The pleasant feeling that our lunch period leaves me with doesn’t fade away. Instead, it lingers warm and bright inside of me, burning brilliantly and boldly like a thousand flighty fireflies, and that precious feeling, that beautiful, truly hopefully feeling, is being guarded so carefully by the protective walls that my friends - both new and old - have built around me today that I can’t help but catch myself smiling. The contentment running from the very tips of my toes up to the roots of the hair on my head and it’s such a genuine, unfeigned feeling that it blows my mind for a moment. I can still barely bring myself to believe that I’m actually doing it, that I’m finally finding new ways to be happy, but I am. The heavy load that this morning had forcibly pushed upon my shoulders is gradually lifting away and everything seems so much brighter now - even the pitifully plain walls that we walk past.

I’m heading to my final class of the day - arm in arm with the ever lovely Brittany - and the corners of my mouth are upturned brightly as we move along the crowded hallway with surprisingly synchronised steps. Our footfalls corresponding perfectly and our bodies pushed close - not for safety, just for touch. And we’re surrounded by a tight circle of people as we progress past rows and rows of unfamiliar lockers. The secure sphere made up of the individuals who have not only taken to me so kindly today, but have befriended me so naturally that this is all still a little overwhelming. And I’m still struggling to comprehend the full scale of their irrefutable generosity but I think, or rather I know now, that I’m okay and that there’s nothing wrong with me. I can finally understand what Kurt and Burt and Puck and Ellen have been telling me all along - that people can like me and that people can love me for being myself.; for just being me. Regardless of how I dress, or who I fall in love with, or my comportment, or my past and there’s something so empowering about that. There’s something so validating and it gives me such a brand new sense of strength.

Of course, Kurt had continuously reassured me that making friends today was entirely possible - and more than a little plausible - but I don’t think that I ever truly believed those words as they’ve tumbled so earnestly out of his sweet and giving mouth. Especially this morning, as I stood before him, half devoured by anxiety and fear. And I’m not stupid, I can see that that’s my fault, that it’s all down to me, that obvious lack of self belief that seems to get so carried away with itself sometimes. But after everything, I think that perhaps I was just too frightened to believe in Kurt’s sweet sentiments and share in his blind faith for the overall goodness of the world. Because what if it had become another misplaced hope, or another wish lost on it‘s way to the brightest star in the sky? I don’t think I could have handled that kind of set back, not now, not after I‘ve worked so hard.

But these beautiful, philanthropic people have effortlessly counteracted the pain and persecution that became my morning and since then they’ve been offering me their warm hands - both literally and figuratively - all day. Though, more than anything, they’ve been helping me to feel unexpectedly, overwhelmingly normal and I’m just so incredibly grateful for that. It’s such a beautiful feeling. And if Kurt Hummel - the boy whom I love with all of my heart - and the entire Hummel-Hudson family present me with constant support and unwavering protection from myself and my father, then these people - my new friends - offer me support and protection from the outside world and the bullies who haunt and plague this school like rapacious and ravenous shadows. And it’s a shame. It’s such an awful shame that I need them like this and that they feel the need to protect me like they clearly do, but I’m just not sorry about it. I will never be sorry about it. I deserve to be safe too. After everything, I deserve that much and if Kurt was here with me - which I’m still incredibly thankful he’s not - I know he’d pull me aside and make me swear that I understood exactly that. He’d look me straight in the eye, take my hands in his and then say something impossibly thoughtful before whispering, ‘Promise me, Blaine. Promise me?’ Just like he always does and just like he always will because: “Where will I always be, Blaine?”

I can actually feel my smile broaden and I briefly wonder how Kurt is but I’m pulled away from my drifting thoughts of him when Puck brings me to a halt outside of an unfamiliar classroom. Touching my shoulder so carefully with his newly muted fingertips as he begins to explain to me that he and Finn will meet me outside, by the car, after school. I smile over at him as he talks, my head still half-full with it’s images of Kurt, though Puck just uses my pause as an opportunity to search my eyes with his own. A steady blush burning over my cheeks when I find myself wondering if Puck can tell that I’ve been thinking of Kurt again. The knowing smile that lingers on his lips only confirms that he can. So, I try and pay better attention to him.

