I love you guys :D just sos yah no, please review, because it makes me so so happy.

And just so you know, I probably wont have an update for tomorrow morning, I gotta work till midnight, and somehow I don't think ill be in the mood when I get back, but you never know... and sorry for the double posting, the setup of my poem keeps screwing up..

Christmas Shoes

Chapter Five: Packaged

Disclaimer: Santa knows my list. I'll let you know after Christmas.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

The frost had come over night, freezing to the windows in icy fingers and adding an air of magnificence to the large Dalton Academy Cafeteria. Kurt had somehow scored a seat next to the window, so he propped his feet up on the ledge and watched as birds hoped and pecked at the thin layer of frost on the green lawn.

His satchel had fallen to the ground beside the chair, his salad was on the chair side table, fork sprouting from the top, but otherwise untouched. His phone buzzed every once and a while with a curious text. An inquiry on how his day was going from Rachel, a stupid joke from Finn, something about an iguana, or a request for a lunch date from Artie, promising not to let him get kidnapped.

From what he understood from the lack of grammar in his brothers texting skills, Rachel and him had made up, though they weren't officially a couple...yet. Mercedes had called him for an inadequate twenty minutes the night before, apologizing for not keeping in touch and filling him in on the recent gossip of McKinley high.

Luckily for him, Finn had done as he promised and not told a soul about the Karofsky kiss. Kurt liked to think that it was a bonding brother minute, but he had actually promised to break all of the war games if he told anyone, leaving the only to be golf.

U 8?

Kurt stared at the text, a comical frown furrowing onto his tired complexion. (He had forgotten that there was a Shakespeare essay due today, and had stayed up half the night trying to decipher the foreign language.) He glanced at the full plate of salad and the empty cup of coffee before replying, Yup, delish. How is everyone this fine Monday lunch?

The phone vibrated again in his lap, and he hastily picked it up, although it wasn't his brother, it was Blaine. Kurt stared at the writing for a full minute, thumb pausing over both sides of the phone before he chose to just ignore it. What was the worst that could happen? Kurt was the very last contact on his list. If he even made the list.

Looking back, he decided it was a little ridiculous to think that whatever relationship they had at the separate schools would survive the transfer. Blaine had his own friends to talk to, ones that were there before Kurt came along, and ones that went through the thick and thin of elementary school.

Ever1 gr8. ttyl, glee

Stifling a sigh, Kurt pocketed the phone. Glee practice knocked out, pretty much, his whole contact list. Well, the important people anyways. He knew it was mean and judging and he didn't know the half of it, but if Blaine couldn't make time to talk to him every once and a while, than maybe he was busy too.

Kurt pulled out his iPod, shoving the buds angrily into his ears. Right, because he was swimming with free time. Even though the academics where at a different – higher – level, he was still excelling in all his classes, well, minus Advanced Physics, but it was very rarely that the elderly teacher gave homework. Which meant his time was everything but busy.

The back of his head itched, and Kurt just knew that the occupants of the large room were watching him. Watching the new kid; the new gay kid; the new, gay, loner new kid. Life sucked some times.

The phone vibrated, shaking Kurt away from his music and pulling out the slick device. He unlocked it, smiling when the name came up. Hey Kurt, try running with scissors. It'll make you feel DANGEROUS!

Okay, Addie. But I'll have to find some that aren't safety scissors! Chuckling, he re-pocket the phone. She always seemed to have her breaks at the perfect time. That was the only time -she claimed- she could text him, and when ever she did it was humorous little jokes (funny, unlike a certain brothers') or songs, sayings, something to bring a smile to his face.

He clicked the song over, growing bored with the birds flittering outside the window. Deciding to take action, he stood, collected his bag and his garbage and headed towards the common area's wooden doors.

Dalton Academy for Boys was not a public school, there for it was not a normal school. That was by way of explanation, courtesy of Finn, why the building was so beautiful and magical. Red wood and mahogany doors that reached the ceiling (you needed at least a dozen students to open the front door) winding metal staircases, and rooms in singles, doubles and triples.

Luckily enough, Kurt got a double. However, it was a recently vacated double, so he had no room mate. Not that you would ever catch him complaining, it meant for an extra closet; a definite bonus. His room, 183, was just down the hall from Blaine's single, 159, and the double room, 170, which held Wes and David.

Kurt unlocked his door, sliding the beaded keychain that Tina had made for his going away present, fashionably late, out of his pocket. It was a simple, small design. Black, of course, with a violet water lily on one side, and his name on the other. It swished easily in his hand, clicking the dead-bolt in and the door swinging open.

