Chapter Twelve

Hooks of Damocles

Kurt Hummel was a new man. He walked the halls of McKinley High with purpose. For a Tuesday, it was relatively bereft of gossipy girls or tough-looking jocks. The crackdown of caffeine in the school's cafeteria has taken its toll on the worst of the school. Yet for Kurt, who always relied on fruit smoothies for his energy, he walked on with grace and dignity.

And with Rachel Berry nipping at his heels for details.

"You kissed him?" she gasped, attracting the attention of a few Cheerios as they passed by. "Oh my God, Kurt, you're practically a celebrity already."

"Just because he kissed me doesn't mean that I'm a celebrity," Kurt said as he adjusted the strap of his bag.

"Then what does it mean?"

Kurt paused in his step, his confidence dissipating. "I . . . I don't know," he admitted, faltering.

Rachel grabbed his arm and tried to steer him back to the main subject. "Forget about that. You told me that both Smythe and Anderson expressed interest in you, which means that Sebastian is officially off of my list."

"O . . . kay? And since when do you have a list of people you'd like to-"

Rachel cut him off. "That's not the point here, Kurt!" she exclaimed. "The point is, you're torn between two lovers who just so happen to be household names. I mean, everybody in Ohio knows of these two, and I'm pretty sure Blaine was lying last night when he said that he didn't have any Broadway connections."

Kurt's lips twitched. "Perhaps he was," he allowed quietly. "Either way, that's not the point. The point is, I got kissed last night by the guy that I've been fanboying over for ages, and now he won't stop texting me." He held out his iPhone, which displayed an alert for ten unread messages. "They all say something either really cutesy or really funny, and I have no idea how to respond."

Rachel rolled her eyes. "You need to be more upfront about this. You need to tell him how you feel. You need to meet him again and get Kiss Number Two."

Kurt's cheeks reddened. "Who said there'd be a Kiss Number Two?"

"There's always a Kiss Number Two during slash after that kind of conversation," Rachel informed him. "It's unavoidable. He likes you and you like him and I just knew that something had happened from the way that you looked when you came back in."

Kurt tilted his head. "How did you know?"

"Your hair was messed up at the back," Rachel admitted smugly. "You would never let anyone do that unless you were in no position to complain about it."

Kurt's lips twitched. "True . . ."

Rachel smiled widely. "So . . ."

With a roll of his eyes, Kurt relented. "Fine. I'll make sure to meet him before he leaves for the next leg of his tour."

She held up a pinky. "Promise?" she queried, looking at him with as much seriousness as Rachel Berry could muster.

Kurt wrapped his pinky around hers. "Promise."

They pulled apart and waggled their fingers at each other before walking to their respective classes.

Blaine was standing on center stage, soaking in the spotlight as Pierce Brogan critiqued him from a particularly stiff chair in the orchestra pit.

"Breathy," he reminded him, "be more breathy! They eat that shit up, Anderson."

But Blaine was barely paying attention to Pierce's profanity-filled instructions. He was reliving, over and over in an endless loop, the kiss that had struck such a deep chord within him. He had been the one to instigate it, and boy, was he elated that he had.

It was the perfect moment as well. Kurt's everchanging eyes were focused on the stars above them, his brow furrowed as evidence of internal musing, after he'd explained that he wanted to advocate the belief - no, the truth - that being gay was okay.

Also, Blaine couldn't control himself. Kurt was as charming and breathtakingly handsome similar to an old movie star that Blaine idolized profusely.

"Blaine. BLAINE!"

Blaine started. "What?"

Pierce pressed a palm to the side of his face, looking exasperated. "Be more breathy in 'Tumult', all right? Don't want to get the audience bored."

"Too late," Sebastian Smythe muttered from his place beside Pierce. He had snatched the bag of VIP lanyards for their next show and was discreetly checking for any names that could appeal to him. Amber Brosnane. Hmm . . .

