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SEND A 🍷 FOR MY MUSE TO SHOW UP DRUNK AT YOUR MUSE’S DOOR.
@independentlyfinnhudson

White knuckle grip on the doorframe?  Check.  Gushing apology prepared for Finn considering the time?  Double–triple check.  All he had to do was knock on the door but going through with it required a courage that the liquid form of it was seriously starting to run out.  The longer he debated if he should have told the guy to drop him off down the block–apparently a ride home from the bar equalled getting a number shoved into his lap and more awkwardness than he could cope with for another fifteen minutes to his aunt’s house?  Blaine was beginning to realize that this was more than a bad idea.  It was a horrible one.  

There wasn’t any promise that Finn would appreciate him being here.  He wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t.  One huge relief was Burt and Carol were gone.  He knew by Rachel telling them to have a safe trip on Facebook and–like always–Burt’s message was half typed before he sent it on accident and forgot that editing was a thing.  Kurt and he both tried to teach the man how to work social media before he left for D.C. the first time but it was sort of like–how did Kurt say it?  ‘Teaching a caveman how to work fire in the pouring rain.’  The memory hitched his shoulders and caused his head to bow so far forward that his forehead plastered itself against the door. 

Blaine swayed once, twice, clutched the doorframe harder to keep from falling completely over. and wouldn’t you know it?  Laughed sadly in spite of the tears in his eyes.  A lightly curled fist swung blindly to knock on the door and gravity won when one rap had him off balance and his butt bounced on the cement.  To hell with it.  He’d just stay there and Finn wasn’t home?  Or told him to leave and shut the door?  Maybe a nap in the cold would sober him up some.  Plus? It’d serve him right.  Yet one more night added to the string of poor life choices under his belt. Wonderful. Perfect.  Utterly freaking abysmal.