This fic is based on the book Be More Chill by Ned Vizzini, but I believe it stands comfortably alone and will be readable without having read the book. Warnings will be given on a chapter-by-chapter basis. This chapter has no warnings.
A/N: When Blaine is talking with his squip, bold typeface is the squip talking and italics are Blaine
Tina Cohen-Chang - today wearing a lemon yellow dress, perched in Mike's lap, giggling at something he was saying. Check.
Rachel Berry - already sitting at the piano warming up her voice, glaring up at Finn every time his attention wandered away from the task at hand. Check.
Mercedes Jones - sitting up against the wall on crossed legs, the thin gold bracelets on her wrists jangling together as she stared eagerly at her phone screen. Check.
Quinn Fabray, Brittany Pierce, Santana Lopez - practicing a section of a cheer routine on the corner, laughing, surrounded by clouds of perfume and that sheen of confidence that came with popularity and beauty. Check. Check. Check.
Lauren Zizes - intimidating in her chair front and centre, simply daring any of the people around her to make fun of her or act like she didn't belong. Check.
Mike Chang - running his hands down Tina's spine to make her wriggle and laugh, smiling up at her in that utterly besotted way of his. Check.
Sam Evans and Artie Abrams - arguing about which of the Star Wars films was the worst, their voices carrying and growing shriller with the heated debate. Check. Check.
Finn Hudson - looking like he would rather be anywhere other than practicing vocal warm-ups with Rachel, but his arm around her shoulders still affectionate. Check.
Noah Puckerman - sitting close to the three cheerleaders, effortlessly cool, lounging across two chairs with a booted foot kicked up on the drum kit. Check.
Will Schuester - their coach, their teacher, turning around from the board where he's written NEW YEAR? NEW DIRECTIONS! and scanning the room with a slight frown. "Where's Kurt?"
The door crashes open, and Kurt scuttles in with a small smile on his lips, saying, "Sorry, Mr, Schue, I got caught up talking to Coach Sylvester." Drawing himself up to his full height, he proudly says, "You are looking at the newest Senior Captain of the Cheerios." In perfect unison, Quinn, Brittany and Santana all shriek their congratulations and rush to throw their arms around Kurt in a perfectly-groomed group hug.
Kurt Hummel - perfect. Long legs in tight jeans, toned arms shown off by short sleeves, hair perfectly swept up. Smile stunning, eyes bright, talent blazing out of him like sunbeams. Ambitious, intelligent, determined, brave. Everything. Check.
That just leaves him - Blaine Anderson. Sitting at the back of the room, separate from all the noise and companionship. Away from Mercedes, now texting Tina the latest gossip. Away from Rachel, curled into Finn's side and smiling in contentment. Away from Sam, still casting sideways glares at Artie as he turns to talk to Puck. Away from Kurt, sitting up straight and proud in his chair. Not hunched over in shame, trying to be invisible, or staring hungrily at the smiles on laughing faces, wishing he was truly a part of this illustrious crowd of misfits.
Blaine Anderson - loner.
Loser.
Check.
"Okay!" Will shouts, clapping his hands together to silence the low buzz of chatter amongst thirteen of the fourteen. "So, welcome back to glee club, everybody. As you can see, there are no new faces. Sadly, we're still not a desirable club even after we showed at Nationals. Fifth place doesn't win any awards." Putting a theatrical hand to his heart, he says, "But I have a feeling that this year is our year. This time, we're going all the way to Nationals and we're going to win!" A cheer greets this bold statement, led by the enthusiasts like Rachel and Mercedes, and even Puck joins in the clapping, a beat after everyone else.
Rachel raises her head and immediately begins to speak, "Mr. Schuester, as a number of us in this room are seniors and this is our last year of high school," Puck cups his hands to his mouth and whoops joyously, making the three cheerleaders giggle in adoration, "I think that we should begin focusing on competitions immediately. It is imperative for my NYADA application that I'm able to boast being part of a glee club which at least placed at Nationals."
