Blaine was turning onto the main hallway that led out into Dalton's parking lot when he heard his name shouted from a distance. He knew who it was without even turning around, but he did, smiling warmly at Kurt as he half-jogged up to him. When they fell into stride with each other, he chastised himself for hurrying out of the practice room as quickly as he did. He usually waited around to walk out with Kurt, but today he had a few very intrusive things on his mind.

He'd spent the past week talking to David through texts, but the majority of the past two afternoons had been full of his persuading him that going for food after practice wasn't, in fact, a date. Evidently it sounded like a date to him, which Blaine assured him was ridiculous. Everyone got food with their friends. Why should their grabbing a bite together be any different?

Of course, he expected David to decline the offer immediately. And he did, but it was obvious from the start that it'd only take a little persuading to get him to meet him at one of Lima's dives. Dave knew a few places, and he picked one out eventually, though it did take a good three hours back and forth the day before to get him to finally accept that eating food with a guy alone was okay.

Burgers were always better at places like that. Franchises grossed him out, but there was nothing better than a good (if wildly unhealthy) homemade cheeseburger.

"You've been glued to that thing all day," Kurt pointed out with a cheerfulness that had become the norm. It was good to see him in such high spirits. While they'd only known each other for a few weeks now, Blaine couldn't help but feel attached to him. He could see a lot of what he'd gone through in Kurt. Initially, that was enough to shuffle him over and under his wing, but he was surprised to find that their personalities meshed well, despite being so different. "Someone special? Or are you looking for one of those dreaded family texts? Those are always fun."

Chuckling, Blaine shook his head. "No, and no," he replied, slipping said phone into his pocket with a smile. "Just a friend. That's why I rushed out like I did. Well, that and I'm starving."

His friend lifted a hand in response, slowing Blaine's steps until he stopped completely. "I happen to have something for you, then," Kurt grinned. His cheeks were bright pink - no doubt from the run out of the practice room - and that smile of his was almost triumphant as he pulled out a rectangle wrapped in fall-colored cellophane. "I made these last night. It's a granola bar. With dried cherries and not a drop of high fructose corn syrup!" He handed it over to Blaine with a little laugh. "You should be fine as long as you don't have a peanut allergy! If you do, you'll swell up like a balloon."

When he realized Blaine was staring at him with an only slightly amused expression, the color on his cheeks darkened. "Aha. Kidding! I know you don't have a peanut allergy. I've seen how you react to Tagalongs. I don't think I've ever seen someone devour a whole sleeve of them in one sitting before."

"Hey, they're good," he said with a laugh, passing the granola bar back and forth between his hands as they made their way towards the door. When he heard Kurt scoff, he nudged him with his elbow. "A lot better than Thin Mints."

Kurt rolled his eyes. "The only reason I prefer Thin Mints is because they give the illusion of being good for you in comparison. I'm going to have girl scout hips, and it's going to be your niece's fault."

"But you can't say it didn't feel good handing over all that extra cash to that cute little face."

"Ugh, you could have that kid sell things straight out of the Home Depot catalog and I'd buy them." He rested his hand on Blaine's forearm, though he moved it away the second he felt his hazel eyes on him. "Don't get any ideas. My dad isn't lacking when it comes to power tools."

Pushing through the doors and moving quickly down the stairs leading into the back parking lot, Blaine's lips spread into a wide smile. He grabbed his keys out of his pocket, pressing the unlock button only to hear a loud be-beep not far off. "I'll call her and tell her to not visit with the yearly wrapping paper catalog she gets at school, then," he replied, knowing full well what Kurt's reaction would be.

"If you do that, I'm afraid we can no longer be friends. You can't deny me tacky Christmas wrapping paper, Blaine." He huffed, grasping the strap of his bag and tilting his chin upwards. "That's a serious offense."

Laughing to himself, Blaine weaved between two cars as he made his way towards his. "Sorry. Power tools is a no. Wrapping paper, though, is a definite yes." He popped open the driver's side door, leaning on the roof with his other arm. "I'll make sure to tell her that Operation Christmas Kurt is a go."

