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Every time he looks at Jonathan, he gets madder. And every time he does, he gets madder at himself for letting this affect him so much.
He gulps down the rest of his white wine and sets the glass down on the table next to him with a bit too much force. Fuck Jonathan…
They had a moment two days ago, he knows they did. It had been years since they first met, at an alumni weekend just like the one they were at now—Blaine still in a relationship and Jonathan a little flirtier than appropriate. And on Thursday, it felt like finally—finally, three years after that big “what if”—the planets and stars had aligned, and they ended up sitting next to each other at the bar where their pre-event get-together was held. Blaine hadn’t expected him to show up, hadn’t thought about him in forever, yet suddenly there he was—and so was that initial attraction.
Jonathan—the name just popping into his mind like he could never forget it—stood there, talking to a mutual friend. Still handsome, still with that boyish charm Blaine couldn’t help but feel drawn to. And then their eyes met, and Jonathan smiled, and warmth crept into Blaine’s cheeks and simmered in his stomach.
It was the first smile of many that night, both of them gravitating closer with each drink. It ended with Blaine on Jonathan’s arm as they stumbled back to the hotel where everyone was staying, ended with them on the couch in the lobby, knees pressed together and Jonathan’s hand on Blaine’s leg.
And they talked. For half the night—about the wars, why everyone seemed so mad all the time, the proper way to eat ice cream, and why they both went to therapy. It was deep, and it was real. When they kissed, Blaine felt sparks he hadn’t felt with anyone since… well, since forever.
He should’ve known better. He should’ve stood up and gone to his room as soon as Jonathan mentioned that he was three weeks out of a relationship and struggling to adapt to single life.
But maybe he should be nicer to himself. He couldn’t expect that, after that magical night—after that night of honest connection—he’d get a message in the morning saying they “should just be friends” and Jonathan would basically ignore his existence for the whole event. Right? That he’d end up at the aftershow party, staring angrily around the room because he hadn’t told anyone about how his breakup with Kurt had messed him up, but he felt safe with Jonathan, so he’s just… mad. At himself, at Jonathan, and at his stupid heart that still skips a beat when he sees him, even though Jonathan seemingly doesn’t look back on purpose.
He sighs and turns away. He really shouldn’t let a boy ruin this night with his old friends. He just wished he hadn’t opened up like that… it was so… easy. It had never been this easy. Well, not since—
“Stop moping,” a voice next to him says, and he feels an arm snake around his shoulders. “You look way too gorgeous for such a long face.”
A grin tugs at the corners of his mouth, and he looks up to his right where Sebastian winks down at him.
“I’m not moping,” he protests, but just earns a raised eyebrow.
“Come on, Anderson,” Sebastian smacks his butt and Blaine gasps in half-shock, half-laughter. Then he holds out his hand in invitation. “Dance with your favorite roommate, will you?”
Blaine rolls his eyes. “It’s just us two in the apartment, you’re my only roommate.”
“Which makes me your favorite!”
He chuckles but lets himself be pulled toward the dance floor, where he also spots Nick, Jeff, and Trent. As Sebastian twirls him around like a ballerina, he laughs and decides then and there that he will not waste another thought on Jonathan. He wants to play games and pretend the whole night never happened? Fine. If Jonathan would rather hide than talk honestly, Blaine will take that as his answer. He’s not going to beg for scraps of attention from someone who can’t even look him in the eye.
The music is loud. Sebastian spins him one way, Nick tugs him the other, and soon Blaine is in the middle of a ridiculous whirl of limbs and shaking heads. The bass thumps through the floor and through his body while the wine still hums pleasantly in his veins, and for a while, he forgets himself. He lets himself laugh properly this time—the kind that shakes his shoulders and makes his cheeks ache. Maybe this is what he needs—a reminder that there are people who want him here, who don’t make him question every word he says or every glance he steals.
He shouts along to the chorus, throws his hands in the air, lets Jeff dip him so low he nearly crashes onto the tiles. It feels good. Carefree. Almost like they’re in high school again.
And then, in the shuffle of bodies, he finds himself closer to the other side of the floor—closer to Jonathan. His breath catches before he even realizes, his pulse quickening with the smallest, traitorous hope. Maybe Jonathan will look up. Maybe he’ll catch Blaine laughing, dancing, alive, and he’ll smile again like he did on Thursday night. For a heartbeat, Blaine waits.
But Jonathan doesn’t. His gaze slides past like Blaine isn’t even there.
The sting is sharp, sobering. Blaine turns on his heel a little too forcefully, shaking his head as though he can physically fling the thought away. He tries to throw himself back into the music, back into Sebastian’s theatrics and Nick’s off-beat clapping. But under it all, the ache lingers—the quiet, gnawing feeling that maybe he isn’t enough. Not handsome enough, not clever enough, not anything enough.
So he laughs louder than he needs to, lets Sebastian twirl him until they’re both dizzy, and sings so off-key that Nick and Jeff nearly collapse from howling with laughter. On the surface, he’s right there with them, another carefree body moving under the flashing lights. And for a little while, it almost works. The music, the warmth of his friends pressed close, the sharp tang of wine still on his tongue—it’s enough to blur the edges of the hurt.
