The rushing noise in my ears was so loud I wasn't sure if I had said anything; I couldn't hear myself speak.  "You are Blaine?"  I was terrified and on the edge of humiliating myself, I was sure.  Every instinct in me was getting ready to turn around and run.

I watched him as he took a deep breath then said to me, "You know me?  Are you sure?"

I was confused.  But now, I was sure it was him.  "Of course I know you.  I'd know you anywhere--"

And then he said my name.  Just that, simple.  "Kurt?"

The rushing in my ears had finally quieted down but the world around me still seemed frozen in place--all of my energies focused in on the man in front of me.

That was, until out of the corner of my eye I saw the woman sitting across from Blaine stand up to move next to me.  "It's about time," she said, and slowly my world expanded once more to include the rest of reality around me.  "Take my seat.  Please.  Kurt."  She grinned at me as if she knew a secret about me I hadn't been let in on yet, and then turned her attention back to Blaine.  "Thanks for the pie," she winked and before I knew it, we were watching her graceful form disappear into the bustle of Grand Central.

And then it was just the two of us.  We were left there, just staring at each other for a few moments.  It was completely surreal, like meeting someone from your dreams or finding out that Santa Claus actually did exist.  At this point, I had given up on any sort of logical explanation.  Blaine looked almost exactly the same as I remembered him--still seemed to be somewhere in his thirties.  His eyebrows, his dimples, his curly hair, and finally, his warm hazel eyes--they were all exactly the same.  Those were the same eyes I had looked into millions of times, sharing secrets and telling jokes.  And I was looking into them now.  It was impossible, but yet there he was.

My heart was trying to hammer its way out of my chest and I was sure my face was an unattractive shade of red.  I wanted to laugh and cry at the same time.

 We just kept looking at each other until my nerves got the best of me as they usually do, and the question that I desperately needed to know the answer to rushed out of my mouth, "Blaine, are you imaginary?"

Blaine shifted in his seat and smiled slightly.  "I guess that's a matter of opinion."

Then all of the other questions followed in a rush.  "Why are you here?  How are you here?  Are you here for me?  What is happening?"

Blaine shook his head, his brow furrowed.  "I honestly don't know.  I'm just... here.  I'm waiting for my next assignment."

"Oh, so that wasn't her?"

Blaine snorted.  "Definitely not," he said.  "You of all people should know how it works, Kurt," he added softly.

"And you just happened to end up at the Junior's in Grand Central?  On a Sunday?  Just when I am here, too?"

Blaine shrugged, looking about as baffled as I felt.  "I guess so."

It was a small comfort, at least, that he was as confused about all of it as I was.

"Kurt," my eyes automatically snapped back to his when he said my name for the second time.  "How do you remember me?  That's not supposed to happen.  It isn't possible."

"I don't know," I said honestly, feeling myself calm down some as we spoke.  "You promised that I would forget you, but that next day after my birthday I woke up and realized that you were gone.  Gone for good.  I didn't know what to do with myself.  I--I cried for days," I admitted.

Blaine stared at me, looking shocked and guilty.

"I just... I never forgot you, Blaine.  I have thought about you every single day for the past eighteen years." I laughed; I couldn't help myself because it was all just so absurd.  "And now here you are, back again.  With me."

"I am so sorry, Kurt," Blaine said, his voice sincere.  "They... they always forget.  They're supposed to forget.  If I had known... I never would have caused you so much pain if I could have helped it."

I nodded, understanding.  Our eyes met again and I felt a surge of boldness.  "I think we can come up with some way you can make it up to me."

We took to the streets of New York, wandering down Park Avenue.  It was like the first half of my day had been just a particularly bad nightmare but now I was just reliving a dream that I had been having nearly every night since I was eleven.

When I was a kid, I had known that Blaine was funny and smart and incredibly nice.  But now, as an adult, I discovered that there was so much more to him than that.  For one thing, he was a great listener, which automatically put him ahead of everyone that I had ever dated.