They said their goodbyes, waving to each other before climbing into their vehicles. Blaine slid into his seat, removing his bag and setting it in the passenger's side. Everything was set and ready - his seat belt buckled, phone removed from his pocket to send on more text Dave's way (Just got out of practice. Should be there before eight, if there isn't any traffic.), address to the burger joint entered into his GPS, and Kurt's granola bar on the dash - in a few moment's time.

With the high-pitched, oddly booming voice of an English matron dictating his directions, he didn't have much time to think, but he had enough. In between her holier-than-thou tone telling him how long before he was to turn left or reminding him which direction he was heading in, he was left listening to his iPod, fingers tapping on the bottom curve of the steering wheel as he drove towards Lima.

Over the past week, he'd spent a lot of his time talking to David. His little slip that he still didn't entirely understand was put behind them, and he made sure to be extra careful when broaching any subject that might be considered touchy for him. Instead, they talked about music. Blaine admitted his guilty soft spot for Top 40s, but he also confessed to having a backlog of classic rock that Dave shared. Things devolved into the typical Beatles versus the Stones argument that arose anytime anyone brought up both of the bands. Blaine couldn't help but be surprised when he realized they stood on the same side of the fence. He'd figured he would be a Stones kind of guy.

Music bled into other interests. The fact that they were often doing homework when they were talking led to them discussing school a lot. Academics, never friends. Dave was good with numbers, which drove Blaine to near-jealousy. And when he brought up how good he was with words and ideas, he learned that he was good at those, too. What couldn't this guy do?

From all that Kurt had told him, he expected grunting and head scratching and texts consisting of the wrong form of 'your.' What he'd got was an actual, fun conversation every time he sent a message over in his direction. Bully or not, he wasn't the neanderthal Kurt insisted he was by a long shot.

At least, not over the phone.

Luckily, any traffic had died down from that afternoon by the time he reached the city. It was long after sunset, and most everyone was at home. It was a school night after all. Sighing at the sound of his GPS telling him to take a U-turn, he gritted his teeth and did as he was told. He hated taking turns like that. He got all anxious, and he was already fit to be tied as it was.

Of course, as perfect as the turn was, he ended up almost rear-ending someone, causing him to jerk forward in his seat and get honked at by at least three cars. "Jeez, I can really feel the Lima camaraderie, guys," he murmured to himself as he righted his car in the lane and tugged at his tie to loosen it. While he waited for the light to turn green, he removed it all of the way and unbuttoned the first two buttons of his shirt.

As diligently as he'd protested to David about this not being a date, it sure as hell felt like one. It'd been ages since he went to dinner with anyone who wasn't a Warbler, and they were all nothing but trial runs to see if they got along well enough to be anything more than that-guy-I-bought-a-sandwich-for-once. It never worked out. At least Dave would be here on friendly terms. There was a potential he could screw things up and offend or make him uncomfortable, but at least it'd be more interesting than dinner at home.

When he finally pulled into the parking lot (with a condescending, "You have reached your destination!" from his loveable GPS), Blaine chose a spot and immediately turned off the ignition. Removing his seat belt, he unbuttoned his blazer and folded it over the passenger's seat, grabbing for the heavier charcoal sweater in the backseat. He pulled it on, tugging his collar out and smoothing it down before sneaking a look at his reflection.

It's not a date, Anderson. Stop checking yourself out and go eat. You're starving.

Groaning, he removed the keys and pocketed them, unlocked and then locking the car manually. The second he took a breath, he could already smell what was going on inside of the place, and it smelled like charbroiled heaven. And with that scent, all of his worries seemed to melt away. What could get a guy down when he'd be chowing down in less than thirty minutes, depending on how varied the menu and when Dave showed up, if he wasn't already there.

With his stomach in mind, he chose not to dilly-dally around his car, jogging across the parking lot when some kind soul stopped to let him across. Stepping up to the front door, the bright lighting inside had him looking right at Dave through the semi-opaque glass. He opened the door, nudging it even farther open for a guy who very nearly steamrolled over him.

