The First-Ever Real Superhero?

You might think that caped superheroes are a thing of fiction and that reality sticks to the brave but ordinary man, turned hero sans cape, but one Rachel Berry begs to differ.

The 21 year old actress was walking home after rehearsal when, taking a detour through one of those dark city alleys, she was accosted by a man with a knife. She claims to have screamed for help. Lucky for her, someone heeded the call, a man – allegedly just in time to save her from being stabbed. She describes the whole thing as happening so fast she barely realized what was happening, but the helpful stranger squeezed himself between the two, taking the element of surprise as an opportunity to push the attacker away with a few punches and, then – and this is where it gets tricky – before the man could fall back on them with his knife, Miss Berry swears the attacker's cellphone exploded in his pocket with such spectacle that the man fell to the ground, clutching his hip in pain, and giving her and the helpful stranger the opportunity to escape.

While she claims she has no idea how the man was capable of doing what he did, she still swears by it. "He looked very still and focused on something just a second before it happened."

Her story continues with her taking the temporary distraction to leave the alley, but having to return to retrieve her anonymous helper who she describes as looking a little perturbed and shell-shocked at his own actions. Once he snapped out of it, she says, he took off running away from both attacker and attackee.

Because it was so dark, Miss Berry explains she was unable to get a good look at her savior, but she did snap a picture of his retreating back, and asks anyone who can recognize it (or maybe even the man in question himself) to look her up, "so I can express my eternal gratitude properly and give him tickets to my opening night on Broadway!"

(picture of the back of a man wearing a thick, classy pea coat, dark wash jeans with nice expensive looking shoes, and a head of gelled hair)

Edit: Latest development! A man has since been admitted to the ER, with injuries similar to those described in Miss Berry's story and has been identified, by her, as the attacker. He, too, claims that it was the man who made the electronic device explode, causing third degree burns in his hip and groin area, and wants him to be brought to justice for the damage made.

-x-

"Dude!" Sam gasps. "Do it again!"

Blaine resists the urge to cry. "I can't!" He pushes himself off the couch. "I told you I can't really control it, and besides, it's not…- I mean, it could be some kind of freak coincidence, right?"

"Dude. You know what the marvel guys would say, right?"

Blaine cringes. "Six times is definitely not a freak coincidence…?"

Sam's jaw slackens entirely. "Six times?! This has happened six times already?"

Blaine throws himself back on the couch, face down and buried in the fluffy cushions.

There was the first time when Blaine stubbed his toe on his nightstand and his electronic alarm clock blew up just as he let out a string of curses – written off as a coincidence. There was the time he missed his bus by two seconds, already being way too late to class, and next thing he knows the bus is halting to a stop, smoke coming out of its engine in alarming dark grey – also written off as a coincidence. The third time it happened was, of all places, at the comic book store, when he overheard a bunch of kids sniggering and making fun of a new gay superhero and one of their wristwatches went off with a puff of smoke and the boy clutched his burnt wrist with tears in his eyes – the coincidental nature of these happenings started faltering. The fourth was in a nightclub when a guy kept getting handsier (and Blaine would go away) and handsier (and Blaine would go away again) and handsier (and next thing Blaine knew the whole stereo system blew up) – he stayed up all night thanking god no one actually got hurt and avoiding the thought that it might have been his doing. The fifth time, he'd been in the shower for half a minute when the water turned ice-cold, for the fifth time that week, and above his groaned out "SAM!" he managed to hear the demise of his brand-new shaving machine – that's when it definitely stopped being a coincidence. The sixth time was a dark alley, a girl in trouble and an effort to actually make it happen in a rush of adrenaline.

"I should go see a doctor," he whimpers.

"NO!" Sam practically yells. "Are you insane? They'll make a lab rat out of you! Have you learned nothing out of watching SHIELD? What are you, trying to get yourself killed or turned into… into some remote controlled robot? You need to stay put and, and, and-"

The climax of Blaine's despair comes accompanied by the sound of an explosion. It's small this time, thank god. But they both still jump out of their skin, hands clutching chests and eyes wide. There's a small cloud of smoke coming from the coffee table – a black churned mark on it, and pieces of burnt plastic and buttons and battery springs.

Blaine can feel tears springing to his eyes. "I blew up the remote control," he covers his face with his hands and throws himself back down.

"You need to calm down dude, or you'll blow up the television or something."

Blaine whimpers, and something crackles.

-x-

They leave to sit in Central Park. The worst that can happen in Central Park is Blaine blowing up someone's phone, which he'll feel infinitely guilty about, but it's still the lesser evil.

"Okay, so obviously we need to get you in control of it," Sam says, trying to mask his excitement. "I could totally be your… guide or whatever."

"You have no idea what having superpowers is like." Blaine feels silly just referring to it as superpowers. He blows stuff up when he's angry, that's about it.

"But I have read waaaay more comics than you, and I know dialogues from heart, and-"

"That's like someone teaching medicine because they watched Grey's Anatomy. I still think I should-"

"Oh! Speaking of medicine! You should learn CPR and that kind of stuff, it might come in handy on the streets, and we should start brainstorming ideas for a suit, and-"

"What?" Blaine gasps. "I'm not just… I'm not going to turn into a superhero."

