Chapter Text
“When you come to the edge of all the light you have, and must take a step into the darkness of the unknown, believe that one of two things will happen. Either there will be something solid for you to stand on - or you will be taught how to fly.”
Patrick Overton
The air in New York is thick and sticky, like it needs a good storm to clear it out. It clings to Blaine like a second skin. He hates this kind of weather, when he never feels like his lungs can pull in enough air and the gel is threatening to melt right off his head. But worse than any of that, Blaine hates it because his tricks smell like anyone would after a long, sweaty day and the contents of their pants are even less appealing than usual.
He sighs, leaning against a lamp post as he looks up at the darkening sky. The colours are so beautiful, streaked through the clouds that are too fine to hold the promise of rain. Too soon, his eyes fall down to the street in front of him, the shitty surroundings. His denial is about as featherlight as those clouds these days.
He wants something to take his mind off it, but there’s hardly any cars around. He’s going to be stood here for a while. It’s still early, especially by New York standards, but he couldn’t stand staying in his apartment any longer with the AC unit that makes more noise than it does cool air. It’s even more oppressive out here though.
“Blaine?”
He turns, confused, because that’s a girl’s voice and he can’t remember the last time he spoke to a girl. He can’t remember the last time he spoke to anyone who wasn’t a trick or a cashier. But then, in front of him, he sees the beaming face of Mercedes Jones. He stares, like one of her starstruck fans.
“Oh my god, can you believe this?” Mercedes demands, slapping the chest of the person beside her.
And that’s when Blaine sees Kurt for the first time in… he doesn’t even know. He didn’t want to count. They’ve run into each other a few times since… since. There’s been glee reunions and get togethers where they’ve been in the same space. Blaine stopped going to those pretty soon though. He stopped doing a lot of things. And Kurt got all their friends in the break-up. It was only fair, Blaine supposed. They belonged to Kurt in the first place. Blaine was only ever borrowing them. Sam and Tina are the only ones who still contact him, but he hasn’t seen either of them in what feels like a lifetime.
“I cannot,” Kurt says, perfectly deadpan, but then his lips quirk up into a smile like this doesn’t hurt him at all. Maybe it doesn’t.
“Hi,” Blaine says, bemused as he moves away from the lamp post towards them, steps tentative. “What are you guys doing here?”
“Mercedes is in town as part of the promotional tour for her new album,” Kurt says. “And she decided to bless me with her presence. I am truly honoured.”
“No, but, what are you doing here?” Blaine asks, eyes flicking down the seedy street they’re on.
“Oh, there is an amazing taco truck down here, the only highlight of this neighbourhood,” Kurt says. “And I could not let Mercedes visit New York without trying them.”
“As though I haven’t lived here and need a tour guide,” Mercedes says. “And you’re coming with us, right?”
Blaine shakes his head, shrinking back. “I wouldn’t want to intrude.”
“You wouldn’t be,” Mercedes insists.
“And you look like you could use a decent meal,” Kurt adds.
Blaine looks down at himself. He’s lost weight. He’s definitely lost muscle. He has a couple of tricks that covet his sharp hipbones though. The others just love that they can throw him around. Being skinny is good for business, not just his outsides matching his insides. Insubstantial.
“Come on, I’m hungry,” Mercedes says.
Blaine looks down the street again. Work’s not going to pick up for a while anyway, he won’t be missing out on any money, and despite the sweat gathering on his brow, he craves the warmth of their company. Just getting to stare at Kurt’s beauty across a table would be the highlight of his year, even though the aftermath will hurt him longer than he wants to admit.
“Yeah,” he says, checking Kurt’s face carefully for any distaste. “Let’s go.”
“Great,” Kurt says, clapping his hands together before linking arms with Mercedes, leading the way.
They’re such an amazingly glamorous couple, dressed in stylish outfits that are no doubt from Kurt’s latest collection. Blaine goes into Macys every season to check out the new items and stare wistfully at the price tags that he could never afford. Kurt is so talented and unique and Blaine wants nothing more than to have Kurt’s name written on him like it always felt etched into his heart.
They order their food and sit at the little curbside table with it, quiet while they tuck in. Blaine has ended up in this very spot at the end of many nights. It’s strange to think that Kurt comes here, that their paths have been so close to crossing so many times. It makes Blaine feel a little sick, the shame of being caught doing what he does, the devastation of Kurt seeing him like that.
“Oh wow, you were right,” Mercedes says, nodding enthusiastically, going in for another huge bite.
“Still want to critique my tour guiding skills?” Kurt asks smugly.
Blaine watches them both across from him, feeling so emotional all of a sudden. Their friendship is so easy and familiar and comfortable. It makes the loneliness twist inside him. He forgets that he’s all alone sometimes, it just becomes a way of life, but now it’s like someone’s pointing out all his old scars again, the awareness making them throb painfully.
The feeling starts to unwind throughout the evening though, the pain receding to remind him of a time he was happy. Kurt and Mercedes are so full of life and joy and stories that make Blaine laugh harder than he has in a long time. And neither of them ever look at him like he doesn’t belong there, like they resent him. They look at him like he’s their friend. It makes the world feel a little bit upside down but he clings to it while he can.
“It is so great to catch up with you guys,” Mercedes says, reaching out and placing a hand on each of their arms. “I love reunions.”
“They say you can never go home again, but I think home is more of a feeling,” Kurt says. “I think we’re all home.”
Mercedes smiles, resting her head down on Kurt’s shoulder. Kurt leans into her. Blaine’s eyes flick away, not wanting to look from the outside in.
“How come you two live in the same city and it took a random encounter for you to have your little reunion?” Mercedes asks.
Kurt purses his lips together, as though the answer isn’t obvious. “I don’t know,” he finally says thoughtfully. “We should do that. How about I give you a call?”
Blaine blinks at him. “Oh, uh, yeah,” he says. “But I lost my phone ages ago, I have a new number and I don’t have anyone’s contact info anymore.”
“Well then hand it over,” Kurt says, stretching his hand across the table and making a gimme motion. “Unless that was a lame excuse to avoid having to turn me down, in which case I can play along.”
“No,” Blaine says quickly, fumbling in the pocket of his skin tight pants to pull his phone out, unlocking it and handing it to Kurt. He watches, entranced, as Kurt’s fingertips play over his phone screen, and it makes him feel warm inside that Kurt is touching something of his. It makes him feel an aching longing that he thought he’d killed off long ago. This could either be his salvation or the final nail in his coffin.
“There we go,” Kurt says, handing Blaine’s phone back with a flourish. “Let’s not be strangers.”
Blaine nods, still a little enchanted. “I’d like that.”
When it’s time to part ways, Mercedes pulls him into a hug that no force in the universe could resist. It’s nice though. He can’t remember the last time he had human contact that he wasn’t being paid for. He can’t remember the last time someone touched him and cared. It makes him want to break down in tears and he knows he hangs on way too long.
