Blaine had been through a lot in the past few days-that went without saying-but this was the final straw. As he walked out of school, after the long goodbye to Kurt, and began the journey on foot back to Grandma Lucy's, he felt fiery flames of anger bursting in his chest, threatening to explode out.

He'd actually suspected it for a while-but this was proof. This was hard evidence.

David Karofsky fancied his boyfriend.

How dare he! How dare he, after all he'd put Kurt through? This guy had made Kurt's life hell, forced him into a different school, threatened to kill him-and now he had a crush on him?

Don't get him wrong, Blaine was all for love-but this was just-just-Blaine couldn't think of a word. He knew Kurt was still utterly unsuspecting of it-and thank God, because it would scare the life out of him. How dare Karofsky fancy his boyfriend?

Hold on. Was this what jealous felt like?

Blaine thought he wasn't a possessive boyfriend. When they were out together, he often saw men and women checking Kurt out-and that never really bothered him. It just made him prouder that Kurt was on his arm. But Karofsky was a different story. Suddenly, Blaine felt so protective over Kurt, even more than usual-if his boyfriend got hurt in any way by this bastard, Blaine swore he would grind him to dust.

Turning a corner, Blaine found he was walking faster than usual. Karofsky would hurt Kurt again over his dead body. He gripped the strap of his bag with both hands as he made his way through the streets, past old ladies and groups of kids, overtaking shops and endless cars parked along the side of the road. It was a fairly cold day-but Blaine felt burning hot, his pace gradually quickening as he crossed town.

This morning, when he'd seen Karofsky walking alone through the school, he'd actually felt sorry for him. Poor confused guy, pushing everyone away. Now, he couldn't believe he'd wasted pity on him, when all the time he converted his boyfriend. He loathed the idea of Karofsky staring at Kurt-oh God, kissing him again. It made him feel physically nauseated.

This guy had damn near ruined Kurt's life. And he was not about to try it again on Blaine's watch.

Expediting down the maze of crowded roads, Blaine's thoughts paused. He wasn't sure what he should actually do. He would love to beat him so hard his guts spewed out of his eyes-but that was a bit extreme, even Blaine had to admit. He of all people knew Kurt was beautiful-irresistible, really. So it was only natural other people admired him-Karofsky probably wasn't the only one either. But Karofsky was different. He was dangerous. If he hurt Kurt in any way, Blaine would tear his head off his shoulders.

Finally, he reached Grandma's block of flats and got into the lift, stabbing the buttons and jumping up and down with impatience as the lift edged up. It was so slow. Blaine just wanted to get back and play his guitar as loud and furiously as he could while he figured out what to do. Grandma wouldn't be home yet, she was still working at the shop.

Perhaps homicide wasn't the answer. But he felt obliged to at least say something to him, tell him to back off. Kurt was one of the few good things left in his life, and he could not loose him. He just couldn't.

The old chords squeaked unnervingly as the lift juddered to a halt on the second floor. The doors slid open, and a person stepped on. Blaine looked at the floor-he didn't trust that there wasn't a menacing scowl on his face, and he didn't want to scare any of the old ladies that made up most of the population here. It really was pensioner-central in these flats. A few on Grandma Lucy's floor were now at the stage of smiling and waving at him, after discovering he was not a teenage vandal. One, Ms Jones with the multitude of cats, asked him every day how old he was and pinched his cheek rather painfully. Another, Mrs Edgeware, was either particularly friendly, or verging on uncomfortably flirty with him, finding any excuse to keep him talking in the hall and giggling at everything he said like she was sixteen, not sixty-nine. She'd got him to help her install her new TV yesterday, and managed to keep him prisoner for hours, having obviously put on her best shirt and lipstick. He guessed she was lonely, so happily chatted to her, feeling like Tom Riddle visiting Hepzibah Smith in Pokey the house-elf's memory in the Half-Blood Prince-but it was still a little creepy.

"Oh, hello, Blaine, dear!"

Oh God, the person was talking to him. He looked up, doing his best to smile politely. It was Mrs Peters, from 8G, next to Grandma's. He'd went to the library for her yesterday (God, he should have a Helping the Elderly badge), getting the Thomas Hardy book she wanted out. He liked her husband Mr Peters-an octogenarian with some amazing stories about fighting in the Second World War. "Good afternoon, Mrs Peters, how are you?" he asked, surprised at how normal his voice sounded.

"Oh, I'm not too bad thanks-you know, knee still playing up. I don't know how your grandma Lucy stays as fit as a fiddle!" She shook her head a little, transferring her shopping bags to the other withered hand.

"Here, let me help you," Blaine automatically said, reaching down and taking them. Blimey, they were heavy.

"Thank you, dear. You're a good boy,"

Hmm. Blaine reckoned she wouldn't have said that if she could see the picture in his mind of throwing Karofsky off the Grand Canyon.

