“Thank god for the weekend” Blaine muttered as his family’s navy Rolls Royce pulled in to a lengthy stretch of driveway, lined on both sides by aged maples. The sandstone boulevard shone brightly in the mid-afternoon Friday sun, leading up to flaunt the picturesque manor Blaine had come to call ‘home’.
“Bin quite a while since ya been back, hasn’t it bin, Mister Anderson” the driver - an elderly British man by the name of Sigmund Thorben - said.
“Sigmund, how many times do I have to remind you not to call me that?” Blaine sighed exasperatedly
“Apologies Mr Blaine, Sir. It’s in me contract ta do so from the hours o’ seven till ten.” Sigmund chuckled, his snowy moustache bristling from the force of his hearty laugh. In the rear-view mirror, Sigmund could see Blaine’s face plastered on the cars tinted window, his eyebrows knitted together creating a look of eternal anguish.
“Now, now Mister Anderson - why the glum face? Looks like yer bin through a lifetime o’ trouble!”

Blaine attempted to crack a smile for the effort Sigmund was putting in to make him feel better – but he just couldn’t. Nothing was ever going to change. Blaine would always be a straight A student, who would always come home on the weekends to his family’s Ohio mansion to try and spend some time with his sister; he’d study in Harvard or Brown to become a Doctor or Lawyer, meet a straight-laced young brunette who would end up being his wife, have 2.5 kids, a dog, a mortgage. And then, as an old man looking back on his life – he would rejoice at the dullness of it all. Was it really worth it? Situated in the back of his family’s Rolls Royce, Blaine really didn’t think so. Raising his head from the car window, Blaine met a pair of elderly blue eyes peeking back at him through the rear-view mirror, the multiple lines of Thorben’s face connecting to create a look of parental concern.
Pulling up in front of the alabaster estate, Blaine hopped out of the car with his one suitcase in hand – he never had to bring much as most of the stuff he needed would be in the manor – and just before Blaine stalked the stairs to open his front door, a polite “ahem” from Sigmund Thorben caused Blaine to turn around,
“Don’t sweat the small stuff, Mr Blaine,” he smiled, “Not worth it in the long run.”
And with that, Sigmund drove to park the car near the stables – leaving Blaine to stare after him, contemplating what had been said.
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“I’m huuungry”
“Gabriella Mona Renata Anderson - a young lady of your prominence does not whine” Agnas – Gabriella’s carer – scolded.
“A lady of my promi-watta-blabber-fence never does anything fun” the little girl stated
“Prominence, Gabi my dear. Stature, importance, reputation. All are very important to be successful in life, and in time you’ll come to see just how much”
A couple of moments of silence passed between the girl doing her maths homework in the dining area and the older woman knitting what appeared to be an 8 fingered glove, on a leather seat situated close to the first-floor window, overlooking the Anderson’s back acreage.
“When will Blaine be here?” Gabriella asked; mustering up every bit of self-control the infant had to not whine. But just as Agatha was about to answer, a cough was emitted from somewhere near the dining-room hallway. Spinning around as fast as she possibly could on a wooden chair, Gabriella whipped her head around to see what the noise had been.
“Miss me?”
And before Blaine had even finished his question, Gabriella had leapt on to him and thrown her chubby little arms around his neck.
Chuckling, Blaine raised a hand to greet Agatha,
“Hey there Aggie. How’s this little one been?” he asked, slinging Gabriella behind himself so that she could have a little piggy-back.
“Oh, as fiery and temperamental as ever” she grinned, shaking her head happily
“That’s my girl” Blaine chuckled.
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It was at exactly 7:17 that evening when Blaine Anderson’s stomach emitted a guttural moan in hunger.
“Your tummy sounds like a lion” Gabriella giggled, sitting next to Blaine on their caramel sofa; watching cartoons. Usually, Gabriella would be practicing her violin at this time – but it seemed that whenever Blaine got the time to visit, everything relaxed. Warmth and love took the place of monotonous practice and order, and for that short amount of time it felt like they were an actual family.
“I must just be hungry” Blaine replied, ruffling his sisters unruly dark curls, her button nose scrunching in distaste of the action.
