Disclaimer: I don't own Glee. I do own glee. But with no capital, it's not copyrighted because it's an adjective! Bwha! Take that lawyers. And I don't own Lucky Charms (I do own lucky charms!) and I don't own Youtube (I do own you, tube!)

Okay, so I only own a lucky charm, no plural, and I don't own a tube. I do own a straw, does that count as a tube?

Okay, short chapter. But if I added the other parts it would be long and you'd have to wait longer. So hopefully you can live with this. I can't say it's fantastical, either, seeing as how I wrote this at five am.

"The number you have requested is currently unavailable. Please try again or leave a message after the beep." An automated, "female" voice said. It was followed by the impending beep and left Blaine, for the sixth time of hearing this in ten minutes, once again shocked by the robot's manners and vast vocabulary.

Blaine sighed, hanging up again. He brought another handful of Lucky Charms to his mouth from the box, already spilling over his bed, in which he was sitting criss-cross-applesauce on the bed. He was ashamed to admit to himself the most technical term he could come up for the way he was sitting was a phrase he hadn't heard since kindergarten. But he was having a crisis, and what better way to deal with a crisis then to pretend like your a kindergartener and nosh on breakfast cereal at four in the afternoon.

Blaine stared at his cheap pay-as-you-go phone courtesy of his mother from Christmas when he was twelve. He was no doubt costing himself millions, but he couldn't help himself when he dialed Kurt's number again. Was having his number memorized by heart stalker-ish? It wasn't like he'd purposely memorized it, he'd just dialed that number so many times it got stuck in his head.

Ring.

One, two, three, four long and painful rings later, the automated voice repeated itself, ending with a another beep. He had to say something. Something inside him seriously doubted that Kurt was busy- he just was ignoring him.

"Kurt, I need to talk to you, bad." Blaine pleaded. "Please call me. Please. Call me."

He breathed into the phone for a good extra ten seconds before deciding that was enough said, and hung up. Maybe, by some miracle, Kurt would listen to it and call him back. That didn't seem too likely, but he might as well try.

He fell back on his bed, holding his phone tight to his chest. It was an extremely dramatic move, movie worthy, in fact, fit for the sappy love story also known as his life. He used to consider it a sitcom, but after being slapped by his dad he decided he probably deserved more sympathy then that. Maybe there was just a hefty dose of insanity tied in with his love story. Well, it wasn't as much of a love story as teen drama. It followed the basic pattern:

Boy meets girl (or boy, in this case.) They get together. They break up. And then there's the happy ending, right?

Except there are always a select few where there isn't a happy ending, say, Romeo and Juliet. Hate to spoil the ending but- they die. Blaine nor Kurt planned on dying anytime soon, of course, but accidents happen, especially for entertainment! Blaine was sure some higher power was watching his life as if it was a TV show. Whatever genre it was would determine his ending- or at least his end with Kurt, which, hopefully wouldn't end up with Kurt going ballistic and stabbing Blaine in the neck with a plastic fork (again.)

The thing with his pattern, though, is that he wasn't the one in this story everyone liked. Kurt was- what with his innocence and lack-of-idiocy, unlike Blaine, likable. Blaine was the one who broke up with Kurt. Which made Blaine the enemy. He didn't suspect to getting killed off- his story wasn't that dramatic. But he did suspect that Kurt would run away with some other boy that was actually taller them him and run off in the sunset. He'd forget about Blaine. And Blaine would be left to a lovely life with a large amount of cats. Was that as bad as being dead? Honestly, Blaine would rather be dead then have most of his relationships with cats who only love him back for feeding them.

Whoever was writing his life had some problems to be worked out, that was for sure.

Suddenly, breaking him from his trance, the object on his chest vibrated, and after a few seconds his brain registered his phone vibrating. For a good ten seconds, he was elated, that was, until he picked up his cheap phone and saw the text lit up on the tiny screen.

I can't.

His contacts clearly said this was from Kurt. Blaine took a moment to remember what he'd said in his message: ultimately, call me. So Kurt couldn't? Why did that sound so ominous?

Well, the evidence clearly stated that Kurt was just ignoring him, but he was actually there, so being the stubborn boy he was, he completely ignored what Kurt had just said and once again picked up his phone and dialed his number.

Kurt, as to be expected, ignored him until he came back to the automated voice.

He texted back, his fingers thumbing the tiny keyboard, unrealistically small for fast texting if you didn't have skinny long fingers, which Blaine had the opposite of. Blaine could text, but not fast, nor very good.

Wy not? i nedd to tlak to yu

Blaine sent the message, ashamed with his grammar and atrocious typing skills, but he couldn't do much about it, he was (attempting to be) so fast. He always thought it looked stupid, but he know understood why there was such thing as 'texting language.'

Nothing happened for a good ten minutes which involved a lot of stress-induced pacing on Blaine's part. He had to talk to Kurt. Blaine Andersen wasn't always a very ambitious person when it came to Sunday afternoons when all he wanted to do was watch Youtube videos and sulk about life, but it wasn't as though he had a choice. As wonderful as sulking sounded right now, he knew very well it wasn't the smartest option.

Blaine was sure this would lead to something such as a restraining order or worse, but he had no other choice. How bad was Kurt? Was he like those dumpees in the sappy love story movies: thus, is he in a depressed heap of his own sorrow?

He grabbed his coat of the rack in a superhero kind of way. Holding it over his head, he walked out into the pouring rain with some black Old Navy coat that was quickly becoming soaked through and dripping onto Blaine's hair. Secretly, he was sort of happy it was raining and sad at the same time. He happy he could get away with something over dramatic for once (he did have an odd living for theatricality), yet, he was upset due to the fact this only further proved his life was some bad drama movie, which meant he didn't have much of a choice. He opened his car door, digging for the keys in his jeans pocket and backed out.

And off to Kurt's house he went.

So, it doesn't seem like I'll be able to update too frequently in the next week or so, due to play rehearsals. (Winnie the Pooh! Eek! I play Owl.)

Review! Review! Reviiieeeeeeww!