"I didn't really meet Blaine on a blind date," I confessed, putting my head in my hands. It was time for the truth to come out. There was no turning back now.

Burt's brow furrowed in interest as he stepped closer into the room. He pulled the chair from my vanity over and sat next to my bed. "Go on," he said. I looked up at his bemused expression.

"I...he..."

How do I even begin to explain this?

"I...I met him about two weeks ago, while he was playing guitar outside of a club about a block away from my apartment. He didn't have a place to go for the night. I was drunk, and I invited him to spend the night at my place." My gaze kept moving from my bed to my father, trying to find the safest place to keep it.

"Wait...let me get this straight...Blaine was homeless?"

"Blaine is homeless."

"I don't understand."

An exhausted sigh pushed past my lips and I looked down at the fidgeting hands in my lap. "We were never together, Blaine and I. He didn't have a place to stay, so I let him crash on my couch for a while. Rachel called me one day and I made up a lie because I was tired of being the one who was always single, while everyone waved their significant others in my face. I didn't know that she would immediately call you guys with 'the news'."

"You invited a homeless man into your apartment." Burt said, leaning forward in the chair with his elbows resting on his knees. "You let a homeless stranger from the streets of New York City stay in your apartment."

"I was drunk dad, I-"

"You drunkenly invited a homeless stranger from the streets of New York City stay in your apartment."

"He's not psycho, I mean, the beard he had at first kind of freaked me out a little and he kind of smelled but..."

"You drunkenly invited a smelly, bearded, homeless stranger, from the streets of New York City to stay in your apartment."

"Dad, he's not, that's not who he is. You've all gotten to know him. That's not really him, dad."

"And then you brought him home..."

"Can you stop? Please? I know, it sounds...unusual. But please, level with me."

"Why did I ever let you go to New York?" he asked with an ironic smile.

"Dad..."

"What the hell is wrong with you, Kurt?" he finally bellowed, raising his hands in the air and widening his eyes. "Do you know how dangerous that is? Do you know how incredibly stupid it is to let a stranger stay in your home?"

"He's not...he's not like that, dad."

"Yeah, Kurt? Well what if he was like that? You...you...what were you thinking?"

"I wasn't thinking anything...it just...it felt right" My voice rose somewhat, and I finally felt confident in what I was saying. "I didn't want to leave him alone."

"I'm sure he would have been fine, Kurt! He made it that far without you."

"No, he wouldn't have been fine, dad, he's..." I sighed, hanging my head in exasperation as I rubbed my eyes. "He's really important to me now. I...I don't regret what I did. I've helped him."

"What, am I supposed to expect a random homeless person to come home with you every time you come back to Lima?"

"Blaine is just...he's special. That's the only way I know how to describe it. He's special to me."

Burt seemed to be calming down, rubbing his temples in a similar way that I was. "So you developed feelings for the guy?"

"I...yes."

"And now he's not here because..."

"Because he said that he loved me..." I answered.

Burt eyes widened in shock as he took what I said in. He sat there for a while, leaning forward in his seat. He pressed his palms together and rested his pointer fingers against his lips.

"...and then I didn't say it back," I added as an afterthought.

"Well that explains the note." Silence settled between us as I waited for my father to take everything in. "So what are you going to do about it?" he asked.

"There's nothing I really can do about it, dad. He's not here."

"Do you know where he might have gone?"

"I have no idea."

I sighed for what seemed like the millionth time that morning and let myself fall back onto my bed. My head landed on Blaine's pillow, and his scent surrounded me again. I stared at the ceiling as the smell filled my lungs. My mind tried yet once more to come to terms with the fact that he had left me. Maybe if I googled the 'Anderson' name I could find out where his parents lived, just in case he decided to finally go back home. However the more I thought about it, the more I was sure that Blaine wouldn't go running back to his parents. In fact, I'm almost certain that it's the last place he would go.

"Is there any way I can help?" my dad inquired, standing up from the chair and pulling it back to my vanity.

"Not unless you have some sort of GPS tracker on him," I replied.

"Well, do you want to come over to the garage with me? There's an old minivan that this guy gave me last week. It's been a real tough clunker. You wanna help me out with it?"

