KURT

Kurt held his chin up, staring straight ahead and resolutely not glancing sideways at the people lining the corridor. He didn't want to see their faces, didn't want to know what they were saying or thinking just yet. He'd have to face it all at some point of course, but now, now he just wanted to shower, get changed and call his dad.

He still couldn't quite believe he'd actually done it, hadn't even known he was going to until the words were tumbling out of his mouth without having the common decency to check in with his brain first. Not that he'd ever planned on hiding his sexuality, had in fact spent many hours with his team discussing the best way to manage the situation. When his dad had fired his first manager on the spot for suggesting that he get a pretend girlfriend to hide his sexuality Kurt had known then and there that he would always have his him in his corner. And with that he could do anything.

Still, didn't mean it wasn't scary as all hell though.

He pushed through the doors to the changing rooms, dumped his bag and was just about to strip off his sweaty clothes when a meaty hand collided with his back sending him crashing to the floor.

'God, already?' he thought, as he rolled himself onto his back.

'Oh crap, sorry mate,' a man said in a crisp British accent, scrambling to help him up from his undignified sprawl. 'Didn't think you'd go down like that, though I suppose you are a skinny little thing.'

'You didn't?' Kurt asked, eyes trained on the floor.

'Course not, why would I want to do that? Great match out there by the way, you fought hard for that one.'

'Th..thanks?' Kurt stammered as he brushed of his clothes, adding a muttered, 'guess you weren't watching what happened after,' under his breath.

'Sorry, what was that?'

'Oh, nothing, nothing. Sorry, but who are you?'

'Oh charming, really. Noah Puckerman, British number two. But I suppose I wouldn't really register all the way over there in the big US of A now, would I?'

'Oh god, I'm sorry, I didn't mean…' Kurt trailed off as Noah grinned down at him.

'Calm down, love, I'm just kidding. British number two, but barely breaking the top 100. I'm surprised they even let me in the building, to be honest. Call me Puck,' he said, holding his hand out to shake.

Kurt took it, with a shy smile, happy to have made an acquaintance, even if it wasn't likely to last as soon as he turned on a TV.

'I should, y'know,' he said, gesturing towards the showers.

'Sure thing, see you around, little man,' Puck replied, grinning, heading towards the exit with a wave over his shoulder. 'Oh, and by the way, congrats on coming out too. That one really took balls.'


'KURT BUMMEL'

'BALL BOY?'

'…as you can see, Holly, the papers are dominated by the shock events on the opening day of Wimbledon...'

'The tabloid's headline writers must be having a field-day…'

'Hummel's surprise announcement at his post-match press conference set the twittersphere alight…'

'…words of encouragement pouring in from the likes of Sir Elton John, Lady Gaga and actor Neil Patrick Harris, as well as some rather less friendly comments, of course…'


Blaine clicked off the TV, let the remote drop down on the bed and resumed his pacing back and forth across the hotel room.

'Stop freaking out.'

'I'm not…'

'You're freaking out,' Santana interrupted. 'You've been freaking out for the past 12 hours, you're still freaking out now, and it's really starting to piss me the hell off. So, I'll say it again. Stop. Freaking. Out.'

Blaine sank down onto the bed and dropped his head into his hands.

'I don't know what you want me to say, Santana. He…'

'Yeh, the twink came out, I heard it same time as you. It's not that big a deal.'

'Not that…?' Blaine's head whipped around to face her. 'How can you even say that? We've been hiding this our entire careers. Years of lying and pretending and now he just… just walks in on day one and…'

'Yeh, well…it is what it is. And you have a match in less than 2 hours, so stop moping and pull your shit together already.'

When Blaine made no move, she rolled her eyes and grabbed her bag from the corner and stalked out of the room.


'Wow, this is almost hard to watch, John.'

'Yeah, Boris. Jankowic is just getting steam-rollered out there. We knew Lopez was in the form of her career, but something has certainly lit a fire under her today. I don't think we've ever seen her serve that fast, and her returns are plain brutal.'

'Ya, ya. 6-1, 4-0, it doesn't look like this will be going on much longer.'

'The same can't be said for her counterpart, Blaine Anderson, though. He's having a nightmare of a game against Berdych, not playing anywhere near the level we've come to expect from him this season. And I've just got word in my ear that they've now entered their 5th set. Could we be looking for the biggest upset of the tournament?'


Blaine stood under the warm spray, rolling out his aching shoulders. If only he could work out the knots in his mind so easily. He'd almost let that match get away from him, almost crashed out of his defending run in the second round, he just couldn't keep his mind on the task at hand. Hell he must have conceded 20 aces because he hadn't even realised his opponent had even served.

He knew he couldn't carry on like this if he wanted any chance at retaining his title, but he'd been knocked for such a loop by Hummel's announcement he barely knew which way was up.

He'd just come out there and said it like… like it was nothing. Did he not care about his career at all? Was he getting hell from his management and PR teams right now? Did he even have a PR team yet?

Maybe that was it. Blaine had made such a splash on the junior circuit, he'd been inundated with sponsorship and publicity deals before he was even 15, and he'd been signed to a PR agency before he even knew what was happening. When the subject of his sexuality had started to rear its head it had been stamped out and doused before it had ever really started. He'd been paired up with a young, fresh-faced and fiery-tempered Santana Lopez, and so their dance of lies and pretence had started. And over 15 years later it was still going strong.

Stepping out of the shower, he shook out his hair, wrapped his towel round his waist and walked smack-bang into the cause of all his problems.

'Oh god, I'm sorry, I wasn't looking…aaaaand my hands are on your nipples, I should definitely take them off. Okay. Taking off now. Sorry, sorry I'm nervous. And your Blaine Anderson. Which, obviously, you know. Oh god, Kurt shut-up already.'

Blaine just stared as Kurt continued to ramble to himself. It wasn't as if he could hear him anyway, could barely focus on anything other than the feel of those hands hot against his chest. Even after they'd broken contact, he could feel them, a burning emblem emblazoned across his chest, reminding him of everything he'd denied himself for so long.

He took a deep, shuddering breath, swallowed hard, and dropped his gaze down, noticing the towel slung low on his hips, doing almost nothing to conceal his 'response' to their unexpected collision. He flushed bright red, stumbling back before spinning around, pretending to rummage through his sports bag.

'What's wro…oh, right. Of course.' Kurt stepped back , blinking hard. 'I'm sorry, um…I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I'll just…,' he stammered turning and almost fleeing for the exit. As he reached for the door he stopped, jaw tensing. 'You know what? I'm not sorry. It's not catchable. Screw you, Blaine Anderson,' he spat out, before striding out of the room, head high.

Blaine stayed standing with his back to Kurt, not saying a word as he had throughout the entire exchange, but as the door swung shut he sank down onto the bench, dropped his head into his hands and cried for everything he'd never had.


AN: Sorry for any mistakes, or if it comes across rushed, but havn't had a chance to work on this for ages because of work, and just really wanted to get it out.