Finn had lost his sense of time. That was the funny thing about flying – you cross so many time zones and follow the sun as it travels west that you lose track of what time it is, what day it is, or what continent you're flying over.

And if you're like Finn and you've brought nothing but one change of clothes with you and no companion either, then you don't have very much to do to keep yourself occupied. So somewhere along the line he did what any normal, rational human being would do on a fourteen hour flight: he fell asleep.

The intercom told him somewhere between dreams that there were six hours left, but it made no difference to him. He was facing towards the window when he was last coherent, but somewhere along the line he'd slumped into the shoulder of the passenger next to him.

How did he know this, you ask? It might've been how he was shaken awake to see a hand stretched out across his body, reaching for something.

He sat up straight, pulling his blanket up to his chin as if he'd been caught naked. Of course, he was fully clothed (though not lucid), his head back against the seat as far as it would go.

"What are you doing?" he asked the back of the seat in front of him. He was sitting rigidly and he refused to look at the man next to him, who'd abruptly lowered his arm.

The man cleared his throat awkwardly. "The window," he answered. "I was shutting the window."

Finn nodded curtly and closed the himself, interrupting the sunbeam he could see was inconveniencing the passenger beside him. He straightened out his uniform, wiped the dried drool from the corner of his mouth and kept looking straight ahead.

"So," the stranger began uncertainly, as if they were obligated to speak now that he'd violated Finn's right to personal space. "Are you on active duty?"

What gave it away? Finn thought to himself. Surely not the army uniform. He wasn't much of a morning person - or...whatever time it was.

"Yes, sir," he answered with practiced courtesy.

Using his peripheral vision, he saw the young man nod to himself. Finn was trained in tact and he could see many things without really looking at all. Like, for instance, how the man had no wedding ring on his left hand, yet he boarded a plane wearing a three-piece suit. He could see that the man had light blonde hair, but his roots were really a rich black color. He could tell from the man's breathing pattern that he'd been sleeping before the window incident and also that he might have a minor heart condition unbeknownst to him.

He could tell that his eyes were a hazel color without looking and that he must've eaten something before falling asleep, judging by the layer of crumbs adorning the inside of collar of his shirt. He could deduce this man's age, his occupation, his preferences, his height, all from using his peripherals. He'd been trained well. He observed all this in about five seconds flat before flickering his eyes elsewhere.

"Are you flying in for Valentine's Day? To spend the day with the person you love?"

Finn relaxed a little. "Sort of, yes."

"That's wonderful," the stranger commented. "Call me hopeless, but that's dead romantic." There was a short pause. "So how long do you have until you have to go back?"

Finn sighed. "Tomorrow."

"Wow," the man said, turning to look at Finn. "A fourteen hour flight up and back just for one night. Now that's what I call love."

"I'd do anything for this one," Finn answered simply.

"I admire you," was the reply.

Finn smiled back. "Thanks."


9:27 am

Jesse St. James.

You had to say it like that. You couldn't just say 'Jesse James' - it left out the most important part of the diction. His patients all called him 'Dr. St. James.' Either that or he encouraged them to use his full name: Jesse St. James. That's just how it was.

He rolled down the driver's side window and let his fingers drum against the silver paint job of his car. It was one of those models that you can't say out loud without drawing a gasp from someone's lips. It cost more than he liked to admit – he should've been ashamed at how much cash he'd shucked out to buy this vehicle - but with a salary like his, he had cash to burn. All accessories were expendable, people included.

He had no passion for health – not really. He was emotionless towards the plight of the sick, which in theory made him ideal surgeon material. Of course, he felt the responsibility of life and death whenever a body was on his gurney, but he had no qualms with walking out of the OR to deliver bad news if the situation ever arose. People died - it happened.

He didn't always know that he wanted to go to medical school and come out a cardiologist. He didn't know if there were people who actually did – there probably were. But he wasn't one of them. When he was in college, he changed majors like people changed underwear. One semester he was into kinesthesiology, the next he'd have his hands in biology so he could be an orthodontist, the next semester he'd aspire to be a chef to the stars, to go to Parson's and study design, to fly out to Julliard and get a degree in theater. He'd major in physics and not have a clue what in the hell he'd do with that degree, he'd study to be an engineer, he'd have interests in sociology, psychology, astronomy, the languages, the arts, even math.

You get the picture.

He was good at everything. The problem wasn't that he failed out – in fact, he was notorious for getting A's and showing up every other class session – but that he just couldn't make up his mind. He wanted to be everything and nothing. He wanted to have his feet in every subject for the rest of his life. He just wanted to learn – that's who he was. He had the aptitude to become whoever he wanted to be; he just had to choose a path.

So after his parents got on his case, he chose. He didn't choose because he had a burning passion to cut people open and stick his hands in their chests. He chose to go off to medical school because he could. He was in the small percent of students who could make it.

