blaine anderson had a full schedule on his hands for the next weekend
and he was almost prepared to handle it
CHAPTER two
He's kissing on you
of I'm Not Gonna Teach Him How to Dance With You
by littlemusings
2016 / summer
Los Angeles, California
The front door opened and closed with a click; the squeaking of boots was audible from where Blaine sat in the study.
He beamed, turning away from his songbook and desk to face Kurt, who had just walked into the study. "Hey there, beautiful," he said smoothly, standing up. He was about to kiss him when Kurt turned his face away. Worried, Blaine watched as Kurt walked over to a nearby chair and sat on it, throwing his Marc Jacobs bag in a corner furiously.
"What's wrong?" he asked as Kurt rested his hands in his lap and bowed his head.
"Blaine…" he hesitated, "I…got the part of Elphaba."
Blaine sat next to him and hugged him tightly. "I'm so proud of you! Why the long face?"
"I'm going to go to New York next week for rehearsals."
The shorter boy froze, staring at the young countertenor sitting next to him. "Oh! That's…great! The Big Apple, where you've always wanted to go!"
Kurt looked up at him hesitantly.
"Which…which is why I came home early to tell you that…I think we should stop seeing each other."
The words came onto him like a pile of bricks. Blaine stood up on instinct and exclaimed, "What?"
"Blaine, I've realized that we haven't been spending as much time together as we should. I've been busy launching my line, and juggling my Broadway duties, and my relationship, and they're really straining me. I haven't had the chance to…you know, think of myself."
"But we always said 'our relationship' first before anything," Blaine said desperately, getting down on his knees, grasping Kurt's hands in his. "Kurt, are you okay?" he asked again, scared, putting his palm to Kurt's porcelain-white forehead. "Are you sick or something?"
Kurt pushed his hands away and folded them within his. "I'm perfectly fine, Blaine. I just don't want to…I just don't want this to go on any longer."
"What?"
"You're…you're the only boyfriend I've ever had, Blaine. Who knows? I might…I might find someone in New York. I've got to keep my o-options open. I'm going to New York, Blaine, and you know that we're not good at long distance relationships."
"I…I…" Blaine stuttered. "Wh…what?"
"I…I'm sorry," Kurt whispered, standing up and walking to the rooms of their apartment, looking for luggage bags. Blaine ran after him.
"You can't just do this, Kurt," Blaine shouted. "I love you. Please, don't leave me."
He heard a bag being thrown onto the ground, and Kurt re-appeared, chest heaving. "I followed you here in the first place. You know I had my dreams, but, no, you had me come all the way here to California, when I clearly had plans to go to New York. I was stuck at a college I didn't want—"
"UCLA? I thought it was one of your choices?" Blaine exclaimed. "Kurt, what are you saying?"
"It was one of my choices at the time, because I was so damn distracted by you! I could have done a majority of the things I've wanted to do, if it weren't for you!"
"Are you insane?" Blaine exclaimed. "Is this a joke? I didn't make you come here!"
"What about the 'what about us, Kurt?' shit?"
"SHIT? Excuse me!" Blaine said, taken aback, his heart feeling constricted. "I told you that you have your options, but you clearly chose to come with me here. And we've graduated already, so why haven't you gone to New York yet? I would have supported you the entire way!"
"I'm going now. I was lucky they had that Wicked audition. They wouldn't have come here if I hadn't sent in an audition tape," Kurt yelled, going back to the extra room with the luggage bags. "I think that this whole relationship is dragging my dreams and chances down. There is no room in the Californian market at the moment for a fledgling designer and Broadway dreamer."
Tears stung Blaine's eyes as he walked into the room. "What is going on with you? Can't we talk?"
"There's no need to talk. I've grown up. I'm not that baby penguin, the boy you fell in love with five years ago. My feelings have been fading. I don't love you anymore," Kurt said with an echoing finality. Blaine stood still as Kurt walked into the next room to gather his clothes and belongings. When he regained his bearing, Blaine followed him.
