Even If You Never Love Me, Chapter 9
Rating: T-M
Genres: Angst, Romance, Drama
Warnings: A lot of cuss.
Spoilers: Up through Special Education
Disclaimer: I don't own Glee.
Author's Notes: This is my original plot, guys! No prompts required! Big deal for me...
Summary: "In a perfect world, I'd be able to know what it's like to... hold your hand? Take you on a date? Kiss you? You'd let me feel what it's like to be your boyfriend, just for a day. Just for one day. One day where you're mine?"
Word Count: 3,777
Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Romania Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Liza Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8
*Is anyone else reading LucyToo's The Worst That Could Happen? It's totally amazing, and I'm addicted. However, I have a bone to pick with that author. They update, like, every other day, with these ginormous chapters that never wane in quality... Some of us are getting size envy. What LucyToo does is not possible! Somebody tell me they're a robot, or a professional, or something.
Also, sometimes when I should be writing this, I'll actually be reading that story. It's just updated so often! And soooo good! You should totally blame The Worst That Could Happen. Not me.
On another note, I can't believe how many reviews my last chapter got! OVER 30! And they were all amazing and sweet, and thank you so much. Every time I post a chapter, the highlight of my day is reading your responses.*
Stepping onto school grounds the next morning, Blaine tries not to panic. It's just, things can go so very wrong.
When Kurt left yesterday, it wasn't like they were on bad terms. They were on friendly terms.
Friendly.
Which makes sense. They're friends. (Just friends.)
Now that Kurt's had a night to process everything, however, Blaine isn't sure how friendly he'll continue to be.
Blaine isn't an idiot. He knows what the weekend was. Kurt didn't magically form a 24-hour love for him that disappeared with the clock chimes. Kurt did all the romantic stuff for Blaine, out of the kindness of his heart, just because Blaine asked.
As important as it all was to Blaine, it meant nothing to Kurt. That's the exact sort of thing that, upon reflection, Kurt could see as a huge mistake. Everything could be awkward between them now.
Blaine doesn't think he could handle that.
He knows this is his fault. He asked for this, and got exactly what he requested. He earned every consequence.
He still can't help feeling like his heart is on the outside of his body, vulnerable, easily damaged by the slightest bump.
Passing through the large entrance doors, Blaine isn't sure which direction to go. Should he avoid Kurt, put off the possibly heartbreaking encounter for as long as possible? Or, should he just get it over with?
He was never good with Band-Aids. As a child, he could never rip them off, now matter how dirty and residue-laden they became. He would always wait for the eighth-or-so bath to wash them away painlessly.
Avoidance it is.
Kurt doesn't get the memo.
It's at the bottom of the grand staircase that he hears his name called in that beautiful voice. A siren's song. He turns, looking up the steps to see Kurt, and is reminded of the time they first met, when he first saw the most beautiful person in the world. Sure, he didn't fall in love immediately, but it was so obvious, even then with Kurt in some strange mock-uniform and sunglasses while indoors, that this boy is absolute perfection.
"Wes wanted us to remind everyone that today begins the extra Monday Warblers practice sessions. He said he called you but you didn't answer."
Blaine pats his pocket and finds it empty. He forgot his phone? That's a new one.
Blaine's confusion must show on his face, because Kurt misinterprets it and tries to trigger show choir memories, "We need all the practice we can get for Regionals... They decided Monday was better than Friday..."
"That's right. I remember." Blaine wants this topic to end so they can just be themselves, and he can see how Just Kurt is reacting to Just Blaine.
"Personally, I think our best chances at beating New Directions is to give me a solo, but no one ever seems on board with that." His tone is teasing, light, mirroring his half quirk of a smile.
Good. They're friends still. That's... good. It would be a lot worse if they weren't.
Kurt clears his throat, "Well, I think I saw three of our merry crew having breakfast in the cafeteria. Want to bear the bad news together?
As Kurt walks past him, leading the way, Blaine's hand reaches out of its own accord. It's been trained by twenty-four hours of bliss, but those hours are over. His knuckles brush gently against Kurt's for just a second before he pulls himself back.
It's not like they never held hands as friends. Hell, they were holding hands ten seconds after meeting each other. But, it will seem different to Kurt now. It's different for Blaine.
Kurt swallows, his expression unreadable and his eyes downcast before he speaks, "You, umm... You left some clothes at my place. Carole washed them for you. Want to swing by this weekend to pick them up? I'll make lasagna." It's funny, Kurt almost sounds... hopeful.
Blaine's nodding, so he's committed, "Yeah. That was nice of Carole. I'll have to thank her." Is he ready to re-enter the Hummel Home as, once again, Kurt's Just Friend? Is he even ready to spend time with him outside of school? Kurt's his best friend, and he'll always love him, but Blaine probably needs a bit. Just to get everything re-organized in his heart.
Too late now.
They go Warbler hunting. Kurt does all the talking.
When Blaine arrives home, he's exhausted. Warblers rehearsal wasn't especially physical - it was primarily a planning session, and they only went through one routine - but all he can think about is his bed.
