Crawling Back to You

Dream

A week later Blaine stepped into his small, one-person apartment around midnight, his breaths already labored with exhaustion. He reached up and pulled at the curls that had sprung out of his hair gel, letting out a small groan.

He worked nights most weekdays to provide him with enough money to pay for rent, essentials (food and other necessities), and a little left over for extra stuff.

Blaine was a smart man, valedictorian of his senior class. Also, his parents were always money smart and had passed their tips and tricks onto their sons. Even though Blaine was good at money management, he was still just barely getting by now.

Sluggishly Blaine unbuttoned the black polo with red trim that he had to wear for his uniform where he worked at a small diner in downtown Cincinnati. He sighed with relief and shuffled his way down his narrow hallway.

In the bathroom he ripped off his polo and slid off his belt. Quickly he turned on the water to his shower. While the water warmed he hastily brushed his teeth and undressed all the way. As he stepped into the shower he began singing a song under his breath, "Take me on a trip, I'd like to go some day/Take me to New York, I'd love to see LA./I really want to come kick it with you./You'll be my American boy, American boy-"

His hands froze where they had been scrubbing shampoo suds into his dark hair. He hadn't heard that song for maybe five years! It was so familiar... No matter how he tried he couldn't place the memory... or didn't want to...

Bothered by his lack of thought, Blaine hurried faster and was soon dragging a towel across his body and throwing on the pajamas he already had laying out in the bathroom.

Clean, Blaine made his way to his bedroom. It was a small bedroom, just like his entire apartment. The walls were a dark blue, like the night sky when it's just shy of midnight. He had a simple wooden dresser, a small mirror, a walk-in closet where his dressier clothes hung, and a quarter-sized bed.

Blaine clicked on the lamp that sat solo on a white bed-side table and flipped off the standard light. He then collapsed on the bed with a satisfied umph! He took his phone out from the pocket of his pajama shirt. As he touched the Home button he had to squint as his eyes attempted to register with the glare of the backlight. It was nearing one in the morning, but there was a text from Dave: Come over tomorrow?

Blaine groaned. He had promised he'd meet up with his brother, Cooper tomorrow. Very rarely did he get time with his celebrity brother. He shouldn't miss it. So, choosing not to think about anything, Blaine turned on his alarm for 6:00 and rolled into a deep sleep.

At first he didn't dream. Nothing but expansive black space enveloped his feild of dream vision. Then suddenly, like a flash of light, Blaine was standing amongst a crowd of people at a coffee shop. It took a few seconds for Blaine to realize this wasn't just some standard run-of-the-mill café. He knew this place. The Lima Bean.

A light hand touched his shoulder. Blaine whipped around, startled. There stood a tall, lean man in a dark trench coat. A red tie peeked out from under his lapels underneath the collar of a pressed, white dress shirt. Across his shoulder was a messenger bag and his fair toned hands clutched the bag strap firmly. The man had swept nut-brown hair that was styled across his left brow and he gazed at Blaine with eyes so deep they seemed to delve straight into Blaine's inner conscience, but also so light that it made the corners of Blaine's mouth tug into a smile.

The man moved his lips to say something. Blaine wanted words but all he heard was nothing.

Blaine wanted to ask the man to repeat himself, but soon found that his teeth wouldn't move apart. His jaws were locked, leaving him mute.

The man said it again, louder, "Rethink your options. I'm still here."

Blaine wanted to ask the man what he meant. He wanted more, but he was still rendered voiceless and before he could react the other man disappeared into the crowd of coffee customers.

Something dinged repeatedly in Blaine's pocket. Confused, Blaine took the device out and realized he had his phone on him. In a dream? He looked at it and saw a text from Dave: Come over tomorrow?

Blaine slid his finger across the screen to unlock his phone. The keyboard popped up and Blaine hurriedly typed his password: Tank (the nickname Dave earned when he went to college to play football for Kansas City for a year, before transferring to Cincinnati).

Blaine frowned when a red notice popped up: Wrong Passcode. He typed it again only to get the same result. And again. And again. And again. "Damn it!" Blaine cursed under his breath. His phone disabled for 15 seconds.

Then a flood of texts came in, all from Dave. Come over tomorrow? and: Answer me, please! I love you, Blainers. and: Come hang out with me and the guys. Then after another flood of texts came in from Dave another one came, alone. He didn't recognize the number, but all it said was: Blaine, I need you.

He woke then to the blast of Katy Perry's Dark Horse emitting from his phone. A new day had dawned, but Blaine still felt trapped in the gaze of that man's striking eyes.