Like everything else at Dalton Academy, the rooms were classic and clean, and reminded him a lot of his own basement room. White was walls, deep burgundy feather down (under that was a pink fuzzy blanket that Kurt had managed to sneak from his Lima home to his Dalton bed) dark wood desk and head rest. These, most likely, were the reasons he had yet to feel home sick. And, probably, the fact that he talked to Carol or Burt for hours after dinner. Because, what else did he have to do?

There was that bitter, awful feeling he was learning to loathe. It wasn't Blaine's fault he didn't have a life. Or friends or someone to talk to... oh the list could go on...and on...and on. And none of it was Blaine's fault.

Kurt's mind was about to breech the subject of falling out of a crush when a persistent knocking came to the closed door. Stifling yet another loud exhale, Kurt walked to the door, wishing he could have a few minutes to himself, if only to deposit of his bag and take off his shoes.

His hand was on the door, music paused when he realized what he was thinking. Really, Kurt, more alone time? Weren't you just complaining about not having enough things to do? Crazy hypocrite.

He opened the door to David's half-smiling face, Blaine and Wes piled behind him, "Kurt Kurt!" he chanted, swinging his fist in a childish manner, "The snow! It's sticking!"

"Great?" he asked, clearly confused why sticky snow was something to celebrate. It had been snowing for at least a week, if not more, clutching to the trees, the windows, his clothes.

Blaine's face, easily the happiest, the one Kurt focused mostly on; fell a bit, "Didn't you get my text?"

"What? Oh. No. My phones on...silent..." he felt his face flush; only hoping that the other boys wouldn't catch onto his obvious lie. "Uh, why?"

"Sticky snow means snow balls, dur!" Wes melted to the side, face blank and eyes accusing.

Blaine nodded excitedly, an overly large smile masking over his face, caramel eyes shimmering with anticipation. "Yeah! Snow balls!"

"Our Blaine," Wes said, draping an arm around said friends' shoulders, winking at Kurt, who was very confused, and David, who was snickering into chest, "He likes balls."

Kurt never realized that someone's face could go so red in such a short period of time. Kurt bit his bottom lip to keep back the laughter, clamping his teeth together to ensure that, as Blaine threw the arm off of his shoulders, he wouldn't scoff.

Blaine's eyes met his, and a bit of his insides melted painfully. The caramel spheres were wide and embarrassed, so Kurt shifted his gaze down, trying to spare his friend some amount of dignity. It was a horrible decision, however. Because, now he was staring at the pouted lips; chapped from the cold air, red from constant licking and completely adorable. How were lips adorable you ask? They just were.

Kurt backed away from the boys, tipping his head to the side and feigning regret. "Sorry, I have to work on my Physics, maybe next time..."

"You're getting, like, eighty-four in that class!" David objected, slamming his fist to the door to keep it from inching any closer to closed.

"And you can copy off of me," Wes offered, doing his best puppy dog face. Which wasn't great.

Blaine roll his eyes at his best friends and looked back to Kurt, all hurt and embarrassment gone from the orbs, "Come on, Kurt. We haven't seen you since Sectionals. All the guys are going to be there!"

"Thanks, but no. Go have fun." Kurt waited for a minute, ready to fight off any objections; but none came, so he slid the door firmly shut.

If there had been any thought of going; it was gone now. A singular miss he might have gone for, but all the guys? Kurt didn't feel like one of the guys. And he wasn't ready to re-meet them all. No, maybe if it had been the four of them he would have gone. But all twenty some? No, it was much safer inside.

He crossed the room to the window, catching a glimpse of a small figure as they dove out of the way to avoid the hurricane of snow. His phone vibrated once again, and he groaned. He hated to lie. It made him feel sick to the stomach, being a liar. Especially when the lie was told to Blaine.

So, the end result meant lying on his stomach on the soft blanket, Physics book open at the spine, pen tapping to his chin as the music played and a page of notes, messily written and not at all helpful.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

Kurt stared at the paper, confused on when he had written it. It must have been during lunch... but he doesn't remember writing it. Thinking it, yes, writing it no. Glancing through his eye lashes to make sure no one was around him, he used a light finger to trace over the angrier parts of it. The ink smeared, still not quite completely dry, enhancing the newness of it.

In a perfect world, he would consider the fact that someone had slipped it into his note book, but it was defiantly his loopy writing; between the pages of formulas he had been memorizing and the practice questions he had made up..

Written with a pen
Sealed with a kiss

If your my friend
please answer me this::

You told me once
But I forgot

Are we Friends?
Or are we not?