First, though, he needs to meet with his chef. Omelettes are no longer his breakfast of choice. He's much more interested in Eggs Benedict. It's not just because- Okay, it's totally because of the past weekend. It was a great weekend; why wouldn't he want to relive it a little? Plus, today was a rough one, so he could use a little pick-me-up.
He wanders into the Kitchen, fully expecting the chef to be in there preparing dinner, but finds the place to be silent. The Spice Pantry has been carelessly left open, and for some reason that really bothers Blaine, so he shuts it.
Time to check the chef's room. He takes the elevator to the Staff Wing and knocks on the chef's door. There's no answer. He knocks harder. Still nothing.
Great. This is just great. Now he has to eat the same old crappy meal for breakfast. What's the point of having a chef if she just disappears when you have cooking requests? They pay her good money. She should be here.
This is so stupid! He just wants to tell her one thing. Why can't she just be there for him? Why can't the world just go his way?
Forget this. He's going to bed.
As it turns out, it doesn't matter than he never changed his order, because he sleeps through breakfast. In fact, he wakes up right as the first bell rings at Dalton, miles away.
Isn't that just perfect. He certainly fell asleep early enough; you'd think he'd wake up to his alarm.
Did he set his alarm?
Even though he's late, he has to take the time to get ready. He's still in yesterday's uniform, which was pressed up against Kurt's clothes all night. Yes, those clothes are still in his bed. He just needs the comfort. It's probably just in his head, but they still have the sweet scent of their owner. He can't go to school in a wrinkled uniform that smells like Kurt.
Getting a new uniform on, with the double-button fly, and more buttons on the shirt, and the starched collar just seems daunting. Not to mention brushing his teeth and, God, gelling his hair.
He hasn't even showered. There's so much to do.
Maybe if he just sleeps ten more minutes, it won't seem so bad.
No, he's already late. He's making it worse every passing second.
He'll skip the shower. It's only one day.
He grabs a new shirt from the closet, pulling it halfway on before he realizes he's still wearing his old shirt.
He's so stupid. Why is everything so complicated?
Off goes the old shirt, on comes the new. Buttons. Fuck buttons. Why can't he wear a T-shirt with this thing? Three buttons in, he finds he's putting them through the wrong holes.
He has to sit down. The mattress depresses beneath him unhappily. This is just... not funny. The world hates him.
He keeps yesterday's pants on. Who's going to care?
New socks should help. No, that's stupid. No one's going to see his socks.
Where are his shoes? He can't remember where he took them off. He looks along the floor, and when he doesn't spot them, the walls seem to crash down on him. He can't go looking for them. They could be anywhere. He doesn't have time. It would take too much work.
He collapses to the ground, just trying to collect himself.
Oh, his shoes are under the bed. Well, his day's just turning around now. He shoves his feet inside and decides he's pretty enough for public consumption. He's just not going to let the mirror give its second opinion.
His blazer's in the coat closet next to Kurt's abandoned winter jacket. He's going to be smelling like Kurt regardless, then. He frowns, but probably just because he knows Kurt would be uncomfortable if Blaine walked around wafting Eau De Hummel.
All of his teachers are disappointed he didn't do his homework. Doesn't that just make him feel special. It's just one day, give him a break.
Lunch is roast beef, which sounds unappetizing. Blaine skips it. He's not that hungry.
Luckily, Wes is obsessive about details, so the Warblers meeting is just another planning session. Blaine's certain he lacks the energy for a peppy song.
It's the first time he sees Kurt that day, but Kurt doesn't sit by him. He sits by Thad because he wants to sneak notes back and forth explaining what their Algebra teacher had been going on about. Thad's good at math, so it makes sense.
Blaine's not spying on their notes; algebraic symbols are just highly recognizable.
Blaine's good at math, too.
When he gets home, he doesn't bother hunting down his annoying flake of a chef. He leaves a note on the refrigerator, written in huge Sharpie letters: "TOMORROW'S BREAKFAST - EGGS BENEDICT."
'Ignore that, Bitch.'
He chooses bed over dinner.
When he wakes up halfway through Wednesday's third period, he decides to just give up on the day. He was late yesterday and no one cared. What's one day? The world will find a way to spin without Blaine Anderson studying European History.
He lies in bed for a while, finding no reason to get up until his back muscles protest. He drags himself from the covers and stumbles on auto-pilot to the Breakfast Room.
There's Eggs Benedict, still warm, on the table. Finally, his chef does something right.
Blaine's stomach growls in anticipation as he cuts himself a heaping piece and shoves it in his mouth.
It's... bland. It's nothing like what Kurt made. It's awful. One meal. All he wanted was for one meal to go right, and it took forever for this meal to even happen, so why is it wrong?
He shoves the plate away. He's not that hungry anyway.
Collapsing into the Drawing Room, he starts up Cinderella. The memory of arms wrap around him, holding him close, as that of lips kisses his hair.
When the credits rolls, he starts it over. No one gets to tell him when his fantasy ends.
