When Blaine arrived at Rolly's, Wes wasn't there yet. He slid into an empty booth, kind of wishing he'd had a chance for a shower before going out in pubic. The air conditioning had broken halfway through their performances that evening, and he felt disgusting.
Grabbing a menu, Blaine flipped through it, realizing he didn't actually feel like eating anything. Maybe he'd just have a shake. A part of him just wanted to go home and climb under the covers and sleep for days. He didn't know what it was about the discussion going on in Santana's journal that just kind of set things off in his mind, but it had. Maybe it was just his overall disappoint and disillusionment with the world in general - why was it even necessary to have Coming Out parties and whatnot? Why couldn't people just be people?
Maybe some of his mood could be blamed on that rodent, Jacob Ben Israel, too.
Maybe Blaine should make a list.
Groaning to himself softly, he crossed his arms on the table and dropped his head onto them. Blaine hated feeling like this.