Mike Chang entered Chemistry class next Wednesday looking like he had just narrowly avoided death by blender. Blaine's eyebrow raised at his student's disheveled appearance, but didn't bother to question it. He'd taught in the school long enough to know there were countless explanations for why anyone would look like that; half of them being completely inappropriate.
Following suit few moments later in the same state was Kurt, and that really sent Blaine's mind reeling. Kurt and Mike? Really? Blaine's gaydar must have been getting incredibly rusty considering he thought Mike was as straight as they come. But then again, he was the same guy that couldn't figure out Santana liked girls until he caught her making out with one senior year.
As the two took their seats for the beginning of his class, Blaine simply couldn't hide his smirk. Hook-ups during school hours? He never really pegged Kurt as the type. As he turned to the board and began to write out the title of the lesson he couldn't help but laugh a bit.
Go Hummel, he thought, holding a new kind of respect for him.
Kurt was certain he was going to be ten types of scarred for life due to what he just endured. Normally around that time of day he was walking through the halls with Mercedes, but he had left one of his binders in his car.
It was when he was crossing the field to get to the parking lot that he heard a very familiar voice yelling for help. He turned around to see fellow glee clubber, Mike Chang, practically booking it across the field. He looked up to see the industrial sized lawnmower, which was usually driven by a member of the janitorial staff, being operated by someone in a letterman jacket.
Kurt understood the football team's need to publicly humiliate at least five people between each period, but this was really pushing it.
"Knock it off!" Kurt was yelling to them, but his voice was lost in the sound of the puttering motor. Kurt briefly surveyed his surroundings for some kind of authority figure to help him out in the matter, but it took all of two seconds to realize he was on his own.
By that time the lawn mower was close enough for Kurt to recognize the low-life operating it; the one and only Dave Karofsky. He knew the creep wasn't exactly fond of him and that getting involved was pretty risky, but Mike was a friend.
If I die; I die a martyr, Kurt thought.
The result of that decision was Kurt distracting David long enough for Mike to escape to safety. Sure, he tripped several times while trying to outrun that goddamn machine, and he was pretty sure his clothes were suffering severely from rolling around in the grass, but that was friendship. To be completely honest, if Kurt had had a chance to do it all over again he would have wished Mike good luck and booked it to the parking lot, but he supposed there was a reason we're only allowed one shot.
About five minutes in the lawn-mower ran out of gas, and Dave had stepped down from it. Kurt briefly thought the jock was actually going to help him off of the ground, but he instead opted to walk around him.
"Hey, nimrod!" Kurt called out to Karofsky and the jock turned around, as if not used to Kurt's insults by now. It had been three years, for crying out loud.
"Say that a little louder?" Karofsky asked, and Kurt had absolutely no problem repeating it.
"Nim. Rod."
Karofsky grabbed onto the front of Kurt's shirt, hauling him from the ground so that the two were face to face. Kurt had barely enough time to worry about the subsequent wrinkles.
"Don't test me, Hummel." Karofsky said, barely an inch away from Kurt's face.
Kurt examined Karofsky. The jock up close looked every bit as terrifying as he did from afar. But what really got Kurt's attention was this underlying something in Karofsky's gaze.
He didn't have time to ponder it as a teacher came charging across the field and pulled them apart. Mike, thankfully, had retrieved help.
"This is your final warning, Dave!" The middle-aged women admonished.
He's had around fifteen final warnings, Kurt thought warily as he walked away from the scene with Mike Chang in tow.
"Dude, you look-" Mike started but Kurt cut him off.
"Don't talk about it."
The two walked into his Chemistry class and he dared anyone to make a comment about his appearance. Thankfully, Mr. Anderson did not call either of them out on it.
When Kurt left Chemistry and started to make his way to English, he found himself wondering how much longer he could put up with things. Once someone even remotely different from the masses dared to share the hallways with everyone else it was like diving into murky, shark infested waters.
He made his way from class to class with the rigidity of a soldier, and found himself always looking over his shoulder slightly; always double-checking before turning a corner. As much as he would never admit it out loud, or even to himself when he was in the safe confines of his own home, he very much lived in fear. Not in the subtle way that was almost more sinister.
Not that he wasn't fine with that. Don't let people see your weakness. Once they smell a drop of blood they'll all zone in; they'll eat you alive.
And it was with this slight panic hovering over him that he entered Mr. Anderson's classroom for his extra credit assignment.
"Hey, Kurt." Blaine said brightly in a way that a puppy often runs up to greet their owner at the door when left home alone for too long.
"Hi." He said warily, setting his bag down.
He had found time before coming to the classroom to fix his appearance for the most part. But he feared that his sour mood was given away by his voice. Most days he was just fine. In fact, he would have been able to laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of getting chased across a field with a fucking lawnmower. But today wasn't one of those days. Especially considering his little encounter with Karofsky afterward had left him literally shaking.
It was as if it had all been building up since the beginning of the week; each little incident piling up, one on top of the other. Kurt wasn't sure who it was in the grand scheme of things that had it out for him, but they surely wanted to see how much it would take for him to break.
He wouldn't give them the satisfaction.
"Are you alright?" Blaine asked, giving Kurt a once over that was trademark for every adult he'd ever met. It wasn't that they were really concerned with his welfare, but they were supposed to be, so they made it very obvious that they cared to the point where it was more of an act then it was a reaction.
"I'm fine." He answered all too quickly, and that cut off all possibilities for conversation. Without even thinking, he pulled up a chair next to Blaine at his desk. He hadn't even considered that the teacher most likely found the time to make a second copy of the answer key. His mind was too preoccupied with other things, and, although he would never admit it, he didn't mind the slight comfort of having someone near him.
If Blaine found Kurt's actions odd he didn't let on, getting right down to business. He handed Kurt his half of the papers, and mercifully did not try to engage in small talk.
Kurt tried his best to concentrate on the words in front of him, but they seemed to swim across the page. No matter how he tried to piece it together they just would not make sense. He didn't even try to make sense of it after a while. It seemed too pointless. Like all of this. High school was pointless.
"Kurt?" Blaine questioned, and if Kurt had been paying attention he would have noticed that the only way Blaine would have realized something was wrong was if he were watching him.
"Hm?" Kurt replied, not trusting himself to form full sentences. Not wanting to give himself away.
"The paper's upside down." Blaine said gently, passing up the opportunity to tease him for it.
"Oh." Kurt said, turning it right-side up and managing to make enough sense of it to begin grading. He got through about three papers before he heard Blaine's voice interrupting his train of thought.
"Kurt?"
And Kurt was prepared for Blaine to ask him a bunch of questions about what was wrong; about what he could do to help ensure Kurt a "safe and successful" high school experience. He'd heard it a million times before; out of several different mouths. The only difference between them and Blaine was that Blaine had a way of at least pretending to be sincere.
"You can go."
Kurt looked up, slightly surprised. That had not been what he was expecting. Where was the speech? Where was the inquisition? No, something about this was all wrong.
But he wasn't even going to pause to question it, because if he asked too many questions he would crush the overwhelming feeling of gratitude that was beginning to stem.
"Thank you." was all he said, packing up and heading to the door. He stopped at the door, turning around and regarding Blaine for a moment before saying, "Have a good day, Mr. Anderson."
Blaine probably would have returned the sentiment, but it was obvious to anyone that it was a bit too late for that.
Blaine drove to the airport to pick up Santana, blasting Katy Perry's newest single and resisting the urge to roll his windows down and sing along at the top of his lung for numerous reasons: one being that it was too cold, and also it would attract way too much attention.
After a while he found he was shutting the music out, mind still on Kurt Hummel from his seventh period class of Juniors. It took him all of ten minutes in the student's company to realize that the result of his appearance earlier that day was definitely not due to some hook-up, but was more likely caused by some sort of bullying.
The thing was, all throughout Blaine's high school experience he had been in the same place as Kurt in the emotional sense, but it never really escalated to physical violence. But then again, Blaine had not been as out and proud as Kurt was either, and he lived in South Jersey, not the unbelievably bigoted cesspool that was Lima. Really, if given enough thought, his and Kurt's high school experiences were completely different.
Blaine would have tried to talk to the student about it if he thought that was what Kurt wanted. But he could tell better than most when someone simply wanted to be left alone. Still, he had a right to worry.
When he arrived at the terminal for Santana's particular flight, it took him ten minutes to finally spot her, doused in leopard print from head to toe in a way that should have been tacky but she managed to make it gorgeous, and unfairly so.
"Anderson!" She approached him, her arms wide open and hand making a "gimme" gesture. He rolled his eyes fondly and made his way over, yelping when she squeezed him in a bone crushing hug, and for a few seconds of his life absolutely everything was boobs.
She saw the look on his face and couldn't help laughing. "If you've got it flaunt it, baby." She even did a shimmy for emphasis and he had to look away.
"Noted." He was unable to hide the grin on his face. "I miss you."
She stopped to really look at him; her lips pursed.
Blaine knew she wouldn't get it, and would probably brush off his declaration. After all, even in high school he was known as the slightly odd kid who said and did peculiar things. People who knew him were used to it. But he really did miss her, even though he was reluctant to her coming to visit. It just didn't hit him how much he missed her until she was right in front of him, reminding him what exactly it was he would have to do without the moment she left again.
"Come on." she said, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. "I have to go to luggage claim, and then afterward you are taking me home to that gorgeous boyfriend of yours."
That was the part he wasn't looking forward to.
A/N: Thank you for the reviews so far! And thank you for reading.