Rated T for strong language.

Blaine was sitting alone at the Lima Bean. At the Lima Bean, of all places, they weren't even going to that shitty little Italian coffee place that they once smoked behind. They weren't even going somewhere inconspicuous, somewhere they could fade into the background like they had so many times. They were going to be in front of everybody, in a place where someone could walk right in and see them. That was a clear enough message to place. Nothing was going to happen. Not even a touch, not in front of all those people. That had always been the rule.

He felt a little bit guilty about ditching Kurt, but mostly he was worried that Kurt would stroll right into the Lima Bean with someone else and see him sitting there, waiting for somebody, and he would be offended. Blaine didn't want that. Blaine hated it when people were mad at him. But he hated it even more when he was mad at other people, and that was why he was sitting there. Because he was angry and he was going to make things right. He wasn't going to fade into the background; he was going to make a scene, right there in the middle of the coffee shop, and people were going to be so scandalized but Blaine wouldn't care. It hadn't been Blaine's idea to meet at the Lima Bean anyway.

Blaine started to feel like an idiot, sitting there alone, and then suddenly someone entered and it was like time rewound and there was that smile on his face but he patted it down. "Jack!" he called, just loud enough for the man to turn around and search for him. Blaine waved. "Jack!"

Jack slowly walked over to Blaine, shedding his scarf. "Wow," he said. "Blaine...is that really you?"

Blaine blinked up at him, nodding. "Of course it's me," he said. "Who else would it be?"

"Wow," he said again. "You look so..." he looked Blaine up and down, then sat down. "Well, it's good to see you again," he said. "It's been a while."

Blaine nodded and said, "It has." He bit back the angry words. It wasn't not time yet.

"Nice uniform," said Jack. "You're at Dalton now?"

Blaine nodded again. "I transferred after you left," he said. "Without you, it just...I didn't really have a choice anymore."

Jack nodded. "Well, I'm flattered," he said. "But I know you could've made it without me."

"No," replied Blaine instantly. "I couldn't've. People..." he paused. "Everybody knew. I wasn't ready for that yet."

Jack's nod turned deeper, until it was more like he was bowing his head. "Alright," he said. "Alright, I get it. Well, props for getting outta there, bro. I've known many a teen gay just like yourself that didn't try to get out of those bad situations, and hell, I think you know where that leads to."

Blaine just stared at him. "Really," he said. "You've known a lot of kids like me."

Jack bowed his head again. "Yes, I have," he replied, almost humbly.

"In San Francisco?"

"All over," Jack replied instantly. "Took a road trip last year. Went all the way out to New Mexico before I realized I was out of cash."

"But you're in San Francisco now?"

Another bow. "Yes," he said. "I'm in San Fran now."

San Fran. The shortened name grated on Blaine's very flesh and bone. "Like you always dreamed," murmured Blaine, taking a sip of his coffee.

"Right," replied Jack, as if Blaine were a two-year-old. "Just like we always dreamed."

A short pause. "We?"

Jack finally smiled at Blaine, and a little bit of the real him peeked through, the Jack that Blaine knew. "Come on," he teased. "You wanted to go just as much as I did."

"I was terrified of going," said Blaine, refusing to be taken in by those beautiful lying lips. "Anyway," he continued, "you're probably glad I chickened out. From what I've gathered from Facebook, you seem...successful."

Jack looked at him, and then he leaned in over the table. "You wanna know a secret, Blaine?"

Blaine found himself leaning in as well, and hating himself for it. "Yes," he breathed.

Jack lifted his left hand and placed it on the table. Blaine looked down at it and for a long time he didn't register what he was looking at, and then he noticed the single silver band around Jack's ring finger.

"No," said Blaine. "No, you can't," he said. "You, you can't, not in California-"

"Oh, yes you can," sighed Jack, taking his hand away, looking satisfied. "You definitely can."

Silence between them. It hung in the air, waiting for Blaine to speak. Blaine needed to get rid of it somehow so he asked, "What's his name?"

"Her name's Lydia."

Something struck in Blaine's heart, like a dagger or a knife or a blunt rock hitting again and again and again dashing his flesh and blood across stone, he felt like suddenly someone had stabbed him in the back and blood was leaking into his lungs, he felt like he was going to keel over and die because his stomach was filling up with bile, but all he could do was look helplessly at the table and breathe, "Her?"

Jack sighed and leaned back in his seat. "What can I tell you, Blaine?" he said, shrugging. "Love comes in many different forms. You just gotta accept it as it comes."

"You're gay, Jack," he said bluntly.

