"Hey, sorry, can I ask you a question?" Blaine winced when he saw exactly whom he had chosen to ask. Mohawk and wifebeater, nice job, Anderson.
"Don't have all day, dude." Blaine winced again at the scowl that now marred the taller boy's features.
"Uh, right. Sorry. I'm new here and I was just wondering who I had to talk to about Quidditch tryouts." The kid blatantly looked up and down Blaine's body. He raised one eyebrow in obvious disbelief.
"Right." The kid smirked, "K, new kid. You want to play Quidditch?" Blaine nodded. "You need to talk to Captain."
"And where can I find—" Blaine's question was cutoff when Mohawk pointed somewhere over Blaine's shoulder. Turning, Blaine saw a ridiculously tall boy talking to a smartly dressed elfin boy by the entrance to the dining hall. Blaine turned back to thank his unwilling guide, but stopped when he saw him walking away.
Great. This is going great.
Squaring his shoulders, he strode determinedly toward the pair of boys, who, when took notice of his presence, stopped their conversation. The tall one (taller, Blaine should say, as both of them towered over his short frame) smiled at him, open and friendly, "What's up, dude?"
"I was wondering about Quidditch tryouts. A friend of yours said that I needed to speak to the Captain, so here I am." Blaine offered what he hoped was a charming smile. The friendly boy returned it with an even wider grin.
"Totally, dude. Here." To Blaine's confusion, the boy grabbed his companion the shoulders and pulled him so that Blaine was looking straight into the most gorgeous pair of blue eyes he'd ever seen. "Meet Captain."
Blaine's jaw dropped, "You're Captain?" The eyes went from neutral to steel in less time than it took Blaine's mind to realize the faux pas that slipped past his lips, "I mean—"
"Save it." Blaine's mouth snapped shut at the hard tone. It wasn't that he wasn't expecting an annoyed response; it was that the voice was a higher pitch than Blaine thought was possible for a guy that tall. "I'm guessing by your stature that you are a Seeker, but I don't make it a habit to assume things about people on the basis of looks."
Yeah, Blaine was screwed. "Actually, uh, I am. A Seeker, that is."
The boy raised a solitary eyebrow in a cool arrogance that did nothing but increase Blaine's attraction to him. Before the porcelain skinned boy could open his mouth and no doubt cut Blaine into smaller pieces with his words, the tall boy elbowed him excitedly. "Kurt! Dude! We need a Seeker because Rachel quit to focus on Glee and Carmel just got a new chick that once caught the Snitch in—"
"Finn!" The overexcited boy quickly shut up and tensed, as if preparing himself for backlash. "What did I say about calling me that?"
The tall boy's face fell into one of contrition, "I know I'm supposed to call you Captain while were at school, but I thought since we were stepbrothers now, I could call you 'Kurt'."
The captain's eyes widened and his face transformed from one of steely anger to haste apology, "No, no, no. Finn! I meant 'dude'! I hate being called that. You can call me whatever else you want. It was Noah who imposed that ridiculous rule that members of the team have to address me by—"
"'Your proper rank'," Finn finished for him. "But, d—Kurt, he's right. How else would everyone else know about how tightly you run the team if we didn't treat you like the dictator you are."
Blaine braced himself for the anger he was sure a comment like that would provoke, but was shocked when Captain did nothing but laugh, "Oh, shut up. You never complain when we win."
"Well, we are undefeated."
Kurt laughed, "We're awesome." And held out his hand for a high-five. Blaine really didn't know what to make of that.
Finn high-fived him back, "You spend too much time with Puck."
"He's my boyfriend, Finn, it's to be expected."
Blaine's heart was somewhere by his shoes. Great, no Quidditch and no cute boyfriend. This year is going to suck.
"So, can he try out?" Blaine looked up at the reference to himself.
Kurt's face was comically surprised, "Sorry! I didn't mean to forget you." So he did forget his presence. Awesome. "Okay, Helmet Hair, you can try out. Be on the pitch on Friday at three. And, for the love of all that is Quidditch, leave your preconceived notions of what this sport is at home, because we are going to surprise you." And with that, he sauntered off in the direction of the Great Hall.
Blaine was paralyzed in place when he felt the giant boy's arm around his shoulder, "Don't worry, little dude, Kurt isn't always like that. Well, out of practice, anyway. He just hasn't had his daily fix of Puck yet. And he's getting it right now." He pointed in the direction that Kurt went in and they saw Kurt approach the mohawked boy from earlier. No, surely he couldn't be—
And Kurt was now plastered to the mohawked thug, their mouths sealed to one another in a sick impersonation of the Dementor's Kiss. Blaine decided then and there to stop judging books by their covers. At this school, that could prove dangerous.
And it did. See, Blaine, even after his first meeting with Captain Kurt Hummel, Keeper Extraordinare, would have never foreseen the agony and pain he inflicted on his team during practice. Yes, Blaine did get on the team (he was an awesome Seeker, after all), but he wasn't sure making the team was the hardest part of that year. Surviving the team was a much different ordeal. Between Kur—Captain's—drills (he made them do three laps around the pitch for each minute they were late—running laps! Not flying!) and his no nonsense policy on grades ("If any of you fail anything, I will make sure you fail at breathing."), Blaine was sure that he was going to drop dead before the first game ("You will catch that Snitch, Anderson, or you will die trying.").
That command was clear in his mind later that day, during his first game. McKinley was facing Carmel and Blaine was neck in neck with the Carmel Seeker, about a foot away from the Snitch. Deciding that dying would be better than facing Kurt if they lost, Blaine did the only thing he could.
He jumped off his broom to catch the Snitch. While he was over fifty feet in the air. When his hand wrapped around the Snitch, all he thought was, "We won. I'm going to die, but we won."
As he went hurtling down to the earth, he shut his eyes and prepared for the impeding pain. That never came.
Blaine felt a strong grip around his wrist and his arm protested the sudden pain that came with the jerk of Blaine's descent being halted in an instance. He opened his eyes and saw that he was five feet from the ground. Looking up to his savior, he gasped when he saw the strained face of his captain, sweating with the effort of holding on the Blaine.
The crowd cheered as Kurt lowered Blaine onto the ground and dismounted his broom immediately afterward. Blaine went to thank him, when he was met with a flurry of rage, "Are you OUT OF YOUR MIND? WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING? YOU COULD HAVE DIED!"
Blaine would later blame his response on the adrenaline rush that came with almost dying, "YOU SAID TO CATCH THE SNITCH OR DIE TRYING. SO I DID."
The team, now assembled around them, blanched in unison. Finn, in particular, looked like he was going to wet himself. But Blaine ignored the snickering of the Beaters (Santana and Puck) and the anxiety of the Chasers (Finn, Quinn, and Tina) to focus on the rage of the Keeper.
Who grabbed Blaine and pulled him into an embrace so tight, Blaine could feel his eyes popping out of their sockets.
"That was brilliant." Kurt whispered in his ear, something like tears-coating his whispered voice, "But never, ever do that to me again. I spent way to much time on you to let you go now."
Blaine beamed with the enthusiasm and brightness of a thousand suns as they broke away from each other. He was startled when he felt Finn and Sam (reserve Chaser) lift him on their shoulders. He almost cried when Rachel (the team's number one fan and loudest supporter) started a chant in his honor that the rest of the team quickly joined in on. He felt no pain as he watched Kurt and Puck engage in their post-game ritual makeout session.
He finally had a place to call home.