After getting dressed for practice, Kurt packed a pair of overalls in his bag to change into. He went downstairs to make his protein shake, but found that once again breakfast was already prepared by Blaine. Not wanting to be rude or seem offensive, Kurt ate the waffles in silence, wishing Blaine would just understand that he didn’t need to do this for them. At the edge of the table he saw a brown paper bag labeled ‘Kurt’. Curious, Kurt peaked inside only to discover it contained a ham and cheese sandwich with lettuce, an apple, and a bag of Doritos. Kurt looked at Blaine with sorrow. He briefly wondered how early he had gotten up to prepare everything; he was still in his pajamas, which were a very large grey stained shirt and sweat pants that were too small.

“Thank you, Blaine,” he said. His words washed right over him, without any sign of acknowledgment.

Kurt’s dad soon came into the kitchen, ate Blaine’s food, and took to making Kurt and Blaine’s lunch. He rummaged around in the fridge stopping when Kurt addressed him. “Uhm, Dad?”

“Yes, son?”

Kurt looked over to the paper bag with his name clearly labeled on it, and he nodded in understanding. Kurt sent a sad smile to his dad.

“Blaine, I’m going to put some of my old clothes on your bed,” Kurt said. “I think you’ll look good in them. I just hope they fit okay. This way you don’t have to wear those worn down clothes to school if you don’t want to.” He wasn’t sure if Blaine heard him but he went to Blaine’s room anyway. He placed his old blue Marc Jacobs jacket on Blaine’s bed along with a black turtleneck and a pair of black pants. What used to be a favorite outfit of his. Memories of getting tossed into the dumpster and slushie facials flooded him. Shaking his head in shame at his past, he looked around at the stark and unwelcoming white walls. Usually, on the second day, the new foster child decorated their room how they wanted it. One child even chose to splash random colors all around the room; that had been a lot of fun. But Blaine was barely able to function, let alone express himself. It looked so cold and hostile in here. Kurt thought it looked like a hospital room. After one last look, Kurt left to finish getting ready.

Blaine walked into the room and saw some clothes placed neatly on his bed. They were very nice clothes and Blaine couldn’t comprehend why they were there. They didn’t belong to him; nothing that nice had ever belonged to him. They must have gotten mixed up in the laundry or something, and mistakenly given them to Blaine when they obviously belonged to Kurt. Afraid to get yelled at and or punished for having such nice clothes on his bed, he cautiously put them on hangers, careful to keep them as wrinkle-free as he could. He walked down the hall and he put them on Burt’s door knob.

Kurt was putting the last bit of gear into the car as his dad and Blaine entered the garage. Blaine was wearing the same clothes he had the first time he arrived there. Why didn’t he just wear the clothes Kurt set out for him? Did they not fit? Did Blaine not like them? Whatever the reason, Blaine climbed into the very back seat of the van. Kurt sat in the passenger seat, and turned the station to rap. So The overuse of ‘fuck’ and descriptions of different sexual position annoyed Kurt, but rap had a certain artistic… His dad changed the station to the oldies. They arrived at the football field; Kurt told Blaine where he could watch.

With Blaine safely on the edge of the stadium stands, Kurt began warm-ups. He found the exercises menial and mind-numbing. His hair was sticking to his head, and he was sure he smelled. Sighing, he wondered why he was insulting football so much. He needed to try harder to like it, focus on the positives. The burn in his muscles was slightly satisfying as he learned how to push his limits.

When they split up into teams, Coach Bieste made him rehearse kicking, which seemed rather pointless to him because he had the technique down. Kurt berated himself; she made him practice to make sure his technique stayed solid. He was good at it and enjoyed it. After, she made them split off into pairs. Finn practiced Kurt’s receiving ability, as he was recruited as back up. Mostly the two focused on his catching as he wasn’t great at it, but at the very least his footwork ability made up for the lack. He took pleasure in the intricate footwork, especially when he had someone trying to take him down. It was like…no it wasn’t anything like memorizing a routine.

“Okay, Kurt, let’s try this again,” said Finn.

With a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, Kurt ran again. With only minor fumbling, this time he caught the ball successfully. Coach called an end to practice. The guys patted him on the back for a good practice run. He rushed to the locker rooms to clean up as quickly as he could. Football practice always made him feel so gross afterwards. His shirt sticking to his skin because of his own sweat must have been the most disgusting feeling ever. At first the guys were a little uncomfortable with Kurt in the locker rooms, as they knew he was gay. But after his continued stubborn presence for them to grow up and get over it, eventually they did. They had no choice, and besides they were more at ease with it now that Kurt wasn’t flaming.

