Perfect for Jesse St. James [part 1A]
Title: Perfect for Jesse St. James
Fandom: Glee
Written: January, 2011
Rating: R
Words: 10,000 [total]
Summary: Jesse and Blaine have a nice, easy friendship. At least, it was nice and easy until they met for lattes after Blaine's latest heartbreak, which leads to both confessing more to each other and themselves than they'd ever planned.
Notes: Angst, violence, sex, and would you believe me if I told you this was supposed to be a short, sweet, bromance-y fic? Half of it's fluffy, at least!
Posted in two parts.
------
Jesse wasn’t sure when he’d turned into someone who actually cared about something as petty as someone else’s high school romance.
All he knew was that he was home on break, Westerville wasn’t that far away, and that a certain Blaine Anderson had never been one to deal with disappointment in a way that most sane people consider healthy. So when Jesse had done his bi-monthly facebook log-in - the only purpose of which was to check and update his fanpage - and saw that Blaine’s status read, ‘I suppose all good things do come to an end,’ he heaved a rather impressive sigh and clicked on the link to Blaine’s profile, determined to see what had the boy down this time.
Jesse remembered with almost painful clarity the first time he had led Vocal Adrenaline to victory. Just a sophomore and already lead singer, he had crushed Dalton’s Warblers without leaving anyone thinking otherwise. And the third group they’d been competing against? So insignificant that Jesse didn’t even remember their name. But one thing that stood out that day was the look on the tiniest Warbler’s face, as if someone had just taken a baby dolphin and snapped its spine in front of him.
That tiny Warbler? Blaine Anderson as a freshman. Apart from that heart-shattering expression of disappointment - which hadn’t rattled Jesse at all, so stop looking at him like that - there was nothing to set him apart from all the other uniform-clad boys. Except for the message and friend request Jesse had received on facebook the next day.
Hi Jesse,
I didn’t get a chance to say congratulations in person, so… Congratulations! You and your club were fantastic at Sectionals. Too bad we didn’t at least tie so I could come watch your club again, haha. I was hoping that maybe you could pass along some VA wisdom, actually. You’re an amazing lead singer and I want to be a soloist too, so if you could spare a few minutes I’d really appreciate it.
Thanks!
Blaine Anderson
The message had been so embarrassing that Jesse had considered deleting it and blocking the poor child. Surely it would be better for the poor kid to forget about his foolish message or the even more foolish friend request rather than have a patronizing answer stuck in his messages until he wised up enough to delete it. After all, the kid was only fourteen, and from Jesse’s experience, most kids don’t know how to write a proper piece of fan mail until they’re at least sixteen. It comes along with the whole, “Holy shit I can drive now!” mentality.
Luckily for Blaine, his social ineptitude extended to his privacy settings on facebook, so Jesse was able to poke around a little to see why on earth this kid wouldn’t just go to one of the Warblers for advice. Sure, he was Jesse St. James, but he was still “the enemy,” and even most fourteen year olds are smart enough to understand the concept of boundaries.
It was almost too easy to figure it out. Blaine had “Kent Middle School” listed as his previous schools and Akron as his hometown. Obviously he would have gone to Carmel if he hadn’t been shipped off to Westerville. Jesse even pulled out his eighth grade yearbook, flipping back to look at the black-and-white photos of the seventh graders, quickly locating Blaine’s picture, since his name was alphabetically first out of the whole grade.
It took Jesse about four minutes of straight thinking about middle school to remember Blaine. But when he did, he burst out laughing. So this was the kid he’d just gotten a message from. Oh, Lordy, was this going to be a problem. He barely remembered Blaine, but what stood out was the kid who dressed like his mother had picked out his clothes, glasses and braces and acne all at the same time, walking around with his head bowed as if hoping the bullies would back off if he didn’t acknowledge their existence. They had been in choir together, Jesse knew, but he never remembered Blaine’s performance as anything special, unless that time he’d played the ukulele for one of Jesse’s solos counted.
Oh, wait, it all made sense now. Jesse knew a thing or two about kids that got picked on, having been somewhat of a bully before he’d realized that it would come back to haunt him once he was big and famous, and he knew that they latched onto the first person who was nice to them. They idolized anyone who showed them kindness, no matter if that act of kindness was just a pat on the arm and a hurried, “You’re a really good uke player,” after choir practice one day.
Jesse flipped to the back of his yearbook, smiling when he recognized the loopy signature and the silly cartoon of a smiling ukulele. Yep, Blaine had definitely latched onto him.
So Jesse took pity on the poor child, accepting his friend request and typing out a quick response to his message. He got quite the “thank you so much!” message in return, and Jesse was actually impressed with how Blaine handled himself from then on. Sure, he ‘liked’ Jesse’s statuses a bit too consistently and he clearly didn’t understand that Jesse’s default answer of “I’m busy,” every time he popped up on facebook chat translated to “Go away,” but really, Jesse couldn’t complain. And once Blaine started growing into himself and realizing that he wasn’t the little kid who got picked on anymore, they were able to form a relationship of almost-equals. Because Jesse is always superior.
But if there was one thing Jesse had learned about Blaine through their online interaction, it was that he was overly dramatic. The kid could look all calm and put-together on the outside, but then he’d write a facebook note about something really depressing and his status would be a quote from some emo rock band. There was almost always a hidden meaning, and Jesse probably wouldn’t have given the kid a second glance if he hadn’t known what he’d been put through during middle school. Blaine had obviously transferred to Dalton for a reason.
Their friendship offline started to form a while later. Blaine turned up to Vocal Adrenaline’s invitationals and Jesse was kind enough to invite him out to coffee afterward. Even though they’d both gotten caffeinated drinks, there had been something calming about sitting together drinking lattes, and both of them had been relaxed enough to actually open up a little and get to know one another.
It turned into a monthly thing. The first weekend of every month, Jesse would drive out to Westerville for a latte and some soul-baring. He watched Blaine go from an awkward little freshman into a confident and rather dapper junior, with a smile that attracted way too much attention for his own good and a voice that even Jesse would admit was good.
And when Blaine’s facebook status was anything less than happy? Jesse would comment with a default, “Don’t make me drive out there to dump a latte on your head,” and Blaine would, of course, delete the status immediately and either tell Jesse it was no big deal or call him up and tell him what was the matter.
Which is why Jesse still cares enough about the now-senior to stalk his facebook profile to see what the problem is. He and Blaine had drifted apart since he graduated, though Jesse suspected that the fact that he’d egged Rachel Berry had played a part as well. Which was completely unfair, because Blaine had been the only person he’d been honest with through that whole ordeal.
Jesse scrolled through Blaine’s profile, frowning when he saw posts from the members of New Directions, all telling him - some more eloquently than others - that he was a jerk. Jesse spied a little heart icon, next to which the caption read, ‘Blaine Anderson is now single.’
He couldn’t help but laugh. Blaine would be the type to make a big deal out of a breakup. He knew full well that high school relationships are almost always doomed, so why should his be any different? Jesse had quite literally proved that time and time again, most of his relationships lasting for a week, if the girl was lucky.
But Blaine had always been the romantic of the two. Jesse had actually picked up a few tips from him when it came time to “befriend” Rachel, not really knowing how to properly charm a girl into a relationship that wasn’t about sex. And even then he’d been hasty and still wanted the sex part, although he was smart enough to stop pushing the matter when Rachel made it clear she wasn’t ready. It was after that, after he’d known he had no chance of going that far with her, when he’d put some genuine effort into their relationship, finding that it was actually quite nice.
Shit, now he felt guilty for laughing. He couldn’t even bring himself to leave his default comment on Blaine’s status, because he remembered just how hard Blaine had taken his last breakup. The boy had spiraled into a pit of despair, and that was putting it lightly.
So Jesse closed his laptop, not even bothering to update his fanpage or answer any of the sixteen messages he had, and gave Blaine a call.
“What?” was the answer he received after the seventh ring.
“Hello to you too,” Jesse said through a smirk. “Lattes? Four-thirty?”
“Go away, Jesse,” Blaine’s voice sounded muffled, and Jesse suspected that he was trying to smother himself with a blanket. Again.
“I’m not even in Westerville, you idiot,” Jesse said patiently. “And I don’t have to come out. It’d save me quite the drive. But you’re moping and have depressing shit on your facebook and you’ll just embarrass yourself if I don’t come shake you out of it.”
“Fine,” Blaine agreed. “Four-thirty. Dalton’s rec room. I’ll put in a visitor’s notice for you so they let you in.”