As they part, Blaine looks over at Kurt, knowing his face must be the pathetic, needy one that Kurt always hated, but Kurt just smiles and opens his arms with an incline of his head that tells Blaine everything he needs to know. He steps forward, right into Kurt’s arms. He still smells so familiar. He still feels like home. Blaine squeezes his eyes shut and lets himself believe it for just a second.
Despite the oppressive heat around them, Blaine still feels cold when he takes a step back. Kurt’s eyes linger on him and Blaine isn’t sure what he sees, probably what a mess he is, but Blaine just lifts his hand in goodbye, stepping back to the spot he was in earlier. The one where he belongs. He can’t help looking up though, watching their retreating backs as they talk animatedly to one another. It feels like they’re already in a different universe to him.
“Hey.”
Blaine turns to see that a car has pulled up beside him, window rolled down. He watches as Kurt and Mercedes round the corner out of sight and then steps up to the car, turning on his seductive smile. “Hi.”
The guy holds up a fifty dollar bill. “What does this get me?”
“Handjob or oral,” Blaine responds. “Either or, not two for one.”
“Can I come in your face?” the guy asks with a smirk that Blaine knows is supposed to make him feel objectified and powerless.
“If you throw in another twenty and don’t get any in my mouth,” Blaine responds matter of factly. He’s way past the point of being embarrassed by any of this.
“I’ll give you fifteen and you’ll thank me afterwards,” the guy says.
Blaine shrugs. He’s not about to lose a job over five bucks. “Sounds fair.” He walks around the car and hops into the passenger seat.
It’s nearly 4am when he finally gets home, covered in not just his own sweat but his tricks’ as well. Amongst other things. The sun has long since set but it hasn’t made his apartment any cooler. He jumps in the shower, turning the water to cold, and scrubs his body twice over. He still doesn’t feel clean. He never feels clean. His body is something he’s kind of disconnected from at this point. He’s sold it too many times over to claim any real ownership.
He flops down naked on his rumpled bed, hair still damp, and stares at Kurt’s number in his phone. Kurt saved his name with a little scarf emoji next to it and it’s so ridiculously charming. And intimate. And it makes the longing almost crush Blaine under the weight of it.
He’d left this behind. He moved on. He knows that isn’t true though. Barely a day goes by that he doesn’t idly think of Kurt, of what he’s lost, of everything that Kurt has gained without him. And Blaine is happy for him. He really, truly is, despite what a shitshow his own life has turned out being. He doesn’t blame Kurt for that. Blaine was a grown-up, he made his own decisions when they went their separate ways, albeit very bad ones. But that’s on Blaine. It has to be. Blaine can’t handle being so hopelessly, devastatingly in love with the villain of his own story.
This is probably a very bad idea. Blaine knows that it’s a bad idea. If he loses the idealised version of Kurt in his head then he’s not sure he has anything left. But Kurt can’t love him like this. He’s used up and damaged beyond repair. He’s not worthy of someone as wonderful as Kurt. But just as surely as Blaine knows that he shouldn’t do this, he also knows that he will.
Hey, it’s Blaine. It was nice seeing you tonight.
He adds a kiss. And then deletes it. And then adds it again. He stares at it. It makes his stomach turn over. He can’t have Kurt. Not now. All he can really hope for is getting his friend back. He deletes the kiss and closes his eyes, sending the text.
He tosses his phone on the bed beside him and slides beneath the covers, trying to stop his racing mind so that he can get some sleep. He can smell himself in the sheets though, day old sweat from tossing and turning in the heat all of last night. And the nights before that. He needs to get to the laundromat. The shame of it is all so familiar though that it might be the thing that lulls him off to sleep.
He wakes to his phone ringing the next morning, hand scrambling in the sheets to find it as he refuses to open his eyes. He squints at the screen once he has it grasped in his sweaty hand, Kurt’s name and that scarf emoji looking back at him. His mouth goes dry and he swallows uncomfortably.
“Hello?”
“I woke you up,” Kurt says matter of factly. “I knew I was going to wake you up. I would have called later but I have a lunch meeting, which I hate because there’s never enough eating or talking. They do not save time. And then I’m in the studio all afternoon finalising designs for the new collection, so good morning. I waited until ten at least.”
“Hi,” Blaine says. That’s a lot of information to take in five seconds after he’s woken up.
“You are quite the night owl apparently,” Kurt says.
“Yeah,” Blaine agrees. “It’s the city that never sleeps. Why not?”
“Why not indeed,” Kurt says. “You do you, that’s what I always say.”
He’s so confident and chatty and maybe nervous? Is this constant talking nerves? Excitement?
“So, how are you?” Kurt asks.
“Uh, yeah, good,” Blaine says.
“You were really quiet yesterday,” Kurt says. “I didn’t know if there was something going on.”
“No,” Blaine dismisses. “You two just caught me off guard.”
“Okay,” Kurt says, and Blaine can practically hear him chewing his lip. “So, did you want to get dinner some night? Somewhere other than a taco truck? You can say no.”
“I know I can say no,” Blaine responds.
“Are you going to?” Kurt asks.
“No,” Blaine says. “No, I won’t say no,” Blaine rushes to correct. “I mean, if you think that’s something you’d like.”
“Of course I’d like it, why do you think I’m calling you?” Kurt says. “But if you don’t want to, I get it.”
“Why do you keep saying that?” Blaine asks.
There’s a pause, heavy and loaded. “You told me you’d never forgive me,” Kurt says, a tightness in his voice. “And then you basically never spoke to me again. You stopped coming back to Lima. You lost your phone and everybody’s numbers.”
“I really did lose my phone,” Blaine says. “Well, it was stolen on the subway, but either way it’s long gone.”
“Mugging or pickpocket?” Kurt asks, his tone carefully measured.
“More like grab and run,” Blaine says. “I should have been paying more attention. Whatever, that was like two years ago. I have a new phone now. And I’m talking to you.”
Another loaded pause. “What about the rest of it?”
“The rest of what?” Blaine asks.
“Our last conversation was…” Kurt trails off, his confidence draining.
“Ancient history,” Blaine says. “I’ve done a lot of growing up. And I know you have too.”
“How do you know that?” Kurt asks.
“You really think I didn’t read your Vogue cover article?” Blaine asks, warmth spreading in his chest at the thought of it. “I’m really proud of you.”
Another pause, but this time Blaine gets the impression that Kurt is trying to get that quiver in his voice under control. It makes Blaine want to hold him so much.
“So, are we having dinner?” Kurt finally asks.
“Yeah, we’re having dinner,” Blaine says, not quite daring to let the excitement fully settle in. Realistic expectations. His life isn’t one that could possibly have Kurt in it. Not like that.
“Great,” Kurt says. “Now go back to sleep. And maybe go to bed before 4am tonight.”
“We’ll see,” Blaine says, smiling into the phone. As they hang up, Blaine rolls over, burying his face in the pillow. He feels younger than he has in a very long time.