It's during his third viewing that his butler interrupts, "Master Blaine?"
Blaine doesn't bother pausing the film. He's just going to watch the whole thing over again, "Yes?"
"Wesley Liang is here to see you."
Blaine looks up, surprised, as Wes steps into the room. "Wes?" Blaine's hugging a pillow to his chest, dressed in wrinkly Dalton issue, so not presentable for company, and Wes is here? Here?
"I don't care what illness you have, our star soloist is not missing a single rehearsal this close to Regionals."
"Wait, you came to my house?"
"It is my duty as a Council member to ensure all members are putting in 100% effort."
"So... you came to my house."
"Does your illness in any way effect your voice?"
"...No..."
"Great. Get dressed. You can still get to school in time for you last class and rehearsal."
It would take decidedly less effort to prepare himself for school than to argue with one Warbler Wes, so he gets to his feet.
It's lucky he makes it for Warblers. If not, he'd have missed a resounding recap of the previous meeting, and a discussion on stage size.
Kurt sits next to him, though. He hands Blaine a small stack of paper, "Carson said you missed your first lesson again and wanted me to give you his notes."
Blaine doesn't know how successful his attempt at a smile is. "Thanks."
Kurt nods, scoots to a distance slightly farther than just friendly, and doesn't speak again.
If Blaine closes his eyes, it's like Kurt isn't there at all.
The Warblers get caught up in an argument about the proper uniformity of tie length (should they all wear them the same length from the knot or the same length from the belt?) that soaks up the rest of the meeting.
"Are you okay?" David asks in a hushed voice.
"Fine," Blaine immediately answers. Nobody needs his problems.
"Okay... Are you sure? Because everyone's leaving and you're just sort of sitting there."
Right. The end of a meeting signifies more than just not having to hear Wes rant about increased rehearsals (where they don't even rehearse). He's actually supposed to move.
Blaine looks at the door, where the rest of the choir is filing out, to see Kurt watching him. It only lasts a moment, thought, before Kurt bows his head and becomes part of the crowd. Apparently they won't be hanging out today, either.
"And I've lost you again," David sighs.
"Huh?" Blaine turns back.
"No offense, Blaine, but you've been like this all day, just zoning. You didn't even open your book in English, and all through rehearsal you were having a staring contest with the window."
Blaine doesn't know how to respond, so he doesn't bother.
"Come on," David grabs his hand, but it doesn't feel right. It's too rough, too big. "I know just what will cheer you up." He pulls and Blaine lets himself be lifted, guided to the door. "My cousin is having a get-together this evening. It's nothing too major, just some friends, music, pizza, a chance to relax. It's just what you need."
"David, I don't think-"
"Hush, I am not taking no for an answer."
Does it count as kidnapping if it's your friend doing it? Blaine knows David only has the best intentions here, but a party is not what Blaine needs. He needs sleep, lots of it. He needs to shut out the world, forget reality, and just fall into darkness. Dancing? Socializing? Putting on a smile? Kill him now.
He's in David's car anyway, speeding toward wherever this little bash of horrors is taking place.
"We're going in our uniforms?" is the first thought Blaine's able to voice.
"Of course. There are Crawford Country Day girls there. This uniform is like the Bat Signal to them."
Well, as long as there's good reason.
"Uh, Carl has gay friends. I'm sure they'll be there, too."
A fresh new Hell: being set up with Carl's gay friends.
"Oh, come on, don't look like that! It's going to be fun!"
"It turns out 'fun' is seventeen teenagers and five handles. David swears he didn't know there'd be alcohol at the party, but he says this with two shots in his hands before being dragged to the couch by some blonde in a short skirt, and that's the end of David.
So, Blaine is alone at a party he didn't want to go to in the first place, and there isn't a sober breath in the house.
When you're in Rome, you eat a lot of pasta or get left out. Blaine pours himself a double of Grey Goose. His pallet is only used to the finest, so there's a startling bite, but that will dissipate by the fourth shot.
He knows he's going to need to drink more than his staggering comrades, because he's built up quite the tolerance to this particular poison, but hell, he might actually end up enjoying himself.
"I can't believe you can drink that stuff straight!" a brunette giggles, leaning forward enough to let some cleavage fall from her V-neck. She's brought her A Game, it seems.
"It does take practice."
"I always find alcohol to taste way too nasty on its own."
"Better alcohol can actually taste pretty good, or at least lack any flavor at all. This stuff's just kind of cheap."
Brunette rises to her full height, returning her breasts to their rightful place beneath her clothing. "Excuse me? I brought that. Fucking snob." And, she's gone.
Well, that went wonderfully. Two more doubles it is.
He decides to avoid socialization after that unfortunate encounter, and finds himself a corner to nurse his exceptionally tall bottle of bird-themed medicine and wait out David's flirtation. Maybe Blaine will get lucky and the blonde will lose interest, giving David a reason to take him home.
He's no longer paying attention to the rambunctious people around him. He's just not interested. They've become background noise for the stirring image of his knees, which is why it comes as quite a surprise when a glass is thrust into his field of vision.
