It was late, and it was getting cold - colder than usual for an L.A. evening, especially in the summer. Dave tagged along behind Blaine from store to store for the past seven hours with no luck. The trendiest jewelers and boutiques from West Hollywood to Beverly Hills had nothing unique, nothing special, nothing that would come close to being anywhere near perfect for Kurt.

Dave sighed, sympathetic and extremely exhausted, as he watched his frantic friend dash from glass case to glass case, exasperated, with seemingly no hope in sight.

Blaine Anderson - super suave, charming, up-and-coming rock star Blaine Anderson – normally the picture of calm and composure, looked so close to combusting that Dave had started standing at a safe distance. Saleswomen at every store they went to tripped over themselves like lovesick teenagers to help Blaine find what he was searching for, and every time they failed, they looked utterly deflated. Every woman wanted Blaine, and since they knew they couldn't have him, being the one to help him choose the most important purchase of his life might be the next best thing. But Blaine didn't care about their hurt feelings. He didn't care about the fans who gawked openly at his frustration, or the paparazzi who showed up in droves to get photographic proof of what entertainment mags all over had long suspected.

Blaine Anderson would soon be, well and truly, “off the market”.

Dave watched Blaine sift through ring after ring after ring, photogs getting so bold that they came up right next to him to snap his picture. At one point, Blaine asked one for an opinion, not realizing that the man hovering beside him wasn't Dave. Dave sighed, pushing the photographer aside to offer his two-cents, which was, “That one's nice, but I think you and I both know it's not Kurt.” Blaine groaned a pathetic, “You're right,” as he dropped his head to the glass. Dave's heart hurt for the man, this best friend of his that he never actually wanted.

Blaine had reached his wits' end. Their last stop was Tiffany's – Kurt's fantasy, the Alexander McQueen of jewelry stores - and still Blaine found nothing. He gazed desperately in the last case – the absolute and final case of men's rings – his eyes bloodshot, his hair a bedraggled mop, while a perky, strawberry blonde saleswoman leaned provocatively over the glass, watching Blaine with an unashamed, lustful stare. Dave rolled his eyes.

‘Classy,' he thought with a grimace. ‘Shopping for an engagement ring and the poor man still can't catch a break.'

Dave intercepted his frazzled friend, giving a stern nod to the salesperson, silently dismissing the woman, who obnoxiously sidled to the side a grand total of a foot. Dave held Blaine by the upper arms and met his gaze.

“Blaine,” Dave said evenly, “you have to calm down.”

Blaine swallowed hard, shaking his head, sending his mass of unchecked curls flying.

“We're in Tiffany's, Dave. TIFFANY'S for fuck's sake!” Blaine reached up and tugged at handfuls of his own hair, the way he did every time they failed for the past hour. “If I can't find something perfect here…”

“Blaine…relax.”

“No,” Blaine muttered, “you don't understand.” Blaine looked panicked. “I can't find it. It doesn't exist! The perfect ring for Kurt doesn't exist!”

“Blaine…”

“I've checked everywhere, Dave!” Blaine whined, on the verge of hyperventilating. “Every jewelry store in L.A.! Every online store! Website after website for artisans in Europe, and…and…I just can't find it!”

“Blaine…” Dave wasn't a fan of hysterics, but at least he was used to them by now, “it doesn't have to be perfect…”

“Yes!” This time Blaine almost screamed. “Yes, Dave! It does have to be perfect! Don't you understand? It's not just a gift, Dave! It's more than a gift! It's a promise!”

Dave rolled his eyes, but he couldn't shove away the smile on his face.

‘Actors,' he thought. ‘So much drama.' Dave thanked the stars above that he would be representing athletes, though he had to admit that sometimes there wasn't much difference. He was only an intern, not yet an agent, and he had already been privy to quite a few diva tantrums.

“Okay,” Dave said, putting an arm around Blaine and leading him out of the store, the busty clerk huffing behind them, “you need to listen to me for just a moment, okay?”

Blaine nodded. “Okay.”

Dave walked Blaine through the door, past more gawking fans and photographers, down the sidewalk to where Blaine's sports car was parked.

“I think you're right,” Dave said slowly. “I think the perfect ring for Kurt doesn't exist…”

Blaine stopped walking, turning on Dave with a look of complete betrayal. Dave held up a hand to silence him before he could cry or scream again.

“…yet, Anderson. The perfect ring doesn't exist yet.”

“So, what are you saying, Karofsky?” Blaine said, mocking Dave's usage of his last name.

“I'm saying…” Dave continued, nonplussed by his stressed out friend's reaction, “that you're a creative man. Design one yourself.”

Blaine stared at Dave like Dave had suggested the most ludicrous plan ever devised.

“I write songs, Dave,” Blaine said, sounding far beyond distraught. “I don't design rings.”

“Why not?” Dave asked with a shrug, recalling the jacket he himself had tried to design for Kurt a while back, when they first started living together with the kids and Kurt had to sell off his designer suits. It was heartbreaking, but it couldn't be helped. It was either his suits or the rent. Designing that jacket was going to be Dave's grand gesture, to show Kurt how much he cared about him, how much he'd changed. But it turned out to be harder than Dave thought. He never finished. He shoved it under his side of the bed and promptly forgot about it until Eva went snooping around and found it. Kurt thought she had designed it (yes, it was that rough). Kurt smiled his genuine, non-condescending smile for her, and told her it showed real promise. Dave wished he'd had the courage to show it to Kurt himself, always wondering if his reaction would have been the same. Knowing Kurt, it would have been. “And if you think you need help, well, you surround yourself with creative types every day. Get one of them to lend you a hand.”

Blaine quietly considered Dave's suggestion, still with an expression of, “You're insane!” in his eyes, then all at once his face lit up.

“Dave!” Blaine exclaimed with surprise and relief. “That's…that's an amazing idea!” Then his brows shot up higher, disappearing in the curls cascading over his forehead. “And I know exactly who I'm going to go to first for help.”

Blaine giggled maniacally as he unlocked the car doors, stopping a second to pose for one last ridiculous paparazzi photograph while Dave fought for the thirtieth time to squeeze himself inside the cramped car, wondering, as he did so many times, what would his life be like without the excitement of Blaine Anderson.