Friday evening at Dalton. Not much different from other evenings, except that the younger years got to go to dinner at the same time as the older students, there was no prep, and you got a slightly extended curfew. Kurt had decided to go home for the weekend, meaning that Blaine was subjected to spending his meals and free time with his...shall we say, eccentric friends. Said eccentric friends were certainly living up to their name, but not nearly their full potential.

"Do you think," said Wes as he twirled the watery spaghetti with his fork, with an unnaturally serious expression for his features. "that those enormous pepper grinders you get in Italian restaurants are supposed to be proportional to the waiters carrying them?" Blaine promptly began choking on his food, though David appeared unaffected.

"Maybe, though they could be inversely proportioned. I mean, the size of those things..."

Blaine would have dearly loved to bash his head on the table, but at that moment was surrounded by his peers and the teachers made a general point of keeping one eye on his companions, wherever they were. The phone in his pocket vibrated, and he pulled it out to reveal a text from Kurt. Opening it, he found himself gazing at a bedroom - don't go there brain, not now- and although it appeared to belong to Kurt, with musical posters and tasteful decor, most of one side had been dominated by what could only be described as a mound of dirty clothes, and a plate of something that had turned a funny grey colour. Blaine was instantly put off his food, although such images weren't uncommon in a boys' boarding school. There were some rooms he steadfastly refused to go to. Above the picture was written Proof. There is no God! D: - Kurt

"How's your little Hummel Figurine?" asked Wes, observing the simply ridiculous smile that now adorned Blaine's face.

David leapt on this latest conversation and opportunity to irritate with gusto, as he always did. "He is treating you right, isn't he? Otherwise we will have to kidnap him, dunk him in boiling oil-,"

"Shove his bagpipes up his ass and castrate him with teaspoons-," Wes piped up looking scarily serious. Blaine didn't know whether to be touched at their concern or absolutely horrified.

"Yes that and then-,"

Blaine found himself lagging behind, entirely nonplussed. "Bagpipes?" Funnily enough, that was all he could really focus on.

"I think it would get the message across don't you?" Wes chewed his lip thoughtfully, looking around as if searching for inspiration. How he would find it in a dining room Blaine didn't want to know.

"Maybe some-,"

"What do you mean bagpipes?" Blaine shouted over his friends, trying hard to ignore the rest of their threats.

The two of them looked at him and rolled their eyes in sync; in the same direction. "He wore a kilt to prom." Wes shrugged. "Either that or throw haggis at his hair."

David shook his head. "On second thought, better not. Might prompt the next World War."

"And we wouldn't want that."

"Not at all."

"Never."

There was silence for a moment, before Wes continued. "You do know that if Brian hacks into my laptop and finds these plans-,"

"And just who the hell is Brian?" Blaine sniggered at the territorial look on David's face combined with his jealous tone.

"Computer guy. The one with the glasses. Replaced David." Wes drummed his fingers on the table, obviously having withdrawal symptoms from his gavel. It had been banned from the dining room after a particularly nasty incident involving hot custard, the headmaster and the gavel. The headmaster loathed Wes after that. Luckily, there hadn't been any scarring.

"Excuse me!"

"That's Andrew, not Brian." Blaine felt the need to interject here.

"I meant the other David, David. He looks like a Brian though."

"Can you guys just shut up and eat! I'd like to get back to my room before I reach 30." This was ignored and the two went back to bickering, David complaining about their dessert of tinned pears with chocolate sauce, while Wes busied himself constructing revenge plans in case of an emergency. He had one for every teacher in school, and most of their class. Blaine drifted off mentally, texting a quick reply to Kurt before staring into space. Sadly only a minute had passed before his blissful obliviousness was broken.

"Can you lick chocolate off me?" David shouted, holding out his spoon with a bit of pear on it. The entire dining room went silent, heads and eyes swivelling over to their table. Laughter soon followed, and Blaine would have joined in if not for the fact that he knew just what the revenge plan for him was, and decided not to risk it.

After dinner (and David's hurried explanation that he had meant the pear, not himself, which Wes and Blaine ignored and would hold over his head forever) Blaine found himself sitting at his desk, Googling monologues for his drama class. He could hear David trying to explain Math to Wes:

"Look, the straight lines are heterosexual because they are attracted to curves. Homosexual lines are parallel to eachother because they are the same."