"I was in love with a cute fourteen-year-old with curly hair," he sighed wistfully, as if he really missed the Blaine he remembered. "Hell, you looked so young it didn't really matter what you had in your pants. People fall in love with who they fall in love with, Blaine. You of all people know this."

Blaine sat there, gaping at Jack. "I think we should talk," he said, leaning in and lowering his voice. "I think there's something I have to say to you."

Jack nodded and he stood up. "You're right," he said. "Let's take a walk."

He was already heading towards the exit; Blaine had to hurry slightly to catch up with him as they walked into the brisk spring air of Ohio.

"Ah, you gotta love this shitty, podunk town," said Jack, blatant disgust in every syllable. "There's just some sort of Midwestern charm that you just don't get on the Pacific."

Blaine just watched as Jack's lips pursed and he surveyed the streets as if he wanted nothing more to be gone of such a vile place. "What's the ocean like?" asked Blaine breathlessly, because he needed to ask something and he's always wanted to see the Pacific. He's seen the Atlantic Ocean – his parents took him to Disneyworld Florida when he was a child, if that even counted at all – but never the legendary white-topped waves of the Pacific.

"Big," replied Jack shortly, because he didn't know that Blaine had ever seen any ocean at all and Blaine wasn't about to correct him. "Very blue. There are always some assholes out in the waves trying to pretend they can surf. They can't. All the surfing guys are down in SoCal." He breathed in the air deeply. "I spent a summer in LA, you know," he said. "I remembered you humming along to all my tunes and I thought, hey, maybe I could sing somewhere downtown." He sniffed and wiped his nose. "I couldn't and I got thrown out on my ass. That's when I met Lydia, you know. She drove me home and we fucked."

The jarring abruptness of vulgarity shocked Blaine at first, but that was only because it had been a long time since they'd been together. Jack always talked like this. Blaine had used to like it so much. He always thought Jack talked so dirty. He later realized that Jack had just talked like any normal adult and Blaine's virgin ears had just been extra sensitive to swear words. Not surprising. Blaine had always been a very sheltered child.

"Did you fall in love with her there?"

"During the passionate, very romantic throes of drunken sex?" sighed Jack. Blaine didn't even have to nod. "No, of course not, what do you think she was, a cheap whore?"

This struck at Blaine's heart once again, slowly chipping away at the delicate porcelain in his chest.

Jack stopped walking and turned to Blaine. "Ah, shit," he said. "I'm sorry, that was really insensitive of me to-"

"No," said Blaine, looking down at the sidewalk. "I get it," he said. "I mean, a couple months with a nervous freshman is definitely different than meeting the woman who would become your wife in Los Angeles."

Jack looked at him. Jack reached out and took Blaine's chin in between his thumb and forefinger. And then he leaned forward and kissed Blaine gently on the lips. A shiver went down Blaine's spine and he leaned in for more, but Jack was already pulling away. He chuckled as he started to walk again. "Still an eager little beaver, aren't you?" he asked derisively. Oh, Blaine had hated it when he called him that. But right now he could only feel the sting of Jack's lips on his. "The City of Angels," sighed Jack. "The City of Goddamn Plastic, Slutty Angels. Jesus Christ, Blaine, it's the best place on earth."

"Better than San Fran?"

Jack chuckled. "A helluva lot better than San Francisco." He put the emphasis on the cisco part just to make fun of Blaine, he knew it. And Blaine felt made fun of. He felt stupid and he felt like a kid. But mostly he just wanted to redeem himself in Jack's eyes.

"Then why'd you leave?" asked Blaine quickly. "Why would anybody leave a city like that?"

"You mean a city full of lecherous, superficial whores?"

Blaine weighed his words carefully and then cautiously ventured a, "...Yes?"

Jack laughed and laughed at him. "Oh, Blaine," he coughed. "I knew they couldn't teach the cute out of you."

Blaine said, "Stop it, Jack."

Jack looked at him. "Stop what?"

"Treating me like a child."

Jack laughed and put his arms around Blaine. "Oh, Blainey boy," he said, using the pet name that Blaine had just hated, and he put his hands in Blaine's hair and pulled on it – Jesus Christ, wasn't that the reason Blaine had cut that hair, wasn't that the reason Blaine had invested in so much hair gel daily, wasn't it so nobody could ever ever ever ever touch his hair like that ever again?

Before he knew what was happening, he had pushed Jack roughly backwards and retreated a few steps, his hands at his head. "Don't do that," he hissed.

Jack blinked at him, then he grinned and shook his hands out. "You're right," he said. "Bad idea. Now I got grease all over my hands. Tell me, do you just use regular lard to tighten those locks of yours, or do you go all out and use your mom's best-"

"Will you quit it, Jack!"

