4

Sparks Fly

Blaine took a drag from his cigarette, sighing and closing his eyes. He leaned his head back against the brick, collar popped against the November wind and wondering how long it would take the teachers inside to figure out the Warblers weren't in the choir room.

"So," Thad said, his voice cracking through the silence. "You guys fuck yet?" The boys laughed, but It quickly died away as Blaine shot him a glare dark enough to blot out the sun.

"None of your goddamn business," he snarled. "And don't talk about him like that."

"Why?" Trent asked.

"Because I fuckin' said so, that's why!" He barked.

"Touchy, huh?" Nick chuckled. Blaine reached across the alley, grabbing his collar and wrenching him forward.

"You wanna see how touchy I can get?" He growled before tossing him away. "What the fuck is wrong with you guys?"

"Wrong with us, what's wrong with you?" Jeff asked. "You're all, grr!"

"Yeah what's up with you, man?"

"I'm fine," he spat.

"Yeah? Tell that to your face," Wes said, gesturing to the cuts and bruises.

"Just shut the fuck up, and don't talk about Kurt like that or I'll bash your fucking faces in," he said, tone nonchalant.

They knew better than to do that. They knew not to talk about Blaine's personal life, ever. Bringing up those bruises was bringing up his mom and dad, and that was the quickest way to piss him off and cause him to literally crack skulls.

However, they didn't know why he got so pissed about Kurt. He barely knew the guy. Blaine didn't get attached, especially to people he was trying to lay. They were confused.

"How'd that deal go last night?" Wes asked, turning to David, who grinned and patted his pocket.

"Let's just say Davey's gettin' a new pair of shoes," he laughed. "Or twelve!" They laughed; even Blaine cracked a smile. "Cocaine is a lucrative business, my man."

"That's funny, your mom said the something about her business at my house last night." Another rousing roar of laughter while David took a swing at Nick's head.

Blaine was lost in his own world, smoking contentedly, thinking. He felt foolish for feeling so giddy and happy about seeing Kurt tonight, but he did. Butterflies fluttered in his stomach at the though of hearing his voice again and watching his beautiful face all night. He'd never been a big fan of Breadstix. Hell the only time he had to go in there was to tear some of his friends out of a massive fight before the cops showed up.

But it was classy without coming on too strong, but not some fast-food dive to make him look cheap or like he didn't care. Unlike the other guys he'd been with. None of them had been steady deals, no. More like one-time things that you screw around for a night and then you're done.

He didn't want that with Kurt. He didn't want to feel like he was using him like that, or be used like that, which is what he was used to. No, he wanted something deeper, something better. He wanted to stay with Kurt for a long time, in fact he never wanted Kurt to be away from him. He wanted to know that he'd be around forever… It confused him, feeling this way. He wished he could have had these feelings for someone before now, that way he'd have some gauge on what to do, how to react, and how to behave toward Kurt.

The prospects of being with him scared him, and excited him. On one hand he wanted nothing more than to hold him close, touch his soft skin and listen to him breathe for the rest of his life. On the other, he wanted to push him away and get away from this boy that forced him to feel, forced his heart out, forced his blood to rush and his mouth to spit out things that were meant to stay in his head.

"Hey, earth to Blaine!" Trent said, waving his hand in front of him. He smacked it away.

"What?"

"Are you seeing that Lima loser again tonight or not?" Nick demanded. Blaine slapped the back of his head.

"Don't fucking talk about him like that, not a hard concept. And yeah, I am. Problem?" They shook their heads. He flicked his dead cigarette away, turning. "We need to actually rehearse. Sectionals are comin' up." He stalked away.

They looked at each other, wondering why their fearless leader was putting himself through this for a blind kid that would only turn him away and hurt him later on. Guys like Mr. Lima didn't stay with guys like Blaine. They had their bad boy fix and left, not wanting the trouble and baggage they had. They used things they had done in the past as an excuse for it.

So the Warblers watched Blaine walk away, wondering how long it would be before his heart was broken…again.

"Hey, Kurt, can I talk to you?" Puck asked, setting his tray down beside him at the lunch table.

"I'm not singing for donations again, Puckerman," he sighed. "I think people are starting to figure out there's no 'Lima's Place for Kids Who Can't See.'"

