Disclaimer: Don't own anything.

A/N: New chapter :) I hope you enjoy it.

High school is a war zone. If you want to survive you have to duck and run for your life and just hope beyond all hope the enemy doesn't see you a fire a slushy your way. It's a place where social hierarchy is stricter than eighteenth century England and if you're at the bottom, well, take a raincoat with you and good luck, because the climb to the top is treacherous and almost impossible; you could spend a lifetime trying and you still wouldn't be close.

Blaine Anderson hated high school. Hated it. He hated waking up with a sick feeling of dread every day. He hated having to pack a spare change of clothes every day (and actually needing to use it). He hated homework. He hated lockers. He hated PE classes.

High school was hell.

Glee club was about the only part of it all that made any of it bearable. It was his safe house. It was a haven for the outcasts. And he got to sing. Which was something he enjoyed.

Ok, so, maybe he was a little dramatic. It wasn't high school in itself that was bad. Dalton Academy had been a great place. He'd loved it there. It was McKinley high school he hated. He'd been able to fit in at Dalton, so easily he'd never actually tried to, it had just happened. In fact, everyone there had loved him. Making friends was as easy as smiling at someone. When his parents split up and he'd been forced to move to McKinley it had taken three whole days for anyone to so much as utter a word to him. And even then it had been 'shove it, loser'.

His junior year was half over. Meaning he was almost at the home stretch. Only a year and a half to go and he was free. He could do anything, be anyone. One day he'd be a big deal in the world. He knew it. And the Lima Losers would still be stuck in this hick town, probably trying to get in contact with him, just so they could say 'I know Blaine Anderson' and he'd pretend he'd never heard their name before.

But he wasn't there yet. He was still at McKinley ready to start another day and he slowly headed to his locker, taking the long way around because it meant he would avoid the path of the hockey players, who undoubtedly already had an icy drink in their hands waiting for him.

He got to his locker to see a slender boy fumbling around with the lock on his locker. He didn't recognise the boy there, so he walked up behind him and cleared his throat.

The boy snapped his head towards Blaine who froze.

His blue eyes were wide and curious, someone with the innocence of a child, yet the wisdom of someone who had lived years in them. His skin was pale white, smoother and softer looking than even airbrushed pictures on the covers of magazines. Pink lips curved up into a faint, questioning smile.

"It's not working." He said. His voice was something else entirely, so soft and musical. Blaine was sure he must have been hallucinating. Because there was no way the vision in from of him was actually real. When the boy continued staring at him, he remembered he should probably speak and swallowed hard to try and find his voice.

"Oh, um, that's probably because you've got my locker."

"Oh." A faint flush broke out on his face. "I'm sorry."

"It's ok. Can I see?" he gestured to the piece of paper the boy was holding who held it out to him. "Oh, easy mistake, you're just one over. You'll have to jiggle it a bit, they can be a little tricky sometimes." Blaine tapped the locker he was standing next to.

The boy smiled gratefully. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Blaine smiled back.

"My name's Kurt by the way." He said.

"Oh, cool name." Blaine said, inwardly cringing. Cool name? Who said that? When Kurt nodded and kept staring at him expectantly he blushed. "Oh, uh, Blaine. I'm, I'm Blaine."

"Nice to meet you Blaine." Kurt quickly opened his locker and pulled half the book in his bag out before shutting it again. "Hopefully I'll see you around."

"Yeah… hopefully." Blaine said, slightly in a daze as Kurt walked off, swinging his hips with every step, disappearing into the throng of people.

"Homo."

And just like that, he was drenched in shaved ice.

x x x

He didn't see Kurt again all morning, and Blaine was starting to feel like he'd made the boy up, that he'd only been a figment of his imagination. Because there was no one way someone like him could actually be real.

It was his English class that afternoon. Kurt sat in the back row, with an elegant posture, book open, pen poised and ready to write while he watched the board. Blaine didn't need to think twice. He hastily made his way to the back of the room and sat down on the seat next to Kurt. The boy turned his head and smiled.

"Hello Blaine."

"Hi. How has your first morning in hell been?" he asked.

Kurt smiled politely. "Unless this school has a fiery pit I'm unaware of I can assure you it is far from hell."

