He wasn't sure how long it was before he woke up. The room was still pitch black, and it took a couple of minutes for his eyes to adjust. He had been moved, and one hand was handcuffed to what looked like a bedpost. He was sitting on the cold hardwood floor next to the bed. Where was he? He pulled against the cuffs, but they didn't budge. He felt something dripping down his face, and when he brought his free hand up to it, his fingers were red.
"Hello?" He called out, but there was only silence. "Hello!"
He felt inside his pockets for his cell phone, but then he remembered he had left it in his dorm. Great.
He heard the click of a key unlocking the door, followed by the sound of the door creaking as it opened. A figure stepped inside and Kurt heard footsteps coming towards him. "Hello?" He tried again, and he was answered with the lights finally turning on, momentarily blinding Kurt.
Once his eyes adjusted again, he saw Mr. Williamson standing on the other side of the room with a villainous smile on his face. "Why, hello there, Mr. Hummel. Nice to see you."
"What do you want? Why did you bring me here?"
Mr. Williamson laughed wickedly in response. Kurt noticed his cell phone was in his hand. "How did you get that?"
"You should lock your door."
"Answer my question. What do you want from me?"
The history teacher didn't answer. He turned on Kurt's phone and scrolled through the contacts until he found the one he was looking for. There was silence as he waited for the other end to pick up.
"Mr. Anderson. Great to hear from you." Kurt couldn't hear Blaine on the other end, so he just waited. "Kurt? Oh, Mr. Hummel is right here. Safe and sound...for now."
Kurt's heart leapt to his throat. For now.
"He shall remain that way, given you meet me in dorm 108 within the next ten minutes. And don't bring any friends. This is your own battle to fight." He hung up the phone and shoved it back in his pocket.
"What do you have against them?" Kurt asked, and Mr. Williamson replied with a blunt "You'll find out."
They spent the next five minutes waiting in silence. Kurt couldn't keep his eyes off the clock as it ticked closer and closer to the deadline.
When there were only two minutes left, Mr. Williamson pulled a switchblade out of his pocket. Kurt's eyes widened as he rubbed his finger up and down the edge, his eyes not moving from the door.
Kurt was paralyzed with fear. He couldn't move a muscle if he tried. His eyes were fixed on the blade, shining in the light. Each second stretched on and on to feel like a decade.
Suddenly, the door burst open, and Blaine stormed inside. "Where is he?" He relaxed a little when he saw Kurt alive by the bed, but cringed at the sight of his head wound and the blood dripping down his face.
"Nice to see you again, Mr. Anderson," Mr. Williamson said, his voice low, tapping the switchblade softly on the back of his hand. "I'm glad to see you're doing well."
"Please let Kurt go."
"I'll see to that eventually."
"Why are you after us?"
Mr. Williamson laughed almost maniacally. "Don't you remember?"
Blaine was confused but tried not to show it. Mr. Williamson began to pace the room. "I believe the date was...September 24th, correct?"
There was a flash of sorrow on Blaine's face for a millisecond before he became furious again. "What does that have to do with you?"
"You remember his name, don't you, Blaine? Jacob Weller. 16 years old. Born January 9th, 1992..."
Guilt was creeping back into Blaine's mind. It was always there, of course, constantly nagging him, making sure he never forgot. Sometimes, however, if he was lucky, he managed to push it away, if even for a minute. But no matter how hard he tried, it never left. It always found its way back.
That horrible day flashed before Blaine's eyes.
"Hey, homo," someone spat from behind Blaine, who was only a freshman, as he walked home from school. The word stung but Blaine kept quiet, not wanting to start a fight. He began to walk faster and didn't look back.
"Hurry up, don't want to keep your boyfriend waiting." Another boy snickered. Blaine could still hear their footsteps behind him. He didn't even know who these people were; he had never seen them walking this way before.
They trailed behind him for the next two blocks, until the second boy said goodbye to the first and turned the corner. The first boy, however, kept following him.
A block later, when Blaine reached his house, he heard the boy call "fag" behind his back as he continued to walk down the block.
