Brittany held the picture in front of her smiling, she was especially proud of this one. Using three shades of blue on Blaine’s bowtie had really made it pop off the page and she’d spent the longest time getting Kurt’s hair just right. Fear at Kurt possibly ripping the picture to shreds if he thought she’d gotten even one hair out of place had lead her to already scrap three previous drafts. But it had been worth it; the picture was just right and now Brittany had the perfect gift to thank Blaine with for all his help studying with her. She was glad Lord Tubington had suggested it.

The cat in question was lying on his back at the end of Brittany’s bed, unable to move after eating a small cauldron full to the brim with melted cheese. Brittany shimmied to the end of the bed to join him, lying on her back next to him; she held the picture over their heads like they were picking out images in the clouds. “What do you think Lord Tubbington? Will he like it?” an unnatural gurgling came from his stomach; Brittany took this as an affirmation and grinned.

Before she closed the book she flicked through her other artworks. Passing a half finished one of her dancing with Artiebot she settled on one of Lord Tubbington. He disliked this picture, he felt his eyebrows made him look menacing and like Kurt he could be such a diva about his appearance. Over his body she’d written: “Lord Tubbington thinks you are Purrrfect and so do I” Like the picture she’d drawn for Blaine she had made this one for Santana but…

A tinkling sound disturbed her and for a moment she looked concerned; are the aliens back? she wondered. But it was just her phone; she could see it vibrating on her dresser out of the corner of her eye. Oh that’s right, she thought. Mercedes had changed the sound for her during practise yesterday but she’d have to get her to change it again, alien invasions are not laughing matter. Rolling to the edge of the bed she hopped off and went to pick it up and saw that Blaine’s name still glowed on the screen as she unlocked the message:

*We can’t study today Brittany. Sorry.*

For a moment she looked blankly at the phone, staring at the words until the light disappeared and the words faded into darkness. After some time she tapped out a reply and then putting it down as she went to her wardrobe to pick out an outfit for Kurt’s party.

………

Covers and blankets were safe. I could live here till I die Blaine thought. And sure he’d have trouble when it came to procuring food and water but it was a small price to pay for the protection his cocoon afforded. Besides taking measures to prolong his life right now had taken a significant nosedive on his list of priorities. Right now blotting out the cruel world had taken precedence over everything.

Whilst his blanket cocoon was doing an exceptional job of blotting out his sight it could only muffle the sounds of the world, namely that of his phone which had rang twice and bleeped several messages. Sure, now people want to know me, now that I’ve decided to take myself off the map. Then of course there was the knocking… which became banging and eventually creaking as it opened.

“Blaine,” Leroy called out loudly through the thick material. “Brittany’s here. You need to come out of there.” What? Blaine thought, he was sure he’d text her to let her know that their study session was off. It had been the last think he’d done before discarding the phone and burying himself alive. Curling deeper under the covers he refused to reply; if he pretended to not exist he was sure they’d eventually leave. Then he thought sadly who’s pretending…

Before the door clicked shut he heard his father whisper, “We don’t know what’s happened. He hasn’t come out all day. I hope you can get through to him Brittany.” After the sound of his feet receded away the room was left silent. For a moment he thought that maybe she’d left with him, until he felt her climb onto the bed and curl up with her head rested on his blanket-covered hip. The action reminded him oddly of the way Bowtie liked to curl up on him.

Then the questions started:
“Blaine why are you hiding?”
“Are you playing a game?”
“Is this research?”
“Did you fall down the rabbit hole?”
“Have you forgotten how to wake up?”
“Is it you under there?”
“Are you Simba?”
“Did you crawl out of the TV and eat Blaine?”
“Are you going to eat me?”
“Is Kurt under there?”

At his name Blaine groaned and Brittany sat up, fidgeting animatedly on the bed.

“He is! Are you guys making gaybies?”

Finally he resigned himself to the fact that her questions and speculations were not going to stop until he revealed himself so knotting a hand in the blanket, he peeled the layer back over his head and peered through red-rimmed eyes that stung at the first touch of light he’d seen in hours. Brittany’s fidgeting ceased as he appeared but he couldn’t see her face without his glasses. Groping the nightstand with a clumsy hand he sought out his glasses that he’d hastened to reassemble before fleeing Kurt’s house last night. When he looked up her expression was unreadable, like she was fitting together the pieces of a puzzle from several different boxes. “Brittany what are you doing here?” Blaine croaked.

