He hummed as he washed his hands, lifting his face up to the mirror and shaking his head. The artificial light never did anything for his complexion, making him look paler than he actually was. But there was nothing to be done, although he did make a mental note about trying Benefit’s new tinted moisturizer that they had given him a free sample of. He was pale and he liked being that way, but there was still something to be done about the ghostly appearance he had in the mirror under this lighting. Sighing, Kurt turned off the faucet, shaking his hands before moving over to the paper towel dispenser as the door to the bathroom opened. He thought nothing of it, and instead hitched his bag higher onto his shoulder.

“The ladies room is right next door, Hummel.” The voice was low and booming, and Kurt knew it all too well. Azimio, football team member and Kurt’s frequent tormentor.

His blood ran cold and he closed his eyes for a moment, but despite this Kurt stood up taller. He straightened his clothes, dried his hands, and slowly turned to face him without saying a word. It wasn’t until Kurt saw Azimio making his way towards him that Kurt rolled his eyes and crossed his hands over his chest, “You need to think of better insults, you used that one last week.”

It didn’t faze him though, as Azimio kept stepping closer. Kurt hadn’t wanted to, but he took a step back out of instinct. He hadn’t wanted to be a coward, he wanted to be brave and show that nothing he did was going to scare him. Kurt had been tossed in dumpsters; Kurt had been shoved into lockers. He could handle being a little shaken up. But his heart nearly stopped as he saw the door to the bathroom open, immediately hoping it was someone who would scare Azimio away, only to see two bigger guys wearing matching football uniforms stride in.

“You didn’t tell us you’d caught the fag, Azimio,” one of them said, his buzz cut making him look larger than he already was, and not in a becoming way. He had long since accepted buzz cuts as a hairstyle on certain men, trying not to smirk as he remembered seeing Puck come in with his Mohawk shaved last year. But it did nothing for them. Each one of them seemed like a replica of the other to Kurt’s eyes. All the individuality he prided himself on was gone in these boys.

Kurt’s heart nearly clenched at the word, but he closed his eyes and hissed out as he opened them, “I’m not some toy you guys can play with. Move so I can get out.” His voice was low and harsh, but it didn’t get to them. Azimio stepped closer, causing Kurt to step back and hit the wall. He was trapped, and the choir room was too far for anyone to hear him scream if he wanted to. But Kurt knew he couldn’t do that. This was his fight.

Azimio shook his head, a scowl crossing his face as he retorted, “This is our bathroom, fairy. You need to get it through your head that I don’t want you staring at my junk when I go to piss, okay?” The boys behind him laughed, but Kurt watched as they nodded their heads like robots. He knew they had no brains, he knew that they just did as they were told, but watching them as they literally just stood there as he was being bullied made Kurt wonder if they could even think at all. Sometimes he hoped there was hope for the idiots of his school.

He told himself to stop.

“Right. Because I’m dying to see that,” Kurt said, putting his bag down on the floor and moving it to the side. Whatever they wanted to do to him, they could. His bag, however, was designer and he wasn’t going to let them ruin it. Brushing off the lapels of his dark priple leopard print blazer, (he tried not to think of Blaine in his own school blazer as he did, although Blaine’s face was comforting in his distress) Kurt raised an eyebrow and continued, “Don’t flatter yourself; my taste in men is much more refined than you.”

Something went flying toward him, and Kurt’s first instinct was to close his eyes. He didn’t turn away, he didn’t try to move forward, he simply closed his eyes and waited. Waited for the blow that he expected to make contact with his face. He begged for it not to be his nose, his features would be out of balance with a broken nose. A blow to his jaw would be better. It wasn’t the pain he couldn’t handle, it was never the pain.

Instead, there was a loud thump to the right side of his head, and as he opened his eyes he found himself face to face with Azimio who towered over him, his fist against the tile of the bathroom. He stood there, petrified in fear although shocked and relieved that he was still conscious. They had done worse to him than this before, but he had never been this isolated.

