Years ago when he and Kurt had wanted to escape from his constrictive and sometimes lonely world, they would take a trip just the two of them to SoHo.  Kurt always said that sometimes those trips were better than the ones on Sundays with his dad, but that Blaine should keep that a secret.

It was always terrific fun.  They would play the Kurt-and-Blaine game while ogling the window displays and browsing through vintage stores and boutiques they could never afford to shop in.

Now, Blaine couldn't help thinking, that neighborhood had all the same character and excitement--if not more--in a city constantly changing.  It was one of the reasons he decided to live there this time around.  Another one of those reasons was the Van Dam Diner.  It was a family sort of restaurant with the best omelettes in New York.

Blaine had stopped by this place more times than he could count since he had been dropped back in New York City.  This Saturday morning he was there with Puckerman, as a thank-you of sorts for the party at which he had met Santana.  He'd had an unexpectedly good time with her--talking about Kurt, apparently.

"So, what happened, Blaine?" Puck asked as they walked to a booth.  "I saw that gorgeous girl talking your ear off and then bam, you two were gone."

"We talked," Blaine said.  "Just talked for hours.  She's impressive.  Wise beyond her years."

"Talked?" Puck sounded incredulous.  "I don't get it man.  How a guy can have a chick like that in his place and not do anything."  Blaine gave him a look.  "Yeah, yeah, I know you're gay, I get it.  But I've never been with a woman who wasn't just a means to an end for me."

Blaine couldn't help the mildly disgusted look on his face.  "Really?  All women are just there for sex to you?  Seriously?"

That smile of Puck's was back, the twinkle in his eye.  "Now, don't go judging me, Blaine."

"I'm not, Puck, I'm not judging you.  It's just... I don't know... there's so much more to women, to people than that.  Sure there's the physical, and that's nice, but there's also that deep connection between two people.  I think that love can be amazing."

"Ah, you think," said Puck, pointing his finger at Blaine and leaning forward.  "But you don't know, do you?"  He gave Blaine his devilish smile.  The twinkle, the wink.  Blaine almost felt seduced.

Puck threw back his head in a hearty laugh.  "It's great, isn't it?  The look!  My secret weapon.  Years and years of practice, man.  Years of practice."  He smiled again.  "Didn't mean to turn it on you."

Blaine snorted and shook his head, turning his attention to the crossword in front of him.

 A few minutes passed in silence with Puck checking out the Sports section of the paper.

"Give me a five-letter word for ‘feeling intense love or devotion,'" Blaine said, pen hovering over the newspaper.

Puck didn't even look up.  "Horny."

"And we're surprised you're still single?" said Quinn--intelligent green-brown eyes, very pretty, short blonde hair--who often waited on Blaine at the Van Dam and whom he admired greatly.

Puck just laughed, not at all offended.  "What's good today, babe?  Besides you?"

Quinn raised one eyebrow at him and took out her notepad.

"Get the eggs," she told him.  "They're delicious."  She turned to Blaine and said, "He's got that look."

"What look?" Blaine asked.

"You know, that single look," she said, looking Puck up and down.  "Kind of hungry."

"Hungry for you," Puck leered, giving his best grin.

Quinn rolled her eyes, and they ordered.  As she swept off, Puck watched her every move.

"Quinn is very sweet, Puck.  Single mom, has a little girl who's three," Blaine told him pointedly.

Puck shrugged and smiled at Blaine.  "Doesn't bother me.  I like her.  She just might be the one."

Blaine was dubious.  Suddenly he was sorry he'd brought Puck along and accidentally set him on Quinn.

"Don't hurt her," Blaine warned him.

Puck just shrugged at him, then turned his eyes back to where Quinn worked behind the counter.

I stared at myself in the bathroom mirror, feeling akin to a soldier marching off to war.  The pressure was on, but I had done it before and I could do it again.  I had less than an hour to completely make myself over--skin, hair, clothes, the works.  If anyone ever doubted my other skills, at least I knew this was where I excelled.

I was meeting Jesse at the Metropolitan Museum, and I needed to look my absolute best.  There was a cocktail party and reception for a Jacqueline Kennedy fashion retrospective.  I would be on Jesse's arm, which meant that I would be watched closely, even jealously.  I had to make this work.

Okay, first, I had to set the mood.  I put on my best empowering playlist and Beyonce immediately began playing through my iPod dock's speakers.  If that didn't pump me up for this, then nothing would.

