I know and have seen all kinds of unconditional love—gay, straight, alien, animal, mozzarella and white

CHAPTER three
Oh, why can't you see?
of I'm Not Gonna Teach Him How to Dance With You
by littlemusings

"…just tell them to eat a cactus, or something threatening like that."

Glistening white, tight pants. A white polo. A black vest. "Monochrome," Blaine whispered in awe. He was staring at the retreating figure (who was entering the Palace) as Danielle started prodding him impatiently.

"Monochrome, what? Blaine – hello? My nose is spewing blood all over the place," she hissed, "and the driver's wondering which hospital to go to!"

"I just saw him."

"Saw who? Listen, Bee, at the moment, I really don't care if you saw the ghost of Alexander McQueen, because I'm going to become a bloodless corpse any minute now."

"Kurt," Blaine breathed, starting to unlock the door.

"What?" Danielle exclaimed. "Are you sure?"

"I'm positive, only he could say something like—" he began, but hesitated to open the door as he saw Kurt's figure retreating into the Palace Hotel.

"Get going, then!" Danielle yelled, pushing him. Blaine groaned and mumbled something incoherent, and opened the door.

But, he slammed it shut again, staying inside. "No. I'm taking you to the hospital. You first, Danners," he breathed, trying to keep his composure. Danielle stared at him in bewilderment (even Blaine thought it was strange; she was giving him a reproachful look with a bruised, bloody nose, and it looked a bit funny to him). "Don't give me that look, Dani."

"You go and run! Get your boyf—"

"Just…just stop it, Dani. Not now."

An awkward silence filled the vehicle.

"Mr. Anderson, where to? The nearest hospital?" the driver asked nervously. He was hoping that the blood from Danielle's nose wouldn't fall onto the leather seats.

"Yes," Blaine said stiffly, and the car zoomed down the avenue with speed only New Yorkers could pump out.

Duke was utterly worried. He almost killed his client's sister – well, almost. Kind-of. Not really. He was now here at the Palace Hotel, hoping and praying that Blaine would make it back by six for the press conference and that Danielle would have a nice and mended nose by that time. Handing the receipts and booking details to the concierge, who was still bewildered at the whole scenario, he sighed and waited as the man entered the Anderson party data into the computer.

"Excuse me," a voice asked cheerily. Duke turned around to find the source of the voice and saw a very familiar person standing behind him, tall and porcelain white. His jaw dropped.

Fuck! Of all the goddamn hotels in this city! I totally forgot!

It was Kurt Hummel. He swiftly turned his head back to face the concierge desk.

Kurt looked much more different than he did three years ago. He was still effeminate, as always, but his arms were slightly more firm and muscular. His voice, though, was still the same as it was always: high, and unnaturally different than most guys.

"I'll get to you in a minute, Mr. Hummel," the concierge said politely.

Duke became more rigid when Kurt rested his arms on the counter, standing directly next to him.

"Oh, I'm just here to confirm the details for this Sunday's party. We reserved the Villard Ballroom from six p.m. to three a.m."

"Yes, sir," the concierge responded again. He turned to Duke: "Mr. Whitely, I would just like to confirm that you reserved a three-bedroom specialty suite on the fourteenth floor, as well as four club rooms under the name of a Mr. Blaine Anderson."

Duke braced himself, as Kurt turned to face him sharply.

"Duke? Duke Whitely?" he exclaimed, his eyes turning wide. The concierge bowed his head and backed up nervously. Duke swung his head with faux enthusiasm to face his client and best friend's ex-boyfriend.

"Hi, Hummel," he said through a grinning set of gritted teeth. "Fancy meeting you here!"

"Uhm. Yes, likewise," Kurt said, still shocked. "So…you…you guys just arrived today," he added bluntly, standing board-stiff, fiddling with his sunglasses. Hiss Jacobs bag was slung on his right shoulder.

"Affirmative," Duke nodded again awkwardly.

The concierge spoke up, his voice slightly rising nervously, "Why don't you two gentlemen take a seat while I re-check the party information and the Anderson bags are being brought upstairs?"

"Of course," Kurt said stiffly, moving towards the couches as quickly as possible, as Duke followed behind, cursing himself internally.

The two took their respective seats on the guest couches and it took a few minutes before Kurt spoke up.

"Where is he?"

"At the hospital," Duke shrugged.

Kurt's eyes widened in panic. "What?"

"Danielle…um…got into a little accident earlier," Duke muttered shamefully, "I forgot to let the bellboy open the door first, so I kind-a threw the door open unceremoniously and the doorknob on the inside really rammed her nose pretty hard. I was going to go and let Blaine check into the hotel in my stead, but he insisted on going. You know how much he loves that kid."

