Blaine tossed his keys onto the counter and trudged into his room. He fell face down onto the bed. "What's wrong with you?" asked Puck, standing in the doorway of Blaine's bedroom. "Nothing," he mumbled into the sheets. Puck jumped onto the bed, sprawling out on his back next to Blaine. "You're a terrible liar. Anyone ever tell you that?" "Go away." "Not until you tell me what's wrong, small fry." Blaine lifted his head to glare at Puck. Puck knew he hated that nickname. "Fine," he sighed as he turned onto his back, as well. "Kurt told me he's not giving me the lead role in his play because he wrote it for Jesse St. James." He sneered as he said Jesse's name. "Oh, I remember that douchebag. I wonder if he remembers me," Puck thought aloud. "He does, I asked." "Sucks, bro. I'm sorry you lost to St. Pathetic. He's a total asshole. The only nice thing is that he can sing and act. How's 'bout we go out tonight?" Blaine had to smile. Puck could always cheer him up. "Sure, Puck, the usual place?" "Where else, dude?" Puck scoffed as he exited Blaine's room. Blaine yawned, and shut his eyes. Just for a moment, he said.

Blaine woke up in his bed, disoriented. He had dozed off, which he hated doing. It threw him off completely. Yet, somehow he still managed to do it. He looked at his phone to check the time, and saw he had a missed call. It was from Kurt. There was also a text from him.

I really am sorry. Can I make it up to you? Friday night, my place? I'll make dinner!

Blaine put the phone down. He wanted to release some of his anger before he committed to anything involving Kurt just yet. So instead of replying, Blaine went into the kitchen. Little white numbers on his phone let him know it was almost eight o'clock and he was famished. "Puck!" he called out. "What's up?" came a voice from across the apartment. "What do you want for dinner?" Blaine asked. Puck emerged from his room and walked into the kitchen. "I don't know, what do we have?" "Almost nothing. We'll have to go grocery shopping this weekend. But we have pasta, cereal, and some frozens in the freezer. I could whip something up, I guess." Puck just frowned and shook his head. "Let's just get something on our way to the bar." In that moment, Blaine's stomach growled audibly. "Maybe we should go now, then," Puck laughed. Blaine practically fell to his knees. "Please. Puck, I'm about to die, I'm so hungry." Puck rolled his eyes then motioned over his shoulder. "Let's go," he sighed. Blaine grabbed his jacket and all but ran out of the apartment.

The two men stopped at a local pizza place that sold individual slices. It was cheap, but still incredible. "I stole some of your Advil this morning. I woke up with a raging headache this morning. I wish you could just get drunk, then not deal with the afterwards. I hate hangovers," Puck declared as they scooted into one of the booths at the pizza parlor. "It's fine, borrow it whenever. And I know what you mean. I felt pretty shitty this morning but not terrible. You, on the other hand," Blaine chuckled. "I didn't hit on anyone's girlfriend last night, did I?" Blaine just shook his head no. Puck sighed in relief. "How bad was I?" he asked, his head titled slightly. "I got you out when you started talking in third person. That's when I know you've reached your limits." "Good work. Thanks, man." "Anytime."

Puck was finishing off another piece of pizza before he asked Blaine for the full story of today. Blaine answered honestly, "Kurt didn't want me as the lead. Jesse and Kurt knew each other in high school, and Kurt had always thought he was really talented. I guess he offered Jesse the role, but he wasn't sure if he could commit. So they held auditions, while there was a whole scheduling mess for Jesse. But then it all cleared up so now he's the lead and not me," Blaine sighed. Puck made a face. "For real?" Blaine simply nodded.

Then he frowned and went off in a tangent. "You know something? He told me I was talented and a great singer. You'd think that'd be a good sign, right? That maybe somehow, someway you were going to be involved? Well, obviously not. I just don't get it! Like I'm not conceited but I know I'm a decent singer! Even Kurt said so! So then why not just give me a chance? My schedule was free. Jesse's wasn't! And he couldn't have wanted this as badly. Now that I can say for a fact. And my God, this is my dream! I've wanted this since forever! And now some asshole is taking that away from me." Blaine slumped back in the booth of the pizza place, his arms crossed. Puck shrugged, feeling bad but not knowing what to say. He looked down at the ground, shifting a little. Finally, he broke the silence. "So...to the bar?"

The bar was packed tonight, mainly due to a small local band that was playing there. A lot of people were having a good time. It wasn't even ten o'clock yet and Blaine was already smashed. The music and noise in the bar was loud, causing a slight thump in Blaine's body. They were sitting at a table, letting Blaine catch his breath. Puck was going into vulgar detail about his one night stand with "that blonde piece of ass in the corner there." Blaine was just shaking his head, thankful to be gay in that moment. He glanced at his phone, the text message from Kurt still open. He put his phone face down, not wanting to think right now. Fun was what he needed.

"Puck?" he screamed over the noise. "Yeah, man, what's on your mind?" asked Puck, taking another sip of his beer. "You went to high school with the—the, what's her name? Oh, Rachel! And you went to high school with Kurt, right?" "Sure thing. What about them?" "I guess, I guess what I want to know more about is your glee club. Like you and all them. Just that—that whole glee club," admitted Blaine. "I can barely hear you in here. When we get back to the house. Promise. Now let's go get drunk!" Puck cried. "We, but we already are, dumbass!" "Don't matter to me!" And with that Puck shoved Blaine towards the bar.