"I think I'm just going to stay here for a little bit and try to get some more sleep." I rubbed at my forehead as Burt nodded, making his way out of the room, looking dejected.

The fact that I hadn't spent any time alone with him at all this week suddenly hit me in the face.

"Dad?" I said quickly.

"Yeah kiddo?"

"I'll stop by later, I promise."

His features seemed to lighten a bit as he nodded again, before closing the door lightly and heading back up the stairs.

I was extremely grateful to discover that Finn had a day off from the shop. The last thing I needed was him asking question after question about where Blaine was - why I wasn't spending the day with Blaine - whether or not we had made up - or whether or not I had told him that I loved him. Spending the day alone with my father was a huge blessing in disguise. That afternoon was filled with comfortably mindless chatter, small stories about New York, and what had happened in Lima for the past month or two. I was able to get my mind off of everything and only focus on one thing, finding out why a freaking engine won't stop making an incredibly obnoxious squealing noise. I didn't even mind the awful country music playing in the background. It was unfamiliar, and it didn't remind me of reality in the slightest.

We finally found the source of the problem, sharing a victorious cheer paired with a high five before we got to work on solving it. An hour later the minivan was running perfectly. My dad and I wiped our oily hands on a rag, grabbed water bottles, and tiredly plopped ourselves into the lawn chairs located in the corner of the shop.

"It's alright if I told Carole about Blaine, right?"

I looked up, my eyes widened and my mouth open as I stared back at my dad.

"You're not upset with me, are you?" he asked, looking worried.

"No, no of course not. I mean...it's probably good that she knows. I'm kind of glad I didn't have to tell her myself. Telling you wasn't exactly the easiest thing to do..." We both took another drink of water and stared at the minivan in the middle of the shop. The music in the background filled the silence as we rested there.

"Are you ready to go back to New York?"

I chuckled ironically for a second or two, slouching back in my chair. "Not at all," I said, "but I don't really have a choice. There's a mandatory rehearsal tomorrow night."

"Will you be alright, driving that whole way by yourself?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine."

"WON'T SOMEBODY COOOOOMME OOOOON INNNN, TUG IN MY SEEEAAAAMS? OH SEND YOUR AAAARRRRMIES IN OF ROBBERS AND THEIIIIIIIIVES TO STEAL THE STATE I'M IN!"

I scream-sang to an empty car, my face contorted in a ridiculous ugly-cry-face as I drove down the freeway.

"I DOOOOOOON'T WAAAAAAAAANT IT ANYMOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!"

No one knows what real solitude is like until they've driven by themselves for a significant amount of time. Then, and only then, will you find out the true depths of your personality. You're locked in a steel cage, forced to concentrate on the road in front of you, left alone to your own thoughts and whatever happens to be playing on the radio. It's basically like being isolated in a mental institution, except there's no straight jacket or cool pillowed walls. What you end up saying/singing/yelling in an empty car is actually quite shocking. There's a bizarre cycle of pure ridiculousness simply spurting out of your mouth, and then you freak out because you know if anyone else heard the things you were saying, they would probably ship you off to the loony bin.

It was 2 PM on Monday afternoon and I had been driving for eight hours. My iPod was on shuffle, and it seemed to be accommodating to a very wide variety of emotions. One minute I would be singing victoriously along to something self-empowering, like Kelly Clarkson's 'What Doesn't Kill You', and then the next minute I would be screaming depressing Sara Bareilles lyrics at the top of my lungs...just like right now.

"YOU'RE BEGGING FOR THE TRUUUTH, SO I'M GIVING IT TO YOUUUU," I sang out obnoxiously, blatantly ignoring the soft tone of the voice on the track, "I'VE BEEN SAVING YOUR PLAAAACE. BUT WHAT GOOOD DOES IT DO? NOW I'M JUST A BASKET CAAASE!"

The song died down with a final strum of a guitar and buzz of a harmonica. The silence was loud, and my heart clenched with memories of Blaine and feelings of lamentation.

"Oooh, you bastard," I said out loud, waiting for the next song to start.

Maybe it would be safer for me to just listen to an audio book or something.

