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Waiting for Forever

Year Five: Wood

Blaine hopped, wincing with every thwack of his foot on the hard wood floor as he tugged his shoe on. This was the least graceful exit he'd ever made. Picking up his other shoe, he froze as a big hand stroked down the curve of his spine lingering on the small of his back. "You're awake." He said trying to keep a smile on his face."

"And you're sneaking out." The tall blond man kissed him, brushing the curve of his ass. "It's okay I know you have to rehearse real early today. I can get you some coffee to go."

Blaine blew out a breath relieved that he'd somehow managed to establish an alibi the night before. "I can't be late."

"Okay." The older man paused on his way to the kitchen, disappointment etched on his brow. "When will I see you again?"

"I – See the thing is, Tho –" Blaine stopped his mind blanking on his name. He knew it was something starting with a T. Maybe. "Tommy?" He took a shot.

"Gavin." The slim man straightened, confusion replacing the flirty smile.

"That's what I said." Blaine tried to cover his mistake. Even as he was doing it he wondered why he bothered. He would never see Gavin again. "The thing is I'm really busy with work so I don have a lot of time to date."

"Right. Well I don't want to keep you from work." The irritated man pushed him aside and opened the door. "You should go." He waved him out just as Kurt came sauntering up the paved walkway.

In light of his imminent rescue Blaine decided to be gracious, dragging his ingrained good manners to the forefront. "I'm sorry. It's not you, it's me."

"Spare me the cliché breakup speech. Okay?" Gavin snarled, nostrils flaring. "I got it. You were into me last night. Now you're not. For the record you didn't have to pretend to care about me. You're hot and I'm a sucker for pretty boys. I would have slept with you anyway."

Blaine stumbled back as the heavy door was slammed in his face. He slipped off the porch, hissing at the sharp jab under his right foot realizing he'd left one of his shoes inside. Shit!

Wow!" Kurt murmured behind him. "You are just winning friends and influencing people all over the place, aren't you?"

Checking his pockets for his wallet and phone, Blaine relaxed on finding both. "I don't need a lecture." He snapped.

"You need a minder and pretty soon if the alcoholic fumes coming off you are to be believed, you are going to need a sponsor."

Ignoring him, Blaine squinted headed for the idling cab. Sweat poured off his body, his scotch infused body struggling to adjust to the cocky brilliance of a new day. He raised his hand to shield his face, the glare of early morning sunlight burning clear through to his brain, his tummy roiling with every step.

"It's 8 o'clock in the morning and you're drunk. Again." Kurt cried chasing after him. "What are you doing?"

His voice was like a dagger stabbing into his brain. "What I do is none of your business, Kurt. We are just friends. Hopefully the kind that have outgrown judging eachother."

"You made it my business." Kurt trailed him, his footsteps on the gravel too loud. "When you call me frantic from the home of your latest mistake because you have no idea where you are and all I have to go on is the address you read off his mail because you can't ask him, you make it my business. When I'm forced to lie to our friends about where you've been the last few weeks, you make it my business. Sugar had her baby by the way, not that you care."

"You're right." Blaine tossed over his shoulder. "I don't care."

It was ridiculous to think of Sugar Motta as a suitable mom. She'd probably lose interest in the kid in a couple of years and go back to partying. The last time they met was at a club opening in Queens. She looked gorgeous, her enormous nine-month belly stressing the seams of the clingy low cut amethyst dress she wore. He'd been high out of his mind and trying not to show it. Their entire conversation was a blur; he kept glancing over his shoulder afraid his date would get back with their drinks, so ashamed that she would see him with someone else and ask questions. Questions he also desperately needed the answer to. Like why he was alone with his boyfriend half way around the world.

Brushing off the looming depression, Blaine reached for the car door handle the cool metal sliding over his clammy fingertips. He was about to pop it when Kurt spoke.

"I talked to Sam."

Fuck! Blaine felt his hands slide off the door, a million tiny pebbles rolling under his bare foot as he turned his breath tearing in and out of his lungs, harsh in the muggy air. "What did you do?" He demanded.

"I was furious at him you know." Kurt folded his arms across his chest, the defensive pose revealing his unease. "I couldn't understand how he could leave you alone to deal with the laryngoscopy and surgery while he's running around saving orphans or whatever in fucking Costa Rica."

"Nicaragua"

"I don't care where…" Kurt huffed. "I thought he left you to deal with this on your own. Imagine my surprise when I found out he knew nothing about your surgery or that you got replaced as lead in Two Cities."

Blaine cleared his throat twice, the mention of the surgery triggering the automatic response. "Did you tell him?" It was a complex question, weighed down by guilt and months of elaborate deception.

"Tell him what? That you're drowning in whiskey and self-pity? That you have been lying to him for months?"

"Did you?" Blaine impatiently toed the ground, watching the incongruous sparkles off his painted toenails flashing in the sunlight as he waited for the axe to fall.