"Hey," he said as he walked up next to him, smoothing at the sleeves of his sweater with a little smile, "I hope I haven't kept you waiting too long."

Dave smiled nervously, taking a look around him even though there was barely anyone around. "It's cool," he muttered. He'd been there for about a half hour, but that wasn't because Blaine was late. He needed to get out of his house, and didn't have anywhere else to go. "I already got a booth."

He started walking toward his seat without even a second glance to see if Blaine was following him. He chose this place for a reason – it was the Dive of all Dives, but the food was awesome – and most of that resided in the fact that, past the meal time rushes, pretty much no one ever went to this place. Even with how small and deserted it was, he requested the booth that was basically in the Land of Forgotten Customers; he had set some of his pre-calc homework on the very edge of the table so the waiter wouldn't forget he was there.

Sliding into his seat, he shifted a few times, chewing on his bottom lip, eyes darting everywhere but Blaine's face as he joined him at the booth. God, this was awkward. Not a date his ass; it fucking felt like one. He wasn't even wearing his blazer. Why did he notice he wasn't wearing his blazer? Ugh. No. This was such a bad idea.

Keeping his eyes squarely on his perspiring glass of water, he spoke in a frustrated, gruff voice. "Waiter should be around soon."

Blaine pursed his lips, nodding a little at the comment before leaning over to glance towards the front of the restaurant where all the people were. It was like he wanted to dine in Narnia or something. All they needed was to step through a wardrobe and they wouldn't be far off. Instead of commenting on it, knowing full well why Dave had chose a spot all the way in the back, he settled against the cushion of the booth's back and reached out to the glass of water that the waiter had no doubt left for him.

Thumbing some sweat off of it, he glanced around. He loved places like this. Every nook and cranny had a little history. Names etched into wood, pictures of people who'd passed by on the walls, memorabilia gathering a little dust all around them - it was practically alive.

When he'd finished looking around, his eyes settled on Dave's homework, the large white letters pointing out the subject making his stomach churn. "Ugh, Pre-Calc. Gag me with a spoon." Rolling his eyes, he looked to David with a hint of a smile. "We had that midterm this morning. I thought I was going to break out into hives halfway through it. It's like high school is a stress test to see if you're capable of surviving in the 'real world' sometimes."

David grunted, sucking on the inside of his cheek and suppressing the urge to just bolt like a scared dog. Texting was a hell of a lot easier. It was easier to feel like he was growing as a person, easier to not be affected by what people saw. To not be worried about rumors, of someone he knew seeing him out with a dude. Yeah, he had lunch with his friends sometimes, but there was usually more than one of them around. Azimo was about the only guy he ever ate with alone, and most of that was spent eying up cute waitresses.

"Yeah, we have ours tomorrow," he replied, brushing his thumb along his notebook. "You shouldn't be worried. You seemed to be getting the hang of it a couple days ago." He didn't really notice it, but there was a small, encouraging smile on his lips. He liked feeling like he was good at something... didn't happen very often.

Still, it didn't last very long, his smile completely disappearing, body going rigid when the waiter came by.

"Hey! Name's Brad, I'll be your server," he said, nodding to Blaine. "Can I get you something to drink besides our very fine and not at all bland water while you're looking over the menu?" His voice was almost unbearably chipper; he almost reminded him of a male Rachel Berry, and suddenly found himself wishing for a slushie.

Blaine grinned up at him, his jaw working a little as he contemplated what he should get to drink. "I'll haaave..." Glancing over at David for no particular reason and for no longer than a moment, he tapped his fingers on the edge of the table. "Tea." When he saw Brad open his mouth to ask the obvious question, he chuckled. "Unsweetened. Don't bother with lemon."

He'd totally seen the little smile. After complaining at David for a few hours about how much he hated math, he'd had it nearly drilled into his brain that if he got the basic rules down, he could do anything. So he studied. And studied. And studied some more. Nerves aside, he thought he might have actually passed it with flying colors.

