So um…since we didn’t study yesterday, did you want to meet up today?

Kurt stares at the text message on his phone, screen too bright in his dim basement bedroom. His thumb hovers over the ‘s’ button, ready to type out ‘sure, see you at six’.

Instead, he closes his eyes, sinks into his bed and taps the top of his phone on his lower lip. Just last night, his lips had been quite preoccupied, tasting Blaine’s mouth and breathing in something lovely, something altogether wonderful and completely unbelievable. It had been too hot, felt too good, and he can still remember the feel of Blaine’s hands on his hips.

He sighs, opening his eyes and craning his neck to peer at his Cheerio uniform where it hangs, cleaned and pressed, on his closet door. It’s a symbol of everything good and safe. It’s security and a blockade against his would be tormentors. He can’t even imagine what it would look like with a small gelled head leaning on the shoulder, with eyes peering up at his with such adoration, such trust. He can’t imagine wearing it and having a boy in khakis and a sweater vest on his arm.

Then again, it’s hard to imagine a boy on his arm at all, given his dating record.

Or lack thereof.

He groans aloud, rubbing a hand over his eyes.

You smell like sugar blossoms.

You’re crazy.

They were both crazy. Actually, come to think of it, Kurt could probably be justifiably insane for acting the way he did. His mind to mouth filter had completely disappeared last night, flew out the damn window and decided to return once he saw Santana’s name on his phone.

While he had been in Blaine’s lap.

Christ, what – what kind of power did Blaine have over him? What on earth gave him the right to just – just waltz into Kurt’s life with a too small backpack and a too big heart? It’s like, when Kurt’s around him, the rose tinted lenses he forces over his eyes are shattered and he sees himself for who is really is, what he’s really doing and he makes Kurt doubt everything he knows about the world.

Kurt despises doubt. He doesn’t like it when a wrench is thrown into the plan. He doesn’t like a splotch of grey on his black and white canvas.

It had all seemed so simple: join the cheerios, surround himself with popular people, and act accordingly. He had a plan. It had been a good plan and he only had to wait it out for the rest of high school, just a year and a half to go.

But no.

Blaine Anderson had to show up and be honest.

Kurt just…doesn’t know what to do.

So he doesn’t respond.

“Who is that?”

“Is he new?”

“Oh my god, he is gorgeous.”

“I call dibs.”

Kurt rolls his eyes and slams his locker shut, finally turning to the gaggle of swooning Cheerios at his side.

“And what piece of eye candy has suddenly called for dibs?” he drawls.

“That one,” little Sarah Grayson says, the newest girl on the squad.

Following her line of sight, Kurt turns to see exactly which new hetero heart throb has caught their attention.

Good lord.

Standing there with a quirky smile, as if he knows he’s being watched, a tall, lithe boy fusses with his locker combination. He’s all legs, this kid, legs wrapped up in tight, light jeans with a chest covered with a red, plaid button down shirt. He’s got this easy grace and slim hips and yeah, Kurt can’t help but stare either.

Out of the corner of his eye while he’s busy drooling over new kid with really nice hair, Kurt sees Blaine shoving his glasses back up the bridge of his nose while squinting at the numbers on his combination lock.

His throat closes.

New kid slams his locker and turns their way. Behind him, Kurt can practically hear the girls’ hearts race as the new guy’s smile broadens and he focuses his gaze.

On Kurt.

Kurt’s eyes widen, glancing about nervously as if maybe he’s actually looking at someone else because there’s no way, there’s no possible way in hell that this guy is actually sauntering over to stand in front of him.

Except he is.

“Nice uniform,” he says to Kurt, voice like velvet and sex.

Just beyond new kid’s arm, Kurt can see Blaine peering over at them with these sad kitten eyes and his bottom lip caught between his teeth.

“Thanks,” Kurt says because, well, what else is he supposed to do with a compliment?

“The pants are especially nice,” the guy says.

And then he winks.

“I’m glad you think so. It took the seamstress two tries to get them perfectly fitted,” Kurt replies. What the hell? Why is that even important?

“Well you should thank her for me.”

“I – I should?”

“Mmm,” new guy hums appreciatively before taking a step forward and craning his head down to speak directly into Kurt’s ear. “They fit you so well in all the right places, sweetheart.”

Kurt swallows, throat dry, heart pounding.

“Oh, good,” Kurt says weakly. He’s pretty sure his knees are about to give out.

New kid steps away, eyes glittering in a dangerous kind of way. “See you around,” he says.

When his back is turned, the girls shove him forward.

“What’s your name?” Kurt squawks out, voice breaking just a tiny bit.

New kid turns again, walking backwards now but it doesn’t matter if he can’t see where he’s going because the crowd parts for him anyway.

He grins.

“Sebastian Smythe.”

And he disappears around a corner. The girls converge upon, asking him all sorts of unanswerable questions and he can’t help but be shocked and sigh a little dreamily to himself.

But because he’s so caught up in the surprise and excitement of actually being hit on for once, he doesn’t see the way Blaine’s face falls.

Or the way Blaine brushes away a single, solemn tear beneath his glasses.

Or the way he turns away and gets lost in the crowd, trailing behind other nameless faces and broken hearts.