A/N Sorry about the delay, exams start next week and I'm not very confident, so I wrote this over a collection of breaks from maths and biology. I finished it whilst on sleeping tablets again, so I probably don't like it. The first part is a dream sequence, just by the way, and I'm feeling really uninspired tonight. I don't think I'll get to update until at least next weekend, or maybe not till all my exams are over. Anyways, if you like what you read, or even if you don't, please review. Reviews and alerts make me smile (:

~~~OOO~~~

There was all water, bluer than blue and crisper than crisp. And wind; nicer than nice as it moved through his hair, and sent chills from his spine to his toes. And sand; more perfect than perfect as he slunk back into it, and watched and felt the grains melt to meet his shape.

And there were birds, and fish, and squealing children – far off in the distance. And, most importantly, there was a smile planted so definitively on his face, his eyes a lighter shade and softer than butter.

Kurt knew all of this, he knew the way the wind made his hair go everywhere – but never break his perfect quiff, and the way his eyes lit up when another wave broke – because Blaine told him every so often, in the shell of his ear (which was delicious).

Oh that's right, because Blaine had his arms lazily, yet protectively around Kurt, and his lips were breathing heavily, whispering sweetly, into Kurt's ear. Never daring to break away from their perfection they had found in this little patch of sand, so close, yet so isolated from the rest of the world.

And Kurt seemed to notice how happy they both were, and how their smiles matched, so he cocked his head up (God that chin!) to tell Blaine that; "This is perfect baby, I love you." And that was that. It was Kurt and Blaine.

In love, and happy, and smiling, and willing to dance in the waves and drown if it meant that they would never leave their cove of warmth. Which was nice, because Blaine could spend forever looking into Kurt's eyes if they always sparkled that much.

And Blaine could spend forever kissing Kurt's lips if they always tasted that nice. And they whispered sweet nothings about how much the other made them smile more than anyone could ever imagine, and promising that nothing would every drift through the slightest space and separate their lips, or dull the sparkle of their eyes. They decided they could read each other's minds, because Kurt told Blaine how much he loved his smile and Blaine whispered 'your eyes are brighter than the sun' and sunk back happily, not daring to break apart, into the sand that would always be there to make them feel a part of something.

Blaine bolted upright before the dream went any further south. Slapping himself because he'd promised himself, just before he entered sleep last night, that he would never think about Kurt's eyes and how nice his lips must taste ever again. But that dream was nice. And it wasn't a nightmare, as he was so easily accustomed to these days. It made him smile, just remembering the way his breath mingled with Kurt's as the sand moved lazily underneath them. And how pretty their words were when they realized just how much they both meant them.

But Blaine couldn't.

Blaine wouldn't!

Not when he had only met said boy for but a fleeting time yesterday, and not when he didn't even know if he was a straight line or gayer than a parabola. He liked that analogy, he decided.

"Blaine! Time to get up!" luckily his mother disrupted his confusion, to which he only sunk back under his doona.

Ugh, Blaine hated mornings.

~~~OOO~~~

"Wake wakey Kurt, time to get up sleepyhead, it's a new day out."

And the chirpy voice cracked the windows that let the sun stream through and hit his face in a full blow of surprise. Where the hell was he? The sun never hit him like that in his basement cave in the morning. But then again, he'd never had a woman with that voice sing a singsong to wake him up before she penetrated the room with the outside's glow.

Then he rolled over, the woman's face hitting him full force, blinded by the sun, he remembered.

"Oh right." He said out loud, as if that brought him that final bit of clarification. He was fucked up, that's right. And his father had had enough of him. That's right. And he'd been shipped away to Australia to straighten out. That's right. And there was Pamela. And then there was Andrew. That's right.

And then there was Amber, the young woman with the pretty eyes and lovely hair and nice clothes. That's right. And then there was Emma. The miniature (though really, she was the same age as him) version of Amber. That's right.

And then there was Blaine. That's right.

The boy with more curls than curly and eyes brighter than the suns of a thousand planets. With the voice of velvet and the laugh that could make the world so much happier again. That's right. That's right. Blaine. Blaine Blaine Blaine. It sounded so nice, in his mind on his tongue. And he remembered the dream he'd been having before the sun welcomed him to another fucking day.

Blaine and Kurt were holding hands on a pair of swings on the pretty beach, watching the sun rise, and whispering secrets.

But Kurt wanted to slap himself – that was a dream. Blaine was Blaine and most probably a very straight Blaine, and Kurt didn't even know if he was – and if he was if he wanted people to know – that he was, well, not straight. And having dreams about Blaine, perfect Blaine was not a good start.

But Belinda was still trying to rouse him from his perfectly contentious place in his mind, contemplating Blaine and whether or not he should try be happy today, or kick the bitch with the perfect son in the ba – face.

"Kurt, time to get up now sweet heart. Time to show you around."

