"Hey, bro. You ready to go pump some iron? Build those muscles?" Finn asked, walking up to Kurt in the hallway and socking him lightly a few times on the arm. "Gotta stay in shape for our senior football season."
Kurt sighed, turning away from his locker. "Yes. Even though football season ended yesterday and even though we have another eight months until we start practicing again, I will lift weights with you." He stood up a little straighter, puffing up his chest. "The starting quarterback has to stay in shape somehow."
"Yeah. Yeah. Don't rub it in, QB," Finn said. "Come on."
Together, they headed off for the locker room to change, gabbing about the English test Ms. Wilson had assigned for that Friday. It was over sentence diagramming and parts of speech, and Finn admitted that he was about to pound his head into a wall. "I just don't get it," he groused, tossing his gym bag down onto the bench. "None of it makes any sense."
"I'll help you study at home," Kurt told him. "We'll figure it out together."
"Thanks, dude."
"You really should have invited Puckerman along for this," Kurt said, tugging his designer sweater over his head along with his undershirt, leaving him naked from the waist up. "He's crazy about all this lifting weights stuff."
"I did. He's in that band with Rutherford and Chang, though. They have practice."
"Every night?"
Finn shrugged. "I'm not sure. He didn't really say. I'm sure he'll join us sooner or later."
"Great," Kurt answered, tossing on a loose-fitting black t-shirt. Then, he started undoing his belt, working his skin-tight pants down over his hips and thighs. When he glanced up, Finn was staring at him. "Um, can I help you?" he asked. "It's kinda weird to have my half-brother staring at me while I'm changing."
"Oh! Uh, I'm sorry!" Finn hurried, his cheeks coloring. "It's just that you're so skinny and still so in shape. I'm jealous!"
"Well, you have the body of a linebacker," Kurt answered. "I have the body of a quarterback. There's supposed to be differences. Didn't Beiste say something like that during one of our practices this year?"
"Yeah…" Finn agreed.
Pulling on some red gym shorts, Kurt leaned over and socked his brother gently on the arm. "Don't feel bad. You're built how you're built. All you can do is try to stay in shape and love your body as it is."
"Don't go getting all mushy on me, dude," Finn told him with a smile before reaching into his bag for his clothes and changing.
A few minutes later, they jogged out of the locker room and down the short hallway to the weight room that also doubled as the wrestling team's practice room and housed the two punching bags that McKinley High owned. The weight room was supposed to be empty. The wrestling team had finished their season a few days before the football team's last practice, and none of the kids at McKinley were boxers. Kurt honestly felt sorry for the unused bags in there. Maybe he would take up boxing sometime…
Kurt was so lost in thought that he didn't notice Finn stop in front of him, throwing his arm out. He jogged right into his brother, gasping as the air was knocked out of him at the impact. "Oh, my god!" he said, giving Finn a confused look. "What the hell, Finn? Why did you—"
"Shhh! Did you hear that?"
"Hear what?"
"That sound?"
"What sound?"
"Just… Hush a second! Listen!"
So, Kurt did. He held his breath, straining to hear a sound. There was nothing, though, save for the sound of the McKinley air conditioner—for some inexplicable reason—coming on in the middle of November. He was about to tell Finn that he was crazy and to stop wasting his time when he heard it, a sound he'd rarely heard before. At first, he wrongly diagnosed it as the sound of a wrestler being body slammed against the mat. It wasn't nearly that forceful, however. "What is that?" he whispered.
"Well, I think…"
"Oh! Oh! It's… Someone's boxing!"
"Have you ever seen someone use the bags in there?" Finn whispered. "I mean, I've been in McKinley sports since elementary school, and I've never seen anyone even look at them."
"Me neither."
"Who could it be, dude?"
Kurt shrugged. "I dunno. Only way to find out is to go in there, right?"
"I guess," Finn answered, beginning to tiptoe toward the propped open weight room doors.
"Oh, for heaven's—Don't act like a creep. Just walk in like we belong there," Kurt said, side-stepping around his brother and walking into the weight room first. His gaze immediately turned toward the punching bags, and his breathing caught in his throat almost as quickly. He was sure his mouth was hanging open, probably brushing the floor, and he had to check himself to keep himself from drooling all over the place. "Wha…" He couldn't even form an entire word.
