Hummel's Home for Non-Conforming Adolescents

Chapter 3: Orientation

Cautiously, Blaine descended the staircase toward the dimly illuminated room below, hyperaware of Burt behind him. He angled his torso away from the man's closeness instinctively and watched his feet, naked and callused, not daring to look ahead at what awaited him. When his toes found purchase in soft, thick carpet, he finally raised his head and was met with an immediate sense of disorientation.

He knew he was in an NC home, but was there was no way… The room in front of him was nice. It was clearly meant to be a recreation area, but it was like none he had ever seen or heard of in a home before. There were multiple couches and chairs, an entire entertainment center, a few musical instruments, even a computer. Blaine's mouth fell open, at a loss for how to react.

"Like I said," Burt spoke, pulling Blaine's attention back to him gently. "I wish I could have given you a heads up, but you'll understand why we have to be careful that the government never finds out about this. They only come to bring new boys and quarterly for inspections, so it's not often we have to pretend, but it's necessary." He gauged Blaine's expression for a moment before continuing, realizing he was unlikely to receive a response. "So you're welcome to use this room any time you like, but curfew is at eleven. That computer does have an internet connection, but it is monitored by the government, so we typically keep it disconnected unless you need something specific. Let me see…"

They moved on to a long table toward the other side of the open room. "This is where we eat. If you like to cook, you'll have to fight Kurt for control of the kitchen. Lunch, if you're around, is on your own, but we eat breakfast together every day at seven, and dinner together every night at six."

Blaine knew his eyes were bugging out of his head, but he couldn't help it. He didn't know what to think. It had to be a trick. The way Burt spoke of the way the household ran was completely unfamiliar to Blaine. It sounded functional and almost familial. He was having a difficult time processing what was going on around him, but tried to zero in on what Burt was telling him..

"The job chart is over here. Boys are out Monday through Saturday, but we all have Sundays off together. I post the assignments for the week every Sunday afternoon. What else?" He looked around the room trying to think of anything else to tell Blaine, who looked ready to go into shock.

"The bedrooms are down this hall. I'm sorry they're on the small side, but that's the price we pay for a little privacy," he chuckled. "Your official roommate is Jeff, but I'm pretty sure some sort of covert room swap went down between the guys…" Burt laughed as he said it with a fond shake of his head. "So I think you'll be with Chandler. He has a lot to say, but he's a good kid. There are three bathrooms, and Kurt worked out a shower rotation since there was so much arguing at first. It's posted on the door of each bathroom."

Blaine had yet to see the bedrooms or bathrooms yet, but he had a suspicion they were just as nice as the rest of the basement. When was Burt going to take him back upstairs and tell him it was all a joke? He put his hands on his knees to keep from hyperventilating.

"Are you okay?" Burt asked, hunching down to try to see Blaine's face while staying a few inches away to give him space. The question cut off any progress Blaine had made at trying to even his breathing. No adult had asked him how he was doing in years, and on top of everything else, it was too much to handle.

"I'm sorry," he choked out, embarrassed at his breakdown, but unable to regain control of himself.

Burt pulled up a wooden chair and told Blaine to sit. "Listen, kid. It's unusual for us to get a new boy, especially a stray. I've never picked up someone who has been in the system for so long, and I don't know what you've been through. I promise you, though, this is real. I know you think you have no reason to believe me, but talk to the boys tomorrow. Blaine," Burt said, drawing Blaine's gaze to his face. The haunting sunken eyes stared back at him, pleading for it to be true. "This is where it starts to get better. I promise."

Burt took a bottle of water from a nearby drink cooler and offered it to Blaine, who eyed it suspiciously, as if it was a trick, but took it after Burt's proffered hand didn't falter. It had been ages since he'd had cold, clean water, and he gulped it down in just a few swallows.

Knees popping as he straightened up again, Burt said, "Okay, I've talked at you enough for one night. We can continue your orientation tomorrow. Now let's get you cleaned up before bed."

It turned out that "cleaned up" meant showered and into pajamas. Burt handed him a pile of soft fabric and showed him to the bathroom. "Use the products that are in there. Towels are hanging on the wall."

Blaine, dumbfounded that he'd be given use of products and a towel, ambled into the bathroom and turned on the water. He stepped in and shrieked, jumping right back out.

"Everything okay in there?" Burt called through the door a moment later.

Blaine poked his head out sheepishly. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Hummel, I accidentally used hot water. I'm not used to warm water being available and I was not expecting it. I will accept any consequence you have to offer." He hung his head in shame, stepping out into the hallway with his old shirt wrapped around his waist. "I will head straight to bed."