"I know," Kurt nodded, no feeling emitting from him whatsoever.

Silence.

"What a Neanderthal move, Whitely," Kurt smirked, placing his sunglasses on his head, tapping his foot impatiently. "I thought you would have just a tad bit more class."

Duke sighed in relief. "Eh, I try," he shrugged. "So, how's…how's the fashion line?"

"Going very well, actually."

"Broadway?"

"I've been getting rave reviews, of course. It's the off-season at the moment. We start rehearsals again soon."

"Of course."

More silence.

"That's really good to know," Duke nodded, his head bobbing up and down. Oh, you stupid concierge, what the hell? You are taking for-fucking-ever.

"How is he?" Kurt asked, blinking quickly.

"To find a simple way to describe him…well, there's just no simple way," Duke frowned. "If I had to pick one word, I guess it would be…coping. He's just…you know, living and writing music and keeping in contact with his parents and his little sister."

"I see."

Kurt was speechless. The words stung him, and he felt as if his tears were begging for him to let them go. No. Kurt Elizabeth Hummel, you will not cry. Not here. He slammed down his sunglasses, and lucky for him, his cell phone started to ring loudly: Teenage Dream. Well, damn, that gave everything away.

Duke raised a speculative eyebrow as Kurt answered his phone quickly.

"Jamie. Yes…? Oh, okay, good. You locked up, right? Are all of the clothes kept in their proper cases? … Uh-huh. Alright! Thanks a bunch, girl. Have a good day off tomorrow, and see you at the party," he said quickly, hanging up. He placed the iPhone carefully in his bag.

"Mr. Hummel, everything is confirmed. What time will your decoration committee be arriving at the ballroom?" the concierge asked from the front desk. Kurt walked over in a huff, giving Duke a quick nod of recognition. Duke saluted back awkwardly.

"We'll be arriving at noon to get ready," he heard Kurt tell the concierge.

"What about your musical entertainment?"

"I presume he'll be arriving at four-thirty p.m., sharp," Kurt sighed, looking over at Duke, who nodded quickly. "As well as my assistant. She'll be overseeing the final details and additions to the ballroom."

"May I have her name, sir?"

"Jamie Lewis. Twenty-five. Dark hair, always clipped up. Anyway, she's easy to recognize because she wears a Pavarotti I.D. around her neck at all times while doing business for me."

"Yes," the concierge nodded, taking note of everything. "Thank you, Mr. Hummel," he added.

"You're very welcome," Kurt said offhandedly, and walked away without saying goodbye to Duke.

Dear sweet baby Jesus, Duke thought, taken aback completely.

As he walked out of the hotel, Kurt quickly pulled out his phone and dialed the first number at the top of his head.

"Coward."

"Whatever," Blaine muttered as the doctor left their little room in the hospital. Danielle's nose was already x-rayed and they were waiting for the results. She looked just a little ridiculous; there were cotton balls stuffed nearly halfway up her nose to stop the blood from falling, and she had to change them every few minutes.

"What the hell happened back there?" Danielle hissed, aiming a kick at him. "Clearly, you saw Kurt. Why didn't you go for him when you had the chance?"

"The timing didn't feel right," Blaine snapped back. She rolled her eyes.

"You know how I told you that I'd never call you a pansy? Well, this is the only time I ever will, unless you skip out on talking to him again." Danielle muttered, "You cowardly pansy."

"Oh, stop it," he grumbled, falling back onto a visitor's chair. "Fine. Call me a pansy."

"Pansy," Danielle frowned.

"Why, thank you."

"I laugh at your cowardice," she snapped.

"I laugh at your face," Blaine stuck his tongue out. "Dan, you look like you came out of Saw."

"I try," she simpered, her eyebrows furrowing. "Listen, punch Duke in the face for me later? Please?"

"Of course," he shrugged.

"You should really talk to Kurt. Like, I think you should stick to sleeping in the Palace lobby and wait for him until he comes back there Sunday afternoon."

"That's totally going creeper status," Blaine frowned, disgusted. "I didn't even know that the party would be there."

"I think Duke forgot to tell you."

"Remind me to punch him later?"

"See, I told you," she giggled. "You should, just to see what happens."

"I don't even threaten people, much less physically maim them," he smirked.

Danielle sighed, and hopped off the bed, and sat next to her older brother, putting her head on his shoulder. She grabbed his hand and squeezed it.

"I will say this only once. I never said it over the phone, because I would have run out of minutes and not know about the rest of your cool celebrity life. But, buckeye, I know you're stronger than this," she began. "You've gone through so much, and dealt with so much. You went through bullies, name-calling, beat-ups, swimming in trashcans, transferring schools—you even went through dad. Those things were more life threatening and mentally hardcore. You love Kurt. He made you happy, and you made him happy. I could see. Remember when you guys went to help me get ready for my prom?"