When Puck has finished talking, though, I nod once in understanding and then I watch - my arm still linked with Britt’s - as my new friends start to walk away from me, one by one, in their different directions. And it’s suddenly very obvious to me that they’ve all gone out of their ways for me - quite literally - but before I can even think of saying something in protest they’re all gone, every last one of them. Well, everyone except for Santana and Brittany.

Santana waits patiently until the hallway is completely bare and then she steps hesitantly towards Brittany and I and disentangles the girl that she so obviously loves from my body. Looking over to me with her hand wrapped tightly around Brittany’s, her deep brown eyes searching for some unknown thing in my face. I just offer her a shy smile, unsure of what she wants me to do but that seems to be enough because she smiles back at me and turns away. Shifting her focus back to Brittany; wrapping her arms carefully around her waist and then placing a chaste kiss on the blonde’s cheek. They whisper to one another for a while then, quiet and easy, before Brittany reaches out for me and pulls me into tight hug. Bidding me goodbye before she glances over at Santana and departs. Leaving us completely alone in the hallway.

Santana wastes no time at all and before I even have a moment to consider protesting, she’s ushering me into a classroom, her careful hands guiding my body through the door. Forcing me to take the steps that I would have hesitated over otherwise and I’m suddenly incredibly nervous that something will go horribly wrong. It’s not that I don’t trust Santana or that I don’t think she has the fortitude that the guys have. In fact, I’m almost certain that she’s as badass as she’s told me she is, so, it’s nothing like that. It’s just that this is my last class of the day. I‘ve almost made it and that in itself is so terrifying and so exciting. All I have to do is get through this double Art class and then my first day is over. It’s done with. I’ll have survived my first day at William McKinley High School. I’ll have done something that I truly thought was completely impossible - even with the hitches of this morning - and if I can do that, then what else can I do? Everything?

I take in the classroom as I‘m guided further and further inside, inspecting my new surroundings as we move, and I can only imagine how strange we must appear to the people who are already in the room and ready to start their work. With their paints and pencils spread out on their desks. And I must admit that everyone does looks suspiciously nice in here. But I keep looking around anyway - checking for possible threats or people who might just hate the mere sight of me, and it’s then that I’m struck by something rather profound. An understanding of sorts; a bittersweet realisation and this is it: Art is clearly seen as a ‘girly’ subject at McKinley. Just like Home Economics was for Kurt. And I don’t think I mind, not really, because I would rather be here, surrounded by girls, than in some other class which is considered a hundred times more ‘manly’ or ‘masculine’ but is something which I truly have no passion for. Puck’s words from this morning rushing through my head like a freight train: ‘Do what you want to, okay? Not what those bigoted assholes tell you you’re doing.’ And I know that being here - in Art - is what I want.

So, I let Santana and her steady hands guide me to a desk at the very back of the room and almost as soon as I take a seat I notice that the girls around us start to perk up. I’m completely surrounded by members of the fairer and - in my experience - gentler sex. The sweet scents of their soft perfumes mixing in the air, along with the familiar aroma of paint, and it’s overwhelming me a little. This place is just so incredibly different from Dalton - that familiar musky smell of boys just isn’t here, there are no blazers hanging from pegs on the wall, Nick and Jeff aren’t laughing in the corner and flicking paint at one another, Kurt isn‘t just across the hall from me and in French class- but for some reason my mind automatically registers this room as a safe haven anyway.