As we started down the sidewalk, Blaine turned to me and said, "I want to know everything.  Tell me everything that has happened in your life since your eleventh birthday."  He looked so earnest, so sincere that I couldn't help but laugh and delve right in.

I tried to make it sound much more interesting and exciting than it had been when I was actually living it.  I attempted to gloss over the more depressing times, but he insisted that I tell him everything.  I found that I loved making him laugh, and Blaine laughed quite a lot during our walk that afternoon.  The longer we wandered around, the more relaxed he became and I couldn't help but feed off of his energy.

As an adult, I could appreciate Blaine a little bit more and in a different way.  I realized that he loved life and he loved people.  He was passionate and able to laugh at himself and was so incredibly insightful.

"So, who was she?" I tried to ask about the brunette back at Junior's without being obvious.  It had occurred to me several blocks back that I had no idea what Blaine's sexual orientation was.  Did imaginary friends even have sex lives?  That was a thought I'd never imagined I would have. 

As a child, it had never come up, of course.  Actually, we rarely ever talked about Blaine's life outside of the time he spent with me.  Now however, I wanted to know everything and I couldn't help my curiosity that had caused me to ask the question in the first place.  I wasn't going to lie to myself that it wasn't for selfish reasons.

"She's just a friend, Kurt," he looked at me meaningfully.  "Just a friend.  Her name is Santana."

"Are you sure she's not a friend?"  I put emphasis on the last word, hoping he'd catch my drift.

Blaine laughed.  "Definitely.  And she has as much interest in me that way as I do her.  I'm gay, Kurt."  I tried not to let the cheer I did inside show on my face.

"Then what's that red mark on your neck?"  I kept noticing the slight bruise every time the collar on his shirt shifted.  "Do I want to hear this?"  I joked.  Not that I was jealous.  Of my imaginary friend.  God, what sort of fantasy land had I been transported to?

"Boxing.  It's a hobby of mine," he said.

"Hmm," I tried to picture it.  Then I tried to stop that line of thinking before it got out of control.  This was so confusing and bizarre.

As different and crazy as it all was, I knew this was definitely Blaine.  It was the Blaine from my childhood but now that I was all grown up I could appreciate him in an entirely new way.  His intelligence, his humor, his looks... His smile had always been contagious, had always made me forget about everything that bothered me, and it still was, and still did.

But even throughout all of that, I couldn't shake the fear that he would disappear again at any moment; that the dream would collapse and I would wake up in my living room, in my pajamas with the DVD menu for Moulin Rouge still playing in the background.

Eventually we had found ourselves at a little café off of Park, sipping hot chocolates.  But before we knew it, the sun was setting and the cool night air of New York had begun to settle into our skin.  I was shocked to discover that we had spent the entire afternoon talking, about anything and everything.

Blaine checked his watch.  "Wow, is it 8o'clock already?"

"How time flies," I commented, just knowing our meeting was coming to a close.

"That it does," his eyes met mine.  "Want to share a cab?"  I nodded, wanting to spend every moment I could with him.

I flagged down a cab for us and was shocked to listen to Blaine rattle off my address with ease.  "How did you know that?"

He paused.  "You know how I am, Kurt.  I just know certain things."

The cab drive to my flat was short, but I was hyperaware of Blaine's presence the entire time.  Strangely enough, the silence between us wasn't awkward or uncomfortable like I thought it might be.  I still found myself strangely drawn to him, wanting to snuggle closer.  But of course I was a 29-year-old man and we had just met again for the first time in eighteen years and he was my imaginary friend--that was an urge I was not about to give in to.

I considered asking Blaine up when the taxi stopped outside my building, but something held me back.  It was too bold of me, and I needed time to process everything.  But still, I needed reassurance that he wouldn't just fade away into the night.