"You're not the only one with dreams, Kurt – I've got mine as well, and I got nominated for a Grammy this morning, and I wanted to tell you –"
"That's nice, Blaine. I want you to have a good life, okay? You don't need me here."
"I do," Blaine said desperately. "I love you, I love you, I—"
"Stop, Blaine."
"You make me feel like I'm living a teenage dream…" Blaine sang quietly. Kurt held a hand up for him to stop.
"Just…just shut up!" Kurt said fiercely. Blaine could see tears brimming in his eyes, just as they were in his. "I'm going to live my life."
"I love you, Kurt Hummel."
Kurt zipped up his luggage bag and dragged it down the hallway, Blaine following after him. The taller boy opened the front door and slammed it shut. Blaine threw it open and ran after him down the stairwell.
"KURT!" Blaine shouted. Kurt stopped and turned around before opening the door to the first floor. "Don't you remember the promise I made you at our UCLA graduation? That I'd be the first person to be at your Broadway shows, and the last person to leave—and that I'd bring you your favorite flowers—lilies of the valley. Just like you and I promised each other. You wanted to have flowers like Kate Middleton."
Kurt turned away from him swiftly and left the stairwell.
"Kurt, please!" Blaine cried. Kurt, ignoring him, walked out of the building, a taxicab already waiting for him. Kurt entered the taxi, and it zoomed off. Blaine was left by the front door of the building, tears running down his face.
2019 / San Francisco, California
Blaine tossed and turned in his bed, the sound of his alarm blasting annoyingly. Groaning, he peered at it: 4AM. Angrily slamming the snooze button, he sat up reluctantly, running a hand through his dark, curly hair. The memory of Kurt leaving rammed his head painfully again, and he quickly threw it aside as he got ready for another day of recording and tour practice. He was to leave for New York in two days, and his schedule was working him overtime. Sighing, Blaine brushed his teeth and walked into the shower, letting the cool water wash away any negative feelings.
Unfortunately, the water wasn't helping. Muttering to himself as he fixed and slightly gelled his hair, Blaine quickly got dressed and headed out of his apartment, – he had moved into this new, bachelor-style apartment after the breakup – seeking out his old Navigator, the only car he ever believed to be sufficient. Getting in, he sped towards the San Francisco mini-Sony Records studio and parked in his regular spot. He walked out and into the studio, where he saw his manager, Duke Whitley, on the phone, seemingly excited about something.
Probably another gig in this country, Blaine thought scathingly. Duke saw him, and muttered something that sounded like "I've got you another gig in New York!"
Blaine nodded, pretending to grin brightly. "Totally awesome," he mouthed back, giving Duke a thumbs-up. Blaine walked quickly past his manager and into the recording lounge, where his trusty guitar and Yamaha keyboard were waiting for him. Relaxing on the closest couch, he picked up his guitar and warmed up his voice with one of his songs.
I hate where I'm at,
Actin' crazy like that
I know that I've been wrong,
It's something I've been working on
And I don't know what to do
It's changing me, it's killing you
"BLAINE, my man!" Duke's loud and raucous voice blasted from the door of the recording lounge. Blaine jumped in his seat, nearly dropping his guitar. "You will never guess what gig I got you, boy. I bet you'll like it."
"Sure, D," Blaine said tiredly, sitting properly on the couch.
"Since we'll be in New York until Tuesday this coming week, I got you the chance to play at another celebrity's party! It's going to be on the Upper East Side."
"Which celebrity?" Blaine muttered, his heart beginning to pound fiercely.
"Well, I wanted to ask you before confirming everything and all, because…uhm…"
Blaine froze. No way.
"…this weekend is Kurt Hummel and Anthony Marksman's engagement party, and dear old Anthony just called and asked—"
"No way."
"This is your chance, so you won't have to use the forged invitation."