"Should've joined the Cheerios when you had the chance, Rach," Kurt remarks, still unbearably proud of himself, and Blaine suppresses a shiver of desire. Not just for Kurt's long legs and slender waist and clever fingers - that much is a given. But for that nature. The ease with which he jokes with the people around him, the way he holds himself with so much confidence, the gleam in his eyes. He's clearly never been pushed into lockers or had his belongings snatched from his hands and drowned in the locker room showers. He's never been invisible.
"That's an excellent point, Rachel," Will says, and Blaine hides his small smile when he sees every other girl in the room collectively rolling their eyes at their teacher's sycophantic tone. "For everyone applying to college, I'm happy to write you all references. And I hope you're all going on to do what makes you really happy."
"Nail chicks and drink beer in LA," Puck says under his breath, and everyone laughs again. A seething jolt of jealousy spears through Blaine, and he glares darkly at the back of Puck's head. If only he had that same aura of apathy and intimidation, if only he could make people part like the Red Sea when he walked through the hallway, if only he had boys practically begging to date him. Even now, in rehearsal, Brittany is draping herself over Puck's lap, her head nestled in his crotch, and he's smirking down at her, one hand stroking her side, down to the hem of her short skirt.
"Back off my girl," Santana snarls. It's very quiet, but Blaine hears her, and he sees Puck's hand withdraw. He's always been jealous of that crowd - the jocks and the cheerleaders. Teen royalty. The undisputed elite of McKinley. And now they've welcomed the likes of Rachel and Artie into their group. Everyone but him.
They probably don't even know his name. To them, he's probably just the kid who sits at the back in glee rehearsals and doesn't say a word. Performs the lyrics and choreography as given and doesn't noisily suggest changes. Fades into the background of each number while the rest get to shine. Forgettable.
After ten minutes of loud debate, all talking over each other and pointing out the merits of each individual song, they finally settle on recycling last year's original song, Loser Like Me, for their invitational. Blaine silently snorts as the bickering for solos starts - as if any of these people know what it's like to be a loser. Although the glee club is still looked down upon, having people like Puck and Santana and Kurt in their club gives them social standing. Gives them protection. A sheen that gets them asked to parties and looked up and down in the corridors and asked to dances.
Except him. He's the only real loser.
Blaine arrives to rehearsal first a week later. No doubt the rest of the group are away canoodling by their lockers or in bathrooms, or arranging parties this weekend, or charming extra credit out of teachers. Pulling his hood up over his hair, he hunches down at the back of the room and pulls out his Chemistry textbook, starting to mark important pages with neon yellow and orange post-it notes.
"Hey dude." His head jerks up in surprise at the greeting, and he can't help the way his lip curls as Puck saunters in, eyebrow piercing winking in the strip lights. "Blaine. Hey, what are you doing in here? Everyone else is planning a party at Rachel's this weekend."
"You guys wouldn't want me there," Blaine says sullenly, looking back down at his textbook and refusing to look up at Puck. He doesn't want to see his reaction. "You're all friends and you all hang out together outside rehearsals and you're all cool. I'm just the loser who rounds out the numbers."
The chair next to Blaine's creaks as Puck sits down, tilting it back against the wall in that consciously cool, 'I don't care if I fall and crack my head open' manner. "To be frank, dude, you are a loser," he says, and Blaine jerks at the harsh words. "Sorry and everything, but you need to take a long, hard look at yourself. You're not even trying to be included, sitting in here when everyone's out there. All you do, every rehearsal, is sit at the back hidden under your hood. No pushing for songs or solos, no trying to change the choreography, no speaking to anyone. You're totally silent."
"Why do you care?" Blaine spits, fury spiking beneath his skin. How dare Puck make these assumptions about him? "What if I'm doing it because I don't want to be friends with you?"
"Don't give me crap, Anderson," Puck says, and he isn't even angry. He just sounds weary, as if Blaine's denial is simply exhausting him. "You practically drool every time you look at us, you're so desperate to be included. And don't think I've never noticed the way you look at Kurt. I'm surprised you haven't just given up pretending and jumped him yet."