He's not about to admit he's thought about it. Multiple times. It's an idiotic idea, but he can't help it.

"Of course you are! You've been chosen by fate."

As far as origin stories go, Blaine thinks he probably has the worst ever. It's got to be even worse than Ant Man. Although, granted, Ant Man's origin story isn't the truly bad part about his superhero'ing – rather, the lame superpower and even worse name might be what makes him the butt of a lot of Sam's jokes.

If he'd known what was in store for him, then Blaine wouldn't have laughed half as hard at those jokes, because this has got to be karma. Even if Ant Man is fictional and no one would think making fun of fictional characters would affect your very real life karma, he's sure that that might have been it.

"No." he keeps his voice low, hoping that it might help his annoyance not reach breaking point. "A microwave exploded on my face while I was making a mugcake. I was not chosen by anything other than bad luck. And I can't actually control this, so chances are I'd just end up hurting more than helping people, and-"

"That explosion was wasted on you," Sam frowns. "It should've been me."

Blaine glares but makes an effort to get his temper back in check.

"I can't just be a superhero, Sam. This isn't a comic book. I can't really control it, and besides… What am I supposed to do with this superpower? Like… wow… I blow stuff up. Fantastic."

"We've been over this, dude. You'll learn to control. And besides, maybe this is just the first superpower manifesting."

"What do I do if the bad guy doesn't have anything electronic on them? I can't stop bullets."

"You don't know that." Sam points out, undeterred. Blaine balls up his coffee receipt and throws it in Sam's face. "Look, you already know a little boxing, right? You got a good right hook. You just gotta get back in the gym and maybe take up a few more techniques. Dude, Black Widow doesn't have any superpowers, and she's like, the most badass out of the avengers."

"And fictional…"

"And the hottest."

"I'm not going to turn into Scarlett Johansson, you know that?" Blaine chuckles.

"A guy can dream, dude. A guy can dream."

-x-

That night they order Chinese and include soup so that they can have the illusion of healthy options. Sam heats it up, while Blaine sets up the Avengers marathon Sam is forcing him to watch. Sam hasn't yet shut up about it, and Blaine really wishes he would because he could really use a single second of his time where he's not worried about turning into some freak. The only reason he even agreed to it is because he knows how absorbed Sam gets into the movies and he might actually get a moment to himself.

Sam brings over the food with a grin. "Okay, use this as an inspiration for costumes!"

Blaine closes his eyes and tries not to get angry. The problem really isn't Sam. He's just being his adorable self, trying to make light of an insane situation.

He takes a deep breath and takes a spoonful of his soup. Except he spits it back out at once, tears springing to his eyes as his tongue burns.

"Shit!" Blaine gasps. "Did you boil this?!"

Sam frowns. "No, I barely even- DUDE!"

-x-

Blaine's To-Do List In The Pursuit Of Becoming A Superhero, As Written By Sam, The Mentor:

1 – Improve fighting skills

2 – Learn CPR and other first aid stuff

3 – Learn cop lingo

4 – Get a radio scanner?

5 – Keep eye out for more superpowers to come

6 – Find a secret-identity name

7 – Get a suit

8 – Take up Yoga

-x-

"Ugh, why does yoga have to be at the crack of dawn?" Blaine mumbles dropping his head to the counter, spreading his arms wide across it and pressing his cheek to its cool metal – he jerks back up as soon as he feels the moisture from the dishrag Sam just wiped it clean with.

Sam gives him a look. "You're waking up early to go practice yoga, I'm waking up early to work at the campus café and deal with rude people. Do you really want to play this game?"

Blaine drops his head onto his arm instead and looks up at Sam with a pout. "No, I'm sorry," he says as he watches Sam clean the rest of the counter. "But why am I doing this again?"

"Yoga helps you stay calm and centered, and you need that kind of control over your emotions. Come on, we've talked about this, have you ever read a comic where a good thing happens after the superhero loses control of his emotions?"

Blaine thinks about it for a second. "No…?"

"Exactly. Mostly people die."

Blaine whimpers.

"No one's gonna die this time." Sam assures him, just as the front door to the campus café rings open with the first costumer of the day. "As long as you take your precautions and take up yoga, and learn to control that sweet temper of yours."

"I don't even have that much of a temper." Blaine sighs dejectedly as Sam starts walking towards the cash register, backwards so he can finish the conversation.

"I know you don't, but it's different when a person is under that much stress, and still, we shouldn't be taking-" Sam's interrupted by the sound of snapping fingers. They both look to find a tall guy, with impeccable hair and a fitted peacoat over yoga pants, glaring in their direction, in the split second he bothers to take his eyes off his phone. Sam presses his lips into a line and mutters, "Great. Him."

Blaine watches somewhat amusedly as Sam slides over to the register and attends to who Blaine assumes is the rude, pretentious, arrogant costumer that comes in most mornings and Sam has come to progressively loathe more and more. So, by extension and according to roommate loyalty laws, Blaine has come to share the feeling. The guy asks for the usual without ever looking up from his phone for a second. He barely bothers to take out one of his ear-buds when Sam asks him to remind what the usual is (even though Sam definitely knows what the usual is because this guy, in his idiocy, has become special in Sam's world). They exchange a few passive-aggressive, barely polite words and as soon as those are over, the ear-bud is back in place an the guy is back to staring at his phone while waiting for his of steaming coffee. Sam has to alert him twice that the coffee is ready, before the guy looks up, takes the cup and leaves with hurried steps and still all too absorbed in his phone – Blaine catches a glimpse, he's playing candy crush.