Blaine smiled, remembering the day: makeup, – lots of makeup – hairstyles, dress adjustments, and Dani's prom date having oddly spiked hair (Blaine and Kurt had given the boy a lecture. Inside, Blaine was happy she and the boy ended up breaking up).

"You two just looked at each other, and I could see that. Dude, I was seventeen, and I could tell so easily. The way you talked to each other, the way you teased each other. It looked and seemed so natural to me. It was something I was a bit jealous of for a while, but then I ignored it, because my older brother was finally fucking happy," she exclaimed, sitting up to face him directly. Blaine was about to speak when she held up a hand to silence him, "You will not interrupt me again. I was tired of you calling me every week, saying that this boy didn't like you, or that boy was gay, but already had a boyfriend, or liked another one and called you a hobbit.

"But about Kurt! When you called me after Valentine's Day your junior year, you were freaking out because this boy actually liked you. You knew his coffee order, Blaine. You still fucking know his coffee order, I think. You told him 'courage.' Yeah, Kurt told me. You always fucking told him: 'Courage, Kurt.' Where's your courage now, buckeye? No one's threatening to beat you up this time. You're beating yourself up right now, letting yourself watch the boy who truly loves you get married to a douche-looking wannabe Abercrombie model."

Blaine was speechless. He saw his sister's eyes glossing over. "Dani—"

"Don't 'Dani' me," she snapped, pointing a finger threateningly. "You are extremely lucky we are in a hospital. I would be yelling at you right now."

"Dani, I'm sorry," Blaine mumbled, pulling her into a tight hug. Danielle was about to speak when the curtains of their room were pulled open. The siblings jumped apart.

"Anak! Okay lang 'ka? Hay naku!" Maria Anderson exclaimed in full-out Filipino, rushing to Danielle. "Blaine! Anong ginagawa 'mo, ha? Why didn't you watch your sister? Lagot 'ka sa 'kin!" she scolded Blaine. (Translation: Baby, are you okay? Oh my God – Blaine! What did you do, huh? Why didn't you watch your sister? You better watch out or you'll be in big trouble, mister!)

"Mom, I'm okay!" Danielle exclaimed, standing up as her mother threw her arms around her. Their father, James Anderson, tall, haughty, and white-haired, entered, shaking his head and laughing.

"Maria, I think Danielle needs to breathe," Mr. Anderson smirked, patting his son on the back. "Blaine, Duke told us you were here, so we just dropped our bags off with him as soon as we got there and went straight here."

"You know that it was Duke who broke my nose," Danielle muttered. Mrs. Anderson was still examining her daughter's face from top to bottom, left to right. "Mom, I think you can stop now. I'm okay."

"Duke forgot that bellboys open the door for you here," Blaine laughed. "I was behind him, so I didn't see Dani walking to the door."

"I'm okay!" Dani exclaimed. Mrs. Anderson looked up at her daughter, who was three inches taller than her.

"Anak, you just broke your nose. Do you need me to teach Duke Whitely a lesson?" she snapped.

"Ma, it was an accident," Danielle groaned.

"It was, I swear," Blaine said, holding up his hands, trying to calm his mother's anger. Nothing is worse than a pissed-off Filipino mother, he thought nervously.

"Honey, I think we should wait for the doctor," Mr. Anderson muttered, sitting down on the chair Danielle was on previously.

"If you're okay, then why do you look like you were crying?" Mrs. Anderson said, panicking.

"Nothing! Mom, wouldn't you cry if you nearly broke your nose?" Danielle huffed, folding her arms.

The doctor walked in, bewildered at the shouts.

"Mr. and Mrs. Anderson, I presume?" he asked, holding a manila folder – probably Danielle's x-rays.

"Yes. Is my daughter going to be alright?" Mrs. Anderson asked, frowning. The doctor nodded, smiling brightly.

"Just a clean break. It'll heal in about a week."

"Ay, Jesus," their mother sighed in relief. The doctor handed Mr. Anderson the x-rays and nodded, handing them the medical bill.

"Duke and Sony are going to handle this, right?" he muttered to Blaine, who nodded quickly.

"Of course, Dad."

"Well, let's go," Maria said hurriedly, ushering Danielle out of the hospital room.

Blaine and his father walked out slowly, following Mrs. Anderson and Danielle ("Let me get you some ice for that! Hay naku! You are so careless, anak!").

"So, how are you?" Mr. Anderson asked, clearing his throat. "First concert, huh, son?"