Another two hours later I was seriously running low on energy. The song 'Unchained Melody' had just been blasting through the speakers (seriously, why the hell do I even have that song?). It had made me an emotional mess, and I pulled into a truck stop so I would be able to stretch my legs. I wiped at my eyes hurriedly before I got out of the car, trying to hide all signs of the rivers that were previously rushing down my face.

It wasn't a very large rest stop, and it only consisted of a gas station equipped with a mini-mart and a Dunkin' Donuts. The ever-present need for coffee flashed across my mind and I headed over to the coffee shop first. I never really go to Dunkin' Donuts...so I didn't really have a coffee order ready. Starbucks is usually my coffee shop of choice.

"Can I help you?" the worker behind the counter asked. I realized that I had been staring blankly at the menu for about a minute, not even concentrating on what to order, just simply staring at the words.

"I-um yeah. Can I have a um..." I furrowed my brow, ordering the first thing that popped into my head. "Can I have a plain medium black coffee, please?"

"Sure thing," he said, returning with a cup of coffee thirty seconds later. "That'll be $1.45."

I handed him two dollar bills and thanked him for the drink, putting the change in the small container labeled 'tips'. My stomach rumbled and I walked over to the mini-mart located in the gas station section of the rest stop. As I scanned the row of snacks I haphazardly brought the Styrofoam cup to my lips and took a long sip of the drink. My face scrunched up in distaste when the liquid settled on my tongue, and I looked down at my hand in confusion. What am I thinking? I don't even like black coffee!

Oh.

Medium black coffee...medium drip. I just ordered Blaine's coffee order.

"That fucking bitch," I muttered, closing my eyes as I ran a hand through my hair.

"Excuse me?"

I turned looked up to see a blonde young man with a grey beanie, and thick rimmed glasses staring at me from the other side of the shelf.

"Oh no, I wasn't talking to you!" I replied hastily with wide eyes, "I was talking to...me...?"

"Well you certainly don't look like a 'fucking bitch' to me," the shorter man replied with an outgoing smile.

"Oh, you'd be surprised," I mumbled.

"What was that?"

"What brand of granola bar would you advise?" I spurted out quickly.

Well where the hell did that come from?

The other boy walked over to my side of the isle, a joyous smile lighting up his face. "Well, I really love 'Nature Valley', but the taste can get pretty old if you eat 'em enough. Well, I guess any type of granola bar would get old after a while. Granola is kind of one of those things that you can only stand every once in a while, if ya know what I mean?"

No, I don't know what you mean. Who the hell gets sick of granola?

"Yeah, I know what you mean!" I reassured, trying to figure out why I was still talking to him. "That granola...can't live with it...can't live...without it?" What?

I lifted the cup of coffee back to my lips, forcing down another sip just so I had something to do.

"I'm Chandler, by the way." He reached a hand out to shake, and I hummed in acknowledgement, lowering my drink so that I could return the gesture.

"Kurt."

"So where're you headed, Kurt?"

"Oh, I'm on my way to New York..."

"No way! Me too!" he exclaimed. "My sister and I have tickets to see a show tonight!"

"That's neat, what show?"

"Godspell! I wanted to see Wicked again but my sister said that three times is more than enough and that I should give other shows a chance. Have you seen it?"

"Godspell?"

"No, Wicked."

"Oh, um, I'm kind of...in the show..."

"WHAT?" he practically shrieked. "Where-who do you play?"

"I'm one of the flying monkeys."

"No way!"

"Way..." I answered, and rubbed at the back of my neck.

"Oh my god! This is unbelievable! Who would have thought that I'd meet a Broadway star at a pit stop!"

I laughed a little, extremely flattered. "You're too sweet."

Chandler blushed, looked out the window behind him and then back to me. "I think my sister might kill me if I take any more time, but um...do you think I could possibly get your number?"

My mouth dropped open. This is what he was trying to get at? I...seriously? Wow.

"I um...I would...but" What about... "I'm actually kind of in a relationship right now," I said, shocking myself.

"Oh..." He looked down, smiling ironically. "I should've guessed...a guy as cute as you...I just thought since you were alone and all."

I smiled awkwardly, looking back at the shelf.

