A couple months later, Artie was confused. He loved New York. It was the greatest. The lights, the glamour, his classes. He was learning so much and his teachers all agreed he was a natural at directing.
Artie Abrams was going places… but why did he feel like something was missing? In true dramatic fashion, he constructed a montage. Not an actual one, of course, he didn't have the resources for that, but he made do. Saturdays weren't too busy, so he made his way all the way down to Central Park (which was quite a journey), and found a nice place in the grass to lay down. Generally he was loathe to leave his chair in public, but he was desperate for answers.
Staring at the cloudy sky, Artie montaged. He imagined where he wanted to be as the years went on. All he saw was the stage. He directed plays, musicals, weird offbeat things that he couldn't properly describe. Directing first in little theaters and working his way up to grand Broadway stages. He was sitting at the Tony Awards… They called his name out for best director… And before he went to accept his award, he turned to kiss… Sam!
He sat up straight and sighed. Part of him knew it all along. Yes, he had everything he wanted in the palm of his hand, but he wanted to share it with someone. No, not someone. Sam. And he had messed that all up.
But Artie knew fiction. While the stage might be his true love, he also paid attention to movies. And in movies, the idiot party (Artie) always made a big romantic gesture to apologize to their beloved (Sam) and they rode off into the sunset together. It would be something to tell their grandkids about when they were old. Artie smiled as a plan started to form. Perfect.