A/N I know, I know, where the hell did I go? I could complain for pages I assure you but I'm not going to subject you lovely people to that. Instead I'm going to put a sock in it now and let you read this. It's very Kurt-centric and longer than usual but I thought it was important for you to have a snapshot of Kurt's home-life as Dalton!Kurt has been a bit limited so far. I hope you enjoy it and I also hope that the next chapter will be out faster, I've been in a rut with this one but the next chapters should come a little easier I should think. They've all been sketched out anyway.
So yeah, here it is. Like I've said before, I love to know what you think and such so drop me a line either on tumblr or fanfiction. That's all, enjoy!
The door slammed loudly as Kurt entered the empty house the noise echoing back at him through the silent hall. With a sigh he threw down his keys into a little blown-glass bowl by the door and trudged into the lounge. Kurt always parked a few blocks from Dalton so he was always later home than Finn, he didn't trust his peers anywhere near the glossy black navigator. The car had been a birthday gift for his 'sweet sixteen' and Kurt didn't deserve it. The week before this milestone Kurt had been suspended from school for fighting again. He had a good reason of course but the look of disappointment etched into his father's face broke his heart and filled him with self-loathing. Every year, on Kurt's birthday, Burt would take a photo and stick it in the scrapbook that his mother had started when he was a baby. The book was considerably sloppier from Kurt's seventh year onwards but it was a tradition that Burt cherished in the sense that it was one of the only ones he'd been able to uphold following Sarah's death. Kurt hated the photo that depicted his sixteenth year. Every time he thought about the ugly, blackened eye and the split lip pulled up in a strained smile he felt the bile churning in his stomach. The worst part was that Kurt felt like that single photo sullied his mother memory and for that reason it remained a constant reminder of shame and regret.
The tired part of Kurt's brain wanted to just crash and sleep where he was, slumped on the couch, but his rational side had him up from the cushions and trudging up the stairs. It was a Friday, meaning Finn had football practice, Burt was at the garage till six and Carole wouldn't be home from work until five. Kurt enjoyed the few, blissful hours of alone-time this gave him.
Kurt opened the door to his room and dropped his bag at the foot of his bed before making his way to the vanity that had once belonged to his mother. The boy he saw reflected in the glass was slightly gaunter than the boy who had left McKinley, his hair fell limply on his forehead and the circles beneath his eyes looked darker than they had been a few months ago. His frame was held differently too, his body was stiff from being perpetually tense. He frowned and rolled his shoulders to try to relieve some of the weight to little avail. More than anything the change was reflected in Kurt's dull, defeated eyes. Kurt sighed at his reflection feeling the dissatisfaction take hold of his heart before picking out a round barrel brush from the neat row of assorted hair products. With great care he scraped the loose hair back from his forehead, working it back with precision. With every stroke he felt himself relax, his eyes lost the threatening glint and adopted the aloof, superior coolness that the rest of the world expected from him. He closed his eyes and picked up the can of hairspray, spraying a generous amount that would keep his hair intact for the rest of the evening. The smell of hair product shouldn't offer as much comfort to Kurt as it did but it was a scent that was so inherently him. After fixing his hair he applied his favourite moisturizer, smudging a little eye cream to reduce the bags forming beneath his eyes.
Kurt usually liked to shower after his day at Dalton, turning the water dial to almost scalding so that he felt all of the resentment and bitterness at his situation wash away with the rest of the water swirling down the drain. Unfortunately he was meeting Mercedes and Rachael this evening so he'd have to skip on the shower if he was going to have enough time to make dinner before he left.
Another glance up at the mirror showed a boy transformed, hair impeccably coiffed and a little content smile pulling at his lips. This was a reflection he recognised, this was Kurt Hummel. His hand wandered to the simple, navy T-shirt that he'd worn that day and he pinched the simple fabric between his thumb and index finger gingerly. He'd once told Mercedes that 'every opportunity was an opportunity for fashion', in Dalton he'd found his exception. His eyes wandered over to the wardrobe that he could see reflected in the mirror and he rose from the bench so he could shed the plain clothes.
