Blaine sat down on a moving box labeled "Toiletries— Not Lube!" (Cooper's handiwork) and allowed himself a moment to breathe. He had only been back in California for three days, but his father already seemed to expect him to be able to jump into the logistics of running the family business.

Blaine looked at the box beneath him, absentmindedly tracing a finger over the messy scrawl with which Cooper had gleefully adorned it. Cooper had somehow managed to avoid anything to do with the Anderson Law Megafirm, had lucked out and moved to New York to start his restaurant...

Not luck, Blaine reminded himself. Strength. Cooper had always been the stronger of them both. Maybe the strongest of the entire family. God knows his mother wasn't strong enough to tell his father that she didn't enjoy moving all over the country so he could start new branches of the firm. But she wouldn't have to anymore; that's what Blaine was for.

"Blaine? Are you in there?"

Blaine gave a tired sigh and stood up. There was nowhere he could hide from that voice. It was always with him, no matter where he was, reminding him that he had priorities. He shoved the toiletries box under the bed and opened the door for his father.

Stephen Anderson was a tall man with thinning black hair (dyed), a collection of identical black suits (professionally fitted and dry-cleaned), and a demeanor that reeked of dissatisfaction. Blaine supposed that this combination was what made him a highly successful and intimidating lawyer, but it didn't endear him to the family very much. Blaine had always suspected that his father had guilted his mother into marrying him.

"You still haven't unpacked?" His father surveyed the room in distaste, his gaze lingering on the bare mattress in the corner.

Blaine didn't answer. He wasn't expected or needed to confirm what a disappointment he was in every aspect. The truth was, he hadn't unpacked because unpacking meant finality. His heart was in New York, no matter what material items had come with him to California.

His father stood in the doorway, not even bothering to take a step into the room. He probably thought failure was contagious. "You've had time to unpack your little guitar," his father noted.

Blaine closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and opened them again. "I'll start unpacking right now."

"I had hoped you would outgrow this music thing by now." His eyes latched onto Blaine's, unforgiving brown meeting hazel. "You are an adult, Blaine. You won't have time to indulge in these things. If you're going to help run this firm, you'll need to grow up and show your maturity. It's bad enough that you can't become a lawyer due to your," he paused before saying the next word, his lips curled, "condition."

Condition. Like being gay was some sort of disease. Blaine wanted to point out that there were plenty of successful gays in the business world, that he could still be successful, that he could make his father proud. But instead, he said what he was supposed to.

"Yes, sir," he murmured, staring at his dad's immaculately polished loafers.

"Get dressed," his father ordered. "There's a few suits in the closet that might fit you."

Blaine looked up, confused. "What?"

"Derek's coming over for dinner tonight to negotiate the company merger. Your presence is expected."

"Derek?" Blaine only knew one Derek— a Warbler he had gone to school with— and he was pretty sure he had become a traveling circus performer, not a lawyer.

"Derek Smythe," his father explained impatiently. "Now hurry up. We need to make a good impression. They'll be here within an hour."

Blaine heaved a sigh after his father left the room. He remembered the Smythes from dinners he'd been forced to go to as a kid. Derek Smythe was a stuffy, condescending man who acted as if he were better than everyone— a perfect match for Blaine's father, really. Blaine fondly remembered one memorable dinner when Cooper had “accidentally” spilled a club soda down Derek’s front after the man had made a particularly rude comment about homosexuals not belonging in the professional world. That had been the end of Cooper’s involvement with family business dinners.

That had also been the end of the Smythe’s son coming to the dinners, though Blaine wasn’t sure if the events were related. The kid— Sanderson or Sawyer, something pretentious like that— was probably around Blaine’s age and had been a constant presence at the dinners until one night he stopped showing up, a little after Blaine had turned ten. All Blaine could remember about him was that he had intensely green eyes and looked as bored as Blaine felt. He wondered if the Smythe kid had been forced to follow in his father’s footsteps, too.

Blaine walked to the closet door and opened it. The only clothes in there were five black suits whose only difference seemed to be the color hanger they resided on. Blaine pulled one out at random and threw it across the room, letting it land in an untidy heap on the mattress. He hoped the dinner wouldn’t last long; he wasn’t sure he could stand hours of the conversations his father held with his lawyer friends— how much money they had, how they were spending the money they had, and how to acquire more money.

