A/N: I am so sorry I'm not updating on a schedule, guys; this story is giving me such a hard time it isn't even funny. I was having the hardest time writing this chapter, specifically. When I couldn't riddle out how to write a certain section, I'd just skip ahead and continue writing the story–which means I've got most of the next chapter written (yay!), so I should be updating that within the next few days.

To those of you who comment, you are absolutely incredible, and the reason I write this story. Thank you for giving me your thoughts and your time. And hello to all of you new readers! I hope you're enjoying the story so far!

New Directions tolerated Blaine in the choir room.

Kurt loved him in the choir room.

So, he kept bringing him along. Or rather, Blaine kept showing up once Kurt told him he'd love to have him there. He had no idea how—it probably had something to do with Blaine's mysterious hyper-speed—but Blaine was always waiting for them in the choir room whenever glee was about to start. Kurt got the impression that Blaine wanted to be there as much as Kurt wanted him there-the huge, ever-present grin on his face was a huge clue leading him to that conclusion.

(There was also something going on with Blaine and Karofsky. Kurt had caught them having some kind of intense stare-off in the doorway to choir room last week, Blaine's hand in a vice grip around Karofsky's arm. Kurt didn't know what was going on, but ever since, Karofsky hadn't so much as spared a glance towards him. He didn't like to think that one of the reasons Blaine kept coming to glee club was because he was acting like some kind of guard dog. Not that he wasn't grateful for the change in attitude, but a tiny voice in the back of his head persisted to grumble about needing any kind of protection at all from anyone—even Blaine.)

But, back to the choir room: Blaine brought a different kind of energy, an unconditional support, that hadn't really been there before—at least, not for Kurt. Kurt thought it was the honest enjoyment he exuded every time he clapped after a performance, the care he took to take the time to tell people specifically what he liked about their song. Kurt especially liked his woefully misguided attempts at spinning a criticism into a compliment. He'd say the bluntest things with a kind smile, as if not even realizing the effect his words were having on his intended audience—sometimes being so unintentionally offensive that Kurt had to resort to fairly obvious attempts to hide his laughter.

"You're very passionate…"

He did that a lot.

"And that's not a bad thing, per se, but I just wonder if you need all of that passion in this song."

Almost every time he opened his mouth, really.

"I feel like you're pounding your heartbreak over my head with a sledgehammer."

Kurt had a coughing fit and had to cover his face with both hands. A few members of the glee club behind him weren't as subtle in their amusement.

"I'm sorry?" Rachel looked baffled, her newly-dry eyes widening in disbelief.

"Have you ever tried just whispering the lyrics to someone? And then use the subtlety the whispering gave you in the actual song. Like with a monologue," Blaine added helpfully.

"But how I sang it is how I would say it if it were a monologue."

"Really?" Blaine mirrored her bafflement.

"Thank you! This is what I've been trying to say since we started this party!" Santana cried out. "Horse-face needs to tone it down. I'm liking Tom Thumb more every day."

"What about the rest of his fingers?" came Brittany's airy voice.

"I think you sounded great," Finn added from the sidelines.

Rachel's expression was growing more and more uncomprehending with each passing minute. Kurt was amazed that a boy so intuned to others' emotions could be so oblivious to his effect on them.

"Ok guys, that's enough! It's not Pick On Rachel day. Thank you for that advice, Blaine, I'm sure Rachel will take it into account," Mr. Schue jumped in, patting Rachel on the shoulder and gesturing for her to sit down. Kurt glanced up at Mercedes, but couldn't catch her eye. She didn't look half as amused as he'd thought she would.

She must still be upset with him.

It had been two weeks since he'd brought Blaine to school that first day, and ever since, it seemed they'd been spending more and more time together. Trips to the Lima Bean, fawning over Vogue (Kurt had helped Blaine realize his liking for the magazine fairly early in their friendship), watching movies together, staying after practice to sing duets (the only time Blaine would sing in the choir room). He knew she was feeling left out, and he hated that they were growing apart, but it was just so easy with Blaine. Blaine knew everything—he never had to explain himself to him, and he never had to fill awkward pauses—because it was almost never awkward between them. And there was something addicting about being with him; like a food with just the right amount of salt, or the perfect thrift store hunt. No matter how much time he spent with Blaine, he always wanted more.

And, unfortunately, his relationship with Mercedes was suffering because of it.

