The blazer is heavier than Kurt expected.

“You look great,” Burt says, hand on Kurt's shoulder, grinning. “The blue really brings out your eyes.”

“Are my eyes navy, Dad?” Kurt asks, raising an eyebrow. “Or are you actually going blind?”

“Probably both.”

“It's so gross,” Kurt sighs, fixes his cufflinks. “It's dull.”

“It's safe,” Burt says, smile dropping, eyeing Kurt carefully. “You agreed to go to Dalton so you'd be safe-”

“-and this uniform is a small price to pay,” Kurt says, dropping his hands. “I know that.”

“I – I know it must be killing you to leave all your friends,” Burt says, squeezing his shoulder, “but…try to have some fun, yeah?” He pauses. “I'm sure you can take Dalton.”

Kurt pauses, smiles at his reflection. “I'm going to knock Dalton over.”

Burt grins, ruffles his hair, and Kurt scowls as he laughs.

*

Dalton is gorgeous. The roof is domed and silver and it just screams fancy, and Kurt swears he's seen at least five chandeliers and he's only been there for ten minutes, he's kind of having a heart attack at all the pretty. They let his Dad accompany him to his dorm room; his roommate is absent, and his tour guide (some excitable kid named Chandler; he keeps reminding Kurt of a golden retriever) helps him unpack, shows him around.

“You nervous?” Chandler asks, bouncing on his heels as Kurt finishes setting up his photo frames, sits down on the bed – his bed. “I know that I was, when I first transferred – I didn't know anyone.”

“I know you,” Kurt says, shrugging. “And everyone seems really nice so far.”

“That would be the zero-tolerance bullying policy working its magic,” Chandler says, bouncing over to sit next to him. “Or maybe everyone actually is really nice.”

A beat passes as Chandler looks around the room.

“You like theatre, huh?” Chandler asks, facing Kurt, tilting his head.

Kurt blinks. “Yeah, I – I do,” he says. He gestures around his new room; at least half of his weekend wardrobe is musical merchandise, and one of his picture frames is him grinning next to a cardboard cut-out of Glinda the Good. “Is it that obvious?”

Chandler laughs. “It's just that – I don't know,” he says, sheepish, “you – you look the type, I guess.” He pauses. “I'm sorry, I just – you're obviously not used to people being nice, and – god, that sounds awful-”

“-calm down!” Kurt laughs, high and clear, and Chandler stops rambling, smiles at him.

A moment passes, and Kurt looks down, away. “You'd be right,” he says, quiet. “It's a relief not to have to watch my back every second.” He hesitates. “And to go to sleep without fresh bruises.”

“Was it really that bad?” Chandler asks, raising an eyebrow, shifting closer. “Like, I've heard-” he swallows, “stories and stuff, but – that sounds awful.”

Kurt shrugs again. “Could've been worse.”

There's silence, and:

“Well,” Chandler says, “if you ever need someone to talk to, I'm only two rooms down.” He pauses. “And two floors.”

Kurt laughs, and Chandler nudges his shoulder gently, stands up, walks to the door.

“I really hope you enjoy Dalton, Kurt.”

*

“Hey, Blaine, do you have those Calc notes from last lesson?”

Blaine nods, grinning too-wide at Nick as he walks past. “Totally; maybe we can meet up after class?”

“Thank you!” Nick calls out, but Blaine's already halfway down the hall.

“Blaine, did you like my suggestion for Regionals?” It's Chandler, and he manages to match Blaine's pace. “I'm not really expecting to get a solo or anything, but maybe backing, I guess?”

Blaine clutches Chandler by the shoulder, tugs him closer in a kind of side bear hug as they walk. “You were really, really good, Chandler,” he says, “but it's kind of hard for an acapella group to cover a Skrillex song, even though you toned it down as much as you did.” Chandler goes to reply, but Blaine lets go of his arm, sets his pace faster, and Chandler slows down.

“Your contribution is really appreciated,” he calls back, rounding the corner and come on, one more floor-

“Blaine!”

He jumps, turns back around, cringes. “Miss-”

“Oh, please,” she says, “call me Shelby.”