"Let's hope he's not in your yoga class," Sam says with a sneer.

"Though he probably is. Why else would anyone wake up this early on a Saturday?" Blaine sighs. "I should head over, anyway. I don't want be relegated to the back and then do everything wrong because I can't hear or see the instructor."

He hops off the stool and grabs his heavy gym bags with one hand (boxing comes later) and his yoga mattress and jacket with the other. Sam blows him a kiss and Blaine sticks his tongue out.

"I'm so gonna fall asleep during the meditation part…" Blaine says as way of goodbye, before he walks across the street to the campus gym building.

Rude coffee guy is going in just as Blaine steps over the sidewalk, so he jogs over to catch the door open, but he barely manages to let out "Hold the door, plea-" before the door is slamming right into his nose and he's dropping everything to clutch it in howling pain. After a minute or two, despite the searing pain and the stars he's seeing, he manages to be rational enough and check that it's not broken and then, with a newly acquired bad mood, gathers his stuff from the ground, elbows open the stupid door and shuffles inside.

"Thanks," he mumbles, still twisting and stretching his surely red nose, as he bypasses the guy, who is calmly sipping his coffee, just back from some room, and walking over to look at flyers on the corkboard.

The guy just looks at him for a second, confusion on his face, he squints for a second before shrugging and turning back to his activity. Blaine scoffs and heads over to the locker rooms to the soundtrack of crackling electricity.

Yoga is necessary.

When he gets to the actual yoga class, though, after spending five minutes checking his nose in the mirror and realizing that yes, he is going to have a big nasty bruise for days, thank you very much, that's when he finds out that maybe he doesn't stand to gain much from yoga after all. Because finger-snappy himself is up at the front, sitting and scrolling through his phone, even if finally free from the ear buds, while he waits for everyone to take a seat so he can start his very own class.

Before he can help himself, the words are flowing right out his mouth. "You're the instructor?"

The guy looks up. His blue eyes look almost bored. Or pissed off. Somewhere in between. While Blaine's tone might have deserved it, there's still the finger-snapping and the not-holding-doors thing that makes Blaine's skin crawl a little, and not feel really guilty and chastised at how the word "you" came out like he was talking about a snail's trail goo.

"Yes, why?"

"Huh," is all that Blaine says before he walks to the far back and drops his mattress.

Yes. Let's learn to relax. From a guy who snaps fingers at wait staff, assumes other people magically know their coffee orders from the midst of the other few hundred coffee orders they take every day, barely looks up from their phone to have a proper exchange with the barista, doesn't bother to look if it's worth it to hold the door for anyone that might not have his hands free to do so, and doesn't even think to apologize after his door slams right into their nose because they're too busy looking at pamphlets.

Blaine doesn't relax. It's not so much that the guy (who introduces himself as Kurt) is that bad an instructor as it is that Blaine just can't buy a word of what he's saying about peace, and calm, and meditation, and chi, cha, cho…

He goes straight to the cardio part of the gym after yoga, and right after to the sandbags and tries to remember all those boxing classes years ago. He tries to ignore the way the lights flicker sometimes when he gives a particularly rough punch, but it's getting him more and more scared, which isn't helping with the flickering situation.

He catches sight of Kurt, the hypocritical yoga instructor, on a treadmill, next to a short, vaguely familiar brunette who seems to be talking his ear off, and exhausting herself into a pool of sweat and flushed skin over the effort of jogging and talking at the same time. Every time Kurt seems to be sneaking an earbud into his ear, she snatches it off and continues talking as if it was nothing. He looks in pain, and it makes Blaine feel a little, tiny bit better.

They exchange glances when it happens for the third time and Blaine is chuckling at the karmic sight. Kurt, the hypocritical yoga instructor, scowls and rolls his eyes.

Blaine manages another ten minutes of punches before the lights start flickering again, and he gives up for the day.

The next day is Sam's day off from the café and there's no yoga class, so Blaine's in a significantly better mood while working out. The two of them are assisting each other through sit-ups and weight lifting.

"I don't think yoga is gonna help much, given the circumstances," Blaine grunts, as he comes up to Sam's knees. "I mean… I can't really take him seriously as a yoga instructor when I know he's the most stressed, self-absorbed, oblivious person ever, can I?"

"Look. I know better than anyone that that guy can really put you in the worst mood ever. But you need this, and it's cheaper than any other place. You just have to close your eyes and meditate yourself into a world where Adam Levine is your instructor."

"We've moved past Adam. We're at Tom Hardy, now."

"Oh, okay. Noted. But you know what I mean."

"Yeah. But I think even then, the boxing training wouldn't work. You know the places I go back to when I do that. It's impossible to not get… angry or… when I'm doing that."

"But that's the point, isn't it?" Sam says and stops altogether. "That you start learning how to focus your feelings and detach when you have to, and use them only when it's useful?"