Blaine walked to his bed to pick up his suit, but his foot snagged on the toiletries box that he had hastily stuffed under there before his father walked in. He stared at the box, thinking. Maybe he would call Cooper. His brother always had a knack for making Blaine laugh when he was down. It was only six. The restaurant shouldn’t be too busy in the middle of the weekday...

Blaine pulled out his cell phone, made sure the door to his room was closed, and dialed Cooper’s number.

“Blaine! What’s up, squirt?” Cooper’s voice beamed through the phone, and Blaine smiled despite himself.

“Don’t call me that, Coop,” Blaine said, settling down on the cold mattress. He heard the dull chatter of cooks and waitresses in the background that told him his brother was in the kitchen.

“We’ve been over this,” Cooper reminded him. “You have a limited choice of lesser evils to choose from. I can start calling you Tink again—”

“All right, all right,” Blaine surrendered, laughing.

“How’re you doing, Blaine?” Cooper’s voice turned serious, no trace of a teasing smile under it.

“I’m...” Blaine hesitated, stopping short of saying fine. Because he wasn’t fine. He wasn’t happy. He couldn’t pinpoint why, exactly. It was more than just being around his dad again. It was as if he was missing something, as if he were some jigsaw puzzle with a hole in the box and a piece had slipped through without him noticing. “I’m holding in there,” he finally answered with the smallest amount of the truth that he could admit. “I already miss performing.”

“What do you mean, you miss performing?” Cooper asked, indignant. “You’ve got your guitar, and I’m pretty sure Mom didn’t let Dad get rid of the piano when they moved from Ohio. You can still play, even if you can’t perform. You should play something at one of Dad’s business dinners. It’d sure as hell liven things up a bit, since I’m not there to do the livening.”

Blaine shook his head. “No, I don’t think that’s a good idea. Dad— well, he doesn’t seem very gung ho about me doing music anymore. He wants me to be focused on the firm.”

“Blaine, you can’t let him take away something that makes you happy,” Cooper said firmly.

“He already did.”

There was an uncomfortable pause. Blaine wished he could snatch his words back; he hadn’t meant to whine and complain to Cooper. He didn’t want to bring anyone else down.

“So, how’s the restaurant doing?” Blaine asked, attempting to ease the tension.

“Not bad. Everyone misses you. Santana told me she’d castrate you the next time she saw you for leaving without saying goodbye.”

Blaine chuckled. “Tell her I’ll call her soon.”

“Will do. You know, I’ve actually gotten customers wondering where you are, too. The amount of elderly folks eating out on Friday evenings has gone down considerably—”

Kurt. The memory hit Blaine like a freight train. The man who had looked like some otherworldly prince with his snowy skin and those eyes that held galaxies. And those lips, simultaneously pliant and firm against Blaine’s. How could he have forgotten? Memories of that night had a surreal quality, partially due to the alcohol and mostly due to the heady sensation of kissing someone who wanted him as badly as he wanted them, but he remembered telling Kurt he’d be there every night. What if Kurt had come back to see him? Or worse... What if he hadn’t?

“— and I swear to god, there were two old women who were absolutely LUSTING after you—”

“Coop—”

“I mean, they actually demanded their money back because you weren’t there, it’s really—”

“Cooper!”

“What?”

“Did, um... Did anyone come in asking about me?”

“Well, yeah, that’s what I was saying.” There was a strange quality in Cooper’s voice, something off.

“No, I mean... a guy. Did a guy come in?”

“I don’t know...” Cooper was definitely hiding something. Even his voice was fidgety. “Maybe someone, I can’t remember, it’s been busy—”

“Cooper,” Blaine sighed, “I can tell when you’re lying. You might’ve gotten good at tricking Dad over the years, but I know better. Someone came in, didn’t they?”

“Fine, yes,” Cooper admitted. “Yes, someone came in. And I would like to know what the hell you were thinking, exactly? How could you kiss this guy?”

“What? Are you mad... at me?” It was such a foreign concept. Cooper knew that Blaine kissed a guy— Blaine had admitted it minutes after it had happened, and Cooper had congratulated him. So why was he upset now?

“Of course I’m mad!” Cooper retorted, and the volume of his voice was evidence to point. “I never guessed that you would be the type to go and do something like this.”

“I think I’m old enough to be kissing guys without having you jump down my throat, Cooper,” Blaine said darkly. This was the last thing he needed. His father already treated him like a constant disappointment; he didn’t need Cooper to do it, too.

“You didn’t seem to have a problem with letting this guy jump down your throat,” Cooper muttered.

“COOPER!”

Both boys were silent after Blaine’s outburst.