“Good boy,” Jesse smirked again. “But you know I don’t drink the crap they serve in the rec room. We’re going out, so I expect you to look presentable. You’re not getting away with your Warblers T-shirt and Dalton sweats.”
“I hate you.”
“Love you too. Now, smarten up. It’ll be four-thirty before you know it.”
It really went to show just how well Jesse had come to know Blaine that he was able to narrate the rest of Blaine’s day from that point on. At noon, when Jesse sat down to look over the homework he had to get done, he decided that Blaine was only just getting himself out of bed. One o’clock, when Jesse decided homework was beneath him and not worth any more than an hour of his precious time, Blaine would finally force himself to go into the shower and get cleaned up.
Jesse left at two, giving himself plenty of time to make the drive to Westerville, knowing that Blaine would just now be finishing trying to drown himself in the shower and getting out. While Jesse drove for the next two hours, he imagined Blaine staring woefully at his closet full of uniforms, debating whether to go with the blazer or the sweater. He always chose the blazer, and everyone knew he would choose the blazer, but it would take him about ten minutes to actually come to that conclusion today.
By the time Jesse pulled into the visitors’ parking lot, he knew that Blaine would be running around his room, frantically combing his hair back and making it stay put with a layer of gel, wondering how on earth it had taken him so long to get ready. Jesse walked slowly to the recreation center on purpose, knowing that if he timed it right, he’d be walking through the door just as Blaine came flying out of his dorm building.
Success was his when he put his hand on the doorknob and looked over at Blaine’s dorm, seeing the other boy tearing across the green towards him, blazer unbuttoned and flapping behind him.
“I am Blaine, king of the blazers,” Jesse sang under his breath, spoofing the song from SPAMalot.
“Sorry,” Blaine said breathlessly, coming to a halt at Jesse’s side.
“There you go, got your adrenaline pumping?” Jesse gave his arm a pat, then took hold of it, steering him over to where he had parked. “Come on, let’s go. It’s time for me to laugh at your troubles.”
“Shut up,” Blaine shrugged him off, suddenly somber.
“Oh please, you know me and you know you,” Jesse shook his head. “You’re a chronic moper whereas I choose to laugh at others’ misfortunes.”
“But only if they’re your friends,” Blaien continued, knowing Jesse’s mini-speech by heart, “because laughing at the fate of strangers gives you bad karma.”
“Exactly,” Jesse grinned at him, unlocking his car and getting into the driver’s seat. “So, Starbucks? Or are there any new cute little indie cafes around here that need our money more?”
“Starbucks,” Blaine answered, buckling his seatbelt. “I’m not in the mood for anything unique or different or artsy. Give me something over-priced and over-commercialized with whipped cream on top.”
“Okay, it must be really bad, because you never go for Starbucks over the indie places,” Jesse commented as he backed out of his parking spot, visitor parking pass hanging from his rear-view mirror. “Was the ex-boyfriend into indie bands or something?”
“Please, like you don’t know who the ex-boyfriend is,” Blaine rested his elbow on his armrest, chin on his hand and staring out the window.
“No, actually, I don’t,” Jesse reminded him. “A certain someone decided not to talk to me after I egged Rachel Berry, which, I must remind him, is completely unfair seeing how he was the only person who knew how I truly felt through that whole ordeal.” Jesse sniffed, turning off campus and adding, “Besides, I didn’t even buy the eggs.”
“You’re a dick,” Blaine told him, as if stating a fact.
“And you’re projecting,” Jesse countered. “I’m not ex-boyfriend number two. I’m Jesse St. James, who you idolize and want to be like when you grow up.”
“Shut up,” Blaine gave him a shove, but at least now he was smiling.
“Ooh, Jesse, tell me your secrets,” Jesse said in a high-pitched, mocking voice. “I want to be just like you. Tell me all about being a star.”
“Shut up,” Blaine repeated, but Jesse knew by his tone that he was fighting back a laugh.
But Jesse heeded his words, playing his “Jesse’s favorite showstoppers” CD instead of talking. He knew how much Blaine liked singing along to the big Broadway numbers whenever he was upset.
That seemed to work, too, with them singing along to classics like If I Were a Rich Man, Wilkommen, Let the Sunshine In, and Send in the Clowns. But when Don’t Cry for Me Argentina came on, Blaine reached over and switched it off.
“You’re right,” Jesse said without thinking that maybe this song actually meant something to Blaine, “the rest of this CD is rather cluttered with Webber, and I’m not thinking too kindly of him at the moment. Why he thinks sequel shows are a good idea when clearly it’s going to fail abysmally is beyond me.”
“Shut up,” Blaine repeated his words from before, but this time speaking quietly, turned towards the window again, and Jesse knew something was up. Rather than let it lie, he jumped on the conversation.
“So the ex was a Broadway boy too, huh?” he asked, pulling into a parking spot in front of Starbucks. “Which one of you sang that song, then?”
“Can we have this conversation after I have my artificially flavored drink?” Blaine asked the window.
“Of course,” Jesse put the car in park and hopped out of his side, racing over to the passenger side and opening Blaine’s door for him. “After you, my good sir.” He added a little bow, hoping to make Blaine laugh. It didn’t work. All he got was a shrug and a quiet, “Whatever.”
Ouch. Obviously the song was a touchy subject, touchier than Jesse had anticipated. So he just bounded ahead of Blaine into the shop, already ordering for the pair of them by the time Blaine walked through the door.
“Here you go, honey,” Jesse presented Blaine with his latte, attracting the looks of some of the other patrons. “Why don’t we go sit outside on the terrace?”
“Jesse,” Blaine’s voice came out as a pleading groan. “Don’t do this.”
“Do what?” Jesse asked brightly, holding the door open for Blaine and grinning at him as they walked back outside. He let Blaine choose from the two free tables, not missing how Blaine picked the one furthest from the shop’s entrance and closest to the road. How un-Blaine like. He was normally one to sit right in the middle of things, relaxed and engaging strangers in conversation.
“Don’t do the whole fake chivalry thing,” Blaine said dismissively, taking a sip of his latte.
“Why must you offend me with such accusations?” Jesse put his free hand on his heart, fixing a look of shock on his face. “How dare you accuse my chivalry as being anything but genuine!”
“Then at least tone it down,” Blaine slumped back in his chair, body language suggesting that it was more out of tiredness than relaxation. “For instance, this is not a terrace; it’s a fucking sidewalk.”
“Language,” Jesse’s tone was patronizing and he smirked before taking a sip of his latte.
“Shut the fuck up,” Blaine challenged. “And stop calling me ‘honey,’ when we go places. Just because I’m gay doesn’t mean I want people thinking I’m getting some. I don’t exactly want a reputation to match yours back at Carmel.”
Jesse counted to five. Blaine was projecting. He always ended up projecting onto Jesse whenever he was upset. Call it one of his bad habits, because he knows that no matter what he says, Jesse will still be there for him. So Jesse bit back his retort by taking another sip of his drink.
“So, who broke your heart?” Jesse managed with difficulty not to add ‘this time,’ to the end of that question.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Blaine said evasively, looking at the door to the shop. His hand closed around his cup, gripping it tightly but not picking it up. Jesse noticed the tension in his hand and followed that tension all the way up Blaine’s arm, into Blaine’s neck, down his back. His entire body was stiff, though to a passerby he looked as if he was just lounging outside.
“At least tell me a name,” Jesse all but pleaded.
“If you actually checked your facebook once in a while, you’d know,” Blaine’s tone was accusatory. Still projecting, still projecting. Jesse took another sip of his drink, knowing that at this rate he’d burn his throat if Blaine didn’t stop the nonsense.
“I was at Regionals, you know,” Jesse’s finger started tracing the pattern on the edge of the table as he spoke, not meeting Blaine’s eye. “I watched all four groups perform, and while I’d love to say that my loyalty to you as a friend extends to my show choir judgment, that would be a complete lie. Your club had nowhere near the originality as New Directions brought to the table. Rachel’s solo was glorious.”
And oh, yes it most definitely had been. Jesse hadn’t made a big fuss out of being back for a visit, just popping in to visit Shelby and see his family before going back out to California. But he had made sure to go to Regionals, to see his best friend, his ex-girlfriend, and his old glee club compete against each other and a new group Jesse had never heard of before.
Jesse St. James is not the type of man who sheds tears easily, but when it comes to Rachel Berry leading her glee club and pouring her entire being into a performance… Well, there hadn’t exactly been a dry eye in the house, so it wasn’t like it was just him or anything.
“They still lost,” Blaine reminded him bitterly.
“Well, Vocal Adrenaline puts in more work in one afternoon than both your clubs do all week. Combined,” Jesse pointed out fairly.
