Blaine groaned in his sleep and rolled over to turn off his alarm-clock/radio, but the music continued on. When he opened bleary brown eyes to check the time, a curse slipped from his slightly-chapped lips. It was three am. And he had a test in less than six hours. Who the hell was playing the music so loud on a Tuesday morning?

Grumbling about the unfairness of it all, while random laws and theories flittered across his sleep-strewn brain, he pushed himself onto his elbows and swung his legs off the edge of the bed. Whoever was doing this was going to pay, and pay hell. He glanced down as he stumbled from the bed, relieved that he was actually wearing pants and so didn't have to stop to look for any, in which event he would, heaven forbid, have to turn on the lights, and he wasn't sure he could handle that at the moment. With a yawn, he pushed long, strong fingers through his dark, unruly curls and picked up his keys from the desk by the door with his other hand.

"Gypsy," he muttered, recognizing the words drifting to him from below, probably the laundry room, he thought. He'd thought he was so smart at the beginning of the semester when he'd snagged that room. As light a sleeper as he was, he would often hear the doors open in the early morning, and if he had the time, or just really needed clean clothes, he could get the drop on any others that might take over the scant amount of machines available to the dorm population. Of course he hadn't counted on those who did midnight-or-later laundry runs, nor, he thought with a weary chuckle had he considered that some people liked to sing while they did their runs.

Whistle while you work, he thought, and then winced. His friends had teased him relentlessly for knowing as many Disney songs as he did, and he'd been trying to expand his repertoire. Which is how he'd ended up watching a bunch of musicals from the sixties and seventies that his Mom had suggested when he mentioned his dilemma. To his dismay, the teasing had not lessened, but only changed direction after his newest hobby became known. Apparently college boys and Broadway musicals didn't belong in the same sentence, let alone the same dorm room.

Blaine shivered as he opened the door and wrapped his arms around himself, laughing a little as the dark hairs stood up straight, apparently just as cold as he was. Of course, that was what he got for walking outside with only a pair of ragged pajama bottoms on in the middle of November, and in Montana, no less. His old high school buddies had called him crazy for leaving Ohio, but there had been something about the quaint private college on the rims of the Rocky Mountains that had just called out to him, so, crazy or not, he'd left, and he'd never been happier.

That is, he would have been happy if the kid doing laundry would stop singing. As he trudged down the stairs, he realized that the sound was getting louder. And nobody else could hear this? Were they all passed out drunk? It wasn't unheard of, even on a weekday, and he scowled in consternation as he rounded the corner at the bottom of the stairs and reached the door to the laundry room. The kid was good, Blaine admitted, sounding like a younger Celine Dion. Still, it was Celine or physics, and physics won hands down.

"Excuse me," he began as he pushed open the door and stepped into the muggy room. He hated how the different detergents everyone used mixed in the air, forming a toxic fog that had, to his shame, made him avoid doing his own laundry for the last three weeks. No one else complained though; most called him oversensitive, and he figured he'd get over that. He would work on it, he promised himself. After he got some sleep and aced his physics exam. "Can you tone it down a bit? I've got a...test...tomorrow..." his words drifted off as he caught sight of the boy folding his laundry.

He was quite possibly the most beautiful thing Blaine had ever seen.

Tall, slim, with soft brown curls that begged for Blaine to touch, and a quirky grin upon luscious lips that were now singing a sassy rendition of Def Leppard's "Animal," as he deftly folded a simple green and white striped polo shirt with long-fingered, neatly-manicured hands.

Blaine blinked in surprise. How had he never seen this boy before? He had to grit his teeth to keep his jaw from dropping as the boy did a little shuffle dance over to the dryer, singing, "Like a fire needs flame, I burn for you," and that was when Blaine noticed the headphones. Of course, the boy couldn't hear him, and if he was anything like Blaine, he'd be embarrassed as all hell when he realized he had an audience. Still, Blaine couldn't bring himself to interrupt, so mesmerized was he by the sway of the boy's hips in black designer jeans, and Blaine bit his tongue to keep from moaning.

Goodbye, physics, a snarky voice whispered in the back of his mind, but he brushed it off.

Blaine Anderson had officially fallen in love.