A/N: Warning for some swearing and bullying.

The leather chains on his black jacket jingled as he walked through straight down the middle of the rows of lockers. People parted for him with downcast eyes because they knew it was the Blaine Anderson who got kicked out of his old school for fighting. The Blaine Anderson who didn't let anybody try to push him around. He wasn't a bully, like that Karofsky and his gang of monkeys who actively sought out people to torture. He just didn't want to be messed with and could stick up for himself if he had to.

He stopped at his own locker, twirling the lock lazily pretending to ignore the Cheerios whispers as they passed. He knew half of the squad wanted to get all up on this, but he preferred going at it alone. People have let him down too many times in the past.

Blaine ruffled his fingers through his bangs, trying to make them less orderly as he drew out a cigarette from his jacket pocket.

"Juvenile delinquent! You will kindly put that monstrosity away or I will have you in detention for the rest of the year," Principal Figgins said as he walked by, holding out his hand.

"Yes, Principal Figgins," Blaine said, rolling his eyes but handing over the cigarette. He'd just have to go under bleachers on his way to lunch now.

"You have a second chance not to screw up your life as badly, Mr. Anderson. You'll take kindly to make the most of it." Figgins turned on his heel and walked away, chucking the cigarette in the nearest trashcan.

"Whatever," Blaine said under his breath, slamming his locker shut and going out into the courtyard. As he went down the steps, people parted for him again. He went down the left side of the railing, against the flow of traffic, but people stopped and let him pass by. They knew better than to contest him.

He ducked under the metal pole and found his usual spot near the base of the bleachers. He was obstructed from view, but could still see and hear through the slits of the seats.

Blaine took out his lighter and was about ready to light up when he heard a loud, metallic clang.

"How about we make this fairy dance? That's what you like to do, right?"

"N-no, please - this outfit is designer!"

"Even better!"

Blaine stood up from his hiding spot to see the other end of the row of bleachers. Karofsky and his monkeys were toying with a smaller figure who was, he'd have to admit, impeccably dressed.

Karofsky closed in on his victim with a large cup full of…something. From his angle he couldn't really tell what it was full of. One of his monkeys pinned Kurt to the side of the bleachers as Karofsky dumped the contents of the cup on the boy.

All Blaine could tell was that whatever was in that cup was red, sticky, cold, and most definitely going to ruin the clothes that the boy had on.

Karofsky high fived his minions and they left, one by one probably to not cause suspicion. Even if they left all together he hardly thought anyone would bat an eye. The boy remained frozen against the fence until they all left, and then slowly sank down onto the ground willing the tears in his eyes not to fall.

Finally Blaine was able to overcome the shock of what he just witnessed and stood up, walking over to the boy. He didn't know why, but something was pulling him closer. He saw people get bullied all the time, but somehow this incident was different than all the the others.

The boy looked up from where he was sitting, hardly flinching as Blaine walked over. "You here to finish the job?" The boy said, not looking at him.

"I'm sorry?"

"Please, you're Blaine 'Don't mess with me or I'll mess up your face' Anderson," he said, using air quotes. "But, please, for this time can you spare my face? I have senior pictures tomorrow."

Blaine found himself laughing, surprising himself. He doesn't remember the last time he genuinely laughed.

The boy finally looked up from the ground, surprised. He had the most beautiful eyes. Did all eyes look that pretty and Blaine had just never noticed? "What's so funny?"

"You."

"Me?"

"Yeah. Here, come on." Blaine reached out his hand to the boy, offering to help him up.

He looked at Blaine, even more surprised. "No, I can get up," he said as he got ready to push himself to his feet, determined to take care of himself.

"No, I'm offering to help you, and you're gonna fucking let me help you."

"O-kay," he said, taking Blaine's hand and allowing himself to be pulled to his feet. At full height, this boy was slightly taller than Blaine, and more slender.

"Now come on," Blaine said, keeping hold of his hand and dragging him along. "I know a shortcut to the locker rooms."

He took them around the side of the field and into the back door of the locker rooms, entering through Coach Beiste's office. "She's on her lunch break," Blaine explained as the boy looked surprised that they were walking through a teacher's office.

"Sit," Blaine ordered, plopping him down not-so-gracefully on a wooden bench.

"What are you - "

"Shh," Blaine ordered as he spun the lock to his gym locker and opened it with a deliberate thunk.

