"Oh my God! There he is!" A girl squeals with a homemade 'Love Doesn't Come Easy' top on, running towards the actor at full speed with a group of girls who represented themselves more like a crash of rhinos bolting behind her. The city air dances around with the screams, sobs and the occasional cries of 'I love you!' and 'Marry me!' from the screaming teenagers.

Along with the teenagers, the paparazzi flies in, their cameras flashing and asking the star to look this way and that. The actor struggles to get in his car with the commotion going on around him as he tries getting out of the club safely. Luckily, Sam Evans, his strong, loyal, bigger than a house bodyguard is there for the rescue.

"Girls, girls, please, give the boy some space."

The wishful space is not granted as the girls, including a number of boys, barge their way through the crowd, itching to get closer to the teen sensation.

"Sam, it's fine." The smooth voice from behind Sam replies as he waltzes up to the crowd, smiling and posing for pictures.

Blaine Anderson is rather enjoying himself until Sam, Mr. Party Pooper, decides to break up the party and ease the boy into his car, peacefully and uninterrupted, and just like that, once the door finally closes, the uproar comes to a halt.

"Where to?" The driver asks, turning the car engine on and faintly hearing the exhaust pipe splutter with life.

"Home. Blaine needs to sleep." Sam replies, bluntly.

"You sound just like my Dad." Blaine groans, holding the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger, stressfully.

"I might as well be, you looked like you were getting raped out there!"

"Raped? Really?"

"Yes!" Sam says.

"Oh my God." Blaine laughs as the car pulls away from the curb and into the night.

The black car stops outside a tall block of apartments as Blaine steps out, bitterly entering the harsh winds of winter. He shudders as he wraps himself up in his puffy jacket.

"I'll pick you up at around seven in the morning. We need to be at the set at eight-forty-five." Sam says, winding his tinted window down.

"That early?" Blaine grumbles.

"Hey, don't blame me. You're the one who chose this lifestyle!" Sam laughs, "I'll see you tomorrow, Nightbird."

"Please don't call me that..." Blaine rolls his eyes.

"Sorry, I can't help it. After you did that hilarious commercial last week, I'm afraid you're pretty much stuck with it."

"Hey! I-" Blaine can't reply due to the fact Sam has quickly winded the window back up, driven off and left Blaine in the cold whohurryingly walks to the tower door, fumbles with the keys until the door opens and he is securely inside.