I nearly fell off my bed when Wake Me Up Before You Go Go started ringing from my bedside. Damn, who on earth could be calling at the fucking hour of 3am? Though subconsciously I knew. I hesitate to answer because it's always the same damn thing, but I do anyway- because he's my best friend.

"I swear another late night call from you I'm fucking burning your penthouse down," I hissed into the phone.

"Hey! That place is my baby do not threaten her. Did I wake you?"

"Oh of course not! I was just climbing Mount Everest, meticulous avoiding the slippery gravel," I say sardonically.

"Okay, you're mad," he says apologetically.

"Hm- aren't you bright."

"I need a favor-"

"What is new."

"Please?"

"What?" I sighed.

"I need you to come pick me up at Boy Toy. I left my wallet at the office and I have no cash for taxi. Please?"

"Just grab someone, give him head and ask for some cash."

"Kurt," he said with that stupid puppy tone that disarms me.

"Fine! I'll be there in an hour-"

"An hour? Kurt there is a clingy ginger here. Screw hairspray, just get here!"

"Need I remind you that you woke me up at three fucking AM? You'll wait."

"Fine, just hurry up."

"Bye, Blaine."

The line went dead as I reluctantly pull the duvet off my legs and drag my feet across the short space between my bed and my rack of clothes. It's a stupid hour for drastic fashion choices so I slip on my navy coat Rachel bought me for my 21st birthday last year, pulled my less-thigh-suffocating jeans on and head out the door with Birkenstock sandals. Yup, this is my usual outfit when going to pick up my irresponsible bestfriend from his night of prowling around town for ass.

The cold January air pinches my skin as I head out the door of my building. onto the busy streets of Manhattan. Silently praying my neighborhood is safe tonight, I hail a cab and got one almost immediately. Thank god.

I see him standing by the roadside then, his fingers tapping away on his BlackBerry. There is indeed a twink ginger with less than appropriate clothing, smiling at him, trying to get his attention. Poor boy. He does not know Blaine Anderson.

"Get in slut," I say as the taxi pulls by the curb and I fling the door open. "Don't worry, kid, I'm doing you a favor," I say to the ginger who is glaring at me.

"Oh thank god," Blaine relieves as he slid into the cab and pull the door shut. "I swear he's been clinging on my ass since I walked in. Not that I blame him."

"I'm not in the mood for you to be full of yourself right now. I only have enough for one trip. Take your pick," I say.

"Your place," Blaine says, grinning like an idiot that he is. I roll my eyes at him, wanting to show him that I am less than pleased with his call for help.

"Aw c'mon, don't be mad," Blaine cooed, but I swat his hand away as it tried to graze my jaw.

He gets the message and keeps his hands to himself- to his BlackBerry rather. He's always on that thing- god knows what he's doing, though probably replying work emails.

The taxi pulls up in front of the run down building I call home. The only perks to living in this dump is that if I climb out onto the fire escape and stretch my neck really high, I can see the top of the Empire State. Depressing, tell me about it.

I toss a twenty at the taxi driver, wavers him to keep the change and race to the door. Blaine is on my footsteps momentarily.

"So you're not talking to me or?"

"You woke me up at three in the morning. I have every right," I grumble as I slip the key into it's hole and push the door open.

The flight of stairs up to my apartment, which is on the seventh storey, kills me everyday. But my legs are toned because of it.

"Come on Kurt, I said I'm sorry," Blaine pled. In reply, I flick my finger at him and I hear him chuckle slightly. The asshole thinks it's funny.

We walk into my apartment and I toss the key onto the vintage table that holds the pictures of my dad and I. I stroll into the room and toss my coat onto the rack. I slip out of my jeans, thankful they're not tight and slip right into bed. Blaine is in the bathroom and he appears shortly, wearing his boxers only. He slips under my duvet and keeps a distance from me. I sigh dejectedly and curl up, resting my head on his chest.

"I thought you weren't talking to me," I can sense him grinning like a child.

"You got me to leave my warm apartment at three AM. Now I'm cold, so shut up and keep me warm."

"I'm sorry," he says, twirling the back of my hair with his index finger. He does that because he knows it calms me.

"Bed," I yawn as I slowly doze slumber on the warm chest of my bestfriend.

--------

The morning sun streams into my window and I groan, knowing full well it's time to get up before Mariah Carey starts singing through my phone. My head is well rested on the pillow and I feel Blaine's cheek on my shoulder, his soft snoring echoing the room. I gently slip out of bed and jump into the shower.

My head wraps around the fact that I have a dance class that starts at nine. NYADA won't tolerate me missing another class. I've missed so much already. It's my final year in this school and I feel nostalgic already.