"Dani, this is going to kill me," Blaine groaned, lying back on his bed after a long day of work, his shoulders sore from carrying his guitar around all day. He had been trying to avoid prying questions from Duke ever since his lovely manager had asked him about the engagement party. "I am not going to perform."
"You've told me once before, Bee, that music is the perfect tool for expressing one's feelings. So, why not sing for Kurt? Sing him a song that'll make him tear off that engagement ring and run into your stubby little arms."
"'Stubby little arms'? I'm not that short, Danielle," he grumbled, slightly hurt. "Anyway, I'm not going to sing for them. No way."
"Decline, and then go stalker mode with the forged invitation, then. Simple!"
"I'll get recognized," Blaine hissed, hugging his pillow. "No."
"You have the invitation already. All you need to do is walk into Kurt's studio on party night."
"No."
"Trust me. Remember I was the one who got you to finally kiss him? If it weren't for my amazing sisterly advice-giving and convincing skills, you would not have had the guts to ask him to sing 'Candles' with him, or wouldn't have made out with him. And I was twelve when I gave you all of that advice and it worked. Now, listen to me and be a good boy."
"I'll think about it. Are you thinking about heading over to NY for the weekend for the concert?"
"Of course. I'll be meeting up with mom and dad at the Palace. You're staying there, right?"
"Yeah," he responded. "I thought you were going to do school stuff this weekend?"
"Things change. I am spontaneous, Bee. Very spontaneous."
"Right. Gotta go."
"You're just trying to avoid my awesomeness," Danielle exclaimed as Blaine hung up his phone. Click. He stood up, stretched, and walked over to his kitchen to find a snack to eat. Finding a box of Fruit Loops, he grabbed it and a bowl, and began to eat when his doorbell rang. Already irritated, he walked to the foyer and opened the door to find a very disheveled-looking Duke standing on his doorstep.
"What happened to you?" Blaine exclaimed. Duke walked in without invitation, and sat down on the couch.
"You are going to take that second gig in New York."
"You haven't answered my question," Blaine smirked, sitting across from him.
"So much equipment was loaded onto the trucks today for the tour. Banners, lights, instruments, band stuff, and everything. I had to run around and make sure everything was alright."
"Ah, I see. And you're here, why?"
"Because I'm your manager and friend, and I'm telling you to take that party gig. You know, the Hummel-Marksman—"
"Don't say those names, please," Blaine muttered in disgust. "Their names sound…odd together."
"Well, it seems inevitable at the moment that the two are eventually going to put their names together."
"It sounds wrong," Blaine muttered again. Duke smirked.
"Hummel-Marksman."
"Goddamn it, Duke."
Duke sat up and looked at his client curiously. "I know you still love the guy, Blaine. I know and have seen all kinds of unconditional love—gay, straight, alien, animal, mozzarella and white—" (Blaine stared at him in bewilderment) "—even though I haven't really experienced it in my twenty-eight years of living on this damned planet: the way you react when he appears on television, your rush to grab the monthly copy of Vogue to read his articles and contributions. Plus, I've known you since right before he ended it. You were such a wreck after that, and I had to help you write your happier songs. I am a firm believer in the prospect of him loving you back."
"…alien?" Blaine laughed. Duke rolled his eyes. "No, seriously, Duke – mozzarella and white cheese? Are you kidding me?"
"YOU ARE EVADING MY THOUGHTS AND BELIEFS ON THE SITUATION," Duke exclaimed, raising his hands in annoyance. "You've gotta let me talk, Blaine!" Blaine sighed and leaned back in his chair.
"Don't do this, Duke. My sister was just hounding me about the whole thing."
"Dani? Your cute little sister?"
"Pedophile."
"Handsome man I am, pedophile I am not. She's twenty, for God's sake, a young woman," Duke said, hurt, putting a hand to his chest. "All jokes aside, if she agrees with me that you should take that gig and sing your fucking heart out to the porcelain princess, then she's awesome and you should listen to her."