I look around again, curiosity coursing through my veins, and I can feel their eyes on me but I know that they’re not judging me, their faces tell me that much, they’re just being inquisitive, they‘re just interested in the odd boy who’s breeched their territory. They’re all offering me welcoming smiles and looking away so quickly if our eyes should so much as meet by accident, so, I know for a fact that they’re not a threat. In fact, I can’t help but blush at the attention they‘re giving me because as a boy who’s spent most of his life purposely staying out of people’s gazes, it might take me a while to adjust to this level of interest. And it would probably be a lot easier for me to adjust if some of them weren‘t looking at me in that way, because I’m not used to that at all - but, honestly, I just hope that I can get to know them all, because I’d like that. We do share this class, after all, so at the very least we have our love of art in common.

“Well, well, well.” Santana says, rather mischievously, as she sits down next to me, a broad smile tugging at the corners of her expressive mouth and lighting up her lovely face, “It’s seems you’re quite the lady magnet, Anderson.”

“I-- I don’t mean to be.” I stutter out instinctively as my eyes widen. My head turning and my eyes searching her face, hoping to see some unknown thing in the depths of her eyes, anything at all to help me out, but she just laughs lightly. Her hand falling softly onto my forearm and patting down twice.

“I know you don‘t mean to, hobbit, it’s okay.” Santana reassures me then, a hint of tenderness in her voice, “It’s just an observation, don‘t worry so much, it‘s not a bad thing.”

I don’t quite know what to say to that; so I just let it linger for a while and then I try to smooth the creases of worry from my forehead.

“So,” Santana starts wistfully and I know that she’s trying to help me relax a little, it’s obvious by the way that she keeps her voice so light, and she’s being incredibly sweet to me now, as she asks, “Do many boys take the Art class at Dalton?”

“Almost everyone.” I say then, offering her a friendly smile, “You don‘t have to worry about what people think of you there. Dalton’s not that place.” I offer and she nods a little, taking her hand back from my arm and scooping her dark hair together - so it cascades neatly over one shoulder instead of two. She’s beautiful.

“Is Kurt happy there?” She asks rather unexpectedly.

“Yes.” I say without hesitation before adding, “And he’s safe.”

“Good for him.” She says quietly, “He deserves to be happy.” She smiles, glancing down at the desk in front of us, something shifting in her expression before she covers it. But I notice it anyway, the obvious longing; the expression of missing someone. I saw it only last night on Kurt’s face. I know that look too well.

“He misses you, Santana.” I offer then, “He misses all of you.”

“I miss him too.” she confesses, glancing at me sweetly before she reaches down into her bag and pulls out her sketchbook, “It’s weird, you know, not seeing his weird catwalk clothes and his riotous bitch face. I miss seeing him strut down the hallways like he’s the best thing to ever happen to the world. I miss him being the bravest kid around here, even when it got so bad, he never stopped radiating strength, you know?” She states honestly, laying her sketchbook down, and I just smile at her because I understand that feeling completely. Of course I do.

“I know how that is.” I offer eventually and she bumps her shoulder into mine playfully.

“I guess we get you though, huh?” She smiles pleasantly.

“Yeah, you get me.” I whisper quietly as my cheeks threaten to flush a bright, cherry red again.

“I mean, your clothes are a little weird, and I’m not sure that you even have a bitch-face, but it’s nice to have someone like you around anyway. Someone different. Someone who’s not hiding away. Someone who’s not ashamed.” Santana says carefully and I’m suddenly incredibly aware that she’s talking to me about her sexuality now.

“You know, I’ll always listen if you need to talk to someone.” I offer sincerely and she smiles.

If I can help her then I want to. I don’t know how many people Santana can talk to about this, or if she used to talk to Kurt about it, or if she’s never talked to anyone about it. But if I can help her feel less alone, or less isolated, or more open, then I want to because I know how alone feels and no one deserves that. Santana certainly doesn’t deserve that, despite how badass she is, it’s incredibly clear to me that she has a good and kind heart.

