Chapter 2: I've grown with the pain, bathed in the lonely

Haha, knew we'd forget something last week. Those who regularly read our stuff know we update weekly every Wednesday unless specified otherwise, but we forgot to mention it before. This one is quite a bit longer than last week. Every chapter will be a minimum of 3-4,000 words excluding an epilogue if we end up doing one.

Thank you to everyone who has left a review/favorited (Iris7124, MarciaChapter2, and ddlot)or followed the story! It's very encouraging and we are so glad everyone enjoyed the first chapter!

Oh hey, also we made a tumblr. It's kirakiwi-kandaklaine26 if anyone is interested, but we haven't got a lot on there yet!

Ok, hope you're ready to meet Blaine!

Wednesday-April

"It's your turn. I woke him up yesterday and he threw a shoe at me," Tina said to her roommate Sam as she bustled around the kitchen in her scrubs.

Sam groaned. "Oh come on! He listens to you! Last time I tried to wake him up, he tried to stab me with a guitar pick! Do you know how difficult that is? He's a demon in the morning!"

"And he's your problem!"

"Rock, paper, scissors?"

"Nope."

Sam whined and looked at their other roommate's door. "Why can he just be a freaking adult and wake up on his own?"

"Ask him after you wake him up. Gotta go! I have a neutering this morning!" She adjusted her top embroidered with the name of the veterinary clinic she worked at along with her own. Blowing him one last kiss, she slipped out the door with a travel mug full of coffee.

Sam grumbled lowly as he stomped to the third bedroom door of their apartment.

Most of the time he loved living with his two best friends, but mornings with Blaine Anderson were a challenge. Never had he met someone who held more disgust for waking before noon than the man whose door he had cracked and stepped through. And it had only gotten worse over the last year.

Blaine's room was clean and pretty well organized, but instruments and blank sheet music lay in a minefield all over the small space. There were lots of crumpled balls of the sheet music scattered all across the floor as if he had thrown them from different spots. Sam didn't doubt that he had. Apparently the aspiring songwriter was going through an inspiration dry spell.

Sam stepped past the closet he would never snoop in again even if he knew his Christmas present was inside. There were just some things he didn't need to know about his bestie. Maybe that was controversial, but he didn't care. He had been scarred before by his best friend's kinky shit.

The man was snoring blissfully like he didn't have to be at work in forty-five minutes. Infuriating. Sam rolled his eyes. All that could be seen was a foot, a tattooed arm ending in chipped black nails sticking out of the fluffy comforter at an odd angle, and a tuft of unruly curly hair.

"Blaine!" He put his hands on his hips. "Blaine! Wake up!"

Nothing but snores. Sam growled and slapped at what he thought might be a hip. Nope, that was butt. He tried to ignore a happy moan from Blaine.

"Blaine Anderson! Get up!"

Sam saw the kick coming and dodged it expertly. "You're going to be late! And you're gonna make me late, asshole!"

A disgruntled noise came from the Blaine-sized lump and he rolled over, further cocooning himself in his navy comforter. Sam bit back a scream of impatience and ran back into the kitchen. He came back, armed with a cup of ice water and determination.

"Okay, buddy. This is your last chance. Wake up now or you will be forced awake."

Blaine muttered something that sounded like, "Go the fuck away."

Sam nodded and raised the cup. "Have it your way. Ice bath in three… two…"

The covers were shoved aside with a growl from Blaine and Sam took a second to thank the lord that Blaine decided to wear underwear to bed today even if they were pretty damn tight. He had been flashed before.

Blaine sat up, scrubbing at his eyes with the heel of his hand and scowling at Sam. "What do you want?"

"I want a lot of things, Blaine. I want a million dollars, a girlfriend who doesn't cheat on me, and for you to be an adult who can wake up on your own."

Blaine stretched and made a whining noise before cracking his neck. "Thanks for bringing me water," he said as he grabbed the cup and gulped it down greedily. "You're a pal."

"I was going to dump it on you if you didn't wake up," Sam replied, hands folded across his chest and lips pursed. "Don't you have work?"

Blaine nodded and crunched a piece of ice. "Just give me a minute. I've only had a few hours of sleep."

Sam glanced around the room and kicked a balled up paper. "Songwriting still giving you heck?"

Blaine scowled at the papers littering the floor. "Everything I write sucks. I'm cursed."

"You aren't cursed… You're just having a dry spell."

Blaine sighed into the cup and fluffed his already fluffy hair. "There's a dry spell and then there's not having any talent or ideas that aren't stupid." He slumped out of bed and began pulling on his jeans he found draped over his desk chair, a plain black t-shirt, and some socks.

