Chapter 6

Kurt waits until he hears Mr. Anderson's footsteps fade down the hallway before he lets everything go. He releases everything he's been feeling since Mr. Anderson sang "Teenage Dream" nearly a month ago. He'd been trying to hold it together for so long, but today he couldn't shake the feeling that Mr. Anderson was completely indifferent to his existence anymore. He lets the sobs take over his body.

He sits in Mr. Anderson's office for a while, just letting the tears fall, slowly relaxing as the rage and the pain leave his body in loud, choked sounds. Kurt knows he has at least 20 minutes before rehearsal is over, so he just lets himself fall apart in the empty office.

How could he be so stupid? Mr. Anderson was not even remotely interested in him. He was being polite and the compliments were just because he's a good teacher. The rest must have been his overactive imagination.

When his body finally quiets, he swipes the back of his hand across his face, sniffles loudly and heads to the choir room to retrieve his bag. He cries a little on the drive home, but by the time he's sitting down to dinner with his dad, Finn, and Carole, his eyes are dry and the puffiness is carefully masked with expensive eye cream and a dab of concealer.

"How's glee practice going, boys?" Carole asks between bites of chicken.

"Pretty good," Finn says. "I almost have the choreography on the first song down."

"That's great, honey," she says, smiling at her son. "Kurt, what about you? Looking forward to your solo?"

"Fine, I'm just a little nervous about it, I guess."

"But that Mr. Anderson, he's helping you, right?" Burt asks.

Kurt flinches at the mention of the name, but no one seems to notice. "Yeah," he says. "I've got it down. He's just helping me strengthen my voice so I'll be more confident."

Finn looks confused for a moment, taking huge bites of potatoes. "You must really be stressed if you yelled at Mr. Anderson like that. Rachel even complimented you on your storm off."

Kurt kicks Finn under the table, earning him a startled yelp and a furrowed brow.

"You yelled at your teacher, Kurt? That's not like you."

Kurt turns to his dad. "I've just been really stressed. Mr. Anderson understands that."

"Well I hope you apologized, kiddo. He's been really nice taking time out of his day to help you."

"Yeah, I know," Kurt says, unable to make eye contact with his dad. What if he sees Kurt's crush on his teacher written all over his face? "I think we're okay. We're still on for our lesson tomorrow."

"Good," Burt says, spearing a green bean. "Make sure you thank him again."

Kurt nods, staring down at his plate and twirling a bean on his fork. As soon as dinner is finished, he escapes to his room and finds three missed texts from Tina.

From Tina (5:02 p.m.)
You ok?

From Tina (5:37 p.m.)
Rachel volunteered to take your solo if you didn't come back. I thought Mr. A was going to throw her out. Mercedes told her to stuff it.

From Tina (7:12 p.m.)
I hope you're ok. Rachel talked to Finn…but I'd feel better if I heard from you.

From Kurt (7:39 p.m.)
I'm fine. Just stressed about sectionals. Rachel's just being Rachel. Lunch tomorrow?

From Tina (7:42 p.m)
Sure. Don't make any plans for the Saturday after your birthday. We have serious shopping to do. ;)

Kurt's 18th birthday is approaching. It's the Monday following sectionals, actually. And he's kind of looking forward to it. He and Tina had been planning a shopping trip to Columbus for the last three months. Since he got his driver's license, his dad had been telling him he couldn't leave the city limits without an adult until he turned 18. Kurt's going to hold him to it.

The thought of spending a day shopping for high end names too big to have stores in Lima distracts him from thoughts of Mr. Anderson just long enough for him to fool himself into thinking he'll get a decent night's sleep. Unfortunately it does little to take away his anxiety at having a one-on-one lesson the next morning, and he doesn't get to sleep until well after 2 a.m.

Kurt walks into the choir room the following morning looking tired, but dressed to the nines in a well-tailored blazer that accentuates every line of his body. Underneath it he's wearing a dark turtleneck that makes his neck look impossibly longer. His hands are covered in red, fingerless gloves and, as usual, he's wearing jeans that should be illegal in all 50 states for the way they cling to his ass and thighs. Not that Blaine notices.

