A/N: The original song in this chapter is called "Addicted," written by a friend of mine who wishes to remain nameless. There's a video of me singing it, in case you were curious, although it no longer needs your votes:) http : / / www . tumblr . com / tagged / inat + song + options

Kurt's day had started perfectly. He arrived in class twenty minutes before the bell was to ring and he and Blaine spent ten of those minutes—since Madame Henri arrived shortly after those minutes were up—curled with Kurt sitting on his lap and their mouths lazily mouthing along the skin they could see.

"Oops," Blaine muttered. "Good thing you have a scarf."

"Dammit," Kurt said softly, but he honestly couldn't bring himself to care. "Another hickey?"

"It's on the back. You'll be fine as long as you wear a scarf for the next few days."

"You were the one who was all adamant about us being careful and not doing this at school or making any more hickeys."

Blaine grinned, biting his earlobe. "Yeah, well… I've changed my mind."

"When did that happen?"

"Pretty much the second you sat in my lap."

"Good to know."

By lunch time, Kurt didn't think his day could go wrong. He'd managed to get a solid thirty five minutes with Blaine, during which they beamed and made eyes at each other over their food. It was perfect. It was everything they both wanted. It was romance, pure and simple, with the underlining effect of the fact that this was a serious, mature relationship with those gut-wrenching butterflies and never-ending sexual frustration as a plus.

"Mm, bell's gonna ring soon," Blaine muttered into his mouth.

"Hmm…"

"Kurt?"

The boy pulled away, looking curious. "Huh?"

"Did you hear me?"

He flushed. "Sorry. Uh…distracted."

Blaine chuckled, kissing him chastely. "Go to fifth period. I'll see you in glee."

"God," he laughed. "How are we going to get through that?"

"I'll just be sure not to look at you too much, I guess." That hung in the air for a moment until they both laughed, kissing again like they just couldn't help it because, honestly, they couldn't. "Right. Well…it'll be okay. I promise."

"I'm excited to hear you sing. The last time you sang in my presence was…"

Blaine smiled softly, brushing his nose against his boyfriend's. "The day we kissed."

"I loved that day."

"I love you."

"Good. Because I love you too."

-0-

"So, Rachel, you said you had something to—"

"Fellow glee clubbers," Rachel began as Mr. Schue gave a half sigh and simply walked back by the piano to take a seat as the tiny brunette jumped up to stand in front of the room, "I know you continue to ignore me about doing original songs for Regionals—"

"Because it's stupid," Santana muttered, examining her nails.

Rachel sent her a tiny glare, but her too-cheery expression was back in place seconds later. "The point is that we're supposed to sing an anthem. Anthems are all about your emotions and your strength and getting up to fight! And so I've enlisted the help of someone else to prove to you all the effect that original songs would have up against mainstream pop."

"You love mainstream pop," Mercedes pointed out.

Rolling her eyes, Rachel had opened her mouth to speak when the door opened and every eye flew to it.

In the doorway, Blaine Anderson froze a little awkwardly. He had a messenger bag in one hand and a guitar case in the other. "Uh…hi."

Rachel grinned proudly. "Everyone, this is Blaine Anderson—he's a TA here." She gave them all a pointed look. "Kurt's French TA."

Finn immediately made a weird half-choke noise, kicking the back of Kurt's chair. "Are you serious?"

"Shut up," the countertenor hissed.

"But he's also a musician," Rachel continued. She gestured for him to step farther into the room and he didn't even hesitate. "I'll let him explain to you what he's going to show us."

As she scurried back to her seat, Blaine nodded politely at Mr. Schuester, taking the offered stool. He cleared his throat and grinned at the band before retrieving his guitar from its case. As he sat, he said, "Uh, hi, guys. So, my name is Blaine. And I…like writing songs." He smirked slightly as he scanned the room. "You all look a little skeptical."

"We don't want to do original songs," a boy in back that Blaine didn't recognize grunted. "It's stupid."

"Puck," Mr. Schue said softly.

Blaine's smirk grew to a smile. "Alright." He set down his guitar on the floor next to him and stood. He began taking careful steps in front of the room, scanning his audience of high school students. His eyes flickered when he reached Kurt, but the boy did nothing but stare back at him calmly. "Let's start with something different," he suggested, waggling his eyebrows.

Suddenly, he was jumping towards the band and whispering something in the keyboardist's ear, who then nodded and began pressing buttons and experimenting with keys. Blaine left that group to get themselves and their instruments together and marched up to Santana, who was sitting in the back, at the top riser.

"Miss Lopez, I believe?"

She gave him a lewd grin, running her eyes over him. "I'll be whoever you want me to be, sexy."

He leaned in farther forward and Santana made kind of a purring noise—which somehow turned every other person's eyes in the room on Kurt—before his lips landed next to her ear.

There was a silence for a moment before Santana nodded, still looking particularly evil. "Sure thing."

Blaine smiled warmly at her and then yelped, jumping back.

"Santana!" Mr. Schue chastised.

"Come on, Mr. Schue. It's too scrumptious of an ass to not wanna grab it."