"What?" Finn asked softly, turning to look in the same direction. When he saw what Kurt was looking at, he stared for a minute then turned slowly to his brother. "I have no idea who that is. You obviously like him, though," he teased. "Go talk to him!"
"No! I-I can't. What would I say?"
Finn shrugged. "You know, it's not nice to stare. I'm gonna go set up the bench." Then, he walked away, leaving Kurt rooted to his spot.
The person at the punching bag was perfect. He wore a light gray hoodie with the hood up, earbuds in his ears, the cords bouncing against his chest as he punched at the bag. The hoodie was partially unzipped, revealing a deep "V" of perfectly tanned skin. He had on baggy black sweatpants and a pair of ragged red and black canvas shoes on his feet. He had thin black boxing gloves on his hands, hitting the bag hard with every other jab. It didn't take more than a few moments for him to turn in Kurt's direction, sensing his eyes on him.
Kurt's eyes widened and his breathing became shallow as he made eye contact with that perfect boy for the first time. His eyes were beautiful, though Kurt's heart immediately hurt for him. He could see that the boy was carrying hurt, deeply and a lot of it, because those eyes that would normally be a warm honey brown had sparks of anger and sadness and were cold. Kurt could feel it pouring off of him in waves, distrust his safety blanket.
"Hi," Kurt offered weekly. "I'm Kurt. What's your name?"
The boy turned away as soon as Kurt began to speak, tossing off his boxing gloves and lunging for his duffle bag.
"No. Wait. Please don't go. I just want to talk."
But it was no use. As soon as the boy had his bag in his hand, he was hurrying for the doors and running down the hallway without so much as a word or a backward glance.
Kurt couldn't explain the hurt and the immense sadness he still felt in the wake of that boy. He tried to ignore it, turning back to his brother who had been watching them the whole time from the seat of one of the weight machines. He put on his best fake smile and asked, "You ready to pump some iron, bro?"
Finn simply cocked his head to the side, studying Kurt. "He got to you," he said finally. "You... like him?"
With a shrug, Kurt took a seat at one of the other weight machines. "I dunno. Kinda hard to tell when he won't even talk to me."
Encounters like that happened three more times over the next three months as Kurt and Finn continued to go to the weight room to stay in shape. Each time the boy realized their presence, he would throw off his gloves, grab up his bag, and leave. He would never say a single word or continue to practice his boxing after they arrived.
Each time this happened, Kurt felt more and more hollow inside. It was as if each interaction with the boy was taking something from him, and it hurt that he wouldn't look at or talk to him. Kurt wanted to at least know his name, yet it seemed impossible.
Finally, he'd had enough, and in mid-February, he sought out Santana in the hallway over their lunch break. She was standing with Brittany at her locker, and the two of them were giggling about something. "Hey," he said as he walked up. "San, do you think I can talk to you about something?"
"What do you want?" she asked, studying him. "I can read you like a book, and my Mexican third eye is tingling. You want me to give you the down and dirty on someone in this school. Who is it? That Reggie the Stick kid? You want me to find out if he's taking drugs or something?"
Kurt's eyes grew huge at the question, surprised by the direction she'd taken it. "No. I don't care about Reggie. That's not… No. I need to know about somebody else, but I don't even know his name."
"Hmmm… I bet my Britt Britt does. She knows everybody in this school, don't you, babe?" she asked, reaching out to pull her girlfriend into her side.
"Yeah. I'm like a secret agent," Britt agreed. "With magical powers like a unicorn."
"Describe this person, and I bet Britt can tell us who he is."
"Uh, okay," Kurt answered, swallowing hard and trying to decide where to start. "Well, he's short. Shorter than me at least. He comes up to about my shoulder and has kinda curly hair, but he slicks it back with hair gel a lot. It kinda comes out of the gel when he's sweaty, though. And, uh, he's got this beautiful, smooth, tanned skin and big hazel eyes. Um, he boxes, too."
"That's your boyfriend," Brittany piped up.
"What?" Kurt asked, confused.
"Blaine. His name's Blaine, and he's your boyfriend."
When Kurt still looked confused, Santana sighed, rolling her eyes. "It's obvious you like him. That's what she means."
"How—"
"Come on, Hummel. You described his hair when he sweats and called his skin 'beautiful.' You've obviously been staring at him, and you're in love with him."