“Except for you robots eight at night is still considered to be in the afternoon.”
Was that a smile? Progress!
“What can I say? I got used to living off four hours of sleep on a good day and just drinking Red Bull in-between classes. It’s a sacrifice which must be made, Blaine,” Jesse looked at him seriously over the top of his coffee cup, then wiggling his eyebrows and gaining himself another small smile.
“You should try it sometime,” Jesse continued. “Honestly, the constant adrenaline rush probably took about ten years off my life, but it’s the best high you’ll ever feel in your entire life. Performing onstage and being so damn jittery that you end up skipping every time you want to walk somewhere? It’s better than drugs. Makes for an awesome lay, too. Going to McKinley was like culture shock. Except it affected my heart rate instead of my brain. Well, probably my brain too, but you get what I’m saying.”
And that was when Blaine chose to shout.
“It’s all your fault, you dick!” His posture straightened and he leaned over the table, not bothering to keep his voice down. “It’ all your fault! Why’d you have to go to that stupid school in the first place? Why’d you have to be such a complete asshole and ruin my life?”
Well, then. Apparently the projecting wasn’t over.
“Care to explain your sudden resentment towards your best friend?” Jesse asked calmly, taking another sip of his latte. “I believe an explanation is in order, especially seeing how you were the one person I was completely honest with throughout that whole ordeal.” He sniffed, setting his latte down on the table and saying, “You’re being completely unfair.”
“No, it’s all your fault!” Blaine repeated. “It’s your fault my boyfriend hates me!” Then he paused, as if shocked by his own words. “No, it’s your fault that Kurt’s not my boyfriend anymore! I can’t even call him my boyfriend because he hates me too much!”
“Well, that makes sense,” Jesse shrugged, completely nonplussed by this new information. “I should have realized that you and Kurt were together. All those looks you two exchanged at Regionals certainly said enough to make that obvious. And although I appreciated the sentimentality and the added meaning this gave your songs, you may want to tone it down next year. Sure, in a more progressive society that would have given you bonus points, but we are still in Ohio, here.”
“Excuse me?”
“Hey, I’m just being honest,” Jesse held up his hands.
“Why can’t you be a normal human being and sympathize with my romantic woes?” Blaine looked at his latte as if it had personally offended him.
“Because I’d rather get an explanation for why it’s my fault before I even think about sympathizing with you.”
“It’s your fault because you’re a dick who throws eggs at people,” Blaine’s justification made absolutely no sense, but the boy looked as if Jesse should be able to figure it all out on his own.
“Again, not my idea and I never even bought the eggs,” Jesse ticked these pieces of information off his fingers as he spoke. “Elaborate further, m’dear.”
Blaine scowled at the term of endearment. Jesse just winked.
“Why did you have to end up transferring back to Carmel right before Regionals and breaking Rachel’s heart?” Blaine asked him, eyebrows furrowed together in a deep frown. “Do you have any idea the sort of emotional effect that’s had on the entire group, not just Rachel?”
“Well, I assume they all have some rather serious trust issues,” Jesse spoke as if commenting on the mildness of the weather. “Maybe added in a little paranoia when it comes to competitions and the people that are their competition, but that’s nothing that can’t be fixed over time. By the time they’re seniors they’ll have forgotten all about me, I’m sure.”
“Is that why you never apologized?” Blaine pressed the issue. “You’ve been back in Ohio for every break you’ve had, even coming to Regionals. Why didn’t you find Rachel and apologize?”
“Because it’s easier to love from afar then jeopardize the already shattered emotions of the one woman who will ever be worthy of my eternal love,” Jesse’s airy tone certainly did not match what he had just said. “Why not let her continue to loathe me in silence, while I take it as my penance to waste away, never loving another for no other will ever live up to the perfection that is Rachel Berry?”
Blaine stared at him, gaping and silent, for a whole ten seconds.
“That makes absolutely no sense,” he finally decided. “And besides, you don’t get to rationalize stupid decisions. You’re still a dick who ruined my life. By accident.”
“Ex-plain,” Jesse enunciated each syllable.
“I can’t transfer to McKinley because everyone will think I’m you!” Blaine slammed a fist down on the table. “Except nicer and with better hair and shorter and gay. But still!” The other fist slammed down as well. “They’ll think I’m your mini, gay clone!”
This time it was Jesse who stared across the table, gaping and silent.
“Now that makes no sense,” he decided, nodding once as if that settled the matter.
“Excuse me, I’m making perfect sense. You’re just not keeping up.”
“Did you just say that in a British accent?” Jesse raised an eyebrow.
“No,” Blaine denied it a bit too quickly, picking up his latte and taking a sip. Jesse stared at him again, trying to work out what Blaine had just said before it clicked. Then he reached across the table and smacked Blaine on the side of the head. After he had lowered his drink from his lips, obviously.
“Don’t quote Doctor Who at me, Blaine Anderson,” Jesse pointed an accusing finger at the boy. “Just because you carry a pocket watch does not give you the right to use the Doctor’s words in everyday conversation like that. Speaking of which, what time is it?”
Blaine reached into his pocket, making quite the show out of opening the heavy, golden pocket watch, a smirk flitting across his face. He looked smugly up at Jesse, adopting an accent again and saying, “It is about quarter past the fifth hour.”
“Don’t get all snotty with me; I still think your argument makes no sense,” Jesse reminded him. “And I shall now prove your argument invalid and why you need to fess up and take responsibility for your own mistakes, rather than blaming poor me for all your woes.
“One,” he held up a finger, “you and Kurt already had an established relationship at Dalton, proving to everyone that you are not taking advantage of him in any way. Two; you both lost Regionals. You’re no longer competing against each other, so there is no reason for you to transfer to spy on them. Three; giving up Dalton’s academics and guaranteed college admission would probably be the stupidest move for you, as a senior, to make. Four; clearly you and Kurt broke up for a reason other than your sudden desire to be the epitome of a clingy boyfriend, so transferring to McKinley where all you have is an angry ex? Not exactly the best idea.”
He held up both arms, exclaiming, “Therefore: not my fault!”
“It’s still your fault Kurt told me not to,” Blaine looked absolutely miserable. “The moment I suggested it, he laughed and told me he didn’t want me to ‘pull a Jesse,’ because that wouldn’t do anyone any good.”
“I didn’t know my name was a noun now,” Jesse nodded appreciatively. “I’ll have to add that to my fanpage when I get home.”
“But I wasn’t doing it just for him!” Blaine insisted, choosing to ignore Jesse’s comment. “Yes, I will admit that being with my boyfriend was the deciding factor for wanting to transfer schools, but I also need to face my fears and deal with my own regrets before I go off to college and lose that opportunity forever. I need to confront anyone who judges me because of my sexuality and tell them why they’re wrong. I need to confront what I ran away from!”
“So go to a Christian college for a semester,” Jesse suggested.
“I’m serious!”
“I am, too!”
“No you’re not!” Blaine glared at him. “Come on, Jesse, you know how things were at Carmel. I ran from all that when I should have stayed and tried to educate people, tell them why they were wrong.”
“So you want to give up a Dalton graduation, which would look absolutely incredible on any application for any internship or study abroad program you’ll ever want, and go to a sub-standard public high school just so you can get slammed into lockers in-between classes?”
“Pretty much,” Blaine nodded.
“And you expect me to believe that your boyfriend dumped you because you have some serious issues letting the past go?”
Blaine squirmed in his seat.
“Well, we sort of… fought about it. A little,” he admitted.
“On a scale of ‘your face is stupid’ to ‘I never should have dated you in the first place,’ how bad are we talking?”
The guilty look on Blaine’s face answered the question.
“I said some really stupid things,” he told the table. “And I think I really hurt his feelings. But I didn’t mean to, honest! It was an accident and I’ve been apologizing ever since.”
“How long ago did this happen?”
“Three days ago.”
Jesse couldn’t help but laugh. Blaine’s expression went from complete devastation to utter horror, which made Jesse laugh even harder. Hand over his heart, he managed to calm down, choking out, “Three days ago? You’re expecting things to go back to normal after only three days?”
“I’ve called him to apologize every day,” Blaine informed him, “but he hasn’t answered.”
“Well of course he hasn’t,” Jesse shook his head. “He’s pissed at you and right now he wants to stay pissed at you because you hurt his feelings, you dolt! Come on, even you aren’t dense enough to expect a running-through-a-field-of-flowers-to-reunite-with-your-estranged-lover scene after three days.”
Blaine continued to look devastated, so Jesse pushed his chair out and slapped both hands down on his lap.
“Come over here.”