Second, face the enemy.  I stared myself down in the mirror again then closed my eyes and did my best breathing exercises from yoga.  The more stressed I was, the more my face would betray it.

Third, arm yourself.  I took a final deep breath and went through my skin regimen.  I smoothed in creams and scrubbed in exfoliators and rubbed in toners promising to give my skin an instant glow.  I inspected my face.  Not terrible.

Finally, I went through the tortuous process of wrestling my hair into its most perfect coif--no easy feat for the most practiced of stylists.  I tweaked it here and there.  It didn't know if it looked different, but I looked damn good.

Suddenly my mind flashed back to when Blaine and I were inseparable.

"War paint," Blaine had called it when my mother or grandmother had put on make-up and gotten dolled up--or when we would see models strutting down the streets of New York.  I would watch in awe, toying with brushes and testing the sprays on the vanity in my parents' room.

Kurt!  Focus!  I threw my shoulders back and flung open the doors to my walk-in closet.  I searched through name brands and designers, looking for the perfect outfit.  I found a Vivienne Westwood suit I had been saving for a rainy day and cheered in triumph.

On a mission now, I went through the motions of piecing together the suit.  I noticed it was a little loose on me and groaned at the thought of another growth spurt.  Impossible.  The only perk that would bring was more Oreos and cheesecake for me.

I triple-checked myself in the mirror, making sure not a hair was out of place.  As I took the elevator down to the lobby, I relished the idea of being the one to turn heads for once.

When I climbed out of my cab and took the steps up to the Met, I definitely felt the rush of dressing up particularly well tonight.

Until I spotted Jesse.  He was standing at the top, leaning against a column as if posing for a Hollister ad.  His jacket was slung over his shoulder and he was slouching just so, pretending not to notice all of the glances his way.  He stood up straight when he saw me and smiled.

"Wow," he said.  "You look great."

"Well, I decided I was tired of you always being the pretty one," I said, attempting to sound flirtatious.

"You mean, the only pretty one," Jesse countered, and tried to soften the blow with a laugh.  I frowned slightly, but let him take my hand in his and guide us through the doors.

I was happy, I looked good, but one nagging question kept racing through my mind: Did I really want to put up with this for the rest of my life?

The show was spectacular;I was in my element.  And Jesse was clearly in his.  He was schmoozing it up with every celebrity and designer we passed, not even paying attention to the outfits in the exhibits.  As I was inspecting one particularly inspired dress, I felt a tap at my shoulder to find him pouting at me.

"I'm exhausted, let's sit down," he pulled us to a tiny cocktail table in a corner.  He immediately snapped his fingers to order us a couple drinks.

Before he had time to even take a sip, however, I looked up and saw Harmony de Garnier, Jesse's obnoxious, pushy agent, walking toward us.  She was arm in arm with Dustin Goolsby, Jesse's equally snakelike business manager.  My eyes narrowed.

"Kurt, look who it is!" said Jesse, full of delight.  "Harmony!  Dustin!  What a coincidence.  Why don't you two join us?"

I was speechless and already the cogs in my mind were turning, trying to think ahead of whatever it was that Jesse was obviously plotting.

And then I realized.  I had been set up.

I should have known better.  Jesse had been on time for the first time ever.

"How interesting that we should all run into each other tonight?" Dustin practically purred.

"We were all drawn by the glamour of it all, I suppose," Harmony said, seeming to talk to the room at large instead of anyone in particular.

"I'll go get us more drinks, shall I?" Jesse said, but Dustin practically fell out of his chair beating him to the punch.

"No, I work for you.  I'll get them." He strode off to the bar.

Harmony was tapping her nails repeatedly on the table, smiling like a Barbie doll at me.  My skin was crawling.

I suddenly found Jesse's arm around my waist, gripping me tightly.  I felt claustrophobic.

Dustin returned quickly and they didn't waste any time before they attacked.

"We're going to cut to the chase, Hummel," Dustin said.  "Hamony and I, and Jesse of course... well, we just want to know when you'll finally agree to sign him on for the lead of Imagine Me and You.  He deserves it, don't you think?  Of course you think so.  Everyone does."

I completely bypassed being sad that this had happened and fell straight into being furious.  "I don't think this is really appropriate.  Plus you know I don't have that much sway over the casting decisions."

"Oh, but isn't it fun to talk about?  And don't pretend," Harmony added, and the way she smiled with all her teeth seemed a little threatening to me.  "You're the writer and a Bell, after all.  You have connections."

