Little kids dream of being famous one day.  Having lots of money and having everyone know their name but money isnt everything and neither is fame.

Blaine spends most of his time in hotel rooms.  You would think he is busy but he spends one hour a week in a meeting, seven hours in the recording studio, three hours doing concerts, twenty-one hours sleeping and the other one-hundred and forty-six hours alone in a room with no-one to talk to.  To put it simply, Blaine Anderson is lonely.

The whole thing started when he saw something on the news about some celebrity dying of a drug overdose.  The singer had definetely seen the appeal of drugs, he didnt even care that it could kill him.  He though that maybe it would be better that way?  Him dead.

After that night, he found a source to get cocaine.  The first time it stung as it flew up his nose but a couple seconds later he felt like he was on top of the world.  He liked to think that if he jumped off a building then he would fly and just fly until he couldnt anymore.

Now he spends his days signing autographs and being this amazing role-model to his fans and spends his nights as high as a kite, trying to forget that he gave his family up and left his home for all of this.

He looks down at his duvet and watches as the pattern swirls around infront of him, kicking his legs out he laughs hysterically at his feet that look so wierd while high.  He stops laughing, his face going completely serious as he notices that his whisky bottle is empty.  Looks like I am going to the shop, he thinks to himself, oblivious to the fact that it is 3am.

Blaine grabs a bottle of whisky and a bottle of gin, slamming a one-hundred dollar bill on the shop counter before stumbling out.  Not bothering to get any change.

The rest of the night is a blur, all he knows is that both bottles of alchohol are finished as well as a joint of weed.

Blood pumps through his head, giving off a throbbing feeling that causes immense pain.  He hears a tv somewhere in the distance but doesnt bother opening his eyes knowing that there is going to be a bright light somewhere.  So he just listens to the tv.

"Last night, famous singer Blaine Anderson, was rushed to hospital after consuming large quantities of alchohol and illegal drugs including cocaine and marijuana.  His manager spoke to us this morning, stating that the singer was going to be okay but will be out of action for a couple of weeks.

We will keep you posted on any further news on that."

Blaine sits up, wondering how the press could have heard about this.  He had been in the hospital for these same reasons before and his manager, Terry, had managed to keep it from the public. 

He pulls the IV line out of his arm and ignores the sting that shoots up his body as he stands and walks over to his bag to get changed.  

When changed, Blaine gets ready to run, knowing there will be bodyguards outside his door.  He opens the door making a run for it, pain flying through his body as voices shout and chase after him.

He runs for around ten minutes before losing them down a back alley in central New York.

With his hood covering his face, he emerges from the alley and walks the familiar streets to a nearby park.

He drags his feet along the gravel path in the park as the empty feeling in his heart returns after the adrenaline rush earlier.

Blaine pulls out a pill bottle that his doctor prescribed for him.  They were anti-depressants that he was supposed to take once every day.  He took them whenever he felt down, which means he averaged on five a day.

He pops two in.  Hoping they work as they normally do nothing.

As he lifts his head, he notices a guy sitting on the bench a couple feet infront of him, the mans body is shaking and little sobs can be heard from him.

Blaine takes a few steps towards him.  Curious as to why he is crying.  When he gets closer he notices that he is holding a picture.  Not just any picture, a picture of him.  Of Blaine Anderson.

"Why are you crying over him?", Blaine asks as he lowers himself down onto the bench next to him.  The guy turns his head towards him and Blaine quickly turns away not wanting the boy to see his face.

"Uhm, He, uh, he nearly died last night.  Lucky for him the doctors managed to save him.", Blaine scoffs at the thought of him being the lucky one in this.

"Why is he the lucky one?", he asks intrigued by this boy.

"Well he nearly died, he is lucky to be alive.  He was saved."

"What if he didnt want to be saved?", he feels a tear drip from his eye.  He knew he would get in trouble with his manager if this guy found out who he was.  Because he had already said too much.

"I refuse to believe that the reason that I am still here doesnt want to be here himself.", Blaine was the reason he was alive?  He looks up to him and sees the shock spread across his face as he realises who it is.

"You, youre supposed to be in the hospital!", the boys face contorts between happiness, concern and confusion.