"No, that's not it," he explained. "Now, just hear me out 'til I finish, okay?" He nodded. "That guy you were with yesterday, his name's Blaine Anderson. He's been to juvie ten times since he was thirteen, and he's been in for everything. Drugs, drinking, fighting, smoking, resisting arrest, running away, stealing, you name it. Remember that kid who kept taking my waffles? That's him. He's bad news, Kurt, and that's coming from me. I think he's trying to take advantage of you to help him rob another convenient store or something. I want you to be safe 'cause you're my friend and all this guy's gonna do is hurt you."

Kurt waited a beat before answering. "Have you ever actually spoken to him?" Puck sighed.

"No."

"Ever take the time to get to know him while he was swiping your Eggo's?"

"No."

"Then how do you know what he's really like?" He asked gently. Puck sighed.

"Kurt, from what I've seen, I'm telling you he's a bad guy."

"Then let me figure it out for myself, please," he said shortly, standing to put his tray away. Puck helped him along, trying to save him from being tripped or slushied. He'd seen it happen too many times.

"If you get into trouble, you know you can call me, right?" He assured, trying to convey to his friend how worried he was without saying it outright.

"Yes, Noah. Thank you."

"Shit, shit, shit, shit!" Blaine cursed, weaving in and out of traffic on his bike. He was late. That son of a bitch cop pulling him over for no damn reason and giving him every fucking question in the book as if he'd done something wrong and made him late.

He couldn't afford to screw this up. What if he wouldn't go out with him now? He'd tried to call him and left a few voicemails but he didn't pick up. God, was he mad at him?

He skidded to a stop in the driveway, plucking up the helmet he'd brought for Kurt and bolted to the front door. He knocked, running a hand through his hair, trying to compose himself.

A tall kid answered the door, his face stern, determined to be angry. "Can I help you?" Blaine looked up at him, unfazed and ready to plow through him if that's what it took.

"I'm here to pick up Kurt," he said, voice level.

"I don't think he wants to talk to you right now," he said. Blaine was slowly sizing him up, seeing which kind of intimidation he'd have to use on this clown.

"I think you'd better tell him I'm here and let me talk to him before this gets messy," he growled. Finn straightened up, looming over him.

"Are you threatening me?"

Blaine glared at him. "I'm advising you," he said darkly.

"Finn, damn it!" Kurt barked, shoving him out of the way with difficulty. "I told you to tell me if he got here."

Once again, Kurt managed to take his breath away.

He looked amazingly beautiful. His coat was white, thick cotton with big silver buttons. His shirt was black, hanging low on his neck with those impossibly tight pants that buttoned up the side, a thick gray scarf draped around his neck. He was flawless as usual, but there was something about the light, or maybe it was just seeing him again that made his heart pound.

"Where were you?" He demanded, genuinely angry.

"I got pulled over. I wasn't speeding or anything, I'd just started the damn engine when he pulled up. Asshole gave me a hard time and I was late and I'm so sorry," he said very quickly. Don't go, don't go, don't go please.

"Did we lose our reservation?" He said softly.

"No, I called them and they moved us back. If we leave now we can make it," he assured. He paused, lips pursed, evaluating. "I tried to call!" He blurted, trying to make an appeal. "But, but your phone's off."

"Oh…" He chewed his lip, guilty.

"I'll go, but…but this is strike one," he warned. Blaine's heart skipped.

Don't fuck up again, asshole! He chastised.

"There won't be a strike two, I promise," he said, shaking his head.

"Okay," he held out his hand expectantly. Blaine smiled, taking it and guiding him down the stairs. "'Bye, Dad!" He called, shutting the door quickly. "Now let's hurry up before he sees the bike. You brought a-"

He gently put the helmet on him, clasping it carefully. "Helmet for you?" He finished, smiling a little. "C'mon Daredevil."

Kurt positively squealed with laughter, holding onto Blaine's waist as tightly as he could as they sped down the road. The cold wind slapped his cheeks and froze his fingers but he didn't care. It was amazing, exhilarating and slightly scary to think that his life was in the hands of this boy and a very small metal vehicle. He leaned into Blaine's back, grinning from ear-to-ear, excited that he got to do this again on the way home.

Blaine couldn't stop smiling, listening to Kurt laugh because of something he was causing. Hearing that laugh was probably the best thing in the world.

He sighed, disappointed when he saw the restaurant, pulling the bike into a spot. Kurt sighed, winded. He carefully helped Kurt off the bike, gently taking off the helmet and wondering how he managed to avoid helmet hair.

"Is it bad?" Kurt asked, blushing and fussing with it.