Blaine hadn't even realized he'd been yelling, but Jack froze and looked around suspiciously, and then his eyes narrowed and Blaine knew that look. Blaine looked at the ground, ashamed, and Jack stepped right back up to him and leaned in close to his face and said, "Blaine. Blaine, look at me."

Blaine looked Jack straight in the eyes. Those beautiful, clear, sky blue eyes. "What."

"Calm down," whispered Jack. "You're just a kid, Blaine. You know that. You're just a kid."

"I'm seventeen," said Blaine belligerently.

"See?" replied Jack quietly, his face still too close to Blaine's. Jack was far taller than him, but Blaine refused to tilt his head upwards. He stared up at Jack through his eyelashes, which obscured his eyesight the tiniest bit, but he wasn't giving Jack such easy access to his lips. Not like this. Not without an apology. "You're not even legal yet," laughed Jack, bending over, getting so close to Blaine that he didn't even have to look up anymore. He could smell Jack's breath in his face. His breath smelled like smoke and mint. More mint than smoke, now, which Blaine supposed was probably good, but the smell was just as intoxicating as ever. "I'd still fuck you, though," whispers Jack, his eyes darting down Blaine's body. "I'd fuck you and I'd never tell my wife."

"Stop," said Blaine, looking away.

"You're eighteen in July, aren't you, babe?" he whispered. "Oh, how I'd love to fuck you one more time before you're legal."

"Stop it," said Blaine, and he pushed him away again. Jack laughed.

"You've changed, darling," he drawled, in a slow, fake Southern accent.

"Cut it out," hissed Blaine.

Jack laughed and pretended to tuck a cigarette between his lips as he said, "I wish I knew how to quit you!"

"Stop!" shouted Blaine and he pushed him hard this time and Jack stumbled slightly backwards, and then he looked at Blaine with wide eyes.

"You wanna play this out, Blainey boy?" he murmured, opening his arms wide. "Because I think you know how this scene ends."

"I am angry at you," said Blaine clearly, pushing aside all the other buzz in his mind. "You can't just send me an email after three years of nothing and expect me to-"

"Nothing?" purred Jack. "That's a lie. We talked for months."

"Weeks," insisted Blaine. "We corresponded for six weeks until one day you just stopped replying."

"You had nothing interesting to say."

"Except that I was lonely," said Blaine. "And that I needed you."

Jack looked at him. And then Jack just shrugged, shooting Blaine a half-assed apologetic glance that said, Whatcha gonna do?

"You're an asshole," said Blaine. "I fell apart without you."

"You think I didn't feel that too, Blaine?" asked Jack, a spark igniting behind his eyes. "You think I didn't miss you too?"

Blaine looked at him, then at the ground.

"I loved you, sure," said Jack. "I loved every single fucking inch of you, Blaine, even when you were fourteen years old and a complete idiot. You should be thanking me. You should be down on your fucking knees thanking me." Jack reached out to take hold of Blaine, his eyes burning.

"Don't touch me!"

"Blaine," hissed Jack between his teeth, his arms enveloping, surrounding Blaine – Blaine wasn't as small as he was three years ago, but then again, neither was Jack, and they struggled for a moment, until Jack pressed his mouth against Blaine's and Blaine's hands curled into fists on Jack's shoulders, and the kiss turned deep and dirty and Jack pushed harder, forcing Blaine's mouth open, and by that time Blaine was all but useless in his arms and Jack licked Blaine's lips and Blaine just breathed heavily and then Jack said, "You got a boyfriend, don't you, Blainey boy?"

Blaine rested his head on Jack's shoulder, ashamed. "Yes," he breathed.

"Let me guess," said Jack, closing his eyes, holding the younger boy, rubbing on his back gently. "He's younger than you."

"No," Blaine blurted out, almost afraid. "No, I mean...barely a year..."

Jack chuckled. "Shh, shh. Let me finish." Jack brushed his fingers through Blaine's tightly wound curls. "He looks younger than you. Probably like a flat little ten-year-old." Jack breathed into Blaine's hair. "Smooth. Soft. I bet his skin is...utterly fuckable."

"Stop," muttered Blaine, but it was into Jack's coat so Jack pretended not to hear.

"A little jittery virgin, no doubt," sighed Jack. "You gonna teach him all my tricks, Blainey boy? Be sure to credit the source. Tell him about me."

"Go away," murmured Blaine.

"Newsflash, Alice: you're not in Wonderland. You're in fucking Ohio, and everybody's the same here. You're just like me."

Blaine pushed him away for a final time. "You disgust me," he said.

