Perfect. So I haven't updated in a while… Because I couldn't be bothered to. Tudah. Hah I'm watching horrible histories right now… "CAN YE HEAR ME PAUL?" Middle ages doctor sketch… "Skin disease… Dammit I'm out of wolfskin." "Where be a wolf? Where be a wolf?" "Don't worry, I always carry a flask full of fresh boy's urine just in case. "Alas, an actual ambulance is on its way!" "We must flee this place" Yeah…
Blaine Anderson was often told he was perfect. Perfect honey coloured eyes, perfect muscles, perfect jaw line, a perfect dashing smile. He was a model, obviously, and had been since he was fourteen years old. From there he left school, home schooled in between photo shoots, not bothering to apply for college because modelling agencies all over America were all requesting his face on their magazines, for their commercials, to put on billboards and posters advertising whatever underwear or male fragrances they wanted people to buy.
And usually, when someone got a glance of his soulful eyes or dazzling smile they would immediately feel compelled to buy that product, maybe feeling if they bought that underwear they could somehow look as good as him if they wore the same thing. His face was known nationwide for being posted everywhere, New York, Paris, Tokyo, Milan. On the front pages of fashion magazines, short films, advertisements in between television programs and general fashion shoots.
Everyone who knew him (and anyone who went outside or watched television did) loved him, teenage girls made him shrines and scoured the internet for his underwear fashion shoots, tweeting and posting on tumblr about the "supermegafoxyawesomehotness" of Blaine Anderson.
He supposed he should enjoy the attention. Growing up he had been overshadowed by his older brother, and now he was the more famous one, he was the one the girls giggled over and asked for his autograph if they were walking next to eachother. His agent, Wes Montgomery, was always full of praise for him, getting his modelling jobs by the hour, traveling all over America and Europe and parts of Asia, just so those directors and photographers can get just a little taste of him.
But over time he got bored of it. He felt annoyed whenever someone told him "God you're beautiful" or gushed over him or asked for his autograph. He never had a relationship because nobody liked him for who he was, they liked him for his beautiful body, and the stories they could tell their friends that they had hooked up with Blaine Anderson. Also the fact that he was gay and being in an open gay relationship with someone so famous didn't often appeal to many people.
Also the fact that everybody only liked him for his looks. It got frustrating; just because he was a model didn't mean he didn't want to settle down. But his busy schedule also didn't give him much time to meet somebody that wasn't another model wanting a one night stand or a sleazy gay guy he met at a bar.
So Blaine Anderson was 21 years old, had been modelling for seven of those years, had never been close to falling in love, worked 10 months a year, ate barely anything and was entirely sick of people viewing and liking him just for his looks.
"You know many models would kill to be in your position," Wes told him, and Blaine rolled his perfect amber eyes, framed by thick eyelashes.
"Other people's desire for manslaughter is their own choice, but it has nothing to do with my opinions," Blaine told him, and his friend and agent looked at him closely.
"Look, Blaine, you have a big catwalk event this evening. Don't mess it up, no matter how you feel. Also, we're going to Paris next weekend for a big shoot there, and then you're back here for that perfume commercial."
Blaine sighed and leant back in his chair in his large, modern kitchen, his head feeling unpleasantly fuzzy at all the work they were making him do. How did his life become so pathetic and pointless?
"Also your brother is in town by the time we get back, and I've agreed on your behalf for a joint shoot."
Blaine's eyes widened now as he started at him. "You want me to work with Cooper? No. Nuh uh. Not gonna happen, Wes."
Wes sighed at him. "I've already agreed Blaine, and it'll be great for your publicity."
"Well maybe there are things more important than my damn publicity," Blaine snapped. Wes took in a deep breath, staring him out. "Well look at it this way. No publicity nobody hires you, you're out of work, you lose your house, your job, you didn't finish high school or go to college, what can you do other than modelling?"
Silently fuming, Blaine didn't answer, and instead got up and left.
"You're going to that shoot, Blaine," Wes yelled after him.
Later, after Blaine had drunk some mint tea, had his hair and makeup done for the shoot ("You are so beautiful," the makeup artist had sighed dreamily) and was waiting for his turn to go on stage, did he see him.
At first Blaine was certain he was a model as well, with his soft, coiffed chestnut hair, flawless skin and slim figure. On second glance Blaine saw he wasn't dressed up for the catwalk, and was standing behind the tape backstage. His eyes weren't focusing on anything in particular, and he looked slightly bored. Blaine smiled at him, but he didn't react. Apparently famous supermodels were not his forte. And then to top it off, a short girl with silky brown hair came up behind him and took his hand, leading him away. The boy went away with her easily, their hands not coming undone.