"Hospitals are a little cramped.", Blaine takes the boys current silence as a chance to take a good look at him.  He has chestnut hair sticking up in a medium height quiff, his eyes are a wierd bluey green that seem so young but so wise at the same time.  His skin tone is unusual, almost porcelain.  To put it simply, he is beautiful.  A few tears drop down his face.

"Why did you do it?  You have the perfect life.", he mumbles quietly, a small blush creeping up on his face.

"My life is far from perfect.  I have money and fame, thats it."

"You have fans too.  Millions of people that spend most of their day thinking about how amazing and perfect you are to them and I know they do that because that is what I normally do!", Blaine is shocked to hear this guy say something like that but as he thinks about it, he realises that all he sees is the stuff that the people want to see.

"This might sound stupid but could I have a hug?  I cannot remember the last time I had a hug and you look like you give nice hugs.", he blushes as he says the last bit, not meaning to let it slip.

He expects some sort of awkward rejection but is met by being pulled into the mans arms.  His head fitting perfectly against his shoulder and for once he feels happy.

"You know, I never expected to meet Blaine Anderson never mind give him a hug.  My name is Kurt by the way.", Blaine gives off a slight chuckle followed by a sniffle as the tears start pouring.

This time is different though.  He cries frequently but this time it isnt because he wants his life to end or because he regrets all the bad choices he has made.  It is because he is happy.

Blaine spends a long time with Kurt, talking about how he is feeling and how this whole thing started.

"I sometimes think that I should give up singing and become an actor because of the amount of times I have had to hide things from people.  Its like living two lives.  There is your own and then there is the edited clean cut version where you have to censor practically everything.  It is really frustrating and makes me really angry that I cant be open about who I am.", Kurt nods, listening carefully.  Wondering how this poor mans life could be portrayed so perfectly by the media.

"Sometimes, when I get really angry, I like to scream.  It can help let out em-", Kurt is silenced by a deafening scream coming from Blaine.  A laugh rumbles through the 22-year-olds chest before Blaine stops with a big genuine smile on his face.

"There he is!", Blaine whips round at the voice that he obviously finds familiar before turning back looking slightly terrified.  Kurt looks back and sees two muscly men in black shirts and black jeans.  Before he has time to ask who they are, he is pulled up by Blaine and being dragged through the park, weaving through trees and jumping over bushes till they come to a road with cars racing down it and little shops up the other side of it.  Blaine stops for a couple of seconds to pull his hood up before grabbing Kurts hand again and pulling him across the street. 

When they are sure they have lost them, Blaine sits at a little table outside a starbucks, motioning for Kurt to sit as well. 

A sharp pain keep shooting through the singers chest as he places his hand over it and tries to gain control of his breathing, coughing and spluttering a little in the process.  No matter how much pain he is in, he cant help the grin that spreads across his face.

"Are you okay?", Kurt asks, concern lacing his voice.

"Yeah, I dont reccomend copious amounts of exercise just after you nearly ODd!", They both laugh out loud at a joke that anyone else would have taken as a reason for more concern.

"On the plus side, that is the most fun I have had in five years, so thankyou.", Blaine says proudly with happiness in every single syllabel.

"Why are you thanking me?  It was your bodyguards chasing us!", Blaine nods in agreement.

"True, but you were the one that made it fun."

Blaine looks back on that day fondly.  As Kurt had said.  He was saved, but not by the doctors.  By the boy on the bench.  

The singer had been away from any outside interaction for a month.  It was like rehab, but in a hotel.  The only people he saw were Kurt and Terry and occasionally a waitress that brought him food to his room. 

Today was the day that he went out again, he was starting with a performance that 250,000 people had shown up for.  To say he was nervous was an understatement.

The concert was going well so far but it was coming to a close.  He only had one song left to sing and it was a new he had written during his break.

Stepping back onto the stage, he wondered how people would interpret this song.

In the crowd alone
And every second passing reminds me I'm not home
Bright lights and city sounds are ringing like a drone
Unknown, unknown

Oh, glazed eyes, empty hearts
Buying happy from shopping carts
Nothing but time to kill
Sipping life from bottles
Tight skin, bodyguards
Gucci down the boulevard
Cocaine, dollar bills
And...