They arrange to meet up two days later outside a restaurant in Midtown. It’s the first occasion Blaine’s had to dress up for in a long time. It’s nice to go into the depths of his closest and pick out something to feel good in, something that’s actually going to stay on his body for an extended period of time. Everything is sweatpants or slut clothes now.
He pushes the thought away, pulling out some of the nice button-ups from his old life. The life of privilege and designer brands and having someone to care if he came home at the end of the night. It’s occurred to him more than once that if he went missing, or died in his apartment, it would take weeks before anyone noticed.
But these clothes belong to a boy of hope and smiles and a constant song on his lips and in his heart. He wants to be that boy again tonight, even if it’s just for a few hours, even if it’s just pretend.
He picks out a striped shirt, something classic and summery, but as soon as he pulls it on, he can tell how long it’s been since he last wore it. He used to fill this out, it clung to him like it was made for his body, but now it’s loose in places that it shouldn’t be. He looks like he’s a kid wearing his big brother’s clothes. He can practically hear Cooper’s mocking voice. He manages to salvage the look, tucking it into his pants and cinching it all in with a belt. He rolls up the sleeves and adds a complementary bowtie to finish off the look. Perfect. It will make Kurt nostalgic if not impressed.
Kurt is dressed with a million tiny touches that it would take Blaine all night to make note of, but mostly he’s mesmerised by his smile and the shining look in his eyes. It makes Blaine want to cling to him.
“Hey,” Kurt says brightly when he sees him. His eyes scan Blaine up and down. “You look nice.”
“Yeah?” Blaine asks, glancing at himself. “You look amazing. Is this, uh, an exclusive?” he asks, gesturing towards Kurt’s outfit.
“I don’t wear prototypes, my collection is not getting leaked until everything is perfect,” Kurt says primly.
Blaine laughs. “I missed you.” He feels all the air go out of him. “That, uh, I wasn’t supposed to say that.”
“Why weren’t you supposed to say that?” Kurt asks, looking amused. “I missed you.”
“Oh. Thank you,” he says, and then frowns at himself. What the hell is that supposed to mean?
Kurt gives a bright little laugh. “You’re welcome. Now, we should go eat before they give our table away.”
“Right, good idea,” Blaine agrees, following him into the restaurant.
Once they’ve ordered and their drinks have arrived, Blaine has no excuse not to look at Kurt across the table. No distractions. Just two old friends. Old lovers. No one in his life has ever made Blaine feel as good or as bad as Kurt did.
“So, Blaine Anderson,” Kurt says. “What’s going on in your life? You weren’t sharing much last night.”
“Well, I don’t have anything exciting to share like you and Mercedes,” Blaine says. “No one should have their shit together as much as you two do in your early twenties.”
“Who says I have my shit together?” Kurt asks, giving him a self-deprecating look. “Come on, night owl, what is it you do until four in the morning.”
“Oh, uh, work,” Blaine says, feeling himself blush. He tries to hide it behind his glass as he takes a sip of his drink.
“Where do you work that you’re up until that time?” Kurt asks. “Don’t get me wrong, I do my fair share of all nighters, especially at this time of year, but I don’t make a habit of it.”
“It’s…” Blaine casts his eyes around, looking for inspiration. “It’s performance based,” he says. It’s not a lie.
“You’re performing?” Kurt asks, his face lighting up. “That’s so great. Maybe I could come see you some time.”
“It’s not a public thing,” Blaine says. “And I never let anyone see my prototypes.”
“Touché,” Kurt responds, leaning forward with an arched eyebrow. It looks a lot like flirting. Blaine never knows for sure until there’s money in his hand though.
Kurt does most of the heavy lifting conversation wise during dinner, he seems to have unlimited anecdotes, or maybe just unlimited passion. He’s doing what he loves. Blaine is so genuinely happy for him, even if there’s a sting of jealousy that he missed out on it all. But if they’d stayed together, Kurt probably wouldn’t be here right now. Maybe they’d both be in the gutter.
Blaine finds himself getting caught up in Kurt’s mood, coming out of his shell. There’s certain things he needs to be carefully guarded about, but he can still be himself. That’s something he hasn’t felt like in a long time.
“I need something to wash all that cheesecake down with,” Kurt says as they step out into the still too hot night, the streets bustling around them.
“That was a lot of cheesecake,” Blaine agrees.
Kurt turns to face him. “Do you want to get a drink?”
Blaine can’t help the smile that lifts the corners of his mouth. “Yeah. Sounds good.” There’s no harm in leaning into the fantasy for a little while longer.
They end up at a rooftop bar with fancy cocktails that taste like candy. Blaine is pretty sure they’re deadly, but he can’t stop sipping.
“I can’t believe you don’t know what’s going on with everyone,” Kurt says. “How does Tina let you live?”
“She’s tried, believe me,” Blaine says.
“Well, you are about to get a crash course,” Kurt says.
Blaine sits back, listening attentively, but he’s less interested in their old friends and more rapt by the animated way in which Kurt tells the stories. It’s so easy to get lost in those eyes and that smile and that wicked sense of humour. Blaine drains his glass and then just chews absently on the straw, wondering if he has the energy to get up and get a fresh drink. He feels like he’s melting into his chair.
“There needs to be a storm, it is so humid,” he groans.
“My apartment has excellent aircon,” Kurt says.
“Lucky you,” Blaine says. “My building is a nightmare.”
“Don’t be a dunce, Anderson,” Kurt says. “I’m inviting you back to my place.”
“Oh,” Blaine says, trying to process the words, the look on Kurt’s face. This is actually happening. “Oh.” He leans forward, placing his empty glass on the table. “Okay, let’s go.”
Kurt hails them a cab outside and as they wind through the Manhattan streets towards the Upper East Side – slower than the subway but at least they don’t have to think – Blaine is caught between living this lie for one night or trying to actually build something here. The truth can’t lead to anything good, he knows exactly what Kurt would think of him, but he can’t hide it. It would be so much worse when it tumbled down after they’d both gotten invested and Blaine doesn’t think he’d ever recover from that. He wishes he could hold onto Kurt just a tiny bit longer though.
Kurt’s apartment is indeed mercifully cool, and Blaine sighs as they step into the stylishly designed place. Of course it’s flawless.
“Do you want a drink?” Kurt asks, walking past him towards the kitchen.
“No,” Blaine says. He’d actually love one. Or five. But he needs to bite the bullet. There’s no point making himself comfortable here if it all just goes to shit when he finally builds up the courage. “I have to tell you something.”
Kurt turns around to face him slowly, an uncertain look on his face. “Okay.” He nods towards the couch and Blaine follows him over to sit down. “You’re seeing someone,” Kurt guesses.
“No, it’s not that,” Blaine says. His palms are sweating and he wipes them on his pants.
“Then what is it?” Kurt asks.
