Dear Kurt,

Here's a blast from the past for you. The first letter you ever wrote me goes a little something like this: "Hi, Blaine. How are you? My mom made me a really great sandwich today for lunch. I can't wait to eat it. It's going to taste so good. Do they have sandwiches where you're from in Pennsylvania? I had to ask my teacher how to spell that because it's long. Ohio is much easier to spell, so you should move here instead. Anyways, I hope you have sandwiches. Bye!" Signed 'Kurt'. Of course, it's riddled with spelling mistakes but I've kept it anyways. Just like all of the letters you've ever sent me. I hope you're well – your favorite time of the year is coming up. Any big plans?

I'll be seeing you,

Blaine

Dear Blaine,

Wow, way to bring back some memories. Can you believe it's been fifteen years since I sent that letter – almost to the day? We've been friends longer than most people have been married nowadays. Thankfully, my spelling seems to have improved since the fifth grade. I mean, I used to write my 'r's backwards for crying out loud. I guess we're just lucky that our teachers forced us to write a pen pal, huh? Yeah, Christmas is right around the corner and unfortunately I'm stuck where I always am: writing obituaries for one of the biggest papers in New York. No one said it was going to be glamorous being a journalist just starting off, but I pictured my career a little less…dead. What about the company? How's that working out for you? I know it was your dream as a kid, so I'm insanely happy that you got the job! First step Tot's Toys, next step the world.

I'll be seeing you,

Kurt

Dear Kurt,

I'm living the dream, I tell you! When I graduated from Penn State, I was so worried that I wouldn't have a job waiting for me – what with the economy and all. But if my father has ever done anything good for me in this lifetime, it was when he introduced me to Mr. Richardson. He and I got along great from the moment we met and he thought I was qualified for a decent job here at the company. So here I am, working my way up. It might sound dull to a journalist, but I'm the head of marketing and publicity. Someday, I want to manufacture my own toy. Seriously, that's my biggest dream and I'm one step closer to it becoming a reality. I'm sorry to hear that writing obituaries isn't exactly lively, but I'm sure if you show loyalty to your section, your boss will be bound to promote you soon. Just don't work too hard or you'll work yourself to death! Then who'll write the obituaries?

I'll be seeing you,

Blaine

"Hummel!" came the sharp call that pulled Kurt out of his daydream.

He shut his laptop quickly, not even bothering to click out of the email from Blaine he'd just been reading for fear that someone had caught him off duty. He looked around and saw no one immediately bearing down on his desk.

"Hummel. Would you get in here?" his boss called from his office at the end of the hall.

Kurt scrambled out of his chair so quickly that he sent it rolling backwards. But he didn't care; he hastened past the other reporters' cubicles to Mr. Graham's office.

"Yes, sir," he said, standing in the doorway of the office.

"Well, don't just stand there. Come in and have a seat," Mr. Graham said, beckoning to an open chair in front of his desk.

Kurt sat down, still extremely nervous as he smoothed down some stray wrinkles in his slacks.

"What can I do for you, sir?" he asked politely.

"How goes the obituary column?" his boss asked conversationally.

Kurt clasped his hands together, trying to think of an honest answer that wouldn't get him fired. "They're a little…dead, sir. But I love every minute of writing for this paper, no matter what it is."

"Loyal to the end," Mr. Graham noted, looking up from his computer. "I like that about you, Hummel. You never complain. You never ask for a raise or a promotion. You do your job and you do it well. Reminds me why we hired you in the first place."

"Oh, well it's an honor, sir."

"Let's cut the pleasantries now," his boss said, swiveling his chair to face Kurt. "You write and you write better than half the staff here. You want a break from the obituaries – don't bother deny it with your feel-good diplomatic responses." He gave Kurt a serious look. "I have a piece for you."

"A piece?" Kurt asked in disbelief. "An actual piece? With living people who are doing something newsworthy right now?"

"Yes, do you want it or not?"

"I'll take it!" he exclaimed with maybe just a tad too much enthusiasm. He cleared his throat awkwardly. "I mean, of course I'll take it, sir."