"Well I'll um...it was nice to meet you, Kurt."

"You too, have fun at your show. I hear 'Godspell' is really good."

"Yeah I did too," he laughed before walking away. "Bye!"

I waved my hand shortly, gazing back at the shelf for a second. Why did I just say that? I'm obviously single.

Incoming Call from Jackie

I picked my phone up from the compartment beside the driver's seat, pressed the 'accept button and put it on speaker. "Hello?"

"Kurt! Hi, how's your drive?"

"It's going well, I'll be in the city in about a half an hour," I replied.

"Good, good. Am I on speaker?"

"Yes, you are."

"Okay, just wanted to be sure before I said anything that you would get mad at me for." I could hear the smile in her voice. "How are you, Blaine?"

"Blaine's not here," I revealed, and then cursed out loud at the sound of sadness in my voice.

"Well where is he? You didn't forget him at a truck stop, did you?" she joked.

"No he um...he left me."

"He...he left you? Kurt, what..."

"He just...he left. He's not with me anymore."

"Kurt..."

"I'll talk about it when I get back, alright?" I didn't feel like having this conversation over the phone.

"Alright hun...are you okay?" She sounded like she was worried for me.

"I'll be fine, I think."

"I'm at a store a few blocks from your apartment, is it alright if I meet you when you get home?"

"Yeah, that sounds good."

"Okay, I'll see you soon. Drive safe, Kurt."

"Thanks, bye Jackie."

"Bye."

Going home and telling Jackie about what happened felt odd. During the last minutes of my drive, I had predicted that I would probably fall apart as soon as I started to explain what happened, and that I'd end up sobbing and hiccupping in my poor friend's arms. Surprisingly, it didn't happen that way. I told the whole story with only a few tears clouding up my vision. The whole thing was surprisingly calm. Nevertheless, it all seemed to confuse Jackie. She wasn't sure that I could have fallen in love with a man in the matter of a week, especially under our circumstances. I simply shrugged in response, and asked her if she would like to stay and have takeout with me.

Before I knew it, life was starting to go back into its regular swing. Except for school, that is. Wicked rehearsals and the New Year's shows took up half of my time during my first few days back. The only problem was that I had nothing to do with myself during the other half of the time.

"Well where are you, Jackie?" I spoke into the phone, mindlessly walking down 19th street. It had been two weeks since I came back from Ohio. It was Monday, and there was no show scheduled for today.

"Kurt, I told you, I'm babysitting my niece," Jackie replied from the other end of the speaker. "No, Olivia, I said to leave that man alone!" she whispered harshly into the background.

"But you said that we'd hang out today!"

"No Kurt, you asked me if we could hang out today...and then I told you 'possibly'."

"Yes, there's a possibility that I'm desperate."

The freezing wind began to pick up, and I wandered into a pet shop to get out of the cold.

"Darling, there's also a probability that I'll have this four-year-old until 6 tonight," Jackie sighed.

"Okay, so bring her over!" I suggested, my eyes locking on a cage near the front of the store. There sat a tiny chocolate Labrador retriever. He was running around in the plastic cage, chasing a small brown ball from corner to corner, his tongue hanging out in pure happiness.

"What is a preschooler going to do in your apartment for the next five hours?" she asked mockingly.

"Actually...I have something she might like." The puppy suddenly looked up at me, leaving the ball to roll to the other side of the cage. His tail started wagging, and he quickly ran over to the side closest to the aisle, jumping up so his front paws rested against the glass.

"It better not be a blown up condom."

"Jackie!" I exclaimed. Suddenly a little girl's voice traveled in from behind Jackie asking what a condom was and I burst into silent laughter.

"Something very, very top secret that only adults can know about," Jackie responded to her niece. "Kurt, are you sure about this?"

"Yes, absolutely," I affirmed, reading over the dog's description that was taped to the cage.

"I WANNA KNOW ABOUT CONDOMS," four-year-old Olivia shrieked from the other side of the line. Jackie furiously shushed her, and then aggressively gave a reminder that they were in public.

"That's what you get for bringing sexual innuendos into the conversation."

The preschooler began shouting the word 'condoms' over and over again, and I can only imagine what Jackie's face must have looked like.

