The Tradition

There is a tradition at McKinley High School. This tradition is as legendary as it is unpleasant. This tradition began in 1969 upon the installation of an exciting new machine in the cafeteria. This tradition has been handed down from class to class every year since, despite numerous, fruitless attempts to have the offending machine—a catalyst, really—removed from the premises.

The tradition: every student who calls him- or herself a McKinley Titan, even for a day, must receive a slushie in the face at least once before graduation. Most commonly, the faceful of crushed ice, corn syrup, and food dye is delivered by a student of the uppermost rungs of the social ladder—a jock, perhaps, or a particularly voluptuous upperclasswoman—to a less fortunate pupil—a freshman, perhaps, or a particularly intelligent mathelete. Naturally, the more outcast an individual is, whether by choice or by chance, the more frequently he found himself, as the colloquial euphemism put it, "tonguing Jack Frost."

Of course, no group of students stands lower on the hierarchical social ladder of high school than the Glee Club.

Blaine Anderson was well aware of this tradition; he'd lost count of the number of times that his rather flamboyant boyfriend arrived late to their after-school coffee dates due to a detour home for some new clothes. Out of all of the daunting situations he faced transferring schools—violent homophobia, tension between him and Kurt, new classes, new teachers, new dynamic—nothing frightened him more than slushie facials.

However, Blaine realized about halfway through his first quarter at McKinley that he had yet to partake in the infamous tradition. He counted this reality among his blessings and pushed the thought from his mind, hoping against hope that those in charge of maintaining the custom had forgotten his existence.

A few weeks later, Blaine's hopes were dashed.

By that point, the majority of the student body of McKinley had decided to ignore the gay couple in their midst, choosing instead to shun and scurry away whenever the two approached together, and to never intervene when a football or hockey player arbitrarily threw one to the floor. But they persevered, refusing to allow the ignorance of others to quell their pride.

And so, on one particularly frigid late November morning, Blaine and Kurt scuttled to the building from Kurt's Navigator, arms linked, huddled close together for warmth and for comfort. When they reached the main doors, Kurt, feeling rather gentlemanly that morning, slid forward to open one for his boyfriend.

With a breathy laugh, Blaine affected a British accent and said, "Why, thank you, kind sir." Then he playfully winked at Kurt, eliciting a small giggle from the taller boy, and stepped inside.

Much to Blaine's surprise, it was far colder inside than it was out in the elements. At least, that was what he thought—before the pain set in.

Six large football players, each proudly sporting a red letterman's jacket, stood around Blaine in a wide semicircle. In every boy's hand was an empty slushie cup, and on every boy's face was a triumphant, merciless grin. Behind this wall of red, what must have been half of the student population of McKinley looked on, some gleeful, some shocked, some mildly interested—but none concerned.

Blaine couldn't move. The force of the collective blow, the temperature of the substance quickly making its way from his carefully gelled curls into his boxers, and the humiliation of the scene froze him in place.

Kurt's hand flew to his mouth as his eyes blew wide with horror. He only paused for a moment, though; he darted forward and snatched his shaking boyfriend by the arm. With a deadly glare at the leader of the six—Azimio, of course—he elbowed his way past the haughty jocks. The gathering that now blocked their path parted easily, out of aversion to the bright blue concoction dripping from Blaine's body, out of fear of Kurt's murderous expression, and out of revulsion of the two gay kids walking by. Kurt ushered Blaine around a corner and into a mercifully empty girls' bathroom.

"Come here," Kurt muttered, grabbing the hem of Blaine's gray sweater and pulling it over his head. He then led the silent boy to a sink, where he seized a handful of coarse brown paper towels from the silver wall-mounted dispenser. He took the paper and began to blot away the melting ice and dye from Blaine's frozen face and damp locks. "Are you okay?"

Blaine had no idea how to answer. The slushie itself did not faze him much; true, it was painfully cold, and his clothes were now irreparably ruined, but he'd been through worse. It wasn't even the insult of being slushied; he knew the tradition, and respected it. No, what truly struck him hard was the notion that Kurt—sweet, harmless, beautiful Kurt—had suffered through that time and time again. This realization enraged him, saddened him, horrified him—but most of all, it made him fall in love with Kurt all over again.

"Baby?"

Blaine remembered that Kurt was still waiting for a response. "I love you."

Kurt paused his ministrations. "I love you too, Blaine. I'm so sorry this happened to you—"

"You're sorry?" Blaine wanted to laugh at the irony. "Kurt, look at me." He gently removed the soaked paper towels from Kurt's freezing hands, which he gathered in his own. "I'm sorry. I am so completely, unbelievably, heartbreakingly sorry that you've had to go through that countless times, and that you've had to go through it alone."

Kurt looked down, ears tinged red, mumbling, "I wasn't alone..."

"No, look." Blaine released Kurt's hands, only to capture the taller boy's face in his own. "What, the girls? Yeah, they helped you clean up, but they weren't there for you the way you're here for me—the way you've always been here for me. And the way I'm here for you. Emotionally, physically, mentally. I love you, Kurt. You will never have to suffer through this alone again."

Now Kurt didn't know what to say. He hadn't understood just how lucky he was until he saw Blaine—cold, humiliated, beautiful Blaine—completely disregard his own troubles in favor of Kurt's own. So instead of searching for the impossible words, Kurt leaned down and pressed his lips to his boyfriend's, noting immediately and with great pleasure that they tasted deliciously of blue raspberry. His arms wound their way around Blaine's neck as the younger boy's slid down to Kurt's waist. Their hearts began to race when—

"Kurt? Oh!"