Blaine looks at him, his eyes wary like a man who’s been hurt before. Blaine doesn’t want to recognise that look. He can’t breathe. He lowers his gaze, already ashamed.
“Just say it,” Kurt tells him.
Blaine lets out a shuddery breath that catches as a sob. “You’re going to hate me in about ten seconds.”
“Blaine, I could never hate you,” Kurt says. He reaches out, placing his hand on Blaine’s shoulder, a heavy, sure weight. “Just tell me what’s wrong.”
Blaine takes a deep breath, lifting his head up to meet Kurt’s eyes. “I have sex with men for money.”
Kurt’s eyes widen, staring. His hand slips from Blaine’s shoulder. He’s recoiling. Of course he is. Any self-respecting person would. The shame settles heavy in Blaine’s gut and he feels like he’s going to throw up all over Kurt’s doubtlessly expensive rug.
“I should go,” Blaine says, shaking his head as he gets to his feet. “I’m sorry.”
“Blaine, wait,” Kurt calls after him. “Blaine.”
Blaine doesn’t stop. His vision is blurring and he feels off balance as he swings the door closed behind him, fumbling with the elevator button. He braces himself against the wall, trying to breathe, but he can’t just stand here, he needs to be moving, he needs to be putting distance between himself and the newest mess he’s made.
He pulls the door to the stairs open and jogs down, sweating all over. It’s only once he’s outside that he realises some of that dampness on his face is tears. He wipes them away, looking at his surroundings, but he has no idea where he is. He walks, trying to just keep breathing in and out, until he finds a subway station and navigates his way back home.
He sleeps fitfully that night, covered in sweat and shame and guilt. He wakes to his phone ringing but he’s sluggish and disorientated and maybe hungover and he doesn’t even know where it is. He leans over the side of the bed, grabbing his crumpled pants and grasping at the pockets until he finds the shape of it, pulling it out. It’s Kurt and his little scarf emoji. Blaine wants to throw it across the room. He also wants to hug it to his chest and never let go. He answers the call.
“Yeah?”
“Hi,” Kurt says, sounding surprised. “I probably woke you again, I’m sorry.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Blaine dismisses, rolling onto his back.
“Can we meet up?” Kurt asks.
“I don’t want to talk to you,” Blaine says.
“You answered the phone,” Kurt points out.
“That was… it was ringing,” Blaine says defensively. “And I’m not your problem anymore.”
“It’s not a problem,” Kurt says. “You’re not a problem.”
There’s so much emotion in his voice, so much protectiveness, that Blaine can’t stand it. He squeezes his eyes closed, holding his breath. He doesn’t know what to say. There’s no way that he can do anything but let Kurt down here.
“Are you okay?” Kurt asks. “Are you safe? I mean, it must be dangerous. Do you have a pimp?”
“I’m freelance,” Blaine says. “And I’m fine.”
Kurt sighs. It sounds wet. “Blaine, what happened?”
There’s no accusation in his voice. If anything, there’s love. It makes Blaine break.
“After…” he begins, but he can’t talk about that day, not even now. He can’t say the words. “After I was cut from NYADA,” he says instead. “I couldn’t go home. I couldn’t face my parents when I’d messed everything up. So I stayed and I got a shitty apartment and I worked shitty jobs and one night, at this all night diner I was working at, some guy propositioned me. He offered me money. And I hadn’t been touched in so long and I had bills that needed paying and I figured, what’s the worst that could happen, right? I’m still alive. My bills got paid.” There’s tears sliding down his face but he wipes them angrily away. He chose this. He doesn’t get to act hard done about it now.
“Blaine,” Kurt says, the single word so heartbroken.
“It’s a living,” Blaine says, but the quiver in his voice is fooling neither of them. “It’s who I am.”
“It doesn’t have to be,” Kurt says and Blaine is certain now that he’s crying too. What the hell are they doing?
Blaine closes his eyes again, lets himself imagine a world where Kurt saves him. His knight in shining armour. He’d take Blaine up to his ivory tower on the Upper East Side and he’d love him and protect him and take care of him. Even in his fantasy, he can’t imagine what he could possibly offer Kurt in return though. He opens his eyes, staring up at the cracked ceiling above him.
“Are you at work?” he asks.
“Yeah,” Kurt says, accompanied by a sniffle. “But I’m in my office. I can talk for as long as you want.”
Kurt would save him. But then Blaine would ruin them both.
“Go back to work,” Blaine tells him.
“Okay,” Kurt says. He waits. Blaine stays silent. “I’ll talk to you later.” It’s not a question, it’s a fact. Blaine doesn’t have the energy to fight it if he wants to.
The next day, Kurt somehow manages to convince him to meet up for lunch. Blaine is certain it’s going to be some kind of intervention, but Kurt doesn’t even bring up their conversation from the previous day, doesn’t even elude to the fact that Blaine is a manwhore. He just talks about work, about the preparations that have already started for New York Fashion Week, about the special pieces he wants to do and the models he has to get signed up to his show or he’ll die. The whole thing fills Blaine with such pride and fondness.
It’s not until the end of the meal, as they’re waiting for the check to come, that Kurt’s tone changes to one that’s deliberately casual and Blaine has a feeling this is the one thing he wanted to talk about all along.
“I was at a friend’s bar last night,” Kurt says. “He lost another bartender due to graduation. The perils of hiring students. If you were looking for a job, I could hook you up.”
And there it is. Blaine can’t help but smile, looking down at the table. Kurt can’t possibly think he’s being subtle. But it’s such a pure thing to want to do and he’s doing it in the kindest way possible. He’s offering Blaine a way to help himself. Blaine is humbled and humiliated, but he looks up at Kurt and this man still lights up his life like nothing else.
“Do you want me to text you the details?” Kurt asks, busying himself with his wallet.
“Sure,” Blaine says.
Kurt grins at him. “Great.”
Blaine gets the job. That was never really in question. He was pretty sure Kurt had already secured it for him before Blaine even called up to enquire. But Joshua seems like a decent guy and the bar always has a great atmosphere. Blaine likes being there, likes the security of it, likes being a part of something. The pay isn’t amazing but he makes up for it in tips. All that charm he used to use to get into people’s cars is put to good use, but this time it doesn’t matter if they’re male or female, gay or straight, it’s a promise he never has to fulfil. There’s something kind of liberating about that, even if he still feels dirty at the end of the night when he counts his tips.
Blaine gets into a new rhythm that replaces his old one and he starts to believe that maybe this could be his life. Maybe he could actually deserve Kurt. They’ve been talking more, meeting up. That spark is still there, for Blaine at least. But then, less than two weeks in, it all starts to crumble around him.
It’s a quiet Tuesday night, still early, when he looks up and sees himself faced with one of his regulars. Blaine is struck with invasive images, steamed up windows, sweat and come in the back of a car, rough fingers in his hair, bruises on his hips. He feels disgusting, but worse than that, he feels a tiny bit turned on.
