Title: That's No Concern When We're Wounded Together (One-shot)
Word Count: ~4,100
Warnings: Some very light spoilers/rumours for S3Ep1
Rating: PG-13
Summary: It's Blaine's First Week at McKinley and things don't go as well as expected...
Based on the rumour that the ND don't exactly welcome Blaine with open arms. I've taken liberties with so much and pieced it together with my version of events!
I don't even know where this came from. I had a lot of this written before the spoilers/rumours about the first couple of episodes and as Wild Horses is on a little hiatus (so I can sort out RL things), I wrote this on the train out of nowhere.
It's full of THOUGHTS (dialogue kicking in towards the end), the style is something different for me and it's also all Blaine's POV and, for those who know me, I'm very much a Kurt. I'm mixing it up! I've always wanted to write canon Blaine in all his perfect imperfectness as true to him as possible so this is my attempt!
I hope you enjoy : )
Deciding to move hadn't been easy - not when Dalton had become so stable and comfortable - but when a father tells his son his life is 'on track', referring to the age old Anderson traditions of passing on their legacy, it acts only as a wakeup call.
Blaine wanted to find himself. As flippant as it sounded without the added influence of pot and a peace sign, it was true. Dalton was kind and awesome and full of life but it was also easy - too easy maybe. College would be a fluid transition into law or business concluding in a soft landing into the partner's chair after years of blood, sweat and tears but mainly text books. It wasn't for him and he knew it.
Missing Kurt was a huge part of it too. Youth didn't tend to breed good decisions for most and those of a more mature age were always quick to dampen strong feelings, discarding them as a 'flash in the pan' or inevitably fickle. They were conditioned to feel that. Kids didn't commit.
Catching Kurt's eyes across the room made his stomach flip, skin tingle, eyes widen, heart race, chest tighten and a multitude of other wonderful things but they weren't immature - Kurt was so beyond his years that even Blaine looked into his eyes sometimes and saw the wisdom of an eighty year old. The way he felt wasn't simple. It had no limit and there was a habit of feeling much more comfortable and solid than they both knew they 'should'.
It didn't matter though. The things they'd experienced caused that bond and together, somehow, they balanced each other out.
They fought - naturally. Blaine knew he was pompous sometimes, too quick to jump on his soap box and play the hero. His impulsive streak left forward-thinking to the dogs and not to mention the fact he knew he would win an award for intense internalisation but Kurt wasn't perfect either.
Kurt was difficult sometimes. Passion bred over reaction and drama but Kurt had somehow challenged that internally, containing it until it fizzed up, spilling over sometimes. He was quick to snap at times, silent and difficult to read at others and when he wasn't being wildly infuriating, he was so entirely enchanting that Blaine almost wanted to bang his head against a wall. The boy was a walking antithesis.
As appreciative as Blaine was of their faults – because neither liked the words 'flawless' or 'perfect' – Kurt was as close to being exactly what he'd always dreamed of. In a way, it was their rockier moments, the times when they'd look at each other and frown instead of smile, that Blaine felt a tidal wave of panic. Maybe they were too serious about each other. Maybe feelings at sixteen weren't meant to be so strong, so meaningful, and so real.
With one kiss, Blaine knew Kurt could wipe every shred of doubt from his mind.
Out of the many things that Kurt was exceptional at though, most who knew him noted his fashion sense as the best, tied jointly with his voice or razor sharp wit. Knowing Kurt as he did now, the solid fact that a day contained twenty fours seemed to not only hold its hands up in defeat to Kurt's ability to plan and utilise every second but Blaine wasn't all that convinced there'd ever been a day when he'd made as much use of his time as Kurt. He planned weddings and learned lyrics, he sewed clothing and bedazzled bird coffins, he created ensembles from bargain bins and baked the most incredible raisin scones that Blaine was sure he'd ever tasted. He was something beyond human - Blaine was sure of that - and he put all who knew him to utter shame.
Including Blaine.
