“Dumb? Dumb can be fun and it’d be a lot better than having nothing going on this weekend.” Thinking better, he thought it might be a good idea to set at least two limits considering leaving the game wide open might end in a preventable disaster or two he could think of off the top of his head. “As long as it doesn’t involve anything that might require bail money? Or something I can’t ever wash off because it’s permanently embedded into my skin? I’m in.”
Okay yeah. It wasn’t the smartest idea to get drunk, but he hadn’t started with the goal in mind. Hell, it was even LESS smart to get plastered on a school night but one thing lead to another and… Why did it even matter? The cool thing about looking up at the stars? Well, it usually made his problems seem not so big, and remind him that there were SO many more things out there. Planets, stars, galaxies, aliens, parallel universes, black holes, just… All of it. But tonight, every time he looked up at the stars, it just reminded him of Blaine. Of all the times they’d slip out here with an iPod, some snacks, and… Each other. Sometimes they had nothing but themselves, sometimes they’d come prepared with a blanket or a pizza. God, why did that even matter?
Every stupid thought came back to Blaine. And more importantly the reason they couldn’t be together. For the good of Kurt. Every time he thought of it, he felt a little more bitter. At first that hadn’t been the case, but bitterness was a sign of jealousy and jealousy was a sign he cared. At least that’s what his mom’s Women Magazine said, or was it the YahooAsk he’d pulled up? Didn’t matter now. Sam huffed, shaking his head in disbelief at his phone, an audible ‘Pfft’, “Trust isn’t the issue, Blaine.” He muttered to himself, though at this point issues were going to have issues, but the source of them all boiled down to the same thing.
“There’s nothing I woul
—
“ Sam jumped, hand shooting out from his side and knocking over the half full bottle of ABSOLUT, which rolled before falling to the grass with a slosh and thud. “JESUS
—” His phone, in the commotion had flown out of his hand and flew into the dewy grass, and said hand was now over his heart as his chest heaved. “Blaine, GOD, warn me next time.” He hadn’t even finished reading his texts and just.. “You planned that?!” Maybe it was the primarily silent park, or the fact he’d been alone UNDISTURBED, for over an hour that the appearance of the other caught him off guard, but it had taken Sam to the next level. Half stunned, half locked in an attempted Ninja reflex…
Shaking off what just happened didn’t come easy as he replanted himself, letting his elbows rest on his knees as his hands pushed over his face and through his hair, calming himself down with a sigh. The bright side was the flame that burned bright with anger had it’s passion misplaced in the moment of surprise, though for how long was the question. Sam’s breaths were heavy as he watched Blaine sit beside him, unfortunately having no idea what the other had just said in his panic. “I literally could have just killed you.” None of that was true considering he’d been about to end up in a tangle on the ground two seconds prior had he not caught himself. “Dude.”
Which sounded an awful lot like fuck.
“Dalton doesn’t solve anything.” Putting another band-aid on top of one that already wasn’t working didn’t seem like a positive, but instead a double negative. “What good is that gonna do? We’re still gonna be here.” Sam huffed, looking down at Blaine disbelieving how he couldn’t see the full picture. Moving up off the table, he stepped down beside Blaine, then hopped off in what was supposed to be a graceful escape. The unfortunate thing was the alcohol had it’s own ideas of graceful, and Sam purely stumbled into a wobbled dismount with a bit too much speed. He turned back to Blaine, arms spanned out at his sides ready to do the talking for him should his words fail. “Do you know how hard it is looking at you, knowing it should be us? I see you and Kurt doing all these things we should be doin’ and it’s like, you don’t even care that you’re missing out on it because you’re only half in. Like, what’s it matter, you know?”
The hurt played out without inhibitions as Sam drunkenly explained himself, though the confidence that accompanied every word was because it very much stemmed from sober thoughts. “Like, you still get to have that with Kurt. But hey, if it doesn’t work out with him, I’m here like his understudy.” His role in the entire situation had only made that sentiment stick. “And it sucks Blaine, cause I look at you and I’m pretty sure I see my freaking soulmate, but if you don’t see that too, what am I doing? I can’t make you pick me. I can’t make you even want to pick me. Like, just tell me that’s it, tell me that you don’t want me, just tell me something that makes sense.” The last bit sounded like an actual plea in which you could hear the ache within his heart.