Rachel graduated a year before me because she got accepted earlier. It's not like I miss having her around school, or here for that matter. She made the stupid decision to pursue acting instead so she can be closer with Finn who works as a teacher in a public school at Los Angeles. Pity, that girl had so much to give.

I slip out of my fresh, healing shower after the disturbance last night. I barely have new clothes to wear- god forbid I will never wear the same outfit twice, that's suicide especially when you go to school in NYADA where all there is is judgmental rich kids.

I pick something subtle, since it's Monday- dark jeans with a navy dress shirt, a simple brown knitted cardigan and a Gucci scarf. Blaine is still snoring away on my bed, comfortably under the duvet. He's going to be late for work and I know how that pisses his dad off.

He loves his job, not because it pays his rent- and more- it's because it's the only place he feels his parents is proud of him. A heir to the throne, he calls it. I pull the duvet from his body and he groans, putting the pillow over his head. He's such a child sometimes.

"Get up, you're gonna be late," I try, but get a muffled vulgarity in response. "Please get up," I try again but he doesn't budge. "Fine. You asked for it," I dash to the kitchen, fill a cup of ice cold water and hold it in my hand, hovering next to him.

"Last chance," I say, but he's silent. "You should know it pleases me to do this," with that, I empty the cup of ice cold water all over his back and he jolts awake with a hoarse scream.

"Fuck!" he yells in anguish. "I hate it when you do that."

"Precisely why I do it, and also- revenge for last night. Now get in the shower, get dressed. You're almost late."

"What time is it?" he mumbles, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand.

"Seven thirty."

"Shit! Fuck I'm going to be so late my dad's gonna piss," he dashes into the bathroom and rushes through his shower and emerge with a towel around his waist.

"I'll pour some hazelnut coffee," Because I know it's his favorite.

He emerges out of my room ten minutes later, hair still wet, eyes still tired and red with an irritated frown on his face. He slips onto the stool and takes the mug of coffee into his hands and inhales.

"You know, the next time you decide on staying out till three, do it on a day when you don't have to be up at dawn."

"We're young. We have the energy," he argues disinterestedly.

"Tell that to your sore back," I say because I know it's true.

"Aren't you late for class?" Blaine ask, because he can. He graduated early from MIT and is now Vice President of Anderson Banking Co. He's one of the most successful bachelors under the age of twenty five, says the Times magazine.

"Dance class starts at 9," I tell him.

"Okay, I'm done. Lets go," he pours the remainder of his coffee into the sink and we head out into the January air once more.

"Why were you prowling around the twink bars last night? Since when do you do pubescent kids?"

"They're hardly kids, Kurt. Besides, I like a virgin ass every now and then."

"You are repulsive."

"You should try one, Kurt," he says. "That look you see when you're pounding so hard into their tight little hole and you know it's an unbelievable feeling for them. That look of first time. God it turns me on."

"If I had breakfast this morning, I would throw up right now."

"Don't tell me it doesn't turn you on," he glances at me like I'm an alien.

"I don't even wanna know," I say.

We're at NYADA in a few minutes thanks to my very smart decision of moving into an apartment 10 blocks away from school.

"What time do you get off your shift today?" Blaine dreadfully reminds me that I have work after school at the Coffee Inc.

"Nine, I think," I say.

"Okay. Have fun in school, baby," he kisses my cheek in his usual fashion and smiles his goofy smile as I walk into the gates of hell.

I turn once more before I enter the building and Blaine is still standing there, waving at me with his ridiculous grin. He can wake me up at three, or tell all the disgusting stories about his sex life- but I'll still love him because he's my best friend.

With a wave goodbye, I enter the building and am immediately scowled by two girls who look like rejects from the Black Swan movie.

--------

School was hell- basically.

Cassandra July, my dance teacher, is still the bitch Rachel first told me about when she was here. The stupid ballerinas should be aptly named bitches instead. I sighed as I quickly make my way to the coffee shop where Loranzo, my boss, is awaiting my arrival.

"Kurt, you're late," he says as I enter.

"I'm ten minutes early!" I argue.

"Technically you're suppose to be here fifteen minutes before your shift, so you're late. I'm cutting two dollars off your paycheck."

I've learned, in my two years span of working here, that it's best not to argue with Loranzo. He's stupidly bias and unfair but he's my boss, and I need this job. I sigh and tie my apron around my waist as I tend to an annoying blond who has her Gucci purse held tightly under her pits. She can't be more than fifteen years old! Hell are people in this town rich.

The day is slow and the rain is pouring out. It's cold and because of my sinus infection, I've developed a flu in less than three hours. Ridiculous. There is barely anyone here now, and it's a little past five. The ding of the bell Loranzo placed above the door rings and it catches my attention.