The lift eventually reached the fifth floor, and Blaine carried the cumbersome, abundant bags right into her tidy flat, which as always smelled of air-freshener and old-person, carefully placing them down where she directed in the kitchen. "Would you like me to help you put them away?"

"No, you're a dear, but you're okay," she smiled. "My grandson can help me. David!" she called.

Blaine's blood froze.

No way.

It couldn't be.

God, no.

The guitarist swore he had never in his life been more relieved when a thirteen-year-old boy ambled in, dressed in sportswear. "Yeah, Grandma?" He studied Blaine curiously. "Who's this?"

It was all Blaine could do not to hug him, he was so mitigated. "This is Blaine, the nice boy from next door," Mrs Peters said, as if talking about a nine-year-old.

"Hey, man," Blaine grinned, holding out a hand, which David gingerly shook.

"He goes to McKinley High, where you're going next year!"

"Oh," David sounded permanently bored, his voice obviously just starting to break.

"Alright, Mrs Peters, if you ever need a hand with anything, just give us a shout!" Blaine waved goodbye and left the flat, closing the door carefully behind him. He felt warmer and nicer now, considerably more contented.

"Anderson?"

Stopping dead in his tracks, Blaine's body turned to ice. That voice.

Spinning around-there was David Karofsky. Stood about twelve feet away, phone in hand, looking just as shocked as Blaine.

The two guys stood frozen, staring as if expecting the other one to disappear. You could have heard a pin drop. Blaine's gut twisted with anger at seeing him-what should he do? Should he say something now?

"K-Karofsky," he returned, keeping his voice monotone.

There was silence for a few more seconds. Then-

Blaine almost screamed as the jock suddenly flew at him, pinning him forcefully to the wall, rough hands digging into his chest. It hurt like hell-but Blaine constrained himself to stare him right in his cold, dark eyes. "Get off, you jerk!"

"Or what?" His voice was suddenly menacing, exactly the tone Kurt had described. Blaine was just about to come back at him-when something caught his eye.

Kurt had for a long time declined getting Facebook, him being "unique", but had eventually joined when he left McKinley to keep in touch. Since then-he had become the FaceBooker, updating status' every hour or so, and constantly changing his profile picture. Blaine always found himself "like"ing every new photo, so could pretty much recall every single one, from the posed one the countertenor had taken himself in his bathroom, to the one with Finn, were Kurt looked stunning and the footballer looked like a horse had just stamped on his face. His current one, Blaine had "like"d very much. It was a picture Mercedes had taken a few weeks ago (though with everything with his parents it seemed like a lifetime) when the three of them had ended up in the children's playground in the park. Blaine had instantly made a beeline for the climbing frame, where he promptly started showing off, hanging upside down and swinging around. Mercedes had given it a "hell to the no", but after much persuading, Kurt had abandoned his handbag and his dignity and joined him. Kurt's current profile picture was of the two of them sitting precariously on top of it, laughing. The guitarist thought he looked weird in it, but Kurt looked dreamily lovely, so happy and relaxed…

Blaine brought this up, because the exact same photo was shining out of Karofsky's Blackberry screen.

Well, he'd been cropped out, so it was just Kurt. As Karofsky's phone background.

A huge volcano of anger exploded like a cork out of a champagne bottle, boiling Blaine's blood and scorching his throat as it burst out. "Why the hell is Kurt's photo on your phone?" he yelled.

For a nanosecond, Karofsky shrank. He looked terrified. Then-his face became ashen. "Lets see how much Kurt likes you when I wreak your pretty little face!"

The jock threw Blaine across the hall with such force he smashed into the other wall, with a sickening bang, then ran and grabbed him again. But this time, Blaine was ready. Ignoring the pain swelling, he twisted the jock's arm painfully behind his back. "You bastard!" he shouted. "You creep!"

"You don't freaking deserve Kurt!" Karofsky hollered back, jerking out of it and going to punch him-but Blaine blocked it, adrenaline induced strength matching the jock's.

"And you do? You're not good enough to lace his shoes!" Blaine felt a bit cruel belittling the already confused and unconfident guy-but the feeling didn't last long as he applied more pressure pushing back Karofsky's wrist.

"You-" The bully pulled harder-then suddenly broke free, grabbing Blaine's head in both hands and belting it with inhuman might into the wall. The guitarist, dazed, fell to the floor, already loosing consciousness. Everything was spinning. From what seemed like galaxies away, he heard Karofsky's voice: "You shit," Then, the tone suddenly changed. it sounded pleading, almost begging. "Why does Kurt love you? Why you? What do you have?"

Then, no more. Blaine's body switched off, and there was nothing.

He's not dead! Don't worry your pretty little heads! :')

Next chapter soon!

Spoiler: Finn makes grilled cheese (with no divine appearances), and Kurt finds something worrying under his bed…

Oh, and poor old Blaine…and I'm saying no more…:')

Keep reading, and review please! PhantomVoldyGleek24601 xxxxx