Chapter 7

Kurt feels as if his skin is going to explode. Why did he kiss Mr. Anderson? Why? And now he's stuck in a car with him, trying not to die of embarrassment while the awkward silence threatens to suffocate him.

"Take a right," he says, directing his teacher to his house.

Mr. Anderson hums his acknowledgement and bites down on his lip as he takes the turn. He looks like he's trying to figure out the right way to say something. Kurt kind of hopes he can't find his words because the idea of talking about what just happened makes him want to crawl under the seat and through the floorboards of the car and onto the pavement below them.

"Kurt, I think we should talk about this," Mr. Anderson says.

Kurt always did have the worst luck.

"I'd really rather not," Kurt says, looking back out the window and pulling his lips into a tight line. "It's fine. I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable."

"Kurt," Mr. Anderson says, glancing over at Kurt. "Please talk to me."

"What do you want me to say?' he asks, jerking his head back toward Mr. Anderson. "I just kissed my English teacher in my high school's parking lot and now I'm having to endure a thoroughly embarrassing interaction with him while he drives me home. So excuse me if I'm not feeling particularly chatty about reliving the most humiliating experience of my entire life. And that includes being thrown in a dumpster and slushied in the same day, so that's really saying something!"

He sees something tense in Mr. Anderson's face and he wishes he could take it all back. He's ruined the relationship he had with his teacher and all because he couldn't keep his stupid hormones under control.

Mr. Anderson's shoulders jerk up toward his ears with a deep breath. He exhales slowly as he pulls the car into a strip mall parking lot. Once the car is in park, he turns to face Kurt. The look on his face is determined, but kind.

"You have nothing to be embarrassed about," he says, looking back toward the dashboard. His shoulders sag heavily and he slumps over the steering wheel, gripping it tightly with his hands. "I shouldn't have let it happen."

Kurt reaches out to place a hand on Mr. Anderson's shoulder and stops just shy of placing it there. He curls his hand into a fist and lets it fall to his lap.

"It's not your fault," Kurt says.

"It's not yours either," Mr. Anderson says, looking up quickly. His eyes are shining with unshed tears. He reaches out and places a hand on Kurt's knee. The shock of the unexpected contact draws Kurt's eyes down to look at the strong hand now resting on his leg, and he wishes he could reach out to take it in his own. Mr. Anderson's gaze follows Kurt's downward and he takes in a sharp breath. Kurt looks up to Mr. Anderson's face at the sound. When Mr. Anderson looks up too, their eyes connect with the sharp intensity of emotion they've both been trying to avoid.

"Don't you feel that?" Kurt asks, searching Mr. Anderson's face for some sort of recognition. "I feel it every time we're together."

Mr. Anderson closes his eyes.

"Kurt, I can't answer that question."

"Why not?"

Mr. Anderson shifts uncomfortably in his seat, bringing both his hands back to the steering wheel and twisting it underneath his palms. He stares out the windshield as if the answer to Kurt's question is on the hood of the SUV parked in front of them. He closes his eyes again and takes a deep breath.

"If I answer that question, I won't be able to take it back. And right now, I just need to get you home and try to forget that this happened."

"Fine," Kurt says. He looks away from Mr. Anderson and purses his lips in anger. His embarrassment burns hot on his cheeks and he doesn't want Mr. Anderson to see his distress. "Just take me home."

The interior of the car is silent for a moment, and Kurt can feel Mr. Anderson's eyes boring into the back of his head, but he refuses to break. If he makes eye contact now, he'll lose his composure. He'd bared his soul to this beautiful man sitting beside him, and he'd been shot down. He just needs to get out of the car and into the safety of his bedroom. The routine of showering, deep conditioning his hair, and spending an hour on moisturizing his skin will calm his raw nerves. He just needs to get home.

The rumble of the engine turning over startles Kurt a little, but he hides his flinch behind a cough.

They don't speak again, apart from Kurt giving directions every few blocks. When Mr. Anderson's car pulls in Kurt's driveway, he's yanking open the door before it's even fully stopped.

Kurt throws back a terse, "See you Monday," as he slams the door shut behind him. He practically runs up to the front door and as soon as he's inside, he slumps against the hard wood and closes his eyes, exhaling a ragged breath.

Blaine clenches and unclenches his fists, trying desperately to stop his hands from shaking. It took him every ounce of strength not to confess to Kurt that he felt the same way, and the stress of it all finally hits him.

It takes him a few moments to pull himself together and pull out of the Hummels' driveway, and when he does, he drives himself to the liquor store down the street from his apartment and buys a case of beer and a large bottle of vodka. He's on his second shot of vodka and his third beer when he calls Wes.

