Rating: PG - 13
Summary: Kurt took him in because it was cold outside, and he looked injured, and Kurt had an insatiable curiosity and wanted to find out how the hell the boy had ended up in his backyard in the first place (his being really attractive didn't hurt, either). It was like While You Were Sleeping, and Kurt was Sandra Bullock. Except with weird, unexplained phenomena. …And without Bill Pullman.
Spoilers: a little NBK and SLS, but AU in general
Disclaimer: I do not own anything.
Warnings: mentions of scary movies, eventual (but not for a while) light exploration of issues of consent

A/N: I am so sorry this took so long! Work backed me up, and then I had to start the chapter at an earlier point than I intended, because Kurt and Blaine weren't participating with me. So, the next part is where the fun begins. I lied. That part will be up tonight and/or tomorrow. Thank you to those of you who have been so wonderful and are reviewing my work. It means so much. For the rest, don't be shy, say hi! Although I love you all equally whether you comment or not!

Oh dear God.

Kurt gazed in horror at the figure in front of him.

"Please tell me that's not what you're planning on wearing to school today," he said.

Finn blinked at him blearily, somehow swallowing an entire piece of toast in one bite as he did so. Kurt grimaced.

"Why, what's wrong with it?" Finn asked around the bread filling his mouth.

Kurt gave him a very pointed once-over. Specifically, he gave the bright orange flannel Finn was wearing a very pointed once-over.

"Halloween was three weeks ago, Finn," he stated.

Finn rolled his eyes. "I like orange," he said with equal firmness. "And not everyone has to wear twenty-four shirts at the same time."

It was three shirts and it was called layering. Kurt's teeth clenched in some subconscious wish to stop himself from escalating what was sure to be another argument about his superior fashion sense. Today was going to be a horrible day anyway; there was no sense in starting the misery ahead of schedule. He looked to the ceiling for guidance, and his eye caught sight of dark blue, moving by the stairwell. Turning, his brows furrowed as he recognized Blaine, making his way quietly past the banister and into the kitchen (looking as wonderful in Kurt's clothes as he always did—and for the fifteenth time this week, Kurt thanked the empty skies above that someone else in this house besides him had a taste for fashion).

"What are you doing up?" Kurt asked, surprised. "It's six in the morning!" He was about to berate Finn for talking too loudly and forgetting that there were, in point of fact, other members of this household, when Blaine shot him a grin.

"Habit," he said simply, shrugging. Kurt stared, watching as Blaine walked up to the bread box and took out a few slices, placing them in the toaster. He looked like he was fully awake… Kurt wondered what kind of unhappy life he would have to lead in order to make waking up every day at six in the morning a habit. Then he realized he did make waking up every day at six in the morning a habit.

And he dropped that line of questioning.

Really, Kurt. Tone it down.

Blaine had only been officially with them for three days (time spent unconscious on the couch didn't count as valid in the official record, according to Kurt, due to the fact that Blaine had been unconscious and thus unaware of his surroundings at the time and Kurt had been positive his name was John). Three days, and Kurt had found himself scrutinizing Blaine's every move with increasing intensity. It was honestly starting to scare him. He knew he could be a little obsessive at times—his misguided but stubborn attempts at wooing Finn were evidence to that—but even he could recognize his interest in Blaine was starting to border the sociopathic. He just couldn't seem to stop himself from overanalyzing. Blaine was such a mystery, and—

"Are you two going into school?" Blaine asked, a glint in his eye that looked disturbingly like excitement.

–And that! Like that! Who in their right mind would be excited about the prospect of attending classes with unsympathetically idiotic peers? Nobody! School was about as exciting as being in a house—which, for the record? Wasn't exciting. In any sense of the word. And yet it was something Blaine seemed to be unnaturally enthused about. He didn't even bother to hide his excitement about the bathroom connected to Kurt's room, or the garage Kurt's dad had taken him to yesterday, or the small futon couch Burt and Carole set up for him to sleep on. His eyes practically glowed with happiness every time he happened upon something that reminded him of the fact he was currently under a roof. Kurt was baffled. Where the hell had Blaine lived before, a sewer? What was so exciting about a house?