"Okay," Mr. Schue was saying, and Kurt blinked rapidly to focus. "So go home, and don't forget to think of songs that are about nostalgia!"

As soon as he finished speaking, the glee club erupted with conversation. Kurt remained seated as they made their way out of the room (whether or not he and Blaine were staying after to sing together today, they always had to wait for the others to leave first. New Directions was still a little too much emotion for Blaine to handle when faced with that much proximity.)

Blaine kept his eyes on Rachel, something sad and haunted in their depths. Kurt watched him out of the corner of his eye, silently sitting in his chair. The room slowly grew quiet, the loud conversations trickling away to travel with their various conductors. In the silence, Blaine turned away and bent to grab Kurt's bag for him (as he had recently been wont to do).

Kurt trained his attention on him carefully.

"Who does she remind you of?"

Blaine froze, eyes wide.

"…Sorry?" he asked.

"Rachel," Kurt clarified, tilting his head to make sense of Blaine's expression. "Who does she remind you of?"

Blaine stood unmoving, staring back at him. He shook his head. "It's not important." The bag settled on his shoulders. "No one."

"It doesn't look like no one," Kurt disputed, watching as Blaine moved to the piano—a move Kurt had come to recognize as Blaine's bid for safety in the choir room. "You've been fixating on her for the past two weeks."

"I like her."

"Not that much," Kurt protested, even as the embers of jealousy started to light at the pit of his stomach. He brushed them away as Blaine's fingers drew circles on top of black lacquer. "She reminds you of something. You look at her the same way you look at my dad. At the piano."

Blaine snatched his hand away from the instrument as if burnt. "I'd rather not talk about it, Kurt, if that's all right with you." He handed Kurt his bag and moved too-quickly toward the doors.

"Blaine," Kurt started as Blaine moved passed him. "I've told you all my secrets."

It was the wrong thing to say. Blaine whirled around to look at him, eyes blazing.

"And you think I owe you the same?" he asked harshly. "Just because—"

"No," Kurt interrupted desperately, "That's not what I meant, I—"

"—you tell me what's bothering you, so I owe it to you to tell you—"

"No!"

"—right? Because that's—"

"—You don't owe me anything. You've helped me. Blaine, please, you've let me share some of the things that have been really bothering me, and I can't tell you how much that helps; just knowing somebody else knows! Why won't you let me do the same for you?"

Blaine stared at him, angry, before he turned and swept his eyes around the room.

"You don't have to, I just… thought it would help," Kurt turned up his hands feebly.

Blaine turned his head to look at him again, and the anger bled away. "Kurt," he began pleadingly, and he probably went on to say something else, but Kurt didn't hear it—because right behind him was Karofsky, looming in the open doorway like a fairy tale dragon, and the rest of the world drained of color and fell away.

He was vaguely aware of Blaine turning around, but it was only when he felt warm fingers encircling his own that everything shifted back into place again.

Kurt blinked away his fear. "What are you doing here?" he asked sharply. Blaine remained silent next to him, intent on Karofsky's face.

"Some of the guys were talking about a new kid hanging around you," Karofsky said roughly. "I thought he didn't go here."

Kurt's eyebrows drew down in confusion. "He doesn't," he said slowly. "He just comes to visit me."

Karofsky scuffed his shoe against the floor and shifted onto another foot, eyes darting around the choir room. Kurt shared a glance with Blaine, but Blaine looked as confused as he was.

"Yeah, well, the guys think he does. Say he's your boyfriend."

"He doesn't," Kurt repeated, purposely ignoring the second assumption (it wasn't any of their business, anyway). Karofsky looked at Blaine, and Blaine watched him carefully. Kurt glanced between the two, confusion and wariness mounting.

"We're here every afternoon," Blaine finally spoke, his voice a strange combination of steel and gentleness.

Karofsky scoffed and looked away. "Yeah, whatever," he mumbled. "Not like I care."

"Why'd you come here then?" Kurt asked, exasperated. Karofsky sent him a look, and Kurt realized that was the first time the jock had looked in his direction since the conversation started. Not for the first time, Kurt wondered what it was Blaine had done to the bully that day he caught them in the choir room.

"The guys were talking about you," he said as if it were obvious.

Kurt still didn't get it.

"We'll keep an eye out," Blaine told him.

And it clicked.

Oh.

Thank you, Kurt almost said. Except that when he opened his mouth to try, a hundred different memories of being slammed into lockers and leered at from across rooms and being forcibly kissed in something he really, really, really never wanted to feel again laced his lips shut. Instead, he watched as Karofsky stood there, waiting for something Kurt was not ready to give him.