The TA looked at the loss for words so he shook his head and walked back towards the center of the room. With a nod at the band, the music started, along with fake whistling noises coming from a keyboard. He tossed a wink at Santana before he began singing.

Oh.

Oh!

Just shoot for the stars.

If it feels right

Then aim for my heart.

If you feel like

And take me away, make it okay.

I swear I'll behave.

He began moving around the room, smiling first at Rachel, and then and Mercedes, who giggled as he sang directly to her.

You wanted control

So we waited,

I put on a show.

Now I make it.

You say I'm a kid,

My ego is big,

I don't give a sh…

He jumped up a riser, staring at Puck.

And it goes like this.

Blaine quickly skirted through the seats collapsing into one between Quinn and Sam.

Take me by the tongue

And I'll know you.

Kiss me till you're drunk

And I'll show you

With them moves like Jagger,

I've got the moves like Jagger,

I've got the moooooooooves like Jagger.

On the run in the last line, he did a little shimmy, which Quinn laughingly joined him in before he was bursting out of his seat and jumping off the risers and in front of the piano.

Maybe it's hard.

When you feel like you're broken and scarred

Nothing feels right

But when you're with me

I make you believe

That I've got the key.

He chanced a glance at Kurt, who was leaning into Tina as they half-danced in their chairs.

So get in the car

We can ride it

Wherever you want.

Get inside it

And you want to steer—

He made a cheesy steering motion with his hands as he slid into a seat next to Artie.

-but I'm shifting gears.

I'll take it from here.

Oh, yeah, yeah!

Blaine leaned across the boy in the wheelchair, grinning at Brittany.

And it goes like this.

As he went into the chorus again, he got most of New Directions on their feet and even saw—in the sudden crowd—Kurt dancing with Mercedes. He tried not to let it distract him, but he allowed himself a mere moment to stand and grin at the sight.

Finally, he found Santana gyrating next to Brittany and pulled her towards him as she began singing the bridge.

You wanna know how to make smile

Take control, own me just for the night

And if I share my secret,

You're gonna have to keep it

Nobody else can see this.

Blaine's first thought was that Santana was an amazing singer, truly, but then he was a little blind sighted by her getting too close and touching too much.

So watch and learn

I won't show you twice

Head to toe, ooh baby, roll me right.

And if I share my secret

You're gonna have to keep it.

Nobody else can see this.

Eh, eh, eh, yeah!

And suddenly the whole club was singing the final chorus along with Blaine. He was so caught up in singing—finally, getting to sing with people again instead of in his apartment all alone—that he didn't notice that Kurt was near him until they bumped into each other and the rest of the club sang the last line as Blaine's mouth fell open in surprise.

I've got the moooooooooves like Jagger.

Distantly, Blaine could hear applause and shouts but…Kurt… His eyes, his hair, his…lips… Blaine's eyes flickered to those lips and he could hear the short intake of breath from Kurt.

"That was amazing, Blaine!"

The voice brought him back to himself and he wondered if Kurt noticed the flash of fear in his eyes when he looked away and realized what had just happened.

"Thank you, Mr. Schuester."

"Wait!" Rachel announced loudly. "He's not done yet!" She gestured wildly for the students to take their seats again. "Now he's going to show an original. So you can see the difference."

Puck groaned. "The difference is—"

"Oh, just shut it, Puck." Mercedes grinned as she sat obediently. "I wanna hear him sing again."

"Right, well…" Blaine sat on the stool from earlier, hoisting his guitar into his arms once more. The room settled as he plucked a few strings and tweaked with it. "I like writing songs. Because they…they let you showcase your emotions. These emotions, no one else has them the same way that you do. The best way to really sell your feelings, your hurt, your angst, your power, your love, whatever it is, is to write your own words. When you're singing words that came from someone else, it just doesn't feel the same. Not to me at least.

"So, I wrote this. And I hope you like it."

Blaine began plucking a single guitar string, keeping an even tempo as he sang, his voice low and even.

It's that race of adrenaline

It's that high in my mind.

It's flowing in my blood,

Not gonna leave until I stop.

I couldn't stop.

I'm not gonna stop.

Faster plucks for a moment and then his pick emerged from inside his fist and he made a scale-like melody, left hand moving too fast over the neck for any of the guitar players in the room to catch the notes.

It's a poison,

It's a drug.

It's reckless,

It's fun.

I'm on an adrenaline high

And I'm not coming down.

His picking became strumming and he looked nowhere but his left hand as he sang.

'Cause the stairs are invisible,

'cause the lifeline's dead.

It's useless,

It's over,

I've sinned.

He paused for a moment, blinking down at his knee.

And I'm officially addicted.

Oh, I'm addicted.

Oh, I'm addicted.

He would not look at Kurt, he would not look at Kurt…

The clock is ticking.

My time is trickling.

I'm down to my last options

And I have to make a choice.

Am I up or down?

Am I safe or alive?

It's a test I'll probably fail.

It only matters if I tried.

As Blaine went into the chorus again, his fingers moved of their own accord. He'd played this song a million times. His eyes found a spot on the wall to fixate on, right next to a window, and he slowed his strums to plucks again, low notes as he sang slowly,

It's not…my fault.

