Wes immediately notices the small things about Kurt Hummel; the nuances of his behaviour that are odd or just plain eyebrow-raising.
Some of the actions that his temporary roommate exhibits Wes can explain away as part of being fastidious and generally worried about appearance. But when he actually pays attention to the comings and goings of the countertenor, he realizes that the boy will shower anywhere from once to three times in a day. He will re-apply deodorant like he has a problem with sweating too much, which Wes hasn't seen any indication of before – no dark circles in his shirts, no sheen to his face.
Maybe he's just worried about the smell, but it's kind of ridiculous.
Because it isn't his room, not really, Wes tries to spend as much time as possible away. He's taken to doing all of his studying in the library, and he's gone for so many coffees lately that he is sure he will actually exhibit caffeine withdrawal symptoms when he goes back to his normal schedule.
He usually gets back from his day sometime after dinner – it ranges between six and eight depending on whether he goes to the library – to go through his nightly routines before bed.
He's done exactly that tonight, and is now sitting on his bed, propped up against his head-board with a pillow behind him. There is a textbook resting on his knees and a notebook just within reach.
Kurt is sitting in front of a mirror on the other side of the room, an assortment of bottles around him. His night-time moisturizing takes longer then it does for Wes to be showered and ready for class, but Kurt does it every day. Wes is glad he doesn't worry that much about his skin.
Silence stretches across the room for a long interval, and Wes only notices because he's come to associate Kurt's night-time routine with the light clanking of bottles. But this time there is nothing.
Wes glances up from his textbook, vision cut in half by the thick volume. He can see the top of Kurt's head, unmoving except for the slightest of quiver every once in a while.
When Kurt continues to be silent and still, Wes slides his feet down the bed to lower his knees, which affords him a complete view of the other Warbler.
Kurt's face is turned toward the mirror on his dresser, but his eyes are downcast and unfocused. Wes might have thought that the other boy was merely lost in thought, except his brow is creased toward the middle in a deep furrow, and his lips are turned down as if in disgust.
He looks like he is going to be sick.
Wes is about to ask if Kurt is okay, if he is still sick from the other day, when Kurt's pale eyes raise to meet his own reflection. Wes doesn't have the slightest idea what he could say about the look he sees coming over Kurt's features.
It's his eyes that are the worst.
Wes has seen many emotions glaring back from those eyes; wonder, adoration, sadness. Kurt's eyes are so expressive, such a window into his soul, that Wes has been amazed and uneasy in turn.
He never thought he'd see such disgust, such complete and utter abhorrence, in them.
As soon as the look has come, it is gone again. And then Kurt is back to his routine, as though nothing had happened.
Wes stares for a moment, thoughts whirling. And wonders if he has just imagined the whole exchange between Kurt and his reflection.
It is the last night that Wes has to spend in Kurt Hummel's room and he's glad that this week will be over soon. He can't wait to get back to his own room, to the familiarity of his own roommate who he's known for years.
Kurt isn't a bad roommate; it is nothing like that. It's just that Wes doesn't particularly like the other boy, and not for any specific reason. Sure, Kurt's first day in the Warblers had done nothing to endear him to Wes (although, he has to admit, he'd agreed with David that first day; Kurt's failed attempt at spying had been endearing), but he didn't hold that against him, not really.
He can't put his finger on it, can't quite discern what it was about Kurt Hummel that annoys him, but he isn't all too worried about figuring it out, either.
After tonight he can go back to his normal school life and forget about the conundrum that is Kurt Hummel.
Closing the textbook that he has propped up against his chest, Wes places it on the bedside table and flicks off the light. As he slides down and under the covers, he closes his tired eyes and is almost instantly asleep.
Wes's eyes snap open as a noise splits the silence of his and Kurt's room. As his eyes focus on the ceiling in the dim light, he can hear subtle shifts of movement coming from Kurt's side of the room, and there are quiet noises escaping the countertenor.
At first Wes finds his face heating in embarrassment; it sounds like Kurt is having a rather enjoyable dream. He hopes that he won't have to suffer through listening to that, and he doesn't want to have to wake the other boy up. That would be absolutely horrifying.
When a lull in the noise lasts for about twenty seconds, Wes lets out a little breath of relief and closes his eyes.
Sleep is pulling him back under its heavy blanket of comfort when he hears Kurt make another little moan, louder and longer than before. In fact, it's loud enough that Wes finds it hard to believe that Hummel hadn't woken himself up with it.
