Disclaimer: I do not own Glee or anything pertaining to Glee except my own original ideas. I also don't own the title of this chapter–Dream a Little Dream of Me by the Mamas and the Papas. All rights go to their respective owners.

"Please. This isn't going to work without you," Rachel persisted. For days now, Rachel Berry had been trying–and thus far failing–to convince her long-time friend and loft-mate Kurt Hummel to allow her to put up an ad stating that they were looking for a tenant. They had one extra room they had nothing to do with, and, to make a bit of extra cash, she had come up with the idea to rent it out. But Kurt was adamant.

"Rachel," he said, "there are crazy people in this world. Serial killers, drug addicts. I don't want a crazie living in our loft."

Rachel threw up her hands. "That won't happen! And besides, that could all be avoided because we'd interview the person beforehand to see if they could fit in here." Kurt did not respond, or look at her. "Come on, Kurt. Don't make me beg you anymore. After everything with Finn, I… I really just–" She dropped her gaze to her lap. At this, he returned his hazel eyes to Rachel.

"I know," he murmured. "It's been hard for me too. And I know you want to keep moving forward…" Rachel nodded. "But this isn't Ohio, Rach'."

"I know that, Kurt, really I do. But if it doesn't work out, for some reason such as the tenant really is a psycho killer, I swear to you we will kick them out into the street before they can draw their weapon. Again, that is." She leaned into him, smiling widely, and Kurt snorted, his own lips turning up as well.

"Fine, okay, fine!"

Rachel squealed and jumped to her feet, clapping her hands. "Thank you; thank you; thank you!"

"But if I am killed in the middle of the night by our new roommate I will not hesitate to haunt your ass."

Meanwhile, in a town best known as the home of the Dalton Academy Warblers–or to those not as interested in enjoying life, simply Westerville, Ohio–Blaine Anderson was seated in a meeting, the third of the early day, and he was bored stiff. He sat as attentively as he could manage… which also meant jolting awake at the kick beneath the table he received from his close friend and fellow realtor, Sebastian Smythe. Blaine's head lifted instantly, his eyes opening before he could fully doze off. Sebastian shook his head and grinned at the table before returning his eyes to their boss.

"Sales are down, people," Figgins stated bluntly. "This is a problem. And I know people still live in houses, so why aren't they coming to us?" The 28 year old Blaine rolled his eyes. Maybe because no one here takes any actual interest in what they do… "What was that, Mr. Anderson?"

Sebastian stared at Blaine, who raised his eyes to Figgins and his head from his fist, elbow on the table. He straightened in his swivel chair as he cleared his throat. "Nothing. Sir."

Figgins grunted and continued. "Very well. As I was saying, you all need to pick up the slack around here. We cannot. Go. Down," Figgins said, slapping his hands on the table on each word for emphasis, "because Puckerman Properties has a better looking founder!" He breathed out. "Meeting adjourned."

With another eye-roll, Blaine pushed to his feet, slinging his satchel bag over his shoulder. Sebastian grabbed his arm on the way out. "What's up with you?" he asked.

Blaine shrugged. "Nothing."

"Liar. You've been acting weird for weeks now and it's gonna get you fired." The men stopped walking and Sebastian studied his friend. "Figure it out, alright?" After a moment, Blaine reluctantly nodded; before heading off down the hall Sebastian nodded as well, once, in satisfied return. Blaine shook his head, kicking at the carpeted floor as he made his way to his office.

He had lied. There was something going on with him–he hated his job. Well, rather, he hated where he worked. There was a difference. He enjoyed being a realtor, enjoyed talking to people and moving them into the house that would become, if he was lucky, their home. It was a gratifying feeling, but lately, his job at Figgins Realty was beginning to make him feel like… well, like he was already a middle-aged man with a pot-belly and comb-over dressed in a cheap and sleazy mismatched suit. He never wanted to be that guy. It made him feel gross. And he'd been working so hard with realty he hadn't been to Scandals–the gay bar in West Lima–in weeks, or sung hardly at all, not even in the shower. Even then his mind was crunching numbers. He was drained, and when the work he worked so hard at wasn't making him happy, he couldn't make himself believe that all of it was worth it.

Blaine wanted to make a change. Not like a medical breakthrough but a breakthrough in his life, with himself. He wanted to be the way he used to be, full of hope and ambition. And it wasn't like that was so many years ago–it felt like just yesterday he was a Warbler with dreams of becoming a Broadway star. But life had crushed those dreams, made them feel more like a fantasy than a possible reality, and he had caved to his parents' wishes of a more practical money-offering career. In this case, realty.

But that wasn't enough. He found he didn't care so much about money. What was the point of living if he wasn't living? And sure, that might sound like a cliché beginning to a movie about finding one's self. But that's what Blaine was going to do. Except, he wasn't going to find himself. He was simply going to rediscover himself, the man he used to be. And what better place to do that than in the place where dreams like his weren't thought to be silly, where dancers and singers alike were renowned? What better place than the Big Apple itself?

A/N: Hi! So thanks for reading the first chapter of my new multi-chap! I've recently rediscovered Klaine and have found I love them more than I ever have before. *smiley So here is the result. The 'roommates' thing has probably been done before, but probably not in this specific way. So please leave a comment telling me what you think; it would mean the world. *smiley