Let's go to Chicago.

CHAPTER ten
I Wish He'd Get A Clue
of I'm Not Gonna Teach Him How To Dance With You
by littlemusings

Kurt leaned back on the couch, mulling thoughts over in his head. Chicago, board meeting, or board meeting, then Chicago? "Jamie, did the board schedule the day of the meeting yet?"

Jamie pulled her planner out of her bag and flipped through it. "The new day is this Thursday, and according to Blaine's website, his concert is the same day, at five P.M."

"You really are a fan girl, aren't you?" Kurt smirked, his eyes narrowing. "What time is the board meeting?"

Jamie bit her lip and double-checked her planner. "Not a fan girl. I'm doing this for you, plus I have a cousin who's going to watch this Thursday. Anyway, oh, shit, it's at four p.m." She flashed the circled date in her planner at him.

Kurt ran a hand through his messy hair, and paused in the middle, cursing himself for messing up his coif. "Goddamn it, I hate the board. I wish I could just churn out clothes and all of that and get this public relations and business stuff out of the way," he groaned, standing up. "What the hell are we going to do? I still have to design for the next few days, and I have a Vogue editor's meeting this week, which I've known for weeks, oh god, fucking board, they have to ruin everything and change my schedules and all that. You know, I suspect that the day after his concert, he'll go to his next destination, so we have to do this as soon as possible—"

"Maybe we could reschedule, that's always an option. Or just go now."

"I've been asking them to reschedule for the past three weeks, and..." his voice trailed off.

"True," Jamie frowned. "However, I suggest we make a grand escape to Illinois."

"And you're supposed to be my advisor and assistant," he said, turning around, arms folded. He began to pace around his studio "I do like the way you think, and though I would love to jump the gun and fly off, the board will shut us down if we don't do anything about the meeting," he said dejectedly, leaning against the design table.

"Have you tried calling Blaine?" Jamie asked skeptically. Kurt blinked and stared at her, whipping his phone out of his pocket. He began to scroll through his address book.

"Honestly, my phone was the last thing I thought about this morning."

"I could see that through the press coverage."

Kurt gave her a simpering look. He took a deep breath. "He should be in Chicago by now. I really do hope his phone is on…" He clicked 'call,' and Blaine's phone began to ring on the other line. "It's ringing, it's ringing!" he mouthed, panicking, moving over to lean against one of the marble-white walls of his studio for support.

The Sheraton Hotel / Chicago, IL

Blaine plopped down on his hotel bed, face first into his pillow. Duke poked his head in through the door, knocking gently.

"Get some rest first, then Junie and I will take you city exploring! Chicago, the place you've always wanted to go, right, Blaine?" he said with faux cheer. Blaine mumbled something into his pillow, and Duke sighed. "Okay, sleep off your headache and all that, and we'll just eat the dinner buffet downstairs later. I'll just hang out with Junie and the rest of the gang, and if you need anything, just call me, dude," he said with a softer tone.

Blaine nodded into his pillow.

"You can't punish yourself like this, Blaine."

"I'm not punishing myself," Blaine responded bluntly, lifting his head off of his pillow. "I'm just tired and stuff. I might just practice some of my songs already, and walk around the city alone for a little bit."

"Need me to come with?" Duke asked.

"Duke, I'm your client, not the child you're babysitting," Blaine sighed.

Duke rolled his eyes and sat down on the mini-couch by Blaine's bed. "I might as well be your motherfucking babysitter. I have watched you for three years, you crazy bastard, making sure you don't do anything rash and unhealthy. What if some members of the paparazzo run around and try to harass you? What are you going to do if you're alone and stuff? Do you expect me to cover for you if you get on TMZ for shouting at the cameras they poke in your face?"

Blaine rolled over to face the ceiling. "I won't, don't worry. I'll go…incognito."

"Well, before you go all ninja on me and hide in the shadows of the city, I suggest you take a nap."

"Agreed, already ahead of you on that one."

Duke smiled at his friend and headed towards the door.

"Hey, Duke?"