“You said we couldn’t study. I figured we were just going to do makeovers before the party. I left you a message,” he cursed himself: first for not reading her message and second for not having learnt by now that you always had to be 100% specific with this girl. He did suppose though that it was oddly touching, she didn’t just see him as her tutor, she really did see him as a friend.

Searching for a reply his lips twitched reflexively, but his capacity to form cohesive sentences had been severally compromised and he found himself squinting at Brittany over his glasses. In his haste to repair them he’d patched them crookedly so that when he peeked through them his line of vision was slightly out of balance, leaving him dizzy and a little queasy.

But she was patient and eventually he managed a response, “I-I know Brittany, I didn’t see your, um your message. But I di-didn’t just mean we couldn’t study I meant… I’m just…. Look, I’m sorry but I-I, I’m not going to the party.”

“Blaine you’re being silly. Look I brought nail polish. I’m gonna paint dolphins on your –” she reached for her bag she’d left on the floor until a small olive skin hand wrapped around her slender wrist. Twisting back she looked down at his hand holding her and then moved to his face; he spoke again definitively, “No.” Now she was really looking at him, her expression focussed but hopelessly confused, “But I don’t understand.”

Then a light flickered in the iris of her eyes, narrowing as she spoke again, “Blaine why are your eyes so red? Did something happen?” Finding her probing stare unnerving he rolled his body until he was lying on his side, his eyes fixated on the empty wall. “Blaine you have to talk to me. I can’t read minds. I’m not a nun.”

He was reluctant to speak but she wasn’t going anywhere without an answer and he wouldn’t risk her asking Kurt why he was so upset, he didn’t want to make things worse than they already were. Although he couldn’t imagine feeling much worse at this point, he’d ceased underestimating his capacity to discoverer new ways to sink lower.

“I-I took your advice… last night… at Kurt’s…” he said at last. Waiting for her to realise what he meant thankfully didn’t take as long as he thought it might but her response made him flinch, “That’s great! Then why are you so sad?” Breaking contact with the wall he chanced a glance at her, finding optimism mixed into her bewilderment. Why did he have to explain this? Wasn’t it painfully obvious?

Rolling back to the wall he bit the flesh of his lower lip, surprised that there was any feeling left in it at all. “Because he obviously didn’t feel the same way. He doesn’t want me – and who can blame him? I-I was a fool to think a guy like him would ever- ever, look twice at a guy like… a guy like…”

But he couldn’t finish the sentence; his eyes, barely healed wounds, began to bleed fresh trails of hot tears and he pressed his palms hard against his face willing them to stop. Still wrapped in the covers he felt Brittany move across him but unaware of what she was doing until she connected her body behind his spooning him tightly. Raw and venerable he ignored the humiliation he’d undoubtedly feel later after crying like a baby and just allowed himself to sob harder, be held tighter and take comfort in the pressure of her arms, which felt like they were the only things left holding him together.

Cheek resting in his curled hair; she sat silently until his whimpering began to ebb and his hands fell limply from his face. Quietly in his ear she spoke: “It wasn’t supposed to be this way. That’s not how the story goes. In the fairytale’s the princess always wakes up when the prince kisses her. How can he…”

But she didn’t get to finish her sentence, something snapped in Blaine who went rigid in her arms. Sitting bolt upright he glared at Brittany, his voice corrupted with misdirected anger as he spoke, “The only person who needs to wake up is you Brittany! The world isn’t fairytales and happiness! God why are you so stupid?”

He clamped a hand over his mouth but it was too late, he saw the damage he’d done in her eyes before she’d even grabbed her bag. Already making it to the door before he’d even scrambled off the bed, (his legs tipsy from their lack of movement) he stumbled after her down the stairs calling to her just as she’d reached the front door. “Brittany I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!”

Stopping but not turning she took a breath before responding in a restrained voice, “Maybe it’s stupid to believe in fairytales Blaine... But I never thought I was stupid for believing in you.” And with that she opened the door and left; the echo of its closing reverberated in Blaine, who if it were possible felt even more empty then before she came.

……….

Blaine filled his forty-ninth silver foil star balloon using the helium gas tank sat on a bar stool in front of the one he was currently occupying. After Brittany had left he’d sat on his stairs, unable to move and this is where Leroy who’d found him had decided to take matters into his own hands. Leading Blaine to the bathroom he’d made him shower and then taken him and his sister for an early dinner at Breadstix. Blaine couldn’t tell if he was eating soup or a steak.

Rachel was in suspiciously good spirits after having spent the last couple of weeks in mourning from her most recent break up with Finn. On the drive she had ‘treated’ Blaine and Leroy to a Medley of Celine Dion songs and had even complemented Blaine’s bowtie. At the time he’d been considering if maybe she’d been paid off to be nice to Blaine but he found out later why.