"I couldn't. He's so happy and proud of you. Literally every third word he says is your name. It's nauseating." Kurt unbent, playing with his scarf. "Why doesn't he know that you are spiraling? Why didn't you tell him?"

There were so many reasons why.

Sam was thriving. He had finally hit his stride with volunteer work and the after school music programs he run for the local kids. Blaine couldn't burden him with his own failings. They'd never felt so disconnected.

It didn't help that Sam was based in one of the rural towns where the cellphone network and Internet connection was spotty. They talked as much as they could but it was never enough. As foolish as he felt for thinking it, a secret part of him felt like Sam didn't need him anymore. It piled onto the inadequacy from getting fired. Who was he if he couldn't sing? Sam expected him to become great. There were supposed to be Tonys in his future. Would he love him anymore if he was an ordinary guy?

His scruffy jaw rasped between his palms and he ached for a distraction. This is why he drank and partied so he wouldn't have to think about the future and Sam. "Maybe I'm sick of being so easy to leave."

Kurt's horrified gasp was audible. "That's it. I'm calling him."

"Don't." Blaine closed his hand over Kurt's phone. "I'm just being stupid." It was impossible to catch Sam at this time of the day anyway. "We should go before Gavin gets a shotgun and forces us off his lawn."

"We are in Connecticut not the deep south."

They piled into the cab, Kurt reminding him that the hefty bill was on him. Resting his head against the warm pane he closed his eyes, trying not to think, remember, wallow. But his mind stole back to that perfect week Sam had spent with him. There'd been music, and laughter and so much love his heart ached from the loss of it.

"I was wondering how long it would be until the whole long distant thing got to you."

Opening his eyes, to a tiny slit he focused on Kurt's fuzzy outline. "You don't know what it's like to have every plan you ever had go up in flames."

"Sam hasn't left you."

"Hasn't he?" There was a giant hole in his soul that begged to differ.

"Blaine, you're sad and you're lonely. Sam left then you lost your voice almost immediately after. You are self-destructing and it's partly my fault for enabling this behavior. It has been almost four months since your surgery. You need to start dealing with it because I'm done covering for you."

Scooting down Blaine let his words wash over him.

"The vocal cord paralysis wasn't permanent. In under a year you'll be back on top. If Adele can do it then so can you. And you are getting Dalton back from Jake; he's been using him to pick up chicks in the park. You two used to be so cute with the matching outfits and you treating him like a person instead of a dog."

Blaine smiled faintly. He did miss his dog, their dog. When everything had fallen apart it had been too hard to deal with him.

"No more daddy types and no more clubbing. Okay? Cause if you screw up one more time I'm telling Sam. He might be the only one left who can make you listen."

With that threat, Kurt stopped talking leaving Blaine to nod off to the sweetest dreams of his Sam.

He jerked awake outside his building, paying the cabbie and falling in step beside Kurt as they headed to his apartment. Exhaustion lingered at the edges, he could remember for sure when he'd last been home or what day of the week it was. Kurt was right; he'd gone too far, immersing himself in the night in order to escape his demons. The nameless, faceless men had provided an escape that he'd craved. None of them knew there was a 'Sam and Blaine'; they never looked at him like he was half a person or peered over his shoulder expecting his other half like his family and friends did. Sometime their support was almost too much to bear. It was a constant reminder that he was alone.

Pushing into the open door, he sighed. Home. Funny he expected it to be a bigger mess. He had no memory of cleaning up.

"Hey man."

He looked up to find Artie wheeling over to him. "Hi" He wondered how he had gotten into the building, past the stairs again but it felt too impolite to ask. Right now he needed to lie down and sleep for a week. Out of the corner of his eye he could see them frantically signaling behind his back.

"What?" He growled exasperated.

"I need your help with a movie I'm working on" Artie said. "I'm in over my head."

"I don't need your pity." Blaine turned to Kurt. "Did you put him to this?"

"It's not pity. I won this award…"

"I know about the award." Everybody knew, Artie had won a prestigious independent film award that came with a $10,000 grant for his next project. "I mean congratulations. I meant to call you earlier."

"It's okay you've been – preoccupied. But I promise this is not pity. I have to deal with all these frustrating industry folk who keep shooting down my ideas…" Artie shoved his thick glasses back up his nose. "You're charismatic and diplomatic. People listen when you speak. I need you."

Blaine nodded in the face of his desperation but he was still unwilling to commit to this new path. "How about I get back to you tomorrow around 10am with my decision?" His body rebelled; he couldn't remember the last time he'd been out of bed before noon. "Make that more like 2ish."

"Yeah" Artie mocked. "I will let you get back to your very busy schedule of lying around and doing nothing."

"Ouch! Fine, let me get a shower and we can go over the script."

Halfway to his bedroom, Artie called his name. He paused turning back. "You know Sam loves you. Right?"

"I don't want to talk about Sam. I mean…I just." There it was, compassion reflected through enormous lenses derailing him a little. "We're fine."