He rifled through his boxing bag as the boy piped up behind him, "You box? I didn't know McKinley had a boxing club."

Blaine froze, ready to sneer at the boy, but then thought better of it once he saw the sincerity and innocence in the boy. He wasn't going to hurt him. "Yeah. Why is that so hard to believe?"

The boy shrugged. "I dunno, it just seemed to me like you punch people for fun."

"I do not punch people for fun," Blaine spat, as he drew out a white shirt from the bag. "That's what that Karofsky dick does, look what he fucking did to you!" Blaine said, his voice rising. He then paused and sighed, calming down and running the fabric through his hands. "But to answer your question, I'm still in the Dalton Fight Club, which I'm not allowed to talk about. Even though I was kicked out of the school they still kept me in the club because I'm the best one there." Blaine mumbled as he handed the white shirt to the boy.

"Kurt."

"What?"

"My name. It's Kurt. Kurt Hummel."

"Oh."

"What's your name?"

"You already know."

"I know. But I feel it's not fair that everyone already knows your name and doesn't give you a chance to introduce yourself. So, Blaine, what is your name?"

Blaine paused, but then smiled. "My name is Blaine. Blaine Anderson."

"It's nice to meet you, Blaine," Kurt replied, holding his hand out for a handshake.

Blaine doesn't remember the last time he shook someone's hand. He grasped Kurt's and shook twice not gripping as firmly as he should have, amazed by how soft Kurt's hands were and immediately missing the contact when they broke apart.

"I uh, you...should probably wash up."

Kurt sighed. "Well, it will wash out of my hair, but I can't say the same for my shirt." He stripped the shirt over his head, wincing as more of the slushy dripped down his neck leaving a sticky red path. "This is so not good for my skin. I'm going to have to do extra moisturizing tonight."

For some reason Blaine felt his chest flutter. He had seen plenty of guys shirtless before, but why did he feel so strange now? His cheeks grew warm as he looked away as Kurt washed his hands under the faucet.

"I'll uh - go get you a towel," Blaine said as an excuse to stop staring.

Kurt turned around, looking over his shoulder as he was scrubbing his face. "Thanks."

Blaine went to the back of the locker room to the towels with his mind racing. Why did he choose to help him this much? He could have just helped him up and went on his way. Maybe that was better than all of these funny feelings he was having. What was it about Kurt?

"Blaine?" Kurt said, rounding the corner, his hair and face wet.

"Oh, hello, yes here is your towel."

"Thank you," he said, rubbing it through his hair and sitting on the bench. "And thank you…for helping me like this. Nobody has ever - you're the first person to even notice besides people in Glee club, but then again we are practically nobodys here."

"Glee club? You sing?" Blaine asked, sitting next to Kurt.

"Yeah. I love to sing. But apparently other people don't love that I love to sing, as you just witnessed."

"Kurt, if you love what you do, you should…you should fucking be able to do it!" Blaine grew angry and kicked a locker, the sound echoing slightly throughout the empty room. "Who gives them the right to do that like that's not fair you don't deserve that!"

"I'm used to it."

"Well I'm not."

Kurt pulled on Blaine's shirt as he folded up his soiled sweater. Blaine couldn't help but stare at Kurt wearing his shirt. It was a little baggy in the shoulders, but nonetheless functioned for what little of the school day they had left.

"Do I look presentable?" Kurt asked, smoothing down his damp hair as best as he could.

"Y-yeah." Blaine said, clearing his throat. "I mean, yes, you look great. I mean, presentable…er."

Kurt smiled, patting Blaine's hand. "You're not at all as bad as people say you are."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"A bad person would not have been so nice to a person they just met twenty minutes ago." Kurt picked up his bag from the floor and started to walk out. "I have to go to class, but let me pay you back somehow? Coffee sometime?"

"I -"

"Please. My treat." Kurt was insistent.

"Sure."

Kurt pulled a black marker from a pouch in his bag and pulled off the cap with his teeth. He pulled Blaine's left arm toward him, dragging Blaine clumsily to his feet, and wrote with a flourish his phone number.

"There. Give me a call whenever you are free. Now, I gotta run. Thanks again, Blaine." Kurt smiled at him as he left, leaving Blaine with a dizzy feeling in his head as he still clutched his tingling arm.

Kurt Hummel was definitely not leaving his life anytime soon.