It took too many days of playing out the what-ifs and the right words in his head, of trying to come up with any other way to have both worlds and keep his parents happy, but in the end he knew it came down to that one piece of him that had been missing since he was a sophomore.

He remembered the day he transferred to Dalton, fresh out of hospital. He remembered the speech his father had given him. The fight or flight response, his father explained, is what truly defines a man.

That was the day he realised what that one look on his father’s face meant. When his mouth set in a thin line, and his eyes hardened, and his brow creased. It was pure, undiluted disappointment.

That look never really went away, and even now, the thought of it made him shudder. You can do this, the voice inside said calmly. For some reason, it sounded a lot like Frank.

He’d forgotten about the caf� that week completely, only remembering when Friday came around again and Janet asked him (with a gratuitous overuse of air-quotes) about his crush.

Blaine stood there, gaping like a fish as he realised he hadn’t thought about Kurt (or the stupid boyfriend) all week.

“Well, that’s probably a good thing,” Janet said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “It sounded so sweet, but that kind of thing only works out in movies.”

Blaine had just nodded along until she said; “I mean, do you really think someone could fall in love with a person without even knowing their name?”

He blinked at her, stunned, before a smile made its way across his features. He squeezed the phone in his pocket. “Yes, I do.”

The show wasn’t the same without Frank, but with Kim filling in (and most of the cast, including Blaine, desperately trying not to giggle as she deliberately over-acted the entire piece and groped all of them mercilessly), they managed to make it through. Even with the best part of them missing, it never really felt like work.

Blaine stumbled down the steps, laughing and playfully shoving at his cast-mates once the show had closed for the evening, with one thought lingering on his mind: One more show, just one more after this, and then he’ll come home.

He looked at the clock, and wondered if it was too late to call.

Riff and Columbia had locked mouths the instant they were backstage, shuffling away to find an old dressing room or closet while everybody catcalled and whistled. Blaine grinned at them and rolled his eyes, but his heart ached at the ghosting memory of garter straps under his fingertips.

“Those two this week?” Jan asked. “Wow, I didn’t see that coming.”

“Everybody’s fucking everybody,” Rocky whined. “Someone needs to be fucking me.”

“Why don’t you go fuck yourself,” Madge suggested, batting her eyelashes innocently. “I think that’d make everybody happy.”

Blaine’s jaw clenched, and he forced himself to look away from that sickening thin-lipped smirk before it crept onto Rocky’s face.

“It’s true though,” Jan cut in. “We need to start putting rubbers out or something, everybody sleeps with everybody.”

“Except our Brads,” Madge said sweetly, patting him on the back.

“And Frank,” Blaine added without thinking.

Madge’s eyes flashed in warning.

“Oh, I doubt that one,” Rocky sneered. “Those lips were made for sucking cock. I bet he looks like a gorgeous little whore on his knees, I bet he loves it.”

“Rocky, shut your herp-ridden mouth,” Janet snapped, coiled and ready to smack him.

Magenta trailed a soothing arm over Janet’s side, capturing her wrist and lowering it slowly as she patted her hair. “Shh, babe, calm down.”

“Frankie’s special!” Janet insisted angrily, still directing her rage at Rocky even as Magenta gathered her in her arms. “Just because he doesn’t sleep around like the rest of us trash,” she glanced up at Madge, “no offence honey-” (“none taken”) “-doesn’t mean you get to talk about him like that!”

Rocky shrugged, backing away with a smirk and both hands up in defence. “Whatever, rug muncher.”

Janet growled as he sauntered away. “I wish she’d just fire that dick!”

“Soon,” Madge said darkly. “Two strikes down. One more and he’s out.”

Blaine’s brow lifted. “Two strikes?”

“It’s kind of a secret rule we have here,” she explained. “You’re not supposed to know, nobody is until they’ve been with the company over a year. So you didn’t hear it from me.”

“We can trust Brad,” Janet told her with a teary nod.

Madge smiled, rubbing her arm gently in agreement.

Blaine opened his mouth and closed it for a moment as he began to put the pieces together. “Steve – the last Brad. His third strike was the STI?”

“Exactly,” she confirmed. “Rocky has two. Thank you, by the way. For keeping the note.”

His eyes widened. That’s why he’d wanted it back. “Why didn’t Frank keep it when he found it?”

“He didn’t know about the strikes rule,” Madge said. “He told me about what Rocky did, so I told him about it, and I told him he had to take the note to Trix. If she doesn't see a strike, she needs proof of it.”

Nodding, Blaine felt something ease inside his chest, knowing that much. Just one more strike, and Rocky would be gone.

The discomfort crept back in again when he remembered his first night, and Frank’s warning about Rocky. What did he call him? Hands-on?