"Fantastic," his boss replied. He rifled through a few papers on his desk, grabbing the right file folder at last. "Now, it's nothing too exciting. There's a huge toy conference here in New York starting after the weekend and lasting all the way through the next. Find me something to report on – something Christmassy. Christmas, toys, you make the connection and do the math. We have readers who - "

"Eat that holiday crap right up," Kurt finished for him, still teeming with excitement.

"Don't get too excited. Chances are it might bore you out of your mind, but just spin some story – any story."

Kurt was already flipping through the file folder, reading off the names of all the guests in attendance and their corresponding companies. There was the address for the venue, the time and date, press passes, the whole nine yards. He was about to close the folder again when his heart stopped.

"Sir…if you don't mind me asking," he started, his throat running dry, "Is this…the final, confirmed guest list?"

"It is. All the biggest toy companies throughout the nation will be there." He looked up from his desk to see Kurt frozen in his seat. "Is there something wrong, Hummel?"

"Um, I don't think I can do this," Kurt said quickly, practically throwing the file folder back on Mr. Graham's desk. "I'm the wrong person for the job." He felt like he was going to be sick. "Just get somebody else. I can't do it."

"If you're sure…" Mr. Graham said, looking at him strangely. "But keep in mind if you pass up this opportunity, I might not throw another one your way for quite some time – maybe years. But no matter. Bailey!" he called out his door.

"No, wait!" Kurt said. "I'll take it," he decided, snatching the folder back up. "I won't let you down."

"That's what I expect of you," Mr. Graham said, returning back to his business. "Do me a favor and close the door as you leave."

Kurt stood up and raced out of the office, doubling back to close the door he'd forgotten. He sat down at his desk and opened his laptop, redirecting himself to his inbox.

He had an email to send.

Blaine was doing a million things at once. He had his hands full with various toys that hadn't made it out of testing yet, one hand jammed into a baseball mitten and the other clutching several prototypes. He had a pen in his mouth and another one stuck behind his ear as he wandered around his office, attempting to organize himself.

He heard the sound of an incoming email from his desk, so he gave up trying to juggle everything in his arms and plopped down in his chair. With one move of his mouse, he opened up the email alert at the bottom right hand corner of his screen – which was no small feat, seeing how he was using his gloved hand. Still using that hand, he used the edge of the glove to click it open.

There was a clatter as everything he was holding fell to the floor.

The prototype for the newest Nerf football rolled clear across the room and a head popped off of one of the action figures inspired by the latest action blockbuster. The rest of they toys scattered in every direction. If his office hadn't been a mess before, it certainly was after that.

"He knows?" he muttered to himself. "He knows about the conference? How is that…possible?"

He stood up and covered his face with his hands, spinning on the spot in frustration as he looked back at the email still on his screen. Part of him was desperately hoping it would go away - that it was a hallucination of some sort. But, of course, it didn't. Kurt's name in the signature blared up at him.

"That's it, I can't go," he decided with an exasperated shrug. "I can't go. Okay so, 'Mr. Richardson, I can't accompany you to New York.' No, no. 'Mr. Richardson, something urgent has come up and I can't…' That sounds stupid. 'Mr. Richardson, for reasons I had not foreseen, I won't be able to fly up to New York…'"

"Anderson," a gruff voice greeted him from his office door.

Blaine spun around, a hand still in his hair. "Mr. Richardson!" he exclaimed. "I was just going to come and find you."

"What a coincidence, I was just coming to find you," his boss joked.

Blaine laughed uneasily. "You had something to tell me, sir?"

"Oh, just how much I appreciate the fact that you'll be coming to New York with me. You're my most trusted employee, Anderson. I know you've really got what it takes."

"Thank you, sir, but I - "

"And how huge of an opportunity this is for your career. Not to mention the fact that I'm going to need you to help me out next week."

"And I'm flattered, sir, but – "

"You know, this conference will be huge for the company. It's one of the first times we're attending such a public venue and head-to-head with all those other toy companies – retailers and manufacturers alike. I need you there. Plus, there's that whole thing with Alexa…"

"The head of Toys 4 All?" Blaine asked, recalling the name vaguely.

"Yes," Mr. Richardson answered, tucking his hands into his pockets as he sat on the edge of Blaine's desk. "She and I…we're together. And I need you there to make sure no one gets a whiff of it. It'll be our first public event together and we should try and keep it professional at all times." He took a step closer. "That's where you come in, Blaine."