"To what do I owe this pleasure, young Mr. Anderson?"

"He kissss'd me," Blaine mumbles.

"Are you drunk?"

"Iss jus a cuppla beers," Blaine manages to get out. " 'm fine. Fine."

"Wait….you said he kissed you?"

"Mmmhmm."

"Who kissed you?"

"Kurt."

"Kurt?!"

"Yep. Juss jumped right in annnn kissss'd me," Blaine says almost matter-of-factly. "On the mouth."

"Oh god…Blaine, did anyone see you?"

"Nope," he says, proud of himself for not getting caught. "Totally alone. He was changing a flat on my car, annnn he had some dirt on his nose. He really has a cute nose. So I wiped it off, annnnn he kisss'd me."

"Blaine what are you going to do?" Wes sounds concerned, and Blaine knows he should have an answer, but the buzz he's feeling from the vodka and beer are numbing his senses and he can't feel or think about anything but the warm, fuzzy feeling in his belly and the smell of Kurt, sweaty and sweet, in his arms.

"I'm gonna have another beer," Blaine mumbles. "And maybe another one affffer that."

Blaine smiles. Beer is good. He feels good.

"God, you're a mess," Wes says.

"Am not," Blaine protests. "I jusss need to forget about today."

"Blaine, I think you've had enough. Can you just go lay down and call me tomorrow when you've sobered up?"

"Shhhhhure thing, buddy. Buddy boy. You're my boy, Wesssssley."

"Shut up, Blaine. Go get some coffee."

"I like coffee."

"Good. Go drink some…and stay away from Kurt."

"I like Kurt," Blaine says as he presses the "end call" button on his phone. He grabs another beer and flops down on his sofa. "Kurt is nice," he mumbles to himself.

He wakes up in the same spot Sunday morning to a coffee table filled with empty beer bottles and an overwhelming throbbing in his skull. He barely makes it to the bathroom before he empties the mostly liquid contents of his stomach into the toilet.

As he sits up, reality comes crashing in. Kurt kissed him. And he liked it.

Fuck.

Two days after he kissed Mr. Anderson, Kurt turns 18. He finds a gift in his locker after lunch that no one will claim. It's a stunning silk bow tie that matches the strange blue-green color of Kurt's eyes. It seems to shift with the light but without a tacky iridescent sheen.

He opens it in glee and Rachel leans over him to inquire about it.

"It's a gift," he says.

"From whom?"

"No clue," he says, with a shrug.

"Ooooh, you have a secret admirer!" Rachel shrieks.

He can see Mr. Anderson fidgeting and pretending to organize some sheet music at the piano. He's trying to look like he's not listening, but Kurt sees a small smile tug at the corners of his mouth at Rachel's words.

No. It couldn't be.

Suddenly the pieces of the puzzle seemed to fall into place. A bow tie. He's almost certain none of his friends had given it to him. And Mr. Anderson is the only other person at McKinley he'd ever seen in a bow tie.

No, that seems ridiculous.

"Come on, Rachel. Don't be ridiculous. It was probably Tina or something."

"What was probably Tina?" Tina says as she walks into the room.

"Kurt thinks you got him that bow tie," Rachel says, pointing at the package in Kurt's hands.

"Nope not me," Tina says. "I've got your gift right here." She hands him a small, wrapped package. "Mercedes?"

"No," Kurt says. "I asked her when I found it. And no one else has my locker combo."

"Secret admirer," Rachel singsongs with a smug expression. "Told you."

"Shut up," Kurt says, catching sight of Mr. Anderson stifling a giggle behind his hand.

Kurt raises an eyebrow in curiosity as Mr. Anderson tries to get the group's attention. He doesn't make eye contact, but Kurt barely takes his eyes of him for the entire rehearsal. When they wrap an hour later, Kurt tries to catch Mr. Anderson's attention, but Rachel and Mercedes each grab an arm and usher him out of the choir room insisting they have a "lady chat-slash-sleepover" in honor of Kurt's birthday.

He looks over his shoulder on the way out of the room and catches a quick glance of Mr. Anderson. He's staring after them with a sad sort of longing on his face. Kurt offers a small smile and allows himself to be pulled along by his friends. Brittany and Tina catch up to them in the hallway.

Blaine had acted on impulse buying Kurt that bow tie, and again when he slipped it into Kurt's locker. Okay, maybe not total impulse because he'd had to look up the combination and manage to sneak it in during his free period. So maybe a little thought had gone into it. But he couldn't bring himself to give it to Kurt in person. That would be too much.