"His name's Blaine?" Kurt asked, deciding to ignore Santana's accusations which were, admittedly, true. I think. "Do you know him? Know anything about him? I'm desp—I want to know everything about him that I can."
"Yeah. Desperate is the right word," Santana confirmed. "I know a little bit about him, and I can definitely do a bit more digging this afternoon. A few of the kids in my biology class sit with him, and they've talked to him a bit. Meet me at the football field before Cheerios practice today, and I'll give you the nitty gritty on him."
"So, he's a junior, too, then?"
Santana nodded.
"Thanks so much for doing this for me, San. I really appreciate it."
She nodded. "You know you're special, right? I don't do this kinda thing for free for just anyone. Normally, you'd have to pay up by granting my girl a wish or buying me a brand new lady magazine."
"You're the best," Kurt answered, giving her a one-armed hug before heading down the hallway to his next class. He called back over his shoulder, "I'll see you at the football field later."
That was all Kurt could think about that afternoon in his classes. Blaine. Blaine. The beautiful boy has a name. Blaine. His brain helpfully supplied image after image of Blaine boxing, staring at him, and running down the hallway, yet it failed to let him focus on anything else during class. He just hoped that whatever they learned about in the last three classes of the day wasn't important.
As soon as the final bell rang, Kurt made a beeline for the football field, catching Santana as she was walking up with Britt. He didn't even bother to greet them. He just asked, "So, what did you find out?"
"Oooh! Hummel, you picked a mysterious one," Santana said. "I had to dig deep to find out anything about him. Apparently, he's from Dalton Academy. You know, that boys' academy that they built in Westerville and then shut down a few years later because it was shit? Yeah. That one. He got out of there a few months before it closed because he was expelled."
"What? Expelled for what?"
"Fighting, apparently. He got into it with the bully there. Beat him up pretty good, I guess. The bad part was that, while the students were thrilled, his family didn't give as much money to the school as the bully's family did. So, when push came to shove, your Blainey-boo got kicked out and had to transfer here. He's been an outcast ever since he came and seems to like it that way."
"That's so sad," Kurt whispered, a hand coming up to clinch over his heart. It felt as though the blood pumping through his veins was laced with a physical pain.
"Yeah," Santana agreed. "The only other thing I could find out was that he has a blog he writes on sometimes. I guess he's good with words? He made it for an English project and turned in a writing assignment that he then posted there. I didn't look it up, but I was able to get the website." She passed Kurt a slip of paper then shrugged. "That's it."
Wordlessly, Kurt pulled his friend into a hug. "Thank you, Santana. Thank you. I owe you something. Anything you want."
Pulling back, Santana flashed him a devious smile. "You do, but you're not going to pay up because I won't let you. Knowing a girl since middle school and being her only friend after a move has its perks."
"You're sweet," Kurt replied, blushing.
"Go home and find out more about this kid," Santana insisted. "Meanwhile, Britt and I are gonna freeze our asses off out here with Coach Sue."
"Why are you guys even practicing out here? It's like 40 degrees."
"Coach Sue says practicing in the cold builds our stamina. I think she's crazy."
Kurt shrugged. He wasn't going to comment. Everyone knew that Coach Sue was, in fact, crazy. "Thanks again," Kurt told her as he walked away, headed for the parking lot where Finn was probably already waiting for him in the car.
Santana just waved the thanks away, turning to head down the steps to the field, Britt on her arm.
The first thing Kurt did when he got home was head to his computer, typing in the website: .com. It popped up instantly, the latest post a poem he'd written. Kurt skimmed it quickly at first before realizing he wasn't getting anything out of it and started over, paying more attention this time.
"When I look up at the stars,
I see bruises and scars
Where most people see love and light.
When I look out at the sea,
I don't see an image of me,
Just an unrecognizable, lost soul.
When I look within,
I see my heart's paper thin,
And I wonder if I'll ever really be whole."