Lifting up the menu, he began looking over it, zoning out as Brad asked Dave what he wanted to drink. Instead, he looked over the paltry list of various different kinds of burgers, a few sides other than fries, and dessert. He was unsure of what he'd get until his eyes caught onto the word bacon and he very nearly heard his stomach growl. After completely neglecting breakfast and having nothing more than half his usual lunch, not eating that granola square on the way there seemed like a bad idea.

Before the waiter shuffled off to get their drinks, Blaine gave a little wave. "I already know what I want," he said, clearly amused with his sudden clarity. "I'll have the bacon cheeseburger, and instead of fries, can I get some of the mac and cheese?"

"Absolutely," Brad replied, scribbling his order down with an equally wide smile before looking to Dave. "Are you ready or...?"

"Yeah, the barbecue bacon cheeseburger, with fries and steamed veggies." He paused for a moment, lips pursing. "And scratch the drink; can I just get a milkshake?"

"You got it." Brad arched an eyebrow in a silent question.

"Oh. Vanilla's cool."

The waiter smiled, writing down the rest of the order before sliding his notepad into his apron. "Awesome. Things are a little slow tonight, so it might be awhile. Feel free to yell at me if you need anything! Drink and shake will be out in a couple minutes, though."

With a pat of the table, Brad scurried off to give the cook their order, and David found himself gazing back at Blaine once more. He felt a little more relaxed; the waiter didn't say anything about them being a 'cute couple' or something equally mortifying. Maybe he was just freaking out over nothing. It's not like he knew anyone on this side of Lima.

Clearing his throat, he pawed for something to say, obviously a little awkward. He couldn't remember the last time he had a genuine conversation with someone without trying to be someone he wasn't. "I... uh..." Dave sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, brows twitching inward. "So... mid-term. Did that pretty much ruin your day, or...?" He didn't know why it was so hard for him to ask how was your day, Blaine? But he couldn't. It seemed... personal to say it like that.

"Not so much ruin my day as make me break out in a sweat when I think about taking it again," he mused with a quiet chuckle. "I'm surprised I was able to actually sleep last night with all those rules and equations rolling around in my head." Lifting his index, he rolled it in a circle around his temple, grinning. He didn't really want to even think about his midterm, even if he did do well on it. So many numbers. So many problems. Such a headache.

He wanted to make David feel more comfortable. It was beyond obvious that he was sort of dreading saying anything. Making conversation had never been really difficult for Blaine, but he found himself stalling a little, as if the awkwardness was contagious. He was a bit of a perfectionist in the way that he wanted to get everything right without stumbling. It was difficult, especially for someone his age, but he balked at the idea of saying something offensive on accident. That was enough to keep him on the quieter side when he was speaking to someone he didn't know as well as his other friends.

"What about you?" he asked, brow drifting higher on his forehead. "Learn anything interesting today?" The words hadn't left his lips when he made a disgusted face at himself. "What a stupid question. And After School Special Blaine makes his first appearance. I have this thing where I spout cliche like it's my job. It's sort of unavoidable, so I should probably apologize now."

David's face scrunched up in reluctant amusement, though the wrinkles of his forehead and around his mouth smoothed out soon after. He laughed. Laughed pretty damn loud, too. It really wasn't because it was particularly funny; he was just desperate to get rid of his nerves, and laughing helped. It was nice to just smile and feel like there wasn't anything else to worry about. Blaine had... really been good for him. It'd been a little over a week since they started texting, and it just felt good to have him to chat to.

As his laughter died down, Brad swooped by, leaving the milkshake and tea with the person who ordered each and promising their food would be out in about ten minutes before disappearing like the food service ninja all waiters seemed to be.

"It's-" He let out a little laugh again, biting on his lip as he scooted forward, drawing his milkshake closer to him, tearing his straw free from its paper prison. "It's okay. I won't rag on you for sounding like my kindergarten teacher. Much." Dave paused a moment, wrapping his lips around the straw and sucking up some of the shake with very little shame. His mom always nagged at him that you're supposed to use a spoon with a milkshake, but using a straw with it was just better.