“Yeah?” she says then, something serious flashing in her eyes before it fades away again, “Well, if I ever want to cry a river over this pathetic dive of a town I‘ll know exactly who to call. You’ll have to give me your number so I can put you on speed dial.” she laughs lightly.

“If you want to, “ I start nervously, “And you really don’t have to, so, please, don’t feel obliged or anything, but if you want to then I’d really like to spend more time with you and Brittany outside of school.’ I propose, rather boldly, because that’s what friends do, right? Friends make plans together and I want Santana and Brittany to be my friends.

“Okay.” she says quickly, not giving me enough time to feel stupid, “Yeah, I could be down with that, give me your number short stuff and I‘ll call you once I‘ve talked to Britt about it.” she says then, fishing her phone out of her bag and looking over at me in anticipation. Her thumb hovering over the keypad. I hadn’t really thought this far ahead.

“Do you have Kurt’s home number?” I ask then, a little hesitantly, and she frowns in confusion for a moment before she says, “Yeah.” Like I might not want her to have my number when that really isn’t the case. I just don’t have a phone right now.

“Then you already have my number.” I offer quietly. Giving her a minute to process what I mean and read between the lines. Just like I had with Mike. I can’t tell them directly, not yet, but I can tell them exactly what I want to indirectly and that takes away any of the shame feelings that I might attach to the situation subconsciously - or at least that’s what Ellen tells me and I don’t disagree with her because letting my new friends know just enough is somehow freeing.

“Wait. You live with Kurt and Finn?” she asks uncertainly after a moment of pause and I just nod before she says, “But why?”

“I couldn’t stay at home.” I offer rather vaguely and, just like that, her face completely changes.

“Oh.” Is all she says and then she looks at me for a while before she nods to herself and leans into me a little. I think she’s going to ask me about it for a moment, but she doesn’t, instead she smiles at me and asks, “Hey, Blaine, do you like jokes?”

“Of course I do. Who doesn’t like jokes?” I reply with more than a hint of mock disgust in my voice and that’s that - Santana Lopez laughs and by doing so she becomes my friend. Tearing out a few sheets of paper from her sketchbook and handing them over to me with a pencil, as if sealing the deal. Then she takes out another piece of paper, tears a bit from the corner and writes on it before handing it to me. It’s her cell number signed with a little heart and ‘Tana’. It’s the shortened version of her name that I heard Brittany use earlier. I smile.

“Thank you.” I say as I fold the number and stuff it into my jeans.

“No problem.” she shrugs, “Now brace yourself because my brain is like a bank vault filled with filthy jokes and you just got yourself permission to take a look around.”

As it turns out, Santana has the dirtiest collection of jokes that I have ever heard in my entire life and because of that our double period of Art just flies by. Her words simultaneously making my cheeks blush a bright blistering red and my sides ache from suppressing laughter for the full hour and a half. And if I’ve learnt anything from this, it’s that Santana is a lot like Puck, she isn’t shy, she’s incredibly bold with her words and her actions but she’s also incredibly sweet with it.

By the time the final bell rings out, signalling the end of the day, I have a huge grin plastered on my face and Santana’s still talking away to me as she wipes our desk free of paint. Throwing the dirty rag in her hands carelessly towards the sink; not even looking back at it as she picks her bag up off the floor. I do the same, reaching down under the table, and as soon as I’ve straightened my clothes out Santana reaches out and hooks her arm through mine. It’s so natural that I don’t even think about it and together we walk arm in arm into the nearly empty hallway. We’re barely a foot away from the door when she stops us both in our tracks and says, “I have cheerleading practice right now, I’m head cheerleader by the way, in case you’re into that kind of thing, which if you are, you should know that Kurt was once one of us, but anyway what I meant to say was if you want me to, I can walk you out to the car?”

“Kurt was a cheerleader? Wow. No. I’ll be fine,” I reassure her quickly, images of Kurt in uniform suddenly filling my head, “We’re practically outside anyway. But have fun at practice and I‘ll see you tomorrow?”