"It's just school," Kurt said blankly. He followed the careful movements of Blaine's fingers as he buttered his toast. His hands looked strong, sculpted smooth and perfect out of clay. Blaine was solid–not lanky like Finn, or looming like Puck or Karo–

He was compact, and he was solid, and yet there was something soft and warm about him. His movements were deliberate and dictated by care. Kurt imagined hugging Blaine. He wondered what it would feel like.

"Yeah," Finn grumbled, and Kurt pulled himself out of his thoughts and back to the present. "School."

Kurt knew he was thinking about seeing Rachel today; they were currently not on speaking terms (something about cheating and Santana that Mercedes knew all the details about). Finn frowned and picked at his toast. Blaine's smile dimmed slightly as he did so, and his eyes gentled. He placed his hand briefly on top of Finn's, and Kurt held his breath under the wave of jealousy that broke over him when their eyes met. Something intimate, personal, passed between them and Finn seemed to brighten as Blaine took his hand away and turned back to the toaster.

Kurt raised an eyebrow and tried desperately not to glare.

As far as he knew, Blaine didn't know anything about what had happened between Rachel and Finn. So, what the hell had that been?

Finn drained his glass of milk and pushed off the kitchen island. "We should go, we're going to be late!" he told Kurt with an energy that had been noticeably absent before. Kurt's eyes slid without his permission to Blaine—who shrugged and smiled, looking for all intents and purposes like the most innocent of angels.

Kurt called bullshit.

"We're going to be late," Kurt repeated to Blaine, as if there were a secret message in between the words that only Blaine could decode. Blaine just smiled.

"Maybe I can go with you one of these days," he said in response. A laugh surprised its way out of Kurt's mouth. Images flashed through his head of Karofsky pushing him against the lockers; leering at him in the cafeteria; glaring from across the hall.

A-ha. Funny. But no. No. Blaine was never going to come to school with him.

Lips rough and desperate against his own, the smell of sweat and feet and Axe body wash stinging his—

Ever.

"Maybe," he said.

Blaine's grin had dropped, his eyes intensely focused on Kurt. There was a knowledge in his eyes that dripped slowly down Kurt's throat and churned in the waters of his stomach. A thrill shivered through his limbs. He hadn't told Blaine anything about Karofsky. He hadn't told anyone anything about Karofsky.

So why did it feel like Blaine suddenly knew everything about Karofsky?

Blaine reached out. To brush hands, or pat his shoulder, or… it was that constant stream of contact he always initiated, that was it, it was throwing Kurt off—and today was going to be hard enough as it was, he couldn't start the day disoriented or distracted by Blaine and his touching (and did that have to sound as illicit as it did?)—he had to focus.

Kurt stepped away before Blaine's hand reached him, and Blaine let his hand drop, a question in his eyes. Kurt's lips twitched upward in a brief parody of a smile before he deemed it a lost cause. "See you later," he said awkwardly and he turned, heading briskly for the door.

But just because he wasn't looking didn't mean he wasn't acutely aware of Blaine's gaze on him. His back remained rigid under the feathers of scrutiny that lightly tickled his skin.

…Maybe his obsession wasn't entirely one-sided.

Finn honked the horn just as Kurt stepped out of the house. Kurt winced, getting into the car before Finn decided to wake up the entire neighborhood.

—–-

The car ride was tense. Finn sat silently when they pulled into the school parking lot, watching as Kurt turned off the car and remaining in his seat and the keys left the ignition. Kurt looked at him in askance.

"I'm sorry I made fun of your shirts," he finally muttered.

Kurt blinked and looked away, out at the parking lot. His eyes landed on a crowd of red and white jackets casually leaning against the dumpster in front of the school.

"I'm sorry for pointing out your poor clothing choices," he replied. "I understand not everyone appreciates good fashion advice, and you are free to wear hideous clothing as you so choose."

Finn gave Kurt a hard stare. Then, he let out a frustrated sigh and got out of the car, slamming the door.

Kurt remained sitting, staring at the crowd of jocks. He wondered if he tried hard enough, whether he could drill a hole through David Karofsky's skull with just his eyes. Or set the dumpster on fire with his mind while the football team were still leaning against it. Kurt imagined their red and white jackets being forever tarnished black from the ash and smoke.