"Good morning," Blaine says, aiming for nonchalant, and probably landing just this side of flustered. "Ready to get started?"

Kurt nods, a playful smile tickling at the corner of his mouth. Blaine fights the urge to kiss it. He clenches his hands and takes a seat on the piano bench.

"Let's get you warmed up and then we can work on your solo, okay?"

"Sure," Kurt replies, dropping his bag in one of the chairs and taking his place by the piano. He leans one elbow on it lazily and looks across the top of the piano at Blaine. In that moment, Blaine Anderson could have sworn that he actually saw Kurt's eyes twinkle. It was like something out of a cartoon. He chokes on his own breath trying to stifle a laugh at the thought.

"Are you okay?" Kurt asks with genuine concern.

"Uh…yeah. Just, um…hope I'm not coming down with something."

Kurt jerks backward, slapping a gloved hand over his mouth. "I am NOT getting sick this close to competition," he says. If he knew how much he looked and sounded like Rachel Berry in that moment, he might have been horrified. But Kurt is serious.

"I'm sure it's nothing," Blaine reassures him. "Probably my allergies."

Kurt's posture softens a little as he inches toward the piano again. He looks wary, but no longer panicked.

God, he's adorable when he blinks like that.

Blaine nearly says so out loud and worries for a second that he actually had before Kurt asks which key he should start in.

Blaine manages to stay focused enough to get Kurt through a brief warm up. They run through Kurt's solo piece once, and he's having trouble on the second verse leading into the bridge. The notes aren't really pushing Kurt's range, but it doesn't sound as clear and rich as the rest of the piece.

"Why don't you take it from here?" Blaine says, playing a few notes on the keys.

Kurt sings up to the bridge and when he hits the notes he's having trouble with, Blaine stops playing. "You're still clipping that last bit," he says. "You really need to push from your diaphragm and really use your breath to get through the long note. Like this." Blaine sings it to demonstrate, and Kurt nods. "Let's take it from the same spot," Blaine says. He knows Kurt can do it, but something is holding him back. "Really push this time."

Kurt takes a deep breath and exhales loudly. "I don't know what I'm doing," he says, sounding defeated.

"You've got this," Blaine says, trying to give him an encouraging smile.

Kurt gives a quick nod, and Blaine starts playing the second verse again. Kurt inhales deeply and sings loud and clear, hitting every note just as before. But he's still sounding breathy and weak on notes leading into the bridge. Blaine stops playing and stands up.

"Okay, let's try something else," he says. "I want you to sing that line without the piano." He puts a hand on Kurt's chest right at the base of his sternum. Kurt takes in a sharp breath through his nose. "I'm sorry," Blaine says, pulling his hand back as if it's been burned. "I should have asked first."

"It's okay," Kurt says. "It just caught me off guard. It's fine."

"You sure?"

Kurt nods.

"Okay. I'm just going to put my hand here," Blaine says, placing the palm of his hand flat on Kurt's chest again. Kurt's posture stiffens slightly, but Blaine tries to ignore it and continues. "When you sing, I want you to envision pushing my hand off of you with your breath. Really push, okay?" He pauses for a moment, taking in Kurt's expression. Standing this close, Blaine can make out the freckles dusting Kurt's nose and forehead, and the little flecks of gold in his eyes. And…wow, this really needs to stop.

Blaine clears his throat. "Ready?"

"Yeah."

When Kurt sings, it comes out clear as a bell, rich and full. He's amazingly good at staying on pitch without the accompaniment, but matching pitch has never been his problem. It's always been the tone.

Singing on the upper end of his range comes easy, but it's never sounded like his lower register. Especially when it comes to the fullness of his voice. Blaine knows the judges respond better to a richer tone, like Rachel's mezzo soprano. Mercedes and Santana have even better depth to their voices. And Artie can really belt it out on the right song. But Kurt struggles sometimes. It's what they've been working on all semester. Blaine really wants him to nail it. Not just to win sectionals, but also because Kurt needs to know he can do it.

Blaine can feel every breath Kurt takes as he gets closer to that problematic bridge. Just before he gets there, Kurt looks down and makes eye contact. Blaine smiles and nods encouragingly, hoping Kurt can pull from his confidence in Kurt's abilities.