Burt's outstretched finger stopped him, and if Blaine had raised his eyes to Burt's face, he would have seen the sad, almost regretful look he was trying to fight off. "The water wasn't an accident. Make it as hot as you'd like. Get back in there and don't come out until you're clean."

Blaine obeyed, almost unwillingly, body and brain fighting over how right or wrong it felt to shower in warm water, then dressed in the clothes Burt had given him. They looked lightly worn, if not new. He hadn't had pajamas or a hot shower for six years, but he had to assume it was all part of whatever scam he was experiencing.

Burt showed him to his room and wished him a good night. Blaine tiptoed across the room in the glow of the nightlight to the empty bed on the left hand side. True to Burt's description, there were only two beds in his room, which was small, but quiet and clean. He couldn't see it well, but managed to locate his bed without falling over anything. Upon sinking down onto it, though, he jumped up and just barely stopped himself from screaming. There was a mattress. A real mattress. With cool, fresh sheets. It couldn't be right.

Taking a deep breath, he slowly slid back down into the bed, thinking of Burt's words. This is where it starts to get better. I promise.

How could Blaine trust those words when nobody had done anything good for him in years? How could he believe that anything could get better when things had only gotten worse since the day of his marking?

His last thought before falling into a reluctant sleep was that if it was all a trick, at least he would have one night in comfort before it was all torn away from him.

Sleep had not come easily that first night in the home. It was hot and stuffy and uncomfortable, and once or twice, Blaine thought he could feel things crawling across his skin. His mind would not shut off, wishing he could turn back time and erase everything that had happened from the moment he had trusted that boy.

By the time an alarm blared at six o'clock the next morning, Blaine felt exhausted and even more hopeless than he had the night before.

All around him, people started silently rising from their cots and dressing in their scratchy and stiff uniforms. Blaine had slept in his, as uncomfortable as it had been, because he had not been given any pajamas. He followed their lead, heading for the bathroom and waiting in line to relieve himself and brush his teeth, even though there was no toothpaste in sight.

It was eerie the way nobody spoke to anyone else, and Blaine could feel the loneliness hanging over the group of dejected young men like a cloud. None of the boys seemed to take a second glance at Blaine. Perhaps there were new residents so regularly that they did not take notice of new arrivals. The thought did nothing to soothe Blaine. What could be the cause for such turnover? He shuddered to think of any answer to that question.

The crowd of teenagers and preteens moved in a clump to the kitchen, where a bowl of overly-ripe bananas and a stack of cups sat on the counter. Blaine mimicked the boy in front of him, taking a banana and filling his cup with water. He took his so-called breakfast to the job assignment chart and saw "construction" listed next to his name. A small bit of relief came over him. Construction didn't sound so bad. He had helped his dad build a bookshelf that summer, and knew his way around a toolbox as well as any other boy his age.

Questions circled around in his mind, curious about what went on in the house, and what he could expect for the next six and a half years of his life. Blaine was a social person; he was always happier with someone else than by himself. Another younger boy stood nearby, so Blaine came up to him and said, "hi, I'm Blaine. I got here last night."

The boy raised his head slowly, fear etched on his face and his mouth slightly open like he was thinking about speaking.

"Hey, you two! Break it up!" came the voice of a boy in the throes of puberty. Its owner came into view, a tall and chubby boy in a football jersey and athletic shorts. "This house is to keep you away from that freakish gay stuff!"

Blaine backed away slowly, distancing himself from the other boy. "I'm sorry, I didn't know—"

"Oh," said the older boy, who looked at Blaine like he was realizing for the first time that he was there. "Are you new?"

Blaine nodded, keeping his head turned down just a bit.

"I'm Ethan, the head boy here. That means you have to do whatever I say. Got it?" He was leering at Blaine in a way that made him squirm, but Blaine nodded his understanding anyway. "Good. Now give me your banana. I'm hungry."

A horn blared from outside the house, making Blaine jump.

"That's your ride, homo. See ya later."

Floored at the way he had just been treated, Blaine dumbly followed the line of residents out front and hopped in the van to which he'd been directed after checking in with Kate.

The noise of the world passing by outside the van as they drove away was slightly more comforting than the deafening silence from the house that morning, but even with a clearer mind, Blaine could hardly sort out his emotions. What he could recognize, though, was that with every passing second, he grew more alone and less like the Blaine he had always been.

Blaine woke to a short, thin boy with a pile of blond hair atop his head standing over him and smiling widely.

