his tousled hair, tight dark jeans, and deep V-neck, Jesse looked exactly like a leading man should.  He was definitely handsome.  And, in theory at least, he was mine.

"I'm sorry.  I'm so, so sorry, Kurt," he said, managing to sound almost convincing.

Even though I felt the serious impulse to punch him, I decided to play it a little cooler than that.

"Oh?  And  what are you so sorry about?"  I asked, raising my eyebrows at him.

"Last night, of course.  Are you kidding?  I never made it to our date."

"No big deal," I shrugged.  "I had a very nice meal.  Caught up on some work."

"I forgot I had a squash game," he said lamely.

"I understand.  Squash is your life," Not even close.  Mirrors were his life.  I didn't even know he played squash--must be another new hobby to add to his long list of "talents."

I walked into my office and tossed the flowers onto my desk.   Jesse followed, locking the door behind him.  I immediately frowned, unable to stop myself this time.  What was this?  Then he took me by the shoulders and kissed me.  I sort of let him, and that just made me angry at myself.  And at him.  He was not even that good of a kisser.  I pushed him off gently.

"I really am sorry, Kurt."  Jesse's hand lingered on my back.  "You do know I love you, don't you?"  His voice was warm, his eyes super sincere.

Leaning forward, he enveloped me in a tight hug and just held me there.  For a moment I did feel safe and warm, the way I used to feel with Blaine.  Why on earth was I thinking about Blaine?

My mind reluctantly dragged back to Jesse.  Handsome, talented, romantic-when-he-felt-like-it Jesse.  Maybe I could forgive him this time.  Again.

Then I remembered something.

Jesse was an actor.

Blaine had never done anything like this--not even close--but that morning he'd followed Kurt at a safe, non-crazy-person distance as he caught a cab to West 57th street.  Blaine wasn't sure what he was doing, only that he felt compelled to do it.  Once there, he recognized the office building where Kurt's cab stopped as Bell Books--Kurt's family's publishing company.  Blaine was confused.  Did Kurt work there?

As Kurt walked inside, Blaine guessed so.

And then, against his better judgment, Blaine followed him inside.  What are you doing? he thought.  This would be the perfect time to walk away.  Right now.  This is where the madness stops.

But he didn't stop.  He couldn't.  And as he scanned the lobby, it became clear that Bell Books had expanded and become more successful.  Of course, if Kurt was working there, that was no surprise.

He watched the grown-up Kurt as he made his way through the lobby.  He waved to several people, and they all waved and smiled back, or paused to talk briefly.  It hit him that Kurt hadn't really changed.  He was still getting let down by people, and yet was friendly and upstanding.  Clearly he was respected and liked by everyone who knew him.  Everyone except the moron who had stood him up last night.

Then Kurt disappeared into an elevator and Blaine watched the floor numbers tick to 24 in a matter of seconds.

That's when Blaine made the fateful--and probably stupid--decision to wait for Kurt.  Why?  He didn't know.  Would he even be able to talk to him?  Probably not.  He could try, though.  Maybe.  In the meantime, he'd passed a Starbucks about a block back and there were a few biscotti calling his name.

After his coffee break, Blaine went back and hung around the office building, feeling idiotic for lurking but unable to make himself leave.  At around noon the elevator doors opened and out Kurt stepped.  Unfortunately, a pretty good-looking guy had his arm around Kurt's waist.  Kurt removed the arm, and Blaine guessed that this was the loser himself: Jesse.

They went out the front door, and Blaine was right behind them.  Even if Kurt happened to glance back, he wouldn't recognize him.  He'd forgotten all about Blaine.  That was how things worked.  Trying to look inconspicuous, Blaine stayed close enough to catch pieces of their conversation.  They were talking about something called Imagine Me and You, which after some more listening Blaine found out was a book.

Kurt sounded frustrated and Jesse was doing a poor job at consoling him.  He kept touching Kurt, though Blaine thought Kurt was making it clear he was not in the mood to be touched.  Kurt kept trying to distance himself, and Jesse would just keep inching closer.

Shaking his head, Blaine stayed with them as they walked into a restaurant on the corner.  Blaine headed to the bar and ordered an iced tea.  He watched them be seated, knowing without a doubt at this point that following Kurt was not a good idea to start with and was only getting worse the longer he stuck around.

Blaine watched their table across the restaurant with increasing irritation as Jesse did all of the talking, and Kurt sat there with a hard look on his face.  When he wasn't talking Kurt's ear off, Jesse was working the room, constantly saying hello to this person or that person and even signing some autographs.  Who was this guy and what in the world did Kurt see in the clown?

With each new person that came up to the table, Kurt's expression became more and more closed off.  But Jesse failed to notice.  Finally Blaine just could not stand to watch anymore.  He paid for his tea, then left Kurt with that jerk of his.  He had no idea what Kurt was doing, but he was an adult.  If that was the kind of superficial relationship he wanted, then maybe they deserved each other.

While Jesse flirted with an obnoxiously blonde male model with a bleached out smile who had seen him in plays six times, I pretended to study the menu even though I wasn't really hungry anymore.  Put me out of my misery.

My mind focused on the long list of things I still had left to do for that day while Jesse air-kissed the doting fan.

"Mind if I don't go back with you, Kurt?" he asked, finally turning his attentions back on me.  "I need to hit the gym."  His eyes drifted above my head to the mirror over the bar, stroking his smooth cheek and checking out his different angles.

"No, that's fine," I said.  And I meant it.

Besides, I did not want him to catch wind that we were considering recasting the role of Blaine for the movie.  I know a lot of people in the office, my grandparents included, were lobbying hard for him to play the coveted part.  Partly because he was talented, sure, but also because he would be cheaper.  But Jesse was all wrong for it.  He just wasn't that kind of an actor.  He just wasn't Blaine.

Jesse gave me a quick kiss on the cheek.  "Later, babe" he said, and then he was gone.  And I was left with the check.

I made my way back to the office building just in time for my phone meeting.  The conversation about the production process of the film sounded good so far.  I had gotten a chance to see the screenplay and it had my approval.  We were dealing with the matter of money and casting right now.

"Who will be playing the make-believe man?" I heard Carl Howell say over the phone.

"Well, he wasn't exactly make-believe," I said automatically.  "More imaginary."

The four-way conversation I had been conducting was now eerily silent.  Just what I needed: everyone to think I was insane.  My dad next to me cleared his throat and made me jump--I had forgotten he was even there.  He gave me a supportive smile.  Even if it did look slightly concerned.

Shelby spoke up, "I've spoken to the casting director and she's sent out feelers to Gerard Butler's agent, Ryan Gosling, Robert Downey Jr.  Even George Clooney."

My dad raised his eyebrows at me as he leaned back in his chair and placed his hands on his stomach.  "Not bad," he mouthed silently at me.

I shook my head at him and sighed.

I heard my grandmother over the speaker phone.  "You can play the name-game all you want, but we all know we have a leading man who is right under our noses."

I had just had lunch with the person she was talking about, and he was no Blaine.