mason.

                   It’s terrifying to be drugged- and Mason’s pretty damned positive that’s what’s going on here. It makes him want to throw up- to get whatever is in his system out of it. It’s worse than chocolate– something he’s deathly allergic to, well.. cocoa beans at least.The 6′1 male is genuinely shaking. He feels like he’s about to pass out and by the second Blaine pulls him outside, he’s looking like he’s completely glazed over. English isn’t something he’s comprehending. 

     He stares down at the smaller male and his eyebrows furrow. Blaine’s clearly talking to him, but he can’t make out the words. “Speak clearer,” he asks, with an added ‘please’ at the end. His heartbeat is pounding and he feels like everyone else is running while he’s in slow motion. Bright eyes scan the night sky as he tries to look around for someone. He had been talking up this guy at the bar for a bit- but he’s nowhere to be seen. It wasn’t like he had tasted anything funny in his drinks either. 

Mason’s about to fall- he can feel it, and it’s not like Blaine’s strong enough to get him into the uber, so he’s trying his hardest to stand up straight, but his knees are like jell-o This is the worst feeling Mason McCarthy has ever felt. 

                       “I– B, I need to sit down.                                  —- Please.”

              Oh my God!  Blaine was a mix of terrified and enraged.  Hazel eyes screamed that he wanted to go back into the club, find the person that did this and use them in place of the the punching bag hanging in his apartment that he’s neglected for months.  His was face drained of color and blank from worry as he stared up at Mason.  Trembling hands did their best to hold onto him so he didn’t topple over once they were on the sidewalk and on their own.  The few people who passed by didn’t pay them much mind. More than an glance or two.

      He had to force himself not to give a second’s worth of a glance to anyone who got too close to them wondering if the psycho that did this was sneaking out to see if Mason was left alone. Focusing on his friend was the main concern.  Not anyone else.  Or the fact that he really really wanted to punch the guy.  “I’m sorry, Mason.  I’ll try to speak slower,” and he did through wrapping his arm more firmly around Mason’s slender waist and holding tight.

“Sure.  Let’s sit down.  Keep talking.  Okay?”  He gently swerved them away from the foot traffic and gingerly lowered himself towards a bent knee to help Mason down on the sidewalk.