“Blaaack.”

“Blaa aaa aack.”

“Blaaa aaaa aack.”

“I go back to...I go back to...”

Blaine could hear the vintage Winehouse backing track as his manager's cool kitten voice wrapped around and through him, creeping into the corners and curling in the shadows of the club.

His club.

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For Part one of this story, please go here: Part 1____ ( Read more... )