“I thought I hadn’t seen you in a while, beautiful,” the guy says, looking him up and down. Blaine doesn’t even know his name. He probably doesn’t know Blaine’s either.
Blaine swallows, trying to keep his cool. “Yeah, I went legit.”
The guy nods and pulls a hundred dollar bill out of his wallet, holding it up between two fingers. “So do you legit want this?”
Blaine stares at it. His heart is beating so hard in his chest. He gets a wage. He gets tips. But yes, he wants it, and he’s not even sure he’s talking about the money. He told Kurt this is who he was. It’s not Blaine’s fault if he didn’t listen.
Blaine turns to the other bartender. “I’m going on my break.”
“Cool,” he says, waving Blaine off.
Blaine nods his head for the trick to follow him. Luckily, he still carries lube and condoms in his bag. Old habits die hard. He drags the guy out into the alley and then quickly ends up with his face smashed into the wall, his pants yanked down below his ass. The guy isn’t gentle. Blaine doesn’t care. He closes his eyes and goes to that place in his head and tries to be exactly what he knows the trick wants. He makes the right sounds, moves his hips enticingly back, hissing out encouragement. It doesn’t last long, it never does, and Blaine doesn’t come but he’s more than okay with that. He tucks his half-hard cock into the waistband of his underwear as he pulls his pants up. The guy lifts up the money, stroking Blaine’s cheek with it so lightly that it makes him shudder. He grabs it as the guy laughs.
It doesn’t take long for word to get out. Old tricks start showing up at the bar, as well as new ones. It’s subtle enough that it doesn’t draw attention to him, but he’s making more than his paycheck out in the alley on his breaks. It gets increasingly hard to look Kurt in the eye. They’re beautiful eyes though and Blaine lights up every time Kurt comes into the bar, with friends or colleagues or sometimes by himself. He looks at Blaine with such fondness and Blaine feels like the worst person in the world for letting Kurt believe that he’s magically righted his life and is on a good and honest path. He can’t tell him the truth now though. Not when Kurt thinks he’s saving him.
On Blaine’s night off, Kurt invites him out to dinner and Blaine has no idea if this is a date, but it feels like a date. He dresses up, styles his hair carefully, takes pride in his appearance. He wants to look nice for Kurt, not because it makes his value go up. He looks at himself in the mirror and feels a little thrill. Is he always going to feel like this about his first love?
This time, Blaine feels like he holds up his end of the conversation more. He can talk about work, tell funny stories about his week, open up and be real with him. Well, about almost everything. Kurt doesn’t need to know about the special tips he makes out in the alley most nights. He’s getting back on his feet, he needs the cash, he’ll stop if this actually becomes a thing with Kurt. God, he hopes it becomes a thing.
When they finish dinner, Kurt skips the bar this time and just invites Blaine straight back to his place. Blaine enthusiastically accepts.
“I really like your apartment,” Blaine says as they step inside. He didn’t get a chance for any of the niceties last time. “It looks great.”
“Oh, thanks,” Kurt says, crossing to the kitchen and grabbing two glasses. “Rachel helped me paint it. It was hilarious. Jesse kept telling us how terrible we both were at it.”
“I didn’t think it was possible for you to be terrible at something,” Blaine says smoothly.
Kurt gives him a look over his shoulder before turning back to whatever drinks he’s mixing. “Nobody’s perfect, I guess. And if I have to be terrible at something, I’m glad it’s manual labour.”
“Imagine having a job where you could break a nail,” Blaine says in mock horror.
“Oh, honey, you do not want to know about the calluses on these hands from being stabbed repeatedly with needles,” Kurt says, grabbing the drinks and handing one to Blaine. “Sit.”
They sit on the couch together as Blaine eyes his drink suspiciously. “What is this?”
“Dirty Shirley,” Kurt says, taking a sip of his. “Shirley Temple with vodka.”
Blaine smiles. “Of course.” He clinks his glass against Kurt’s. “Cheers.”
“Oh,” Kurt says, clinking back. “To old friends and chance encounters.”
Blaine lifts the glass to his lips. It’s even sweeter than the cocktails they were drinking on that rooftop bar. “This Shirley is very Dirty,” he says, feeling the hit of the vodka.
Kurt smirks at him. “So am I.”
Blaine exhales a laugh, his eyes falling downwards. He licks his lips unthinkingly, arousal thrumming low in his belly. Kurt reaches forward, taking the drink out of Blaine’s hand and placing it on the coffee table along with his own. Blaine watches him.
“You went to all the trouble of making those just to take it off me?”
“You can have it back in a minute,” Kurt says, turning his body on the couch to face Blaine’s, resting his elbow on the backrest in a way that makes his body language so completely open. “If you want.”
The air sits heavy around them, despite Kurt’s amazing AC. Blaine looks at Kurt’s eyes, and then his lips, and then back to his eyes, inching closer. “And what are we going to do for a minute?” he whispers, because he feels like the world might crumble right now if he speaks out loud.
“We could kiss,” Kurt whispers back, his body leaning forward.
Blaine’s breath catches in his throat. “You’d want to kiss me?” he asks, his voice cracking.
“Of course I want to kiss you,” Kurt says. “Since I ran into you with Mercedes that night.”
“But I’m…” Blaine gestures helplessly to himself. He can’t bring himself to say the words.
“Amazing,” Kurt says. “And strong.”
Blaine’s eyes fall down, tears pricking at them. Right. Because Kurt thinks he’s reformed. Kurt thinks that he saved Blaine. He thinks that he’s worthy of this. But Blaine is just a liar and a whore and, if this is about to become a thing right now, like Blaine so desperately wants, he’s going to be a cheater again too.
“Hey,” Kurt says gently, putting his hand on Blaine’s jaw to lift his head. “I’m not thinking about that. You think I haven’t made mistakes? You think I don’t have things I regret? But all I am thinking about right now is this gorgeous boy in front of me who I really want to kiss. Anything outside this moment doesn’t matter right now. Okay?”
Blaine nods his head. And then he closes the gap between them and kisses Kurt.
It’s so sweet and tentative at first. Lips brushing together, hands not venturing lower than shoulders. Blaine can’t remember the last time he was kissed. He’s done just about everything else, had it all done to him, but not kissing. Kissing is intimate. Despite all the sex he’s been having, Blaine hasn’t felt intimacy in a long time.
He makes a needy little noise, shifting closer and sucking Kurt’s bottom lip. They both taste like sugar. It makes Blaine want to giggle helplessly, makes his heart swell. Then Kurt parts his lips and Blaine just melts, letting his jaw go slack, letting Kurt lick his way inside. It’s overwhelming, making him shudder, gripping the collar of Kurt’s shirt with both hands.
Kurt’s arms go around him, hands strong and sure all over his torso, his tongue sliding deep and sensual across Blaine’s over and over again. It’s almost too much to bear. Then the world tilts and it takes Blaine a moment to realise that Kurt still has him, that Kurt is pressing him down into the couch, covering his body with his own. Blaine moans, spreading his legs, letting Kurt settle between his thighs. It’s like that’s where he’s always belonged. No one else has ever fit there like him.
