After I saw "Never Been Kissed", I knew I had to do a story for Blaine and Kurt. I love those boys and I'll be damned if they don't end up together. Anyway, I'm sorry if this chapter seems action-less, but I've got to set up the scene. A lot of the Klaine interaction in this one is straight from the episode, with my spin on things filling in the blanks. I swear that there will actually be a plot and not just, "Boy meets boy and they eventually fall in love." My summary sucks...
Also, this is all told from Blaine's point of view, because 1) I don't think I could do Kurt's internal monologue justice, 2) there haven't been as many stories told from Blaine's eyes and I think he should have his say in more depth than he's been allotted, and 3) since we don't know much, I get to make it up!
Anyway, please enjoy and feedback is, as always, appreciated.
Disclaimer: Story title credit goes to Green Day. Chapter title credit goes to Saosin. Glee, its characters, and its setting do not belong to me. Neither do Harry Potter or "Teenage Dream". Basically, it's safe to assume that nothing belongs to me. =(
The Song Of The Century
Chapter 1: You're Not Alone
The day started out like any other. My alarm buzzed annoyingly at some ungodly hour and I smacked the device, flopping onto my stomach, my face pressed into the soft pillow. My bed was just so warm I didn't think I could bear the thought of leaving it. The ambient temperature of my room was at least fifteen degrees colder than the pile of blankets I was currently under. Getting up just seemed like a bad idea.
My alarm beeped again. My clumsy fingers slid out, hitting the right combination of buttons to disable the godforsaken mechanism. I didn't get up right away; I had to mentally prepare myself for the assault I was about to endure. In one swift motion, I hefted the mountain of covers off my body and made a dash for the bathroom.
The shower was on and at its hottest setting before I could count to five. I shimmied under the warm water, savoring the feeling. As always, my shower regiment lasted nearly half an hour and, by the time I emerged, my bathroom was completely shrouded in fog. Towel hanging loosely from my waist, I sashayed into my now-warm bedroom and opened my dresser. I found a clean pair of boxer shorts and put them on, letting my towel fall into a heap on the floor. I pulled a neatly pressed, white, button-up shirt from a hanger in my closet and slipped my arms through the long sleeves. Grabbing a pair of ironed, charcoal gray slacks, I stepped into them, tucking the white shirt in before buttoning the pants. A plain black belt and red-and-navy striped tie followed. I shrugged the heavy, red-trimmed, navy blazer over my shoulders and buttoned it, adjusting the tie and pinning it in place.
I checked the clock: 7:26 am. I had less than twenty minutes to get to school. Hurrying into the bathroom, I brushed my teeth and dried my hair. I squirted a generous dollop of gel into my palm and massaged it through my dark brown hair. The product stifled my natural curls and provided a stronger hold than hair spray so that my hair looked prim and proper all day long. Pulling the little case from the top drawer, I slipped my contacts in over my caramel-colored eyes. The correction wasn't major, but I couldn't drive without them.
Time check: T-10 minutes. I grabbed a pair of navy dress socks and pulled them on before stuffing my feet into the black loafers that completed my school uniform. In one deft motion, I swept all the books piled on my desk into my open book bag. The leather strained against the sheer number of things crammed into it. I hauled it onto my shoulder and jumped down the stairs.
The clock in the kitchen read 7:41. I cursed under my breath, grabbing both my car keys and the lunch my mom set out for me off the counter. At a dead sprint, I ran through my house, out the garage, and into my red Lexus LS. Hurling my stuff in the back, I peeled out of the driveway, zipping down the street. Thankfully, Dalton Academy was close to my house.
I heard the bells ringing as I pulled up and swung into a parking spot. Snatching my stuff up from the backseat, I walked quickly towards the building. The red brick structure was massive, with white gilded arches, tall drawing room windows, and a courtyard at the very heart of the school. I waltzed through the main doors, greeting my friends as I navigated the elegantly decorated halls, up the spiral staircase, and into my first class of the day: calculus I.
The room was fairly spacious, with three rows of six seats lined up across the room facing a huge chalkboard. The tardy bell rang just as I was about to take my seat in the front, left corner. Instead I remained upright, my classmates quickly mimicking my behavior as the teacher entered the room. He was in his mid-thirties, with sandy blonde hair and striking green eyes.
"Take your seats," Mr. Fletcher said amiably.
I sat down, rummaging through my bag to find my homework as Mr. Fletcher began taking attendance.
