Dreaming of You

Chapter 4

It snowed again.

It snowed again (a lot) and Blaine works at one o'clock, so this means that he is now going to have to get ready faster and leave earlier, allotting for ample time to drive through treacherous ice and sludgy snow. Since the tires on his car have about as much traction as silk, he's going to need to be extra cautious.

So. In short. The day is already marvelous.

"Best leave soon, love," Blaine's mother calls as she cuts the crusts off of two cheese sandwiches.

"Yeah. Just gotta get dressed," he mumbles, finishing off his tea, the liquid now lukewarm as it slips down his throat, signaling the end of his freedom.

His mum casts him one small sympathetic smile as he dumps his cup in the sink, the sound loud and jarring against the tranquil atmosphere. His eyes glaze past hers in a half-hearted returned smile before he strides out of the room and up the stairs. He enters his room, his work clothes still on the floor in a heap.

He picks up the black polo distastefully, surveying it in the mid-morning light trickling through his closed curtains. With a sigh, he begins getting dressed, before noting his journal, still lying amidst the swirled blankets of his bed, opened to the page he last scribbled in before he fell asleep.

With a smirk, he picks it up, surveying the blurry words, his polo still dangling from his fingertips. Grabbing the nearby pen and clicking it into life, he pauses before he jots down, on the fresh page, 'Day 4', before shutting it with a snap and pulling on his trousers.

**

"Thank fuck," Blaine grins, upon immediately spotting Trent, Wes, and Nick as he steps into the Starbucks building.

Christmas has come at last!

"ANDERSON!" Trent roars happily, hopping around with an ice bucket. He's clearly had too much espresso (he's a fucking beast when it comes to caffeine, makes Nick looks like a lightweight—he typically has eight shots in his trenta iced coffee plus eight pumps of frapp roast plus chai) as his cheeks are rosier than usual, his eyes brighter, and his hair is mussed and almost twinkling with pent-up energy. He's also got a timer clipped to the collar of his apron so, praise, he's Customer Support for the day.

Yes yes yes. Two thumbs up for the Starbucks Gods.

"Well, look who it is!" Nick beams immediately after, stuffing scones into a pastry bag. His headset is on and it appears... Ah, yes, it appears that he's at the drive thru window.

Excellent, excellent. Four thumbs up now.

"The one and only," Blaine grins cheekily in response as Wes smirks at him from the work station. His sleeves are rolled up, hands splayed on the counter, and he looks to be in deep thought.

Yet. There is literally nothing in front of him. The counter is clean, yielding nothing but the smooth polish of its surface.

"Wes?" Blaine questions, ambling up to him, eyes sliding curiously to the bar. (Jen's there, looking frazzled and frizzy and sticky with syrups and steam.) "Alright?"

"I'm high as fuck," Wes mutters calmly, as if commenting on the time, and Blaine nearly bursts out laughing.

"Christ. You closing tonight?"

Wes drags his pinkened, sleepy eyes over to him, offers up a half-smile. "'Course. Karaoke tonight, remember?"

Blaine rolls his eyes. "How could I forget. Seriously though, you've fucked yourself over. You're not going to get anything done in that state. We'll be here till midnight."