“Blaine?” The voice came from outside of his room. His father. “Blaine, are you getting dressed?”

“Yes,” Blaine called back, barely able to keep his voice level. He waited until his father’s footsteps had faded away. “What is your problem, Coop?” he demanded.

“I just thought you had more self-respect than to go around kissing guys who stood you up,” Cooper said, sounding tired.

“What are you talking about? He didn’t stand me up,” Blaine said slowly, not understanding.

“I don’t forget the guys who hurt my brother, Blaine. This guy waltzes in, says he’s looking for you, and it clicked. At first I thought he was just the guy you kissed the night before, so I asked his name like any good older brother would, and you know what he said?”

Blaine sighed. “Kurt? Unless you’re trying to imply that he’s some secret agent with a hidden identity...”

“No, you’re right. He said Kurt. Kurt Hummel.”

Blaine froze, his mouth open mid-word. Kurt Hummel. How could that be? Kurt was nice, he was funny, he—

But how much do you really know him? An insistent voice inside his head asked cruelly.

That was the thing. He didn’t know Kurt. They had talked for hours, yes, but what was that compared to weeks or months or years of knowing someone? What did Blaine really know about Kurt? Not even his last name, not until now.

Blaine suddenly realized what this meant. Kurt, his Kurt, the Kurt he had kissed, was the same Kurt who had stood him up months before. Kurt had claimed that he had been on a date with a Blaine. Kurt had probably recognized who Blaine was far before Blaine had known who Kurt was. Kurt had walked all over him, teasing him with lies. Kurt had played him.

Blaine hadn’t known Kurt. Not really. So why did it hurt so much?

“Blaine?”

“I’m here,” Blaine said quietly, remembering that Cooper was on the other line, an invisible witness to his shame. “I— Coop, I’ve gotta go.”

“I’m sorry, Blaine,” Cooper said. “I know you liked this guy, but there was no way I was going to give him your number.”

“I know. It’s okay, it’s fine,” Blaine said, though he wasn’t sure who he was trying to reassure. “You’re right.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Cooper asked, sounding concerned.

“I’m fine.” The lie came easier now that he had nothing to lose.

“Don’t mope, okay?”

“I won’t.” That was one thing Blaine could promise. He would waste no more time on Kurt Hummel. Cooper was right. He had more respect for himself than to do otherwise.

Blaine hung up after telling Cooper again that he was fine. He shoved his phone in his pocket and picked up his suit, thinking that maybe his father was onto something, only wearing formal wear. It was so much easier to wear a mask that way.

Rachel stared at Kurt over her coffee mug, her brown eyes unblinking and serious. "So," she began delicately.

"So." Kurt ran his finger around the rim of his cup and raised his eyebrows at her.

"Would you like to talk about what happened at Cooper's?"

"Not particularly," Kurt said, bringing his tea up to take a sip and avoid Rachel's gaze.

"I think we should talk about it," Rachel insisted. "You can't just not say anything about it! I mean, you were obviously very upset—"

"I was confused," Kurt corrected. "Not upset. It's fine. It's nothing."

"If it was nothing, then why did Cooper freak out like that?" Rachel asked, lips pursed.

"I really don't know, Rachel," Kurt said for what felt like the billionth time. "I don't know why he got angry. I don't know why Blaine acted like he wanted to see me again and then jetted off to California. I don't know why you're persisting in questioning me about something so insignificant. I don't know."

Rachel bit her lip at his outburst. "He didn't seem insignificant when you told me about him," she said in a small voice, picking at the frayed edges of the kitchen tablecloth. "Blaine, I mean."

Kurt sighed and brought his elbows onto the table, resting his head in his hands. He didn't want to think about this. He didn't want to think about Cooper and Blaine and kisses and that pang of loss that twinged in his chest every time he remembered.

"What if there was a way," Rachel said, speaking carefully like she was afraid Kurt would explode, "for you to find out what happened with Blaine? Would that make you feel better?"

Kurt didn't even bother denying that he was distressed over his situation. But as much as Rachel was trying to help, she was misguided. "There isn't a way, Rach. Cooper's not going to give us Blaine's number, and to be honest, I'm not sure I want to talk to Blaine anyway."

"Kurt, you have to—"

"No, I don't," Kurt said sharply. "It was one date, okay? No, it wasn't even a date. It was a drunken kiss, and maybe it felt great, but I am completely fine with letting it sink into the past and moving on with my life. Why can't you just let me do that?"

