Limiting Equilibrium
You know that calm before the storm, where everything is still and unmoving? That single moment of perfect tranquillity before everything falls to pieces? That's how I like to think of the early days of our relationship.
Limiting equilibrium. Just one push, one extra force, and everything spins out of control.
Blaine Anderson had been terrified before. He knew what it was like to feel his heart thudding against his rib cage, to see in freeze frames and fear for his life.
That's why he knew that he was absolutely terrified to the core by the prospect of meeting Kurt's father. Kurt's declarations of, "He's a teddy bear," and, "It's fine; I'll hide his shotgun before you come over," really did nothing to soothe his fear.
Because, Blaine knew that if some famous bastard in a sports car they probably couldn't drive properly had hit his son, and then hit on said son, he'd probably … well, hit the scumbag with whatever he had, car or no.
And that wasn't what was worst. Blaine wanted – hell, he needed – this man to like him. He wanted him to look at him and approve and trust him with Kurt. Burt Hummel was a man whose approval he craved more than any of his critics, more than any of his fellow actors, more than his own family.
OK, so he was eighteen.
What he had with Kurt probably wouldn't last forever.
But right now… Right now it sure as hell felt like it would.
The realisation hit Blaine like a stab in the chest as he fiddled with his tie knot in front of the mirror. He liked Kurt. He liked Kurt a lot. This wasn't just some sort of fling – not to him at least. This wasn't him drunkenly making out with whoever was in front of him at some private party. This wasn't his last screw-up of a relationship.
This was… Different.
This was Kurt.
Kurt whose father apparently owned a gun.
Oh, he was so screwed.
Blaine stared.
Kurt stared back.
They remained like that, locked in each other's gazes, until Kurt spoke up.
"This is awkward," he said and Blaine had to agree.
"Mortifyingly so," he clarified.
Blaine wasn't sure what he had been expecting when Kurt had woken up – how he'd thought their relationship would progress – but he was certain of one thing: he wasn't walking away from this. He had become too emotionally invested in Kurt to even think of letting him go. He didn't care if Kurt was some sort of stalker fan, or hated him, or whatever, because he couldn't ever forget him.
Maybe this was some kind of twisted karma. Instead of the crazed fanatic obsessing over the TV star, the TV star developing an unhealthy attachment to the fanatic.
Kurt looked at him again – and, those eyes – literally raking his eyes up and down Blaine's form. Blaine couldn't quite find it in himself to feel violated by the invasive nature of the gaze.
"Tell you what," Kurt eventually declared. "Let's start again."
"Like a re-do?" Blaine asked.
"Take two," Kurt agreed. Then he smiled. "Hello, I'm Kurt Hummel. You are?"
Blaine smiled back. "Blaine Anderson," he said.
There was something slightly devious about the expression that crossed Kurt's face. "Like the TV star?"
Was he flirting with him? Oh God, he didn't know.
"Like the TV star," Blaine affirmed.
"So, Blaine," Kurt asked. "What brings you to this neck of the woods?"
"Well," Blaine started. Well, if they were flirting… "There's this really cute guy I know who's just come out of a coma." He shrugged. "I'm visiting."
"Lucky guy," came Kurt's response.
This was flirting, right? Totally flirting.
"You?" Blaine turned the question on Kurt.
"Some jumped-up TV star hit me with his car."
"Really?" Blaine asked, raising his eyebrows. "God, what an asshole."
"I know, right?" Kurt replied. "Good thing he's pretty cute himself, though."
Blaine felt a slight blush begin to work its way across his cheekbones. "Is that so?" he murmured, unaware that Kurt would catch it.
"Yeah, but I'd appreciate it if you kept it to yourself," Kurt said. "Wouldn't want to feed his ego. Might make him more of an asshole."
"And we can't have that, can we?"
This… This could work.
The picked at remains of Burt's low-fat dinner sat in front of him as he regarded Kurt apprehensively. When his son had told Burt all about his boyfriend – the sort of more than temporary sound of that word had momentarily shocked Burt – the mechanic had been initially both impressed and disappointed. Impressed because Burt could remember what it was like to be a teenager, sneaking around with a girl, and keeping a relationship secret for even a few days could be near impossible. Disappointed, though, because he and Kurt had always had a policy of honesty. They tried to never lie to each other, even if that meant keeping silent instead.
And to hear that Kurt had been out on dates when Burt thought he was hanging out with the girls from Glee meant that there had been quite the bit of lying going on the past week.