He knew he had to step up and embrace change. It wasn't as easy to grasp as he'd thought.
The safety of uniformed dress had always been rather comforting. Blaine appreciated the lack of stress about 'outfits' and who 'looked cool'. At Dalton, guys took up sports or music or even tried out for the Decathlon team to add a gold star to their resume; at McKinley, it seemed, appearance meant everything. Alongside your social choices, it was the most obvious tool of separation - one slip up and you knew about it.
From Rachel Berry's bunny rabbit sweater and high waisted checked shirts to Tina's sixties thrift shift dresses, Blaine quickly realised everyone had their 'thing'. Finn wore polos and mastered the 'wholesome guy' look, Puck's slogan t-shirts and thick soled black leather boots were the very essence of his character (meaning you walked on the far side of the hall to him) and even Artie's personality seemed more claimed and confident when wrapped up in a knitted sweater - even when it was adorned with an abstract golf scene and guaranteed to act as the catalyst to at least an insult per period.
It was disconcerting knowing that since the age of approximately four years old, clothing had been an afterthought, something merely necessary to throw on at the weekends. Once Jeremiah blossomed on the scene and boys stopped being just boys and started to become something more, something important and exciting, Blaine knew he'd changed. Saving allowance for a new shirt or a new pair of loafers hadn't struck him as a necessity, especially not when there was always a new album or book on the horizon that spoke to Blaine's heart much more passionately. He wasn't blind, nor was he blinkered to the world at large, therefore, he tried hard to dress nicely, to keep his hair in check and to look clean, well presented and as stylish as his budget could manage. He tried to inject some personality into his outer self but he felt most at home in his blazer and slacks – it had to change.
It didn't matter that, around the house and at school, he could leave all thought behind and put together a simple ensemble. It kept his parents sedate too even if they never had the opportunity to see his more 'vibrant' choices. There was an unspoken understanding – one that Blaine tried not to think of too often – that it was easier all round if sexuality wasn't an issue at all. Stereotypical norms were just rife and unavoidable so Blaine kept himself compartmentalised - so much easier.
Outside of the house, books, music and a multitude of other frivolous interests were still the most important but now, making an effort felt like the only way to feel good. It was a sea of guys who were all taller, much more beautiful, the possessors of exceptional muscle tone or cheekbones and not to mention the guys who appeared to be factory made, mass produced models - where they bought straw boaters or skinny knitted ties would always remain a mystery. They all clearly exited the womb with only the most precious gene combinations or had bank balances to sacrifice yourself for - either way, Blaine knew he'd always have to make that little bit more of an effort if he ever had a chance of making a guy's eyes flicker to him for a moment.
Meeting Kurt had been... enlightening to say the least. Not only had he completely blown Blaine away, frustrated him, shocked him, prompted feelings of protection and self awareness to bubble up from some unknown depth and lit up his heart to the point that breathing suddenly seemed a miraculous feat in his presence, Kurt had also taught him so much. He wasn't so insecure to think that the feeling wasn't mutual; god knows he'd tried so hard to be what Kurt needed and so desperately fumbled his way through a courtship that most would consider dubious at best but he knew, deep down, that some wonderful twist of fate had caused him to turn around at the foot of the Dalton staircase that day. He woke up happy every morning nowadays.
The first day at McKinley had been no exception. He was nervous, undoubtedly so, but it was his choice and one that hadn't been simple to navigate but as he'd pulled up and sucked in a deep breath, he'd watched Kurt park up close by. Lithely and as elegant as a gazelle, Kurt had hopped from his car with a gentle swing of his satchel and dropped easily in line with Blaine, a soft and elegantly chaste kiss on his cheek to boot. Blinking, Blaine had smiled, offering an arm which pointedly wasn't taken; instead Kurt rested his fingertips lightly against Blaine's forearm for a moment as if in apology as they passed a sea of what Blaine could only describe as monsters in sports clothing.
