Author's Note: Hey guys! I hope you're all enjoying the latest developments of Shawn's story. This is definitely a filler chapter, and is hardly a representation of my best writing, but I hope you all like it nonetheless!

Enjoy!

It's been a long time since I've woken up to the smell of slightly burnt toast and the sound of breakfast plates clanging. Even though I'm so very aware that I'm in Mr. Schuester's guest bedroom and not back at home, in the past where my mother lived, I keep my eyes closed after I wake up and imagine that the noises in the kitchen are coming from her. I try to imagine that when I stumble out into the kitchen, she'll be there with her light pink pyjamas and her messy hair and her sleepy smile, but I just can't. The reality I'm living now is too overwhelming; it's as though the past and the present are singing, and I'm the conductor trying to balance the voices. The present songs louder than the past ever could, and there's nothing I can do about it.

The present, screaming at the top of its nonexistent lungs, forces my eyes to open.

I look over to the alarm clock. It reads 7:02 AM, with its two dots pulsing faithfully in the middle. I find myself strangely mesmerized by them, until I watch them for a moment too long and I remember last night. I'm reminded of last night and the feeling that I felt and how the world looked and I conclude that, truly, I really don't want to feel that way again.

Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I get out of bed and find myself stumbling out the door.

I see Mr. Schuester in the kitchen down the hall, eating his toast and reading the morning newspaper like he's in some corny TV show from the 80's. I'm reminded of when I was about eight years old, when I spent a ridiculous amount of time sleeping over at my friends' houses because I wanted to escape the stuff going on at home. It was a pretty genius and undeniably effective plan for my eight-year-old self to have, really, but I always hated when I would wake up before my friends. I'd have to pee or I'd be hungry, yet I wouldn't want to wake my friend too, nor would I want to go out to see their parents by myself. I would, anyway, and usually the parents were very kind and gave me sugary cereal that my own mother didn't approve of, and it was all fine and dandy. Still, I felt awkward and intrusive, camping out in someone's home, and eventually I came to my senses and went back to my own. I feel that same intrusiveness today, but this time I don't have a mother that I need to go home to.

I take a deep breath to clear my mind, then walk to the kitchen.

"Hey, Mr. Schue," I say, lingering at the doorway.

"Shawn!" Mr. Schuester looks up from his paper, apparently surprised. "Hey, how was your sleep?"

"It was alright," I say.

"I was going to wake you up a while ago," he folds his newspaper and stands up, "but you just looked so exhausted. I couldn't bring myself to disturb you."
He chuckles a bit, and I do the same.

Taking his plate to the sink, he says, "Sit down. Would you like some breakfast? I could put in some toast, or I think there's some cereal here…"

I sit down at the table. "I'm good, thanks. I'm not really a breakfast person."

"No?" He asks, putting his plate in the sink. "Did you know that having a healthy breakfast improves your concentration and enhances your overall mental performance? It even helps boost your mood and memory throughout the day."

I can't help but laugh because Mr. Schuester is ever the teacher, even at such an early hour. He's even already in his sweater vest. "Are you a breakfast expert or something?"

"I just read an article about it," he laughs. "So, knowing the many benefits of a healthy breakfast, would you like me to make you something?"

"No, thank you," I clasp my hands together on the table. "I'll have something later."

"So you aren't going to school today?"

"I don't really…" I say, stumbling over my words. "I don't know, I just don't really feel like I could concentrate on anything today, you know?"

"Yeah," Mr. Schue says, sitting down across from me. "That's okay. You can hang around here, watch some TV, take the day off. You deserve it."

I smile a bit. "Is there Glee rehearsal today?"

"Yeah, in the morning," he says, then looks at his watch. "In thirty minutes, actually."

I tell him that he'd best get going, and he agrees as he goes to grab his bag from the living room. He tells me, "Feel free to eat anything you'd like, and if you need anything at all just give me a call. You still have my number, right?"

"Yeah," I call back, remembering how I put his number in my phone during lunch hour yesterday. I had a lot of time to spare while sitting on the toilet for 45 minutes.

He walks back into the kitchen. "You're going to be alright?"

"What are you going to tell the kids in Glee?" I ask.

Mr. Schue sighs. "Whatever you want me to."

"Finn and Kurt might've already told them everything."

"I don't think they'd say anything if you didn't want them to," he replies, putting a bagged lunch in his bag.

"Maybe just don't say anything," I tell him, then sigh, noticing my bandaged arm and how loose the bandage got in the night. "I doubt they'll even notice I'm gone, especially Rachel."

I look up when I realize I said those words out loud, and Mr. Schuester looks at me with that strangely sympathetic expression only he can do. I look away. "That's not true, Shawn…"

"It kind of is," I shrug my shoulders.

Mr. Schuester sits down across from me and I continue to pick at my bandage. He offers to tighten it for me. I put my hand on the table as he rewraps it and continues talking, "Rachel's had a tough time these last couple weeks…"

"Finn said that, too," I remember. "What happened to her?"