"I'll trade you water for that mighty large vodka you've got there."
Blaine looks up, confused. What kind of deal is that?
"You might want to pace yourself."
"I know what I'm doing." His words are slurred, so the water-bearer may have a point. Plus, when Blaine's vision clears, he can see the man before him is looking at him kindly, not judgmentally. He trades his liquor for hydration.
"I'm Alex, by the way," he sticks out his hand.
"Blaine," he shakes it.
"I couldn't help noticing you. A guy like you shouldn't be alone at a party."
Oh, is this flirting? Blaine was unaware. He looks back up, appraises. Alex is pretty attractive, college aged, likely old enough to have purchased some of the refreshments. He's got dark hair and light eyes, though he's a little too tan, especially for the winter, but that isn't something you fault a guy for, right?
"I came with a friend, but he found a girl."
Alex shrugs, "Now you've found a boy."
"I did," Blaine smiles, "and I didn't even have to leave my chair."
Alex laughs, finds Blaine funny and attractive, possibly even likes Blaine. Blaine may have finally founds someone who can like him back.
A red-headed guy in a too-large cap leaps from the coffee table, lets out a war cry, and lands on his stomach about a foot away. Alex barely avoids being hit by a rogue limb.
Startled, he looks over at Blaine to make sure he wasn't hurt (a very sweet gesture) and says, "You know, I heard drunk teenagers are actually the most dangerous animals on the planet. Want to go somewhere a little safer to talk?"
Blaine nods and follows Alex upstairs. The first two rooms they try are occupied by couples engaged in... activities, but the third room is empty, so they stake their claim. There's a bed inside, but Alex, a gentleman, leads them to the couch.
"So, I should probably get this over with: you don't have a boyfriend, do you?"
Blaine remembers Kurt coming to visit, calling himself his boyfriend, but then he remembers him leaving the next day, "No."
"Good!" Alex smiles. "Me neither." There's an awkward pause that Alex decides to fill, "I see you go to Dalton. Do you like it there?"
Blaine laughs. He's no expert on flirting, but is this really how it goes? "It's a good school. I like it."
"Good. I'm glad. You know, there's a great coffee shop near there, the Lima Bean. I go there sometimes. Do you like coffee?"
Alex seems to be under the impression that Blaine is the type who had to be earned, who needs the wooing process. Blaine just wants to feel like somebody can like him right now, so he moves to explain this.
By kissing Alex.
Alex gasps, then moans into the kiss, "Or we can do this. I like this." He kisses back with a lust that covers Blaine's shredded ego like a Band-Aid. Someone likes him. Someone wants him.
Blaine takes Alex's lower lip in his mouth, grazes it with his teeth, then gently sucks. Alex's eyes roll back in his head with his moans. If he's going to like Blaine, Blaine owes him everything he has to offer.
"You're really good at that," Alex praises, petting Blaine's hair. He leans down and presses open-mouth kisses to Blaine's neck, darting his tongue out to taste.
Blaine bends his neck, eager to return the favor. He aims for the sweet spot behind the ear, and Alex shivers against him.
When Alex reaches for Blaine's shirt, Blaine's already lifting Alex's to kiss his stomach and up his chest. He has to keep Alex distracted. He can't let him think about this too much or he might leave.
"So hot," Alex pets Blaine's face, then gently pulls it up into a sweet kiss. His arms wrap around Blaine, a vice-like cuddle that doesn't let Blaine return lower. But he needs to, he just wants to make Alex feel good, make him stay.
Alex shushes him as he squirms, nuzzling his cheek in an attempt to calm both Blaine and their speedy romantic progress.
Blaine whimpers out a, "Please," as he thrusts his hips down into Alex.
"Okay, okay, I've got you," Alex lies Blaine back and covers his body with his own. He kisses Blaine again, running smooth hands up and down his sides so he can pleasure and soothe in the same motion.
It's not enough. Blaine needs Alex writhing atop him, using Blaine's body to its full potential, so he'll have no reason to walk away. Blaine opens his legs and wraps them around Alex's waist, then bucks up with impressive aim. He watches as Alex drops his jaw in a silent cry, then loses all control, thrusting down with abandon and panting with his closed-eyed exertion.
Now Blaine just has to remain silent, avoid reminding Alex just who he's with. He stares at the far corner so his gaze won't trigger a sixth sense and distract the boy above him, and lets himself feel wanted.
Alex moans into his neck, then sucks, marks, claims. He pets Blaine's face and hair blindly, full of affection and desire.
Blaine remains perfectly still, paralyzed with hope.
He feels Alex startle, pause. He still can't bring himself to look at the older boy.
"Fuck." Alex sounds so full of regret. "You're drunk. I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have- Fuck." Alex leaps off the couch, staring down at Blaine in horror.
"No," Blaine moans. 'Don't leave me. Please.'
"I'm sorry," Alex manages before rushing from the room.
Blaine's alone.
Again, abandoned. He isn't drunk. It was just an excuse. Nobody wants him.