"Aarons."
"Here, sir."
"Barnaby."
"Here, sir."
"Brown."
"Here, sir."
"Dennison."
"Here, sir."
"Do."
"Here, sir."
"Emerson."
"Here, sir," I replied.
Mr. Fletcher gave me a small smile. Although he could never admit it publically, I was his favorite student. Math came naturally to me and I enjoyed it, unlike most of my peers.
"Everett," the teacher called, returning to attendance.
"Here, sir."
I ignored the rest of the daily ritual as a note fell onto my desk. Unfolding the paper, I recognized the disorganized scrawling as belonging to my friend David.
"Secret show this afternoon after 5th period in the Senior Commons."
"Which song?" I wrote back, rolling the note to David, who was two seats behind me.
A few moments later, the note reappeared.
"Teenage Dream. Tell Wes."
I folded the note and passed it to the Asian boy sitting next to me. Once he'd read it, he nodded and stuck the note into his pocket as Mr. Fletcher wrapped up attendance and began lecturing on derivatives.
Occasionally the Warblers, our acapella show choir, gave surprise concerts. The Warblers, like jocks in most schools, were at the top of the social hierarchy at Dalton. Attendance at their performances was generally maxed out and concerts were highly anticipated.
The knowledge of the show that afternoon drew my attention away from the abnormally boring math class, the usually dry English class, and the unpredictably variable American government class (which, for the record, was slightly interesting today). My fourth class of the day was Latin and it was easily one of my favorites. I wasn't exactly the best student, but I really applied myself and I loved the language and the crazy Romans.
My teacher, Mr. Montgomery, was a purist. He demanded accurate translations and impeccable pronunciation. In fact, he was one of the few Latin teachers that bothered teaching his pupils how to speak the dead language.
"Salve, sir," I said as I walked in.
The man at the desk was in his late fifties or early sixties. His hair, once a rich, chestnut brown, was now flecked with gray. His steel gray eyes were sharp from years of hardship unknown.
"Salve, Emerson," he grunted with a curt nod in my direction.
Once the class had assembled and attendance had been taken, Mr. Montgomery set about preaching the important of proper conjugation. Latin has five declensions (nominative, genitive, dative, ablative, and accusative) and three genders (masculine, feminine, and neuter) and could be singular or plural. All in all, it's a lot to remember. Despite the fact that I have trouble with this particular topic, I found that my concentration was waning. Anticipation was building in my stomach because I just knew that today's show was going to be special. I wasn't sure why, but I had an inkling.
As soon as the bell rang to signal the end of the lesson, I bolted from the room and into the cafeteria to find Wes and David. Wesley Do was of Chinese descent and had short, black hair, dark eyes, and naturally tanned skin. David Zimmerman was African-American and had buzzed hair, dark eyes, and a most eager smile.
"Is it just me, or is there something about the prospect of THIS performance that's so exciting?" David mused.
"No… I've been jazzed all day. I can't concentrate, man!" Wes piped in.
I smiled and nodded.
"Yeah same here. Didn't help that Fletcher did that thing where he mumbles incoherently and then refuses to pause for questions."
"Can you help me with the homework? I don't even know what a derivative is…" Wes muttered sheepishly, scratching the back of his head.
"Absolutely! A derivative is-"
"No business at lunch. It's depressing," David interrupted, jocularly.
I slugged him the shoulder playfully.
"How's Laura?" I inquired, as we started moving toward our usual table in the far left corner of the cafeteria.
The room was originally a ballroom. When the enrollment at Dalton exceeded 700, they converted the smallest of the ballrooms into a cafeteria. That said, the navy blue draperies hanging from the big, square windows were made from crushed velvet and the floors made from the finest wood. Elaborately crafted crown molding in the richest shade of ivory lined the ceilings. Tables had been set up across the old dance floor complete with tablecloths.
"She's fine. She's really looking forward to sectionals. You know, because she never gets to see us practice? Yeah, Shelton lets out too late for her to make it here in time for rehearsal," David sighed as we sat down.
Unfolding my lunch bag, I see that my mother has packed me a turkey sandwich on wheat with Swiss cheese, mayo on one side, mustard on the other. It's my favorite. Underneath the sandwich, I found a sliced apple, a bag of Goldfish, a zebra cake, and a Sprite. God, I love my mom.
"Have you told her our tentative set list?" I grilled him.
