Shit.
Fuck.
Shit fuck damn it fuck shit.
Blaine cursed inwardly as he sat in the principal's office waiting for Mr Figgins to come in, his head in his hands. He was so royally screwed.
Mr Figgins walked in and sat behind the desk, hands folded on the table. He looked Blaine up and down and raised his eyebrows, "Blaine Anderson, I think we both know why you're here today."
Blaine merely nodded.
"I have to say; I was rather shocked when Sue Sylvester came in this morning announcing that you, in her words, 'punched the daylights' out of Karofsky."
"He was threatening Kurt Hummel."
"Is that so?"
"Yes."
"Do you have any evidence of this?"
"Well no…it was verbal abuse."
"Without proof Mr Anderson, I don't think I will be able to see things from your perspective."
"Principal Figgins, David Karofsky was insulting Kurt Hummel without a care in the world. You've seen what he's up to. He shoves unsuspecting students into lockers everyday-"
"Throwing students against lockers isn't in the list of what this school defines physical bullying."
Blaine was starting to grow frustrated, "Kurt is being seriously bullied."
"Mr Anderson, unless you show me certain and definite proof that Mr Hummel is in fact being bullied, then I will keep going on my business."
"Are you all blind? He's being bullied every day, by people who are meant to love him, and he deserves so much love. Open up your fucking eyes!"
"Mr Anderson, I will not allow such language in my office."
Blaine opened his mouth to argue but decided against it and instead fixed his face into a scowl.
"You have detention this Friday after school; you will be cleaning the trophies in the south hallway."
All Blaine could do was groan.
"As prom coordinator and junior president, I hereby announce that the junior prom be a masked ball," Brittney announced in front of New Directions with a smile.
"A masked ball? But if you want to kiss someone, then you'd have to lift their mask up and that'll be super awkward," Finn said worriedly, glancing at Rachel who rolled her eyes.
"Look Finn, I know we're dating but I will be spending half of prom rehearsing my solo which will obviously be amazing," Rachel shot a glare at the club as if daring anybody to contradict her.
"But everyone will have a chance to perform right Mr Shue?" Mercedes piped up, raising an eyebrow.
"Of course Mercedes! Everyone will have a chance to either do a group number or a solo," Mr Shue said brightly, then dismissed the club.
Kurt walked away from the room with his eyes on his shoes.
The dance was in a few days.
He had nobody to go with.
It wasn't as if Kurt expected some dashing gay guy to pop up on his doorstep with a bouquet for flowers and a prom proposal.
But there had to have been someone who doesn't have a date.
He knew he shouldn't be so sad about this; it was just a stupid prom.
But it was junior prom.
You only get one junior prom, and Kurt was going solo.
He was so unaware of his surroundings and so caught up in his thoughts that he bumped into someone and his books flew everywhere.
"Watch where you're going," Kurt hissed, kneeling down to pick up his books.
"Says the one who had his eyes trained on the floor," said a familiar voice, a trace of a smirk in his tone.
"Blaine?" Kurt looked up and found his eyes connecting with Blaine's honey ones.
"Hello," he said, picking up the remaining books and handing them to Kurt, who blushed.
"Thank you," Kurt hesitated slightly before continuing, "Not just for picking up the books, but for standing up for me in the mall. That was really nice of you to do that. You really didn't have to-"
"You don't deserve to be talked to like that, especially from your brother. Hopefully, he'll get it in his right mind to treat you better."
Kurt didn't tell Blaine that when he went home that day, David had beaten him up in his room, calling Blaine a 'faggot in armor'. His spine was now littered with purple bruises.
"Yeah. Thank you," Kurt mumbled feebly.
He inhaled sharply when he felt Blaine put his hand on his shoulder, his touch burned into his skin.
"I hope you didn't get into too much trouble for that."
"I just got a detention, nothing drastic."
Kurt's heart swooped. Blaine had said it so casually, as if it didn't bother him in the slightest. Here was Blaine Anderson, a boy he had never had a real proper conversation with, who had punched a boy who was bullying Kurt and took a detention for him.
Without thinking it through, Kurt pulled Blaine into a tight embrace. Kurt regretted it immediately when he felt Blaine freeze and almost let go. But then Blaine relaxed and quickly hugged him back, resting his chin on Kurt's shoulder.
"Nobody's ever stood up for me before, not the way you did," Kurt whispered, his breath tickling Blaine's ear and sending shivers down his spine, "I know I've said it an embarrassing number of times, but thank you for sticking up for me."
I'd do it all again to make you smile, Blaine thought to himself.
"It's not a problem," Blaine said instead, burying his nose into the crook of Kurt's neck.
Don't get attached, Kurt's brain whispered.
Look at you. You're garbage. You're abused by your stepbrother and you're forced to work for hours every day under your stepmother, and you can't tell your father because he's been through hell enough. Why would he deserve you?
You're nothing.
Reluctantly, Kurt pulled away and his heart broke when he saw Blaine's face of disappointment.
Don't get attached.
"I'll see you around?"
Blaine smiled and it lit up the hallway, "I hope so."
"Fag."
"Queer."
"Cocksucker."
"Asshole."
"Whore."
Each punch brought a new insult, a new insult that ringed in Kurt's ear and echoed throughout his hollow bones.
He didn't think he could take much of this.
But he had to.
Because what other choice did he have?
Kurt Hummel had one pleasure.
Solitude.
At night, after the punches were finished, after the insults had ceased, after his hands had finished bleeding from scrubbing the floor, after Natalia had finished cursing his existence, he would run to his room and dive under the covers.
He would plug his earphones into his ears and turn the volume up as high as he could go so that the music blocked out any chance of thoughts entering his brain, cleansing all the threats sent from David and erasing all the marks on his back that he couldn't show.
He would close his eyes and dream of a better place, somewhere safe, somewhere happy.
Sometimes he would dream he was with Blaine. They would be in a field, sun burning their skin, their eyes sinking into each other's. They would be lying down, grass tickling their arms, simply enjoying each other's company.
But the dream always ended the same way. Kurt would momentarily turn to look at the sun and the instant his gaze broke away from Blaine's, he would find the earth crumbling underneath him and he would be falling into a dark nothingness.
And Blaine would still be lying on his patch of grass, eyes glazed from the sunlight, safe and beautiful.
And all Kurt could do was watch.