After this excursion their dad had driven them to Scandals where Hiram was already busy setting up for Sandy Ryerson’s ‘welcome back from rehab party’. Leroy had then left Blaine and Rachel to fill two hundred magenta and fifty star balloons while he went out back to file paperwork with Hiram. For the first seventy-three balloons Blaine had listened patiently as Rachel gave him her top ten tips for a successful win at sectionals, all the while thinking that he no longer had any desire to even perform the solo, (not that he’d had much to begin with). “And Blaine the number one tip for an award winning performance is…”

“Always make an entrance!” they’d both turned to find the owner of the voice - non other than Jesse St James, who it would appear was the reason for Rachel’s good mood. Before they left together for Kurt and Finn’s party she swiped two green bottles from behind the bar and hid them under her cape; a bottle of apple schnapps and a bottle of Absinth. For a split second she’d dropped the nice sister act and given him a daring look, sibling telepathy informing him that he’d be sorry if he even thought about ratting him out. She needn’t have worried though, he was frankly just glad to finally be alone to wallow in his misery.

As Blaine released the star he watched as the ribbon laced lazily through his fingers, like the tail of a comet before settling flat against the ceiling. Gazing up at the cluster of stars he saw himself reflected back and in each surface, more distorted and grotesque than the last. In this moment he’d never felt as ugly inside as he did outside.

Watching the stars hover gently above him he was reminded of the ones that still to this day adorned his ceiling at home…

* * *
After Kurt, had plastered the last star on Blaine’s ceiling; having used his bookcase as a makeshift ladder, he’d closed his curtains, shut the door, then flicked the light off before coming to join Blaine who was lying on the carpet, his cast propped on a soft pillow. “There! Now you can make a wish every night. Even when you can’t see the real stars.”

Kurt stared admiringly at his handiwork whilst Blaine tried not to fixate on how close Kurt’s hand lay next to his, he wanted nothing more than to hold it in his own. Turning to face Blaine with eyes that twinkled more than all of the real stars combined he asked, “How does the poem go again?” Pushing his glasses up his nose Blaine recited the little poem:

“Star Light Star bright,
The first star I see tonight.
I wish I may, I wish I might,
Have the wish I wish tonight.”

“I wish I could remember things the way you can,” Kurt had said, not having taken his eyes off Blaine. Blaine had been very grateful for the darkness that had covered his blush, “Is that what you’re going to wish for?”

Kurt stuck his little pink tongue out and turned back to the ceiling, “I can’t tell you what I’m going to wish for or it won’t come true silly,” and then he’d recited the poem himself in his clear musical voice.

After a while in a timid voice Blaine had asked Kurt: “Will you tell me when it comes true?” Smiling and nodding he’d taken Blaine’s hand and told him: “I promise.” And with that gesture Kurt had granted the wish Blaine had just been making.

* * *

Blaine was just fitting the last balloon into the nozzle of the tank when boots started to echo off the wooden floors; getting louder as they came closer to the bar. He called over the noise of the balloon filling with helium: “There’s a private party tonight, unless you’re one of the strippers…” Blaine said as he pulled his head up, he blanched when he recognized the owner.

“I might have a couple of jobs. But ‘stripper’ isn’t-” Jeremiah was cut off by the sound of Blaine’s last balloon exploding in his hand. They both jumped as bits of foil rained down like silver snow, landing on Blaine’s head and shoulders. Jeremiah laughed heartily while Blaine’s cheeks flooded to match the two hundred magenta balloons, which thanks to his hard work were now strewn everywhere. “I didn’t mean, I mean, I don’t think you’re…” Blaine spluttered anxiously, but Jeremiah held up a hand still smiling but effectively cutting him off. “I’m just teasing. Don’t worry.” Then he bent his head low and spoke again in a playfully dark voice, “You know, we really need to stop running into each other at bars. People will think I’m trying to coerce you.”

Blaine attempted a smile, he could remember the mechanics of it but couldn’t quite make it reach his eyes. Jeremiah seemed to sense it, his expression somewhat probing, “My family runs this place, I don’t make a habit of sneaking into bars… if that’s what you’re thinking.” Jeremiah dropped his canvas bag on the bar leaning against an elbow, “It’s not what I was thinking at all.” As Blaine collected the fragments of balloon from the floor he missed the way Jeremiah’s eyes lingered over him.