Dalton didn't have 'groups'. There had been a few segregated teams of boys - usually through extracurricular activities - but nothing akin to John Hughes movies. The nerds didn't cower in corners or embrace their weird whilst the popular jocks and rich kids drove convertibles and threw insanely adult house parties with enough liquor to sink an ocean liner. He didn't live in that world... until McKinley.
Watching Kurt walk the corridors in a pair of what could only be described as painted-on grey jeans and tall riding boots was too much to handle. Not only did he look devastating and heart attack inducing but he stood out a mile. Blaine felt, there and then, the true strength of his pride to be by Kurt's side, to be one of the people allowed to see Kurt vulnerable and soft with shining eyes or shuddering fingertips. Most people felt Kurt before they saw him. He walked tall, his head held aloft and nose firmly in the air, only pushed further by the stiffness of his shoulders and purposeful strut – Blaine often wondered how anyone dared to mess with him as he was a fierce thing to behold.
People were scared.
There was absolutely no other conclusion to arrive at. The bullies were jealous, frightened and threatened. Kurt had more gumption in the tip of his baby finger than they would ever have in their entire pathetic existences. Blaine had no patience with bullies, especially those who turned physical. Redemption and forgiveness was hard to come by in a person so haunted by memories of a fist to the face on a night when the only thing painted there should have been the brightest of smiles.
Kurt still managed to look ten times stronger than any of the meatheads Blaine had spotted so far. Their burly arms and crew cuts were nothing compared to a click of Kurt's tongue and they knew it, knew that they had to keep pushing, had to beat him down because they would never have a shred of what Kurt possessed so effortlessly.
Blaine knew he had it in him too, although with a shorter fuse and a darker foundation. He wouldn't shout back, he'd fight back. Not a fan of violence and physical confrontation, he knew he could never consider starting a fight but witnessing injustice and hurt, he knew he'd lash out to put a stop to it.
He cared possibly too much sometimes.
There was a realisation that he'd chosen possibly the worst and most inappropriate outfit for his first day at a brand new school. A pair of red pants had seemed fun in the breaking dawn but now, walking alongside Kurt in dulcet greys and hues of lilac, he felt like a warning light, an enormous flashing target just waiting to be noticed.
Kurt didn't seem to care. He'd smiled, reaching out a delicate finger to brush along the seam of them, lingering a little as if to memorise the touch as always. As his eyes met Blaine's, he pursed his lips.
"Trying to outdo me are we?"
There existed a mental list of moments that Blaine had been compiling ever since 'I'm Kurt', which helped to memorise the way he'd impacted Blaine's life. He didn't realise he was doing it – of that Blaine was sure – because Kurt Hummel's outer shell's impenetrable impression was far from the truth underneath. He was unbearably gentle sometimes, his eyes giving away every single nuanced emotion possible until Blaine felt almost breathless and unable to take it all in. Kurt was at his most incredible was when he tried the very least and let his natural instincts play.
Standing in the halls of McKinley High feeling painfully out of place, Blaine knew he had some learning to do. Dalton was a moon leap away and lessons had to be learned in order to stay ahead of the game – the transition from a rock star to bottom of the pile felt harsh and awkward and just a little bit frustrating but with Kurt sucking in a breath beside him and glaring after a thrown insult, Blaine felt the courage seep through the fingers secretly looped around his wrist.
He could do this.
Walking the halls with Kurt was simply the first hurdle. After progressing through a particularly horrific 'welcome to...' moment in each class and enduring the hushed whispers from fellow classmates, he'd blocked it out. At Dalton, a detention would have been instantaneous but, in truth, the initial incident would never have occurred in the first place – respect existed in those hallowed halls. The hope twisted inside as he progressed to the end of each period, desperately clinging to the promise of Glee Club and the New Directions as his saviours of normality.
"They're going to love you," Kurt had said surely, grinning widely as they'd practiced vocal runs together the previous weekend. Blaine just hoped his many experiences as The Warbler's front man could hold him in good stead against his new team mates.
So much for that.