Blaine felt the colour drain from his face. “What was Rocky’s first strike?”

Janet and Madge exchanged looks.

“Tell me,” Blaine demanded seriously.

“Trix and I walked in on it,” Madge sighed. “He was getting handsy with Frank, grab-assing. Frank socked him one. They both got a strike, for that.”

“She gave Frank a strike?” Blaine asked in disbelief.

“She had to. Any and all violence, it was the first rule she put down,” Madge added gently, trying to ease him. “One punch gets a strike, but start an all-out brawl and you’re gone right away.”

Frank had tried to tell him, the night he’d wanted to start a fight over the note. I’m working on it.

Blaine gasped silently, realisation hitting him in waves. The arm that had curled around his waist, pulling him aside, the way Frank had blocked his view and calmed him down that night. If he’d gone after Rocky, he’d have been kicked out of the show.

Even then, Frank saved him, and kept him from throwing everything away.

After the cast scattered and headed home, Blaine couldn’t stop himself from thinking about it all through the early morning. He lay sleepless in bed, playing over every moment in his mind; the look in those eyes, the way Frank touched him. The fear, when he’d thought Blaine would let slip about what they were doing together backstage…

Sighing heavily, Blaine ran both hands over his face. God, I’m an idiot.

Of course Frank never fooled around, it protected him, kept him safe. Before Blaine, he was untouchable, with the well-laid invisible barrier of ‘nobody, ever’ keeping Rocky at bay.

Blaine shuddered to think of what would happen if Rocky ever found out.

One more strike, he reminded himself, trying to calm his racing heartbeat and the sickening clench in his gut.

He dropped his hands, letting his head roll to the side to stare at the second pillow on his bed. His phone sat in the middle, where it always ended up at night. He smiled sadly to himself, hand dragging over his stomach in the pre-dawn light, gliding over muscle and pressing against his ribs.

It still felt like a dream, the idea that Frank was in his bed just the week before. He shivered at the images it conjured, drawing up spectres of sensation from the last two months. Breathing slowly, he stroked over his ribcage and closed his eyes, remembering the taste of satin on his tongue, of sweet cherry and soft skin. He felt his arms prickle with goosebumps as he lay daydreaming about the things he wanted to do to those thighs, the way Frank felt under his fingers and the noises he made just for Blaine.

With a whimper, he lifted his head and let it thump back onto his pillow.

He felt breathless, dizzy with longing and the helpless ache inside. Opening his eyes, he glanced at the display on his alarm clock. 5:23am. Too early to call.

Stuck staring at the ceiling, he tapped out a fidgety beat on his chest with both hands, sighing intermittently.

Out of nowhere he rolled over with a sudden rush, snatching up his phone and flipping to his message screen.

I used to think people exaggerated when they wrote songs about missing someone, but now I think I know what they meant.

He deleted the text as soon as he’d typed it out, and buried his forehead in his elbow, wondering why everything in his head suddenly sounded like a bad hallmark card.

With an aggravated sigh, he looked back to the blinking cursor on his screen.

I wish you’d stayed that morning.

He hit the backspace just as quickly, grunting curses at himself with every thump of the button.

Absently chewing his bottom lip, he let his eyes lose focus as he drifted tiredly in and out of his own thoughts. Slowly, he typed out another message on his phone, eyelids drooping with exhaustion.

When he woke up it was late afternoon, and he flinched as he rolled in bed, stiff from the awkward position he’d fallen asleep in.

He glanced at his phone, resting in his palm, an un-sent message still typed out and bookended with a flashing cursor.

I wish you were here.

Shaking his head at himself, he rolled onto his back and hit cancel.

The next time he called, it was Monday.

Blaine had stumbled through his front door and walked around from room to room in a state of absolute numbness, not quite sure what he was looking at. Call him, he kept thinking over and over until finally his hands got the message and fished his phone from his pocket.

He paced his living room, shaking and breathing too quickly, the trill-thump repetition of the phone in his ear drowned out under his own voice repeating; "Oh god, pick up, pick up, pick up-"

“Hey, you,” Frank’s voice came down the line.

“I did it!” Blaine blurted out.

Frank was stunned into silence for a moment. His voice sounded almost frightened. “You… talked to that guy or…?”

“What? No, god no, my father. I talked to-” he rushed on, waving his hand in the air. “I talked to my parents, I did it!”

“Oh! Wow, you sound… wh-what happened?”

This time it was Blaine’s turn to pause, and he flopped down gracelessly onto his couch, leaning on his knees as he rocked slightly. “I quit.”

“Blaine, it’s nearly half past eight in the morning and I have no caffeine in my bloodstream, you’re gonna have to be a little more specific.”