“You know, I’ve got to say, you’re pretty awesome, Blaine.” She smiles happily before she nudges my arm playfully and stage whispers, “I reckon if we can’t have Kurt then we’ve got the next best thing.” I smile back at her then, teeth and all, words bubbling up inside of me as I try to find a way to thank her properly for being so kind to me, it must show on my face though - the gratitude and the confusion - because she just rolls her eyes and says, “Don’t blow your own mind, genius.” I scoff in reply and roll my eyes right back at her. It all so incredibly Santana that we both laugh out loud.

“I just wanted to say ‘thank you’.. but that doesn’t seem even close to enough.” I explain reservedly but Santana just grins and tilts her head a little, “It’s enough, Blaine, believe me. Any manners, at all, are enough in this place. Now, get out of here, find those two losers outside and I‘ll see you tomorrow, okay? Oh, and don‘t forget to find a song to audition with for glee club tomorrow. Pick a showstopper and make it sound fantastic. I want Rachel Berry quaking in her ridiculously sensible shoes when she sees what my boy Blaine can do.” My cheeks start to heat up at her compliments and when she notices she grins over at me.

“I‘ll make it good.” I promise quietly before I add earnestly, “Thank you, Tana.”

She just waves my manners away and hugs me quickly before she turns and walks away from me. I watch her go, following her with my eyes until she turns the corner and completely vanishes out of sight. Leaving me utterly alone; with nothing but the bright smile on my face. I can’t wait to get home now. I can’t wait to see Kurt. I can’t wait to tell him that his friends are beautiful, gorgeous people.

I’m about to turn around and walk out of the door when he walks out of a classroom, barely a few feet away from me, and I completely freeze.

David Karofsky is looking right at me.

My first instinct is to flee. My first instinct is to run and find Puck and Finn and go straight home but my legs don’t seem to agree with that plan because I can’t even move them. And the fact that the last person in sight has just vanished around the corner makes me feel even worse about everything. This is the boy who called me ‘wrong’ and ‘disgusting’ and a ‘faggot’ today. This is the boy who let his friends bully me and then joined in. This is the boy who chased Kurt out of this school after threatening his life and forcing a kiss from him. I have good reason to be scared of him, I have good reason to be afraid of what he could do to me. But I still feel a little bit stupid.

I don’t know if he sees the smile slip off my face and hit the floor like a ton of bricks but as soon as he takes an unsure step forward I flinch and he does see that. I know he does because it stops him dead for a moment before he starts moving again and my heart starts racing - pounding erratically and painfully inside of my chest. Anxiety surfacing.

“Please-” I whisper quietly, begging him to leave me alone. And I honestly expect him to ignore me but he doesn’t; he does something I didn’t expect instead - he takes a huge and obvious step backwards.

My breath catches in my throat.

“I wont hurt you.” He says then, incredibly carefully, his hands outstretching slowly in front of him like a peace offering, and I close my eyes for a second to wonder if I look as scared as I feel. I think I must. I must for him to say those words so softly to me. I wonder what he sees when he looks at me. I wonder if he sees what my father did to me. I wonder if he can tell how easily I let myself get knocked around. I wonder if he knows how much it hurt. I wonder if he can see that I’m still working on being okay. I wonder if he knows what he has done to me. I wonder if he realises how pointless his words are. I wonder if he knows that they’re far too little and far too late.

“But you‘ve already hurt me.” I whisper in a rush, cringing when I realise that I’ve said it out loud. I let my eyes flutter open then and my gaze settle on the floor - angled just right, so I can see his feet, so I can see if he moves.

“I’m sorry, Blaine.” he says quietly and I suddenly feel completely nauseous. Because he’s, what, apologising to me now? He feels sorry that he made me cry? That he called Puck a ‘queer’ because he’s my friend? Because he chased the boy I love away after sexually assaulting him? What exactly is David Karofsky sorry for? There’s quite a list.