This image change was something Kurt did every day after returning from Dalton. It was something he needed to do for the sake of his sanity and usually he wouldn't emerge to greet his family until it was complete. At home he allowed himself to be him, just Kurt. It was a side none of the students at Dalton would ever see, even the few people who he'd felt any semblance of friendship towards.
One month. That was all the time he had left at Dalton, then it would be back to McKinley for his final semester. As he picked through the large wardrobe critically he tried not to steer his thoughts away from the dark curls and hazel eyes that threatened to take over.
Blaine Anderson, Kurt mused as he finally reached into the wardrobe. From the rows of neatly organised clothes he retrieved a purple button-down shirt and a pair of tight black jeans. There was something strange about the boy, he decided. The way he'd shouted at him the first day compared to the glares in the music room right across to their mild, easy exchange that very same day. From what Kurt had seen from Blaine on a one to one basis he really didn't deserve the reputation he held. On the other hand his run-in with that homophobic bastard Aiden and the snippets of conversation he'd heard about his stepfather were more testament to his reputation...
Kurt laid his clothes out on the black fur throw on his bed and scrutinized his choice with a critical eye. After a few moments deliberation he coupled it with a black tie and black Doc Martens. Kurt thought about his and Blaine's brief exchange last Wednesday as he buttoned up the shirt. He'd asked the shorter boy why he'd hit Aiden.
"Because he deserved it," he'd answered. Most people got on with Aiden quite well. Kurt wasn't one of those people as Kurt embodied everything a homophobe like Aiden hated. Something he'd learned early on about Aiden was that he barked loud enough but when it came down to it the boy had no bite. Aiden had only called Kurt out once, at the start of his time at Dalton. It hadn't ended well for Aiden. Kurt had bloodied his nose with his first swing and Aiden had gone down like a sack of potatoes. He supposed that he owed the boy really, he hadn't had much bother from anybody following that fight and the rest of his classmates had welcomed him much more warmly. If Aiden had done something to deserve Blaine's retaliation Kurt couldn't help but wonder if Aiden had singled the boy out for the same reasons he'd targeted Kurt...
No, he couldn't start thinking like that. He didn't need to start thinking like that. All Kurt needed was to keep low until he could leave. He'd already looked into college prospects and as long as he kept his grades up his heart was set on New York.
He closed the last button and knotted his simple black tie before opening the wardrobe and surveying himself in the full-length mirror inside the door. Perfect, he thought with a satisfied smile. Pushing all things Dalton to the back of his mind along with Blaine and the lacklustre version of himself he wore during the day he closed the wardrobe door and headed downstairs to start dinner.
The door opened and closed just as Kurt descended the last few steps and he came face to face with the hulking giant he called his step-brother. Things had gotten much better between the unlikely pair in the past few months, ever since the day Kurt attacked Thomas. Finn and Carol had been worried about Kurt, it was clear to everyone that Kurt had decidedly shut himself away and refused to accept any helping hands. Despite this Carol had sent Finn over to check up on him. Poor Finn had done his best to calm Kurt even though he kept lashing out at him. Finn could have easily overpowered him but he didn't, he never dealt a single blow. Instead, Finn had helped him get cleaned up and taken him over to the Hudson-household. Kurt had slept on the couch. All hell broke loose the next morning when the cops had turned up on Carol and Finn's doorstep but drained and resigned, Kurt had gone with the officers without a single complaint.
Looking up at his step-brother now with his big sloppy grin that night felt like years ago rather than months. It always gave Kurt peace of mind when his family saw him like this: well-dressed, groomed and most importantly in-control.
"Hey dude," Finn said enthusiastically, clapping him on the shoulder.
"How was school?" Kurt asked with a small smile.
Finn frowned and rubbed the back of his neck. Kurt recognised this expression, he'd seen many times, even before he'd left McKinley.
"Trouble with Rachel?" he asked.
"Something like that," Finn sighed. Kurt felt a rush of sympathy for his hulking step-brother. He tried, that much could be said at the very least and Kurt had great respect for people who tired.
"Come on franken-teen," Kurt said brushing past him, "I'll make us something to eat."
Finn's face brightened as it always did at any mention of food.
"Really? Dude you are like the best brother ever!" Kurt rolled his eyes, opening cupboards and assembling everything he needed precisely on the counter before him. Finn flopped down into one of the dining chairs, the wood creaked in protest against his sudden weight.