For the next five minutes, Blaine didn't feel like himself. It felt like he was having an out-of-body experience of sorts, looking down at himself as he charged towards the boy in a rage. The boy was twice the size of him, but somehow Blaine knocked him over onto the hard concrete, his head hitting it with a loud thud. He saw himself kneel on top of him and punch him in the nose. He watched himself from above as he bashed the boy's head into the ground repeatedly, over and over again until he couldn't hear his breath or feel his heartbeat anymore. Even then, he didn't stop. He couldn't stop. It was like he was being controlled by someone, something, some kind of demon. He kicked the boy in the stomach, in the face, in the chest, in the side and everywhere in between. He fell to the ground again and clawed at the boy's skin, digging into it until he saw blood. Suddenly, there was a flash. His body and spirit seemed to reattach themselves again and he was brought back to reality, where he stared at the limp, bloody mess below him.
He fell to the ground, searching for something, anything to hold on to. He felt dizzy. He couldn't see straight. Everything was tinted in red. His body wracked with sobs. How did he just do that? He didn't even know what happened. One minute he was talking up the walkway to his house, and the next he was slamming the boy's head into the concrete. What was he supposed to do? Turn himself in? Tell his parents? How? It wasn't exactly a subject that comes up over dinner. "Hey mom, dad, I killed a kid today."
There was only one thing he could think of. He picked up the body, sobbing as he lifted it onto the plastic he had laid out in the trunk of his parents' car. He wiped his bloody hands on his jeans and walked inside his house. He grabbed the car keys from the basket on top of the table by the front door. Walking back down the steps and into the driver's seat, he put the key in the ignition and started the car. Never mind the fact that he had never driven a car in his life, he carefully put it in reverse and backed out of the driveway. What was he even doing? Why? He should just turn himself in. He deserves to be locked up for the rest of his life. However, a small voice in the back of his mind was telling him to do this, and for some reason he followed it.
There was a river in a forest not too far from his house. He could drive there. Going at about ten miles per hour, he slowly drove towards it. For once, he was grateful his house was a little isolated compared to the others in the neighborhood. They had no neighbors. There was almost no one on the side streets. As long as he avoided busy streets, he would be okay.
Almost twenty minutes later, he parked the car in front of the trees. By now, he felt emotionally numb. He didn't know what to feel, so he didn't feel at all. He couldn't care that he just killed a person or that he's about to dump him into a river. He wasn't sure what to think about not feeling.
He carried the body to the deepest part of the river and slowly dropped it in, watched it sink, down, down, down until it was no longer visible. He washed the blood off of the plastic and left it floating in the water, not bothering to care about pollution or global warming or whatever it would be affecting. Finally, he washed the blood from his hands and arms. Besides the stains on his clothes which he would later throw away, and the blood on the sidewalk which he could power wash away, there was not a trace of the murder. Just like that, it was like it never even happened.
The next few weeks were hell. The story was all over the news, on the television, on the radio, and in the paper. Blaine didn't even know the boy's name until he heard it the next day in school when they announced that he was missing. It turns out his name was Jacob Weller. Blaine figured they had followed him home on purpose that day, wanting to taunt him. Jacob lived quite far away from Blaine, so the police would never suspect him as the killer. Unless the other boy told them (which he never did for reasons completely unknown to Blaine), they would never know that Jacob was anywhere near Blaine's house that day. They would never find his body in the river.
But that didn't make things any better for Blaine. Jacob's disappearance was the topic of every class discussion in school.
"What do you think happened to him?"
"I heard he was mauled by a bear."
"That's impossible."
Even worse was that his parents talked about it at dinner.
"Blaine, have you heard anything about Jacob?"
"No."
"That poor family. I can't imagine what they must be going through. I'll send food for them later this week."
It was all Blaine could do to burst into tears. Jacob had a family. He had parents and a brother and friends. He had a life, and Blaine took that from him.
Blaine resorted to torturing himself in every which way possible, both mentally and physically. He cut himself. He burned himself. He took scalding hot showers. He found out as much as he could about Jacob so he could see what he took from him. A possible football scholarship. Acceptance into Harvard. Blaine told himself he deserved the punishment, the constant torture.
Eventually, all the rumors and talk at school got to a point where Blaine couldn't bear it any longer. He asked his parents if he could transfer.
"It's just that this...thing with Jacob is really freaking me out," He explained to his parents. He felt bad for lying to them but didn't see another option. "I mean, what if I'm next?"
"Oh, sweetie," his mother tried to comfort him. "We understand. We'll find another school."