Blaine nodded, biting back his previously rehearsed words against his better judgment. "Don't worry about a thing," he found himself saying. "I'll take care of it. I'll be there."

"You're the best, Anderson," Mr. Richardson said before exiting Blaine's office. "Remind me to give you a raise someday," he joked.

"I am so screwed," Blaine said to himself as he sank back into his chair. "I need a vacation."

"Remind me again why I'm here?" Jeff asked as he fiddled with his iPod on the flight to New York.

"Because you're my best friend," Blaine recited. "And I'm so nice that I paid for your ticket to New York."

"Oh, I'm your best friend?" Jeff asked, feigning surprise. "I thought that honor was reserved for your on-paper lover boy, Kurt." He clutched his heart and batted his eyelashes as he imitated Blaine. "Oh, Kurt. How I love you so."

"Shut up," Blaine told him. "I don't love him. We're just pen pals."

"Yeah, okay," Jeff said as if he didn't believe him at all. "Once you get past the denial stage, you can come talk to me again."

Blaine watched as the blonde leaned over him and gave a quick wink to a group of girls sitting across the way. They were all talking behind their hands and giving him appraising looks.

"Do you maybe want to switch seats?" Blaine asked flatly.

Jeff shook his head. "Nah, I'm just scoping out all the potentials nearby," he explained as he gave a dark-haired guy a lingering glace as he bit his lip.

"You embarrass me," Blaine continued in his monotone.

"You embarrass me," Nick groaned.

He and Kurt were sitting across from one another at his kitchen table, digging into an ambitious beef dish Nick had attempted to prepare.

"I embarrass you?" Kurt shot back. "You embarrass me with your lack of cooking skills. You've been living on your own since we met at NYU and you still can't make yourself a meal seven years later."

"I can so," Nick protested. "I'm getting better at least. I'm taking cooking classes now," he announced proudly. "Remember, I told you about them last week?"

"If you are, you sure can't tell," Kurt teased, making a face as he scooped up another bite of whatever was on his dish.

Experience taught him that whenever Nick invited him down the hall to his apartment he should have his own meal prepared back in his own.

"My teacher encourages us to experiment," Nick said.

Kurt put his napkin to his mouth an spat out his mouthful. "Are those…chocolate sprinkles?" he asked in horror.

"He also says to use whatever's in our spice cabinets!" Nick defended himself.

Kurt walked over to the sink and dumped his plate in. "Within reason."

"I'll make it up to you," Nick promised quickly. "Dinner tomorrow's on me. What do you say?"

"I'd love to, but I can't."

Nick gasped so sharply that Kurt had to turn around to make sure he wasn't choking.

"Do you…have a date?" Nick asked, excitement shining in his eyes.

Kurt gave his friend an incredulous look. "No, I don't have a date. But thank you for being so shocked at the prospect of me actually having one."

"I'm sorry," Nick shrugged. "You just never have plans. And you never so much as look at other men when we're out and about. It's always Blaine, it's always been about Blaine," he said, waving his hands in the air theatrically.

"That's not true," Kurt retorted. "I'm painfully available, it's just that no one's good enough."

"You mean no one's better than your mystery lover," Nick goaded.

"He's not a mystery and he's not my lover," Kurt replied coolly.

Nick snorted into his wine glass. "Yet."

"What was that?" Kurt asked.

"Nothing," Nick said. "I didn't say anything."

"I'm so flattered that you didn't even bother to ask why I'm going to be busy tomorrow," Kurt pointed out.

"Right, sorry. What've you got going on tomorrow that's not a hot date?"

"I got…an assignment," Kurt confessed.

"A story?" Nick said, in as much disbelief as Kurt had been when he found out. "A real story? An actual story? An assignment?"

"Yes, yes, yes, and yes," Kurt said, not bothering to hide his grin.

"Kurt, that's great! This means you'll get that promotion you always wanted and you'll be a real hard-hitting reporter. People are going to live for your by-lines, I can just see it now," Nick gushed.

"Now let's not get ahead of ourselves," Kurt told him as he took his seat at the table again. "It's just one, small story. It might be a disaster, in fact," he said as he remembered the one snag in his bliss.

"What's wrong?" Nick asked. There was confusion plain on his face. "This is what you've always wanted. What could possibly be wrong?"