The older man turned around hands already gripping the door frame of the suite bedroom door. "Yeah?"

"I kissed him last night."

Duke groaned out loud. "You're kidding me."

"I was intoxicated as hell, what do you expect?"

"Man, Blaine, you need to stop drinking alcoholic beverages. You get moodier than a girl on her period when you're drunk," Duke muttered. On more than one occasion, really.

Blaine's phone began to ring: blow the candles out, looks like a solo tonight. Without looking at the number, Blaine picked up his phone and quickly clicked 'answer call'. "Hello?"

"Blaine," a very familiar voice breathed. Blaine sat up immediately, his face contorted with shock; he looked like he was about to drop his cell phone right then and there. "Blaine, it's me, Kurt."

"Who is it?" Duke hissed.

"Blaine? Hello?"

Blaine panicked and clicked the hang-up button, dropping his phone as if it were something poisonous. Duke face-palmed himself and let out a groan.

"Let me guess: Kurt Hummel."

Blaine lay back down on his bed and gripped his pillow tightly. "I couldn't, I couldn't, Duke, I couldn't!" he said in a panicky voice, his eyes brimming with tears. "Goddamn it, I couldn't talk to him!"

"Blaine…what if…"

"He's not going to prove it, Duke, because he probably just wanted to ask for something or…or…I don't know," Blaine cried, wiping his eyes furiously. Duke walked over to Blaine's bed and picked up his friend's phone, scrolling through it. "Delete the number. Block it or something. I don't know…agh, just delete it. I don't think I…I don't think I can…" Blaine wasn't crying anymore, but there was a little fury in his eyes, a spark of anger in his voice.

Duke stared at him, mouth wide open. "What?"

"I don't know, Duke."

"Blaine, you're going crazy."

"If he thinks he can get me back this fast, then…then he's wrong," Blaine said, tossing his pillow aside and standing up. "And on the fucking phone? No."

A smile crept upon Duke's face. "Okay, I think you're turning a tad bit sane again, which is pretty much saying something." He picked up Blaine's phone. "Do you still want me to delete his number? Because I will if you want me to."

Blaine stared at his Blackberry. "Yeah, delete it."

"You still have his card, don't you?"

"Rip it."

Blaine's phone beeped, and he froze. Duke looked at the screen. "It's a text from Dani, relax."

Blaine sighed in relief and took the phone, opening his sister's message.

You asshole; you're already in Chicago. Text it, bitch. Love, Dee

He laughed and replied: Here is my obligatory "I arrived in Chicago safely" text. Love, Bee. He sent it and handed his phone back to Duke, who scrolled through Blaine's address book, looking for Kurt's number.

Duke showed him the screen, Kurt's contact information already pulled up. "You have five seconds. Deleting in 5…4…3…"

"Just do it," Blaine said. Duke arched an eyebrow and deleted the number. The phone beeped, notifying him that he did, indeed, delete the number. Blaine took his phone back and double-checked. "Done," he breathed. Duke pursed his lips and put his arms on his hips. "Can you block numbers, too?"

"That's a safe idea," Duke said with uncertainty, taking the phone back. He typed something on the phone and in a matter of seconds, Kurt's number was blocked. "Are you really sure about this, Blaine?"

"I…positive. Actually, yeah, let's not go around the city just yet, let's all just eat at the buffet downstairs."

New York City, New York

"He hung up on me," Kurt said indignantly, staring at his iPhone. "He hung up on me."

Jamie frowned. "Are you sure, or was it your connection?"

"No, he hung up on me."

"Try again."

Kurt re-dialed Blaine's number and waited, biting his lip nervously. We are sorry, the number you are trying to call has blocked your number. "Goddamn it! He blocked my number!" Kurt resisted the urge to fling his iPhone across the studio, and just dropped it on the pristine, white couch. "He blocked it! I…I can't…believe it! Shit!"

"Do you have Duke's number?"

"No…oh, god, Anthony's the one who called Duke in the first place," Kurt groaned, walking over to the design table. He dug his hands onto the edges, frustrated. "Jamie, what's my schedule tomorrow?"

