AN:

Thanks for the reviews and thoughts that the trophy rules weren't clear. I tried to get something in here that isn't quite Basil Exposition. Not that I think that the world is going this way, but rather, that there are a more than a few people who would rather like it if it did...

Kurt woke up in absolute confusion. The light was wrong, the bed was wrong, he was aching, lightly, at least, in unfamiliar ways. Then he remembered everything that had happened. Trophy rules, Blaine bringing him here...

You're a Hummel, you're a survivor. Even if your dad wasn't, jeered a nastier voice. This isn't as bad as it could be. Blaine hadn't been brutal with him. He'd even been tolerant during the moments when Kurt's apprehension had made him freeze or pull back. As he got up, he wondered where Blaine was, and then saw a note on the door.

"Hello, amazing,

"You were so sound asleep I didn't have the heart to wake you, though I have to say another body part was fully in favor of the idea. I've got classes until 11:00.

"I put out some clothing that should fit you and help yourself to anything in the fridge. There's always coffee in the kitchen down the hall.

You'll need to sign the paperwork. It's all on the desk.

"See you at about 11:01.

"Blaine"

The dorm room had an attached bathroom with a shower. Kurt gathered up the clothing that Blaine had left on the chair next to the bed. A shower would help clear his mind and then he'd call Mercedes and Finn.

In the bathroom, Kurt felt compelled to examine himself in the mirror. He didn't look any different, even though he would have sworn that a night without putting on moisturizer would destroy his complexion. He wasn't bruised or marked in any way. The hot water helped him feel more like himself, but what really helped was the Modus Couture shirt and Santorelli pants. He'd sold all of his designer clothing at the couture resale shop to try to get the money for Burt's operation and had never wanted to admit to himself how much he missed the feel of luxury fabrics and cuts.

He sat down at the desk and looked at the pile of papers. He was familiar already with the general terms of Trophy Rules as they applied to schools. The winning team selected a member from the losing team to reward the winners and provide the loser with mentoring. The winner could require anything of the Trophy as long as it didn't result in any physical damages or probable incapacity to participate in the workforce. He could purchase his way out with $175,000. Kurt snorted at that. Everybody knew that it was insurance to make sure that nobody who belonged to an important (read rich) family would end up in this situation.

It had all started in the corporate world. When unemployment hit 15 percent, people had gotten desperate for contracts, desperate enough that some corporations started providing them. Oh, the contracts were to the employer's advantage, letting them reduce pay up to 30 percent during a year, terms that lasted for five years but could be broken on the employer's side with a month's notice. The non-compete clauses were even more brutal. "If you don't like it, don't work for an employer who demands contracts," everybody said. "We need to make work more competitive. We need to make sure that workers contribute. We need it to stay competitive."

Finally, the schools had gotten in on the game. Students had to participate in extracurriculars to win. Winning was the only thing that could guarantee success. And nothing drove students to win than big stakes. But it was school, so it was all about the learning. Trophy Rules ensured that the losers would learn.

Blaine had highlighted where he was supposed to sign. Acknowledgment that he had read his rights and understood his responsibilities. He scribbled his name and then opened his bag to call Mercedes and Finn. He wanted to reassure them that it seemed as though he was one of the luckier ones but also dreaded talking to them. If they broke down, he knew he might. He reached deeper, not finding the phone in its usual place, and then upended the bag. It wasn't anywhere inside nor was it anywhere in his pockets. I have now lost my virginity, four months of freedom, and my phone in the same 24 hours. Good going.

He looked around the dorm room again and saw the landline phone on the wall. There was no dial tone and he decided to see if he could find an alternative when the door opened and Blaine came in, smiling widely. He crossed the room to Kurt and kissed him on the lips. "Hello, Sleeping Beauty. You know, it was very hard to concentrate on classes this morning because of you." Kurt smiled nervously. "Did you find everything you need?"

"Yes, but I think I lost my phone."

"Oh, no, you didn't, I've got it." Blaine patted his book bag. "I want to get you a new one. Did you find anything to eat?"

"No, I haven't yet."

"Then the plan is to get a phone and then go somewhere for lunch. For cafeteria food, this place really isn't bad, but I want to take you someplace special. Is French all right?" Blaine actually sounded anxious as he asked the last question, as if Kurt were some particularly picky diva he was trying to keep appeased. Kurt was willing to plead guilty to being a particularly picky diva—if the Prada shoe fits, wear it—but he knew that if anything, he had to keep Blaine appeased.

"J'adore la cuisine francaise."

"Ready, then?" Blaine held the door for him and took his hand, squeezing it against his thigh.