"Finn, don't throw yourself on the furniture!" Kurt snapped without looking away from his ingredients.
"Sorry," Finn said between yawns. "How's Dalton?"
"It's fine," Kurt said curtly before flicking the switch on the food processor and putting end to any more conversation as machine whirred to life and its loud throng drowned out all other sound.
Dinner had been a relatively routine event. Burt, Carole and Finn discussed their days as Kurt smiled and nodded, asking the occasional question. His family tried to coax him into talking about Dalton but he'd become an expert at diverting attention from himself, something he never thought he'd have to do. More than anything Kurt enjoyed the normality. Home was one of the only places that ever felt completely safe.
After dinner Finn had been ordered to wipe the dishes as Carol washed them. He was forbidden from actually cleaning the dishes as his clumsy hands struggled with general objects, let alone Kurt's favourite plates covered perilously in slippery, sudsy water.
Kurt left them to it and made his way to the lounge where his father sat on the couch. Kurt's forehead wrinkled a little as his eyes followed the outline of his father's legs, propped up on the coffee table as usual. He'd already left a mark on the smooth, polished surface through scuffing it with his work-boots. Kurt had protested vehemently against this behaviour, he'd been positively incensed when he'd first discovered the ugly patches.
"Kurt, a man should be allowed to be comfortable in his own home!" he'd protested at the time. They'd argued about it but in the end they were able to compromise, Burt had conceded to remove his shoes at the door and Kurt would allow him to be 'comfortable'. Despite this he was still struck by a flash of annoyance.
Kurt stood, leaning against the doorway for a second and allowed himself to really look at Burt, illuminated dimly by the TV's flickering glow. The colour had returned to his full cheeks and his eyes retained their strong, healthy glow. His shoulders were relaxed, free from the burden of Kurt's trouble at McKinley. Kurt felt a pang of guilt and pushed it to the back of his mind for it to eat away at him unconsciously there before uncrossing his arms and flicking the light switch. He watched in amusement as Burt blinked blindly before glaring over at his son.
"Geez, Kurt. Haven't I told you a thousand times not to do that?"Kurt glided across the room and settled behind the couch where his father was sitting, crouching behind it so that they were both level.
"Sitting in the dark with your eyes glued to the TV is bad for your eyes," Kurt shook his head in mock exasperation, "I've told you that a thousand times."
"Yeah, well..." Burt grumbled, shifting in his seat and re-focusing on the TV set. "Aren't you going bowling?"
"Yeah," Kurt said, straightening up. "I'm just leaving to pick Mercedes up now."
Burt nodded and turned to offer him a lopsided smile, Kurt smiled back and he saw a flicker of worry in his father's eyes. His stomach dropped in anticipation for what would follow next.
"You're doing alright at that Dalton school, right? You don't talk to any of us about it. I worry about you Kurt." Burt was frowning deeply now and Kurt's chest constricted in guilt. He sighed and looked away for a second before crouching down again and placing his arms gingerly around his father's neck. He tightened his arms in a gentle hug and was comforted by the scent of car oil that seemed to have almost become infused with Burt's own natural scent after all the years spent at the garage.
"I'm going to be fine Dad," he said into his father's neck. He pulled away but Burt held onto one of his hands, shifting in his seat so that he was facing him better.
"I just want you to be happy Kurt, that's all I want."
Kurt wished he could smooth away the lines of worry that had seemed a permanent fixture over the years. Kurt wished he could tell him that he was happy but that was one lie that neither of them would believe.
Instead he said the one thing that would never cease being true, "I love you Dad."
"I love you too, Kurt," Said Burt, he smiled but it didn't quite reach his eyes and the lines of worry were still visible. Burt gave Kurt's arm one more little squeeze before releasing him. Kurt hovered a little, fidgeting with his watch. Burt saw him squirming and laughed.
"Go on," he said with a grin and turned back to the TV, "you don't want to be late on my account."
Kurt felt all the tension drain away from his body and he smiled fondly at his father.
"I'll be back around ten," he said.
Burt raised a hand and waved him away.
"That's fine, you go have fun. I'll see you when you get home."