Kurt sings out, louder than before, and Blaine can feel Kurt pushing against his hand every time he inhales or exhales. He tries to ignore the feeling of Kurt's body heat through the cotton of his turtleneck under his sweaty palm.

And then Kurt nails it. Knocks it clear out of the metaphorical park. His voice sounds rich and complete, and every note is spot on. Blaine breaks into a smile that spreads from ear to ear.

"Oh my god!" Kurt exclaims, grabbing Blaine's hand where it still rests on his chest and bouncing a little on the balls of his feet. "I did it!"

Without thinking, Blaine throws his free arm around Kurt and pulls him in tightly for a hug.

"I knew you could," Blaine says into Kurt's shoulder as he pats him on the back. When he inhales, he takes in the spicy scent of Kurt's cologne. Blaine closes his eyes and savors it before he's even entirely aware that he's doing it.

It's the feel of Kurt's hand against his own, still planted firmly on Kurt's chest, that drags him back to reality. He can feel Kurt's fingers curling into his palm as his hand flexes and then grips tighter. Blaine pulls back sharply and drops his hand from Kurt's chest.

"Sorry," Blaine says. "I guess I just got excited there."

"I did it," Kurt says again, eyes wide.

"You did it," Blaine says smiling. "I knew you could."

Kurt blushes under the praise and dips his head. He picks at the edge of the piano.

"I wish I had that kind of faith in myself," Kurt says softly.

Blaine aches to reach out and take his hand again. He settles for encouraging words.

"You will," Blaine says. "Once you get used to kicking ass like that."

Kurt looks up and laughs. Blaine really loves it when he laughs like that.

When did I start noticing he has different laughs?

"Right now I'm just hoping I can hold it together long enough to get through sectionals," Kurt says.

"You will," Blaine says confidently. "And regionals after that."

Kurt hums noncommittally. "I suppose," he says. And then after a beat, "You know, I applied to NYADA?"

"That's a great school," Blaine says. He'd considered it himself when performing was still a priority. Later he'd read about their intense audition process for such a limited number of spots, and he'd decided to look into other possibilities. His original plan had been to get a degree in musical theatre, but even those plans changed when he took a contemporary lit class his sophomore year. The professor had such a unique style of teaching and it inspired him in a way he'd never felt before. He changed his major that same semester.

"When do you find out if you got in?" he asks.

"Probably not until after Christmas break," Kurt replies. "I'm trying not to think about it. I don't even know if I want to go into anything with performing arts."

"Well, it would definitely be an option for you," Blaine says.

"Thanks," Kurt says, looking thoughtful. "I'm not sure what I want."

"I can relate," Blaine says. "I'm still not sure what I want either."

"You don't like teaching?" Kurt asks. He doesn't look shocked, just curious.

"Oh, I love it! But I toyed with the idea of going back to get my PhD…maybe even in music. Teach at the college level." Blaine shrugs. He's never really considered that option seriously. It's just a passing thought from time to time. "Coaching glee club has reminded me how much I missed music."

"I can't imagine not having it in my life," Kurt says. "But it's just I'm not sure I want to try to make a career of it."

"Is there anything you might want to make a career of?" Blaine asks. It's not a teacher asking his student, though. Blaine is genuinely interested in Kurt's answer. Something tells him that Kurt Hummel could accomplish anything he really set his mind to.

"Sometimes I think…" Kurt pauses. "Oh, it's silly."

"Oh come on, tell me."

"Well, I've always thought maybe … fashion?"

"Really?" Blaine asks, raising his eyebrows. He's not shocked; impressed actually.

"I told you it was silly," Kurt says, dragging his eyes across the room and avoiding Blaine's face.

"It's not silly," Blaine says. "I think it's a great idea." It's hot.

"You really think so?"

"Kurt, you're kind of a walking fashion magazine," Blaine says, gesturing toward Kurt. "Sometimes I wonder if you walked right off a runway and into my class."

Kurt blushes under the praise a little, but holds his head high. "I do have an knack for spotting next season's trends," he says.