And he knew it.

For him, it was always making the decisions that killed him. But once he knew what he was doing, he was fighter. All the other applicants should've been scared of him, not the odds, because he was going to come out on top. Always. No exceptions.

It took him years upon years to get through college, to take all the entry tests, to gain his acceptance, to actually attend his classes and get all of his degrees, training, more tests, and so on and so forth. But finally – finally – he'd gotten to where he was now: one of the best surgeons in the state working at a hospital where his word was basically law.

That was the dream – that was why he did it; the wealth, the power, but most of all the prestige. You'd be surprised how fast a girl's panties would drop when she heard the words "I'm a surgeon". He couldn't tell you how many heart-related pick up lines he'd swallowed over the years and how many men and women wanted to be on his arm - that alone was an illustrious position.

When he told people his occupation, he could see them stand up a little straighter, pay him a little more attention, and try annoyingly hard to make him laugh a little more. They wanted to be on his good side so badly because of what he did – not who he was. In many ways, his job defined how people saw him, but he didn't really care. Like he said: expendable. Nothing was ever permanent; friends, patients, or lovers.

That's how he could afford this whole scheme – this whole power play with Kurt. It didn't hurt that the man was a teacher either, because damn Jesse had so many fantasies about taking him on a desk, asking for a detention, or something. That was the beauty of it: he could have Kurt over whenever he wanted…at his apartment. But after Kurt got out of bed and flounced his very nice looking ass over to work, Jesse could get up and drive back home.

To his wife.

The wife he'd told Kurt that he'd divorced? Yeah, that wife.

That's where he was headed right at this very moment, in fact. He was driving in his car, the speakers blazing, and the windows rolled down, donning his sunglasses and designer brand clothes.

He was at a stop sign in the midst of the upper-side suburbs – the kind with the two and three-story houses with insane amounts of square footage - when his iPhone started buzzing from where he'd thrown it on the passenger seat.

Jesse saw the name on the screen and rolled his eyes. Boyfriends. They were so clingy.

But still he turned down the music and reached over to accept the call.

"Kurt, hey," he said in his bright, surgeon-y voice. The kind he used when children came up to him to ask if he'd save their parents. "What's up?"

"Nothing, the kids are playing so I thought I'd shoot you a call. I just wanted to run something by you…"

Jesse tucked the phone between his shoulder and his ear. "Look, babe, I love you, but I'm just pulling into the airport right now."

He stuck his phone out of the window as he began to pick up speed to make it sound like there were airplanes departing and returning. He brought the phone back to his ear.

"I can't hear you, Kurt, you'll have to speak up!" he shouted

"Oh, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have called you," Kurt apologized quickly, sounding sheepish over the line. Fretting as always. "Just have a safe flight. I'll talk to you later."

"Will do. Love you," Jesse said as he rounded the corner.

Kurt sighed on the other end of the conversation. "Love you too. Bye."

Jesse ended the call and threw the phone back where it had been before just as he pressed the button to open the iron-wrought gate in front of his home. It slid open and he drove up the long driveway to park right next to the door. He killed the engine. He dug around in the cupholder and found his silver wedding band, slipping it into place on his left hand as if it'd been there the whole time.

Ah, home sweet home.


7:42am

"Jeremiah?" Blaine repeated back to Mike. "Here? In the shop? Now?"

"Yes, here," Mike said again. "He's waiting for you in the café."

Blaine was skeptical but he followed his best friend back out into the madness that was the showroom and made his way to the café. Sure enough, there was Jeremiah, sitting by the window and looking outside.

The thing was, all morning long Blaine had felt this buzz beneath his skin – like the day held all these romantic possibilities and he was a part of all of them indirectly. He'd been on a love-high, saying hello to perfect strangers and being even more kind to everyone he met than usual. He gave everyone discounts and handed out free scones to early bird couples. He had an extra spring in his step and Jeremiah in his mind. Sure, the morning wasn't yet over, but he knew he could maintain this level of joy for the rest of his life if he paced himself correctly. That's just how he was.

But Jeremiah…he didn't look very happy. He looked troubled. Just the sight of him forlornly gazing out the window made Blaine's heart shrink. It was like there was a balloon of happiness in his chest and seeing Jeremiah looking so unthrilled was somebody sticking a pin inside of it; now it was slowly seeping out air and deflating. Blaine was deflating.

"Jeremiah!" he greeted happily, as if he wasn't bothered by the other man's affect in the slightest.

Jeremiah put on a smile that didn't quite ring sincere. He stood up and gave Blaine a quick kiss on the lips – just an immediate, small amount of pressure, then it was over.

"Awwww," Mike chorused from behind the counter. "Aren't you two sweet?" He turned to Tina, who was passing through with an armful of flowers. "Aren't they sweet, Tina?"

