What is that godforsaken noise? Kurt thought to himself, refusing to open his eyes. The noise persisted and it didn't take Kurt long to identify the sound as his ringtone. He blindly groped for his phone on his nightstand. There could only be one person calling him at this time of night after he'd had a near-death experience.

"What is it, Sue?"

"Kurt, how are you?"

"Pissed. What do you want?"

"I see that even with a new lease on life you're still acting like a seventh grade girl in need of an attitude adjustment."

"Sue." Kurt glanced at the clock. 12:45 A.M. Really?

"Listen here, Hummel, I don't want to have this conversation just as much as you do, but Opey insisted that I make sure you were okay with him writing the story."

"Blaine? Really? Why?"

"Because apparently his desire to get in your pants outweighs his desire to be a real journalist."

"What are you talking about Sue?"

"You know what I'm talking about. Just e-mail him a statement and this nightmare will be over."

The line went dead.

Kurt groaned and rolled back into a supine position. Stupid, annoying Blaine. He reached back to the nightstand for his laptop and hammered out (he may have used more force than necessary while typing) a statement concerning the events of the evening. By 1:07, the e-mail had been sent and Kurt was struggling to get back to sleep. Kurt desperately yearned to return to his Mr. Perfect-filled dreams, but there was one nagging thought that prevented him from resuming his not-so-squeaky clean thoughts about himself, Mr. Perfect, and some glittery ice palace.

There's no way Blaine has those kinds of feelings for me…Well, he does follow you around an awful lot…that's just because you're the only one who pays any attention to him…yeah, and look where that got you. Now he's smitten with—HIS CLOTHES ARE TOO UGLY FOR HIM TO BE GAY!

Kurt ended the debate with himself with that last statement and he willed himself to sleep, although this time his dreams weren't fully of steamy love-making. All Kurt dreamt of was falling.

0-0-0

"Superman saves the day!" Sue read out loud. It was the next morning, and the editor-in-chief had assembled most of the paper's staff to discuss how they were going to proceed covering the 'Caped Wonder' or the 'Blue Bomb' that had saved Kurt and Puck's life last night. Only The Planet had been audacious enough to give him a name.

"Superman?" Kurt repeated.

"It-it's a reference to Nietzsche," Blaine piped up with his explanation from where he was standing in the back corner of Sue's office.

"Oh yes, the uneducated masses are totally going to get that," Kurt muttered to Artie Abrams, one of The Planet's photographers.

"Well, at least it explains that 'S' on his chest," he whispered back.

"Wasn't he a Nazi?" Brett asked aloud.

"Actually," Blaine began to correct him in typical nerd fashion. "He was a German philosopher, who, in the—"

"Hey, Specs McGee, guess what? I could care less who this Nitchy-guy is. All that matters is that the name's simple, catchy, and we came up with it. Now look, I want the name Superman and The Daily Planet to go together like bacon and eggs, death and taxes, Sue Sylvester and victory, Kurt Hummel and skinny jeans!" Kurt scowled at his boss as a few of his colleagues snickered. Sue pressed on undeterred. "We're sitting on top of the story of the century here! Our only problem is how to get it exclusively. I want the inside dope on the real Superman—who is he? Where's he from? Boxers or briefs? What's his stance on implementing caning into nursery schools? And I'll tell you one thing, boys and girls—whichever one of you gets it out of him will have the single most important interview since Oprah drove Tom Cruise psycho."

The entire room remained silent as they processed the magnitude of their editor's remarks.

"What the hell are you all standing around for? Get to work, you sloppy babies!" Sue commanded. The journalists instantly dispersed.

0-0-0

"Do you think Blaine Anderson has a crush on me?" Kurt asked Mercedes and Tina, before taking another drag from his Marlboro Light. It was their coffee break, and the three reporters had slipped out of the office for a much needed Smoking and Gossip Session. Kurt especially needed a breather. All day his mind had been clouded with exhilarating memories of last night and silent prayers to Alexander McQueen that Blaine was not gay and not interested in him.

"And by 'think' do you mean 'know beyond a shadow of doubt'?" Mercedes retorted.

Kurt grumbled and buried his face in the hand that wasn't holding his cigarette while the girls giggled. "He cannot be gay! He never irons his shirts, his glasses aren't even square-framed, and he likes Katy Perry way too much to play for my team."

"And yet, he spends his entire day making puppy dog eyes at you across your desks," Mercedes intoned.

"Ugh," Kurt huffed, his exhalation made visible by the smoke from his cigarette. "This would happen to me. I always fall for straight guys, but when someone finally falls for me, I wish he was straight."

"Oh come on, Kurt, he's cute in a Steve-Urcle kind of way," Tina tried to help.

Kurt didn't dignify what she said with a verbal response, but rather shot her his bitchiest deadpan stare.

Mercedes sighed in exasperation "Honestly, Kurt, I don't know why you're obsessing over this—"

"I am not obsessing—"

"—so white boy has a thing for you, who cares? If I were you, The Daily Planet's top reporter, I'd be more concerned with how you're going to see Superman again and get that interview."