"Kurt I can't really talk right now."

"Alright honey, be at my apartment in an hour!"

"No con-balloons!"

"No rubber things of any kind, you have my word," I replied with a laugh.

"Not funny," she responded, sounding out of breath. "Bye Kurt."

"Bu-bye." I pressed 'end call' and went over to the cashier's desk. The bored looking teenage boy who was manning the store looked up from his phone. "How much for the chocolate lab over there?" I asked.

Twenty minutes later I was walking out of the shop holding a leash, and a large bag of dog food. The small puppy's tail was wagging back and forth so fast that his butt waved excitedly as we began down the street. I smiled down at him, watching as his small paws tapped against the concrete sidewalk.

Kurt and Blaine sat by the fire, with fleece blankets still over their laps and mugs of hot apple cider still in their hands. Puck and Artie were lazily plucking rhythmic chords on their guitars while everyone else stared at the fire and talked.

"So Blaine," Rachel said, "tell us how you convinced Kurt to get a dog. Finn told me about Hector and I just can't believe it."

"It's not like I hate animals, Rachel," Kurt defended.

"No, but we've talked about this before, Kurt. It was back in September. I said that it must be lonely living in an apartment in NYC all by yourself and I suggested that you get a little puppy or kitty. And then you said that you already had enough things to stress about and you didn't think that adding an animal to that would make it any better," Rachel explained.

The brunette quirked his lips to the corner of his mouth as he tried to figure out how to respond. Before he could elaborate on anything, Blaine answered for him.

"Yeah, he told me that too," the curly haired man said, smiling at Kurt in a fake-reminiscence. "But I dragged him into this pet shop one day and we both just absolutely fell in love with the dog. The next thing we knew, we were scooping dog poo off of the kitchen floor."

Kurt found himself grinning at the made-up story, making eye contact with Blaine. "And there you have it."

"And I named him Hector," Blaine added.

"PUPPY!" Olivia cried out when she and Jackie walked into my apartment. She immediately ran over to where the dog was sitting on the living room carpet. The Labrador's ears perked up in alarm, and he backed away to the other side of the couch. The little girl then proceeded to chase him all around the apartment, creating an odd game of tag. She was always 'it', of course.

"Kurt?" Jackie said hesitantly as she closed the door and put her bag on the floor. "When did you get that?"

"Oh, about an hour ago," I responded, watching Olivia giggle while she chase the dog into the kitchen.

Jackie gave me an estranged look. "You didn't do this for her, did you?"

I held my chin up in innocence and sat down slowly on my leather couch. "No...I just...felt like getting a puppy."

"Ohhh, I see." Jackie walked into the room and sat down on the other seat. "So this is about Blaine."

I scoffed, although I knew perfectly well that she was right. "Why would this be about Blaine?"

"Well, I mean, everyone needs a little bit of companionship." She flared her hands as she talked. "You know, man's best friend and all. Plus, I can totally see the parallels with the whole 'in need of a home' thing."

"So I can't just buy a dog without there being some kind of psychological back-story?"

"Nope," Jackie replied, "not when your name is Kurt Hummel."

"Now that's just discrimination."

"No, that's just honesty."

I sighed and sat back in the sofa, letting myself sink down into the cushions. "I know," I whined in defeat. Jackie grinned and leaned her head against her palm in satisfaction.

A moment later Olivia chased the dog back into the room, causing the puppy to scamper over and jump onto my lap. I couldn't help but smile as I combed my fingers into his soft dark fur and scratched his back.

"So what's his name?"

"Hector."

Jackie looked at me strangely. "Hector?"

"Yep," I responded, holding the puppy up by the sides and making baby faces at him.

She stared at me, her eyebrows bent in confusion before he she held up her hands in defeat. "You know what? I'm not even going to ask why. It's probably some kind of sex-safety word between you and Blaine."

I gave her an aggravated look and settled the dog back onto my lap. Just as an excellent comeback popped into my head, little Olivia started talking, no longer distracted by the newborn pup. "What's a sex-safety word?" she asked in her purely innocent four-year-old voice.

