Blaine rounded the corner of the hallway trudging in the direction of the choir room. His chemistry and world history books were clasped loosely to his chest, the usual buoyancy was lost to the foreboding prospect of his and Kurt’s imminent road trip.
It wasn’t the journey Blaine was dreading, he loved driving with Kurt. They’d make mix CD’s or listen to the radio and sing duets on their trips. Flirty duets Blaine thought.

Once on a road trip back from Christmas shopping in Columbus, with a higher ratio of new clothes for Kurt to gifts for his family and friends, the radio had started playing Baby It’s Cold Outside. Kurt had squealed, “I love this song! You’ve got to sing with me Blaine!” He rushed, managing to catch the second line:
“I really can’t stay,”
Blaine had laughed missing his cue, Kurt shoving him playfully, “Come on Blaine, don’t be a spoil sport!” Blaine was still laughing as Kurt continued.
“I’ve got to go away.”
Even from the corner of Blaine’s eye he could see Kurt throwing a disparaging look and pouting... Gosh his lips look delicious he’d thought. Blaine finally relented cutting in:
“But baby it’s cold outside.”
The pout dissolved like snow in the palm of his hand and Kurt positively beamed,
“This evening has been,”
“Been Hoping that you’d drop by.”
“So Very Nice.”
“I’ll hold your hands, they’d just like ice.”
And even though Blaine had sung the line Kurt grabbed his hand - taking any opportunity to act out a song. Blaine taken by surprise had swerved the car enough to knock Kurt into the door. “Geeze Blaine warn a guy next time before you do that!”
“Sorry!” Blaine had said, “Um, Your hand actually was cold… funny that… you know cause of the song…” really it was the force of that same electricity that ran through him whenever Kurt touched him.

This was not going to be fun though Blaine thought as he came back to the present. I’m driving Kurt to a date. A date with a hot, popular, rich, athletic, well travelled, perfect on paper… but Blaine was too much of a gentleman to even think what he wanted to call Sebastian.

How on earth had he managed to get into this predicament?

Blaine was just approaching the choir room door when he became acutely aware of the raised voices of his sister and her on again off again boyfriend Finn Hudson. Blaine had heard them fight about a dozen times in the last two years: in their house, in Kurt and Finn’s home, in the hallways, in the auditorium.

One time he’d been shopping for suspenders in The Gap and they’d been arguing and throwing socks at each other. A frazzled manager had taken a multi pack of argyle socks to the head before he called security and had them escorted out. Blaine had avoided the shame of association by hiding behind a mannequin.

So walking into a fight was not an unusual occurrence for Blaine. Finn was yelling now and he caught him mid rant, “…want to keep having the same fight over and over again Rachel! I’ve told you three times already this week we are OVER! You can’t just make out with Puck and think it’s OK.”

Uh Oh… this isn’t good Blaine thought. What Finn was saying was in fact true. On a night shift one Friday Rachel had come to the mall to pick up some new sheet music and had popped in to visit Blaine at the Lima Bean. Puck had been there and suggested Rachel come see something in the back office. When they hadn’t emerged for ten minutes Blaine went to check if she’d left without saying anything and had seen them making out against the milk fridge.

They hadn’t seen him and Blaine had immediately text Kurt the gory details. Some part of him also wondered how he’d failed to already hear this from Kurt, who had his pulse on everything going on at McKinley. Although the answer seemed somewhat obvious, he had other things or people on his mind. He wondered how Finn had found out.

“But Finn, it isn’t true I didn’t do it!” Rachel was pleading like a child incoherently. She looked like a child too he noted, from this angel he could see she was wearing a peach baby doll dress patterned with cream and mint coloured babushka dolls, paired with lilac tights and gold pumps.

Hiram was the Anderberry stylist and always took Blaine and Rachel shopping together, dressing them like children straight out of 50’s musical. They’d even been matched in their prom attire last year – both startlingly powder blue. While Rachel in her gown looked like a Jewish Cinderella, Blaine looked like Tony Orlando (as Burt had pointed out when Kurt had shown him pictures.)

“Urgh! Rachel stop lying! I know Blaine saw you! Kurt told me!”

Oh god is this why she’s been so pissed with me? Why did Kurt blab?! This is all I need... Maybe I can get away before anyone notices me Blaine thought and was just turning on his heels when Brittany called out over the hubbub, “Blaine! Blaine! Come here! Sit next to me!” Brittany stood up waving her arms.

