There were very strict guidelines against it.

Very strict.

There was also a strong sense of solidarity and a rules are there to be broken mentality amongst all boarders.

In fact, Kurt was so confident in their immunity from punishment that when Blaine's eighteenth birthday rolled around, he bought him a guinea pig.

On the day, Blaine had walked into their shared room after classes with the intention of getting ready for dinner with his parents, only to find a purple cat carrier sitting on the edge of his bed, and black, twinkling eyes peering out at him.

He was more fur than actual pig, all white and grey and constantly twitching button nose.

He gathered him into his hands, stomach swooping with instant infatuation, and rubbed the little creature against his cheek, cooing softly.

Kurt wandered in, looking as smug as Blaine looked jubilant, and brushed his fingers under it's chin.

"Thank you, Kurt!" his smile really was improbably broad, "Thank you, thank you, thank you."

Kurt just chuckled as Blaine kissed him on the cheek after every word of gratitude.

"It's just so cute!" he squeaked, in a range Kurt hadn't been aware Blaine could reach.

"It's a 'he.'" He said.

"Does he have a name yet?"

"No, I thought you'd like the honour."

They sat on Kurt's bed, the little pig in Blaine's lap, and debated for a good twenty minutes. Blaine suggested 'Pavarotti,' but Kurt insisted it was still too soon, then 'Placido,' after the famous tenor, but Kurt thought it was too obscure.

"How about 'Puccini?'" Blaine asked.

"Puccini…" Kurt muttered, "Puccini, Puccini. He did 'Madame Butterfly' and 'Turandot.' Oh, my god, he did 'Tosca!' I cried for half an hour after I saw Tosca! Can we call him Puccini?"

Blaine laughed, "Of course we can." He lifted his new pet to eye level, "Hi Puccini. I hope you like opera."

The pig blinked.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Of course owning a pet in a prestigious private school wasn't without it's risks.

When they were in class they kept Puccini in his little carrier with food, shredded paper and water, but just because he was restrained didn't mean he wasn't vocal.

From time to time he would get in moods where he'd scuttle around and whistle loudly, as if excited. It was only just audible through their door, but it got to the point where they locked him in the bathroom, just to be safe.

When they weren't in class, Puccini spent every waking moment under Blaine's loving gaze.

When studying, he'd plaster his bed with countless towels and let him stretch his little legs. From time to time he was forced to rewrite notes for class, as Puccini went through a nibbling phase.

Kurt was somewhat blown away by Blaine's love of the animal. It was complete and relentless. He never got bored of him, and he never got mad. He took it as a perfect indication of Blaine's character as a whole. Big hearted and compassionate. Patient and Kind.

On one particular occasion, returning from a weekend in Lima, Kurt paused at the sound of Blaine's voice through their door. After a second he opened it, just a crack, and peered in.

Blaine was slumped against the headboard of his bed, chattering and clucking senselessly as he patted a softly squeaking Puccini, who sat on his stomach eating a piece of lettuce. The look of adulation on his face made Kurt's heart swell and he stepped into the room.

Blaine started a little, looking up as the exact same look of love was replicated in his eyes at Kurt's appearance.

"Hi," he sighed, somehow lacing the simple word with 'I love you,' and 'I missed you,' and 'you're everything to me.'

Kurt just beamed, a hand to his heart.

"My two favourite boys." He said quietly.