“Don’t try to be funny with me, fairy!” he practically yelled, his eyes staring into Kurt’s. “I’m sick of your attitude! You think you’re so much better than all of us, like you’re so freakin’ smart or something. There’s nothing smart about choosing to want something up your butt and being a freak.”

There was a rage in his eyes Kurt hadn’t seen before, and as the other two stepped closer, he knew he had to think quickly. His heart was pounding, and Kurt tried his best to think logically. There were three of them and only one of him. They were three times the size of him, and he was corned in a bathroom, the only exit lying way beyond his reach. But he couldn’t let something happen. He couldn’t let himself get hurt again; he couldn’t let a bunch of Neanderthals scare him to the point where he didn’t even want to fight back. Kurt would always fight back.

But he noticed the way the boys behind Azimio were both at his left. There was nothing between the stalls and the door, and Kurt knew that he could make a run for it if he ducked underneath Azimio’s arm and ran for it. It was stupid, and the second the plan even struck him, Kurt knew he shouldn’t do it. He knew that even trying it would put him in danger. But he was desperate.

Looking at Azimio again, Kurt clenched his jaw before their eyes met. He only had one shot to make this work. Stepping off the wall and closer to Azimio, happy to see the look of confidence in his eyes dropped to a slight fear as Kurt got closer to him. Kurt hissed back, “Get used to me, because I’m not going anywhere.”

His words were more confident than he felt, but it was easy to feel brave when terrified. Yet, Kurt’s mind wasn’t thinking about being brave. He was focused on his one shot of escape, and he leaped for it as he saw Azimio’s hand lift up into the air and give him space to run for it.

Kurt’s legs moved as quickly as they could, and he had the latch of bathroom door in his hands before he felt a tug on his sweater. His eyes grew wide as he was thrown back into the bathroom, his side meeting the door of the closed stall with a loud thump before his knees gaze out from under him and he slid down onto the cold tile. Over him, Azimio and the two boys closed in.

Kurt shut his eyes.

He shut his eyes and tried to picture happier thoughts. He tried to picture sales in his favorite stores, he tried to think of Christmas with his family, of family dinner and sleep overs with Mercedes and Rachel. He tried to think of the way his mother would hold him whenever he cried, to think about the way she would smile and tell him it was going to be alright. And slowly, her beautiful rose red stained lips turned into Blaine’s slightly tinted ones pulling into the same warm, beautiful smile. Kurt told himself not to cry until they were gone, but suddenly he felt a lump in his throat as he opened his eyes to see Azimio’s fist rise into the air, poised for attack.

“Azimio!” came the loud call, the door opening behind them. Kurt kept his eyes on the first, before moving them to see Karofsky standing in the entrance.

Their eyes never met, and his heart sunk into his stomach. He wasn’t ready to deal with them and Dave. Compared to Dave, Azimio was usually nothing he couldn’t handle. Kurt understood that he had provoked him today, but with Dave he had hardly ever had cause for the torment he was put through. Kurt could deal with them in separate times, but right now wasn’t the moment. He felt weaker than he had ever felt before, and a large part of him wanted to give up entirely.

He watched as the larger boys turned around to meet Dave, and didn’t fail to notice the way he clenched his fist at his side as his eyes shot towards Kurt. However, their eyes met again for a second, and if there was supposed to be anything in the glance, Kurt missed it. He sat there, looking up at his tormentors, waiting to find out what would happen to him.

Karofsky unclenched his first though, and Kurt felt his heart unexpectedly slow down a bit. Stuffing his hands in his Letterman jacket, Karofsky slumped as he looked at his friend. “Couch is looking for us. She sent me to look for you guys. We have practice in like, ten minutes. Let’s go and we’ll deal with Hummel tomorrow during school, ‘kay?”

From the floor, Kurt’s eyes went huge as he watched all three of the jocks who had been there before turn to him and frown, and then shrug. It was as if everything was forgotten. Suddenly, Kurt realized that this was all just a game for them. As long as they got the promise that they could come back and do it again, they were all right with stopping whatever it was that they were doing. He was nothing to them but a game, and Kurt’s life was literally just another dot. He wasn’t sure if he was happy he had been saved or angry.

