Hello there! I'm spindletwig, for reasons even I don't know, and this is my first ever fanfiction. I'm not exactly new to this, I've read TONS, but I never thought I was any good at writing. However, a few weeks ago I began having a series of episodic dreams about being Chris Colfer and Darren Criss' surrogate mother. They're pretty awesome dreams, and I couldn't resist doing this. I converted it to Klaine, because I just couldn't write CrissColfer, and changed the protagonist, and voila. Enjoy! (Or not..)

EDIT: This is a shameless plea for reviews. I've had plenty of visitors to this story, and a couple of wonderful people have added it to their alerts (thank you!), but no reviews. I honestly don't know if what I'm doing is okay! I will keep writing this story because I've been finding it wonderfully relaxing, and even just knowing a few people want me to carry it on is enough, but please, however hypocritical I'm being because I know it's rare that I leave a review when I read a story, leave me some feedback if you can. Thanks :)

Disclaimer: Glee is not mine. Never has been, never will be.

Seriously? Now? You couldn't have picked a better time? Of course you couldn't, you're a foetus, you have no concept of time. But honestly, you're causing a scene. I'm in a supermarket. Then again, considering who your dads are, I'm not surprised that this had to happen in a dramatic way. Right Kim, put down the lettuce. You'll just have to do this another time. You have a more pressing matter on yo..OH MY LORD! Okay… Breathe. Just breathe.

I should probably start from the very beginning (a very good place to start, after all). Because, to be quite honest, if you'd told me a year ago that this would be my life, well, I would never in a million years have believed you. I was quite happy a year ago, toddling along, living a rather monotonous but pretty successful life, working towards my PhD and partying with my friends and generally just doing the things you should do when you're 24 and living in London…

Alright, that's a downright lie. I've never been exactly normal. My friends call me weird, and they're my friends, but I like being different. I like not liking clubbing, and preferring going out for a meal and then watching chick flicks and musicals til the early hours. I like the fact that I work strange hours at a tiny bookstore and spend most of my time on the job reading the books. I like that I like studying cells, but hate setting up the microscope to do it. Those stupid little things make me, well, me I guess. And those stupid little things made me happier than I'd ever been. And then just over a year ago, out of bloody nowhere, my entire life full of stupid little things changed. All because of two men I've admired (and admittedly fancied) for quite a number of years. All because I just could not let these two men give up on their dream.

I've always been a giver. Whenever I saw adverts on television about giving blood, they'd make me feel incredibly guilty, even if I'd given blood a week before. I'd just want to stand up and scream

'I want to! I promise you, I do! I'd give you it all if I could, but then I'd die and I wouldn't be able to give anymore! Just give me a few months and I'll be back, I swear!'

I always gave my family and friends carefully thought out and beautiful gifts, because I loved to see the looks on their faces, and knowing that I made them that happy made me happy too. I loved to cook and care for people, and know that I made their lives just that tiny bit better by doing what I'd done. In fact, I was on my way to a friend's house to drop off a cake I'd made for a bake sale when said life-changing event occurred..

I was walking across the park, carrying a victoria sponge cake. How strange a start to such a story. But, then again, that's not half as strange as what happens soon, let me tell you. But first things first.

It was a small park, just a little field-y bit (I'm not good with agricultural technicalities) and then a children's playground area, with swings and slides and all those things you play on when you're a kid and pretend you don't still play on now you're an adult. I recognised quite a few of the people around, as you do when you've lived somewhere for two years and quite like getting to know your neighbours like me. I've babysat most of the children I saw in the park that day, and I've drank wine and watched Moulin Rouge with most of their mothers, and some of their fathers. But there were two people I didn't recognise. No, there were more than two, of course, and these two didn't really stand out in particular to the rest of the people in the park, but they did to me, even from a distance. I couldn't see their faces, I couldn't tell you who on earth they were, but they looked sad. The shorter of the two had his head leaning on the other's shoulder, and the other man's head was on top of his. Their hands were grasped tight, as if the other person were the only thing holding them down from floating away, and they looked weary. Not weary as in jetlagged or sleepy, but as if every single trouble they'd ever experienced had resurfaced, and they just wanted it to stop. I knew beyond a doubt that I was intruding on an extremely personal moment, but I couldn't stop myself. I just couldn't. My damn caring, giving nature overruled every rational instinct in my body telling me to turn away and leave these men to their peace, but instead I transferred the victoria sponge to my other hand, held onto my bag strap and marched on over.

I don't know how I thought I could help. Maybe some stupid part of my brain thought giving them a cake would cheer them up. Well, I suppose it does always work for me. But even as I was internally warring with myself, I didn't stop walking, and before I knew it I was in front of them with a damn cake in my hand and a sympathetic smile on my face. And then, the shorter man looked up. And I promptly fainted.