It's not…my fault.

It's not…my fault.

It's all my fault.

I couldn't stop.

I'm not gonna stop.

It's useless,

It's over,

I've sinned…

The chorus was softer this time, although he added a run when he sang, "I'm on an adrenaline high."

He wouldn't look at anyone. This was his song. These were his feelings. This was the squeeze in his heart, the guilt, the…love.

And I'm officially addicted.

Oh, I'm addicted.

Oh, I'm addicted.

-0-

Rachel Berry had never been more sure of anything in her life.

Blaine had a crush on Kurt as well.

And well…she wasn't totally sure what that meant. She couldn't, off the top of her head, see any legal reasons for them not dating—besides Blaine possibly losing his job. But if Blaine felt the same way about Kurt, why didn't they just tell each other at least?

When Blaine's song drew to a close, the club applauded politely and Rachel's mind went back towards original songs as she registered that Sam was speaking.

"—the fact we don't know how to that's the problem."

"Blaine said he would help," Rachel offered. "He can work with all of us."

The TA smiled, but it looked sad. At least to her.

"Alright," Mr. Schue said. "This week's assignment: write an original song."

-0-

"What were you thinking?"

Blaine looked up and glanced at his watch. "You're ten minutes late."

"You didn't answer any of my calls last night, you didn't respond to my texts, you ignored me."

"It's lunch time, Kurt. Just…sit."

"First you sing a suggestive song with Santana Lopez and then you sing this…this…"

"Sit."

Kurt sat.

"Look," Blaine began, setting down his pen and crossing his arms on his desk, "I just…I obviously wasn't thinking because all I could think was that I wanted to sit next to you and touch you and kiss you and… But I couldn't." He squeezed his hands closed. His palms were itching. "I'm so in love with you, Kurt. But as you saw with the whole Drew and Christian fiasco, I'm not the best judge of what's good for you. So maybe help me out and tell me if you want us to break up or—"

"What are you talking about?" Kurt interrupted.

"I was too obvious, I know, and—"

"What? No—just, shut up. For a second, seriously, just shut up. When I asked you what you were thinking, it's because I was sitting right there and I was seriously about to jump you when you started singing. Your original was beautiful. Your voice was flawless. I could barely control myself."

"…really?"

Kurt grinned. "Really."

"So you're not mad?"

"Why would I be mad?"

Blaine shrugged. "You told me about your friends. I thought maybe they'd…I don't know, do something crazy and get us in trouble."

"They're not that smart. No one suspects a thing."

"Alright, then." He opened his arms, reaching for Kurt's hands. "So shall we have lunch together?"

"We shall. But, uh, next time you want to sing a song like 'Moves Like Jagger,' ask me and we'll have ourselves a lovely little duet in your apartment." His fingers stroked Blaine's softly. "Clothing optional."

-0-

It was almost funny how things could go from perfect to shit so quickly.

The second he'd stepped out of his bedroom, his day went down the toilet.

First, the shirt he'd worn—complete with vest and a skinny scarf—was ruined at breakfast and nothing else would match. He spent a good thirty minutes trying to tame his ridiculous-looking hair and was then late getting to school, meaning he missed his chance to see Blaine and to skirt past the jocks waiting by the Dumpster.

When he'd managed to get all of the disgusting spaghetti off of his vest—which he promptly threw away anyway—he hurried through the halls.

Maybe it was just him, but…were people…staring at him? Laughing? More than usual, at least?

Kurt ignored it. Probably yet another Karofsky/Azimio prank. Doodles in the bathroom? Posters in the cafeteria?

But no. Everybody who was jeering was holding a newspaper. Not the Muckraker. Ugh, not more of this same old stupid dribble run by some washed up literature teacher who couldn't actually read what was being published through her too-thick glasses. Azimio had probably just submitted more of the same: stupid names and lies about examining the other boys in the locker room.

But… Oh. Oh no. What if…?

He broke into a sprint, skidding into the French classroom just as the bell rang.

There was an issue sitting on his desk when he walked in and Kurt didn't even have to glance at the little scrawl of "X - B" of red pen in the corner to know that Blaine put it there. No. No, no, no, no…

He flipped through it, waiting, gut clenched, prepared for it. But it still hit him like a ton of bricks when he saw it.

Which disgustingly flamboyant member of McKinley's official Loser Club (aka: the Glee Club) has finally managed to find himself a boyfriend (or at least someone to cause that ginormous hickey on the back of his neck)?

Shit. He'd forgotten to wear a scarf yesterday. Damn that stupid Jacob Ben Israel. Damn him and his stupid camera and his stupid spying skills and his stupid face. Damn him for taking the one thing that was making Kurt slightly happy, that was making Kurt smile for once, and throwing it all away because he was bored. Damn him.

Even worse, that explained everything. It explained the hall, it explained why Blaine didn't say good morning to him. And it was inevitable. This was the end.

Before Kurt knew what was happening, he was out of his seat—even though he'd just sat down—and he had thrown the newspaper in the trash and sprinted out of the classroom at the speed of light.

And the thing he wanted most was for Blaine to run after him. Unfortunately, that was also the least likely thing to happen.