It was most certainly not fun.  I chose to ignore the rest of what she said.

"You do plan on giving me the part, right?" Jesse actually sounded a little nervous.  Or maybe I hoped he did.

"Sebastian might still pull through," I said crisply.  He won't, but I don't want you to screw up my movie, either.

My whole romantic future seemed to be disintegrating before my eyes, and before the eyes of two vultures like Harmony and Dustin.  I hated this.

"I just don't think you're right for it," I told him, biting my lip.  "I'm being honest."

"I have won a Tony!" he practically shrieked in the echoey show-room.  I felt like I was watching a toddler not get the toy that he wanted.  This is exactly why I did not bring it up.

Jesse seemed to inwardly meditate for a moment.  Then he said in a quieter, somewhat restrained voice, "I want that role, Kurt.  I deserve it.  It could be my big break into the film industry."

I didn't know what to say to that, so I didn't say anything.  His face turned red and he puffed out his chest.  "Fine!" he shouted, and strode out of the museum.

I was left with Harmony and Dustin staring at me accusingly.  I turned my chin up at them and did my best to walk quickly out of the building and into a cab.  Once inside, I let out the breath I had been holding.  I felt stupid, and so much weaker than I should be.

Blaine was starting to become comfortable with his stalker status.  Perhaps a little too comfortable.  This is the last time, he promised himself.  Tonight, it ends.  An hour or so earlier, Blaine's jaw had nearly hit the ground as he watched Kurt strut out of his building looking determined and absolutely stunning.  He'd then proceeded to trail him to the Metropolitan Museum.

Blaine thought that since Kurt looked better that maybe he had recovered from this Jesse joker.  Maybe Blaine could be happy for him and be comfortable knowing he was okay.  Maybe then it would be time for him to disappear again.

But about an hour after Kurt had walked into the Met building, Blaine was following Kurt back home.  But this time, his cab stopped a few blocks short and Kurt just wandered aimlessly for a while--walking slow and looking uncharacteristically dejected.

He seemed so alone to Blaine, and so miserable.  Obviously something bad had happened at the museum.  Blaine had little doubt that it had something to do with Jesse.

Blaine could tell Kurt was attempting to put on a brave face but was failing.  More and more, Blaine could not help but to blame himself.  He had made him a bunch of promises when Kurt was just a kid.  He had told him, and Kurt had believed eagerly, that someone amazing would come along and see how special he was.  It was clear that still had not happened.  Blaine wanted to help.  But how?  Kurt was not his responsibility anymore.  He couldn't interfere.

But oh, how he wanted to.  His heart went out to him.  When Kurt was younger Blaine would sit and listen to him get it all out, then hug him and hold him close and that is all Blaine wanted to do now--just to comfort him.

So what should he do?  It really didn't take much thought before he found himself following Kurt inside a bar.

Blaine positioned himself at the opposite end of the bar from Kurt, behind two large, out-of-towner types.  They had two pitchers of beer between them nearly empty already and the bowl of peanuts in front of them was quickly dwindling.

Kurt ordered a vodka cranberry.  He looked straight out of a 50s Hollywood film sitting there, cradling his glass and leaning on the counter.

Blaine noticed that despite their being red-rimmed, the life in Kurt's eyes was still there.  Blaine smiled just a little.

For an insane moment, Blaine imagined himself getting up to talk to him.  Kurt wouldn't know who he was, after all.  He would just be another guy in the bar.  Blaine knew what he should do, but what he wanted to do was go up and talk to him.  Blaine didn't know how to act in this situation--which was so rare.  Normally he always knew exactly what to do.

None of it made any sense.

Blaine was pulled out of his reverie by the bartender asking for his order.  "Uh, nothing.  I... have to be somewhere, I just remembered.  Thank you, though."

The man just shrugged and made his way to the next person.  Blaine got up, feeling off and not at all like himself.  He ducked down and headed for the door.  With one last look at Kurt, Blaine took a final moment to admire just how gorgeous of a man he had become.

"Good-bye, Kurt," he said softly, and then left.

The vodka cranberry hit the back of my throat just right, and I watched myself make a face at the taste in the mirror across from the bar.  What better way to relive the cliché of feeling ridiculously sorry for yourself?  I couldn't help but feel as if my life was filled with obligations and constraints; each silver lining rusted.