Wes turns to face the other bed, squinting into the dark, and tries to see if Kurt has woken up, but he can see no movement other than the rising and falling of Kurt's chest as he sleeps.
Shaking his head, Wes pulls the covers over his shoulders securely and closes his eyes, hoping that he will be able to get back to sleep without any more interruption.
His hopes are shattered mere seconds later as Kurt starts breathing faster in his sleep, mumbling incoherently. Frustration and a thread of anger building in his chest, Wes pinches his lips and sits up, fists clenching at the fabric of his covers.
He has a test tomorrow in History, and if he doesn't get a good night of sleep he won't be able to concentrate properly. If he can't concentrate on what he is doing, he's going to miss little details, he's going to do something wrong. And his 3.9 GPA will not tolerate any sort of mediocre mark.
Rising to his feet and fully intending to wake Kurt up with as little compunction at all, Wes is faced with a different situation than he had thought.
The noises coming from Kurt's lips are not ones of joy or pleasure; they are, rather, moans filled with unmistakable pain. Now that he is standing, Wes can see Kurt's face, which is a picture of everything wretched.
Wes watches as Kurt shakes his head side to side, the hair splayed across his pillow sticking to the tears on his cheeks. His lips are trembling, pulled back and down as though he is in agony.
Wes is frozen as he stands above Kurt's bed, watching as the boy sobs in his sleep, thrashing against an invisible hold.
"No. No, please." Kurt's mumbles are becoming louder, more clear, and Wes feels shock and horror bloom in his chest. "Stop. Don't touch me – please, please stop."
The dark-haired boy doesn't know what to do. This is something so out of his league that for a moment his eyes wander to his phone. If he calls Blaine, the boy could be here in less than five minutes. And he's actually close friends with Kurt, unlike Wes.
The sobs are coming faster now, building up to intersperse every other word as Kurt keeps up a steady stream of "no, no, no… stop – no!"
Wes lasts less than ten seconds contemplating calling Blaine, and before he can waste more time thinking this through, he bends over and, very gently, shakes Kurt's shoulder.
Kurt flinches away from his hand, yelling, "Please, no!"
Wes jumps back, heart pounding. Kurt's sobs are starting to boarder on hysterical and he has curled on his side tightly, legs tucked in close and arms wrapped around his torso. Like he's trying to make himself very small. Like he's trying to hold something in. Or keep something out.
As Kurt cries out with a heart-wrenching, "Please stop. Don't touch me." Wes amends 'something' with 'someone'.
Approaching the bed again, Wes doesn't try to shake Kurt awake, instead whispering, "Kurt. Kurt – wake up."
The shuddering, shivering boy doesn't react to him, continuing to sob.
"Kurt," he says, louder. "You are dreaming. Kurt."
It doesn't work.
Frustration starting to build in him again, Wes sighs resolutely and makes a decision.
Leaning over Kurt, bracing himself mentally and physically, Wes uses both hands to grasp Kurt's upper arms just above the elbow. As he gets a hold, he demands, "Wake up!" His tone is sharp, something that he usually reserves for his duties as Warbler council member.
"Let go, Karofsky!"
Kurt's voice is loud in Wes's ears as he sees the pale boy's eyes snap open. Wes releases his hold and pulls away as Kurt rips his arms away, scrambling backward in a mass of twisted covers and flailing limbs. He hits the wall at the other end of the bed with a solid 'thud' that makes Wes wince in sympathy.
Kurt, now awake, is breathing in uneven gasps, pulling every gulp of air in faster. As this intensifies, Wes can hear wheezing with every intake as Kurt's throat tightens.
Wes knows what this is, has experienced it several times himself. Reacting on instinct more than anything, he moves forward slowly until his knees hit the edge of the mattress. He keeps a close eye on Kurt as he crawls on to the bed, moving toward the shuddering, hyperventilating boy.
"Kurt? I'm not going to hurt you, okay?"
Wes waits until he gets acknowledgement, in the form of a slight nod of Kurt's head, before putting a hand to Kurt's back. Rubbing his thumb gently against the material of Kurt's pyjama top, he sits himself so that he is beside Kurt.
Aware of the hitching of Kurt's back beneath his hand, Wes says in a soft tone, "You need to calm down. I know it's hard, and it feels like the world in collapsing all around you. Just focusing on your breathing, okay?"
Kurt looks up at him, and Wes is struck by the way his eyes bore into him. Lashes clumped from tears, and the moonlight from the window illuminating the vast and changeable colour, Kurt looks unearthly. And completely devastated.