Rachel stood stock-still. She turned on her heels like a creepy doll in an 80’s horror movie and Blaine froze in the doorway clutching the text books in his arms like a shield. For seven seconds there was absolute silence.

Brittany looked dazed glancing around as if she couldn’t fathom what was going on. Santana was smirking and was rubbing her hands together, Sugar on her other side looked to her and mirrored the move. Artie held his hands in a rectangle in front of his face as if picturing this scene in a movie. Mike had his arm wrapped tightly around Tina’s shoulders as she covered her face with her hand and Sam eyes darted from Blaine to Rachel as he chewed his gum slowly – the only other sound Blaine was aware of apart from his own heartbeat.

Sam snapped a bubble with his gum and all hell broke loose.

Rachel stormed at Blaine as he tried to retreat but for a girl with freakishly short legs she could move. She wrenched the books out of Blaine’s hands and began beating him across the chest and then his head.

“Stupid!” smack “Evil!” smack “Judas!” Blaine held his hands up in defence but she was possessed. The final hit knocked his glasses off his face, landing with a clatter to the floor.

This could have gone on a while but at that moment Kurt came skipping along with demented glee like a little wood nymph, Mercedes at his side laughing and both in full cheerio’s attire. They stopped when they approached the scene and Kurt’s laughter dissolved. He strode up and put himself right in the middle giving Rachel a small but powerful shove.

“Lay off, you little troll doll!” Kurt shouted.” I know he’s your brother and I don’t care what crazy thing you think he’s done this time but lay another finger on him again and I’ll make you sorry for ever being surrogate-ly born!”

“You’re as much to blame as he is, what business was it of yours to tell Finn about Puck, it was one kiss!” Rachel shrilled back at Kurt. “Urgh! Take some responsibility Rachel for once in your life geeze!” Finn said storming out the room, stepping on Blaine’s glasses as he left.

As Rachel ran off after Finn Kurt bent to pick up the broken pieces of Blaine’s glasses, and the books Rachel had dropped during her fit. He handed the pieces to Blaine and through his blurry vision he could just about make out that only the bridge had broken so he should be able to just tape them up for now. That’s something at least he thought glumly.

“Sorry Blaine, I should have known Finn wouldn’t keep us out of it. I just didn’t want him wasting his time on Rachel anymore if she was going to cat it around like Ashley Cole,” Kurt spoke with a tender look in his eyes.

Blaine had been angry at Kurt. In fact just minutes ago he’d been ready to skin him alive and wear him like an anorak the moment Finn had mentioned his name… But the boy had pretty much just ridden on a white horse to save him, even if it was just from his sister. It wasn’t the first time anything like this had happened.

Kurt always stuck up for Blaine, whenever he was there of course, and anytime he’d seen a kid even get close to touching Blaine he’d storm up to them like a mother bear, roaring the claws out and flying. He’d even ended up in detention a few times, although not since he’d become a cheerio, cheerio’s pretty much a free pass to get away with anything. Santana was living proof of this.

“It’s alright Kurt, thanks for stepping in before she did to my face what Finn just did to my specs. You haven’t got a wand on you have you? A little oculus reparo could really come in handy.” They walked towards the seats on the platform.

“Oh my god Blaine, this is a school, you can’t just ask Kurt to get out his wand. Take that horseplay to the janitors closet like the rest of us,” Santana said cattily, earning herself a smack with Kurt’s bag as he twisted to sit down. “You definitely love that closet don’t you Santana,” Kurt said with the grace of a diva. She flashed Kurt a look that could cut diamonds.

“Yo, Blaine, head’s up!” Artie threw a roll of tape at Blaine, which Kurt leaned in to catch. Even if Blaine had had his glasses he doubted he’d have been able to catch it. Kurt started binding the pieces together with the tape and produced them to Blaine with finesse, “Voil�! My chauffeur will be able to see where he’s going after all! And I shall go to the ball – they use balls in Lacrosse right?” Blaine shrugged suddenly deflated again, “You’re the cheerleader, if anyone should know it should be you, right?”

Luckily Mr Schuster chose that moment to enter the choir room laden down with photocopied sheet music. “Sorry I’m late guys but you are in for a treat. I know how much you guys love Journey” The class groaned, “And so this week I propose we try Boston’s hit More Than A Feeling… Where’s Finn and Rachel?”

