To Shield and To Protect
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To Shield and To Protect: Chapter 14


T - Words: 5,799 - Last Updated: Dec 04, 2012
Story: Complete - Chapters: 21/21 - Created: Oct 03, 2012 - Updated: Dec 04, 2012
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Author's Notes: Warnings for this chapter: Violence, homophobia and a brief mention of a past hate-related crime. It's not that graphic and it's not long, but it's there. Things are getting serious.

 

 

The door telephone rings late one afternoon when Blaine's doing the dishes in the kitchen – he insisted, once again, and as much as Kurt loves cleaning, he actually doesn't like washing dishes that much, so he obliged. Kurt gets up from the sofa, dropping his notepad on the table, and yells that he'll get it.

"Hello?" he answers the phone when he reaches the hall.

"Mr. Hummel? It's Greg, from the ground floor."

Kurt recognizes the voice of the doorman who usually works on evenings, and releases the breath he hadn't even realized he was holding. It's silly. He knows that ten times out of ten it's the doorman when his intercom rings, but apparently getting anonymous letters has made him more paranoid on top of everything else. Which is sort of understandable, especially when he just got another note. He's not scared, not really; he's just... cautious.

"Hi Greg! Is there a problem?" he says.

"Not a problem. There's a package that just arrived for you."

Kurt feels the anxiety come back, seeing in his mind letter bombs and packages with horrible things inside them, and okay, maybe he needs to stop watching thrillers so often when his own life is already exciting enough. "Package? But I haven't ordered anything,” he says, a little proud of himself when his voice doesn't quaver.

He hears some shuffling, and then Greg's voice comes back. "Oh, sorry, Mr. Hummel, my mistake – it's not actually for you, though the address is yours. It's for a... Mr. Blaine Anderson?"

"Oh." Kurt blinks. "He's... He's my, um, assistant." Has Blaine ordered something? Surely he would've mentioned something to Kurt if he had. "Is there a return address?"

"Yes, actually, there is. Hold on... The sender is a C. Anderson, if that rings a bell?"

"Greg, can you wait for a moment?" Kurt asks, and after the doorman says yes, he takes a few steps towards the kitchen. "Blaine, has your brother said anything about sending you a package?"

It takes a moment, but soon Blaine is peering around the corner, drying his hands on a towel and shaking his head. "No, but he's pretty unpredictable. Why?"

"Well, apparently he has sent something for you," Kurt explains and then turns back to the receiver. "Greg? Yes, it's for him. We can just come pick it up or..."

"It's quite heavy, Mr. Hummel, I can send it up for you."

The package is big – it's actually two rather large packages tied carefully together, with Blaine's name and Kurt's address written in bulky handwriting on each of them. Kurt watches as Blaine stares at the handwriting until he begins to feel uncomfortable.

"How does your brother know my address?" he asks. He knows he sounds a bit accusing, but if Blaine has told his address to his brother, to a man who's a complete stranger to Kurt and who Kurt knows communicates with his little brother only through phone calls and e-mails...

"He doesn't." Blaine points to the address. "See? These were first sent to Wes' address, which my brother does know, and then Wes has forwarded them to your apartment. I could recognize their handwritings anywhere."

"Oh." Kurt rubs his arm. "Sorry."

"It's okay. I just don't get what Cooper would send me..." Blaine starts opening the packages carefully in the hallway, and Kurt stands back, still not entirely convinced that there isn't a letter bomb inside them. He has an over-active imagination, what can he say.

Five minutes later Blaine is staring wide-eyed at an old guitar case, a pair of boxing gloves and a battered punching bag, looking astonished and like Christmas has arrived early this year. Kurt thinks it's sort of adorable, and when he sees the tender way Blaine opens the case and runs his fingers down the guitar's strings, he can't help but smile. They're Blaine’s outlets, boxing and playing music, and mentally Kurt thanks Blaine's brother for being a good man.

"He sent me my guitar and my bag." Blaine's voice is amazed, and then he chuckles. "Of course he did."

