How could he have mistaken one for the other? The real Will Schuester was 15-20 years older than Kurt. He was taller than Kurt. Significantly more so than not-Will. He did have curls, just as Rachel had described, but Kurt didn't have to fight the same urge to pet his curls as he did with not-Will. Wanting to touch someone else was kind of a big deal for him. And while he really hadn't minded at the time, had been so surprisingly okay with it, withstanding a stranger's hands on him must have exhausted him because a second time with a new stranger seemed too much to cope with. A shudder wracked his whole body. Something must've come over him the first time; he didn'twantso blatantly like that and the repulsion he felt now at being touched by the real Will Schuester must be the backlash.

Blaine's theatrics worked wonders. Kurt had an excuse for his shaky voice and his fumbling as he apologized for his disheveled appearance.

"He's infatuated with me. He's never been so insistent before." He forced himself to cling to Will's protective arms when Will pulled him there like he needed comfort. Or like he would seek out comfort in that way from a complete stranger.Acting. Acting, acting, acting.He had to keep that in mind, that he was still playing a character even if the name and the backstory were the same. Normal people would accept a stranger's comforting touch. Kurt didn't fit right in the embrace and had to resist wiggling to find a way to make the position slightly less uncomfortable.

Will looked oddly pleased to be needed. "Good thing I came along."

Kurt really hated this role.

***

Blaine took a moment to collect himself on the other side of the dressing room door. It wouldn't do to look anything less than composed. Sometimes a job couldn't be finished. He'd been kicked out of a session with a client under more unusual circumstances. There was no need to feel disappointed just because this one was with the cutest of all the chorus boys.

He spotted Santana down the ancient hallway and gave a little wave.

"You're going the wrong way, Fancy. Dressing room's down that hall."

"It looks like he's just fine losing it on his own. I still helped though!" He forced a cheerful smile. It wasn't likely to get him the rest of his money but worth a try. Being cheerful was always worth trying.

"Helped,huh? I don't know what you learned fromMean Girls,but there's no such thing as half a virgin. Finish the job. Now."

"You didn't say anything about a time limit! Or a boyfriend or fling or seductive financer or whoever's in there now."

Santana glowered. The kind of glower that had Blaine looking over his shoulder for a reason to escape. Social cues weren't Blaine's forte but he'd gotten better at guessing when he was about to be in trouble. Santana looked like trouble.

"That tricky little minx moved up his meeting! We're spying. Go."

Santana ushered him right back down the hall he'd come from. Blaine protested less than he should have. There wasn't a spying clause in his contract, just like there wasn't any warning that he might get unceremoniously tossed out before he had a chance to earn his pay. This was why Wes had been skeptical about the whole arrangement with Santana. Being a "gift" to someone else always added a risk.

Kurt wasn't Blaine's responsibility, but curiosity got the best of him. As much as it wasn't his business to know what the most gorgeous man he had ever met was choosing to do with the strange producer – and how much he doubted this story was going to have a happy ending – he couldn't resist a chance to find out. Or to see Kurt again. God, he was precious when trying to be seductive. All that fumbling a lip biting and oscillating between boldness and shyness. Next time he needed to fake being new at all this he'd have to think of Kurt.

Santana and Blaine crowded at the door to listen in. Kurt's voice was soft, but Will's carried enough to make out.

"You have a lot of potential, Kurt. I love talent in young people. If you're willing to learn, I could fill you with talent."

Blaine pulled away. "Oh my god, 'talent' is his penis, isn't it?"

He dodged Santana's elbow.

"Does the concept of eavesdropping evade you?"

"I can't believe anyone would mistake me for this tool." Blaine liked to think he had class. Composure. Absolutely no ridiculously innuendos for his or anyone else's dick. Sure, he did a lot of tawdry things, but only if the client specificallyaskedfor tawdry. In that case it was just good manners – and good business – to oblige. Tawdry wasn't Kurt's style. He seemed sweet.

"A whore's a whore. Shut up or tell me what they're saying."