"Hell no! I know better than that!" he smirked. "Plus, you'd flay me alive."
I grinned.
"Damn straight."
I turned to Wes, who was digging into his cold pizza.
"What about Jenna? Is she coming to sectionals?"
"She can't. It's her great-grandmother 98th birthday and her whole family is driving to Harrisburg that weekend," he said, disappointment written all over his face.
"Cheer up, Wes. She can just come watch us at regionals!"
David and Wes chuckled.
"Cocky, aren't we?" David questioned, eyebrows raised.
"Confident. The Warblers are better than they've ever been. We've got a bunch of new talent and plus several returning members. We'll take the cake easily if we continue to work hard."
"Nope, not cocky at all," Wes responded to David.
I elbowed him.
"Our competition is a bunch of old folks and McKinley High. The old people won't be able to match our choreography and McKinley… well… I just don't see them as being a serious threat. Even if their vocals are killer, their addiction to Journey is downright repulsive."
"Journey's classic, man. And they made it farther than we did last time," David commented, biting into his banana.
"Yeah, but you remember Mr. Marquette."
Both boys nodded grimly. Our choir director last year had been dreadful. He picked the worst songs, dreamed up the most ridiculous dance moves, and gave all the vocal leads to his favorites. As it happened, his favorites were tone deaf. Thankfully, after months of petitioning, we got him dropped as the director and got Mr. Jamison instead. Jamison was a godsend. He knew music, he knew moves, and thank god, he knew talent when he saw it. He was approachable, funny, and very cute (though I would never admit it aloud).
"Okay, Blaine. You've got a point, but that doesn't mean we can relax at all. CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" Wes yelled, thumping the table.
We got several odd looks, but it was worth it. We continued to eat lunch, making an obscene number of Harry Potter references. Once we were finished, David and I waved to Wes as he made his way to English, promising to leak word about the show. The two of us scaled the stairs and enter the physics lab.
Mr. Cohn was standing on a lab table, waving a meter stick in the air. He had rich, brown hair with little flecks of gray and bright, blue eyes that shone when he got excited about physics. He smiled as we walked in.
"Blaine, David. I hear there's something going on today?" he asked, jumping down onto the floor.
"How'd you know?" I wondered.
"I know things."
I eyed him suspiciously.
"Fair enough. Are you going to go?"
"Is the army the best branch of the military?" he countered.
"Yes!" David exclaimed. "My older brother is a first lieutenant."
"HOOAH. Let's do some physics!"
Needless to say, Mr. Cohn was my favorite teacher. His class was always entertaining, even if physics wasn't my favorite subject. After a simulating lesson on ballistics, David and I made sure a rumor started circulating about the show in the senior commons after class. While everyone was supposed to be working on homework, I counted no less than sixteen people texting frantically on their phones. Considering that other members of the Warblers were also spreading the word and the "no texting" policy was not strongly enforced, I expected a decent turnout.
The bell rang and I was nearly trampled as I tried to exit the room. David had managed to squeeze out before the stampede, as had Mr. Cohn. As the last one left, I shut off the lights and leisurely made my way down to the senior commons. I didn't get very far; someone stopped me at the bottom of the stairs.
"Excuse me. Um hi, can I ask you a question? I'm new here," a timid voice said behind me.
I couldn't help looking him over. His hair was the color of milk chocolate and his eyes were a delightful combination of green and blue. However, I immediately knew he was lying about going here. For one, the school was small enough that new students never went unnoticed. For another, his uniform was off, like he'd attempted to construct a replica with what he had in his closet. Teachers were sticklers about the dress code and he would have been called on it by now, new student or not. Regardless, his slight nervousness was endearing and I decided to play along.
"My name is Blaine," I introduced, extending my hand.
"Kurt," he replied, grasping it.
He gave me a small smile as I shook his soft, slightly cold hand.
"So, what exactly is going on?" the boy asked, looking at the floods of people still streaming towards the impending concert.
"The Warblers," I told him. "Every now and then they throw an impromptu performance in the senior commons. It tends to shut the school down for a while."
He looked confused by my remarks.
"So… wait, the glee club here is kind of cool?"
"The Warblers are like… rock stars."
His eyebrows twitched in combination of shock and disbelief.
"Come on," I grinned, "I know a short cut."
I reached out and grabbed his free hand, pulling him along. At first, he looked like he wanted to say something, his mouth opening somewhat. However, he quickly let it go and allowed me to drag him through the school.