"Good morning! I'm Chandler, your roommate. I didn't know we were getting a new boy so soon after Michael turned eighteen. Breakfast is in five minutes. Get up and get dressed. I'm guessing you don't have any clothes yet, so you can borrow some of mine. We look like we're about the same size. I have to work today, so you can wear my house clothes. Here you go!" He disappeared for a moment and returned, holding out some freshly laundered clothes.

"Uh…" Blaine blinked, trying to acclimate to his surroundings. He felt strangely refreshed, and remembered the soft bed beneath him and the cool air blowing around the room. He recalled the odd night before with its emotional roller coaster, full shower, and fresh clothes. He remembered Burt and being told it would get better. He had never been more doubtful of anything in his life, but here he was, still in the clean pajamas in the soft bed in the private room in the strange house. Still, barely awake, this boy — Chandler — was only confusing him more. "I, um...I have clothes," he told Chandler while thinking of the ragged, soiled clothes in which he had arrived, but eyed the neatly folded, clean, and intact outfit longingly.

"Mm, no you don't." Chandler pursed his lips. "Those old things were so nasty that I tossed them out on my way to the bathroom this morning. Sorry 'bout it." He shrugged as if not sorry at all.

When Chandler shoved the stack of garments closer to Blaine's face, he sat up and hesitantly took the clothes from his new and very persistent roommate.

"Do you remember where the bathroom is? I noticed that Kurt set up your station in there already. You're welcome to change in here if you want. I promise I'm not the predatory gay of the house."

Blaine gasped and looked around him like he was expecting something bad to happen. "You can't—I mean, that word. You can't just—"

"Are you okay?" Chandler cut him off, still hovering over Blaine's bed.

Blaine flopped back onto his pillow, the softest cloud his head had ever touched. "Is this really happening to me?" he muttered disbelievingly under his breath.

"Come on," Chandler urged. "It's time to eat. I'll wait for you."

Blaine, warily eyeing the other boy, extricated himself from the bedsheets and made his way to the bathroom, where he found a toothbrush, toothpaste, razor, and shaving cream in a basket with his name on it. Upon his return to his room, he dressed in the clothes Chandler had given him, but immediately peeled the shirt back off frantically, as if he could not get out of it quickly enough.

"Whose clothes are these?" He asked, holding the shirt carefully between his fingers and far away from his body.

"I told you," Chandler said exasperatedly. "They're my extra house set. If they don't fit you, we can find someone else to borrow from."

"They're not yours."

"They say CK on the tag. They're definitely mine."

"But…" Blaine picked up a sleeve and let it fall back against the impossibly soft material of the torso. "It has long sleeves."

"So?" He could sense Chandler's increasing annoyance at Blaine's apparent cluelessness, but he couldn't let it go

"We can't. We're not allowed to cover…" He displayed his NC tattoo on his forearm.

"Not when we go out, sure. But what we wear around the house doesn't matter. Come on. Put it back on and let's go eat. I'm starved."

Blaine, unsure, put the shirt back on, but pushed the sleeves up past his elbows before following Chandler out to the dining area.

The first thing Blaine noticed about the dining room was the noise level. The voices of twelve boys talking over each other rang out, reverberating off of the walls and filling the space. Blaine's first instinct was to shush them, afraid they would be reprimanded for speaking too loudly. But then he noticed that Burt was among them, joining in the conversation.

The second thing he noticed was that the voices sounded joyful. The boys teased, joked, and chatted happily, as if they were not fulfilling a prison sentence. He watched as one boy howled with laughter so intense that orange juice came out his nose.

Orange juice. It had been so long since Blaine had been able to have treats like orange juice, sausage, cinnamon toast, and other foods that were piled upon plates on the table. His mouth watered at the thought of indulging.

As he continued surveying the scene in front of him, Blaine realized that the boys in the house did not just sound different, they looked different, too. Half of them wore sleeves that covered their forearms, and the clothes were in good condition. The standard solid black of the government-issued uniforms was nowhere to be found among the sea of colors the boys sported. And their hair...

"Blaine! Why don't you come join us?" Burt called him over, pulling out an empty chair next to him. Unable to stop staring, Blaine complied. Burt grabbed a plate for him and told Blaine to take what he wanted. Blaine was hesitant as he reached for the plate of sausage, unsure if he was being pranked. But when Burt nodded encouragingly and the other boys didn't bat an eyelash, he put one on his plate. After Blaine took one sausage link, a glass of water, and half a piece of toast, Burt clicked his tongue and took the plate from his hands.