Why isn't he ever good enough?
Chapter 10
Genres: Angst, Romance, Drama
Warnings: A lot of cuss.
Spoilers: Up through Special Education
Disclaimer: I don't own Glee.
Author's Notes: This is my original plot, guys! No prompts required! Big deal for me...
Summary: "In a perfect world, I'd be able to know what it's like to... hold your hand? Take you on a date? Kiss you? You'd let me feel what it's like to be your boyfriend, just for a day. Just for one day. One day where you're mine?"
Word Count: 3,777
Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Romania Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Liza Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8
*Is anyone else reading LucyToo's The Worst That Could Happen? It's totally amazing, and I'm addicted. However, I have a bone to pick with that author. They update, like, every other day, with these ginormous chapters that never wane in quality... Some of us are getting size envy. What LucyToo does is not possible! Somebody tell me they're a robot, or a professional, or something.
Also, sometimes when I should be writing this, I'll actually be reading that story. It's just updated so often! And soooo good! You should totally blame The Worst That Could Happen. Not me.
On another note, I can't believe how many reviews my last chapter got! OVER 30! And they were all amazing and sweet, and thank you so much. Every time I post a chapter, the highlight of my day is reading your responses.*
Stepping onto school grounds the next morning, Blaine tries not to panic. It's just, things can go so very wrong.
When Kurt left yesterday, it wasn't like they were on bad terms. They were on friendly terms.
Friendly.
Which makes sense. They're friends. (Just friends.)
Now that Kurt's had a night to process everything, however, Blaine isn't sure how friendly he'll continue to be.
Blaine isn't an idiot. He knows what the weekend was. Kurt didn't magically form a 24-hour love for him that disappeared with the clock chimes. Kurt did all the romantic stuff for Blaine, out of the kindness of his heart, just because Blaine asked.
As important as it all was to Blaine, it meant nothing to Kurt. That's the exact sort of thing that, upon reflection, Kurt could see as a huge mistake. Everything could be awkward between them now.
Blaine doesn't think he could handle that.
He knows this is his fault. He asked for this, and got exactly what he requested. He earned every consequence.
He still can't help feeling like his heart is on the outside of his body, vulnerable, easily damaged by the slightest bump.
Passing through the large entrance doors, Blaine isn't sure which direction to go. Should he avoid Kurt, put off the possibly heartbreaking encounter for as long as possible? Or, should he just get it over with?
He was never good with Band-Aids. As a child, he could never rip them off, now matter how dirty and residue-laden they became. He would always wait for the eighth-or-so bath to wash them away painlessly.
Avoidance it is.
Kurt doesn't get the memo.
It's at the bottom of the grand staircase that he hears his name called in that beautiful voice. A siren's song. He turns, looking up the steps to see Kurt, and is reminded of the time they first met, when he first saw the most beautiful person in the world. Sure, he didn't fall in love immediately, but it was so obvious, even then with Kurt in some strange mock-uniform and sunglasses while indoors, that this boy is absolute perfection.
"Wes wanted us to remind everyone that today begins the extra Monday Warblers practice sessions. He said he called you but you didn't answer."
Blaine pats his pocket and finds it empty. He forgot his phone? That's a new one.
Blaine's confusion must show on his face, because Kurt misinterprets it and tries to trigger show choir memories, "We need all the practice we can get for Regionals... They decided Monday was better than Friday..."
"That's right. I remember." Blaine wants this topic to end so they can just be themselves, and he can see how Just Kurt is reacting to Just Blaine.
"Personally, I think our best chances at beating New Directions is to give me a solo, but no one ever seems on board with that." His tone is teasing, light, mirroring his half quirk of a smile.
Good. They're friends still. That's... good. It would be a lot worse if they weren't.
Kurt clears his throat, "Well, I think I saw three of our merry crew having breakfast in the cafeteria. Want to bear the bad news together?
As Kurt walks past him, leading the way, Blaine's hand reaches out of its own accord. It's been trained by twenty-four hours of bliss, but those hours are over. His knuckles brush gently against Kurt's for just a second before he pulls himself back.
It's not like they never held hands as friends. Hell, they were holding hands ten seconds after meeting each other. But, it will seem different to Kurt now. It's different for Blaine.
Kurt swallows, his expression unreadable and his eyes downcast before he speaks, "You, umm... You left some clothes at my place. Carole washed them for you. Want to swing by this weekend to pick them up? I'll make lasagna." It's funny, Kurt almost sounds... hopeful.
Blaine's nodding, so he's committed, "Yeah. That was nice of Carole. I'll have to thank her." Is he ready to re-enter the Hummel Home as, once again, Kurt's Just Friend? Is he even ready to spend time with him outside of school? Kurt's his best friend, and he'll always love him, but Blaine probably needs a bit. Just to get everything re-organized in his heart.
Too late now.
They go Warbler hunting. Kurt does all the talking.
When Blaine arrives home, he's exhausted. Warblers rehearsal wasn't especially physical - it was primarily a planning session, and they only went through one routine - but all he can think about is his bed.