They had a little time before school began so Kurt showed Blaine around. Blaine was a freshman and Kurt was a sophomore, so he didn’t have any classes with Kurt. Which Kurt thought was highly unfortunate because he really wanted to keep an eye on Blaine during classes. Make sure no one poked fun of him, teased him, or called him names. Watch how he was doing, look for signs of stress. His dad made the teachers promise to leave Blaine alone. Not ask him questions and most importantly to not introduce him to the class. He would be all right, Kurt reminded himself the first time he walked away from dropping him off at his first class. Kurt waited for his foster brother after every class in order to walk him to his next one. If nothing else, Kurt could protect Blaine in the hallways. After picking him up from math, he walked with him to Kurt’s locker.

Blaine lagged behind Kurt. “Hey, where did you get those clothes from, loser!” someone called out to Blaine when he walked past him. He was used to these kinds of comments. They were true. Blaine was a loser. Time and time again that had proven true. A simple fact, nothing more. It was a nice reminder. Blaine didn’t think anything more of it as he continued walking picking up where he left off on his latest piano beat. That note should be louder and wait an eighth note longer, yes that sounded better.

Kurt, however, wasn’t going to let anything slide. “What is your problem? Leave him alone!” Kurt yelled, drawing attention to them in the hallway. “He’s been through more than you ever will.”

“Woah. Okay, sorry Kurt. I didn’t realize you two were friends,” the jock, said holding his hands in the air in defeat.

“Doesn’t matter. You shouldn’t be picking on anyone, let alone someone new. Come on, Blaine.” Okay, so he may have overreacted, but Kurt was going to make damn sure no one said a single bad word to his foster brother. He dropped him off at his English class and told him to meet him at lunch. That was the only time Kurt couldn’t walk Blaine somewhere afterwards, as Kurt had an errand to do for Coach.

Blaine walked into the class and sat in the back corner, relieved to be back in school. Even if he did join in the middle of October. It wasn’t as though he loved learning; in fact he had no idea what was going on in any of his classes. It wasn’t as though he enjoyed being around people either. But there were so many people around that Blaine was able to shrink into the background, go unnoticed, and be ignored. None of his teachers introduced Blaine to the class. None of them asked him any questions either, as though he was too stupid to answer them. Blaine knew they were right, but he wanted to be left alone so the arrangement worked for him. He could sit in the back of the classroom and let the teacher’s monotonous voice drift him off to his music. For an hour at a time, he escaped to work on conceiving new composition pieces. How a note would sound in this place…or, no, it should be a little higher and slower. He imagined practicing complicated pieces he learned from his teacher long ago, pretending to fumble at more difficult passages and working them over again until they were smooth. The hour passed on, and Blaine immersed himself in his musings. Clattering of chairs and desks snapped Blaine out of his reverie; he hadn’t even heard the bell ring. Slowly, he got up and moved out of the classroom, only barely aware that it was lunch time.

“Hey, white boy.” Kurt was greeted by Mercedes at his locker while he retrieved the letter Sue wanted him to give to Coach. Probably containing insults as the football team was making more money than the Cheerios. All thanks to Kurt, actually. The best kicker that the football team had seen in years. He hadn’t missed a goal yet.

“Hi, Mercedes,” Kurt said in his most irritated voice. ‘White boy’ used to be a term of endearment for him. Now it only meant one thing: she was going to try and have another heart to heart with him.

“What do you want?” he asked as he closed his locker briskly. They both knew this game. They both knew the other was aware of the game. However, that didn’t keep Kurt form playing dumb.

“Come back to Glee.”

“Why? I hate Glee Club.” He wanted her to drop the subject already. He wasn’t coming back, and she couldn’t make him. She was the last of the Glee members attempting to convince him to return after he quit last year. For a while, he wondered who would be the last to give up, Mercedes or Rachel. Rachel’s rants of, ‘While I’m the star, your voice really compliments mine… blah blah blah,’ even though they were somewhat flattering, also got increasingly annoying. At least Mercedes meant well.

“No you don’t. You love singing. Look, Kurt, you’re lost. ”

“I’m perfectly fine where I am, Mercedes. Expressing yourself through song is so… for lack of a better word, gay. I’d much rather tackle someone when I get angry than sing about it.”

“You are gay.”

Kurt rolled his eyes, wanting to get the conversation over with as soon as he could. “So? Doesn’t mean I have to enjoy singing.”