"Porcelain princess?" Blaine smiled.
"Yeah, it's a nickname I've randomly made up," Duke said, shooing away his comments with a flick of his hand. "Anyway, are you going to do it, or am I going to seriously throttle you with an extra ten hours or rehearsal tomorrow?"
Blaine sighed. "I was going to just go in with a forged invitation, but to be honest, I'd rather just avoid any police beat-ups and bails and whatnot."
"You love him still! I absolutely knew it!" his manager boomed, laughing.
"…It was obvious, wasn't it?"
"That's my boy!" Duke exclaimed, standing up. He patted Blaine on the back. "Tomorrow is your new rest day. Treat it well, because we're leaving on the earliest flight on Friday: five AM for New York City, Blaine! First tour ever after releasing two EPs and a full album and winning a motherfucking Grammy!"
"I'll see you on Friday, Duke," Blaine laughed, ushering his manager out gently. "Thanks."
"For what? Being the coolest boss ever?"
"Oh, shut up," Blaine smirked as Duke laughed and waved, walking out of his apartment. Shutting the door softly, Blaine leaned back on it and sighed.
"'New York, concrete jungle where dreams are made of,'" he sang quietly, and went back to eating his bowl of cereal.
"You what?" Kurt groaned, running his hands through his perfectly coiffed hair. "Anthony, please, you didn't! NO, no, no! This will be the death of me!"
Anthony, who was sitting across his fiancé in their condominium's dining room, rolled his eyes. "You're over him anyway, and I happen to like his music. Plus, the night I was looking through possible and available artists, you were working late. So why can't I pick our performer, Kurt?"
"I should have some say in who performs at our engagement party!" Kurt exclaimed, slamming his fist with a soft rap on the table, completely aware that the dining table was made of glass. "You could have texted me first. Anthony, you know how much this will suck. He…he and I—"
"You have a history, yes, but you're getting married now, Kurt, and you're happy, aren't you?"
"Have you heard his songs?"
"They are amazing!" Anthony exclaimed.
"Please, don't do this to me," Kurt begged, taking Anthony's hands in his. "Please, please, please."
"He's already scheduled," Anthony sighed, leaning back in his seat, "and I can't cancel, because there are no more open acts available for the party."
"Of all dramatic performers, singers, and…and…Grammy-award winning men, you pick…B-Blaine Anderson!"
Anthony shrugged. "I'm using this as a test of faith."
"How insensitive!" Kurt exclaimed, "To be honest, even hiring someone of the likes of – ah, let's see – Justin freaking Bieber or even some garage band would have been better!" he shouted, storming off into their room on the second floor. Anthony sighed, chest heaving, and walked up the stairs.
"Kurtie," he mumbled. "I'm sorry."
"A test of faith? A test of faith," Kurt yelled back in disbelief, poking his head out of the bedroom door. "Don't you trust me enough, Anthony? You—you know I love you!"
"I know you do, babe, and if you really did love me—"
"Please don't pull that silly excuse on me."
"He's just going to perform all night and then leave. End of story. I promise you that."
"I'm going to avoid looking at the stage the entire night, then."
Anthony grinned brightly and walked into the room, giving Kurt a soft hug. "I'm sorry, but it's just for one night, okay? Then you'll never have to see Anderson ever again. I promise you that. No one else is available!"
"Don't pull a stunt like that on me ever again," Kurt warned, pulling away and swinging Anthony's hands around in his. "And don't use the 'no one else is available' excuse, either!"
"I just don't want to lose you, and I want to make sure that your feelings for me will definitely stay, babe," Anthony sighed.
"How dramatic."
"No more dramatic than you are," Kurt laughed hesitantly. "I'm going to the mini-studio and rework my line. I'll come back in this room by eleven, I promise."
"Work…again."
"At least I'm not at my actual studio," Kurt laughed nervously. "Just give me four hours."
