There's one thing Blaine would like to make perfectly clear: he never intended for any of this to happen.

It just did.

And it's all Trent's fault, anyway.

Rule One: Make A Splash

People always talk about opportunities falling into Blaine's lap. Blaine would like to clarify that most of the time, he's the one falling into other people's laps.

The thing about the Warblers is – as Wes takes great pleasure in pointing out on a near daily basis – that they're pretty much all unabashed Blaine-fanboys. Heck, half of Dalton treats Blaine like he's the coolest new thing since liquid nitrogen.

He really is all that.

It's not like he actively tries to dissuade the hero-worship either – as far as he's concerned, people can like what they want to like, and if that's him, power to them – so maybe he kind of had it coming.

Still, going to sleep one night thoroughly mortified over a failed attempt at wooing a closeted Gap employee has nothing on waking up to discover that said failed attempt has been posted all over the internet.

“I am so, so, so sorry,” Trent repeats for like, the third time already, eyes wide. “I swear I had no idea my sister was going to post it online, Blaine.”

Part of Blaine wants to take Trent by the ear and show him the exact section of their ICT lesson notes that warns against this kind of thing, but that part is currently warring with the rest of him, which simply wants to curl up and die.

Blaine fastens his tie-knot aggressively. “Don't worry about it,” he grits out.

“Are you sure?” Trent asks uncertainly. “Because I talked to her about taking it down, but it's kind of already gone viral, and—”

“Don't worry about it,” Blaine repeats, but then his brain catches up. “Wait,” he says, turning abruptly on the spot, the rest of his uniform forgotten. “Did you just say viral?”

Trent laughs nervously.

What.

1,200,769 views.

1,200,769 views in just under three hours.

The video, neatly titled Blazer Boy Serenades Valentine in Gap, already has over one million views and Blaine feels faint.

Because it's not just his close friends in the Warblers who have witnessed his humiliation – it's one million other complete strangers. And, fuck, you can see his face pretty clearly in the video, so there's no playing this off as some other raven-haired show-choir soloist.

People start to stare at him in the hallways between classes – at least that's what it feels like – and he keeps having to stop and check himself, thinking, god have I spilt my lunch down my front or something?

He's used to the spotlight, but not like this.

Blaine briefly entertains the idea of a painless death, before he remembers that he has a lab report due after lunch.

From: Coop
To: Blaine
Saw the video. Not bad, little bro, but you know how you could have improved it?

From: Blaine
To: Coop
Cooper, not now.

From: Coop
To: Blaine
You could have pointed ----> at him.

From: Blaine
To: Coop
Cooper, seriously, not now.

Fuck the show choir blogs. Fuck ‘em all.

It took about three hours after the video went viral for Mid-West Show Choir Official and Show Choir National to come across it and stamp Blaine's name and show choir all over every major social networking site – from Twitter to freakin' Myspace. He even has a shiny new Wikipedia page. A Wikipedia page.

Blaine got out of last period chem to discover that his name was trending all over the blogosphere – that someone had managed to track down the Warblers' YouTube channel and had turned them into the fifteenth most subscribed to channel on the site. His Facebook has been inundated with friend requests, his Twitter following is through the roof and his school picture – the one he never wanted anyone else to see ever – is everywhere.

And, looking at the veritable storm of popularity, all Blaine can think is: don't these people have anything better to do?

Wes and David – to no one's surprise – find this entire ordeal hilarious. Blaine already has over twenty different new nicknames from them, all varying on the theme of Superstar and Loverboy and Neo-Bieber, and they're refusing to let it rest. Blaine can't wait until the internet gets over the fact that his Valentine's Day Humiliation is apparently so gripping as to be the latest ‘cool new thing' to anybody with an Ethernet cable and a computer.

Blaine learns very quickly not to read the comments section – God, yes, people, he's gay! He's serenading a guy for crying out loud, how much more obvious do you need it to be?! – and gives up after his third time of trying to get Trent's sister to take down the video.

Screw it all, he thinks as he collapses on his dorm bed that night. Face buried in his pillow, Blaine wonders if this week can possibly get any worse.

It gets worse.

Being a student at boarding school is normally a pretty good indicator of having absent parents and Blaine's case is no exception to this rule. Claire and Johnathon Anderson are affectionate – and, at times, supportive – but distant. They call once a week, always making sure to ask after his grades and friends, talk a bit about their work, then hang up and go do whatever else.

Which is why it doesn't surprise Blaine one bit that neither his mother nor his father are aware of the trivial fact that their son has recently become an unwilling internet celebrity. It's not like they have Blaine's name on Google Alerts, or anything, and it's not like they interact with anyone who's likely to have seen the video, so Blaine is in the clear as far as that's concerned.