"You have talent and good ideas! It'll happen." Sam patted his back as he finished dressing in his heavy boots and leather jacket. He grabbed his backpack and helmet from his closet.

Shrugging, Blaine stopped by the hallway mirror and attempted to do something with his hair before giving up and wiping the remains of the eyeliner from underneath his eyes. "Thanks for waking me up, man." He slapped five with Sam who had calmed down considerably although Blaine's self-deprecation upset him. He just wanted the man to care about something again.

"Sure. You working tonight as well?"

Blaine nodded as he grabbed an apple out of the bowl on the counter. He bit into it. "You guys should come by."

"I might be able to after work, but I think Tina and Mike have a date," Sam said as he grabbed his work bag. He locked the door behind them and heard the crunch of the apple. "I'll save you some dinner."

"Thanks man," Blaine replied as he took another large bite of the apple and popped his helmet on. He adjusted the backpack before climbing onto his motorcycle and starting it up.

Sam waved as he gave a mock salute and sped away. The blond shook his head and climbed into his car, shooting off a text to Tina and Cooper to let her know Blaine was headed to work. He sighed and started his car, hoping Blaine found his inspiration today.

Blaine parked his bike in the small spot designated for it and pulled off his helmet. Shaking out his hair, he headed toward the employee entrance of the studio where he worked as a camera operator. It was a mild day, especially for spring, so his drive had been pleasant.

He sighed as he clocked in on the computer and wove his way through all the employees scrambling around in a constant state of panic. He moved through, unbothered and uncaring. He didn't care about anything.

Well, that wasn't really true. He was being a little dramatic. He cared about Tina and Sam, his best friends. He cared about his brother. Sometimes. When he wasn't meddling in his life.

He cared about music and making art, but unfortunately he wasn't good enough. He had stayed up way too damn late the previous night, trying to work out some sort of tune that wasn't completely stupid or boring and… nothing.

He used to have ideas fly into his head when he was driving to work, even going so far as to keep a pad of paper in his motorcycle so that he could write down his thoughts. But he hadn't had a good one in so long. It was pretty fucking depressing.

Blaine yawned as he checked his chart and got ready to film after storing his stuff in his locker. He wanted to kick his own ass for worrying his friends and Cooper. Ever since his little break down, they had watched him carefully with worried frowns. He knew he should try something new, reassure everyone that he was okay and he wasn't going to do anything drastic, but he couldn't always be sure it was the truth. He felt he was just floating through his life like a loser. Not even a new tattoo excited him anymore.

Some women giggled as he brushed past them and went to the set where his camera was. They were barking way up the wrong tree, but honestly he didn't even feel like hooking up with a guy either. The only time he really felt something was when he sang at the bar some nights. He was a night person and loathed mornings.

Unfortunately, his steady work was a day job.

A bell rang and people began going to their spots. Blaine bit back an annoyed groan as his supervisor stormed over. The man was too high strung and he was going to have a heart attack before he turned forty-five if he wasn't careful. Blaine pasted a smile on his face as he finally stopped short in front of him.

"Hey, Chad. Nice morning! How are you—"

"Shut up, Anderson!" He snarled back. "You are late! I don't care who your brother is, if you don't get here on time again then you're fired! Got it?"

Blaine nodded and shot him a placating smile. "Of course. Sorry."

He just scowled at him and stalked away to go yell at someone else, Blaine was certain. He rolled his eyes and began to get set up as there was a loud commotion coming from the dressing room area.

"Don't tell me what to do, Dylan! I'm the star, not you!"

"Of course, Mr. Anderson! I just think maybe you should take the paper from makeup off of your collar!" Dylan answered as he chased down the man storming through the studio.

Cooper Anderson stopped short, looked down at the tissue paper covering his suit, and tore them off quickly. He balled them up and handed them off to his assistant who took them immediately and disposed of the paper. Cooper straightened his jacket and continued in as people parted for him or gave him adoring smiles. Cooper shot them dazzling smiles back and Blaine couldn't refrain from rolling his eyes.

His brother scanned the room for a few moments before he zeroed in on Blaine and something sparked in his eyes as he marched towards him. Blaine pretended to be busy adjusting the camera, but Cooper was not to be deterred. Dylan scurried along behind him like a good little lapdog.

"Blainey!"

"Coop, we've talked about the nicknames."

"We've also talked about how to use the alarms on your phone so you aren't late for work and don't get fired or make me look bad," Cooper replied. Dylan snorted beside him as he scribbled on a clipboard.

"Good one, Mr. Anderson."

Blaine sneered at the assistant and then gave Cooper a shrug. "I woke up all by myself this morning."

"You sure about that?"