I was a 29-year-old man who had been sucked into working for the family business.  And while I enjoyed it most of the time and was more than happy at the prospect of inheriting Bell Books, sometimes I wished I had been given the chance to explore my options.  I knew my dad had told me multiple times that I could go out and become whatever my heart desired, but there was no way I could abandon him to my grandparents and an ever-changing business.

Speaking of my dad, I had loving, providing parents.  My dad may not have always been able to be around when I was a kid, especially after my mom died, but he really put in the effort.  And Carole tried so hard.  Over the years, Finn had even become tolerable--especially after offering to take over the tire shop for my dad.  How could I begrudge him after that?  We all did not spend nearly as much time together as I would have liked, but I was grateful.

I even loved my grandparents, despite their old-fashioned ways--in both their business and personal lives.  I had come to be able to navigate their instructions with ease and they slowly came to tolerate my "lifestyle choice": no longer making veiled attempts at setting me up with women or gifting me season box tickets to sporting events.

And I had a boyfriend.  Yes, had a boyfriend.  Past tense.

I stared at myself in the mirror.  I knew I sounded whiny, but don't we all deserve to sound whiny every once in a while?  I rationalized with myself.

I shook my head and sat up, turning my body out toward the rest of the bar as I crossed my legs.  Just as I did so, I caught the eye of two men standing right next to me, grinning and clutching mugs of beer.

I tried to covertly look them up and down.  Their wrinkled sport jackets looked out of place even in a dive sort of bar like this.  But they looked like they would be out of place anywhere in New York--and that was saying something.  I really did not need this sort of attention right now.

"Hi there," said Thing One.  "My friend and I were wondering if you wanted some company."

"No, thank you," I said stiffly, trying to turn back to my drink, but they were too close.  My knees would brush too close for comfort.  "I'm just trying to relax after a long day.  I'm good."

"You just seemed a little lonely," said Thing Two.

 "No, really, I'm fine." I clenched my jaw and tried to fake a smile.  "Thank you for asking," I said pointedly, trying to shift away again.

Thing Two raised a hand to flag down the bartender.  "Hey man, this guy could use another drink."  He turned to flash a smile at me that I assumed was meant to be charming but only came off as mildly threatening.

I looked the bartender hard in the eyes and shook my head, waving my hand.  "No, I really don't want another.  And I'd rather not be bothered right now."

Thankfully, the bartender got the hint.  "Maybe you two gentlemen should move back to the other end."

They stared at me and then shrugged.  As they stalked away, I could hear them muttering.  I caught the words "uppity" and "bitch."  Great.

I sighed and turned back to stare at my reflection once more.  But something caught my eye.  My heart immediately jumped into my throat and I blinked multiple times to try and see more clearly.  It was completely impossible.  For just a moment, I had seen a man leaving the bar; a man looking at me.

A man who looked exactly like Blaine.

But as soon as I had seen him, he had disappeared out the door.

I took a sip out of my now watery drink, my hands shaking badly.  It was completely ridiculous.  My mind was just playing tricks on me after a stressful day.  Of course Blaine would be the person I would want to see most.

Blaine was imaginary.  He did not exist.

Had I really wished so hard for him that he reappeared for a moment?

I dug my nails into my palm.  Wake up, Kurt.  It could have been anybody.

I took a deep breath and paid for my drink, leaving a generous tip.  Then I stepped outside and began the trek home.

I knew I hadn't seen Blaine.  Of course I hadn't.  But the important question was why had I never been able to forget him?

I spent the rest of the weekend pretending not to wallow in my apartment.  I accomplished my hermitism under the ruse of having to get work done, when in reality there had been a stack of DVDs starting with Bridget Jones' Diary and a bottle of wine with my name on it.

But even by noon on Sunday I was tired of myself and decided to take a walk.  I put a decent amount of effort into my appearance and was pleased to see I hadn't puffed up at all--if anything I looked a bit pale.  I pulled on my favorite coat and stepped out into the warm afternoon feeling much better about things.

Until I started walking down the street toward the park and some jerk started honking his car horn at me.

I turned to see that the obnoxious asshole was Jesse.  Jesse, in his shiny red convertible, pulled up to the curb, and giving me the most apologetic look I had ever seen outside of guilty puppies.

"Let's go for a ride," he said in his most charming way, which was not difficult for him.  Charming was easy.

I refused to fall for it, however.  "I'm supposed to meet my dad for lunch today.  I haven't seen him in a while and he's been feeling a little under the weather," I said smoothly.

"Just give me an hour, that's all I need."  I inwardly snorted.  I knew that well.

