There in front of Blaine was the most extravagant party he'd ever seen: dancers, dealers, musicians, artists, businessmen, philosophers, women, men, and a few somewhere in between. He kept turning his head this way and that in an attempted to take it all in.

Above him swung chandeliers that appeared to be dripping of precious stones. Below him, the finest form of marble he'd ever seen. As Kurt took him from room to room, he caught sight of an enormous library, shelved to the ceiling with beautiful volumes that Blaine would have given anything to touch.

They went from room to room, stopping to talk to people here and there. They danced at once point, and Blaine feared he'd lost Kurt until he came swinging through a group of dancers.

Each room held something different from the last.

"How does someone manage to have all of this in the heart of the city?" Blaine asked Kurt.

Kurt only heard Blaine speaking, but didn't understand what he asked. He held up a finger, asking him to wait a second. He then shooed Blaine through a doorway. Once they were on the other side, he shut the door and the room grew quieter.

"I'm sorry, what were you trying to ask me?" Kurt asked.

"Um… uh I was just wondering how someone manages to have all of this space in such a small city."

Kurt laughed, "She just bought an entire apartment building and kept it to herself."

"She?"

Kurt nodded, amusement playing on his face. "Yes, a friend of mine. She's quite the business woman, but she loves her parties more."

"Is this what really inspired the Gatsby parties?" Blaine asked.

Kurt lifted shoulder, "I'm not sure, but I like to think so. I have seen Fitzgerald here many times, and when I read the book this is what I imagined."

Blaine took a moment to look at the room they were in. It was a rich brown color, and its main feature was a glossy, black, grand piano sitting in the middle of the room. Blaine wanted nothing more than to sit down in front of it and to play music on the keys, which looked to pristine to have been in use more than a few times.

Kurt caught him staring at it, "do you play?"

"Yes, but it's been a little while."

Kurt gestured at him to sit down, and Blaine wavered. "Are you sure I am allowed?"

"Of course!"

Blaine still looked at the door warily as he sat down in front of the instrument. It didn't feel right to use it without even knowing the host of the party, but at Kurt's insistence he placed his hands on the keys.

"What should I play?" Blaine asked, hoping that Kurt would choose something he actually knew.

"Whatever you would like. I can't play any myself, so anything you choose will be a masterpiece."

Blaine thought to himself for a moment, before deciding to just play whatever came to mind. It was always more entertaining that way. He took a breath and began to play.

Kurt smiled at the first note, thoroughly enjoying whatever it was that Blaine was playing. He was cultured enough to recognize the classics, but this didn't sound like anything he had heard before. It was vibrant and melancholy at the same time. That was the only way to describe it.

He circled the room, taking a closer look at the paintings on the wall. He didn't want to make it seem as if he was giving all of his attention to Blaine. The last thing he needed was for someone else to walk in and assume that the rumors that had started circulating about what he did with other men to seem true… even if they technically were.

Meanwhile Blaine played with an intensity he didn't know he had. He thought about the past few years of his life, trying to figure out why it was that he kept running from place to place. He was looking for something but he didn't know what it was. He then thought about what Kurt was saying earlier, how everyone was walking around heartbroken.

Blaine wasn't heartbroken. He knew that much about himself. But he also knew that he was somewhat empty. There wasn't a love lost because he'd never had the love to lose. It was something he'd never found no matter how many women his father told him were the right ones for his family.

Right now he was just thankful for Kurt. He was thankful that Kurt was there as an idea back when he needed somewhere to go in the first place. Thinking that New York was filled with intelligent people like this author of whom he looked up to every day was enough to get him to move. Then of course there was the fact that Kurt Hummel, the person who he admired more than anything in the world, was now standing in the same room as him, encouraging to play the music he hadn't thought of in months.

Kurt was everything he'd wished he could be and everything he'd wished he could have. He was stunning and brilliant. Composed and someone who knew more about the world than he could ever hope to. He couldn't decided if he wanted to be Kurt or if he wanted to be with…no. That was something he couldn't even think about.

The music flowed throughout the room, and Kurt found himself relaxing fully for the first time in a while. Then, Blaine stopped playing abruptly, and Kurt turned to see him sitting in front of the keys, staring blankly ahead of him.

"What's wrong?" he asked with mild concern.

Blaine looked up, his eyes seemed unfocused. "Nothing."

Kurt sat down on a chair a couple feet away, "there must be something wrong. You were playing so beautifully before you stopped."

Blaine shook his head lightly, "The piano, the music. It clears my head, but it also lets me think more. I just realized…" he breathed in. "Sometimes you realize something you wish you hadn't, and then everything changes in an instant."

Kurt pressed his lips together, thinking.

Blaine turned away, shutting his eyes tightly and collecting himself. He wanted to change the subject as quickly as possible.

"So this woman who lives here, what is her name?" Blaine asked.

"Santana," Kurt answered immediately.

"Where is she from?"

Kurt paused. "No one is certain, actually. I've heard Spain and Portugal, but there is a rumor that she came over from South America and lived in Europe dirt poor for her first few years here."

"You said you knew her?"

Kurt nodded slowly, "yes. She doesn't tell me about her past, only where she is headed."

There was a short tap on the door and both men started. Before either had the chance to stand up, in strode a radiant woman dressed in a luxurious red dress, and sporting a headband with a few pitch black feathers. Her hair was long and technically out of style, but for her it did not seem one day out of date. Gloves covered her arms from finger to elbow, and she held a lightly smoking cigarette in her right hand.

"Speak of the devil," Kurt said with light amusement.

Santana smiled, "Kurt! Just the man I wanted to see."