"Because you were happy," Rachel said quietly, simply. "Maybe you couldn't see it like I could— the way you lit up when you talked about him, in a way that I haven't seen for awhile. How big you were smiling when I picked you up from Cooper's that night. You might not want to admit it, but you were happier then than you've been in months."

They stared at each other for a moment before Kurt's resistance crumpled. She was right. As bad as she was with her own love life, Rachel could be pretty astute when it came to his.

"What am I supposed to say to him, if I do manage to get his number?" Kurt asked. "'Please come back to New York so I can make out with you again'? He's not going to come running back, Rachel."

Rachel shrugged. "It's up to you. I just thought you might like an explanation."

Kurt thought about it and realized that, yeah, he would. "Okay. So how do we get the number?"

"Simple," Rachel said, and she smiled. "Santana."

Less than an hour later, Santana was standing in the middle of the living room, modeling a summer dress as Kurt walked all around her with a measuring tape in hand.

"Thanks for doing this, Santana," Kurt said as he wrapped a shawl around her shoulders, took a step back to get a fuller look, then ripped it off and threw it to the ground. "I'm still working on stuff for the Summer Line, but it's really hard getting things right without a model. Rachel's gone half the time, so she's no good."

"No problem," Santana said breezily. "Where is Little Miss Berry, anyway?"

"She left just ten minutes ago." Kurt rolled his eyes. "She has a new boyfriend, and they're attached at the hip."

"Really?" Santana looked intrigued. "Anyone I might know?"

"Probably not. It's some guy named James, apparently, but I haven't met him. Every time I bring him up, she changes the subject." Kurt stuck a pencil between his lips as he measured Santana's waistline. "Ish weird," he mumbled around the instrument.

"What has the world come to when Berry is getting some and we aren't?" Santana mused, mostly to herself. "Good thing I wasn't working today, or I never would have come over here to get my gossip on..."

"I noticed you haven't been at Cooper's much these days," Kurt mentioned, hoping he sounded offhanded.

"Yeah, I asked if I could get some time off last week because I had an audition for an orange juice commercial."

"I've been going to Cooper's a lot recently," Kurt hurried to say before Santana could move onto a different subject. "Mostly on Fridays. To listen to the performer. Do you know who—"

Santana snorted. "You are whipped," she giggled, twirling her finger around in the air. "Completely."

Kurt felt a red heat creeping up his neck and into his cheeks. "I am not."

"Oh, but you so are," she said, nodding her affirmation. "This is why you invited me over, isn't it? You didn't need a model— you just want the scoop on Gay Superman!”

“That’s not true!” Kurt said indignantly. “I did need your help on the Summer Line...”

“But mostly you wanted my help in reuniting you and Clark Kent,” Santana finished. “It’s okay, Kurt. I know manipulation when I see it, and I’d just like to say, I am very proud of you.”

“Proud?” Kurt asked, sitting back on his haunches and abandoning his clothing supplies on the ground.

Santana sat on the ground next to him, crossing her long legs underneath her. “From what I heard from the waitresses, you and Blaine got to know each other very well,” she said with a wink. “I’ve been telling him for years that having an ass like that and not letting anyone see it was a crime—”

“I didn’t have sex with him,” Kurt interrupted, waving his hands in the air and cringing.

“Look at you,” Santana said, looking at him fondly. “You’re such a blushing virgin.”

“Are you done mocking me?” Kurt asked, exasperated.

“Probably not, but go ahead and ask me whatever it is you brought me here to find out.”

“Okay. First of all, do you know why Blaine’s brother seems to harbor some crazy, I-will-destroy-you hatred of me?”

Santana shrugged. “No idea, sorry. I try not to pry into family business. He’s always been protective, but he’s usually pretty easygoing. You must have done something pretty bad to get him riled up like that.”

Kurt shook his head, bemused. “All we did was kiss. Just once. And Cooper was totally friendly at first...”

“Beats me,” Santana said. “Maybe that was all it took. Blaine’s been going through some rough times on the dating front lately. Coop probably just doesn’t want him to get hurt again.”

What about me? What if I’m the one who got hurt?

“Second question: Do you have Blaine’s cell number, and if so, can I have it?” Kurt asked.

“Yes and no,” Santana answered.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, yes, I have his number, but no, you can’t have it,” she explained, idly picking at a loose thread on the rug.