"And Lauren. I had no idea about Lauren, Puckerman. Why didn't you tell me about Lauren, Puck?" an inebriated Blaine asked. "Why do they call you that? Puck? Like, why? Were you a hockey player or something?" Blaine was slurring and tripping over his own two feet. Puck was walking next to him, who just howled with laughter. "No clue, man. I guess it was just a thing, I guess." They were giddy, the alcohol numbing their bodies. They were on their way back home. It was late, they had lost track of time. Both men didn't notice the group behind them, following from a safe distance.

"Oh, Blaine, dude. I feel sick," said Puck, rushing over to a back alley before heaving up the contents of his stomach. Puck put his hand against the brick wall to steady himself. Blaine came up behind him and pat his back. He had done this many times before. "I hate this part of booze," Puck mumbled. Blaine just blinked his eyes continuously, trying to see straight again.

All of the sudden, Blaine felt a sharp jab to his stomach and the wind was knocked out of him. He fell to the ground, his stomach throbbing. He no longer felt drunk. The force of the blow had made him fully aware of his surroundings. Blaine looked up to see about four guys in front of him. Puck was on the ground as well. But he quickly stood up, and said, "Not cool, bro. I'm now covered in my own sick. Thanks. Really appreciated that. Here, let me return the favor." Then Puck punched the guy closest to him to the mouth. Blaine took his cue, and stood up, taking a swing at the man who had punched him first. It turned into a brawl. Puck had knocked his guy out cold. Blaine had given his a bloody nose and lip. The muggers couldn't have known that Blaine and Puck were strong men who were prepared for this. Blaine was beat up his first night out, Puck got into a bar fight for cheering for the Red Sox during a Yankees game. Since then, they knew what to do if history were ever to repeat itself.

It wasn't long before three of the men left, leaving their unconsious friend behind. Puck pat Blaine on the back, panting. "Nice work, dude," he said in between breaths. "Thanks," he replied, wiping his lip of blood. The two men walked home in silence, catching their breath. When they reached their apartment, Puck crashed on the couch. Blaine ended in the bathroom, next to the toilet.

Blaine woke up, sore and bruised all over. His stomach was in the mos pain. Gripping onto the toilet for balance, he made it onto his feet. Blaine dared to look at his reflection in the mirror, cringing when he finally saw the damage to his face. Dark circles had formed under his eyes, his right eye looked the slightest bit swollen, and he had a a cut on his lip. A curly mop of hair sat disheveled on his head. Bothered by his appearance, he turned away from the mirror and walked into the small living room, struggling to stay upright. It felt as if his feet weren't attached to his legs. He noticed Puck sitting on the couch, dazed and confused. He was up before Blaine was, which was a rare occurrence. "Fuck those jackasses," he mumbled. "Let's not do this again for a few weeks. What time is it?" Blaine asked, pinching the bridge of his nose and squeezing his eyes closed. "I think it's noon. I could be wrong." "Want food?" "Nothing left. I already checked," Puck said with a sigh. Blaine groaned and then trudged over to his jacket. "Let's go," he demanded. Puck followed right behind. They took the car this time, too exhausted to walk.

As he and Puck walked down the aisles on the grocery store, Blaine heard his phone ring. He handed the cart over to Puck and answered. "Blaine?" said the voice on the other end. "Kurt." There was an uncomfortable silence.

"I've tried calling you," Kurt said, softly.

"I know." Blaine was being stubborn, he knew this. But he didn't care. He was pissed.

"I've tried apologizing."

Silence. Kurt cleared his throat.

"I really want to make it up to you. Are you busy tomorrow night?"

"Maybe," he muttered, picking up a box to examine what it was.

"Fuck. What the hell is wrong with you?" cried Kurt. "This is the real world and you need to accept the fact that you're not always going to get that dream role you want. So get over it and look for a new one. How do you think I got to where I am? I didn't sit around, feeling sorry for myself. No, I worked my ass off. So stop acting like such a fucking child!" and then he hung up. Blaine stared angrily at his phone and shoved it into his coat pocket. But the more he thought about what Kurt had said, the more he realized that Kurt was right. He was being immature about this whole thing. If Blaine really did want to be on Broadway, he should be looking all over for parts. Not solely lead roles.

Although he detested being wrong during an argument, he called Kurt back. "What?" Kurt spit into the phone when he had picked up. "You're right. I'm being ridiculous. I'm sorry, Kurt," said Blaine. "I know I'm right. I've been in this business longer than you. You have to trust me on this, okay?" Kurt's voice, though still angry, had definitely softened. "I'll trust you. At the time, I was just upset. I shouldn't have overreacted," Blaine said, apologetically. Kurt sighed. "You're forgiven." There was a pause. "Are we still on for tomorrow?" Blaine asked. Kurt chuckled softly and answered in the affirmative. A smile made it's way to Blaine's face. "Great! See you tomorrow night!"

"Who was that?" Puck asked when Blaine caught up with him. Blaine just looked at his phone, a goofy open smile still on his face. "It was Kurt." "I thought you didn't go after every gay guy you see," joked Puck. Blaine just laughed. Nothing could faze him right now. He had a date tomorrow night with Kurt Hummel.