At some points, the pen had almost punctured the paper, words underlined with angry strokes and others re-written in the same spot so many times that they started to invade the other lines.

Kurt just wished he could remember writing it. Remember the emotion behind it, remember the rhyming. It was a simple rhyme, sure, but he had never been one to write poems, and he was insanely proud about the success of it.

That is, until he figured out whom it was for. Blaine, obvious, really, now that he had realized it. Of course. He couldn't go a day without thinking about the short, curly boy. Kurt didn't want to be just friends with Blaine, he wanted to be more than that. The chances of Blaine feeling that way though...

No! It was defiantly the safer decision to pretend that the crush didn't exist. He wouldn't fail like he had with Finn. No, now he knew how to keep his emotions within grasp at all times, ready to through a few fake ones out, but more importantly, keep a few back.

Sure, he couldn't be romantically linked with Blaine, but he sure as hell could – would – be a good friend. Maybe he should have gone out in the snow...

Kurt ripped the page out hastily, folding and shoving it into the front pocket of his navy blue pants and smiling up at a dripping David. The tall, dark skinned boy returned the smile ten fold and plopped into the seat next to him.

"You should have come," he said, shaking more snow from his short hair to the linoleum ground, "It was great."

Kurt smiled and plucked a large chunk of the ice from his friends coat collar, dropping it disgracefully to the puddle, "Next time, promise."

"Cool!" David responded, instantly quieting as the professor (yes, another example of just how private school they were) walked into the room, and flipping open the too large text book.

With diligent, neat writing, Kurt copied down the notes, almost understanding all of it, which was a nice surprise. But when the teacher handed out a booklet of problems they were to work on, his mouth went dry.

They were much more superior to the ones he had been practicing, full of large numbers and letters Kurt wasn't sure what they all stood for. He watched out of the corner of his eye as David started scribbling on the bleached paper, easily finishing the first question in under a minute.

Well, now was as good as time as any to start making friends, "Hey, David?" he whispered, leaning a bit closer to the boy, who had stopped writing to look and Kurt, surprised that he would be one to talk in class, "Do you think you could come over after and help me with this? I'm just not getting it..."

David bit his lip and looked back to his paper, and back to Kurt again before whispering back, "Blaine promised that he would help me with the math..."

"That's alright," Kurt shrugged, hiding how put out he was by the rejection. He repositioned his pencil and wrote his name, confident that it would be the only thing he got right on the page.

An eraser jabbed into his elbow, and he looked back to his cheerful friend, "Why don't we do a study group? Wes could defiantly use your help with Shakespeare."

"Sure, I'd be happy to help. Where?"

"Do you think...well...you're room the biggest...but Blaine's got food...?"

Kurt chuckled and shook his head at the folly of teenage boys and their stomachs. "We can use my room, bring your own food, and try and recruit Blaine into bring some of his stash," The older Warbler was known for sneaking the illegal substances onto the school grounds; gummies, chips, non-diet soda pop... you name it, he had it.

David grinned gleefully and pulled out his phone, thumbs sliding easily across the keyboard in a quick, neat message to the two boys.

Kurt couldn't help but give himself a mental pat on the back, proud that he had actually suggested his room; his haven. But that's the price you pay for friends.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

When the boys knocked on his heavy mahogany door later that evening, he had everything set up. His desk had been cleared; his bed's had the wooden study planks placed on them, just waiting to hold notebooks.

He patted his white cuffed shirt down, they were allowed to change into what the professors' called 'casual' as long as it kept to the Dalton colors. Smoothing his pants out from the wrinkled state, his heart skipped a beat.

Because there, in the front pocket of his slacks was a visible bulge. About the size of a crumpled paper. The knocking came again and he looked around the room frantically searching for a hiding place. If Blaine found the poem...oh, he didn't even want to think about it.

"One second! One. Second!" The desk? No, what if someone needed an eraser? Dresser? Never. Closet...under the pillow, perhaps.

"Kurt? You okay in there?" The door knob twisted and he frantically dove for the cover of his bed, simultaneously pulling the folded paper out and shoving it into the first thing he saw: a shoe box. Whatever, he could get it later.

Kurt rolled to his knees and stood in a fluid, graceful movement. "Sorry," he said, wafting a hand airily, "lost my... pen."

Blaine accepted the lie, and Kurt felt a pull in his stomach. That was two lies. The only way to make up for lies – in his head, anyways – was to tell two truths. Cancel the lie out, you know?

And, a pen? He lost his pen? He couldn't think of anything so he settled for a pen. A friggen writing utensil. Would he ever live that down? "Anyways...come in."