Blaine nodded. "Yeah. I'm actually pretty excited about this," he shrugged. His father put his arm over his shoulder.

"You should be. You deserve this after everything you've gone through to get to this point," Mr. Anderson smiled at his son, their hazel eyes meeting. Blaine grinned.

His relationship with his father was not a perfect one. Yes, his father had a harder time dealing with Blaine's…sexuality…than Kurt's dad had – he had attempted to 'turn him straight' by teaching him how to fix a car, how to play football instead of singing and playing instruments – the list was a very long one indeed. But, it was after Kurt had Burt talk to him just a few weeks after Blaine introduced Kurt to his parents that James started to come around. Another thing Kurt did for him. It took a while, but Mr. James Anderson finally accepted his son…and the boy his son loved.

"Thanks, dad," Blaine mumbled.

"Let's head back to the damn hotel already so you can finally get some rest. Danielle called me the other day and told me how much they've been working you for this tour," his dad grunted, leading his son out of the hospital and into a new car. Their bodyguard was already in the other car from earlier, ready to follow them.

"What time is it, dad?" Danielle asked as they entered the car, looking at herself in the car window.

"About one p.m.," Mr. Anderson responded, looking at his watch.

"Blaine, did you eat already?" his mother asked.

"Bee, let's go get some pizza," Danielle exclaimed.

"I'm not in the mood for pizza, though," Blaine groaned, leaning back in his seat.

"Let's go get pizza," his father nodded in agreement with Danielle, who stuck her tongue out at her older brother.

"Whatever, Rudolph," Blaine smirked, gesturing towards his sister's nose. "And that was highly immature. Are you really turning 21 soon?"

"I'd make a cute reindeer," Danielle pouted, frowning as the car headed back to the Palace. "Yes, I'm going to be 21 year-old, highly immature reindeer, buckeye, so shut up."

Kurt had no idea why he wanted to meet his assistant at the nearest coffee house. It was instinct, pure instinct to call her since there was obviously no one else available.

"Sir? …Kurt?" She tapped his shoulder. Kurt turned around and smiled. She was wearing a powder-blue dress and a blue headband and pumps to match. Her Pavarotti I.D. was still around her neck.

"Jamie! Take a seat," he said, gesturing towards the empty chair in front of him. "Thanks for coming again. I know you were supposed to be resting and such before Sunday, but I…I just needed to take you up on your offer for an ear. Or just a regular conversation."

"It's no problem, Kurt," she nodded quickly, sitting down. "If you don't mind, I'll have to leave in three hours; a friend and I are going to watch a concert tonight at Madison Square."

Kurt became rigid. "Oh, I see. I'll just take a few minutes of your time, if that's alright," he shrugged, fingering the holder of his coffee mug. "I guess it's also good for me to get to know you as well, so we won't just have that ridiculous only-business relationship. I've heard it's unhealthy."

Jamie smiled, adjusting her black, thin-rimmed glasses. "I actually don't mind. What is it that you need to talk to me about?"

"Okay. First, the boundaries of this conversation: no business, unless I mention it, and if you do, I will throw the nearest barista at you."

"Alright."

"In the case that I do mention the line or Pavarotti or anything, you will throw the nearest barista at me."

She smirked.

"If you see any paparazzi, or suspicious-looking people nearby, warn me, and we'll jet out of here faster than Al Capone at Alcatraz."

"There are barely any people here," she laughed. They were seated in the back of the coffee shop.

"Okay," Kurt huffed, leaning forward on the table. "Jamie, where are you from? You don't seem like the 'true' New Yorker – you know, the stereotypes."

He smiled, sipping his drink. Jamie laughed.

"I'm from Florida. My mom's a fashion designer down there, but she doesn't own a big brand like you do. She wanted me to go to Florida State, but I wanted to come here to New York to try and work for a major brand. So, I picked NYU because it was one of my main choices."

"So you decided to intern for me, when you could have for so many other people."

"I could tell you had promise," she said embarrassingly, fiddling with her bracelets.

"Why, thank you," Kurt said, surprised. "Got a boy back home?"

"Used to," she muttered. "We split last spring."

"Girl, what was he like?"

"Sweet…charming…good-looking. You know, what every girl looks for in a guy," she muttered. Kurt nodded, pursing his lips together. "We split because…because, well, after I moved here, I guess one of the girls there, my neighbor, started to show her fancy for him and, well, I found out that he had been cheating on me for over a year or two."

"Bullshit!" Kurt exclaimed quietly, frowning.

"Well, I have moved on with my life," she said quickly, still fiddling with her accessories. "He called me a workaholic and everything under the sun," she whispered. "I told him that the reason for our breakup was that I had to work hard and find myself first, and that if my work was in vain, or anything like that, because he was cheating on me, there was no reason for us to continue, as in the case for most relationships these days."

