It was only a matter of time, really. Rachel was incredibly headstrong when her heart was set on something, and intentionally keeping her from the bright lights of the world-renowned stages on Broadway was no easy feat. Blaine felt he deserved a metal of some kind; an award in persuasion and distraction for rescuing the security details of Broadway stars from Rachel Berry, who was determined to ask somebody important something about how they reached the top.  Blaine didn’t remember what he had told Rachel, but she allowed him to drag her through the Southern portion of New York, bargaining for clothing and snapping silly pictures in museums and on street corners from sunup until long after the sun went down. It had been two days, Blaine was nearly out of things to do, and like a shark tasting blood on the water, Rachel was moving in on commandeering the schedule.

She made her first advance at breakfast Tuesday morning, nonchalantly scrolling across something on her laptop screen while Blaine spread sugar on his grapefruit.

“What’s the plan for today?” She bit into a muffin she picked up the day before at a vegan bakery as she waited for Blaine to answer the question.

“I figured we could look around Washington Square Park and NYU today, but other than that I don’t have anything else. Maybe the street performers will be out and we can watch them?”

“But it’s supposed to be really hot today.”

“We’re in New York, Rachel. It’s going to be hot every day from here on out.” Cooper had warned them about the heat when they were packing, banning Blaine from sticking a single pair of dress slacks or bowtie in his suitcase unless they were for evening wear. The last thing Cooper wanted to deal with was an overheated younger brother passing out on some random sidewalk, which Blaine understood. It did, however leave him needing more summer clothing, since he had never really been a shorts-wearing guy. He had to admit they were coming in handy; heat reflected off every concrete surface they walked on or past, and there were a lot of towering buildings sending sunlight and heat straight into the crowds Blaine and Rachel were travelling through. “And there are trees in the park, and air conditioning in the buildings on campus. You will be fine.”

Rachel made a noncommittal noise as she reached for her coffee. “And,” Blaine decided she needed a real draw for following him away from the theatre district for the third day in a row, “you could meet somebody with connections for when you move up here. Would you really want to be responsible for denying that person the chance to meet you?” she nearly paused mid-swallow, and Blaine had her. He could practically see the fantasy playing out in her head: meeting the professor, who knows the casting director, who puts her in the show that wins her that shifty first Tony. As usual, she skipped thinking the chances of that happening were slim-to-none and rushed straight to the success. It was a very Rachel Berry trait, one Blaine only used in moments of extreme duress—or when he didn’t want to start waking up at ungodly hours of the morning to sit in line for discounted musical tickets.

“I guess you’re right. That really wouldn’t be fair. But if they can’t find me by the end of the day, I say we move in on the Great White Way tomorrow. I’ve already looked up the rules, and I think we should start off with Wicked; I’m looking at the Rush policy now and it looks like we can’t stay out too late tonight, so it’s good you don’t want to do anything tonight, as we’ll need our rest…”

Blaine tuned her out in favor of shooting a text to Cooper.

Blainers [09:12am]: Last day of wandering the neighborhoods before the Musical Extravaganza. Going around NYU and then probably going to be tranquilized so we can be up at the ass crack of dawn.

Sparky McFlashpants [09:13am]: may god hav mrcy on ur sol.

That was strange. Cooper may be lazy, but his texts were easier to read than that. Usually.

Blainers [09:13am]: Cooper are you okay?

Blainers [09:13am]: Would you tell us

Blainers [09:14am]: that you’re okay?

Cooper hated when Blaine spammed him, and if he still wasn’t a morning person, Blaine could imagine him clawing at the phone to get it to shut up, swearing as all three messages went off and startled him.

Blaine loved being a little brother with technology most in the mornings.

Sparky McFlashpants [09:15am]: m gnna kll u. had 1 lte night. c u @ lnch?

Blainers [09:16am]: Yeah, sure. Text when & where & we’ll meet you.

Sparky McFlashpants [09:17am]: k c u l9r

Blainers [09:18am]: Dat meen moar den l8r?

Sparky McFlashpants [09:19am]: wll pss on evrythn u luv. Meet @ Fidalgoes @3 nw go awy.