“You’re sorry?” I repeat somewhat robotically in shock, one of my hands wrapping itself tightly around my bag’s strap. Squeezing at it harshly until my knuckles start to turn white. A number of twisting emotions stirring bitterly inside of me.

“Yes.” He says quietly and when I chance looking up at him, I almost feel bad for him because he looks so genuinely unhappy. Almost.

“Why?” I whisper in complete disbelief.

“I’m just-- I‘m so, so sorry, Blaine.” He starts then, his voice full of tearful emotion, and then in an incredibly unsteady voice - which makes me look up from the floor- he adds, “Every time I hurt you… I hurt me. And I know that doesn‘t make it okay, or forgivable, or right.. but I just--” His face starts to fall now and I don’t know how I’m supposed to handle this. I don’t know how to watch him fall apart and do nothing. But I have to. I have to do this for me and I have to do this for Kurt. Because what he did is wrong.

“You stole Kurt’s first kiss, Karofsky, did you know that? Do you even care?” I say harshly and he just nods, his eyes filled to the brim with tears as his lips start to quiver. The lips that have kissed Kurt’s. It’s horrible and it’s painful and it’s horrendous but I can’t stop myself from talking. Not now I realise that he’s too upset to actually hurt me. Maybe that makes me a bad person, or maybe I’m just being selfish - just for a minute - but I don’t regret it. I’m looking out for Kurt and I’m looking out for myself.

“You threatened to kill him.” I spit, as bitter memories and overwhelming feelings of sadness and disgust flood me, “Do you even understand what that means or do you just say stuff for the sake of saying it? He thought you were literally going to kill him. He was absolutely terrified that you’d catch him at the top of a flight of stairs, or be alone with him in the locker room, or bump into him in an empty classroom. He thought you were going to put him into the ground, David, right next to his dead mother. Right next to my dead mother. Why would you make him think that? Do you even know what you’ve done to him? Do you have any idea what you’re doing? Or how long it took for him to feel safe again?” I finish bitterly.

“I’m so sorry. I never meant that. I never meant it. I would never have-- I‘m sorry.” he repeats and I just shake my head.

“You called me a faggot today, you’re not that sorry.” I remind him, but my voice is starting to shake a little now. My spontaneous bravado is crumbling.

“Blaine--” he whispers.

“I just don‘t-- why do you hate me so much? Why do you hate Kurt? Why do you hate yourself? Why do you want to hurt everyone so badly?” I ask, my anger fading back into utter desperation. My heart sinks down into my stomach.

“I’m scared.” He whispers morosely and I close my eyes as emotion floods my body and his voice completely breaks, “I’m just so scared all the time.”

“I know you are.” I whisper quickly, “God. I know you are - but you have to stop this. You have to stop this or your hate will grow and grow and grow and you wont have control over it anymore.” I offer sadly, “Look at you, David, you look so unhappy. Why are you doing this to yourself? You’re worth so much more than this. You don‘t have to beat yourself up so hard. You don‘t have to hurt yourself like this. You don‘t have to charge around hurting other people and insulting yourself like it doesn’t even matter. Like you don’t even matter. Someone very, very important to me once told me that I mattered - that I was worth something more than nothing and do you know what? You matter too. You matter just as much as I do and you shouldn‘t be doing this. I know that you know that. Just like I know that you understand that falling in love with another boy isn‘t wrong. It doesn’t make you disgusting, it makes you human, David, and you don‘t have to be scared of that. You don’t have to be scared of love.” An awful sobs leaves his throat then and echoes around the hall; I have to bite my bottom lip to stop it from trembling.

“I don’t want to be like this. I hate it.” he cries helplessly and I look at him properly - at the pleading in his eyes, at the tears slipping down his face.

“I can’t -- I’m sorry. I can’t feel sorry for you.” I say as my eyes start to sting.

“I don’t want you to.” He whispers sadly, “Not after the things I’ve done to you and Kurt.”