Azimio was the first to walk out, his henchmen following behind him. But Karofsky stayed there for a moment longer, his eyes meeting Kurt’s for a second longer than they were supposed to. At first, Kurt was half convinced he was going to get one last hit in before he left, feeling left out that he had come late, but Karofsky’s hands stayed in his pockets. He simply stood there, his face blank; his stance slightly slumped out of bad posture, and did nothing. Their eyes stayed on each other until Kurt looked away, and a beat later, the door of the bathroom slammed shut as Karofsky left.

It took him a moment to get up. Kurt’s legs trembled as he stood up and walked over to where he had put his bag. Slinking it over his shoulder, he nearly winced at the pain at his side.

He sighed, before turning to the mirror to inspect the damage. His face was fine, and Kurt was glad for that. Still, as his hands lifted his white sweater and the shirt he wore underneath it, he saw the raw hurt flesh, soon to turn purple with bruising, a slight cut appearing out of the redness from where he must have scraped himself against the stall handle.

He dropped the shirt, and with all his might told himself not to cry. Kurt pulled his bag higher up on his shoulder and walked out. The halls were empty as his boots hit the floor, but his stance was low and he turned at every noise. He’d send Rachel a text saying he’d be missing Glee today. He’d wait until he was in his car to break down into tears. Right now he needed to feel safe again.
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“What’re you doing here?” Blaine asked as he grabbed the purple water bottle and took a long drink from it.

It was strange seeing his father in his expensive designer suits inside the dark cherry walls of the fencing room of Dalton. He wasn’t used to seeing his father at his school at all, seeing as most of the tournaments for fencing ended up being held at other schools. It was Italy, and if there was one thing Italy had enough of it was fencing arenas.

But if his father noticed how uncomfortable Blaine felt standing in his white fencing uniform as his father advanced towards him, he made no notice. He smiled at him, and the smile that Blaine was sure meant nothing at all made his skin crawl. He didn’t feel right, and suddenly Blaine was a child all over again, watching football with his father on the couch and forcing himself to understand the rules. He stood up straighter, waiting for him to speak.

“I was on my way home early, and I figured I’d come pick you up since it’s a Tuesday and you have practice,” he answered, in English despite the fact that Blaine had asked in Italian. It was a habit, although the school was international and American based, Blaine’s friends were mostly Italian. Switching to Italian, his father nudged his head towards the boy who was gathering his things in the bench next to Blaine, “That was a good attack.”

His face tightened, and Blaine nodded as his lips drew into a line. “Thank you,” he mumbled, looking down at his mask in his hand and putting it down on the bench. Coughing, Blaine glanced at his father, at the way he stood there confidently, his hands in his pockets but not in the defensive way Blaine so often did it. He would never be like his father. “I’ll go change and get ready to go then,” he added, picking up his bag and starting to head towards the changing room.

“Wait, Blaine.” His voice is powerful, and Blaine didn’t stop himself from letting it control him. He never had been able to. There was a sliver of hope that somehow his father had come in order to actually spend time with him, but Blaine knew better. After three years of wishing for that, he had stopped hoping.

Closing his eyes, Blaine sighed to himself and turned around, looking his father straight in the eyes. “Yes?”

The older man smirked, before stepping forward. Blaine stayed paralyzed where he stood, and watched as his father walked over to the racks where his couch left spare weapons for beginners. He bit his cheek as he saw his father’s large fingers wrap themselves around the hilt of a Foil, pulling it out and holding it out.

Blaine watched as his eyes scanned the weapon, running down its length slowly. He watched as the smile that grew on his father’s lips tightened, before their eyes met once again. In an almost excited voice the dark haired man suggested, “Fight me. We’ll play Foil, since that’s what I used to fight. Best three out of four?”

His eyes went wide as he stared at his father, and he shook his head instantly. “You’re not wearing a proper jacket. And besides, Dad, I fight Sabre, not Foil.”