"Vogue board meeting at ten, lunch with Marnie at twelve, and then designing, designing, designing."

"I hate that it's still Tuesday. Blaine's concert is on Thursday, and…he's probably leaving the next day, because…wait…what if he's there for the rest of the weekend?"

"He only stayed in New York for four or five days because of the engagement party. He has a Toronto concert next Tuesday, though, on his sister's birthday, so he's probably leaving Chicago on Friday afternoon."

Kurt's eyes widened.

"Wait—do you have Danielle Anderson's number?" Kurt snapped, waving his hands around his head, gears running through. "I have an idea, give me her number."

"I don't have it," Jamie said indignantly.

Kurt froze. "Oh. I'm sorry, I forgot."

"Maybe Mal has it at the front desk, because she's the one who got everyone's contact stuff for the engagement party," Jamie suggested, her face turning a little shade of red. "Why Danielle Anderson?"

Kurt walked over to the landline phone on his desk and dialed the front desk number. "Mal? This is Kurt. I'm sorry for getting mad at you earlier and all, but do you happen to have Danielle Marie Anderson's phone number? Yeah…yeah, Blaine's sister, yes, do you have it? No? Argh, thanks anyway." He slammed the receiver down and folded his arms in frustration. "Only her mailing address."

"Why Danielle?"

"She's the only one who can probably get Blaine and I to talk, I guess, sans the alcohol and the awkward dinner, or ask Blaine to call me back—"

"Wouldn't she be on her brother's side of it all, though?"

Kurt slapped his own forehead. "Point made."

He began thinking to himself again, thinking of the possibilities.

You know, I could easily just skip the board meeting. I'm young, I can get shit done in the coming years. I'd just be rushing everything if I—and there's only one Blaine Anderson, there's just one Blaine Anderson, and there are plenty of top boards and years. There's just one Blaine Anderson. But then again, I might get fired from Vogue because Marnie's just pulling all of these strings just to help me, but she helped me out in the first place and knows everything anyway, so I guess if I explain it to her quietly over the phone and turn in my article tonight, then she might just postpone the meeting again for me.

Or, maybe I could just leave tomorrow night…

"Screw the meetings and all of that: we're going to Chicago tomorrow."

I am risking so much. Oh, Blaine. You drive me insane.

Jamie's jaw dropped and she immediately pulled her laptop out of her bag. "What airline?"

"Any, and let's get all of this done so we can leave all the finished designs here so that the team can finish on the little details for the outfits just in case we don't make it back here in time."

Ryerson University / Toronto, Ontario, Canada

Danielle dropped her messenger bag on her bed and pulled out her phone.

Two (2) New Messages

She opened the first one, which was from Blaine: Here is my obligatory "I arrived in Chicago safely" text. Love, Bee. Grinning, she made a mental note to respond to him later. The second message was from Duke, sent just a few minutes ago.

Hey, Dan, guess what? Kurt called your brother. B resorted to deleting and blocking K's number, that crazy dude, you need to talk to him. Just eating dinner now, call him later. – D

Danielle's jaw dropped. "What the hell, Blaine? You're deleting and blocking people now?" She dialed Blaine's number on her phone, tapping her foot impatiently. No response. She texted Duke back: Yo, Duke, tell Blaine to turn on his fucking phone! –Danielle :)

The message failed to send. "Oh, please tell me they're not doing anything stupid." She tried texting again, and this time the message went through. "Phew, probably just the screwy signal in this place."

She sat down at her laptop, and refreshed Yahoo! News, and the first thing she saw on the front page made her hazel eyes widen.

Kurt Hummel, Seeker Extraordinaire:
Recent photos show the 25 year-old up-and-coming fashion designer and Tony Award-winning Broadway starlet rushing towards both the Palace Hotel and LaGuardia Airport. But who was he looking for?
Click for more!