As I stood on the curb, with Blaine hanging slightly out of the cab looking up at me with those big eyes of his, I asked, "Blaine, I need to know.  Are you going to disappear again?"

Blaine paused, looking down, then he grabbed my hand where it had been resting on the door and he smiled.  "I'll see you tomorrow, Kurt.  I--I miss you already."

I made my way up to my apartment with my hand still feeling warm and tingly and a watery smile on my face.

I woke up to my alarm blaring in my ear and immediately I was shocked back into the world of the living.  As I blinked into the soft light of early morning, the memories from last night came rushing back to me and I stayed there in bed for a moment, panicking that it had all, in fact, been an elaborate and incredibly realistic dream.

But work called and I had to push myself out of bed eventually.  I went through my entire morning routine, obsessing over my sanity and hoping beyond hope that Blaine was actually here.  In New York.  And he had been with me.

Just as I went to grab my keys off the counter, I saw my answering machine blinking urgently at me.  I debated with myself before reluctantly hitting the Play button.

"Hey, kiddo.  Carole wants you over for dinner sometime soon.  Of course, I do, too.  We haven't all had a sit-down meal in a long time.  I'll talk to you more about it at the office.  Love you.  Bye."

I made a mental note to try and coordinate my schedule with my dad's before hitting Delete, thinking that for once maybe the train of messages wouldn't be so bad this time.

"Kurt, babe, it's me.  I am so, terribly sorry.  I have no idea what came over me.  I just feel awful about what happened in Brooklyn.  Can we please just talk about it and--"

Delete.  Nope, I was wrong.

"Kurt, a little birdie told me what happened at the Met the other night and I am appalled.  I thought we had agreed to cast Jesse.  You can't keep dragging your feet or I'm going to have to put my foot down and you know--"

Delete.

I was stressed enough and was not about to let anyone encroach on the calm that I was working on.  I deleted the other messages without another thought and headed for the office.

Emma greeted me with my favorite mug with the Wicked logo on it filled to the brim with coffee.  "Here's your coffee.  Here's your messages.  And your grandmother is around here somewhere," she warned.

"Thanks," I muttered, taking my seat behind my desk and going through my usual sorting routine.  Unsurprisingly, a majority of the messages were from Jesse.  Or Harmony or Dustin.  I decided to create a new pile--right in the trash can.

"I didn't bother giving you the messages from Mrs. Bell," Emma whispered, giving me a meaningful look before backing out of my office.

I rolled my eyes and continued sorting through my messages.  There was nothing from Blaine.  I don't know why I had gotten my hopes up.

"Good morning, Kurt," came my grandmother's voice from the doorway.  I looked up in time to see her heading toward me to give me my usual greeting kiss.  "How was your weekend?"

She was being oddly pleasant for the office.  This wasn't a Christmas gathering with the family.  Immediately I put my defenses up.

"Very restful, thank you," I said politely, jotting a few notes down in my calendar.

"I called you repeatedly, but you never picked up.  I thought maybe you had taken a vacation without telling me."  This was precisely why I rarely used my cell phone, despite having one of the best ones on the market (courtesy of the same woman in front of me.)  Who knows what sort of annoying syncopated cacophony that would have been?

I wasn't really in the mood to do this again, my mind still replaying the night before and worrying over whether I was ever going to see Blaine again, so I chose not to answer.

She continued, "I heard about what happened with poor Jesse and Harmony and Dustin.  I don't know what is going on with you lately but I helped give you access to the movie so you could make it amazing.  Is there something wrong?  Do you know how upset Jesse is?  You're just so stubborn.  So I've taken it upon myself to arrange a meeting between us all at that restaurant you like so much in the Village.  Then we can really get moving with this thing."

"No," I said simply.

She gaped at me.  "What?"