…………

There were five minutes left of the game, Kurt and Blaine had arrived 30 minutes ago to catch the tail end. Blaine was a generally careful driver however he’d been excessively slow on the roads that evening, stopping at all orange lights and breaking anytime he even saw a cat even twitch at the side of the road.

Kurt was agitated with obvious impatience; Blaine knew it was taking everything he had not to either rip the wheel out of his hands on the head off his shoulders. But Blaine was doing him a favour, so Kurt was polite, he was quiet and he tapped his foot like a horny rabbit. Eventually they’d pulled up in the car park of the elaborate private school, it was weird combination of Hogwarts castle and the Titanic, set within Elizabethan style gardens and fields.

The game wasn’t hard to miss, a sea of boys in the standard Dalton uniform were crowded around the edge of a field where twenty boys were running with netted sticks. Kurt dragged him by his coat sleeve and shoved blazer after blazer out of the way until they reached the front of the crowd.

Blaine had trouble making out which of the boys in the red shirts with the Blue D’s was Sebastian until he saw one boy who’d been senselessly beating everyone in his path threw a direct look his and Kurt’s way. “There is he!” Kurt was jumping up and down and clapping his hands, tiny cartoon hearts leaking from his eyes like bubbles. He was surprised he didn’t just swoon Blaine thought bitterly.

Sebastian managed to get one more goal in the last fifteen seconds and the field exploded, blue and red flags waving madly, it was like end of war had just been announced and when the whistle blew seconds later everyone was hugging and jumping. The Dalton Lacrosse team carried Sebastian around on their shoulders like he was on a Sedia gestatoria (one of those portable thrones the Pope and occasionally Lady Gaga were carried around on). The boy ripped his helmet off his sweating head and gave a wink at Kurt who responded with a giggle and a highkick.

When he’d finally had time to come over Sebastion jogged towards them and Kurt turned to Blaine, “Eeep! Crap! Crap! I’m a mess! Hows my hair?” He looked at Blaine with what he equated to stage fright. “You’re perfect Kurt, don’t worry.”

“Hey Klurt… Blake. I’m so glad you boys could make it.” Oh so original Blaine thought it’s like you’re getting your mateiral from a 80’s after school special. “It’s Blaine, actually,” Kurt cut in pointedly, count on Kurt to look out for Blaine even now. Sebastian was smiling with far too many pearly white teeth Blaine noted, like he was baring his teeth in an animalistic show of dominance. He really didn’t need to worry, Blaine was as much of a competition to Sebastian as a trout was in fighting a lion for food.

“Sorry Blaine rough game, must have taken a few knocks to the head. Not to worry though. You guys going join up for a victory dinner in town?”he asked, barely masking the leering quality in his eyes. “I dunno,” Kurt said with a flirtatiously tone, “I’m in training and I’d hate to ruin my figure.”

“I think you look pretty fine Kurt, besides there’s plenty more we could do but eat.” Blaine couldn’t believe Kurt was falling for this, this boy had all the originality and finesse of a weasel, but even Blaine couldn’t deny the sultry eyelashes and sandy hair. He fiddled with the tassels on his scarf and listened as Kurt and Sebastian made plans to meet in half an hour in the car park while he quickly showered and changed.

Before he left he dragged a finger under Kurt’s chin who shuddered infinitesimally, “I might need a little longer in the shower after all,” and he swaggered off in the direction of the opulent dorms. When he was through the doors Kurt squealed and Blaine fought the urge to put two fingers down his throat.

When they finally left Dalton Academy, Kurt used the short time in the car ride to preen himself in the passenger side mirror like a little canary. Flicking his comb this way and that as he conformed every hair on his head to its correct position.

They followed the oppressive shiny black BMW as it weaved through the quaint cobble stoned roads that drew lines through boutique shops and terraced cafes. He eventually indicated and pulled up outside a restaurant with mahogany hatched windows lined by burgundy and gold striped curtains.

They huddled outside and Sebastian took Kurt’s hand to lead him into the restaurant. Kurt making to look as if he were reaching for his pocket turned to give Blaine an ecstatic look. It didn’t take telepathy for Blaine to read Kurt’s thoughts, they were written over his face like it had been cast in skywriting. He’s holding my hand! BLAINE he’s HOLDING my HAND!

This was going to be a long and excruciating night.