“I am not sitting on your lap in public, Jesse,” Blaine grumbled. “I’d like the people of Westerville to not think I hop on any guy who shows the slightest bit of interest, thanks.”
“Please,” Jesse waved this away, “every person in that coffee shop things we’re dating, so you might as well get over here.”
Blaine hesitated, then got up from his seat, sitting down carefully on Jesse’s lap. Both of Jesse’s arms went around Blaine’s waist, holding him in place, and Blaine’s head fell almost automatically to rest on Jesse’s shoulder.
“How long has it been since you’ve had physical contact with another human being?” Jesse found himself asking, because normally it took a lot more wheedling to get Blaine to actually relax.
“Four days,” Blaine mumbled, breath tickling Jesse’s neck.
“No wonder you’re depressed. You get worse than me when nobody’s around to hold you and make it all better.”
“Stop treating me like a five year old girl,” Blaine’s tone suggested that he was just that, but he didn’t straighten up. In fact, he snuggled in closer.
That’s when Blaine’s phone started buzzing. Blaine fished in his pocket, grabbing it and checking the caller ID. Jesse knew who it was by the way his face paled and his eyes widened, and just how calm and careful his tone was when he answered and said, “Hello?”
“Blaine?” Jesse could just barely hear voice on the other end, and it definitely wasn’t Kurt.
“Oh, hi Mercedes,” Blaine forced a smile. That was when the phone exploded, Mercedes clearly ranting, though Jesse and Blaine were too caught off-guard by her sudden outburst to actually listen to what she was saying. Jesse held out one hand, gesturing for Blaine to pass the phone to him. He did so without a word.
“Hi, Mercedes,” Jesse said when she stopped to take a breath.
“Who is this?” she demanded.
“It’s Jesse St. James. Now, look, I -”
“Oh, I bet you two think you’re clever, don’t you?” Mercedes was off again. “I bet you two are sitting laughing about how you’ve both sufficiently screwed over our glee club and messed with my friends’ hearts two too many times, aren’t you? I should have known you were behind all this; it just smells like evil and that’s just what you are, Jesse: evil. Good bye, and do not try to contact any of us again.”
The line went dead. Jesse gaped at Blaine, who gaped right back, before collapsing back onto Jesse’s shoulder.
“I had no idea she was gonna go all batshit on me,” Jesse promised. “Here.” He handed the phone back. “I really think we just need to let them all cool off for a while. Then you can try calling.”
“This time it really was your fault,” Blaine reminded him. “I hate you.”
“No you don’t,” Jesse insisted. “You’re just upset and you get melodramatic when you’re upset.” He paused, then grinned, saying, “So I’m gonna get you drunk.”
“What?” Blaine was up and out of Jesse’s lap faster than Jesse had thought was possible. He only stopped moving when he was certain that the table was securely between them. “Why would you do something that stupid?”
“Because it’s fun?” Jesse shrugged. “Come on, I did it all the time in college. It’s a great way to just have fun for a while.”
“How will temporarily solving my problems and waking up with a hangover do me any good?” Blaine countered.
“Well, we won’t get you drunk, exactly,” Jesse remedied. “Just tipsy enough to loosen your inhibitions. That way we avoid the hangover problem and you don’t suffer from major depression from too much alcohol. What do you say?”
“I know you’re used to a big city and everything, but Westerville isn’t that large. And Dalton’s kind of a big deal here, so people know me, Jesse. They know I’m only seventeen and they would never serve a minor alcohol. Especially one they’ve come to respect. I worked hard for that reputation, Jesse. Do you have any idea how hard it is for an openly gay teen to get conservatives to like him?”
“Who said anything about staying here? You’re coming with me to Akron.”
Blaine looked like he wanted to protest, but Jesse just pointed at his latte, saying, “That thing cost me three dollars, and if I’m buying you more drinks later, you better appreciate this one and drink it all. Right now.”
He watched while Blaine somehow managed to choke down his lukewarm latte with a smirk on his face. That smirk stayed in place for the rest of the day, remaining prominent on his face when they successfully got into a quiet little bar two streets away from Carmel High, one that Jesse claimed to have come to before.
“They never check for ID,” he had shrugged, giving Blaine an encouraging pat on the back as they approached the door. “And even so, I’m Jesse St. James. I’m the guy who made it out of Akron. They love me here.”
Indeed they did, for the bouncer at the door just gave Jesse a smile and ushered him inside, not even bothering to ask what he was doing or why he was here when he was so painfully obviously not twenty-one. The bartender even gave both boys a shot without being asked, grinning when Jesse slipped her a twenty and winked.
It took Jesse five whole minutes to convince Blaine to actually down the shot, already feeling his own working through his body. He flagged down the bartender and asked for another, holding it between himself and Blaine and saying, “Together, okay?”
Reluctantly, Blaine picked up his shot glass, meeting Jesse’s confident stare with his own worried expression. But he nodded, and the two boys downed the shots in unison, Blaine wincing and coughing and asking hoarsely, “Is it supposed to burn?”
Jesse just slammed his shot glass down with a loud chink, waving for another.
“I thought you said you wanted to take me dancing,” Blaine said, confused, after downing the next shot. “This place isn’t exactly very lively.”
“We start slow,” Jesse informed him, turning Blaine’s stool so he could look out at the rest of the bar, slinging an arm around his shoulders. “This place is quiet and dark and calm, the perfect place to start out with. Then we’ll go to the gay club so you can get your fine ass noticed by some hot guys.”
Blaine just stared at him. Jesse scoffed and laughed.
“Please, like you don’t want to,” he waved his hand airily. Blaine didn’t deny it, and Jesse’s smirk was back.
They stayed at the quiet bar for about an hour, listening to the songs people picked out from the jukebox in the corner, peering around the darkened room at the couples cuddling and kissing in the booths and the man standing in the corner, eyes closed and swaying back and forth in time to the music. Jesse paid a dollar to pick out a song, choosing Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody for reasons that were apparent from the nostalgia painted all over his face.
Then they left, heading further into town, stopping at a gay bar that Jesse admitted to frequenting quite a bit during his senior year, not to get drunk or even drink at all, but to pick up all the straight girls that got dragged along by their gay best friends.
It was a surprisingly relaxed place, the music only playing softly and the lights flickering between muted tones of blues and purples instead of yellows and reds. Jesse pulled Blaine up to the counter, ordering a beer and a coke, giving the beer to Blaine and keeping the coke for himself.
“Why do I have to drink the alcohol?” Blaine sounded almost whiney as he looked at the size of the glass he’d been given. “Why do you get coke?”
“Do you want a rum and coke instead?” Jesse raised his arm halfway in the air, beginning to flag down the bartender, but Blaine grabbed his arm and lowered it quickly.
“No, I just don’t understand why you’re not drinking but I am.”
“Somebody’s got to keep a level head and make sure you don’t end up losing your virginity in a public restroom,” Jesse said with a wink, taking a sip of his coke. “Plus this beer will probably be enough for you to loosen up and either dance with that guy who’s been eyeing you since we walked in or spill your soul to one of the lonely lesbians sitting in the booths.” He slipped an arm around Blaine’s shoulders again, pulling him in close and whispering in his ear, “And always spill your soul to the lesbians, because they don’t have ulterior motives.” Then he winked, hopping off his stool.
“Where are you going?” Blaine sounded panicky.
“There are two straight girls over there,” Jesse jerked his head over his shoulder. “They look sad and lost and it’s my job to assure them that there are boys in here who will compliment their ass and not the jeans that make their asses look fabulous.”
Blaine looked confused and a little bit lost himself, but Jesse just gave him a pat on the shoulder and crossed to the other side of the room. Smirk in place and running his fingers through his hair, he came to a halt in front of the two lost-looking girls, saying, “Hey there. I’m Jesse.”
They giggled. He gave them both a none-too-subtle once-over, slipping in between them and putting an arm around the shorter one’s shoulders and the taller one’s waist. “So tell me, what are you two doing in a place like this?”
“They wanted to come,” the girls said in unison, raising their arms and pointing to two boys who were shamelessly flirting with each other at one of the tables.
“We’re their designated drivers,” the shorter of the two explained.
“Why do you ask?” the taller one leaned closer into Jesse’s touch. “Won’t your boyfriend get lonely over there?”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” Jesse looked back over at Blaine, who was currently staring right at him, expression blank. “He’s just a friend who really needed a night out. Unfortunately for him, he’s terrified to death of alcohol or something.”
“Poor baby,” the shorter one’s arm went around Jesse’s waist. “Maybe you’ll just have to show him how nights out are supposed to go.”
He grinned at the pair of them.