"So," Burt hedged, his eyes trained on Kurt. "This boy… How serious are things between you two?"
"We haven't had sex, if that's what you're asking," Kurt informed him bluntly.
"Good," came Burt's succinct answer. "But that's not what I was going to ask. I was just wondering how free I am to dislike him."
And there was the arching of an eyebrow that Kurt did – a gesture so reminiscent of Elizabeth it scared Burt sometimes.
"You're free to like him as much as you please," Kurt stated wryly. "Just bear in mind that I'm the one who cooks your meals."
"So, if I hate him?" Burt challenged, raising his own eyebrows.
"You'll never see another pizza again in your life."
"Good to know," muttered Burt.
Kurt just smiled sweetly.
"Kurt," Burt started slowly. "I just want to tell you that I appreciate you telling me this. You've already shown me that you're damned good at hiding things when you want to, but it puts my mind at rest that you are prepared to share this sort of thing with me. Besides, kiddo, you like this guy right? I trust your judgement. I'm sure he'll be a good kid."
Let's not make assumptions until you meet him, Dad, Kurt thought.
Any further conversation was cut off by the sound of the doorbell ringing.
Kurt sprang out of his seat, chanting, "I'll get it," and ran to the front door.
Blaine felt like the lead in some crappy teen movie as he stood on Kurt's doorstep, seriously considering whether or not he should have brought flowers. The white-painted door loomed in front of him, the doorbell seeming to mock him as his hand hovered over it.
Courage, Anderson, Kurt's voice echoed in his head.
He sighed and pushed the doorbell.
Barely seconds later, the door was flung open and Blaine was greeted by Kurt's face, which lit up at the sight of Blaine. Kurt always looked at Blaine like that, like when he was around, he was all that mattered, like no matter what Blaine did, Kurt would never, ever judge him. It was nice.
"So," Blaine said, leaning casually against the doorframe. "I heard I could find myself a hot date for tonight here."
"I heard he had a prior arrangement," Kurt replied archly. "Seems like you're going to have to settle for me."
"Never."
And, like it was clockwork for them, Kurt reached out with his hand, wrapped it around Blaine's tie, and pressed their lips together in a chaste kiss.
Blaine had pretty much always known he was gay. By the time he first came out, aged fourteen, he was absolutely certain.
Sure, he'd tried to be straight once. You know, date a few girls, make his mother happy, but it just hadn't been quite the same. It hadn't clicked. There was no – and he hated how utterly clichéd this made him sound – spark.
And then Evan happened.
He couldn't remember the tenuous link between him and Evan, the friend of a friend of a friend who introduced them, but he remembered their relationship. The rushed medley of firsts – kisses and flirting and movie dates and dances – and the feeling of lying awake in bed, thinking, Oh God, I'm really falling for this guy.
He also remembered dropping by to surprise Evan after wrapping up early on set to find Evan, half-naked and reeking of sex, curled up in his old manager's arms.
He'd shouted so much in the following row. He'd tossed insult after insult and slur after slur out against Evan and somewhere, in between the cries of dirty skank and lying cheating bastard, Evan had started screaming back. How, of course he'd been cheating on Blaine because, what the fuck kind of prude doesn't put out by the fourth date?! And, maybe, if you weren't so fucking far in the closet, you couldn't see what's going on all around you, you would have noticed that this has been going on for weeks!
Then Blaine had just thrown his hands up in the air, voice hoarse and declared he was done. With the both of them.
He'd walked away from that confrontation manager-less and single.
He'd woken up the next day to find out that he could add 'outed' to that list of adjectives.
But, God, kissing Kurt, even if it was just a simple pressing together of their lips, just made everything seem to coalesce. It clicked. It wasn't like that sudden shock of relief that kissing Evan had been; it was something deeper, like an intimate connection, one that made him want to rip his heart open and bear it for all the world to see, to show Kurt and say, "Look, this is all of me. This is who I am."
But he didn't. He just smiled into his boyfriend's lips, revelling in the tickling feeling of Kurt's breath on his face.
"You know, if this happens every time I wear a full-length tie, I'm going to have to rethink my bow-tie addiction," Blaine said.
"Never," Kurt teased, mirroring Blaine's earlier tone. "Come on, let's go get the fatherly intimidation over with."
"Just checking, you did remember to hide his shotgun right?"
The only answer Blaine received to his panicked question was a melodic laugh from Kurt. All things considered, he wasn't so sure how he was supposed to take that.