There's a note with Blaine's name on it taped to the punching bag, and Blaine snags it, folding it open and reading it quietly. Kurt watches as Blaine's smile grows wider and wider, once again surprised at how different Blaine has seemed after his migraine, after he started opening up. He seems more like himself, more talkative, more smiling, more... present, completely, not just hiding behind a thick curtain. The first thing he noticed about Blaine that rainy afternoon all those weeks ago were his eyes, brown and tender like a cup of strong tea, but today he feels like he's noticing them for the first time, seeing them light up in a way that makes Kurt's heart do somersaults, and god, if Blaine's eyes aren’t the most gorgeous eyes he has ever seen.

... Blaine, who's still also his bodyguard. Even if they share a bed. Right. As if things aren't already unconventional enough.

Kurt shakes his head and then clasps his hands together. "Well, I guess we should put that bag up in your room. I think I have some tools around here somewhere."

Blaine looks up. "Oh no, Kurt – that's really not necessary. I don't know why he would send these to me in the first place. This is your apartment, and it's not like I can turn your guest room into a gym."

"Nonsense. What's the use of having a punching bag if you can't punch it?" Kurt waves his hand. If Cooper knows his brother as well as Kurt thinks he does, he must have known that Blaine could have some use for his old outlets. Blaine still looks torn, so Kurt continues. "Come on, Blaine, it's just a few holes on the ceiling. It's not like you're going to turn my whole apartment into a smelly locker room."

Blaine smiles at that. "If you're sure it's okay..."

"It is!"

"... then where are these tools you mentioned?"

They get the punching bag up surprisingly fast – Kurt knows how to use tools after spending time in his dad's shop when he was younger, and Blaine has apparently put up punching bags before. By the time they're finished, with the battered punching bag swaying slowly in the corner of the guest room and Blaine's guitar resting against the chair, they're both sweaty and Blaine has already shrugged off his loose hooded jacket (who knew punching bags could be that heavy?). Kurt is trying very hard not to stare at Blaine's bare arms when he lands an experimental punch on the bag. The bag sways, but doesn't fall down – Kurt calls that success.

"It seems pretty solid," Blaine says, steadying the bag. There's an excited glint in his eyes when he runs his fingers over the battered fabric.

"Well, I'll leave you to it," Kurt says. He can see the way Blaine is just itching to take the gloves and spend some time hitting the bag. Kurt gets it. It's stress relief, the same thing skin care routines and cleaning are for him.

"Were you going to go somewhere today?" Blaine asks, already reaching for his gloves.

"No, I think I'm just going to continue working on those sketches for that new play." It's true; he's sketched some of the outfits for Andrea's play already, but there are still a few unfinished costumes and one or two characters he hasn't had the inspiration for yet.

Blaine smiles. "Okay. Give me a shout if you need anything."

"Will do."

When he's halfway out the door, Kurt turns to look back. Blaine's shaking his arms and head, clearing out any signs of stress or stiffness, his legs jumping a little. He looks relaxed and like he's in his own element, his limbs loose but still somehow precise. Kurt smiles to himself, and when he reaches the hallway he hears the first solid punch echo through the apartment. After that the hits follow each other in a precise rhythm.

It could be annoying or distracting, the slam of Blaine's fist against the synthetic leather of the bag, especially when Kurt himself is trying to design outfits for a bunch of school kids in a play that doesn't even mention boxing. Kurt knows that boxing is an outlet, but he used to think it still sounded so violent, like flesh hitting flesh. Somehow though the sound of Blaine's rhythmic boxing is like the beat of a drum – something energizing, something powerful and strong. The lines in Kurt's sketches become precise and bold as well and he concentrates on them, not on the thought of Blaine being sweaty or on the image of his muscles flexing under his thin t-shirt.

 

-

 

Kurt flips through the books he has spread out on the living room table, furrowing his brows as he contemplates the suitable fabrics for the costumes he's already finished sketching. He could do this in his office – there'd be just as much space there as in here – but the living room is closer to the guest room. To Blaine's room, where Blaine has been softly strumming his guitar after their dinner that night, and Kurt would rather listen to him than to his own iPod that's full of songs he's already heard multiple times.

