“Blaine Anderson, put that shirt down now,”

Blaine practically jumped when he heard his boyfriend’s reprimanding command coming from the other side of the clothes rack. The shorter boy frowned and held out the red collared shirt he had just picked out, examining the article of clothing with hesitation. Kurt hurried toward Blaine, abandoning the pair of designer jeans he had been carefully scrutinizing.

“What’s wrong with it?” Blaine asked with a sigh.

“I blame Dalton for completely ruining your subconscious color palette,” Kurt explained bluntly. Blaine tilted his head to the side. “All you ever wear is red or navy! You should demand a refund on your education for their adverse effect on your style choice.”

Blaine promptly set the shirt back on the rack. He didn’t want to argue with Kurt about clothes—he knew for a fact he would lose that particular battle. Instead, Blaine held his hands up in mock-surrender and continued to make his way down the rack, making sure to drastically avoid any various shades of navy or red he encountered. Perhaps it was the pure exhaustion of he and Kurt’s five-hour shopping trip that was making him so blatantly compliant. Shopping with Kurt for any period of time—Blaine was convinced—would have the same draining effect on even the most style-craven of individuals. Blaine had always considered himself more akin to shopping than most males his age, but, as it turns out, he didn’t even know what shopping was until Kurt saw the word ‘sale’ in big red letters in the window of Bloomingdale’s that morning. Entering the store and watching Kurt make a mad dash toward the scarves reminded Blaine of a scene from Discovery Channel in which a hungry lion easily chased down a wounded gazelle.

“Maybe we should try another store,” Blaine offered politely as Kurt went back to the jeans. “This one seems a little…pricey.”

Kurt gave a short laugh. “You can’t expect to find designer brands in the clearance section.”

Blaine exhaled and aimlessly stroked the sleeve of a cashmere sweater. “Well, then maybe we shouldn’t be looking at any designer brands.”

Kurt froze dangerously.

“Just saying,”

“I’m majoring in Fashion Design, Blaine,” Kurt pleaded, once again ignoring the jeans and slowly approaching his too-practical boyfriend. “I can’t show up on the first day of classes wearing anything less than fabulous! Especially if I want some killer teacher recommendations for my Vogue internship.”

Blaine smiled an affectionate and crooked smile. “Fashion Design is about more than just the clothes, you know.”

“Like what?” Kurt snorted disbelievingly.

“Like personality. And individualism. And not being afraid to express who you really are,” Blaine answered assuredly. His smile widened at the sight of his boyfriend blinking speechlessly at his words. “Three things I happen to know you’re very good at.”

Kurt was quickly reduced to a dumbfounded mess. His ocean eyes narrowed at Blaine’s own warm hazel ones until he finally regained his wits. Turning away on his heel, Kurt grumbled, “Sometimes I hate that you’re so smart.”

Blaine laughed and began following behind Kurt as he circled a different rack of clothes. “You should stop stressing about that internship and school. Everyone’s going to love you—I’m sure of it. Besides, classes don’t start for another week. Let’s just enjoy this free time while we have it.”

“How are you so relaxed?” Kurt spun around and stared accusingly at Blaine’s casual grin. “You’re going into Pre-Med—a curriculum that I’m sure requires much more exertion and focus than Fashion Design—and I haven’t heard you complain or worry about it once!”

The dark haired boy shrugged as he leaned against a rack. “I guess it hasn’t really sunken in yet.”

“Well, when it does finally ‘sink in’,” Kurt began with biting force. “Don’t come crying to me if you need a little retail therapy, too!”

Blaine bit his bottom lip to stifle his amusement. Kurt was undoubtedly the most adorable person he has ever met and these short-tempered ‘diva fits’ were quickly becoming one of the many lovable quirks that Blaine found so endearing about the boy.

Kurt suddenly pulled his iPhone out of his pocket and scowled at the small device. “Oh, for the love of—“

“What’s wrong?” Blaine asked.