“Santana, listen—”

“No, you listen— Cooper is my boss. If he finds out that you called Blaine and realizes I gave you the number, he’ll kill me. And anyway, you’re deluding yourself if you think things are going to work out between you and Blaine when he’s in California.” She fixed Kurt with a pitying look. “I’m sorry, but I’m just telling you how it is. If I were you, I’d forget about Blaine, find a new boy toy to mack on, and move on.”

Kurt nodded quietly, mulling over her words. She was right. Blaine had moved on, quite literally, all the way to California. If he hadn’t left a number for Kurt to call, he probably didn’t want Kurt to call. Maybe he’d even instructed Cooper to scare Kurt off if he came around. Maybe the kiss didn’t mean anything. Maybe...

He would move on, he decided. He would focus on the Summer Line, and on Wicked. He would throw himself into his work.

Kurt picked up a swath of fabric and held it up next to Santana, comparing it to her dress. “Hey, what do you think of this color...?”

Blaine shifted in his chair uncomfortably, his back aching. Only an hour into the dinner and he was already imagining vivid and painful ways to get out of it. He was bored, the suit he had on was scratchy and a size too big, and he had been cut off by a stern look from his father every time he tried to join the conversation. This was torture. Hell probably consisted of a series of business dinners just like this, where the chairs were hard and the company lacking. Blaine sighed loudly, earning another Look from his dad.

The only interesting part of the dinner thus far had been the reemergence of Derek's son, who had been reintroduced as Sebastian. He was just as quiet now as he had been years ago, saying nothing more than a polite "hello" before seating himself next to his father and across from Blaine. Blaine looked around the room, but his gaze continuously flickered back to Sebastian. He couldn't help but notice that the boy had filled out well since the last time Blaine had seen him. He was tall, with short brown hair and bright eyes that immediately reminded Blaine of another set of eyes he was supposed to stop thinking about.

Just then, Sebastian's eyes flitted upward, meeting Blaine's. Blaine glanced down at his virtually untouched plate of food, ears reddening. When he chanced a peek back at Sebastian a moment later, he found the other man still looking at him, his lip twitching toward an amused smile. He arched an eyebrow at Blaine as if to say, This sucks, right?

Caught by surprise, Blaine found himself smiling back with a shrug that he hoped said, What can you do, though? and not, I have Tourettes.

Sebastian then gave Blaine such an obvious once-over and suggestive wink that Blaine almost choked on a mouthful of champagne. Sebastian was flirting. Blaine searched his memory for any hint that Sebastian was gay, but couldn’t remember his father mentioning anything about the matter.

But that look was undeniably flirty.

Blaine dabbed at the corners of his mouth with a napkin, then set his flute of champagne back down on the table. When he looked at Sebastian, the man was watching him, a slightly cocky smile on his face— and why, why was cocky the word that had come to mind— then, so fast that Blaine almost missed it, Sebastian deliberately jerked his head behind him at the door that led to the kitchen.

Blaine was still puzzling the significance of the movement when Sebastian stood up and cleared his throat.

“Excuse me, Mr. Anderson. I was wondering if I could use the restroom?”

Blaine’s father nodded briskly. “Blaine, show Sebastian the way to the restroom,” he instructed, then immediately turned back to his heated conversation with Derek.

Blaine swallowed, nodded, then stood up. “This way,” he muttered, moving past Sebastian without looking at him and leading the way into the kitchen.

Sebastian stopped him a few steps in, grabbing his wrist and waiting until the door to the dining room had completely closed before he began quickly speaking. “I don’t need the bathroom anymore, thanks. False alarm.” He let go of Blaine and leaned back against the wall. “But listen. This dinner is boring as hell, right?”

Blaine nodded, eyes wide. What is he playing at?

“Glad we established that.” Sebastian smirked. “So, I’m proposing that you let me take you out some night and show you some real fun. How about Saturday?”

Blaine nodded again, hardly realizing he had agreed to a date until after he had done so.

“Good. Now we’re going to go back in there, sit down like the outstanding members of society that our fathers so rightfully believe we are, and try not to let the anticipation of our next meeting eat us up in the meantime,” Sebastian drawled, looking Blaine up and down appreciatively with his last words. “Sound good to you?”

Blaine finally found his tongue. “Um, yeah. Yes. Good.”

“Good,” Sebastian repeated. He grinned at Blaine once more before heading back into the dining room.

Blaine stayed for a moment, trying to collect himself, then followed and sat down at the table, where he was ignored by everyone, including Sebastian, for the rest of the night.

Well, California certainly wasn’t going to be boring.