Blaine could remember the brilliance that was the sun on the New York sidewalks. The way the beams assaulted his retinas when he forgot his sunglasses in the hostel; pleasant splashes of warmth on his arms and legs as he and Rachel pounded the pavement looking for things to do. Was it only yesterday that he was eating lunch with Cooper on the patio of Coop’s favorite bistro? All Blaine knew now was this; the pre-dawn cold and the darkened sidewalk outside the Gershwin.

It was moments like these that made Blaine hate having an aspiring actress as a best friend. When Rachel had given him the run-down the other afternoon as they wandered through Washington Square Park, she hadn’t mentioned anything about needing to get up at two in the morning so they could travel uptown for rush tickets. She also didn’t mention Idina Menzel reprising Elphaba for the next couple of days, which was why Blaine found himself surrounded by crazed, sleep-deprived super-fans of the musical. None of those things were included in her plan for today, which left Blaine with a sore rear end from sitting on the curb for two and a half hours, waiting for the box office to open at 8am.

Blaine was cold, still tired, sore, hungry, and tired of the chatter around him. It was pretty quiet, but the enthusiastic rushers, who had gathered around his friend, were singing, laughing, and sharing the moments when Wicked songs had actual meaning in their lives.

It was like watching the formation of a cult. The Church of Elphaba. And while Blaine appreciated their enthusiasm, at 5:45 in the morning he would rather be sleeping in his rented (and admittedly uncomfortable, but not as much as the sidewalk) bed. Or headed out for some coffee. Actually, coffee sounded like a really good idea, since they had left the hostel in a hurry to catch the train to the Theatre District, leaving no time for a pick-me-up. And since Rachel would rather battle a rabid animal with her bare hands than lose her spot in line, Blaine would get a break from the talking.

“Hey Rachel do you want a coffee? I’m gonna go look for some, stretch my legs a bit.” He smoothly interrupted the circle that had gathered around Rachel, smiling apologetically at the girl going over how her The Wizard and I moment was the instant she got accepted to her dream school and realized she would be able to afford it.

“Sure, Blaine!” she turned to smile at him and the group tittered. Blaine groaned internally. The other downside to having a girl best friend were the jokes—

“Hel-lo, Blaine…” from the blonde clutching an original cast recording and waggling her eyebrows. More giggles as Blaine waved halfheartedly.

“Your usual?”

“If they have it.”

Blaine nodded as he turned away, headed for what he hoped was Seventh Street and a row of shops that had seemed promising despite their not being open at three. The girls exploded in even more giggles as he walked away.

“So Rachel, is he the Fiyero to your Elphaba?”

“Sadly, no. But I’m sure he’ll find an excellent boyfriend one day.”

The collective groan faded as Blaine got farther away. That always seemed to be the way it was when he met new girls, and he didn’t quite understand. He was shorter than the average high school boy; why look at the tiny one when there were herds of taller ones without his liking for bowties? It was an unsolved mystery for Blaine, despite Rachel constantly reminding him of his similarities to the dashing gentlemen from the golden age of musical theatre, but not all girls knew about those guys, did they? Not like it mattered—he wasn’t interested. But not having to out himself every time a girl tried to make a move would be nice, too.

It would also be nice, Blaine figured, if he could manage to cross the street without being run over by taxis hurrying to wherever they wait on the morning commuters or young professionals out looking for breakfast. He put thoughts of girls and dapper gentlemen out of his mind as he navigated his way through the slowly growing crowd, hunting for a coffee shop that looked more promising than the Starbucks on every corner.

The apartment was a piece of modern art, everything sleek and color coordinated exactly to Kurt’s liking. Once he had been able to afford modern appliances, he bought them; the best in kitchen, laundry, and entertainment technology were craftily hidden away in cabinets, on counters, and in closets. Kurt knew he didn’t want for anything. He had people who delivered groceries, a cleaning service that stopped by when he was out and kept the place spotless, and people who brought his packages to him wherever he happened to be in the city. He could literally stay in his apartment for the rest of his life and never need to leave again. And that was stifling.

Not that Kurt wanted to run around the city at all hours of the day and night with work errands and then personal ones, but it would be nice to walk out of  The Olivia and go to the store for a half-gallon of milk every once in a while. Or to find the nearest post office to buy postage for a package he was sending to his dad by himself. Just any kind of reason to get out of the apartment when he wasn’t working. Terri was so determined to keep tabs on him and his reputation she made sure he didn’t have to go even the simplest of errands for himself—god forbid he get his picture taken at the Seven-Eleven with lounge pants on or something. What would that do to his reputation?