Jackie raised a hand to her forehead, looking completely horrified. I couldn't help but laugh.

"You know, I think you might be my favorite preschooler in the city," I commented as I put Hector down on the floor for her to play with again.

"You," Jackie said, pointing at me, "don't encourage this." She looked back at Olivia, wearing her best 'disciplining aunt' face. "Those are very special grown up-words that you shouldn't repeat to anyone...especially mommy," she added.

"Like 'condom'?"

"Just like 'condom'!" I declared with a wide smile before Jackie could speak. "Good job, honey!"

"No! Kurt, shut up." Jackie demanded.

"'Shut up' isn't nice," Olivia protested, frowning in disapproval.

"You're right, Olivia, it isn't." I agreed with a similar frown. "I believe you owe me an apology."

"I'm sorry, Kurt," she growled through gritted teeth. "Now Olivia, you have to promise me that you won't say any of those words anymore."

"But you say them," the four-year-old retorted.

"Yes, but I'm a grown up."

Olivia crossed her arms. "I wanna be a grown up," she pouted, "with condoms and safety-sex words."

I let out a breath of air in shock, my mouth twisting upwards in amusement.

"Olivia! I told you not to say those things!" Jackie scolded. The small girl still wore a deeply offended frown. "You have to promise me that you won't say them."

"Will you buy me cookies?"

"Yes, I will buy you cookies," she sighed. "But you have to promise."

"Okay!" the little girl concurred with delight, then went to go play with the dog.

"This is entirely your fault." Jackie accused, rubbing her forehead with both hands.

I chuckled, stretching out on the couch and relaxing. "No Jackie, I think the blame goes to your lack of a mouth filter."

My school courses started up again a week later, and it didn't take long for me to get drowned in a heavy load of stress. Every part of me was thrown was thrown into going to school full time, doing eight shows a week, and taking care of Hector.

Mornings were full of lectures, afternoons were full of homework and trips to the dog park, and nights were full of leotards and costume makeup.

Having a dog was really nice, though. There was always someone to cuddle with (partly because Hector demanded them and...who doesn't love cuddles?).

In the back of my mind I knew that I was trying to replace Blaine. Often on late nights, I would immediately plop myself down at the empty kitchen counter to eat. Loneliness frequently settled in during meals. I'd find myself gazing at my fork and playing with my food, memories of dinners with Blaine floating through my head. A shallow ache would settle inside my rib cage and just linger there as I stared into space. Before I knew it, I would end up wiping away tears, with my head in my hands in frustration.

Those were also times when Hector really came in handy. He'd eventually figure out that I had food with me and come running to my feet, putting on his best sad-face and leaning his head against my leg. It was a distraction when I really needed it. Cuddle sessions after dinner weren't really forced upon me.

"Kurt, can I talk to you real quick?"

I lifted my head up to see Wayne, our choreographer, walking up to me as I strapped the special flying monkey boots on. Immediately, my posture stiffened, and I stood up straight, giving him my full attention. Oh god, was he firing me? Please please please please don't tell me I'm losing this job.

"Um...yeah, sure. What's up?"

"How have you been doing, with this whole Broadway scene? I know that you haven't done a show before, and I just wanted to see how you're adjusting."

"Oh." I internally breathed a sigh of relief. "I-I'm doing grea-"

"WAYNE!" someone called from backstage.

"HOLD ON A MINUTE!" he yelled behind him, then turned back to me. "How about we talk about this next Tuesday before the show? We can go to a get coffee or something and we'll talk about your career as a monkey."

I smiled hesitantly, not really sure if he was making a joke with the whole 'monkey' thing. "Uh-um yeah, sure. That's fine."

Wayne gave me a thumbs' up and a quick smile and turned around. "Just give your cell number to Lucy and she'll give it to me later," he yelled behind him as he walked away quickly.

I'm going out to coffee next week with the choreographer of the Broadway show Wicked.

Okay.

The coffee shop that Lucy told me to go to was quite large, larger than most New York City coffee shops. It was like a Starbucks 2.0. It had a separate café, a sea of tables and couches, even desks in a corner for studying. God, why didn't I find this place earlier? It is the perfect place to do homework.

