Disclaimer: I do not own Glee or any of its characters; Ryan Murphy and Co. hold that honor. I'm simply writing this for fun, not profit.
"Okay, Rachel's college planner is kind of scaring me," Blaine admitted, staring across the cafeteria at the binder and girl-in-question. "How many schools are even in there?"
"Just her top forty," Kurt replied, surveying his lunch tray dismally. It would have been a fair guess to say that McKinley's food should have improved over time, but Kurt was convinced that the salad in front of him hadn't seen the light of day since the early nineties. Picking off a piece of iceberg lettuce moodily, he stabbed a questionable-looking tomato and set it aside. Three years had taught him that it was better to wait for more edible meals after school where he could confirm that the food actually came from the plants and animals that it was supposed to. Blaine hadn't even touched his tray; Kurt couldn't blame him. Occasionally, he brought his own lunch to school to stave off the hunger during particularly stressful days, but for the most part, he shared the same sentiment. "There are over two hundred logged under Consideration."
Blaine whistled softly, impressed. "Wow."
"She's been working on that for three years now," Kurt said, waving a hand dismissively. He knew that since Blaine was new to McKinley and therefore the inner workings of the New Directions, he hadn't yet seen the extremes that Rachel would go to on a daily basis in order to have her way. Compiling a list of colleges that she wanted to go to - however expansive - was nothing new. "She's been fine tuning it since she was a sophomore." He shrugged and pushed his tray aside, not bothering to feign interest any longer as he rested his elbows on the table and cupped his chin in his hands. Blaine had half-turned in his seat to watch Rachel as she flipped through the pages, not paying them the slightest attention from her vantage point. Kurt rolled his eyes at his fascination, part vexed, part amused. He didn't want to spend his entire lunch period talking about Rachel. Not when Blaine and he were finally at the same high school again and had the ability to talk about them instead.
"Isn't it weird thinking about the future all the time?" Blaine asked at last, gaze following Rachel as she stood and exited the cafeteria.
"Not really, no," Kurt said shortly, hoping to close the conversation as he nudged Blaine's arm. "Stop staring. She'll think you're spying and try and 'dispose' of you when I'm not looking."
Blaine looked apologetic as he shifted to face Kurt instead, his purple bow tie standing out prominently against his white-and-green striped shirt. "Sorry," he murmured, grabbing a forkful of salad in a valiant attempt at politeness and popping it into his mouth. He almost choked on the first swallow, his Adam's apple working as he kept a slightly pained smile plastered on his face. Kurt raised an eyebrow questioningly, amused by Blaine's expression. "Oh, wow. That's - awful." Scrunching up his face a little as though bracing himself, Blaine took several more bites in quick succession, Kurt grinning as he watched.
"At least you only have to put up with it for a year," he pointed out dryly.
Blaine nodded in agreement, setting his plastic fork aside after scarfing down a suitably large portion of the meal. "I'm still definitely getting coffee after school. Are you available?"
Kurt uncapped his water bottle and took a sip from it, shrugging ambivalently. "You aren't worried that you're getting addicted to it?"
Blaine put on a mildly affronted look. "You can't get addicted to coffee."
"Of course not," Kurt said dryly, his voice almost dripping with sarcasm as he leaned back in his chair.
"Do you want to go?" Blaine prodded.
With a smirk, Kurt opened his mouth to respond, only to be cut off with a yelp as a folder slammed down on the table in front of him.
"We have a crisis," Rachel said, sitting down beside Blaine and flipping open the binder. Despite her declaration, Kurt thought that she appeared rather composed for a crisis. The likelihood that it was something genuinely wrong was minimal, but Kurt leaned over intently regardless. Blaine looked puzzled from his vantage point, on the verge of backing away from Rachel and leaning closer, uncertain which would be the more appropriate action. I'd back away, Kurt thought. Rachel crises never end well.
Rachel's next words erased any further doubt from his mind.
"Jesse St. James is at Julliard."