"Blaine, I've realized that we haven't been spending as much time together as we should. I've been busy launching my line, and juggling my Broadway duties, and my relationship, and they're really straining me. I haven't had the chance to…you know, think of myself."

Kurt nodded, feeling a bit uneasy. As she talked, her voice became a low buzz in his ears.

"…And that's about it," she finished, sighing.

"Jamie, have you ever done anything you regret, anything you want to take back and just…fix it?"

"Plenty of times," she shrugged. She raised her eyebrows at Kurt, whose eyes were glossing over.

"Kurt?" she said gently, reaching out for his hand. "What's wrong?"

"There's no need to talk. I've grown up. I'm not that baby penguin, the boy you fell in love with five years ago. My feelings have been fading. I don't love you anymore."

"Three years ago, I made the biggest mistake of my life, and I can't fix it anymore," Kurt murmured, a tear falling down his cheek. Jamie quickly reached into her purse for a Kleenex tissue and handed it to him. He took it and wiped his eyes.

"Blaine Anderson," she blinked. Kurt nodded.

"He was never my mistake; my decision was. I don't know what made me do it, break up with him," he said angrily, folding his arms. "I guess it was me, just…just being afraid."

"Of what?"

"Life, I guess, that he'd find someone else while I was in New York launching my careers, while he was in California, recording his EPs and albums. I didn't want to feel so far away from someone, and feel so lonely here. I put my dreams before him, too. I was such a bitch," he frowned deeply. "I could have gone right back to him, turned that taxi around and told him. I didn't want him leaving California for me. I knew how much he wanted that record label to hire him. He knew how much I wanted to go to Broadway. I knew he would follow me, so I…I ended it. I said horrible things to him, such…such horrible things."

Jamie was left speechless.

"He promised to watch my first show on Broadway when we graduated from UCLA. He was going to bring me lilies of the valley," he continued, his heart feeling heavier. "Instead, Anthony brought me roses. Red roses. It was after I had met him."

"Kurt, why are you marrying Anthony, then?" Jamie asked, clearly confused.

"I just figured…that if I could have someone here who would care for me, then I wouldn't feel so alone. I broke Blaine up, and myself in the process, and I don't think that anything will make it better anymore. Anthony basically cared."

"But…do you love him? Anthony?"

"Yes, yes I do," Kurt whispered.

Jamie's eyes widened. "Mr. Hummel, I think you're making a big mistake here."

"No. Blaine would never take me back, so I'm going to marry Anthony. He loves me," Kurt nodded curtly.

"Don't add this to your list of regrets," Jamie begged. "You work best when you're in your element, wow buyers more when you're happy."

"Don't make me throw a barista at you. I'll just ask one of them to come over, lift him or her up, then throw him or her at you," Kurt laughed weakly. "After the wedding, I will rid myself of Blaine and everything about him."

"You're going to be exposed to him anyway. He's all over the music news and his album's nearing number one on Billboard."

"I'll ignore mainstream music, then," he said dramatically, sipping his coffee again. "I listen to Broadway original soundtracks, after all."

"You can't ignore him forever, or forget about him," she hissed. "Sir, you are a conflicted little soul."

"I know," Kurt sighed, leaning back in his seat, "Dramatic, too. I guess that's why the produces of Wicked hired me. My range of emotional depth is quite the enigma, you know. That's why I usually give people snarky comments just so they could stop questioning me every other day."

"Relationships that result in marriage aren't supposed to be platonic," Jamie sighed. "You'll be hurting Anthony if you marry him without loving him as much as you love Blaine."

"I love Anthony, Jamie Lewis," Kurt snapped. "I really do. He helped me get over…Blaine."

"You just told me approximately five minutes ago that Blaine promised to give you lilies of the valley, but Anthony gave you roses instead. That doesn't sound like you're over him. Sounds like you would have wanted the lilies instead."

"Roses are a symbol of romance, particularly red ones," Kurt frowned, his face turning red. "Anthony took care of me, Jamie, and in more ways than you'll ever know. Particularly emotionally."

"What does your stepbrother think?"

"Finn?" Kurt laughed, "He nearly beat up Anthony the first time I introduced them to each other."

"Why?" Jamie smirked, adjusting her glasses.

"Don't ask me, ask him. Anthony was being a perfect gentleman." Kurt furrowed his eyebrows.

"Parents?"

"They're coming to the party."

"Best friend?"

"Mercedes? Oh, uhm, she's in Ohio, visiting family, so she's not going to make it to the party. Visiting them with her fiancé."