Blaine loved the inside of Kurt's house. Sure, it couldn't really hold a candle up to the swanky and modern interior of his apartment in LA in terms of design, but it had one thing his LA apartment lacked: character. There was an undeniable flare of Kurt to everything in the house – little details and nit-picks – like the frill on a lampshade, or the tiny glass sculpture sat on the mantelpiece in the sitting room, or the equally countless and adorable family photos of Kurt and his dad and some of a beautiful woman, who, Blaine guessed, was Kurt's mother.
Blaine vaguely registered these details as Kurt led him to the kitchen and pushed the door open.
"Dad," Kurt said, pulling him into the room. "This is Blaine."
Burt Hummel looked near identical to his photographical counterpart, if not more worn. Blaine felt himself shrink under his gaze.
"Blaine," Burt repeated flatly.
Blaine guessed he should do something round about now, so he stuck his hand out, and thanked his acting abilities as he let a charming smile fall into place on his face.
"Blaine Anderson," he said by way of an introduction.
"I know who you are," Burt stated, his tone unreadable. Nonetheless, he took the actor's hand and shook it.
"It's nice to meet you," Blaine said, powering on through the small-talk routine he'd perfected.
Burt smiled, but the gesture seemed rather forced. He turned to his son. "Kurt, could you leave us alone for a few minutes?"
Kurt's eyes narrowed imperceptibly. "Remember what I said, Dad," he warned.
"It's nothing bad, Kiddo," Burt reassured. "I just want a quick talk."
Kurt gave his father another warning look, but gave Blaine's hand one last squeeze and filed out of the room.
Alone now, Burt stared Blaine up and down. If Blaine flinched, it was on instinct and intimidation alone.
Eventually, Burt sighed. "Relax, Kiddo, I'm not going to hurt you. I just wanted to talk without Kurt breathing down my neck." He paused. "Have a seat."
Feeling younger than he had in a long time, Blaine awkwardly seated himself on one of the wooden kitchen chairs.
"Now, Blaine, I'm going to be perfectly clear with you," Burt said. "You hit my son with your car."
Blaine flinched.
"Now, I know it wasn't your fault. Kurt has sworn up and down that he was pushed into the path of your car and, you know what? I believe him. That doesn't change the fact that I had to wait three long and painful weeks to see my son awake again after one of my part-timers showed me pictures of him sprawled across the front of your car."
Burt took a deep breath. "You make him happy, Blaine. I don't think I'm the only one who's noticed how much more he's been smiling these few weeks, so for now, I'm going to trust you with him."
Blaine stared at him for a few seconds, waiting for the 'but' clause. The almost mandated threat of violence against his person on the off chance he hurt Kurt.
But it never came. Instead, Burt just called out to Kurt, telling him they were done.
"I—" Blaine stumbled for the words he wanted to say. "I will. Take care of him, Mr Hummel, I mean. I know that because of how well-known I am, it may be hard, but—"
Burt cut him off, "You may be famous, but you're only eighteen, Blaine." He said, "Kurt's not stupid and if there were ever a disillusioned teen, it's him. He knows what he's getting into."
It was at this moment that Kurt entered the room again. "Still got all your limbs, Blaine?" he asked teasingly, but his eyes were serious as they looked up at his father.
"All the important ones at least," Blaine replied with a shrug and an easy grin.
Kurt's hand wormed its way back into Blaine's palm. The ex-Cheerio stared questioningly at his father.
Burt's answer was curt and to the point.
"Have a nice date."
When Blaine arrived at the hospital, Kurt was typing madly on his laptop, headphones on, blasting some sort of music into his ears. Kurt was so deeply ingrained in what he was doing, he didn't notice Blaine until the TV star put a hand on his leg, making him jump.
"What are you doing?" Blaine asked, gesturing to the laptop as Kurt took his headphones off.
"Writing graphic gay porn," Kurt deadpanned.
"Oh." Words failed Blaine. "How's that going?"
"Fine, I suppose. I've found that the Microsoft Word synonym function is fantastic for coming up with as many euphemisms as possible for…" Kurt trailed off, spotting the look on Blaine's face. "Blaine, I'm just messing with you. I'm filling in online application forms."
"I'm pretty sure you told me you were only a Junior," Blaine began, but Kurt cut him off.
"Not for college," he told Blaine. "My dad wants me to transfer from McKinley. Anywhere. I'm just filling in the forms for any of the possible schools."
"Have you applied for Dalton?" Blaine asked, gazing over Kurt's shoulder at his laptop screen curiously. "It's in Westerville."