My head kept imagining Wayne walking in and saying that I wasn't good enough for Broadway, and telling me that they found another dancer. I bounced my leg nervously off the ball of my foot as I waited. I was sitting alone at a booth in thing corner, tapping on the glass mug filled with mocha in front of me. Glass mugs. Now that's classy. I could definitely get used to this place.

"Sorry I'm late," Wayne said as he dropped his things in the seat across from me. He looked awfully stressed out, but smiled at me once he got situated. "Hi, Kurt."

"Hello," I responded, still very nervous.

"How was your holiday week off?"

"It was good, fine." Did that sound passive?

"Good, that's great," Wayne slouched suddenly, and sighed. "Look, Kurt, I know that I haven't talked with you at all about this job since I hired you. I'd like to apologize for that. These past couples of months have been kind of stressful, as you probably know. This whole process with you has been completely unconventional. I mean, I know I've never heard of a college student getting into a Broadway show for anything more than an internship in costume design. This is very much a 'lucky' situation on your part."

For the love of god, please don't fire me.

"You've been doing a surprisingly splendid job, especially with not having a lot of background in theatre and dance." Wayne continued. "I've heard nothing but good things from the rest of the cast and your fellow flying monkeys. So, good job with that. Keep up the good work."

"Thank you," I said in a small voice, not really believing what I was hearing.

"Basically I just wanted to know how you feel about being in the show. You never had a proper interview."

"Oh, the show? Well I...I love it. I've always adored Wicked and being a part of it is a huge dream come true." Wayne looked at me with a smirk, like I was saying exactly what he expected to hear. "I'd love to stay for as long as you'll have me."

"Well that's great, Kurt. We're happy to help you with your start in the theatre. You've been an excellent monkey."

The sounds of a guitar picking began to play in the background of the shop, and I could feel myself calming down. They're not firing me.

"Alright well, we should head to the theatre soon. I'm going to go get myself a coffee, because god knows I need it."

With that Wayne slipped out of the booth and over to the counter. I gazed down at the cup in my hands, a bright smile starting to form on my face. They really like me.

The guitar picking had turned into strumming when Wayne left, and it finally caught my attention. When I turned to look at where it was coming from my stomach twisted into twenty knots.

There, on the other side of the coffee shop, sitting on a stool, on a small stage, sat Blaine Anderson.

"I ain't looking for a free right home, back to the middle.
I need a new locale.
I need a boy that calls me baby,
I need to know if he can save me.

I need somewhere I can drive all night,
out into the darkness,
follow the headlights down.
I need to know if they can take me,
I need to know if they can save me."

There Blaine was, in all of his glory. He crooned into the microphone with his eyes closed, and his hands strumming rhythmically against the guitar strings.

"Focus in every word, change my path.
Maybe I could leave a mark.
Try and prove the poets wrong.
There must be a time.
Maybe we can be the song to march us on."

I recognized the cardigan he was wearing as one of the ones that we bought together at Banana Republic in December. All of the rest of his clothes were new. My heart clenched in relief when I realized that he was obviously doing well. Then it clenched again when I realized that he didn't need me.

"Beg the book to turn the page,
cause I get stuck where the villains get away.
Somewhere in this wretched tale there must be a line,
where the victim gets his way.
Just one time.
Oh, I'll get mine."

I'd never heard him sing like this. Blaine was giving it everything that he had. I couldn't tear my eyes away from him. He had no idea that I was here and he looked so beautifully captivated by what he was singing.

"I ain't looking for a free ride home, back to the middle.
I need a new locale,
I need a boy that calls me baby.
I gotta know if he can tame me.

Drive all night,
yeah baby just hold on tight.
Close your eyes,
yeah and we can say goodbye."

"Oh god, we are late." Suddenly Wayne was back, holding a 'to go' coffee cup and frantically grabbing his things. I was snapped back into reality, watching my choreographer as he hoisted his bags over his shoulder. "Well, don't just stand there! We gotta go!"

I hesitated for a moment, looking back to where Blaine was, quietly strumming in between songs onstage.

I'm coming back, I thought to myself, grabbing my bag to follow Wayne out the door.

Wait for me, Blaine. I'm coming back.