My happy little pill
Take me away
Dry my eyes
Bring colour to my skies
My sweet little pill
Take my hunger
Lie within
Numb my skin

Like a rock afloat
Sweat and conversations seep into my bones
Four walls are not enough
I'll take a dip into the unknown, unknown

Oh, glazed eyes, empty hearts
Buying happy from shopping carts
Nothing but time to kill
Sipping life from bottles
Tight skin, bodyguards
Gucci down the boulevard
Cocaine, dollar bills
And...

My happy little pill
Take me away
Dry my eyes
Bring colour to my skies
My sweet little pill
Take my hunger
Lie within
Numb my skin

Oh, glazed eyes, empty hearts
Buying happy from shopping carts
Nothing but time to kill
Sipping life from bottles
Tight skin, bodyguards
Gucci down the boulevard
Cocaine, dollar bills
And...

My happy little pill
Take me away
Dry my eyes
Bring colour to my skies
My sweet little pill
Take my hunger
Lie within
Numb my skin

"Coming up tonight, a man, who has experienced a lot of pain and trouble in his 21 years but he still stands strong and returned to the stage with a mind-blowing performance.  Its Blaine Anderson!", Ellen shouts as Blaine dances his way down to her.  The audience erupting with applause and cheering.
Blaine settles into his chair, ready for any question that may be asked.
"So Blaine, we know that lately you have been going through a lot and you had to take a little break.  What was that like for you?", Blaine contemplates the question for a couple of seconds thinking about an appropriate answer.
"There is no other way to put it but, I was a drug addict.  Simple as.  I think that anyone in the room can get an idea of what it was like.  People may not like this but this interview is for me to get everything cleared up so I am going to be blunt about it.  The last three years have been hell.  I lived wishing that I wasnt.  I turned to alchohol and drugs like many people do and I regret it now.  I wish that I had done it differently.  Im okay now though, I have support from my family.", Ellen nods sympathetically.
"That is good to hear!  Personally, I thought that your concert earlier this week was amazing but I was told by twitter to ask if Happy Little Pill was about your own experience with drugs?", Blaine knew this question would come up.  He felt very smug about his answer because when he wrote the song he thought he was being very smart about it and was really proud of himself.  Giving a small smirk he answered.
"Yes and no.", his smirk grows at Ellens confused look.
"Care to explain?"
"If you look at it like most people see it, just from the outside.  You think that it is about a guy that has given up his home and family for the big city, only to be overwhelmed by fame and people around him but still being lonely.  So he turns to drugs to take the pain away, which is actually what the song is about, inside and out, but to anyone just listening they hear happy little pill and think I am singing about a drug that I use but the chorus of this song has nothing to do with drugs.  Happy Little Pill is just used to represent a person.  The person that saved me.  And whenever I feel down and upset I can go to him and he will take me away and dry my eyes.  Bring colour to my skies.  Take away the knawing hunger that comes with getting clean and he will lie with me and make all the pain go away and make me numb.  
The guy that can do this is the love of my life and I would do anything for him.  Even give him a shout out.  Go follow @KurtEHummel on twitter!", Blaine gives a little wink to the camera and turns to Ellen, whos face is plastered with shock.
"Well, I think that the true meaning behind the song is beautiful and well thought out.   It is also one of the sweetest things I have ever heard.", Blaines grin grows bigger at the comment.
"Im being told by the voices in my ear that we have just recieved a tweet from a KurtEHummel.", she points to the big screen behind her as a screen-shot of a tweet shows up.  It reads,
Watching @TheEllenShow and I have spit cheerios all over my bed whilst crying hysterically.  Any good maids that can clean milk and tears out of a bed cover?  I have a very rich boyfriend, @BlaineAnderson, willing to pay millions.
Blaine laughs before he mentions, "Kurt is very sensitive about things getting dirty.  I once offered to pay for him to get his coat dry cleaned because it had a little bit of gravy spilt on it, $100!", Ellen laughs too.
"Ha, you guys seem like you are perfect for each other!"