"Yup."

"So your roommate didn't have to threaten to dump ice water on you so you would wake up?" Cooper dangled his phone in his little brother's face, a group text between himself, Tina, and Sam informing him of their struggles getting Blaine out of bed on the screen.

Dylan shook his head and Blaine thought about swiping his clipboard and smacking him upside the head with it.

"I was a little tired. Why the hell are you guys discussing me over text?"

"Do you realize you're making me the responsible one here?" Cooper informed him as he dropped his phone into his pocket. "You understand how screwed up that is, right?"

Blaine blew out a deep breath and started fiddling with the camera. "I'm fine. You guys don't have to be worried about me."

Cooper opened his mouth to say something else when someone called his name. "This conversation isn't over!" he said, pointing at Blaine as he hurried off. "Stay right there!"

"I'm operating this camera, dumbass," Blaine grumbled as he continued doing his job. "I'm literally stuck here." An annoyed little huff caught his attention and Blaine glared at Dylan who had made the noise. "Hey, Dylan, what's the inside of Coop's colon look like since your head is so far up his ass constantly?"

Dylan shot him a withering glare over the top of his glasses and clipboard. "Sorry, I only talk to people above five-nine that don't look like a carnival freak."

"What's life like for a Newsie's reject?"

"What's life like for someone who doesn't know how a comb works?"

Cooper snapped from across the room where he was talking to a producer. "Dylan! Come here!"

"Better go see what Daddy wants," Blaine simpered.

"You will never have my job. You don't know how to be an adult," Dylan spat with another disapproving look in Blaine's general direction.

"Uh, eww," Blaine wrinkled his nose. "Cooper raised me. I think I'd rather be named Dylan which is the worst name ever than have your job and that's a low bar."

"I think camera man L (for loser) needs to shut his mouth before he gets fired. And that's a low bar."

"Well, assistant F (for fuckweasel) needs to shut up or I'll stuff a camera down your throat."

"Brave words for someone who dresses like they're homeless."

"You have mustard on your shirt."

Dylan scoffed. "I'm not falling for that again."

"DYLAN!" Cooper screamed from across the room.

The assistant hurried away. Blaine snorted when he looked at his shirt where there was indeed mustard. He glared back at Blaine like he was the one who put it there. So what if he had done that one time with barbecue sauce? He started it.

Stupid Dylan. Blaine rolled his eyes at the jerk and got back to work. Of course his drama queen brother had to pick the most annoying assistant on the face of the planet. They had pretty much hated each other from day one, but that was Dylan's fault. He had been the one to treat Blaine like he was trash. Blaine was only matching his energy.

He was used to people treating him that way though. He drove around on a Harley, dressed in dark colors and a leather jacket, had tattoos along both arms, painted his nails, and had gauges in his ears. Sometimes he even wore eyeliner. Honestly though, he didn't give a fuck what other people thought about his appearance. That ship had sailed and been scuttled in a tsunami as far as he was concerned. These days he wore whatever he wanted, did what and who he wanted, and got ink wherever he wanted. He might suck in the creative department, but as far as his style, that was no one else's business. Plus, the dangerous look usually got him way more ass that Dylan could dream of. He was just jealous.

Cooper was right though. He owed his brother a lot, including this job on his talk show. He should try harder.

Someone called for places and Blaine adjusted his headset and got into position. The audience was being allowed in and they would soon begin.

The day drug by slowly, especially since Blaine wasn't interested in any of the celebrities Cooper was interviewing today. One in particular had been an asshole last time she was here and Blaine tried to manifest only ugly shots of her. He hoped for a booger in her nose or weird hairs sticking up, but no such luck.

Lunch came and went and he didn't get to eat with Cooper today since his brother was pretty busy being the star of the show, but it gave him plenty of time to work on his set list for the evening. All covers of course. At least he had that to look forward to.

They finished filming in late afternoon and after trading a few more insults with Dylan, Blaine tried to sneak away before Cooper could—

"Blaine Devon Cooper Anderson! To my dressing room!" Cooper boomed at him right as he made it to the door.

Blaine huffed and let his chin drop to his chest, eyes closed. He followed the hallway until he came to his brother's dressing room door. The man was seated inside on his very comfortable and very expensive couch shuffling through some papers. Knowing his stupid brother, they were blank and he was just doing it to be dramatic.

"Please have a seat, little brother," Cooper said without looking up.

Blaine rolled his eyes when he saw that they were blank. Doofus.

"Squirt, let's talk," Cooper said with a dazzling smile as he set the papers aside, as he had probably practiced. Like a doofus. He folded his hands and pressed them to his lips. "I feel like you need an intervention."