Kurt felt like his heart was breaking. How can he carry so much sadness around with him? So much anger? I just want to pull him into a hug and love him like no one ever has, Kurt thought to himself. I want him to see what I can see without even knowing him: He's beautiful inside and out, and he deserves to be treated like a king. He has so many wounds that need healing…
Scrolling down further, Kurt discovered a collage of tags that Blaine used on his blog. He was quick to realize that the larger the text, the more often the word was used. He thought it was interesting that the biggest word of all was "love." He clicked on it, and it brought up all the posts he'd made and tagged with the word "love." He scrolled through them, reading the titles of the blog posts and their dates until he came across one from the day they'd first seen one another in the weight room. It was called "The Boy in Black and Red." Kurt's breath caught in his throat, and he clicked on the title, anxious to see what he had written.
"I don't often write my thoughts online, but today feels like a day to share what I've been thinking. I just got home from boxing a little while ago, and I can't stop thinking about the boy in black and red. He only wanted to talk to me, but I couldn't speak to him. Why? Because he's the first person who's seen me and not looked away in a very long time, and I think I love him for it. Almost everyone sees me as 'The Boy from Dalton' or 'The Boy Who Was Expelled for Fighting' because almost everyone knows my story. He didn't. He saw me as 'The Boy Who Was Boxing' and nothing more. Why couldn't I speak to him then, if he finally saw me as more than those meaningless titles? Because if I speak to him, he'll know who I am. I'll become just another title to him. Once people find out who I am, I'm always just a title. I don't want the magic of just being me to end when he finds out. Maybe if we never speak, he'll never know.
I wrote these lines today, and I think they describe me accurately.
"When I look in the mirror,
My reflection is not who I imagine myself to be.
Instead, who I view is a boy who
Sees himself in a way that isn't even true."
It was at that moment that Kurt's heart completely shattered with sadness for this boy, this boy who didn't want to speak to him for fear of losing out on someone who truly saw him. He put his head down in front of his computer and cried into his arm, unsure what to do until one thought popped into his head and wouldn't let go: You have to find him and tell him how you feel. He has to know he's safe with you.
Kurt tried to follow his own advice, tried to find Blaine and tell him how he felt, but the boy was an expert at avoiding him. Each time Kurt would make eye contact with him from across the hallway or catch a glimpse of him pounding the bag, Blaine would turn tail and leave before Kurt could make it to him. It frustrated him beyond belief, always being one step behind this boy, but he knew he had to be patient. In his heart, he knew that they were meant to be in each other's lives in some way. He just didn't know how yet. He would when the time was right.
Nearly a full month after he'd asked Santana to get some more information on Blaine for him, Kurt had to run up to the school on a Saturday. He'd forgotten to grab his letterman jacket from his gym locker the day before, and they were going to a drive-in movie that night that the city was putting on. It was going to be a perfect spring night, in the low 60s, and Kurt knew he would freeze if he didn't have his letterman jacket. Thankfully, the janitors were there at almost all hours of the day, and they almost always left the door closest to the weight room open.
As he neared the doors of the weight room on his trek down the hallway to the locker room, he stopped dead in his tracks. The unmistakable sound of boxing gloves hitting the bag echoed out into the hallway. Is it Blaine? Kurt thought immediately, his heart beginning to pound out of his chest. He had to know. He had to look.
Quietly, he tiptoed to the doors of the weight room and peered inside. There was Blaine, dressed in street clothes, fitted red pants and a black polo. It seemed an odd outfit for Blaine to wear while he boxed, and Kurt knew immediately that something had to be wrong.
This is your chance, floated through his head, and he squared his shoulders before walking into the weight room and heading for Blaine. "Hey," he said softly, hoping not to startle the boy but not wanting to break his concentration either.
Despite his efforts, Blaine whirled around, his eyes wide in shock and fear for a moment before he recognized Kurt. His gaze softened just a bit moments before he turned away to reach for the jacket laid over a nearby bench.
There was no bag this time, and it took Kurt a moment to realize that he'd mistaked the sound of Blaine's bare fists hitting the bag for gloves. This realization took a backseat the moment he spotted the bright red streak of blood beside Blaine's mouth. He felt shock, surprise, worry, and fear attack him all at once, knocking the wind out of him for a moment, and by the time he realized what was happening, Blaine was almost completely out the door. One word popped into his head, and Kurt said it with all the authority, need, and hope he could muster in the moment. "Stop."
Immediately, Blaine stilled, not turning to look at him and not heading further out the door either.