Every part of Blaine’s body wanted to say yes. Getting to win against his father in something would make him happy, but he wasn’t going to fight something that wasn’t fair. This was a way of winning that would finally actually capture his father’s attention, and Blaine had been craving for something along those lines ever since he had started singing and playing sports in the first place. But this wasn’t the way he wanted to do it.

But it was too late. He wore the same smirk on his face as he took off his jacket, un-cuffing his sleeves and beginning to roll them up. Blaine stepped forward to protest, before his father’s glare practically paralyzed him as he said, “Get me a jacket, then. Are you afraid I’ll win?”

Blaine’s jaw went tight, and he turned around instantly, his boots clanging against the wooden floor as he strode off quickly to the changing room. It wasn’t a fair fight, but Blaine’s body was shaking from anger. He wasn’t going to lose in front of his father. The last thing he wanted to be was a failure, and failing in front of him wasn’t something he was going to do. So as quickly as he could, Blaine asked one of his team mates for his jacket, promising he’d give it back. He took it, thanking that his father and him had a similar build, before walking back into the practice room to find his father practicing lunges.

He closed his eyes, before clearing his throat. His father looked up, and his face stayed emotionless as he grabbed the jacket. Blaine slowly made his way over to the rack, picking up a Foil and putting down his Sabre. The light weapon felt strange in his hand. It was shorter, built for agility and movement, while Sabre was meant for short distance and cutting. He was out of his element, and he knew it as he gripped the weapon harder.

Turning around, Blaine saw that his father was ready and on one of the playing strips already. Slowly, Blaine made his way there, trying not to see his father a few years younger, trying not to picture him as everyone else said he had looked like when he was young: like Blaine.

“Ready,” his father said, smirking as they saluted each other, the weapons coming down in a sideways slash.

At once, both of them got into stance. Right foot pointing to the right, left foot perpendicular to it, making a perfect L as they bent their knees. Their arms with the weapons were bent at an angle, pointed out but inside up as their other arm came up in a slight curve. The smirk on his father’s face fell, and soon his face was just as serious as Blaine’s. He looked at his father, standing there looking exactly like him, doing exactly what he was doing, and told himself that maybe his father was actually trying to bond with him out of want to spend time with his son, not because he wanted him to be a man.

But as he lied to himself his father cried out, “En garde!”

Blaine positioned himself, instantly noticing that his father had opened his upper left chest as he advanced forward. He shifted his stance from inside up to outside, moving his left leg forward as he moved ahead in order to align his shot and lunge. Foil was about piercing, unlike his Sabre where he was used to slashing.

But his father noticed Blaine’s plan, and went for the attack directly. Blaine reacted, remembering his foil parry techniques and moved his weapon into a parry four, blocking his father’s blade and moving it to the side. The first clash of the weapons filled the empty practice room, metal meeting metal sharply as Blaine moved back to protect himself and attempting to make a cross over his father’s weapon to gain right of way and attack.

Blaine noticed what he had done wrong the second their eyes met. They didn’t wear masks, despite the fact that they should have, and by the evil look in his father’s eyes, Blaine knew he should have attacked the second he blocked instead of moving back. Because in an instant he was thrown back by his father’s lunge as it touched his chest roughly.

“Where do you go on Wednesdays, Blaine?” he father asked, just as he backed his weapon up, moving back to ‘En garde’ position as he turned around to glare at Blaine, clearly angry.

His eyes went wide, but Blaine didn’t answer right away. He called out “En Garde,” before focusing himself on the fight in front of him. Blaine didn’t want to think answering the question. He tried to remember what he had learned when he started fencing. He tried to remember everything he knew about Foil.

Blaine coup�d over his father’s weapon, instantly gaining right of way as he practically snarled asking, “Why does it matter where I am on Wednesdays?”

He lunged for four, aiming for his father’s right chest, knowing his father would parry four in order to block his hit. Blaine smirked to himself, but the real smirk played out on his father’s lips just as their blades came together in the parry. “You won’t get any better at fencing if you don’t actually go to practice, Blaine. Wednesdays are fencing practice, and I’ve heard you only go on Tuesdays. You expect to get better with only one day a week?”