"No, actually," Kurt said, bringing up google and searching for the school. "It looks expensive."
"I saw how much compensation my lawyers forced you to take," Blaine stated. "You can afford it now. And it really is a great school."
"Oh?"
"Before I made my big break on Rational Fear," Blaine explained, "I attended Dalton for like a week. It's got a great curriculum and they have a zero-tolerance policy on harassment, which is enforced."
"Enforced?" asked Kurt.
"Yeah. On my second day there, this guy wrote homophobic slurs on my facebook wall. The next thing I know, the administration have suspended him. He did it again and they called up his parents and told them to take him home – permanently."
"Wow," Kurt breathed. "Sounds kind of…" he searched for the right word, "amazing?"
"It was." Blaine shook his head. "If I hadn't gone into acting, I can totally see myself having graduated from there."
Kurt sighed and shoved his laptop off his lap. "Let's talk about something else."
"OK," Blaine agreed easily. "What do you want to talk about?"
"Let's talk fashion. You read Vogue?"
"Is the sky blue?"
"Favourite cover on three. 1… 2..."
"You know, when you said dinner and a movie," Kurt stated dryly, "I didn't think it was going to be a movie-on-demand and my choice of room service in your hotel room."
They were curled up on the lavish sheets of the bed in Blaine's hotel room, staring at the TV on the wall opposite as a young female actress blinked repetitively at the camera in an effort to express some form of emotion.
"You know, there are thousands of people out there who would be willing to trade places with you in a heartbeat," Blaine informed Kurt half-seriously. In the background, the music swelled, but Blaine had long since stopped listening in favour of gazing at Kurt.
"What?" Kurt snorted, flicking a piece of popcorn at Blaine. "So they too can enjoy the delicacies of stale popcorn and barely in date candy to the sub-par romantic soundtrack of a crappy film?"
"No," Blaine corrected. "I meant alone with me in my hotel room."
"Ah," Kurt mused. "Of course. Truly, I am blessed to be in the presence of The Great Blaine Anderson."
Somehow, subconsciously, they had inched closer and closer together in the previous conversation, crossing boundaries and invading each other's personal space like it was natural – instinctual – to be this close. Blaine could feel Kurt's warm breath on his face and was sure Kurt could also feel his.
Kurt was so close, his eyes so all-seeing, that Blaine felt somewhat naked there in front of Kurt. It was like Kurt could see all his secrets, all his insecurities, and it made Blaine feel a strange cross between safe and vulnerable.
In that second of connection, Blaine forgot completely about their banter and pathetic attempts at flirting. He just stared quietly at Kurt. And Kurt stared quietly back.
They didn't watch much more of the movie that night.
"Why are you putting up with me?"
Above his magazine, Kurt quirked an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"
Blaine paced up and down in front of Kurt's hospital bed. "I mean, why are you indulging me?" Blaine asked. "You keep letting me come and visit you and you're nice and you just seem to like to pretend like I wasn't the one who put you in that bloody hospital bed and I just can't pretend anymore, because although you smile and say it wasn't my fault, it was, OK, and that kills me, but it's true."
Kurt sighed and put his magazine down.
"Do you want the honest truth, Blaine?" Kurt asked tiredly.
Blaine nodded.
"You hit me with a car," Kurt said bluntly. "I don't really remember much about what happened, but I can tell you this now: it hurt like hell. But the accident was not your fault, OK. It could have been anyone in that car, but, you know what?"
Blaine stared. "What?" he asked quietly.
"I'm really, really glad it was you."
Kurt ended up quietly tip-toeing into the house about fifteen minutes after his curfew. As he crept through the door into the darkened hallway, ditching his keys as he went, he thanked his lucky stars that his dad hadn't waited up for him.
At least he did until he walked into the living room to find Burt waiting for him, dramatic lighting and all, true Bond movie villain style.
"So," Burt said, drawing out the syllable. "Blaine Anderson."
Kurt bit his lip. "Blaine Anderson," he repeated.
"When were you thinking of letting me in on the fact that your special someone was an extremely well-known TV-star?" Burt asked, face unreadable.
Kurt ducked his head sheepishly. "Soon?"
"Kurt, I'm not mad," Burt reassured. "I'm just worried. I know you're intelligent, Kiddo, sometimes far too intelligent for your own good, and I know you're not the type to jump into things headfirst, but I need to know that you aren't just chasing after the idea of Blaine, rather than Blaine himself."