Quietly, calmly, Kurt made his way over to stand in front of Blaine. He wanted so badly to touch Blaine, to examine him and make sure he was okay, but there was something he needed to do first. "My name is Kurt Hummel," he said quietly. "I don't want to hurt you. I'm just here to help. I need you to trust me." He raised a hand slowly to hover halfway between them before swallowing hard and asking, "May I touch you?"
Blaine slowly nodded, watching Kurt's hand come closer and closer until it was beneath his chin, tilting his head back.
Kurt was silent as he examined the rest of Blaine's face, searching for other cuts, scrapes, scratches, bruises, or spots of blood. He could tell that he was going to have a bruise on one temple, and one eye looked worse for wear, but there was no other blood. So, he delicately ran a thumb across the streak of blood by Blaine's lip, wiping it away. Then, he lifted his eyes up to meet Blaine's, studying him and his hazel eyes that were melting into the warmth that Kurt always knew lived there. He watched as Blaine shivered beneath his gaze, a tremor soaring through his body that seemed to start in the bottoms of his feet. Then, in a tense voice that barely concealed the well of anger bubbling over inside him, he asked, "Who did this to you?"
Shivering again, Blaine opened and closed his mouth a few times before any words came out. When they did, they were mere whispers that Kurt had to strain to hear. "My old bullies from Dalton."
"Tell me what happened."
"Mom and Dad are moving Cooper back to college today, so I'm home alone," Blaine started, his voice shaky. It grew stronger with each word. "I go stir crazy being inside, so I decided to go for a walk. I didn't have a direction really, and I wound up walking beside the elementary school playground. A group of guys that I used to go to Dalton with were there—I think they go to Lima Heights now—and they saw me before I could sneak away. They jumped me, beat me up. It was a five on one fight."
Kurt nodded. There wasn't much he could say, not when they didn't know each other well enough for this urge to protect Blaine to make any sense. He let his hand fall from beneath Blaine's chin to his hand, and he grabbed for it. "Let me clean you up."
Blaine didn't answer, simply following Kurt over to the little first aid area at the back of the weight room. He sat on the stool, let Kurt use a few wipes to clean the blood from his face and the few smears from his knuckles. He accepted the ibuprofen and tried not to react when Kurt rubbed arnica gel gently over the bruises. When he turned to put everything back away in the cabinet that he rose from the stool and turned toward the door to leave again.
"Don't go."
"Why? You don't want to get to know me. I promise I'm not someone who will make your life better." A moment later, he felt a hand on his shoulder and Kurt's lips near his ear.
"When I look in the mirror,
My reflection is not who I imagine myself to be.
Instead, who I view is a boy who
Sees himself in a way that isn't even true."
Blaine stiffened, surprised to be hearing familiar words whispered to him. "You read my blog?" he whispered.
"I did. 'The Boy in Black and Red.' That's me. I think in there, you said something about how you could love me for seeing past the labels."
"So you know what I did, who I am, my past."
"I do. It doesn't change anything. I still want you."
"You want me?"
Kurt came around to stand in front of him then, no longer content to breathe in the scent of his hair and body wash and not be able to see his eyes. "I've wanted you from the first second I saw you. You moved me, Blaine. Something about that day woke something in me, and I've been chasing you ever since then, just hoping for a chance to talk with you."
"Why? I'm not—"
"I can feel in my heart that you are, that we're meant to be in each other's lives somehow."
"As what?"
"As whatever we want. Boyfriends. Lovers. Friends. I want you as you, Blaine. I—" He didn't miss the soft gasp that escaped Blaine's lips. "What? What is it?"
"It didn't even register before… No one besides my family and teachers have called me 'Blaine' since I came here. It's always, 'Hey, you,' or 'dude.' And no one has ever said it like…"
"Like what?"
"Like a prayer. Like something sacred."
"I'll say your name like that every day, Blaine, for as long as you'll let me. I want you as you are. I want to protect you. I want to love you. I want…"
"To kiss me?"
It was Kurt's turn to gasp. "Yes. Can I?"
"Yeah."
Their lips met in a soft, lingering kiss that felt like the world becoming warmer, lighter, filling with oxygen and becoming easier to breathe. When they parted, mouths staying mere millimeters from one another, they both breathed out at the same moment, "Home," and reveled in just how right that word and that moment felt.