I turned a corner and lead him through one of the old sitting rooms at a jog. Despite the increased pace, he did his best to look around at the old, leather furnishings, the room-sized mural, and the enormous glass chandelier. His amazement made me smile to myself.
As we approached the double doors leading into the commons, I released the boy's hand, much to my dismay. He glanced around the room at the hardwood walls and the oddly spaced portraits of important people.
"I stick out like a sore thumb," he commented, noting the mob of people all dressed exactly like me.
"Well, next time don't forget your jacket, new kid," I chastised gently, reaching over and flattening his collar. "You'll fit right in."
I gave him a reassuring smile and patted him on the arm. Just then, the Warblers began the opening chords to the song.
"Now, if you'll excuse me."
Handing my bag to the person on my left, I started singing.
"~You think I'm pretty
Without any make-up on
You think I'm funny
When I tell the punch line wrong
I know you get me
So I'll let my walls come down, down
Before you met me
I was a wreck
But things were kinda heavy
You brought me to life
Now every February
You'll be my valentine, valentine
Let's go all the way tonight
No regrets, just love
We can dance until we die
You and I
We'll be young forever
You make me
Feel like I'm living a
Teenage dream
The way you turn me on
I can't sleep
Let's runaway
And don't ever look back
Don't ever look back
My heart stops
When you look at me
Just one touch
Now baby I believe
This is real
So take a chance
And don't ever look back
Don't ever look back
We drove to Cali
And got drunk on the beach
Got a motel and
Built a fort out of sheets
I finally found you
My missing puzzle piece
I'm complete
Let's go all the way tonight
No regrets, just love
We can dance until we die
You and I
We'll be young forever
You make me
Feel like I'm living a
Teenage dream
The way you turn me on
I can't sleep
Let's runaway
And don't ever look back
Don't ever look back
My heart stops
When you look at me
Just one touch
Now baby I believe
This is real
So take a chance
And don't ever look back
Don't ever look back
I might get your heart racing
In my skin-tight jeans
Be your teenage dream tonight
Let you put your hands on me
In my skin-tight jeans
Be your teenage dream tonight
You make me
Feel like I'm living a
Teenage dream
The way you turn me on
I can't sleep
Let's runaway
And don't ever look back
Don't ever look back
My heart stops
When you look at me
Just one touch
Now baby I believe
This is real
So take a chance
And don't ever look back
Don't ever look back~"
I watched Kurt the entire time. In fact, I was singing to him. Seeing as I just met the kid, and he was probably a spy for McKinley, it may have been a bad idea to be so forward. But, there was just something about him. That, coupled with the fact that I was notoriously flirtatious, should have created a delicious recipe for disaster.
However, my attention appeared to be well received. At first he looked out of place and uncomfortable but, as he got lost in the music, his expression softened and he smiled the most genuine, most heartwarming smile I've ever seen in my life. If I didn't have such a good show face, I probably would have faltered.
As the song concluded, we were met with cheering and hollering as our classmates swarmed in around us to give their sincere praise. I snuck a glance over at Kurt. He hadn't moved from his spot by the door, but his eyes were as wide as saucers and he was clapping furiously. Once the crowd of people began to dissipate, I motioned to Wes and David to follow me. After grabbing my bag off one of the couches, I slung a casual arm over Kurt's shoulders.
"So, let's me guess. You're from McKinley and you're scoping out the competition?"
I saw several different emotions flicker through his eyes.
"What gave me away?" he said softly, head bowed.
I laughed lightly, patting his back.
"Several things, Kurt. For the record, you're not a very good spy. E for effort, though."
He looked downright miserable. In a weird way, seeing this kid so upset made me sad too.
"Hey, it's not a big deal. Let's grab a coffee," I offered.
"I should go," he mumbled, still not making eye contact.
I suddenly realized that there was more to this than a simple reconnaissance mission.
"Why don't you go change clothes and then we'll have some coffee in the break room? You can tell us why you decided to pay us a visit."
I gently steered him toward the bathroom, David and Wes following at my flanks. We waited nearly fifteen minutes before the boy reemerged. He was now dressed in a stylish, black button-up with some exotic-looking pattern, and the tie and jacket to match. His black pants hugged him in all the right places and his shoes screamed "designer".
"Aren't you guys supposed to be in class?" he mused, finally making eye contact.
"Only athletics. It's inconsequential," Wes chimed in.
David and I nodded in agreement.
