He's been eating lunch with the glee club lately. It seems that everything has been forgiven and forgotten, especially in the sobering light of Regionals, coming at them like a freight train. He's present at rehearsals in a way he hasn't been. He catches up on four months of gossip he largely ignored and lets Tina help him detangle the social politics behind the latest love polygons. Brittany ropes him into dancing with her for their assignment one week, and Sam and Artie are right behind with requests to duet.

Performing used to be his favorite thing in the world. The stage felt like home. It was a place where he was valued, where people looked at him, saw him, saw something good. He could be who he wanted to be, and no one would question it. He was in control.

He's starting to get some of that back. It's just, there are times when it still feels like such a lie.

Valentine's Day arrives. Sugar decides to make the Sugar Shack an annual thing and infuriates the glee club by only inviting about a third of them.

"Happy couples only," she says sweetly, with a little finger wave at Artie.

Tina hosts a singles-only party in retaliation. It's at her house and includes plenty of liquor, and the decorations consist entirely of ironic (and kind of morbid) black, sparkly hearts. Blaine leaves his cell phone in the car and doesn't drink, because he's feeling unpredictable and a little out of control, and he doesn't have a designated driver to take him home when he's had enough.

It's mostly a New Directions crowd, mixed with some girls that Blaine vaguely recognizes from class and a guy that Tina knows from Asian Camp. He smiles widely when Blaine introduces himself and proceeds to look him over in a way that Blaine is intimately familiar with by now. Tina smiles, something steely in her eyes, and steers the guy over to Sam.

He drifts back.

Blaine doesn't mind. The guy (Paul?) isn't drinking much, and he's funny, and he bites his lip whenever Blaine meets his gaze. There's something easy about talking to him.

Tina's music is a weird mix of indie girl rock, European punk, and top 40 from three years ago. Paul asks him to dance, looking for all the world like it's costing him to maintain eye contact while he waits for a response. Blaine smiles and nods and takes the hand he's offering. It's a little clammy, but that's alright. Blaine isn't drinking, and he really wants to be, and dancing is the next best thing.

Tina's got the lights low and the music loud enough that they can't talk, here, near the speakers. The bass line is a vibration deep in his stomach. He welcomes the hand he can feel pressing tentatively between his shoulder blades, winds his arms around Paul's neck as he moves his body. He can feel Paul's warm, boozy breath coming hard against his cheek.

The hand eventually grows bolder, on his back, and lower. Blaine presses close, and Paul angles his hips conspicuously away. He's got his eyes closed. It's endearing.

He pulls away a few songs in, to Blaine's disappointment. His eyes are wide and kind of intense, hand clutching into Blaine's side, pulling his shirt tight over his torso. It's hard to tell in this light, but he looks flushed, and like maybe he's had more to drink than Blaine thought.

"You want to go get some air?" he says. Blaine smiles widely and nods. Something reckless inside jumps. It's the part of him that's missed this.

They grab their jackets and head out to Tina's front porch. The music is only faint, out here, and the stars are endless and bright in the dark night sky.

"You having fun?" says Blaine, after a moment of companionable silence. He looks up at Paul purposefully, eyelashes hanging low. He smirks lightly and runs a hand up Paul's chest and down his arm, lingering over his bicep. He enjoys the sharp intake of breath that he's sure Paul didn't mean to betray.

"Yeah," he breathes. Blaine waits, patiently, for Paul to take the hint. He winds a hand up into the hair at the nape of Paul's neck. Paul blinks, then leans down, slowly, eyes flitting up to Blaine's like he's checking to make sure it's okay, like Blaine will pull away any second.

He doesn't.

Paul is by no means an expert kisser. He's sloppy and wet and uses his tongue too aggressively. Blaine tries to reel him in, slow him down, but he's eager and he's been drinking. He's making these soft little whining noises and gripping Blaine's shoulders so hard it hurts.

He pulls away, breathing hard, just when things are starting to get kind of good.

"Wow," he murmurs, eyes wide and blinking fast.

Blaine smiles, politely, and tries to pull him back in.

"Wait a second. Just – I need a moment. Sorry." He's blushing and looking away, and something dawns on Blaine. He drops his hands, carefully.

"Have you...done this before?" He tries to keep it polite, curious, but there's no real way to soften a question like that.

