Chapter 2

A few seconds passed in silence, as both were peering into the other's eyes, until they realized how creepy it could seem.

'Um- Yeah, I need to get to Mr- Whatshisface- Julian's class, and I have no idea where anything is in here. Maybe you could help me out?,' said Blaine finally.

'Sure, I can,' Kurt answered, going into his perfect-NYADA-boy mode. 'First off, it's not Mr Julian, it's Pierre. He's not French or anything, he simply thinks he's way too fabulous to be aPeter, so he makes people call him Pierre instead.' Blaine chuckled quietly, following Kurt, who directed his steps down the stairs and to his left. 'Secondly, his class is on the first floor. I was going in that direction anyway, my class is right opposite.'

Kurt paused and sent Blaine a short smile of encouragement. Apparently there was a reason to believe he needed to be reassured.

'No need to worry, Pierre's okay. Just don't disagree with him too much, and you'll be fine.'

'Thanks, I guess I needed to hear something like that,' said Blaine. 'And what year are you in?'

'I'm a sophomore. And, believe me, I've been as lost as you are at the beginning. It's quite a change being here after Lima, Ohio.' He barked a laugh.

Blaine raised his eyebrows, interested.

'Lima? You gotta be kidding me!'

'Nope, unfortunately, not kidding at all,' replied Kurt and sighed heavily.

Blaine felt there was a double meaning behind his words, but you can't really go around and try to psychoanalyse people you've just met, can you? Still, there was a barely visible thread that appeared to link them in some way unknown to them, although both were able to detect it.

Trying to dispel the solemn mood, Blaine started speaking again.

'Well, I'm from Kenton. Right now it almost seems like we're neighbours.'

Kurt smiled sadly at him.

'Nice to know I'm not the only one who managed to get away.' He didn't even know himself if he meant it literally or metaphorically, or maybe both. 'Anyway, that's your classroom,' he pointed to the door they had just reached. 'Mine's there, so I- I probably should be going. See you around.'

'Thanks again,' said Blaine, when Kurt already had his back to him.

Kurt turned around with a courteous smile.

'You're welcome. And good luck.'

His classroom's door stood open, thank goodness, and he slipped in. Something in this encounter set his heart racing, his palms sweating… He swallowed, and sucked in a few deep breaths to steady himself and focus his thoughts on his first class of the year.

Meanwhile, Blaine entered the classroom on the opposite side of the hallway, with a subconscious smile on his face and his thoughts muddled.

***

Kurt was sitting in a dim-lit café at a small round table across from Rachel. He was sipping his non-fat latte, listening idly to her chatter about her first classes at NYADA. She was still high on adrenaline and probably incapable of seeing things clearly and objectively. Otherwise, there is no way she could be this enthusiastic about the remarkably boring History of Musical Theatre lecture she'd attended just before the lunch break. Kurt was also expecting a slight change of tone of their conversations once she'd met the greatest fear of all NYADA students – the deceptively innocent-looking Cassandra July, in charge of Dance classes.

But for now, he just kept on nodding and dropping an "Uh-huh", "Sure", or any other word with no actual meaning from time to time. Kurt knew Rachel well enough to be aware that sometimes it wasn't necessary to listen to her – she just wanted to talk, hear her own voice, and have the illusion that she's being listened to. So he sat there with his coffee, over the crumbs of their oatmeal muffins, while she was babbling and taking an occasional sip of her cappuccino.

'So how were your classes?,' she asked finally.

That caught him off guard. The question grabbed his attention only because of the pronoun. Did she really ask about him, instead of honking on about herself?

'What?'

'I knew you weren't listening!,' she said indignantly.

'Sorry, Rache, I just drifted off for a second. What were you saying?'

Rachel rolled her eyes.

'I asked how your classes were.'

So he'd heard her right. His eyebrows shot up.

'You're asking me about my classes? Really?' She nodded. 'Who are you and what have you done to Rachel Berry?!' He feigned a terrified expression.

'I realized recently that- um- that I can be a selfish bitch and that I could try and be a little bit less like that at least when it came to my best friend with whom I now live.'

She dropped her eyes to the table for a moment, and when she raised them again, she smiled timidly at him.

'Oh my god, Rachel! You trying to be selfless with me – I'm touched.' He said it jokingly, but in fact, he meant every word. 'And by the way, it's not that you can be a selfish bitch, youusually are one.'

She made an offended face, but then composed her expression.

'Yeah, I guess you're right. But I'm trying now, so at least answer my question.' She flashed her teeth in a quick smile.

'Normal, my classes were normal. Nothing out of the ordinary. Not much new stuff so far. You've heard it all last year and then in the summer.' He shrugged.

'You make me feel bad that I'm always the one talking.'

***

A vast majority of Kurt's acquaintances at NYADA would probably tell you his life was a dream come true. He was immensely talented, looked like he walked straight out of a GQ spreadsheet, had an endearing personality and his dad was a Congressman. Apart from all that, he also seemed to be incredibly comfortable in his own skin, truly out and proud.

But the people who met Kurt only after he'd moved to New York did not know the whole story. They did not know about the self-loathing he had to conquer, or the bullying he had to endure.