"I'm sorry," Blaine whispered, cowering in on himself and feeling as though the promise of something beautiful had been ripped from his hands, albeit not completely unexpectedly. Burt, though, loaded the plate with food and returned it to Blaine.

"Eat," he commanded softly.

Overwhelmed, Blaine ate and watched the other boys as they introduced themselves. There were four other boys his age — Chandler, one named Sebastian whose suggestive smirk made him uncomfortable, and Nick and Jeff.

"Nick was supposed to be your roommate," Chandler explained, "but honestly, nobody wanted to share a room with either of those two, so Michael and I proposed a swap. Now everyone is happy and nobody has to worry about walking in on something that can't be unseen."

Blaine was confused by Chandler's words, because Nick and Jeff seemed like nice people, but he decided to keep an eye out when he was around them, just in case.

"Blaine? Why are you staring at us? I mean, I know I'm good looking, but the rest of these idiots…" Sebastian trailed off jokingly.

Feeling like he'd been caught, Blaine blushed scarlet and dropped his head. "No, I wasn't—I don't think you're—I just—you all have hair?"

Everyone at the table fell silent, confused and waiting for Blaine to elaborate, but when it became clear that he was not going to say more on the matter to the group, everyone slowly and uncomfortably returned to their previous conversations. Burt turned to him.

"You can grow out your hair too, if you want," he said, eyeing Blaine's badly shaven scalp.

Blaine missed his hair desperately. Growing up, he always hated his unruly, untamable curls, but after six years without them, he had learned to appreciate what he once had.

"But don't you worry about lice?"

Burt grimaced, the pitying sadness back in his eyes. "We take cleanliness very seriously. You don't have to worry about bugs here."

Blaine just stared back in astonishment.

Some of the boys who wore their work uniforms started standing and clearing the table of their dishes.

"I'm going to go see these guys off to their jobs. Why don't you stay and chat? I can see that you have questions, and they can do a better job at answering than I can. You aren't scheduled to work until Wednesday, but you'll start tutoring tomorrow, and I'll get you on the therapy schedule as well. Take your time getting to know the guys and the home today, and Blaine?" Blaine's eyes snapped up to look at the enigma of a man who he was learning never did or said anything Blaine expected. "Try to relax."

Burt rose from his chair next to the disoriented boy and headed out of the room. He clapped Jeff on the shoulder and gave him a meaningful look as he walked by.

Most of the remaining boys returned to their rooms, but Jeff stayed behind, moving over a few chairs to sit across from Blaine.

"Hey, I know Burt showed you around a little last night, but I just wanted to offer up my services in case you want a little more detailed orientation," the blond told Blaine with a friendly smile

"Sure," Blaine said, feeling a little more at ease now that his only companion was the relaxed, cheerful Jeff, who was one of his equals. Jeff seemed like someone Blaine might have been friends with once. After years of solitude amid a crowd, though, and he was not sure he would ever connect with anyone again. He was a far cry from his old self, Blaine knew, barely recognizing the boy he saw in the mirror.

"So obviously you've seen that we eat together," Jeff started. "That's an everyday thing. Burt thinks it helps us all get to know each other and get along. Which we do, But I'm pretty sure we're all so happy just because we love to eat and Kurt is a great chef. He always cooks for us, so that's awesome, because I can't even make toast without burning it."

"When you say meals…" Blaine tried to clarify. Burt had mentioned it last night, but Blaine's mind had been in a daze and had not processed much of what he was told.

"Breakfast and dinner. Lunch is on your own, but if it's a school day or an off day, there's usually a tray of sandwiches or something for us to choose from that Kurt prepared."

"Three meals? A day?" Blaine hadn't heard of such a thing since the days before his marking. His stomach growled just considering it, even though he had just eaten.

Jeff's brow furrowed, confused at Blaine's bewilderment. "Of course. We are expected to attend all 'family' meals unless we're sick or something." He stood and motioned for Blaine to follow him over to the job chart. "Then there's work. You'll already know all about jobs from your last house, but you'll either be on a Monday, Wednesday, Friday or a Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday schedule for work. The other two weekdays a tutor comes in so we can keep up with our education."

"Like...school?" Once upon a time, Blaine had loved school. But he hadn't had so much as a single lesson since entering the system. He had been able to keep up with his reading by scrounging up any books or discarded newspapers or magazines he found when out on jobs (and in more recent years, through other, more undesirable methods), but the thought of actually learning again, as unbelievable as it was, made his hopes soar.

