Kurt:
Hello to you, too.

Blaine:
That's some picture.

Kurt:
They're everywhere, Blaine. Boys, with their boys, looking like they walked right out of a Calvin Klein ad... shot in Southampton.

Blaine:
Poor you. Seriously, though, I can't believe they've already put up the tree. It feels like the semester just started.

Kurt:
I know. Are you drowning?

Blaine:
Almost. I'll make it. Sorry I couldn't come for Thanksgiving.

Kurt:
It's fine. You're busy.

Blaine:
Did you make the thing? With the macadamia nuts?

Kurt:
Chestnuts.

Blaine:
Right.

Kurt:
I did. It was amazing.

Blaine:
Of course. (pause) So was it weird? You know, without Caleb?

Kurt:
We broke up months ago—

Blaine:
You were together more than two years, Kurt. You had that "amazing" Thanksgiving together last year, and I thought maybe you were feeling nostalgic, or sad, or I don't know, just generally crappy about it.

Kurt:
Not at all. Aside from the fact that I made his sister's cornbread recipe, henceforth to be known as my cornbread recipe, I didn't give him a single thought.

Blaine:
He's stopped calling you, then?

Kurt:
Yes. It's fine, I promise. We don't talk about Caleb, remember?

Blaine:
Yes, but—

Kurt:
And why don't we talk about Caleb?

Blaine:
Because he's a bastard.

Kurt:
And?

Blaine:
A liar.

Kurt:
And?

Blaine:
(coughing) A cheat.

Kurt:
Exactly. (pause) You're still choking on that last one.

Blaine:
Yeah, well. That was rough.

Kurt:
I still think you should have told me.

Blaine:
I did—

Kurt:
Right away. You should have told me right away.

Blaine:
I know. I'm sorry. You were just so happy with him, and I didn't want—

Kurt:
Not all the time. You know that we never really—Hey Blaine, let's not, okay? (pause) I'm cat-sitting for a friend on 78th Street. Walk me home?

Blaine:
My pleasure. Where are we now?

Kurt:
Between 57th and 58th.

Blaine:
So what brought you down to Rockefeller Center today?

Kurt:
Hot chocolate date.

Blaine:
As in, a date for hot chocolate? Or as in, your date was a hot chocolate man?

Kurt:
The first one. La Maison du Chocolat.

Blaine:
Too bad.

Kurt:
'Hot chocolate man' could mean so many things. A street vendor who sells hot chocolate—

Blaine:
A man made out of chocolate, who is also hot—

Kurt:
A man who looks exactly like Taye Diggs—

Blaine:
Taye Diggs? Really?

Kurt:
Hello? Rent? Broadway? Biceps?

Blaine:
With or without glasses?

Kurt:
With. Definitely.

Blaine:
Interesting.

Kurt:
Or maybe Derek. Derek is one hot chocolate man.

Blaine:
Is that the painter or the electrician?

Kurt:
Are you referring to the muralist and the lighting designer?

Blaine:
Right. That's what I said.

Kurt:
Hardly. God. You're always so judgey when it comes to my boyfriends.

Blaine:
I am not.

Kurt:
You've got that glare, and that whole prep school snark thing you never have with your real friends, and you ask them way too many questions.

Blaine:
I do not.

Kurt:
It's always a fucking interrogation.

Blaine:
You say 'always' like I've met all of your boyfriends, which I have not.

Kurt:
God, you make me sound like a revolving door. Or a mattress.

Blaine:
Kurt. You are not a mattress.

Kurt:
Because I haven't slept with all of them, you know that. (pause) Wait. You do know that, right?

Blaine:
I guess. No. You used to tell me stuff—

(silence)

Kurt:
What? I used to tell you all of the details of my love life?

Blaine:
Everything. You used to tell me everything.

(silence)

Kurt:
We're still best friends, Blaine. Even if I'm not sitting on your doorstep, even if we don't know every single detail of—

Blaine:
I know.

Kurt:
You are my best friend. You're still—

Blaine:
I know. I know. This is silly. I'm just... it's almost Christmas, and then it's just a few months and we'll be on to all of it. We'll be college graduates, Kurt. Can you believe it? And it's all coming so fast: the changes, the opportunities.

Kurt:
Please tell me you applied.

Blaine:
I applied.

Kurt:
Blaine! Fucking hell, Blaine—is that why you called? To tell me you made the deadline?

Blaine:
No, I'm pretty sure it was the picture of two hot guys in love—

Kurt:
And did your advisor—the one with Paddington Bear collection, not the one who smokes—did she write the letter of recommendation like she promised?