“I couldn’t agree more.”
--> Continued.
Fandom: Glee
Written: January, 2011
Rating: R
Words: 10,000 [total]
Summary: Jesse and Blaine have a nice, easy friendship. At least, it was nice and easy until they met for lattes after Blaine's latest heartbreak, which leads to both confessing more to each other and themselves than they'd ever planned.
Notes: Angst, violence, sex, and would you believe me if I told you this was supposed to be a short, sweet, bromance-y fic? Half of it's fluffy, at least!
Posted in two parts.
------
Jesse wasn’t sure when he’d turned into someone who actually cared about something as petty as someone else’s high school romance.
All he knew was that he was home on break, Westerville wasn’t that far away, and that a certain Blaine Anderson had never been one to deal with disappointment in a way that most sane people consider healthy. So when Jesse had done his bi-monthly facebook log-in - the only purpose of which was to check and update his fanpage - and saw that Blaine’s status read, ‘I suppose all good things do come to an end,’ he heaved a rather impressive sigh and clicked on the link to Blaine’s profile, determined to see what had the boy down this time.
Jesse remembered with almost painful clarity the first time he had led Vocal Adrenaline to victory. Just a sophomore and already lead singer, he had crushed Dalton’s Warblers without leaving anyone thinking otherwise. And the third group they’d been competing against? So insignificant that Jesse didn’t even remember their name. But one thing that stood out that day was the look on the tiniest Warbler’s face, as if someone had just taken a baby dolphin and snapped its spine in front of him.
That tiny Warbler? Blaine Anderson as a freshman. Apart from that heart-shattering expression of disappointment - which hadn’t rattled Jesse at all, so stop looking at him like that - there was nothing to set him apart from all the other uniform-clad boys. Except for the message and friend request Jesse had received on facebook the next day.
Hi Jesse,
I didn’t get a chance to say congratulations in person, so… Congratulations! You and your club were fantastic at Sectionals. Too bad we didn’t at least tie so I could come watch your club again, haha. I was hoping that maybe you could pass along some VA wisdom, actually. You’re an amazing lead singer and I want to be a soloist too, so if you could spare a few minutes I’d really appreciate it.
Thanks!
Blaine Anderson
The message had been so embarrassing that Jesse had considered deleting it and blocking the poor child. Surely it would be better for the poor kid to forget about his foolish message or the even more foolish friend request rather than have a patronizing answer stuck in his messages until he wised up enough to delete it. After all, the kid was only fourteen, and from Jesse’s experience, most kids don’t know how to write a proper piece of fan mail until they’re at least sixteen. It comes along with the whole, “Holy shit I can drive now!” mentality.
Luckily for Blaine, his social ineptitude extended to his privacy settings on facebook, so Jesse was able to poke around a little to see why on earth this kid wouldn’t just go to one of the Warblers for advice. Sure, he was Jesse St. James, but he was still “the enemy,” and even most fourteen year olds are smart enough to understand the concept of boundaries.
It was almost too easy to figure it out. Blaine had “Kent Middle School” listed as his previous schools and Akron as his hometown. Obviously he would have gone to Carmel if he hadn’t been shipped off to Westerville. Jesse even pulled out his eighth grade yearbook, flipping back to look at the black-and-white photos of the seventh graders, quickly locating Blaine’s picture, since his name was alphabetically first out of the whole grade.
It took Jesse about four minutes of straight thinking about middle school to remember Blaine. But when he did, he burst out laughing. So this was the kid he’d just gotten a message from. Oh, Lordy, was this going to be a problem. He barely remembered Blaine, but what stood out was the kid who dressed like his mother had picked out his clothes, glasses and braces and acne all at the same time, walking around with his head bowed as if hoping the bullies would back off if he didn’t acknowledge their existence. They had been in choir together, Jesse knew, but he never remembered Blaine’s performance as anything special, unless that time he’d played the ukulele for one of Jesse’s solos counted.
Oh, wait, it all made sense now. Jesse knew a thing or two about kids that got picked on, having been somewhat of a bully before he’d realized that it would come back to haunt him once he was big and famous, and he knew that they latched onto the first person who was nice to them. They idolized anyone who showed them kindness, no matter if that act of kindness was just a pat on the arm and a hurried, “You’re a really good uke player,” after choir practice one day.
Jesse flipped to the back of his yearbook, smiling when he recognized the loopy signature and the silly cartoon of a smiling ukulele. Yep, Blaine had definitely latched onto him.
So Jesse took pity on the poor child, accepting his friend request and typing out a quick response to his message. He got quite the “thank you so much!” message in return, and Jesse was actually impressed with how Blaine handled himself from then on. Sure, he ‘liked’ Jesse’s statuses a bit too consistently and he clearly didn’t understand that Jesse’s default answer of “I’m busy,” every time he popped up on facebook chat translated to “Go away,” but really, Jesse couldn’t complain. And once Blaine started growing into himself and realizing that he wasn’t the little kid who got picked on anymore, they were able to form a relationship of almost-equals. Because Jesse is always superior.
But if there was one thing Jesse had learned about Blaine through their online interaction, it was that he was overly dramatic. The kid could look all calm and put-together on the outside, but then he’d write a facebook note about something really depressing and his status would be a quote from some emo rock band. There was almost always a hidden meaning, and Jesse probably wouldn’t have given the kid a second glance if he hadn’t known what he’d been put through during middle school. Blaine had obviously transferred to Dalton for a reason.
Their friendship offline started to form a while later. Blaine turned up to Vocal Adrenaline’s invitationals and Jesse was kind enough to invite him out to coffee afterward. Even though they’d both gotten caffeinated drinks, there had been something calming about sitting together drinking lattes, and both of them had been relaxed enough to actually open up a little and get to know one another.
It turned into a monthly thing. The first weekend of every month, Jesse would drive out to Westerville for a latte and some soul-baring. He watched Blaine go from an awkward little freshman into a confident and rather dapper junior, with a smile that attracted way too much attention for his own good and a voice that even Jesse would admit was good.
And when Blaine’s facebook status was anything less than happy? Jesse would comment with a default, “Don’t make me drive out there to dump a latte on your head,” and Blaine would, of course, delete the status immediately and either tell Jesse it was no big deal or call him up and tell him what was the matter.
Which is why Jesse still cares enough about the now-senior to stalk his facebook profile to see what the problem is. He and Blaine had drifted apart since he graduated, though Jesse suspected that the fact that he’d egged Rachel Berry had played a part as well. Which was completely unfair, because Blaine had been the only person he’d been honest with through that whole ordeal.
Jesse scrolled through Blaine’s profile, frowning when he saw posts from the members of New Directions, all telling him - some more eloquently than others - that he was a jerk. Jesse spied a little heart icon, next to which the caption read, ‘Blaine Anderson is now single.’
He couldn’t help but laugh. Blaine would be the type to make a big deal out of a breakup. He knew full well that high school relationships are almost always doomed, so why should his be any different? Jesse had quite literally proved that time and time again, most of his relationships lasting for a week, if the girl was lucky.
But Blaine had always been the romantic of the two. Jesse had actually picked up a few tips from him when it came time to “befriend” Rachel, not really knowing how to properly charm a girl into a relationship that wasn’t about sex. And even then he’d been hasty and still wanted the sex part, although he was smart enough to stop pushing the matter when Rachel made it clear she wasn’t ready. It was after that, after he’d known he had no chance of going that far with her, when he’d put some genuine effort into their relationship, finding that it was actually quite nice.
Shit, now he felt guilty for laughing. He couldn’t even bring himself to leave his default comment on Blaine’s status, because he remembered just how hard Blaine had taken his last breakup. The boy had spiraled into a pit of despair, and that was putting it lightly.
So Jesse closed his laptop, not even bothering to update his fanpage or answer any of the sixteen messages he had, and gave Blaine a call.
“What?” was the answer he received after the seventh ring.
“Hello to you too,” Jesse said through a smirk. “Lattes? Four-thirty?”
“Go away, Jesse,” Blaine’s voice sounded muffled, and Jesse suspected that he was trying to smother himself with a blanket. Again.
“I’m not even in Westerville, you idiot,” Jesse said patiently. “And I don’t have to come out. It’d save me quite the drive. But you’re moping and have depressing shit on your facebook and you’ll just embarrass yourself if I don’t come shake you out of it.”
“Fine,” Blaine agreed. “Four-thirty. Dalton’s rec room. I’ll put in a visitor’s notice for you so they let you in.”
“Good boy,” Jesse smirked again. “But you know I don’t drink the crap they serve in the rec room. We’re going out, so I expect you to look presentable. You’re not getting away with your Warblers T-shirt and Dalton sweats.”