“No, it doesn’t. But it still doesn’t change the fact that you do.”

Mercedes gave him a pointed look and hurried off. The discussion was dead. The conversation occurred so many times, he knew the dance by heart. He could almost mouth the words she was going to say next. What did she know about him anyway? Hurrying, he headed off to the locker room, hoping Blaine would be okay on his own for a brief moment.

On his way to the cafeteria, Blaine began meandering. He was pretty sure he was lost, but he was also pretty sure that he didn’t care. He paused by a room with an open door and instantly froze. Desperately hoping it wasn’t an illusion, Blaine must have stood there for five minutes, willing himself to turn and look past the edges of the door and into the room. Finally, he did. A grand piano was sitting in the middle of the room, as though it were the most important thing in there. It was. His breathing turned shallow, as if breathing too much would make the piano disappear. The wood gleamed and the keys invited him to play, whispering his name. Blaine was immobilzed. He flexed his fingers, almost daring them to try out the instrument. Time passed by and Blaine kept his unwavering stare fixed upon it. Yearning to just touch it, Blaine took a slow hesitant step towards it, still not quite believing his eyes.

“Oh, hey, I didn’t see you there! Are you a new student? Are you interested in Glee?”

Shocked out of his trance, panic overtook his senses, and he ran away.

Kurt searched for Blaine in the lunch room but couldn’t find him anywhere. Why didn’t he wait for him at the spot Kurt told him to? Where was he? Kurt sat down at his usual place with the cheerleaders and jocks, automatically tuning out their mindless chatter about parties and video games. Rarely did he actually have anything to say to the group. Today, he continuously scanned the crowded cafeteria for that distinctive curly hair. He didn’t see him. He quickly ate the rest of his lunch and went to find Blaine.

Blaine curled up under the stairs on the concrete. Seeing a piano again jarred him. He wasn’t sure where he was or what he was supposed to be doing. The hunger pains in his stomach were overpowered by the feeling of awe. All he knew, all he thought, all that existed was the piano in the room.

Kurt skipped his next class to look for Blaine, as well as the class after that. He must have circled the school three times already trying to find him. There was only one more period left and Kurt didn’t know what to do. Horrible visions of Blaine being stuffed into a locker or thrown into a dumpster pounded his thoughts nonstop. They swirled around, each new thought becoming more and more horrible than the next. Kurt felt awful. He was supposed to be looking out for Blaine; he made a promise to himself, to his dad. To his mom. It was his job to take care of Blaine, and he failed. Nothing bad was supposed to happen- not today not ever, but now he lost Blaine.

Sending a silent apology to his mom, he began an even more frantic search for his foster brother, looking in the most absurd of places – on window sills, in closets, every nook and crevasse a person could possibly fit into. And some places where a normal people couldn’t, because Blaine was smaller than most. Finally, with an audible cry of relief and a flood of released tension, Kurt found Blaine curled up underneath a set of stairs. “Blaine, what are you doing here? Come on.”

But Blaine didn’t move. Blaine didn’t hear Kurt. Blaine didn’t see Kurt. Usually if someone gave him a direct order he responded, even if only mechanically. Right now, there was nothing. No twitch of a muscle, no movement of the head. Blaine and Kurt were in two completely different worlds. Did someone do something to him to cause this? Did someone insult him to the point that Blaine was more vacant then usual? Kurt hated himself for leaving him alone. If only he asked someone else to give that note to Coach. At least Blaine was safe and seemed physically unharmed: no blood or signs of bruises. Kurt couldn’t see any at least. For now, Kurt sat opposite of Blaine. Neglecting his last class, he waited for any sign that Blaine was snapping out whatever caused his stupor.

“Hey, dad…yeah, I don’t know what happened to Blaine. He’s was just sitting under some stairs. Can you come pick us up?”

“Yeah? Okay, see you in a few.

“Love you too, bye.”

“Blaine?” his dad asked when he arrived. “Let’s get you home, buddy.” Blaine responded by getting up, like nothing out of the ordinary happened, and following him to the car.

All three of them drove home in silence. Not knowing what happened to Blaine, Burt gave him the choice of going to school or attending next year. Of course he did not get a response, so they waited to see what would happen in the morning. Later that night, as he was going to bed, Burt found the clothes hanging on his door. He handed them back to Kurt. Kurt shook his head and placed them into the box he got them from. Where all his old clothes hid. The next morning Blaine seemed to be in a rush to get out the door and to school. The decision was made that whatever had happened, it wasn’t something bad.