Rachel was ecstatic, of course, announcing 'finally' the inclusion of someone who could match her vocally without stealing her thunder ala Kurt. Blaine knew instantly that he'd lost Finn's vote of confidence and stepped on his very large toes without opening his mouth. Artie and Puck didn't even seem to bat an eyelid, much more intent on working out where Blaine would actually fit instead of accepting him without question.
It seemed that Brittany was the epitome of sweetness. She'd handed him a piece of candy and asked him to star on some internet show - her innocent eyes, so wistful and vacant, were oddly comforting in a sea of uncertainty. Santana, the one Blaine had been warned about by Kurt, Rachel and Finn to boot, had strangely only interjected once. Apparently the hobbit population was officially increased so they were mere steps away from Rachel's 'dream' of bringing Lord or the Rings: The Musical to Lima, Ohio. From Blaine's frown and counter question regarding her own height, she'd smirked, offering him a seat. Clearly his ability to keep a game face worked with one member of the group even if Kurt did call her 'Satan'.
Mike appeared to be the only guy to flash him a friendly smile, nudging his arm as he muttered "nice kicks" to his shoes.
The entire greeting was flat and painfully awkward.
Kurt, of course, was fuming. His hands were balled in fists, eyes so sharp and accusatory that Blaine wondered if those subject to the glare could feel it. It wasn't surprising really. When Kurt used the term 'us', he meant it.
"Mr Schue, I believe Blaine has a right to audition," Kurt had announced, spinning on his heel, his chin firmly jutted at just the right 'screw you' angle. Blaine knew he'd bitten back a smile and simultaneously swallowed down the disappointment. He wanted to perform with these people, to sing with them and share in all of the passion that Kurt was so infused with after a New Direction's rehearsal. He'd hoped they'd be his friends.
He'd performed with everything he had. Kurt had clapped loudly, Mike, Tina and Brittany too – who had even offered a little 'woo' in appreciation – and Rachel had declared his performance 'impassioned', which he knew he should take with great gratitude from someone like her. The rest weren't unkind; they just weren't particularly forth coming. Blaine saw it in Kurt's eyes – the confusion, the frustration but above all, the pride.
Kurt had outlined the Jesse St James fiasco over coffee, pausing to embellish the unfortunate story of Rachel and a carton of eggs, so the lack of enthusiasm on his first day didn't bring him down but he just felt a long way from normality – his normality. The Warblers council awarded commendations for noteworthy performances or offered praise for a particularly good solo but the New Directions were different. They were so real, so honest and scarily so.
Yet another thing to get used to.
Blaine almost hated his timetable too. None of his classes were shared with Kurt except for French and their seating was allocated based upon grade level, meaning Kurt was way up with the 'almost fluent' section, while he was still back with the 'could do better' clan. With straight A's in every other class, it was as if the world was conspiring to keep Kurt out of reach that little bit longer.
By the end of the week, Blaine craved sleep and peace. He'd loved gym class even if Puck had tried to quiz him on his sex life and felt competent in English Lit when they began covering a novel he knew well and loved. Things were looking up, except for the still reticent members of the New Directions.
Kurt walked a little closer, held a little tighter and never failed to push himself further out of his own comfort zone. Blaine was so aware of how Kurt felt about intimacy and how they'd become so much closer by learning together – plus, it was far too incredible to watch Kurt fall to pieces under his hands at the merest touch – but it only made baby steps stand out boldly. The way Kurt had brushed a stray lock of hair from his forehead as the wind hit them one morning had taken his breath away from the sheer intensity of Kurt's gaze. He'd linked their fingers during a Glee Club meeting – hidden by their jackets but it was still something – and even pressed a surprise kiss to Blaine's neck in a secluded corridor at the beginning of one particular lunchtime.
Speaking of lunchtimes, Blaine knew the turning point when it hit him – hit him square in the face, a torrent of lurid red ice dripping down off his nose, over his lips and into the rim of his shirt. Kurt was elsewhere and Blaine knew he had to suck it up and swallow down the need to snap back. It hurt. His eyes stung, cheeks flushed and the stickiness was something else. He stood there for too long, wiping frantically at the cascading chunks of ice and throwing them with a sigh onto the floor.