"Rachel Berry?"

"In London."

"Don't you see, Kurt? They believe that you and Blaine can make it work."

"Where in this conversation have I said that?" Kurt said warily. "I just said that Finn and Annie don't particularly get along, and Mercedes and Rachel are doing their thing and whatnot."

"Maybe Finn hates him, your parents are coming just to make you happy, and Mercedes doesn't want to go because she hates Anthony as well."

"You clever child," Kurt muttered.

"Go with me to his concert tonight at Madison."

"I thought you were going with a friend," Kurt said suspiciously.

"My friend texted me five minutes ago, saying that she caught the flu," Jamie smirked, handing him her phone.

J – can't make it, sick.

"You sly little fox," Kurt frowned. "No, thank you."

"You will go to the concert," she smiled, pulling a ticket out of her bag, holding it out to him.

"Or I'll just wait until that humiliating moment when he walks on stage at Anthony and me's party on Sunday night."

"Your choice," she sighed, putting the ticket back in her bag.

"I'm done for the day," Kurt sighed, standing up. "Thanks, Jamie. I've got to run."

"Alright," Jamie muttered, nodding to her boss; she did not want to press him further.

a few hours later / The Palace Hotel

"Blaine, have you decided what to wear yet, anak?" Mrs. Anderson exclaimed from the bedroom of their suite. Blaine looked up from his guitar and put it on a stand, walking over to his mother.

"I think I'm going to wear that shirt with that black cardigan," he shrugged, checking to make sure the colors didn't clash. He found another possible buttoned-down shirt among his things and picked it up. "Mom, deep red or white?"

His mother thought for a moment, looking from each shirt to another. "White, I suggest. It looks better."

"Yeah, I was thinking that as well," Blaine grinned, re-folding the red shirt and placing it back in his luggage bag.

"You could also match it with black slacks and those nice shoes over there," she suggested, pointing towards his bag full of shoes. "Also, you could try to put a black bow on the collar. It would look very cute."

"Classy," Blaine agreed, and hung everything together.

"Are you ready for tonight, Blaine?" she asked, standing up, adjusting his arrangement on the hanger.

"I am, albeit being a little nervous," he laughed, sitting on the bed. "It's my first major concert, after all, and it's at Madison Square Garden."

"So many years ago, before you were born, your father took me here to watch Journey when he first brought me here from Manila," Mrs. Anderson began, sitting next to him. "Now, my son is performing here, almost twenty seven years later. I couldn't be more proud."

"I love you, mom," Blaine smiled, kissing her cheek.

"I love you too, sweetheart," she laughed, punching him playfully on the shoulder. "Go gel your hair. You need a haircut."

"I know," Blaine mumbled, running a hand through his curly hair. "I never had time back in San Francisco."

"Go get ready now," she snapped, still grinning. "I'll meet you in the living room at five-thirty. Press conference, here we come!"

"Okay, mom," Blaine nodded as his mother walked out of the room.

His phone began to ring.

"Hello?" he asked tiredly.

"Blaine," Duke muttered.

"What is it, D?"

"I didn't tell you this earlier, but…um, I saw Kurt while you guys were at the hospital."

"I saw him enter the Palace."

"Yeah. About that. The party is here on Sunday night."

"I figured that out three hours ago, thank you very much.'

"Why didn't you head back in when you saw him?"

"My sister comes first."

"He was freaking out when I said you were at the hospital."

"Duke, what the hell? Can you just come to our suite? You're just making your phone bill get bigger."

"Oh. Yeah. Right," Duke muttered, and hung up the phone with a click. In no time, the doorbell of the suite rang, and Duke hurried in after greeting Mr. and Mrs. Anderson, and apologizing quickly to Danielle, who was yelling at him. Slamming the door of the bedroom behind him, Duke sighed in relief. Danielle was still yelling.

"That's what you get for not letting bellboys open the door for you at hotels," Blaine said amusedly.

"I realized that," Duke frowned, and he threw himself on the bed, exhausted.

"Get off my bed, Duke," Blaine groaned. "It's messed up now."

"Kurt likes you still," Duke teased. "I talked to him earlier."

"Whatever," Blaine frowned.

"He asked about you."

"Again, whatever," Blaine responded icily, grabbing his hanger of clothes and walking into the bathroom, slamming the door shut.

"He also has been working out, I think."

"Do you think I don't know that?" Blaine shouted from the bathroom, his voice muffled as he put on his new shirt and sweater. "I read Vogue, you know!"

"Okay, okay, calm down, Blaine. I just wanted to tell you that, and you are due downstairs in approximately an hour. Conference room, okay?" Duke shouted back, standing up and stretching. "Now, I'm going to run out of here before Danielle shoots me in the head with something sharp and pointy."

