I
Jean-Baptiste and Blaine do see each other again.
II
Blaine?
Hey, Tina. How was your first day at school?
Cool, I guess. I have another class in like ten minutes, but I wanted to tell you - I think those Throat Explosion kids are here.
They're attending Brown?
They're following me around. To class and to lunch. I even caught two of them pretending to read InStyle in my dorm foyer. I yelled at them to stop, because it's harassment.
You did the right thing, Queen T. And?
They just said, "Tell Blaine a message is coming." I haven't seen them since.
Why would they say that for?
I have no idea. I thought you should know.
III
dude those guys are in ny
TE? Aren't you supposed to be at work?
im sweeping up the floor rn
Where are they?
im sure i saw 2 of them walk by
theyre wearin that all black spandex
im gonna go talk to them
Sam, promise me you won't mix it up.
i didnt i told them to get lost
What did they say?
watch ur back then they left
This is getting ridiculous.
IV
the-nextdeniro asked you:
Throat Explosion showed up to my screenplay writing class, Blaine! Do something!
V
Blaine was right on time, ten seconds to ten, for his Spotlight Diner shift, but requests night had already started - early, he could tell. He ran a hand over his hair and hurried into the serving area.
Buthe was there, looking svelte in that tight black turtleneck and skinny jeans and neatly groomed hair, flawless skin, and - horror of all horrors - yellow sunglasses on his thigh, sticking out, bright and jaunty against all the darkness. The blue stage lights bounced off of him, gave his skin a glow. Jean-Baptiste tickled the ivories deftly as he rambled on, in a light, charming accent, about being away from Montreal, about taking home that first-place trophy. His fingers ran like water over those keys like Blaine - like he was born to, and the thought of anyone like him of all people up there, taking his rightful spot, slowly filled him with ire.
Maybe it was all the more infuriating because he was that good.
"Sing! Sing, Jean-Baptiste!" someone in the crowd yelled out - apparently they knew who he was, too - and he rolled easily into his next song, the choice only making him angrier:
Here we are, in a room full of strangers
Standing in the dark
Where your eyes couldn't see me
Well, I had to follow you
Though you did not want me to
But that won't stop my lovin' you
I can't stay away
Blamin' it all on the nights on Broadway
Singin' them love songs
Singin' them "straight to the heart" songs
Blamin' it all on the nights on Broadway
Singin' them sweet sounds
To that crazy, crazy town
Rachel nudged Blaine in the ribs. "He's really good! Who is he?" She craned her neck for a better look. "He'd be a great addition to the diner waitstaff - "
"His name's Jean-Baptiste and he's my nemesis," Blaine fumed, chin set. " Ever since we lost Nationals, he's been in my face and I'm tired of his crap. He's Magneto to my Wolverine."
"What? That's the guy?" Rachel crossed her arms and cocked her head. "He looks almost like you, except you're much better looking. I have to say, however, he is very talented."
"His buddies are everywhere. They even went to Providence to follow Tina around, and I'm not going to stand for that."
Jean-Baptiste had finished his set to a full house of applause. "He definitely wants something," Rachel said as he stood up from a flourishing bow and made air kisses to the crowd. "You should go talk to him."
"No, not now," Blaine gritted his teeth. "I have to set the stage. Reread The Art of War. Definitely."
VI
He made it easy for him, in the end. He and a little band of Throat Explosion members were already cooling their heels outside of Blaine's stage combat class. Flanked by a grim Rachel, a furious Kurt, a gloomy Artie, and an indignant Sam, fortified by a night-long planning session with everyone in the loft, Blaine was ready. Jean-Baptiste lounged negligently by the bulletin board, and a predatory look shimmered in his eyes.
"Jean-Baptiste," Blaine said, rolling the French syllables expertly off his tongue. "So, we meet again. I'm here to tell you to back off and leave us alone. Forever." He stepped directly in front of him, squared his shoulders, set his feet apart, and put a hard glitter in his eyes. He thought of Throat Explosion breaking into the theater to scare them, and of his goon Dolph stealing Finn's plaque, and pushed away the recollection that Jean-Baptiste had, after all, returned it, a bully with a moral code - but he was also setting people on to follow his friends around, and that? That was way, way, way over the line.
"So cliche of you," Jean-Baptiste said, not moving. He looked as if he was enjoying himself. "But appropriate. You can't tell me to leave, Blaine. This is my school now, too. Late enrollee, you see."
Blaine couldn't help but to feel smug. "I knew that, and I don't care if you're here attending school or not. I won't bother you. I have class. But you and your - your pals are to go your own way and don't bother anyone. Anymore."
"I've been watching you for a while now," oozed Jean-Baptiste. "The show choir blogs are full of you. I've been watching you since Dalton. And your New Directions powerhouse with all of its stars - but you're the only star that interests me. Even better - everyone loves you. And justifiably, I think." He smiled. "You're absolutely perfect, Blaine."