Blaine gave Sam all the time he needed to recover from the way he startled him just walking up out of the dark like that. Hindsight kicking in? Maybe he should have warned him he was there but he didn’t want to risk Sam leaving if he could out. Then he’d be back at square one and even if they were going to be out way too late to make it to school the next day? He’d rather not spend another hour driving through Lima trying to spot a drunk Sam wandering around in the middle of the street. Sneaking up was the best option once all possible outcomes were considered. Paranoid, over the top ones or not. Scaring Sam was the most manageable one.
Telling Sam the only thing he could think of that would make this situation a tiny bit more bearable might’ve been a mistake. Sam was quick to point out everything wrong with the notion. While, unknowingly, saying why it was something for the best. Their situation wouldn’t go away. But at least? “It’s not going to erase our problems. I’m not saying it will. I’m not an idiot.” Even if he felt like the biggest one right now? Deep down, he refused to be thought of as someone who couldn’t wrap his brain around the big picture. Not by Sam. Or anyone.
Snapping his attention up at the movement beside him only to practically bolt up when Sam looked like he was going to bite it–Blaine’s muscles tensed and he was halfway off the bench before he saw Sam was steady on his feet (steady enough not to topple over anyway) and sat back down. Keeping his distance seemed like a good idea. Not that he didn’t trust Sam enough to be close to him. He only figured that being any closer would be yet one more thing to hurt the other with. “You just pointed out the reason why I should. Can’t you see that? Me going to McKinley every day is only hurting you worse because you have to see it. If I wasn’t there? At least it wouldn’t be in your face because obviously that’s a huge part of the problem. Not all of it. But a big one.
Reddening eyes and steepled brows followed the verbal slap in the face he, no doubt, rightfully deserved. Even if he had no clue that Sam would ever come back. That piecing things together and moving on was one of the hardest things he’d ever done? Sam was hurt and he was the one that did it. So, in Blaine’s book, taking whatever punches Sam needed to dish out was part of the guilt eating a hole inside of him. “Your not anyone’s understudy. Or a second choice or a back up or whatever you want to call it. Jesus, Sam. What kind of a person do you think I am?” Wrenching his pale knuckled grip free from the lip of the bench, Blaine palmed his mouth and wiped away several things on the tip of his tongue along with taking a pause to gather his thoughts.
Soulmates. He should do what Sam asked. Hurt him and tell him that he had no feelings for him whatsoever. Doing it might be the last snap of any possible relationship he might have with him. Friendship or something more. But? If he did? It’d cut Sam free. He could go be with Quinn or Rachel or whoever else scooped him up next. Sam would hate him but at least he wouldn’t ache for him anymore. The words were right there. Bullets loaded into the gun that’d kill whatever was left of them. Blaine’s finger was on the trigger. And it froze.
“I can’t.” He heard the reply in a voice he didn’t recognize as his own. It was way too high, way too pitched. Too broken. “I never thought I’d see you again. How was I supposed to know? How am I supposed to feel? Who am I supposed to hurt worse? Please, Sam? I don’t know what to do because either way? I’m going to ruin someone. I never wanted to hurt you or him or,” he couldn’t breathe in. His chest burned and the coppery taste of adrenaline flooded his mouth drowning out the rest with what, no doubt, was a quickly rising panicked confusion.
It didn’t happen OFTEN, just two or three times a year, but every once in a while the stars would align for a night like tonight.
On one trip or another through New York City, at some point during their week-long stay, Burt and Carole Hummel-Hudson would want to take their two boys out for dinner. Just the immediate family, to have a little bit of time all to themselves. To catch up on old stories, and make new memories even with the boys in their mid-20s of their very sweet family dinner tradition. But the first time it happened, plans excluding the significant others? Rachel had been a little HURT by it. She thought she was family… or as close as one could be without actually being married. She and Finn were ENGAGED (again) for crying out loud, and had been living together in New York for five years. When was she going to be good enough to qualify for this dinner? And while infinitely more understanding than his female counterpoint, Blaine hadn’t loved the (most likely UNINTENDED) snub either. Knowing neither one of them had been invited to the Italian restaurant for the night, they’d glumly agreed to order takeout and watch movies together to cheer themselves up.