First, though, he needs to meet with his chef. Omelettes are no longer his breakfast of choice. He's much more interested in Eggs Benedict. It's not just because- Okay, it's totally because of the past weekend. It was a great weekend; why wouldn't he want to relive it a little? Plus, today was a rough one, so he could use a little pick-me-up.
He wanders into the Kitchen, fully expecting the chef to be in there preparing dinner, but finds the place to be silent. The Spice Pantry has been carelessly left open, and for some reason that really bothers Blaine, so he shuts it.
Time to check the chef's room. He takes the elevator to the Staff Wing and knocks on the chef's door. There's no answer. He knocks harder. Still nothing.
Great. This is just great. Now he has to eat the same old crappy meal for breakfast. What's the point of having a chef if she just disappears when you have cooking requests? They pay her good money. She should be here.
This is so stupid! He just wants to tell her one thing. Why can't she just be there for him? Why can't the world just go his way?
Forget this. He's going to bed.
As it turns out, it doesn't matter than he never changed his order, because he sleeps through breakfast. In fact, he wakes up right as the first bell rings at Dalton, miles away.
Isn't that just perfect. He certainly fell asleep early enough; you'd think he'd wake up to his alarm.
Did he set his alarm?
Even though he's late, he has to take the time to get ready. He's still in yesterday's uniform, which was pressed up against Kurt's clothes all night. Yes, those clothes are still in his bed. He just needs the comfort. It's probably just in his head, but they still have the sweet scent of their owner. He can't go to school in a wrinkled uniform that smells like Kurt.
Getting a new uniform on, with the double-button fly, and more buttons on the shirt, and the starched collar just seems daunting. Not to mention brushing his teeth and, God, gelling his hair.
He hasn't even showered. There's so much to do.
Maybe if he just sleeps ten more minutes, it won't seem so bad.
No, he's already late. He's making it worse every passing second.
He'll skip the shower. It's only one day.
He grabs a new shirt from the closet, pulling it halfway on before he realizes he's still wearing his old shirt.
He's so stupid. Why is everything so complicated?
Off goes the old shirt, on comes the new. Buttons. Fuck buttons. Why can't he wear a T-shirt with this thing? Three buttons in, he finds he's putting them through the wrong holes.
He has to sit down. The mattress depresses beneath him unhappily. This is just... not funny. The world hates him.
He keeps yesterday's pants on. Who's going to care?
New socks should help. No, that's stupid. No one's going to see his socks.
Where are his shoes? He can't remember where he took them off. He looks along the floor, and when he doesn't spot them, the walls seem to crash down on him. He can't go looking for them. They could be anywhere. He doesn't have time. It would take too much work.
He collapses to the ground, just trying to collect himself.
Oh, his shoes are under the bed. Well, his day's just turning around now. He shoves his feet inside and decides he's pretty enough for public consumption. He's just not going to let the mirror give its second opinion.
His blazer's in the coat closet next to Kurt's abandoned winter jacket. He's going to be smelling like Kurt regardless, then. He frowns, but probably just because he knows Kurt would be uncomfortable if Blaine walked around wafting Eau De Hummel.
All of his teachers are disappointed he didn't do his homework. Doesn't that just make him feel special. It's just one day, give him a break.
Lunch is roast beef, which sounds unappetizing. Blaine skips it. He's not that hungry.
Luckily, Wes is obsessive about details, so the Warblers meeting is just another planning session. Blaine's certain he lacks the energy for a peppy song.
It's the first time he sees Kurt that day, but Kurt doesn't sit by him. He sits by Thad because he wants to sneak notes back and forth explaining what their Algebra teacher had been going on about. Thad's good at math, so it makes sense.
Blaine's not spying on their notes; algebraic symbols are just highly recognizable.
Blaine's good at math, too.
When he gets home, he doesn't bother hunting down his annoying flake of a chef. He leaves a note on the refrigerator, written in huge Sharpie letters: "TOMORROW'S BREAKFAST - EGGS BENEDICT."
'Ignore that, Bitch.'
He chooses bed over dinner.
When he wakes up halfway through Wednesday's third period, he decides to just give up on the day. He was late yesterday and no one cared. What's one day? The world will find a way to spin without Blaine Anderson studying European History.
He lies in bed for a while, finding no reason to get up until his back muscles protest. He drags himself from the covers and stumbles on auto-pilot to the Breakfast Room.
There's Eggs Benedict, still warm, on the table. Finally, his chef does something right.
Blaine's stomach growls in anticipation as he cuts himself a heaping piece and shoves it in his mouth.
It's... bland. It's nothing like what Kurt made. It's awful. One meal. All he wanted was for one meal to go right, and it took forever for this meal to even happen, so why is it wrong?
He shoves the plate away. He's not that hungry anyway.
Collapsing into the Drawing Room, he starts up Cinderella. The memory of arms wrap around him, holding him close, as that of lips kisses his hair.
When the credits rolls, he starts it over. No one gets to tell him when his fantasy ends.
It's during his third viewing that his butler interrupts, "Master Blaine?"