An ugly blush creeps into Blaine's cheeks. He'd never imagined that anyone would notice. "Okay, so you can read me like a book," he says, very quietly, ashamed. Puck stops teasing then, and simply sits and listens as Blaine explains, "I came here after getting beaten up for taking another boy to a school dance. My parents offered Dalton, but I just didn't want to run away from my problems - plus the tuition is really steep, and they're already supporting my brother out in LA. And I thought if I stayed quiet and I kept under the radar, I wouldn't get noticed. And I didn't, until my dad thought I was getting depressed and persuaded me to join the glee club. And then there's all of you. and Kurt, and I just don't know how to act."
"I used to have that problem too," Puck says, and chuckles at Blaine's shocked look. "Right? How could I have ever had a problem? Me, the Puckster. I've had sex with every girl at this school and started a second go-round. But I wasn't always like this. I used to be a total dork. Until one of my older friends got sick of trying to set me up with girls who just weren't interested and got me a hook-up that transformed me from a boy into the man you see today."
Curling his fingers into fists in his lap, Blaine starts when Puck yanks his hood down, and breaks the silence that's descended between them. "Did he hire you a prostitute?" he asks, and blushes when Puck throws his head back and laughs like it's the funniest thing he's ever heard.
"That myth about you becoming a man after your first time is complete bullshit," he says, chuckling quietly to himself again. "No, what my friend hooked me up with is what I'm going to recommend that you get. Effective immediately. It'll make you instantly popular and help you get Kurt to fall hopelessly in love with you. It's called a squip." Leaning in closer and lowering his voice, as if sharing nuclear secrets, he says, "It's a tiny computer that you swallow, and it nestles in your brain. Tells you what to do. Mine made me into a badass and got me with hundreds of girls. I'm sure one for you would get you into Hummel's ass like you so clearly want."
Blinking at Puck's brashness, Blaine leans closer and asks, "Where would I get one? A...squip. Would it really help me?"
"Trust me, dude, in middle school I was a loser," Puck says. "But people don't remember that, because in the very first month of high school I nailed a senior and I was legend. Your squip will change everything, man, it's amazing. You just take it like a pill and it makes your life better." He smirks to himself when the door crashes open and Blaine's eyes go straight to Kurt, arm looped through Santana's as they stumble into the room, both laughing together. "And I'm sure it would help you land Kurt. When you first install it, it reads your mind and finds out all your greatest desires. I think I'm right in saying Kurt is yours."
"I think I'm in love with him," Blaine sighs, and Puck nods sagely, eyes narrowing slightly. But Blaine doesn't have time to process the expression before Puck is climbing down to sit with Mercedes, laying his hand on the inside of her thigh like they're not in school. Smiling slightly to himself, Blaine tugs his hoodie up over his head, folding it neatly over his satchel and stretching his legs out, putting them up on the back of an empty chair.
"Blaine?" The voice makes him start, and his heart miss a beat. Kurt Hummel is talking to him, even though he looks vaguely annoyed. He's saying Blaine's name, perfect pink lips forming the sound, and Blaine can't help a small smile. "Could you please get your feet off my seat?"
"Yeah, sorry," Blaine says quickly, scrambling to get his feet down and nearly toppling his own seat. And then Kurt smiles at him, and it's like the sun coming out on a rainy day - everything else just goes away. "Sorry. Again."
"It's okay," Kurt says softly, twisting as he sits down to keep looking at Blaine, their eyes meeting for perhaps the first time ever. Transfixed, it takes Blaine a few seconds to catch up to what Kurt is saying. "So are you coming to the party this weekend? Rachel's promised enough drink this time, remember when we ran out at Santana's?"
"I...I wasn't there," Blaine says, and Kurt's mouth snaps shut, cheeks flaring red. "But I'm sure it was awful for you all."
"No one's parents would bring us more so we just had to sit and sober up," Kurt says softly, smiling gently. "But that won't happen this time. Rachel's an only child and her dads are far too indulgent with her. So I hope you'll join us. Glee club parties are alway a riot."
Blaine nods and smiles, and Kurt turns away from him. Leaning over his chair to reach Puck, he whispers, "Can you get me a squip before the party this weekend?"
Casting a sly look at Kurt, Puck smirks at him and says, "Anything to get a brother laid."