But Blaine's guitar has been quiet for a while now, and when Kurt gets curious and lifts his head he sees Blaine standing in the hallway, practically shuffling his feet awkwardly. He's still holding the worn acoustic guitar in his arms, the fingers of his other hand resting gently against the strings.

"I know you're probably working and don't need any distractions,” Blaine starts, "but would you mind if I came to play here? The light's better here than in the guest room, and my eyes are already starting to feel tired."

"No, of course!" Kurt gestures towards the sofa with a smile. "I don't mind. A little background music is always nice."

Blaine nods thankfully and shuffles to the sofa, sitting down and adjusting his guitar on his lap. Kurt watches him for a moment and smiles fondly at the concentrated look on Blaine's face as he starts to tune the instrument. As the soft strum of the strings fills the room Kurt turns his gaze back to his books, marking a few pages with post-it notes for future reference. After Blaine is satisfied with the sound of his guitar he starts to play various chords and small tunes. Kurt zones out for a while, his mind full of fabrics and materials and colors, all in display inside his mind, flowing together with the music.

A few minutes later he has to raise his head again when Blaine starts to play something more recognizable.

"Stayin' Alive? Really Blaine?" Kurt asks, not bothering to hide the laugh evident in his voice.

Blaine stops and raises his eyebrows at Kurt. "What? Don't you dare mock Bee Gees in my presence. That song is a classic."

"I'm not mocking, I just hadn't thought that you liked disco." Kurt leans back in his chair, the fabrics quickly forgotten. He has a pretty good idea what he's going to use anyway, so he might as well enjoy Blaine's company a little better.

Blaine, however, looks shocked. "It's disco, Kurt. How could you not like it? All that groove and rhythm?" He does a few Travolta moves with his hands and Kurt laughs.

"You're ridiculous." He shakes his head. "Is there even a music style you don't like? You were pretty excited about those swing songs at Geoffrey's birthday party as well."

Blaine plays a few chords and hums. "Not really? I mean I've never really liked that more depressing stuff, death metal or punk or something like that, but other than that... All music styles have their good and bad songs."

The chords turn into notes, and Kurt recognizes parts of a song he remembers hearing once or twice. "Wait, what's that?"

Blaine stops and plays the notes again. "This? It's... Um. I remembered hearing it at that swing party, and I've played it on the piano before. I was just wondering what it would sound like with a guitar instead."

Kurt crosses his legs, trying to find a more comfortable position. "Play it for me? It sounded beautiful."

Blaine hesitates. "I don't really..."

"Please?"

Blaine ducks his head, looking shy. "Alright."

He starts the song again, a bit more slowly this time, closing his eyes after the first notes. Kurt looks at him, at his fingers moving on the strings and at the faint blush on his cheeks, almost forgetting to pay attention to the song. But then Blaine opens his mouth and sings the first lines, quietly and so, so tenderly, as if the words are delicate birds he's setting free to the world.

"I can only give you love that lasts forever, and a promise to be near each time you call. And the only heart I own for you and you alone – that's all. That's all."

Kurt has of course heard Blaine sing before. He still remembers the karaoke night, remembers Blaine jumping on the stage with Wes, proud and enthusiastic. He knows Blaine has a good voice. He can remember admiring Blaine's voice already in high school, looking at a Warbler performance at some competition and thinking that the lead vocalist had a comfortable voice. That's a good word to describe Blaine's voice: it's like musical comfort, something that envelopes the listener and makes them feel warm. This time is different though – this is just Blaine, kind and caring Blaine with his old guitar, sitting in Kurt's living room without back-up singers or karaoke machines. His eyes are closed lightly, and his whole body is staying still, except for his hands that slide down the guitar's strings, playing the notes carefully. He sings like he's promising something, his voice growing stronger with the lyrics but still keeping the same tenderness.

Kurt inhales and then let's his own voice join Blaine's, quietly at first, not wanting to disturb him. Blaine's fingers don't stutter on the strings, but he opens his eyes and looks at Kurt, his face alight with wonder. Kurt holds his gaze as their voices soar, tangling together in the air like two birds circling each other cautiously.