Swallowing thickly, the Warbler says, "You know the feeling you get when you're completely relaxed? How your feet and hands are warm, how you could practically melt into the ground? Try to imagine that feeling creeping up from your feet slowly."
Shifting so that he can use his other hand to rub softly at Kurt's shoulder, Wes is glad to note that Kurt is starting to calm.
"Just relax all of your muscles and let all of the tension go. Take deep breathes, ones that you can feel in your stomach, and push the tension out with them."
Kurt struggles to slow his breathing, nodding as Wes keeps up a soothing monologue of directions to relax.
"Okay. Okay," Kurt says as his breathing calms enough that he isn't hitching up and down with the movements of his chest. "I'm okay."
Wes realizes that his hands have kept up a steady massage across Kurt's back, and suddenly feels awkward. He gives one last pat and pulls them away, shifting a few inches away from Kurt as he does so.
"Do you feel better?" Wes asks.
"Yeah," Kurt whispers, glancing quickly up and into Wes's eyes and away again. "I'm good. Thank you." He looks embarrassed.
Wes licks his lips and nods. "No problem."
Climbing back out of the bed, satisfied that Kurt won't be left on his own to deal with an anxiety attack, Wes starts back across the room to his own bed. His hands are shaking, and he feels discomforted at the thought of Kurt's pain.
As he grabs his blanket and sheet, pulling them up to get back in bed, Wes looks back at Kurt. And freezes.
Shoulders hunched inward and looking lost and alone, Kurt is biting his lips, trying not to cry. Wes can't just leave him like this; he can't just go back to sleep and ignore that Kurt is sitting just feet away looking and feeling like that.
Wes looks at Kurt, and the wet trails that have made their way down his cheeks are such a counterpoint to his usual essence of composure. Feeling something clench in his chest, sympathy and compassion he supposes, Wes says, "Is there anything I can do?"
"Will you – will you just sit here?" Kurt's voice is quiet, lacking the usual oomph that Wes ascribes to it.
Only hesitating for a moment, Wes walks slowly to the edge of the bed and climbs up, propping his back against the headboard and stretches his legs out. He's uncomfortable, and unsure of what to do.
Kurt doesn't move from where he's curled, keeping the distance between them. Wes thinks he should feel much more awkward than he does, but something about the situation won't allow it.
After a few minutes where Wes can hear Kurt's breathing slowly even out to something resembling normal, Kurt shifts, pulling himself up to sit alongside Wes. The bed is small enough that less than an inch separates their shoulders.
"Do you," Kurt starts, but stops, licking his lips with apprehension written across his face. "Do you know why I transferred to Dalton?"
Wes watches Kurt's face from the corner of his eyes, using peripheral vision. "Not really. Blaine mentioned that you had some – altercations – with a classmate. But nothing more."
Kurt nods, staring straight ahead. "It wasn't – it was more than just bullying."
Kurt's face is starting to turn red and Wes can hear as Kurt's breathing picks up again. Wanting to prevent another bout of anxiety, Wes turns to Kurt and, watching for any kind of reaction, puts a hand on Kurt's shoulder.
"You don't have to talk about it. If you don't want to, that is." Wes doesn't want to discourage Kurt, but he doesn't want the other boy to think he has to say anything. "But, I mean, if you want to tell me about it – that would be fine." Wes cringes internally at his wording.
Kurt's hands are clasped together, fingers digging into his own palms like he can massage the tension from his body in that way.
"I never told anyone what happened," Kurt whispers.
Based on what Kurt had said in the grasps of his nightmare, Wes has a pretty good idea of what is coming. It doesn't make it any easier to hear, though.
"There was this bully, at McKinley. He's always picked on me more than anyone else. I had assumed that it was because he was just a homophobic Neanderthal." Kurt laughs, low and distinctly unhappy. The sound rumbles through Wes like a mass of crawling ants. "He kissed me."
Silence reigns for a minute, and Wes can see fresh tears creeping down Kurt's cheeks, dripping from his chin to soak his top. When Kurt suddenly jolts forward, a sob breaking through his lips, Wes wraps one arm around Kurt's back, pulling him to rest against his side.
"He- he," Kurt stutters. His voice is strained and high, pushing through a throat that does not want to cooperate. "He did other things, too."
Wes actually feels the confession like a needle to his heart; he heard what Kurt was saying in his sleep. He had a good idea of what might have happened.
But the words, even if they are not exact or a precise retelling, they make it all the more tangible. Because before it could have been an allusion, a maybe. Now it was there, like a heavy weight settling in him, and Wes can't pretend that it isn't so bad.