"So does that make the perpendicular bisectors bi because they're the same but different?"

Blaine was pretty sure none of that was in the syllabus.

He worked in peace for another ten minutes before the door to his room burst open (it was never opened, always burst, smashed or crashed) and the duo stood there, with Wes attempting to...pull David's shirt off.

The room's owner felt the need to nip this in the bud now. "Uh... guys, just because I'm gay, that doesn't mean I want to watch you two get it on. You have your own room for that."

"No, he's got my t-shirt!" Wes was now spinning his arms wildly, held back cartoon style by David pushing at his forehead with one hand. With the other David stripped off the shirt, thankfully revealing another underneath, throwing open the topmost cupboard -unused by Blaine due to the simple fact that he couldn't reach it- and tucked the shirt inside. Wes was then dragged to the bed, having not seen David hide the shirt, and was immediately tackled.

"Give me a hug." Instead of fighting back, Wes complied. Blaine at this point had turned back to his work, this being a common occurrence. Since arriving at Dalton, he had never had a peaceful evening. Or morning. Or afternoon. Or just peace in general.

"Why are you touching my neck?" the voice of Wes came after a minute of silence in which Blaine presumed they were still cuddling.

"I'm feeling your nodes."

"My what?"

"Your lymph nodes. You have them in your neck, arm pits, stomach and other places. Now would you stop stroking my thigh?"

"I'm not stroking your thigh, I didn't even move!" Wes protested, Blaine shutting his eyes tight and praying they would go away soon. Simply asking or telling them to go was never enough.

A minute or so later, there was a rustling and David spoke this time. "Look, you have to either hold my hand or keep your own on my back, if that's the only way you can keep your fingers to yourself. Otherwise I will tie you down with my Snuggie."

There was whispering and suddenly David's voice rose again. "Why are you touching my moobs! My breasts are not tickly!" Blaine tried desperately to ignore the fact that his best friend had just claimed to have breasts.

"My hand slipped there, I didn't do it on purpose. Your necks in my way so it wasn't like I could really move it now, could I?"

Silence, and more noises. Blaine was starting to worry now, unwilling to turn around. He had never planned on being there when his friends had stopped playing around and really accepted their sexualities and desire for each other. He had always planned to be far, far away by that time.

"Stop feeling up my fingers!" David hissed. Blaine had never heard of one person being 'groped' so much in his entire life.

"Can you feel up a finger? Let's try!" At this Blaine grabbed his headphones, plugged them into his laptop and turned up the volume on his iTunes, staring intently ahead of him.

"Seriously guys, don't you have homework or something?"

"I think he's trying to get rid of us." Wes observed mildly to his companion.

"I think you're right."

"Leave, get out, depart, piss off, shoo, skedaddle. Dear God, his friend had become a human thesaurus.

"You're Shoo, I'm Skedaddle. Right?"

"Right."

"Well, I need to check laundry. See you, Blainey-Poo-Darling." With that, David flounced out of the room, eerily similar to Kurt's flounce, followed closely by his pet Wes. Blaine sighed in relief and pulled out his headphones, collapsing onto his desk.

Meanwhile, in the laundry room, David was retrieving his clothes from the tumble dryer.

"Okay, this is mine...mine, not mine, Jeff's...the black panties are most definitely not mine."

"Dammit."

David looked up, smirking. "Why did you say dammit? Do you have some weird fetish for guys wearing girl's undies?"

"I didn't say dammit, I said no." Countered Wes. David looked unconvinced, before glancing back at the offending item.

"You know, this reminds me of 10 Things I Hate About You. It said somewhere that girls only wear black underwear if they plan on having sex."

"How does that work?" Wes asked, before holding up his hands quickly. "No wait don't tell me. I'm more interested in the reason as to why you were watching a chick flick?"

You have permission to kill me. Seriously you do. I have been terrible to you guys, and to readers of JLAMC. The last couple of weeks have inspired this chapter, particularly this evening, in which most of this happened. You really have my best friends to thank for Wes and David, but it's up to you whether to decide if they are as hilarious as they believe, or as deranged as I know.

I am so sorry to those who were waiting for ages for this update. To those of you who are fairly recent, welcome and thank you for reading thus far. Thanks to everyone who has reviewd/alerted/favourite and if you have any prompts for scenes or questions don't hesitate to PM me. Hope this wasn't too bad after such a long hiatus.