"So I've noticed," Blaine says without thinking. "I mean…well, you know. It's just…I kind of enjoy fashion myself." He's rambling now and Kurt looks like he's fighting a laugh, and Blaine really wants to make him laugh again.

"I do kind of have a problem with bow ties," he says playfully. "If I go more than a couple of days without wearing one? Withdrawals … It's terrible."

Kurt breaks into a full laugh this time, eyes lighting up.

"You do kind of have an addiction," he says between laughs.

Blaine laughs at that because it's true. He can't pass up a good bow tie. "Kind of like your addiction to boots?" he teases.

"Hey, boots happen to be very versatile! And I kill it in them." Kurt's expression is haughty as he teases.

Blaine fights the urge to say "you more than kill it," and instead settles for. "I really like the white ones." As if that's any less creepy.

"Those are kind of my favorite," Kurt confesses. "I have to stop myself from wearing them too often. Don't want to become stale."

"Heaven forbid," Blaine says. He loves the back-and-forth of their conversation. It flows so freely and he'd been dying to talk fashion with Kurt.

"I really like your grey sweater," Kurt says. "The one from Barneys. You were wearing it your first day."

"You remember that?"

"Absolutely, I'd been drooling over it myself that very morning."

"It was a gift," Blaine says. "My mom feeds my other addiction."

Kurt raises an eyebrow in question, causing Blaine to stage whisper, "Cardigans."

That gets him another laugh from Kurt, and Blaine feels warmth spread from the tips of his ears all the way to his toes. He could listen to Kurt laugh for ages.

"Not many people can pull off the grandpa look," Kurt says. "I applaud you." He claps his hands together lightly. Blaine takes a small bow.

"Why thank you," he says, smiling at Kurt with true affection. He can't stop himself from letting it show this time, and he really doesn't want to. Kurt's smile is small, but warm and he looks like he's thinking about something. Blaine opens his mouth to ask him if he has something on his mind, and the bell rings.

"That went by fast," Kurt says.

Blaine nods in agreement. "We should get to class."

They grab their bags and head for room 265. Blaine has to fight the urge to thread his arm through Kurt's where it's bent at the elbow gripping the strap of his bag.

Two days before Kurt's 18th birthday, New Directions wins sectionals. They easily defeat Aural Intensity and the Madrigals. Kurt's solo wasn't flawless, but it was really, really good. Even Santana congratulated him.

The bus ride back to McKinley is noisy and the mood celebratory, but Kurt sits alone toward the front of the bus, looking out the window, deep in thought.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Tina says, taking the empty seat beside Kurt.

"Oh, I'm just letting it all sink in," he says.

It's a lie, but Tina's smile tells him she believes it, or at the very least, is letting him get away with it. He smiles back.

"A bunch of us are talking about going to Breadstix after. Did you want to come?"

"Sounds like fun," Kurt says. "I'll think about it."

"Great," Tina says. "I'm going to get back to Mike. You look like you want to be left alone."

Kurt thanks the stars for Tina's perceptive qualities. He really doesn't feel like talking, despite his good mood. Tina stands up to return to her seat near the back of the bus and makes it three steps before turning back.

"You were really great today, Kurt," she says.

"Thanks," Kurt says, feeling tears well up in his eyes. He blinks to keep them from spilling over and smiles at his friend. "You were too."

Tina's hair fans out behind her as she turns on the spot and practically bounces back to her seat. Kurt moves to return his gaze to the window, but Mr. Anderson's profile catches his eye. He's sitting across the aisle from Kurt, his head leaning on the cool glass of the bus window with a small smile on his lips. He looks happy and wistful all at once and it makes Kurt's heart clench in an unexpected way. He sighs and tears himself away before his staring becomes creepy. He doesn't look back over for the rest of the trip back to McKinley, so he misses the little glances the teacher keeps giving him.

By the time they pull into the parking lot, Kurt has decided he doesn't want to go out with the group, so he tells Tina he'll see her on Monday at school. Finn has disappeared somehow, so Kurt texts him to tell him he'll need the car. When he hasn't gotten a response after 10 minutes and most everyone else has gone home, Kurt texts Finn again: I'll just call dad to come get me.

He figures it's safer than waiting for Finn to check his messages. And Tina will be able to tell Finn that he went home. Kurt scrolls through his contacts to find his dad's number.