"Come on, Kurt, again?"
"I thought you wanted me to succeed."
"I do!" Anthony exclaimed, sighing. "It's just that ever since I proposed to you, you've been working more and more lately."
"Well, I guess it's my clever way of saying that you…you'll get more of me after we get married!" Kurt shrugged, his voice peaking a little higher.
Anthony smiled and laughed. "Fine. Go work," he said, bowing to his fiancé. Kurt jumped and squealed happily, kissing Anthony on the cheek quickly before running to his mini-studio.
Let's just see, Anthony thought, just to make sure.
Kurt closed the door of his mini-studio quietly. When he wasn't at his main studio, he was here, working on future clothing lines and practicing songs for his Wicked run. The studio was monochrome, with extremely white walls, and black furniture and black room accessories. The room was soundproof. Just the way Kurt had wanted their entire condominium, but Anthony thought the monochrome style 'bland', and just to appease him, Kurt let his…fiancé…do the home designing, which pained him slightly inside. This was the one room where he could escape the pressures of the company, Vogue, his director, and most of all, the ups and downs of being with Anthony.
Sure, Anthony was a gentleman. How they had met was completely random: Kurt was leaving the Vogue building two years ago, and he was running in order to catch a cab he saw heading his way when Anthony accidentally bumped into him—and spilled his Starbucks coffee all over Kurt's new Jacobs bag. Of course, Kurt was furious, since Vogue gave it to him for free, but after realizing that Anthony was gay as well when he went to buy him a new bag made him feel…less alone in the Big Apple.
Less alone. Less alone in a brand new place, New York.
Maybe that's why he dated him in the first place. Maybe that's why he was going to marry him, and why he broke up with Blaine in the first place. He didn't want to feel alone. He didn't want to be so far away from Blaine, so it was the best solution. But why did the feeling get worse now that he was engaged to Anthony? Wasn't Anthony the real prince charming he was looking for?
The Upper East Side wasn't as pretty as Cinderella's castle as he imagined: that was for sure.
Kurt groaned and turned on his iPod speakers to a soft level. He picked up his iPhone and dialed his stepbrother, Finn's, number quickly, his heart feeling heavier as he saw the glistening diamond engagement ring on his ring finger.
"Hello?" a female voice rang happily. Quinn Fabray-Hudson, Finn's wife, and his former fellow Glee-clubber.
"Quinn! Hi there!" Kurt exclaimed happily, a little downtrodden that it wasn't Finn who answered. It wasn't that he hated Quinn, it was just that he couldn't relate what he wanted to say to her properly. "Is Finn around? I thought this was his number."
"It is," she responded, "but he's in training right now, so I'm on the bleachers watching the team practice and watching his phone."
After graduating from McKinley, Finn had gone on to play for Penn State, and was eventually picked and drafted into the NFL – the New England Patriots on first-string, not before marrying Quinn.
"Oh, okay," Kurt sighed. "Can you tell him to call me back later?"
"What's wrong, Kurt?" Quinn asked worriedly. "Is it Anthony?"
"You both are coming to my engagement party, right?" Kurt asked quickly.
"Of course we are! Well…actually…Finn doesn't want to go," Quinn mumbled into the receiver. Kurt suspected that Finn looked up from the stadium and saw Quinn on his phone.
"I totally know why," Kurt groaned, flopping onto his couch.
"You know how he reacted when you started dating Anthony."
"Obviously, he had no tact and nearly decked the phone he was using when I told him," he smirked. "But…honestly, still? Our parents are going!"
"I'll have to have Finn call you back—he's obviously wondering why I'm not watching his 'fabulous' self practice," Quinn said amusedly.
"Bye, Quinn. Thanks."
"Bye, Kurt. Hope to see you this weekend."