Paul bites his lip.

"No. That...that was kind of my first kiss." He's almost whispering, won't meet Blaine's eyes. He's mortified, clearly, but Blaine can't stop the way he recoils. It's like a dose of cold water, shot straight into his veins.

He feels like apologizing. He knows that would make things worse.

He reaches up, carefully, raises Paul's chin until he's met his eyes. He smiles as best he can and leans up to kiss him again. It's soft this time. Gentle.

"You ready to go back in?"

He nods dreamily, stars in his eyes. Blaine smiles again, like a reflex, and looks away.

"Come on," he says.

Paul sticks close to him the rest of the night. He's still funny and the conversation is still easy, but there's something there, now, like an undercurrent. Paul keeps touching him, and holding eye contact for too long, and he can't read Blaine's signals.

He doesn't want to take this guy's virginity. He doesn't want to lead him on. He doesn't want that look of his, like Blaine is a sip of cool water in the desert.

He also doesn't want to be rude.

Tina comes up to him, when Paul is in the bathroom. She's serious, determined, and leans in close to be heard.

"You know that Paul has never had a boyfriend, right?"

"I gathered. Why are you telling me this?"

He knows. It's obvious what she's going to say.

"Because," she says. "He's a good guy, Blaine, and he doesn't deserve you messing with his head."

"I'm not."

She raises her eyebrows.

"I see the way he looks at you, even if you don't. He likes you, Blaine. I just don't want to see him get hurt."

She's so earnest. He feels suddenly, irrationally angry.

"I'm not planning to hurt him. And I really don't see how any of this is your business."

Her eyes flash. She leans in closer.

"I've forgiven you for what you did to Kurt, but don't think I've forgotten. Paul is one of my best friends, and the last thing I want is for him to get his heart broken by some guy who can't keep it in his pants."

It couldn't sting more if she'd slapped him.

It's unfair. It's not the same, and it's unfair of her to wield that against him when he's trying so hard.

That doesn't mean it isn't true.

He stares at her. He can't think of anything to say. She deflates a little, but she stands her ground.

"I'm leaving," he says. "Tell Paul I said goodbye."

He sits in his car and tries to breathe, and won't turn the key until he knows he's going home when he leaves.

His phone buzzes. He retrieves it from the glove compartment. It's Sam.

U ok, man?

Yeah. Just tired.

U want sum cumpeny?

Blaine snorts. Sam's spelling skills, while never fantastic, tend to have an inverse relationship with his blood alcohol levels.

He considers. His instinct is to say no.

Sure. I'm still in the driveway.

Sam is a hilarious drunk. Blaine's parents are still out, so they watch Star Wars on the big TV in the den. Sam knows all the dialogue and does all the voices and gets so excited about every terrible special effect. He spouts off trivia like he's swallowed the Wikipedia page, and he makes Blaine act out the final light saber battle with the fire pokers Blaine's family hasn't used since, well, ever, as far as Blaine can recall.

It's fun. Even if Blaine is a little worried that Sam is going to poke his own eye out. Or maybe Blaine's. He forgets all about Paul and Tina and the whole mess until they're about to part ways for bed and Sam claps him on the shoulder. He leans in close, personal space an issue that he's clearly not concerned with, and says, "You're a good guy, man. I mean, like, screw Tina, you know? You're probably the best guy I know."

Blaine is touched, though the fact that Sam is blasting beer breath at him reminds him to take it with an entire handful of salt.

"Thanks. You're a good guy, too."

Sam smiles goofily, claps him on the shoulder, and makes it to the guest room without stumbling more than once.

Tina catches him after glee the next day, looking contrite and still mildly hungover. She gets straight to the point and apologizes.

"I know I was drunk, but I still shouldn't have said that. It was..."

"Uncalled for?"

"I was going to say 'really bitchy,' but I like yours better."

She smiles at him hopefully.

There's a part of him that doesn't want to accept her apology and a part that wants to tell her there's no need to apologize at all. In the end, he smiles graciously and tells her there are no hard feelings. He doesn't ask after Paul.

&&&&&

They win Regionals. His parents travel all the way to Akron to see, roses in tow. Everyone hugs him backstage – they tell him, over and over, that it was his solo that made the difference.

It feels good, on that stage. It feels freeing. He feels like he's come home.

It's a good day.