His ever-important reputation. Terri and Emma were so worried about what people saw in the papers. While he was glad he had a manager and publicist that cared, they went overboard a lot of the time. Like his birthday night. When he mentioned going out with Jeremiah and the dancers, Terri laid the rules on thick:

“It would be okay, but you’d need Roz or somebody to go with you, and you couldn’t go just anywhere, you know. Maybe to that new club that just opened up,”

“Where, the Havana?”

“It’s exclusive enough. But you can’t go drinking just anything. Or eating everything either.”

“We wouldn’t be going for the food, Terri.”

“Of course not. You’d be going to have fun. And I get that; you would need to watch your dance partners as well. Don’t want people to get the wrong idea about who you are…”

And that had ruffled Kurt’s feathers. What did Terri think he was; some kind of poster child? He could go, but he wasn’t allowed to eat, drink, or dance the way he wanted. He decided to sit out that night instead of dealing with Roz or whoever was on guard duty and Terri’s never ending list of rules. Terri’s rules were another reason Kurt was feeling locked up. It wasn’t worth her spewing restrictions on the stuff that made going out and having fun...well, fun. Keeping away from the media circus because he had some kind of image to maintain was boring. Following Terri’s rules was boring. Lying awake at three in the morning and complaining about Terri and her rules to no-one in particular was maddening.

Kurt pushed her to the back of his mind and reached for his laptop. Maybe some mindless rounds of Plants versus Zombies would help him drift off for the night. Or maybe he just wouldn’t sleep; Holly was due in a couple of hours for his morning Pilates, and Kurt was a slender pile of dead weight when he had less than five hours anyway. Keeping awake would probably be kindest for everyone.

His email notification went off. Surprise, surprise, an email from Terri.

To: Kurt “keh@prospertalent.com”

From: Terri “tdmonico@prospertalent.com”

Cc: Emma “epillsbury@prospertalent.com”, Roz “rozlyn.washington@prospertalent.com”, Giulia “giuli_buli@hotmail.com”, Dustin “goolsby@audiorushrec.com”, Sue “ssylvstr@cheeriodance.com”, Jesse “jesse.stjames@audiorushrec.com”

Subject: Alix Ayerson

At 12:34am

We have to rearrange the schedule for June 1. Kurt has a dinner with Alix Ayerson tonight at 7. Guilia, we talked about meeting Kurt at The Olivia at 5 to get him ready this afternoon; please don’t forget. We’re also switching around choreo and vocal coaching for the week in favor of some other events; I’ll have Howard send the updated agenda first thing in the morning.

Apologies for the late notice and thank you for your bound-to-be exemplary work.

Terri Del Monico

Manager, Prosper Talent, Inc.

Kurt swore heavily and re read the email. Who the hell was Alix and why did he have a dinner with him…her, Google soon revealed.

Alix Ayerson was the newest pet project of Los Angeles, making her way in Tinsel Town the way Kurt was attempting in the music industry, Kurt read.  And why was Terri planning impromptu dinner dates with Hollywood prodigies? She was constantly complaining about his moving slow and throwing things off schedule; perhaps it wasn’t as bad in her eyes when she was the one re-arranging things.

Kurt wasn’t interested in having dinner with this Ayerson girl. Her movies were, to him, fodder. Nothing about them interested him; run-of-the-mill teenage romantic comedies where the socially awkward heroine gets the boy. Maybe he didn’t like them because they struck a nerve—why weren’t there any where the guy got the guy?—Kurt wasn’t sure. He just knew that the dinner was part of a Terri plot. She was probably aiming to get Summit or someone like that to cast him as their lead male in a teen movie. Kurt would go into that movie deal kicking and screaming. So there was only one thing to do.

Kurt shut his computer off, walked to the bathroom, and began rifling through the impressive makeup collection stored in his cabinets.

Thirty minutes later, wig in place, makeup disguising his most noticeable features, and slightly out of date outfit thrown on, Kurt took the stairs down to the lobby and walked out the front doors.

Nothing threw a wrench into a stupid plan more than the pawns disappearing for the day.