Great.

“…Shelby,” Blaine says, rubbing his hands together, “What can I do for you?”

“I think the question is more what I can do for you,” Shelby says, raising an eyebrow. Blaine shrugs, smiles as charmingly as he can, please go away.

“Have you been feeling okay?” She asks, watching him carefully. “You didn't attend our last two sessions.”

Blaine groans internally. “I – I know, I just – school and stress and-”

Shelby holds up a hand. “It's fine, Blaine,” she says, smiling like it's some secret between them, “just try to make some time to come see me, okay?”

Blaine nods, his shoulders relaxing. “Okay.”

Shelby nods to herself, turns. “I know I'm not your favourite person,” she calls back, voice almost condescending, “but you need to talk to someone.”

Blaine blinks, and she's gone.

*

Blaine runs into at least five more people before he reaches his dorm, manages to shut the door before he collapses back-first onto his bed, deflating into the mattress, letting his bones settle. He closes his eyes. The days are long, and the homework is heavy on his head, and everybody wants a piece of Blaine Anderson.

It's nice to get a moment to himself, even if it is only ten minutes before Warbler rehearsal starts. He sits up, props himself up on his shoulders, opens his eyes.

There's a suitcase on the spare bed.

A ripple of surprise goes through Blaine, and he stands, walks over to inspect it. It's plain, not too expensive, and half the contents have already been unpacked into the wardrobe. Blaine's impressed, he has to say; for someone who isn't going to be wearing much but uniform, his new roommate has a killer fashion sense.

Blaine pauses, staring at himself in the mirror, and shuts the wardrobe, sighs as he remembers.

Eli had been his first roommate, and he'd been happy enough to keep Blaine's secrets – all of them – so long as Blaine made it worth his while. He didn't ask about Scandals, and never brought up the bottle of vodka Blaine kept under his bed. The sex hadn't been bad, but…he'd felt strange, after. Disconnected. Eli didn't talk to him, never made him talk, and they never went past oral.

Sebastian was next, and he made it abundantly clear that he wanted a piece of the action; all the action. He was cocky, and confident, and Blaine used to let him steal his vodka and come down his throat every night, and every word that came tumbling out of his mouth when they were in bed together managed to turn Blaine on just that little bit more, but then an (accidental) god, fuck, I love you managed to tumble out of Blaine's mouth. The next week, Sebastian was gone, and Blaine was lost like a loose piece of string in the wind.

And now…this guy. Killer fashion sense. Low funds, but enough to afford Dalton. Blaine looks carefully at his reflection, and smiles, too-wide and charming. He grabs his jacket, heads off to Warbler rehearsal.

He doesn't see the pictures on the dresser, or the nametag on the suitcase, clearly reading Kurt Hummel.

*

As per the suggestion (demand) of Chandler, Kurt's been running around Dalton all afternoon, trying out every extracurricular he can find. There was fencing, and swimming (heated pools and toned, shirtless guys, hello) and yoga (which is scheduled earlier than Kurt expected, but hey, he can make it work; he needs to stay fit somehow.

After Chandler's discovery of his (borderline obsessive) knowledge of musical theatre, there wasn't really any question about it; Kurt was going to audition for the Dalton Academy Warblers.

“They're not going to ask me to sing now, are they?” Kurt asks, as Chandler meets him in the hall outside his dorm. “I-I don't have anything prepared, and-”

“-Kurt,” Chandler says, “you'll be fine.” He clutches Kurt's shoulder as they walk, gently, almost like he's guiding him, and Kurt shivers, looks up to meet his eyes. He stares for a moment, and Chandler stares back.

It has only been a matter of weeks since he's seen him, but judging by the fact that Kurt isn't intending to ever go back to Scandals, his dating possibilities are wide open right now. Besides, even if Chandler didn't want anything official, Kurt has experience…with unofficial business, now.

“If they ask you to do anything, it'll be, like, thirty seconds of some pop song.”

Kurt blinks. “What?”

Chandler laughs, squeezes his shoulder, and Kurt's heart flutters a little. Just a little.