So he came to Dalton and boarded there. Even at a new school, he was shy at first, still walking on eggshells around everyone. The day after he first transferred, Sebastian ran up to him after lunch. "I know what you did."
"What?" Blaine panicked. "What do you mean?"
"Jacob Weller."
Blaine pulled him into a corner. "How did you find out about that?" He whispered.
"Hey. Don't worry. I'm not going to turn you in or anything. But tell me this: When you killed him"— Blaine cringed at the word "killed"—"Did you have, like...an out-of-body experience? Like, you just stood there and watched yourself do it?"
Blaine took a step back, freaked out. "Y-yeah. How do you know about that?"
"Just...come to the choir room after school today. You know where it is, right?" Blaine nodded. "Good. I'll explain everything there."
"Okay." Blaine wasn't sure what to think. How did Sebastian know so much about him? More importantly, how did he know about the murder?
When he came to the choir room after the last bell, Sebastian, along with about five other guys, were there, all waiting for him. There, they explained to Blaine what he is, and how he became one. It turns out, a lot of people are actually born with the werewolf gene (or curse, as most like to call it), but very few trigger it.
"How do you trigger it?" Blaine asked.
"You have to kill somebody."
"So...you've all killed someone." There were sad nods all around the room.
Wes gestured around the room. "None of us are proud of what we've done, but when you have other people who've gone through the same thing, it is easier to learn to accept it and try to move on."
"Move on?"
"The guilt is still there, but it gets easier to deal with. It gets better over time."
Blaine nodded thoughtfully, glad he decided to transfer to Dalton.
He snapped back to reality. "Why are you doing this to me?"
Mr. Williamson seemed to realize something and smiled. "Oh, I'm sorry, Blaine, please forgive my lack of manners. I believe I haven't properly introduced myself. My name's Paul Weller."
Blaine froze.
"You remember me now, don't you? Son of Adam, brother of Jacob..."
"You're...you're his brother?"
"It took a couple hundred bucks, but I managed to get my mother's maiden name again. I know, I know, I've grown so much, you hardly recognize me, eh?"
"What are you doing here?"
"One word, Anderson." There was a pause, and his voice dropped to a whisper as he spun the switchblade in his hand and took a step towards Kurt. "Revenge."
"Please, please just let Kurt go. This is between you and me. He has nothing to do with this."
"Maybe not, but I think it would be more fun for you to watch him die instead of just killing you, don't you think? That way you can 're-live the experience' and get to go through what I did: losing the person you love most. The one thing that that makes you happy in a miserable world like ours...gone!" With the last word, he sliced Kurt's arm with the blade, sending blood pouring out of it. "Do you want me to really reenact the moment? Why don't I just kick him in the gut a few times?" He sharply dug his foot into Kurt's stomach, and he screamed in pain. Paul muffled the screams by putting his hand over Kurt's mouth.
"Stop!" Blaine shouted, rushing towards Kurt, but was stopped with Paul pointed the blade at him. He put his hands up in surrender.
"Kill me!" he cried. "Kill me, just...just please don't hurt him."
Paul seemed to consider this for a moment. He looked from Blaine to Kurt and back. "Or I can just kill you both."
"No," Blaine said, his voice taking on a threatening tone. "I won't let you hurt him."
"We'll see about that," Paul said, and in a rush ran to the bed again and stabbed Kurt in the thigh.
Blaine pounced on him. He tackled him, moving him away from Kurt. The switchblade fell out of his hand and Blaine took the opportunity to grab it. He managed to cut Paul's arm before the man seized the blade again and stabbed Blaine in the shoulder. He punched Blaine hard in the face, sending him flying off of him. Blaine quickly recovered and shoved Paul into a dresser. He fell to the ground, where Blaine pinned him down.
"I'm sorry for what I did to your brother. He didn't deserve it. I couldn't control it. I shouldn't have done it but that doesn't mean that you should take another innocent life because of what I've done." Tears formed in Blaine's eyes but he blinked them away. "I think it would be best for both of us if you left. The rest of the pack know I came here. If I'm gone for long, they'll know what happened. They'll find you and they won't show mercy. They'll kill you, and they'll make it hurt." Paul suddenly became terrified and any strength to fight he had left in him escaped from his body. "Killing someone else won't make Jacob come back. The only way from here is downhill. So please...leave. Get out of town, far away from here. Are we clear?"