"But I can't practice that in a place full of people, what if I hurt someone-"

"What are you, the Hulk?" A voice drawls from nearby. They look to find Kurt, the hypocritical yoga instructor, pausing his own sit-ups. "Yoga class is not actually an anger management course, you know that right? I'm not there to get you in touch with your inner whatever. I'm there because it pays me money and I'm flexible and have a good memory for idiotic positions with ridiculous names."

Blaine can't do anything but stare.

"What others take out of it is their responsibility." Kurt shrugs. "Also, I hardly think you having one or two hulk meltdowns would do anyone any harm, since there are no two year olds around that you could actually beat up. But if you're so scared of hurting someone with that child-sized figure of yours, I suggest you get your own sandbag and practice at home, where there will be no pedophiles creeping on you as a way of legally satisfying their visual needs or people whose iPod batteries have died and are forced to overhear your obnoxious, pointless ramblings. Excuse me," he stands up, brushes imaginary lint of his shoulders, and then nods in both their directions. "Domestic violence victim. Incompetent barista."

The both of them watch him go with open mouths and burning cheeks.

"You know," Sam says, "there's always YouTube and instructional yoga videos."

"Yap," Blaine agrees at once.

Ever since the episodes started, Blaine has relegated himself to the back of the classroom, lest he blow up the projector and injure the whole class. At least this way, the closest electrical appliances are cell phones. It's also less likely that someone will sit next to him and notice if he accidentally heats up the table or whatever. If, as a consequence, his Professors predict a downfall in his grades, he's half sure they'll see it. It's mighty hard to concentrate on anything they're saying when he's dealing with a surge of superpowers, and Sam's voice quoting Uncle Ben time and over again. For the first time in his life, learning about voice techniques, stage dancing or even musical theory seems superfluous.

He'd be lying if he said he wasn't considering the whole superhero thing. Mostly he'd agreed to yoga because it seemed like the sensible thing to do, and he'd agreed to physical training because… because… because he'd be lying if he said he wasn't considering the superhero thing.

It's silly – he has zero skills on the subject of helping people in distress, and his powers are barely useful. Besides, according to Sam, it'll involve wearing his hair au naturel most days, because his hair is gelled in the photo that that Rachel Berry girl posted on social media, and if he keeps both identities wearing their hair like that, someone is bound to catch up sooner or later (and the super identity has already claimed a style for itself).

Blaine's been easing it on the product, every day using a little less gel. Some days he feels almost happy, most days he fights the urge to go back and do it properly.

Anyway, if he's now sitting in a classroom doodling superhero outfits and scribbling possible names, it's because for the last two weeks, with the help of YouTube Yoga and a lot of hard work, he's beginning to control it a lot better. Nothing else explodes unless he means it too, which is great. Sometimes, if he gets very riled up, something will crackle or even fume, but it's a big step up from explosions. He hasn't quite gotten there with the heat yet, but that's not as noticeable or dangerous, so he cuts himself some slack.

The names and the outfits scribbled on his notebooks range from "I'm taking this seriously" to "this is the biggest joke in my life". Blaine's personal favorite so far is simply "Gay Man". That way, journalists would have a hard time entitling articles about him in ways that didn't sound like they were talking about some random gay dude that did something (hopefully) awesome: Gay Man Saves Child, the headlines would read.

Microwave Man is also a top contender on the "this is the biggest joke in my life" list, where the equally brilliant, if he does say so himself, I Want My Gel Back Man can also be found.

The "I'm taking this seriously list" consists of two options so far: Explosion or Explosive. Which more often than not get him scribbling Glitter Explosion or Explosive Rainbow in pretty letter art.

And let's not talk about the outfit options.

Overall, Blaine would say he is dealing with the situation in a very mature and responsible matter: make fun of it and hope it goes away.

He's biting his lips in concentration, touching up a rainbow themed super suit for Rainbow Explosion Man when someone slides right into the chair next to his and he practically rips out his bottom lip with how hard he hits his own chin with his notebook, trying to flip it over.

"Oh my god, Tina, don't do that!" he breathes, his words coming out with a lisp as he rubs his mauled lip. "Are you even in this class?!"

"No," she waves her hand dismissively, "of course not."

"Of course not…" he mumbles, mimicking her casual, matter-of-fact tone, while she keeps talking as if there's nothing else to explain (they may only know each other for two months, but her own personal brand of crazy is something he got used to fantastically fast, and allows him to take things like this in stride).

"I was talking to an old high school friend the other day, and he was complaining about the shocking lack of quality guys in this city. You know, gay kid in small town, dreams of New York like it's the promised land of Broadway Musicals, glitter and homosexuals. Surprise, surprise, it's shitty revivals, dirty concrete and lots of creeps. "

"Right." Blaine can see where this is going.

"And I told him I shared a class or two with a fine specimen that was a true gentleman, with an awesome body and a behind that was probably hand-baked by the gods."

"What does hand-baked even mean? Hands can't be baking ovens… I think you mean hand-crafted…" Blaine frowns, she ignores him.

"And he was curious. So, anyway-"

"So basically, he's gay and I'm gay, and that's what you're basing this fantastic match on?"