"Blaine," Kurt said softly. He fought the urge to down the entire contents of his wine glass just thinking about it. "Blaine's going to be there."

"Blaine?" Nick asked, choking on his own wine. "Blaine? Your Blaine?"

"My Blaine," Kurt nodded.

"How do you do it?" Blaine finally asked.

Jeff sat back in his seat and flicked his hair out of his eyes, causing a collective swoon from the girls across the way as well as a few males.

"Pray tell what you're talking about."

"The ladies," Blaine sighed. "The men. You just attract everyone."

"Truth be told, I prefer men. But it's easier to catch a woman's attention." He gave the girls another wink as he snapped his fingers in their general direction. "Actually I'm all for whichever sex will give me a lasting relationship. But don't let them know that – it takes all the fun out of it."

Blaine shook his head. "How do you flirt?"

"Oh, no. No, no no - don't even think about it," Jeff told him. "I am not teaching you how to flirt. One doesn't learn how to flirt, one just…does."

"You make it look so easy though," Blaine complained.

"That's because I'm an actor."

Blaine sniggered, getting himself a glare from Jeff. "What, you did one commercial," he told his friend. "And it was a commercial for athlete's foot medication."

"Shh…" Jeff shushed him. "It was a good commercial. I got to play the role of a super hot, athletic male. There's nothing sexier than that. I even got to go shirtless."

"Yeah, it's all good and sexy until they get around to the part where your feet supposed to be smelly and fungus-filled."

"Gross, don't say that," Jeff said, cringing. "I do not have athlete's foot in real life."

"Whatever. That's not the point. The point is that you are like…walking sex."

"Blaine, I didn't know you felt that way about me," Jeff said dramatically. He put the back of his hand to his forehead as if he were swooning. "If only you'd told me sooner, maybe we could've been…"

"Stop it," Blaine hissed, pushing Jeff away from him. "I just meant you know how to talk with the men. And the ladies," he added. "But I'm more concerned with the former."

"Why? Do you plan on picking up a lot of dudes in New York? Because if so, that could prove problematic since you and I are sharing a hotel room. I mean, things could get awkward…or kinky," he thought aloud.

"No," Blaine told him. "I mean, whenever I see guys that I'm interested in, I get all nervous and start talking about lame things. I start telling them about books they should read or websites they need to visit, songs they need to download. Once, I was trying to chat up this guy and I started talking about the pros and cons of eating two hours before you go to sleep." He cringed at the mere memory. "It was horrible. I even mentioned sleep apnea, Jeff."

"You're never worried about flirting when you write to Kurt," Jeff pointed out.

Blaine shrugged. "That's different. I've known Kurt since we were kids. And we don't flirt – we converse."

"Mmhmm, sure," Jeff said, rolling his eyes as he did so.

"Just forget it," Blaine told him. "Forget I even asked. I just need to focus on this business trip."

"My thoughts exactly," Jeff replied. "This is huge for you. For the company. It's what you've always wanted. Ever since we met at Dalton you've hardly shut up about it," he joked.

Blaine recalled his parents allowing him to attend a private school out-of-state for the remainder of his high school years. It was where he met his life-long friends like Jeff.

"Not to mention your beloved Kurt," Jeff said in a suggestive tone, elbowing Blaine in the ribs as he did so.

Blaine felt himself turning red. "Kurt is my friend."

"So you write love letters to all your friends?" Jeff asked. "Because if you do, I'm feeling awfully left out over here."

"They're not love letters."

"They're love letters," Jeff said. "You even made that stupid pact not to call one another or to webchat."

"Hey, that's not a stupid pact. We've already relented to allow emails now and then. We don't want the - "

" - authenticity of your friendship soiled. You still want to feel like pen pals," Jeff recited in a bored voice. "Yeah, yeah. We know."

"It's a good pact," Blaine mumbled. He wrung his hands nervously. "Jeff, I have a confession…"

"Oh this is going to be good," the blonde said as he sat up a bit straighter in his seat.

"I think I m-might…have feelings f-for Kurt," Blaine stammered.

"Finally!" Jeff exclaimed, attracting the attention of the other passengers around them. "It was killing me, man. I thought you would never admit it." He patted Blaine's shoulder. "Finally some truth."