Paul only nodded. Blaine stood up and ran to Kurt, who was almost unconscious. With a tug, he was set free from the handcuffs. There was a pool of blood underneath him. He wasn't sure what to do next or what to do with Kurt. He couldn't get him to his own dorm; there were people in the hallway. Blaine couldn't just carry Kurt, bloody and unconscious, out of a room and casually bring him to another without panic and chaos with the other students. So he dialed David's number on his phone. "Hey," he said. "Yeah, yeah, Kurt's okay. But I need you to create a distraction. Get the people in the hallway downstairs or something. Can you do that for me? Okay. Thanks." He hung up and examined Kurt. The slash in his arm was at least five inches long, and blood was still spilling out of it. His face was covered in blood from his head wound.
"He has my phone," Kurt managed to whisper, looking at Paul, who tossed the phone on the bed without making eye contact with either of the boys. He grabbed a suitcase from the closet and began frantically stuffing clothes into it.
Blaine put Kurt's phone in his pocket with suddenly, the fire alarm went off. There were screams from outside and Paul's eyes widened, finally looking at Blaine.
"False alarm," Blaine told him. "Don't worry about it."
He waited a few more seconds before opening the door, where he heard the sound of fire extinguishers over the alarms and felt the heat of a fire. Blaine made a mental note to give David hell later for actually starting a fire when all he needed was a good false alarm.
"Okay! Okay! It's out! Fire's gone!" Someone shouted from downstairs, and smoke crept its way up to the second floor. Blaine needed to get Kurt to his dorm and fast. He quickly picked him up and carried him across the hallway and into his own dorm (which was luckily unlocked). After Kurt was settled on his bed, Blaine excused himself, promising to return as soon as possible, and went to find the source of the fire.
A large crowd of students had gathered by the kitchen downstairs. Wes and David were in the front, the former holding a fire extinguisher. Blaine pushed his way through the crowd. "Are you insane?" Both boys turned around at the sound of Blaine's voice.
"When I told you to create a distraction, I didn't mean to try to set the school on fire!"
"It was just a tiny kitchen fire!"
"Tiny? Is that why all the appliances are fried? You'll get expelled!"
"I'm sorry! Just be happy I created a distraction at all, okay? How's Kurt?"
"He's alive but he's losing a lot of blood. Wes, can you help me out?"
"What about me?" David asked.
"You need to fix this." Blaine gestured to the wild crowd and the destroyed kitchen. Wes practically threw the fire extinguisher at him and followed Blaine upstairs.
"He hit his head and there's a pretty deep cut in his arm." He broke into a run as he reached the top of the staircase. He and Wes went into Kurt's dorm, where Kurt was now unconscious.
Blaine began to panic. "Wes, wet a couple of towels and bring them over here. Come on, Kurt. Wake up." His heartbeat was okay, but his breathing was a little irregular. Wes came over with a handful of towels. Blaine placed one on the cut on Kurt's forearm and instructed Wes to hold it there. Then, he tried to find the source of his head wound. Kurt's hair was matted with blood, causing it to clump together and stick to his face. After rearranging almost every strand of hair on his head, he finally found the wound on the right side of Kurt's head. It didn't seem deep, but a good amount of blood had spilled from it. He held a towel there and used another to start clean off some of the blood. It had dripped down his face and neck onto his uniform, which he figured Kurt wouldn't be too happy about. His uniform, his bedsheets, his pillows, and the towels all had to be either washed or replaced.
"It looks like the bleeding is slowing on his arm," Wes pointed out.
"Just keep putting pressure on it," Blaine instructed. His mother was a nurse at a nearby hospital, and he had learned his fair share of how to treat different wounds over the years. "Get his leg for me, too." Considering the cut was on Kurt's upper thigh, Wes wasn't exactly sure how to do this. Eventually he decided that Kurt's uniform was already ruined, so he pulled on the hole that the knife had made in his pants and made it bigger. He awkwardly laid a towel on top of the now-exposed wound.
Blaine hated blood. It didn't make him squeamish or queasy, but it reminded him of that night. Blood on the head. Blood on the ground. Blood everywhere. Images flashed before Blaine's eyes, the contrast of bright red blood against white concrete, Jacob's blank, dead eyes staring into space. Even after two years, the image was perfectly clear in Blaine's mind. Hard as he tried, he could never forget that day.