Danielle clicked the button and scrolled through the article, seeing very clear photos of Kurt running up to the reception desk at The Palace, and getting into his car, driving in the direction of LaGuardia Domestic Airport. It is rumored that he is starting a new fling—ever so soon after the end of his engagement to painter Anthony Marksman—and it's probably with the soulful, pop crooner, Blaine Anderson! She quickly bookmarked the page and picked up her dormitory landline phone. "Yo, Greeners. Bobby. This is Danielle. Of course, you idiot, this is Danielle Anderson. Um, I'm going to need your hacking skills, so I'm really sorry, can you come up here?"

She shut off her cell phone and took a deep breath, eyeing her landline phone after she hung up. No distractions, just work. Let's do this. For Blaine.

There was a quick, split-second knock on the door, and Danielle opened it as soon as she heard it. Bobby, black-haired and green-eyed, stood there, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. "Robert, my friend, I have a proposition for you," she said, leading him into her dormitory. "Do you know the fashion designer, Kurt Hummel, the owner of Pavarotti?"

Bobby shrugged and sat down. "He was on the news earlier, and I think it was something about your brother—"

"Shhh, no one's supposed to know that. But, I need some help, and I know that with your writing skills—"

"—Dani, you're the best in our graduating class," Bobby said in a huff.

"Writing and hacking skills," she said quietly. Bobby stared at her. "Well, mostly your hacking skills. Rather, skills in forgery and all of that nonsense."

"What is it?" he asked, his interest piqued. "I don't forge, though, I just like to copy things exactly and make up fake documents for fun, 'cause I focused on movie prop design before I transferred here…"

"Yes, yes, yes, well, I'm going to need you to hack into the Pavarotti website and get Kurt Hummel's private number," she spilled out, rubbing her hands excitedly. He stared at her, his eyes widening.

"Really?" he asked. "Won't we get in trouble for that?"

"As you pointed out earlier, yes, this is about my brother."

"Are they really—?"

"Shut it, Bobby, if you do this, then I'll tell you."

"You know, your roommate's going to be back anytime soon and she's probably going to tell on us."

"Arielle won't say a thing, and she knows I have a somewhat-boyfriend, anyway, so she won't assume anything," she said brusquely, not noticing Bobby's slightly crestfallen face. "Now, how the hell do you get into the website?" she asked, folding her arms as she stared down at the screen. Bobby scrolled through the website quickly. "Wait, can you pass me my glasses?"

Bobby handed her a pair of huge wayfarers, and she put them on. "Okay, that's better. Now, how are we going to get his private information?" she questioned again. Bobby held a quick hand up.

"Oh, shit. Hold up," he muttered, reading through a screen. "It seems that when you schedule a private appointment with Kurt to design a dress for, like, a wedding or a red carpet event or something, you receive a password and username so you can log in and go into the private internet portal and then you can web-chat with him about the stuff and possibly schedule flights to New York to meet with him."

"Oh, damn it, are you serious?"

"Yeah, and if you work for a major talent agency and stuff like that, he already has your number, and it looks like for this month, his calendar is booked."

"Fuck!" Danielle muttered. "Can't you make a fake account—?"

Bobby was already typing. "Right ahead of you, Dan."

Danielle gave him a smug smile and plopped down on her bed, watching him work away at the computer. "So, what were you going to ask me yesterday night?"

Bobby turned around to face her, blushing. "Nothing, nothing. I was just going to ask you about the next assignment for Journalism."

"We're all on thesis mode, Bobby," she frowned. "But, yeah, whatever, just thesis shit."

"Alright…wait…I think I've got it. How would you like to pretend to be Astrid Bergés-Frisbey?"

"The chick from Pirates of the Caribbean 4? The one who played the mermaid?" Danielle snorted. "Really, Bobby? Really?"

"You kind-of look like her anyway," Bobby shrugged. "The eyes and all and the hair and the face…sans the French-Spanish-y accent, of course, but you really do look like her."

"Well, sure. Does she have any red carpet stuff coming up we can pretend we need a dress for?"

Bobby pulled up Google and searched. "I think she has one in a few months, 'cause her new movie with Joey Richter and Jennifer Aniston is coming up soon. They just released the trailer, and I'm betting that most stars get their dresses and stuff ordered and designed months before. It makes sense." Danielle nodded. "So, that movie will be the excuse?"