"No," she says emphatically. "I know for a fact you're his type. And I have a feeling he'll be yours. He's really smart and witty, and very easy on the eyes."

Blaine eyes her for a moment before he mollifies. He shrugs, "Okay. Tell me about him. How smart and how witty?"

"Kurt is-"

"Kurt?"

"Yeah."

"He wouldn't happen to be the yoga instructor at the campus gym, would he?"

"YES!" She practically screams – every head turns, the professor glares, they apologize and stay silent for five seconds, until everyone has turned back to the lecture. "Yes," she repeats in an emphatic whisper, "you've met? Did sparks fly?"

Blaine snorts, loud and obnoxious and then apologizes again.

Because his professor might actually kill him if he speaks again, he writes this time.

Kurt is the opposite of my type.

He underlines the word opposite five times. Tina looks at him like he's insane.

"For the last time, Tina," Blaine sighs to into his phone as he lets is eyes peruse the department store's map, looking for the men's clothing section. He still can't believe Sam actually threw out his brand new (and only, and gorgeous, and expensive, and perfect) pea coat, just because it might have been recognizable. He barely managed to keep his favorite pair of shoes to meet the same fate. "I do not want to be set up with him."

"But-"

"No buts," he interrupts with finality. "Listen, I called to ask if you want to come meet me and go shopping. There are some really good sales and promotions going on, you'd be a fool to miss them, and I could use the company. Sam goes shopping about once a year and he prefers target…"

"Ugh. I wish I could." She groans. "But I'm swamped this week."

"Oh well…" he shrugs, finally locating the correct floor on the map and turning towards the elevators. "It was worth a try. I'll see you next week in class."

"No, I'll call you before, because I might be going to Callbacks on Saturday, and I think you should come."

"Tina…"

"Completely innocent. I promise!"

He squints even though she can't see him. "Fine. Talk to you later then," he says, hurriedly as he notices the elevator's doors are sliding shut, concealing the last of a black clad shoulder. "Bye!" He jams the phone in his pocket and jogs, "Hold that, please!"

The doors continue to slide shut, but miraculously Blaine manages to punch the call button before they close completely, and they open to reveal none other than Finger-Snappy Kurt. Who looks exactly like someone who just got caught purposefully not holding the door open.

Blaine falters before he steps inside, shoulders as squared as Kurt's, and gives him a glare before he looks at the button panel. The fifth floor button is already shining bright red so Blaine pulls his hand back, but then he can't help himself, and jabs his finger at every other floor between zero and five.

Behind him, Kurt breathes in a sharp sigh, and Blaine smiles to himself and barely keeps from bouncing on the balls of his feet.

It isn't until the doors are opening, yet again and needlessly, on the second floor, that Blaine realizes that, in his attempt to spite Kurt, he just prolonged the amount of awkward time they had together exponentially. His smile drops and he swallows, turning his eyes to the numbers above the door, urging them to turn faster.

The doors are closing on the fourth floor when Kurt lets out a deep breath and says, "I'm not self-absorbed."

That's rich – from the person who's twice refused to hold doors open. At least this time Blaine didn't nearly break his nose as a result. The bruise is still there as a reminder, too. Smaller and faded into yellow on the sides of the bridge of his nose, but there nonetheless and still preventing him from wearing his reading glasses.

"Sure."

"My superhero senses are tingling…" Blaine says as they cross the street, hands buried in pockets and voice muffled through his scarf.

"The expression is spidey," Sam tells him.

"I'm not spidey. I wish I were, instead I'm Microwave Man. I can't use the original expression…"

Sam chuckles as they jog to get out of the way of an incoming car. "What are they tingling about?"

"Tina…" Blaine squints his eyes just as he spots the bar, in all its glittery glory. "I sense a trap."

"But you told her no."

"But it's Tina…"

"Fair point." Sam nods, just as they reach the windows and sure enough, sitting next to Tina is Kurt and some other girl who might be his brunette friend from the gym.

"We should just go home," Blaine gets out through gritted teeth.

"We definitely don't want you blowing off the speakers when he inevitably snaps his fingers at the bartender…" Sam nods.

Blaine can't help laugh at the thought. "On the other hand…"

"There's a stage and an open mic." Sam smirks.

"You know me so well!" Blaine pretends to swoon and goes for the door. "We don't have to sit next to them. We can just pretend they're not here."

"Or… I can make all of their ears bleed with country music!"

"Please, don't!" Blaine says. "Mine will bleed as well."

Sam sticks his tongue out, just as he lets the door slam behind them and they're engulfed in heat and the smell of people and alcohol. They're halfway to the other end of the bar, Blaine fishing his phone out of his pocket to send a very strongly worded text to Tina, when she spots them and makes a big show of it. Blaine's eyes shift to her right and he can see the exact moment that Kurt sees, recognizes and understands Blaine is supposed to be Tina's fix-up. He goes red in the cheeks.

At least they can have that in common.

Blaine waits a few seconds before he gives in and approaches their little group of three, unbuttoning his coat and taking a deep breath.

"Blaine! Sam! I'm so glad you could make it and join us!" Tina says excitedly – a tinge of fear in her voice, so Blaine knows his murderous streak is showing through his smile. "I saved you seats."