He saw them before they saw him. Most of the Glee Club had filtered out of classes and were talking amongst one another at the other end of the corridor but Blaine knew he couldn't expect anything from them at all. They didn't owe him anything so he pooled every scrap of knowledge Kurt had relayed to him about 'slushie 101' together and turned to locate his locker with one eye cracked open.
"Here." Blaine turned, Finn's face swimming into focus. "Dude, you can borrow this. The wipes are Kurt's. He gave them to me because he said they mop up the corn syrup when it gets uber sticky. He's good at all that." Finn smiled, all lopsided and a little tentative, before clapping him on the back and throwing a towel at Blaine's arm with a shrug. Blaine couldn't help but grin. He knew Finn possibly the most out of the whole club and it had hurt more that he wasn't quick to welcome him with open arms but Kurt was nothing but forthcoming with Finn's useless ability to miss the point entirely – especially when it came to feelings.
Blaine was sure he'd tackled most of the ice but the staining was impossible. It all clung to his hair – especially the gel – and his shirt, the one Kurt had helped him pick out, was no doubt irreparably ruined.
"Hobbit boy," Santana shouted down the hall as she approached quickly with Brittany by her side, "the girls on the Cheerios have gots a proposition for you. You should meet us later, after school. Some of us saw your sweet ass moves at Regionals and we wants a man to front us in our new number, just not one that's gonna, you know, ogle our ass in the process. You're perfect."
Half laughing, Blaine raised his eyebrows. "Hobbit boy?"
Santana pouted. "Everyone gets a nickname. Be grateful, I'm capable of much worse," she quipped, her lips fighting to a smile as she shrugged and strutted off down the corridor. Blaine felt the excitement bubble immediately. It was a chance to show them exactly what kind of asset he could be. Plus, Santana seemed like a bitch but he kind of liked it – at least you knew where you stood with her.
"You look like an oompa loompa," Brittany whispered, her voice close to Blaine's ear. He'd forgotten she was there.
"Um, yeah. Corn syrup. Kurt warned me about it. Stains easily apparently."
He watched her smile slowly and bat her eyelashes. "Well, if you need help with washing your hair, I can always help. Lord Tubbington always tells me I do an awesome wash and blow dry. Plus, it's free for dolphins like you. If you want."
He was speechless and sure that there were a few compliments in there somewhere but regardless, she was utterly adorable. "Thank you, Brittany. I'll let you know."
As she walked off, Puck dislodged his face from Lauren's. Blaine kept him in the corner of his eyes. He watched as Puck's eyes were drawn to the red dye splattered floor, Blaine braced himself for something inappropriate. "Who did it?" Puck snapped, eyes a little wild.
Blaine blinked, his eyelashes starting to clump together with moisture. "Some guy with a mullet and a hockey jersey. Why?"
Puck balled his fists. "You're in Glee Club now. You're one of us. They slushie you, it gets personal. I'll handle it."
That was it. Nothing more or nothing less. Everything slotted into place piece by piece as Mike and Tina, hand in hand, rounded the corner a few minutes later as Blaine was onto the last wipe and attacking every droplet of red across his chest.
"I've got a sweater," Mike said with a smile as Tina skipped to the other side of the hall and pulled it out. "They got you good, didn't they? I know Kurt always carries a change of clothes but in case you need something, take this. Just give it back next Glee Club or whenever."
"Thank you," Blaine said simply, a smile not far behind.
"See you, Blaine," Tina sang sweetly as she danced on Mike's arm towards the lunchroom.
It wasn't until later, as Kurt allowed his fingers to work out the stiff remnants of syrup from his hair in the boys locker rooms, hands gently teasing out the tangles and trailing lightly down his neck, that Blaine realised he hadn't stopped smiling all afternoon.
Things were looking up.
Thank you all for reading!