"Yup! Do we need anymore information?"

"Manager name. Easy to search up—hold on—"

"—Thanks again, Bobby."

"You're welcome, Dani. Oh, and his name is Jacques Steward."

"Okay, get his information and we can enter that, or, rather, we can submit one of the e-mails I'm not using."

"You have multiple e-mails?"

"I made a few when Pottermore first started up in 2011, okay? Screw you if you think I'm weird."

"Oh, that's dirty play, you're probably the reason why I wasn't one of the first million to get on the damn site!" Bobby joked. Danielle smirked. A few more minutes passed, and Bobby worked in silence, typing, Google-ing, and submitting. "Okay…finished!"

Danielle hurried over to the computer and reviewed the information. "Everything is true information about Berges-Frisbey except for the e-mail, which is one of the e-mails you gave me. Is it spelled right?"

She double-checked the information and nodded. "Fuck yes, we're all set."

"I even gave him your cell phone number."

"That's ideal."

"I found the option of ASAP-calling, so he'll call you right away."

"YES!"

Bobby clicked 'submit,' and they waited a few minutes.

"And now, we wait."

New York City, New York

"Kurt, you have another order," Jamie called from the front desk of the studio. Kurt looked up from the dresses he was sewing together and frowned. "It's from Astrid Bergés-Frisbey for the red carpet premiere of Lovely in late July, and she really needs you to call her right now because according to—"

"I'm coming," Kurt said, wiping his hands off. He walked over to the front desk and peered at the computer. "That's her number?" he asked, pulling his phone out. "I hope this is fast, because I want to finish all of this tonight." He glanced over at the mannequins scattered around his worktable, and papers scattered all over the desk and the floor. "Did you also get the e-mail from the airline?"

"Yes, our tickets are booked for tomorrow night."

"Good. Hold on, I'll give her a call." Kurt dialed the number and waited, walking back to his table.

Toronto, Ontario, Canada

"It's ringing!" Danielle gasped. Bobby gripped the chair he was sitting on tightly. She picked up her cell phone quickly. "Hello?"

"Hello, Miss Bergés-Frisbey? This is Kurt Hummel of Pavarotti; I just received your order."

New York City, New York

"Kurtsie."

Kurt's eyes narrowed and his lips turned into a frown. "Wait. Danielle? Danielle Anderson?"

"The very same," Danielle spoke clearly into the phone.

"Oh, god, what did you do this time?"

"Asked a friend to make a work order on your site and all of that jazz."

"Dani, did you know impersonation of a public figure is illegal, and you can get into so much trouble for that?" Kurt muttered into the phone, cupping his mouth. He looked over at Jamie, who was giving him a curious expression. "What is it?"

"It's about Blaine, and yes, I clearly don't give a fuck, because this really is for Blaine."

"I was about to call you about him, but I didn't have your number earlier…" he whispered. "You probably saw the news earlier—"

"—Oh, hell yes, and Duke just told me that you tried calling my brother earlier, too. What the fuck is going on? Blaine's phone is off now, and I can't get a hold of him personally without Duke there, so—"

"Let's just say that some things happened—"

"What the fuck did you do to my brother, if you don't mind me asking?" she asked bluntly. Kurt could sense the icy tone in her voice, and took a weary breath. "First, you invite him to dinner, and everything, and then you don't even stop him from leaving in the morning!"

Kurt didn't know what to say to that. "He didn't wake me up."

"Point made, because he's an idiot, and you're both idiots, to be perfectly honest with you."

"You are one straightforward young lady, so unlike your brother."

"Well, I get it from my dad and my mom, in equal portions."

"I must say that your sharp tongue really is fierce."

"Thank you. Anyway, Kurt, you better make up your mind and talk to my brother as soon as possible—but since he blocked your number…uh…well, fuck. I didn't think beyond that."

"I'm planning to fly to Chicago tomorrow night."

Kurt swore he heard Danielle drop the phone on her side, and a loud yelp. He attempted to suppress a smile as he heard her scurry to pick up her phone. Still the same old Dani, even though she's already an adult. "Are you still there?"