"I said no.  I know my story, and if I'm going to be given some creative power, I want to be able to exercise it.  So there will be no meeting with Jesse and we will just find someone better than Jesse or maybe there won't be a movie at all.  And I happen to have a life outside of work occasionally so I was out yesterday.  Yes, I was out.  Shocking, I know."  I took a deep breath.  "I think this discussion is over.  I have work to do."

"We're not finished, young man," she snapped at me, before turning on her heel and whisking off down the hall.

I slumped in my chair, with my fingers pinching the bridge of my nose.  I knew it was childish, but there was one person (well, two, but the second I wasn't even sure was real right now) that I wanted to see.  And that was my dad.

I made my way down the hall to his office, to find him talking on the phone.  But the distress on my face must have shown, because he ended it quickly and immediately asked me to sit down and vent it out.

What in the world was going on with him?  More importantly, what was going on with him and Kurt?

Blaine had no idea.

He reached into the shower and turned the water on, letting it warm up as he got undressed.  He was trying to work up his nerve again.  He was going to see Kurt today.  He felt anxious and excited and happy and sort of filled with apprehension, all at the same time.  Blaine had never felt so many emotions at once and it made him feel a little sick and dizzy.  He stayed in the shower for a long time, going over every possible scenario in his head until he had nearly talked himself out from going.  But the thought of seeing his Kurt once more drove him forward.

He finally got out and wrapped himself in a towel.  He grabbed his razor from the sink, wiped the fog from the mirror, and began to shave.

And then it happened.

Something that had never happened to him before.  Ever.

He cut himself shaving.  For the first time ever.

He watched as a dot of red bubbled up on his chin, then mixed with the shaving cream on his face in a swirl of pink.

Blaine stared at himself in the mirror in shock, not sure how to take the phenomenon in.  He attempted to shake himself out of it and then continued shaving.  He finished, rinsed his face, and stuck a small piece of tissue to the tiny cut.

Blaine marveled at the make-shift bandage.  Another first!

He took his time getting dressed, taking care to find some of his better pieces.  As he made his way out of his apartment, he ran into Quinn, tip-toeing out of Puck's place.

"Hi Blaine," she said, blushing a little.  "Cut yourself shaving this morning, huh?"

"Hello, Quinn.  And yeah, I did!  Isn't that something?"

"Um, sure.  Well, I have to get going.  My mom is watching Beth and I have to take her to school before work."

"Yeah, of course.  Take care of yourself," Blaine offered, looking back toward Puck's door.

Quinn smiled sweetly at him.  "I always do.  Have a good day, Blaine."

They made their way down the stairwell together before parting ways.  Blaine started down the walk and tried to focus on the day ahead of him.  He didn't have a clue what was going to happen, but he knew that it involved Kurt.

He eventually caught a cab and made his way into the building where Kurt worked.  But once he found himself in the lobby, it didn't seem like as good of an idea as it had when he first walked in.  What was he hoping to accomplish here?

"Hello?" said the woman behind the reception desk, startling him out of his mini-freak-out.  "The acting agency is next door," she continued in a bored tone.

"Why would you say that?"  Blaine asked, confused.

"Um, have you looked in a mirror lately?"

Blaine was trying to articulate a response when he saw Kurt step out of an elevator.  Kurt's eyes immediately landed on Blaine and his face split into a radiant smile.  He strode toward Blaine, looking slightly dazed, before stopping right in front of him. 

Kurt's eyes couldn't seem to stop examining Blaine's face.  "He bleeds."

Blaine remembered the piece of paper stuck to his face and sheepishly peeled it off.  He nodded at Kurt, unable to take the grin off of his face.  Not that he would want to.

"Would you like to accompany me to lunch?"

Kurt looked surprised.  "I--yes.  I'm starving."

When I stepped out of the elevator to find Blaine standing right there in the lobby, I wished time could stop.  I wanted it to stop so I could solidify every detail in my memory as the best moment of my entire life.  It wasn't when I first saw him at Junior's, or our entire afternoon on Park Avenue.  But that moment in the lobby.