Kurt took a deep breath, spotting the concern built into his father's expression. It had always been hard, Kurt knew, for his Dad to fully understand what he was going through – what he had gone through.
Don't get him wrong, his Dad was great – beyond great – and he wouldn't trade him for the world, but growing up in Lima, knowing that he was different and knowing that the world was going to hate him for it … Burt would never really understand. There was just this constant pressure to hide everything about you from the world and it sucked, but it was his life, and it helped shape Kurt into the person who he was today.
But Blaine… Blaine got that part of Kurt. He got it in a way Kurt didn't think anyone else really would because he got Kurt. This wasn't about Kurt building Blaine up around his public image; this was Kurt, the Kurt of right here and right now, falling little by little, drip by drop, more in love with Blaine.
And he was, he realised belatedly. He was falling for Blaine and, as scary and exhilarating and terrifying as it was, it was also relieving. It made sense.
Kurt could have spewed that whole lot out to his Dad.
He didn't.
Instead, he took a deep breath and brought his eyes up to his father's.
"Blaine is scared of thunder," he told Burt, "because when he was younger, he spent three hours locked inside a logging cabin in a storm before his parents realised he was missing. He won't eat raw tomatoes, but loves them when they're cooked, and he can't stand the taste of any form of sea food."
"Kurt—" Burt began, but was cut off by his son.
"His favourite word is 'dodgy' and when I speak, he always stares at my face as if he's trying to memorise every last bit of my bone structure. He's a hopeless romantic and can quote The Princess Bride verbatim. And, Dad, when I was in a coma, he searched every single room in that hospital to find me and apologize."
Kurt sighed. "That's the Blaine I'm dating, Dad," he explained. "Not The Blaine Anderson, not Gavin Hope, not even Blanderson. To me, he's just Blaine and I really, really like him, Dad. And I need you to accept that, because despite the shouted slogans and slurs of all the bigots and Neanderthals out there, yours is the only opinion I truly care about and I need your acceptance."
Burt watched his son for a few further seconds. Then, he stretched his arm out. "C'mere," he said, pulling Kurt into a crushing hug.
"You really like this guy, huh?" Burt murmured into his son's hair.
"Truly," Kurt affirmed.
"And he makes you happy?"
"Very."
Burt ruffled his son's hair, ignoring the squawks of protest it elicited. "Then I guess I like him too."
Blaine stared at Kurt's sleeping form. Two days. Two more days until Kurt was let out of hospital. Two more days until Kurt could run, run as fast as he could, away from Blaine.
It scared the shit out of him.
It hadn't quite sunk in to Blaine that he needed Kurt. It wasn't so much a case of obsession anymore, or of admiration, but more of like.
Oh God, he was so in like with Kurt Hummel.
Blaine stared at Kurt as he slept.
He really wasn't sure which thought scared him more.
It seemed like they never had enough time.
As Tuesday dawned, sunny but with a bitter chill in the air, the fact that Blaine was going to be leaving Ohio finally sunk in to Kurt's thought-process.
His relationship with Blaine had been complicated right from the start, Kurt supposed. He had yet to get the full story from either Finn or Blaine, but apparently the TV star had been so wracked with guilt he'd started visiting Kurt in hospital after the crash. Blaine had also apparently been there when Kurt finally woke from his coma, which was kind of perfect in a completely over the top and clichéd kind of way.
The initial, proper, both-parties-awake-and-participating meeting between him and Blaine was hidden in a haze of painkillers for Kurt and he vaguely remembered giggling at Blaine's hair, or doing something equally mortifying. It was hard to reconcile their status as strangers from then with their closeness now.
When they took Kurt off the heavier drugs, Blaine had started visiting him every day, sometimes just sitting with him in the room, and watching Kurt in this distinct way that made him wonder if he was supposed to feel flattered or uncomfortable. The transition between the chronic awkwardness to their relaxed friendship-turned-relationship was as gradual as it could be given that it happened in a mere two weeks.
Kurt could still feel the phantom ghost of their first kiss on his lips, still recall the sensation of fisting his hands in Blaine's hair gel laden hair, hear the breathy whisper of, "What are we doing?"
And his own reply: "I don't know. I don't — I don't care."
It didn't seem all that long ago to him.
"I'll miss you," Kurt murmured into Blaine's shoulder.
Blaine's arms pulled Kurt closer into the hug. "I'll miss you too." A reluctant pause. "But, I really do have to go now, though. I'm going to miss my flight if I don't hurry up."