Kurt hung up his phone and slid it across the coffee table between his lounge's two couches. What am I going to do now? He had no one to talk to: Finn hated him for breaking up with Blaine and dating Anthony, Rachel was in London's West End for the West End revival of Evita, and Mercedes was visiting relatives in Ohio – and obviously turned off her phone. She wasn't even going to be in New York this weekend for the party, because she knew that a part of him still loved Blaine. I ain't going to that party, unless it's for something real, she had told him.
He had never felt more alone in that moment.
You make me feel like I'm living a teenage dream.
He shut off his iPod speakers angrily and pulled out a sketchbook, beginning to draw out new clothes—tears stinging his eyes painfully.
How was he going to deal with Blaine standing right there, singing to them at the engagement party?
Get out of my fucking mind. Please.
two days later / somewhere between California and New York
Blaine was slightly happy with the way things were going. The day before, he was given his first proper "day off" in months and he spent it sleeping at home and grabbing a blended fruit juice drink at Starbucks later on. It was even the first time he felt refreshed, waking up at two in the morning to get ready to go to LAX with his production team. His parents already texted him, saying that they were on their way to New York from Westerville, Ohio, and Danielle called him to say that she ditched classes for the day to drive to New York. ("Don't worry, the Mounties are good friends of mine.")
The airplane was nearly there. Blaine felt anxious, his foot tapping quietly on the airplane floor as he listened to his iPod. Duke was giving him incredulous, worrying looks as the ride went on.
"We're almost there," Blaine muttered. Duke smirked.
"Exciting!" he grinned, hugging the pillow the airline provided. "We're gonna rest up at the Palace and meet up with your parents, then we have a press conference at six PM. Then, it's show time at eight-tonight and tomorrow night, then the party on Sunday! Do you have any idea what you're going to sing at the party yet?"
"I think I have an idea," Blaine shrugged. "Some of my stuff, some covers."
"I bet Dani suggested you use this show as a ploy to get Kurt back."
"You and her think so alike."
"Anyway, you should definitely talk through your songs."
"She said that, too."
"As I said, super compatible we are!"
"No way," Blaine frowned.
"Whatever. Anyway, you just need to pick a list of good stuff."
"Isn't that going to kick you and I out of the party? I don't think Marksman would like it if I sang to his fiancé," Blaine gagged on the last word he said.
"You have a point," Duke muttered. "And that means losing nearly three grand for the performance."
"You don't want to lose two- to three-grand for my performance?" Blaine said smugly, knowing he was most definitely going to win.
"To be honest, kid, I pretty much value your happiness over that three grand. We're getting paid more than that tonight, and the next night, and throughout the entire time we're touring the country."
"What about the press?"
"As I've said before, don't give a shit," Duke shrugged. Blaine huffed and looked at his manager.
"I'll think about it."
"Good boy."
"Passengers, we will be landing in New York, LaGuardia Airport, in approximately ten minutes. All passengers please remain in your seats and keep your belts buckled as we descend into the runway."
"It's going to be awesome, Blaine my man."
"It better be." It better be worth it.
the same day / The Palace Hotel, New York City, New York
Danielle Marie Anderson was a very impatient young woman.
Standing at about 5'3" at twenty years old, she had dark, wavy hair that cascaded up to her waist, skin a bit more tan than her older brother's – but she shared the same, piercing hazel eyes that were common to the Anderson side of their family.
And, above all things, she was impatient. She had her brother-and her father's-Anderson-patented impatience.
She was sitting at the lobby of the Palace Hotel, waiting for her older brother and her parents to arrive. Her mother had just texted that their flight was delayed, so they wouldn't be arriving in New York until later in the afternoon. I had to go through a train and a bus to get here. I woke up so fucking early to get back to this country. She frowned, irritated at the fact that she nearly lost her passport at the borderline; the Mounties weren't exactly happy with her furiously insisting that she was an American citizen and that she was definitely sure that she had misplaced her passport. Luckily, it was in her right-jeans pocket the entire time.