Because he was real.  And he came back.  To see me.

"Let's get out of here," I told him.

"All right.  Where do you want to go?"

"Hmm, I think Paris.  Except I have a meeting at two so we better make it quick."

"Well, then Paris is probably out, unfortunately.  I'm sure we'll find somewhere good, though."

We had reached the street and I watched as Blaine snapped his fingers... and a cab stopped right in front of us.

"What was that?" I asked, bewildered.

"Honestly, I don't even know.  I've always been able to do that."

Not long after we were wandering around the Upper East Side and I soon realized where he was leading us.  We stopped at Little Brown, a chocolate shop and a favorite of ours from the old days.  We each bought a truffle, and Blaine said they were for "after lunch."  But I just rolled my eyes at him and said that he couldn't tell me what to do anymore before popping one in my mouth.

He smiled at me and did the same.

We kept walking and decided to wander into a small art studio on 82nd Street.  I became particularly enamored with a cross-hatched, abstract painting.  My eyes roved across the canvas, unable to stop in one place.  "Wow," I breathed.  "It's beautiful."

And then, right there in the middle of the studio, I felt Blaine come up behind me and pull me into his arms.  He held me close and didn't say anything; we just stood there and took in the painting.  In that moment, I knew what I wanted out of life.  I wanted this.  This feeling.  Forever.

I turned in his arms and we parted, but he kept my hands in his.  "I'm taller than you, now" I teased, giggling a little.

"Not so little anymore," he said quietly, staring at me.  Yes, this is exactly what I wanted.

We ate lunch at a cute little restaurant called Sant Ambroeus on Madison Avenue.  And even though we had talked endlessly just the day before, as we sat there and ate our linguini and drank our wine we just continued the conversation as if it had never stopped.

We had so much to catch up on.  I told Blaine about my time at NYU, studying creative writing and minoring in fashion design.  I told him about my father's second heart attack the night of my graduation and how difficult he had been since with his diet, though it was usually in good humor.

"I'm sorry I wasn't able to be there for you during those times, Kurt," Blaine said to me, putting his hand on top of mine across the table and making me shiver in a way I hoped he didn't feel.

He looked so sad and I was beginning to understand that it really hadn't been his choice; his fault.  "It's okay.  We manage.  I managed," I said truthfully.  Of course there had been times that I wished Blaine had been around, but I got by.

I didn't quite tell Blaine everything.  I managed to talk around the publishing of Imagine Me and You and its movie that was currently in the works.  All of which happened to be based on Blaine and me.

After much pressuring, I finally managed to get Blaine to open up and talk about himself.  He was incredibly modest as he recounted a few of his favorite assignments over the past two decades since we had last seen each other.

"I have so many questions about this imaginary friend thing," I said.

"I don't really have a lot of answers, Kurt.  I wish I did," he looked down.  "You have no idea."

It wasn't exactly the answer I had been hoping to hear, but I guessed that it was the most I was going to get.  I decided to change the subject and ask him something more personal than I had dared before.  But I wanted to know.

"Have you ever... been involved with anyone?  Romantically?"

He fidgeted in his seat a little and shrugged.  "I meet a lot of people," he said, clearly dodging my question.  "I like people."

"And they always like you."  I knew that it wasn't likely that he would be completely chaste or anything, but I couldn't deny the small bit of jealousy settling in my stomach.

"I have an idea," Blaine said suddenly, grabbing my hand.  "Let's get out of here."

Blaine's idea, as it turned out, was entirely cheesy, straight out of a rom-com, and something only he would ever be able to talk me into.  Especially when I was wearing the clothes that I had on at the time.

"Rollerblading?"  I asked, deadpan, as he looked at me with excited-puppy eyes and gripping two pairs of skates.  "Blaine, I'm not ten anymore."

"Oh, come on.  Have some fun!" he wheedled, nudging my arm.