Blaine doesn't bother pausing the film. He's just going to watch the whole thing over again, "Yes?"
"Wesley Liang is here to see you."
Blaine looks up, surprised, as Wes steps into the room. "Wes?" Blaine's hugging a pillow to his chest, dressed in wrinkly Dalton issue, so not presentable for company, and Wes is here? Here?
"I don't care what illness you have, our star soloist is not missing a single rehearsal this close to Regionals."
"Wait, you came to my house?"
"It is my duty as a Council member to ensure all members are putting in 100% effort."
"So... you came to my house."
"Does your illness in any way effect your voice?"
"...No..."
"Great. Get dressed. You can still get to school in time for you last class and rehearsal."
It would take decidedly less effort to prepare himself for school than to argue with one Warbler Wes, so he gets to his feet.
It's lucky he makes it for Warblers. If not, he'd have missed a resounding recap of the previous meeting, and a discussion on stage size.
Kurt sits next to him, though. He hands Blaine a small stack of paper, "Carson said you missed your first lesson again and wanted me to give you his notes."
Blaine doesn't know how successful his attempt at a smile is. "Thanks."
Kurt nods, scoots to a distance slightly farther than just friendly, and doesn't speak again.
If Blaine closes his eyes, it's like Kurt isn't there at all.
The Warblers get caught up in an argument about the proper uniformity of tie length (should they all wear them the same length from the knot or the same length from the belt?) that soaks up the rest of the meeting.
"Are you okay?" David asks in a hushed voice.
"Fine," Blaine immediately answers. Nobody needs his problems.
"Okay... Are you sure? Because everyone's leaving and you're just sort of sitting there."
Right. The end of a meeting signifies more than just not having to hear Wes rant about increased rehearsals (where they don't even rehearse). He's actually supposed to move.
Blaine looks at the door, where the rest of the choir is filing out, to see Kurt watching him. It only lasts a moment, thought, before Kurt bows his head and becomes part of the crowd. Apparently they won't be hanging out today, either.
"And I've lost you again," David sighs.
"Huh?" Blaine turns back.
"No offense, Blaine, but you've been like this all day, just zoning. You didn't even open your book in English, and all through rehearsal you were having a staring contest with the window."
Blaine doesn't know how to respond, so he doesn't bother.
"Come on," David grabs his hand, but it doesn't feel right. It's too rough, too big. "I know just what will cheer you up." He pulls and Blaine lets himself be lifted, guided to the door. "My cousin is having a get-together this evening. It's nothing too major, just some friends, music, pizza, a chance to relax. It's just what you need."
"David, I don't think-"
"Hush, I am not taking no for an answer."
Does it count as kidnapping if it's your friend doing it? Blaine knows David only has the best intentions here, but a party is not what Blaine needs. He needs sleep, lots of it. He needs to shut out the world, forget reality, and just fall into darkness. Dancing? Socializing? Putting on a smile? Kill him now.
He's in David's car anyway, speeding toward wherever this little bash of horrors is taking place.
"We're going in our uniforms?" is the first thought Blaine's able to voice.
"Of course. There are Crawford Country Day girls there. This uniform is like the Bat Signal to them."
Well, as long as there's good reason.
"Uh, Carl has gay friends. I'm sure they'll be there, too."
A fresh new Hell: being set up with Carl's gay friends.
"Oh, come on, don't look like that! It's going to be fun!"
"It turns out 'fun' is seventeen teenagers and five handles. David swears he didn't know there'd be alcohol at the party, but he says this with two shots in his hands before being dragged to the couch by some blonde in a short skirt, and that's the end of David.
So, Blaine is alone at a party he didn't want to go to in the first place, and there isn't a sober breath in the house.
When you're in Rome, you eat a lot of pasta or get left out. Blaine pours himself a double of Grey Goose. His pallet is only used to the finest, so there's a startling bite, but that will dissipate by the fourth shot.
He knows he's going to need to drink more than his staggering comrades, because he's built up quite the tolerance to this particular poison, but hell, he might actually end up enjoying himself.
"I can't believe you can drink that stuff straight!" a brunette giggles, leaning forward enough to let some cleavage fall from her V-neck. She's brought her A Game, it seems.
"It does take practice."
"I always find alcohol to taste way too nasty on its own."
"Better alcohol can actually taste pretty good, or at least lack any flavor at all. This stuff's just kind of cheap."
Brunette rises to her full height, returning her breasts to their rightful place beneath her clothing. "Excuse me? I brought that. Fucking snob." And, she's gone.
Well, that went wonderfully. Two more doubles it is.
He decides to avoid socialization after that unfortunate encounter, and finds himself a corner to nurse his exceptionally tall bottle of bird-themed medicine and wait out David's flirtation. Maybe Blaine will get lucky and the blonde will lose interest, giving David a reason to take him home.
He's no longer paying attention to the rambunctious people around him. He's just not interested. They've become background noise for the stirring image of his knees, which is why it comes as quite a surprise when a glass is thrust into his field of vision.
