There were a thousand things that Blaine Anderson would rather be doing than his homework on a Friday night, a million things that he could be doing, even in Lima, Ohio. He furrowed his dark eyebrows at the crisp, white booklet, desperately racking his brain for an answer. Blaine glared at the assignment one last time, as if willing it to cease existence entirely, before giving up and snapping the dog-eared book shut.
Expertly positioning himself on the faux leather couch, he let the book drop to the floor with a surprisingly satisfying thud. After pulling up his blanket just slightly to ward off the chill air coming from the window, he reached down to his pocket to fumble around for his IPhone. Disappointed at the lack of messages, he gave it a look similar to the one he directed at his History homework just moments ago.
His frowned flipped as soon as the screen changed to his regular background.
The beautiful boy who he loved more than the hair gel he was wearing, who was amazing in every way possible- and wasn't in Ohio that night- grinned back at him from the device. Not that Blaine could blame him, of course. Celebrating his grandmother's ninety-seventh birthday with her the following year was not an option for, well, obvious reasons.
Returning his phone to the pocket of his black jeans with a brief shove, he closed his eyes and felt around for the television remote on the coffee table. He felt his fingers brush over the first few buttons just slightly, but the soloist wasn't reaching quite far enough to grab it. Extending his arm as far as humanly possible, he stretched towards it, feeling his hand clasping around it, at last. Unfortunately, the feeling of his body hitting the floor soon followed, the remote being dragged down with him. He groaned and lifted his face off of the rug, spitting out a stray fibre that had been forced into his mouth.
So how's the floor taste?
Thwack! Blaine sat up so rapidly he hit his head on the coffee table. Rubbing his head in both disbelief and pain, he lied back down just slightly. All alone, how could he possibly receive a thought from someone?
It's pretty simple, really.
Another loud noise resounded in the cool air. So startled by the stray thought, he sat back up again without shifting away from the table. Confused to no end, he needed to know who it was, though he could almost hear the kind of sarcasm Kurt usually utilized hidden within.
What the hell? Kurt, is that- is that you?
No, it's Katy Perry. I'm kidding, if she contacted you it would be in the form of a restraining order. Or a duet request.
I'll take that as a yes.
Took you long enough.
I'm confused. How is this even happening? I mean, I already had to sit down for about an hour and try to comprehend the whole mindreading thing in the first place. I'll end up wasting the rest of my night if I don't get an explanation for this. My head will explode. Again.
Your head can't explode twice, Blaine.
It's a metaphor!
I know, I know. I'm just trying to lighten the mood! Exploding heads aren't something you want to hear about after having spaghetti with tomato sauce for supper.
Ooh. Sorry about that. But seriously, what's going on?
You're lying on your floor writhing in pain while I read your mind.
I meant - wait, how do you know I'm lying on my floor in pain?
I've been looking at your other thoughts for a few minutes. One of them was "I really should've remembered to vacuum down here last week." and then came,"OW! Stupid table.". And finally, there was "Damn it, not again!"
Oh. Anyways, can you explain this now?
Want me to be honest with you?
Of course!
Not really, then.
Can you try, at least?
Alright. Let's see here... Well, I sort of think of it as long-distance calling.
Long-distance calling?
Pretty much. You get the persons attention from far away through whatever method - telepathy, in our case, and then proceed to communicate with them. The difference is it doesn't cost you minutes on your monthly plan. It's basically just free long-distance calling, when you think about it.
Good. I don't think mindreading is covered in my data sharing fees.
Thank gosh. Otherwise I wouldn't be able to afford this.
So how did you do this, anyways?
I'm not sure. It was just like when it started. It just sort of happened, I guess.
How so?
I first figured it out when I could hear Finn's thoughts when he was upstairs in his room... With Rachel. My mind will never be the same again.
Didn't you used to like him?
Before he was my stepbrother! Besides, thanks to him and his lack of self-control, I will never forget the image of the mailman almost dying a victim of his driving.
Blaine shuddered a bit as the scene played out in his (very vivid) imagination. And to think his driving test was the following week...
He shook it off, his curiosity replacing his concern.
Wait, when did Finn almost kill a civil servant?
A while back, when Carol was trying to teach him how to drive.
And to think, he was a designated driver at the Rachel Berry House Party Train Wreck Extravaganza...
Well, no one else really wanted to do it.
I would've!
Blaine, you get wasted on one drink. You said to Finn, and I quote, "Hey! It is so cool that you and Kurt are brothers! Like brothers! Wow! You're so tall..."
I never said that!
I see the alcohol also clouded your memory a little bit, because you most definitely said that. And then you had to grab onto my shoulder in order not to fall over.
There is no way I was that wasted.
Blaine, I had to let you crash at my place because you were too drunk not to actually crash a car if you had tried to drive.
But we were all drunk! How do you even remember this?
I was sober, unlike Boozy McGee himself.
Puckerman?
I was actually referring to you, my dear, but that works too. By the way, your alcohol-induced dance moves are absolutely hilarious.
I am never drinking ever again.
That's what they all say.
I'm serious. I don't want to risk barfing up a lung... Again...
And then you wouldn't be able to sing ever again and the whole world would be deprived of the talent of who was once a short but very talented and sexy hobbit! We couldn't have that. It would be nothing short of a tragedy.
Thank you- Hey, quit calling me a hobbit.
I'm afraid I can't do that, Sir Hobbit.
Why not?
Because we promised to always be honest with each other, remember?
And the score stands: Kurt- one. Blaine- zero. Damn.
Love you too. Blaine?
Yes?
You spelled "hobbit" wrong. BLAINE! Watch out for the table!
Blaine was inches away from hitting the wood with his forehead a third time when his lover warned him. Breathing a sigh of both embarrassment and relief, he scooted his behind a little closer to the couch, ergo, away from the table.
Thanks. The feeling of déjà vu is getting sort of annoying. Not to mention my head hurts. When are you coming back? I miss you.
I've only been gone a day.
Well, it's been a day too long, if you ask me.
Oh, you silly little hobbit. I'll be back by Sunday morning.
Yay! If I wasn't so tired, I would happy-dance around my living room.
Careful, your furniture can only take so much stress.
What's that supposed to mean?
Never mind. Look, I have to go. I think Finn is choking on a meatball.
All right, then. Love you, Kurt!
I love you too.
Blaine smiled, satisfied, at least for the moment. But he heard one last thing before he turned on the television.
God, how can he fit an entire meatball in there to begin with?