Turning the wheel over and over, crawling down the street Puck told him to turn onto and searching for the right house, Blaine tries yet again to swallow his nerves. He thinks about all the people who will have driven down this road before, looking for the same house, the same person. The girls Puck has slept with, with no regard for whether he was officially dating them or not. The boys lucky enough to become his friend, heading down this way for a night of beer and loud guffawing while talking about school. And perhaps, occasionally, Puck's father, looking for a handout from his gainfully employed son (he's heard a rumour).
He's barely ducking out of his car when he hears Puck's voice roaring, "Blaine, my man! Almost thought you'd got cold feet!" Grinning and raising a hand in a bashful wave, Blaine locks his car and hurries to join Puck, leaning casually on the door frame with that familiar smirk on his face. "Hurry up, I still need to run out and buy some booze for tonight. My mom didn't leave for work as early as she usually does, and I have to wait until she leaves."
"The party doesn't start for five hours," Blaine mumbles, and Puck just prods him in the side, looking at him like a stern mother might. "Do I have to prepare or something? Does it take a while to calibrate?"
"I hooked you up with the very latest model, Blaine, the calibration will be quicker than blinking," Puck says, his very tone long-suffering, as if he's explained this a hundred times before. "But it's definitely going to tell you to change what you're wearing. How can you expect to get some cheerleader ass while wearing a bowtie?"
Raising a hand to brush against his bowtie - silk, expensive, a Christmas gift from his parents - Blaine narrows his eyes at Puck. "I don't want it to change me. And I don't just want to get some ass. I want Kurt to have the feelings I have for him for me. I want him to fall in love with me. Not some version of me made by a computer."
"Don't be such a purist," Puck says, his lip curling in a derisive sneer, and Blaine feels like he shrinks to the size of a bug before his gaze. "It's not like the squip controls your actions, you can rebel against its instructions if you love the grandpa look that much. All it does is unlock the guy that's inside you. It'll give the confidence you need to be that guy." He holds out the small white box, barely big enough to hold matches. "I went to a lot of trouble to get you this. If you've changed your mind-"
"No!" Sucking in a deep, steadying breath, Blaine thinks about having a good senior year, a year when he's confident enough to walk up to Kurt and ask him out. In his mind, their first date comes together out of the mist, perfect and romantic, and they kiss beneath the sickly orange glow of the streetlamps, his name like music on Kurt's lips. "Give it to me."
"You'll need a drink with it," Puck says, placing the box reverently on Blaine's outstretched palm. "It should probably be water, but coffee makes it start working faster, and we need time on our side if you want to go to the mall." Blaine opens his mouth to speak, but Puck quickly adds, "You could keep the bowtie, but at least go for some tighter pants."
Six minutes later, Blaine is staring at a rapidly cooling half-full mug of coffee and the white box, fingers steepled together, mind whirling with doubts. With a teasing, "Don't do anything I wouldn't," and a wink, Puck left him alone to go to the liquor store, and now he has no one to tell him to do it. He opens the box and shakes it out into his palm, the small, silvery pill nestling in his hand, so much to fear and yet so much to want.
Kurt Hummel shimmied into his life two years ago at a pep rally. He was nestled comfortably into the bleachers, invisible in his oversized hoodie and battered sneakers, and the music was starting to give him a headache when Coach Sylvester announced the initiation of a new member, and that shy boy with his neat hair and lithe body had crept into the centre of the room and sung his heart out to a Madonna classic, watched by an open-mouthed Blaine. Blaine could still remember the way his heart had started pounding, his gaze sticking to Kurt's swaying hips, then staring at his face as the nerves gave way to confidence and his eyes began to shine. He still has that reaction every time Kurt walks into the room, standing taller now, muscular arms and long legs and perfect hair. This is his chance to have that angel in his arms.
Placing the pill on his tongue, gagging when he tastes bitterness, Blaine quickly swallows the coffee - made with too much sugar and not enough milk - and shudders in revulsion, the after-taste sticking. And he sits and waits, watching the second hand turn around the clock on the wall, his heartbeat matching the ticking, waiting for something. Anything.
