AN: WOOT FOR AWKWARD HAND BUMPING! :D

this was supposed to be finished and uploaded before sunday. as you can see, that didn't happen. at all. my throat is still sore as hell from my maroon 5/train/matt nathanson concert, which delayed this chapter. i mostly wrote this all yesterday, and finished it today.

hey guys, i actually have a plot for this story! i've got everything figured out, up until the 4th chapter. if this was short, i apologize because this chapter was mainly focusing on the kurt/karofsky meeting. i'll be trying to follow the nbk storyline, so, EXPECT KURTOFSKY KISSES!

i again apologize for the shitty french. will work on that. .-.

By now, Kurt basically owed his life to Blaine.

If not for the boy, Kurt would have gotten lost trying to find Mr. Armes' art room, walked into the freshman girls' bathroom unknowingly, and been asked question after question about what it was like in France. Luckily, he only had to endure each one of those situations once, thanks to Blaine, of course. The shorter boy was almost always there when he needed him, or when he couldn't understand what the hell the teacher was saying because she talked too damn fast.

However, Blaine wasn't always there. On many occasions, Kurt would be wandering the halls a minute or two after the bell rang because he still wasn't used to his schedule when a few burly guys would insult him - or so he assumed. He didn't really know what they were saying, but they looked a bit scary so he tried to get away from them as quickly as possible.

When Kurt walked into school on Friday, the same week he had transfered, he was bluntly thrown into the row of cold, metal lockers with a sneer of, "Watch it, homo." The pale-faced boy looked up quickly, eyes wide in fear and hands held up as if to say, "Please don't hurt me," because, well, that's exactly what they were saying. He was met with a large, hulking boy wearing a grey shirt that read 'McKinley High Football' underneath a red and white football jacket. Ah, the familiar boy who had insulted him with that strange look on his face. The boy grimaced outwardly, but Kurt noticed the curious glint in his eyes, as if wanting to, to... To what, Kurt wasn't sure, but, quite frankly, it scared him.

The boy merely shoved Kurt back against the lockers again, making his head rattle with the metal as he and his 'football buddies' -as Blaine had described them- carried on, laughing and high-fiving each other.

Kurt was appalled. He was never treated that way back in France for being homosexual. Sure, not all of France was accepting, but it wasn't like he flaunted his sexuality. He did love fashion, and he did love the arts and theatre, but that didn't mean he was automatically homosexual. A lot of heterosexual men were into theatre (maybe not so much in fashion, but still), and they were never teased. Kurt had heard from Blaine that all the boys in New Directions, their glee club, were constantly ridiculed and called 'gay'. Kurt merely raised an eyebrow, eyes widening at the news. He wondered innocently why these jocks were so against homosexuality.

During his contemplation of the recent event, Kurt hadn't even realized that he had slipped to the floor, and now Blaine was standing before him with an outstretched arm, a panicked look on his face.

"Kurt, vous êtes d'accord? Que s'est-il passé? Qui l'a fait? Vous êtes-" he asked quickly, a bit frightened before Kurt cut him off by taking his hand and standing, ignoring the odd and unusual in his stomach. ("Kurt, are you okay? What happened? Who did this? Are you-")

The taller boy smiled reassuringly, turning to get his books out of his locker and pull his hand out of Blaine's grip, harshly reminding himself that, according to Blaine, boys that were friends here did not hold hands.

Once he got his books, Kurt faced Blaine with a soft smile, saying, "Blaine, ne vous inquiétez pas, je vais bien. Revenons à la classe math." ("Blaine, don't worry, I'm fine. Let's go to math class.")

The brown-eyed boy grinned softly at him, walking alongside him as they headed to their math class, hands bumping against each other.