A/N: I wrote this fic for the Blaine Anderson Big Bang Fall 2014. klainiac (tumblr) is the artist who made the cover art, and she was a pleasure and so much fun to work with. :) I don't have much to really say about this story, because I believe it will speak for itself. Thank you for reading if you choose to, I hope you enjoy, and feedback is always greatly appreciated!

Every day was the same spiel: wake up, eat breakfast, grab coffee, go to work at his nine-to-five desk job, come home, sleep, and then do it all over again. The same regimen, precisely the same times every day. Blaine Anderson was what you would call comfortable; he lived in a spacious apartment in a nice part of New York City - a little place in the Upper East Side to be exact -, could afford to dress how he preferred, and always had food on the table. Yes, he was doing well for himself, and he had a few friends who came around every so often to keep him company.

In fact, the mundane, monotonous routine was what kept Blaine going, it was the reason he could so absentmindedly go about his life, ignoring the things that threatened to eat at him, keeping them buried, pushed down deep below the surface. He was safe as long as he stayed within his four walls and never ventured out of the parallel, straight lines.

But one day, while standing in an unusually long line at Starbucks with too much time to think, Blaine daringly decided to switch up his coffee order:

"An extra shot of espresso, please."

He hadn't known why, but upon waking up, something had felt different about that day. And he'd worn a different pair of shoes, styled his hair in the opposite direction, and after he secured his morning coffee, he even took a detour through the park on his way to work.

Blaine could never have known that that detour would change his life forever.

Arms swinging rhythmically by his sides, Blaine shuffled along the walk, glancing around and enjoying the warmth of the sunlight on his face, his skin smooth and sensitive from a fresh shave. He turned his head to watch a child go running by, followed closely behind by an exasperated mother. The child screamed in delight, and Blaine chuckled to himself.

He turned his head again as he passed a bulletin board near the opposite end of the park, located right before the exit. Then he stopped dead in his tracks. Something had caught his eye, and Blaine glanced side to side, checking to see if anyone was watching, before stepping up to have a better look. His eyes widened as he read, shifting from left to right and then stopping to study the flashy picture on the ad. It was a flyer for a drag show at a club not too far from the park and only a few blocks from his home.

Without giving it too much thought, Blaine pulled out his phone, took a snapshot of the info on the ad, and, as inconspicuously as possible, continued on his way to work.

Blaine inhaled deeply before plopping down into his chair at his desk, eager to continue the work on some newly acquired accounts he'd begun the previous day. As soon as he began reading, scanning, and shuffling through the paperwork, he felt balanced again, back in his element and at ease in his work. Soon enough, it was as if Blaine's brain was on cruise control, moving swiftly through familiar tasks.

"Knock knock," Sheila, his colleague who occupied the next office over, announced her presence as she leaned against the doorjamb. "Hey, Blaine."

Blaine looked up from the spreadsheets strewn across his desk. When he saw the brunette, he smiled, glad for the small reprieve from working all those numbers. "Hey. What's up?"

"You look different today. Did you do something with your hair?" Blaine nodded but said nothing. "It looks good," she said, with a warm smile. "So," she began hesitantly, "I know it's not really your thing, and I'm sure you're tired of me asking, but a couple of us are going out tonight for a few drinks, and I was wondering if you'd come along?"

"Oh, uh, Sheila," he began, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm flattered as always, but I'm going to have to say no. But thank you." Blaine offered her an apologetic smile.

"Well, I just figured since it's Friday, you could really use a break..." She made a small indecipherable noise. "You're still young, Blaine, and you're going to work yourself to death." She appeared downtrodden by yet another rejection, but there was also some anger evident in her features.

"I'm sorry, Sheil," he said, and he really was, "but -"

"But you're not interested."

"Pardon?" Blaine said, taken aback.