Kurt pulls his mouth away from Blaine’s, kissing down his neck as his hands pull at Blaine’s shirt, freeing it from his pants. He slides his hands inside, palms moving over his belly, grasping at his chest. Now it doesn’t feel like love anymore. It’s a hot, wet mouth on his neck. It’s needy hands on his skin. This he knows too well. He pushes Kurt back, drawing his knees up to his chest as though he needs to protect himself.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I don’t think this is a good idea. I should go.”
“No, please don’t go,” Kurt says desperately, looking at him wild-eyed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. Of course you didn’t want me to do that. Why the hell would you want someone groping you?”
“No, it’s not…” Blaine dismisses shaking his head. “I liked kissing you. A lot. Just maybe we should take it a little slower.”
“Right,” Kurt agrees. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like I was disrespecting you or that you owe me anything, you don’t owe me anything.”
“I know,” Blaine says, sliding his feet down off the couch. “I’m sorry I freaked you out.”
“Didn’t I freak you out?” Kurt asks, quirking an eyebrow at him.
Blaine gives a shrug and a self-deprecating little laugh.
“Do you want to watch a movie or something?” Kurt asks. “No expectations.”
“Yeah,” Blaine agrees. “I’d like that.”
Kurt smiles at him and reaches for Blaine’s drink, handing it back to him before rounding the table and contemplating his DVD collection.
Kurt is sweet and kind and more forgiving than Blaine deserves. And patient. So patient. It’s like high school all over again, hands above the equator, respectful distances kept. But it’s a solace for Blaine, a safe space. Sex has become so disconnected from love that he’s not sure he can ever put them back together.
He wants Kurt. He wants him more than he did when they were horny teenagers, but maybe that’s just because he knows what he’s missing now. Sometimes they lie on Kurt’s couch all evening, making out, all tongues and hands but never hips. It makes Blaine so hard, makes him want to beg for it, but that just feels so cheap. He doesn’t want his relationship with Kurt to feel like earning tips in the alley behind the bar. He has no idea how he’s supposed to untangle it all now though.
He’s going to stop. He’s going to just be a bartender and Kurt Hummel’s boyfriend. And they’re going to have wonderful, healthy, respectful sex. They’re going to make love.
Kurt is perched at the bar one quiet evening while Blaine is pretending to wipe down the surface as an excuse to stand there opposite him. It’s a quiet night so his co-worker doesn’t seem to care. Kurt sips at his Shirley Temple, not Dirty this time.
“So I have all the RSVPs from the glee club for Fashion Week,” he’s saying. “Rachel’s coming, of course, and Jesse. Santana’s coming for the swag and we all know her and Brittany are attached at the hip. Still. Shouldn’t that honeymoon period be over by now?”
Blaine leans on the bar, just gazing at him. If he never had to leave Kurt’s side, he’d be the happiest man alive.
“Mercedes is coming,” Kurt continues. “And Sam. Oh, and when Tina heard you were going to be there, surprise surprise, she decided she can make time for it after all. Don’t worry, I’ll have her frisked for vaporub before she’s allowed into the venue.”
Blaine laughs. “How are you feeling?”
“Frantic and terrified,” Kurt responds. “And really jittery excited. And there’s been some night sweats. I know it’s my third time, but I still don’t really feel like I belong in those shows. It’s New York Fashion Week! It’s insane that they let me anywhere near it.”
“It’s insane how talented and prodigious you are,” Blaine says. “How many people can say they took part in their first New York Fashion Week while they were still a full-time student at NYADA? Exactly one. Kurt Hummel.”
“Yeah, I’m pretty amazing,” Kurt deadpans, a twinkle in his eye. He smiles, reaching out to put his hand on Blaine’s. “I can’t wait to have you on my arm at that show. You are some serious man candy.”
Blaine’s eyes fall down, because that’s what he’s worth. He’s pretty, he has sex appeal, good to look at, good to use. He tries to push the feeling away but that’s what he is. That’s what he’s achieved with his life. He can’t blame Kurt for pointing it out. He just wishes he had a little more to contribute to the relationship.
He forces himself to look up with a smile, squeezing Kurt’s hand. “I can’t wait to make you look good.”
Two nights before his big show, Kurt is back at Blaine’s bar with half of the glee club in tow. They’re all going out to dinner together tomorrow, when Blaine has the night off, but for now they’ve decided to include him as much as possible while he serves drinks and collects glasses, which is a little demeaning but he knows their hearts are in the right place. It’s nice that they want to see him at all. It’s nice that they care.
“Oh my god, is that Broadway legend Rachel Berry?” Blaine says in mock amazement.
“Oh, shut up,” she responds, but her grin tells him she’s loving the attention. She pulls him into a hug, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “It is so good to see you. And see that smile on Kurt’s face,” she says suggestively.
As soon as she steps aside, Tina has him in a death grip. “Blainey Days,” she says into his shoulder.
Blaine smiles, feeling such fondness as he wraps his arms around her. “Hey, Tina.”
Tina pulls back to look at him. “You need to be less of a stranger.”
“I know,” Blaine agrees with a nod. “I’m working on it.”
“Good,” she says, giving him a squeeze before finally stepping aside, allowing Sam to come in for a hug.
“Bro,” Sam says. “I don’t like agreeing with Tina but she’s right.”
“Hey,” Tina says, slapping his arm.
“I kind of fell off the grid,” Blaine says. “But here we all are.”
“Here we all are,” Sam agrees, raising his eyebrows.
Blaine checks in with the group as often as he can, seeing them laugh harder each time, talking over one another. And Blaine is on the periphery, he doesn’t belong in their world. He doesn’t know how to make himself fit in after everything that’s happened. He’s nothing like the bright, optimistic boy they used to know. His confidence turned into cynicism somewhere along the way and how are you supposed to get innocence back after it’s been ripped to shreds. He can play high school romance with Kurt all he wants, it won’t change what he is. It won’t give him back what he lost.
As he slips back behind the bar, he sees one of his regulars waiting for him. His heart hammers in his chest, his cheeks flushing pink. He looks over at Kurt and his friends. None of them are looking this way.
“Well?” the guys asks, waving some notes at him.
Blaine looks at the cash. It makes his fingers itch and his mouth water. What a fucked up response. He has a man over there who would cherish him and take care of him, but Blaine wants this. Blaine deserves this.
He’s working with Joshua, the owner, tonight, the man who gave him this second chance, and would probably fire him in a heartbeat if he knew what he was about to do. But Blaine is going to do it anyway.
“Hey,” Blaine says. “Do you mind if I take my break?”
“Sure, go ahead,” Joshua says. “I know your friends are waiting on you, I can handle it for a bit.”