The two boys leapt apart, blushing furiously. Kurt glared over Blaine's shoulder at the intruder. "Rachel!"

The Jewish girl flushed almost as brightly as the boys. "Sorry!" She stepped fully into the lavatory, allowing the door to swing shut behind her. "I just heard what happened, and Becky said she saw you guys come in here, so I thought I'd check and make sure everything's okay."

Kurt sighed and nodded. "Yeah, we're...good. We're good." He gave Blaine a once-over and sighed again. While his skin and hair maintained only a shadow of blue, his clothes—sweater, polo, bowtie, highwater slacks, right down to his Sperrys—were discolored and soaked.

Luckily, Kurt always came prepared.

"Rach, can you do me a favor?" The girl nodded. "Go to Mr. Shue's office. In the bottom drawer of his filing cabinet is a McKinley duffel bag. Can you go get it?"

Rachel looked mildly perplexed, but nodded again all the same. "I'll be right back. Oh, and Santana and Puck are standing guard outside, making sure no one gets in." With that, she turned and left the restroom.

Blaine was touched. Rachel had made sure to check on him, and Puck and Santana, two of the scariest people he knew, were ready to protect him. And Kurt was there, holding his hand, making everything better—perfect.

He had never felt less alone in his life.

With a smile, he asked, "What's in the bag, Kurt?"

To Blaine's shock, Kurt smiled rather haughtily, tugging Blaine's polo off of him. "I knew this day would come, so I made preparations a long time ago."

"Preparations?"

Just then, Rachel reappeared, a bright red duffel bag slung over her shoulder. She opened her mouth to say something, but tripped over her words when she caught sight of what Blaine wasn't wearing. "Man," she breathed, moving forward to hand Kurt the bag, eyes never leaving Blaine's muscles. "Our babies would have been so gorgeous."

Kurt rolled his eyes as he set the bag upon a sink and unzipped it. "Yes, Rachel, he's a dream. He's also flamingly gay and taken.

"I wouldn't call myself flaming," Blaine mumbled. His moist eyebrows furrowed when Kurt began to pull an entire outfit from the bag. "Kurt, what're you—hey, that's my cerulean pullover! I've been looking for that for ages! And is that—is that my red and blue polka dot bowtie? Kurt, that's one of my favorites! How long have you been stealing my clothes?"

Rolling his eyes once more, Kurt retorted, "Oh yeah, you're so not flaming." He turned and handed a pile of garments to an astonished and indignant Blaine. "I knew from the moment you told me you'd transferred that one day you'd be slushied. I thought I'd gather an outfit beforehand for you to change into so you neither have to miss school nor sit all day sopping wet. You're welcome."

Blaine gaped at his boyfriend for a long moment, unable to believe how utterly perfect he was. Then he simply shook his head and whispered, "I love you."

Kurt smiled indulgently. "Go get changed, lover boy, before we're late for class."

Blaine reached for his belt buckle, preparing to strip, before he realized that Rachel was still in the room. "Uh...Rach...could you...?"

Rachel threw her hands up in defense. "Hey, this is a girls' bathroom. You guys are the ones who aren't supposed to be in here."

Choosing to let the crazy girl be, Blaine moved to the handicapped stall and locked it behind him. Then he climbed out of the rest of his soggy clothes and began to don the new ones. He grinned when he found his black boxers. "Hey Kurt! You even packed me underwear? That's really sweet! Kind of weird, but sweet!"

Outside, Kurt flushed violent red, and Rachel doubled over in silent giggles.

Within a few minutes, Blaine emerged, snug and warm in new clothes that distinctly lacked ice of any kind. Kurt had already packed up his soiled outfit—with promises to get every last dot of food coloring out, so help him, Barbra—so the trio prepared to leave. Once Rachel was out, however, Blaine grabbed Kurt by the elbow and spun him around for a hard kiss.

"Thank you so much," he mumbled against Kurt's surprised lips. "I love you more than you can know."

"I love you too." Kurt kissed Blaine lightly once more, and then pulled back and smiled. "Congratulations."

"Congratulations?" Blaine echoed, confused.

"You are now officially a McKinley Titan."

Blaine threw his head back and laughed. Then he linked arms with his boyfriend and pulled the door open, ready to face the day.

Hey guys! This is just a tiny one-shot that popped into my head during my crazy, rambling, nonsensical conversation with SeptemberLoveStory. Honestly, if you guys were to read our PM thread, I think you'd have to commit us-and on a site like this, that's saying something. So thank you millions and billions to my girl SLS ('cause I'm lazy and not going to type all that again). I always love talking to you, and it's about time some kind of fic came out of our nuttiness, don't you think?

I'm grounded right now (*looks around shiftily 'cause I'm totally no supposed to be on this site right now*), so a) DO NOT TELL ME ANYTHING ABOUT THE NEXT TWO EPISODE OF GLEE (3x06 and 3x07), and b) if it takes me a long time to respond to PM or reviews, or to upload my next chapter of AVKS, don't freak. I haven't died (even if my soul has).

Short story, short A/N. That's how this is gonna work.

Love you guys! Don't forget to be unicorns!