Pulling back with a lick of his lips, the corner of his mouth quirked up a bit. "Not much, was pretty boring," he replied. Probably was a bad idea to mention the (second) fight he got into with Sam. Or the out and out brawl he got into with Finn during practice. His shoulders bobbed in a shrug, eyes falling to his glass. "The usual."

It wasn't until Dave stopped talking that Blaine realized he was grinning at him like a total dork. Not only that, but he hadn't added any packets of sweetener to his tea. Clearing his throat with a chuckle, he grabbed for two of the blue packs and tore them open. "The usual, huh? Sounds... yeah, pretty boring," he said with a lopsided smile to replace the nearly ear-to-ear grin from earlier. Dumping out the sugar, he swirled the long spoon around in his glass, eyes flicking up from his tea to Dave's face and back again.

Both of the times he'd met him, he hadn't seen him do more than smile a little, and that smile had been as fleeting as anything. While texting, he'd gotten his share of "lol"s, but rarely any more than that. It made him genuinely happy to hear David laugh. He wasn't entirely sure why.

Stop lying to yourself, dummy. You think he's cute when he's all smile-y.

Blaine's eyes widened a little as he grabbed for his drink, sticking the straw into it and taking a long drink. He'd put too much sugar, causing him to wince a little when it hit his tongue. Anyone with eyes would think that Karofsky had a cute smile; it wasn't some bizarre train of thought. Or was it? He still wasn't entirely sure what compelled him to do this other than reaching out to someone who he thought he could help. He was sure that he wasn't doing it to get into his pants or anything.

The sharp rise of that thought in his head had him coughing on his drink. Lifting a fist to his mouth, he cleared his throat once and then again before setting his hand on his thigh. "So... come here often?" Rolling his eyes again, he snorted back a laugh. "I mean, have you been here a lot before? How's the food?"

David opened his mouth to answer him, but his jaw clicked shut not a moment after. Did he really just say 'come here often'? He couldn't help the little, disbelieving chuckle that left him. He'd gotten a little better about not freaking out so much when Blaine said stuff like that. It was just how he talked, and actually being with him in person and hearing his inflection, he knew he wasn't flirting. It was tempting to tease him, but he wasn't there yet. He doubted he'd ever be confident enough to take his poor choice of words and warp it into something clever. If they weren't texting, he apparently had all the social aptitude of a rabid dog.

"I – uh – yeah, I come here a lot, or I used to," he replied, swirling his straw around in his milkshake. "It's been a while, though." His throat contracted in a harsh swallow. He so was not ready to talk about his first girlfriend, who'd been a waitress here. Thankfully she graduated earlier that year, so wasn't around, but it still felt awkward being back. "Food's pretty awesome, but it's a Mom & Pop gig. That alone makes it pretty awesome. Uh... usually, anyway." Dave smiled weakly, shrugging. "If I gotta fill myself up with a crapload of calories, it better be good ones."

"Yeah, I'm the professor of Unhealthy Eating Habits 101, so this is definitely my kind of place," Blaine said with a laugh. "My mom would have a stroke if she saw what I ordered, though. I always feel really dirty when I sneak in meals like this. I can practically feel her staring over my shoulder, all, 'Are you sure you want the mac and cheese and not the vegetables, Blaine?'"

Just as he finished his rather shoddy impression, Brad swooped in with a tray of their food, dishing out their orders with a smile. "Oh! Just wondering, guys, but what's the paying situation? Separate?"

Looking up from his plate with a little smile, Blaine glanced over to Dave for a second before looking back to their waiter. "I'll take care of it," he said, to which he earned an eager nod and a wish for them to enjoy their meals before he was shuffling back to the front of the restaurant. When he looked back at Dave, he gave a little shrug, the same casual smile curling at the corners of his mouth. "Sorry. Habit. I hope you don't mind."