"Not after the other night, we don't have anything to talk about," I started walking down the street again when he shouted at me.

"I'm a changed man!" he yelled, and I couldn't help but turn around and look at him with wide eyes.  "And I can tell you why if you'd just give me the chance to explain."

I sighed and looked around for a moment, fiercely fighting with myself before giving up and climbing into the car.  Jesse happily revved it and we were off.

"I'm sorry my stupid temper got the best of me the other night, Kurt.  I just always had this vision of us working together, as this creative team.  It would be spectacular.  You the writer and me, the talent," he glanced at me, and for a moment I was nearly blinded by the glint from his smile.  "I guess I misread things and we were on different pages.  I had thought about it a lot, though.  It's my dream.  Honestly."

I furrowed my brow, not really buying any of it and seriously wondering where he was going with not only this but where he was driving us.  For a moment I wondered if he was above kidnapping to get what he wanted.

He reached over to rub my knee and I would have flown out of the car had it not been for my seatbelt, I jumped so high.  I realized we were crossing the Brooklyn Bridge.  The view across the water was picturesque, but we had never been there together.  Why were we there?

The curb he pulled up to park I was not entirely sure was legal, but he didn't seem concerned with that.  He smiled at me once again and then his hand reached for the glove compartment and pulled out a small, velvet-covered jewelry box.

I felt like I was going to throw up.  This, I had not been expecting.

Jesse opened it to reveal a dazzling platinum band practically sprinkled with blue gems I could only assume were sapphires.  I tried not to hyperventilate.

"Kurt, I know we work.  I've got the ring and you've got movie.  Let's make a trade, babe," he looked up at me with big, hopeful eyes.

I felt it happen in slow motion, before I could even register that I had even done it.  Because, for sure, had I had time to think about it I probably wouldn't have gone through with it.  Maybe.  Most likely.  But I watched myself slap him and then felt time rush to catch up.  The next thing I knew, my hand hurt and Jesse was clutching his face in near-tears.

Oh my God.  Oh my God.

That is when my second instinct, which in hindsight really should have been my first, kicked in.  I sucked in a huge breath and said in the most calm voice I could manage, "I am so sorry, Jesse.  About your face, about giving you so many chances, about even falling for you in the first place.  But ‘Let's make a trade?!'" I couldn't stop my voice from reaching super-sonic decibels.  "Are you certifiably insane?"

"I don't write the scripts, I'm an actor," Jesse whined pitifully, constantly checking his nose to make sure he wasn't bleeding.

"Clearly," I snapped and climbed out of the car, stalking down Old Fulton Street in hopes of finding a cab.  Or a bus at the very least.

But I didn't cry.  Not this time.

Not until I rounded the corner, anyway.

Blaine had nothing but time.  It was a gorgeous day outside and he was doing everything in his power to distract himself from thoughts of Kurt or the impulse to go find him again.  So he was headed for a walk, possibly another movie.

On his way out, he ran into Puck coming in--with Quinn on his arm.  Oh no.

They actually made a pretty cute couple, except that Blaine didn't trust Puck all that much and he really did like Quinn.  He didn't want to see her get hurt by a confirmed womanizer.

Blaine was worried for her.  And her daughter, Beth.  Puck had flat out told him how he viewed women and it wasn't exactly pretty.  Blaine could only hope that Quinn would be the exception to the rule.  Maybe she could help him change his ways.

Blaine suddenly needed someone to talk to.  What he really wanted was to talk to Kurt.  But since he couldn't do that, he needed a friend who understood--or understood as much as they could.  When Santana picked up her phone, she only sounded mildly annoyed to have been interrupted, but agreed to meet him anyway.

"Why the fuck are we meeting at Grand Central?" she grumbled when they finally found each other thirty minutes later.

"Because this is where we are having lunch?" Blaine didn't mean to make it sound like a question, but Santana made him slightly nervous when he didn't have copious amounts of rum in his system.

"You're one of those hipster people, aren't you." It didn't sound like a question.

"I don't know what that means," Blaine said truthfully, leading her toward Junior's, looking the same as ever.  Even the people hurrying to and fro looked the same.

They took their seats and Santana began peeling off her coat and scarf, plunking them alongside her purse on the booth next to her.  "I've got to tell you, you're setting the bar pretty low starting this date out."

"It's not a date," Blaine said dismissively, getting back into the groove of her personality.