“You'll be fine,” he says, and points behind Kurt; they've arrived. Kurt can see a flurry of blazer-covered boys, dancing and laughing and singing around the room inside, and the somewhat-cheerful melody of a piano echoes out into the hallway. Kurt can't help but smile.

Chandler's already at the door, and he disappears into the crowd, and all Kurt can see is navy and red.

“Attention!” He hears Chandler call, and he looks to see him standing on a chair, trying to address the Warblers.

“Hey,” someone calls, “that's Anderson's job! Get down!”

“You're hilarious,” Chandler calls back, holds his hands up into the air in surrender. “Truly.”

“Get to the point or get to the floor, Chandler!”

“Okay, okay,” Chandler relents, dropping his hands and pointing to the door. Pointing at Kurt. “We have a newbie!”

The Warblers turn to look all at him all at once, staring like owls at a mouse, and Kurt freezes, blushing.

“Hi,” he says, in a kill-me-now voice. There's silence, and then:

“Well, isn't he adorable?”

“Holy shit, your hair, man, how did you even-”

“-you can't just bring him because he's cute, Chandler, he actually has to be able to sing-”

“-of course he can sing, you imbecile,” Kurt hears Chandler say, and he feels his cheeks grow hotter, “he has a small fortune of Wicked merchandise in his room and he just got here-”

“-okay,” a voice says from the middle of the circle, “we don't even know his name yet.” They all stop talking, stare at Kurt again.

“Kurt,” Kurt says, a little too fast.

“Kurt.” The voice repeats, and a young, Asian man steps forward from the crowd to face him. “I'm Wes.”

“The law and order of the Dalton Academy Warblers.”

“The banger of the gavel.”

“Super uptight on bass drops.”

“Shut up, Chandler,” Wes hisses, “everyone knows you can't do Skrillex via acapella group if you want it to work.”

“Whatever,” Chandler mutters, and Kurt can taste the dejection in his voice.

A moment passes. “What have you heard about the Warblers, Kurt?”

Kurt pauses, shrug. “Not really anything, to be honest,” he says. “Apparently you guys aren't too fussed on dubstep.” A snicker passes through the group, and Wes falls into an easy smile.

“Not really,” he says, stepping closer to Kurt. “We like to stick to what we're good at.”

Kurt drops his messenger bag near the door, smiles back. “And what exactly are you good at?”

“Everything,” choruses the crowd, and Wes grins.

Kurt raises an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Do you need proof?” Wes questions. “We'd be more than happy to demonstrate, right, boys?”

“Totally!”

“But we need Anderson,” somebody calls out, and they all stop, murmur in agreement.

“We don't need Blaine,” says Chandler, walking through the crowd to stand behind Wes. “We're all perfectly capable of handling a solo.”

“Who on earth is Anderson?” Kurt asks, and Chandler makes a cutthroat motion before the group explodes.

“Only the most talented member-”

“-lead soloist-”

“-sex on a stick-”

“-his voice sounds like frosting!”

Kurt sees Chandler sigh dramatically. He walks over to Kurt, slings an arm around his shoulders. “They're probably not going to stop for days, well done,” he mutters, and Kurt giggles as Chandler escorts him through the group; they're not really focusing on him anymore.

“So, Anderson?” Kurt questions, as they reach the couch. “Do tell.”

Chandler shrugs. “There's not much to tell.”

Kurt raises an eyebrow.

“Fine,” Chandler relents, “he's basically the star. Centre stage. Leading man.”

“And why is that?” Kurt asks haughtily. “Why should all the solos be reserved for one person?”

Chandler nods towards the door. “See for yourself.”

Kurt turns to look, but the crowd is blocking his view, circling around somebody, laughing, some of them already singing.

“You up for a little impromptu performance, Blaine?” Wes pleads, and the somebody steps out from the circle, his back facing to Kurt.

“Sure, why not?” he says, half-smug, and Kurt freezes. He knows that voice. Blaine spins around grinning, and he freezes when he sees Kurt.

B for Blaine Anderson.