"I'll politely disagree." Blaine said, and Kurt frowned a little in confusion. "But really, how has your day been?"

"There was a mix up with my class schedule, I was put into senior classes, but it's all sorted now." he smiled. "Are you wearing different clothes?"

"Um, yes, I am." he blushed. "Look, I know I'm not exactly who anyone would want to hang out with, but... I know what it's like to be the new kid so if you need any help... I'm here."

"That's very nice of you Blaine. I do believe class is about to start." Kurt nodded towards the front of the room, and just as Blaine was about to point out that Miss Hopkins never started on time, she started speaking.

"Today we will continue to look at Emma, this time however, through the eyes of modern texts that have either been directly influenced by the novel, or share common themes."

Blaine glanced at Kurt. "Still sure this is nothing like hell?" he asked.

Kurt looked at up him fiercely. "Believe me, Blaine, if you caught so much as a glimpse of hell, you'd be begging to be back here."

"Oh, uh... ok." Blaine sank back into his chair. Maybe he'd been wrong about Kurt. Maybe he was one of those full on religious types who took the Bible word for word. He stole a glance at the boy, who was dutifully writing down every word the teacher said... literally, Blaine watched with wide eyes, he wrote incredibly quickly, faster than Blaine could even type he was sure. How did he do it? Blaine found himself entranced, unable to look away from the speedy writing. As he watched he took in how delicately Kurt held the pen, as though it were feather light in his graceful hand... Blaine was sure he didn't have some kind of hand fetish but Kurt's were... so soft looking, and graceful, yet not at all feminine, no, they were very clearly male hands. The pen glided across the page effortlessly, and the writing incredibly neat. In comparison Blaine's writing looked like chicken scratch at it's best.

"Blaine!"

His head suddenly snapped up to the front towards Miss Hopkins.

"What?"

There was a snicker from the class.

"You didn't hear a word I just said did you?" she asked.

He flushed red, everyone, including Kurt, was staring at him.

"No." he admitted.

"Pay attention."

"Sorry."

For the rest of the class he purposefully didn't look Kurt's way, less he get distracted again. He couldn't keep his mind entirely off the boy though. He wanted to know more, and he wanted to know why that was so. What was it about Kurt that already had him completely enthralled? When class ended he gathered his things and was about to leave when a hand suddenly gripped his wrist tightly. He turned to see Kurt looking at him pleadingly.

"What class do you have next?" he asked, almost urgently.

"Uh… French."

Kurt sighed and his gripped relaxed. "Good, me too." He smiled.

"Want me to show you the way?" he asked.

"That would be great, thanks."

Kurt kept close to his side as they walked through the corridors, weaving in and out of students to the classroom. Blaine didn't exactly fine Kurt's proximity unwelcoming, but he couldn't help finding it weird. The other boys at this school usually kept their distance with him. He was friends with the guys in Glee, but physical contact had never been more than a fist bump, or a rare slap on the back. But Kurt was right up against him…

They reached the classroom, the corridors now gradually emptying, and Blaine spun around to face Kurt.

"Look, Kurt," he started.

"Yes?" he looked at him with wide, innocent eyes.

"You seem like a nice guy."

"Thank you."

"So, I'm saying this because you seem like a nice guy. I'm not the person you want to be friends with."

Kurt tilted his head to the side with a frown. Blaine hated that it was the most adorable thing he'd ever seen.

"I'm at the very bottom of the social ladder at this school." He continued. "I'm not exaggerating. I have to use a lot of hair product, because otherwise I look like a poodle, I'm in Glee club, and I'm gay…" He paused, but there was no reaction from Kurt, he almost breathed a sigh of relief. "You're new here, you're not completely doomed yet, you can find other people to be friends with me. People who aren't walking targets for slushies."

"Slushies?" Kurt asked.

Blaine let out a short laugh. "That's what you got out of that?"

"Blaine." Kurt grabbed his wrist again, clutching it tightly. "None of that matters to me… I… I'd like to be your friend."

Blaine nodded silently, earning himself a small smile from the other boy.

"Good."

"Ok, good." Blaine smiled back. "Shall we go to French then?"

"Please."

A/N: So… let me know what you think? That would be really nice of you.