Blaine had met him outside of the school. He'd wanted somewhere more personal, more private, somewhere where nobody would see them. It was bad enough that he was supposed to leave for his date with Kurt in twenty minutes. He hopes this isn't going to take too long. He doesn't want to be there in the first place, not at all.

But he is, because he doesn't want things to spiral to his perception of out of control and he knows that it will if he angers the guy behind the wheel.

It's not Charles' fault, it really isn't. He doesn't know, but that's the whole point. He just doesn't know.

Blaine taps on the window, and Charlie rolls it down.
“Hey,” he greets him mildly, rocking back on his heels and leaning his elbows on the window frame. “What is it?” He asks, trying to hold the snap from his voice, but he doesn't understand why this couldn't be done over the phone.

The other boy's olive eyes shine bright. “We're going out.”

Blaine furrows his brows in confusion.

“We're going out. A friend of mine is hosting a sweet party tonight. It's gonna be wicked and you're gonna be there.”

Blaine cringes as this information washes over his brain. Of course. If this had just been suggested to him via phone call he would have thought of any excuse not to go. Maybe, you know, I'm busy tonight, I have a date with my boyfriend.

He wouldn't even have had to lie.

“And if I say no?” He challenges.

It's not that he doesn't like parties.

Quite the contrary, actually.

He adores them.

Just not this type of party. Not a college, “Charlie-brought-me-here-because-he's-a-total-sleaze-stereotypical-college-boy-pig-who-only-wants-one-thing-and-thinks-I-should-be-the-exact-same-way” party.

Because Charlie just doesn't know.

Doesn't know that Blaine would prefer to not spend the night being introduced to countless girls with alcohol on their breath who always try to get a little too close while dancing.

Doesn't know that Blaine would rather dance with boys than girls.

One boy, in particular.

Doesn't know that Blaine is gay. Capital G Gay. One-hundred-percent gay gay gay.

He has no idea.

He's oblivious.

It must run in the family.

They are brothers, after all.

He doesn't tell his brother that the only thing that's going to be “wicked” in his life is the musical of the same name.

“Then I drag you by your feet. Your decision. Come on, man, I'm trying to do you a solid here and that's all you have to say? This party is going to be huge, and I don't want to be late. Come on. Get in.”
“Did you ever stop to think that I might actually have plans tonight?” Blaine asks, ice-queen cold.

“No, because god knows that whatever it was you were planning to do tonight, it's not gonna match up to this.”

Yes, it would have.

Blaine wants to punch him.

He doesn't know why he lets himself get so pushed around.

Actually, he does.

He just doesn't want to admit it.

He mumbles, “let me call someone first,” and retrieves his phone from his pocket. It beeps at him. Low battery. Great.

Speed-dialing his boyfriend's number and walking to the other side of the parking lot, he gazes up at what he thinks must be his window. There's a light shining from the inside. He wishes he were there.

As soon as he hears Kurt's hello, he goes on his spiel.

“Hey, love. Um, I'm really, really sorry but I totally forgot that I have something really important to do tonight so I'm not going to be able to make it for our date but I promise I'll make it up to you tomorrow I'm sorry I lo-”

His phone beeps one more time, then dies.

He hates the thing.

He tucks it back into his pocket and turns back towards the car. He leans against the side of it, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

“Just this one time.”

He plays with the ends of the scarf around his neck.

Charlie laughs. Blaine silently fumes.

“This better be worth it,” he says, circling the car, getting in the passenger side, driving away.

�

~

Blaine can hear the music pounding from a block away. It sounds like it's turned to his favorite station, but this information does nothing to calm him down. He drums his fingers against the dashboard in tune to the bass that's practically shaking the sidewalk.

Despite everything, he's determined to not let it get him down. Well, any downer than he already is. Because Blaine Anderson is an optimist, and he intends to keep it that way. He'll have a drink or two, he'll stay far far far away from any scantily clad girls, and just try to have a good time.

It should be easy.

He knows it won't be.

It never is.

�

It's obvious as soon as they step foot in the doorway that Charlie just so happens to know every single person at the party.

Ten minutes in, Blaine has been introduced to at least fifty people, he's sure of it.

Thirty minutes in and he finds himself with a red plastic cup in one hand, smiling and making polite conversation with a tall girl in a short skirt who definitely isn't, he thinks, a natural blonde.

Thirty-two minutes in finds them both in the middle of the dancefloor, dancing without really hearing the music.

Thirty-five minutes in finds Blaine making a hasty excuse about having to go to the bathroom, fleeing his spot on the dancefloor before that girl tries to get any closer, because he just really wishes that girl were wearing more clothes because that's kind of gross and where are your morals, thank you and goodbye.

Forty-four minutes in, Blaine runs into his brother once more.

An hour in finds him with another plastic cup in his hand and another girl on his brother's shoulder “dying to meet him.”

Two hours in, he's playing DJ, going through CD after CD crouched under the huge speakers. The music pounds through him, and he can feel it all over.

Two hours and eight minutes in, he's back in the middle of the dancefloor, singing his heart out to the Grease Karaoke Soundtrack. He alternates the duets with the not-blonde girl and the new one. It turns out that they are best friends. Neither of them are anywhere near as good as Kurt would have been.

Two hours and ten minutes in, Not-Blone Girl tries to kiss him.

Two hours, ten minutes and three seconds in, Blaine pushes her away. He is a taken man, thank you.

Two hours and eleven minutes in, Not-Blone Girl thinks he's playing hard to get.

Two hours and twelve minutes in, Not-Blonde Girl and Other Girl attempt to take him into an empty room.

Two hours and fourteen minutes in, Blaine leaves the party, walks the streets of the neighborhood that he doesn't know, stumbles into a gas station, asks to use their phone, dials the one number he knows by heart, and settles himself under a streetlight.