Duke ran out of the suite with lightning speed, not forgetting to politely say goodbye to Mr. and Mrs. Anderson and Danielle.

"Blaine!"

"Mr. Anderson!"

"How do you feel about performing at Madison Square Garden?"

"Can you confirm whether or not you will start a world tour?"

"How do you like New York?"

"After winning a Grammy, and being nominated for another this year for Album of the Year, what are you going to do?"

Blaine walked onto a small stage, camera bulbs flashing everywhere. He took a seat on the center of the table placed aptly on the stage. Next to him were Duke, the head of Sony Records, USA, and other people involved with the tour and the record company. His parents and sister were standing by the stage, excited. He felt a bit overwhelmed; fans on the street before had stopped him, asking him for his autograph politely, but a press conference seemed so surreal to him. Paparazzi were shouting out questions and holding out microphones in their seats.

The security guards were stationed directly in front of the stage in a military-like stance.

The head of Sony stood up, and silence automatically filled the room. Microphones were held up eagerly as the boss picked up his microphone.

"Good evening, everyone! Welcome to the New York press conference for Blaine Anderson's first tour!" he exclaimed. More camera bulbs went off. "Now, we open the floor to questions."

The reporters buzzed with excitement as Blaine smiled brightly. Hands shot into the air, and the boss called on the first reporter.

"Blaine, what do you say about the rumors that you are going to collaborate with another award-winning singer, Adele?"

"Well, it's in the works, actually," Blaine shrugged. "I'd be honored to work with her. She's incredibly talented; one of my favorite singers on this planet, ever."

"Also, what do you say about your Grammy nominations?"

"I'm actually pretty excited for this year's award ceremony, but so many talented artists are up for Album of the Year, so you never know."

He picked another reporter.

"Blaine, please explain what you're going to do next! We hear that you're also going to help with a performance at Disney World this summer as a guest star in one of their major productions!"

"Yes, about that," Duke interjected, "it's in the works."

"I've performed at theme parks before—especially during my high school years along with doing show choir at my school, so it's pretty fun to be going back to my roots."

More reporters raised their hands, and they called on them one by one. A vast majority of them dealt with his tours, awards, his family, and his concert. It was when Blaine came to a young woman in a dark-blue off-shoulder shirt and red-rimmed glasses. He didn't have time to ask where she was from, and who sent her, when she asked her question.

"Can you confirm or deny the rumors that you'll be performing at Kurt Hummel and Anthony Marksman's engagement party Sunday night?" she asked immediately. Blaine was taken aback, nodded and responded,

"Yes," he shrugged. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I am going to perform."

The roar of the paparazzi grew, and many other questions were being shot at him.

About Kurt. Again.

"Have you been in contact with him?"

"How do you feel about their apparent engagement?"

"How do you feel about his choice of partner?"

"Do you still have feelings for him?"

"Tell us about your song, Jealousy. Is it about him?"

He had enough. Blaine stood up, and walked off-stage in frustration, and then walked out of the conference room, slamming the door. Groaning, Duke followed him as the manager quickly announced the abrupt end of the press conference and said his apologies. Dani stood up and followed as well, despite her parents telling her to stay put. Immediately, the guards ran for the door so that the paparazzi wouldn't follow him.

"Blaine," Duke and Danielle said at the same time, when they saw Blaine sitting at the foot of the back stairs of the hotel. They just knew.

"Let's go upstairs," Dani whispered, "Let's get you freshened up before the concert, okay?"

"I'll work on damage control," Duke sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. He rushed back down the stairs as Danielle helped Blaine up and brought him back to their suite.

The ride up the elevator was a silent one, indeed. Dani handed a handkerchief to her brother, who took it gratefully, wiping his eyes gently.

"I'm here," she whispered, rubbing his back gently. "Fuck them, fuck the paparazzi."

"Duke told me not to give a damn," Blaine whispered as they arrived at the fourteenth floor. She took his hand and they walked to the hotel room. "I really tried. I tried so hard."

"I know you did, Bee," Danielle said as she unlocked the room. They both walked in and sat on the living room couches. "I think mom and dad are trying to get up here, but the reporters are blocking the way."

"I was trying to be polite, you know?"

"You always are," she sighed, leaning back on her chair. "Politeness. A quality I will never have."

"I hate reporters."

"Me, too."

"How did they find out about me performing at Kurt's party?"

"News travels fast around the Big Apple, apparently," Danielle said bitterly, her hazel eyes glinting. "Come on. Let's get you ready for tonight."