Everything was going according to plan. Blaine disengaged soon after his father’s parry, moving his blade underneath his father’s weapon. With one simple, clean movement, Blaine lunged forward and attacked, hitting his left chest.

“I fence for fun,” he said, a happy smile on his lips as he moved away back onto the ‘En garde’ line.

Their eyes met, and Blaine couldn’t help but remember the summer before they left for Italy when they had restored the ‘59 Chevy. He remembered it clearly, the way he had tricked himself into feeling like they were getting closer. The way he knew his father had also done the same thing. They had both tried to make themselves believe that somehow doing things together brought them closer, and yet after the car was finished; Blaine and his father had stopped doing that.

Blaine’s father called out for them to start, and he was caught off guard as his father took right of way, cutting over his weapon and pointing his straight as Blaine backed up, only to let him advance. “Where are you on Wednesdays, Blaine?

Biting his inner cheek, Blaine took a breath before he moved forward, his weapon reaching out as he moved it in a circular parry to block his fathers, attacking at his 6 again, once more aiming for his father’s left chest and hitting. Foil was simple, he told himself. Just because he fenced Sabre didn’t mean he couldn’t win. He left his father’s question unanswered as they stepped back onto the ‘En garde’ line.

It was his turn to call out for them to start, and instantly his father once again took right of way, stepping forward to attack.

“I have the right to be concerned, Blaine,” his father said, looking at him. Blaine tried not to think about how ridiculous it was to think of his father being concerned. He went on as Blaine attempted to move back a bit to open himself up for a parry, “You spend all your time in your room, Blaine. And I know you’re not studying. What do you expect to do with yourself when you grow up? What about all the fencing scholarships in a year, Blaine?”

He wanted to tell his father he didn’t want to fence professionally. He knew he wasn’t good enough, he knew his heart wasn’t in the sport. Blaine had only picked it up to make his father happy, but kept up with it because he liked the way holding a weapon made him feel braver than anyone else.

Cutting over his father as he stepped forward, Blaine went with the truth, “I’ve been going to Warbler practice.”

Blaine watched as his father’s face contorted into rage, and he tried to open up for an attack as he moved to take his lower right chest by dipping his weapon only to be cut off by his father from below, bringing his weapon out of range and taking the right of way from Blaine again.

“Singing was the reason you got attacked in the first place, Blaine…” His voice was toneless, but it rang in Blaine’s ears.

“No!” he called out in anger. He moved his weapon in, cutting up and circling around his father’s blade, reaching out and taking the right of way back from his father. “That has nothing to do with the reason why I was attacked and you know it. They attacked me because of who I was, not because I was in a choir.”

He spoke as he parried, stepping forward as his father stepped back. His movements were awkward now, and Blaine told himself to hold it together. His blade was positioned to hit four, and as soon as he attempted to disengage and cross over to hit six instead, his father saw the move. He blocked Blaine again, and their weapons met with a clang.

“You’re not going to be able to protect yourself with singing, Blaine. You’ll never make it as a singer. No one ever makes it as a singer. You need to stop going to those stupid practices.”

Blaine tried again at taking the right of way, before he was once again blocked. His father wasn’t done talking. “You need to focus on school and fencing, so that if fencing doesn’t work, you can take over the business. You need to stop singing and talking to that boy at night. I know you think I don’t hear you, but I do. I don’t like it!”

At his outrage, he saw the opening his father had left open as he advanced. Blaine tried his best to avoid the comment about Kurt, although his heart fluttered at the very thought of him, as he blocked his father’s weapon and once again took right of way. “You know nothing about me, Dad. You don’t care enough. I don’t want the business, or fencing. And you know anything about Kurt. Leave him out of this!”

His rage clouded his vision, and Blaine lost his thoughts. Suddenly, as his father backed up from his advances, the weapon in his hand grew heavier. It felt like a Sabre, his native weapon, and Blaine knew what he had to do. One quick cut to the arm, and he was done. Blaine would have won.