Jack just looked at him. "You're kind of turning me on."

"Don't talk to me like that," said Blaine.

Silence. Jack sighed and shoved his hands deep into his pockets. "You're welcome," he said roughly.

"For what, exactly?" asked Blaine, and he could just imagine all the answers that Jack would give him. All the things that he thought Blaine should be thanking him for.

"For getting you fucking out of there," he said.

Blaine looked at him.

"You think you'd've known a fucking thing about Dalton if it weren't for me?" he asked. "You think I didn't find you?"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"There was an out gay kid at Carver," said Jack, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "He was fucking freshman, they were going to eat him alive. I went over there, Blaine, and I found him because I know how it feels to be treated like that every single fucking day. I found him because I was going to see if he was anything like I was at his age and if he was then I was going to bring him over to Dalton with me and to hell with what everybody else thought." Jack just stared at Blaine, a hard look in his eye. "That boy wasn't like me," he said gruffly. "He was a thousand times stronger. I was going to keep my eye on him."

Jack looked around.

"You know what fucking went wrong?"

Blaine couldn't look away from him.

"I fell in love with a fucking fourteen-year-old," said Jack, and he almost laughed. "Fourteen. Jesus, do you even know how illegal that was?"

"Jack," said Blaine.

"I didn't bring him to Dalton," said Jack, although now he was looking at the ground because there were tears in his eyes. "I didn't bring him to Dalton because I knew how much I wanted him. And I didn't need that around me."

"Jack."

"I'm a weak man, Blaine," said Jack, his chest heaving with passion. "I was sleeping with a kid four years younger than me. I had to go."

Silence. Blaine said, "You could have written. Or called. Or something."

"No," said Jack. "I couldn't have. But at least I did leave. And I sure as hell left you more insecure, more scared than ever. And you wanted me, Blaine, don't deny it, so you settled for the next best thing, you settled for fucking Dalton-"

"Jack," said Blaine. "This is hard enough as is-"

"Yeah, you're telling me," snorted Jack. "Last time I saw you, you were a kid."

Jack reached out and gently dragged his finger across Blaine's cheek.

"Looks like you're all grown up now," he said. "If I were three years younger, we might've had a chance."

Blaine pushed Jack's hand away.

"I'm happy that you found yourself a boyfriend," said Jack. "Just don't hurt him. That sucks."

"What, being hurt?" asked Blaine, rolling his eyes at Jack's incessantly selfish-

"No," said Jack. "Hurting somebody you love. That's what sucks."

Silence. Then Jack sighed and tugged at something on his hand. "I'm not actually married, Blaine," he said, pulling the ring off his finger. "And if I were, it'd sure as hell not be Lydia, she's a fucking bitch." He inspected the ring carefully. "I thought the story would help me control myself, though. It didn't. I'm still the jerk I was."

Blaine couldn't even protest to this.

"You need a ride home?"

Blaine shook his head.

"Probably for the best."

There was a long, long pause. And then Blaine turned and he began to walk away.

Before he'd gone ten steps, though, Jack called, "Hey."

Blaine didn't want to turn around. But he did. He turned around to look straight into those deep, sunken eyes, and that skin stained just a little bit gray, and that brown hair with the golden streaks when it hit the light just right. Jack was perfect. Everything about him was the man that Blaine wanted to live with forever.

Jack asked, "You ever tell your parents about us?"

Blaine shook his head.

"Good," said Jack. "But you should tell your boyfriend. He deserves to know."

Blaine nodded. Jack bowed his head a little one more time, and then Blaine turned around and walked away for real.

As Blaine walked away, Jack said quietly, "I love you," and Blaine didn't turn around to look because he'd rather die than let Jack see the tears in his eyes.

Okay. Okay. Okay. Before I start getting hate, let me just say that not only does a relationship like this make sense to me, but I just kind of liked writing it because I'm twisted and I enjoy manipulation and poisonous relationships.

For some reason I just feel like Blaine has been in a... "relationship" of sorts in the past but he does say he's never been somebody's boyfriend, he's not good at the romantic stuff. Maybe he was just a kid and this guy strung him along and he was just sort of stunned and almost used, in a sense. Or he felt used, even if in reality the guy really loved him. He's got some issues. I just feel like, I don't know, he's still very much a kid but he's seen more than Kurt has and Jeremiah was older than him and he was really into Jeremiah and Kurt does look really young and I don't know. I'm a little too obsessed with the idea of a relationship between Blaine and an older guy before Kurt.

Ahh. Just tell me if it's really that bad. Be harsh, please, so I can stop liking this idea so much.