"The cutest," Tina said whilst pulling a face of disgust.

Mike joined her in her fake gagging. Blaine glared at him, but Mike just mimed hanging himself with a colorful string of confetti that said "love, love, love" over and over again.

"What's up?" he asked casually, turning back to Jeremiah.

Blaine sat down at the table he and Kurt had shared not too long ago. It felt different though, sitting there with Jeremiah. Not like he was out of place, but like Jeremiah was out of place. He realized it was completely out of the ordinary to see him ever set foot in the flower shop – he wasn't sure if Jeremiah had actually ever even been there before, now that he came to think of it.

Was he mad at Blaine? Was he going to break up with him? More importantly, why were these the first scenarios that popped into Blaine's mind? He felt the panic spreading through him from those cancerous assumptions; maybe he'd been too presumptuous. Maybe he'd jumped the gun. Maybe he'd been going to fast or maybe he'd –

"Nothing," Jeremiah answered with a small smile. "Can't a man come see his boyfriend in action every once in a while?"

Blaine blushed. "Well I'm not really in action at this particular moment…But I thought you had to go into work. Didn't you have a meeting?"

"Yes, I do," he answered. He reached into his back pocket and pulled something out. "But you forgot this."

Blaine looked down at the folded leather item in Jeremiah's palm: his wallet.

"Aw, man," Blaine groaned, taking the wallet from him. "I totally forgot all about that."

He flipped through it, seeing his license, his ID, his work ID, his credit cards, his cash. He closed it and shoved it in his pocket before reaching across the table to clutch Jeremiah's hand in thanks.

"I definitely would've been missing that. I'd be so screwed without you," he confessed. "Thank you."

Jeremiah pulled away abruptly, taking his hand from Blaine's grip and shielding it with his own, folded neatly in his lap. "It's nothing," he replied sullenly. "Just thought you'd need it."

Blaine was hurt by his sudden brashness, like he couldn't wait to get away from the shop quickly enough - from him. "Is something wrong?" he asked.

"No, nothing's wrong," Jeremiah answered, but he was looking out of the window again, avoiding Blaine's gaze at all costs. "Look, I have to go." He gave Blaine a small smile, got up, and walked out of the door - just like that.

Blaine's mouth was open to say something, but he just watched Jeremiah leave and continued following him with his eyes as he passed by the very window he'd just been looking out of. Blaine watched as he pulled his jacket closer around him, hands tucked neatly in his pockets, as he briskly walked away.

Never looking back.


Sugar pulled up next to the curb of the school. She shifted into 'park' and sat there, waiting for Parker to get out of the car.

"Well, we're here, kiddo," she said. "What are you going to say to everyone who gives you a Valentine?"

"Thank you very much," Parker recited.

"Don't eat too much candy," she ordered. "If you're nice, I'll make you a special after-school snack."

"You're the best, Sugar," he said, leaning in to give her a hug.

She put her arms around him over the console. "Right back 'atcha." She sat back in her seat, patting down his hair where it stuck up in annoying cowlicks. "I'll be right back here at two thirty, so don't keep me waiting, you hear?"

"Are you going to stay with me all night long?" Parker asked, sounding hopeful. "You can help me with my homework and we can bake cookies and watch movies and stay up really late until my mom comes home."

Sugar's heart ached just hearing him ramble on about how much he desired her company. His mother was a full-time career woman and his father…well… "I'm going out with my boyfriend tonight to my family's annual Couples' Party, remember him?"

"The really funny, nice one? In the chair?"

She smiled at his description. "Yes. He's taking me out tonight. But if you need me…"

"No," he told her, putting on his brave face. "I'll be okay. You'll be at my house until you have to leave though, won't you?"

"Until the very last second," she promised. "Now go. And make sure to give your teacher that Valentine we made especially for him."

He nodded and got out of the car, his backpack full of cards and candy for his fellow classmates. He had his lunchbox in hand and he was closing the door to the car before he ran across the lawn to the steps of the school.

Sugar looked after Parker, watching as he met up with a group of his friends, gesticulating widely as he retold some story she'd probably heard ten times already. Just then, the bell rang and all the kids began pouring inside. She turned the key in her ignition, looking up one last time.

He looked back to her when he was on the top step. He waved to her frantically as if she couldn't spot him amidst the crowd of children. She waved back at him. Then he disappeared inside.


A/N: Sorry about that guys! I wasn't home at all yesterday so I couldn't get online to update. But I'm putting up the next two chapters now and maybe the next two chapters later. To make it up to you guys, I am being defiant and using school equipment to upload this as we speak. My rebellious actions go to show you that I take this very seriously ;D

I'm glad you guys are enjoying it so far - y'all make it worthwhile and I take your support to heart (:

Pretty please leave me a review!