Kurt was talking again. Blaine couldn't make it out. He sounded beautiful though. His voice mesmerized Blaine through the entire show. Blaine hadn't expected to gain much from attending the performance other than an evening's entertainment: he couldn't garner information about what type of person his client was if his client was acting, other than whether he was any good at his job. Kurt was very good. For the first twenty minutes of the show he stayed unobserved in the background while Blaine, already bored with the generic star-crossed lovers plot, tried to pick out which chorus boy was the cutest. He heard Kurt's voice before he spotted the man who matched Santana's picture; a clear, high voice shone out from the din as one scene transitioned to another. Blaine sat up straighter, eyes away from the chorus boys and back to center stage. Kurt strolled through the fake streets, a hopeful glint in his eye.

Blaine had a modest number of clients who had wanted assistance divesting themselves of their virginity but Kurt was so beautiful, Blaine should be the one paying. That had actually been Santana's selling point. He was initially going to turn down her offer until she'd whipped out her cell phone and shown him a picture, saying, "Tell me you wouldn't hit that for free given the opportunity."

Blaine wasn't about to do anything forfree,but he conceded her point then, and the picture didn't do Kurt-in-person justice.

He couldn't take his eyes off Kurt the rest of the show. He didn't bother to learn the character's name or pay attention to the rest of the plot unfolding. He wanted the Kurt he saw – the one who made the mundane into something magical – to be real.

Blaine pivoted to face Santana and leaned his forehead against the doorframe. "Santana, are you really going to stop him or is this ineffectual listening at the door pretending that it's in his best interest just for show?"

Santana bristled. "That's what you're getting paid for. Be effectual. You're my last straw on what to do with him."

"I'm out here because he asked me to leave. He's in there with someone else. Willingly." Blaine looked up at her plaintively. "What would you have me do?"

Santana sighed. "It's more what I would have him not do. He just had to beat me to the sneaky morally-questionable punch."

Blaine leaned his head against the door frame again. He couldn't hear anything. Either Kurt had gotten softer or they weren't talking.

"Get up. You're not off the hook yet."

Like with Santana's first demand, Blaine thought about protesting, but in truth he was interested in seeing Kurt again rather than just straining to hear his voice, and he'd accept however that might come about. Someone like Kurt was the best kind of work he could ask for. All the time spent trying to please authoritative older men in suits had Blaine questioning how deep his daddy issues ran. Given a second opportunity his response was the same: he'd take a chance on Kurt.

***

His thumb hovered over the dial button.Sue will notice if your voice waivers and be meaner for it. Take a moment and breathe.He ran his free hand along the couch edge for comfort, distracted briefly by the texture. He placed one more call to his agent.

"Do you have anything I can audition for?" he asked without preamble. "I don't care if it's unconventional." Breathy but stable. He'd take it.

"If I had something you'd know about it."

"Give me something I'm wrong for. I don't care." He paused to force his voice lower. "I'll make it work." He auditioned once for a child's role, in line with teenagers and their parents, feeling ancient and like he regressed to high school at the same time.

"Porcelain. I admire your conviction that the viewing public will see you as anything but a freak when we live in a culture where the appeal of one of the top rated reality shows is laughing at how unaware hopeful contestants are of how much they sucked. You think people care about your dreams? If I send you to the wrong audition, you will be a joke."

"But I don't –"

"Enjoy closing night. Go to your debacherous cast party. You'll be calmer tomorrow."

"When I'm unemployed?"

"That's part of the business. Uncertainty builds character actors."

"Sue," Kurt protested. He thought calling his agent might calm him. The snappy jokes he expected, but being told towait. . . Feeling vulnerable and talking to Sue should not be mixed.

"I don't hire whiners," she snapped. She paused for a moment, and when she spoke again it was with a hint more sympathy. "When I have something that you're even remotely appropriate for I'll let you know. Sit tight until then."

Kurt ended the call. The silence of his dressing room echoed in his ears. He needed out.

Kurt slipped back onto the stage. He held back the trembling until he was truly alone, no other actors around or other people to call in a moment of weakness. He'd done it. His script was now in the hands of a renowned Broadway producer. Forget his agent who had nothing for him, he was doing this on his own. Gently, he eased himself to the end of the beaten down little stage and swung his legs over the side, Judy Garland style. When he first landed this role, he'd promised himself to begin and end this way. Kurt was a firm believer innothing lasts forever.It led to a fixation on getting goodbyes right.

How perfect the tiny theatre – only eight seats per row with an aisle down the middle – had seemed at the beginning. How cramped and run down it grew as the show neared the end of its run and his future prospects never showed up. He had to be careful to not let his feet touch the ground where slightly-raised stage met in-desperate-need-of-a-cleaning floor lest it ruin the illusion. Of course now that the show was over, some of his fondness had returned. Everything seemed dirty in New York; that didn't mean it couldn't be magical as well.

