KURT

In retrospect, getting a tattoo in the same week as several demanding physical midterms wasn't the best idea Kurt had ever had. Though the surface wasn't too irritated (yet), he was required to wear tightly fitting clothes to better show his movements, and they stuck to his skin with a mixture of sweat and seepage. A stickler as he was for clean skin routines, the feeling made Kurt very uncomfortable. When he opted to go shirtless for stage combat he was told to cover up because he was 'distracting the other students'. That earned him quite a few envious glances from the other guys and a glare from Blaine, who showed up to all of his midterms in the same baggy shirt over a longsleeved henley, which he only took off when specifically instructed to do so. Kurt remembered a time when that henley fit a lot better, but it was not his business anymore to keep Blaine away from New York's wide range of fried confectionaries.

The doors to the dance room opened and Kurt and the other students of his class entered, spreading out to find a space by one of the walls or the bench by the window to deposit shoes and gym bags. Kurt put his things down and started to get changed, carefully lifting his shirt off of his shoulder. He was so concentrated on ignoring the itch this caused on his skin (which, Luis had instructed, he should not scratch under any circumstance), he didn't notice that the noise level had dropped until he turned around and stood face to face with Carmen Tibideaux.

She was looking inscrutable as ever, and Kurt, in a flash of panic, imagined she had come to tell him to leave NYADA for good. Then, he noticed the golden envelope she was holding. It had a purple wax seal stamped with her initials, and his name, in a curly calligraphy script.

An invitation to the Winter Showcase.

As she handed it to him, Madame Tibideaux smiled ever so slightly. Then she turned and left without a word. Kurt watched her go, robes swaying, and then realized everyone was looking at him, including Cassandra July. She was leaning on her dance cane, and had her head slightly cocked, lips pursed.

"Well, well," she said loudly. "Don't let it get to your head. In this room, your voice means nothing. Strong legs, power arms, crisp spotting, perfect jumps- that's what it takes to impress me." Then, she smiled. "Congratulations, though," she added in a normal voice. "You can go first." She gave a short jerk with her head towards his shoulder and turned away, tapping her cane on the floor. "What is everyone waiting for? Get dressed, this is your midterm! Stop wasting my time!"

Giddy and grateful, Kurt slipped into his leotard and put out a soft t shirt to change into as soon as his midterm was over- which would only be minutes from now.

Unlike during his vocal performance critique, the Dean of Dance and Choreography wasn't actually present. All performances were recorded, and 'problem cases' discussed with him afterwards. The Dean, after all, had better things to do- or so Ms July insinuated, but she did so with a tone of disapproval. As much as she tried to hide it, Kurt knew her students actually mattered to her, and it was one of NYADA's worst kept secrets that she couldn't stand the Dean; a former ballet choreographer of some respute, but not a dancer himself. Ms July often made snide remarks about him when she thought no one was paying attention- clearly she felt passed over for the job herself.

Kurt danced by himself to live piano music, a solo piece from a contemporary show (he had taken care to avoid anything the Dean had once choreographed), and he came out of it feeling rather good about it. Rather than choose something high-brow and difficult, which he knew he could only do with mediocrity, he had chosen something slightly simpler that he could polish to perfection. Playing it safe, a small voice in his mind pestered him, but he ignored it and focused on Cassandra July's face instead. She had a small, satisfied smile on her lips, and (if he wasn't imagining it) a slightly appreciative look in her eyes. She nodded.

"Video and feedback on Monday. Next!"

He had passed. He knew she would have said so if he hadn't. He was sure she'd have several pointers for him to work on when they watched the video- this wasn't the first time Ms July had recorded them so she could slow down their moves and analyze them- but that was the whole point of these tests. To find out your weaknesses so you could improve.

Kurt grabbed his bag and his change of clothes and hurried to the adjacent showers. They could only be accessed from the dance room to deter possible misuse, so Kurt could hear the piano as he undressed in his cabin. Humming along to a familiar piece, he quickly showered, taking care with his tattoo. As the water ran over it, the itch was momentarily soothed, and he sighed in relief. Another midterm down. Not many to go now.

When Kurt tiptoed back into the room ten minutes later, Blaine had just started. Kurt recognised the piece immediately, and winced. Blaine probably thought it was cute, it being so close to the holidays, but the routine they had tried to learn together for Let it Snow in Artie's Glee Holiday Spectacular hadn't even been much of a hit on the local PBS station- and it was certainly not good enough for New York.

Kurt watched as Ms July's facial expression first darkened into a grim frown and then slowly grew into a disturbingly pleased smile. He knew it was time to leave. As much as he had secretly enjoyed the small (and well-deserved) jabs at Blaine's dancing skills in class, he wasn't sure he really needed to watch the epic flunking that was about to go down. He didn't want to be the kind of person who got off on others' misfortune. He was sure Ms July would see it differently, and give him a speech about how another performer's failure meant a bigger chance for himself and he should learn to enjoy it, but there was enough Ohio left in him to disagree. Deep inside, a small soft spot also made him leave to save Blaine the extra humiliation of his presence when Ms July threw him out of her class. At the same time, he was very grateful they weren't together anymore, so he wouldn't have to pick up the pieces for this mess (and most likely be blamed somehow, too).

He snuck out the door with his shoes in hand. Outside, as he knelt on the checkered black-and-white tiles to tie his shoes, the golden envelope fell out of his bag. He had almost forgotten about it. His previous giddiness returned, and he quickly rose, put it back into his bag, and took out his phone.

"Elliott? You won't believe what happened just now…"