"I don't need an intervention. Also, my name isn't Squirt, or Blainey or Blaine Devon Cooper, you ignoramus. Quit it."

Cooper just stared him down, the way he always would when Blaine was being petulant and Cooper would have to be the adult. It wasn't too often, but it did happen on occasion.

"I'm fine—"

"Are you?" Cooper grew serious. That didn't happen too often either, but when it did, it weirded Blaine out. "Because last year…" his breath hitched. "It was bad, Blaine. And I feel like you still aren't you yet." His eyes searched Blaine's.

"Well, getting screwed over might do that to you," Blaine said jokingly, but Cooper was still uncharacteristically sober.

"I could take some time off? We could go on a vacation or you could just come stay at my place—"

"No. God no." Blaine scrubbed his hands through his curls. Cooper stared at him like a kicked puppy. "It's not that I don't want to spend time with you, I do. We can hang out or even go on vacation, but I'm fine. Honestly! I just overslept a little. It's taking me some time to get over everything that happened last year, and I am having trouble writing songs, but I'm fine! Promise." Blaine kicked Cooper's foot playfully. "Stop looking at me like you're going to cry."

Cooper wordlessly held out his pinkie. Blaine swallowed against the ache in his throat. For years, in a house where promises were broken left and right from the people who gave them life, their pinkie promises were sacred. To think Cooper was resorting to this meant he wasn't just being over dramatic; he was actually scared. Blaine sniffed and immediately hooked his pinkie with Cooper's, making sure he got his eyes.

"I swear. I'm fine. There's no need to worry."

"Promise you will tell me if it gets bad again?" Cooper whispered quietly, not letting go of his brother's finger. "Or tell Sam or Tina? Just anyone. Please?"

Blaine's heart broke at the pleading tone Cooper's voice was tinged with and the way he held onto Blaine like he was about to crush him to his chest. He tightened his pinkie around Cooper's and gave him a reassuring smile. "I promise I will. Please don't worry about me, Cooper. I haven't felt that down for a long time."

"You pinkie swore."

"I pinkie swear. You guys don't have to watch me like I'm going to fall apart." They let go and Cooper's shoulders seemed to relax at the reassurance.

"We won't stop caring about you, Squirt, even if you don't care about yourself." He leaned back and rubbed at his eyes.

Blaine hated that he made his brother worry. "Stop. You'll get wrinkles and and they will give your show to me since I'm younger and more handsome." Blaine grinned at the way Cooper's eye twitched.

"That's ridiculous. First of all, I do not have wrinkles. Secondly, you have pissed off too many of my producers to be on MY show. Thirdly—"

This was the Cooper he could handle. His older brother ranting to his pesky little brother was his comfort zone. He hated when Coop had to get all parenty, even if it was necessary at times.

"Look, I gotta go." Blaine glanced at his wrist, then planted a quick kiss on Cooper's temple. "I need to prep for tonight."

"I am not finished— Hey! You don't even have on a watch! Blaine!"

He chuckled as he ducked out of the dressing room and made for the parking lot as fast as possible. Cooper yelled after him, but Blaine ignored it. He wasn't sure if he could handle any more talks about his mental state today. Maybe he could write a song about that? Revving his bike, he wiggled his helmet on and sped away to get his guitar and then head to the bar.

Friday

"Isn't this place great?" Mercedes asked Kurt as he followed her and Santana into the bar. He nodded, willing his body to relax.

The week of the move had been extremely stressful, especially with a small child who decided not to sleep for more than two hours at a time before screaming his head off. Then one of the moving vans had gotten lost and therefore delayed, so he was missing half their stuff. To top it off, he was starting his new job that Monday and he couldn't find some of his files.

When Mercedes and Santana had dropped by to bring him a housewarming present and to see the baby, they took one look at the chaos and told Kurt they were taking him out for a little break that Friday.

"Lady Hummel, if you don't get the stick out of your ass, I'm going to go to your house and licking all of your spoons."

Kurt gave Santana a dirty look and checked his outfit obsessively for random ketchup stains or snot. That had actually happened to him and it ruined his chances with one guy at a bar once.

"Well excuse me for being nervous the first time I leave my child alone with someone in like a month. It's a brand new person too."

The only perfect thing to come out of this tumultuous week was finding Marley, the best nanny ever. Kit had instantly adored her and she had a lot of credentials. The best part was, she was a college student who had moved away from home and appreciated a quiet place to do her homework while making good money. It was a win for everyone.

"She seemed really sweet," Mercedes said with a reassuring pat on Kurt's shoulder as they found seats at the bar. "This will be fun! They have live music here sometimes!" She tilted her head towards the stage where a guy was playing Queen's Don't Stop Me Now at the piano and singing. Kurt did a double take. A very attractive guy. Immediately, his inner voice told him no and to focus on his friends he hadn't gotten to hang out with in forever.