This stage held the honor of being the finest place he'd performed as an actor, beating out a park, a park in the rain, churches, community centers, and repurposed gymnasiums. Along the way he worked with delusional actors; even more delusional, self-important directors; scripts he hated for their clichés they forced him to say; clichés they expected him to be; and ill-fitted costumes from second hand stores that didn't fit the character/script/time frame either. Of course being employed was better than not, he was grateful for the work each time, but it was nevergrand.He wanted to graduate from low-budget or low-talent. He was supposed to pay his dues but other people get to skip those steps. People who were supposedly good enough. Why not him? What was wrong with him getting to be the one whose dreams came true?

If he kept this up he would start sounding like Rachel.

He came to New York with the title song from Thoroughly Modern Millie in his head and the same resolve to not go back –not for the life of me.He tried a few bars, thrilling at the sound on an empty stage. In his home town ambition was the worst thing - made everyone assume, not inaccurately, you thought you were better than them. There people were content to just happen into their lives instead of create a plan and follow through. And a backup plan in case that one failed. And another plan after that.

He made a lot of promises in that small town that he intended to deliver on, like who would work for him, who would aspire to be him. Kurt closed his eyes to sink into his favorite fantasy: his script turning into a lavish Broadway show, hailed as breaking the mold in contemporary musical theater and singlehandedly revitalizing the genre critics kept prematurely declaring dead.

"Hey," Tina called softly as she pushed back the curtain. "Can I Judy Garland with you? It's not my show closing – I'll understand if you want to do this alone."

Enough time passed since his momentary panic for Kurt to accept company graciously. He patted the floor next to him. "We have about 15 minutes before someone will come by to kick us off and then it looks like this stage in my life is over. I wanted to give it a proper send off."

Kurt closed his eyes. He could imagine the stage bigger, the architecture grander, the floor cleaner, and an audience present.

He peeked an eye open and saw that Tina closed her eyes as well. She was so good at pretending with him.

"Getting cast in this show was supposed to be this big, defining moment in my career. It's a sizeable role. Someone was supposed to walk in here, see my performance, and offer to change my life. It's closing night. I gave my miracle until the last possible moment to arrive."

He wanted more out of this experience than he got. He held the show accountable for lining up the next one. It didn't, not on its own, and Kurt felt like he failed on that front.

"There'll be other shows."

"Oh, yes, I'm making sure of that."

Kurt couldn't help the cold satisfaction that came with making things happen for himself. His competitive streak held strong since his teen years. He was passed over one too many times, usually for things he couldn't control –his voice, his natural default toward effeminacy that overshadowed however he acted when he was actually acting. He threw himself even harder into performance. They couldn't keep saying no if he honed every skill possible. Someone, somewhere would have to take a chance on him. Keeping busy made the process feel within his control. One more round of vocal lesson in case three octaves wasn't good enough. One more dance class. (Really, more than one was necessary to cross the threshold betweenendearingandskilled). One more weekend fine-tuning his play so that if no one came around to give him his dream role, he could give it to himself.

Tina pushed a strand of blue behind her ear. "Did you meet Will Schuester? Did it work?"

Tina, by merit of being his least judgmental friend, was the only one he's confided his plan in. He had to tell someone. He had to get the pros and cons outside of his own head. True to Kurt's prediction, she held off on giving her opinions on the matter. Judging by Blaine's appearance, Santana had either guessed his plan or had horrible timing. He didn't suspect Tina for a moment.

"We're going to workshop it," Kurt confessed. "This tiny blip of a performance on a third-rate stage is not going to be the highlight of my career!" He could barely believe it. He read a portion of his script to a financier he just met and now it was going to be a show. Possibly. Maybe. Depending on if they both followed through. All he had from Schuester was a promise to put a workshop together. No paper work, no contractual obligation. That would come later, assuming there were no kinks in the plan. Promises broke easily. If he treated the show like conception then he should have waited three months before announcing it rather than 30 minutes. Kurt was never good at denying himself things he wanted and he wanted to share the news withsomeone.

Tina flung an arm over his shoulder for a sideways hug. "Forget about closing night. I believe we have afuturecast party to throw."