Glee Doesn't belong to me.
The pairing will be Klaine, and there may be sexual content later in the story, if so the rating will be changed. There will be content containing problems with underdeveloped emotional attachments and intellect, and lack of common sense, along with other things. The reasons will be explored further down the story. You have been warned. Please enjoy.
He was in a hurry. A big hurry. He swore he set the alarm last night for 6 o'clock, but it was now past noon. And there was traffic. And he was still late.
Wes was going to kill him. He was sure of it.
He mentally prepared himself for the long lecture for missing how many appointments today? Possibly several for all he knew, but in his defense, it wasn't as though he needed them. In fact, they were the ones who needed him.
He put his car into gear and sped forward when the cars started moving again, only to slam onto his brakes at the abrupt stop once more. He groaned. Of all the hours to wake up, he just had to pick the rush hour. Fan-fucking-tastic.
Vrrr-Vrrr.
He blinked and with a quick glance at his phone. The name David flashing upon the screen. He pondered if this was Wes' way of reaching him (he really didn't want to pick up the prior calls by him in the last hour). His phone vibrated again, and against his better judgement he picked it up.
"Er, please tell me it's David and not Wes."
"Blaine! Where are you?" He gave out a sigh of relief at the voice. "Wes is going mad over here!"
"Nearly there, Dave. Don't get your panties in a twist."
"Don- Have you seen him? You know how scary he gets! All the staff are hiding in their little cubicles in fear!"
Blaine grinned widely at that. Wes was an absolute terror when he was under stress.
"Are you hiding, too?"
"Of course, hobbit! Who do you take me for? I'm no superhero!"
"You can be my knight in shining armor when Wes finds me?" If Blaine was to be honest with himself, the thought of the red-faced Asian with narrow eyes and clenched teeth terrified him to no end as well.
"Unless you somehow magically grow a pair of breasts in the next half an hour, you are on your own, man!"
"Daviiiiiid" he whined over the phone, tucking it between his ear and shoulder as he drove on, the traffic finally diminishing.
"No! You know how Wes gets! He's worse than a PMS-ing woman! And you know what they say, 'hell hath no fury like a woman's fury'! And- Oh, hello, Wes." Blaine widened his eyes as the sounds of nervous chuckles reached his ears, followed by pleads of mercy, a loud thud and the scuttling of feet.
"D-David?" he whispered into the phone, eyes darting left and right as a harsh breathing came through the earpiece and into his ear.
"Blaine."
He screamed. Then tossed his phone onto the passenger seat next to him.
"God damn it! That was my ear! Blaine? Blaine? Pick up the phone before I get really angry!"
There were many pros and cons to that sentence. If he picked up the phone, he was likely to eradicate the madness -or not, because when was Wes not mad?- and face his lecture now rather than later. If he didn't pick up the phone, he would be facing a rather dangerous Wes later on. Choices, choices. He picked up the phone.
"Yes?" he said meekly.
"Blaine Anderson! How many times have I called you in the last couple of hours?"
"Well-"
"-And why have you not picked up my call, huh?"
"Because-"
"-And you're still not here! It's nearing 1 o'clock, Blaine! One! You were suppose to be here several hours ago!"
"I'm sor-"
"Where are you now?"
Blaine blinked slowly, his mind still swirling in confusion. "Uh, in the parking lot?"
"Good. Get your hind up here before I go insane."
He quirked an eyebrow as he stepped out of his car and closed the door. "You're already insane," he mumbled.
"What was that?"
"Nothing!"
There was a long silence between the two of them, as though suspicion was taken place.
"Fine. Hurry up."
There was a dial tone and he shut it off and tucked it into his back pocket. He rushed through the double glass doors, passing the secretary with a nod and straight into the elevator. Not once did the elevators stop to allow boarders on. He found that rather odd. Usually there were at least five stops. The doors opened again and he stepped back out, quirking an eyebrow at the staff slumped over their computers, faces pale as they attempted to look busy. Not an unusual sight to see.
He continued striding down the corridor, back straight and head held high, even as he felt more eyes watching him the further down he went. Some even popping their heads out of their offices to look on. He pushed the door to his office open and walked in, adrenaline running high and hitting a dead end once he saw Wes. Wes, who stopped pacing in order to stare at him with wide eyes, thoroughly rumpled hair from the amounts of time he ran his fingers over it, and a tight jaw.
"Blaine."
Blaine smiled widely. "Wes! How good to see-"
"I'm going to kill you."
Blaine, the curly-haired man, took a couple of steps back. "You don't mean that. You need me!" he said, a tone of plead in it. "Besides, I'm here now, right? Better here than never!" He gave Wes his most charming and disarming smile, internally relieved when Wes sighed and rolled his eyes.
"Just sit down. We have a lot to go through today."
He grinned and plopped down onto his large, rolling chair. "So what's up?"
Wes rolled his eyes once more, and dropped some folders onto his desk. "Here are some folders. Inside are information on the singers that came today, whom you were supposed to listen to," he said with a dark glare, "and their vocal range, along with a sample."