"If you're wondering what I'm asking in return, dear, you'll be glad to know that my demands are small: say it's me that you'll adore, for now and evermore – that's all. That's all."

Blaine plays the last note on his guitar, letting it linger in the air. He's still looking at Kurt when the sound fades, his eyes big and bright, and Kurt stares back, not wanting to break the connection.

Blaine's the one who manages to say something first. "That was... Wow."

Kurt laughs softly. "Yeah. We sound good together."

"We sound amazing together," Blaine corrects, and Kurt blushes. "Kind of makes me wish we had been in the same show choir back in high school."

"Yeah," Kurt admits. He can almost see it in his mind: singing together with Blaine at Sectionals, maybe sharing a few duets; sitting next to him in the choir room, rolling their eyes at Mr. Schue's ridiculous ideas. He wonders if they had been friends if they'd met earlier, if they had even been something more, both of them young and shy, just silly high school students without a professional relationship standing between them.

"I... Your voice really is amazing, Kurt." Blaine's voice is sincere and astonished, like it always is when he compliments Kurt. It sounds like he can't believe someone like Kurt is real. Kurt can't remember anyone ever talking to him like that.

"Thank you," he says quietly. "Your voice is gorgeous as well."

Blaine smiles. His hands are resting against the guitar's body, loose and relaxed, and Kurt wants to suddenly reach out over the sofa table and hold them, feel their warmth and the touch of Blaine's fingertips. The lyrics of the song are still echoing through his mind, and he wonders if he could fall in love with Blaine. If he's falling already.

 

-

 

Their days follow a pattern. Kurt usually wakes up first, disentangling himself from Blaine with a smile and padding to the kitchen to make coffee. Blaine startles awake a few minutes later, momentarily confused until he remembers why he feels so warm and content. He gets up, picks up the mail and joins Kurt in the kitchen for breakfast.

Both of them breathe a sigh of relief when there isn't a new letter.

They go for a run every other day, wearing more and more clothes as the days go on and the weather turns colder and windier. After the run Kurt retreats to his office to continue his sketches while Blaine takes a pile of books and his laptop to the living room, reading and writing, until Kurt suddenly appears with his notepad and pen, sits opposite Blaine and continues working as if nothing happened. It makes Blaine smile at the pages of his book.

After a while they always ignore their work and start talking. They talk about their families, and Blaine finds out that Kurt's father is Congressman Burt Hummel, the one Blaine himself would have voted for if he had been allowed to vote back then, and that Kurt's mother is dead and while he'll never consider Carole his mom, he does love her and his step-brother dearly. Kurt learns that Blaine's father is a lawyer and his mother has her own business, that they are and always have been very busy, but Blaine knows they do their best and love their sons. They talk about what coming out was like to them; about their childhoods and what they dreamed their lives would be like when they were young; about the stupid stunts their brothers have pulled.

The only things they don't talk about are the details of Kurt’s bullying and Blaine's college experience, both of them speaking scattered words and unfinished sentences when the topics come up.

It's something Blaine doesn't remember having with anyone else before: both the easy silences and the flowing words between them, the want for company even when they don't necessarily need it. It makes Blaine wish he could have it forever, could have Kurt in his life forever. It's not something he actively thinks about; he's still Kurt’s bodyguard, they still have a professional relationship, even if it's quite unconventional. They sleep in the same bed, laugh at the same jokes, talk about practically everything – living with Kurt is easy. Everything about Kurt is easy now that Blaine has accepted it, and he sometimes wonders if he's doing something very wrong as a bodyguard, or something very right as himself, as a human-being.

On most days they go out for lunch, becoming frequent customers in the diners and cafés near Kurt's apartment. Blaine stays near to Kurt when they walk on the sidewalks of New York, just in case, but Kurt doesn't seem to mind. He actually leans into Blaine's touch whenever Blaine's hand brushes his arm or the small of his back. During lunch they smile at each other and talk about various things over their table, and most of the time Blaine forgets that he's a bodyguard. He stays alert of course, but when Kurt throws his head back in a laugh, the corners of his eyes crinkling and his blue eyes shining with amusement, Blaine can't really help himself if he stares and forgets everything else.