Blaine blinked in surprise. "Who's—"
Kurt spoke before he could finish. "You're kidding," he deadpanned. "What is he doing there?"
Rachel looked on the verge of tears or panic. "I don't know," she said, flipping through her binder, "but he's on the register and I've seen pictures of him on the polo team."
Blaine tried again in the momentary stunned silence that ensued. "Wait, why is it—"
"This cannot be happening," Kurt interrupted.
"What's—?"
"Should we even apply?" Rachel asked tentatively, shutting the binder and looking at Kurt.
Kurt's expression was horrified. "Of course we should!" he exclaimed. "How could you even say that? Maybe he'll get expelled. . . ." he added, looking thoughtful.
Rachel didn't look impressed. "I don't want him expelled."
Kurt leveled a glare at Rachel, who stubbornly held her ground. Blaine looked between them and shifted a little away from Rachel, putting some space between him and Kurt as well. He wanted to be a part of it, but not if it meant blood over who would win. Which, judging by the determined expressions on both of their faces, it probably would. "Well," he hedged, "is it really that bad?"
Again ignoring him, Kurt demanded, "Rachel, please do not tell me you still have feelings for that boy."
"I don't!"
Blaine knew Kurt well enough to interpret the bitch, please look he gave her then.
"You should know that they'll be arguing for hours," Artie piped in, wheeling up beside the table and looking over at Rachel and Kurt without batting an eyelash before returning his attention to Blaine. "It ain't gonna be pretty."
"We dated for six weeks, Kurt. I'm not going back to him!" Rachel insisted, almost drowning out Artie's commentary as her voice rose.
"Does Finn know about this yet? I can't believe he's at Julliard—"
Looking over as something tapped his shoulder pointedly, Blaine saw that Artie was still there. "Follow me," he ordered, and then he whirled around and started rolling away.
Blaine stared after him for a moment before getting to his feet, doing his best not to bump into Rachel despite their close quarters. She wasn't even looking up, nose buried in her binder while Kurt prattled on about how Jesse St. James could not be going to one of his dream schools. Their dream schools.
"Does this happen a lot?" Blaine asked, walking along at a brisk pace after Artie down the rows.
Artie shrugged, pushing through the doors on his own as Blaine trotted along behind him. "Almost every day. They won't stop talking about it until they get in. My recommendation is avoidance at all costs. Buy some protective headgear, wear pads, and file a restraining order. Works like a charm."
Rolling off before Blaine could ask exactly how dangerous they were when they were fired up about their futures, Artie disappeared around a corner at the end of the hallway.
"You should totally listen to him. He once gave me a magic comb and we won regionals with it," Brittany said, materializing by his side.
Smiling at her, ignoring the bizarre nature of that particular statement, Blaine looked at her with both eyebrows raised. She linked arms with him casually and tugged him down the hall in the opposite direction towards the gymnasium.
"Have you met Coach Sylvester yet?" she asked, swinging their intertwined arms nonchalantly. "She's awesome, but she thinks you're a hobbit."
Mentally sorting through the profiles of people from McKinley he knew, Blaine brightened as he remembered the blond-haired cheerleading coach back at the Lima Bean. "Oh, I've met—"
"We should totally hang out some time," Brittany interrupted. "You're the only guy in this school I haven't dated yet, and Kurt likes you. Did you know he has amazing soft baby hands?"
"Uhh. . . ."
"Come on. I want to show you something."
"What—"
Blaine didn't even have time to worry about what it was before Brittany was tugging him into the gym.
He halted in the threshold, staring at the centerpiece in the middle of the gym. "Wow," he breathed.
"Isn't it cool?" Brittany asked, tugging at his arm.
"What are you doing here?" a new voice demanded. Santana sauntered into the room decked out in her full Cheerios' uniform, eyeing him mistrustfully before turning her attention to Brittany. "Britt, we don't let boys see the cannon."