"We brought food," David said, heaving a full to bursting paper bag from his side as proof. "Blaine even said we could have the good stuff. Something about studying with you was worth celebr- ow!"

Blaine glared at his friend and retracted his fist from the air, lowering it to his side and smiling in a shy little way that made Kurt's heart flutter, and crossed the room to the desk, placing his binder haphazardly in the center.

XxXxXxXxX

It was late at night, about quarter to nine, when a knock came at to the door. Kurt missed the first one, burrowing his head into the thick quilt and muffling the loud laughter. But, the knocker was persistent, knocking for a second, louder time.

Kurt looked up from his bed, frowning at the door. Who could possibly be there? Wes was the first to stand, also the closest to the door, and he threw it open. Only to be greeted by a perfectly wrapped brown box, in the hands of the third councilor of the Warblers, Aaron.

"Package came for Kurt," he said, greeting the room with a dazzling smile, "thought I would bring it up before someone got into it."

Wes plucked the package and closed the door on the retreating back of the senior. "Same day delivery; must be pretty important."

Kurt stood from the bed, frowning. What could be so important that someone would get up for the early pick-up, at five in the morning? Blaine and David crossed the room, looking curiously over his shoulder as he folded the flaps down to Wes's arms.

In the wrapping, held another box, in which Wes promptly put it to the carpet, grabbed his pen and stabbed it into the tape, breaking the seal for easy opening. In the box (Kurt was almost expecting another box) was individually wrapped packages. Kurt handed one to each of his friends, knowing what to expect.

Wes and David cheered happily as they held the home-made gingerbread men in their hands, each decorated delicately with the Dalton uniform, completed with a bowtie. Kurt glanced at Blaine hesitantly, worried because the boy hadn't moved from his back.

"These are beautiful," he whispered, smiling slightly.

David mumbled agreement, and Wes chipped in, crumbs falling from his lips, "They're friggin' yummy too!" Chuckling, Kurt rolled back onto his heels and stared at the messy '3' that had been drawn on the blue brazier.

"Kurt?" Blaine asked, grabbing a folded piece of paper from the box, "There's a letter here..." Smiling, Kurt broke of a leg and waved a hand for Blaine to start reading it.

"Kurt, mom made these yesterday, and she said that she would send them out this morning. I stopped her though because I had to add something to yours. Hopefully your friends didn't eat it, I seen them down that pizza at that chicks house. Anyways. I just wanted you to know that we really miss you. And not in the usual way. We got a new kicker. He sucks. Just wanted you to know that I'm saving your spot on the football team for when you pull your head out of your shirt and come back. –Finn. P.S. Puck's trying to get Single Ladies back. P.P.S not working."

Kurt giggled to himself, pressing the hard white icing of the number into the cookie before biting the head off and savoring the explosion of spices over his tongue. He placed his cookie on the edge flap of the box and shuffled through the rest of the box.

A black knitted sweater that he had ordered forever ago; it must have finally come in. Another box of undecorated men and a thick yellow business sized envelope. His name was written in large, loopy writing, so Kurt knew it was from his step-mother, but the back was tapped, so Kurt threw it like a Frisbee to his bed, it landed on the pillow easily, ready for future reading.

Plucking the half-eaten cookie off the cardboard, he went to take a bite, but he also saw the looks on his friends' faces. For once, all the same; surprise.

"What?" he asked, placing the cookie back onto the box and wiping the back of his hand over of his mouth, afraid he got crumbs or something, but it came away clean. His friends didn't make a move, so he asked again, "What? Stop staring at me like that, it's creepin' me out."

Blaine was the first to close his mouth, first to pose the question, always with the cool head and the ability to bounce back in seconds. "You played football?"

"Oh, that," Kurt said waving a hand in dismissal, but mentally checking a lie for a truth off in his head, "It was one game... we won it, and I quit."

David finally shook himself back to the present, nibbling a piece of the head, "What's this about the Single Ladies?"

"Nothing, just a little experiment we did. Now, can we get back to studying? Please? This worksheet's due tomorrow!"

"Not until you tell us what kind of experiment involved football players and Single Ladies."

Kurt crossed the room, frowning and wondering how to word it, because he knew Wes' stubborn streak, and he really needed that workbook done, "We just danced it and then won the game," loftily, he rolled onto his bed, thinking it was now two-for-two, and all was good again in the world. Except, maybe Physics, glaring at the paper and picking the pencil up, "Now, can we get back to studying?"

When no reply came, he looked up to see his friends slack jawed, wide eyes expression and groaned. It didn't look like the questions would get done just yet.