“Finn isn’t returning any of my calls,” Kurt complained bitterly as he tapped against the phone’s screen. He swiftly brought it to his ear. “I think he knows I know and doesn’t want to deal with the repercussions of neglecting to tell me everything that happened! I lost count on how many voice mails I’ve left him today—“

Kurt’s phone beeped with yet another voice mail request.

“Hello, Finnegan,” Kurt sneered into the phone. “This is your doting stepbrother…calling for the millionth time. I would suggest calling me back immediately unless you want your entire wardrobe to be de-flannelled and your eyebrows to be tweezed by force. Talk to you soon!”

The slender brunette stuffed his phone back into his pocket with a groan and returned to the clothes. Glancing around the store, Blaine’s eyebrows came together concernedly.

“Hey, Kurt, have you seen Rachel?” He wondered.

“She’s probably still in the women’s department,” Kurt replied without looking up from the price tag of a sequined jacket.

Blaine briefly scanned the store again. “I don’t know…it’s been a while and she hasn’t texted or anything.”

“Don’t worry, she’s probably busy scrounging the store for any grandma sweaters or outrageously patterned tights,” Kurt giggled to himself and used his empty hand to grab Blaine’s. His other arm was preoccupied with carrying a large stack of clothes that seemed to have significantly increased in size since the last time Blaine checked. He led Blaine toward the dressing rooms. “Come with me while I try these on!”

In Rachel’s opinion, searching through endless racks of clothes that were well out of her price range was not the most ideal way to spend a beautiful summer day in New York City. Instead, the small brunette decided to leave her roommates in Bloomingdale’s and explore the city streets on her own. Her decision—she quickly realized—was a beneficial one. She had long left the Garment District and now found herself approaching the sparkling, noisy, tourist-filled streets of Times Square.

She paused to inhale the dangerously polluted yet—in her mind—star-studded air of the city, staring reverently upward at the musical billboards hanging from the tops of buildings. Billboards that, one day, she knew, would have her face on them. Times Square hadn’t changed much since last year when she and the rest of New Directions flew in for Nationals. The excitement, the energy, and the radiance still seemed to pulse through the atmosphere. Her eyes cast downward just as something in the distance captured her gaze.

In the middle of the square, a small stage was situated amongst a sea of passersby. Music blared out of the speakers that flanked either side of the makeshift platform, echoing through the buildings and alleyways. The band suspended their final note just as the singer ended the song, prompting a low, polite applause from the sparse audience surrounding the foot of the stage. Rachel’s eyes widened with desire.

“Thanks for listening, everybody,” The male singer spoke into the microphone. The speakers buzzed as his voice amplified. “I think that about wraps it up for today unless anyone wants to—“

“Excuse me!” A slightly shrill voice called out from somewhere in the crowds of people. The singer squinted across the throng just in time to notice a small brunette girl pushing her way toward the front of the stage almost desperately. Before he could protest, Rachel had climbed onto the stage and leaned forward so that the microphone picked up her voice as well. “Hello, my name is Rachel Berry. I just moved here from Ohio and I’m going to be a freshman at New York University, majoring in Theatre. I would like to perform a number, too, if you don’t mind.”

Rachel beamed a bit overzealously out to the audience while the singer stammered in bewilderment. This was one of the many reasons why Rachel adored New York City—impromptu performances in the middle of the street were commonplace among natives. This was Rachel’s moment to shine. This was her chance to show the entire city how extraordinarily talented she was. These passersby would have no choice but to listen to her song being amplified through the speakers.

“Uh, well…” The singer tentatively scratched the back of his head full of shaggy blond hair. He glanced over his shoulder at his band mates who merely shrugged as a response. “Sure, babe, give it a whirl.”

The singer stepped off the platform and Rachel immediately moved center stage, gripping the microphone stand with determination. She flashed another award-winning grin at the small crowd before spinning around to glance at the band domineeringly. “’Breakaway’ by Kelly Clarkson.”

The band started playing the introduction and Rachel inhaled slowly, briefly closing her eyes before she began doing what she does best: sing.

