The place was crowded tonight. People were dancing; some to a specific rhythm and others just swaying as they let alcohol take over their balance. There were shouts and cheering. It was not easy to determine if the patrons of the bar were celebrating or protesting.

A young man with dark brown curly hair was sweating as he played a lively tune on the piano. His fingers were engaged in a complicated routine over the ivory keys. The man seemed completely lost to the world. His eyes were closed with a small smile splayed on his lips. He was already drunk, of course.

The owner of the Jazz had an arrangement with all kinds of musicians; if they played for his patrons, then he’d offer them as many drinks as they wanted. This way, he could guarantee that most of the talents from Montmartre would come and bring entertainment to what was once a very calm and depressing place.

“Come on, you won’t regret it Mr. Wethils!” another man yelled into his phone as he walked past the piano. “By the end of the month? Of course sir, we’ll be ready. I can swear it to you!” He hung up and turned to watch the pianist. The other man felt the gaze of his friend on him and looked his way. He saw Sebastian give a thumbs up and grin wildly.

As if he were possessed, the young musician accelerated the rhythm of his piece and finished it with a loud crescendo.

“Blaine! Une autre!” some of the patrons yelled, asking for more from the man who had left the stool behind the piano and walked over to his friend for a bone-crushing hug.

“We’re really doing it?” he asked, shouting over the loud noises of the crow around them.

“Yes, I got Mr. Wethils one the phone just now and he said that they are willing to watch us demonstrate the project for the show!” Sebastian was ecstatic. He had spent weeks trying to convince the man from the theatre company to allow them a moment of their precious time to show off what they had already done and how much better it could be if they were given the opportunity to perform.

“Blaine! Seb! Over here guys!” A blonde man ran towards them and hurled them into a booth near the piano.

“So, you are really doing it then?” a woman asked, disbelief clear in her tone. “It’s not like last time, I hope,” she added, earning her a glare from the rest of her friends.

“Darling, we’re celebrating right now,” the man next to her slurred, trying to sound chastising.

Blaine laughed. He looked at the others all around him; Tina and Mike were now cheering and speaking about some new kind of drinking game while Nick and Jeff were in the end of the booth heavily making out. Sebastian was nearby and not paying attention to any of them; he was too busy flirting with two men younger than him. They were French from what Blaine could hear over the loud chatter of the bar.

Suddenly, he felt a hand slowly but purposefully travelling up his thigh. He turned and recognized a boy who had been staring at him all night long while he played. His new fan must have been around 18, maybe 19. He was much younger than Blaine who had recently turned 26.

The boy kept up with his advances and leaned into Blaine’s space whispering hotly in his left ear:

“How about you show me what other things you can do with your talented fingers?”

The proposition was a bit clumsy and Blaine could sense that the boy was still inexperienced. Usually, he would not pick up someone this young, but right now, he was feeling too horny to care. He stood up, nearly making the boy fall on his ass, and then took his hand. He said his goodbyes to his group of drunken friends and then left, his admirer following quickly behind him.