"He's got it bad for you," Nick said.

He'd ordered Kurt to go back to his apartment and bring over the box of letters he kept stashed under his bed. They were rifling through them now. The letters ranged from fifth grade to just weeks prior.

"He does not," Kurt hissed. "No where in any of these letters does he confess his undying like for me."

"He doesn't have to," Nick scoffed. "Have you read these? Only you could overlook something so freaking obvious."

"You must be reading something completely different, because none of these lead me to that conclusion."

Nick scanned the page in front of him before pointing to a specific line. "Here, read this. Starting there."

Kurt took a deep breath and read aloud. "He writes, 'Kurt, it's so nice to hear from you.'" Kurt put down the letter, his eyes wide. "Oh my gosh, Nick, you are so right. Look, he's practically proposing right there. And to think, all these years I've been blind!"

"Keep reading," Nick said, unamused by Kurt's theatrics.

"He also says, 'I'm thrilled to hear you're doing so well. It sounds like things are good for both of us right now. That's a blessing.'" Kurt lowered the letter again. "I have to admit, Nick. I'm not seeing it."

"He's been writing you for years and years, Kurt," Nick said. "Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

"It means I've coveted a long-lasting friendship," Kurt sniffed.

"What about this signature: 'I'll be seeing you'. What's that about?"

"I don't know, that's something we made up when we were in high school. We figured one day – we didn't know how or when, but someday – we'd meet. So we always signed off 'I'll be seeing you'. It's more of a bad habit now…"

"What about you? You have feelings for Blaine – don't shake your head at me. All you do is talk about him. How you wish he was here, how you can't wait for his next letter. Remember when he emailed you for the first time and you called me while I was in class just to ask me if I thought you should open the damn email or not?"

"No, I don't recall," Kurt replied.

"You're going to meet him," Nick told him resolutely. "There's nothing you can say about it. I won't let you back out of this."

Kurt shook his head profusely. "No, no way. I'm going to avoid him at all costs. Look, maybe it's better to leave things to the imagination."

"It's never better to leave things to the imagination," Nick said. "In any situation, in fact."

"It's like…" Kurt searched for an explanation. He snapped his fingers when it came to him. "It's like the Wizard of Oz. You know, that moment when Dorothy's gone through all this trouble to see the wizard and she finds out he's just this ordinary man pulling some levers?" He shrugged. "What if that's me? What if I'm just an ordinary guy with a pen? What if I'm just a loser who knows how to spin words? What if I'm disappointing to him?"

"If he thinks you're disappointing, then you leave him to me and I'll go kick his ass," Nick said simply. "Easy."

"I'm serious," Kurt groaned. "Maybe I'm not what he's built me up to be. Friends or more."

"There's nothing wrong with you," Nick told his friend. "You're almost annoyingly perfect. Look, if this guy's been writing to you for so many years then you're already halfway there. He must give a crap about you or he'd have stopped writing years ago."

"There's a bigger problem," Kurt said quietly. "You see, when I say I might not be what he's imagined me to be…there's a reason for that."

"What?" Nick asked.

Kurt looked down at the table in front of him, afraid to meet Nick's eyes. "I might've led him to believe…He might think I'm…you."

"What?" Nick repeated in a louder voice.

Kurt covered his face and laid his head down on the table. "I might have been sending Blaine pictures of you all these years," he said quickly. "Maybe."

"You. What?" Nick said through gritted teeth.

"Don't hate me, I panicked," Kurt wailed. "In college – when it came time to send each other pictures, I just couldn't bring myself to do it. Then he sent me his picture and he was so, so handsome. So I freaked out and sent him a picture of you."

"Of me?" Nick repeated. "What in the world made you think that was a good idea?"

"You always photographed better than me."

"Bullshit," Nick shot back. "You always take better pictures. People have asked you to model in the past."

"Yeah, well they were blind," Kurt retorted. "Or high."

"I can't believe you," Nick ranted. "This is your problem, Kurt. You have some serious self-esteem issues. You don't see yourself very clearly, do you? So what, now this Blaine dude thinks he's having a go at me? Yeah, in his dreams maybe."

"That's kind of the thing…"

"Oh no," Nick said, pounding his hand on the table as he stood up. "No, Kurt. NO. Don't look at me like that."