“And there’s nothing wrong with me talking to a guy…”

He had a second to get himself ready. Blaine got back into flunging position, shifting his weight onto his left leg before he flew forward. It was a clean shot, and the edge of his weapon glided and hit his father in the arm as soon as he uttered the last word of his speech.

“…that I like!”

It was too late by the time Blaine realized his mistake. His father had parried his weapon around his, taking Blaine’s false sense of victory to throw him off guard. He lunged forward, with all the strength and agility that came with someone who had fought with a Foil for years.

“You’re so stupid, Blaine.” His father took the hit, piercing Blaine dead center on his chest, the blow strong enough to cause Blaine to lose his footing and fall over.

He’d played Sabre, instead of Foil. Blaine sat there on the ground and stared the weapon in his hand, wondering how it had felt so momentously different. In Foil, there was no slashing; he had slashed. In Sabre, because moving forward was illegal, the ‘flunge’ had been invented in order to strike. Blaine had done both; he had forgotten the game. He took in his father’s words, letting them sink in as he blinked, waiting for his heart to stop pounding and his head to stop rattling.

Blaine looked up at his father’s kick to his calf, eyes falling to look at the extended hand. It took him a while to decide if he wanted to take it, before Blaine sighed and grabbed it to help him up. He was a failure again, and now he had dragged Kurt with him. Every time he thought he had won against his father, Blaine knew it had been nothing but a loss.

“Useless,” his father mumbled, as their hands let go of each other and he walked away to take off the borrowed fencing jacket and change into his clothes again. Blaine stood with his hands on his hips, panting heavily as he tried to figure out why he had even tried.
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Kurt lifted up his shirt again, looking at the bruise that was now a few hours old. It was dark and purple, and he experimentally touched it before cringing in pain. He wondered when it would go away, but knew he was going to be uncomfortable wearing anything that tightened too much around his chest for a while. It was ugly, and Kurt was just happy that he could hide it easily. It too, would fade, just like he hoped the memory of the incident would.

But as he lowered his shirt, Kurt heard a soft singing travel through the speakers of his laptop. As soon as he heard him singing, Kurt for a moment forgot about the bullying. He closed his eyes and imagined that the second he walked into his bedroom, Blaine would be lying on his bed casually, flipping through a magazine and singing to himself. It comforted him for a second, before he remembered it wasn’t like that. Still, he tried to remind himself he was happy just to be able to hear Blaine. He made a shitty day better.

“What’re you singing?” Kurt asked, as he walked back into his room, and climbed onto his bed. He tried not to cringe at the slight twinge he felt as he hoisted the laptop up and put it on his lap, but was glad it seemed Blaine hadn’t caught the look.

With a smile, Blaine replied as their eyes met through the screen, “Halloween, from Rent. Most underrated song ever.”

Kurt could only chuckle, before he nodded in agreement. He said nothing though, as he changed the window and went on to his tumblr for a moment. Kurt smiled as he saw a picture of Tom Felton that Blaine had tagged with ‘You’re the only blonde I have a thing for.’ He liked it, before he flipped back to look at Blaine’s face on his screen. There was a distant look in his eyes, but Kurt knew it wasn’t towards him. The look in his eyes seemed a lot like what Kurt felt right now; lonely.

“I’m glad we could talk today,” Kurt said softly, grabbing one of his pillows and hugging it so that he could rest his chin on it as he spoke. “I had a really crappy day and talking to you really helps. Even if you can’t really do anything.”

Blaine returned the smirk that spread onto Kurt’s lips as he finished talking. The distant glimmer met Kurt’s eyes and he knew that something had happened to Blaine too. He had made up his mind that he wasn’t going to tell anyone about the incident in the bathroom, but he wanted to ask Blaine what had happened. It wasn’t fair that both of them had to hurt.

Blaine nodded though, before he leaned back against his pillows and sighed, “Well, by talking I’m doing something, right? I’m glad we could talk too though. Especially since you came home early today.”