"But we sang with him," Brittany protested, her shoulders slouching as she pouted. "Isn't he like a Cheerio now?"
Blaine choked. "Uh, Brittany, I'm not—"
"No," Santana snapped before he could. "He's not." She paused, arms folded as she surveyed the two of them in the threshold before sighing. "All right, hobbit, I'll give you a break this time, but if I catch you on Cheerio grounds again, I will end you."
Blaine nodded. "Understood," he assured. "Won't happen again."
Brittany squeezed his arm reassuringly and Santana stared at him, silently appraising.
"Do you want to try it out?" Brittany asked at last, gesturing to the cannon.
Blaine stared at it and then her. "I'm, uh, I'm good," he assured when he realized that she was serious. "I'll just go find Kurt—"
"Hold up, hobbit," Santana interrupted, sidling closer until she was almost nose-to-nose with him. Blaine found the view rather unnerving, knowing how easy it would be for her to hike up a knee straight into his groin. "You can't tell anyone about this. This is top secret Cheerio information, and if I catch anyone around whispering about the cannon revival, I will know exactly whose balls I have to cut off. So don't mess with us, or I will make you suffer."
Blaine nodded again, shuffling back slightly. "Of course," he said simply. "Will do. Won't. I won't tell anyone, I promise."
Santana rolled her eyes, turning around and walking off. "See that you don't," she called back, letting the gym door slam shut behind her.
"I think she likes you," Brittany said brightly.
Blaine made a slightly strangled sound and said nothing. "Right," he agreed.
At least Brittany didn't seem to mind the sarcasm.
Living on the outskirts of Westerville, Ohio was definitely one of the downsides to attending McKinley.
Blaine commuted close to an hour daily just to get to McKinley. Boarding at Dalton had spared him the necessity of transportation, given the fact that he boarded in the dorms with most of the other boys. McKinley was a different story, and Blaine could feel some of his enthusiasm waning in the face of constant lengthy drives between the two places. Yawning into the palm of his hand, Blaine checked the dashboard of his car and noted that it was just after six o'clock. Right on schedule.
After four mornings of getting up before sunrise, the strain of driving between the two locations was quickly becoming tedious. He did have a sleepover with Kurt at the Hummel-Hudson house to look forward to that weekend, but in order to reach that point, he had to survive the intervening time. The mounting cost of driving back and forth was more than a test of mental endurance; it was taxing on his mileage. He wouldn't let Kurt know, of course, because he didn't want the added stress ruining his boyfriend's magical senior year, but he couldn't help but wallow in a little self pity as he made the morning drive over on Friday.
Upping the volume on his radio in a vague attempt to pull himself out of his early morning drowsiness, Blaine somehow managed to make it to the McKinley High parking lot before seven. With a stifled groan, he climbed out of his red Jeep and shouldered his satchel, shutting the door behind him. He loathed waking up early in the first place—Dalton had spoiled him, since he could sleep in until almost nine on most school days and still be on time—but doing it to make a long drive to school was not something that he had considered seriously enough, because there was no way that it was worth it.
"Gotcha," a voice declared happily as a pair of arms wrapped around his waist from behind, a warm cheek nuzzling against the back of his neck. "Good morning. How are we?"
Blaine yawned and batted absently at Kurt's hand as it ruffled his hair. "Is it the weekend yet?" he muttered, walking forward with Kurt in tow. The latter reluctantly loosened his grip and settled for interlacing their fingers as he staggered through the parking lot, not fully awake yet.
"One more day," Kurt said bracingly.
"Mmph," Blaine grunted noncommittally.
"There you are!" a voice chirped. Seconds later, Rachel appeared, looking excited. "I have the perfect audition for the Maria part planned. It's practically mine already, but—"
"I don't know," Kurt put in wryly, tugging Blaine along when he slowed to a glacial pace. "Mercedes said she was going to audition, too."