“We only had dinner a couple of minutes ago” she stated in disbelief, “you can’t be hungry after that!”
Blaine chuckled at his younger sister’s amazement at the hunger-rate of a teenage boy. Gazing in to Gabriella’s chocolate eyes, Blaine got hit with a wave of innocence and naivety. The young girl’s eyes staring back at him were pools of imagination and youth. He wondered if his parents ever had the time to look at Gabriella the way he was looking at her now. She was growing up way too quickly. Just yesterday it felt like he had held her tiny body in his arms, wrapped in a peach-coloured baby blanket sent exclusively from the workshops of Alexander McQueen, her tiny hand clutching his pinky finger, smiling up at him with those same coffee-coloured eyes.
Eleanor Catherine Anderson nee Loren and Richard Pantero Anderson were missing out on their daughter’s life, and Blaine had to bite back a sigh as Gabriella placed her hands on either side of his face, worry etched on her young face. He didn’t want her to worry, she was too young for that.
“Bear?” she asked – an old nickname, although most of the time it was usually Blainey-Bear – “what’s wrong?”
Too young to worry. Too young to be able to understand how lonely he was…too young.
“Nothing” he replied, a smile already plastered on his features, “just thinking of going for a walk to that small supermarket complex thingo a couple of streets away. I’m in the mood for Dorito’s” he said, getting up from his seated position in front of the television.
Almost like magic, Agatha came strolling in to the living room with a small bottle in her hand.
“Apologies for interrupting, but it is time for Miss Gabriella to take her ear infection medication” she smiled, “nothin’ too serious, of course. Just a symptom from her last flu”
“Oh, that’s fine. I was just about to call you anyway. I’m going out, but I’ll be back within the hour. That okay?” Blaine asked, slipping in to a navy blue sweater to combat the slight chill of the early night.
“Oh that’s perfectly fine, Mr Blaine. Miss Gabriella and I have a lot of fun together, don’t we Miss Gabi” Agatha grinned even wider than before, the slight gap in her front teeth displayed for the world to see.
“Uh-huh” Gabriella agreed, rushing to the family’s living room cupboard which contained hundreds of DVD’s, “be back soon though, I wanna watch Aladdin with you”
And with that, Blaine proceeded to walk down the staircase, out the front door, and down the driveway in to the crisp night air.
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Blaine could see the small, all-night supermarket now – right next to one of Ohio’s small cinema’s and on the other side of it, “Larry’s Liquor” store.
Strolling down the dimly lit street, Blaine closed his eyes for a moment and tilted his head back to face the infinite blanket of sky. Opening his eyes, he gazed at the stars in wonderment and a sense of suffering washed over his flesh. Blaine shuddered in the crisp night air as he tried to stop the feeling of self pity sweep over him.
Religion had always played a minor part in Blaine’s life, with his parent’s being devout Christians and himself having attended a Christian Elementary School. In times of trouble, he had always prayed or gone to Church – and even though he had mild scepticism about whether or not God was even listening to him, it gave him a sense of security. And walking down Gregory Lane at 7:40 in the night, Blaine shared a silent prayer – and sent it out in to the Universe.
“Send something my way. Please. I am prepared for change…I long for it. I don’t want to look back on my life and see all the chances I missed, everything I’ve wasted. I just wish…I wish for something. I wish for something…more. Amen.”
Returning his head back to its normal position, a brisk wind fluttered by and Blaine shifted his sweater in a futile attempt of shielding from the cold. Blinking a few times from the chill, Blaine saw a brilliant crimson-coloured car which - even from a distance Blaine could instantly recognise as a Ferrari. It was such a peculiar sight, the splash of red on the black and white Ohio canvas Blaine was walking through. And as he continued to walk, Blaine suddenly laid eyes upon something that would rival even the Ferrari.

Leaning on the hood of the red Ferrari was the most strikingly attractive boy Blaine had ever seen in his whole entire life.
