I warned you they were short. This is based completely off my own experiences with my brother…with a little Glee/Darren inside jokes smattered around…enjoy!

"For crying out loud, sit still!" she sighed, flipping her pencil around once again, to fix a less-than-perfect line.

For the past forty minutes, Blaine had been perched on a stool, staring off into space, trying to sit up straight as Del penciled his portrait. Twenty minutes ago, he had started to get fidgety.

"I'm trying to sit still," he said through his teeth, trying to move his mouth too much in the process. "But I have a mosquito bite on the back of my knee and it itches!"

"I don't care! You should have taken that into consideration before you volunteered."

"Volunteered my—!"

"DON'T MOVE!"

Instantly, he snapped back into place, keeping his eyes forward.

"Hey," he whispered.

"What?" she grumbled, erasing some more.

"There's a bug on that wall over there."

Reflexively, her head dropped into her hands, shaking with exasperation. The corners of her brother's mouth twitched.

"What?" she huffed.

"…facepalm," he muttered, trying—and failing—to hold back a grin.

"You really do have the attention span of a four year old, don't you?"

Once again, he shook with the laugh he was holding in.

"Poker face, dude, poker face…"

With a deep breath, he smoothed his face again, and looked forward. There was another few minutes of quiet stillness, Del scrawling away, and Blaine trying to remain as composed as possible.

"Only your artsy-fartsy summer program would have homework," Blaine muttered.

"It's not homework, it's practice! No different than you running up the hot water bill every time you have a competition thanks to your shower concerts."

"Hey—!"

"DON'T MOVE!"

"Jeeze… Fine. 'Practice' it is. Are you almost done?" He sighed again.

"Almost…lift your chin a little bit…"

He obeyed, with only the slightest of eye-rolls.

"Just one last thing…" she giggled a little bit.

"What?"

"You,"—another snort—"your…" she trailed off, keeping her eyes glued to the paper and off her squirming brother.

"What's so funny about my face?" He glared at her through the corner of his eye, not daring to move now.

"It's just—it's nothing really—it's just, sitting here, having to look at them…" Her sentence was once drowned out in giggles again.

"Dude, not cool…what's so freakin' funny?"

"Um…your eyebrows…um…don't exactly—gah, how should I put this…?"

"Just tell me!"

"Your eyebrows don't exactly fit the guidelines…they're just a little bit…"

He sighed heavily, his face suddenly becoming stony and unamused. "I know. Just draw. I want to get this over with…"

"Thank you for not making me say it," Del laughed once more, and turned back to her paper.

By the time she was done, almost fifteen minutes later, the carpet around her chair in the middle of the living room was sprinkled with eraser remains, her pencil was mutilated from inpatient chewing, and Blaine's back was uncomfortable stiff.

"There!" she sighed, brimming with pride. "I give you, 'Blaine Anderson'."

She turned the paper around as Blaine jumped off the stool, bending backwards, producing an unsettling pop from his spine.

"Um…okay then. Here we are!" She waved the sketch pad in his face for a second.

"Uh…wow…" He was squinting at the paper, tilting his head to the side and back, testing different angles. "Do I really look that…uh…"

"What? Oh, God it's awful isn't it? Oh, God!" She flipped the paper back and scrutinized it, her eyes darting between the picture and the real thing.

"No! It's great! But…do I really look that much like Elvis?"

She looked back at the drawing, a near-perfect profile of her brother, and smiled.

"Yes, actually, you do."

He smiled giddily, raising the corner of his lip and popping his hips to one side awkwardly. "Why, thank you…thank you very much," he mumbled huskily.

She hit him over the head with her sketch pad and made her way back to her room.

OH SO FREAKIN SHORT! It almost hurts.