The closest free seat is next to Kurt, and Blaine thinks he can see Kurt pushing the chair away with the tip of his shoe.

"This is Kurt," she says, as if Blaine hadn't told her he knew about him. Blaine nods a sardonic smile. "And that's Rachel!" Blaine finally manages to tear his eyes away from the aggravation of the night and turns to greet Kurt's friend only to freeze in recognition. Up close and in the dim lights of the bar, he realizes what was so familiar about her. She's the girl from the alley.

She recognizes him too. Her eyes are wide, her mouth is agape, and her cheeks red. He has half a mind to leap over the table and put a hand over her mouth to make sure she keeps it shut.

Instead he reaches out his hand, "Rachel, it's very nice to meet you."

She shakes it feebly and breathes, "Likewise."

All eyes on them, he doesn't want to risk trading meaningful glances so he just drops on the seat that he knows was meant for him and resists the urge to run away while she and Sam get acquainted.

"So, the three of us were about to do some tequila shots, do you wanna join us?"

Blaine could use a drink right now, that's for sure, but given the circumstances and how fresh his control of the whole explosive thing is…

"No, I don't… drink."

Sam glances at him with a question on his eyes but then something must click because he nods emphatically, "No, he doesn't drink at all. In fact, I'm going to be responsible like him for once and do the same."

Next to Blaine, Kurt rolls his eyes and stands like he's allergic to that table, "I'll get the shots."

The four of them watch him leave for a moment. Blaine's torn between that and turning back to Rachel to gauge her expression. She's looking straight at him with flushed cheeks, gnawing on her lip. Tina has turned towards Sam, so Blaine chances it. He gives her a half pleading look and shakes his head. When she seems a little confused he mimics zipping his mouth shut and she finally nods, even if she looks pained to do so.

Apparently the conversation between Sam and Tina has also finished, because there's an elbow to Blaine's ribs and Sam's laughing and whispering in his ear, "Watch it!"

Blaine looks to the bar to find Kurt's outstretched hand as he tries to catch the bartender's attention and every three or four seconds, he will snap his fingers. They both burst out laughing, and when the girls ask about it, they're forced to be obnoxious and wave it away with, "Nothing, nothing…"

Blaine covers it up by seamlessly leaning towards Rachel, his politely interested smile on, "So you went to high school with Tina?"

"Yes," Rachel says, voice somewhat mechanic and stilted. "All three of us. We were in Glee Club together."

"Oh, we were in glee club, too, actually-"

Blaine's interrupted by Kurt's arrival with six precariously held shot glasses and a plate with lemon slices and salt balanced on them. "Let's do two each!" Kurt announces.

"Alright!" Tina cheers happily. Rachel doesn't seem to know what to do with her face but picks up a shot anyway, going through the motions of salting her hand and holding the lemon slice. "To old friends, and new friends, and, hey, look at that, to nude erections!"

"To what?!" Blaine gasps as Sam does a double take.

"It's our old glee club?"

"Your old glee club was called nude erections?"

"New. Directions." Kurt corrects, sounding annoyed.

"Common mistake, really." Tina laughs – she looks so desperate for everyone to get along Blaine almost feels sorry for her. "I think our teacher was either high or horny when-"

"Are we gonna do this or what?" Kurt interrupts with a scathing look.

"Yeah, yeah, right, so as I was saying, to n-"

"To national show choir champions!" Kurt practically yells, raising his glass.

They down the shots and prepare the second one. As soon as he has his ready, Kurt raises his glass and starts, "To… To… to…!" Blaine bites his lips and tries not to laugh at his obvious difficulty in trying to come up with something else to brag about and throw in Blaine's face.

"To wait staff," Blaine offers with his most charming smile and a squeeze of Sam's shoulder, who almost manages to hide his snort. "The unsung heroes of party drinks, and morning coffees."

"Random," Tina says, squinting slightly at Blaine, "but true! To wait staff!"

Kurt shoots Blaine a confused and annoyed look before he gives into the motions of a tequila shot.

"Okay!" Kurt shakes his head as he finishes the drink, "Rachel, I think we're up to sing now and I changed my mind about the song, let's go!"

It turns out, it's not actually that close to their turn to sing, but Blaine kind of enjoys that Kurt's gone (and also looking like he's sulking while he waits through performer after performer, for their turn to get on stage), so he can turn to Tina and glare some sense into her.

"I told you, no!"

"But, I don't understand what this is all about! I swear you'd be perfect for each other if-"

"If they didn't hate each other." Sam tells her, equally incredulous and almost as offended by her meddling.

"Why, though? What's there to hate? You're both such good people!"

"Ha!" Blaine lets out a sarcastic laugh that goes a little too loud in the midst of some girl pouring out her heart in a soft, melancholic ballad. Heads turns, some glares are thrown, he apologizes. "He's rude and… and self-absorbed."

"He is not." Tina frowns. "I mean… he can be a little prissy, and come across the wrong way, and he's very defensive, but-"

"Tina, can you please just drop it?" Blaine sighs. "I don't want to date him. I just don't, okay? Anyway, I have enough on my plate as it is, I don't have the time for that kind of stuff, even if I wanted to."