“Thanks,” Blaine says, nodding towards the guy before they make their way to the alley.
Blaine is pushed down to his knees, the guy offering up his cock. Blaine reaches into his pocket, tearing open a condom and rolling it on, and then he sucks and licks and hums and moans. He lets the guy rock into his mouth and he gives him that look in his eyes that he knows always works. The guy comes with a shudder and a yank of Blaine’s hair. It hurts but he just takes his cash and walks away as the guy pulls the condom off, abandoning it on the alley floor so that Blaine can remember this shame the next time he’s out here.
He grabs a drink when he gets back inside, trying to wash away the taste of latex, the smell of sweat that feels like it’s embedded on his upper lip. He shies away from going near the raucous glee table for a while, knowing that he’s sweaty and wild-eyed and they’d probably be able to smell the self-loathing radiating off him.
When he finally goes back to their table to collect their empty glasses, Kurt grabs him around the waist. “When are you taking your break, Blaine?”
“Oh, uh.” Blaine shakes his head, taking a step back. “Yeah, I don’t think I’m going to get one tonight, we’ve been really busy. Sorry guys.”
“Like hell,” Kurt says, standing up. He turns to the bar, yelling across the room. “Joshua.”
Joshua looks up at him.
“I would just like to inform you that are legally obligated to give Blaine a break,” Kurt shouts.
“Kurt,” Blaine says, trying to get him to sit down. “It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine,” Kurt says.
“Blaine already took his break,” Joshua says. “I’m not legally obligated to give him another one.”
Kurt’s face falls. He turns to Blaine who doesn’t feel like he can breathe.
“You had your break already?” Kurt asks, his voice quiet and careful in a way that Blaine is scared of.
“Well, it wasn’t really a break,” Blaine says. “I had some work to do out back so… a break from the bar.”
Kurt studies him like he can read his soul. “Why are you lying?”
“I’m not,” Blaine insists.
“Yeah, you are,” Kurt says, no emotion in his words. “You’re lying to me.”
“Kurt…” Blaine appeals, his eyes flicking to their friends. Kurt’s friends.
“Why did you say that you’re not getting a break?” Kurt asks. “That’s a lie, Blaine.”
Blaine shrugs helplessly. His eyes flick to the bar, checking it’s safe, that no one’s going to proposition him right now. The coast is clear, but his eyes are welling up and he feels like he can’t breathe. “How about I get you guys another round?” he offers. “On me.” He tries to walk away but Kurt catches his arm and looks into his eyes.
“You’re still doing it.”
Blaine presses his lips together and swallows uncomfortably.
Kurt lets go of him, holding his own head in his hands. “Oh my god, you have got to be kidding me.”
“Kurt, no,” Blaine says, shaking his head, willing the tears not to fall. “I work here.”
“But you’re still working the same job, right?” Kurt snaps, looking up at him. “That’s why you took your break out back instead of here with your friends. That’s why we haven’t had sex. Because you’re too busy fucking every man in New York except me.”
Blaine’s tear spill over. “Can we not do this here, Kurt?” he pleads.
“Oh, we’re not doing it anywhere,” Kurt says, so much vitriol in his voice. “You’re worth the world to me, Blaine, but I’m never going to pay you for it. Your name is off the guestlist and your phone number is blocked.”
Blaine opens his mouth to speak, but he feels like the words will choke him. It doesn’t matter anyway, Kurt has already walked away, his friends following wordlessly after him. All except for Sam who stops by his side, placing a hand on Blaine’s shoulder. Blaine twists away. He can’t stand being touched right now. He can’t even look Sam in the eye.
“I’m never going to block you,” Sam says. “In fact, I’m going to call you tomorrow.”
“Don’t bother,” Blaine says. He doesn’t want pity and empty promises.
“Dude, you’re my best friend,” Sam says. “I’m not giving up on you.”
That loosens something inside Blaine. He looks up at Sam, the smallest smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, even as tears fall down his cheeks. Sam pulls him into a hug, squeezing him tight, and in that split second, Blaine considers the possibility that everything could somehow be alright. But then Sam is pulling away, going to catch up with the rest of his friends, and Blaine is stood in the middle of a bar, crying, feeling dirtier than he did in that alley.
He goes through to the bathroom and splashes cold water on his face, trying to calm down. No, trying to shut down, to feel nothing. He refuses to look at his reflection, wiping over his face with a paper towel. He throws it in the trash and returns to the bar where Joshua’s back is turned, serving a customer. Apparently he missed that whole mess. Kurt’s voice was deadly, but it was low rather than projecting throughout the whole space like Blaine is all too aware he’s capable of. Thank god for small mercies.
Blaine grabs a bottle of vodka from the shelf and pours it into a glass until it’s three quarters full, topping it off with coke to make it look like a soda. Joshua always says he can grab himself as much soda as he wants during his shifts. Blaine takes a big gulp and then goes to serve the customer waving for his attention.
He finishes off his almost neat vodka way too quickly and he starts to feel a little buzzed, but mostly he wants to lie on the floor and retch. He thinks that means he should probably make another drink. He doesn’t really remember the end of his shift, doesn’t remember getting home, doesn’t remember whether he cried himself to sleep or not.
He wakes to 3 missed calls from Sam. He can’t face it right now. Instead he forces himself from bed and grabs a beer from the fridge. His head is throbbing and his gut lurching. But this will help he tells himself as he sips it slowly on his kitchen floor like it’s medicine. It takes the edge off and he falls asleep on his couch for most of the rest of the day.
When he finally wakes up, he calls in sick to work and orders takeout, watching horrible reality TV and crying. This is what people do when they have a break-up, right? This level of self-indulgence is okay. But Blaine knows deep down that he doesn’t deserve this kindness. He hurt Kurt. He betrayed him. Again.
As the sun sets for the evening, he gets that itch beneath his skin. He doesn’t do this because he has to. He doesn’t do it because he needs the money. He does it because it’s who he is and what he deserves. He can’t change that. Kurt certainly couldn’t change that.
Blaine climbs into the shower, cleaning himself up, taming back his hair with little design, and then putting on his best come fuck me outfit. He looks in the mirror and sees something honest for the first time in a long time.
He doesn’t go back to the bar. He doesn’t even call to let Joshua know what’s going on, but he guesses that Kurt filled him in on the details. Joshua doesn’t follow up on him. Just like that, it’s as though Blaine’s little detour into a different life never happened.
He falls back into his old patterns seamlessly. His nights are spent on dimly lit streets and in the back of cars, fulfilling other people’s fantasies. His days are spent mostly sleeping, and then maybe drinking to take the edge off. After a while he doesn’t feel much of anything at all though. It’s the numbness he craved that night Kurt walked out on him, but it’s not nearly so appealing now.
A car pulls up alongside him and Blaine sways his hips deliberately as he approaches. “Hey there.”
“How much to come in your ass?” the driver asks.
Blaine makes an incredulous noise. “I don’t do that.”