"Shit." The familiar voice using a profanity catches his attention.

Kurt looks to his left and sees Mr. Anderson kicking at one of his front tires. On a closer look, Kurt sees that it's completely flat.

"Car trouble?" Kurt asks, even though the answer is obvious. He walks toward his teacher, who is standing with his hands on his hips, muttering something Kurt can't quite make out under his breath.

"Flat tire," Mr. Anderson says, gesturing toward the offending tire. "They're the worst."

"Not if you know how to change them," Kurt says. "Do you have a spare?"

"In the trunk…wait, you know how to change a flat?"

"Mmmhmm. My dad owns a tire shop," Kurt says as if it's the most natural thing in the world.

Mr. Anderson looks impressed. Kurt pulls up proudly, raising an eyebrow in challenge.

"Way to break the stereotype," Mr. Anderson says.

Kurt rolls his eyes, but there's no fire in it. "Do you want some help or not?"

"Seriously?" Mr. Anderson asks, still looking a bit surprised that Kurt not only knows how to change a tire, but is offering to help him. "Are you sure you don't mind?"

"Not at all," Kurt says. "It's the least I can do after all the help you gave me with my solo."

"That's my job, Kurt. You don't owe me anything."

"Still," Kurt says with a shrug. He starts digging through his bag and grumbling something about Marc Jacobs bags having too many pockets. "Aha! There you are."

He pulls out a simple gray t-shirt that looks like it's never been worn, and Mr. Anderson tilts his head to the side in question.

"I'm not changing a tire in this," Kurt says, gesturing at his flawlessly styled outfit that he had changed into as soon as the competition was over. "I'll be right back."

Kurt takes off toward the school to change his shirt. No way he's undressing in front of Mr. Anderson.

Blaine watches Kurt leave, and smiles to himself. New Directions won sectionals. Kurt is happy. No one got in a fight. Yeah, things are definitely good.

When Kurt returns five minutes later, he's dressed in the least amount of layers Blaine's ever seen him in. The t-shirt that had looked simple being tugged from the bottom of Kurt's bag now clings snugly to Kurt's chest, arms, and shoulders. Blaine tries not to look below Kurt's neck, but the fabric is snug and looks very soft, and… Focus, Blaine.

Kurt sets to work right away, pulling the jack from the trunk along with the spare tire. It takes some work to get the lug nuts off because they had been put on with an air drill before, but eventually Kurt manages. Not without Blaine noticing the way his thighs flex when he bends over and uses his whole body as leverage on the wrench he's using to loosen the nuts.

Watching Kurt crawl around on the ground and do physical labor is probably not the best scenario for Blaine's overactive imagination, so he tries making idle conversation.

"I'm supposed to be the adult here," he says with a nervous laugh. "You're showing me up."

"Don't worry, Mr. Anderson. I won't tell anyone," Kurt teases. He reaches up to wipe sweat from his brow with his forearm, and Blaine goes wide-eyed at the way his bicep flexes. Kurt really shouldn't wear so many layers all the time.

"Uh, when was the last time you checked your oil, Mr. Anderson?" Kurt asks, crouching down low and leaning as far forward as he can from his crouched position. Blaine tries desperately not to look at his ass.

"Probably about …" Blaine trails off because he can't remember. "Wow, you know, must have been before I moved back to Ohio. So maybe…four, five months? Why?"

"Looks like you may have a small leak," Kurt says. "Here…see?" He points under the passenger's side tire toward the front of the car. Blaine bends over Kurt to see where he's pointing and sees a tiny dark spot on the pavement below his car.

"Oh yeah," he says. "I see it." Blaine pulls back and this time, he can't stop himself from taking in the view. Every muscle along the back side of Kurt's body is on perfect display. He's not overly muscular, but he's strong, and the dancing from glee rehearsals have given him a lean body with well-defined lines.

Blaine briefly considers writing poetry about the perfection that is Kurt's ass. He's trying to think of a synonym for ass that might sound classier when the sound of Kurt's voice brings him back to reality.

"You should bring it by my dad's shop," Kurt says. "Have him take a look at it for you. I can get him to give you a deal."

