Author's Note: I'm overjoyed with the reception of this story! You guys deserve an extra long chapter, I think :)

~.~.~.~

Our little, erm, conversation went on just long enough for Blaine to miss his bus home. He had actually insisted on walking home before I convinced him to let me drive him. We'd finished faster than I thought we would, so my dad wasn't expecting me home for another half an hour.

Sitting in the car wasn't as tense as the library, having reached a kind of truce with each other. We didn't speak much, only enough for Blaine to give me directions to his house.

I noticed that we were steadily getting closer to the worse end of town, houses looking shabbier and shabbier, shrinking in size and looking more overgrown, paint chipping. Blaine's lack of variation in clothing suddenly made more sense.

Eventually Blaine's route led me to the entrance of a dingy apartment complex. People were sitting on broken concrete steps smoking or drinking, watching my car as it went past. I realized how out of place my shiny Navigator must look, shrinking back into my seat. Blaine avoided my eyes, clearly self-conscious.

I pulled up to the apartment building on the left as Blaine instructed, my car slightly lopsided on the cracked pavement. Blaine quickly retrieved his bag from the backseat, seeming in a hurry to get out.

"Bye, Kurt," he muttered, quickly but not unkindly. It occurred to me how strange it was to hear him say my name when I'd never told him what it was. Maybe he instinctively knew it, like I had with his name.

"Bye Blaine."

~.~.~.~

When I got home Carole and Finn were already there. I was used to them showing up at my house at random times, but I'd been unreasonably edgy the entire drive back, so I jumped a little when Finn came around the corner of the hallway.

"Whoa, you okay dude?" Finn half-laughed when I got a grip.

"I'm fine," I replied a little breathlessly.

But I really wasn't. I was unexplainably anxious, almost scared, in spite of the fact that I knew it was completely irrational.

Carole was already in the kitchen making lasagna. I went to help her, as I promised I would, fastening my apron and sidling up next to her at the counter. My heart still hadn't slowed to its normal pace.

I hadn't told my father about Blaine yet. Honestly I didn't know if there was anything to tell at this point, and after his heart attack, the last thing he needed was to stress about me Connecting to a juvenile delinquent.

My feelings of stress didn't fade. In actuality they seemed to be slowly escalating as I put the dish in the oven. I recoiled from the heat that poured out when I swung open the door, as if I'd never used an oven before.

"Honey, are you okay?" Carole asked me as I shut the oven, placing a hand on my shoulder.

"I-I don't know," I faltered, extremely overwhelmed.

"Why don't you go lie down? I'll finish this up," she offered comfortingly, looking worried. I nodded gratefully and headed to my basement bedroom, collapsing onto the bed and trying to slow my racing heart.

What was happening to me? Was this how my dad felt right before he had his heart attack? Oh Gaga, I hadn't inherited heart problems, had I?

But this didn't feel like a heart problem. It wasn't like it was having trouble pumping, and I wasn't dizzy like I would be if my brain wasn't getting enough oxygen. It just felt like…like when I saw Karofsky coming in my direction down the hall, or when he shoved me into a locker. I was frightened, getting the strange urge to jump up and defend myself, though there was no danger in sight. I'd heard of people having panic attacks, but this didn't seem as serious as those could be.

As I lay contemplating, I heard the door at the top of the stairs open and soft footfalls on the steps, lighter than Dad's or Finn's.

Carole came into view after a moment, smiling as she sat on the bed beside me. I sat up and she pressed a hand to my forehead.

"How are you feeling?" she asked in that gentle, motherly way of hers.

"I'm just…" I sighed heavily, trying to find the right words, though my thoughts were becoming more frantic and jumbled by the minute.

"Scared?" she suggested knowingly. "Worried? Fidgety?"

"Yes," I said incredulously. "How did you know, is it that obvious?" She laughed warmly.

"Sweetheart, did you Connect?" Carole asked bluntly. My eyes widened, which was apparently a good enough answer for her. "I thought so," she smiled. "Who's the lucky guy?"

