January 15, 2023

Seeing his name flash on the screen, you immediately have half the mind to ignore the call. You would have, heaven knows the urge to do so was enough a reason, but you know that he won't stop. He never did. Pressing your thumb down on your phone's key pad, you bring it up to your ear, hearing your best friend's persistent voice.

"Michael Anthony Chang," you roll your eyes, lazily chuckling as your bury your head on the soft cotton pillow.

"Blaine Warbler Anderson," you hope the mention of his Warbler days would hinder his persistent, sermon like tone, but it clearly doesn't as you hear him scoff.

"You're in California,"

"Last time I checked, I am. But I can check again if you want," he replies mockingly

"This isn't funny,"

"Neither are you,"

"I'm hilarious, Chang" even from just the tone of his voice, you could already see his signature pout followed by his classic head shake. You knew him too well for your own good. But he had been your first true, honest friend since high school graduation. He had been your roommate at NYU. Hell, he is still your roommate, though you two no longer shared a dorm, but a three bedroom apartment at the heart of Manhattan. With all that history, you guess knowing him and his facial expressions inside and out wasn't completely unexpected. Or unwanted.

"That you are," you comply too his insistence.

"You're in California,"

"That's the second time you've said that,"

"For her?" You pause, turning your body to the other side of the large, king sized bed.

"Why?" he asks you, baffled.

"She's one of my oldest friends-"

"Oh spare me," Blaine interrupts. "We both know why you're there, and it's not to sit around eating noodles and reminiscing about McKinley,"

"What's your point?"

"What's yours?" he returns idly, irking a frustrated sigh from yourself.

"I didn't realize I had a point,"

"Why are you in California, Mike? It's been ten years! I thought you were, oh, I don't know, over her?"

"Just like you're over Kurt?" it's a low blow and you know it, but it slipped out of your mouth before you could think it over. Lately, you've been impulsive, hopping on a red eye flight to LAX on New Years Eve was evidence of that. Staying an extra two weeks when the Winter dance classes you and Brittany taught together began was also evidence of your irrational, impulsive behavior.

"I dated Kurt,"

"And I grew up with her,"

"First loves aren't forever. Especially when they're one-sided"

"What's that supposed to mean?" you snap

"It's not like she's in love with you like you are with her,"

"That's harsh,"

"So was mentioning Kurt,"

"Is there a point to this conversation? Because I was up pretty late last night and I'm not really up for listening to your endless whining and complaining," you were usually a patient man, but not now of all times.

"Mike," his tone softens, and you feel yourself relaxing. "Come back to New York where you belong. Stop living this little spur of the moment, unrealistic vacation aka pursuit to get your first love back. It's pathetic. I am coming to you as your best friend, Mike. Come back,"

"I don't want to,"

"It's not like you're even accomplishing your goal. You said so yourself, since you showed up, it's been 1AM coffee dates at Starbucks and lounging around the hospital until her shift ends. That doesn't exactly strike me as winning her over," you sigh.

"Blaine,"

"Yeah?"

"At least I was willing to compromise myself for a chance, take my advice and do the same. Kurt won't be single forever,"

"T-That's is not-" before he could further argue, you already hang up, hurling your phone over to the nearby couch, turning your body to the other side of the bed.

"Technically Kurt's dating someone," you flutter your previously shut eyes open, meeting a pair of know-it-all hazel orbs. Inching closer, you wrap your free arm around her waist, moving your hand up and down her back.

"This is Blaine and Kurt we're talking about, no one else stands a chance when compared to Kurt or Blaine respectively," her endearing, echoing giggle rings in your ears, and you have half the mind to reach for your phone and record it. It had to be best sound Quinn Fabray made, well, one of the best, as the purring and moaning from a couple of hours before contested her giggles. But you decide against it. Anything that would make you pull away from her slender form was out of the question.

"Do you really believe that?"

"Believe what?"

"That there's always that one person who trumps everyone else," you smirk cockily, because though she often trumped you in video games and intelligence, being forever tethered to one person is your area of expertise.

"I'm here with you, aren't I?"