A man in an expensive, navy tailored suit walks in, his cell phone tugged between his shoulder and his ear. He walks confidently to the counter, mumbling into his cell.

"No, I said I don't want to do that....yes....no....tell Donna I need the latest copy."

"Can I take your order?" I ask. His eyes flashes at me briefly.

"Single shot soy mocha with double whip," he tells me.

"Okay," I key in his order and quickly start to tend to his order. He looks expensive- his brief case obviously cost more than my lungs. "Here you go sir. That will be seven dollars and fifty cents."

He frowns at the coffee, bends down and takes a whiff. "What is this?" he asks me, his face annoyed.

"A single shot soy mocha with double whip?" I say, confused by his expression.

"That's not my order," he glares.

"It is. That's what you ordered," I say confidently.

"I ordered a double shot expresso macchiato- no whip."

"No, sir. I assure you that's what you ordered," I say, feeling a tad annoyed at his tone.

"You're blaming me for your incompetence?" he says.

"No, but that's what you ordered," I say, standing my ground, refusing to be intimidated by this asshole.

"I think I would know my order-"

"I think I would know what I heard."

"Kurt, what's the problem here?" Loranzo sneaks up from somewhere.

"Your staff over here gets my order wrong and he's blaming me for his mistake," the asshole says.

"What?" I say, shellshocked by his audacity to point the dirty finger at me. "Excuse you, but I did get your order right. Maybe if you weren't talking to your phone you would've realized you gave the wrong order."

I refuse to be intimidated by this fucking asshole. He thinks he can make me feel like a mouse just because he wears a suit worth more than my apartment? No way.

"Sir, I suggest you train your staff better, or at least hire people with the qualification to at least understand English-"

My anger consumes me and before I can stop myself, I pick up the scorching hot cup of coffee and splashes it right spot on the middle of his suit. His face is ashen and in disbelief at what I just did- good.

"What the hell!" The asshole yells in shock.

"I bet that suit cost like a thousand bucks right? Good," I smile, satisfied that he is beyond stunned.

"Kurt, you're fired!" Loranzo yells.

I untie my apron and drop it to the floor. I can feel the stares of the other customers burning at me as I dash out of the coffee shop. As I make my way home, only then do I realize the magnitude of damage I had just done.

How the hell am I suppose to pay for NYADA's ridiculous tuition fee now? How the hell am I suppose to pay rent? How the hell am I suppose to do anything now that my only source of income, I just botch?

I feel a warm tear falling from my eyes as I dash home, ignoring the honks from startled drivers as I jay cross every road.

I arrive at my building, and just as I enter the door, mister Montry, my lanlord, emerge out of his office on the ground floor. I know what's coming- my overdue rent for the past two months.

"Kurt, rent. Now," he says sternly, and I know he's at his limit.

"I'll- I'll get it to you soon. I promise," I lie. How the hell am I suppose to pay 2 months worth of rent without a fucking job.

Before he can say anything else, I dash up the stairs, into my apartment and throw myself onto my bed. Weeping and crying and wishing a pot of gold would just appear.

-------

I don't know how long I stayed in bed, crying and crying. How the hell am I to pay for anything. I can't do this anymore. I contemplate dropping out of school and moving back to Lima with dad and Carol. I can stay there, work at the Lima Bean and dad's garage, save up and then come back.

A knock on the door pulls me from my reverie and for a brief moment, I fear it's Mr Montry guarded with tall brutes to take my things and throw it to the streets, kicking me out, but I breathe a sigh of relief when it's a voice I know.

"Kurt?" Blaine calls. "Kurt open up I know you're in there."

I press a pillow over my head. I'm embarrass to tell him, but then I hear the door unlock and soft footsteps walking to my room. Damn it, I forgot he knows I hide the spare key at the fire extinguisher outside my house.

I yell in surprise when a full body weight crushes me into my mattress. Blaine leapt onto me- how mature. "Hey, come on talk to me," Blaine tries but I hold the duvet over me in protection.

"Fine, if you're not gonna talk to me I'm not getting off you."

I resign and pull the duvet off. Blaine is staring at me with an amused schmuck smile on his lips. His eyes turn to worry as his thumb brushes against a tear at the corner of my eye.

"Talk," he says.

"I threw a cup of coffee at a customer who pissed me off."

"Ballsy, but I wanna know about the part why you're crying."