He was wiping blood off of Kurt's cheek when his eyes fluttered open. It was fantastic to see those bright, shining blue eyes again. Blaine let go of a breath he wasn't aware he had been holding. Kurt instinctively snapped up in alarm, expecting only for a second to see Mr. Williamson standing above him with that evil smile plastered on his face. Blaine gently pushed him back down.
"Blaine?" Kurt whispered.
"Hi," Blaine said, and the corners of Kurt's lips turned up a little before the throbbing in his head started. "You need to lie down. You're safe. You're gonna be okay." He pat his forehead with the towel, wiping away more blood. When Blaine brought his hand down, Kurt saw the red-stained cloth. "Is that from my..."
"You hurt your head pretty badly. Your arm, too. But the bleeding is slowing down." He tossed the towel to the side. "Wes, were there more of these?"
"I think so. I'll go get 'em."
While Wes ran the towels under the water faucet, Blaine lifted the rag on Kurt's arm the slightest bit, exposing the wound. He could see it much more clearly now that the blood was gone. It would definitely need stitches. Where he was going to get those stitches, Blaine wasn't sure. It wasn't exactly like they could walk into a hospital and say, "My friend here was attacked by my history teacher who came after me because I killed his brother. He was kind of cut in the arm with a switchblade. Would you mind stitching this up for him real fast?"
Kurt's eyes fell to the blood stain on Blaine's shirt. He had taken his blazer off after bringing Wes here, and now the stain was visible on his left shoulder.
"Oh, God," Kurt gasped. "He stabbed you! Are you okay? You should take care of it—"
"Don't worry. I heal fast. It's already gone." The expression on Kurt's face went from concerned to fascinated. He wondered what else he had yet to learn about werewolves.
However, the massive pounding in his head stopped him from being able to think much about anything. "Can I have an aspirin or something? My head is killing me."
Wes was one step ahead of him, already at Blaine's side with two pills and a cup of water in his hand. Kurt downed them quickly, gulping down the water like he hadn't had anything to drink in ages.
"Long day?" Wes joked, and induced a giggle from Kurt. "That may just be the understatement of the century."
Blaine grabbed the ice pack Wes had retrieved from God-knows-where. "This is gonna sting." He gingerly placed it on Kurt's head. "It's to stop the swelling."
Kurt winced and resisted the urge to cringe away from the freezing object. It stung like hell, but it did seem to numb the pain. He noticed Blaine opening his mouth, as if to say something, and then closing it again. "What is it?"
"Do...do you remember anything from before I came in? How did he get you?"
His memory was a little blurry at first, but it cleared up after thinking long and hard. "I took a break from homework to go get a coffee. He grabbed me out of nowhere and pulled me into a room...I think that's when I hit my head. Then I just blacked out."
"And when you woke up again?"
"I was in the dorm...maybe it was the same one he had dragged me into in the first place, I don't know. I was on the floor, handcuffed to the bed. The room was pitch black until Mr. Williamson came in and turned on the lights. I tried asking him what he wanted with me, but he wouldn't answer. Then he called you," he glanced at Blaine, "and then he pulled out the blade and just...waited. He stood facing the door and waited for you. He didn't move a muscle until you came in. You know what happened from there."
Blaine nodded and gave a look to Wes that told him that he would fill him in later. "Well, he should be gone soon. Very soon. If he's in his right mind, we won't have to worry about seeing him ever again."
"He had a nephew named Tony. He went to school here. I think he was helping Mr. Williamson out by trying to get close to me."
"Well, let's hope he takes his nephew with him. I would think so."
Each boy got lost in their own thoughts then, and none of them spoke. Kurt drifted back to sleep after a few minutes. Wes thought about what Sebastian will think about all of this: Kurt finding out the truth, Mr. Williamson, David setting part of the school on fire, and everything else that was going on. Maybe he should leave for the weekend so he wouldn't be here when all hell breaks loose. Blaine thought about Kurt. It wasn't until today that he realized just how much he needed him. When he had gotten the call from Mr. Williamson, his heart had stopped beating for a moment. All he could think about was Kurt. He had to keep him safe. He couldn't let anything happen to him. He needed Kurt to be okay. Because when it came down to it, Kurt was one of the very few people who he trusted. Sure, they had only known each other for a few months, but when Blaine was around him, he felt a sense of security. His mood changed. On a day where he felt like garbage, when nothing was going right, all he had to do was see Kurt to feel okay again. When he saw Kurt, he knew he could get through whatever was getting him down. He could do it for him.