Kurt turned around so he couldn't see the performer anymore. "Did you guys ever sing here?" He asked as they ordered drinks.

"No, not here. A few other places, but they recognized they had the most talented girls in LA in their presence," Mercedes said with a little laugh and her and Santana high-fived.

They had both come out to LA to be singers and at first, it didn't go well. But after patience and a lot of hard work, they were discovered and had been working tirelessly on their album for several weeks now. Kurt was very proud of them.

"I'm so excited for you," Kurt said, raising his glass in a toast. "You deserve it."

The ladies tapped their glasses to Kurt's.

"How are you adjusting?" Mercedes asked.

Kurt shrugged. "It's a different pace than New York, sure, but I kind of like it. That might change if I hate my job, but I'm pretty happy and so is Kit. I never thought anywhere but New York would be it for me, but I don't know! I'm excited!" He took a deep sip. "It's nice to have close friends I can go have drinks with again. I was definitely getting a little lonely there."

"I thought Berry lived in your ass?" Santana asked with a sharp little grin. "Like, don't you have joint burial plots?"

"After her and Finn broke up I guess it hurt her feelings that I tried to remain neutral," Kurt replied with a sad little smile. "Then I supported him when he decided to keep Kit and after…" He still wasn't quite strong enough to say it.

The girls bowed their heads in reverent understanding and ordered refills.

"Well, her loss." Mercedes lifted her glass and the other two followed suit. "To all of us being in LA together!"

They clinked their glasses together in another toast.

A few drinks later, Kurt was pleasantly tipsy and had decided to turn his chair around so he could stare at the pretty singer… and the pretty bartender… and the pretty group of guys sitting at a table… God, he needed to get laid.

Mercedes laughed way harder than she should have at something Santana said. She was getting kind of tipsy too, apparently.

"So, Kurt!"

He looked at her and did not let his eyes stray back to the pianist's arms as he sang an acoustic version of Latch.

"Are you excited about going on that talk show? You know we went on it." Mercedes asked as she wiped her eyes and sloshed some of her drink out.

Kurt tried to sip his drink, but found the glass empty. He ordered another. "Yeah it should be pretty cool. The host seems a little hyper though."

"He's really flirty," Mercedes replied. "Careful, Kurt! You might leave there with a boyfriend."

They giggled as Santana toyed with her empty glass. "The show was pretty fun though. Gave us lots of publicity."

Their conversation was put on hold by the entertainer speaking into the mic. "Hope everyone is having a good night!" Kurt thought his voice sounded like what caramel would sound like if it had a sound. The thought made him giggle. He leaned his chin on his hands and sighed. The way his fingers flew over the piano keys and his voice was captivating. "Thank you for your tips and just so you know, I accept drinks as tips as well." He winked and began playing the intro to a song as someone brought him a drink which he thanked them for. "Is it anyone's first time in LA?" he asked.

Mercedes and Santana started screaming and pointing at Kurt, which didn't embarrass him as much as it probably would have if he had been completely sober.

The man's eyes landed on Kurt for the first time that night and he felt his stomach flip. He smiled and tipped his glass to Kurt before the melody quickened again.

"Allow me to welcome you to our city," the man said with another little wink and he began to sing.

The moment you arrived, they built you up

The sun was in your eyes

You couldn't believe it

Riches all around, you're walking

Stars are on the ground

You start to believe it

Every face along the boulevard

Is a dreamer just like you

You looked at death in a tarot card

And you saw what you had to do

But nobody knows you now

When you're dying in LA

And nobody owes you now

When you're dying in LA

Kurt's eyes were glued to the singer, enthralled by the way he sang and the way his tattooed arms flexed as he played. His dark curls fell into his eyes as he bowed over the keys, covering up his face.

"He's so good," Kurt said, mostly to himself, but Mercedes heard.

"Yeah he is! He sings here all the time when I come. Cute, huh?"

Kurt just nodded and sighed. He looked over and saw another guy checking him out. Okay, so LA was definitely working for him. "I'm sending him a drink! And that guy!" He chuckled and did just that.

He continued sending the guy's drinks, even when a few of them glared their way. Mercedes noticed the dark looks and touched Kurt's arm.

"Kurt, do you think—"

A clatter caused Mercedes and Kurt to wheel around where Santana had somehow broken her glass and cut herself.

"Oh my god, I'm a dumbass," she mumbled, looking like she was going to cry.

Mercedes immediately started stuffing napkins on the cut which was bleeding profusely.

