Lupercalia

            The phone call changed everything – such a tiny event rippled, and against his better judgement, Douglas had found himself answering every time Blaine called him.  The calls became a part of his routine – at first they were sporadic; Blaine would call to talk specifically about a certain event – perhaps his frustrations with his parents, or to garner an opinion on a song choice or an experimental new arrangement for the Warblers – but the frequency of the calls gradually increased until they were a daily occurrence.  He found himself actively looking forward to their chats – they were a highlight of his day as helping Blaine felt a lot like helping himself.  Especially as the Chinese venture, codenamed ‘Project Narcissus' by Blaine –

            ‘I suppose that makes you Echo?'

- ramped up.  The stress of trying to project manage from New York had been beginning to get to him and Douglas knew that inevitably he would need to head to China to finalise plans with the construction company that had been contracted in.  The present version of the blue-prints closely represented Douglas' original design – a minor miracle as, by now, he was very used to civil engineers' attitude to design when confronted with the reality of budgets and timescales. 

The first call had come in the wee-hours of the morning – Douglas had been in the space between dreaming and reality where the world is vague and surreal, plagued by loneliness and tormented by stress.  Whilst fear and doubt gnawed at his core, his mind had wafted between dark, self-loathing thoughts of past failures and his deep-set fears for the project's seemingly inevitable failure (which would at once confirm to his father both his worthlessness as an architect and his inability to do anything right), and escapist fancies.   He would leave it all behind – running away from everything and starting over, perhaps in Italy.  His life there would be simple, the food excellent, and he would spend his remaining years carefree sitting, as he had seen folk do in photographs, on a rocking chair on his porch.  Perhaps playing cards with a crinkled old man with a tanned leather hide.  Perhaps whiling away the hours in the company of a beautiful youth with dark curly hair, smooth golden skin, and eyes the colour of sun-kissed sand… 

He had not meant to answer the phone with the lad's name – the results could have been disastrous – what if the caller had been a client, or worse: Roger or Doug? 

            ‘Blaine?'

Spoken like a prayer – the slightly shocked and awed whisper of an atheist visited by an angel.  But that was how Blaine made him feel.  That was the point really – Blaine made him feel.  He was escapism – youth and potential and everything Douglas was too old to be…  Perhaps Blaine was a revenant soul sent to torment him by representing everything Douglas desired and longed for - appearing whenever he felt weakest? 

            No.  That face is nothing less than angelic.

That first conversation had been stilted – Blaine had needed to vent and all the lad's frustrations and fears had poured from him like a torrent from a burst dam, but Douglas had remained standing.  He had been a rock for Blaine – it was what he had needed and Blaine had opened up in response.  The more he talked to Blaine, really talked to him, the more he realised how much he enjoyed the way his mind worked; the lad was sweet and caring, painfully conscientious and utterly guilt-ridden. 

It is not until the night the phone call does not come that Douglas really realises how much he needs their daily communiqué.  Blaine is his crutch as much as he is Blaine's rock – Douglas feels a little less overwhelmed, a little less lonely, and a little more centred after their discussions.  He finds his body reacting physically to the withdrawal of its fix like Pavlov's dog – he paces and grows agitated.  What if something happened?  His mind tortures him with every possible reason Blaine may be unable, or worse, unwilling to call him.  He finds he is simultaneously angry and worried and he struggles to pull himself together when he realises how ridiculous his reaction is – it is not like they ever actually made a formal commitment to these daily telephone conversations.

When the phone finally rings and he hears Blaine's flustered apology, Douglas realises with a startling clarity that his heart is hammering like a teenagers'.

-+-

            He finds out about the wedding from Sam – they had bumped into each other (for once Blaine was sans Warblers and Sam minus the New Directions), and for a heartbeat Blaine had feared that the blonde would ignore him.  So, the bone shattering hug that would have put the Incredible Hulk to shame that he received instead rendered him temporarily speechless.  Cyclops and Wolverine had grabbed coffee together and taken the opportunity to compare notes from the battlefield together – Blaine had initially attempted to steer clear of show choir talk, but Sam, ever the King of Subtlety, had broken the ice immediately by congratulating him on a well-deserved Warbler captain status.  He had followed by expressing his regret that things had gone badly in New York with Kurt, however, so Blaine remained unable to speak for a while longer.  Sam had always been a whirlwind – Blaine found it oddly refreshing.

They had fallen into a relatively easy conversation about how everyone was doing – Marley's eating disorder, Sue's latest attempt to destroy the (together for “fun” now because “we're family, you know?”) New Directions and Finn's leadership, Tina's surprisingly successful Sadie Hawkins dance, and Mr Schue and Ms Pillsburry's upcoming nuptials.

It stung a little – not being invited, but it had not exactly surprised him.  After all, he did leave the New Directions to re-join the Warblers...but he had helped Mr Schuester propose.  Surely that warranted an invite?  All the old New Directions members had been invited after all. 

            So, Kurt will be there….perhaps it is best I'm not around then?

