AN: I am SO sorry for the delay. School has been going full swing and I've had absolutely no time to upload things. High school is *crazy* busy! I write everything out in notebooks, so you can imagine how long it takes to get all of it into my computer. I have a few updates that should be up within the next week. There's no school on Wednesday, so I'm planning to churn out some progress then. I'm so sorry for making you wait so long. Please keep this on your Alert list, I will definitely be updating it more frequently in the future. Here's chapter two! I hope you enjoy it; I really have fun writing this fic. That might be morbid, but it's true. Some news: I have a Tumblr. I'm still figuring out how to upload fics onto it though. If you ever want to contact me, you can PM me on here or message me at the following URL: .com. Thanks for reading, guys! Review, please? I'd love some feedback, as well as what you guys would like to see later on in this fic.
~ RandomKiwi
Rumor had it that since June 9, 2012, Kurt Hummel's ghost haunted the halls of McKinley High. Of course, many new students just brushed it off as a silly legend when they were informed of it. Others, however, believed that Kurt really did dwell in the vacant areas of his old high school. Blaine Anderson, a new transfer from Dalton Academy, was well informed of Kurt's story and ultimately, his tragic death. He couldn't help but be angered, knowing that anyone could have easily prevented his passing. It was pointless ignorance and hatred that had ended Kurt's life, and if any of his "friends" truly had cared for him, they would have stayed with the boy at the party on the night he was killed. What enraged Blaine even further was that Kurt was murdered for the very same reason Blaine found himself being bullied and scrutinized for… being gay.
As Blaine made his way through the empty hallway, a chill ran down his spine. He paid no mind to it, dismissing it as he wrapped his arms around himself. His father had dropped him off for school an hour early. He claimed it was because he had to be to work for a meeting, but Blaine knew his father had the day off. He'd grown to question his father's petty excuses. Ever since he'd come out of the closer when he was fourteen, his parents had started distancing themselves from their son. It had started out small with a gradual increase in their amount of business trips and work demands but hell, after a few months they couldn't even look their son in the eye without feeling the utmost amount of shame and the painful reality that this… This thing… was their son.
Before Dalton, Blaine had suffered from an intense amount of bullying at Westerville High. He was constantly taunted, teased, and physically assaulted for being, well, himself. His parents had made the decision to send him off to Dalton Academy For Boys in hopes that it would rebuild his characters and, according to his father, "straighten him out; pun intended."
After two years of being the lead soloist of the school's Glee club, The Warblers, his parents had withdrawn him from the school in the middle of his senior year. Blaine had thrived at Dalton, where he was accepted for who he was; gay and all. His father was severely infuriated by this; the thought of the school encouraging his son to be one of them sickened him to no end. He resolved to send Blaine to public school once more. His son didn't deserve an environment like Dalton if he chose to be a sinner, to be a queer.
Since transferring from Dalton and moving back home, his father had become borderline abusive. He would snap at his son, occasionally punching or hitting him if the occasion called for such. In Mr. Anderson's eyes, Blaine deserved every last bit of it. Blaine knew better than to believe in his father's bitter ways.
The curly haired boy sighed, sinking down to the floor in front of his locker. He hugged his legs to his chest, resting his chin on his knees. He regarded the deserted hallway through wary eyes, setting his messenger bag down to his left. He glanced up, catching a glimpse of white, chestnut brown, and pale blue. He blinked, thinking the illusion to be just a trick of the light. No, the figure was still there. As his eyes focused more, he realized that what stood before him was a beautiful boy. He appeared to be a bit translucent, but Blaine blamed that on his recent lack of sleep.
"Hi," he offered, a friendly smile playing at his lips. It wasn't a genuine smile, no, but it would suffice.
The boy's head snapped up; he was startled by the sudden acknowledgement. He glanced around a bit, wondering if the curly haired boy – who was quite cute, he noted – was talking to him.
Blaine chuckled lightly, the sound containing a hint of happiness and amusement. "Yes, you. There aren't many others to choose from," he gestured about, his honey-hazel eyes shimmering in the daylight that pooled in from the windows.
