Blaine Anderson had everything a man in his thirties was supposed to want and yet at the same time, he had nothing that he actually wanted. He was an Ivy League educated doctor, whose tuition had been paid in full by his parents; he had a gorgeous penthouse in New York City, and women lining up around the block for a chance at a date with him. He was also gay. At thirty-two years of age, Blaine wouldn't exactly say that he was in the closet, no, he'd told his parents shortly after he'd come to terms with his sexuality when he was thirteen years old. He'd prepared himself for several different reactions, he however never expected his father to laugh himself to tears at the dinner table before clapping him on the shoulder and telling him that he was too young to know what he liked. Not long after that conversation he'd found himself being set up on dates by his parents and really, it wasn't so bad; he was only thirteen and most of these girls weren't expecting any more than a trip to the movies, in the end it felt like he was just hanging out with a friend most of the time.
He played that game all the way up through high school, only going on one or two dates with each girl; it was enough to keep his parents off his case and enough for most of the girls to not expect anything more than handholding and a peck on the cheek. Thing's changed in college, there was some experimenting done on his part, and yes, oh God, yes, he was most certainly gay but it was all done in secret. He had to be on the lookout at all times, he attended his father's alma mater, much to his dismay, and as it turned out, his father still had a lot of connections around campus that were all too happy to report back on his son's activities. The only bright spot during those years turned out to be the grueling workload his major required and his father's apparent understanding that classes came before dating. He may not have wanted to attend Harvard, and he may not have wanted to become a doctor but it got him out of Ohio and in the long run, it got him to New York, and far away from his parents.
He worked long hours, and odd ones at that, and any time he didn't spend at the hospital or at his clinic was spent hiding out in his apartment; living off of take out and trying to come up with new and creative excuses for turning down the ladies offers at work. It was a dull existence but it was slightly better than he had been hoping for when the first and for awhile there, only offer that came after graduation had been back home, right under the watchful gaze of his father. He still wished every day that he was going to work somewhere other than a hospital though and he had distant dreams of going back to school at some point, possibly after his father finally kicks the bucket, but for now, it's the hospital and even if he doesn't like it, he is good at his job. It's also slightly comforting to know that even though he did go into medicine, it wasn't surgery like his parents had so hoped. He'd grown up hearing about how his mother longed to brag about her son, 'the heart doctor', Blaine doesn't think she wants to talk about her son, the psychiatrist, at all of her garden parties and that's a small victory.
It's his day off today, but he's at the hospital, he always ends up there, but today is slightly different; he's not been called in to see one of his regulars, he's been called in for a consultation. He agreed to come in, mostly because the vagueness of his colleague's explanation caught his interest, he picked up the words 'discreet' and 'high profile' through his sleepy haze when the call came in but that was about it. The chart that he's handed doesn't have a name on it, which sets off alarm bells for him, and after reading through it, the words 'exhaustion' and 'underweight' jumping out at him, he decides that he must be dealing with a celebrity of some sort. This sets him on edge because, in general, celebrities are bitchy, and Blaine can barely suppress a frustrated sigh when he realizes that he probably drug himself out of bed just to deal with someone's manager while they try to get their client into the Betty Ford Center.
He's more than a little surprised when he seeks out the room and finds that there are no managers, no publicist, no security guards, and no family even surrounding the room, just one young lady who looks overworked and under rested. Once she realizes that the doctor has finally arrived she scurries out of the room, mumbling something about letting him know that she had to get back to work. He enters the room feeling even more confused and find's a man, probably somewhere around his age, asleep with an IV and a couple of wires attached, it's nothing out of the ordinary but he can't place the face of this 'celebrity' with a name off of the top of his head. He does note that the man is quite attractive, but he pushes that thought aside quickly as he searches out the in-room chart, flipping it open to find that this man is 'Kurt Hummel', which sounds familiar but he still can't quite place. He checks the wires and IV, making sure that nothing is tangled and is about to leave because there is no use for him there when the patient is sleeping but when he looks back up he finds himself staring into the most beautiful eyes he has ever seen.
He feels like he could drown in those eyes, but he quickly grounds himself, clearing his throat, "Mr. Hummel", He says, plastering on what he thinks is his least threatening smile, "I'm glad to see you've regained consciousness, now", He pauses, clearing his throat again, "Do you think you can tell me why you're here?"
