notmyfuckingfather.

        “Fuck, you’a

— you really took a hit back there, shit.” The back of Lip’s hand swiped down over his mouth, effectively smearing blood down his jaw, but largely back off of his face. “Thanks, man. That was pretty cool.” Fucked out of his mind and drunk beyond belief, his reflexes weren’t up to par and when Preppy Fuck’s beefy friend decided to step in and lay him down, it started off a tag team of rich white kids trying to throw some punches to act like they were real hot shit, when in reality they looked like Scrappy Doo trying to lay a beat down on a teddy bear, with just as much vigor too.  But Pride of course has to step in, “Could’a handled it, just got blindsided.” But the slurred speech and mouthful of blood (that was admittedly a very dull pain once the sear had worn off) was only subdued by how deep in the Rabbit Hole he was. 

      “Fuck you got a real fist on you. Where the fuck’d you learn to fight like that?” Which sounded an awful lot like ‘when the fuck have you ever raised a fist in your entire life? did yo go to a public preschool or something?’ Because the guy in front of him looked just like the rest for the most part. Over the course of the evening he’d become to come undone and Lip only knew because the tell tale signs. He was rumbled over, something spilt on his pants, hair coming done from whatever product he’d used. He looked like exactly what Harvard embodied, maybe a little shorter with too much life in his eyes. “Why’d you do it?” Did he have something on him? Was this the ‘you owe me’ part? Nothing in this world came without a price, so what was he going to have to pay to make whatever future problem go away before it started. Was he looking to score for free and thought it would would be easier? See how much power he could exert upon the unsuspecting fish out of water?

“I’ve got no doubt in my mind you might’ve been able to handle it.”  Might being the objective word here.  Which was Blaine’s way of gently saying there was no way in hell you could’ve without putting the guy further on the spot than the rumpled up drunken stumble, split lip and what looked like the beginning of a bruise along his right eye already did.  By the looks of it?  The stranger didn’t need much help in drawing attention to himself. Not with the crowd at this kind of party.  Just happened to be the attention he was drawing?  Wasn’t the best sort.  About as far away from best sort as you could get.  Sitting down heavily on the edge of the curb, Blaine attempted to catch his breath and rub away the warm ache flooding into his knuckles after the adrenaline started to wear off.  The punches he did take?  None really connected with his face but a slap did.  Can you believe it?  A slap.  The guy slapped him.  The hit to his stomach though?  At least he got credit for being able to take one to the gut from the guy he stepped into help.  Cause that one hurt.

Flashbacked to the moment where he realized he had to help, Blaine’s scoff and shake of his head was all Lip got for a pause as the surprise on the guys faces came to mind.  They couldn’t believe one of their own was turning on them.  But when one of your own was on the receiving end of a beat down like that once before?  By guys oddly like the ones that decided to throw fists at Lip, mind you?  Priorities became very clear via Blaine’s fist introducing itself to one of his kind’s face.  “Thanks.  Um.  Boxing training and teaching myself, I guess?” Snapping out of it, a curious hazel stare met Lip’s face as Blaine looked up from his spot on the concrete.  “Because that many on one isn’t very fair.  Figured I would help you balance out the odds a little bit?  Cause you could barely stagger your way out of the kitchen a half an hour ago.  Oh!  That reminds me.  You’re welcome for being used as a push off to propel yourself down the hall,” he grinned teasingly, “I don’t think centrifugal force was going to help you win a fist fight though.”