Blaine boxes. Kurt dances around the apartment and forces Blaine to dance with him. Blaine does the dishes, Kurt cleans the apartment. Blaine reads fiction and academic books, Kurt reads reference books and magazines. They go out shopping once or twice, Kurt buying samples for his costumes and Blaine insisting on carrying the bags. Blaine sends e-mails to his parents and calls his brother, Kurt sends e-mails to his brother and calls his dad. Blaine plays his guitar in the living room and Kurt sings with him, their voices fitting together perfectly, Kurt's melodic countertenor with Blaine's soft tenor. They make dinner together or order something from the Chinese place down the block. Rachel comes over every once in a while, dragging Wes and Sarah with her, and they all sit in Kurt's living room, comparing high school stories and trying to stop Rachel from performing every song she has ever sung. Sarah brings something from her bakery each time, and when Blaine's eating his piece of cheesecake – Kurt had a rather enthusiastic reaction to that – Wes looks at him across the room with a small smile. Blaine raises his eyebrows at him, and Wes just shrugs in answer.

Every night, after Kurt has finished his skin-care routine and after Blaine has read one more chapter from his books, either one of them appears on the other's doorstep, standing there awkwardly for a while, until the other scoots over and makes more room. They lie closer to each other on the bed than they did in the beginning, the back of Blaine's hand brushing Kurt's fingers, their shoulders bumping and their feet touching every now and then. They exchange a few words, talk about their day or the next one, and Blaine inhales Kurt's scent, letting it calm him and lull him to sleep.

There are no nightmares, no disturbing thoughts, no too-vivid imaginations, no staying awake because of the thoughts racing through his head. Just Kurt breathing quietly next to him, his eyes moving under his eyelids as he dreams; and then, in the morning, Kurt's chest rising under Blaine's arm and the fabric of his shirt soft against Blaine's cheek, Kurt's fingers trailing along Blaine's arm, playing with the fine hairs on his skin.

Blaine knows it's something that shouldn't exist between a bodyguard and his client. It's domestic, it's unconventional, it's strange – but it's wonderful. It would be perfect if there wasn't an anonymous fan looming behind every conversation, darkening each breakfast, making Kurt frown every now and then. Blaine wants to erase the letters, erase the stupid anonymous fan, erase the lines on Kurt's beautiful face. But if he erased the whole situation and everything about it, he himself wouldn't be here. There would be no need for Kurt to have a bodyguard, no need for Blaine to lie on his bed with Kurt, no need for Blaine to spend all his time with Kurt. Blaine wouldn't be listening to Kurt's voice, sharing a laugh with him and touching him. There would be no small sparks running up his arm when Kurt sometimes reaches out and takes his hand when they're walking outside.

Like they're a couple. Or at least two very close friends.

Blaine doesn't want to erase that. He doesn't want to erase Kurt from his life. He just wishes the circumstances were better.

 

-

 

They're having lunch in one of Blaine's new favorite places that day. Blaine briefly wonders if it's weird that he already has his favorite places in New York even though he doesn't really live here, but then the waitress puts a huge plate of chicken salad in front of him and Blaine forgets those thoughts. One of the reasons Blaine likes this restaurant is that it has the best chicken salad he has ever tasted, and he suspects Kurt has noticed this. They seem to come here so often that Blaine gets more than enough of the delicious salad. Which he might or might not be staring at right now.

Kurt laughs, sitting opposite him with his own French fries and salmon steak. "You really like that salad, don't you?"

Blaine shrugs nonchalantly. "Is that a bad thing?"

"No, of course not. I'm glad you've found places you enjoy as well. For a while I felt like I was just dragging you to all my favorite places without even asking you if it was okay. I was afraid I was turning into Rachel Berry."