That was the night they’d realized they could turn this negative into a positive.
{text ✦ blaine anderson} finn’s leaving in fifteen minutes.bring rosé.
“Go, go, go. You’re going to be late! Can’t keep Burt and Carol WAITING, after they’ve gone through all this trouble to make the reservation…” Rachel pressed, all but SHOVING Finn out of the apartment in her haste to get her own night started. He’d glanced over his shoulder in a cross between confusion and (dare she say it) disappointment, but heeded her advice anyways. With a kiss to her forehead and a promise to be home in a few hours, he was gone. Giving Rachel JUST ENOUGH TIME to change into her favorite pajamas, pull together all their favorite bowls of snacks, and produce her own bottle of chilled pink wine she’d hidden from Finn behind a carton of almond milk.
Rachel swung open the door with an excited SQUEAL, careful not to crunch the wine in Blaine’s arms as she pulled him in for a tight hug. “Oh my GOSH, I have been looking forward to this all week. I think Finn was actually a little mad that I didn’t even ask to go to dinner. Oooh, nice bottle choice. Let me get this on ice RIGHT AWAY.” she gushed, already headed back into the kitchen to stick Blaine’s contribution to tonight into the fridge and pour them both a drink. With a glass of wine WAY MORE FULL than they’d ever be given at a restaurant, Rachel lifted hers in a mocking toast.
“To us.”
Thinking about this whole secretive dinner that Finn, Kurt, Burt and Carole were having on Valentine’s Day meant something was up. Sure, he might’ve gotten that impression after Kurt started acting more and more strange as it got closer to the time for them to leave. Like he was hiding a secret. You know? That Kurt look!
Where he gets a little too red in the cheeks if he meets your eyes. Which he barely can without a slight upward twitch of his lips. Or the stuttering reply of ‘O-Oh no, I’m fine!’ that gets higher and higher in pitch the second time you ask if and circle back with an are you sure that’ll just get him tongue tied enough that you know he’s wishing you’d shut up and go away? THAT was always a dead giveaway! Blaine’s triumphant sleuthing would be brought up later. Because when Kurt and Burt were up to something and you tossed Carole and Finn into the mix? It was bound to be good.
Humming as he texted Rachel back letting her know he was almost there, Blaine stopped by his favorite wine shop to pick up a special occasion bottle and made a pit stop at the corner store for strawberries. …And chocolate ones, too. Both couldn’t hurt. Spoiling his best friend was part of his whole Valentine’s shebang that kept getting worse every year. There was no shame about it either. Like. Ever. Not in Blaine Anderson’s book.
Out of the elevator with a lightness to his steps that borderlined on needing a song by Julie Andrews to do it justice, his reusable bags were gathered into one hand and the bottle of wine was readied to hand over as soon as the door opened. Was she waiting at the door? It swung open so fast–a stunned expression greeted her squeal then crinkled up into a smile so bright it might’ve just given the fluorescent lights inside the hallway a run for their money.
“Hey, Rach!” Full arms returned the hug as best as they could. Then he watched her dart off with his bottle in hand, relieved that she liked the choice. “Great! Hey! About that?” He sat the bags on the table and took the more-than-abundant supply of wine she was served up with a grateful nod and a crooked grin. “This is why you’ll never be a bartender,” he muttered under his breath but perked up at her toast and gave her a bow of his head. “To us!”
“So.. I might’ve brought us something a little extra and you…er. Close your eyes, please?”
[ text ;; blaine ] That sounds…depressing? [ text ;; blaine ] Why don´t we go somewhere together? [ text ;; blaine ] Go see a show and get dinner?
( mssg » rachel | sent ) Why does it have to be depressing? ( mssg » rachel | sent )
Maybe this is a good thing! At least I’m getting out.. ( mssg » rachel | sent ) Fine! Okay. I’m not convincing you or myself with that excuse. This whole idea of moving on and getting out there just hasn’t settled in yet. I’m trying. ( mssg » rachel | sent ) Oh god, yes. Let’s go see something. Anything. Dinner, too. ( mssg » rachel | sent ) Thank you, Rachel. I’ve been going crazy staring at the walls.