Blaine flipped through the folders, eyes quickly assessing it before closing it once more. "You were here, weren't you? What did you think?"
The long, suffering sigh was all the reply he needed.
"Ah, that bad?" he enquired.
"Not...bad, but not great, either. Their voices were still prematurely developed, and their ranges weren't very impressive. We already have ones with their baritone, we don't need more of those kind."
Blaine nodded his head, listening intently to his long time friend. He had known Wes, along with David, since high school when all three had attended Dalton Academy in Ohio. They knew each other through the Warblers, a choir club in which he became their lead singer, and became great friends. After graduating, rather than going to NYADA, the three decided to open a record label, called "The Warblers", and successfully reigned through. It wasn't very well-known world-wide, only in Ohio where it was situated and the many other states of America.
"Right. We'll go with your judgement then." He knew he could trust Wes. The Asian man smirked at him, and snorted.
"Of course. Who else would you go with? David's?" Blaine snickered at that as well. It was a known fact that David should not be left in care with scouting. He was too kind. He wouldn't be able to tell them no when faced with tears.
"So," Blaine smiled, deciding to push his luck. "Can I go now?"
"No."
"W-what? Oh, come on! You just told me none of them were scoutable!"
"That's not a word, and you still have work to do. Look on your left." And he did, only to see a pile of papers. "Those papers won't sign themselves you know." Blaine groaned.
"It'll take hours!" he cried out.
"I know," Wes smirked at him triumphantly, then walked out, closing the door behind him.
Blaine sulked, muttering something along the lines of "Bastard" before settling into his work. By the time he finished, three hours have passed. He stood up and stretched his back, grabbed his bag and jacket, and walked out. It wasn't until he shifted his car into gear that he realized how tired he really was. He might not have been there very long, but he hadn't been able to sleep well for the past couple of nights, only able to really close his eyes at sunrise.
He glanced out the window, taking in the city with its high buildings and narrow stores. There wasn't much to do in Ohio, but it was home nonetheless. He pulled his eyes away from the window and back to the front, only to widen them and slamming his foot down onto the brake pedal hard. He hit the back of his seat and realized he had pressed them too late when the car stuttered as it made contact.
His mind was slow to catch up at his fingers trembled and gripped at steering wheels, knuckles turning white from the pressure. When it finally did, however, he stumbled out of his car.
"Oh my God, I'm so sorry!" He practically shrieked, walking towards the unmoving figure.
His legs shook as he fell to his knees beside the other person, fingers searching for a pulse. When he found it, he let out a sigh of relief and looked for any signs of blood but found none. He looked around trying to see if anyone would be able to help him, unfortunately finding out that no one was around. He bit his lower lip and with a stammering breath, he looped his arms around the other person's neck and under their knees and carried her (he assumed it was a her, what with the really long hair and thin figure that practically weighed nothing in his arms) to his car, putting her in his backseat before getting inside and started driving back to his house.
He didn't think there was a need to bring the person to the hospital. The person looked fine in his opinion, so he was just going to care for her until she got better then she'll be off It was the least he could do for hitting her with his car. It wasn't like he was interested anyway. He preferred males.
He still couldn't get over the fact that he very nearly ran someone over, and was lucky enough to have stepped on the brakes with a slight distance between them. But he still couldn't help but wonder, hadn't she seen him driving towards her? Surely his car was not that quiet.
He carried her into his home, up the spiral stairs and into the guest room. He lowered her gently onto the bed, and stared at her for a couple of seconds.
Her hair was an absolute mess. Tangled with split ends, dirty, and unwashed for what looked like years. Her clothes weren't any better. Large holes and, he grimaced, an unholy stench that had him pinch his face and open the windows. He was sure of one thing, she was homeless. There was nothing else about it. He wondered if he should dress her in something else, or would that make him a pervert? He wasn't interested, that he knew, but would she find it offensive and sue him? He shook his head, he'll deal with her reaction tomorrow. He was more worried about leaving her in this state. He walked back to his room, grabbed a pair of cotton pajamas, and walked back to the guest room. With a loud sigh, he pulled her shirt off and stared in shock silence.
The homeless person he had hit was a boy. A boy with very long hair and a figure so thin he could see and count every rib. Or a girl with zero chest.
He helped her into a shirt and after a couple of minutes of self-debating, pulled off her pants.
He was without a doubt, a boy.
He shook his head and pulled the pajamas on. Now was not the time to stare. For God's sakes, he just ran him over!
He tucked the boy back in, and walked out with a satisfied sigh. He still wasn't sure what he would do with the boy, but one thing was for sure, he wasn't about to let him back out on the streets anytime soon. The boy was malnourished to the point that it had him worrying about his health. He rubbed his thumb and index finger against his forehead. He'll deal with it tomorrow. He went off to fix himself dinner and partake in a fitful sleep. Which he came as soon as he laid his head down.
Reviews would be good, as it helps in motivating me to write more chapters. xD And no, story alerting is not the same as reviewing. Criticisms are very welcomed.