“I hate you.”
“Love you too. Now, smarten up. It’ll be four-thirty before you know it.”
It really went to show just how well Jesse had come to know Blaine that he was able to narrate the rest of Blaine’s day from that point on. At noon, when Jesse sat down to look over the homework he had to get done, he decided that Blaine was only just getting himself out of bed. One o’clock, when Jesse decided homework was beneath him and not worth any more than an hour of his precious time, Blaine would finally force himself to go into the shower and get cleaned up.
Jesse left at two, giving himself plenty of time to make the drive to Westerville, knowing that Blaine would just now be finishing trying to drown himself in the shower and getting out. While Jesse drove for the next two hours, he imagined Blaine staring woefully at his closet full of uniforms, debating whether to go with the blazer or the sweater. He always chose the blazer, and everyone knew he would choose the blazer, but it would take him about ten minutes to actually come to that conclusion today.
By the time Jesse pulled into the visitors’ parking lot, he knew that Blaine would be running around his room, frantically combing his hair back and making it stay put with a layer of gel, wondering how on earth it had taken him so long to get ready. Jesse walked slowly to the recreation center on purpose, knowing that if he timed it right, he’d be walking through the door just as Blaine came flying out of his dorm building.
Success was his when he put his hand on the doorknob and looked over at Blaine’s dorm, seeing the other boy tearing across the green towards him, blazer unbuttoned and flapping behind him.
“I am Blaine, king of the blazers,” Jesse sang under his breath, spoofing the song from SPAMalot.
“Sorry,” Blaine said breathlessly, coming to a halt at Jesse’s side.
“There you go, got your adrenaline pumping?” Jesse gave his arm a pat, then took hold of it, steering him over to where he had parked. “Come on, let’s go. It’s time for me to laugh at your troubles.”
“Shut up,” Blaine shrugged him off, suddenly somber.
“Oh please, you know me and you know you,” Jesse shook his head. “You’re a chronic moper whereas I choose to laugh at others’ misfortunes.”
“But only if they’re your friends,” Blaien continued, knowing Jesse’s mini-speech by heart, “because laughing at the fate of strangers gives you bad karma.”
“Exactly,” Jesse grinned at him, unlocking his car and getting into the driver’s seat. “So, Starbucks? Or are there any new cute little indie cafes around here that need our money more?”
“Starbucks,” Blaine answered, buckling his seatbelt. “I’m not in the mood for anything unique or different or artsy. Give me something over-priced and over-commercialized with whipped cream on top.”
“Okay, it must be really bad, because you never go for Starbucks over the indie places,” Jesse commented as he backed out of his parking spot, visitor parking pass hanging from his rear-view mirror. “Was the ex-boyfriend into indie bands or something?”
“Please, like you don’t know who the ex-boyfriend is,” Blaine rested his elbow on his armrest, chin on his hand and staring out the window.
“No, actually, I don’t,” Jesse reminded him. “A certain someone decided not to talk to me after I egged Rachel Berry, which, I must remind him, is completely unfair seeing how he was the only person who knew how I truly felt through that whole ordeal.” Jesse sniffed, turning off campus and adding, “Besides, I didn’t even buy the eggs.”
“You’re a dick,” Blaine told him, as if stating a fact.
“And you’re projecting,” Jesse countered. “I’m not ex-boyfriend number two. I’m Jesse St. James, who you idolize and want to be like when you grow up.”
“Shut up,” Blaine gave him a shove, but at least now he was smiling.
“Ooh, Jesse, tell me your secrets,” Jesse said in a high-pitched, mocking voice. “I want to be just like you. Tell me all about being a star.”
“Shut up,” Blaine repeated, but Jesse knew by his tone that he was fighting back a laugh.
But Jesse heeded his words, playing his “Jesse’s favorite showstoppers” CD instead of talking. He knew how much Blaine liked singing along to the big Broadway numbers whenever he was upset.
That seemed to work, too, with them singing along to classics like If I Were a Rich Man, Wilkommen, Let the Sunshine In, and Send in the Clowns. But when Don’t Cry for Me Argentina came on, Blaine reached over and switched it off.
“You’re right,” Jesse said without thinking that maybe this song actually meant something to Blaine, “the rest of this CD is rather cluttered with Webber, and I’m not thinking too kindly of him at the moment. Why he thinks sequel shows are a good idea when clearly it’s going to fail abysmally is beyond me.”
“Shut up,” Blaine repeated his words from before, but this time speaking quietly, turned towards the window again, and Jesse knew something was up. Rather than let it lie, he jumped on the conversation.
“So the ex was a Broadway boy too, huh?” he asked, pulling into a parking spot in front of Starbucks. “Which one of you sang that song, then?”
“Can we have this conversation after I have my artificially flavored drink?” Blaine asked the window.
“Of course,” Jesse put the car in park and hopped out of his side, racing over to the passenger side and opening Blaine’s door for him. “After you, my good sir.” He added a little bow, hoping to make Blaine laugh. It didn’t work. All he got was a shrug and a quiet, “Whatever.”
Ouch. Obviously the song was a touchy subject, touchier than Jesse had anticipated. So he just bounded ahead of Blaine into the shop, already ordering for the pair of them by the time Blaine walked through the door.
“Here you go, honey,” Jesse presented Blaine with his latte, attracting the looks of some of the other patrons. “Why don’t we go sit outside on the terrace?”
“Jesse,” Blaine’s voice came out as a pleading groan. “Don’t do this.”
“Do what?” Jesse asked brightly, holding the door open for Blaine and grinning at him as they walked back outside. He let Blaine choose from the two free tables, not missing how Blaine picked the one furthest from the shop’s entrance and closest to the road. How un-Blaine like. He was normally one to sit right in the middle of things, relaxed and engaging strangers in conversation.
“Don’t do the whole fake chivalry thing,” Blaine said dismissively, taking a sip of his latte.
“Why must you offend me with such accusations?” Jesse put his free hand on his heart, fixing a look of shock on his face. “How dare you accuse my chivalry as being anything but genuine!”
“Then at least tone it down,” Blaine slumped back in his chair, body language suggesting that it was more out of tiredness than relaxation. “For instance, this is not a terrace; it’s a fucking sidewalk.”
“Language,” Jesse’s tone was patronizing and he smirked before taking a sip of his latte.
“Shut the fuck up,” Blaine challenged. “And stop calling me ‘honey,’ when we go places. Just because I’m gay doesn’t mean I want people thinking I’m getting some. I don’t exactly want a reputation to match yours back at Carmel.”
Jesse counted to five. Blaine was projecting. He always ended up projecting onto Jesse whenever he was upset. Call it one of his bad habits, because he knows that no matter what he says, Jesse will still be there for him. So Jesse bit back his retort by taking another sip of his drink.
“So, who broke your heart?” Jesse managed with difficulty not to add ‘this time,’ to the end of that question.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Blaine said evasively, looking at the door to the shop. His hand closed around his cup, gripping it tightly but not picking it up. Jesse noticed the tension in his hand and followed that tension all the way up Blaine’s arm, into Blaine’s neck, down his back. His entire body was stiff, though to a passerby he looked as if he was just lounging outside.
“At least tell me a name,” Jesse all but pleaded.
“If you actually checked your facebook once in a while, you’d know,” Blaine’s tone was accusatory. Still projecting, still projecting. Jesse took another sip of his drink, knowing that at this rate he’d burn his throat if Blaine didn’t stop the nonsense.
“I was at Regionals, you know,” Jesse’s finger started tracing the pattern on the edge of the table as he spoke, not meeting Blaine’s eye. “I watched all four groups perform, and while I’d love to say that my loyalty to you as a friend extends to my show choir judgment, that would be a complete lie. Your club had nowhere near the originality as New Directions brought to the table. Rachel’s solo was glorious.”
And oh, yes it most definitely had been. Jesse hadn’t made a big fuss out of being back for a visit, just popping in to visit Shelby and see his family before going back out to California. But he had made sure to go to Regionals, to see his best friend, his ex-girlfriend, and his old glee club compete against each other and a new group Jesse had never heard of before.
Jesse St. James is not the type of man who sheds tears easily, but when it comes to Rachel Berry leading her glee club and pouring her entire being into a performance… Well, there hadn’t exactly been a dry eye in the house, so it wasn’t like it was just him or anything.
“They still lost,” Blaine reminded him bitterly.
“Well, Vocal Adrenaline puts in more work in one afternoon than both your clubs do all week. Combined,” Jesse pointed out fairly.
“Except for you robots eight at night is still considered to be in the afternoon.”