Kurt nodded even though Burt was now completely engrossed with the men running on-screen, he swiftly made his way into the hall, calling out a quick 'bye' to Carole and Finn as he picked up his black satchel from the banister where he'd left it. He heard the faint sound of Carol and Finn shouting out 'see you later' as he pressed down on the handle and opened the door. The bitterly cold air made him shiver a little, he reached over to grab his keys from the little bowl he'd thrown them in earlier that evening and made his way to his car, closing the door behind him.
Kurt liked driving in the dark. It was relaxing, especially right now with his window rolled down and the chilly air filling his lungs. He could breathe easier like this. He had been looking forward to seeing Mercedes and, dare he say it, Rachael, all week. Despite this there was still a small part of him that was dreading the outing. Not because he didn't want to see them, they were the two best friends he'd ever had and he loved them but... that was just the problem, wasn't it? With their careful, concerned eyes trained on him all night it would be impossible to act his part, what if they saw right through him? It was as though he'd gotten so used to playing the cold shell that was Dalton Kurt that he feared he may be morphing into the bland boy altogether. In reality that was his biggest fear, the greatest humiliation and defeat – losing himself to that school, to the bullies that had plagued him all his life.
He shouldn't feel like this, he thought as he navigated his way around the parked cars that lined Mercedes' quiet residential street. Nevertheless, when Mercedes climbed, beaming, into the passenger seat the smile that lit up his face was genuine. The warmth of affection rekindled inside of him in an instant and when she reached over to give him a tight, warm squeeze he allowed himself to relax into the embrace and appreciate the closeness. Kurt kept his physical distance as a general rule but Mercedes had always been one exception, as had Rachael in recent months. Finn hugged him on occasion but that was usually an ordeal for both of them and Finn hadn't really hugged him since his court appearance. Since he'd enrolled at Dalton they hadn't hugged at all, although Finn did get that weird look in his eyes sometimes, like he wanted to do something to comfort him.
He and Mercedes fell into easy, comfortable conversation almost at once. She updated him on the latest situation with Rachel and Finn before they picked the petite star up and the state of the other sporadic relationships within the Glee club. Kurt was happy to hear that Tina and Mike were the only glee club couple that were still keeping steady and strong. He felt the old, familiar pang of longing somewhere hidden deep in his chest but it was faint now, the desperation for someone special to share his life with had long since lost the hold it once had on his heart. Kurt sometimes felt like he'd lost something essential along the way in that sense, to lose the passion and deep-rooted want that had consumed him for so long couldn't be normal, could it? Thankfully, before he could pull himself too far down gloomy trains of thought they pulled up in front of Rachel's house and she bounded happily into the car launching straight into a fast-paced update on all things Rachel Berry. Kurt shook his head in mock exasperation. He glanced at Mercedes with a smirk and she rolled her eyes and they both fell into silence, letting Rachel rattle on.
"-and I really think that through writing original songs we could have a real advantage over the competition," finished Rachel in a final, matter of fact tone. There was silence for a second before Kurt sighed dreamily.
"I miss Glee..." he admitted in a quiet voice, more to himself than the two other girls. The moment the words had escaped his lips he knew it had been a mistake. The light mood in the car instantly shifted and suddenly the air felt heavy and oppressive. Mercedes turned to look at him with a sympathetic, concerned expression. Kurt's eyes flickered up to his overhead mirror and saw that Rachel wore a similar mask of worry. His hands gripped a little harder on the wheel. This had been exactly what he'd wanted to avoid.
"So how are you doing?" Mercedes asked after a while. Kurt's eyes flicked quickly to her face and back to the road, her face was unchanged. This was the look Kurt hated, the eyes full to the brim with pity that Kurt neither needed nor, in reality deserved. Kurt pulled one hand away from the steering wheel and leaned his elbow against the open window frame and leant his head into his open palm.
"I told you, I'm fine Mercedes," Kurt said in a tired, resigned voice. They seemed to always stumble upon this conversation every time they met up. Kurt dreaded it.
"You always say that!" Mercedes protested with eyes fierce. Kurt placed both hands back on the wheel and willed himself not to lose his temper breathing in deeply through his nose and gritting his teeth. He loved the girls, he really did, but things were just so much simpler when he was alone.
