The pep rally has ended. Kurt’s cheeks are flushed pink from exertion, limbs feeling limber and pliant and the adrenaline slowly drains from his system as the student body bustles out of the gymnasium slowly. Everyone’s chattering away and laughing at the same time, their voices echoing in the massive room. The other Cheerios are scattered about, giggling together in small groups while Sue Sylvester looks to be making fun of Will Schuester’s hair again because, well, that’s what Sue Sylvester does.

Kurt, however, only has eyes for one person.

With his nose in a book, glasses sliding down every few seconds so he has to push them back into place, Blaine sits on the front row of bleachers in the very center. Everyone files out around him, stomping down the bleachers, in no hurry to get caught in the dense crowd trying to exit through the doors. Yet still he sits, oblivious to the guys’ comments around him, focusing intently on a worn, beaten copy of Dorian Gray.

Kurt admires him. He really, really does. It would be kind of fantastic to be able to tune out the world and get lost in a book in the middle of a crowd.

“-lo? Earth to gay face!”

Oh. Santana’s snapping in his face.

“What?” Kurt responds with possibly too much sass.

“I said we’re going for ice cream before we have to be on the field for the game.”

“Great. Sure. Yeah,” he says even though ice cream is a danger to his hips.

“What the hell is-”

Before Kurt has a chance to avert his gaze properly, Santana follows his line of sight through narrow, suspicious eyes. Kurt wants to slap himself because good lord, how obvious can one person be? He’s probably been staring at Blaine for two minutes straight and it isn’t hard to pinpoint exactly who he’s looking at when Blaine’s the only person in the crowd who hasn’t moved for that long.

Santana turns back slowly, lips pursed.

“…You might want to get a check on your leering.”

“Oh, fuck off,” says sharply, spinning away, intent on storming through the back gymnasium door.

“And,” Santana adds before catching his elbow, “you might want to get your head checked as well.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Kurt states, tugging his arm out of her grip to continue walking.

Santana isn’t having it, though, and Kurt should have known. She sidles up next to him, passing the rest of the Cheerios on the way to the back door.

“You can’t actually be serious,” she says.

Kurt ignores her. When they finally reach the exit, she all but slams him against the door way.

“You can’t actually be serious!” she hisses again.

“I was just looking at him! And the objects of my leering are none of your business!” Kurt snaps.

“They become my business when you put yourself and this entire squad at risk!”

“Oh, do tell,” Kurt replies, sarcasm dripping from his tongue. “How exactly am I putting the squad at risk by checking out a guy? You had no problem when Sebastian wanted to play grab-ass in the hallway for the past few days.”

“Because Sebastian is actually hot,” Santana reminds him.

“And you’re definitely the top judge of hot guys, aren’t you?” Kurt says pointedly with a jerk of his chin in Brittany’s direction.

“Leave her out of this,” Santana snarls under her breath. “This isn’t even about being gay. This is about you staring openly at the biggest, nerdiest, geek-tastic loser in this whole damn school!”

How dare you.

How. Dare. You.

He doesn’t know where it comes from. He’s been repeating the same mantra in his head for weeks but for some reason, hearing someone else say those words about the one guy in this school that has a heart causes him to lose it. Fury, disgust, and a fierce sense of protection bubbles up under Kurt’s skin and he completely forgets himself before he shouts:

“He’s not a loser!”

The gym falls silent. The majority of the students are gone, but a few stragglers, the Cheerios, Coach Sylvester, and Blaine all turn to stare at him in surprise. Refusing to acknowledge their eyes, Kurt keeps his attention on Santana.

“You know what, Hummel? If you want to ruin your reputation and just like, kill the empire of awesome you created for yourself,” she says, “at least hand in your uniform first. Because you won’t drag us down with you.”

She stomps away, ponytail swinging as she goes, and leaves him behind in a gym full of eavesdroppers with stunned eyes. They’re all gawking at him, millions of questions on the tips of their tongues.

Except for Blaine. He remains still, unimposing, until he closes his book and shuffles quickly out of the gym.

“Porcelain!” Coach Sylvester barks. “I believe a chair in my office is the perfect place to park your baby bubble butt. Move it.”

Oh god, Kurt groans to himself, hanging his head as he follows her out.

This is definitely not how he expected this day to be.