We made our way to the lounge. I directed Kurt to the first table we passed and continued on to the coffee maker. It was a multi-purpose machine that could whip up the best coffee, lattes, or espressos in the world. I prepared four and carried them back to the table.
"Latte?" I offered, sliding the coffee drink across the table to Kurt.
He mouthed his thanks.
"This is Wes and David," I introduced, nodding to my friends.
"It's very civilized for you to invite me for coffee before you beat me up for spying," Kurt said sincerely.
"We are not going to beat you up," assured Wes.
"You were such a terrible spy we thought it was endearing," David added.
"Which made me think that spying on us wasn't really the reason you came," I said, looking him straight in the eye with a small smirk.
He exhaled with a little more force than necessary, covering it with an awkward smile.
"Can I ask you guys a question?" he said, looking at the three of us. "Are you guys all gay?"
We all chuckled and Kurt's face fell noticeably as he suddenly became uncomfortable.
"Uh, uh, no," I started. "I mean, I am, but these two have girlfriends."
"This is not a gay school. We just have a zero-tolerance harassment policy," David offered.
"Everyone gets treated the same, no matter what they are. It's pretty simple," Wes concluded.
Kurt looked like he wanted to respond, but the words just wouldn't come. He was quickly overcome by emotions. The longing that welled up in Kurt's eyes struck a chord with me. I could see the feelings being dredged up: pain, loneliness, utter sadness. I understood exactly what was going on and suddenly I knew that he needed my help.
"Would you guys excuse us?" I asked.
Wes and David nodded.
"Take it easy, Kurt," Wes said as the boys left.
For several moments, Kurt refused to look at me. He kept his gaze trained on the floor, breathing heavily.
"I take it you're having trouble at school," I began, hoping to coax him into talking.
He turned his eyes in my direction, the pain in his gaze tearing into me.
"I'm the only person out of the closet at my school," he said, no louder than a whisper as a tear fell from his eye. "And I-I-I-I tried to stay strong about it but… there's this Neanderthal who's made it his mission to make my life a living hell."
He shook his head as a few more tears escaped.
"And nobody seems to notice."
I nodded, my eyebrows arching as the ghost of a smile passed over my face.
"I know how you feel. I got taunted at my old school and it really… pissed me off," I growled. "I even complained about it to the faculty and, uh, they were sympathetic and all but you could just tell that nobody really cared. It was like, 'Hey, if you're gay, your life's just going to be miserable. Sorry. Nothing we can do about it.'"
Kurt lowered his head and I knew that he'd been on the receiving end of the same sentiments.
"So I left. I came here. As simple as that."
I paused for a beat.
"So you have two options. I mean, I'd love to tell you to just come enroll here, but tuition at Dalton is sort of steep and I know that's not an option for everybody. Or, you can refuse to be the victim."
Kurt was completely fixated on my words. His eyebrows were somewhat scrunched and his lips were slightly apart. But his eyes were guarded as if he wasn't allowing himself to be hopeful about a solution to his troubles.
"Prejudice is just ignorance, Kurt, and you have a chance right now to teach them."
"How?" he asked meekly.
"Confront them," I said emphatically. "Call them out."
I watched him process my words. Before he could comment, I jumped in.
"I ran, Kurt. I didn't stand up. I let bullies chase me away and it is something I really, really regret."
He watched me very carefully for nearly a minute before he let his eyes fall.
"Come on, I'll walk you to your car."
I stood up and he did the same. We tossed our empty cups in the trash as we left, heading toward the parking lot. He stopped at a black Cadillac Escalade in a visitor's parking spot.
"Listen, Kurt. I know how it feels to go it alone. I mean, my parents and my friends are supportive, but they don't get it. In this town, being different is a curse. I couldn't stand up on my own and now, you won't have to."
I rummaged in my bag for a scrap of paper and a pen and jotted down my number. I pressed the paper into Kurt's palm, letting my hand linger a few seconds longer than necessary.
"You're not alone, remember that. If you ever need anything, please don't hesitate to call me or text me."
Once again, Kurt's head dropped. Before I could stop myself, I pulled the smaller boy into my arms, embracing him. His defensive walls crumbled and he began sobbing into my blazer. I stroked his soft hair, but I didn't make any promises that everything would be okay. In all honesty, Kurt had a rough road ahead of him and meaningless platitudes would lessen the significance. But one thing I could guarantee him: I would be there to help him along the way.