"Basically. Burt wants us to be able to get our GED when we leave here, since we can't graduate high school." He shrugged. "So after work or school, we have therapy sessions twice a week. That's standard at the homes, so I'm sure you know about that."

Blaine shivered, an involuntary response to the mere idea of therapy. He wasn't sure how Jeff could smile while talking about the sessions, and was about to ask, but they were moving on to the next topic already.

"Any down time, you're welcome to spend in your room or in the common room. We watch movies together pretty regularly, and play lots of games."

"You do?" It was a foreign concept to Blaine, having free time and spending it with housemates.

"We have to stay entertained somehow," Jeff joked, leading Blaine back to the living room to sit on the couch.

"Can I ask you a question?" Blaine ventured, sitting on the far opposite end of the sofa as Jeff kicked his feet up on the coffee table in front of them. His hands shook as he spoke, though the question was innocent enough. The last time he'd initiated a conversation with another resident was his first day after being marked, when he'd been reprimanded, and he had never tried again since.

"Anything."

"Have you ever been in another home?"

"Nope. None of us have. There's rarely turnover here. We were all placed here when we were first marked, and that's that. We don't leave until we age out"

"I can see why…" Blaine muttered, finally starting to believe that Hummel's Home was real. Jeff spoke of their lifestyle and routine so matter-of-factly, as though being treated well was the standard, not the exception. All thirteen of his new housemates had never known the true horrors of the system, thanks to Burt.

"And Burt. What's his deal?" Blaine asked.

Jeff shrugged. "Nobody really knows. He's pretty private about his personal life and how he came to be here. The only thing we really know is that he's not married, and that Kurt is his son. Did you know that?"

Blaine shook his head. "Is he...does he treat you well?" The question he really wanted to ask seemed too crude to say aloud in a place as nice as Hummel's Home.

"Burt? Or Kurt? Burt is like a dad to all of us, Blaine. He's great. Kurt stays out of the way for the most part and rarely talks to anyone, so nobody really knows much about him. But he cooks for us, so that's a win in most of our books. He's probably still cleaning up from breakfast. I can introduce you if you'd like."

Blaine sighed, thinking he might as well get it over with. He knew just what to expect based on his past experiences with head boys: a foul-mouthed, bad-tempered, all-American guy without a care what happened to the house or its residents. Every head boy he'd had or heard about took full advantage of having fourteen boys under his supervision, and treated them like personal servants. Or worse.

"Kurt?" Jeff called questioningly into the kitchen.

"In here!" came a melodic voice as they rounded the corner. Blaine took in the tall, pale figure who had his back turned to them. He was, contrary to Blaine's expectations, slender and well-dressed. Just being in the presence of a head boy, though, no matter how different he may look, made the hair on the back of Blaine's neck stand on end.

"Hey. I want you to meet our new resident, Blaine. Blaine, this is Kurt."

The head boy turned around with a guarded smile, drying his hands on a dish towel and Blaine was hit with a wave of confusion. The tough, judgmental expression he had come to anticipate from anyone in charge of an NC home was absent from his face, and Blaine felt no urge to run in the other direction. Quite the opposite, actually..

Kurt's eyes rounded slightly in surprise as he took in the sight of the worn-down and despondent new boy, but he quickly rearranged his expression back to something welcoming. Blaine instantly noticed his stormy eyes that seemed to hide an ocean of secrets and his lips that pressed into a smile that was part warmth, part concern. The most striking thing about Kurt's face, though, as beautiful as it was, was the lack of the carefree happiness that Blaine had seen in the house residents. It drew in Blaine, who immediately recognized the dark loneliness and desperate longing to be something else.

It may have been the freeing atmosphere of Hummel's Home, or it could have been the emotional shakeup he'd undergone in the last twenty-four hours, but looking at Kurt, Blaine felt a surge of something he had not felt for six years. Attraction.

His hand flew to his hair to try to run fingers through the curls that had not been there for years, and he swallowed a lump in his throat, forcing himself to look away from the sharp and compelling face of the boy to whom he was drawn, but who had the potential to make his new life as much of a living hell as his old one.

When Kurt spoke, the sincerity in his voice surprised Blaine yet again. "Hi Blaine, it's really nice to meet you."

Reaching out, Blaine connected his hand with Kurt's to shake, creating a long line with their exposed forearms and revealing the one thing that would always separate the two of them. It was an alarming juxtaposition, for Blaine to see his own dark, tattooed arm next to the expanse of Kurt's skin, which was pale and smooth. And unmarked.