"Miss, would you like to check in already?" the concierge at the counter asked. His face was the picture of bewilderment. She had been waiting in the same chair area for two hours.
"Just a few more minutes."
"Are you in a party, or single?"
"Party."
"Last name?"
"Anderson," she sighed. "Waiting for my brother and his manager, really."
"Ah! Mr. Blaine Anderson," the concierge said excitedly. "You're his sister, aren't you?"
"Uhm, I just said that," Danielle nodded, "But, yeah, he is my brother."
"Okay, then," the concierge responded, going back to his business at the front desk.
Ugh, it's like a fucking scene out of Gossip Girl, she thought scathingly. Me, waiting at the Palace for someone who's taking, like, ten thousand years to get here. Jesus, how embarrassing. Hurry up, Blaine.
"Miss, would you like a coffee?" the concierge asked from the counter. Danielle shook her head.
"No, thank you," she sighed. She pulled her luggage bag closer to her chair and spoke up again to the concierge, "Do you mind watching my bag? I'm going to check out the area."
The concierge nodded sympathetically, and she walked out of the hotel impatiently. Just as she was about to open the door, it opened and the door handle hit her on the nose. She fell to the floor with a splat.
"Goddamn it!" she shouted, clutching her nose gingerly. "Shit, fuck, damn it!"
"I am so sorry!" a man exclaimed, helping her up. Danielle looked up, lights bouncing in her eyes, and she recognized the pale and panicky face of Duke Whitely, her older brother's manager.
"Duke?"
"Danielle?"
"Oh my God, Dani, are you okay?" she heard Blaine exclaim. She let go of her nose and found a small bit of blood on her palm.
"Goddamn it," she muttered. "Is it broken?"
"Blaine, check us in. Here's my receipt and booking info," Duke said, his tone turning panicky, "I'll bring her to the hospital!"
"No way, she's my sister, Duke!" Blaine exclaimed, standing next to her, examining her face. "You stay here, I'll bring her!"
"But we need to check in!" Duke exclaimed.
"Don't be stupid, just let Blaine go with me, and you fucking check in!" Danielle shouted, her voice slightly becoming nasal. "It hurts! Shit!"
Duke looked from Blaine to Dani. "Blaine, you better come back in time for the press conference!"
"Of all things to care about right now…" Blaine muttered. His bodyguard followed him and Dani out of the hotel.
Crazy people, Blaine thought to himself amusedly. "What the hell happened?"
"Your dumbass manager opened the door before the bellboy did and hit my nose. Why the hell do they make such huge-ass door handles? Ah, fu—"
"Since when did you get so wordy?" Blaine muttered as their chauffer opened the door to their car. He led Danielle in first, making sure she didn't hit her head on the top of the car as well. Right after he entered, and right before he closed the door, he heard a high voice ring out:
"Yes, yes, I know, Jamie, just make sure that you lock the studio before you leave, and if anyone wants to enter as you leave, just tell them to eat a cactus, or something threatening like that."
Panicking, Blaine slammed the door shut. Peeking out the window, he saw a tall, fit, and porcelain-skinned young man with perfectly coiffed hair, adorning a white, buttoned down polo and black vest – not to mention equally white pants – talking on a cell phone as he entered the Palace Hotel.
Author's Note:
I am a really happy beaver right now. 63 alerts and 22 favourites? Egads! When I saw my inbox, I was really surprised! Thank you so much everyone for supporting this story, and I hope you keep on supporting until the end because this means so much. I hope you're enjoying the story so far and the direction that it's taking. Please leave me any reviews and tell me how you feel! Constructive criticism, as mentioned in the previous chapter, is highly welcome.
Disclaimer: I do not own Glee, unfortunately. FOX and its respective creators do. I also do not own Darren Criss' amazing song 'Jealousy.' If you haven't yet, check out his album, 'Human'. Starkids & Gleeks will all enjoy!
Love,
Sam