A soft smile graced the boy's lips. How could he see him? "Oh, hi," he murmured. "I didn't think you could see me." He took a step forward, into the light.
"Why would I not – Oh." As the boy stepped into the light, Blaine realized that he really was translucent. His eyes widened as he took in his beauty. His soft, delicate features had a slight feminine edge, though they were clearly and unmistakably masculine. His glass eyes refracted the light, shimmering brightly. There were subtle flecks of grey and green dispersed throughout the sea of blue.
The translucent boy nodded, looking down. "I'm Kurt Hummel…? You've probably heard a lot about me," he said, his voice just barely above a whisper.
Blaine gazed up at Kurt, his expression sympathetic and gentle. "I'm so sorry, Kurt, for what they did and what you had to go through…" How could someone hurt a person as beautiful as the boy who stood before him? If there was one thing Blaine knew it was that life was cruel and unfair. But this, the way Kurt's was robbed from him, just the face that it was taken from him, was absolutely sinister. The fact that someone could possess the audacity and the nerve to purposely and willingly kill another was bad enough. When that person happened to be Kurt Hummel, it became a million times worse.
Kurt bit his lip, his eyes becoming misty with tears. "No… Don't be. It's okay," he whispered, his eyes glued to the floor.
Blaine's heart felt as though it had just been severed. "Kurt, it's not okay," he replied, his voice full of emotion. He stood up, trying to meet his gaze. "What those people did to you was inhuman and cruel and wrong… Just so, so wrong."
Kurt swallowed thickly. "I deserved it," he said simply. The sheer amount of truth in his voice was enough to bring more tears to Blaine's eyes.
"No," he murmured. "No, you didn't. You never did. Don't blame yourself for what they did to you."
"How can I n-not?" Kurt's voice was barely audible as tears began to trail down his porcelain cheeks. His voice cracked as he spoke, conveying the abundance of hurt and pain he had bottled within him for so long.
"You did nothing wrong," Blaine urged, reaching out to hold Kurt's hand instinctively. He was a bit surprised when he felt Kurt's cold fingers in his, opposed to the empty air he was expecting.
Kurt looked down at their hands, then back up at Blaine. He gulped, blinking the tears away. "Y-you never told me your name," he said, trying desperately to change the subject.
"I'm Blaine Anderson," Blaine said gently. "I transferred from Dalton about a week ago." His heart fluttered a bit as he realized that Kurt hadn't let go of his hand. In fact, he'd tightened his grip on Blaine's hand, lacing their fingers together.
"Isn't that where The Warblers are from?" Kurt asked, intrigued. He envisioned Blaine in one of the Dalton uniforms. A light rosy hue dusted his cheeks.
Blaine nodded, a small smile gracing his lips. "That's the place. I was their lead soloist, actually."
Kurt raised his eyebrows. "Wow, lead soloist? That's great. Why'd you transfer?"
Blaine bit his lip, glancing down at their hands. "My, um… My parents." It was obvious that it was a sensitive subject, so Kurt let it slide for now.
"Well, welcome to William McKinley High. It's a nice place, really." His words seemed forced and sarcastic; Blaine picked up on that immediately.
"I take it it's not 'nice' here?" Kurt just squeezed Blaine's hand and shook his head.
"Hey, Poodlehead! Who you talking to?" a voice barked from behind Blaine, causing him to jump. Sue Sylvester just smirked as he did so, cocking an eyebrow at his reaction.
"N-no one, ma'am," Blaine said quickly, immediately letting go of Kurt's hand. Sue struck up conversation with Blaine about her beloved Cheerios as Kurt watched, sawing at his bottom lip with his teeth.
Who was he kidding? Nobody could be his friend; no one would want to be anyway. Not a single person could possibly develop feelings for him as he might towards them. The reasons were perfectly clear. First of all, he was himself and that was utterly repulsive. On top of that, he was dead, completely and irreversibly dead. Kurt slinked away, his heart heavy in his chest. This was why he didn't let himself hope.
Hoping only led to heartbreak.