………

Blaine was perched precariously on a maroon coloured bar stool, his short legs swinging free, as they were not quite long enough to reach the bottom bar. He was opening and closing the concertina bend of a straw, the repetitive action soothing his frazzled mind.

He’d now been at the restaurant for over an hour sat next to Kurt who’d looked at Sebastian with goo-goo eyes as he recapping the events of the game with animated gestures. Blaine had sat quietly and nodded; nibbling at a variety of foods he couldn’t now remember tasting.

Throughout the course of the meal Sebastian had had one arm casually swung over the back of Kurt’s chair. That hand had gradually worked it’s way lower and lower until the entire well-manicured appendage had landed palm flat just below Kurt’s shoulder. At one point he’d leaned into whisper something in Kurt’s ear and Blaine had not missed the very light blush that had settled on his porcelain cheek.

Blaine was nearing his quota for self-torture that day, his head still aching from his sisters violent outburst earlier so politely excused himself from the table. He walked around until he found the discreetly appointed door the men’s toilet, just across from the bar that hovered like an island in centre of the deeply carpeted floor.

He’d splashed water on his face, and braced a hand on each side of the bowl, willing himself to calm, but he couldn’t. His heart was wrenching in his chest, head pounding and the feeling was suffocating and blinding.

What made it worse was he’d done this to himself. He was a coward. He’d been too scared to tell Kurt how he felt. Now not only had he missed whatever chance he ever had with Kurt, he was now stuck chaperoning his first date with the kind of boy who checked all the right boxes for a boy of his league.

Someone came in to use one of the urinals and Blaine made to look as if he was just adjusting the large bowtie threaded around his neck. They left quickly not even bothering to was his hands and Blaine realised he could not just hide out in the bathroom all night.

Taking one final breath he left the room and walked back to the throng of the restaurant that had started to fill up. A cursory glace told him that Sebastian and Kurt had also left their table so he decided to wait at the bar until they returned.

While folding and unfolding the straw he had unsuccessfully been able to stop these events repeating in his head, like a broken record. Like a broken heart he thought miserably. So buried was he in his moroseness that he didn’t notice the figure standing in front of him till he spoke.

“I’d say something like whatever it is it can’t be that bad but you’re in high school, so conceivably, it really could be that bad,” Blaine looked up and was startled to see Jeremiah. “Jeremiah, wow, how weird seeing you!” Blaine felt something adjacent to happiness at seeing him, he couldn’t erase the day but things didn’t feel quite as abhorrent as they had five minutes ago.

“So this must be the bar you work at,” Blaine continued. Jeremiah had mentioned in passing one Saturday, after witnessing a customer berate Blaine on the quality of their latte, that he too was a member of the unappreciated drinks server club. “Not as weird as seeing you. With those cute little bowties you’re always wearing, I’d never pegged you as a bad boy, sneaking into a bar, underage,” he said with emphasis.

“I’m just eating in the restaurant with some… people,” Blaine said looking for the right word; a more apt description might have been pompous pretentious private school assholes. Jeremiah seemed to pick up on his tone, “So these ‘people’- not exactly friends?”

“Well one of them is my best friend, Kurt. But the rest, no. He’s on a date with one of the guys and the rest of them are his friends.” Blaine said. “And what, you’re like some 16 year old chaperone?” Jeremiah retorted.

“I’m 17 and I turn 18 soon... But yeah something like that, well more of a chauffer than chaperone. I’m just taking a breather from the endlessly enthralling topic of Lacrosse stats and trust funds,” Blaine cut back.

Jeremiah laughed pleasantly, “Well kudos for sticking it out this long, that earns you a root beer on the house,” he said, filling a glass that suddenly appeared in front of Blaine. “So which one’s your friend?” He wasn’t sure but he felt a lot of implied meaning in the word friend in his question. “He’s…. not sure really, great chaperone aren’t I? Can tick that off my list of possible career paths.” Jeremiah laughed and gave Blaine a somewhat knowing look.

“I hate to sound like some corny It Gets Better guy but you know,” he said putting a tentative hand on Blaine’s, “It does get better.” He smiled at Blaine and he felt himself smiling back genuinely, the feel of his hand was nice, it was warm and comforting and sincere, and for a moment Blaine thought maybe he was right. Maybe things could get better.

This feeling lasted all of ten seconds before Jeremiah went to serve a man waving a note at the other end of the bar, unblocking Blaine’s view to the window where he saw Kurt cradled in the arms of Sebastian, who was kissing him.