Was that a smile? Progress!
“What can I say? I got used to living off four hours of sleep on a good day and just drinking Red Bull in-between classes. It’s a sacrifice which must be made, Blaine,” Jesse looked at him seriously over the top of his coffee cup, then wiggling his eyebrows and gaining himself another small smile.
“You should try it sometime,” Jesse continued. “Honestly, the constant adrenaline rush probably took about ten years off my life, but it’s the best high you’ll ever feel in your entire life. Performing onstage and being so damn jittery that you end up skipping every time you want to walk somewhere? It’s better than drugs. Makes for an awesome lay, too. Going to McKinley was like culture shock. Except it affected my heart rate instead of my brain. Well, probably my brain too, but you get what I’m saying.”
And that was when Blaine chose to shout.
“It’s all your fault, you dick!” His posture straightened and he leaned over the table, not bothering to keep his voice down. “It’ all your fault! Why’d you have to go to that stupid school in the first place? Why’d you have to be such a complete asshole and ruin my life?”
Well, then. Apparently the projecting wasn’t over.
“Care to explain your sudden resentment towards your best friend?” Jesse asked calmly, taking another sip of his latte. “I believe an explanation is in order, especially seeing how you were the one person I was completely honest with throughout that whole ordeal.” He sniffed, setting his latte down on the table and saying, “You’re being completely unfair.”
“No, it’s all your fault!” Blaine repeated. “It’s your fault my boyfriend hates me!” Then he paused, as if shocked by his own words. “No, it’s your fault that Kurt’s not my boyfriend anymore! I can’t even call him my boyfriend because he hates me too much!”
“Well, that makes sense,” Jesse shrugged, completely nonplussed by this new information. “I should have realized that you and Kurt were together. All those looks you two exchanged at Regionals certainly said enough to make that obvious. And although I appreciated the sentimentality and the added meaning this gave your songs, you may want to tone it down next year. Sure, in a more progressive society that would have given you bonus points, but we are still in Ohio, here.”
“Excuse me?”
“Hey, I’m just being honest,” Jesse held up his hands.
“Why can’t you be a normal human being and sympathize with my romantic woes?” Blaine looked at his latte as if it had personally offended him.
“Because I’d rather get an explanation for why it’s my fault before I even think about sympathizing with you.”
“It’s your fault because you’re a dick who throws eggs at people,” Blaine’s justification made absolutely no sense, but the boy looked as if Jesse should be able to figure it all out on his own.
“Again, not my idea and I never even bought the eggs,” Jesse ticked these pieces of information off his fingers as he spoke. “Elaborate further, m’dear.”
Blaine scowled at the term of endearment. Jesse just winked.
“Why did you have to end up transferring back to Carmel right before Regionals and breaking Rachel’s heart?” Blaine asked him, eyebrows furrowed together in a deep frown. “Do you have any idea the sort of emotional effect that’s had on the entire group, not just Rachel?”
“Well, I assume they all have some rather serious trust issues,” Jesse spoke as if commenting on the mildness of the weather. “Maybe added in a little paranoia when it comes to competitions and the people that are their competition, but that’s nothing that can’t be fixed over time. By the time they’re seniors they’ll have forgotten all about me, I’m sure.”
“Is that why you never apologized?” Blaine pressed the issue. “You’ve been back in Ohio for every break you’ve had, even coming to Regionals. Why didn’t you find Rachel and apologize?”
“Because it’s easier to love from afar then jeopardize the already shattered emotions of the one woman who will ever be worthy of my eternal love,” Jesse’s airy tone certainly did not match what he had just said. “Why not let her continue to loathe me in silence, while I take it as my penance to waste away, never loving another for no other will ever live up to the perfection that is Rachel Berry?”
Blaine stared at him, gaping and silent, for a whole ten seconds.
“That makes absolutely no sense,” he finally decided. “And besides, you don’t get to rationalize stupid decisions. You’re still a dick who ruined my life. By accident.”
“Ex-plain,” Jesse enunciated each syllable.
“I can’t transfer to McKinley because everyone will think I’m you!” Blaine slammed a fist down on the table. “Except nicer and with better hair and shorter and gay. But still!” The other fist slammed down as well. “They’ll think I’m your mini, gay clone!”
This time it was Jesse who stared across the table, gaping and silent.
“Now that makes no sense,” he decided, nodding once as if that settled the matter.
“Excuse me, I’m making perfect sense. You’re just not keeping up.”
“Did you just say that in a British accent?” Jesse raised an eyebrow.
“No,” Blaine denied it a bit too quickly, picking up his latte and taking a sip. Jesse stared at him again, trying to work out what Blaine had just said before it clicked. Then he reached across the table and smacked Blaine on the side of the head. After he had lowered his drink from his lips, obviously.
“Don’t quote Doctor Who at me, Blaine Anderson,” Jesse pointed an accusing finger at the boy. “Just because you carry a pocket watch does not give you the right to use the Doctor’s words in everyday conversation like that. Speaking of which, what time is it?”
Blaine reached into his pocket, making quite the show out of opening the heavy, golden pocket watch, a smirk flitting across his face. He looked smugly up at Jesse, adopting an accent again and saying, “It is about quarter past the fifth hour.”
“Don’t get all snotty with me; I still think your argument makes no sense,” Jesse reminded him. “And I shall now prove your argument invalid and why you need to fess up and take responsibility for your own mistakes, rather than blaming poor me for all your woes.
“One,” he held up a finger, “you and Kurt already had an established relationship at Dalton, proving to everyone that you are not taking advantage of him in any way. Two; you both lost Regionals. You’re no longer competing against each other, so there is no reason for you to transfer to spy on them. Three; giving up Dalton’s academics and guaranteed college admission would probably be the stupidest move for you, as a senior, to make. Four; clearly you and Kurt broke up for a reason other than your sudden desire to be the epitome of a clingy boyfriend, so transferring to McKinley where all you have is an angry ex? Not exactly the best idea.”
He held up both arms, exclaiming, “Therefore: not my fault!”
“It’s still your fault Kurt told me not to,” Blaine looked absolutely miserable. “The moment I suggested it, he laughed and told me he didn’t want me to ‘pull a Jesse,’ because that wouldn’t do anyone any good.”
“I didn’t know my name was a noun now,” Jesse nodded appreciatively. “I’ll have to add that to my fanpage when I get home.”
“But I wasn’t doing it just for him!” Blaine insisted, choosing to ignore Jesse’s comment. “Yes, I will admit that being with my boyfriend was the deciding factor for wanting to transfer schools, but I also need to face my fears and deal with my own regrets before I go off to college and lose that opportunity forever. I need to confront anyone who judges me because of my sexuality and tell them why they’re wrong. I need to confront what I ran away from!”
“So go to a Christian college for a semester,” Jesse suggested.
“I’m serious!”
“I am, too!”
“No you’re not!” Blaine glared at him. “Come on, Jesse, you know how things were at Carmel. I ran from all that when I should have stayed and tried to educate people, tell them why they were wrong.”
“So you want to give up a Dalton graduation, which would look absolutely incredible on any application for any internship or study abroad program you’ll ever want, and go to a sub-standard public high school just so you can get slammed into lockers in-between classes?”
“Pretty much,” Blaine nodded.
“And you expect me to believe that your boyfriend dumped you because you have some serious issues letting the past go?”
Blaine squirmed in his seat.
“Well, we sort of… fought about it. A little,” he admitted.
“On a scale of ‘your face is stupid’ to ‘I never should have dated you in the first place,’ how bad are we talking?”
The guilty look on Blaine’s face answered the question.
“I said some really stupid things,” he told the table. “And I think I really hurt his feelings. But I didn’t mean to, honest! It was an accident and I’ve been apologizing ever since.”
“How long ago did this happen?”
“Three days ago.”
Jesse couldn’t help but laugh. Blaine’s expression went from complete devastation to utter horror, which made Jesse laugh even harder. Hand over his heart, he managed to calm down, choking out, “Three days ago? You’re expecting things to go back to normal after only three days?”
“I’ve called him to apologize every day,” Blaine informed him, “but he hasn’t answered.”
“Well of course he hasn’t,” Jesse shook his head. “He’s pissed at you and right now he wants to stay pissed at you because you hurt his feelings, you dolt! Come on, even you aren’t dense enough to expect a running-through-a-field-of-flowers-to-reunite-with-your-estranged-lover scene after three days.”
Blaine continued to look devastated, so Jesse pushed his chair out and slapped both hands down on his lap.
“Come over here.”
