By the time Monday rolled around, Blaine could hardly believe how normal everything seemed. He'd come out to his parents, had even told them about what Jeremiah had done, and the world, miraculously, hadn't ended. Indeed, the only thing that had changed is that the tightness in his chest and shoulders that he always seemed to carry around had miraculously loosened somewhat.
He actually felt better than fine at this realization – he felt good.
Monday was Hal's day off. That was why, at 11:00 in the morning he was dressed in civilian clothes walking up the Berrys' front walk. He had never actually been inside their home, and when Hiram and LeRoy greeted him and invited him in, he smiled tightly, nodded shortly, and stepped into the grand foyer.
He looked around as he walked in. "Nice place you got here," he said.
"Thanks, Hal," Hiram said. "Please, have a seat. Can we get you something to drink? Water? Coffee?"
"Uh, yeah, coffee. Thanks."
Hiram disappeared into the kitchen and after a few minutes of clicking and clinking, Hiram reentered with a tray containing three cups of fresh coffee, a sugar bowl, and a little mini pitcher containing what must have been cream.
Hal picked up his coffee and took a sip. It was actually, surprisingly, really good. "Wow, this is – this is good stuff. What is it?" he asked.
"It's an organic Columbian blend." LeRoy mentioned the brand, but Hal wasn't good at hearing foreign words, so he just nodded and grunted.
"So, uh, what's going on? You said something happened with one of your kids," Hal said, brining the conversation directly to the matter at hand. He wasn't the type to beat around the bush.
"Uh, yes," LeRoy said, uncrossing his leg and straightening in his seat. "Our son. Someone – who we believe to be in his 20s – has been involved, sexually, with Blaine."
Hiram tensed at the word. "What we want to know, Hal, is whether there is anything we can do. Blaine won't be 18 for a few months yet, and this…predator…went after him anyway."
Hal frowned and set his mug down. "You think this uh, relationship," he said, with a wave of his hand, "thing – was consensual?"
LeRoy and Hiram exchanged a glance. LeRoy finally said, "Honestly, we don't know. We were sort of hoping there was something that could be done that wouldn't require Blaine to testify about that part of it."
"He's got a lot on his plate," Hiram added. "They arrested his mom's killer and there's no word on whether he's taking the plea offer."
"Not that we've discussed that with Blaine, it's just – we don't want to add to his stress."
"So we thought maybe if you find out this guy's older."
"And Blaine being underage."
"You're thinking statutory rape," Hal supplied. Talking with these two in person was going to give him a neck ache. "I'm sorry, fellas, I genuinely am, but that's not going to fly. Not in Ohio. Age of consent is 16."
It was common for people to misunderstand things like statutory rape because TV generally did such a shitty job of giving people accurate information.
Hal took another sip of the rich, flavorful, not-too-hot, not-too-cold, just-right-in-a-Goldilocks-sort-of-way coffee. Maybe he should ask to see the package label.
"Isn't there anything else we can do?" LeRoy asked.
Hal lowered his cup. He blew out a sigh. "Honestly, I guess, maybe I could take him in for something like contributing to the delinquency of a minor, but even that – without Blaine's statement that he did something like, I don't know, feed him alcohol – it would never stick. Unfortunately, and I'm genuinely sorry to say this, but legally, there's nothing I can haul him in for if all he did was fool around with a 17-year-old."
Hiram and LeRoy looked crestfallen. Hal continued, "What I can do is keep an eye on him, see if he's into anything illegal. If he is…" He opened his hands and let the implication land where it did. "Why don't you tell me whatever you know about this punk?"
At that point, Hal reached into the pocket of his polo shirt and retrieved a small pad and a pen. He clicked the pen open and looked up at the two men, ready to take down the details.
Blaine watched Sam and Quinn come down the aisles as they sang and simply "ooh'd" with everyone else. When the music pumped up, he began to dance. It was a simple dance, but he could imagine that with everyone dancing in unison, it would make for a pretty spectacular visual for the audience. Mr. Schue watched them all from his stand in the audience.
He heard the cue and switched from ooh'ing to singing actual words every now and again. It was harder than it looked, but he'd been getting the hang of it slowly but surely. At least he hadn't joined up after the sectionals set was already decided on. At least this way, they were all learning the choreography and 5 part harmony together.
The dynamics of the football team had been weird ever since the Puck porta-potty incident, and Finn wasn't sure how to fix it. That, coupled with the fact that he was having to play with Karofsky when all he really wanted to do was rip the guy's head off, threw off the entire balance on the field. Exhausted from running 20 wind sprints in a row, the boys piled into the locker room.
Through the door that led to the weight room, Finn could hear someone working out – the rhythmic thudding of padded gloves against boxing bag wasn't something he usually heard. Not that the other guys didn't use the bag to mess around. More that whoever was in there actually sounded like he knew what he was doing. Curious, Finn slipped through the door and peeked in and was surprised to find Blaine there, earbuds in his ears, moving and wailing on that bag like a Jewish Mohammad Ali.
He raised an eyebrow. Had he seen this side of Blaine before he'd suggested Puck slushy him, Finn might have reconsidered the plan of action. He left Blaine to it and, once he'd finished showering and changing, he looked back at the weight room. Worrying his lip, he decided it might be time he called a truce.
"You coming, Finn?" Sam called.
"You go on ahead. I'll catch up."
The lumbering teen turned back and headed into the weight room again. This time, he found Blaine lying on his towel on the floor doing sit ups. The curly haired teen saw him and sat up fully. He pulled the earbuds out of his ears and Finn could hear what he thought sounded like Duran Duran's Rio.
"Hey," Finn said, greeting Blaine a bit awkwardly.
Blaine was somewhat out of breath and just nodded his greeting at first. "Sup?" he asked breathlessly.
"Look, I, uh, thought we should talk."
With eyes still focused on Finn, Blaine stood up, picking up his towel on the way, and put his hands on his hips.
"OK, so – talk."
Blaine waited. And Finn walked farther into the room. "I just think, when you first came here, I wasn't really very welcoming to you. Kurt's told me how you had his back through this whole Karofsky thing and I guess, I just want to say, I'm sorry. For being a jerk."
Blaine dropped his eyes, considering him, then, after a long moment, nodded. "OK," he shrugged. "We're good." He lifted one fist to Finn and the taller teen, initially taken aback by the gesture, finally smiled at him and bumped Blaine's fist with his own.
After Finn left to catch up with the other Glee guys, Blaine finished out his set and headed out into the changing room. It was mostly empty and Blaine moved around to the spare locker where he'd kept his clothes and backpack. What he hadn't expected was to run almost bodily into Dave Karofsky.
"Watch it," growled Karofsky.
Blaine felt his fists flex. "Or what?" Blaine asked him staring the bully straight in the eyes.
Karofsky, seemingly unable to come up with an answer, or perhaps just unnerved by Blaine's direct defiance, just scoffed and pushed past Blaine with a shake of his head. Blaine watched him go. The bully. The coward. The irony might have been comical if it hadn't been so serious an issue.