"You don't have to do that, Kurt."

"I know," he says, looking up at Blaine from the ground with warm, friendly look in his eyes. "I want to."

Blaine smiles down at him and says, "thank you." Kurt turns back to the car and finishes tightening the lug nuts.

"All finished," he says, making a show of dusting his hands off. "Nothing to it."

Blaine reaches out his hand. "Here," he says. "Let me help you up."

When Kurt takes it, Blaine tugs firmly on his hand and pulls Kurt to his feet. Perhaps it's a little more enthusiastic than Kurt expected, because he comes up so quickly that he knocks Blaine back a step and falls into his arms.

"Whoa," Blaine says. "You'll get a head rush coming up that quickly."

Kurt is laughing and apologizing and looking completely adorable with a smudge of dirt across his nose. Without thinking, Blaine reaches up and swipes at it with his index finger. Kurt's eyes lock onto his, bringing the laughter to an abrupt halt. He blinks at Blaine, a shocked look on his face.

"Uh, you had some dirt," Blaine says, suddenly acutely aware that he's holding Kurt in his arms from when he had toppled into him and he can feel Kurt's breath on his cheek.

"Thanks," Kurt says, unmoving.

They stay like that for a moment, neither one speaking or moving, the sound of their breath punctuating the silence, searching each others' faces for…something.

Blaine's mind catches up with the situation eventually and he starts to release his grip. But Kurt surges forward and presses his lips firmly to Blaine's. The force of the movement makes Blaine stagger on his feet and he has to step forward to keep his balance, but that only serves to keep his lips connected to Kurt's a bit longer. Blaine doesn't mind, though, not really. Kurt's lips are warm and soft, and something about it feels like he's been waiting for this moment his entire life.

He thinks he hears Kurt let out a small whimper and Blaine wonders if he felt it too. That exquisite feeling like he's coming home to something that was always waiting for him, but he didn't know he was missing until now.

Oh don't be crazy, Blaine.

And suddenly there's something niggling in the back of his mind that finally compels him to pull away from Kurt and end the kiss. He knows he'll probably regret it, but he can't let it continue.

"Oh my god!" Kurt says, bringing his hand up to cover his mouth. "I'm so sorry! I don't know what I was thinking!"

Blaine feels torn between kissing Kurt again and running away, but he's rooted to the concrete beneath his feet. He wants to reach out to comfort Kurt, whose distress is clear in the way he's hugging one arm tight to his body, while still covering his mouth with his hand. Blaine really just wants to put a hand on his shoulder, rub the back of his neck…anything, but he knows he shouldn't.

"It's alright, Kurt," he says softly. "No harm done."

"No harm done?" Kurt shouts. "I kissed you!"

"Well, true…no denying that. But we're both still in one piece. It's okay."

Blaine might as well be trying to convince himself as much as Kurt. Truth is, he's panicking because he really enjoyed that kiss, and he's not yet ready to think about what that might mean. Right now he just needs to focus on calming Kurt down and getting the hell out of there.

Kurt is breathing heavily and staring at Blaine with wide, terrified eyes. He looks like he might cry at any moment. But he doesn't say anything. Blaine looks around the parking lot, and it occurs to him he hadn't seen Finn since they unloaded the bus.

"Kurt, do you have a ride home?" he asks.

"Shit," Kurt says. "No. I was going to call my dad. Finn took the car."

Blaine sighs. He may end up regretting this, but it looks like the quickest way to get out of close proximity to Kurt is going to be voluntarily put himself in an even more awkward position.

"Come on," he says. "I'll take you home."

Blaine feels suddenly exhausted, and he wants nothing more than some time to process this. And maybe a dozen or so beers. He grabs the jack from the ground and throws it in the trunk, closing it with a thud.

"Mr. Anderson, I…"

"Don't argue, Kurt. Just get in the car."

Without a word, Kurt grabs his bag from where he'd left it on the curb and opens the passenger door to Blaine's car. By the time he has his seatbelt in place, Blaine is already turning the engine over and pulling out of the parking lot.

He just needs to get Kurt home — as quickly as possible — and then he can go back to his place and drink himself into oblivion.