"Forget it. I've done everything short of throw myself at you, and you'd rather spend your nights with a calculator. Am I not good enough for you?" She let out a frustrated groan and then a huff of annoyance. "I'm sorry, that wasn't fair. I'm going to leave now before I embarrass myself further." She turned toward the door but then looked back over her shoulder. "Let me know if you change your mind." And then she walked out.

He wasn't completely oblivious. Blaine knew that ever since he'd been hired right out of college, Sheila had been pursuing him. Admittedly, she was gorgeous, intelligent, and had good taste in music from what he could tell when he caught snippets of her singing from her office next door when he was sure she thought no one could hear her. Blaine had even considered once or twice taking her up on her offer, but he just couldn't bring himself to say yes.

He also knew that there might be other potentially dangerous implications of his constant rejections of the women around the office, and Blaine almost obliged just to nip any rumors in the bud. All his coworkers knew he was single, and he was sure they talked about him behind his back, but he did his best to keep to himself and avoid the break room and other popular gossip hangouts to give them the least amount of fuel possible for their fire.

Sheila's tireless attempts were certain to escalate one day, but Blaine wasn't expecting what had just taken place. Perhaps it had been a result of his bold change of routine, like he'd messed with the balance of energy in the universe or something, though he wasn't superstitious and didn't really believe in any of that stuff. He felt a little guilty about the exchange, but he immersed himself in his work again, clouding his mind with a dust storm of numbers, successfully suppressing all feelings and thoughts.

Deciding that he had had enough adventure for one day, Blaine picked his routine back up after work, took the subway home, slipped out of his clothing, washed the gel out of his hair, ate dinner, and settled into bed for the night.

When he laid down, he felt a strange tugging feeling in his stomach, and he grabbed his phone off the nightstand and brought up the picture he had taken earlier. Suddenly, he felt like he was spiraling. Blaine's mind began to race, he felt irritable, restless. His routine had been the only thing to keep him going, but he knew that there was only so long that he could keep the demons at bay.

He grimaced as he laid on his back, tracing the cracks in the ceiling with his eyes. Only his internet history and his best friend knew his deepest secrets. Only they could completely break him.

Blaine knew for certain that he was attracted to men since he was fourteen. When he'd watch John Stamos on the television, he went to bed thinking dangerous thoughts. And he'd wake up feeling dirty, sometimes having soiled the bedsheets, a product of impure dreams. He heard the comments his father had often made about the 'fairies' on the television - especially when they'd run a news story about another beating, an occurrence not uncommon in the Midwest -, and sometimes he would opt for another word that made Blaine flinch and withdraw in on himself.

No. He couldn't be that. Blaine didn't want to be something the world looked so loathingly at, spat hateful words and phrases about like it was the worst thing a person could be. Blaine told himself that he could fix it, could fix himself, that he all he had to do was date girls, which was nearly impossible while he attended an all-boys private school during his formative high school years.

But when college rolled around, Blaine made a point to be social, often finding himself at frat parties, piss drunk and numb enough to talk up the first pretty girl he saw who, more times than not, would drag him to a private section of the house and make out with him; sometimes the girls even blew him, telling him that they wanted him to feel good. It did feel good - it felt so good - but when they would kiss him after, mouth still tasting of the deed, Blaine would close his eyes and imagine the taste of another man. And when he'd wake up hungover the next morning, Blaine would curl up into a ball, his stomach sick from more than alcohol, and cry until he was a complete wailing, sobbing mess. He was lucky and incredibly grateful that his roommate and best friend, Jeff, never asked questions.

He knew he could only carry on in this manner for so long. The guilt and self-hatred were growing like tumors in his stomach, chest, and heart, threatening to spread to his brain. Being what he was wasn't an illness; concealing it like he had been would certainly lead to his demise. But the fear, the fear was too overwhelming.

Blaine looked back at his phone and stared at the information in the picture, clear enough to make out the dates and times.

Thursdays, Fridays, and Saturdays...

The Roost...

9PM to 1AM...

...Join us!

Blaine swallowed hard, closed out of the picture, and glanced at the clock at the top of the screen.

