[A/N: This is for Caitlin (Keitorin_Asthore), because it was her birthday today (it is still the 14th for me... just!), and she posted the most fabulous beginning to a three-shot I ever did see. Also, she is just about the only reason this fic exists. Because she is insanely talented like that. Hope your birthday was wonderful, dearest! I know you like fluff and angst... so here's one with a dash of the other.

Also, I_Spiked_The_Ice_Cream wrote me a one-shot called 'Napoleon Complex', it is hilarious, and I love everything about it. In fact, it has been open on my computer all day waiting me to review. You should go read it. It is Klaine-y and delicious

Also also: I have been known to answer questions on tumblr. If there is something you desire to know, you should ask.

Finally: The lurkers that are coming out to review - I appreciate you all! :) It's so nice to hear what people think!]

Dalton had a number of things that McKinley did not: dorms, an indoor swimming pool, common rooms, a real choir room, cute boys in uniform...

It also had stricter graduation requirements. And one of those requirements was that every student, during their freshman year, needed to pass a swimming proficiency exam. Kurt could swim, but he hadn't, obviously, been there to take the test, so one of the counselors suggested he meet the head coach one day after class and swim some laps, to get the requirement out of the way.

Blaine had decided, when Kurt told him about this, on the day he planned to do it, that he'd go swim laps that afternoon, instead of on Saturday.

For no particular reason. You know. Just 'cause.

Of course, Wes and David heard this, and smirked gleefully.

Blaine happened to have a free period at the end of that day – his Latin class was cancelled - so he went running, and when he got down to the pool it was already about ten minutes later than Kurt was supposed to have arrived. Blaine had changed upstairs, and the head coach smiled in greeting when he threw his towel down on one of the benches.

"Anderson, have you seen Hummel?"

"Not since lunch, sir."

Coach Walters appeared to consider this, as the splashes of the few people taking advantage of the water provided a soothing soundtrack.

"Hm. Maybe he's in the locker room."

"I can go check," he offered quickly.

The older man nodded. "Fine. You still on the team this year?"

"I'm not sure, coach, I'll have to check the schedule."

He nodded again, and Blaine made his way around the pool to the locker room, wishing he hadn't left his phone up in his bag. He hoped Kurt hadn't forgotten. Walters was cool, for the most part, but he didn't like having his time wasted. He walked around the corner, the first row of lockers, and froze.

Kurt hadn't forgotten.

He was standing there, looking at his reflection in the full length glass of one of the doors. He was in swimming trunks, shirtless, and that was enough to stop Blaine in his tracks. All that creamy white skin...

But Kurt wasn't fixing his hair, or checking himself out. He seemed nervous. He had his arm lifted slightly, outstretched, and the look of anxiety and pain in his eyes was probably the only thing that had the power to drag Blaine's gaze up.

"What's wrong?" he asked. Kurt jumped and spun to face him, his arm clamping to his side.

"Blaine. Hi... I..."

Now that they were facing each other, the older boy was having slightly more difficulty keeping his eyes on Kurt's face. Which was ridiculous. He'd seen him shirtless before, of course. But that was just fleeting glances, and this was the real thing. And Blaine was suddenly having a lot of trouble thinking about anything except the way that Kurt's waist tapered perfectly, and his arms were just the right size – not scrawny, like might be expected for someone of his build. He was thinking this, and other slightly less clinical thoughts (he really hated red swim trunks, for starters), when Kurt spoke, and the words – the strange, horrifying words - snapped him back to reality instantly.

"I knew it. I'll put a shirt back on. This was so stupid."

"What?" he said intelligently, fighting the instinct to yell a very loud 'No!'

Kurt looked so sad. "I thought they might be gone by now."

"What would?" Blaine was confused. Kurt was unhappy, and he wanted to fix it.

He just sighed. "Don't pretend, Blaine. I get it. I'm an idiot."

"Kurt, what are you talking about?"

Kurt took a breath, then lifted his arm away from his body.

And Blaine saw what he hadn't even noticed.

Several white and pink scars ran up the side of his body, with very light, old bruising around them. They had almost faded away to nothing, but you could see them... if you were looking.

Blaine glanced up to his face again, saw the sorrow there, and didn't know what to say.