Blaine nodded, standing up. "Thank you," he nodded to his sister. She smiled, and pushed him gently to get ready. The bedroom door closed with a click, and the front door opened to reveal Duke.

"Where are our parents?" she asked, arms folded. Duke sighed.

"The security guards are bringing them to MSG already. It's too difficult to bring them up here now."

"Thanks," Dani muttered, looking away.

"I'm sorry about your nose again," Duke said sincerely, sitting down next to her. "I didn't mean to."

"It's okay. It'll heal in a week," she shrugged, looking at him.

"How's Canada?"

"A trip, compared to Ohio."

"That's good. What are you majoring in again?"

"Mass communications, with a focus in journalism," she smiled. "I'm graduating this year. Planning to intern for CNN or something."

"That's good."

"Okay, this is awkward," Danielle laughed, touching her fingers to her forehead. She lowered her voice. "Thanks for what you're doing for Blaine. He really needs a push. Especially for things like this. As he gets more famous, people are going to be digging into his personal life even more. It pains me to say this – especially since he's gay. It's harder, you know?"

"Yeah," Duke nodded.

"I heard that you and I agree on a lot of things about him."

"The Kurt situation, his situation, yeah, a lot," Duke sniggered. Danielle punched him gently.

"Okay, fine, just those two things. But anyway, aren't you supposed to be at MSG yourself?"

"I, young lady, am his manager, therefore I have the right to go with him to avoid any other, um, accidents."

"That's a very funny word to describe the situation," Danielle said suspiciously, her eyebrows furrowing.

"Whatever, kid."

"I'm turning twenty-one, thank you very much."

"Oh, drinking age—you are definitely a woman," Duke simpered.

The door to the bedroom opened and there stood Blaine, still in his black cardigan, his hair gelled to perfection, his black slacks changed into black, tight skinny jeans, and he wore basic black and white converse. His face was clear of any panic and tears, and was holding his guitar case in his right hand.

"Hot. That's my bro," Danielle whistled. "Okay, let's go."

"Are you sure this is okay?" he asked, twirling around.

"You'll charm the ladies and the men," Duke said hurriedly. "Let's go now!"

The three stood up and hurried out of the hotel room – Danielle not forgetting to lock it. When they arrived at the elevator, two reporters (one a cameraman and the same, blue-shirted girl with the red glasses) appeared behind the staircase, and ran towards the trio.

"Blaine!" the girl exclaimed. The elevator opened with a ding, and Duke pushed Danielle and Blaine in quickly.

"The guard is downstairs! Go!" he exclaimed.

"What about you?" Blaine shouted as the door began to close.

"I'll catch up," Duke yelled, blocking the way of the reporter. "I'll be down in a second!"

The elevator door closed, and the siblings were already on their way downstairs. "I hope he catches up soon," Dani sighed, leaning on an elevator rail. "Poor guy. He's got some balls. Never knew he had it in him."

"This is beginning to piss me off," Blaine groaned, sitting down on the elevator floor, hugging his guitar case. "I hope it's not like this in every state we go to…"

"You're going to have to deal with all of this shit either way," Danielle frowned. "You're lucky I'm here for this concert. You only have Duke for the other ones, buckeye, so you better be careful. That was insane, running out of the press conference."

Fifth floor.

"I couldn't take it," Blaine muttered, staring at a point on the floor. "I was getting really fucking tired of all of these references to Kurt and his marriage."

Third floor.

"You'll face your fears of confronting him on Sunday, and knowing Kurt, he'll face his fears of talking to you, and he'll leave Anthony. I just know it," Danielle said sternly.

Second floor.

"It's not really a fearof confronting both Kurt and Anthony and supposedly getting Kurt back," Blaine began, "it's more of a fear of facing the music, facing those emotions again, and dealing with them right after if this all doesn't work out."

First floor.

Author's Note: 17 whopping pages on Microsoft Word. I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, and I heartily promise that next chapter is Blaine's concert and the Kurt/Anthony engagement party. I hope all of you guys will continue to follow the story until its end! 100+ alerts and 60+ favorites! I am still so giddy about this whole experience. Tell me what you think! Constructive criticism is welcome, and flames will be used to cook my fried chicken, as said before.

Oh, and the Filipino dialogue...I may be Filipino, but I was raised on an American base in Japan, so my Filipino sucks and is limited to what I learned from my mother. To my readers here in the Philippines, sorry. Haha. Please correct my translation and my grammar. I had to ask my mother what "Lagot 'ka sa 'kin!" meant among other things.

Just wondering, if you guys could pick, would you prefer Duke/Dani, or Duke/Jamie? I already have the story in my head and I know who's going to be with whom, but here's a little fun poll :)

Read and review!

Love,
Sam

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee.