3. Fighter

The absolute worst part of the day is leaving Kurt at dismissal. We've exchanged numbers, and I plan on texting him like crazy, but having that awesome day with him and then finishing it off with my dad being home is definitely not ideal.

I cling to the fact that an angel—my angel—has agreed to go on a date with me—He likes me, he actually likes me!—before I take a deep breath and prepare myself for whatever my dad and his best friend Jack Daniels have in store for me.

My father—or as I prefer to think of him, Adam—surprisingly isn't drunk when I walk in the door. He has various documents for whatever he does at work spread out on the dining room table, and the house smells of coffee, which is wafting from a mug next to him, and his glasses perched on his nose. There's something else I can smell with the coffee, but I brush it off. Probably just air freshener or something.

It's a complete 180 from Friday, and I stop in the doorway and stare.

He eyes me over the rim of his mug. "Will you shut the door? I'm not paying for air conditioning if you're just gonna waste money we don't have."

Typical Adam. "If we don't have the money, why are you using the air conditioning?" I probably shouldn't goad him, but assholes make assholes, right?

He glares at me. "Just shut the damn door. It's not that hard."

I slam it. "Happy now?"

He gives me a hard look and asks in an equally hard voice, "Very. How was school?"

"Fine." More like effing awesome. Suddenly, the fact that I'm with Adam doesn't matter—because I have a date with the most beautiful boy I've ever seen. Can boys be beautiful? Oh well, he is.

"Just 'fine'?" Adam asks.

I shrug. No way am I telling him about Kurt. "Yeah. What's wrong with fine?"

"So nothing…interesting happened today?" There's something odd about his tone; it's almost like he's expecting something.

You mean besides meeting the love of my life? Jeez, dude, pull yourself together! "No, everything was the same as always."

He scoffs. "Really? So you regularly cut three classes?" He's glaring at me now. Crap.

Now I know what that weird but somewhat familiar smell is. His coffee has a bit of a kick of Jack in it, and now I'm screwed.

"I had to help my f-friend." I stammer. Hopefully he doesn't set his buzzed paranoia on the fact that I stuttered at that word.

"Friend, huh?" he sneers. "What's that Puckerman boy got you into now?"

"Noah didn't get me into anything. And he's not my only friend." Oh, good job Blaine. The less he knows about Kurt, the better, remember? Keep him safe.

He gets up from his chair and makes his way over to me, and I instinctually step back. "Oh really? So you've managed to convince someone else that you're not some lying bastard?"

"You know, oddly enough, you're the only one who thinks that. Guess it takes a bastard to know a bastard, right?" I know intentionally angering him when he's been drinking is a stupid idea, but maybe if he's focused on me he'll forget that snippet about Kurt.

"You little shit. If you're cutting classes to hang out with your friends, how're you gonna get enough credits to graduate and go to college?"

What? "You care if I go to college?" My voice is softer now, because of confusion. The back of my mind is telling me that he doesn't, he just wants me out of the house.

"If you're in college, you aren't here, and I don't have to waste any more money on you." Well, whaddaya know?

"Oh, yeah, wouldn't want to spend any money on unnecessary things, like feeding your son. You know what? It would be much easier if you stopped buying me food and just drowned yourself in alcohol. You'll die much earlier, and then you won't have to deal with me. I'm pretty sure I'll get a hefty life insurance check, too."

He laughs. "Do you honestly think I would give any of my hard-earned money to you? Maybe your mother was stupid enough to do that, but I sure as hell won't."

Anger that I've been trying to control since my Kurt slip-up suddenly boils over at the mention of my mother. According to one of my father's drunken stories, it was just a one night stand after they'd had too much to drink—go figure. He'd never wanted me, or her. The only reason they'd gotten married was because both sets of my grandparents had run interference. Adam couldn't even bring himself to smile in the wedding photo. Actually, I'm pretty sure any of the pictures taken from the time they were married until now will have him either grimacing, frowning, or scowling. With a drink in his hand.

"Don't you talk about her," I warn menacingly.

My tone surprises him, but he plows on. "Aww, what's the matter? Little Blainey doesn't want to hear about what a slut that bitch was? She ever tell you she had to get a paternity test since she couldn't keep her whore legs closed?"

My fury makes me irrational, and I lunge at him. He wasn't expecting it, plus he's been drinking, so he goes down fairly easily. I've never been in an actual fight before, so I'm hitting blindly—but I don't care.

My fists pound fast and furious into anything I can reach—his sides, his chest, his cheeks, his nose. There's blood on my knuckles from his nose, and my hands are starting to throb. I make the mistake of slowing down, and that's when he strikes.

I was already perched precariously on top of him, so when he shoves me, I go flying. My head bangs on the leg of the dining room table, and I let out a gasp of pain.

Adam stands up, swaying a little, and wipes the blood from his face with his sleeve. Some of it got into his mouth, and I can see some of his teeth outlined in red. The fact that he's growling at me makes him look like a mad dog.

"Get up." He says it slowly and calmly, and it makes me freeze. No good ever comes from this tone. It's always the precursor.

My lack of response must annoy him, because he shouts, "Get up, you dumb shit!"

I want to get up slowly as a means of defiance, but I go back to the first time he hit me when I was eight, and I scramble up like a scared little kid. Despite the fear blooming in my chest, I stand tall with my chin up.

He steps forward, but his foot crunches on the glass from his mug. He glares at me. "Clean this up." When I don't move, he lashes out and hits me. "Clean it up! Now!" He shoves me toward the kitchen cabinet where we keep the cleaning supplies and stalks to the bathroom, muttering obscenities as he goes.

I ignore the stinging pain of the bruise I can feel blossoming on my cheek and set to work.

It's 10:00, and Adam has managed to work himself into a drunken stupor. I haven't seen him since our fight, and I'm planning on keeping it that way.

My phone chirps, signaling a text. Angel appears on the screen, and I sit up, suddenly wired.

Hey! Sorry I didn't text earlier, I've got A LOT of catching up to do :(

I smile and start to type out a reply when my phone chirps again.

You don't do that ridiculous "text talk" do you? Because I HATE that.

This time I laugh, and start over on my message.

I hate it too, though Noah insists on using it. It's soo annoying. Do you need any help with anything?

No, I'm fine. But I think I could use your help with our Art project…I don't have a very good camera, do you have one I could borrow?

Yeah, sure. I'll bring it to you tomorrow.

Thanks

You already found something to use?

Not yet, but inspiration can strike at any time, right?

I think about how perfect he is, and find myself itching to start drawing him for the finished product.

Right. How was your dad when you got home?

Well, he inspected me himself—as if I would lie about making it through the day unscathed—and determined that I'm allowed to go back to school, but "if anything happens, I'm pulling you out."

Nothing's gonna happen to you. I won't let it.

Maybe that was too much too soon, but the thought of someone hurting him makes anger surge through me, churning my insides.

As much as my father will appreciate that sentiment, I'm sure I don't need your services as a bodyguard. Besides, you're bigger than me, but not big enough to take on those guys.

Noah would help.

Well, as chivalrous as it is of you to volunteer his services, I won't need them. Now, tell me more about this date…

My stomach flutters, and I think back on all the things I learned about romance from the movies my mom used to watch.

Well, I planned for it to be a dinner—I'll cook whatever you want—in the tree house that me, Noah, and Noah's dad built when we were kids. We could talk, go inside and watch a movie, whatever.

Alright. When was this going to be?

Could you be at my house on Saturday at 6?

But it's only Monday! How am I supposed to wait until Saturday to go on a date with you?

Okay, I have officially crossed into adolescent girl mode. I do my best to ignore the girlish squeals I'm doing in my head and reply to him.

Well, we do have lunch together. And homeroom. And English. And Art. We can definitely talk in school, if you want.

Okay. I'd like that.

Me too :)

Going to school today isn't as bad as yesterday, but it still sucks. At least I have something to look forward to.

And sure enough, when I walk into homeroom—on time for once, and not just before the announcements—Kurt is sitting in Noah's desk and Noah is sitting on top of it. They're cracking up, which can only mean one thing: Noah is telling Kurt embarrassing stories about me.

"Whatever he told you isn't true," I say. They stop for a second, look at me, look at each other, and start laughing again. So much for having an awesome day. "Well, good morning to you, too. Traitors."

Noah's in danger of falling off of the desk, he's laughing so hard. I glare at him, but it doesn't affect him. Kurt has some manners, though, and stops, looking semi-apologetic.

"Sorry." He presses his lips tight together to stop any more giggles from escaping, but a few do.

"Yeah, whatever. What did he tell you? And I swear, if you start laughing again—"

"I won't, I won't! He told me about how you came out to him."

Oh dear God. It's worse than I thought. I round on Noah. "Why the hell would you do that?"

He shrugs. "Well, I figured it wouldn't be fair for you to just sweep him off his feet with dinner in the tree house; he should know what kind of idiocy he's signed up for."

I roll my eyes at him. I notice that Kurt is looking around the room nervously, and I scan the room too. Everyone's talking, and it's pretty loud; I doubt anyone will overhear us. I lean in and whisper into his ear, "Don't worry, no one will hear. Just relax." I sneak a short kiss to the shell of his ear before I pull away. He smiles at me, and I can see the gratitude in his eyes.

"You two are so cute," Noah gushes.

He laughs at Kurt's blush, and I remember what the plan was for today. "Hey, weren't we supposed to be having a mini-date right now?" I look pointedly at Noah, my eyes screaming Leave now!

He puts his hands up in an "I surrender" gesture and lopes over to a group of girls. He'll probably be "dating" one of them by second period.

I turn to Kurt, who looks nervous but excited. I spend the first few awkward seconds staring at him, but he interrupts me. "What's that on your face?" he asks.

I shrug, trying—once again—to appear cool and confident, even though on the inside, I'm freaking out.

What if he finds out? "It's nothing," I say, hoping he'll drop it.

No such luck. "It looks like a bruise. Were you in a fight?" His eyes widen as a horrible thought occurs to him. "You didn't confront those football players, did you?"

What? "What? No."

He looks skeptical. "Uh huh. You don't have to get into fights for me, Blaine." He crosses his arms.

Oh crap. Are we about to have a fight? I didn't even do anything! Wait. This could work to my advantage: if he thinks I'm fighting with football players, he won't consider that it's my dad.

Why does that kind of disappoint me?

I decide to play along with his idea. "I just don't like the idea of them hurting you. Of anyone hurting you, really."

"Well, while your concern is sweet and appreciated, I don't need you openly causing conflict. I can take care of myself."

"No you can't."

He looks scandalized. "Really? How would you know?"

"Your dad wouldn't have reacted that way if there was no reason for him to. Something happened to you, at your old school. Somebody hurt you, and I'm not gonna let that happen here."

He's surprised by the sudden fierceness of my voice, but he keeps his tone. "I'll be fine. I don't need you fighting my battles for me."

"That's not what I'm trying to do; I'm trying to prevent battles."

He puts his shoulders back and juts his chin out. "Fine. Then I'm doing the same with you."

"What?" Please don't be saying what I think you're saying…

"Well, if you can confront dangerous people on my behalf, I can do the same for you."

Images of him trying to fight Azimio and even my father flash behind my eyelids, and I will them away. "No," I say firmly.

His eyes narrow. "You don't make my decisions for me, Blaine. This relationship is going to be equal, not you swooping in to save me when I get a little scared. I'm going to save you, too." His voice has softened, and he looks so earnest that I'm having trouble figuring out how I'm going to get him to abandon this crazy—and dangerous—notion. Fortunately, the announcements start, and the conversation stops.

"So did you guys fuck yet?"

"Jesus, Noah, what the hell? You don't just ask that!" He just shrugs, like he's not a pervert. "Why do you want to know, anyway?"

"I don't know how fast gay relationships go, and we've already established that the guy's got a good ass, plus you seem a shitload happier than you were this time yesterday."

He's right. I am happier, noticeably so. Dodgeball week in gym usually has me dragging my feet, but today I'm swift. "Well…we did kiss yesterday."

He stops mid-throw, drops the ball, grabs my arms, and walks us in front of some of the easier targets so we'll get out. Once we do, he drags me to the bleachers—away from everyone else, on the far side—and sits us down. "Spill," he demands.

I tell him about what happened on the way to Art, and he stares at me, dumbfounded. "So you guys are like, official?"

I shrug. "I don't really know. We haven't really gone on a real date or talked about being boyfriends…" I trail off. Are we boyfriends? How would we handle that here?

"You want some alone time at lunch to figure it out? I can make myself scarce. What happened to your face?"

"What?" I pretend not to know what he's talking about.

"You've got a bruise on your jaw," he points out.

I feel around, looking for said bruise, and wincing when I find it. "We are playing dodgeball, you know."

I can tell that he's unsure, but he just shrugs. "You want some ice for it?"

"Nah, it'll be fine."

"Alright. So do you want me to leave you guys at lunch?"

I nod, but then I think about Azimio, Karofsky, and their sycophants, and change my mind. "Stay close though. I don't want any trouble from You-Know-Who."

"Yeah, sure dude. You know I got your back." We bump fists as a sign of solidarity. Our gym teacher blows his whistle to signal the next round and we're back to being an unstoppable force.

At the end of fifth period I go back to the hallway I found Kurt in yesterday, hoping I'll get the chance to walk him to lunch. And maybe take a few detours and kiss again.

When I turn the final corner, I'm met with a sight that makes my blood run cold.

Karofsky and Azimio are in front of him, leaning in menacingly. I can't hear what they're saying over the din of everyone else, but his eyes are wide, and I can see his chest rising and falling rapidly. Oh, God.

His terrified eyes find mine, and he shakes his head, telling me not to intervene.

The hell I won't.

I know from experience that blind anger won't do much for you in a fight—especially two against one—but if I incorporate some of my dad's intimidation tactics, maybe it won't come to that.

Karofsky takes Kurt by his collar and slams him into the row of lockers he's pressed up against. I hear the gasp of pain this causes, and it takes every ounce of self-control I have not to run over and do the same to him.

"What do you think you're doing?" I ask quietly from behind them. Don't yell or curse. The quiet calmness will be disconcerting.

"Oh hey fudge packer! How you doin'?" His tone is sneering, and he has one arm out next to Kurt's head—much too close for my liking. He's also conveniently blocking his exit.

"I'd be doing much better if you weren't manhandling my boyfriend. Now, if you would be so kind as to remove your arm and allow him to pass by, I think my good mood may be restored." I try not to think about the fact that I've just come out to the school's main homophobe. Or that I just outed Kurt. I say the last part looking hard at Kurt, hoping that the message is coming through my eyes loud and clear: if you can get away, just go. The way he starts frantically shaking his head tells me that he's received my message, but is choosing to ignore it.

Apparently, my outing has worked to my advantage, because Azimio and Karofsky have been rendered speechless. I take my chances and reach forward to grab Kurt's hand, trying to pull him away from them. Seeing our contact snaps them out of it, and Azimio pushes me into the space next to Kurt. I maneuver slightly so that I'm in front of him—not obviously so, but my right side is in front of his left. My right arm is draped across his body and holding his hand. I rub soothing circles to reassure him, and he squeezes in response.

Karofsky is glaring, and he opens his mouth to say something, but another voice interrupts him.

"Hey!" Before any of us knows what's going on, tiny and terrifying Santana Lopez from Art has stormed over, mouth set angrily and brown eyes blazing. She plants herself—all 5''4' of herself—in front of us, and I know nothing's going to happen. He wouldn't dare hit a girl, let alone one as tough as Santana. "What do you think you're doing?" My words sound much more impressive coming from her.

"None of your business," he answers shortly.

"You're in the hallway of a public school, what you do is anyone watching's business," she replies haughtily. "I think it would be in your best interests if you were to leave. Now." Did she just threaten him? I feel Kurt smile into my shoulder, and I know he's thinking the same thing.

They narrow their eyes at her, but retreat all the same. "We'll be back," Karofsky promises. My jaw clenches in response.

Santana stares them down until they turn the corner and then turns to us. "Are you guys okay?"

I'm about to respond when I realize I haven't yet relaxed my defensive pose. I turn around and put my hands gently on Kurt's cheeks. "Are you okay?" I ask. My eyes take in every inch of his body, checking for injuries. I run my fingers through his hair, trying to feel a bump or cut from when his head hit the locker. "Are you hurt?"

Kurt just laughs—how he can laugh at my panic is beyond me, especially with the situation we were just in—and pulls my hands away from him. "I'm fine. God, you're almost as bad as my father."

Santana laughs at that. "So you're good?" She really wants to make sure. I didn't know she could be this kind if she wasn't with her best friend Brittany.

"Yeah, we're fine. Thanks for stepping in, but we could have handled that."

She raises her eyebrows in disbelief at my assertion, but dismisses it. "Yeah, well, it was more fun to do it together," she says with a flick of her wrist. "You guys are gonna be okay, right?" The hall has mostly cleared out, except for a few stragglers, and she eyes them warily.

"We'll be fine," Kurt says with a smile. I squeeze his hand.

Her mouth tightens into a hard line before she says, "I'm gonna sit with you guys today. That okay?"

Kurt looks startled, but I shrug. "Sure. Let's go."

I start to walk, but Kurt pulls me back. "Wait."

He's chewing on his lip looking uneasy. "What's wrong?"

"I want to talk to you." And with that he tugs me further down the hall. Santana stands where we left her, watching and waiting.

"What do you want to talk about?"

"Us."

How can that tiny word inspire so much fear? "What about 'us'?"

He looks me dead in the eye. "I want to walk into that cafeteria holding your hand. I might even kiss you at some point, so be prepared."

He's kind of thrown me for a loop, so I don't say anything for a few seconds. "Are—are you sure? I'm sorry about outing you to Fat and Fatter, I was upset—"

"This isn't about that. I appreciate that you care enough to rush into danger, but you seem to forget that I care too. So I'm doing this, okay?"

The determined look on his face tells me that it doesn't matter what I say; nothing's gonna change his mind. And it doesn't hurt that I'm getting a kiss out of this. "Alright. If this is what you want to do, then we'll do it."

He smiles and kisses me on the cheek. My bruise tingles, but in a good way. "Thank you."

When we get back to the end of the hall where we left Santana, Noah's there too, and he looks pissed. "Are you guys okay? You were late, and I needed my money, but then I saw that Dumbass and Fatass weren't there, and Santana just filled me in and now—"

"Calm down, man, we're fine," I interrupt.

He takes a deep breath and stares at us hard. "Positive?"

"We're okay, Noah. Really," Kurt cuts in. Noah has uncharacteristically concerned eyes when he looks at him, and I appreciate how easily he's accepted our relationship. Hell, he's encouraged it.

"Well let's go then," Santana says impatiently. "I'm hungry, and it's Serve-Edible-Food Day."

Noah makes an eager noise and turns to me with puppy eyes. I roll my eyes and sigh. "Here's your money, you buffoon."

"Thanks, man, you're the best!" And with that, he runs off. I shake my head at his antics, and notice Santana looking after him curiously.

"See something you like?" I quip.

"Shut up."

Kurt intertwines our fingers and tugs me forward. "Come on."

Weighing the pros and cons of coming out this way seems like a good idea, so I consider: You can hold his hand and kiss him in the hallway. You can say "That's my boyfriend" whenever you feel like showing him off.

But on the other hand…

Not everyone will be accepting. Karofsky or Azimio or someone else could try to hurt you. Hurt him.

"If you don't want to be out, we don't have to do this." Kurt's voice breaks me out of my reverie. He looks worried about me, so my face must have betrayed my musings and misgivings.

"I'm fine with it," I assure him. "I just don't want you to get hurt. What happened today was just because they suspected we were together. Giving everyone proof could really backfire, and I want you to be okay."

He smiles a sad smile at me, and kisses my cheek again. The skin that his lips touched tingles, and I have to repress the shiver that wants to run down my spine. "You keep forgetting that I care too. If you'll be okay, I'll be okay."

I swallow the lump that has risen up my throat and nod. "I'll be fine."

He squeezes my hand and kisses me softly—on the lips this time. "Then let's do it."

Walking into the cafeteria is interesting. A lot of the conversation at tables we walk past becomes stilted, many jaws drop, and the majority of people are staring. My eyes are constantly scanning for a threat, ears trained for a slur, body tensed and ready to defend if necessary.

Only one table glares at us, and it's next to ours. We sit down, ignoring—or trying to—the silence that has fallen. I feel a hand on my shoulder, and I jump and turn around, ready for anything—but it's just Noah, smiling. He pulls me up and hugs me tight, then sits down next to Santana.

I have never been more grateful for him than I am right now.

The four of us fall into easy conversation, laughing at the expressions that are still on some people's faces. Kurt and I hold hands on top of the table. Occasionally he'll squeeze or stroke it; sometimes he'll just look at me with this little smile on his face. Is that what I look like when I look at him?

When we're in line for lunch, I put Kurt in front of me and put my hands on his waist so that his back is flush against my chest. I rest my chin on his shoulder and he giggles. "Never pegged you for a cuddle whore."

I laugh and wrap my arms around him. "You know you love it."

A few seconds pass, and he says quietly, "Yeah, I do."

"Hey," I whisper. He turns his head and looks at me with sorrow in his eyes. "Don't be sad, okay?" I kiss the juncture where his neck and shoulder meet. "I don't want you to be sad."

He turns around in my arms and puts his hands on my elbows. "You make me happy." He says it nervously, with his head down, like he's afraid of what I'm going to say.

I lift his chin up and look into his eyes. I'm drowning in the blue of them, and the rest of the world disappears. I say, "You make me happy, too," and kiss his forehead.

Unbeknownst to us, Santana and Noah have been watching our exchange, and at the kiss, Noah ushers us forward. "Come on, lovebirds, you're holding up the line!"

Santana snorts. "The Honeymoon Phase is bliss." Noah chuckles at her.

"Do you have money today, or are we sharing?" I ask into Kurt's neck.

"Well, since you have yet to let go of me, I doubt you'll be getting your own tray, so we'll just put two…what is it that you want?"

I consider our options: mozzarella sticks and marina sauce, a chicken patty, and rubbery-looking chicken with soggy vegetables.

"Let's get mozzarella sticks. It's the safest option."

He laughs.

I squeeze him slightly. "You're the best."

"Better than Noah?" he teases.

I scoff. "Oh, babe, you're way better than that loser."

"Hey!" Noah has a scowl on his face.

"No offense, dude, but I'd not much rather date him than you. You're not my type."

He's mock-hurt, and his bottom lip quivers. "So all those special times in our tree house were just a lie?"

Kurt snickers, and I cringe. "He told you everything, didn't he?"

He nods eagerly. "Every last detail. You're never living that down."

I groan and bury my head in his shoulder. "I'm never leaving you two alone again. There's no telling what you'll get up to."

They chuckle, and by this time we've made it to the end of the line. I pay for our mozzarella sticks and lemonades, and the cashier gives us a warm, crinkly-eyed smile. Kurt beams at her, and I nod.

Just as I'm thinking that we might actually make it through the day, there's a crowd of people at our table. I grip Kurt's wrist and try to steer him around it, ignoring them.

Before I can ask, Santana has answered. "These are some of my friends. They didn't want to eat without me, so they came over here. Is that okay?"

Kurt looks a bit uneasy, so Noah nudges him to take a step forward.

Brittany walks over to him and stares. "How do you get your skin so smooth?" she asks in wonderment. She reaches a hand out to touch his cheek, and he flinches away. She pulls back. "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."

He takes a deep breath. "No it's fine." He tries to smile, but he still looks uncomfortable. "I have a very rigorous moisturizing routine that I adhere to daily. I won't get wrinkles until I'm at least 60."

Noah laughs, but Brittany looks excited. "Can you teach it to me?"

His smile is genuine now. "Sure. But it has to match your skin type, you can't use my stuff."

From that moment on, Kurt and Brittany are engrossed in their conversation, and there's no use trying to pull them out of it.

Lunch passes without the talk that I wanted to have with Kurt, but seeing how happy he is with the new friends he's made makes up for it. Plus Noah and Santana were totally flirting the whole time.

So I'll ask again: What did you think? I'd really like to know what all the people who are favorite-ing the story and putting it on their alerts like about it. And if there's something I could improve on, please tell me.