"Why can't you talk to us about it?" Rachel asked quietly from the back seat, sounding small.
Oh god, thought Kurt. His fingers became even tighter on the wheel, his knuckles whitening. Maybe this whole outing had been a mistake.
"Because I don't want to talk about it," Kurt ground out through clenched teeth, only barely controlled. Mercedes frowned, looking hurt. Rachel shrunk back in the seat and fell silent. Kurt was instantly flooded with an awful sense of guilt. He took a few shallow breaths before speaking.
"It's a reform school, it's not a walk in the park but I'm coping. It's... different to McKinley. I mean, I get more peace there because I can just..." He trailed off, struggling to find a way to explain. He glanced at both quickly as he pulled up at a red light. They were uncomfortable when Kurt talked about his more violent episodes and Kurt didn't want to upset them.
"I'm a different person there," he explained gently as the light flickered back to green and he took the road on the left, "but when I'm with you two, tonight, I get to be me again."
They didn't answer him so he continued, almost begging.
"Please, I know you're worried but just allow me that?" There was silence and then just as abruptly as the heavy atmosphere had descended it dispersed.
"Girl, is that a personalised bowling ball?" Mercedes asked suddenly. In the mirror Kurt saw Rachel's eyes widen and she clutched the bowling-ball shaped bag to her chest.
"It's my lucky bowling ball!" She defended. Kurt knew without seeing it that the ball would be adorned in gold stars.
"Blaine! I aint' paying you to stand around!"
Blaine breathed deeply trying to repress the rage that this weekly humiliation induced. He counted silently in his head.
"Well? What are you waiting for?" Gary pressed. Blaine finally looked up at the vile, overweight man with the vastly receding hairline. A wave of intense dislike for his boss crashed over him, he balled up his fists and clenched his jaw.
"I'm sorry Gary," he said through gritted teeth, "it won't happen again."
"You're damn right it won't," Gary said with an unpleasantly smug look on his bloated face and pushed another grease-soaked fry into his mouth with fat, stubby fingers. On Thursday evenings Blaine worked at the local bowling alley. It was one of the jobs he loathed the most. For starters the clothing was ridiculous. A garish clash of turquoise and orange that his bowling shirt consisted of right down to the stupid clown-like bowling shoes that Gary insisted they all wore.
Blaine's ability to stay calm in the presence of the power-starved tyrant he called his boss was a testament to how far Blaine had come over the past months. A year ago Blaine would never have been able to keep his cool around this fat, neckless toad.
Blaine grabbed a dirty rag and went to clear some of the tables on the bowling lane, leaving Gary to his one and only love – food. With a wary sigh Blaine began stacking the paper trays and cups into neat piles and wiping the sticky, grimy surfaces. The entire bowling alley was designed in usual, tacky fifties style complete with flashing, pink neon signs and a basic layout that hadn't changed for the best part of forty years. Apparently Gary had a fetish for vintage. Unfortunately a lack of any semblance of taste detracted from what the place could be. In this state it simply look run down and sad. One of the employees who had been here for three years had told Blaine that the dim-witted boss had once even ordered a dozen pairs of roller-skates and handed them out to the small diner's waitresses, much to their horror. That particular show of idiocy had resulted in a broken arm and a lawsuit, the roller-skates had been thrown out shortly thereafter.
"Well that's just not fair," a girl exclaimed from the next lane, over the sound of crashing pins and excited squealing, "How the hell can you pull off bowling shoes."
"Mercedes you're being ridiculous, no one can pull off bowling shoes."
Almost at once his head shot up, interest peaked.