Blaine grins. "It's okay. I didn't really know any restaurants or anything here, so I'm glad you've introduced me to this place and its glorious chicken salad," he says, doing a small bow towards his plate.

Kurt snorts. "You're being ridiculous again."

"I'm never ridiculous about chicken salad, Kurt. Have you tasted this? It's like a piece of heaven on a plate."

"Blaine, stop it," Kurt giggles. "I mean it. I still have a reputation and I'd like to maintain it." He tries to sniff and sound indignant, but the smile twitching the corners of his mouth betrays him.

Blaine smiles and focuses on his salad. He likes to make Kurt laugh. Kurt has enough troubles as it is, and if Blaine can make him forget them for a while, make him just be himself without an anonymous fan looming in the background, he has definitely done something right. The doubts are still there, lingering inside his mind and whispering that he isn't being professional or acting like a bodyguard, but Blaine tries to ignore them most of the time. Why focus on something like his silly doubts when he can focus on the way Kurt's cheeks start to glow when he smiles?

An older man wearing worn out jeans walks past their table, bumping into it in a way that makes Kurt startle and their plates rattle. It's obviously not an accident, and when Blaine turns to look at the man and hears him mutter "damn fags" under his breath he suddenly forgets everything about Kurt's smile, the bodyguard inside of him jumping to the surface.

He hasn't heard those words in ages and never before in New York, but of course he should have known that even though the city is big and more accepting than some small town in Ohio, there are still narrow-minded people here as well.

The man stops shakily a few feet from their table, practically sneering at Kurt – and that's what makes Blaine put his fork down. Kurt doesn't deserve that look or the prejudices the man is throwing at him. Nobody does. Everything about the man is screaming against Blaine's instincts, telling him to get Kurt away, get him safe, leave and make sure that there's no danger. But they're in a public place, Blaine can see one of the waitresses following their moves, and Kurt's reaching for his hand, asking him to let it be. Blaine might be a bodyguard, but he's also a Dalton boy, one that was always taught to be polite and considerate. Maybe even more than is always necessary.

"Is there a problem, sir?" Blaine asks, keeping his voice calm, and the man's eyes drift from Kurt to him. Good. Look at me, don't look at Kurt. Focus on me.

The man is clearly confused by Blaine's politeness at first, but then he seems regain his senses and scoffs. "Yeah, there's a big problem. I don't wanna be forced to see certain things when I'm having lunch."

The man has an accent, so maybe he isn't from New York at all, and his voice sounds a bit thick, like he's been drinking. Blaine should have known it. He has nothing against alcohol or drinking it, but he has a lot against the way certain people start to act when they've had too much to drink. (And come on, being that drunk during lunch hour? That's just sad.)

Blaine opens his mouth to say something, but Kurt beats him to it.

"Maybe you should then eat your lunch home alone so your delicate eyes wouldn't be attacked by actual human-beings," Kurt retorts. His voice has a biting edge Blaine hasn't heard before, and it makes him turn around and look at Kurt. Kurt's eyes are burning as he stares at the man, his hand gripping his fork so tightly that his knuckles are almost white.

Blaine nearly forgets about the man and his homophobic slurs. He's never seen Kurt like this before, not even when he lost his temper at Blaine's distance, not even after their visit to the police station. Kurt looks angry, annoyed and strong, so strong that Blaine wishes he had that kind of strength as well.

But there's something else behind all that anger, something barely noticeable. It's there in Kurt's eyes, and it takes a moment for Blaine to realize what it is. It's sadness. Fear. Bad memories. All the things that Blaine himself knows about, and he doesn't want to see them reflected in Kurt's eyes.

The man growls and takes a step towards Kurt.

Maybe Blaine's overreacting. Maybe the man wasn't going to do anything – after all, they are in the middle of a busy restaurant during lunch hour, Blaine can feel all the other customers staring at them, and the waitress that has been watching the scene is already moving towards them and asking the man to leave – but Blaine can't help it. His instincts are screaming, the man's posture suddenly resembles the football players that once attacked Blaine, and someone is threatening Blaine's client. Blaine's friend. Kurt.

