"Kurt Hummel?" Kurt turned around expecting to see another fan wanting an autograph or a photo, but instead found Blaine Anderson, Olympic boxing extraordinaire, smiling at him with bright, honey eyes. Kurt was struck still for a moment until he remembered that when someone says something to you, you're generally meant to respond.

"Oh, B-Blaine Anderson! Hello!" He held out his hand, which was a bit chalky because he was practising his routine on the parallel bars, for Blaine to shake.

"I just wanted to wish you good luck," Blaine said as he took Kurt's hand, grinning brilliantly. "You're totally capable of snatching the gold from China."

"Oh, wow... thank you!" He cringed internally at his lack of verbosity. "I, ah... I'm certainly hoping so. And, you too! You're favoured for gold as well, aren't you?" Like I totally haven't been watching every one of your matches... and your arms... and your ridiculously tiny waist...

"Ha, well that's what they're saying! I sure do hope that I can live up to everyone's expectations." A strange look passed over Blaine's features; a little frown and glance into the distance, like he was thinking of something wistful or painful.

"Porcelain!" Coach Sylvester screeched from where the other gymnasts were collected, and Kurt winced.

"I'm sorry Blaine, but I have to go now. I'll talk to you later?" Please don't think I'm being too forward, please, please, I really want to talk to you again.

"Of course! I'd love to know more about gymnastics. When you're finished with your practice session, you'll be able to find me at the artillery barracks." He only received a confused frown in return. "My friend, Seb, is a shooter. I'm keeping him company."

"Oh. Yeah, okay. I'll try and find you. Maybe we can get lunch together?" He smiled coyly and Blaine chuckled.

"That'd be really nice." Kurt smiled and began to jog away before Coach could shout at him again.

"Bye, Kurt!" Blaine called after him, and he blushed and waved, ignoring how Santana and Brittany were looking at him. He didn't want to deal with them right now. They would only tease him.

*

"Did you talk to him, finally?" Sebastian Smythe, Olympic sharp shooter, asked as he inspected his gun. Blaine rolled his eyes, but couldn't help but smile.

"Well hello to you, too, Seb. I'm fine, thanks, how about you?" Blaine knocked the cap off Seb's head and ducked the swing that was aimed at him while laughing. "Hey, hey! You should know better than to try and fight with an Olympic boxer."

"And you should know better than to mess with a man who is holding a shotgun and knows how to use it." He aimed it at Blaine's chest in jest, and Blaine held up his hands in surrender. It wasn't loaded, of course. Seb didn't hate Blaine anymore, not after they'd worked everything out. It was all just a massive misunderstanding, and in the past.

"Whatever." Blaine said, and pushed the barrel of the gun away so he could reach in for a hug. Seb returned the gesture then looked Blaine in the eyes, his gaze turned steely.

"You talked to him, right? You didn't chicken out?" Blaine shook his head.

"No, I talked to him. He's coming here after practising and we're going for lunch." He shoved his hands in his pockets and hunched his shoulders, suddenly shy. He liked Kurt. A lot. He was just so... elegant and beautiful and genuine, not to mention how incredible he looked in his competing attire. Seb glanced back up from his gun, surprised.

"Yes! Nice! I didn't actually expect you to follow through when you said you were going to see him." He pushed a shell into his gun and flipped it closed. Blaine gasped and held a hand to his chest jokingly, as if he were hurt. Seb chuckled. "Oh, come on, Blaine, don't be like that. You know yourself that you never do things like this when you say you will. You freeze up and-"

"Okay, okay. Shut up, Seb. Shoot some damn clays and stop picking on me," The boys smirked at each other and settled into a companionable silence as Blaine moved over to release the clay pigeons and Seb practiced his aim.

*

Kurt wanted to cry. He really, really wanted to just scream and claw Karofsky's freaking eyes out, but he couldn't. All he could do was pay no attention to him and keep walking, letting the jabs and taunts slide just like in high school. God, people were meant to be professionals here. He had enough stress pressing down on him for his final tomorrow; he needed to be relaxed to win gold, but that wasn't going to happen if Karofsky kept acting like this.

"Leave me alone!" He shouted eventually, whirling around just as he reached the artillery barracks to fix his tormentor with a fiery glare. "If you want me to win gold for our country tomorrow, then you're not helping in the slightest. I don't care about your opinions, but you're annoying me; following me around all the time and just droning constantly in my ear-"

"Shut up, Hummel," Karofsky snapped, hulking closer to the gymnast with a dark look on his thuggish face. He flexed his broad shoulders, the muscles built up densely from the years of swimming, making Kurt blink a little in terror. He'd been on the wrong end of a fist before. Needless to say, it hadn't been a pleasant experience.

"Hey!" Both Olympians looked up to see Blaine Anderson and Sebastian Smythe running towards them, both glowering angrily. "Get away from him!" The swimmer just snorted and ignored them, instead seizing Kurt's wrist tightly and pulling him closer.

"Let me go!" He twisted and tugged at his hand, silently begging Blaine to stop taking so long and just reach him already.

"You're pathetic." Karofsky spat, just as Blaine got there and grabbed the man by the arm, trying to shove him away, but instead Karofsky threw Kurt by the wrist, propelling him backwards and making him lose his balance, and shrugged the boxer off.

Blaine glanced from Kurt lying on the ground grimacing in pain to the sneering brute towering over him.

"Leave. Now." He said, his voice low and serious, and after a few seconds of clearly assessing the situation and wondering if a fight was worth it, Karofsky snorted derisively and strode away, shaking his head.

"Are you okay?" Blaine asked as Seb crouched down beside Kurt and took his arm, helping him to stand up again.

"Oh my god," Kurt whispered, staring at his hand in horror. "My wrist. Blaine, my... it's the final tomorrow, and my wrist... I can't compete with a sprained wrist!"