Rachel could hear her voice being projected throughout the city and, for a while, it seemed like it completely overpowered the sounds of traffic. Her crystal clear tone vibrated against the street lamps and bounced along the sides of buildings until she was certain everyone in Times Square could hear her singing.

The audience had grown quite a bit since Rachel began singing. People walking by would stop in their tracks as soon as her sweet tone passed through their ears and join the gathering crowd that had now situated themselves near the edge of the stage. Strangers stared up at Rachel with impressed, moved eyes.

A very tall and very slim man caught Rachel’s attention in the crowd. His hair was hidden under a black fedora and he wore a crisp gray suit with a pink tie. His arms were crossed tightly across his chest, but his eyes were kind as they watched Rachel sing. Standing with statue-esque stillness, the man smiled up at Rachel as they made perfect eye contact.

The final note drifted into the soft air and then disappeared with a lingering impression. Almost immediately afterwards, the crowd—that had now grown to a significant size—roared with cheers and applause for the young singer. Beaming, Rachel stepped to the side of the microphone and bowed to her Times Square fans. The previous male singer stepped back onto the stage, clapping along with the others. Rachel quickly leaned toward the mic again.

“Thank you all so much!” She giggled. Her eyes suddenly flickered toward the man she had spotted earlier. He stood in the same place as before and still had his gaze fixed upon Rachel. She returned the man’s grin as she walked off the stage, watching carefully as he approached her once the crowd began dispersing around him.

“Rachel Berry, is it?” The man asked. His voice sounded like a low hum.

Rachel’s eyelids fluttered excitedly. “Yes, that’s me.”

The man with friendly eyes smiled again and extended a tan hand toward the small brunette. “My name’s Dean Meyers. I’m a talent agent for City Lights Casting Company.”

“I’m sorry—what?” Rachel squeaked, eyes widened to their full extent. “You’re a what?”

“A talent agent,” Dean laughed, nudging his hat a bit further back on his head, revealing a tuft of ebony curls. Rachel dazedly shook his hand. “My company’s central location is in the Manhattan area. I was very impressed with your performance just now.”

Rachel smiled broadly. “You were?”

“Absolutely,” Dean nodded. “I heard you say you’re a Theatre major…does that mean you’re interested in pursuing it as a career?”

“Ever since I was born!” Rachel practically screamed from elation. Dean chuckled again at her enthusiasm, low and brassy. “I’ve been performing for as long as I can remember and I absolutely live for theatre—I eat and breathe it!”

Dean clasped his hand together harmoniously. “That’s excellent because I think you have a lot of potential, Rachel.”

She blinked rapidly. “Y-You do?”

“I mean star potential, too. I have a feeling big things are in store for you,” Dean confirmed, leaving Rachel in a completely awestruck state. She swayed side to side from pure bliss. “Listen, my company just finished some casting calls for a new Broadway musical…I think you’d be perfect for the lead role so I could set up a private audition for you if you’re interested—“

“Yes!” Rachel began jumping up and down, grinning ear to ear shamelessly. “When? And where? Just tell me the date and time and I’ll be there!”

Dean’s friendly eyes squinted in amusement as he reached into his pocket. “It will most likely be around late September,” Dean held out a small business card and Rachel accepted it with a shaky hand. “Shoot me an email sometime next week and I’ll schedule your audition, alright?”

“Oh, thank you! Thank you so much, Mr. Meyers!” Rachel squeezed the card in her hand and stared up at Dean worshipfully. “You’ll definitely be hearing from me! I promise!”

“Great, I look forward to it,” Dean tipped his hat and began walking down the street. “See you soon, Rachel.”

The entire city seemed to come to a screeching halt. The yellow taxis froze in the middle of the street, the food vendors were silenced, and the flashing billboards stopped blinking overhead. All that mattered was that tiny piece of paper in Rachel’s slightly sweaty hand. She wanted to scream at the top of a skyscraper. She wanted to burst into tears of joy in the middle of Times Square. She wanted to race back to Lima and say “I told you so” to everyone who ever denied her or made fun of her.

Because Rachel Berry is finally on her way.