Kurt sighed, the sound elongated and depressing. "I kind of wish I could see you off at the airport, but I have to get back to school in time for the end of my lunch break," he explained sadly.
Blaine shrugged. "Don't worry about it, Kurt. This is more than enough."
"When can I see you again?"
Blaine sighed. "I don't know. This new project, Collisions, means that even after I wrap up on Rational Fear, I'm needed wherever they are planning on filming it. I mean, the scripts aren't even finalised for it yet, and they haven't even decided on all the cast members, so when they finally get around to location scouting, I could literally end up anywhere."
"This sucks," Kurt pouted.
"I know, but Kurt…" Blaine drifted off. "I care about you, Kurt. I've said it before, but I'll say it again. This isn't just some sort of fling to me. I've always been an all-or-nothing kind of guy and Kurt, you are not nothing."
Kurt flushed shyly at Blaine's words. "You're not nothing either, Blaine," he mumbled.
Blaine smiled at that, but pulled away from Kurt. Kurt watched somewhat numbly as Blaine shifted each of his heavy bags out of the room one by one. Once everything was moved into the corridor, Blaine turned back to Kurt.
"You move me, Kurt," he said lowly. "Don't ever forget that."
And then he was gone, the hotel room door clicking shut behind him. Kurt stood stock still for a few seconds, his brain going into overdrive trying to figure out what Blaine meant.
Then he too was gone, sprinting from the room, skidding around the corridor's corners until he caught up with Blaine. There was no tie for him to grab this time, so instead he clawed his hand onto Blaine's wrist and spun him around so they were facing.
"You move me too." The words were out of his mouth before he could think better of it.
Blaine's eyes widened as Kurt leaned forward and kissed him again.
They'd come a long way from chemical urges and pent up sexual tension in a whited-out hospital room – a long way from apologies and excuses.
And though they weren't saying it out right, they both knew it was true.
You move me.
Their very own special little code.
Ohio was just so .. dull. So very backward, so very … quaint.
Well, that's what he had always thought, but, looking down at the captured candid on the LCD screen on his camera… well, it turned out he may have been wrong after all.
A few quick moves of his fingers and the camera's SD card popped out of its holder and into his palm. He fiddled with it absently, unable to stop the diabolical smirk that had worked its way up onto his face.
He pocketed it before pulling out his phone and hitting '1' on speed dial.
"Hey, Dad, I was thinking… Maybe moving back to Ohio for school wouldn't be so bad after all."
Who was he to run away from something as potentially scandalous as this, after all? Ohio just got a whole lot more interesting and he'd be damned if he was missing out on any of that.
"What? No, Dad, Dalton sounds perfect…"
Blanderson is BACK!
These past few weeks, we've heard a lot about our favourite brooding bishounen, most specifically about his scandalous car accident, in which he hit a highschool student with his car. The following pictures that were leaked on Twitter of the accident caused such a stir that there was talk of Blaine losing his job as lead actor on his debut program, Rational Fear.
It eventually did come out that the poor kid shown in the pictures was actually pushed in the front of the car and the true perpetrator is currently in police custody, law enforcement officials tell us. Adding to the happily ever after was the news that the injured party finally came out of his coma just over three weeks ago.
Until now, Blaine has apparently been hiding out in Ohio, "reconnecting with his family and coming to terms with what happened," but yesterday, Blaine Anderson was spotted by none other than myself leaving the arrivals hall at LAX, laden with luggage.
"Yes, I'm back," he informed this reporter when I cornered him in a queue for the coffee shop. "After all, I couldn't miss Rational Fear's second season."
He paid for his coffee and left with a smile and a wave.
When I caught up with Blanderson's manager, she disclosed that Blaine was back for a while. "After he finishes up shooting it [Rational Fear], Blaine has another project that he's going to be working on. It's still in its early days, so that's all I can tell you, but he's very excited about this one."
Why has he been in Ohio so long? Why did he seem so much more at ease after this extended vacation? And, more importantly, what is this new project he's working in?
We shall have to wait and see.
From S-P-O-T-T-E-D, written by Jessica Channings, November 15th 2010
My favourite line from this chapter has to be a toss up between Blaine's, "God, what an asshole." and also Blaine's "I've always been an all-or-nothing kind of guy and Kurt, you are not nothing."
I've had that segment between Kurt and Blaine saved on my notes for ages, trying to find a place to fit it in.
You guys have actually gotten a more complete version of this chapter than S&C because I kind of rewrote sections of it today. Anyway, enjoy. Let me know how I did.
-Kaputt