Blaine stands up and steps in front of the man, effectively blocking Kurt. The man stumbles, surprised, squinting his eyes angrily at Blaine, and then he pulls his arm back. Blaine knows the gesture, knows what it means (an empty parking lot, he falls to the ground with a scream and someone keeps hitting him; years later he's standing inside a school and seeing in his mind's eye almost the same thing happening again, why do these things keep happening –), and when the loose and clumsy fist moves towards Blaine's face he reacts on instinct, blocking the punch and grabbing the man's arm, twisting it behind the man's back (he's on that parking lot again, but this time he fights back, he doesn't just lie there, he fights, he knows what he's doing this time).

Blaine is two times smaller than the man, but he still manages to keep him still. His grip on the man's arm is tight, probably almost painful, and the man is so surprised that he doesn't fight back, his body completely still in front of Blaine. Blaine's heart is hammering inside his chest, adrenaline and fear and flashbacks of things that happened in the past gushing through his blood, and then the waitress is standing next to them with another waiter, asking Blaine to let go and saying that they're going to deal with the man now.

Blaine blinks. A hand appears on his arm, and when Blaine looks up Kurt's standing next to him, his eyes full of worry. Blaine blinks again, and then he's back, Sadie Hawkins and dirty parking lot gone, and he realizes that he doesn't have to fight. He's safe. Kurt is safe. Blaine shakily releases the breath he'd been holding and lets go of the man's arm. He barely even notices the waiters escorting the man outside or the other customers trying to act like they weren't watching and failing miserably.

Kurt looks around them and then ushers Blaine to the small hallway that leads to the restrooms, away from curious eyes. Kurt's hand is still on Blaine's arm, his eyes still staring into his when they stop. "Blaine?" he asks softly. "Are you alright?"

Blaine shakes his head. "Y-yeah." Reality comes rushing back, and he startles. "I'm... Oh my god, are you alright? Is that man alright? I didn't hurt him, right?" He whips his head around, trying to see the waiters and make sure that he didn't hurt anyone. Blaine doesn't want to hurt people. He doesn't even want to hurt homophobic assholes. He doesn't believe in violence, even if he boxes and knows self-defense.

"No, Blaine, look at me." Kurt's fingers tighten around Blaine's arm, and Blaine turns back to look at him. "I'm fine. That man is fine, even though he deserves something else for trying to punch you like that." He tilts his head, blue eyes worried. "Are you okay?"

Blaine wraps his free arm around his stomach, around the place that still sometimes hurts, a phantom pain reminding him of things gone and past. He hasn't had a flashback this bad in months – the last time was when he dropped out of college and Blaine's not going to think about that now – and before that he hadn't thought about Sadie Hawkins in years. Maybe it's the stress, or the worry of keeping someone safe, but he suddenly feels cold. He likes to stay in control, likes to know what he's doing and keep track of everything, and losing himself like that scares him. If he loses himself, how is he supposed to keep Kurt safe?

"Blaine?" Kurt repeats, moving into Blaine's line of vision.

"I'm okay," Blaine answers and gives a tight-lipped smile. He knows it's probably not that reassuring but it's all he can do now. "I'm sorry."

Kurt furrows his brows. "For what?"

"For... For acting like that. For overreacting. If I'd ignored him, he probably would have just left us alone."

"I think he was looking for a fight, if you ask me." Kurt's thumb is drawing small circles on Blaine's arm and Blaine focuses on them, trying to ignore the cold feeling inside him. He almost did it again. He cared too much, he overreacted because of it and almost ruined things again. What is it about Kurt that makes it so hard to act professional and distant, to not care?

Blaine shakes his head, trying to focus. "I'm not really hungry anymore."

Kurt smiles sympathetically. "That's alright. I'm sure we can get those to go. Wouldn't want to waste that glorious chicken salad, right?"

Blaine gives a small laugh and drags his hand down his face. "Yeah."

Kurt smiles. Blaine takes a deep breath, preparing himself for protecting Kurt again, for being a bodyguard. He can do this. He needs to do this.

 


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