“Sparring then?” he asked with a crooked grin on his face. He gently cleaned the wound, humming lightly as he did so. When Jasons hand finally lifted the blood was mostly cleaned from the wound. His fingers traced the others knuckles lightly for a moment before he looked up at him. Blaine. “Does that hurt? I need to know if we’re in for a trip to the hospital tonight.” Jason, for all his flirtatious personality quirks, really was nervous for Blaine’s hand. He could see the callouses on his fingers. He worked with his hands often and an injury could be bad for him.
“Sort of. Got asked for a couple rounds. Turns out? He was one of the types who don’t like losing to a gay guy. So they resort to a cheap shot or two under the guise of a mistake.” The gym, thankfully, wasn’t full of them which is what drew him here. Even though it was a train ride away from the one closest? It was worth the trip to avoid the meatheads. One or two still occasionally managed to slip by. Today, it was his luck that he didn’t sense it before agreeing to spar with one. The guy wouldn’t shut up about how they should go try their luck on some ‘hot piece of ass’ working out in cardio with her friend.
Blaine shut him down with a mumble of how that really wasn’t his thing. The idiot’s question of ‘Look at her though! Dude, what are you? Gay?’ was met with one of his off the cuff scowls that was an answer in and of itself.
Round Three landed him a sock to the diaphragm hard enough to knock his wind out while simultaneously pushing his wrong timing and now I’ve got a point to prove button. The rest, they say, is history. Though his knuckles didn’t get in the shape they were in on their own. Who came out worse for wear? Well. Depends on how you look at it. His brows shoved together at the soft touch running across his knuckles. It hurt but not a hospital worthy hurt. Probably. “Yeah but.. I think it’ll be okay. Just needs some ice. At least I hope so,” he quipped at the end before sighing in frustration at the situation. His fingers twitched against Jason’s palm when the other’s finger grazed over his pinky knuckle. “I can always see how they look tomorrow.. Thank you. For everything.”
( sms → katy anderperry → sent ) Could you shut the fuck up for like 5 seconds ( sms → katy anderperry → sent ) No one wants to hear you belting last friday night on snapchat ( sms → katy anderperry → sent ) So I definitely don’t want to hear it in person ( sms → katy anderperry → sent ) I’m hungover trying to sleep and you suck. Shut up
( mssg » puck | sent ) Um. I guess I should have looked at your message before I finished that song then. ( mssg » puck | sent ) I apologize for waking you up. It’s hard to keep track of how many hangover mornings that turn into hangover-almost-noon’s before I can move around (or sing) like I live here we’re going to have this week.
( mssg » puck | sent ) I wouldn’t say I’m the only one who sucks this morning, Puck. Fine. I’ll shut up. Go back to sleep.
“Oh, I don’t mind if people know I’m here but if the cops come asking me whose ass you kicked I’d rather actually not know.” he explained, a low laugh vibrating through his chest. “Come on kid.” of course, the kid with the bloody knuckles happened to have walked right up to an FBI consultant but he wasn’t going to scare him off. He needed the help.
“I’m Jason Lin.
Comment vous appelez-vous?” he asked as he lead the younger man over to a sink, running some warm water. He quickly soaked a rag in the warm water before applying it to his knuckles. “Scrapper? You don’t really look the type.”
Blaine nodded as an embarrassed wince formed crookedly across his mouth. “Sure. Sorry. This was probably the LAST thing you thought you’d have to deal with tonight.” The ache wasn’t letting up. They had to be better by morning. Missing a lesson on account of a match turned fight wasn’t something he was going to be forgiven for very easily and lying wasn’t one of his greatest talents. Most of the time.
“I’m Blaine. It’s nice to meet you, Jason. My apology for the reason why.” Blaine connected the rag in Jason’s hand and the water running in the sink to what was about to happen and readied himself. Just not enough… Gentle as the pressure was, the initial touch drew a hissed in breath between clenched teeth. “Yeah. I mean. No. Not like that. It wasn’t supposed to go that far.”
“I’d rather not, plausible deniability and all. Come on, let’s get you patched up.”