Kurt scoffed at that, although he knew it made no sense to Blaine as to why he had. Blaine had no idea he had skipped Glee practice just so that he could speak to him. He didn’t dream of telling him that, because although he knew that Blaine knew that he wanted him around, Kurt wasn’t going to tell him that the first person who had popped into his head after he had been thrown was Blaine. He wasn’t ready to tell Blaine about the scale of his bullying. He wasn’t even ready to tell his own father.

“What can I say; I missed you,” Kurt said, rolling his eyes and sticking his tongue out playfully to Blaine who laughed. It wasn’t the same loud, happy laugh Kurt usually always got from Blaine, but right now he could tell they were both at a point where asking what was wrong wasn’t what they needed. They just needed each other, and Kurt could accept that.

Picking his laptop up, he put it down on this side, before he fluffed his pillows up and moved to his side. Lying down, he tucked his hand under one of his pillows before he looked at Blaine, who was staring at him. He just blinked, and offered him a soft smile, which Blaine returned.

His voice was a whisper as it traveled into Kurt’s ear, “You’re going to fall asleep like that.”

Kurt tried to keep himself from sighing too loudly as he heard him. Sometimes he forgot that someone could be so right in every way. But he shook his head sleepily and smiled as he leaned in closer to the computer, “So what? Scream into my ear or something if I do. I just want to lie down, it’s been a long day.”

“It has,” Blaine agreed, and Kurt nodded as his eyes closed.

He didn’t want to fall asleep, but he was exhausted. His side hurt, and as he closed his eyes he could feel the way the bruise stung. Kurt’s heart hurt, and although he was speaking to the guy he loved, this was something that not even Blaine could help. Because although he was there for him, Blaine wasn’t here. He was beginning to understand why Blaine had turned him down in the first place.

But when he opened his eyes, Kurt found himself looking at a very different picture of Blaine. He was mirroring him, lying down on his side with his arm under the pillow, looking at the computer screen. Blaine’s eyes were on him, and Kurt gasped silently at the sight. Somewhere in his head, he saw Blaine lying across from him, his head resting on his pillow instead. It was a comforting thought, and even if Blaine was just his best friend who just happened to like him back, Kurt’s heart swelled with warmth that it had been lacking all day.

“You know, I had this really strange thought the other day,” Blaine said, finally breaking the silence, but his eyes never leaving Kurt’s.

Lifting an eyebrow, Kurt absently let his toes follow the stitching on the bed before he hummed softly. “And that is?”

Kurt looked at Blaine, and he seemed shy for the first time in a long time. It made him smile to think about how despite all the shit they were both obviously going through; little things could still make Blaine blush. Or so it looked like he was blushing. Blaine didn’t meet Kurt’s eyes again for a while, but Kurt didn’t look away from Blaine.

With his finger lightly tracing over his pillow, which Kurt could see was a busy plaid pattern, Blaine shrugged. He sighed, before he answered, “I was walking around before I got back home. There’s really no reason being home when you’re not online. Well, so I was walking around and I just remember stopping by this chocolate shop window and seeing my reflection in the window…”

“Blaine,” Kurt said, laughing lightly. “I’m not following you at all. What?”

Rolling his eyes, Blaine finally did look up as he smiled at Kurt, the smile finally reaching his eyes as he answered, “I pictured you standing next to me, in the window. And then I imagined walking around Rome with you. Showing you everything. Europe suits you a lot, Kurt.” Looking down again, Blaine shrugged before clearing his throat and glancing up at Kurt for a moment, “That’s not, well, that’s not weird, is it?”

It was weird, Kurt knew that. In normal standards, it was completely weird. No one who said that they wanted to be just friends talked the way Blaine did, but Kurt had told himself to stop thinking that they were going to be normal. He’d stopped comparing them to his other friendships. They were Kurt and Blaine, and to Kurt, that wasn’t weird at all.

In fact, it made him smile as he shook his head in answer. Exhaling, Kurt looked at Blaine as he said, “It’s not that weird.” Kurt shrugged a bit, which was awkward in the position he was and hurt his side, but he added, “Sometimes I think about you here, even if it does suck here.”