"Well," Rachel huffed, even though she sounded too eager to be genuinely annoyed. "If she wants to be competitive, then I'll just have to show her what exceptional talent really looks like."
"Do I have math this morning? I thought I did, but now I can't remember," Blaine asked, scratching the back of his neck.
"No, you have economics. And I'm proud of you for regaining your confidence, Rachel, but don't you think you should maybe be directing your talents at the real competition?"
"Like who?" Rachel asked, eyes narrowing suspiciously.
Kurt rolled his eyes and continued to tow Blaine along. "Like the people from NYADA."
For a moment, it looked like Rachel would freeze up, but then she straightened even more (if possible) and said in her best 'I'm amazing and I know it' voice, "They won't know what hit them."
"As long as you're sure," Kurt murmured, sounding skeptical, before tugging on Blaine's arm a third time as he ground to a near halt. "Come on, Warbler, classes are still held inside the building."
"I haven't had any coffee," Blaine sulked. "Be nice to me."
"Whatever you say, Blaine," Kurt said, apparently unable to stop the grin from crossing his face as he pushed the doors open and dragged Blaine along after him.
Classes were miserable, mostly on account of the fact that Blaine couldn't keep his eyes open for first or second period. By the time lunch rolled around, he hadn't even opened a notebook. Despite his initial curiosity about how strict the teachers were at McKinley, Blaine was both surprised and not at how lax they were. Neither his economics nor his English teacher had raised a word in protest when he slept through both their classes. Whether it was because they took pity on him or were so used to it that they didn't bother fighting a losing battle, he didn't know.
Feeling a little more alive courtesy of the impromptu naps by lunch, Blaine felt that he could actually manage a conversation without dropping off halfway through it.
Sitting beside Tina and Artie, Blaine listened as they detailed plans for recruiting new members, his mind still oriented on the issue of transportation.
One of the conditions that his parents had agreed on when deliberating the matter of his transfer was that he would provide his own rides. Although inwardly concerned about the issue, he had presented the same cool confidence that he usually used to win over most arguments, and he successfully convinced both of them that it wouldn't be an issue. It's not that far. It doesn't take that long. I've done it plenty of times before. It's fine. . . .
"Not a pillow," Artie interrupted suddenly, wheeling back as Blaine's head dropped listlessly onto his shoulder.
The former Warbler lifted his head and muttered an apology, rubbing at the back of his neck halfheartedly. "I'll be your pillow," Brittany offered, squeezing between Artie and him and smiling invitingly.
"I'm good," Blaine mumbled, rubbing his eyes. "What are we talking about?"
"New members," Tina said, sighing. "You haven't missed anything. We still can't think of anyone."
"Maybe we could give Sugar a chance?" he suggested without much hope.
"No," the group answered as one.
Kurt smiled sympathetically as his boyfriend stepped into the choir room, immediately sitting down in the seat beside him in the top row. Since Quinn and Santana had left, it was only Blaine and he up there, the rest of the New Directions scattered throughout the middle rows. Kurt let his eyes roam over them briefly before returning his gaze to Blaine, who looked mostly out of it. He didn't have dark circles around his eyes, but there was a definite slowness about him that wasn't very Blaine-like.
"Still not awake?" he asked as Mr. Schue emerged from his office, brow furrowed and jaw set.
Blaine shook his head wordlessly in response. "Is it the weekend yet?" he asked in a yawn.
"Close," Kurt encouraged, reaching over to squeeze his hand. "Just Glee left."
"Mmph."
"So verbose."
Blaine dropped his head onto Kurt's shoulder. "You're mean."
"I'm honest," Kurt retorted, nudging him back upright. "Come on. You can do it. Forty minutes."
Blaine groaned as he lifted his head again. "You owe me," he muttered.
"For what?"
Grumbling something indistinct, Blaine leaned back in his seat and waved a hand. "Something," he said elusively.
Kurt's lips quirked in a little smile.
"All right, guys," Schuester said, clapping his hands together. "Let's talk invitationals."