“Don’t worry. I’m not going to breathe a word you were here. I’d rather not answer questions about how this happened anyway.” Blaine shot the guy a guilty smile before looking down at his bloodiedbruised knuckles. They really were a mess. And he had piano lessons tomorrow. Probably should have thought about that before he didn’t regain control of a sparring match gone a teeny bit out of control.
“I’ll be–,” he hissed in a breath through clenched together teeth in a grimace when he wriggled them trying to make a point that failed beyond the meaning of fail (so said the pain shooting up his arm). “Wow. That really is getting worse..and a lot more gross.” Cringing, his nose scrunched when he met the other’s eyes and nodded. “I mean–yeah. Thanks.”
It’s … INSULTING , almost ––– the thought that someone like Kurt would so much as blink in someone else’s direction. Having Blaine was a rarity , a once in a lifetime chance for someone with a face like that . And Blaine ? Blaine was far too gorgeous to settle for a boy so low-grade , annoying , unattractively baby-faced ––– never mind be slighted by him , to be anything less than worshipped by him. The audacity of it all.
Add injury to insult : it’s the first time in ages that Blaine’s reached out. Sebastian can’t exactly blame him ; he’s sure Kurt has something to do with it , that Kurt’s been watching like a hawk , ready to swoop down at the first whiff of Sebastian. It should be comforting , satisfying at least , to know that it’s him Blaine seeks solace in. Still , his pride is wounded in playing Best Friend. And yet –––—
( to – blaine ) : i think the universe is telling you something. kurt’s finallly found someone more in his league. maybe it’s time you do the same and let go of those training wheels.
Hurt ego and all , Sebastian still finds that signature smirk blooming in to something more genuine . It’s lucky he has the distance of the screen between them to hide the honest smile tugging at his lips , the way his eyes flicker at the glow of the screen.
He hesitates.
( to – blaine ) : but seriously. he’d be crazy not to appreciate what he has in front of him.
Blaine sat on the edge of his bed, hands still shaking as he gripped his phone so tight that the color bled out of his knuckles and fingertips. Tears of frustration, hurt and anger that didn’t stop his entire drive back to Westerville were still welled up in his eyes. The only person he thought would get it? That he could trust not to run and tell Kurt everything he said and make things WORSE? Was the one person that Kurt threw in his face repeatedly. As lately as two hours ago during their argument that got them to this point.
Sebastian probably had better things to do than read his endless spewing text about things like ‘great asp’s and ‘using Kurt’s voice as his ringtone’. Or suffer through the repeated question of how crazy he was for feeling this way mixed into a mottled mess of autocorrected words that, occasionally, were completely different from his original intent. He kept going until he was answered. Then the dots finally came to a brief pause until..
( mssg » sebastian | sent ) I don’t know if I want to go that far. I just. I don’t understand why he can’t see the reasons for the distance growing between us. Or if he does? Why then, instead of fixing it, is he talking to this guy?
In an attempt to soothe headache building behind his eyes, Blaine rubbed the bridge of his nose and let out a heavy sigh. The next message caught him off guard from how perfectly timed it was just as a wave of self-doubt flooded his thoughts.
( mssg » sebastian | sent ) It makes me feel like everything I’ve been afraid of might happen. I’m not sure how I’ll deal with it if it does. That’s the biggest reason why it hurts so much.
❛ THAT’S RIGHT. l e g i t. don’t let it go to your head, though. ❜ he knocks back another shot almost immediately after it’s placed in front of him, nodding at the bartender in acknowledgement. ❛ i can’t help it that hummel doesn’t have good tastes, man. haters are gonna hate – you just gotta ignore ‘em. ❜
“Don’t worry, I won’t.” Says the guy who went from ‘wow, really?’ to sitting a bit more straight backed on his barstool immediately after earning the Puckerman Seal Of Approval on his wardrobe choice. Blaine stole the chance to take another drink from his beer while Puck downed his (they both lost count of how many-ith) shot for the night. “Haters gonna hate. No truer words have ever been spoken.” Huffing a laugh, he gave Puck a wry grin and a playfully suspicious glare. “As long as you don’t say his lack of good tastes pertains to significant others, too? I appreciate the compliment. Almost as much as I appreciate the free beer. Thanks, by the way.”
pianokeysandbowties 