Then, the jock rolled his eyes, sent one more look at Blaine… and left.

Kurt straightened, feeling a little off-kilter, but also a little more sturdy. He heard a sigh beside him.

"He's getting there," Blaine said. "He couldn't move any slower if he tried, but at least he's moving."

Kurt wasn't as optimistic, but he had to admit the past few minutes had certainly been unexpected.

"Come on," he said, pulling Blaine with their interlaced hands, "this demands coffee."

Blaine gave him a small smile and they headed to the car.

—–

They were sitting on the couch, Blaine nursing the last dregs of his coffee and Kurt trying to decide between The Sound of Music and Chicago for their musical movie night, when the words burst from Blaine's mouth.

"I don't remember her name," he said suddenly.

Kurt was confused for all of three minutes. "Julie Andrews?" he asked curiously. Blaine shook his head with a slight lift of his lips.

"I never knew her name," he clarified. "I don't think."

…Oh!

Kurt straightened up, placing the movies back down on the couch and letting his attention rest entirely on the boy beside him. Blaine rested his temple on his fist, leaning against the couch arm. He wasn't looking at him; his face instead studying the sharp lines of the coffee table Kurt had dragged out in front of them.

That was okay. He didn't have to look at him.

"Did she look like Rachel?" Kurt asked cautiously. Blaine took a breath and shook his head, smiling slightly.

"She… was intensely lonely. Like Rachel," Blaine's eyes flickered up at him briefly to acknowledge. "But she didn't have the kind of outlet Rachel has—she didn't sing. She didn't have any school clubs, she just… she was just very lonely."

Kurt wanted to ask how Blaine knew this girl; if she was related to him; what had happened to her. But he kept his lips shut—hoping Blaine would eventually answer all those questions on his own. There was something familiar about the way he was speaking that tickled the back of Kurt's mind…

"It was in middle school," Blaine continued, toying with the edge of his coffee cup, "and I'd just begun to… My parents had told me to keep an eye out for anything strange that might happen to me, but it was so faint sometimes, I wasn't sure if it was real. And then she passed me in the hallway."

He took a breath.

"I hadn't really noticed her before. But she passed me, and it was like…" he shrugged, and Kurt finally remembered where he'd heard that tone of voice before. It was the same this-is-nothing-serious flippancy Blaine had used when he told Kurt about Dalton. Kurt felt a ball of dread twist up in his stomach. "I felt her. And I knew it was her, and not me, because she was so lonely it hurt. But we were on the way to class, so I had to go sit in Math and wait until lunch to try to talk to her, and… um…"

The twisted ball was in Kurt's throat, now. He wanted desperately to reach out and take Blaine's hand, but it was still holding the cardboard coffee cup. And meanwhile Blaine kept talking in that dismissing tone and Kurt wanted to shake him and cry it's okay, you can be upset about this, this is serious.

"Our class was right next to the girl's bathroom," Blaine said. "And I felt it when she entered the bathroom, and I remember thinking, 'I'm not going to be able to focus on anything in class, because she's right there and she's so lonely', and… and, I don't know why she decided to do it in school, but, she, um… slit her wrists."

Kurt wanted to throw up.

"And I remember screaming, and everyone was looking at me, but I told them she was in the bathroom," his hand clawed around his cup before he placed it firmly on the coffee table, dropping his hand uselessly back onto the couch. Laughing nervously. "That was when my parents decided I probably shouldn't go to school anymore."

Kurt's hand was glued to his mouth, hot tears pricking his eyes. Oh my god.

"I don't think Rachel's going to kill herself," Blaine assured, finally looking at Kurt. "She has singing, and she has your glee club, and she's strong. But she just has that…" Blaine gestured blindly in the air. "kind of always-there loneliness. And I just keep thinking of that girl." Blaine cringed and hid his face in his hands. "I feel really dramatic," he mumbled into them.

Kurt stared at him incredulously. "Blaine, the first time you felt a person, they committed suicide. I think you're allowed to be a little dramatic!"

Blaine's hands ran down the planes of his face until they slipped off. Kurt grabbed one immediately, and Blaine sent him a small, thankful smile. A question tickled the edge of his mouth, slipping out before Kurt could think about not asking it.

"What did your parents do, if they took you out of school?"