“So I had kind of a rough day,” he continued as Blaine stood up, depositing the pretty mess on the bar, “I Pulled the early shift, got yelled at by a customer and then by my boss. To top it off my favourite barista was not even there to make my drink,” Blaine actually found himself smiling at that point. Jeremiah acknowledged it with one of his own and continued “I had to settle for Puck- he actually touched my muffin with his hands. I threw it in the trash as I left.”

“Wise move, if even 1% of his stories are true I wouldn’t touch his hand even if they gave him the full silkwood,” Jeremiah looked confused but amused and laughed, making his halo of curls bounce in the dim light. Blaine attempted a smile again but it faltered and he tried to hide it by scooping the mess up and walking it over to the trash.

As Blaine returned Jeremiah began chatting again: “So I was planning to stop in at my favourite bar, maybe soothe the pain with a Cosmo, unload my woes on some unsuspecting barman… but it kind of looks like you might need it more than me.” One second Blaine was blinking curiously at Jeremiah who was looking at him with concern, then he was watching him baulk over the bar and landing with ease on the other side.

“You can’t just –” but he was cut off when asked in a single mouthful, “Whatllitbe?” Glancing around the room, he looked for a sign of his dads; they must still be filling out paperwork or something. Casting his eyes back to the man with the curly halo of golden locks, and an honest caring smile he sighed.

“Surprise me.”

Jeremiah it turned out had been in the booze trade for some time. Between twirling the cocktail shaker on his fingertips and juggling it over his head and under his leg, he told Blaine he’d paid half his rent in college on tips only he’d earned as a cocktail maker in club in the city.

Of course the best trick a real barman possessed was the ability to coax the worries out of the paying customer, barmen were definitely the cheapest therapists. And while Blaine marvelled at Jeremiah’s skill in preparation, draining the delicious virgin Mojito he’d made him, he found himself telling him the whole story from the day he’d met Kurt right up to the fight he’d just had with Brittany.

Jeremiah took the glass, now only containing ice and mint pulp and threw the contents in the little sink, washing the glass under a tap. As he leaned back against the fridge polishing the glass with a tea towel he studied the boy hard and Blaine felt oddly vulnerable under his stare. “I think you should go to the party,” he said finally, placing the clean glass on the counter, the sound punctuating the end of his sentence.

Of all the responses Blaine had expected from his heartfelt monologue, he hadn’t anticipated that. “That’s what you got from that story?” Blaine asked incredulously watching Jeremiah’s expression. It stayed composed with no hint of mockery. “What I got from that was that you have a seriously warped sense of self worth. You need to show Kurt – hell, you need to show everyone what they’re missing!”

“They’re not missing anything,” Blaine muttered hanging his head. “Well you certainly are… Besides I think you need patch things up with your friend Brittany before it’s too late. It’s hard to find people in life who have that kind of faith in you,” Jeremiah countered drawing his mouth in a line.

Flicking Blaine’s bowtie he began again, “This… this is all just surface stuff… and that’s easily rectifiable.” At the last part something wicked glinted in Jeremiah’s eyes and he grabbed his bag off the counter, walking out from behind the bar and towards Blaine, he grabbed his hand and started pulling him to the door.

“Where are we going?” Blaine asked stumbling over his feet.

“We’ve got a couple of stops to make first but then my fair Blainerella… you shall go to the ball!”

………

After reading Blaine’s hastily written message Kurt had tried to call him. However after ringing for an unprecedented length of time to the end it eventually went to voicemail. He’d never realised how long Blaine’s phone was set to ring, he was used to him answering pretty sharply. He’d hadn’t left a message choosing instead to tap out a quick text:

*Hope u feel better soon. Let me know ur ok x*

With no one to help him set up he’d been a tornado of activity, cleaning, hanging lights, assembling a drinks bar and hiding anything breakable or of any value in a cupboard in the basement. It put him behind schedule but Finn would be home soon… well he hoped so.

Around three he’d tried phoning Blaine again and still there was no reply, this time however he did leave a message: “Hey Blaine, just checking in. Wanted to make sure you’re ok… just give me a call or text. Let me know you’re OK… ok, well um talk to you later I guess. Bye. Oh it’s Kurt! But you’re smart you probably figured that out… ok bye… again.” Kurt felt flustered at leaving such a poorly articulated message; he was the poster child of for poise and composition, after all.

By seven he was more or less satisfied with the set up; the living room served as the main social area where Finn would be presiding, taking full responsibility if any furniture or appliances Kurt could not hide were damaged. This lead down the hallway to their kitchen where the bulk of the drinking would occur, tiled floors were a lot easier to clean spills from than carpeting. He’d even set up a pretty respectable bar on the table where they ate most of their family meals at, using Christmas fairy lights to make the bottles and cups pop. Not that the student body of McKinley needed lights to guide them to booze, teenagers had a sixth sense when it came to finding alcohol.