"H-his name's Blaine," I stuttered, still trying to figure out how she knew.

Carole nodded understandingly. "That explains the anxiety you're feeling," she assured me. "When you Connect with someone, you're not just finding your soul mate. You create a strong bond with that person, strong enough that when they feel a really powerful emotion, sometimes you feel it too. You should've seen me when Christopher was in Iraq, I was a complete wreck!"

Finn's father was the first person Carole had Connected to, and only years later had she been able to reConnect with my dad. If the person you were Connected with died, you could have a chance to reConnect, which wasn't as strong as Connecting and required physical contact to trigger instead of just eye contact. My father had first Connected with my mother, Elizabeth.

"Have you been having strange dreams too?" she wondered. "Swirling colors and dim voices?"

I nodded furiously, so glad this was all making sense now.

"That's not unusual. It's just a subconscious link to your significant other. In a few months you'll be able to dream normally again, but you and Blaine will have the same dreams."

I took deep breaths, trying my hardest to absorb everything she was saying, but it was getting difficult. Carole noticed my distress, rubbing my arm comfortingly.

"Whatever Blaine is going through right now, it's enough to transfer to you," she murmured. "It must be pretty serious; you're acting almost as bad as I was during the war. Just hang in there and try to stay calm."

I nodded, though staying calm was proving extremely difficult, considering I was having fear literally forced upon me.

"I won't tell Burt, by the way," Carole said quietly.

"Thanks."

"Come on up when you're ready, the food's almost done."

~.~.~.~

By the time dinner was over I was still feeling worried, but also extremely worn-out. Whether those were Blaine's feelings or mine was anyone's guess.

What the hell was making Blaine feel this way? It was really concerning me, which was saying something considering all the other things I was feeling. If Carole felt much like this when her husband was at war, then what was my soul mate going through?

I decided that stressing about it wouldn't do either of us any good. If Blaine could worry me then I could calm him down, right?

I laid down on my bed, getting as comfortable as possible and putting in my earbuds. I switched my iPod to my "favorites" playlist, the Wicked soundtrack coming on first. I closed my eyes and focused on the music, something that always relaxed me. I usually exercised as well to relieve stress, but my knee was sore, which was odd because I didn't remember hurting it.

That night when I slept, the dream voice was quiet and timid, sometimes crying, but I didn't wake up as frequently as I normally did. The voice needed me to stay in sleep with it, and somehow I couldn't say no to it.

~.~.~.~

When Blaine came to school the next day, he was limping.

It looked as if he'd hurt his left leg, which was weird because that was the same leg with my mysteriously hurt knee. I made a mental note to ask Carole if wounds could be transferred between soul mates as well as emotions.

I was about to sit down with the people in Glee at lunch like I normally did when I caught sight of Blaine. He was at a table by himself in the corner, his posture reminding me of how defeated he looked at the library the day before. I froze in the act of sitting down beside Mercedes, my eyes on him.

"You okay?" Cedes asked me, leaning forward in an attempt to catch my eye.

"I'm gonna go sit with Blaine today," I said, deciding to do so and letting her know simultaneously.

"Okay," she replied, sounding as dubious as I felt. I took a deep breath and picked my tray back up off the table, making my way over to Blaine and glaring at anyone that stared at me. He glanced up as I came over, looking surprised.

"Mind if I sit here?" I asked, gesturing to the spot across from him. He shook his head and I took a seat, setting down my bag and food. It was quiet for a while before he spoke.

"Why aren't you sitting with your friends?" he asked quietly. For some reason the question sounded depressingly self-depreciating, like he wasn't considered important as well. He was my soul mate, for goodness sake.

"Like I said, I want to get to know you," I said simply, stabbing some lettuce with my plastic fork. "Besides, you looked lonely over here." Blaine's eyes fell to his food as I said that last part. He really wasn't used to being noticed, was he?

"What do you want from me, Kurt?" he said after a moment, sounding a little angry but with an undertone of hurt. "My life isn't exactly a fairytale; I can't be your Prince Charming or whatever."

