Two weeks, three days, and a handful of hours. That's how long it's been since Blaine ended the call with his two best friends and immediately called the family solicitor to make the necessary arrangements. It had taken just two days for the transfer of ownership to come through then another three to fax his parents the paperwork. Blaine had hoped that they would return home, if only briefly, to see him off. He realized how unrealistic those hopes were when he was presented with the signed documents so fresh from the machine that he imagined the paper was still warm. He signed them.

After that it seemed like time just flew by. David had immediately caught a cab, meeting him at Blaine's parent's house, while Wes booked a flight from Prague. They all spent the better part of the weekend of the first week sorting and packing Blaine's things into boxes or manageable piles then watching from the side-bar as the moving company's men carted it out the door to the waiting vans outside to take to Blaine's shiny new home in the city. The better part of the second week they'd moved Blaine in - a single day's effort - followed by a party, which David talked him into, that left everyone involved with a headache and a new appreciation for minty toothpaste and sobriety.

All the guests were gone now, however, including his best friends and that left Blaine in a very perplexing and precarious state of being alone. It was a concept he was intimately familiar with but he hadn't ever just been by himself before. There had always been someone around if not his parents and here he was just alone. It felt empty and awkward. He felt empty and awkward. Blaine didn't care for those feelings even if they were familiar.

His solution to chasing away those feelings usually involved taking one of the cars from his father's garage to drive into the city proper in order to find himself some entertainment and possibly some company for a few hours. It also never really worked because as soon as he got back behind the wheel to steer himself home the loneliness came rushing back - By the time he walked into his bedroom he wanted nothing more than to clean himself up and then go burrow beneath his covers while clutching one of the dozen pillows that obscured the headboard.

"Fuck!" Blaine curled his fingers in his hair and tugged the errant curls in frustration. "I can't even manage two weeks by myself. What the hell is wrong with me?"

It was a legitimate question in his mind because, seriously, who couldn't function alone? He was supposed to be a bona fide adult ready, willing and able to stand on his own two feet and face whatever the world throws at him. And here he was in the middle of the living room, tugging at his hair and contemplating bad habits.

He dropped his hands and moved into the bedroom to grab his phone from the charger, unlocking it with a quick swipe of his thumb.

"Call David," He all but yelled at it then threw himself on his bed.

Three rings. Four. Then, "Alright, this is just pathetic. I was just there, Blaine."

"What's your point? And shut up! I'm lonely."

David's sigh, in Blaine's opinion, was overly dramatic and uncalled for and he told him so. And, no. He was not going to admit that he was pouting. He was pouting and David was a smartass that knew him too well. Asshole.

"You should get a pet!" Was David's helpful reply. "I could totally see you with, like, a Pomeranian."

"Offensive much?"

"What? Oh come on! They're adorable."

Blaine thumped his head against the comforter and scowled at the ceiling. "Aren't they generally kept by ditzy blondes who are trying to break the Paris Hilton mould? I'd like to point out that I'm neither blonde, female, nor in need of a sugar daddy to keep me in Prada and faux fur."

"Maybe you should get you a ditzy blonde, then."

"Boobs are a deal breaker, David."

"They make them in male too, you know."

Yes, he very much realized that there were nice boys who fit the 'dumb blonde who sleeps with men for their money' stereotype but Blaine's never been into them. Or blondes, really. Jeff had been nice, fun even, when they'd been schoolmates at Dalton but they both agreed it was just a fling and made better friends. And Jeremiah...was a sore memory for Blaine. No. No more blondes.

"That's not something I need in my life right now, man." He wanted a relationship not a leech. "Besides, do you honestly see me putting up with someone like that?"

Blaine was grateful for how quickly David answered in the negative. It made something in twist pleasantly in his chest to know that his friend understood that Blaine wasn't that guy and never wanted to be that guy. He didn't want to be like his father. And that said a lot about his mother who wasn't even blonde. Apparently vapid money mongers came in brunette as easily as blonde.

"Alright, so that idea was a bad one but I'm still thinking a pet would solve some problems." David must have pulled the phone away from his ear because suddenly Blaine was hearing muffled voices and what sounded like glasses being clinked together. It didn't last long. "You're a dog person, right?"

"Don't know. Never had one. Begged for...I think it was an otter, once, but that never happened." Truthfully, he had asked for a puppy one year for his birthday. He'd been nine and thought he was reasonably capable to take care of living creature. His father wasted no time in crushing that dream. His mother got him one of the electronic kind that pooped batteries.

"I don't know if I can commit to a dog, anyway. Aren't they notorious for tearing into furniture and ripping up pillows or something? Cats aren't any better and they have litter boxes you have to keep clean." Blaine shuddered at the thought of cleaning one of those things even if the thought of having a furry kitten to play with was kind of nice.

"Well all pets, no matter what species they are, involve some kind of maintenance, B," David shot back. "At least a dog could be taken out for walks and you could hire someone to do that."

"Nng, waste of money." This conversation was helping push back the loneliness but it wasn't doing anything for his frustration. "Look, thanks for picking up but I think I'm going to hit the shower and order some food."

"Hey! Hey, wait man. Come on. You called me for a reason and I'm just trying to help."

Blaine rolled onto his side and drew his legs up to curl around them. It was a comfortable, familiar position that he really wish wasn't.

"I know. I know." A beat. "Sorry."

"Don't apologize, Blaine. I know too." And he did. David, and Wes, and all the other friends he'd made at Dalton knew exactly why Blaine was the way he was. Most of them were in the same boat. Some of them, like David, weren't but because they weren't they tried to make Blaine feel better, included.

"Look, go take your shower and order extra. I'll be there in forty-five."

Blaine uncurled and pushed himself into a sitting position. He frowned at the room at large but was nodding even as he said, "No, you don't have to come over. I'm fine!"

"Ha! Yeah right. Shut up, B. I'll be there in forty-five and I might even have a suggestion that I think you should give some serious thought to. But it's not up for discussion over the phone. Go. Shower. And get extra wantons if you order Chinese."

They said their goodbyes and Blaine busied himself with ordering takeaway. While he was in the shower he let himself wonder what in the hell David was going to suggest that needed a face-to-face discussion. If he didn't know the other man so well he might have worried. He would have if it'd been Wes.