"Like what?" Kurt asked innocently.

"Like you're about to ask me a favor. Don't do it, Kurt. I will not, under any circumstances pretend to be you."

"Just one date," Kurt pleaded. "I mean, meeting," he corrected himself. "Please, please, please, Nick? Just go meet him before the conference tomorrow and…"

"No, stop right there!" Nick yelled. "This is not happening. I'm not doing it."

"What do I have to do so that you'll go?" Kurt begged. "I'll do your laundry for a month. I'll pay your rent for a month. I'll eat your cooking without complaint."

That stopped Nick. "Every night? No whining whatsoever?"

"I'll ask you for seconds," Kurt added for good measure. "Maybe thirds. I'll take home the leftovers."

"No," Nick replied.

"Nick," Kurt said with a pout. "I just said I'd eat your cooking. Please."

"Not happening."

"But he'll love you," Kurt told his friend. "You'll look great. You'll be your completely charming self and win him over. You'll use your great sense of humor and your killer smile…"

"I am quite charming," Nick allowed.

"You are," Kurt agreed quickly. "So what do you think? Will you do it?"

"I have to tell him," Blaine muttered to himself from his hotel bed. He could hear the sound of Jeff's soft snores from the other bed. "I just…I have to tell him. I don't have a choice."

He braced himself and threw his covers off. He padded across the room to Jeff's bed until he was standing at his friend's bedside.

"Jeff," he whispered.

Jeff merely rolled over.

"Jeff," Blaine repeated louder.

"We don't have to tell your boyfriend," Jeff muttered in his sleep.

Blaine hopped onto the bed and started jumping up and down on the mattress.

"Jeff. Wake. Up!" he exclaimed with each jump.

"Whoa, whoa, I didn't know he was taken!" Jeff exclaimed in half-asleep horror. He rubbed his eyes and looked up at Blaine. "What the hell are you doing?"

Blaine sat down on the other side of Jeff's mattress. "I have to tell you something."

"And it couldn't wait until morning?" Jeff snapped back.

"No, it couldn't," Blaine said. He took a deep breath. "Look...There's a reason why I brought you on this trip – besides the fact that I enjoy your company."

"What is it?" Jeff groaned. "Are you nervous about meeting Kurt tomorrow?" he guessed. "Listen, it's going to be fine. He's going to love you. Hey, if he hasn't told you to go take a hike yet, that means the odds are good."

"Kurt won't be meeting me," Blaine confessed. "He'll be meeting…you."

"No, no, I think you're a little confused," Jeff said. "You're the one who's been sending this guy love letters for the past fifteen years. Not me. He doesn't even know me."

"He thinks I'm you," Blaine blurted out. "I've been sending him your school photos, Jeff. I've been doing it for years."

"Years?" Jeff repeated.

"Since college."

"Are you…" Jeff sat up quickly. "Are you drunk? Or are you really just that big of an idiot?"

"I was scared," Blaine defended himself. "I was this awkward, geeky loser with wild, curly hair and you were so…not. You always had all the girlfriends, all the boyfriends. Everyone wanted to be with you! I didn't think Kurt and I would ever actually meet," he confessed. "I mean, with our professions and where we live…it just seemed unlikely that we would ever cross paths, so I sent him your pictures."

"But we're here now and he's still expecting me!" Jeff shouted.

"Yeah…about that…"

"You'll just have to come clean, Blaine," Jeff argued. "You're going to go meet him tomorrow and say 'Hey, it's really me. All those pictures I've been sending you? That was all a joke.' Then, bam, the problem's solved. Okay? Okay."

He laid back down in bed and pulled his sheets up over his head.

"I can't," Blaine said softly.

"Grow some balls and just do it," Jeff huffed.

"One date. An hour – two max." Blaine clasped his hands together as if in prayer. "It doesn't even have to be considered a date. Please, Jeff. I'm begging you."

"Not a chance."

A/N: Anyone ever see 'Christmas in Boston'? It's one of my all-time favorite Christmas movies and the obvious inspiration for this crossover of sorts (Mostly because Patrick J Adams is one of my favorite individuals ever). If you haven't seen it, don't worry because this is going to be A LOT of fun.

Reviews are totally appreciated!