"Obviously.  I like my dates a little less... male," she curled her lip up in disgust but Blaine saw the glint in her eye.

She proceeded to examine the menu while Blaine looked around.  It really did look unchanged; he almost felt a sense of déjà vu.

Except that there was no imaginary friend eating a sundae, no ten-year-old boy happily eating a slice of cheesecake across from him.  It was as if everything was there waiting for them, but they hadn't shown up.

Kurt was missing.

Why was he even there?  With Santana of all people?  Her grating sarcasm a far cry from Kurt's quick wit.

He looked at Santana.  "We could go somewhere else if you want."

"Nah, I have my eye on a hamburger now.  No turning back."

I don't know what compelled me to tell the cab driver to take me to Grand Central, but that is where I found myself.

I stood on the street, my eyes red-rimmed for sure and my hair wind-blown and a wicked craving for something teeth-meltingly sweet.  I needed to be around people but where no one would bother me and I needed to be somewhere familiar.  Junior's was the perfect place.

I threw myself into a chair and immediately picked up a menu, though I didn't really need to look at it.  I'd had the thing memorized since I was eight.  Someone came to take my order and I rattled off my usual with a surprisingly level voice, "I'll have a slice of strawberry cheesecake.  With extra whipped cream."

As the waiter began to walk away I immediately began to feel better just at the anticipation.

The plate was set in front of me and I did not waste a moment before I scooped up a forkful.  That first bite brought so many memories rushing back.  All those Sunday afternoons or weekends snuck away with Blaine while my dad or grandparents were never too far.  I remembered Blaine and I wandering around our own imaginary world.

Was that the last time I had felt truly happy?

As I took another bite, I knew that it was what I needed.  When I finished, I nearly licked the plate clean before leaning back and stretching my arms above my head, turning my head this way and that, my head still full of childhood memories.

And then I saw them.

I blinked.  And then blinked again.

Brain, not again, please, I begged.

I had noticed a couple sitting a few tables away.  An interesting-looking couple.  Perfect candidates for the Kurt-and-Blaine game.

But that wasn't what caught my attention.

I couldn't help but stare; I was shaking.

That man...

Blaine?

If it was him, he was with a very beautiful woman with long, dark hair pulled back in a pony tail.  I was confused.  Blaine had always told me that imaginary friends could only be assigned to children.  Ten was the limit.  That was why he'd had to leave me on my eleventh birthday.  Had he gotten promoted or something?  Could adults have imaginary friends?  I snorted at that thought and shook my head, trying to clear it.

It probably wasn't Blaine after all.  I mean, of course it wasn't Blaine.  But if it was, he was just as handsome as ever, if not more so.

It crossed my mind that I was crazy.

Well, okay, maybe I could work with that.  It occurred to me that if I really was insane, then I wasn't responsible for my actions, right?  It was a weak argument, but I ran with it.

I stood up from my table and headed toward them before I lost my nerve.

If this man wasn't Blaine... well, I'd probably hug him anyway.  It could be our "meet-cute."

The day he left me, Blaine had said that I wouldn't remember him afterward.  But he'd been wrong, so very wrong.  I remembered everything.

And this?  This was definitely Blaine.

Maybe.

"If I eat this entire apple crumb pie it will be on your head.  If I get fired tomorrow because I can't fit into my clothes for my shoot, I'm coming after you," Santana said, pointing her fork menacingly at Blaine.

Blaine chuckled.  "The more time to study to become a social worker, then."  She glared and he just grinned back.

She was licking the tines in a way that was starting to make Blaine blush when she asked, "Is that what you think I should do?"

"What? Of cour--" But Blaine stopped, staring across the room.

"Blaine," Santana said, kicking him slightly under the table.  "Earth to Blaine?"

But Blaine didn't hear her or feel the second, slightly harder kick aimed at his shin.  He was still staring, and thinking, This cannot be happening.

For a split second, Blaine panicked and thought to make a run for it.  But then he remembered that this was just a coincidence; Kurt couldn't remember him.  They never did.  They always, always forgot.  That was what made it bearable.

He busied himself by pushing around the leftover croutons on his plate.

But he felt Kurt standing right there, next to his table.  Feigning nonchalance, Blaine looked up.

Kurt's blue eyes were wide, his lips parted just so.  "Blaine."

Blaine didn't answer him.  He couldn't find the words.  His brain had seemed to stop working.

Kurt spoke again.  "Blaine?  It is you, right?  I can't believe this.  You're here."