Blaine:
She did.

Kurt:
See! I told you! Oh, Blaine, you are going to love London.

Blaine:
It's only been a few days. I don't even know how many applicants I'm up against. I may not get in.

Kurt:
You'll get in. You will.

Blaine:
It would be nice to... to get away, see things from a different perspective. Plus, I mean—wow, Kurt. You wouldn't believe who records there. (pause) I'm never going to get in.

Kurt:
You will so get in. And I will come and visit you, and we will be obnoxious tourists together, and take a million snapshots, and then when your internship is over you can move to New York like you planned.

Blaine:
Yeah. Right. Absolutely.

Kurt:
Oh! Hang on, there's this Peruvian restaurant I've been meaning to try, and I want to check the menu.

Blaine:
So the chocolate guy. Does he have a name?

Kurt:
Frederick.

Blaine:
Fix-up?

Kurt:
No. We met on the subway.

Blaine:
A New York story, then?

Kurt:
The best kind.

Blaine:
So he's... he's pretty great, then?

Kurt:
As it turns out, no, he's not. He's a jerk. And a snob.

Blaine:
Did you say 'snot' or 'snob'?

Kurt:
Snob. The worst kind.

Blaine:
Tell me.

Kurt:
So on the Subway he was all, "Frederick Von Schmancy-Pants, so nice to see someone with taste riding the N; I'm charming, look at me next to you; don't we look good together, blah, blah, blah."

Blaine:
Schmancy-Pants?

Kurt:
I'm trying to forget I ever met him. The surname is the first to go. Anyway—

Blaine:
Sorry. Go ahead.

Kurt:
He was lovely—nice smile, Italian shoes, $600 haircut. He asked if he could share my pole.

Blaine:
Wait, what?

Kurt:
You know, the poles you grab onto on the subway?

Blaine:
Right. Right. Okay. Go on.

Kurt:
Normally you just grab on; people don't ask for permission. It's disgusting, really. The hand sweat alone, just, yuck. So he gets on and there are plenty of seats, mind you. I'm just standing because I have like, two stops. And he says, "May I share your pole?" Oh! And he's like a head taller than me. I had to look up to talk to him.

Blaine:
And you mention that because—?

Kurt:
It's hot.

Blaine:
It is?

Kurt:
Duh. You would know.

Blaine:
Mean.

Kurt:
Well, you would!

Blaine:
I am not that short.

Kurt:
For your heritage, no.

Blaine:
Wow. Okay.

Kurt:
I'm teasing! Sorry! It's just, most guys are taller than you—

Blaine:
I'm well aware of that.

Kurt:
It doesn't make you less attractive, though.

Blaine:
Gee, thanks.

Kurt:
Don't be so sensitive. You could get any guy you want.

Blaine:
(pause) Finish your story.

Kurt:
So he says, "May I share your pole?"Blaine
You said that.

Kurt:
And then I said, "What do you have against seats?"

Blaine:
Of course you did.

Kurt:
And he said—oh! Blaine! I just saw the most beautiful lamp. I'd take a picture, but it's through the glass window, and the reflection might interfere with—

Blaine:
I don't need to see the lamp, Kurt.

Kurt:
Why don't I know this store? This is some gorgeous lighting. Hang on. I have to take a picture of the sign, so I remember to come back.

Blaine:
(sigh) Fine. Tell me about the lamp.

Kurt:
It's covered in abstract ceramic gardenias.

Blaine:
Oh, you should totally take a picture of that.

Kurt:
Right? Hang on. I'm going to walk into the store, and I don't want to get bitched out by the salespeople for talking on my cell.

Blaine:
Okay.

Kurt:
(whispering) You can talk to me, though.

Blaine:
(pause) I think I might skip Christmas. Like, altogether. I'm so busy, and my father is just, more annoying than ever. And my mother is a total pill, when she's not taking pills, and everything is so formal and forced, and all I want to do is drive over to your house and help you bake gumdrop cookies, anyway. But I can't do that, because my parents would freak if I left one of their stupid parties to hang with NORMAL people. Besides, I have too much work. So much work. I may not graduate, I have so much work. (sigh) And anyway, my parents always put up that 12-foot fake tree, professionally decorated by strangers, and it's just... it doesn't feel like Christmas. I mean, remember last year? It was frosted pink and mint green. Pink and green, Kurt. Who decorates a Christmas tree in pink and mint green? (pause) I just know I'll get a check for Christmas, and maybe a new suit, or blazer, something I will need for whatever event they expect me to attend this year, and... Kurt? Can you talk yet?

