fuckingthiscat.

“LIKE ‘ARE GONE’? ARGON. it’s a science joke, people!” it’s common knowledge that jokes work better when they do not have to be explained. there’s no response from the crowd – with the exception of one pity laugh from the barman before he walks down from the stage. and as if by magic, the simple act of him stepping off of the platform has the entire bar filling with noise again. fucking typical. heading for his usual post-gig seat at the bar, richard’s head tilts back in a loud groan. 

“like argon…. that’s fucking funny.” it’s said to himself, only adding as he looks over to the person beside him, “what a way to spend a saturday night, huh?” 

Dead silence followed each joke. Cringe worthy silence.  Complete with occasional cough to clear someone who was really trying to be a jerk’s throat.  Blaine was perched on his stool listening, a half smile parted his lips and he wasn’t sure if it was the jokes he was cracking one at?  Or having a sympathetic moment for the performer who wasn’t just bombing?  But was taking a nosedive towards the ground at full speed.  Something Blaine has watched him do before.  Repeatedly.  Though his presence was usually easy to blend into the background of the sparse patrons.  Just another soul hunched over the bar enjoying a free poured drink that had enough alcohol in it for two.  Probably to numb the pain coming from the stage.

“There’s worse ways,” Blaine huffed a real chuckle this time tapping the rim of his glass with his pointer finger. “Can I buy us a round?  It looks like you need one.”  Or four?