"Oh, no. Don't pull the busy with studies card! I can't have school-obsessed friends. I just can't, Blainey-boy."

"It's not just school, though," Sam grins, and Blaine glares. "We're starting a First Aid course tomorrow!"

"Really?" Tina gasps with a hand to her chest. "See?! That's the kind of thing that would make Kurt swoon!"

Blaine gives her an amused stare and opens his mouth just as a familiar voice fills the bar over the microphone. "I'm Kurt Hummel, this is Rachel Berry, memorize these names and enjoy."

The opening chords to the song start and Blaine is torn between laughing in admiration or in disbelief. It ends up being something in between, but he barely stops doing it all the way through an admittedly stellar rendition of "What Is This Feeling?" – at least on Kurt's part, who seems to draw inspiration and motivation from glaring at Blaine the whole way through. Rachel, on the other hand, does her part, as Elphaba, but looks more confused than anything up on that stage, poor girl – blindsided by Blaine's appearance, Kurt's disdain for Blaine and the song choice – she never stood a chance.

"Though I do admit it came on fast!" Kurt sings with emotion and attitude and Blaine can't help but return his stare with a respectful nod before standing up, "Still I do believe that it can last!"

He walks to the table with the sign up sheet and jots down his name, checking how many people are ahead of him and promptly returning to his seat.

Once they come back, he smiles, only partly sardonic. "That was wonderful. A little on the nose, but wonderful. You're both very talented."

Kurt seems lost for words.

"Thank you, Blaine," Rachel says after a moment, a small smile finally creeping onto her face. "You said you were in Glee club too?"

"Yeah, back in Kentucky, we-" Kurt snorts and tries to cover it up with a noticeably fake cough. "Sam and I met our senior year, back there, and the glee club was kind of pitifully small, and the arts weren't that well funded, so even if we had enough people to compete, we wouldn't have the funds to go to anything further than sectionals. But it was fun so…"

"You know what?" Sam leans in, arms folded over the table with a smirk, "He's being awfully modest. He used to be the lead soloist for some shmancy fancy a capella glee club up in Ohio. With him they would've made it to Nationals, they told me, without him, they kind of… disgraced themselves."

Blaine actually does blush at that, and slaps Sam over the arm. "Yeah, but it wasn't just because I left. I mean, the council graduated and they were left without any clear leadership or vision and-"

"And they wanted you to be their lead soloist over skype!" Sam laughs. "They were very cute."

Blaine glares at him and Sam just glares back. It's a fine line between rubbing something back in Kurt's face and making it out as if trying to make Blaine sound appealing enough to date.

"You're originally from Ohio, then?" Rachel asks.

"Yes!" Tina grins, "First thing we bonded over – how nice it is to not be in Ohio!"

"Though trading it for Kentucky might actually have been a step back," Kurt comments, twirling a napkin over the tabletop, oh so distractedly casual.

"My parents got divorced, and my dad would never pay alimony. It was the only place my mom could find a job," he says, daring Kurt to comment on it further, but the other boy does look chastised, and Blaine thinks he might actually be biting his lip, very, very discreetly.

"Anyway," Tina says, loud enough to sound completely desperate, "did you guys know that Ohio was the first place in the world to have ambulances? And a professional fire department!" The whole table stops to look at her. She might not have grown two heads, but she seems pretty damn close. She is sweating a little. Good, Blaine cheers internally. "In Cincinnati!"

"Did you read up on Ohio fun facts before you came here?" Kurt quirks an eyebrow.

"No. I did a school report on first responders when I was eleven," she mumbles with red cheeks. "It stuck with me for some reason, and I don't know, I thought it was interesting."

Sam grins and then frowns, screwing his eyes shut and hitting his forehead lightly. He turns to Blaine. "What's that word that sounds like river and means interesting?"

"Riveting?"

Sam turns back to grin towards Tina, chin on his palm and sighs, "Riveting!"

"Yeah, so, hum… Oh!" Tina looks like she might have hit the conversational jackpot. "Your bruise is gone!"

Blaine could pity her, he really could. "Oh yes… I've said goodbye to the abused look. Let's just hope no one else slams a door on my face and refuses to apologize for it later because they're too busy reading pamphlets…" he says, acid dripping as he looks at Kurt.

Everyone goes dead silent, and Kurt frowns as if he has no idea why Blaine is bringing that up in the first place. Blaine rolls his eyes at the act.

Tina might actually start crying sometime soon. She barely manages to pull another smile together, and her voice comes out frantic and shaky. "So, Kurt and Rachel are a year ahead of us, so they could actually give us some nice insider advice for-"

"Oh," Rachel frowns with a smile, "They're in the Musical Theatre program as well?"

"Just Music for me…" Blaine shakes his head. "And Sam is in the Education program. I share some classes with Tina, though. I tried to reach as much as I could with my electives."

"That's weird!" Rachel chuckles nervously, a flush to her cheeks. "For some reason I assumed you'd be studying something science-y, in labs or whatever…"

"Oh my god, Rachel, that's so rude," Kurt gasps, all condescension and no honesty. "You can't just assume things about someone just because they dress like complete dorks." The two girls look at Kurt like he just wished the death of a kitten, but Blaine manages to keep a bright smile on his face and laugh.