Blaine laughed lightly, the sound making Kurt feel happy, although he hoped he hadn’t said something too bad. “You picture me in your room?” Blaine asked, obviously teasing.

It had the desired effect, Kurt felt himself blush slightly, before he shook his head and frowned at Blaine. But as he spoke, he smiled softly, “No, pervert. I meant Lima. It sucks here, but sometimes I see something and I wonder what you’d say about it.”

The confession is small, and Kurt doesn’t know what reaction to expect from Blaine. He gets a smile, and Kurt once again relaxed into his pillow. Normal wasn’t what they did. Maybe it was part of the distance. Sighing, Kurt closed his eyes again and asked, “Where would you take me in Rome, in this fictional world where I can afford a ticket there?”

His eyes stayed closed, but Blaine’s voice made into his ear without any hesitation. It was soft, but his room was quiet. Kurt told himself not to fall asleep as he listened, “I’d take you to all the cheesy tourist areas. The coliseum, the Roman forum, the Pantheom, Piazza Navona for lunch and listen to some musicians while they eat, people watching on the Spanish Steps, the Trevi Fountain…”

“I’d through a coin in, just for fun. I don’t care if it’s really touristy,” Kurt interrupted, chuckling.

Blaine laughed in his ear, and he sighed happily for a moment as he went on. “I wouldn’t expect anything else. I’d have to take you to the Via Condotti, you’d kill me if I didn’t.”

“What’s there?” Kurt asked, wondering why Blaine was still chuckling.

“Well, Prada, Armani, Dolce & Gabbana, Fendi – the usual,” Blaine answered, and Kurt couldn’t help but chuckle with him.

The phone was quiet for a moment, and Kurt opened his eyes to see Blaine looking at him. He couldn’t read the expression on his face, and Kurt was much too exhausted to even want to start deciphering it. He let him look at him, before letting his lips curl into a small smile that he reserved only for Blaine.

He returned the smile, and his voice dropped to a whisper as he continued, “I’d take you to the places tourists don’t know about. To my favorite caf� and bakery. We’d have fun.”

His tone was soft, and Kurt could sense that Blaine wanted to add to what he had said, but was holding back. But he didn’t go on. Kurt nodded, opening his mouth to say something before he yawned. He groaned, and just got a gentle laugh in response from Blaine.

“Kurt, if you want to sleep, it’s okay,” Blaine said, as Kurt saw him shrug. “It’s been a long day for both of us.”

Nodding, Kurt sighed as he saw the time. It was hardly even seven, and he hadn’t started his homework, but right now he couldn’t care less. He hadn’t realized just how tired he was until Blaine had brought up sleep, but keeping his eyes open was already a difficult task. “Okay,” he sighed lightly. “But you’re sleeping too, right?”

Blaine nodded, before he yawned as well, forcing a smile to break out onto Kurt’s face instantly. Putting his hand on his laptop screen to pull it shut, Kurt looked at Blaine before he whispered, “Good night, Blaine.”

“Good night, Kurt,” came Blaine’s voice, and Kurt captured the image of him there just before he closed the lid on his laptop. His eyes were heavy, but the smile on his face was calm and warming. It was a smile that Kurt hoped was only for him, although he didn’t want to seem possessive. Blaine wasn’t his, he knew that, but just like Kurt knew he saved a part of himself for Blaine, he liked to think Blaine did the same.

Pushing the laptop down onto the end of his bed, Kurt began to pull the covers back. The simple effort of pulling them up from under his pillows and from under the mattress where he had neatly tucked them in in the morning hurt, and Kurt stopped to clutch at his side. He didn’t need to lift up his shirt and see the bruise to know it was there. He didn’t need to see them in order to remember that tomorrow the promise of getting pushed into something else lingered over his head. Sighing heavily, Kurt tucked himself into the covers, pulling them up over his head as if trying to protect himself. But there was nothing to do, and the one person he had turned to for comfort was the last person who could actually keep him safe.