Blaine woke up the next morning with a throbbing pain in his head and a vague memory of a man. A man he didn't want to forget, but was starting to. It scared him. He found his things and ran out of Sam's house. He didn't have his car, so he had to run the mile home.

He was thankful that his parents weren't home. "Why would they be?" he thought bitterly. The house was big and not at all homely. It had more rooms than people to live in them.

Blaine spent many a day alone in this house. He didn't have many friends. Just Sam. And he was great and all, don't get him wrong, but sometimes he wasn't there when he needed him most.

He used his day to clean his room and watch old movies. There was a marathon of Alfred Hitchcock films on some channel he hasn't kept track of.

His parents never came home. They rarely did, and when they did, it usually didn't have a pleasant outcome. Blaine avoided them whenever he could. He laid in bed for a while, staring at the ceiling. There was a single image in his head: the mysterious man behind the counter. Why didn't that man think he was important?

Blaine was on autopilot again. He got up and put somewhat decent clothing on, as well as shoes. His feet wouldn't go fast enough as he found his keys and ran outside to his car. He'd remembered the name of the bar, so he put it in his GPS and went on his way. It took about forty-five minutes for him to be standing in front of the door as he did the night before.

"Why the hell am I even here? I don't even know if he'll be here again. Do I even have my ID?" he thought to himself. He felt in his pocket for his wallet and checked inside. The card was thankfully there.

He stepped up to the door and held out the card for the uninterested man smoking a cigarette. Blaine walked past him after he'd been cleared and coughed from the smell. It reminded him too much of his father.

Blaine eventually made his way to counter. He saw someone sitting there, unlike last night when there was no one there. Said person had a Shirley Temple in hand and seemed to be writing something down. Blaine decided to sit down.

He was hesitant, but said, "Hello." The man turned his head. Blaine gasped when he recognized him.

"I thought you sounded familiar. Hello, Blaine Anderson. I see your 'not date' is absent tonight," Bartender said. This time he wasn't a bartender, though. He was wearing a light brown shirt with a white vest and black boots resting against the side of the bar. Not to mention the white pants that left very little to the imagination.

The man shuffled on the stool, studying Blaine's face. "I don't mean to sound rude, somehow I usually do, but are you going to keep gaping at me or are you going to just keep standing there?"

Blaine shook his head, forcing himself to respond. "I'm sorry. I really am."

The man's face changed to one of confusion and hurt. "It's alright. You don't need to be sorry. You don't have any reason to be. I'm just a dick."

Blaine couldn't help but laugh. "Am I not going to get a name? I gave you mine, so isn't the normal thing to do reciprocate?" he asked.

Bartender still looked a bit hurt, but said, "It says here that I'm Chaz Donaldsworth." He showed Blaine his ID.

Blaine snorted. "Last night you said that it was fake."

"Chaz" grinned. "Ah, you remembered. I didn't think you would. Damn, my plot is foiled."

Blaine laughed again. "Of course I'd remember. It was one of the only things I had to go on about you."

Chaz chuckled, but let Blaine continue.

"What kind of a name is 'Chaz Donaldsworth', anyway? It sounds like a cheesy villain from an old movie."

He laughed, then said, "How do you know I'm not?"

Blaine was confused. "How do I know you're not what?"

"A cheesy villain."

Blaine looked at him suspiciously. "If you were, then I'd have to report you to the cops."

Chaz laughed again. It was a beautiful laugh, Blaine had to add. "You don't even know my name," he said, "They wouldn't be able to know who I am, assuming I didn't reveal my identity."

Blaine considered this. "They could always take your fingerprint."

This made Chaz stop. He looked defeated. "Would you like a drink? I was just taking a break anyway."

Blaine shrugged. "No. I can't afford another hangover. I'll just have water."

Chaz walked behind that counter, never taking his eyes off Blaine's. "How did you get hungover by half a drink?"

Blaine groaned. "I'd never had alcohol before. I just ordered what the last guy did, hoping it was decent."

Chaz giggled. "Well, anything I make would be delicious, thank you very much."

Blaine simply nodded and Chaz gave him his water with a small paper napkin. He sat down next to him and put his elbow on the counter, then rested his head against his palm. Blaine took a sip of the water.

"How come no one ever seems to order any drinks here?" Blaine asked quizzically. This had been on his mind for a while.

Chaz looked out on the dance floor with a faraway look in his eyes. "This isn't just a bar. It's sort of like a Rocky Horror thing. You know, where people go when they aren't accepted anywhere else. We enjoy each other's company and just talk mostly. And dance like idiots. Sometimes there are limbo contests," he said, remembering Sam join one of their infamous limbo contests.

Blaine hadn't expected an answer like that. He needed a place like that. "You're always welcome here, Blaine," Chaz went on, "I saw from your face yesterday that you needed a place like that."

It took all Blaine could not not cry, so he just thanked him. "I, it's late. I should get going," Blaine said.

Chaz's face fell, but said, "Okay."

Blaine stood up and just...left. He didn't know why he left. He could've stayed there much longer than he did.

The drive to his house was uneventful. He stepped inside and walked up the stairs to his room. Blaine realized he'd taken the water with him, as well as the napkin. He was still thirsty, so he opened the napkin and set it on his bed. Blaine took a sip of the cool liquid and almost spit it out. He quickly set the glass down on the bedside table and held the napkin. There was very neat handwriting, like the person had put effort into writing it, revealing a phone number.

"Call me, if you dare," it read.

Blaine breathed out a laugh. "That sneaky bastard," he whispered.