McKinley's finest.

Sucking in a breath, Kurt steeled himself and opened the door.

He would have to properly apologize to Finn later. It wasn't him he has angry with.

—–-

Mercedes wasted no time with pleasantries when they met up for their routine walk to lunch. Falling into step beside him, she linked her arm through his and grinned conspiratorially.

"So how is Peter Callaghan this morning?" she asked (and this was totally the reason they were friends, because he hadn't told her about his convoluted metaphors for Blaine and she still came up with the same ones anyway). Kurt wasn't surprised Mercedes had found out—she knew everything. Still, he couldn't stop the slight disappointment that he wouldn't be able to keep Blaine a secret of the house for longer. Swallowing it down, he considered her question. How was Blaine, really? Kurt thought of intense stares and inappropriate enthusiasm. He was helpless to stop the smile that spread across his face.

"You look fabulous today," he told her. She smacked his arm.

"Don't avoid the subject," she said. "I heard from Quinn who heard from Sam that Finn was talking about a boy you guys took in over the weekend. He was in a coma or something? Don't even get me started on why I didn't hear all this from you first. I want to know details, boy! Is he cute? Is he gay? Have you started a wild and passionate affair behind the couch?"

"Stop quoting my own words back to me," Kurt knocked her shoulder with his playfully. "He's…" He trailed off and she leaned closer. "He's okay," Kurt said, shrugging and doing an excellent job of feigning indifference (if he said so himself). Mercedes' eyes narrowed.

"Just 'okay'?" she pressed.

Kurt glanced around the hallway, making certain nothing red was in his immediate field of vision. Satisfied, he turned to Mercedes. She looked at him with barely-concealed impatience.

"Okay!" it exploded out of his mouth, "He's gorgeous." Mercedes did a strange little squeal and jumped up and down a little. Kurt barely restrained himself from doing the same. "I found him lying in the backyard in the middle of the night, and I couldn't just leave him there, so I took him inside. He's old-fashioned charming, Mercedes, like he was brought up in one of those Tracey-Hepburn movies, and his eyes are just…" Hazel. Warm…

Familiar.

Amber-glassed eternity. Staring into a hall of mirrors…

He didn't realize he had spaced out until he noticed they had stopped walking. Blinking, he looked over at Mercedes, who was wearing a knowing grin. Kurt cleared his throat. "His smile seriously makes you melt," the words tripped over his teeth in their haste the get out, "and you know how much I hate clichés." He tittered, awkwardly and obviously not a real laugh, and continued on down the hall to the cafeteria before he embarrassed himself further.

"Oh, this is perfect. Boy's got a crush!" Mercedes sang as she sauntered to catch up with him. "Does he seem interested?"

Kurt thought of holding hands, blinding smiles, and small, sure touches to his knee—his elbow—the small of his back.

"I think so," he confided with a small, secretive smile as they entered the cafeteria.

Looking up, his eyes snagged on a letterman jacket. A wink. Kurt felt the blood drain from his face.

"Hey, why don't we eat in the choir room today?" Kurt heard himself asking Mercedes breathlessly. "I haven't picked my song for Glee club yet, and I'd like your opinion on a potential ballad."

Mercedes looked apologetic. "Oh, sorry, boo, I told Tina we'd meet up with her in the cafeteria and help her study for her history test. Maybe if we have time after, we can head to the choir room?"

A woodpecker was drilling a hole inside his chest the longer he stayed in the cafeteria. He couldn't drag his attention away from the table where Karofsky was sitting—his unwanted gaze crawling like slick worms down Kurt's neck. No, he really couldn't stay in this room. He really—he really couldn't stay in this room.

"I think I'm going to go anyway," Kurt said, careful to keep his voice light. "I should really work on that song. I'll see you in Glee!"

He didn't wait for Mercedes to reply—didn't even grab a salad or anything before he left—he just turned with deliberate casualness and walked with careful purpose out the door.

In the back of his mind, he wondered if he was ever going to be able leave a room from this point forward without feeling someone else's gaze on him.

If Karofsky tried hard enough, he could probably drill a hole into Kurt's skull with just his eyes.