The driver pulls two fifties from his wallet. “This gets me you, right?”
“That gets you sex with a condom,” Blaine says. “You can come on my back or my face or whatever for a little extra.”
The driver pulls out another fifty, placing it alongside the first two. “And now?”
Blaine shrugs. “Yeah, you can shoot off on me for that.”
The driver smirks. “Not where I want to shoot it, pretty boy.” He pulls out another fifty. “Now?”
Blaine stares at the money. He didn’t pay the final notice on his electric bill and came home in the early hours of this morning to find that none of his light switches worked anymore. But he has cash. He can’t use that as an excuse. He needs to get off his ass during the day and pay his bills and stop this downward spiral. But somehow $200 and letting this guy fuck him without a condom seems more fitting. If he’s going to self-destruct, why not go all the way?
“Fine.”
He climbs into the car and off they drive to a secluded spot. They move to the backseat and Blaine is bent over and fucked hard but not very well. The guy comes inside him as promised, and then he slides his finger inside Blaine, feeling himself there, dragging his finger in a way that makes Blaine squirm. The guy openly laughs at him before pulling his finger out and leaning down to lick his hole.
“You are a dirty, dirty boy,” he says, licking again.
Blaine hangs his head, his body shaking, and wills himself not to cry.
The guy drops him off right back where he picked him up from and Blaine can feel the wetness of someone else’s come as he climbs from the car. As soon as he closes the door, the guy drives off without a word. Blaine has served his usefulness for the night. Pleasantries aren’t necessary or required.
Blaine stands there for a long time, like a statue, trying not to feel every filthy sensation in his body, every disgusting thought that runs through his head. He feels like he can’t breathe. He feels like his heart will just stop pumping and he’ll drop dead right here.
He finally moves away from the curb, leaning against the lamppost and slowly sliding down it until his ass hits the floor. He digs in his pocket for his phone, ignoring the wad of cash that sits beside it, and calls the only number he thinks might possibly care.
“Hey,” Sam responds kindly, even though it’s the middle of the night and Blaine has been ignoring him for weeks.
Blaine lets out a sob and it finally breaks, crying messy and unrestrained.
“Blaine?” Sam asks, the worry clear in his voice. “What’s going on?”
Blaine gasps in a breath. “I fucked up, Sam.”
“Tell me what’s happening,” Sam says.
“I just had unprotected sex with a stranger,” Blaine says. “I never do that. I’ve never done that. I don’t want to be this person anymore. I don’t like me, Sam.”
“Okay, where are you right now?” Sam asks.
“I’m sat on the street,” Blaine says.
“Just sat on a New York street sobbing,” Sam says. “That doesn’t sound like the best place to be.”
“I need a friend,” Blaine says brokenly. “I’m sorry I never called you back.”
“That doesn’t matter right now,” Sam tells him. “You need to get somewhere safe. You need to get home. I want you to stand up and get a cab.”
“There’s no cabs around here,” Blaine says, shaking his head. “I’ll jump back on the subway.”
“No, not in your state, there are so many ways that could go horribly wrong,” Sam says. “You need to just get taken to your front door right now. Where can you get a cab?”
Blaine looks around, his tears subsiding a little as his attention goes to something else. “There’s some bars a couple of blocks away. I can walk there.”
“Okay,” Sam says. “You’re going to wipe your face and you’re going to stand up and you’re going to walk to those bars and get a taxi. And I am going to stay on the phone with you the whole way. Do you have cash?”
Blaine sniffles. “Yeah,” he says. Dirty, filthy cash.
“Great,” Sam says. “So stand up and let’s go.”
Blaine feels a little stronger with Sam by his side, even though in reality he’s hundreds of miles away, but his voice is in Blaine’s ear, saying reassuring words, and Blaine feels like maybe the world isn’t going to end.
When he falls into the back of a cab, a wall comes down and he’s not crying now but he feels vulnerable, like he’s been flayed alive. He’s so aware of himself and where he is and what he’s done. He can’t escape what he’s become. This must be what rock bottom feels like. He’d thought he was here before, but no, this is it.
“Sam.”
“I’m here,” Sam says.
“I want to go home,” Blaine says in a small voice.
“Yeah, that’s where you’re going,” Sam tells him soothingly.
“No,” Blaine says. “I can’t be here anymore. I’ve lost myself. I just want to go back home.”
“I have a spare bedroom,” Sam says. “I was thinking of advertising for a roommate, but you just saved me the trouble.”
Blaine breathes out a laugh. It still sounds wet. “Why are you being so nice to me?”
“Because you’re my best friend,” Sam says.
“I’ve not been a very good friend,” Blaine says.
“That’s the thing about best friends,” Sam says. “You don’t have to talk every day. You and I are platonic soulmate bros. I got your back. And I know you’d have mine if I called you in the middle of the night. You can be as down on yourself as you want, but I know that’s true.”
Blaine smiles. He wants that to be true, so he chooses to believe Sam. It hurts less.
“I’m going to buy you a plane ticket to Lima for tomorrow morning,” Sam says.
“I can buy my own ticket,” Blaine insists.
“Yeah, but you don’t need to worry about trying to make those arrangements right now,” Sam says. “You need to focus on getting through tonight, and then tomorrow you can just turn up at the airport and get on a plane and I am going to be there in Lima to pick you up and take you to breakfast. We’re having pancakes.”
Blaine laughs. “Pancakes. Okay.”
“And then we’re going to go to the clinic and you’re going to get yourself tested,” Sam says. Blaine’s stomach drops. “Hopefully it’s okay, it’s probably okay, but it’s going to eat you up inside until you know for sure. And I’ll come get tested with you. I haven’t had it done in a while.”
Blaine feels himself tearing up again. “Thank you.”
“Then maybe we could get ice-cream,” Sam muses.
Blaine grins, shaking his head, as they pull up outside his building. “I’m here.”
“Good,” Sam says.
He stays on the line as Blaine pays the cab driver and goes into the building, taking the elevator up to his floor. He unlocks his door and automatically goes to switch the light on but of course nothing happens.
“Shit,” he mutters.
“What?” Sam asks.
“No, nothing, I just forgot to pay my electric bill, they cut it off, I can’t see anything,” Blaine rambles. He sighs, turning on the flashlight on his phone. “Okay, I’m good.”
“Okay,” Sam says. “So you’re going to take a shower and go… clean everything out or whatever.”
Blaine has never wished for an aneurism more.
“I am going to book you a plane ticket,” Sam continues. “And when you’re done you’re going to call be back and I am going to give you all your flight details and you are going to set an alarm and then you’re going to go to sleep.”
Blaine nods. “Deal.”
He feels like he doesn’t think for himself until he’s touching down in Lima. It’s a good feeling. He’s proven time and again over the last few years that he is not capable of being responsible for his own life. But Sam gave him clear step-by-step instructions of what was going to happen, guided him through it, and now Blaine is here. Home.