“I called him yesterday, like we talked about,” he said on a shaky breath. “I called him and said I had to talk to him, and he penciled me in for a meeting before his work this morning. He actually said those words. He said he’d pencil me in. He put me in his fucking organiser.”

“Well, now I can see where you get your Stepford from,” Frank joked. “What happened?”

“I went over and I was, I was…” Blaine could hear the adrenaline-fueled shakes in his tone, the way his voice cracked with emotion over every other word, but he didn’t care. “I didn’t want to go in, but I did, I went inside and I told him how... how I feel. Like we talked about. And I told him I wasn’t quitting the show.”

“And?”

“And I’m not quitting the show,” Blaine babbled, his throat feeling hot and hollow.

“So it went well?”

“No, he disowned me,” Blaine laughed hysterically.

“Oh my god, Blaine. I’m so sorry.”

“No, you don’t understand,” he said, feeling the tears rush down his cheeks. He buried his face in his free hand, closing his eyes. “I’m free.”

There was a pause as he found his breath, tongue darting out to wet his lips and push away the beads of moisture gathered at the corner of his mouth. “I quit. The internship, law school, everything. All of it was,” he let go of a punctured breath, “someone else’s life. His life. Not mine.”

“Blaine,” Frank said very gently.

“I did this,” Blaine croaked, more to himself than anyone else. “I’m free.”

“I can only imagine, after everything you’ve told me, how hard it must have been to walk into that house.” Frank’s tone was genuine, and a little awed.

Blaine let out a wet and empty laugh. “You have no idea.”

“I’m so proud of you.”

His heart froze in his chest, tears rolling down his face rapidly as he let out a tiny sob.

“What is it?”

Blaine cried into his hand, eyes screwed shut tight as he muffled his noises with his palm.

“Blaine, talk to me, please,” Frank begged, sounding worried.

“Nothing, it’s just-” Blaine managed to get out around the heat rising up in his throat. “Nobody’s ever said that to me before.”

There was a long pause before Frank’s voice came through again, raw like he’d never heard it, and firm. “I am.”

After struggling for a moment with his gunfire breaths, Blaine managed to calm down and wipe his face with his sleeve. “I wish you were here,” he said brokenly, eyes falling shut.

“So do I,” Frank said softly. “Just another … week and a half. My old high school Glee club has all but blackmailed me into a reunion performance, but then I’m back home.”

“I know it’s only eleven days,” Blaine said, “but it’s too long.”

He could almost hear Frank’s smile. “You miss me.”

“I miss you,” he echoed, smiling back. “But I thought we’d established that already.”

“It’s always nice to hear,” Frank said playfully. “So, what do you want to do now? Now that you’re free, I mean.”

“I… I don’t know,” Blaine answered, eyes wide. “I hadn’t thought about it. I mean,” he looked around, “I have to move out of my apartment, it’s theirs. I have about… six weeks to find a new one.”

“Riff can help with that, actually,” Frank said. “Just ask him Friday.”

Blaine let a soft smile play at his lips. “Thank you, I will,” he said. “As for the rest, well, I’ll… find a job. Figure out what to do with my life.”

“Best place to start,” Frank said, pausing to sip at what was probably his morning coffee, “is to figure out what makes you happy. Then go find it. So, Blaine, what makes you happy?”

He couldn’t fight the spread of his grin as he lay back on the couch, shifting to get comfortable. His face was sore and stiff with dried tears, but be barely felt it. “Singing,” he said. "Singing makes me happy. And, making … art, I guess. Teaching. Helping people.”

“Uhuh,” Frank said, sipping his drink again. "What else?"

Blaine let his head roll back against the cushions. “You.”

The pause went on too long, and he sat up, spurred by the nervousness building in his chest.

“You can’t say things like that,” Frank almost whispered back.

“Why not?” Blaine asked.

“Because eleven days, that’s why,” he said, sounding breathless.

Blaine smiled again, nuzzling against his phone as he settled back into the couch. “It’s not that long.”

“It’s too long,” Frank replied instantly.

With another wistful sigh, Blaine closed his eyes, listening to the soft pattern of Frank's breathing in the pause. I could fall asleep to that sound, he thought, and his brain quickly reminded him: you have.

The idea caught him off guard, surging like electricity under his skin and making him brave, and giddy, and terrified all at once.

“When you come back,” he said slowly, “the Friday you get back, after the show, can you… I mean. Um. Can we…”

“What?”

Blaine felt his heart lodge in his throat.

“Can we be us?”

He caught the sharp hiss of Frank’s gasp down the line and his jaw clenched helplessly, heartbeat pounding in his ears as he waited, holding his breath.

Frank’s voice was high and broken, and just a terrified as Blaine felt:

“Yes.”