"I'm not expectinganything from you, Blaine," I told him. "Let's just get to know each other, and then…we'll see what happens. No pressure or anything."

Blaine sighed heavily and to me it looked like he was preparing himself for something. He eventually brought his eyes up to mine again.

"I'm assuming the first thing you want to know is why I've been to juvie so many times," he guessed bitterly.

"You assume correctly."

He gave a harsh, short laugh, twisting one of the silver bands on his fingers.

This was what had really worried me about Connecting to Blaine. Just because we were soul mates didn't mean he wasn't dangerous. Somehow I felt like knowing about it would make it better.

"The stealing is a long story," Blaine began. "But the assault and battery…" He steeled himself for a few moments before continuing, dropping his voice to almost a whisper. "I was bullied at my old school for being gay and…other reasons, and at one point it got pretty physical. I was just trying to give them what they gave me, but what I didn't know was that one of the guys had a big-shot lawyer for an uncle."

I thought over his words for a moment, actually surprised by the mediocrity of it. He wasn't ready to explain the charges of theft to me yet, and that was okay. It was really the assault and battery I had been concerned about.

"I was actually glad I transferred here," Blaine continued. "No one here knows I'm gay, but of course that'll be out the window soon."

"I won't tell anyone about this, you know," I told him quietly. "It's probably for the best. I'm the only 'out' guy at this school and I'm bullied constantly. Santana and Brittany are the only other gay couple, but they're Cheerios and girls, which I guess gives them special privileges."

"How bad is it?" Blaine asked earnestly, leaning forward. "The bullying, I mean."

"Not as bad as it could be. I know I'm lucky it's not worse, but…" I trailed off, not wanting to sound conceited.

"It doesn't mean that what you're getting isn't bad," Blaine finished for me, his words full of understanding.

"Wow," I laughed. "I'm not used to talking to someone who actually knows what I'm going through." He smiled ever so slightly at that, the closest I'd ever seen to a grin on his face. It suited him.

We talked for a while longer. I told him about my mother and how my dad was dating Carole, but he didn't want to say anything about his family. I assured him that was fine and the subject changed to music, which turned out to be one of his passions as well. We were discussing favorite artists when the bell rang, but as soon as English began we resumed our conversation.

When class ended, I grabbed my bag and shoved my way to the front of the room as everyone tried to squeeze out the door. I turned in my now peer-edited essay draft into the assignment bin on Mr. Randy's desk, bidding Blaine goodbye as he left with everyone else.

"Stay back a moment Mr. Hummel, I want to speak with you," Mr. Randy instructed. He leaned back in his ratty swiveling desk chair, twirling a pen between his fingers as the last of the students filed out. We were left in complete silence aside from the chatter in the hall and I waited for him to speak.

"I really wanted to apologize," he began, speaking in low tones. "I didn't mean for you to get stuck with Anderson for the peer editing assignment. I know he must have been hard to work with, but you were sick on the same day he skipped, so it was the most convenient solution."

I stared at him for a moment, wondering if this was some kind of test.

"Actually, I was skipping class as well," I said cautiously. "And…what makes you think he's hard to work with?"

"Well, these juvenile delinquents don't particularly like taking instruction, do they?" he replied, seeming somewhat confused by my question. "Are you familiar with Noah Puckerman? He's in my fourth period, just got out of juvie and has the lowest grade of any of my students."

"But Blaine is one of the most intelligent people I know," I said a little snappily, causing the teacher to raise his graying eyebrows. "I had no issues partnering with him, in fact his essay was superior to mine. I'm not sure what makes you think he's some sort of slacker."

"Mr. Hummel," he leaned forward, the pen stilling in his hands as he looked at me sternly. "I've been a teacher for thirty-five years, I know Mr. Anderson's type. He may be smart, but he's more likely to use that intellect to steal candy bars than pass exams."

"You may know Blaine's 'type', but you don't know him," I deadpanned. It occurred to me that I had never, ever spoken to a teacher that way (except Mr. Shue whilst trying to convince him to let us perform Britney Spears, but that didn't really count), but I couldn't make myself stop. "If there's anything that I've learned in this class, it's to not judge someone at first sight, no thanks to you."