"I don't know. I just- I was overwhelmed with all the things I have to pay and having no job. I don't know what to do. I'm thinking of dropping out of NYADA, go back to Lima maybe help my dad a little at his tyre shop, work, save up and come back when I can afford-"

"What? Kurt that's ridiculous! You can't drop out on your final year! It was hard enough to get into NYADA, what if you don't get in again the next time you apply?"

"But I can't afford it Blaine! My apartment, school-"

"I could help you," Blaine offers. This isn't the first time he has tried. He has offered to pay for my tuition fees, my rent- heck he pays for dinner every single time we go out.

"No," I say sternly. "I can't, okay?"

"Kurt, you could do with a little help."

"No."

"Stop being so stubborn, okay? I'm your bestfriend, and if I can help you I'm going to-"

"No! This is not your hill this is mine. I'll climb it, somehow."

"Kurt, you're jobless and in this recession it'll be hard to find jobs at all! Let me help you-"

"Please, I can't have this argument right now. It's okay, okay Blaine? I'll figure it out don't worry. Why are you here anyway?" I ask, hoping it gets his mind off trying to help me.

He sighs. "I thought we could go down to Leather Meat together."

"Like I would ever!" I chuckle.

"There's that smile," Blaine says. He kicks his leather shoes off and climbs into bed, under my duvet, with me and grabs the remote of my mini plasma screen TV that Blaine gave me after claiming he doesn't want it anymore and wants to throw it away.

"Since you're jobless and sad to go out, we'll just order in and watch-" he pauses as he scrolls through the channels until settling on one that's showing Dirty Dancing. "-this."

"Okay," I snuggel and rest my cheek on his shoulder as the movie starts.

I slowly start to doze off, the last thing I hear is Blaine murmuring, asking me to choose between Chinese and Pizza.

--------

I awake with a jolt because Mariah Carey starts singing from my phone. I am in the least mood for the world, let alone school. Dreadfully I drag my ass into the bathroom and take a slow, calming shower. God knows I need it.

I emerge and only then do I realize Blaine is gone. He probably left last night when I dozed off. I pick up my phone and there is a text from him.

Blaine Anderson
January 26, 2013 1:43 AM

I miss my Penny.
See you tomorrow! Don't be mad!

Penny is his penthouse apartment. He loves that place to the core sometimes he has separation anxieties being away from his place for more than a day. I frown at the bottom part of the text- don't be mad.

What in non existent God's name does he mean. I throw my phone aside and go to my clothing rack. My outfit should resonate how I feel today- and I feel like a homeless hobo. Yup.

I pull out an emerald green long sleeve, some faded, tight jeans and a knitted scarf and slip into my outfit. With a quick fix at my hair, skipping breakfast and my face regime, I leave my apartment and head to the ground floor.

I tiptoe past Mr Montry's office but I fail miserably. He catches sight of me but strangely doesn't come out to hound me, instead goes back to his stupid Mexican drama. Odd. What gives?

The January air is still bitchin' cold I have to wrap myself with my own arms to keep myself from turning into a Popsicle. NYADA is close and I silently praise myself for the choice of apartment, again.

I know what I have to do, and it's to go to the Dean's office and talk to Miss Vivian, who is incharge of the financials of the school. I know she's going to be pissed when she finds out I can't pay- again.

I knock on her door and hear a muffled "Come in." She's a plum lady with red blazing hair. She wears half moon specs that always sits on the mid bridge of her nose. She glares at me when I enter and I want to dash for Dubai.

"Hi Miss Vivian," I greet. She's probably in her thirties and still a Miss? Sucks to be her. I mentally readjust her outfit, because her lightly blue oversize sweater and her plaid pencil skirt does no justice.

"What can I do you for, Mister Hummel?" she mumbles lazily.

"I'd like to discuss my form of payment for my late fees."

She looks at me funny. She has a slight frown and her lips pursued. "But you've already settled your fees."

"What?" I am bewildered.

"Yes. For the late ones, and the advance payment of four months."

Is this a dream? "I'm sorry, I don't understand."

"Well, you made a call this morning and a transaction- which we received- of two thousand and one hundred dollars to cover for your the last two months, this month, and the following four months."

"How can that be? I didn't-" I lose my speech, because I know exactly who paid this ridiculous amount for me.

That text message haunts me- 'Don't be mad!'

-------

I storm into that big ugly grey building with that big huge marque that writes 'Anderson Banking Co.'

This asshole just never listens to me when I tell him things. I ride the elevator up to the 78th floor, swallowing my saliva as I do. The door slides open with a ding and I storm in.

"Oh, Hi Kurt," Blaine's personal assistant Clara greets. He had wanted to hire a young, hot, male assistant but his dad said he would have none of that nonsense here in business.

"Hi Clara, is that asshole inside?" I ask, still charging for his office.