"Did you know that Blaine is starting a First Aid course tomorrow? Isn't that awesome?! Oh and Sam too, I guess." Tina's voice is practically a whimper. She looks at Kurt waiting for a reaction that clearly doesn't come – he looks back at her with the expression of someone who wants to dump his drink down her cleavage. Rachel seems a little lost between acting nonchalant and congratulating the idea.

Blaine imagines the whole scene, if seen from the outside would be hilarious. "If you'll excuse me, I think my stage slot is coming right up." He stands and doesn't check to see if everyone is descending upon Kurt to tell him off or not. Luckily, he has slightly better luck and he only has to wait for one person to go up on that stage before it's his turn. He refuses the instrumental track, and opts to use the guitar on the stage.

"Good night everybody. I'm Blaine, and I thought I'd bring back a true classic of the summer one-hit-wonder persuasion."

"If I could write you a song, And make you fall in love, I would already have you up under my arm. I used up all of my tricks, I hope that you like this. But you probably won't. You think you're cooler than me." He starts, having a hard time covering his self-satisfaction.

After a long line of cheesy heartbroken ballads it's clear the crowd was craving something cheerful and upbeat, so he has everyone eating out of the palm of his hand, the first row tables clapping along and a few wolf whistles from the back of the room. He engages as many people as possible, instead of just Kurt. If it's because he's never been this outwardly mean or rude to someone before, and he's not quite sure he likes the feeling it brings, no one has to know. He's not about to back down from their little game, no matter how many knots it twists his stomach into.

"You got your high brow, Switch in your walk, And you don't even look when you pass by. But you don't know the way that you look, When your steps make that much noise. Shh."

He chances a glance at their table. Tina has her face buried in her hands, Sam is brushing off tears of laughter, Rachel is confused but looks mostly amused, and Kurt is looking at Blaine with an expertly blank expression. Blaine could swear, even in the dark bar, that he's blushing, though.

He finishes the song to loud applause, and saunters off stage, just as Kurt springs off his chair and goes straight for the sign up sheet. Blaine can't help the scoff that escapes him and turns his trajectory towards there as well.

He waits patiently, watching Kurt bent over, scribbling his name, and then puts on a smile when Kurt finishes and straightens up. He turns around and almost yelps, startled at Blaine's proximity. Blaine nods politely before stepping around him to get to the book. Kurt's handwriting is sloppy – and Blaine wonders if it's always like that, or if he's gotten that much under the other boy's skin. He glances back with a pinch of guilt, but it's not like he started it. With a shake of his head and a roll of his shoulders Blaine puts down his name right under Kurt's. He heads to the bar after, texting Sam to know if he wants anything to drink, because the longer he stays away from the table, the less rude exchanges happen.

Sam texts back requesting a coke, and Blaine gets two of those, before he resigns himself to the fate of going back to the battlefront. Sam, Rachel and Tina seem to have fallen into a friendly sort of conversation and, for fear of disturbing the fragile peace, Blaine just puts both their drinks on the table and sits down wordlessly.

His luck runs out the second Rachel notices he's back, though, because at once she's over her earlier shock and too eager to gush about his stage presence, and voice, and overall talent, and how she's excited at the new friendship, hoping it will mean many wonderful duets ahead of them. Blaine can see the way Kurt is chewing on the inside of his cheek, from the corner of his eye, and is torn between trying to change the subject and feeling self-satisfied. So, he smiles and lets her go on with her fantasies, keeping as much of a neutral participation in it as he can while sipping his coke.

It's been a while, and it's starting to bother Blaine more than he'd care to admit, when Kurt finally slips from his stool and goes towards the stage. Blaine tries not to sigh in relief too much. He was supposed to have enjoyed Kurt's discomfort.

Kurt is up on that stage after two minutes, and Blaine figures that that's his cue to go up and wait for his turn as well. He almost trips as he recognizes the opening notes, in all their light, upbeat, teasing glory.

"Look at me, I'm Sandra Dee, lousy with virginity!" Kurt's voice is drawled just to perfection, and he has everyone laughing and cheering. Blaine bites his lip to keep himself from laughing too hard.

When Kurt takes a bow to enthusiastic applause and turns to step off the stage with a smirk, Blaine manages to strike Olivia Newton-John's overtly hurt expression just in time, "Are you making fun of me?"

Kurt falters for a moment. Blaine's sure there's a ghost of a smile there, even if he just continues on his way off the stage. It's the only reason Blaine ends up going back to enjoying their little feud. Maybe it could just be fun.

He walks over to the piano. "Hi again. Blaine here. How about a true classic, now?"

He plays a few notes, getting used to the instrument, before he takes a deep breath and starts on a slow, soulful rendition of a song that had no right having such a version.

"A scrub is a guy who thinks he's fly, but he's also known as a buster, always talkin' about what he wants, And just sits on his broke ass, so no…"

He finishes on a whispered note, closed eyes and heartbroken stance, and there's a moment of silence before the bar bursts into applause.

He finds Kurt in a heartbeat and shoots him a smirk and a wink and knows that he's just won tonight's round.