“Can you just leave me alone?” I ask quietly and he nods.

“I won’t come near you again.” He promises wiping a hand over his wet cheeks.

“Thank you.” I offer.

“Tell Kurt--” he starts and I shake my head.

“No. You don’t get to do that. I’m so sorry that you feel so bad about yourself and I hope, more than anything, that you can find happiness in your life. I hope you can accept yourself, I hope you can find a perfect guy to love and be loved by, because there’s nothing wrong with you and you deserve to have that, but I will not be talking to Kurt about this.” I finish as a tear slips down my face, “I’m not making the boy I love hurt again. I‘m sorry.”

“No, I understand. I‘m so sorry, Blaine.” He says again, his shoulders shaking in erratic shudders and then he walks away from me. Just like that. Leaving me completely perplexed in the hallway.

By the time I’ve pulled myself together, and I eventually walk outside, Finn and Puck are leaning against Finn’s car. And if they can tell that I’ve been upset they don’t say anything about it, which I’m very grateful for. Though, Puck’s eyes do linger a little longer than necessary on my face before he talks to me.

“Are you ready to head home?” He asks.

“Yeah. Take me home.” I say wistfully and that sentence has never felt more natural than it does as I climb into the car and buckle up next to Puck. Finn flicking the radio on for us to listen to as he starts the engine; Puck slipping his hand across the backseat and letting me hold on to it, all the way home.

We’re sat in the living room of the Hummel-Hudson household, squashed together on the sofa like sardines and utterly engrossed in an episode of Deadliest Catch, when Kurt comes home much earlier than expected. I thought he was Burt at first, home early from the garage, but as soon I heard the unmistakable sound of Kurt’s bag hitting the floor I glanced up at the clock in complete confusion and started to worry. It’s Thursday. Kurt shouldn’t be home for another two hours today and yet, here he is, making me nervous. I look to Puck and then to Finn but they don’t even seem to recognise that this is odd - or that it‘s Kurt for that matter - and I’m about to say something to them when the door creaks open and he slips into the room.

“Kurt?” I say quickly, trying to absorb him with my eyes. Searching him swiftly for something, anything, that can explain what’s happening right now, but he looks fine, in fact, he looks perfect. Like hasn’t just spent hours driving home, like there’s nothing wrong with him at all. Which only makes the whole situation even more confusing.

“Hi.” He says cheerfully and I frown. What’s going on?

“Are you okay?” I ask quickly, concern no doubt covering my face completely as I squeeze myself from between his brother and his brother’s best friend and I stand up. Moving towards him somewhat cautiously - my sock covered feet sliding softly across the floor.

“I’m fine, Blaine.” Kurt says with a reassuringly soft smile.

“But your home early.” I whisper aloud, trying to explain away my concern.

“I didn’t go to Warbler practice today, that‘s all.” Kurt offers then, like it’s the simplest thing in the world, and I’m suddenly very aware that Puck and Finn are watching us.

“Has something happened?” I ask then, much quieter, searching his face, but he just tilts his head a little - something akin to amusement dancing quickly across his features.

“Yes.” He says and for a second my eyes are absolutely huge but then he adds, “My best friend in the whole universe started a new school today and I wanted to make sure he was okay.” And relief instantly washes over me. Well, it does until I start to feel impossibly guilty because I know that attending every single Warbler meeting is essential.

“Kurt,” I start, my forehead wrinkling as I continue on, “You shouldn’t have missed practice for me. Those meetings are important.”

“It’s fine, Blaine. I cleared it with Wes and everything. Scout‘s honour.” He offers sweetly, jutting a hand out for me to take - a soft smile tugging his pink, velveteen lips apart and upwards.

“You were never a scout, Kurt.” I say lightly, as I take his hand in mine. My eyes fluttering shut as our fingers entwine.

It feels perfect.

It feels like home.

“But you were a cheerleader.” I smile and his almond eyes widen.