When Finn finally returned at 7:30 Kurt made his exit to get ready for the party; Finn would have to attend to first, second and most likely third wave of guests, being late to our own party was a small price to pay for perfection and as a cheerio he had his image to maintain. The only preparation Finn required was to pluck a fresh t-shirt from the wash basket and for good measure roll a stick of deodorant under his arms.

While sat at his vanity mirror wearing a vanilla and loganberry facemask he typed out another message to Blaine:

*Can pores absorb calories? Hope ur feeling better – let me know K x*

By the time he’d washed the mask carefully off his skin he was concerned and admittedly a little annoyed to not have received a reply. How sick was he that he couldn’t send a quick reply? As he finished getting ready over the next hour he sent another three messages:

*You’re missing out on 1 classy party, Finn ACTUALLY used deodorant – can you believe it?! *

*And also 1 more thing hmmm what was it…oh yes! R U OK?! K x *

*Blaine I’m worried, text back – K x *

Kurt pondered calling Hiram and Leroy but then remembered it was a Saturday night, they’d most likely be at work by now, they were lucky to have children like Blaine and Rachel, any other self respecting student would take full advantage of that situation. He was about to call anyway and see if Blaine might pick up the landline when his phone lit up in his hand and he jumped at it with the eagerness of a freshman. But it was only a text from Sebastian:

*I’ve got a surprise 4 u ;-) *

Rolling his eyes he put the phone back down on the dresser as he fussed with the collar of his shirt. Sebastian had started off as the perfect first boyfriend; shallow as it sounded he ticked all the official boxes for a first rate high school romantic interest: attractive, popular, athletic… but lately Kurt had been noticing that in between their (admittedly hot) make out sessions, they were finding scarce amounts of things to talk about. In fact the biggest thing they had in common was their narcissism, which of course did not help make for particularly equal or riveting conversation.

It was shameful to admit to himself that he was kind of glad Sebastian was in New York this weekend and he wouldn’t have to listen to any more commentaries on past Lacrosse games or what other real-estate his family was planning to invest in. Should he be worried if he was glad to not have his boyfriend around? he thought. This was his first real boyfriend so he didn’t have any real experience to compare it to and as much advice as the rest of the Cheerio’s had to offer based on their many many past experiences it just wasn’t the same. And of course he couldn’t ask Blaine; he hadn’t even kissed a boy yet…

A prickling sensation gently thrummed on the surface of his lower lip, he’d felt it all morning and while oddly pleasant it had sort of worried him. His over active imagination kept thinking the worst possibilities but of course when you loose your mother and then almost your father in such a short space of time, you can’t help but be a little sensitive about odd sensations in your body.

“Kurt – Dude over half of McKinley are already here, are you coming down any time soon?” Kurt grimaced as a stubborn lock of hair refused to settle into the correct position. “Did the Venetians pester Da Vinci when he was working on a masterpiece?” Kurt yelled wryly. There was a long pause before Finn spoke again, decidedly more confused this time. “What’s steak got to do with anything? I thought you didn’t eat red meat?”

Philistine he thought as he sprayed the stubborn lock with a lethal dose of hairspray. “Don’t worry I’m just coming!” He took one final look in the mirror at his outfit: a white dress shirt open at the throat to expose the threaded Gucci neck scarf, coupled with a doubled breasted black knit cardigan and the piece de resistance; calf high black boots over a sinfully tight pair of horizontally striped black and white skinny jeans. It was a good thing Sebastian was not here because there was no way that anyone with the official rights to touch Kurt would be able to resist keeping their hands off him tonight!

Kurt was just strutting down the stairs when to his chagrin he realised that not a single person was paying the slightest bit of attention. Well that’s gratitude for you! It would be a long time before he’d be throwing the ungrateful ingrates of Lima Ohio another swaray!

Midway down the stairs he craned his neck to try and make out what everyone was whispering about and in some cases openly stare and point at. Attention seemed to be focussed in front of Mercedes who had her back to him, effectively blocking his view of whatever it was going on. He could hear her loud enthusiastic voice even over the commotion of music and chatter as she said: “Boy who unwrapped your bowtie and found the gift of gorgeous!?”

Then as if by some feat of supernatural force, the cluster of people who blocked his view shifted to reveal Blaine.

Kurt’s jaw dropped.