WELCOME TO SQUIP FIFTH GENERATION. BIENVENIDOS A LA QUINTA GENERACIÓN SQUIP. PLEASE SELECT YOUR PREFERRED LANGUAGE.
Wrinkling his brow in confusion, Blaine tentatively says, "English." His voice sounds scared to his own ears, a slight shake in his words.
PLEASE SELECT YOUR PREFERRED VOICE GENDER: MALE OR FEMALE.
"Male."
SQUIP 5.0 CALIBRATION AND ACCESS PROCEDURE IN PROGRESS.
Pain explodes out from behind Blaine's eyes, like the peak of a bad migraine, and he grits his teeth to keep from making any noise beyond a slight hiss of breath. Puck assured him the pain wouldn't last longer than a minute, and would never happen again, but that the squip has to read his mind and gather intel. Even now, it could be working out a strategy for him to get Kurt.
The door crashes open, and Puck staggers in under the weight of a vast cardboard box. Blaine hears the chink of glass on glass, and grins at him. "Is it working yet?" Puck asks, and Blaine shakes his head, very gently. "Yeah, this is the worst part. You'll realise the benefits within an hour, tops."
Hello, Blaine.
The voice of the squip is different now, not so robotic. It's just a man talking to him, and it takes a moment for him to remember that no one else can hear it. "It's working!" he tells Puck, and he can't help but smile, thrilled.
Yes, I'm working. Thank you for giving me a tangible goal to work towards - so many squips are brought in just to 'improve my life'. So abstract. But you - you want to make Kurt fall in love with you. It's easily done.
"Well then, tell me what to do!" Blaine says urgently, and Puck looks at him, satisfaction in his shark-like grin.
Please do not speak to me out loud, it will detract from the image we will create for you. Now, since you seem so determined to hang on to your bowties - and they do betray confidence, they're very flamboyant - I'm thinking that we turn you into the very definition of the world 'dapper'. You do have a certain fifties charm, and we can use that. Seems to me that Kurt might like someone to sweep him off his feet. You'll be an expert in romance when I'm done with you.
Why can't you just tell me now and get it over with?
Because romance takes time, Blaine. Unlike many other teenagers that squips like myself have served, you don't just want to get Kurt into bed - you want him to fall in love with you. Love lasts so much longer than sex, so it takes longer to create. From now on, I want you to watch a different romantic film every night - it will help you. Although, of course, you will also have to practice sex-
Practice sex?!
Of course, but we can worry about that later. Physical intimacy is also part of a loving relationship, and the importance of a perfect first kiss cannot be overestimated. But the first thing is to change your clothes. You cannot dress like a background character any more, Blaine - from now on, you're a leading man. The nearest mall will take forty minutes of driving to reach, and we have four and a half hours before the party begins. But you must arrive late to create an impression of your new self - so I will talk you through what you're going to do tonight.
Like drinking and taking drugs and having sex? It's just the glee club.
You spend a lot of time with them - they will help you project your new image to the world. And I will help you if you wish to take substances - your first time, you will have to be careful. Tonight will be the first time that any of them see you as a potential sexual partner - we're going to make you 'hot', as your youth culture says.
"Going to the mall?" Puck asks when Blaine picks up his keys, and he nods. "Good luck. And don't forget to eat before the party, there's so much drink everybody will be smashed."
Looking into Puck's face, his set jaw and the glint of his eyebrow piercing and that warmth that lingers behind his eyes, belying the vision of a badass who cares about nothing and no one, Blaine smiles warmly and says, "Thank you. Really." Puck just nods at him, and Blaine runs out to his car, feeling the squip humming at the back of his mind.
Even though Rachel told the glee club to be at her house around eight o'clock, Blaine doesn't arrive until it's already gone nine, nervously tugging at his jeans, trying to adjust them so they right not cling quite so pornographically to his thighs.
Leave it alone. This is what you want, to look 'pornagraphic'. They'll look at you and they'll all be shocked. Now, when you walk in, you're going to make yourself a vodka and Coke, with more than a little too much vodka. Even though it tastes bad, drink it all before joining the conversation. Who knows what could happen tonight if you play your cards right. Of course, I'll be here to help.
What do I do now?