Wanting to leave before my unfiltered words got me in any more trouble, I turned sharply on my heel and headed for the door. Of course, one more thing popped into my head before I could leave.

"And by the way," I shot over my shoulder. "In the future, I would be honored to be Blaine's partner."

I didn't realize the double meaning in that statement until I was in the car driving home.

~.~.~.~

I was in my room, reading the latest edition of Vogue, when Carole came down the stairs.

"Hey," she said gently, standing at the foot of the steps. "Mind if I come in?"

I motioned for her to sit on the bed and she stepped into the room, the mattress dipping as she took a seat beside me.

"Are you feeling any better than yesterday?" she wondered.

"Yes, but not by much," I admitted. Even now my heart seemed to be going twice its normal rate.

Carole took a deep breath, biting her lip as she thought something through.

"Honey, I think you need to talk to him about this," she said eventually. "This isn't normal – not the fact that you're feeling it too, but the fact that Blaine's feeling this at all. If something's going on at his home or with bullies at school that's making him feel this way, we need to tell someone."

"But there's no way to go about it," I explained tiredly, setting my magazine aside. "No one knows Blaine is gay, if we tell the school or the police or whatever that we think he's in danger, they'll want to know why. I can't tell them I'm Connected to him because that would be outing him. I won't do that to him."

Carole took in my determined expression, my jaw set and eyes locked on hers.

"If you feel any worse, we need to take action," she decided. I sighed with relief. "But you have to talk to him about this. This is serious, Kurt. He could be getting hurt."

"It might be nothing," I said with a shrug. "Maybe he's in a fight club or something."

"Why would he be in a fight club?"

"No reason," I said evasively, trying to make out like I was joking. In reality, that was actually the best hypothesis I'd come up with.

"When Chris was in Iraq, they taught me some breathing exercises and such that would keep the both of us calm while he was in combat," Carole told me. "If you want I can teach you some."

"That would be great."

~.~.~.~

Thankfully Mr. Randy seemed too shocked by my outburst to punish me for it, or maybe it was due to my squeaky-clean record. I had a feeling, though, that I wouldn't be considered one of his favorite students after this. Thank goodness Blaine edited my essay; otherwise the teacher might've found some excuse to fail me.

I didn't talk to Blaine about my continuing after-school anxiety. I knew I'd promised Carole, but Blaine and I had just gotten on speaking terms, and I didn't want to screw that up. I promised myself that if it ever got worse I'd talk to Blaine about it, but it never did.

A month passed and Blaine and I still sat together everyday at lunch, talking about likes and dislikes, but nothing too personal. I still felt the same irrational worry almost everyday after school, but I felt truly at ease when I was with Blaine, something I never thought I'd achieve in the presence of someone with a criminal record. I sincerely hoped he felt the same. I had actually gotten a little laugh out of him by the end of English on Friday, making me feel extremely accomplished.

"Do you wanna grab a coffee tomorrow or something?" Blaine asked me as we packed up our things.

"Sure," I replied, surprised by the request but pleased nonetheless. "I'll pick you up around three?"

"Sounds good."

~.~.~.~

The next day found me pulling into the parking lot of Blaine's apartment complex, cutting the engine and glancing around before getting out of the car. I wasn't taking any chances in a neighborhood like this.

I went up to the door and pressed the buzzer for apartment 3A, only realizing about five seconds later that Blaine had never told me which apartment he lived in.

This whole Connection thing would definitely take some getting used to.

Very suddenly the familiar anxiety set in, actually making me whimper with its intensity. The left side of my face was faintly prickling with pain as I checked over my shoulder to see if anyone was behind me. I regularly felt like this now, nearly everyday after school, but I never got used to it.

My heart was pounding by the time I saw Blaine running down the stairs through the glass door. He glanced behind him before throwing open the door, breathing heavily. His hand ran through his curls reflexively, his left cheek a raw red color.