David felt his eyes narrow, brows furrowing at the same time. Yeah, he minded. He minded a whole fucking lot. He hated how much he minded. He got the bills for some of his friend's meals before; they didn't think about it. All they knew was they weren't paying, and that was awesome. Dave was built a little differently. His parents brought him up constantly drilling into him that you're always a gracious guest, always offer to pay, always open doors, pull out chairs. Sure, his manners meant fuck all when he was at school, and being polite got you the privilege of being called 'brown-noser' or 'deepthroat,' but in cases like this, he didn't just settle.

"I do mind," he said a little more gruffly than he intended. It's not like he didn't appreciate it. The whole buying dinner thing wasn't a big deal. Well, okay, it was. That whole is this or isn't this a date thing that had been looming over him popped up again, but he was able to push it back and just focus on the whole paying for his half thing.

Pulling out his worn leather wallet from his pocket, he withdrew two twenties and slid them over to Blaine's side of the table. "My half plus extra for your gas money. And I don't want to hear any b.s. from you, Anderson." He nodded with finality. "Let's just eat. I can hear your stomach from here."

Lifting up his hands in momentary defeat, Blaine's eyes fell to his plate. "Whatever you want," he said, clearly a little taken back by what'd unfolded right before him. Reaching over, his thumb rested on one of the twenties, but he pushed the other towards Dave with his index. When he spoke, there was a slight, defiant lilt to his tone. "But you're not paying for my gas. This was my idea. It's not a problem."

With that, he picked up the twenty and folded it in half, slipping it into his own wallet. He looked at him, eyebrow twitching upwards. "And I don't want to hear any b.s. from you, either, Karofsky."

So they ate in relative silence save for the slurping sounds from Dave's milkshake and a quiet hum of approval at Blaine's first taste of the mac and cheese. It was obvious he'd offended him by offering to pay. Or, rather, saying he'd pay. There hadn't been any kind of offer. It was another of this things. Even surrounded by guys who were even more well off than he was, he always ended up offering to pay. Most of his friends thought it was bizarre, but he just liked taking care of people like that.

There was an apology on the tip of Dave's tongue. It kept almost slipping out whenever he finished a bite, but he held it back. He was more than a little impressed by the Dalton boy's ballsy attitude. Especially considering he was nearly a foot shorter than him, and probably weighed half as much. He'd never admit it, but that little part of his brain that was slowly gaining a little more control really admired Blaine. Not like that (he'd become militant in his attempts to ignore his good looks) but just in the sense that, to him, Blaine was this totally confident, normal guy. If he wasn't a fag – gay, he reminded himself, stop using the word fag – he was definitely bro material.

They finished their meals quickly, both out of sheer hunger and the fact the lingering awkwardness made them both anxious. When Brad came by with the bill, Dave just nodded, and Blaine quietly handed over his card. That damn apology kept wanting to squeak out of him, but he was apparently just as stubborn as the man sitting across from him. His jaw worked as he replaced the twenty in his wallet, pulling out a five in its place and setting it in the middle of table. It was stupid, and petty, but he still tilted his chin up defiantly.

It only took a couple minutes for their waiter to be back, handing the receipt to Blaine with a cheery smile. "Thanks for coming by! Have a good night, and drive safe, fellas!"

As he watched Blaine sign the little slip of paper, he deflated a bit. "You good driving when it's this dark?" he asked. His voice still held that rough, I-am-such-a-dude-listen-to-my-low-gruff-voice quality that he dipped into whenever he felt threatened, but there was genuine concern in his eyes, even if he didn't show it elsewhere.

Glancing up from the receipt, Blaine nodded. "I have GPS in my car. Driving in the dark shouldn't be a problem as long as it doesn't decide to drive me off a cliff or something," he replied, his tone casual despite the cloying awkwardness and lingering frustration that had built up over the course of dinner. He'd expected this, hadn't he? To be stonewalled when he tried to be nice, to be met by almost suffocating machismo when Dave realized he was actually enjoying himself?

He sighed, shifting in the booth for a moment before climbing out of it. "Thanks for the company," he told him with a little smile. Even with all the questions jumbling around in his head, the subtle twist of his lips was as genuine as anything. "It should happen again sometime. Maybe without the burgers. I'm... pretty sure I ate way too much." He glanced towards his plate with a laugh, handing the receipt to Brad when he came over to pick up their plates.

