"Wait,” Kurt said, as he fit an end piece into the large puzzle of a rather complicated Van Gogh painting, “what exactly are we doing?”

“We're making a jigsaw puzzle,” Blaine answered, deep in thought as he tried to fit one of a thousand dark blue pieces into place.

“But, we never make jigsaw puzzles,” Kurt said. “I mean, when did we even buy this one?”

“We didn't,” Blaine answered, moving to the next dark blue piece. “It just showed up today.”

“In the mail?” Kurt said, suddenly compelled to pick up another piece on his side and try to fit it in an empty spot. He turned it once, twice, and one last time before trying to hammer it into place with his fist, regardless of the fact that it clearly didn't belong.

“Oh, gosh no,” Blaine said, deciding to move to one of the ten thousand white pieces, since he was having no luck with the blues. “I mean, I respect van Gogh and all, but he's by no means my favorite artist. No, it just showed up here on the living room floor.”

“And we're putting it together…why?”

“Because we have to,” Blaine replied, silently cheering when he pulled a piece from the box and discovered it was already connected perfectly to six others.

“And why do we have to?” Kurt was frustrated with his now bent and beaten piece, and moved on to torture another.

“Because they tell us we have to,” Blaine said simply, rescuing Kurt's ruined piece and putting it into place.

“Who's ‘they'?” Kurt asked, dropping his voice, feeling a little paranoid.

“Them.” Blaine gestured vaguely. “Our fans. All of them, sitting behind computer screens, writing our every move, our every thought. They decided that today we would have to do something that surrounded the word ‘jigsaw' so here we are.”

Kurt's eyes shifted left and right, as if he expected to see the omnipresent fans, but of course, he couldn't. Kurt dropped his voice to a whisper.

“So, let me get this straight,” Kurt said, trying not to move his lips as he spoke. “They can make us do anything…and I mean anything they want, and they have us sitting on the floor in the middle of the living room putting together this time consuming jigsaw puzzle?”

“That's right,” Blaine said, grabbing up another piece.

“Don't they know they could be making us do something really dirty right now?” Kurt wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“Uh, yeah…” Blaine flicked his eyes up to meet his fiancé's. “That was day four, actually. Oh, and you needn't whisper. They can read anything you say.”

“Well, I…that's ridiculous,” Kurt said, faltering and talking a little louder than necessary to cover his faux pas, “I wasn't whispering because of them or anything…please don't make me straight tomorrow, oh omnipresent, omniscient fandom!”

“Omnipresent, omniscient fandom?” Blaine echoed with a laugh. “Wow, you really know how to kiss ass, baby. Too bad the word of the day wasn't ‘jerk'. I could think of a lot of possibilities for that word right now.”

Blaine winked.

Kurt scoffed.

“As in ‘you're acting like a jerk, Blaine Devon Anderson'?” Kurt said icily.

“Don't be like that,” Blaine cooed. He put in another piece and cheered. “Yes! I made a…a thing! What…what is that?”

Blaine tilted his head left and right, trying to make out what the object actually was.

Kurt squinted, looking at the object with a critical eye.

“I don't know. I would say that maybe it's a little boy playing with a dog, but that blob doesn't even look remotely human.”

Kurt threw himself on the floor, and groaned.

“This is soooo boring! At least, it could have been a puzzle of the first Vogue cover, or Patti Lu Pone's Evita movie poster.”

Blaine looked at his watch and smiled.

“Hey, look. I think our time is up,” Blaine said.

“What?” Kurt asked, looking at Blaine with wide, excited eyes. “How do you know?”

“Because, I don't feel like finishing the puzzle anymore,” Blaine said. “So, I can only imagine that whoever's writing this story is just about done.”

“Thank God!” Kurt stood and stretched, twisting left and right, popping his back.

Then he bent over and touched his toes.

Then, he got on one foot and hopped around in a circle.

Blaine laughed.

“Uh…Kurt…what are you doing?”

“Um…I don't quite know, Blaine.” Kurt sounded exasperated. “I'm not choosing to do this.'

“Uh-oh.” Blaine bit his lip. “You complained too much, and you pissed off the author.”

“Sorry,” Kurt said. He stopped hopping up and down.

“See. No harm, no foul.”

“This is a little disturbing,” Kurt whispered. Blaine wrapped an arm around Kurt's waist.

“Don't worry. It should only last till Christmas.”

Kurt sighed as Blaine led him to the kitchen.

“What do you think we'll be doing tomorrow?” Kurt asked.

Blaine shrugged.

“I'm not sure. Today was jigsaw puzzle…that starts with ‘j'…that makes tomorrow ‘k'. Kite? Kimono? Kilt?”

“Ooo, kilts! I love kilts!”

“So do I,” Blaine said.

“What are we doing now?” Kurt asked, pulling bowls out of the cabinets and setting them on the counters.

“We're making cookies,” Blaine answered.

“Why?” Kurt asked.

“Fuck if I know,” Blaine said. “We do that a lot in these stories.”

Blaine reached up and started unbuttoning his shirt.

“And apparently I'm going to be baking naked.”

Kurt leaned against the counter and smiled up to the ceiling.

“I wonder who this author is,” he mused. “I think I like her.”