Kurt's eyes flew wide and he wrung his hands worriedly. "Are you okay? Should I call 911?"

Mercedes shook her head. "I don't think so. She might need a stitch or two, but I doubt she's going to bleed out. We probably need to go to the emergency room though."

"Okay," Kurt said, quickly gathering up their things. He swayed a little as he hopped from his stool. "I'll get us an Uber—"

Mercedes took their purses from him. "Hey, calm down. I just called a car and you have a child at home. I'm sure she will be fine. I'll call you with an update. Just stay here and sober up a bit, then go home. Okay?"

Kurt nodded, the pleasant tipsy feeling turning into lightheadedness. "Okay. Sounds good." He gripped the bar and and watched as his friends left. The whole thing had sobered him somewhat, but he was still feeling the effects of his drinks.

I am flesh and I am bone

Rise up, ting ting, like glitter & gold

I've got fire in my soul

Rise up, ting ting, like glitter

Yeah, like glitter & gold

Yeah, like glitter

Do you walk in the valley of kings?

Do you walk in the shadow of men who sold

their lives to a dream?

Do you ponder the manner of things?

In the dark

The dark, the dark, the dark

Kurt found his attention drawn back to the singer who had swapped his piano for an acoustic guitar. The man winked at him and mouthed thank you as he continued to play. Kurt assumed for the drink he had sent.

He told himself to calm down after the mild scare and paid for their tab plus the broken glass. It was getting late anyway. He waited a few minutes and sipped some water so he could calm down a little.

Idly, he noted the music had stopped, the musician having finished for the night.

Just as he was approaching the door to go stand outside, one of the men he had sent a drink to was approaching him. Kurt smirked. Ah, so apparently his flirting tactics had worked.

"Hey-" was as far as he got before the man angrily slammed a palm into the wall next to him.

"Stop sending us drinks!" he yelled. He swayed a little, his eyes slightly glazed over. So he probably had a lot to drink too.

Kurt nervously held up his palms. "Sorry! Thought one of you was flirting! I'm actually about to leave—" Great, he couldn't escape homophobia even in LA of all places.

"Mikey has had his heart broken today and you're making it worse!"

Kurt blinked and wiped away the spittle from his face. "Sorry for… for your loss?" His mind was moving a bit sluggishly.

The man just narrowed his eyes further and grabbed Kurt's collar. He tried not to protest that this shirt was way too expensive for this. "You look just like his ex and you're hurting his feelings!"

Well, this was a brand new reason to be bullied.

"I'm genuinely very sorry! I- My condolences?"

The man looked like he was about to pummel Kurt into oblivion and he tried to remember his best defensive strategies from high school when a warm hand gripped his shoulder.

They both turned to face the singer from the stage who had a hand on each of their shoulders and a friendly smile on his face. Up close, he was even more gorgeous and it could have been the alcohol talking, but Kurt could have sworn the man was looking at him with just as much interest. Or maybe he was just super horny which was what got him into this mess in the first place.

"Hey, man. Everything okay?" He asked, his voice soft and warm. Kurt eyed a little scar that ran through his eyebrow. His eyes were bright and hazel and lined with black. He had a friendly face with those big things in his ears that made holes.

Kurt had found through his career and life-long love affair with fashion that clothes could tell him a lot about a person. For instance, the drunk guy? He liked to be comfortable, but still wanted to look good if the materiel his shirt was made of was to be believed.

As for the singer, his clothes were basic, but well made. He was trying to come off like he didn't care, but he did. His style was edgy, he was bold and sentimental according to the tattoos.

The guy still hadn't removed his hand and Kurt found he didn't really mind. Wow, how sad that a hot stranger touching his shoulder was enough to give him feelings.

"This guy is making my friend sad!" The drunk guy slurred a bit and stumbled back.

The singer patted him reassuringly and tilted his head towards the other guys. "Well, I think they need you, man. Pretty sure he's crying again."

This made the man look back at his friend's table in worry and the singer took the opportunity to push Kurt further towards the door.

"I better go," the guy said and began stumbling back to his friends.

After he was out of earshot, the entertainer turned back to Kurt and gave him a friendly smile. "Sorry about him. He's a regular, but he's kind of an ass that gets worse the longer he drinks. Are you okay?"

Kurt was aware he was standing there staring at this man without speaking, but he couldn't form words at first. It was as if his tongue had grown too large for his mouth and his brain shut down. The guy raised the unscarred eyebrow and a hint of a smile twitched his lips. Kurt mentally kicked the cogs of his brain back into working order.

"Ah, um, yes! Fine. Definitely. Well, my shirt might not be, but a trip to the dry cleaner's should fix it. Thank you… Uh?"

