"Sam, I really, really don't want to do this," Blaine complained.

Frankly, Sam was tired of Blaine's moping about. It wasn't of annoyance, it was of caring. "I just want a boyfriend. Someone to take me out on dates and to hold me when I'm tired," Blaine had said dreamily on one occasion.

So, to solve this dilemma, he decided to take Blaine to a gay bar this Friday. With fake ID's.

Blaine had no idea where they were. They definitely weren't in Ohio; it didn't look like it and there weren't any of...these establishments in Lima.

Sam knew Blaine would be reluctant, but didn't expect him to be this uncooperative.

"Come on, I thought you'd be enthusiastic about dancing with a bunch of sexy drunk dudes," Sam joked.

Blaine groaned. "This isn't my thing, Sam. Can't we just go home?" he asked. Sam shook his head with his arms crossing his chest. "No. I'm determined to find you a man."

This earned a chuckle from Blaine. "And you expect me to find me a boyfriend in a bar?" he queried.

Sam pulled on Blaine's arm. "Get up. Get up. You know you'd do the same for me. Would you enjoy it if I were being an uptight little ass?" Blaine finally capitulated with a groan. "Fine. And for the record, you're always an uptight ass, so I wouldn't know any different."

Sam playfully punched him in the shoulder and stood Blaine up. They strode to the door, Sam guiding him in the process, you know, to make sure he didn't chicken out. They got to the door and the guy cleared their ID's. "These places really need better security," Blaine thought to himself.

Immediately, someone ran up to Sam and pulled his arm. He was forced to the dance floor and was dancing clueless with a drunken guy. Blaine couldn't help but chuckle.

It was quieter at the bar, he noticed, so he found his way over. "I'll have a Scarlet O'Hara, please," he said to an empty counter. No one responded. He sat up taller in his seat and craned his head to see if he could find the bartender, then sat back down. There didn't seem to be anyone.

"Hello?" he asked impatiently. He started tapping his fingers on the counter.

Blaine startled at the sudden figure that popped up behind the counter.

"No problem, sweetheart!" the bartender said pleasantly.

Blaine was aghast. The most...beautiful man was standing in front of him, making him a cocktail. There was absolutely no way he could be over twenty-one. The description running through Blaine's mind was entirely too cheesy. He had pale, seemingly silky smooth skin, with brown hair and blonde streaks in his bangs swooped up vertically from his forehead. And those eyes. His eyes were so breathtaking.

"Here you go...Christian," the bartender said, noting Blaine's ID. Blaine was brought swiftly out of his trace and took the drink.

"Christian?" Blaine asked, quite confused.

Pretty Eyed Man's eyes widened, quite entertained, "Your name isn't Christian, is it? That's a fake ID." It wasn't a question.

Blaine was about to protest, but Pretty Eyed Man interjected. "It's okay," he whispered, almost sounding seductive, "I have one too. We can keep this between us." He winked.

Blaine's eyes blinked tightly, unable to take in what was happening. "What's your real name, then?" Pretty Eyed Man inquired. The man rested his elbows on the bar top and laid his head on his hands. Blaine didn't want to say, but his vocal chords were on autopilot. "Blaine Anderson. And yourself?"

Bartender's eyes sparkled when Blaine told him his name. "I'm just someone that's not very important to you." Blaine was about to protest again, but Bartender interrupted. "I think your date over there needs a bit of assistance," Bartender chuckled.

"He isn't my date," Blaine replied a bit too quickly and forcefully. Bartender looked amused. Blaine groaned when he saw Sam doing the chicken dance while forming a conga line while also starting a game of limbo in high heels. He stepped away from Bartender reluctantly and captured Sam away from the bustling crowd.

"God, I can't take you anywhere," Blaine said exasperatedly. Sam's face contorted in mock hurt. "What did I do? And I was the one who took you here in the first place."

Blaine could've sworn he'd heard Bartender laugh, but dismissed it.

Blaine didn't have time to ask Bartender for his number because of Sam pulling him away toward the exit, away from the guy chasing after them. Apparently he was very angry about the limbo game being postponed.

The run back to the car was short. Sam hadn't had any alcohol, so he drove. Blaine fell into the backseat, feeling a bit tipsy. He hadn't consumed his entire drink.

"Hey, Sam?" Blaine asked.

"Yes, Blaine?" he replied.

Blaine shuffled a bit in his seat. "Do you believe in love at first sight?"

Sam turned around and saw Blaine looking down at his twiddling fingers. He looked back at the road. "I guess."

Blaine twitched his head to the side, and then slumped a bit in his seat. "He's so gorgeous," he said quietly to himself, but Sam heard him.

"Who's so gorgeous, Blainers?" Sam asked, entertained by Blaine's puppy love face.

Blaine smiled, "Bartender. I never got a name. Or a number. Just a face. But that's enough, right?"

Sam laughed. "Sure, Blaine. We're here," he said after he stopped the car.

He opened his door and stepped out. Then he opened Blaine's to see that he'd fallen asleep. Sam picked him up. He was surprisingly muscular for his small size. Sam went into his house and set Blaine on the couch, then set off for his own room.

"Oh god, where did I get these heels from?" Sam asked himself, panicked.