Blaine's thoughts wandered a little as Sam segued (with logic Blaine would have struggled to follow even if he had been paying attention) into the latest news about the wave of hate mail aimed at Sam from Lord Tubbington, and the allegedly “completely separate” tale of Santana's avid hatred of him due to his relationship with her ex – Brittany.  Blaine allowed Sam's passion and easy nature to draw him in and temporarily let himself be lost in the surreal gossip.  Apparently Santana had suffered a crisis whilst at college and had returned to McKinley, briefly considered becoming the new Sue, then ended up heading to New York to live with Kurt and Rachel after a talk with Brittany.  Blaine's head spun a little from trying to keep up with Sam – he was really feeling out of practice – and he was caught off guard when Sam mentioned a couple of things that caught his attention and stuck fast:

1.      Rachel was apparently living with that Brody guy she had performed with at Callbacks, however,

2.      She was not bringing him to the wedding as her date.

3.      The wedding was on Valentine's Day.

4.      Kurt was seeing a college guy and was taking him to the wedding

5.      As his date.

He had felt the blood drain from his face so he had not really been surprised when even Sam noticed his pallor.  Blaine feigned illness and made to leave, but before he could Sam had grabbed his hand:

            ‘Dude, I heard what happened at that club.'

            ‘I'm sorry?'  The change of subject confused him sufficiently to keep him seated - conversing with Sam today was giving Blaine whiplash.

            ‘With Sebastian.  I, um, that was brave, man.  Especially after, you know, the slushie incident and everything.  I mean…  It was really cool of you to step in and stop that guy from hurting Sebastian.'

            ‘Uh…thanks?'

            ‘So…are you two like…going out now?'

Blaine really had no excuse for what he said next. 

            ‘No!  God, no!  I have a boyfriend.'

            ‘That's so great!  I'm glad.  You're a really great person, Blaine.  You deserve some happiness.'

            ‘I am happy.  Thanks, Sam.  You too – I mean, with Brittany.'

            ‘Thanks.'

Sam's smile had been 100 watts and Blaine had forced himself to return it as Sam released his hand.

            ‘So…what's he like?'

            ‘Uh…Older.'

            ‘What is he, like, 25?'

            ‘…yeah.'  He had laughed nervously and tried to change the topic.  ‘Um…he lives in New York.'

            ‘That's cool.  Does he go to college there?'

            ‘No.  Um… he's got a job working for his father's business.'

            ‘Awesome.  I bet that's hard though, right.'

            ‘Working for his father?'

            ‘Trying the long distance thing again.  It's got to be tough – not being able to see him all the time, right?'

            ‘Huh.  Yeah.  We talk every night on the phone though – we make time for each other and that's really important.'

Sam had nodded knowingly at Blaine's comment, but all Blaine wanted to do was leave – leave the coffee shop, the conversation, the lies, and the enormous pachyderm in the room, far, far behind him.

            Run away, Blaine.  Go on.

            ‘Look, Sam.  I have to go – I…uh…I lost my phone in that club –'  He fumbles in his coat pocket for a pen and, finding a scrap of manuscript paper, scrawls his home number down and hands it to Sam.  ‘- keep in touch, OK?'  He shoots Sam a smile, hoping it looks genuine enough.  Sam frowns slightly as he folds the paper and places it in the plaid pocket of his shirt.

            ‘You OK?  I mean, really?'

            ‘I'm great, Sam.'

            ‘OK…'

            ‘Call me, yeah?'

Sam nods and Blaine waves as he leaves; his heart and head pounding.

He would spend hours dwelling over what had made him lie to Sam when he finally got home – in fact, it was the reason he had been late calling Douglas that evening.  When he had finally gathered the courage to call he had not told Douglas about the conversation with Sam, or the plane tickets he had impulse purchased for the days bracketing Valentine's Day; and, for the first time since they had started this…whatever this phone thing they were doing was…Blaine had not felt better when he finally bid Douglas goodnight.

-+-

            He actually felt worse the closer he got to New York.  The plane journey was hellish - the toddler behind him kept kicking his seat and her much younger sibling seemed to take extremely violent and loud exception to the change in air pressure in the cabin.  He actively kept his mind as blank as possible, refusing to allow himself to second guess Douglas' reaction to his turning up unannounced as he knew how poisonous his thoughts could be, and once landed, he would probably just end up running away again.  Instead he distracted himself with planning the perfect surprise dinner - justifying it to himself as a way of finally thanking Douglas for his generosity and friendship.  However, the turbulence as the flight approached JFK airport did nothing to help the sick feeling in his gut.

It took him longer than it should have to get a cab as he kept letting little old ladies, pregnant women, families with small children, women with small dogs…who was he kidding? - he let everyone take a cab before him. 

            You're delaying the inevitable…

Eventually there was no one to surrender his position in line to and he found himself standing, once again, outside Douglas' building opposite Central Park on 5th Avenue on the Upper East Side. 

He had prepared a note for Douglas - anonymous of course (where would the surprise be otherwise?) – requesting his presence at a little Italian restaurant Blaine had been particularly fond of, that evening for dinner.  He passed the note to the active concierge – Gerry this evening – and explained his plan.  Once Gerry had sworn secrecy Blaine had headed out into New York to check into the hotel he had booked – there was no way he was expecting Douglas to feel obligated to put him up this time!  Blaine showered in an attempt to feel more human after the flight and then spent the rest of the day wandering by the Hudson – for once unconcerned and a little free with the knowledge that anyone he may not want to accidentally run into would actually be in Lima by now.

He returned to his hotel room to dress for dinner then headed to the restaurant, ensuring that he would be at least half an hour early – he was intimately familiar with Douglas' schedule and how long it would take him to change and get to the restaurant after work. 

It was only then, surrounded by oblivious dining lovers on the night before Valentine's Day, that he allowed himself to panic.