For one ridiculous moment, Blaine thought the young man was a statue. His marble coloured skin beaming in the glow of the flickering street light, shadows illuminating his taut arm muscles - it made it seem as if one of Davinci’s creation’s had plunged from the skies and landed in front of a liquor store in the middle of Ohio. Except this divine sculpture was smattered in what appeared to be grease or dirt, and flicking ash on the sidewalk every now and again from his cigarette. Blaine in no way condoned smoking, and even the thought of a cigarette gave him the urge to cough…but on this stranger, he made it look…well, he made it look cool. Donned in a skin-tight black singlet tucked in to even snugger black jeans, Blaine watched in awe as the boy crushed the butt of his cigarette with the tip of his knee-high, khaki green buckled boots in to the grey sidewalk.
As if sensing someone was watching him, the boy raised his head slowly – his aviator sunglasses shimmering in the dark.
“Sunglasses?...at night?” Blaine thought. Blaine had always had the notion that if he ever came across a person wearing sunglasses at night it would look….idiotic. At the very least, extremely out of place, but…somehow. Somehow this guy was making it work.
Walking at a slower pace, Blaine kept his head down until he was a couple of feet from the back of the car.

Blaine heard the glass door of the Liquor Store behind him screech open and slam shut. Turning around, Blaine saw a tanned male with what must be the shortest mohawk in existence. Looking to the boy’s hands, Blaine saw 2 large bottles of elite Russian Vodka in one, where in the other he held a 6 pack of beer. Leaping in to the driver’s side and forcing the Ferrari to roar to life, the mohawked boy shouted;
“C’mon Hummel, Let’s roll!” as Jason Derulo’s “Don’t Wanna Go Home” demanded the attention of everyone in a miles radius as it overwhelmed the expensive cars speakers. The boy in front of Blaine turned his head slightly and raised his hand to suggest patience. Turning back to face Blaine, Hummel took 4 swift paces forward until his lips were inches away from Blaine’s eyes – after all, he was quite a bit taller than Blaine, and seemed to revel in that fact as it appeared as if he took pride in looking down at Blaine. ‘Hummel’ took off his Aviator sunglasses to reveal shockingly intense blue eyes, set on Blaine in a dramatic smoulder. Without even meaning to, Blaine’s jaw dropped so that his bottom lip was almost caressing the pavement.
For one moment, Blaine got lost in the boy’s eyes. It was like the entirety of his mind was melting in to a cool sapphire lagoon somewhere in the Caribbean, sipping fruity cocktails whilst sinking to its bittersweet demise. The boy named Hummel chuckled in obvious delight.
“Like what you see, Frodo?” he breathed huskily.
“Oh, uh. No. Um, no. I was just…I-I-I… well, I’m, uh, straight…” Blaine stuttered; his eyes fluttering shut at the overwhelming musky and almost flowery scent emanating from the insanely gorgeous boy. A knowing smile flickered across the stranger’s lips as he pulled away from Blaine excruciatingly slowly.
“Of course you are” he whispered mockingly, “All straight guys love checking me out on the sidewalk, and get a hard-on from just looking at me”
Blaine choked back an alarmed gasp at how positively abrupt this boy was being. He’d never been confronted with anything like it in his 17 years of living.
Hopelessly disoriented from Hummel’s mind-blowingly riveting gaze, Blaine’s body swayed and stumbled backwards - away from the Ferrari in a successful attempt to cut off all eye contact and get his act together.
Sliding in to the scarlet sports car, next to the mohawked rebel, Hummel blew a kiss to Blaine.
“Au revoir, Frodo!” Hummel shouted before going right ahead and sticking his middle finger up at Blaine as the Ferrari thundered down the road, around the corner and out of sight – leaving Blaine situated under a flickering street lamp with an unfortunate half-hard situation happening in his pants, wondering exactly what the hell had just happened to him.
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“What took you so long?” Gabriella asked as Blaine came sneaking in to her dark room.
“Gabs, you scared me! You should be asleep by now” Blaine stated as he sat upon his little sister’s mattress and began stroking her hair gently.
“But I’m not even tired!” she exclaimed immediately before a gigantic yawn escaped her lips. Blaine had to suppress a laugh as Gabriella smirked up at him.
“Well…maybe a little tired” she muttered as a quiet knock at her bedroom door caught both their attention.