"No," he chuckled. "Your hair's perfect."

They became suddenly aware of how close they were, as well as Blaine's steadying hands on his waist. He swallowed.

"We should get inside," he whispered, but didn't pull away. Kurt nodded but also remained still.

"Yeah."

Kurt's arms slipped around him, resting his body against him, head on his chest, hugging him. Blaine's heart jumped, feeling his warmth and smelling his skin. He hugged him back, resting his cheek against the top of his head. The two forgot everything in this wonderful, accidental moment. They stayed wrapped in each other's arms in the cold night air, content. Nothing had ever felt more…more right in their lives than this, this right here. A simple, extraordinary, soft, sharp, beautiful moment. But what really made it so magical, so amazingly serene was neither of the two had been held before; the pale angel by another boy, the dark haired sinner by anyone.

Kurt was breathing slowly, forcing himself to. He was so absorbed in Blaine, in his neck and his chest. He felt the beating of his heart, the swirling smell of his skin and cologne with the underlying hint of some was pleasant, soothing, hypnotizing. He was so enraptured he didn't hear him speak.

"Kurt?" Blaine urged, wondering if he'd fallen asleep. The blind boy looked up, pulling away as if he'd overstayed his welcome. Blaine ached at the lack of contact, his skin cooling already from the lack of Kurt's warmth.

"Sorry," he mumbled, embarrassed. Blaine righted his scarf, fingers grazing his cheek.

"I think we should go inside now," he said. Kurt, pinked, nodded again, his tongue too swollen and dry to speak.

Dinner was wonderful. There were no awkward pauses, no forced small-talk. They laughed and joked and smiled. Kurt found out Blaine was a lot more knowledgeable as far as "Things fays have to know to survive" than he originally gave him credit for.

They talked about everything, clothes, music, movies, theatre, Prop. Eight, "Don't Ask, Don't Tell," food, everything.

Kurt was correct in thinking there was a lot more to Blaine than met the eye.

Crime found its way into the conversation, a subject Blaine knew so well he discussed laws and loopholes in them that Kurt had no clue about.

"How many times have you been arrested?" Kurt asked. Blaine frowned, slightly ashamed.

"More than I'd like to admit," he said truthfully. "Sometimes I did something wrong, other times I was around and convenient."

Kurt nodded. "Do, um…do you do drugs?" He wondered, hoping he wasn't insulting him.

"I have before, but I'd rather drink," he said, sincere. "I try not to, though. I'm a stupid drunk."

He's gonna keep asking until he finds something to leave me for, he thought, despaired.

Kurt did keep asking. "How involved are you in that whole mess?"

"Drugs?" Kurt nodded. "I play middle-man from time-to-time for my friends, but I don't use. I've tried all that shit, and I don't like it." Don't go.

"And you've been to juvie?"

Blaine swallowed, nervous. "Ten times for just about everything." He nodded. "Drinking, joy-riding, vandalism, stealing-"

"What'd you steal?"

"A candy bar," Blaine snorted. Kurt looked at him.

"I know what you sound like when you lie," he cautioned. Blaine sighed.

"Okay, a candy bar, three shirts, a pair of sunglasses, a bottle of Coke and a carton of cigarettes," he stated. "All in one trip." He expected Kurt to be horrified. However, Kurt laughed.

"Oh my God!" He giggled. "Did you get out with all of it?" Blaine beamed.

"Yeah! They caught me on camera a week later," he explained.

"How old were you?" He chortled.

"Fifteen," he said, still smiling. Kurt shook his head, grinning.

"Wow, I mean, I'm not condoning your behavior or anything, but wow."

The two fell silent. Blaine was looking at his hands, his heart heavy.

"I've done some really bad things, Kurt," he whispered. "I've hurt people, good and bad. I've been with a lot of guys, and the last thing I deserve is someone as amazing and pure as you. Your parents will hate me, your friends will hate me and it'll be difficult for you. They'll make your life Hell."

"What are you trying to convince me of?" Kurt said softly.

"That you need to end this now, before you do something you regret. I don't want to make your life harder."

Kurt reached across the table, taking Blaine's hand in his, smiling gently. "I've gone ten years without being able to see a damn thing. I learned how to read Braille, use echo location, dress myself, walk from one place to another, write, eat and know if someone's sneaking up on me. I had to re-learn how to live my life when I was only eight years-old. I think I can handle you." Blaine smiled, tightening their hand's embrace.

It was the first time he'd held hands, too.