Just ring the doorbell, and if they ask why you're late say that you just came from Scandals.
The gay bar?!
Yes, Blaine, the gay bar. And smirk - they'll think you hooked up there and be impressed.
I would never hook up at Scandals! That place is gross!
That's not the point, Blaine! Just concentrate.
Flattening his shirt - a subtle black-on-black stripe - into his jeans again, Blaine breathes and rings the doorbell. He hears stumbling feet, and is greeted by Rachel Berry, barefoot, one strap of her red dress sliding down her shoulder, a glass of something that definitely isn't water in her hand and traces of red lipstick on her smiling mouth. "Hey Blaine!" she says loudly, and bumps her lips gently against his cheek. "We were starting to think you weren't coming!"
"Sorry, I was at Scandals," Blaine says, and he can't help the thrill when Rachel's eyebrows shoot up and her smile becomes a knowing smirk. "Anyway, it seems like you've already got started on the drink." He nods to her cup, and she shoves it into his chest.
"I haven't had any of it anyway," she says with a shrug. "It's vodka and Coke - diet, obviously. Come on down, everyone's already here." He watches her walk away, with that sway of her hips, noticing the kicked off heels surrounding the door in an arc, and smiles when she says, "You look amazing, by the way. Why don't you dress like this for school?"
"I might have to, now a beautiful girl like you thinks I look amazing," Blaine says, and the squip quietly says Good one. Rachel laughs, and Blaine just stares, bewildered. Popularity can't be this easy. If it was, everyone would do it.
"Blaine!" The shout that goes up when he walks into the room is loud, and he grins around at familiar faces, faces who've ignored him for so long. He wasn't even aware they knew his name until now, as Santana holds out a lazy hand and says, "Come on, you're just in time for Spin the Bottle. My idea."
"And yet again we're all going to watch you cheat to get Brittany," Mercedes says with companionable disdain, and Santana waves her middle finger at the other girl, who just laughs and takes another drink from the bottle in her hand.
"And yet again you'll all have no idea how I did it," Santana says, and drains her bottle, setting it on the floor between them all. "Pick a damn seat, Anderson, so we can start the game." Staring anxiously at Puck, who just nods, Blaine joins the group on the ground, planting himself next to Tina, who grins at him around the straw that's smudged her purple lipstick.
Reaching into the circle with perfectly manicured nails, Santana spins the bottle, her eyes glinting as it slows to point at Brittany, who claps her hand and squeals in delight, as if they didn't know it was going to happen. But Blaine smiles at the obvious show of affection, and laughs when Quinn jerks Santana back from the kiss a little harder than necessary, and a slightly glassy-eyed Brittany spins the bottle to land on Mike, scrambling across the circle for a chaste peck. Mike kisses Lauren, Lauren kisses Finn, Finn kisses Quinn, Quinn kisses Rachel - to loud whooping from Puck despite the briefness of the dry peck - and Rachel spins the bottle to land on Blaine, grinning at him from across the circle.
"I'm going to rock your world," she says, crawling across to him. The strap of her dress is still hanging loose over her shoulder, bright red against her skin, and Blaine can see the splash of matching red across her cheeks that the alcohol has given her, her eyes artificially shiny and her movements slightly sloppy. She kisses him grinning, and their lips don't quite fit together, but she smells nice and her skin is warm, and the squip tells him Cup her face. Even though she isn't a boy, all kissing is good practice. Make Kurt see what you could be to him.
"Nice try, Rachel, but I'll always be gay," Blaine says when she shuffles back into her place in the circle, and she laughs loudly, tucking her head against Finn's shoulder and picking up her glass of pink alcohol. He wonders if he's imagining it, or if Kurt is suddenly looking at him differently. Spinning the bottle, he laughs loudly when it comes to rest on Finn, both of them shaking their heads, and the game ends in a haze of people yelling, "That's cheating!"
The lights are low and the music is loud, and Blaine has had enough to drink that he feels dizzy with it. Santana and Brittany have taken over the entire couch, making out, and he watches them as he twists with Lauren. Santana's hands are in Brittany's curled hair, fingers stroking through the strands, and they look happy, tangled up like they are. His heart clenches with loneliness.