He originally bought it with the intent of wearing it himself, but when he realized it would bring out the color of Kurt's eyes, he decided he would rather pass it on to his favorite student. Except he wasn't supposed to have favorite students. And he definitely wasn't supposed to give them gifts after they kissed him.

But it was his birthday. And besides, what's done is done … and god if he didn't look exquisite when he walked into the choir room Monday afternoon. Blaine stands near the piano organizing the sheet music for their first post-sectionals rehearsal when he hears Rachel ask Kurt about the bow tie.

Blaine fights back a smile as they all try to speculate where it had come from, and he tries to look like he's not listening in, but he really wants to know what Kurt thinks of the gift. Blaine only hears enough to know that Kurt has no idea who gave it to him, and he breathes a sigh of relief. When Kurt gets dragged out of the room at the end of rehearsal, he tries to mask his disappointment that he didn't get to wish Kurt a happy birthday in person.

But then Kurt shows up for their lesson the next day actually wearing his gift. Blaine can't help but smile when he sees it.

"Nice bow tie," Blaine says.

Kurt's eyes go wide for a moment before he breaks into a smile. "It was a birthday present," he says.

"Is today your birthday?" he asks, knowing full well that Kurt had turned 18 the day before.

"Yesterday," Kurt says. "I'm 18 now."

Blaine wonders if he's imagined the hope in Kurt's eyes at that admission, as if that would somehow make everything okay.

"Happy Birthday," is all Blaine can get out without giving everything away. If he keeps talking, he'll be confessing his feelings for Kurt in less than two minutes.

"Thanks," Kurt says, his face only falling slightly as he continues. "So, have you decided what songs we might try for regionals?"

"I'm working on some ideas," Blaine replies. "Why? Did you have an idea?"

Kurt's eyes light up as he nods enthusiastically. "Le Jazz Hot," he says. "From 'Victor/Victoria.' "

"Oh," Blaine says. "That's … different."

Kurt's face falls, an angry frown causing his brow to furrow. "You don't like it."

"No, Kurt…it's just not what I was expecting. Um…let's see what the group thinks, okay?"

Kurt huffs out a harsh breath in exasperation. "Fine. We should get started." He slams his bag down on the piano and refuses to make eye contact. Blaine just sits down and flexes his fingers to start warming Kurt up on his scales. He's not sure what he's done wrong, but he doesn't want to argue with Kurt, and it's probably better if they just stick to vocal lessons.

When the lesson is over, Kurt grabs his bag from the piano and leaves the room before Blaine can get up from the bench. Kurt refuses to make eye contact during first period, and Blaine doesn't see him again until just after fifth period. Blaine is coming out of the auditorium from giving a midterm to his Acting II class when he spots Kurt at the end of the hallway.

Kurt's crisp white shirt is stained a splotchy pink and a sticky, red liquid is dripping from his hair, chest, and back onto the floor beneath him as he roots through his locker. Blaine feels something hot and protective burn in his chest at the sight. All he can think of is helping Kurt.

Kurt had been coming out of his fifth period class, mind caught up in the disaster of a vocal lesson he'd had earlier with Mr. Anderson when he gets hit in the face by a jolt of sticky, cherry-flavored ice. He never sees his attackers, just hears their cackling as they retreat down the hallway, high fiving and congratulating themselves for "nailing the homo."

Even covered in slushy, Kurt can appreciate the irony in that statement as he shakes some of the mess from his hair. He reaches up to swipe his fingers over his eyes before the sugar has a chance to make them burn. He sighs heavily and heads for his locker to get his change of clothes and the towel he started keeping there as part of his "emergency kit" his freshman year.

"Kurt, are you okay?"

He looks up to see Mr. Anderson looking at him with wide, concerned eyes. Perfect. As if this day couldn't get any worse.

"Just some Neanderthals," he says, dismissing the seriousness of the situation. "I just need to get cleaned up, and I'll be good as new." He gives Mr. Anderson his best cheery smile, forced as it may be.

"Come on," Mr. Anderson says, placing a hand between Kurt's shoulder blades and steering him toward the restroom. Kurt tries not to shiver at the touch. "Let's get you cleaned up, and then we'll go see Figgins."

Kurt knows that the principal, like so many times before, won't do anything, but he goes along with Mr. Anderson because he does need to get the slushy out of his hair before it turns him into a redhead. He shudders as he remembers a time his sophomore year when the tips of his hair had been stained blue for a week.

Mr. Anderson opens the door and takes Kurt's bag from him as he ushers him inside the empty bathroom. Sixth period had begun two minutes ago, and the halls and bathrooms are once again quiet.