In all honesty, though, Blaine's not at all certain how they would react to the news. Fame and fortune were never even on the radar for Blaine, especially not after his older brother cut out on the family to go an make his mark on Los Angeles, only coming home when he needed more money. Blaine's plan was always graduation, Ivy League, and then inheriting the family business from his father when the time is right.

It's the plan for Blaine. Ever since Cooper decided he was going to become an actor, it's been the only plan for Blaine.

And Blaine is kind of okay with that.

There really is only one problem with the fact that his parents don't know that Blaine's view count is right up there with Charlie Bit My Finger on the logarithmic scale of YouTube sensationalism and that is that said parents won't just accept Blaine's feeble excuse when he tells them that he doesn't feel up to playing Happy Families at the big charity benefit that they're attending on Friday night.

And so Blaine ends up dressed in a suit worth more than his life, hair gelled severely into submission, and wondering just how offensive the other guests would find it if he pulled out his phone and started to text Wes.

He spends the majority of the evening silent at their table, only joining in with conversation when directly spoken to, or when one of his parents starts to casually drop his achievements into the flow of discourse – Blaine here has a 4.0 GPA, and he's on the Dalton fencing team. Well, yes, of course we're proud. He takes after his father, doesn't he? – and the pitiful remainder of it turning down invitations from girls his age to dance.

It takes about half an hour for his parents to clue in on the fact that something's not quite right in the world of Blaine. After that, Blaine's father spends some time frowning at him and his mother keeps shooting him weird looks. Blaine just sighs. He doesn't really feel like performing in any form tonight.

“Blaine,” Claire Anderson eventually says, and Blaine waits for it, prepares his response – I'm fine, Mom, just tired – but the expected question never comes. “Why don't you go dance?”

Okay. Message received. His moping is kind of cramping their style.

Blaine forces a smile to his face, knowing all the while that it must come out like a grimace. “I'm actually not feeling to great, Mom,” he says. “I think I'm going to go and get some water from the bar. Can I get you anything?”

Claire just waves him off casually, and once more, Blaine gets the message. Right. Dismissed.

Blaine pushes back his chair and pushes himself to his feet, stumbling slightly. He chances one last look back at his mother – who has already turned back to her conversation with one of the other trophy wives – before he turns around and makes his way in the direction of the bar.

Now, Blaine's actually pretty coordinated. He's on Dalton's fencing team, after all, and it's kind of fatal if you end up falling off the platform in the middle of a match. The thing which most people don't know is that his coordination is learned. It doesn't come naturally to him.

So when he's not paying attention to what his feet are doing, well, things tend to happen that end with Blaine face-down on the ground, a bruise the size of an egg on his head, and a bout of laughter from any eye-witnesses that makes him flush bright red through the pain.

And right then, Blaine isn't paying attention to what his feet are doing.

Which is how he ends up tripping over a pair of out-stretched feet and face-planting straight into someone's lap.

It takes all of ten seconds – ten long, awkward seconds – for him to realise what has happened and push himself up and out of the other person's lap. Blaine can feel his face heating up and the tips of his ears going pink as he blurts out an apology of half-formed incoherent sounds. Please don't be one of Dad's clients, please don't be one of Dad's clients, please don't be—

The man in front of Blaine – somehow, it being a man just makes this all so much worse – is very well put-together. What Blaine means is, sure, that's kind of a prerequisite for these types of events, but there's something very polished about the man in front of him, who's raising a challenging eyebrow as Blaine mumbles his way through his apology.

Blaine gets the distinct impression that he secretly finds this hilarious.

The good news, though, is that this isn't one of Blaine's father's clients. Blaine doesn't actually know who this man is.

The bad news is…

Well, the man knows exactly who Blaine is.

“Wait a second,” the man interrupts Blaine half-way through his thirteenth ‘sorry'.

Blaine closes his eyes and prays.

“Are you Blaine Anderson?”

Screw you, God.

Blaine forces himself to smile. “Yes,” he says, already cringing in anticipation of where this conversation is heading.

“I'm Jesse St James,” the man introduces himself, smiling wildly. “Do you have a minute to talk?”

“Look,” Blaine says, previous attempts at an apology forgotten, “if this is to do with the YouTube video, I'd really rather not talk about it, okay? The whole thing is really embarrassing for me and I'm—”

“It's not about the video,” Jesse interrupts quickly, but pauses. “Well, I guess technically, it is, but I think you're going to want to listen anyway.”

Blaine raises his eyebrows doubtfully, but allows himself to be guided over to a free chair at Jesse's table.

“I have…” Jesse pauses, as if considering the best way to phrase the next part of his speech. “A business proposition for you.”

Given that Blaine has had his face in this man's crotch, he really doesn't like where this seems to be going.

“So, Blaine Anderson,” Jesse says, leaning back in his chair, “what would you do if I told you I thought you were going to be the next big thing?”

Jesse must spot the look on Blaine's face, because he adds, “Hypothetically of course.”