"Urm- yeah," she says, a little stunned.

"Good, and I suggest you have paramedics on standby."

I push the double steel doors open and he's sitting there in his mighty throne behind his $5,000 desk. He looks surprise to see me. I storm forward, grab a stapler that is nearest to my end of the table and fling it at him.

It misses him by inches as he tries to duck. "What the hell Kurt!" he says, his hands bracing for impact as I pick up a wooden frame on his desk.

"I told you no! I told you not to help me!" I have no hesitance as I throw the frame hard at him. It hits him on his hand and he yelps in pain. Good.

"I'm sorry!" He says, his hands up in surrender. I pick up another frame, this one I recognize. It's the steel one I gave him for his birthday which holds the picture of the both of us at prom together.

"Stop throwing things at me!" he begs.

"I told you not to help me, Blaine," I exasperate. "I told you this is my hill to climb." I drop onto the seat behind me and place my hands on my face.

"Hey, please don't be mad," he says, coming around and crouching down so he's eye level with me.

"Why did you pay that ridiculous amount? I told you no."

"But you were contemplating dropping out of your dream school and going back to Lima which you worked so hard to leave! I wasn't going to let that happen, Kurt- come on. Just take it, okay? No catch, no nothing. Just let me help you for once."

"But you didn't need to-"

"No, I didn't. I wanted to, and if you try to give that money back to me I'll throw it away."

"You rich asshole," I sigh. "I'll pay you back."

"You don't have to-"

"I want to! I'm not gonna just take your money, Blaine. I'll pay you back, every cent."

"Kurt, you don't have to-"

"I want to!"

"Okay fine! But I'm not expecting it and you can take as long as you want, okay?"

"I'll pay you back by the end of this year, and I want it in written contract."

"That's ridiculous-"

"Either that or you can throw your money."

"Okay," Blaine surrenders. "I'll call my lawyer and we can get a contract. Happy?"

"No. But okay."

"Now, relish at the fact that you don't have to go back to Lima. Give me that smile."

I glare at him threateningly, but he's still wearing that schmuck smile of his. "Smile or I'll tickle you till you do."

I let out a chuckle and he smiles, relieved. "Good. I'm famished. Lunch?"

"Okay, but I'm paying."

"Okay," Blaine laughs. He stands up and walks around behind his desk and picks up the things I fired him with.

"Oh, and one more thing. It's nothing major but I paid your rent of six months in advance. Now lets go-"

"What?" I yell in disbelief. I pick up the steel frame and really give it to him this time. He catches it in time and laughs.

"Blaine that's too much-"

"It's not, don't worry about it. Now lets go I'm famished."

"I want that in the contract too."

"Can't you take it as a birthday present slash Christmas gift?"

"No," I deadpan.

"Fine, contract."

I sigh defeatedly at my stubborn bestfriend. He always has tried to help me even when I say I don't need it. Since High School.

"Lose that glum. Lets go to lunch. Clara, get the car ready can you?"

"Sure," the blond says.

---------

I arrive back in NYADA after lunch and after that argument with Blaine. I still cannot believe he did that, but I have to admit that I feel lighter knowing I don't have financial troubles anymore. At least it makes me worry less.

"Hey Kurt," Ginger, my friend in school says.

She's a petite girl, but when you put her on stage her voice is magnificent. She has the grace of a swan when she dances, practically born with tap shoes. Her long brunette hair touches her butt- a butt guys in school try so hard to get.

"Hey. Are you going for that Ballet History class?"

"Duh. It's mandatory."

"It's stupid, honestly, but the test at the end of the three week course will determine a lot."

"Yeah, Carmen will cut those who fail. I thought we've surpass that point of tests! It's so high school," she says in a high pitched voice.

"Tell me about it. Lets go."

We both walk into the huge lecture hall, dreading hard. I've always hated theory lessons like this. It's boring and I rather be in dance glass or vocal ranges class or heck even sword fighting class than this one.

We take our seats at the far front, awaiting for the lecturer. "Any idea who it'll be?" I ask Ginger.

"No idea. They say it's not someone in the faculty. They hired some big shot from the Art Of Ballet gallery down at Madison."

"I can already sense snobby rich kid."

The staff door behind the podium at the front of the lecture hall opens and a man, wearing a maroon blazer with dark pants and loafers enters. His hair swept back, his brows dark, his eyes a gleaming shade of green.

"Wow- damn is he hot," I hear Ginger say.

I squint my eyes, trying to catch his face but he turns before I can get a proper look. He settles his briefcase and in one swift move, turns to face the class.

"Good morning, I'm mister Parker."

Holy shit- it's the asshole I threw coffee at.