"What happened?" Mr. Anderson asks once they're inside.

"The usual," Kurt says. "I offended the jocks again."

Mr. Anderson raises an eyebrow in question as Kurt lets out a harsh laugh.

"By existing," he says with a look that says the answer should be obvious.

"Kurt, you shouldn't have to put up with that. No one should."

"Yeah, well…it's all part of good ol' McKinley High. Slushies…dumpster diving. Welcome to my life."

"Kurt…"

"Mr. Anderson, I appreciate your concern, but I'd really just like to get cleaned up and changed."

"Sure," he says, looking tentative and uncomfortable.

Kurt sets his emergency kit in the sink to his left and leans over the basin in front of him. He turns on the water to let it warm up so he can rinse his hair. It's easier this way. If he rinses his hair before he does anything else, it will be mostly dry by the time he puts on his clean shirt and it won't drip all over.

"You've really got that down to a science," Mr. Anderson says watching him pull a towel and a clean shirt out of his kit. He sets a tube of moisturizer and some hair spray on the ledge in front of the mirror.

"It's happened a few times," Kurt says removing his vest and bow tie almost automatically. "You learn to be prepared."

He looks down at the blue silk and frowns at the streaks of purple caused by the drying slushy. He sets it on the edge of the sink and starts to unbutton his shirt. He's wondering if he's got a spare undershirt in his emergency kit when he hears Mr. Anderson gasp beside him. He looks to his left to find his teacher staring wide-eyed at him, his mouth hanging open as his chest heaves visibly.

"Are you alri– …. OH!" Kurt rushes to cover himself as it dawns on him that he's completely naked from the waist up. "Oh gosh! Sorry!"

Mr. Anderson averts his eyes and shifts on the spot, his hands flailing as he tries to figure out what to do with them. He settles for crossing them over his chest, and Kurt can't help but think he looks like he's cradling himself in a comforting hug.

"Just give me a second and I'll just…" Kurt is quickly wiping his towel over his chest and back to get at the bit of liquid that had seeped through his layers and quickly moves to put on his clean shirt. Kurt's heart is racing as his mind screams at him.

Naked. I'm practically naked in front of Mr. Anderson.

"There," he says finally. "Crisis averted." More or less.

He can feel a hot blush covering his face and neck, and he can't bring himself to look at his teacher.

"Will you be alright?" Mr. Anderson asks after a bit.

Kurt looks up to meet bright, honey eyes. When had Mr. Anderson gotten so close? He clears his throat. "I think so."

"We should get to Figgins' office," he says, holding out Kurt's bag for him to take. "I'll wait outside for you while you finish up?"

Kurt nods, and a few strands of his product-free hair flop down on his forehead. He looks up and bites his bottom lip, acutely aware that he's not as pulled together as he'd like to be. Before he can reach up to fix it, he feels Mr. Anderson's hand in his hair. Kurt hears himself take in a quick breath, causing Mr. Anderson to drop his hand. He pulls back so quickly, it's as if he's been burned. He meets Kurt's eyes looking terrified and apologetic. He works his mouth, but no words come out.

"Thanks for the bow tie," Kurt says softly. "I'm sorry it got ruined."

"I didn't…I mean…"

"It's okay," he says. "I know it was you."

"I really shouldn't have done that," Mr. Anderson says, looking at his feet. "I don't know what I was thinking."

"Don't say that," Kurt says, placing his hand on his teacher's cheek and forcing eye contact. "I loved it."

Mr. Anderson smiles at him, and it sends a flutter to Kurt's midsection. They both stay like that for a moment, and Kurt feels the inexplicable tug again. His heart aches for this perfect man standing across from him. Mr. Anderson's eyes flutter closed and he inhales deeply through his nose. Kurt considers leaning in to kiss him, but Mr. Anderson's voice stops him.

"I felt it," Mr. Anderson says, his voice breathy and low. "I felt it that very first day."

"Felt what?" Kurt asks.

Mr. Anderson's eyes are closed as Kurt's hand strokes his cheek.

"This crazy, intense chemistry," he says, opening his eyes slowly. "And then later, it felt like a rope tied to my waist pulling me toward you."

"Me too," Kurt says.

"And the more I fought it, the stronger it got," Mr. Anderson adds, looking sad again.

"Do you feel it now?" Kurt asks.

"Yes."

"Me too," Kurt adds, smiling.

"I know," Mr. Anderson says. "I know."

"So now what?" Kurt asks, looking hopeful.

"I don't know," he replies, his face looking earnest. "I just don't know."

And then he surges forward, claiming Kurt's lips in a desperate kiss.