"YOU'RE FLYING TO CHICAGO?" she yelled into the phone. Kurt winced and pulled the phone away from his ear, and put it back. "Holy fuck, you're going to Chicago?"

"Don't you dare tell Blaine!" Kurt said worriedly, his voice lowering. "Please, don't, he might not let me talk to him after what happened last night—"

"What really happened?"

"As I remember, lots of shouting, copious amounts of shots, and yelling and dancing and…ugh…more."

"What a lovely clusterfuck you guys are in. You really love my brother, don't you?"

"As crazy as this sounds, and so soon after what would be a broken marriage…yes, yes I do."

"Okay. I just wanted to make sure, because you're really confusing the fuck out of him, and I don't appreciate that."

"Clearly, because you impersonated an actress who could easily sue you for trying to order a dress under her name. I don't think Astrid Bergés-Frisbey would have liked it if she had a gown appear at her doorstep with a pretty steep bill, if you had gone with the act."

"Promise not to tell on my friend and I?"

"Never. By the way…" Kurt asked, as he neared the skyline window, "are you and Duke…as we shall say discreetly, in cahoots with one another?"

"Romantically or platonically?"

"Obviously, the question is 'romantically'."

"…Yes," Dani muttered, her voice lowering as well. "Well, I kissed him, he kissed me back—I call that progress."

Kurt smiled softly. "I see. Heard you and Jamie have a little rift going on."

"I think I may have said a few things when I was drunk, but really, I don't have anything against her, and I hope she doesn't have anything against me," Danielle responded innocently.

"Do you want to talk to her?" Kurt asked, looking over at Jamie, who was already back to work on her laptop.

"Um, I'd prefer not to, but if she ever asks, and this is Defensive Danielle talking, yes, I am in romantic relations with Desmond Jude Whitely."

"Thank you, Dani."

"Sorry for bothering you. Get your ass to Chicago, and someone better video tape it all for me, or rather, take pictures, or I swear: I am going to cut a bitch," Danielle laughed. Her tone turned much more serious: "Kurt, please. You hurt him once, don't hurt him again. He really does love you, and most of what he does is for you, so you better fucking prove to him that you really love him. You shouldn't give a flying fuck about what people will think, and after meeting Anthony, I think he'd appreciate it if you made up your mind and do what makes you happy. You know you're stronger than this: just have the courage to tell him."

Kurt's eyes brimmed with tears, and he smiled, taking a deep, shuddering breath. "Oh, god, you Andersons and your love for the word 'courage'."

"That's the Kurt I know. Now, I want you to finish whatever you're doing and give Jamie-poo my love and all of that jazz."

"Bye, Danners."

"Bye, Kurtsie."

Kurt hung up the phone and wiped his eyes. He turned around. "That was Danielle Anderson."

"Speak of the devil," Jamie said sarcastically. "Did she really impersonate Astrid Bergés-Frisbey?"

"Yes, like the little devil she is. And, she sends her love."

"Oh, god."

the next evening.
Chicago, Illinois / The Sheraton Chicago

After a day of touring the city of Chicago and visiting the theater he would perform in (The Congress Theater, one of the best and oldest in the city), Blaine was exhausted. They had gone everywhere, from the Sears Tower (where Junie had a minor height scare), the Magnificent Mile (Blaine knew he had to take Danielle here one day—it was one of the top shopping areas in the area, to the Field Museum (which vaguely reminded him of Night at the Museum), and ate dinner in a popular burger joint. Then, Blaine and Danielle had caught up on the phone, and she chastised him constantly for leaving his phone off. Of course, she didn't mention the fact that Kurt and her talked earlier in the afternoon.

"Did you seriously block his number?"

"I had to, Dani, I had to!"

"Dear god, Blaine, 'courage,' my ass!"

Eventually, after explaining his intentions, she sighed and understood, and they decided to Skype with their parents later in the evening.

Blaine collapsed in the couch of his suite, guitar in hand, plucking some of the strings gently. Duke and Junie sat on respective seats on either side of him, and other members of his tour team were scattered around the room.