"Blaine, what's going on?" I demanded. I had let him keep up his mysterious façade long enough, never questioning him about why he became so frightened after school, but enough was enough. He'd definitely been hurt this time.

"Nothing," Blaine said quickly, trying to get past me. I purposely stood in his way, determined.

"Don't 'nothing' me, Anderson," I snapped.

Blaine looked at me for a long moment, then back to the door of the apartment, and back at me. I could see the apprehension and fear in his eyes, but I needed to know.

"Not here," he eventually decided.

~.~.~.~

We got to the Lima Bean, waiting in line for our turn. Blaine hadn't said anything on the car ride over, but I hadn't expected him to.

It was our turn to order, Blaine stepping up to the counter.

"I'll have a medium drip, and a Grande non-fat mocha for him," Blaine told the barista. He started fishing for his wallet but I whipped mine out faster, handing the woman ten dollars. She gave me the change and we waited by the counter for our drinks.

"You didn't have to pay for that," Blaine muttered as they handed us the two steaming cups.

"I wanted to," I said sincerely as we took a seat at a table by the window. "But don't try to distract me. I know for a fact that your cheek is still hurting from getting slapped, what happened?"

"How did you know about that?"

"How did you know my coffee order?" I quipped.

Blaine sighed heavily, his eyes wandering to the people on the sidewalk outside, the merchandise stands, the ceiling – anywhere but me.

"It's not a big deal…" he grumbled.

"Yes it is a big deal!" I insisted. "I can feel you emotions, I know something happens to you nearly everyday after school that scares you half to death. If you're getting hurt, it's a big deal to me, Blaine."

He finally looked at me when I said that last part, shock coloring his features.

"You're my soul mate," I murmured, causing his eyes to drop back to the table, but I pressed on. "We may not know each other very well or be ready for a relationship, but the fact is you're important to me and I don't want you getting hurt."

Blaine continued to stare at the table, a faint bruise already forming where he'd hurt his face. I took a sip of my coffee and waited, knowing that patience was the key, just like that day in the library.

"I guess you're going to find out eventually, since we can practically read each other's minds," he said dryly after a while. He sighed, fiddling with one of the rings on his fingers, then looked up tentatively to meet my eyes.

"My dad isn't the most accepting person," he began. "At my old school I put my trust in the wrong person and they outed me to the whole student body. Like I told you before, I was bullied for it, and eventually the principal called my dad to tell him I was subject to homophobic bullying. Ever since he found out…things have been going downhill."

"What does he do to you, Blaine?" I asked quietly, leaning forward.

It took a moment before he answered, giving a nervous cough.

"Usually he hits me," he mumbled, sounding so vulnerable I wanted to hug him. "Sometimes he throws things. He's always drunk when he does it."

My heart wrenched at Blaine's words, tears threatening hotly at the back of my eyes. I could feel how much this hurt him, how difficult it was for him to trust me enough to tell me these things. Many times I had thought about how lucky I was to have a dad that supported my sexuality; now I realized exactly how lucky I was. I couldn't imagine never having a safe place to go, never having anyone to turn to.

"I'm here, you know," I told him. "You don't have to go through this alone."

"Oh, like you know what I'm going through?" Blaine snapped, suddenly angry. I could practically see him throwing up his walls, protecting himself from further harm. People from surrounding tables glanced over briefly as he raised his voice. "Look at your life, you don't know how this feels. You don't know what it's like to have a parent love you one day and the next it's like you never had one-"

"My mother died when I was eight," I interrupted sharply. "I know my life isn't as bad as yours, Blaine, but that doesn't mean I can't help you."

Blaine watched me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. I took another drink of my cooling coffee, slightly uncomfortable under his gaze.

"Maybe I don't want your help," he said tonelessly after a while. "Maybe I don't wanna look like some pity-party worthy, abused kid from the poor side of town. Did you ever consider that?"

Without so much as a second glance at me, Blaine stood and stalked out, leaving his coffee on the table.

~.~.~.~

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