For some reason Blaine was surprised, his clothes had looked so… Well chosen out. But he was clearly straight, seeing as he and the girl held hands as they walked out of backstage and into the crowds.
"Anderson, you're up!" a young woman with an earpiece and a clipboard called, gesturing to the opening to the catwalk. Blaine nodded, rolled out his shoulders and stepped through it to the waiting, screaming crowd, all here just to glimpse at his famously perfect features.
After it was over, and he had spots in his eyes from all the camera flashes, Blaine found himself wondering after the handsome guy holding hands with the girl, which he made sure to remember. The fact he was holding hands with her, not that he was handsome. Not that he wasn't handsome, because he was.
The director handed Wes Blaine's cheque to be transferred to his bank account, and Blaine changed into his casual wear and then left the building, feeling none the more fulfilled or happy with his day had gone. Being a model had been fun and exciting at first, but now it was just a chore he had to do because people thought he looked nice and he wasn't qualified for anything else.
Angsty thoughts filling his brain he left the backstage and headed to the parking lot. Many teen fangirls had stuck around to try and see him, and openly squealed and giggled when he passed them. He slid on sunglasses and ignored them, his thrill from the attention of fans long since grown up from.
And obviously, because this was his life, there leaning against a shiny Navigator stood the handsome guy from earlier. Again his eyes weren't focused on anything, but he looked less bored now, his face a lot more open.
Upon impulse Blaine approached him, eventually standing a couple of feet away. The man didn't react, he didn't seem to have noticed him at all. So Blaine cleared his throat gently, and the man jumped.
"Is someone there?" came his melodious voice, his head looking around but clearly not seeing anything.
Oh. He was blind.
"Um, sorry, didn't mean to scare you," Blaine said uncertainly. The surprised look left his face and was replaced by a guarded expression. "Who are you?"
"Sorry," Blaine said again, "I'm Blaine." He stepped forward, making sure his footsteps could be heard.
"Kurt," the blind guy said shortly. Blaine nodded. The name fit him.
"So, uh," he didn't want to leave just yet, "What are you doing here?"
"Rachel dragged me," Kurt replied.
Rachel Blaine thought, thinking back to the girl holding his hand. "Your… Girlfriend?"
That was when Kurt's face lit into a smile and he started to chuckle. "Oh hell no. Just a friend. Best friend. She likes to hold my hand so she doesn't lose me in big crowds."
Oh Blaine thought, his heart lifting. "Well the crowds are pretty big here."
"Yeah. Apparently there's some big famous supermodel and Rachel wanted a glimpse of him."
"Well I was there backstage when she was there," Blaine mentioned, and then saw Kurt's eyebrows raise.
"Wait, didn't you say your name was Blaine? As in Blaine Anderson?"
"Uh, yeah. Ha, you got me," Blaine said feebly, wanting to get to know him without him just liking him for his fame.
"Cool. I don't really follow models, as you may have noticed I can't see them. I prefer music."
Blaine beamed widely. "Well you'd be a first. People mostly only like me for my looks and my fame. And for anyone who does want a relationship they don't want the burden of being with a super famous model. Also being gay kind of narrows down my options, not that women don't try."
He hoped to God Kurt wasn't a homophobe, but wanted to get across he was gay just in case.
"Well if being blind didn't narrow my options, my being gay just tops it off." Blaine's beam grew even wider.
He looked around the empty parking lot. "Where's your Rachel?"
"Not my Rachel. In any case she's Finn's Rachel. He was one of the photographers here, and she told me to wait five minutes whilst they spoke. It's been twenty."
"Well," Blaine decided to go for it, "I could keep you company if you don't mind."
"Don't you have a large penthouse waiting for you?" Kurt asked with raised eyebrows.
"A whole mansion actually, but it's lonely. I'd actually rather hang with you."
Kurt shrugged as he leant back against his car. "Fair enough. Come lean with me."
Feeling probably a whole bit happier than he should have at the invitation, Blaine wasted no time stepping forward and relaxing next to Kurt against his car. "So you're just here for Rachel"?
"She says I need to get out more, and before I lost my sight I was into fashion so why not take me to a catwalk show with a bunch of famous supermodels I can't see," his voice got steadily bitterer.
Blaine didn't answer for a while, before saying, "And when did you lose your sight?"
"I was 16. It was a gay hate crime, and I ended up blind. I had to leave my school, but Rachel and a couple of other friends stuck by me."
"I'm sorry," he didn't really know what else to say.
