Kurt sipped his coffee slowly, and studied the boy across the table from him. Blaine had been unusually silent today, and Kurt was pretty sure he hadn't smiled even once since they got in the car and headed to the Lima Bean.
"Everything okay?" Kurt finally questioned.
Blaine raised his eyes up to Kurt over the top of his coffee cup and gave him a smile. "Everything is fine, why wouldn't it be?"
Kurt shrugged, and returned the smile as they lapsed back into silence. He watched Blaine fidget with the edge of his white dress sleeve, checking that it was buttoned almost obsessively. His eyebrows furrowed in worry, it was just another small sign of how off Blaine was today. He wasn't the fidgety type. He was too in control all the time to allow himself to fidget. Kurt realized in his mind that it probably wasn't a good thing that he knew that Blaine never fidgeted, it proved his theory that he probably paid just a little too much attention to detail where Blaine was concerned, especially since the other boy was supposedly straight. Kurt made a silent promise to himself that this would not become another situation like what had happened with Finn, and so he gently chastised himself and reminded himself that he and Blaine were just friends, and that's all they ever would be. Even if Kurt wasn't completely convinced of Blaine's heterosexuality.
Kurt finally got sick of the lack of conversation and lunged into a long, drawn out, overly detailed story about something Puck and Santana had been fighting about in Glee last week.
Blaine nodded along, pretending to listen and attempting to give the correct, noncommittal responses at the appropriate times. He honestly could not have cared less about Puck and Santana and their non-relationship. But he didn't want to offend Kurt, and he didn't have the heart to tell him that he didn't give a shit, so instead he pretended to be interested while making plans in his head for how to make tonight go as smoothly as possible. Just like he did everyday. He never knew what he'd be walking into, so he tended to have about five different plans of action for each night, so he wouldn't be thrown for a loop if an unexpected situation arose. Because none of the situations would ever be unexpected. He expected all of them, and he was prepared for all of them.
Blaine had just started his senior year of high school, which was a huge relief to him. It meant there was actually an end in sight. For the first time in his life there was a sun peeking over the horizon, trying to break through the storm clouds and it was a welcome relief. One year left. He could make it. One day at a time. One night a time. He could make it, and he would make it. In one year he'd be leaving for college at some highly prestigious Ivy League school, there was no doubt about that in his mind. The admissions offices at all the top Ivy Leagues had already been in contact with him and had all shown an interest in him, so he knew he'd get accepted into one, of not all of them. And then he was gone.
He was going to leave without ever looking back. Put all this bullshit behind him, and instead of hiding it he could finally just forget it. Forget all of it. Keep on pretending that everything was wonderful for twelve more months and then maybe, just maybe, everything really could be wonderful. The one thing Blaine knew for a fact was that when he left Westerville, he was never coming back. He'd get a job the second he got to college, rent an apartment, and not even have to return home for holidays or vacations. His father would pay for tuition to whatever school he chose, so long as it was on his father's list of pre-approved colleges for an Anderson man, so he wouldn't have to worry about that. But he knew once he left that was the only thing his father would pay for. The rest would be up to him. Food, clothing, car payments and insurance, phone bills, rent, it would all fall on his shoulders, so he'd probably have to pull at least one full time job while going to school, if not two, but that didn't matter to him. He was no stranger to hard work. What mattered to Blaine was getting the fuck out of Ohio and away from his family. Every single one of them.
"Was that a yes or no?" Kurt's voice finally penetrated Blaine's thoughts.
"I'm sorry?" Blaine looked up startled. "I didn't hear the question, could you repeat it?"
"I asked if you wanted another coffee?" Kurt repeated, sounding slightly annoyed.
"Yes, sure, that would be great. But just one more and then I have to get home, I have a ton of homework tonight," Blaine smiled up at his friend, who rolled his eyes and stalked off towards the counter. Blaine waited until Kurt was ordering from the barista and not paying attention to him before he reached into the pocket of his discarded Dalton jacket and pulled out a few pills from the bottle in it. Swallowing them down rapidly with the last of his coffee, he patiently waited on Kurt to bring him a brand new cup.