The man's mouth turned up in a crooked smile and leaned forward into Kurt's personal space. Kurt froze as their faces got very close, paralyzed by his eyes and general presence.

"Name's Blaine," he answered and held Kurt's gaze for enough time that his brain ground to a halt once again. "I think your shirt will be okay." Blaine caressed the edge of Kurt's collar with a black tipped finger and let it dip into the open top button of his shirt. Kurt felt the finger graze the notch at the base of his neck for only a second before he pulled away.

Kurt swallowed hard. "Yeah. Yeah, I think so too."

Blaine stared at him for a bit longer and then laughed softly. "What's your name?"

"Oh! It's Kurt." Mentally smacking himself again, Kurt extended his hand and Blaine shook it. His hands had callouses, but they were so warm and fit his perfectly. They were so strong too. Probably strong enough to grab his hips and— Kurt shoved those thoughts into a closet and slammed the door. Not the time to be thinking like that.

"Nice to meet you, Kurt." Oh, he liked how his name sounded on Blaine's lips. His smile dimmed a bit and Kurt wobbled on his feet. "No offense, but I would get out of here if I were you. Those guys might stay awhile longer and they always cause some sort of trouble."

A crash punctuated his words as if to confirm them. Blaine glanced over his shoulder.

"Yeah, I was about to leave anyway," Kurt said as he fished his phone out of his pocket. "I'll just call a car…"

"I can give you a ride?" Blaine offered. "I was just about to leave myself."

"Oh no!" Kurt protested. "I can't do that! I'll get home on my own."

"I insist," Blaine said with the air of someone who usually got their way by charm alone. "I was about to go anyway and I wouldn't feel right leaving you here by yourself."

Kurt chewed his lip thoughtfully and weighed his options. He did want to go ahead and get home and this guy could be propositioning him. He was definitely interested in that. He was still just drunk enough to think it was a great idea, but not so drunk that he couldn't think practically.

But this guy could also be trying to kidnap him! It probably would be really dumb to leave with him. Then again, Mercedes said he worked here regularly, so it's not like he was a random person.

Another crash from the table of guys and yells erupting made his decision for him.

"Fine," Kurt said, causing a smile to break out on Blaine's face. He hoped he sounded tempting instead of frightened. "You can take me home." He drug his gaze up and down Blaine's body with clear interest and was gratified to see heat flicker in the shorter man's eyes.

"Let me just go grab my guitar," he replied, hooking a thumb over his shoulder. "Be right back. Don't move!"

Kurt winked seductively and watched Blaine duck back into the main area of the bar for his things. He whipped out his phone and texted Mercedes what he was doing just so if Blaine ended up locking him in his basement, someone would know what happened to him. Then he gave himself a little talk to convince himself it was a good idea to leave with the singer.

"You can do this! Sure, it's been awhile, but he wants you and you have money, talent, and are fucking sexy!" He rolled his shoulders as Blaine came back with a guitar case strapped across his back and wearing a leather jacket. He was carrying a something black and bulky in his other hand, but Kurt's attention was stolen by more boisterous yells coming from the men inside the bar. It was time to get the hell out of there.

He grinned and opened the door for Kurt who tried to sway his hips a little more than necessary and not fall down. He felt the heat of Blaine's eyes on him as they walked into the parking lot together past a few cars and a motorcycle.

Blaine stopped at the motorcycle. He had a motorcycle. Because of course he did.

"That's yours?"

Blaine nodded and dug out another helmet from a compartment under the bike's seat and Kurt worked on trying to keep his jaw up. Was this a weird dream? People rode motorcycles. He had no idea why he was shocked or why it was turning him on so much. He now realized Blaine had been carrying his own helmet.

A second helmet was handed to him and Kurt took it with slightly shaky hands. It was black like Blaine's, but had a bright yellow sticker on the back that declared he wasn't allowed to drive the bike. Kurt raised an eyebrow at this, but Blaine just shrugged.

"It's my brother's." He smacked his helmet onto his head and straddled his bike. Kurt carefully eased his borrowed helmet onto his own head, giving up all hope that his hair would recover and gingerly climbed behind Blaine on the back. He had never ridden on a motorcycle before.

Blaine twisted around and handed him the guitar which he had pulled off. "Here. You'll have to wear it since you'll be behind me."

Kurt did as he was told and strapped it on carefully before Blaine revved up the bike. With alarm rising up in him, he realized he had no idea where to put his hands and had visions of Blaine pulling away with Kurt flopping off behind him. He didn't know if Blaine would want him to hold onto him, but the guitar made it difficult to grab onto the seat behind him. He finally settled on holding the small wedge of seat between him and Blaine, hoping it would be enough.