You could have someone tonight, if you really wanted. You could go to Scandals and-
No. Not until this stupid practicing sex thing you want me to do. I don't want sex. I want love.
And then someone's hand is curving around his hip, and there's a bottle of cider being held in front of him, and he turns to Kurt's shining eyes and pink mouth hovering inches above his own. "Hi," he says softly, and Blaine grins at him, the music thumping loudly. "Will you come upstairs with me? It's too hot in here and I'm starting to feel sick." He's slurring his words, and swaying slightly where he stands and, well, Blaine's not had enough to drink that he's incapable of climbing a few stairs. Probably.
You haven't.
Kurt hangs onto him as they climb the stairs, and when they reach the top he laughs and says, "I never realise how drunk I am until I try to climb stairs." Holding the plastic bottle in one hand, he bounds outside barefoot, wearing only his shirt with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows and those impossibly tight jeans. Really, it's criminal that anyone's legs can look quite so incredible.
They sprawl out on the dew-damp grass, and Kurt tilts the bottle to his lips. Caught up in watching the motion of his swallowing, it's a few seconds before Blaine says, "If you feel sick, maybe you should stop drinking."
"It's cider, it barely counts," Kurt scoffs, and smiles. "I feel better now, anyway. It was the heat and the music and all the people. Sometimes I just like to be alone. People can annoy me sometimes." The way he glances at Blaine out of the corner of his eyes, the twist of one corner of his mouth, makes it clear he's teasing, and Blaine isn't sure how to respond. He didn't expect to be invited in so easily.
Alcohol. If the entirety of your school was drunk all the time, you'd never feel so alone.
Of course.
If they like you when they're drunk, they'll remember that you were witty and kind. No more alcohol, only water or soda - sober up, then you can offer rides home. As for this conversation, tease back. This is a little light flirting - take advantage of it.
"What does that make me, then?" Blaine asks softly, and he can see the smile on Kurt's face grow.
"A chaperone," he says, and shuffles closer, offering Blaine the bottle. He shakes his head, and Kurt laughs loudly. "See, you're not drinking now! You're like a bodyguard. Good for you, we've been needing someone responsible. Not everyone can walk home - I don't trust Britt, Quinn or San on those ridiculous heels."
"It's not safe for anyone to walk home alone," Blaine says anxiously, looking at Kurt and wondering if he's done that before. He's so publicly out - in a town like this, in the dark, anyone could've hurt him. "Especially if you've been drinking."
"Relax, Blaine, we don't walk alone," Kurt says, his words slurring as he looks up at Blaine, mouth twisted in a lazy smile. "Me and Finn obviously live together, and Rachel and Quinn and Tina all live close to us, so we all walk together, and the others walk the other way. One group has Finn and the other one has Puck and Santana, we're all fine." Lying back on the grass, he pulls his iPod carefully out of his pocket and offers a headphone to Blaine. "I hope you like musicals."
A week ago, Blaine would never have believed this was even possible - lying on grass next to Kurt Hummel, barely even aware of the dew soaking into his shirt through his happiness, looking up at the skies and listening to Kurt quietly singing along to the songs, voice soaring to match the high notes in The Wizard And I. Who knows how long they lie there cycling through musicals until Kurt casually says, "You should sing something from Wicked for glee club." Blaine is painfully of how close their fingers are to brushing, thinking about taking his hand. "I mean, Dancing Through Life is my personal favourite. I think you'd suit Fiyero." He smiles, and his eyes are every bit as bright as the stars peppering the dark sky above them. "You're really nice, Blaine. Why have we never got to see you before?"
"Bad past," Blaine says softly, and Kurt's face falls, his mouth drooping and his shining eyes fading like the sun veiled by clouds. "But not something you need to be upset. I'll carry my own burden." He smiles, just to reassure Kurt that he's okay, and can barely breathe when Kurt curls closer to him with a contented sigh. He can smell Kurt's cologne, the faint scent of hairspray, and he's warm and flushed, cheek on Blaine's shoulder and arm slung casually and harmlessly over his abdomen. Swallowing, throat dry and tongue swollen, Blaine finally manages to say, "Please don't fall asleep."