Jean-Baptiste got up from his lean and took slow, confident, measured steps towards him. His backup melted away into the gathering crowd. A hush fell, and then, when he was only a foot or so away, fell into a tight, sleek spiral about him, revolving, mesmerizing, like a planet around a sun. Everyone backed away, instinctively, so by the time his lips were that close, Blaine was completely surrounded.
Jean-Baptiste flicked a quick, wet tongue over his lips. "Don't you see? You're my equal." Blaine curled his lip, but he didn't move. Didn't budge, because he was the enemy and he had to go. Jean-Baptiste's voice flowed, dark and smooth and rich: "You're my rival and my equal and you must be eliminated because you? You are my - dark star. And the world can't contain both of us, Blaine. It's too small for that."
Blaine's eyes darted to meet his, and then the shroud fell. "This is just another of your stupid psych-outs, Jean-Baptiste. You can't get me this way with your dramatics."
"Well, then? What do you suggest?" he smirked.
"Midnight Madness," said Blaine, evenly. "Best to show up, Jean-Baptiste, because the floor in that room needs a good mop."
"And the winner leaves NYADA?" Jean-Baptiste snorted. "Because bragging rights are so boring."
Blaine decided that he did care. "If I win, you leave NYADA for good. And you leave my friends alone forever."
"Done." Jean-Baptiste laughed. "And what if I win?"
"What could you possibly want? Because, in the very unlikely event that I lose, I'm not going to leave. This is my school. My city. My - " Blaine smiled, sweet and heady with imminent victory - "my rules."
"Oh no," Jean-Baptiste said, smooth as cream. "If I win? I get a night. With you."
The crowd gasped.
"What?" Blaine reeled back and stumbled back, once, twice. "I'm engaged, and I would never cheat on my fiance."
"Do it," Kurt breathed in, mouth open. "Do it. It's totally okay."
"Kurt!"
"What, Rachel, what? You know Blaine's going to win, don't worry." Kurt's voice was steady in its conviction. "He's got you and me to help him and he's Blaine. He'll win."
Jean-Baptiste cast an appraising look at Kurt, lean and straight in his grey shirt and blue vest. "He's cute. He can come too, but he might be left just watching."
"I won't," Kurt reared back like an angry cat. "If he's in, I'm in, too."
"You're on," said Blaine, deadpan. He extended a hand. "My people? Will call your people."
"I'll be waiting," Jean-Baptiste purred, and if his fingers lingered just a little too long and silky-soft against his, Blaine didn't notice. The tension snapped. Jean-Baptiste turned on his heel, and the crowds made way for him as he slid away.
"Are you and Kurt actually going to, uh, have a hate threesome with him if you lose?" Sam blinked.
"I won't lose," said Blaine evenly, in a tone as sharp and flexible as steel.
VII
He doesn't lose.
VIII
Blaine opened up the box and reeled back in shock.
"What is it, honey?" said Kurt, creeping up behind him to wrap pliant, bare arms around his waist.
"It's from him," Blaine said, fingering the page. "It's a letter."
Blaine,
As agreed, I am leaving NYADA forever and taking Throat Explosion with me. Your friends have nothing else to fear from us. Please tell them we apologize, because in that we went too far. I am not like your other opponents, Blaine. I may slip sometimes, but I have a code that I live by.
You are still my equal, but I am glad that it was you who defeated me at Midnight Madness. As I defeated you, before. You hone me. You are the whetstone to my blade. You keep me sharp.
Thank you for a beautiful night, even if it was… angry.
Au revoir,
Jean-Baptiste
"I'm glad that's over," said Kurt, relieved. "That guy has just way too much drama in his life. Talented. Hot, though."
Blaine picked up Jean-Baptiste's rose and sniffed it. It was snow-white, tipped at its edges with crimson. Like it was dipped in blood. "I'd never done anything like that before. Is it weird to say I liked it, with you and him?"
"Let's go back to bed and discuss this topic thoroughly," Kurt said suddenly, lips and tongue busily exploring the contours of Blaine's very receptive ear. "One thing bothers me. He said 'au revoir.' That's creepy."
"Why?" Blaine asked curiously. He leaned his head back against Kurt's smooth chest and closed his eyes, let the images of all those tangled limbs mix and meld and churn amongst flashes of curled-up sheets and the touch-memory of glistening skin against skin. And it was maddening, too, because he was still angry in spite of all of that. Last night didn't change the fact that he and Jean-Baptiste were rivals, always would be rivals. They'd crash into each other again and again, wouldn't they? Titans. Dark stars.
" 'Au revoir' means 'until I see you again,' " Kurt said. "And you will. He'll be there no matter where you go."
Blaine said, thoughtfully, as he touched the rose petals, "I will, won't I. But next time? I'll be ready."