"I'd forgotten," Kurt whispered. "They don't hurt anymore, they haven't for ages, and nobody's been – I mean, except – but I'd...I just remembered. It's.." he got quiet. "I'll put a t-shirt on."

He turned, and Blaine grabbed his hand automatically. "I didn't see them."

"Don't lie, Blaine, I -"

"I didn't. Have I ever lied to you?"

"Then -"

He had a sudden thought. "You want to see mine?"

A hesitant smile. They were still holding hands. "What?"

Blaine let go and brought his foot up onto one of the benches. He pointed to a spot on the back of his knee. "Tree house. Third grade. Tommy Nielson pushed me."

Kurt seemed unsure whether he should laugh or not. Blaine smiled. "It's okay. I got revenge. In eighth grade he tried to cheat off me in our English midterm, and I made sure he got all the answers wrong."

His friend opened his mouth, but Blaine held up a hand. He pulled the waistband of his swim trunks down on his right side an inch or two, so Kurt could see the skin above his hipbone. There was a mark there. Not a scar, just a mark.

"Eighth grade. Tripped going down a flight of stairs."

Kurt inhaled sharply. "Who?"

He shrugged. "Don't know. Doesn't matter. Could have been anyone."

There was silence this time as he continued. Finally, he turned so Kurt could see his left shoulder. A thin white line stretched over the skin. Almost invisible. "The corner of a locker, freshman year. Four stitches. Two in my head, too." One of his hands ran through his hair unconsciously. He thought for a moment, then offered his elbow. "And that. But that was just Wes getting overexcited about fencing lessons sophomore year." He smiled. "Anyway. Did you notice any of those until I pointed them out?"

"No, but -"

He pulled him back over in front of the glass, and stood slightly behind him, placing his hands firmly on his friend's shoulders. The decisive gesture was for his sake, as well as Kurt's.

"I didn't notice them, but it doesn't matter. The pain fades, that's what's left. It means what you want it to mean. To me...it means you're still here."

"But they're so -"

"They aren't so anything. They just are. And they'll fade more, and no one will notice, unless you want them to."

"People aren't going to want to look at me. Or they will, and they'll ask -"

"No one will notice. And if they do, they won't bring it up. And if they do ask, you can tell them what happened, or you can tell them it's none of their business."

"...you really didn't see them?"

"No, I was too busy being impressed by how skinny you are, especially when I saw you eat all that chocolate cake at lunch."

"Says the boy who put away half a pizza before surfacing for air."

He grinned. "Hence the need for me to swim laps all afternoon. I'm not just stalking you, you know. Much." He patted his stomach. "I have to keep my figure."

Kurt raised his eyes in the glass, so they were looking directly into Blaine's. He smiled, and brought a hand up to one of his shoulders, twining his fingers briefly with his roommate's. "Thanks."

He shrugged. "Just stating fact."

"No. Thanks... for making me feel like they aren't such a big deal."

"I only speak the truth. You should see David's arms. The number of times he has wiped out trying to do tricks down those stairs in the entrance hall..."

Kurt smiled as he ran the index finger of his other hand over the raised skin.

Blaine fought with all he had the insane urge to follow that with his own fingers. And then his lips, brushing them over the soft skin, erasing every single memory of pain with brief touches, ghosting quietly, silently, pouring every single feeling he'd had over these last months into making Kurt understand, making every touch count, the soft skin -

"I should probably go out there."

His eyes widened. "Mmm... I mean, yeah." He smiled. "Let's go swim. I'll race you."

"You compete at this," Kurt protested.

"Better get going then, hadn't you?" Blaine suggested, sprinting for the door. Kurt followed, and when they appeared poolside, giggling, Coach Walters was deep in conversation with someone.

"Hummel, I have to take care of this, I'll be back in ten." Kurt nodded, and the adults disappeared. Blaine balanced on the side of the pool, holding out his arms theatrically for balance.

"Wanna see something cool?"

Kurt pointed over his shoulder, wide-eyed with horror.

"Hey, look, is that Wes with your guitar?"

He turned quickly, and then he was flailing, on his way into the deep end, Kurt laughing gleefully. Blaine had excellent reflexes, though, and he made sure to grab his hand, so they went in together.