Puck turned his car down the long, winding driveway and let out a low whistle at the hulking mansion in front of him. He checked his phone to make sure Santana hadn't texted a warning that Kurt and Blaine had left the Lima Bean, shut off his engine and exited his car, making his way towards the massive, double doors. He rang the doorbell and waited until someone finally answered it before plastering an innocent, sweet look on his face.
"Yes?" Asked a tall, older man impatiently. Puck had no doubt in his mind that this was Blaine's dad, because Puck felt like he was looking at Blaine in twenty five years time.
"Mr. Anderson? My name is Noah Puckerman, I'm a friend of your son, Blaine? We were studying at the library and he realized he forgot his Algebra book. I'm supposed to run up to his room and grab it for him," Puck lied smoothly.
The older man's brow furrowed, unconvinced. "I wasn't aware Blaine was taking Algebra this semester."
Puck was trying to quickly think up a way to save his story and gain entrance into Blaine's room when the man shrugged. "Whichever, I can't keep up with his course schedule," He opened the door allowing Puck to enter into an impressive foyer. Pointing up the steps, Mr. Anderson told Puck it was the third door on the left, and then walked out of the room.
Puck idly wondered what exactly Blaine's dad did for a living that allowed him to be home at four on a week day afternoon and pay for this house, but he noted that really wasn't the mystery he wanted to solve right now, and headed towards Blaine's room. Opening the door he was a little let down. For such an expansive house, he would have expected Blaine's room to be furnished much like the rest of the house, with only the finest and most expensive things. Instead, the large space had boring white walls, bland, dark blue carpet, a double bed with a white comforter, a dresser, a desk with a laptop, and a bookshelf overflowing with books and DVDs. The only item in the room that hinted at the owner's wealth was a 60 inch flat screen TV, with a DVD player and a Playstation hooked up to it.
Puck glanced through the bookshelf and the dresser drawers, the nightstand, and the desk drawers getting frustrated when he found nothing of any significance. He flipped open the laptop, but had no luck in figuring out Blaine's password, so he couldn't gain access into it, either. He spied a door on the other side of the room, and opened it up to find a private bathroom. Going through the cupboards, he finally found something worthwhile. Lined up on the bottom were plenty of pill bottles. He felt defeated at first when he saw they all said Blaine Anderson in bold print, meaning they were actually prescribed to him legally, but then he started to read the contents. Xanax, Ambien, Lexapro, Abilify, Prozac, Zoloft and a few more various types of anxiety and anti-depression medications that were not normally prescribed together. He noticed most of the conflicting medications held a different doctor's name as the prescriber. He raised his eyebrows thoughtfully, and opened the next cupboard. Boring. It merely consisted of necessities, toothbrush and toothpaste, deodorant, cologne, razor and plenty of extra razor blades. He opened the third one and got even more curious as to what was really going on in the life of Blaine Anderson. Again, there were an excessive amount of pill bottles, all prescribed to him. Only these were all pain medications. And not just Vicodin and Percocet, though there were plenty of both of them. There were some seriously dangerous opiates in there. Oxy 80s, Opana 40s, Morphine, Fentanyl patches. The list went on and on.
"What the actual fuck, Anderson?" Puck muttered, as he helped himself to some of the Vicodin and Percocet. He left the bathroom and was about to leave the room when he ran smack into Blaine.
Puck cursed loudly, and for a minute Blaine's perfectly constructed facial features fell off, giving way to a look of surprise, and slight panic.
"What the hell are you doing in my room?" He finally asked, trying to compose himself.
Noah smirked. "Just picking up your Algebra book, like you asked. But now that you're here, I guess I don't need to, so I'll just be going." Grinning wickedly, Noah stepped around Blaine, turning around to get in a final shot before leaving. "Oh by the way, I really like what you've done with the place. Especially the extensive decorating in the medicine cabinet."