9:37

Friday, May 22

Had he really become that pathetic? Sheila was right about him: he was too young to have fallen into a dull and miserable pattern of work and very little play. And when exactly was he going to let himself be open to a relationship, possibly even love?

Blaine groaned, tossed his phone onto the bunched up comforter beside him, and ran his hands over his face, feeling light stubble that had grown in over the course of the day. He could do this. He could be adventurous and spontaneous for once. Couldn't he? It was like he was pressing the tip of a knife against his stomach, about to cut himself open to release the pressure inside. It could kill him, or it could be his saving grace. Blaine then made the decision that he would live a little, sustaining the first pierce of the menacing blade. Because what he had been doing all his life was anything but living.

Before he could talk himself out of it and change his mind, he flung himself out of bed, ran to his closet, and pulled out a few outfit options. After holding pieces up to himself in the mirror for a good ten minutes or so, Blaine decided on a pair of nice dress pants and a polo. He'd forgo the gel, he decided. It was only his intention to slip in, maybe have one drink, and then slip back out so he could collapse back into the comfort and security of his bed.

And then he slipped his shoes on, grabbed a jacket from the rack by the door, and left the apartment.

It only took him about fifteen minutes on foot to reach the club, and by the time he arrived, it was around 10:30 and the show was already in full swing. For this, he was grateful, because he was able to enter and find a seat undetected where he could remain relatively anonymous. The music was loud, and it took a few moments for Blaine's ears to adjust. The atmosphere was initially overwhelming and Blaine was stiff and uncomfortable, but after seeing man after man walk by in various forms of dress and undress, in men's and women's attire, he began to feel more at ease at his table in the dark corner. Beer would surely help too, and Blaine flagged down a server who seemed more than eager to be of assistance.

He had a good view of the stage, and after he ordered a drink, and then another, Blaine shifted in his seat to direct his attention toward the performance. The current act was at its end, and he watched as who he assumed was the MC took the stage.

"Luscious ladies and fabulous gentlemen, we're proud to announce our next performer who graces our stage only on Friday nights. You're surely in for a treat. Please put your hands together for the most fabulous bitch of the West, the amazing and wickedly talented Elle Fabala!" The MC bowed and dashed off the stage into the wing as the lights went down.

A spotlight flicked on, lighting up a perfect circle on the center of the curtain like a halo. Blaine didn't know why, but he felt his pulse quicken in anticipation, his fingers wrapped tightly around his glass, perspiration and condensation causing them to slip. Then out stepped the most beautiful human he had ever laid eyes on.

He stopped breathing. He was sure his heart forgot how to beat as well.

And his brain? What was functioning, anyway? What did any of it mean?

Metallic golden pumps. Long, slender legs. Blaine's eyes traced the slit of the dazzling emerald sequined gown, traveling upward until he reached the point of only-for-your-imagination. The gown hugged her hips, stretching tightly across an area which Blaine found difficult to look away from for a moment, and then his eyes continued their trek upward. The gown dipped in a deep 'v' down the center of her chest where smooth-as-marble, ivory skin was visible.

She lifted the mic up to her mouth. "Hello, all you beautiful people! Thank you, thank you for coming out tonight. I'm Elle Fabala, and I have a very special song for you all this evening and two very special ladies backing me up. Please welcome Ruby Redd," she stepped up by Elle's right, "and Emma Rald!" She gestured toward the third performer on her left.

Men and women began to hoot, holler, and whistle, and applause rose up around the club as all three ladies beamed from the stage. Blaine found himself clapping along, but his eyes remained fixed on Elle.

The first few notes of the music began to trickle out into the room, and Blaine was entranced, felt hypnotized by the way her mouth moved, the way she shimmied her hips and shoulders, the way the voluminous ringlets of her golden-blonde wig bounced as she moved and how they perfectly framed her round, delicate face.

"Though I may look the same way to you,

Underneath there is somebody new...

I am not

The boy next door..."

