Blaine was halfway through the Opening ceremony, standing proudly next to his team-mates on platform, smiling happily at the huge crowd. The roar increased when the announcers stopped conversation, but Blaine had been barely paying attention to the talking. The loud uproar of the audience ceased when Michelle Obama, the U.S president, went to the large podium and spoke to the people. Blaine half-listened, seaching for Kurt in one of the exclusive boxes. The final design of the swimsuit had been in, after a lot of altering done by Kurt because they turned out to be tight trunks, not speedos. Though lacking experience in style, Blaine thought the trunks were still very fashionable. The male American teams for all of the swimming had to wear the same swimcap and trunks; and Kurt did a lovely job of keeping them elegant yet tasteful, as well as a dash of patriotic. 

The trunks were a darkened shade of black, with one thigh sporting an elongated American flag. The other side had the Hummel Co. logo etched into the bottom of the suit, a small "H" in white sewing fabric. All in all, it would look great in photos. The swimcap simply had a tiny American flag with the last names engraved on the side, also sporting the tiny little logo while the entire thing was dark blue. The entire idea was clever yet not very original, but Kurt didn't really have a lot of thinking room. There were strict standards, and Kurt had no intentions of breaking them. To be honest, Kurt told Blaine that he had absolutely no clue why the asked him to design the sportswear, but Kurt figured it had to do with publicity and more importantly, money. 

Fireworks erupted in the sky, signalling to the people in the arena and in the rest of the World that the ceremony had ended and the games had begun. Smiling widely at the enormous display of colors, Blaine nudged a ever famous Michael Phelps on the shoulder, exchanging smiles. Thousands of cameras in the crowds clicked in numerous directions, all capturing perfect moments to release to the media and personal memories. Blaine smiled again as the arena darkened, and the rain had ceased from above. Music started playing in the atmosphere as Blaine walked off the platform towards the backstage for interviews and other things. But mostly to see Kurt-yes, to see wonderful Kurt. 

As soon as Blaine followed behind the other athletes toward the large enterance and exit in the gigantic lobby, a large group of paparazzi and photographers hit Blaine like a truck.

He smiled and waved at most of them as he could, searching around timidly for Kurt. He had lost sight of him for most of the evening, and figured he would see Kurt at the gala later. Tomorrow was their huge fundraiser, and Blaine knew Kurt wouldn't miss it for the world. But tonight, Blaine had to push through the swarming photographers and head to the large champagne/dessert party the game-masters and other famous people were holding in one of the luxury hotels nearby.

A NBC interviewer dressed in a brown suit walked up to Blaine calmly, simply asking him for an interview as they were live on air. Blaine agreed, seeing as he had a little time to spare. The man nodded to his partner, the camera man, and the tape began rolling.

"Blaine Anderson, rumors have spread around like wildfire that you have a new lover?" The man asked professionally, keeping his game-face on.

Blaine hesitated with his answer, his nervousness kicking into his system. Kurt and him had agreed that it would be acceptable to release the news, because they figured everyone would be so hyped up about the Games to even consider it. Plus, homophobia was at a minimum today. There are a lot of gay athletes, including Blaine. So why shouldn't he get a chance at love, too? "Uh, yeah, I do."

At that response, a larger group of photographers and other television station cameras swarmed Blaine.

"And can you confirm that his man is Kurt Hummel, fashion extraordinarre?" He asked, forcing the microphone toward Blaine.

He looked into the camera proudly, "Yes, it is." 

The man nodded toward him, signalling that new questions were arising. Blaine nodded, smiling widely at the other cameras in his face.

"So, how have you been preparing for the games? The competition looks pretty tough this year." The interviewer commented. The camera man shifted, getting fairly tired with heaving around the large professional camera.

"I've just been spending as much time in the pool as I can, trying to relax and not get too fiesty about it. And yeah, the other athletes are really fierce, but as they say, the best man will win." Blaine announced, watching a few women recorders jot down the comment as bright flashes damaged his vision.

Blaine started to push away with a smile and a quiet goodbye, but the cameras still followed him every step.

"And what will you do if you win the prized gold medal?" The man asked behind him, the camera had already caught up with Blaine.

He sighed, looking at them with tired yet practiced eyes. He had been through thousands of interviews, but none were more inconvenient than this. "Obviously celebrate, it would be an honor. But as this point I'm not sure where my career will take me. Best of luck to the rest of the nominees, hope to see you soon in the water." Blaine winked, figuring that would stir the other athletes and the uproar of the media.

He said goodbye in a more fierce tone, shaking hands with the interviewer as he muttered a quick thank you. He pushed through the large, London 2012 decorated doors, and walked out onto the carpet that was displayed towards the street at the front. Even more cameras hit him in the face, yet Blaine wasn't surpised. He smiled at them, posing for a few photos in his white, olympic tracksuit. Loud echoes of "Anderson!" "Blaine!" and other names were thrown his way, but Blaine honestly didn't have the time to meet with every single one of the interviewers. He gave his comment this evening, and that was enough for the ceremony. They would just have to wait until after he had won his stunning gold medal, and it sat confidently around his neck.

When Blaine hopped into his limo, he saw faint glows of cameras outside. He pulled out his phone, and sent a text to Kurt asking him where he was and if he enjoyed his evening. Blaine laid back into the leather chairs, taking a sip of the complimentary champagne that was in the tiny refridgerator. The ride to his hotel was quiet, the driver not speaking a word to him and in exchange Blaine hadn't initiated conversation. Blaine was hoping that he could rush in his building with no paparazzi or other crazed fans (Yes, he had a few run-ins with those lately,) and get changed swiftly and head right back out. He didn't really plan to stay too late, so he could make it to the fundraiser bright and early and help everybody set up and greet the few fans. The tickets to the "Save The Hurting" (Blaine and Kurt had come up with the name themselves,) had been immediately sold out within a few hours. The VIP tickets were completely gone, as well as the 300 General Admission tickets. As well as the Silent Auction had been filled, tons of great items were on sale. A few stars had already given a definite yes to attendance, including Neil Patrick Harris, Ricky Martin, Alexander McQueen and huge other people. Clay Aiken, Elton John and Adam Lambert even agreed to perform. Numerous other people had yet to contact Blaine and his publicist, but he was sure there was going to be many more exciting people and activities.

The limo came to a halt, signalling to Blaine that he was ready to depart up to his room. The driver walked out, quickly grabbed his suitcases from the truck and opened his side door. Blaine thanked him, grabbing his suitcases and walking briskly up to his penthouse suite.

When Blaine reached his room, he slid his green key into the slot, and waited for the light to turn light green. When it did, the door clicked and he could push it open.

"Hello!" called Kurt from the other room in the lounge. 

Surprised to hear his voice, Blaine smiled. "Hey!"

"C'mere?" Kurt asked, sounding as if he was very focused.

"What?" Blaine wondered when he walked into the room, setting his large suitcase on the floor. He shrugged off his white Team USA jacket, and sat down on the couch next to Kurt. Kurt had been gazing at the coffee table that was now loaded with magazines, newspapers and various other articles.

"What is this stuff?" Blaine questioned, picking up one of the news magazines.

The title on the front screamed "Blaine Anderson: Hooking up in London!"

Blaine shrugged off the first one, and then picked up one of the other magazines. Kurt stared at him with a nervous look that Blaine failed to notice.

Staring down at the popular magazine, Blaine read the headline aloud with a hint of fear and exhaustion in his voice. "NO GAY ATHLETES IN LONDON!"