Kurt:
Yes. Sending you the photo now.

Blaine:
Oh. That is gorgeous. How much?

Kurt:
Like, three months' rent.

Blaine:
You should totally make lamps.

Kurt:
And you should totally come home for Christmas.

Blaine:
Kurt—

Kurt:
You can sneak out and come over to my house. What are they going to do, anyway? You have your trust fund now, and they've already paid your tuition in full.

Blaine:
It's not that easy.

Kurt:
I know. Blaine, I know. But you're an adult. You're on your way, becoming your own man and all that. At some point you have to stand firm and do what you want.

Blaine:
You're right, but—

Kurt:
And while I agree the pink and green was hideous, the metallic silver tree of 2012 was magnificent. Like, Architectural Digest magnificent.

Blaine:
You get what you pay for.

Kurt:
Fuck, you're cynical. Don't be that way; that's not you. (pause) Come home, Blaine. Just hang with us. Finn will be home, and he's bringing his new girlfriend, Nikki, who is hilarious, even if she is obsessed with baseball. And there's that Warbler party on New Year's Eve. Besides, I already bought you the BEST present.

Blaine:
What is it?

Kurt:
Not telling. And don't try that thing; it won't work on me this time.

Blaine:
What thing?

Kurt:
That tricky thing where you ask me a bunch of random questions really fast, and tease me, and tell me you like how I'm doing my hair now, and then casually insert the "What did you get me for Christmas?" question and I answer you without thinking. That thing.

Blaine:
But I do like how you're doing your hair now.

Kurt:
Stop it.

Blaine:
It's all wavy, and soft—

Kurt:
I mean it.

Blaine:
And the highlights are really working. You should always have highlights. For the rest of your life.

Kurt:
No.

Blaine:
Please?

Kurt:
No. I'm not telling.

Blaine:
Fine. Where are we now?

Kurt:
Sixty-sixth. Almost.

Blaine:
You walk fast.

Kurt:
I'm a New Yorker.

Blaine:
You've always walked fast.

Kurt:
That's because I've always been a New Yorker, and I will always be a New Yorker.

Blaine:
So tell me the rest of the story. What happened with Von Schmancy-Pants?

Kurt:
He won me over.

Blaine:
Oh? How did he do that?

Kurt:
He... uh... complimented my hair.

Blaine:
Oh my God! You are so EASY!

Kurt:
I like my hair, Blaine. I go to great pains to have great hair. You know that.

Blaine:
Yes. And I compliment your hair all the time.

Kurt:
Yes, and you use it to toy with me, and get me to reveal things. Not. Nice.

Blaine:
I'll tell you your hair is beautiful every day, if you like. I'll text you every morning and call you ever night just to say, "I love your hair."

Kurt:
Stop. I'm NOT telling. (pause) Do you really love it?

Blaine:
I do.

Kurt:
Thank you.

Blaine:
(pause) Are you cold? You sound cold.

Kurt:
No, I have my new Burberry.

Blaine:
Scarf?

Kurt:
Michael Kors. Midnight blue.

Blaine:
Gloves?

Kurt:
I, uh... I left them at the ice skating rink. I set them down, and then Frederick, he said this awful thing and I just left. So no gloves.

Blaine:
What did he say?

Kurt:
I guess it wasn't that awful, but he asked if I ever considered voice lessons, to make it deeper.

Blaine:
Shit. Kurt, that is awful. That's the worst.

Kurt:
No. It's not the worst. But it definitely wasn't nice.

Blaine:
I'm sorry. I love your voice. He's a dick.

Kurt:
First rate, yes. But it's not like I haven't heard that before.

Blaine:
Listen to me. I love your voice.

Kurt:
I know. I know you do. And I don't even feel that bad about it, not really. I'm happy with my voice. I just didn't want to be around him one more second, that's all. Don't worry. I'm not upset.

Blaine:
Are you sure?

Kurt:
Positive.

Blaine:
What a douchebag.

Kurt:
Douchebag? You have to stop hanging out with that Bradshaw guy and all his frat boy friends. It's affecting your otherwise impeccable vocabulary.

Blaine:
He's cute. And not boring.

Kurt:
Cute and not boring. Who could ever live up to your crazy high standards?

Blaine:
Back to Douchebag Von Schmancy-Pants. Tell me something not-so-cute about him.

Kurt:
Oh, I see what you did there. Now he's lost his first name, too. Thanks for that.