Kurt Hummel, Blaine realised and sure enough as the boy turned around to roll his eyes at the two girls Blaine's breath caught in his throat. Because this person sounded like Hummel and sure as hell looked like Hummel but somehow he was completely and utterly changed in a way Blaine couldn't comprehend. Sure, there was the clothes and the hair, both immaculate and far beyond anything he'd ever seen displayed on the other Dalton boys, but then there was something deeper too. The change was in his eyes, the quirk of his mouth, his relaxed shoulders. He only saw this for a split second as Kurt turned back around to watch a short, brunette girl jump up and walk towards the lane with a bright blue bowling ball adorned with little golden stars. He knew he should just walk away and leave him alone. He looked at peace here and that alone was enough to warm Blaine from the inside out. A regular, decent person would have walked away. Unfortunately, despite his best efforts to convince himself otherwise Blaine still had a long way to go. In the back of his mind he told himself he simply wanted to get back at him for making a fool of him before Wes and David earlier on in the week but a niggling part of him knew that this was a half-truth. As he approached their lane he could see Kurt's withering glances and glares, the sound of him cursing at him that very first day still resounded in his head. Blaine felt himself naturally gravitating towards the three friends, with the apparent purpose of easing his ego. Blaine would make Kurt squirm too, he decided. His heart sped up in anticipation as he circled the lane, keeping his eyes carefully trained on Kurt, until he was standing opposite him. He began wiping the table but kept his eyes on Kurt the entire time. Blaine heard a crash to his right and suddenly the petite girl was running back to the table.
"I got a strike! Mercedes, didn't I tell you I was a natural!" Her chest puffed out in pride and she swished her hair over her shoulder. The other girl, Mercedes, laughed while Kurt rolled his eyes with a tolerant smile.
"Yeah, I saw," Mercedes said in a humouring tone, "but that doesn't mean I'm not still going to beat your skinny white-girl behind."
It was at this point that Kurt noticed Blaine, for a minute he halted mid-laugh and his eyebrows pulled together slowly.
"Hey," Blaine said simply, without inflection. Blaine watched with interest as Kurt's face became slack, the humour fled from his features and the blood drained from his cheeks. His eyes lost the glow and fell into a flat dullness that Blaine recognised. Here was Kurt as he'd seen him at Dalton.
"Kurt," the petite girl asked uncertainly, looking from him to Blaine in concern. "Are you okay?"
Kurt's eyes flickered to his friends briefly and he somehow managed to compose his features, "I'm fine," he answered softly to them but as his eyes flashed back to Blaine they flashed with indignation and anger. Kurt rose from between the girls, Blaine felt suddenly conscious of his shortness as Kurt straightened up to his full height, he straightened too and both regarded each other carefully. The tension between them was tangible as the rest of the world faded around them.
"A word?" Kurt asked in a low, clipped tone. Blaine's eyebrows shot up but he stepped aside and gestured for Kurt to lead the way. Kurt studied his open palm with suspicion before turning back to his friends and giving them a reassuring smile, "This will only take a second."
Blaine stole a glance at the girls, who were glaring at him and looking unconvinced. Blaine knew he shouldn't but for some reason he really wanted to get under Kurt's skin so he flashed them a smile and winked. The girls looked stunned and Blaine had to hide his self-satisfied grin when Kurt's head shot around impatiently to see why he wasn't following. The boy's eyes narrowed but he turned around without another word and proceeded to lead them out of the lane. Blaine passed Jeremiah on the way, looking curiously at the pair.
"Tell Gary I'm taking a break," Blaine commanded. Jeremiah shook his head disapprovingly but agreed with a nod, rolling his eyes.
Blaine had to jog to catch back up with Kurt who'd flung the nearest fire door open and stomped outside into the chilly air. Blaine followed, shivering unconsciously at the sharp air against his bare forearms. There was a loud, echoing slam as the heavy doors swung closed behind them and then they were standing in the grimy, deserted alleyway in silence. Kurt was facing the opposite wall with his back to Blaine. He stood so still and stiff that almost looked like he'd been standing there forever and the rest of the world had simply grown around him. Blaine had previously, fleetingly thought Kurt attractive but it was something he'd quickly pushed aside and repressed. Having said that, his silhouette now against the glaring, flashing glow of the single overhead lamp was something completely new and threatened to undo him completely. Something hot and unwavering took a hold of Blaine's body, filling him up with emotion. Emotion that was completely foreign and frightening in the way it felt so familiar and right.
"You look different," Blaine said at last, cutting into the thick silence. He was surprised at how low his voice sounded. Kurt was still for a moment but when he eventually turned around his face was torn, unsure. It wasn't the expression Blaine had expected and shame and guilt washed through him. It was a far cry from the satisfaction he'd hoped to gain.