"I'll try," Kurt says softly, and Blaine can hear the teasing smile in his voice. "But you're so cosy. My ride will be here soon anyway, and me and Finn will head home. I'm sure that you and Mike between you can take the rest home. Teenagers are supposed to pile on each other in the back of their friends' cars."
"You don't want to join in the pile?" Blaine asks softly, and Kurt laughs, shaking his head gently. "Come on, I'd let you ride up front and avoid the pile. What's the point in someone who isn't here coming to pick you up?"
"You'll see," Kurt says, and winks at him. The combination of it all is so much - a warm boy curled up to him, Kurt so close and smelling so wonderful, the squip at the back of his mind prompting Make a move. A minor one. Take his hand.
Blaine is psyching himself up to do it, his fingers inching closer to Kurt's hand pressed against his hip, when headlights sprawl across the dark lawn and Kurt sits up straight, tugging at his shirt and running a hand through his hair. Climbing unsteadily to his feet, he wanders over to the house and shouts, "Finn! Our ride's here!" Springing to his feet, clear-headed and concerned, Blaine rushes to Kurt, struggling into his jacket and jamming his feet into his shoes.
"Come meet him," Kurt says, and Blaine's heart is sinking even as he follows those long legs and the wide shoulders across the lawn to the flashy silver car. The window rolls down, and Blaine's heart is somewhere around his ankles when he sees the man in the car, obviously older than him, a silver ring glinting in his eyebrow and sex appeal clinging to him like a second skin. "Blaine, this is my boyfriend, Elliott. El, this is my new friend, Blaine."
"Get in the car, babe, you're drunk," Elliott says, but it's warm and loving, and he climbs out of the car to help Kurt into the back seat. Blaine can't see them, but he hears quiet murmuring, and the wet sounds of kissing. and his heart clenches with jealousy. Thank God he's thrust aside when Finn comes to join his brother in the car, giving Blaine a second-long grin.
As Elliott climbs into the driver's seat, Kurt takes an eyeliner pencil out of his pocket and scrawls a series of digits on Blaine's hand. "Santana stole my favourite scarf to hide her hickies, so I stole her best eyeliner," he says by way of an explanation, and then presses his cheek gently against Blaine's wrist. "Text me when you get home. Tell me how badly they behaved in the car. I want us to be friends now."
Nodding dumbly, not trusting himself to speak, Blaine watches the car drive away until the lights fade into the darkness, and turns back to the house. He tries not to think about Kurt and Elliott, but he can't help it - he pictures Elliott's tattooed arms around Kurt's slender waist, the two of them kissing, exchanging soft tender words of affection. He didn't even know Kurt had a boyfriend.
I didn't anticipate this. Of course, love is still possible - you will simply have to be his friend first. And, tonight, we can start by taking some of these people home. I would recommend Noah, Lauren, Brittany, Santana and Sam. Artie's mother is picking him up and the others will be getting home via Mike.
How do you know that?
I can communicate with Noah's squip, and it's keeping track of how people are getting home to determine how intoxicated he can become. Clearly, the likelihood of him driving was low.
Puck and Santana fight all the way back to their respective homes over Puck sitting too close to Brittany, and Blaine stares straight ahead at the road, fingers white-knuckled on the steering wheel. He's not sure about the moral implications of making Kurt fall in love when him while he's in a relationship with someone else - perhaps he should simply step down.
No, Blaine - those are the words of someone who will always settle for second-best. If you think this way, you'll take offers you don't want and marry someone you don't really love simply because you couldn't have the love of your life. From now on, you are someone who will only accept the best of the best. And we'll start projecting this when you sing in glee club on Monday - on the stage, not in the choir room.
Okay. But what am I going to sing?
Stupid boy, don't you remember? Kurt told you you should be singing Wicked. When you sing it, he'll remember he suggested it and know you listened and remembered, and he'll start to fall for you.
You're kind of a genius when it comes to all this romantic stuff.
It's what I was built for. And don't forget to watch a romantic film before bed. Might I suggest 'When Harry Met Sally'?
Sure.