“Oh my god.”

“What?”

“You’ve still got Blaine’s number on your arm.” Rachel grinned mischeviously. Kurt groaned aloud. It was all she’d talked about since they left Westerville yesterday, how amazing Blaine was, and how they would make a ‘totally awesome’ couple. It was frustrating, to say to least, mostly because Kurt was fully convinced that Blaine wasn’t even the slightest intrested, hell, he didn’t even know for sure that he was gay.

“Rach, honey, it’s in permenant marker, it doesn’t come off too easily.”

She scoffed, rolling her eyes, “Kurt, if you wanted that number off, it would be off by now, trust me.”

Kurt just sighed, agitatedly, mostly because he knew she was right. He didn’t want to wash away Blaine’s numbers, he liked how one look at them could bring a smile to his face immediately. It gave him a little more courage, knowing that someone was looking out for him, that someone cared.

“Oh crap,” he muttered, with a sudden realisation, “I left my jumper in Spanish class. I have to go back and get it.”

“You’re so forgetful.” Rachel whined, “Do you want me to come with you?”

“No, it’s fine, go ahead. Mr Schue won’t be happy if one of us are late, never mind both of us.”

Rachel nodded, smiling slightly, then continuing down the bustling corridor to the choir room. Kurt turned on his heels, heading in the opposite direction, he could believed he’d forgotten his jumper, he’d bought it last year in Paris, and it was the only piece in his wardrobe he found acceptable to wear with everything.

As he entered the Spanish block, he noticed the corridors had emptied out, everyone rushing home, eager to get as far away as possible from school. He could hear his Vuittons clacking against the plastic flooring, echoing clearly. He stopped for a moment, trying to figure out which classroom he’d been in, and silence settled over the area.

“What you looking at, fag?” Dave Karofsky yelled, turning the corner and appearing out of nowhere. Kurt’s breath hitched, his blood running cold as his walking nightmare stormed closer. He closed his eyes for a second, inhaling slowly, calmly, trying not to panic. But Karofsky was next to him now, feet away and Kurt couldn't stop his hands as they began to shake. "I said, what are you looking at, homo? Are you perving on me? Have you got some sort of sick crush on me?" he spat, not looking quite into his victim's eyes.

Kurt very nearly laughed, shaking his head, "You are the last person in the school, the entire country, that I would ever think of like that. You disgust me.” He felt proud, he sounded a lot more confident than he actually was. He felt like screaming, and crying, and running away.

But he didn’t, he remained calm.

Karofsky’s face slowly began to burn red, his eyes tiny and narrowed. Kurt counted to ten, taking some deep breaths. Karofsky was all talk. He wouldn’t really hurt him… he hoped.

“You are the disgusting one,” he snarled, “you’re unnatural. Trying to spread the gay to everyone else. You make me want to be sick.”

“At least I’m not a fat, sweaty little boy like you,” Kurt retorted, and immediately saw what a mistake he had made. Karofsky’s fist came flying at his face, full force, almost too quickly for him to register it. It smashed into his cheek, and his skin screamed out in agony. He crashed to the hard floor with a sickening thud. He bit his lip so hard, he was close to breaking the skin. He would not cry, not even a whimper, he would not show him that he was weak.

He needed to stay strong.

Dave towered over him, fists clenched, teeth clenched. And Kurt realized that he was in danger. Serious danger. Karofsky knew no limits, nothing was past him. He squeezed his eyes shut, braced himself for what he was sure to come.

But nothing did.

Tentatively, he opened his big, blue eyes. Karofsky was gone. Vanished completely. He began to sob hysterically, burying his face in his knees. He knew he needed to get up, to check his face, to ring Rachel,to ring Blaine, but he couldn’t find the energy to even move….

He just didn’t see the point anymore.

--

“Kurt? W-What happened?” Rachel whispered, her voice shaking, her face pale. Kurt sat, curled into a corner, ugly tear stains down his face. He just sat, unmoving and that’s what scared Rachel more than anything. She rushed to his side, caught between wanting to hug him, and shout at him, tell him to get a grip.

“Karofsky,” he mumbled, knowing that  it would explain everything. He watched as his best friend’s eyes flashed with anger, showing cracks in her cool exterior, Rachel Berry was never anything but composed, with her ‘the show must go on’ attitude.

“We’re leaving,” she said, simply, dragging Kurt reluctantly to his feet, she saw how his hands still shook slightly, his eyes flitting behind him constantly. She didn’t know what had happened, but it obviously wasn’t something he was going to open up about… to her at least, but Rachel was sure she knew someone who he would want to talk to.

--

“Although I totally understand the healing powers of coffee, I don’t think I understand why we’re here,” Kurt frowned, looking to Rachel questioningly. She smiled, tucking a strand of his caramel hair behind his ear, then stepped into the short queue.

The Lima Bean was small, with a cozy feeling to it. The décor was subtle and understated, it was a nice place, Kurt couldn’t deny that, but it made no sense for them to travel all the way out to the outskirts of Westerville, just for coffee.

“Can I take your order, sir?” the barista said, his voice smooth and vaguely familiar, Kurt let his eyes wander up from where they had been trained on the floor. Green polo shirt, name badge, tanned skin, kind smile, straight nose, deep hazel eyes, unruly head of curls.

Blaine.

Kurt’s heart pounded in his chest, the room suddenly feeling too warm. He turned to glare at Rachel accusingly, but she was gone, again.

“Woah… Kurt?! What are you doing here?” Blaine grinned, running a hand through  his mop of hair, revealing a dark purple bruise on his forearm. Kurt inhaled sharply, inwardly wincing.

“Where did you get that bruise?” he grimaced.

Blaine pulled a face back, playing with the woven friendship bracelets on his wrist.

“It’s from four long hours of trying to land a triple. Ice skating is a highly dangerous, extreme, macho sport…” Kurt snorted, spluttering into a fit of giggles, Blaine raised his eyebrows, fake shocked, “…I’m appauled, are you not taking me seriously Mr Hummel?” he continued in a mock annoyed tone, sending Kurt off again.

“Y-You?” he laughed, “Macho?!”

“Oh yes,” Blaine replied, grinning now, his eyes twinkling, “my main hobbies include, ice dancing, baking, playing classical piano and crochet. I’m very manly!” he insisted, flexing his toned biceps and diverting Kurt’s attention entirely.

There was a loud and extremely awkward cough from behind him, and Kurt twirled round to see the thin face of a rather unimpressed business man, who was looking pointedly at his watch. He was holding up a queue that, all of a sudden, had expanded.

“Right, er… I’ll have-“

“No,” Blaine cut in, looking convincingly like a overexcited puppy, “let me guess!”

Kurt nodded, seeing no harm in playing along.

“Vanilla latte?”

He raised his eyebrows disbelievingly, fishing his money from his pocket  and sliding it onto the counter. He smiled, “Exactly right… How did you do that?”

Blaine shrugged casually, much more keen on the idea of Kurt believing he’d guessed, rather than the true alternative, via Rachel’s frantic text a few minutes ago. It seemed a lot more… romantic.

“Vanilla latte it is then. Go sit in that corner booth, it’s got the best view… I’ll come over for a chat in a bit.”

Kurt grinned, taking one lingering look at Blaine, then making his way to the other side of the shop. He went to sit down, almost squishing Rachel who was waiting for him, flicking through his copy of Vogue. Now, he glared, as she looked up at him innocently through her eyelashes.

“I want answers, Berry.”

--