It was Agatha dressed in her night-wear, her hair in a side-plait, waiting at the door.
“Apologies for the late interruption, children. After tucking Miss Gabriella in, and giving her a glass of water, I myself was ready to retire for the night also – but there is a Mr William Schuester on the phone for Mister Blaine. What shall I tell him?”
Blaine had no idea why someone would be calling him, but he remembered the name Schuester from somewhere, so he decided to accept the call.
“Tell him I’ll just be a moment” Blaine said, turning back to face his sister,
“Sogni d’oro, Gabi” [Sweet dreams, Gabi]
“Sogni d’oro, Orso” [Sweet dreams, Bear]

Blaine picked up the wireless black home phone.
“Hello?” he asked warily
“Hello there!” replied the voice. It was the voice that sounded like it belonged to an impossibly optimistic person – the kind you’d find in a musical or a children’s play.
“It’s William Schuester. I bumped in to you on the staircase at Dalton yesterday, we had a nice chat and you let me sit in on your little Warbler performance – remember?”
Oh, yes, of course. Even though yesterday felt like a lifetime ago, how could he forget the happy teacher from…what was it called again? McKill-me? McKlainely? McKindelly? McKinley. That was it. McKinley Juvenile Correctional Facility. What a mouthful.
“Yes, of course” Blaine answered - suddenly remembering that he didn’t see the teacher after the performance – “Did you enjoy it? Well, us. The Warblers, I mean”
Blaine swore he could feel Schuester’s grin beaming through the earpiece of the phone.
“Oh, immensely! It was fantastic! As a matter of fact, that was why I was calling” Mr Schuester exclaimed, “I have a bit of a job offer for you. Part-time, of course. Afternoon’s on school days and a weekend every now and again… Interested? Oh, and you’d get paid, of course”
Honestly, this all sounded a bit too good and abrupt to be true.
“Sorry to be asking this, Sir. But, um…what’s the catch?” Blaine asked, suddenly aware of the eccentricity of the situation, “And, uh, how did you get my number?” he added.
“Oh!” Mr Schuester exclaimed so loudly that Blaine had to hold the receiver a length away from his ear, “Of course! How rude of me. After we met, I ended up tracking down your principal and we had a small chat about you and how it would be McKinley’s honour to bring you on board as a bit of a Teacher’s Assistant for the Music Class I teach at the Correctional Facility, “New Directions”. You are the perfect candidate, Blaine. You’re young – which will help you relate and connect to my kids, you can sing – something which all my kids can do, and it gives you the opportunity to work closer with them, and finally – from the word of your principal, you have extensive musical and instrumental knowledge that you can apply both practically and in theory! It’s perfect, it really is.” Schuester proclaimed, “All I ask is that you think about it.”
Blaine was put on the spot a little bit. He was going alright in his subjects at Dalton, except for maths, of course, but you can’t do everything right. This could be the change that Blaine had been looking for, the kink in his monotonous string of a life.
“Oh, and ‘‘the catch’’ you speak of-” Mr Schuester said.
Blaine knew it was too good to be true.
“-the kids. My kids. They’re a bit…rough around the edges. New Directions was set up for those of McKinley Correctional Facility who have had a particularly rough life, and those who have committed the more…severe felonies. It’s been found that music can be extremely therapeutic and beneficial, so I try and provide it for those who really need it. They’re all lovely when you get to know them, you’ve just got to get past their…stern outer personas.”
Blaine could tell that William Schuester was putting a lot of thought in to wording his sentences in a way that wouldn’t frighten Blaine off, but that simple fact made Blaine all the more nervous.
Looking around the white hallway, the receiver still plastered to his ear – Blaine inhaled deeply, and before he even knew what he was doing, his own voice came out of nowhere.
“I’ll do it.”
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After having a small chat with Mr Schuester on when and where Blaine would begin his Assistant position, he placed down the receiver and made his way in to his room. Not even bothering to turn on the light, Blaine found his guitar using the light of the gorgeous full moon filtering in through his open curtains, and lay upon his cushiony bed. Lightly playing a forgotten melody, Blaine fell asleep caressing his guitar, wondering if his life might be finally turning around.