A week later, the eyes of the new, obviously lonely student are still haunting him. He seems to be more of a recluse than Kurt can ever remember being, even during his first couple years of high school when he received his own fair share of torture. Kurt recalls the new kid’s name from roll call in his physics class.

Blaine Anderson.

Quiet, meek, tiny Blaine Anderson who sits alone at lunch every day, too new for friends and too much of a nerdy leper to even associate with the lowest forms at McKinley.

Every morning, without fail, some jock will knock Blaine’s books out of his hands and Kurt looks on with an air of cool disinterest. Really, he doesn’t know why the kid hasn’t learned not to carry books in the morning. That’s the thing about high school, see? You either change your routine or you adapt to the crappy circumstances and deal with them in sad silence. Kurt kind of hates that Blaine has chosen the latter because the sound of those textbooks clattering to the floor every morning is beginning to grate on his nerves.

Still, he says nothing. He can’t. Cheerios don’t associate with the lower forms. They don’t speak to them unless they’re being bitingly sarcastic, rude, or simply cruel. They don’t stand near them unless they’re forced to do so for whatever reason. They don’t touch unless they’re shoving them.

It’s just the way it is.

Which is exactly why Kurt cannot stand the way his skin crawls whenever he unintentionally catches Blaine’s eyes in the hallway. He hates the way Blaine’s eyes remind him of his past. He hates the way Blaine looks so tragically forgotten in a swarm of laughing, chattering people. He hates that there’s something more to this kid that he obviously can’t see and he hates that he’s curious to find out exactly what it is.

They haven’t ever spoken but still, he’s driving Kurt crazy.

By the end of Blaine’s third week at McKinley, the sound of books slamming to the ground causes him to snap. The rest of the student body bustles out of sight and Blaine picks up his textbooks in silence.

“Why have you not learned that you shouldn’t carry books around?” Kurt asks in a hard tone, storming over to Blaine who’s still on the floor. “Are you really that stupid? Don’t you get it? They’re going to knock them out of your hands until you get tired of it and finally say something which, in return, gives them a reason to beat you senseless.”

Quiet, meek, tiny Blaine Anderson actually has the nerve to avoid eye contact with Kurt.

Anger boils in Kurt’s veins.

“I asked you a question,” Kurt states.

“I don’t have enough room in my backpack for all my books.”

The sound of Blaine’s voice, the sweet, soft, gentle, unassuming tone throws Kurt off guard. He nearly has to take a step back because, to be honest, he’s never heard a voice quite so pretty in his life.

“I’m sorry,” Blaine says, finally standing, hanging his head as he clutches his books to his chest. “I didn’t realize it bothered you so much.”

“Yeah – yeah, well, it does. Every freaking morning I have to hear your stupid books hit the ground and it’s getting really old. So just – just do something about it. Get a bigger backpack or something.”

Turning on his heel and doing his very best to keep his superior air about him, Kurt makes to walk away.

“Why do you do it, though?”

Faltering in his steps, Kurt freezes. He doesn’t turn around because he refuses to give Blaine any more of his attention than is deemed socially necessary, but he pauses to at least show Blaine that he’s listening.

“Why do you stand there every morning and watch them do that to me? You could walk away before it happens. You could ignore it. But you watch it. You watch it every morning and you don’t say anything. Why do you do that?”

The quiet, curious voice tickles at the base of his spine and zips up his back, causing Kurt to shiver in the middle of the empty hallway. He turns his head to the side, giving Blaine a view of his profile.

And he continues walking.