Bur Kurt didn't want to. And he snapped. The wire in his head that kept him level headed most of the time, clearly hadn't had time to wake up and properly adjust to the morning, and he was therefore running off the 'violence is always the answer' ideology. Which was not a good mindset to have when your new 'mother' is trying to coax you out of bed and you think that kicking and slapping is the answer.

Kurt kicked her. He didn't mean to, he swore. It was just his stupid brain and its inability to control his actions anymore. And he hoped it wasn't as hard as he thought it might have been. Fuck. Kurt was in trouble now.

"Kurt." Her voice was sterner, no longer her early morning perky, but cross. Oh so cross, and hurt, which she probably deserved to be.

"Was that necessary?"

Kurt didn't acknowledge her, he just furrowed deeper into the pillows that made everything disappear. 'You're a screw up, remember that Kurt.' He mentally reminded himself. And told himself that today just wasn't the day that he was going to pigtail plait his hair and bake and skip around and be merry and sugary.

Kurt could feel Belinda towering over him, waiting for something; an acknowledgement perhaps. Or an apology. If Kurt was a nicer person he would have hugged her (he didn't hug people any more) and told her he hadn't meant to kick her – he just didn't do mornings.

But he didn't. Because he remembered all the times he'd kicked people, and it had become a second nature to him, and he didn't want to apologise for something he wasn't anymore. Especially when he was here, basically blatantly told by his own father that he was the biggest disappointment one could ever have as a son. Especially when he couldn't even remember his own name because he hadn't smoked or drunk anything in over two days. Ah, that's what he needed, he decided. A cigarette.

Perhaps, that would cool him down a little bit. Enough for him to snap out of the kicking and wanting to beat every human to the ground, especially those who were just trying to watch him get better.

But Kurt could bet that Belinda would never let him smoke, not when he was here trying to be a better person. Ugh. He hated being here, he decided.

"Kurt?" Oh, she was still waiting. And he wanted a smoke. And he had one, somewhere in his bag. But he would never get to his bag until he uttered the two words that would get him to said bag, to enjoy said freedom and relaxation.

"I'm sorry."

Huh, that's funny. Kurt semi- sort of meant that. He never meant apologies. Which was strange. Huh. He needed that cigarette damned right now before his brain started doing any other stupid fucked up thing.

But Belinda wasn't taking just that. And Kurt still wasn't getting out of bed.

"Kurt, get up, out of bed, get changed, and meet me in the kitchen. We're going to have a little chat." Kurt decided he didn't like the emphasis she put on the words littlechat and decided that he probably wouldn't be getting any sort of liberation from his cigarettes until he'd dealt with whatever she had to say.