He immediately chastised himself for asking, because Blaine was normally so quiet about his parents and he didn't want to be pushy (not after that argument in the choir room today).

But Blaine kept smiling.

"They homeschooled me," he told Kurt. "Well—homeschooled as in 'they never let me out of the house again'. They were scared. I didn't understand why, back then, but now I think they might have been scared of Dalton finding out. Not that I was much help with that," he muttered the last to himself. A thousand different questions exploded behind Kurt's lips, but Kurt kept them firmly reigned. He didn't want to ruin this by being too forceful. The fact that Blaine was saying anything at all after three weeks of almost nothing was knowledge enough.

"Thank you for telling me that," he said carefully, squeezing Blaine's hand. Blaine nodded.

"You've been nothing but accommodating since I got here," he admitted softly. "The least I can do is be honest."

Kurt smiled back at him and thought, if they had been in a rom com, this was the moment they would kiss.

The moment lasted longer than Kurt thought it would, stretching out like taffy, and Kurt couldn't stop himself from glancing down at Blaine's lips. Which was inappropriate. Really, because in real life, people didn't kiss other people after the other people just admitted one of the people's friends reminded them of a girl who committed suicide. It didn't happen. So it wasn't going to happen. So he should get up and make the popcorn and Blaine was looking at his lips.

…Oh my god.

Oh my god, maybe they were actually going to kiss!

Kurt's lips parted in a little in surprise, and one of them must have leaned forward or something because they were a little closer to each other than before, and just as—

A faint, muffled cry of fear pricked his ears and Blaine was suddenly standing and looking anywhere but at Kurt.

"I think I'll start the popcorn," he said, heading into the kitchen. "You go on and pick the movie," he called.

Kurt was a statue on the couch.

What had that been? Not only had they not kissed, but… something that wasn't really a sound had invaded his eardrums. And he knew it hadn't been a sound because no one had spoken, and it had felt like—

It wasn't really like he had heard anything. It was more like a feeling. A feeling that he heard, that he wasn't feeling because it wasn't close enough or strong enough or even feeling enough for it to have been a feeling… except that it was. A feeling. A feeling that wasn't a feeling.

Kurt frowned and absently reached up to touch his ears. It had felt a little bit like a headache, actually, but without the pain. Just a stifled, barely audible fear…

Had that—had that been Blaine?

Kurt shifted on the couch, biting his lips and feeling inexplicably spooked. The movies fell against his leg as the couch dipped, and Kurt picked them up. Right. Pick a movie. They'll watch Sound of Music, that'll be it.

His hands came up to gently touch his ears again, and he shivered.

That had never happened before.

…Had that come from Blaine?

"Popcorn's done!" came the voice walking out of the kitchen. "Did you pick a movie?"

Kurt nodded and wordlessly held up the appropriate DVD as Blaine set down the bowl of popcorn he was carrying.

"Cool," Blaine effused, grabbing it and popping it into the DVD player. "You know, we didn't have one of these at my house," he told Kurt as he set everything up. "Or a TV. My dad had a computer, but I wasn't allowed into his study when I was little, and after middle school I wasn't allowed to go downstairs at all, so as far as I'm concerned that doesn't count."

He sat down next to Kurt, closer than he needed to be, and Kurt reveled in the warmth he exuded. But there was still a tiny seed of panic in the back of his mind. Try as he might, Kurt couldn't hear—feel—anything coming from Blaine. So what had that been?

"Are you okay?" Blaine asked him.

Kurt put on a smile and focused back on the conversation. "Fine," he said airily. Blaine looked unconvinced, but thankfully let it drop. "What did you do if you didn't have movies or internet?" Kurt asked him, honestly curious (and more than a little charmed at this new, unguarded Blaine).

"Read," Blaine shrugged. "Played piano. We had a lot of books."

"No Vogue, though," Kurt pointed out, because that was something Kurt still couldn't fathom living without.

Blaine grinned. "No Vogue," he agreed.

The movie started and Blaine's attention became devoted wholly to Julie Andrews' love song about the Andes.

Kurt watched him watch the movie. He was glad Blaine had told him about that girl—even if it had been a terrifyingly sad story. It was worth it to know that Blaine trusted him enough to tell it.

Kurt smiled fondly as a look of awe passed over Blaine's face, and hid away the almost-kiss and the moment after it in a shadowed drawer in the corner of his mind. It didn't matter. Blaine and him—that mattered. Anything else that happened around them was arbitrary.