A muffled laugh caused him to look up sharply at Blaine who grabbed his arms and hauled him forward and flush against him with a squeak. That felt nice.

"Hold onto my waist," Blaine said, wrapping Kurt's arms around his middle. "Don't want you falling off the back."

"Okay," Kurt replied nervously as he tightened his grip on the man in front of him.

"Where am I headed?" Blaine asked with a look back over his shoulder.

"Your place?" he half-said-half asked. It might be kind of awkward for them to go back to his house with Kit and Marley there. Although he was wearing a helmet, Kurt tried to put as much allure into his words as he could. "We could… If you wanted." Was it the best pickup line? No. Was it smooth? Hell no, but he was putting forth the invitation. And he really, really wanted Blaine to accept.

He couldn't see Blaine's whole face, but his eyes seemed to show he considered the offer for a moment. "Uh, I think I should just take you home."

Disappointment coursed through Kurt, but he tried not to show how it stung. Maybe he had completely misread everything. Oh no, maybe he was straight!

"Oh, okay. It's fine. Just curious!" He tried to laugh it off and he wished he could see Blaine's face better. But then he didn't because he felt like he was the biggest idiot ever. Great.

The bike pulled away with a lurch and Kurt clung to him like a koala.

Blaine's back was warm through his jacket. Kurt resisted the urge to rest his chin on Blaine's shoulder as he shouted directions into his ear. He didn't want to make things more awkward than they already were, so he kept things brief and tried to to pretend Blaine didn't reject him.

The drive home was almost dreamlike. The moon was nearly full and lit the dark up around them when they left the lights of the city. Kurt couldn't believe that he was riding on the back of a motorcycle after being rescued by the man he was basically hugging. The wind was blowing through his clothes and he felt like he was flying. It was surreal.

They arrived in front of Kurt's beautiful home in less time than he would have liked and Blaine cut the engine right in front of the well-lit steps. Now came the fun awkward part.

Blaine pulled off his helmet and whistled. "This is nice. What are you like a doctor or own a film company?"

Kurt had taken off his own helmet and was trying to fix his hair before Blaine noticed. He looked at the freshly scrubbed walk and the new paint (the correct shade of egg shell after numerous arguments with his contractor) on the front door and felt slightly self-conscious. He was uncommonly successful for his age, and proud of it, but he had been told (by his dad mostly) that he didn't need fancy things all the time (Kurt disagreed.) It's not like he was trying to show off, but he enjoyed having a nice place to live and having things the way he wanted.

"Um, no," he said, handing his helmet and the guitar back to his rescuer. He clasped his hands behind his back. "I'm the new Head Fashion Editor at Vogue. I just got the promotion."

He didn't add that he was no stranger to the camera either. Best not to boast.

Blaine nodded, duly impressed as he leaned against his bike. "Cool. You are obviously pretty good at it."

Kurt nodded slowly and sucked his lips in for a moment before popping them out. He eyed Blaine's relaxed form. "I appreciate the ride and the saving my life." Too bad Blaine didn't want to have some fun. He had no idea what he was missing.

Blaine chuckled, showing off his teeth. "It's okay. Those guys annoy the hell out of me. They once threw mozzarella sticks at me while I was trying to sing. I honestly don't know why they haven't been banned yet." He rolled his eyes and kicked at a piece of asphalt with his boot. "Well, it was really nice to meet you, Kurt. Maybe I'll see you around sometime?"

Kurt wet his lips and slid his hands into his pockets. "Yeah. Maybe."

Blaine had mounted his bike again and was about to put on his helmet. His eyes flicked from Kurt to his house and then back.

Kurt tried to walk away with some of his dignity intact, but Blaine called him back.

"Wait!"

Kurt absolutely did not whirl back too quickly with hope in his eyes.

"It's not you." Desire heated his gaze. Kurt shuddered. "Believe me. I just have to get up for work and you've been drinking… I wouldn't feel right."

Kurt laughed and waved a carefree hand. "Your loss. I guess I'll see you around!"

Blaine's smile slipped a little and he jerked a quick nod before sliding his helmet on. He waved once and then he had sped away.

Kurt watched him go. Perhaps he had been a little too self-assured? He cursed. He should have asked for his number at least. Well, he knew where he worked if he could work up the courage to go back there after those brutes accosted him. Kurt sighed and went inside to relieve Marley. One day he would get to satisfy his urges…

*songs used:

-Don't Stop Me Now - Queen

-Latch (acoustic) Sam Smith

-Dying in LA -Panic at the Disco

-Glitter and Gold -Barns Courtney