"Don't be, it's not your fault." Kurt sighed. "Sometimes it just sucks to always be in complete darkness. Like how I'd like to see the famous beauty of Blaine Anderson, standing right next to me, but I can't. And I haven't really accepted that yet." Blaine was lost for words, not knowing what it could be like to never see anything. "Also, you've said sorry like three times in the past five minutes."
Blaine was able to smile at that, "Well I went to prep school. I mean, before they carted me off to life of fame and meaninglessness. "
"You mean you don't like it?" Kurt asked, confused.
"I did at first. But eventually people only started liking me for my looks, and my body and my money. And being told your beautiful and perfect gets meaningless after a while, because it doesn't really mean anything to me as part of my personality, and who I really am behind my pretty face. It feels degrading when the directors and photographers start telling you to pout or pose because they know it will get people to buy their product or whatever."
Kurt was silent a moment. "I kind of really want to know what you look like, just to see what all the fuss is about."
"Yeah well. Let's move on to happier subjects."
So they did. Kurt talked about his dad and the Glee club and life before he was blinded, and how he's nice living with Rachel who is ever so slightly overprotective and that they have a cat named Jacob and he doesn't have a guide dog because he doesn't like dogs, and neither does Jacob.
And then when Kurt asked after his life, Blaine replied with stories form his happy childhood before he was discovered. How he used to wear bow ties and gel his hair, but Wes thought it looked sexier curly so he'd get more publicity. Kurt was impressed to hear he was brothers with Cooper Anderson, but didn't comment any further, sounding more interested in Blaine than Cooper.
And then a giggling fan came over.
"Hi," she giggled, "I just want to tell you that you're really perfect." And then giggled some more.
Blaine sighed. But he didn't want to be mean to her in front of Kurt, and being with Kurt was actually making his patience longer. "Thank you," he said, putting on his prep school smile, "I get that a lot."
She giggled a little even more and then walked off giggling to her waiting giggling friends and got into the giggle-mobile and drove off giggling. Giggle's a weird word Blaine thought Giggle giggle giggle giggle. Yup. Definitely sounds weird.
"Fan?" Kurt asked.
"Nope. My grandma," Blaine replied, and was rewarded with a small smile from Kurt.
"She was right thought," Kurt commented, "You are perfect."
Blaine's smile froze. You too?
"And not because of your looks," he quickly added, "Blaine you're a rich, famous supermodel with a huge house and adoring fans, and yet you spent the past half hour keeping a stranger company. That kind of makes you perfect in my books."
His smile slowly melted into a genuine one again. "Well actually, I also did it because I kind of found you cute."
The faint blush that crossed Kurt's face made him feel better than any cheering, screaming crowd had in all his years as a model. "Well that sir, makes you a hypocrite. Hanging out with me for my looks. I'm insulted."
Finding he was liking this man more and more Blaine chuckled lightly.
"KURT I'M SO SORRY I LOST TRACK OF TIME!"
The short brunette Kurt had held hands with earlier (Rachel, Blaine reminded himself) came running up to them, flinging herself at Kurt. "Are you okay? Did anyone mug you?"
She turned to look at Blaine. "OH MY BARBRA YOU MET BLAINE ANDERSON?"
The amusement at her reaction to Kurt melted away from Blaine as Rachel gaped at him.
"He doesn't like being recognised or praised for his looks," Kurt muttered into her ear. Rachel immediately looked apologetic.
"I'm sorry, I guess people screaming at you all the time must get annoying for some people."
"Some people?" Blaine asked quizzically.
"I can't wait for the day people scream at me every time they see me," Rachel told him earnestly. "And now I must take my best gay home." She released Kurt and slipped around the other side of the car to get into the driving seat.
"So, goodbye I guess. Thanks for keeping me company," Kurt said slightly uncertainly.
"Again, it was entirely selfish. But hey, can I give you my number?"
"Yeah," Kurt was now nodding quickly, "Of course. I'll just get my phone…"
After handing it to him and exchanging numbers Blaine took his hand and shook it. "Don't be a stranger," he told him. Kurt nodded.
"Also, remember. You're far more perfect on your inside than your outside to me."
And then he slipped into his car and drove away, and Blaine felt like he'd achieved about a thousand times more than seven years of million dollar making modelling with a fan base the size of the Eiffel tower.
And he didn't care if millions of people across the world thought he was perfect.
Because suddenly all he cared about was that one beautiful blind man thought he was, and that was enough for a life time.
Finally! Haven't updated in like four days… Also sorry about my random Horrible Histories quotes at the beginning. No more notes for this chapter. Adios.
Listening to Glee cast "Say". How is Darren's voice so perfect...?