"It's really not my place to say, Shawn," he says, glancing down at my open scars. I, on the other hand, look away. "Just know that it's not your fault, okay? The Rachel you know isn't the girl we know. She's lost her way a bit, but she'll find her way back. She always does."

I nod my head. "Okay."

"I'll talk to her about how she's been treating you after rehearsal," he finishes putting the last pins in the bandage, and looks up to me. "I really should've talked to her a long time ago."

"You don't need to do that—"

"Does your arm hurt?" he says, looking down to it and then up at me. "Are you sure you're okay here alone? I could stay here, take a sick day…"

"It's okay," I say. "I'll be fine."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," I nod, then smile because someone cares about me. "You should get going; you can't be late for rehearsal."

"You're right," he jumps up, grabbing his bag. "Now, if you need anything or you're not feeling well or just get lonely and want me to come back, just call and—"
"I'll be perfectly fine, Mr. Schue," I tell him, following him to the door. "I assure you."

"But you'll give me a call if you aren't, right?"

"Of course," I say, and then I realize he's looking down at my arm and I realize why he's so concerned. I press my lips together as the pieces fit together in my head. I say, "I'm good."

"Okay," he replies, seemingly satisfied. "Have a good day."

"I will," I say, leaning against the doorframe. "You too."

Mr. Schuester opens the front door, about to walk out.

"Wait," I say. "Mr. Schue?"

He turns around. "Yeah?"

"Thank you," I say. "For everything, but for, like, staying with me last night."

"You're welcome, Shawn," Mr. Schue smiles, then turns around and walks out the door.

I sigh, then look down to my arm, then up to the ceiling because I just can't believe that this is my life. And then I collapse onto Mr. Schuester's couch.
I spend the entirety of the day laying there, watching reruns of old TV shows and basking in the fact that this unbelievable situation of which I have so little control has become my life, because I really don't have the ambition to do anything else. I don't even have anything to eat, though that's hardly unusual. Watching the clock, I imagine what must be going on at school as the minute hand moves around: when Mr. Schue gets to Glee rehearsal, when Finn tells everything that happened yesterday, when I'm marked absent for math class, then history class (where Karofsky and his buddies would be surely be snickering about how I wasn't there because I had yet another mental breakdown), and then when the bell rings for lunch. About ten minutes into lunch hour, my phone, plugged into the wall, rings.

Walking over to my ringing phone, it occurs to me that I didn't charge it. Mr. Schuester must've done it for me.

"Hello?" I say, my voice cracking. I mute the old ladies on the TV, who appear to be having a disagreement about their pet pig.

"Hey, Shawn," Mr. Schuester says. "Just checking in. How're you doing?"

I return to my spot on the couch. I kind of expected his call, given that he asked if I was okay about sixty times before leaving this morning. "I'm okay, how about you?"

"I'm good," he says. "Finn and Kurt asked about you before Glee this morning."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, they wanted to know how you were doing," he tells me. "We all missed you today."

"Did you tell them…" I ask nervously, and I hate myself. It really doesn't matter; they're going to find out eventually, and there's nothing I can do about that.

"Did you tell them, you know, about everything?"

"No," he says. "Finn and Kurt didn't say anything, either."

I sigh, relieved, and then Mr. Schue asks me if I've had anything to eat. I lie, telling him I had some cereal, and he tells me he'll be home around 4:00, since there isn't an Glee rehearsal after school today. After we hang up, search Mr. Schue's cupboards for some cereal, to make at least one of the lies in my life true, eat it, and then return to a marathon of the show with the old ladies, The Golden Girls. I can't help but hope that, at least by the time I'm old and wise, I'll have a group of friends to eat cheesecake and reminisce with at all hours of the night. I wonder whether it's possible for me to have true friends like that before grey hairs, but I quickly put that thought out of my head. Getting my hopes up has proved to never be a good thing.

"Hey Shawn," I hear Mr. Schuester come in the doorway after what seemed like no time at all. The adventures of quirky old ladies sure does make time fly. "I'm home!"

"Hey," I call back from my seat on the couch, in very same position I was in when I talked to him four hours ago. "How was your day?"

"It wasn't half bad," he says, and then walks into the living room, Finn and Kurt following behind him. He smiles at me, like he just bought me a car or something. I, on the other hand, become very aware that I'm still wearing Mr. Schue's old clothes. "These guys here wanted to drop by and say hello."

"We heard you needed to go back to your house and get some of your stuff," Kurt says. His eyes scan my outfit. "And, by the looks of it, you really need your wardrobe back."

"Yeah, we thought we could give you a drive," Finn tells me, smiling shyly. "And we kind of have a surprise for you."

With Mr. Schue, Finn and Kurt standing in front of me with their silly grins, I can't help but wonder if there's any chance that my grey hairs could come a little early.