“I am not sitting on your lap in public, Jesse,” Blaine grumbled. “I’d like the people of Westerville to not think I hop on any guy who shows the slightest bit of interest, thanks.”
“Please,” Jesse waved this away, “every person in that coffee shop things we’re dating, so you might as well get over here.”
Blaine hesitated, then got up from his seat, sitting down carefully on Jesse’s lap. Both of Jesse’s arms went around Blaine’s waist, holding him in place, and Blaine’s head fell almost automatically to rest on Jesse’s shoulder.
“How long has it been since you’ve had physical contact with another human being?” Jesse found himself asking, because normally it took a lot more wheedling to get Blaine to actually relax.
“Four days,” Blaine mumbled, breath tickling Jesse’s neck.
“No wonder you’re depressed. You get worse than me when nobody’s around to hold you and make it all better.”
“Stop treating me like a five year old girl,” Blaine’s tone suggested that he was just that, but he didn’t straighten up. In fact, he snuggled in closer.
That’s when Blaine’s phone started buzzing. Blaine fished in his pocket, grabbing it and checking the caller ID. Jesse knew who it was by the way his face paled and his eyes widened, and just how calm and careful his tone was when he answered and said, “Hello?”
“Blaine?” Jesse could just barely hear voice on the other end, and it definitely wasn’t Kurt.
“Oh, hi Mercedes,” Blaine forced a smile. That was when the phone exploded, Mercedes clearly ranting, though Jesse and Blaine were too caught off-guard by her sudden outburst to actually listen to what she was saying. Jesse held out one hand, gesturing for Blaine to pass the phone to him. He did so without a word.
“Hi, Mercedes,” Jesse said when she stopped to take a breath.
“Who is this?” she demanded.
“It’s Jesse St. James. Now, look, I -”
“Oh, I bet you two think you’re clever, don’t you?” Mercedes was off again. “I bet you two are sitting laughing about how you’ve both sufficiently screwed over our glee club and messed with my friends’ hearts two too many times, aren’t you? I should have known you were behind all this; it just smells like evil and that’s just what you are, Jesse: evil. Good bye, and do not try to contact any of us again.”
The line went dead. Jesse gaped at Blaine, who gaped right back, before collapsing back onto Jesse’s shoulder.
“I had no idea she was gonna go all batshit on me,” Jesse promised. “Here.” He handed the phone back. “I really think we just need to let them all cool off for a while. Then you can try calling.”
“This time it really was your fault,” Blaine reminded him. “I hate you.”
“No you don’t,” Jesse insisted. “You’re just upset and you get melodramatic when you’re upset.” He paused, then grinned, saying, “So I’m gonna get you drunk.”
“What?” Blaine was up and out of Jesse’s lap faster than Jesse had thought was possible. He only stopped moving when he was certain that the table was securely between them. “Why would you do something that stupid?”
“Because it’s fun?” Jesse shrugged. “Come on, I did it all the time in college. It’s a great way to just have fun for a while.”
“How will temporarily solving my problems and waking up with a hangover do me any good?” Blaine countered.
“Well, we won’t get you drunk, exactly,” Jesse remedied. “Just tipsy enough to loosen your inhibitions. That way we avoid the hangover problem and you don’t suffer from major depression from too much alcohol. What do you say?”
“I know you’re used to a big city and everything, but Westerville isn’t that large. And Dalton’s kind of a big deal here, so people know me, Jesse. They know I’m only seventeen and they would never serve a minor alcohol. Especially one they’ve come to respect. I worked hard for that reputation, Jesse. Do you have any idea how hard it is for an openly gay teen to get conservatives to like him?”
“Who said anything about staying here? You’re coming with me to Akron.”
Blaine looked like he wanted to protest, but Jesse just pointed at his latte, saying, “That thing cost me three dollars, and if I’m buying you more drinks later, you better appreciate this one and drink it all. Right now.”
He watched while Blaine somehow managed to choke down his lukewarm latte with a smirk on his face. That smirk stayed in place for the rest of the day, remaining prominent on his face when they successfully got into a quiet little bar two streets away from Carmel High, one that Jesse claimed to have come to before.
“They never check for ID,” he had shrugged, giving Blaine an encouraging pat on the back as they approached the door. “And even so, I’m Jesse St. James. I’m the guy who made it out of Akron. They love me here.”
Indeed they did, for the bouncer at the door just gave Jesse a smile and ushered him inside, not even bothering to ask what he was doing or why he was here when he was so painfully obviously not twenty-one. The bartender even gave both boys a shot without being asked, grinning when Jesse slipped her a twenty and winked.
It took Jesse five whole minutes to convince Blaine to actually down the shot, already feeling his own working through his body. He flagged down the bartender and asked for another, holding it between himself and Blaine and saying, “Together, okay?”
Reluctantly, Blaine picked up his shot glass, meeting Jesse’s confident stare with his own worried expression. But he nodded, and the two boys downed the shots in unison, Blaine wincing and coughing and asking hoarsely, “Is it supposed to burn?”
Jesse just slammed his shot glass down with a loud chink, waving for another.
“I thought you said you wanted to take me dancing,” Blaine said, confused, after downing the next shot. “This place isn’t exactly very lively.”
“We start slow,” Jesse informed him, turning Blaine’s stool so he could look out at the rest of the bar, slinging an arm around his shoulders. “This place is quiet and dark and calm, the perfect place to start out with. Then we’ll go to the gay club so you can get your fine ass noticed by some hot guys.”
Blaine just stared at him. Jesse scoffed and laughed.
“Please, like you don’t want to,” he waved his hand airily. Blaine didn’t deny it, and Jesse’s smirk was back.
They stayed at the quiet bar for about an hour, listening to the songs people picked out from the jukebox in the corner, peering around the darkened room at the couples cuddling and kissing in the booths and the man standing in the corner, eyes closed and swaying back and forth in time to the music. Jesse paid a dollar to pick out a song, choosing Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody for reasons that were apparent from the nostalgia painted all over his face.
Then they left, heading further into town, stopping at a gay bar that Jesse admitted to frequenting quite a bit during his senior year, not to get drunk or even drink at all, but to pick up all the straight girls that got dragged along by their gay best friends.
It was a surprisingly relaxed place, the music only playing softly and the lights flickering between muted tones of blues and purples instead of yellows and reds. Jesse pulled Blaine up to the counter, ordering a beer and a coke, giving the beer to Blaine and keeping the coke for himself.
“Why do I have to drink the alcohol?” Blaine sounded almost whiney as he looked at the size of the glass he’d been given. “Why do you get coke?”
“Do you want a rum and coke instead?” Jesse raised his arm halfway in the air, beginning to flag down the bartender, but Blaine grabbed his arm and lowered it quickly.
“No, I just don’t understand why you’re not drinking but I am.”
“Somebody’s got to keep a level head and make sure you don’t end up losing your virginity in a public restroom,” Jesse said with a wink, taking a sip of his coke. “Plus this beer will probably be enough for you to loosen up and either dance with that guy who’s been eyeing you since we walked in or spill your soul to one of the lonely lesbians sitting in the booths.” He slipped an arm around Blaine’s shoulders again, pulling him in close and whispering in his ear, “And always spill your soul to the lesbians, because they don’t have ulterior motives.” Then he winked, hopping off his stool.
“Where are you going?” Blaine sounded panicky.
“There are two straight girls over there,” Jesse jerked his head over his shoulder. “They look sad and lost and it’s my job to assure them that there are boys in here who will compliment their ass and not the jeans that make their asses look fabulous.”
Blaine looked confused and a little bit lost himself, but Jesse just gave him a pat on the shoulder and crossed to the other side of the room. Smirk in place and running his fingers through his hair, he came to a halt in front of the two lost-looking girls, saying, “Hey there. I’m Jesse.”
They giggled. He gave them both a none-too-subtle once-over, slipping in between them and putting an arm around the shorter one’s shoulders and the taller one’s waist. “So tell me, what are you two doing in a place like this?”
“They wanted to come,” the girls said in unison, raising their arms and pointing to two boys who were shamelessly flirting with each other at one of the tables.
“We’re their designated drivers,” the shorter of the two explained.
“Why do you ask?” the taller one leaned closer into Jesse’s touch. “Won’t your boyfriend get lonely over there?”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” Jesse looked back over at Blaine, who was currently staring right at him, expression blank. “He’s just a friend who really needed a night out. Unfortunately for him, he’s terrified to death of alcohol or something.”
“Poor baby,” the shorter one’s arm went around Jesse’s waist. “Maybe you’ll just have to show him how nights out are supposed to go.”
He grinned at the pair of them.
“I couldn’t agree more.”
--> Continued.