With a foreboding look at him, Belinda watched him nod his head – in acceptance and to signifiy he was getting up. And she turned around, with a final look that she hoepd screamed 'disappointment!' and left the room to see what her family; who would never ever treat her in such a way, were up to.

~~~OOO~~~

Somehow, Kurt managed to stumble out of his room a good fifteen minutes later, and Blaine couldn't help but laugh. The boy had his grey jumper on, backwards, and his navy blue track pants were clearly the wrong size for him. It made Blaine laugh, how adorable he looked with sleep in his eyes and that confused look on his face, but still with seemingly perfect hair. Hair he just wanted to run his fingers through –. But no! Chill! He told himself. He didn't want this to be any more awkward than the time his mother had walked in on his erm, 'private time'. Now, that was awkward. But it would be even more embarrassing if the boy-who-was-about-to-gey-into-big-trouble-for-kicking-Blaine's-mother had the ability to make him hard before he even finished his breakfast. So he stuck with a friendly greeting instead.

"Morning, Kurt, how'd you sleep?" he hoped his voice sounded as pleasant as it had in his mind.

Kurt cocked his head up, snapping out of his daze. Huh, that boy really was too pretty in the morning for words. Wait. No. He was ugly! Ugly and a waste of time and Kurt wasn't supposed to like people, least of all pretty boys with too much curl in their hair. Or boys at all. Well. And he shouldn't have had that dream last night and he knows it, he's just glad it wasn't as bad as it would probably seem if people ever found out he had had a dream about Blaine.

"Morning, yeah okay."

And that was that. Because it was too early in the morning for Kurt to do chit-chat. Especially when he was just trying to get the stupid boy out of his head. How was it even possible for him to be in there, when he'd only met him the night before, and they'd barely spoken.

But then, Kurt remembered the way his laugh pierced the air and made the sound of the waves seem insignificant in their beauty in opposition. Or the way his eyes smiled and the corners crinkled when he seemed to be happy. Or just the way he was so sublimely happy living in a family that had raised him to be a good boy.

Belinda breezed into kitchen through the open glass door, bringing her from the beautiful day outside, interrupting Kurt and Blaine's very private brain dealings. Thank God.

"Blaine. Out. Kurt and I need to talk."

Her voice was stern. Blaine and Kurt could both only guess she'd just relayed the story of what happened just before with Andrew, and had a certain idea of consequences that Kurt wasn't looking forward to very much. He figured he didn't really care.

But Blaine didn't move. And Kurt was surprised, especially at what came out of his mouth.

"I thought this whole idea was for me to be a good influence, as well as being a friend. Well, you're scary when you're mad, so Kurt could probably use a friend. Meaning, I'm staying."

Blaine said it so auspiciously that Kurt couldn't help but let his mouth gape. Blaine noticed and chuckled in a way that couldn't help but make Kurt's lips turn into a smile.

Sighing, Belinda continued.

"Kurt, I know you must at least know how difficult us taking you in is going to be, and has already been. We're doing you, and your dad and Carole and everyone else who wants you to be better a huge favour. And I'm not trying to talk ourselves up when I say that, because it's true. Your family ran out of things to make you a whole jigsaw again so they brought you to us, because we're pretty good at fixing broken kids."

When had Blaine taken Kurt's hand? Whenever it had been, his reassuring grasp made Kurt feel a little bit lighter, but a little bit more guiltier.

"I don't appreciate being treated like an anybody, Kurt. I'm trying to make you a better person, but I can't do that if you're not going to cooperate. Now sure, that kicking me could just be an excuse for you being a morning person, fine if it is, but a, violence isn't the answer to anything and b, I'm going to give you a second chance. And probably a third chance. Because I want you to be better. And I'm not going to ask you for much, except to let me, let Andrew and Blaine and Amber and Emma help you to be a better Kurt Hummel. Just, at least, please try."

There were tears welling in her eyes, and Blaine looked lost, and so did Kurt. But now, Kurt felt more guilty then he'd ever probably felt in his life.

And because it seemed like the right thing to do, and grasped Blaine's hand (it was a friendly and oh-so-reassuring way of reminding him he was still alive, and that maybe, he could be a better person if he so tried, which is a lot to communicate in a hand hold.)

"I'm sorry, Belinda, I really am. I promise you I'll be better."

But for now, Kurt couldn't decipher whether he meant it or not. He just didn't liked feeling guilty. Or without have a cigarette to make it feel a bit better. Or maybe a fuck. Maybe Blaine would be ever so inclined to make him feel a little bit b –.

"Thank you, Kurt. Now. I have to go to work, and I'm leaving it up to Blaine to show you around for a while, think you can handle that?"

And that's when Kurt looked at Blaine properly for the first time, straight smack bang into those eyes of his. And really truly analysed his every feature.

His eyes were a colour of caramel-that-melts-in-your-mouth that you could probably drown in if you stared at too long. And they were belted with the longest set of ebony eyelashes he couldn't possibly believe existed, and those perfect combinations of eyes and lashes were topped with eyebrows in a shape that shouldn't be so beautiful, but it was. And God, he could probably measure the angle on those tiny hairs on his forehead if he so had the time.

His skin was that beautiful shade of sunrise and sand and sun, and it looked so smooth, but prickled with the reminder that he wasn't a boy. Yesterday's stubble made his face look so much more mature, so much scruffier, and a god damned amount more sexier.

The perfect shape of his nose dipped down to that fulcrum that led to those lips that Kurt couldn't help but positively fix his own eyes on. So full, so pink, and he could only imagine how they'd feel when they were cherry red and pressed against his own. Those lips that emanated a voice that would make angels cry and the laugh that made waves seem so irrelevant in terms of beauty.

And his whole head was topped with a mop of curly black hair, so wild and carefree, and he just wanted to run his fingers through it. It was a beautiful reminder of the simple things, of how good chromosomes could be in producing such perfection in terms of hair.

But then again, Kurt decided, the whole of Blaine screamed perfection. And he really shouldn't have been staring at Blaine for so long (but not really that long, because wasn't it funny how readily Kurt could already recognise Blaine's beauty?)

But Blaine was too busy noticing the way Kurt's face all meshed together to realize how long it took for Kurt to respond to his mother. And Blaine was just in the middle of imagining how nice Kurt's lips would feel against his own when the boy spoke,

"Yeah, that should be fine."

And was that a…. was that a wink Kurt had given Blaine?

"Okay then, Blaine, why don't you take Kurt and show him the school, and the shopping centre, and where you play football and then take him to the beach, or whatever else you want to. Kurt, I don't want any bad reports. Be good for Blaine, and I hope you too become friends."

Kurt tried to put on his best who-the-fuck-is-this-kid-with-triangular-eyebrows and it seemed to work, because Belinda looked a little bit phased about leaving Kurt and Blaine to their own devices. Because they were so different, and she couldn't help but wonder if they'd get off on the right track, or if they'd even get off at well.

But there was no time to worry about that right now, because she had a day to attend to, and Kurt needed to take his own life into his own hands, and Blaine could probably help him the best.

After all, wasn't it true that every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end?

And Blaine smiled, because he got to spend a day with the boy with pretty eyes, and he hoped he might be the reason for those cold rivers to finally smile.