It was another beautiful day in Central Park where he had dragged us, and as I looked at his enthusiastic, pleading face, what could I possibly do but give in?

He led us to the top of one of the hills by the northern part of the park, where the likelihood of getting hit by a cab was less.  By the time we reached the top of the hill, I realized quickly that I was not in nearly as good of shape as I had thought I was--there was a stitch in my side and I was breathing hard.  But that was short lived because one moment we were at the top and the next, Blaine was holding tight to my hand and we were flying downhill.

"Blaine!" I shrieked.

"Trust me!" he shouted back, squeezing my hand even harder.

And I did.  We didn't crash, we didn't become some cab's roadkill.  Blaine was taking care of me, as he always did.

At the bottom of the hill, we flopped onto the grass, laughing and out of breath.  I felt completely uninhibited; all of my usual rules and constrictions were forgotten in just that moment.

Our laughter died down and Blaine turned to look at me.  "I thought you had a meeting at two."

"I guess I missed it," I beamed at him.

Since I was already playing hooky, Blaine dragged us to Times Square.  He made me realize that despite having lived in the city for most of my life, I rarely ever went outside my usual three or four places.  It was invigorating to rediscover the city with him--he clearly enjoyed it so much, his energy was just as endless as New York's it seemed.

Our dinner was a couple of hot dogs from a cart that Blaine apparently swore by.  It said a lot about how much I trusted him that I even touched them in the first place.  After that, we walked and talked and before I knew it, I found that we were once again outside my apartment building.

"Well, here were are," I said with all the clever wit of a teenager on their first date.

I could ask Blaine to come up to my apartment right now.  I could do it.  I should.

But just as I was about to ask, Blaine leaned in close to me.  All brain functions seemed to stop; his face was so close.  Yes, please.

But then he pulled away, and I saw that his brow was furrowed as if something were bothering him.

"Good night, Kurt," he said.  "Today was lovely, but I think I should go now."

He turned and walked away, just like that.

"I miss you already," I said quietly to his disappearing form down the sidewalk.

I got into my apartment just in time to catch my phone ringing.  That was really the last thing that I wanted to hear.  My mind was too busy trying to figure out Blaine.  He was out there somewhere right now.  And what was he, exactly?  An "imaginary friend?"  An angel?  A hallucination of mine caused by stress?  The latter was most likely, but I knew it wasn't it.  All I knew was that there was that same something about him that drew me to him, and we were the same old us we ever were, just older (and hopefully wiser) now.

The machine picked up and I heard Mercedes' voice down the line.  On top of everything else, I now felt guilty.

"Kurt?  It's Mercedes.  I was really hoping that you were home.  I haven't heard from you since I called and--"

I picked up.  "Mercedes!  I'm here.  You just caught me coming in the door.  I did leave you a message.  How are you doing, though?"

"I know you did, but I wanted to hear you," she said.  "It's been too long."

"It really has, ‘Cedes," I said a little wistfully.  Our lives just kept speeding forward and we constantly missed each other.

We talked and I found she was a good distraction for a while from my thoughts of Blaine.  After an hour, I had learned all about her practically picture-perfect life she had built up in Cleveland.  She was teaching music, she had the fiancé, and even a house they now shared.

"I'm so happy for you," I told her.  "It really sounds like things have finally worked out."

"Right?  And I was waiting for the ball to drop and it finally did.  I can't seem to find a dress.  You know I still wish that sometimes you had decided to pursue fashion.  It could be you designing my dress right now."

I snorted.  "You flatter me.  I'm sure you'll find something fabulous."

I heard her sigh.  "I sure hope so.  Anyway, how are you?  What's going on in your life?"

"Not a lot, really.  Just work, work, work," I joked.

"Isn't that the truth," she chuckled.

And, oh, I just may be falling in love with the most perfect man in the world.  He's kind, funny, smart, and so incredibly handsome.  But he might be just a figment of my imagination.