Hours later, when the lights finally come up and the crowd spills out into the cool night air, Blaine walks back toward the hotel sandwiched between Sebastian, Nick, and Jeff. They’re tipsy, loud, trading inside jokes and singing snippets of old songs that never quite land on the same key. Blaine smiles at them, adds his own laugh here and there, but somewhere along the way, his thoughts drift.
The laughter beside him feels muffled, distant. He keeps seeing Jonathan’s face turned away, the absence of a smile that shouldn’t matter but somehow does. Maybe he’s overthinking it, he tells himself. Maybe Jonathan didn’t ignore him; maybe Blaine just made it up in his head—even though, deep down, it doesn’t feel like he did. That tiny seed of doubt worms its way under his skin, making him restless.
It’s the difference that hurts: Thursday night had been all warmth and leaning shoulders, whispered secrets and sparks he thought he could trust. Tonight, though, Jonathan’s silence is so deliberate it feels louder than the music ever was.
He chews on the thought as they walk, the echo of Jonathan’s smile from two nights ago flickering like a cruel trick of memory. Did he misread everything? Was it just the wine, the late hour, the loneliness that made it seem real? The questions gnaw at him until he doesn’t realize he’s gone quiet.
His friends notice—of course they notice—and without missing a beat, they fold him tighter into their orbit. Sebastian slings an arm over his shoulder, Nick bumps his hip against Blaine’s.
“Earth to Blaiiiiineee,” Jeff says, ruffling his hair from behind. “You planning on brooding all the way back or are you gonna let me serenade you with my stunning falsetto?”
Nick peers at him, head tilted. “You’re too quiet. What’s up?”
Blaine shakes his head, forcing a smile. “It’s nothing. I’m fine. Tired, I guess.”
“Liar,” Jeff chimes in sing-song, and all three of them keep looking at him like they’ll stand there on the sidewalk all night if he doesn’t spit it out.
Finally, Blaine exhales, his shoulders slumping. “It’s just… Jonathan. I thought—after Thursday—I thought it meant something. And tonight it’s like I don’t even exist. He didn’t even look at me.” His voice cracks, softer now. “And I can’t stop thinking maybe that says something about me. Like I wasn’t… enough.”
Sebastian doesn’t even let a beat pass. “Bullshit.”
Nick nods firmly. “You’re too good for Jonathan. Always were.”
“Seriously,” Jeff adds, looping an arm around Blaine’s neck and tugging him close, “who needs Jonathan? He’d be lucky to even be in your orbit.”
Blaine lets out a shaky laugh, part protest, part relief, but the words keep catching in his chest. They don’t let him wallow in silence—Sebastian starts tossing out increasingly absurd lines about how Blaine should have his own fan club, and Nick, grinning, suddenly raises a finger like he’s about to give a lecture.
“Top five Blaine traits,” he declares. “Number one: your voice. Literal goosebumps, every time. Number two: your hair, obviously. People pay hundreds for curls like that.”
Blaine groans, but Nick is undeterred. “Number three: you actually listen when people talk. Like, really listen. Number four: you make everyone around you feel… lighter. You don’t even notice, but you do. And number five—” Nick pauses for effect, smirking. “You’re the only one in this group who can tolerate Sebastian for more than ten minutes without punching him.”
“Hey!” Sebastian protests, though he’s smirking too.
By the time they step into the hotel lobby, Blaine’s smile feels almost real again, buoyed by their ridiculous warmth.
Upstairs, the energy shifts. The four of them collapse onto the beds in Sebastian and Blaine’s room, ties loosened, shoes kicked into the corner. The silliness lingers, but underneath it, something steadier hums.
“You know we mean it, right?” Nick says more softly this time, staring up at the ceiling. “Jonathan doesn’t get to make you question yourself. Not after Thursday, not after tonight. Not ever.”
“Yeah,” Jeff adds, sitting cross-legged now, voice earnest. “One guy not looking your way doesn’t erase everything that makes you… well, you. Which is more than enough.”
Sebastian’s eyes linger on Blaine’s face, the kind of look that’s warm, careful, and maybe a little too attentive. Blaine doesn’t notice—he’s too caught up in the comfort of their friendship, in the way Sebastian makes him feel safe and seen without even trying. Then, uncharacteristically gentle, he nudges Blaine’s leg with his foot. “Don’t waste your heart on someone who doesn’t know what to do with it. It deserves better.”
Blaine smiles, grateful. He leans back against the pillows, watching Sebastian, Nick, and Jeff banter and tease each other, their voices low and easy now. The warmth of their presence settles around him like a soft blanket, and for the first time in hours, he lets himself feel… almost okay. He can laugh at their ridiculous antics, nod along at their exaggerated praise, even join in on the jokes.
But beneath it all, the quiet ache lingers—the memory of Thursday night, when everything had felt magical, when he and Jonathan had touched and laughed and talked as if the world had paused just for them. No explanations, no second chances, just the hollow echo of what could have been. And he feels like it could’ve been something.
Still, he breathes in the comfort around him, letting it fill the cracks. Maybe tonight isn’t about Jonathan. Maybe, just for a little while, it’s about the people who see him, who care, who make him feel enough. And that, for now, is enough to keep him smiling, even if only a little.