He kept this thought in mind as he, too, fell asleep in his seat next to Kurt's bed.
When Kurt woke up, it was dark outside. Blaine and Wes were gone from his bedside. He heard voices to his right and turned his head to see them talking by the counter.
"...just tell him. He obviously feels the same way about you."
"He does?"
"Have you seriously not noticed? The kid gets hearts in his eyes every time you come within twenty feet of him."
"...He does?"
"Just tell him, Blaine. What's the worst that can happen? Compared to him finding out you're a werewolf, this should be easy as pie! If he wanted you gone, if he was scared or something, he would have told you so about..." Wes checked his watch. "...eleven and a half hours ago."
"I just don't want to mess things up."
"Come on. You're Blaine Anderson. You can fix literally any relationship problem, whether it's your own or not. Remember that time when Ashley and I got into a fight and you made—"
"I get your point, Wes. Thanks."
"Anytime. Telling him how you feel should be easy, especially since Kurt's been listening to our conversation for the past two minutes." His face broke into a grin and looked at Kurt.
Blaine spun around. "O-Oh, hey, Kurt! How's your, uh, how's your head? Are you feeling okay? Do you need anything?" He rushed around the dorm, not sure what he was looking for.
Kurt smiled at Blaine's state of panic. "I'm fine, Blaine. My head feels much better, thank you."
Blaine stopped moving around and stood in the middle of the dorm to face Kurt. "Oh. That's good."
"Calm down."
"I am calm!"
"I'm gonna go get something to eat." Wes excused himself and hurriedly left the room.
"Come here." Kurt sat up—Blaine protested, but Kurt was having none of it—and reached for Blaine's hand. He wasn't sure what to say. He had spent more time than he was willing to admit thinking about how this moment would go, but now that it was here, he was at a loss for words.
"That was good to hear."
"What?"
"You talking to Wes."
"So..." Blaine had a hopeful look on his face.
"I do feel the same way. I have since I met you on that staircase. I don't care what you are or what you've done. We've been to hell and back in the span of 12 hours. I'm pretty sure we can withstand anything." He squeezed Blaine's hand. He couldn't bother to be upset that Blaine had lied to him about killing someone. If it had been Kurt, he would have done the same thing. Nor could he be too upset about the fact that he had killed someone in the first place. There had to be an explanation.
"...R-Really?"
"Nah, I'm just kidding." He laughed at his own sarcasm and the momentary look of disappointment on Blaine's face. "Of course I'm serious! Why would I lie to you about something like this?"
"I always thought I'd never find someone...because of what I am. It's good to know that's not true."
"That's not true at all." He pulled Blaine closer to him. "Quite the opposite, actually." They both smiled and Kurt pulled Blaine down until their faces were mere inches apart. He rested his hands on Blaine's face and pulled him closer, inch by inch, until their lips finally met.
It was everything Kurt had hoped for. It was everything Blaine had hoped for. It was sweet. It was passionate. It was effortless, tender, loving. Blaine brought his hands to rest on Kurt's neck as he slipped his tongue into the other boy's mouth. Kurt's thumb gently stroked Blaine's cheek and Blaine deepened the kiss. They lost track of how long they kissed for.
The kiss was everything Kurt expected it to be and more. He never wanted to stop. Right here, with his lips interlocked with Blaine's, was where he wanted to be for the rest of his life. Screw senior year, graduation, and college. All he wanted was Blaine.
When they finally broke apart, they were both out of breath but couldn't care. Blaine gave Kurt another small, chaste kiss on the lips before pulling away hesitantly. He would have loved to dive in for more, but he thought Kurt's brain needed some oxygen. Kissing for that long was probably hazardous to Kurt's health...not that Kurt cared much about that, either.
Their hands fell back to their sides, but Blaine intertwined their fingers. Kurt legitimately wondered whether the last God-knows-how-long was reality or just a dream. It couldn't be real.
He loved Blaine. Blaine loved him. It felt quite good, to be loved. It was an unfamiliar feeling, but Kurt could definitely get used to it. It felt like he was flying, unstoppable. Like he was on top of the world.
And it was all because of Blaine.