Blaine:
No problem. So tell me the thing.

Kurt:
His ass was flat.

Blaine:
Oh, well—

Kurt:
What? It can't be a body thing? You know I'm an ass man. Person. Whatever.

Blaine:
Who isn't?

Kurt:
Yes, I know, you are too. You love perfect asses. Love, love, love. I believe I have a 3-page email testimony about how much you love perfect asses—

Blaine:
Written under duress—

Kurt:
More like under a table while you were drunk off your own ample ass.

Blaine:
My own... uh, Kurt?

Kurt:
Anyway, I chose to overlook it, because what's-his-name was so charming, and tall, and well dressed. And then, you know, to be able to tell people that we met on the N—

Blaine:
You love your New York stories—

Kurt:
But after the voice comment, I was out of there. Nice boys with flat asses—I can deal with that. Mean boys with flat asses have to go.

Blaine:
So let's talk more about asses. Namely my ass. Or yours. We can talk about your perfect ass, if you prefer.

Kurt:
Let's talk more about Christmas. You're coming, right? You're going to show up at my house on Christmas Eve and help me rescue Carole's mulled wine and then sing secular Christmas songs with me until we pass out, right?

Blaine:
I'll try. I really will.

Kurt:
Please?

Blaine:
I promise I'll think about it.

Kurt:
You're thinking about it now. Stop thinking and just book the ticket, Blaine.

Blaine:
Where are we now?

Kurt:
You're worse than a child. "Are we there yet? Huh? Huh? Are we there yet?" If you don't want to walk me all the way, you can just say so.

Blaine:
I do want to. I just like it when you tell me where we are. Describe something.

Kurt:
Umm... okay. It's a snow sky today, but it hasn't started up yet. Two women are pushing ATV-like baby strollers as fast they can. In fact, I think I'm witnessing a stroller drag race, if there is a such a thing. And there's a pack of prep school girls across the street—

Blaine:
Colors?

Kurt:
Maroon and yellow. And oh no, that is just... that is awful.

Blaine:
What?

Kurt:
To my left, trying very hard to keep up with me, is a man in women's jeans and white Alpaca-fur boots. Like, Aspen boots. White Aspen boots. In December. In New York. And women's jeans. That don't fit.

Blaine:
So I'm sensing this is a bad fashion choice.

Kurt:
Have you lost all interest in fashion, Blaine? It's a bad LIFE choice—fashion is life.

Blaine:
What else? What else do you see?

Kurt:
I'm passing Starbucks, and oh look, I'm passing another Starbucks—

Blaine:
Kurt.

Kurt:
Yes?

Blaine:
I miss you.

Kurt:
(pause) I miss you, too. (pause) Almost there. Just a few blocks, now.

Blaine:
Seriously, are you a speed walker, now?

Kurt:
Blaine. I'm just walking up streets, not avenues. They're shorter.

Blaine:
Oh, yeah.

Kurt:
And yes, I did pass the drag-racing moms.

Blaine:
So who's the friend with the cat?

Kurt:
Amy. She's new. To Pratt, that is. She's sweet.

Blaine:
(pause) I really do miss you. I like this, walking you home.

Kurt:
It is nice, isn't it?

Blaine:
Almost as good as the real thing.

Kurt:
Almost.

Blaine:
So any other prospects besides Douchebag No Name?

Kurt:
I guess. I'm not really looking?

Blaine:
Why is that a question?

Kurt:
Because I should be looking. Or trying. I should be trying.

Blaine:
Why?

Kurt:
We're here.

Blaine:
What? What does that mean?

Kurt:
Amy's building. We're here.

Blaine:
Oh, okay. Well, I guess I'll talk to you—

Kurt:
I don't want to stop talking. Can we... could you spare just a few more minutes?

Blaine:
Of course.

Kurt:
I know you're busy.

Blaine:
I'm here. Talk.

Kurt:
I should be trying. But I don't want to try.

Blaine:
You don't want to date anyone?

Kurt:
No, I do, but—

Blaine:
You're still getting over Caleb.

Kurt:
No. No. Shit, Blaine, what do I have to say or do to get you to believe my heart isn't broken?

Blaine:
Sorry, sorry. Just, why don't you want to try?

Kurt:
It's never... it's never right, you know? It feels like playing, like make believe—like I'm trying people out.

Blaine:
I think that's the point of dating.

Kurt:
I think the point of dating is to find someone to love.

Blaine:
Oh. Well, I guess I've been doing it wrong then, too.

Kurt:
Why?

