And it was practically beat into his head that you do NOT run. Running looks bad; its looks guilty, it insinuates….well its bad anyway, and the consequences worse.

So with a very determined step he made is way swiftly, but controlled to his room, sending a thanks you to the powers that be that he had no problem finding the way this time.

As soon as the door was securely locked behind him he leaned back against it and slid down, practically collapsing on the floor.

His breath came fast and he could feel his heart hammering in his chest. Squeezing his eyes shut he tried to take a deep breath and calm the overwhelming panic of being lost and confused, so different from the panic he had long since mastered containing.

His mind drifted as he sat there. To Blaine, to his words, to the Warblers, to Miss Rowe, to…

He stood behind the stage, chest heaving as he caught his breath, blood racing with the thrill of completing a new routine. Performed perfectly, finally. He sighed, listening for his next cue over the sound of the cheering crowd. Always waiting for the next step.

“Well, do you want to see more?”

A voice, from above, followed by thunderous applause, cheering…jeers.

“Well then, let me go see if I can find him!”

The voice again, no cue though. His skin prickled with anticipation.

The sharp tap of footsteps on the stairs. A flash of black and red. Against all natural instinct his eyes did not leave the ground.

A gloved hand sliding along his back, a finger a long his cheek, a caress.

“Listen. Do you hear them cheer?”

A nod.

“That’s right, all for you, just for you. They want to see you perform.”

His muscles ached, sweat dripped in his eyes, his chest burned. He did not consider not going on for an instant.

Now a black top hat by his face, almost as familiar as the breath on his ear, or the weight of the gloved hand on his shoulder.

“Come now sweet boy, again. For them….for me. It’s the only way…”

He was up the stairs and on the stage in the same instant.

A sharp pain drew Kurt back. He been grasping the strap of his back around the buckle to tight it was cutting his hand. He released it quickly and tossed the bag away, pushing himself to his feet.

The room was mostly empty, his few belonging still in the trunk at the end of his bed, while the only furniture in the room was the bed tucked into the corner and the desk against the wall, leaving a generous open area. He stepped into the middle of it and took a deep breath…and sang.

He began to move almost immediately after, almost on muscle memory, he’d lived and breathed these performances so long. Twists, turns, jumps, slides, flips. His muscles tugged, out of their regular routine after a few short months. But the strain was not enough to stop him, not enough time had elapsed to eclipse a lifetime of drills and rehearsals.

Something flared in his chest, old and familiar. Happiness right? What else could it be. This was what he loved, what he needed. So what else did Miss Rowe want from him? For him? Or for him from this is what she was really getting at, he supposed.

Blaine’s words tugged at the back of his mind.

“Music…it’s so easy to express myself….it makes me happy.”

What was he expressing now? What was he ever expressing when he performed? After so intently learning to suppress his emotions, he found it near impossible to tell.

But it made it him happy right? That’s what counted. That warm pressure on his chest? That must be happiness right, what else could it be after all?

Deep down Kurt knew that was avoiding the true, daunting question. Why couldn’t he identify for sure the feeling of happiness?

Not exactly ready to conquer that he continued to think over Blaine’s word as he sang, his body following gracefully without a second thought.

“…sometimes, when you're really into the music if you just stop take a second to close your eyes…and you just see it, everything you feel…the way you feel about music… It's colors and joy and peace and just…It's part of you…It's personal.

Kurt sang louder, left his steps fall faster, and gently closed his eyes, searching.

Flashes of red and black. The glove, the hat, the bottom half of a face cast in shadow. A voice, his voice, sharp like the crack of a whip, “AGAIN!”

Then soft, but heavy, crawling in one ear and out the other, curling around his neck, suffocating, “Come now, sweet boy. For them…for me. It’s the only way, the only reason…”

The feeling flared in his chest. He missed a step and stumbled, a stupid mistake a familiar voice berated him inside.

Sighing he pulled his hands off his face, so much for that. One thing was for sure, his connection to music was intense, and as vital as the air he breathed. But it was not like Blaine said. It did not bring his emotions to the surface so clearly he could see them in colors, not in the way he spoke about them anyway. Not with peace for sure, although perhaps some security in a sense of familiarity. But as far as it being a part of him, of being personal?

Sighing again he walked over to look himself in the mirror. The experience still slightly unnerving. But perhaps it wasn’t because he wasn’t used to looking at his appearance healthy or not. Perhaps it because as new as the tie and the blazer were to his being, they were no less foreign to him then the boy staring back, and not just in physical being, in his very existence.

Because clad in a boys’ boarding school uniform, scared and confused that’s what he looked like, a boy. A boy was Kurt was entirely disconnected from.

And that was the crutch of it. Kurt didn’t perform for himself, like Miss Rowe urged. Music wasn’t an expression on his inner love or connection with his inner self as Blaine suggested. After all, how could it be?

Blaine said it was a part of who he was.

But who he was Kurt Hummel? He was a dancer, a singer, a performer…Those are “whats” more than “whos” though, and when it came down to it that was the problem.

Kurt didn’t think of himself as a who, he thought, he knew himself, as a what.

That’s all he’d ever learned. And until now, it’d never been an issue.

And that confused all the people who knew his story; it was where they hit a wall they couldn’t get him around. How could he have never worried about who he was? It was human nature.

Well not for him. He knew. He knew that…no.

Kurt threw himself onto his bed without undressing, utterly exhausted. Still it took hours of tossing and turning before he finally fell into a fit full dream filled sleep, haunted with flashes red and black…and the thunderous sound of applause and cheers.

“Listen…for me...it’s the only way, the only reason anyone will ever l--”

He could still feel the heavy breath on his ear when a knock on his door awoke him.