"I'll trade you water for that mighty large vodka you've got there."
Blaine looks up, confused. What kind of deal is that?
"You might want to pace yourself."
"I know what I'm doing." His words are slurred, so the water-bearer may have a point. Plus, when Blaine's vision clears, he can see the man before him is looking at him kindly, not judgmentally. He trades his liquor for hydration.
"I'm Alex, by the way," he sticks out his hand.
"Blaine," he shakes it.
"I couldn't help noticing you. A guy like you shouldn't be alone at a party."
Oh, is this flirting? Blaine was unaware. He looks back up, appraises. Alex is pretty attractive, college aged, likely old enough to have purchased some of the refreshments. He's got dark hair and light eyes, though he's a little too tan, especially for the winter, but that isn't something you fault a guy for, right?
"I came with a friend, but he found a girl."
Alex shrugs, "Now you've found a boy."
"I did," Blaine smiles, "and I didn't even have to leave my chair."
Alex laughs, finds Blaine funny and attractive, possibly even likes Blaine. Blaine may have finally founds someone who can like him back.
A red-headed guy in a too-large cap leaps from the coffee table, lets out a war cry, and lands on his stomach about a foot away. Alex barely avoids being hit by a rogue limb.
Startled, he looks over at Blaine to make sure he wasn't hurt (a very sweet gesture) and says, "You know, I heard drunk teenagers are actually the most dangerous animals on the planet. Want to go somewhere a little safer to talk?"
Blaine nods and follows Alex upstairs. The first two rooms they try are occupied by couples engaged in... activities, but the third room is empty, so they stake their claim. There's a bed inside, but Alex, a gentleman, leads them to the couch.
"So, I should probably get this over with: you don't have a boyfriend, do you?"
Blaine remembers Kurt coming to visit, calling himself his boyfriend, but then he remembers him leaving the next day, "No."
"Good!" Alex smiles. "Me neither." There's an awkward pause that Alex decides to fill, "I see you go to Dalton. Do you like it there?"
Blaine laughs. He's no expert on flirting, but is this really how it goes? "It's a good school. I like it."
"Good. I'm glad. You know, there's a great coffee shop near there, the Lima Bean. I go there sometimes. Do you like coffee?"
Alex seems to be under the impression that Blaine is the type who had to be earned, who needs the wooing process. Blaine just wants to feel like somebody can like him right now, so he moves to explain this.
By kissing Alex.
Alex gasps, then moans into the kiss, "Or we can do this. I like this." He kisses back with a lust that covers Blaine's shredded ego like a Band-Aid. Someone likes him. Someone wants him.
Blaine takes Alex's lower lip in his mouth, grazes it with his teeth, then gently sucks. Alex's eyes roll back in his head with his moans. If he's going to like Blaine, Blaine owes him everything he has to offer.
"You're really good at that," Alex praises, petting Blaine's hair. He leans down and presses open-mouth kisses to Blaine's neck, darting his tongue out to taste.
Blaine bends his neck, eager to return the favor. He aims for the sweet spot behind the ear, and Alex shivers against him.
When Alex reaches for Blaine's shirt, Blaine's already lifting Alex's to kiss his stomach and up his chest. He has to keep Alex distracted. He can't let him think about this too much or he might leave.
"So hot," Alex pets Blaine's face, then gently pulls it up into a sweet kiss. His arms wrap around Blaine, a vice-like cuddle that doesn't let Blaine return lower. But he needs to, he just wants to make Alex feel good, make him stay.
Alex shushes him as he squirms, nuzzling his cheek in an attempt to calm both Blaine and their speedy romantic progress.
Blaine whimpers out a, "Please," as he thrusts his hips down into Alex.
"Okay, okay, I've got you," Alex lies Blaine back and covers his body with his own. He kisses Blaine again, running smooth hands up and down his sides so he can pleasure and soothe in the same motion.
It's not enough. Blaine needs Alex writhing atop him, using Blaine's body to its full potential, so he'll have no reason to walk away. Blaine opens his legs and wraps them around Alex's waist, then bucks up with impressive aim. He watches as Alex drops his jaw in a silent cry, then loses all control, thrusting down with abandon and panting with his closed-eyed exertion.
Now Blaine just has to remain silent, avoid reminding Alex just who he's with. He stares at the far corner so his gaze won't trigger a sixth sense and distract the boy above him, and lets himself feel wanted.
Alex moans into his neck, then sucks, marks, claims. He pets Blaine's face and hair blindly, full of affection and desire.
Blaine remains perfectly still, paralyzed with hope.
He feels Alex startle, pause. He still can't bring himself to look at the older boy.
"Fuck." Alex sounds so full of regret. "You're drunk. I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have- Fuck." Alex leaps off the couch, staring down at Blaine in horror.
"No," Blaine moans. 'Don't leave me. Please.'
"I'm sorry," Alex manages before rushing from the room.
Blaine's alone.
Again, abandoned. He isn't drunk. It was just an excuse. Nobody wants him.
Why isn't he ever good enough?
Chapter 10