The idea of moving to New York always brightened Blaine a bit. He loved the idea of being on Broadway, and living in the big city, and too, there was the way Kurt always lit up when they talked about it. It seemed so far away, even though he knew it would be happening a lot sooner than it felt.
"I know," he said with a nod, reaching up to almost run a hand through his hair when he remembered it was covered in more gel than usual. It had to be for the Elvis look. "Double standards aside, I can't help but think..."
He trailed off when he heard a familiar clicking of heels against the tacky linoleum floor, and glanced up to see Santana headed in their direction. She currently looked a whole lot more like the namesake given to her by Kurt and Mercedes -- Satan.
Blaine blinked as she sat beside him, and true to the girl he'd come to know and care about, didn't hold a damn thing back. He sighed, realizing they were really going to be doing this here, and in front of Wes, and he probably didn't have much of a choice in the matter.
"My apologies, San," he replied, meeting her gaze. "I had no right to behave like that tonight of all nights, and in your journal. Maybe I was being a bit of an impatient, wallowing little ass. Work just made me cranky or something." He slid a glance at Wes, hoping his fellow Warbler knew enough not to volunteer any unhelpful information.