Blaine:
Because I'm not... because I don't need someone to love, dummy. I have you.

Kurt:
(pause) Best friends don't count, Blaine.

Blaine:
Why not? You count to—

Kurt:
I know I count. I know I matter. But as long as we're relying on each other for... whatever this is, we'll never find it.

Blaine:
What? Love?

Kurt:
Yes. We won't even want to try.

Blaine:
Kurt—

Kurt:
Because he has to be my best friend, too, right?

Blaine:
Who?

Kurt:
The one. The guy I settle down with.

Blaine:
Oh.

Kurt:
I think London will be good for you, Blaine. I really do.

Blaine:
Kurt—

Kurt:
So do you think it's gauche to watch porn while cat sitting?

Blaine:
Umm... wait.... Kurt—

Kurt:
Because I kind of had my mind set on getting off tonight, and that really just leaves porn, so—

Blaine:
(sigh) Okay, Kurt. Okay. We can talk about porn if that's what you want.

Kurt:
(pause) You love porn. Of course you want to talk about porn.

Blaine:
I do love porn, yes. But not that boyfriend stuff you're always watching.

Kurt:
You know I can't stand the anonymous stuff. Glory holes, and parking lots, and—what is your latest thing?

Blaine:
Parking lots? I don't even know what you're talking about. Clearly you watch way more porn than I do, which is fucking amazing, because you were the biggest porn prude on the PLANET in high school.

Kurt:
Not the planet. And I do not watch more porn than you. That is not even remotely possible. And my tastes are not exactly as vanilla as you presume.

Blaine:
Give. Tell me everything.

Kurt:
Nope. First you have to promise to come home for Christmas.

Blaine:
Kurt!

Kurt:
Blaine.

Blaine:
Just tell me one little fantasy, something that doesn't involve fucking with the lights off.

Kurt:
Now who's mean? Are you ever going to stop teasing me about sex?

Blaine:
Yes. It ends now. But first you have to give me one little fantasy. Just one. It doesn't have to be anything you've actually done.

Kurt:
Just one?

Blaine:
Just one.

Kurt:
And you'll come home for Christmas?

Blaine:
Fuck. (sigh) Fine. I'll come home for Christmas.

Kurt:
Buy the ticket.

Blaine:
What? Right now?

Kurt:
Yes. Buy the ticket and send me the itinerary.

Blaine:
Hold on. (pause) You should go inside if you're cold.

Kurt:
I'm fine.

Blaine:
Delta. Logging in. (pause) It looks like... yeah. Okay. I'll just—

Kurt:
Thank you.

Blaine:
For coming home?

Kurt:
It might be our last Christmas in Ohio.

Blaine:
Our last Christmas together.

Kurt:
Yes.

Blaine:
(pause) You're welcome. (pause) There. Booked. Check your email.

Kurt:
Okay.

Blaine:
Did you get it?

Kurt:
Not yet. When are you flying in?

Blaine:
The 23rd.

Kurt:
Here it is. You actually did it.

Blaine:
It's our last Christmas before everything changes. (pause) I would have done it as soon as we hung up, anyway.

Kurt:
I'm really happy.

Blaine:
Good. I want you to be happy. (clears throat) So, uh. You're up.

Kurt:
Oh shit.

Blaine:
Yes.

Kurt:
Why don't I tell you what I got you for Christmas instead?

Blaine:
Tempting, but no.

Kurt:
(exhales) Okay. I'm just going to spit it out, and then we will never speak of it again.

Blaine:
Deal.

Kurt:
I'mnakedandsomeonefucksmefrombehind. With his clothes still on.

Blaine:
Hmm? What was that?

Kurt:
Fine! I'm naked. And someone is fucking me from behind. With his clothes still on.

Blaine:
Wow. Okay.

Kurt:
Weird?

Blaine:
Unexpected.

Kurt:
But weird?

Blaine:
No. Hot. Totally hot.

Kurt:
Right?

Blaine:
Definitely.

(silence)

Kurt:
There's more, but—

Blaine:
Yeah. Bad idea.

Kurt:
So... so you'll be over on Christmas Eve, right?

Blaine:
Is 10:00 am too early?

Kurt:
Not at all. Call me before you come in case I need you to stop at the store. We're always running out of something when Finn's home.

Blaine:
Kurt?

Kurt:
Yes?

Blaine:
What'd you get me?

Kurt:
Oh my... Fuck. No.

Blaine:
(laughing) Sorry. Just teasing.

Kurt:
(pause) Thanks for walking me home.

Blaine:
Anytime.