"Go ahead then," Kurt spat out bitterly and Blaine saw a glint of fear creep into his eyes, "Do your worst."
Blaine frowned, Kurt was tense again, he looked as though he was about to fly off at any second. Blaine's eyes wandered across his face, his features were hard and resolute. Kurt looked so strong and proud but again, he could see the cracks that were beginning to appear under the strain. Carefully, without making any sudden movements Blaine backed away, crossing his arms and leaning against the brick wall. It was surprising how at ease he felt. He welcomed the feeling and wished that Kurt could feel it too.
"Relax, why would I do anything?" Blaine asked. Kurt looked stumped but that slowly dissolved leaving way for the irritation to seep in.
"What are you doing here?" Kurt asked indignantly, crossing his arms and mirroring Blaine's posture leaning against the wall opposite him in the narrow space. Blaine paused for a second, tilting his head to the side and considering this question before bursting out in laughter. Kurt looked taken aback and the irritation became more and more apparent as Blaine continued to laugh.
"What the fuck are you laughing at?" Kurt snapped after a minute of this. Blaine ignored him and in a second Kurt had crossed the space between them and pushed him, hard in the chest against the wall. Blaine blinked in surprise for but as soon as he saw Kurt's face that close to his all brain function flat lined. With his hair pulled back from his face like that it was easier to appreciate all the beautiful, sharp angles of his face. They were stunning, even when pulled together in anger. Blaine noticed that, despite the violent act he still felt a numbing calmness running through his body. The rage, the red, the lack of control, all of that had been washed away and the only thing left was Kurt.
"What am I doing here?" Blaine snorted incredulously, "Look at me!" Blaine gestured dramatically to the hideous shirt he was forced to wear.
Kurt's eyes wandered down to Blaine's chest and his face distorted into a comical mask of distaste.
"That thing should be burned," Kurt said and took a step back, re-enforcing both of their personal space. Blaine shook his head with a slight smile.
"I work here on Fridays," he explained, picking at the shirt with a frown.
"I didn't know," said Kurt, looking away. He rubbed his arms over the thin purple fabric, trying to keep warm against the chill. An awkward silence descended that neither wanted to be the first to break.
"I don't care, you know," Blaine said finally, Kurt glanced up.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean I don't care what you do outside of Dalton, or in Dalton. Firstly it's none of my business and secondly..." He trailed off, locking his and Kurt's eyes and trying to look as sincere as possible because for some insane reason more than anything Blaine wanted this boy's trust.
"Secondly?" prompted Kurt without breaking their eye-contact.
"Secondly, I went to Dalton," Blaine rubbed the back of his neck in a rare display of self-consciousness. "I know what it's like. Sometimes you have to become someone else in there or things get hard."
"Is that what happened to you?" asked Kurt.
"I guess so, but my situation is a little different than others," Blaine answered with a shrug.
"Different in what sense?" Blaine was surprised at the amount of curiosity in Kurt's tone.
Blaine smiled and shook his head with a smile.
"You should get back to your friends," said Blaine, evading the question. Kurt nodded slowly and crossed the alleyway, banging on the fire-door.
"So you're not going to tell anybody about... this?" Asked Kurt carefully, gesturing down to his clothes. Blaine simply shook his head with a smile as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a packet of cigarettes. He saw Kurt flash the packet a look of distaste as someone opened the fire door, giving the two a curious glance before walking away. Kurt held the door open and hesitated.
"Those things are really bad for you, you know," said Kurt simply, eyeing him as he flicked the top open and pulled one out.
"I know," Blaine answered with a smile. Kurt shook his head.
"I guess I'll see you next Wednesday then," said Kurt.
"Yeah," replied Blaine, he felt the grin stretching across his face before he could stop it, "I'll see you then."
Kurt nodded and turned to leave him behind before turning back quickly.
"Thanks," was all he said before he let the door close behind him and disappeared from sight. Blaine was left alone again.
Gary is going to be pissed, he chided himself but proceeded to light the cigarette and take a long drag, closing his eyes and savouring the calming sensation that washed over him before he exhaled. For the first time since Mr. Matthews mentioned the job at Dalton Blaine felt himself actually looking forward to Wednesday.