Blaine stepped off stage and Sebastian took his place. As soon as the beginning notes of 'Mambo Man' played, Blaine's phone beeped.

Kurt Hummel:

Could we talk soon? It's nothing bad, I promise :)

Blaine smiled and replied.

Blaine Anderson:

How about sushi? I know a great place near the old cinema called Fishtastic. Terrible name, but good food.

Kurt Hummel:

Absolutely. Meet you there at six?

Blaine Anderson:

Can't wait :D

Fishtastic was, as one could expect, a fish-themed restaurant. The exterior was painted with shiny greyish green paint in intricate circles that resembled fish scales, while the inner walls were the color of sea foam with funny-looking cartoonish salmon and trout swimming around unperturbed. The menus had interesting facts about fish in them, and the tables were dark rectangles of wood with colorful fish painted on them.

Kurt never wanted to see another fish again.

He tried, to no avail, to look at something in Fishtastic that didn't remind him of aquatic animals. After deciding that the ceiling (decorated like how a lake full of sockeye salmon would look with real hooks hanging from the ceiling that could result in peril if descending quickly enough) was not a good option, he decided to focus his attention on the table of teenage boys sitting near the window (which was tinted the same blue as the walls). They were deep in conversation, voices too low to be overheard. Kurt wished he knew what the one in the green sweater was saying. He seemed to look pretty smug.

"Ready to order?" asked the chipper teenage girl with a smile too big for her face. She held a notebook in her hands and seemed genuinely interested in writing down his order.

Good actress, Kurt decided. Terribly forced smile, though.

"No thanks," he said, looking sheepish. "I'm going to meet someone, and they should be here soon."

Actually, Blaine should have been there fifteen minutes before. Perhaps this was revenge for the Lima Bean incident. If so, it was a terrible thing for Blaine to do. And completely out of character.

The fish-shaped door swung open and Blaine stepped through, dressed casually in a hoodie two sizes too big and a hat that covered a majority of his distinctly recognizable 'do. For a second, Kurt wondered why he was wearing things that were hiding him from view. Blaine was quite a view.

Then he remembered.

Right. Celebrity. Biiiiiig celebrity.

As if to mock Kurt's stupidity, the soft guitar introduction to One Rose began playing overhead. Somewhere among the hooks was a sound system. Then, as an added bonus to the situation at hand, one of the teenage boys at the window table spotted Blaine and grinned.

Suddenly those hooks felt like swords - of the Damocles variety.

It never occurred to him what would happen if people recognized Blaine at a public place. The Cheerios were already gushing over Kurt's supposed torrid love affair (and he'll have to bother Miss Mercedes Jones and Miss Quinn Fabray about that being spread around) and had already collectively vowed to get him to sign their chests when (not if; the girls didn't take "if") they got to meet "Kurt's hottie celeb boy toy". Because according to Sugar Motta, "since Blaine's gay, it doesn't matter".

Right. It wouldn't matter to Blaine as much as it would matter to those girls' respective "boy toys".

Blaine was heading towards Kurt when the boy in the green sweater called out, "Anderson!"

Blaine froze in his track. Kurt held his breath.

Unaware of the change, the boy added, "What? No greeting in return?"

Blaine continued, at a much slower pace, towards Kurt. As soon as he sat down, Kurt asked, "Who is that?"

Blaine's lips twitched downward. "A family friend who needs to keep their trap shut."

From the window, the green sweater boy screeched, "Blaine Anderson! You come and say hello right now!"

The waitress, who was hovering around the front counter, gasped audibly. "Blaine Anderson?" She tilted her head as she scrutinized the strangely dressed boy that had joined Kurt, copying and pasting the Blaine Anderson hair over the ridiculous hat and imagining a slimmer body than the one portrayed by the baggy sweatshirt.

When she was satisfied with her observation, she pulled out her phone and pressed a few buttons. Then she squealed into it, "You'll never guess who's in Fishtastic right now. Blaine Anderson! Oh . . ."

"No," Kurt moaned.