He was under her spell. Her voice was like what he imagined the majestically brilliant, rare flame lily to have if it had a song to sing. The words became meaningless and lost on Blaine as he watched in a daze, their eyes meeting once or twice - but perhaps it was only his imagination. And then the music ended, almost too abruptly, and the room roared with applause. Elle took a bow along with her backup performers and then stepped down from the stage.

Blaine redirected his gaze back down into his drink, hiding his head and taking long, consecutive swigs of the amber liquid.

It wasn't until he heard that unmistakable voice again, the one that would soon haunt his dreams, only inches away from him now, that he looked up into...

"Hello there, honey..."

Striking grayish-blue eyes, like thin ice over the deepest of blue swirling waters...

Danger. Abort, Blaine, abort.

...with flecks of amber and green that matched her gown and heels.

"Sweetie?"

"Oh, uh, h-hi," Blaine said, a bundle of nerves. He wiped his hands on his pants and rose from his chair, extending his hand in business-like manner. Elle gave him a quizzical look and laughed, and he let his hand fall back and then slumped back down into the chair like a fool. She stepped closer to his table, placing a palm down on its surface, the other on her hip, and leaned forward.

"I saw you watching me quite intently while I was up there," she began. "I've never seen you around here before."

"I've never been, been here before, I mean," Blaine stammered.

"Did you like what you saw?"

Blaine could only manage to nod continually until his brain caught back up to him and he stopped. He swallowed thickly, his entire body beginning to heat like a furnace. How was this person reducing him to a completely helpless puddle of goo?

"My name's Blaine," he finally spoke up. "And you're Elle...?"

"That would be correct," she said, winking. "Elle Fabala. The one and only."

"But - I know that's your stage name, but what's your real name?"

Elle clicked her tongue, shook her head, and waggled her finger at him. "That, my dear, is a secret. You really are new here." She placed her hands on her hips and appeared to be studying Blaine for a moment, making him feel exposed.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean -"

"It's okay. We all have to learn somehow." Then she leaned in again, now pressing both palms against the tabletop, coming dangerously close to Blaine. He could smell her perfume, sweet like honey with a hint of floral. "I'll tell you what. If you stick around until after I'm officially off the clock, then I might just tell you my name."

"Are you really going to tease me like that?" Blaine said without thinking. Then he mentally slapped himself.

"Okay, fine. I'll give a little, but only because I like you. You're cute." Elle leaned in closer, bringing her mouth to Blaine's ear. He could feel her hot breath against his skin, and it sent a pleasant tremor through his body. She parted her lips and whispered one single syllable that left Blaine breathless and made his heart skip a beat: "Kurt."

Then with a mischievous grin, Elle backed up, keeping her eyes fixed on Blaine, and then made her way to the bar.

Blaine watched Elle - Kurt - with a new kind of awe and hunger.

His ship had fissured when he first set eyes on the drag queen, a temptress, a Siren. The captain had abandoned the vessel, leaving him to crash and sink into the merciless depths. But drowning felt good. He'd always heard that death by drowning was the best way to go...one enters a state of absolute euphoria right before their heart stops beating and their brain shuts down.

Blaine's eyes shamelessly followed Elle as she made her way back toward the dressing rooms, and he knew that she knew he was watching her. He swallowed more water down, feeling the pressure in his lungs. Elle turned around one last time and grinned. Pink lips stretched thin that screamed tease, curling up at the corners and framed by dimples...canyons. Blaine was falling, breaking through the ice of her eyes, drowning, teetering on the edge of the cliff of her beauty, about to dive head first into the bottomless depths...and then Elle licked those lips, and Blaine felt his stomach do a somersault and the blood make an exodus from his head, mercilessly traveling South.

Blaine set his glass back down, threw a generous tip on the table, and quickly rose from his chair.

Blaine Anderson had taken a life-altering detour that day, had dared to act on his curiosities, to leave his comfort zone. And nothing had ever felt so good - so right. He would never be the same again.