"I'm dead," Duke groaned, lying down on the couch he was occupying, putting his feet up.

Junie grimaced. "Gross, Duke, put some shoes on."

"I don't give a flying fuck."

"Oh, you and Danielle are one and the same," she laughed. "She always says 'flying fuck' and whatever crazy catchphrases she comes up with."

"Yup, we're meant to be," Duke said tiredly, putting his Yankees cap over his face. "Man, I thought I was going to get shot wearing this hat down the street."

"Do not flaunt the fact that you're a Yankees fan, Duke, that's taboo. These people are obviously Chicago Cubs baseball fans, not New York Yankees," Junie countered.

"I already do this blasphemous act whenever I'm back in San Francisco."

"Yeah, one day, you're going to get shot," Blaine snorted, standing up to pick up his laptop from the coffee table, "and you can't expect Danielle to save your ass."

"Whatever, guys, whatever."

Blaine loaded up Skype and waited for Danielle and his parents to go online. It would be the first time Blaine talked to his father since Friday night, and he knew that Mr. Anderson would be incredibly, blatantly disappointed with his son again. But he knew better not to tell all of the details.

New York City, New York / Upper East Side

The day was full of meetings, and Kurt did his best not to tell Marnie he wouldn't be in the state for the board meeting the next day. He planned to leave a message at her office the next morning, when he and Jamie were settled into their hotel, leaving the designs with the seamstresses, and Mal, who would bring everything to the executive office in the Vogue Building. He just had to double-check his luggage, and then he was set to drive for LaGuardia and fly off to Chicago.

"Moisturizing kit, check. Trench coat, check, Doc Martens, check, concealer for my bruise—" he paused, holding up the little compact in his hand. He tossed it aside and continued to double-check his luggage. "Alright…I'm set."

He would call his father, Carole, and everyone in the morning, or later that night when he and Jamie arrived in Chicago.

Locking his bag, he checked his Marc Jacobs carry-on for his ticket and money, and when everything was set, he looked around his living room, breathing heavily. He closed his eyes, opened them once more, and then rolled his bag behind him, walking right out of the front door of his apartment, and to the parking garage.

Watch out, Blaine Anderson, I'm on my way.

Author's Note:

Alrighty, I've come up with the official ship name for Duke/Danielle: it's Danuke. Because they're explosive like a nuke. Oh god, that was a terrible analogy. OH, and the first person to catch a line I stole from a Chris Colfer interview wins. Rather, it's a ~song, but oh well, whoever finds it wins.

Anywaaayyyy...

Hi guys! I just wanted to say thank you for the feedback and the wonderful words you all have left, because…this is the second-to-last chapter of I'm Not Gonna Teach Him How To Dance With You. Yes, the last chapter is going to be up in the next week or two (depends on how long it takes me to finish, because IT IS GOING TO BE KUH-RAAAZY). Plus, there will be an epilogue after the last chapter!

You're probably going, "LOLWHAT, EPILOGUE?" Trust me. Just trust me.

And about my Tumblr disappearing: uhm…about that. Yeaaaah. I hope to get another one soon, so keep on the lookout for my new one, which I hope I'll be able to make soon. It'll still be called "littlewizardmusings".

To download the soundtrack, the link is still on my author's profile, along with photos of the places the story takes place in! I conducted a shitton of research for this story, and the links are on my author's page as well.

Agh, I forgot to say this last chapter, but last chapter and this chapter was/is dedicated to Cass (purekliaination), Lily (aftermecomesthefloods), and Hayley (pleasebeworthit), my lovely Tumblr best friends. Leave them some love and a follow!

Again, I have nothing but love and respect for all of you.

Please leave a review! AGH, IT'S ALMOST THE END. I'M GOING TO FEEL BOTH ACCOMPLISHED AND DEPRESSED AT THE SAME TIME.

But I have another epic tale coming up soon. ;)

Love,
Sam

P.S. - Lily, Cass, Hayley - I'm aliiiiiiiveeeee!