Blaine lingered as he waited for Dave. Really, he didn't have to wait for him, but he found himself sticking around for some reason, the corner of his mouth sliding a little farther upwards when he stood up to join him. "I'll keep in touch," he said as they both began wandering towards the restaurant's exit. "And good luck on your midterm tomorrow. If it's anything like mine was, it's all bark and no bite."

Giving a breath of a laugh, he pushed the door open, shutting his eyes against the cold November air and holding it open for Dave. He stepped down into the parking lot, glancing at him over his shoulder with a hint of a teasing grin. "And even the bark's kind of weak."

Dave silently nodded to everything he said, more than a little distracted. He felt like a dick. Blaine had never been anything but nice to him, though part of him held a little resentment at the fact he tried to out him in school, he'd come to realize that he didn't think things through to their conclusion. Hell, no one their age, least of all himself, so he was inclined to give him a little slack about it.

Still, he couldn't help but close up. He felt his shoulders cave in, posture slouching even more than usual, gaze more at the ground than at his car as he walked behind and off to the side of Blaine. He should have been happy that he was making a new friend. And he was. This was the happiest he'd been in awhile, actually. It was just short lived. He could never hold onto those feelings anymore, not for long, and certainly not when he was feeling threatened.

He was about to just get into his car and drive off without another word, but something stopped him. He was 100% sure that whatever Blaine was trying to do – convince him being gay was super fabulous, get him to come out to the world, get in his pants, whatever – wasn't going to happen, but that didn't mean he didn't like the guy. Sighing, he walked over to the other man, catching him before he went for his own driver's seat.

"Look, I..." I'm scared. I don't know what this is. I don't like how I'm feeling. I don't want people to know. I don't want to be an outcast. I don't want to disappoint anyone. David extended his hand, offering it in a handshake. He didn't notice the brief look of a boy who was utterly lost that look over his face, before he was able to school it to something more impassive. "...drive safe." What, was that his thing now? God, he felt like an idiot.

Blaine was halfway into his car when he heard Dave walk up. Stepping back out of it, he took his extended hand with a smile. Even if he did have lady-soft hands (seriously, even Kurt had been in awe), he had a firm grip and he knew how to shake a hand. There was nothing limp about his wrist or even timid about his posture. Even if Dave was very nearly twice his size, there was nothing to be afraid of in a handshake.

"You, too," he replied simply, head tilting to the side a little before letting go of his hand. "Good luck tomorrow."

At that, Blaine sat down in his seat and buckled the belt, turning his car on only to roll down the window a moment later. He caught Dave just as he was turning away to head over to his own vehicle. Leaning against the door, he tapped against it with his fingertips, his other hand already curled around the bottom of the steering wheel. "And I don't just mean for your midterm."

He wasn't typically a mysterious kind of guy, but he figured his little smile would explain what words didn't. Giving him a goodbye nod, Blaine rolled up his window and turned his attention towards driving out of the parking lot, this time making extra sure he didn't almost rear end someone on his way out.

David just stared. He watched him drive out of the parking lot, looking completely baffled. Honestly, he lost track of time. "What the fuck?" he murmured to himself, brow furrowing deeply as he shook off whatever confusion had taken over him, shuffling a bit clumsily toward his car, slipping into the driver's seat, turning on the ignition and buckling his seat belt.

That little smile explained shit all to him. It annoyed him, that's what it did. He didn't need luck. Not for his midterm, and not for anything else. "Pompous lady boy." It took him a few minutes of checking his mirrors to realize what he said. God. One step forward, two steps back. Five hundred steps back. Why couldn't he shake this?

He knew what the problem was, really. Deep down. Dave was afraid that Blaine knew just how scared he was. He wasn't supposed to be terrified. He wasn't supposed to eye a bottle of aspirin and think, "would anyone care?" or, "it'd be a lot easier than this."

Pulling out of the parking lot, he began the drive home, vowing to himself to, at the very least, text him an apology the next morning.