Mercedes had a point; Kurt did have a penchant for over-dramatizing the situation. Plus, he really should be working on ways to reunite with Superman for professional and ashamedly personal reasons. Maybe I should pretend to drown…yes! Then he would have to give me mouth-to-mouth resuscitation! No no, I should almost freeze to death so then we'd have to get naked to conserve body heat…Nevertheless, Kurt felt a twinge of bitterness and jealously at her words. It took a considerable amount of his self-restraint to blurt out Easy for you to say! and ignite an argument with his two closest friends. But the truth was, it was easier for them to dismiss Blaine's feelings for Kurt. Tina had gotten married straight out of college, and Kurt knew for a fact that Sam, Mercedes' very own Adonis-replica, had begun to shop for engagement rings. Kurt on the other hand, was completely alone. Sure, he dated here and there, yet he sacrificed any sort of epic romance for the advancement of his career. Kurt had become such a workaholic that, to him at least, it actually was a big deal for someone to be interested in him. But like always, Kurt repressed those feelings of loneliness to agree with his friend. His soon to be engaged friend.

"You're right, Mercedes," Kurt surrendered, taking one last drag from his cigarette before letting it fall to the ground and stamping it out. "Thanks for the tough love.""

"Anytime, Boo," Mercedes told him. She and Tina extinguished their respective cigarettes and the trio returned back to the office.

0-0-0

Kurt decided that the best way to deal with Blaine's boy-crush on him was to act natural, like nothing out of the ordinary had happened. That more difficult than it seemed, especially since Blaine had chosen today to be more bothersome and meddling than usual. Kurt was returning to his desk after his rooftop pow-wow with Mercedes and Tina when he bumped into Blaine.

"Sorry, Kurt!"

"It's okay, Blaine," Kurt told him, stooping over to help Blaine collect that stack of papers that he had dropped when he and Kurt had collided.

"So, are you feeling okay after last night?" Blaine asked Kurt, straightening back up and adjusting his glasses. "I'm sure it was pretty scary, I mean, I know I would…" Blaine trailed off, his features contorting with disgust, then turning almost comically solemn. Even his tone of voice had become more serious and hushed. "Kurt, you smell like smoke."

"Yeah, that's probably because I was smoking all of five minutes ago."

"Buh-but, smoking's bad for you!" Blaine protested like a fifth-grader who'd just completed his D.A.R.E. brainwashing in health class.

Kurt rolled his eyes. He really didn't have time to defend his life choices that were really none of Blaine's business. "Don't tell me. Lung cancer, right?"

"Not just lung cancer! Throat cancer, stomach cancer, kidney cancer…not to mention heart disease and leukemia—"

"Blaine," Kurt cut him off, his voice beginning to betray his irritation. "I realize you're just trying to be a good friend, but what I chose to do on my coffee breaks really isn't any of your business. I don't know what you do on your coffee breaks and frankly, I don't really care, and I'd appreciate it if you spared me the lecture."

"I know you may not want to hear it—"

"Then why don't you just shut up and leave me alone!"

Kurt's exclamation merited a few irked glares from nearby co-workers. He hadn't really intended for his words to come out so loudly and acerbically, but the look on Blaine's face ensured that the damage had been done. He resembled some sort of baby animal that had just been kicked.

"Blaine…" Kurt began, searching for something to say.

The reporter held up his hand to stop him. "No Kurt, I understand. I just thought…I'm going to go file these."

Kurt flopped back into his desk chair, anger, guilt, and confusion all swimming around in his head. I should apologize…but I don't want to apologize! He was the one who brought the whole smoking thing up in the first place…who are you kidding Kurt? You know smoking isn't exactly good for you…yeah well, I'm going to quit because Blaine fucking Anderson told me to. I'll just wait until I meet a guy worthy of me considering quitting, like Carrie and Aiden in Sex and the City…and when exactly do you plan on meeting this guy? Because let's be honest, Blaine fucking Anderson seems to be the only guy in this city who wants a piece of you…no, don't think of Superman. Superman is so totally straight. You saw that outfit, those color choices…well, the boots were actually pretty gay…ugh I'm getting off topic! I should probably apologize to Blaine after he comes back from filing…Gaga, I hope I didn't make him cry, that would make me feel shittier than I already do. Why do you even care, Kurt? This little quarrel could be your escape route. Just think, no more yammering into your ear when you're trying to get work done, no more forcing yourself to be polite, no more pretending that the 42nd Street subway stop is yours…No, as annoying as he is, Blaine's a nice gay—guy and you owe it to him…you know what? Stop dwelling on it. You're giving yourself a headache over this and you need to get back to work…you'll figure it out later.

Kurt spend the remainder of the day fantasizing perils that Superman could save him from, and then how he would casually transition into the interview, and then casually transition into activities that didn't involve so much talking. Back in the real world, he didn't so much as make eye contact with Blaine when he returned to his desk and left five minutes earlier than usual to avoid any awkward elevator situations.

The trip home was strangely quiet without Blaine's blabbering. He wouldn't admit that he missed it, but it felt…different from what he'd grown accustomed to. All evening, Kurt couldn't shake the lingering guilt he felt about telling off Blaine. Even the sodium-packed Chinese food and Tyra Banks' insanity on TV didn't help. Another night of Blaine-induced restless sleep passed.

The next morning however, when Kurt arrived at his desk, he found a box of Nicorette resting on top of it with a note that was signed: A concerned friend