“Look alive, Sunshine. Auditorium four just let out.” Blaine groans at the sound of his manager's voice, reminding himself for the billionth time to kill his brother the next time he sees him.

Upon moving to New York City, Blaine became painfully aware of how hard it is to find work in a city with a ton of people in an economy that's... well, total crap. He'd applied absolutely everywhere and was on the verge of giving up when his stupid brother gave him the brilliant suggestion of working in a freakin' movie theater.

“It'll be great, Squirt,” Cooper had said. “Think about it. When my movies come out, you can hand people their popcorn and tell them that you're my brother and you'll probably get huge tips. It'll be awesome for you. Seriously.” Blaine was out of options and figured it couldn't hurt, so he'd applied.

Of course, he isn't handing out over-priced candy and popcorn. He isn't selling tickets. He isn't even the ticket-taker. No, Blaine gets the oh-so-fun job of cleaning up the auditoriums after the movies let out. Blaine spends four days a week picking up trash and scrubbing sticky candy and soda off of the floors. He's absolutely miserable, and maybe he'd quit, if he could actually find a single other job in the world that wasn't this. But he can't. So four days a week, Blaine gets to do this.

The new Captain America film has just come out, and Blaine didn't think he'd ever have a reason to hold a grudge against a fictional character, but the ticket sales for that stupid movie were absurdly high, and for some reason, superhero fans were absurdly messy. Someone had managed to get nacho cheese smeared all over a seat and he had to spend almost ten minutes scrubbing it out before his co-worker told him to leave it so the next crowd could start taking their seats.

Blaine hates his day job. The only thing that makes him feel better is his weekend volunteer job at a small animal shelter he'd found out about on a flier in the city. The shelter is struggling. It's a smaller place and Blaine had gone to check it out, maybe give a donation, but the place was so endearing to him that he offered to volunteer there on weekends to give them a little more help. He doesn't get paid, and it takes away time that he could be spending making money at the movie theater, but to be honest, he loves it.

Blaine never had any pets as a kid. Cooper's allergic to cats and his dad couldn't stand the idea of a big clumsy dog tearing through the house. He didn't really expect to be good with animals, with no real prior experience handling them, but apparently he's a natural. The animals love him. All of them. Even the ones who bark or hiss at the other volunteers. They all love Blaine, and he can't help but feel his heart warm every time an angry cat curls up in his arms or a seemingly vicious dog slathers his hand in wet sloppy kisses.

He loves working with the animals. If the shelter could afford to pay him, he'd never do anything else, but alas, he's a college student and he has bills to pay. He lives on his own and while his big fancy Hollywood actor brother sends him money for no reason on every holiday, (“Don't complain, Squirt, you could use it. Maybe buy some clothes from this century.”) he still has expenses to cover, and his shitty cleaning job helps with that.

“Hey buddy,” Blaine coos as he pulls Toby into his arms. Toby is Blaine's favorite cat. He's a big orange and white tabby cat. He hadn't had a name when the shelter got him, but Blaine decided to call him Toby. When the shelter was running low on cages, they were going to put Toby down. He's an older cat and no one ever seemed interested in taking him home. He's a grumpy thing, most of the time, and the shelter volunteers are pretty sure he came from an abusive home before he was found and taken in.

Blaine couldn't stand to see him put down. Toby was the absolute sweetest cat when he trusted people, it just... wasn't easy for him to trust people. Blaine could understand that much. So he'd thrown in some of his own money to buy extra cages to make sure that Toby didn't have to be put down, and he hoped every day that Toby would find a loving home. “Nothing's gonna harm you, not while I'm around,” Blaine sings to the cat when no one's around. That's why he named the cat Toby in the first place. Hell, he'd take Toby home himself if his apartment complex wasn't so vehemently against pets.

Toby purrs contentedly in Blaine's arms. It gives Blaine a kind of satisfaction when Toby surrenders and shows that he's just a kitty cat who wants to be loved, instead of hissing and shying away from contact.

“Blaine, stop singing to the cat. I want to talk to you for a minute,” Sharon, the owner of the shelter calls from her office. Blaine nearly blushes at being discovered and kisses Toby's head before returning him to his cage. He stands in Sharon's office as she flips through papers stacked on her desk.

Sharon's a nice woman. She and her husband Mark are really in charge of the place. They own five cats and seven dogs and usually shelter other animals that need a place until they can find homes. They're good people and Blaine really likes them both. She looks up at him.

“I wanted to thank you for helping out so much. I know we can't do much to help you in return, especially now.” He knows what she means. Mark has really terrible diabetes and doesn't really make an effort to watch what he's eating. Within the past few months, he's been in and out of the hospital a lot. Blaine has been coming in sometimes during the week to make sure they have the help they need, usually on his one day off a week but sometimes even after he gets off of a shift at the theater.

“It's really no problem, Sharon. I love to do it.”

“Well again, just thanks. Maybe one day this place will get a little more community support and we can afford to pay you for everything you do for this place.” Blaine nods. He knows it's doubtful. Most New Yorkers would rather buy an animal than adopt one who really needs it.

He hopes maybe one day, that will change.