Kurt's sobs are quiet bursts of misery against his side, the tears now soaking into Wes's shoulder.
"He – oh, God. I can't." Kurt's speech is choppy, uneven and filled with an overwrought tone.
Wes knows what it's like to not be able to say something. To look someone in the face and want to spill your heart out – but you can't. Kurt sounds like that right now.
Like he has this huge burden, this pain, inside that he wants to let out. But can't.
"It's." Wes won't say that it's okay. Because it's not. "You'll be okay, Kurt." He's rocking the boy back and forward, arms holding the slender form securely.
Kurt continues to cry, the sound tearing into Wes over and over again.
Wes doesn't have anything to say; at least, nothing that will make this better. Nothing that wouldn't be a false promise.
So he holds the other boy tight, keeps them anchored together and is a life raft to hold Kurt up so he doesn't drown.
Eventually, after a length of time that Wes can't even fathom, the sounds from Kurt taper off and he slowly relaxes in Wes's arms. Not daring to move in fear of waking Kurt from the exhausted sleep he's fallen into, Wes leans his head back and closes his eyes.
The next day Wes wakes up in Kurt's bed alone. The other boy is gone from the room, and the spot next to him where the blankets are still messed is cold.
Wes is almost startled by the sudden worry that runs through him; before last night he'd never really cared for the pale countertenor from McKinley. But what had happened last night, what he had learned, has changed his opinion, how he sees the other boy.
Kurt isn't some pretentious fashionista running from a few homophobic slurs; he's a boy who has an amazingly strong front, but is falling apart inside. He's someone who keeps his secrets tight inside. He's like Wes in that aspect, and it makes Wes feel close to him.
Wes may not know what it's like to be violated like that, may not know exactly how to help Kurt through this, but he knows what it's like to keep things bottled up. And now that he knows, understands what he had thought was odd about Kurt, he knows he can't just leave it.
Slipping from the bed, Wes rubs a hand through his hair and heads out to get ready for the day.
Wes goes through breakfast and first period without seeing Kurt at all, and he only gets a glimpse of the slim retreating back of the countertenor as he is entering his second period class.
By lunch he's quit looking out for Kurt at every moment, and is just enjoying his chicken.
It isn't until he is walking toward his second from last class of the day that Wes runs into Kurt. They are both in a rush, the long distance between some of the rooms enough that it is almost necessary to jog during the switch.
Kurt meets his eyes, looking hesitant, but not afraid, and gestures off to the side of the hall. They both depart from the stream of students, coming to stand face to face.
Kurt looks up slightly and meets his eyes. Wes is startled by how much pain and relief is reflecting back at him, the combined emotions almost a beacon shining. He wonders how no one had found out how badly things had gotten sooner.
But then again, he's seen the boy in Warblers practice nearly daily and never noticed. He supposes that you might have to know what to look for to see it.
Nibbling on his lip slightly, Kurt swallows hard and says, "Thank you. For helping me last night." He's blushing, the colour infusing his cheeks and neck brightly.
Wes nods. "It was no problem. Really," he states when Kurt's eyes turn doubtful. Who knew how much you could read into just one feature. "If-" he pauses, clearing his throat. "If you ever need to talk, or to, for instance, just have someone around, you can come to me."
Kurt's expression is frozen, and Wes continues, "I mean, you don't have to, obviously, but I really won't mind if you wanted to. At all. Any time."
Kurt continues to stare at him for a moment, eyes becoming more intense, more assessing. After a brief moment, he licks his lips nervously and nods. "Thank you, Wes."
Straightening up and squaring his shoulders, Wes looks over his shoulder to where his next class is. "Well, I had better go to my class."
"Yeah, me too," Kurt replies.
"Okay, well, I guess I'll see you later then."
"Yeah."
Wes turns and starts walking away, feeling the burn of eyes on his back. As he reaches the door to his classroom, Wes turns around at the sound of Kurt's voice calling softly across the hall.
"Wes?" Kurt is fidgeting slightly, eyes large and bright. "I really appreciated what you did. It meant a lot. Just – thanks again."
Wes smiles and waves. "You're welcome. Always."
Wes continues to watch as Kurt turns around and starts to walk back to where his class is located, and only turns and enters his own class when Kurt's back disappears around a corner. The smile is still on his lips.
The End
A/N: Went through and finished getting it ready for posting, so everything is up :) Hope you enjoyed, and if you did/didn't let me know about it (if you want to, of course).
The continuation starts next chapter :)