The slushies thrown in his face, being tossed into dumpsters or called names… At some point it started to simply bounce off him. The pain dulled, even the ice felt a little less freezing. The bullying never stopped, but Kurt had developed an armour that shielded him by keeping his emotions hidden and buried deep below the surface. It was like an evolutionary development; a survival mechanism triggered by too much negative experience.

The armour – with no dent or scratch – protected him from every assault. Until the attack he came under was too severe for his shell to repel.

Although it had been almost three years ago, Kurt could recall it as if not even a day had passed. He could remember it all. The screech of the tires, the heavy footsteps, the cold November air on his skin, the wet sidewalk plastered to his cheek. The kicks, the blows, the pain. The fear nobody would come and he'd die there, all alone, the way he had been all this time. All alone against his bully.

The healing process stretched over a few weeks. The broken ribs throbbed, the bruises faded from almost-black purple to yellowish, the stitches were taken out of the cut lip. Several scars remained, marking his body for good, the most prominent one being the pale line going vertically through the left side of his lower lip to a few millimeters below it. No matter how much he tried to conceal it with make-up, it never worked, so he gave up the attempts. People were rarely bold enough to ask how he got the scar, and when they did, he said he had had an accident and didn't go into details.

On the inside, however, he never fully recovered. Even when he had met Chandler, and he was no longer alone, the wounds were there, the fear never went away. They avoided going out, especially when it was dark, after Kurt had once freaked out (they were walking back to the Hummels' from the movie theatre, when a car somewhere near them stopped with a screech; Kurt stalled and began to tremble uncontrollably; Chandler held him and soothed him for fifteen minutes before Kurt calmed down enough to make any motion at all). Moving to New York did wonders to his self-esteem and he no longer felt as threatened as he did in Lima. But there was still a dread in him that at some point in time he'd run out of luck and someone would make him as terrified again.

And he cringed at the sound of tires screeching. And he shivered every time someone seemed to be walking a little too close behind him.

But no one really knew. Rachel, Burt, Carole, Finn, Mercedes, and Chandler, they knew most of it. Nobody knew it all.

***

Meeting him for the first time, Blaine could not possibly have had any idea about the experiences Kurt had had prior to that moment. Yet the subtle bond that seemed to have formed, made him subconsciously aware they were alike.

Cold November air also made him remember the most terrifying moments in his life. But it wasn't a braking car or kicks that stuck in his memory forever.

He still remembered everything very vividly, almost four years later. Sometimes, when he closed his eyes, he could hear the muffled noises of a school dance, the piercing cries they uttered and the jeering laughs of their assailants. The spit on his face.

The utter, overwhelming sense of humiliation when people started streaming out of the school, just to see them lying there, bloody from the baseball bats. Blood mixing with their sweat and tears, and the attackers' saliva.

Like Kurt, in a few weeks time, Blaine was back on his feet, his right fibula no longer broken, the internal haemorrhage long since stopped and the bruises not perceptible anymore. But he still felt as if a great chunk of flesh had been removed from his chest, a gaping, irreparable hole. It took away almost all of the little courage he had had. He wished he had never come out. He wished he had never gone to the damn Sadie Hawkins. He wished he could just go back to the closet.

When he transferred to Dalton a few months after that fateful night, it became easier. He wasn't bullied, not a vicious word was directed at him. People liked him and he liked them, but he became more reserved than he had already been. He didn't want to get too close to others. He managed to create a façade for himself, pretending to be comfortable with the way he was. The truth was, however, that the only thing that gave him confidence, the only thing that really did make him okay with himself, was performing. The stage and music, they gave him the light in his eyes.

It would have helped to have someone to tell him over and over again how exceptional he was. He had his parents, who loved him unconditionally, no matter what. There were times he didn't see them for a week, but deep down he always knew they were there for him. And even though Blaine rarely saw him anymore and he could be such a pain in the butt, so was Cooper. Blaine's friends from the Warblers were fun, and he had some amazing memories from their trips to sectionals and regionals, and the Warbler parties. But they were there when everything was alright; the moment something went wrong, Blaine was all alone again. They just filled up the space, drowned out the silence. Not one of them truly cared.

For a split second Blaine thought his luck might be changing. When he found out the cocky handsome transfer boy was gay, he started picturing the two of them together, what it would be like to have someone who understood. He imagined they had to have so much in common.

But they didn't. Sebastian, having grown up in San Francisco, had never tasted the bitter flavour of being bullied. He'd been called a fag a couple of times, but never cared enough to dwell upon it. His arrogant demeanour seemed to intimidate the bullies in Ohio enough for them to stay away.

And soon Blaine realized that being gay and being a Warbler were probably the only things he and Sebastian had in common, and moved on. It wasn't as difficult as he'd feared.

Around that time Blaine started to looking forward to going to college more and more impatiently. He was hoping for a better, fresh start.

***

Blaine was leaving the dance studio at the end of a long line of exhausted students, dragging his feet. His muscles screamed at him with every motion, no matter how tiny it was. It was worse than any PE class he'd ever attended. He wished only for a long, steamy shower and his soft bed.

He stopped in the hallway for a second to take a look at his reflection in the glass of the door. His hair was a complete mess. He sighed.

The rest of the class had already disappeared behind a corner of the hallway, and the sounds of footsteps mixed with chatter were slowly dying out.

Then he heard it. Someone was playing a piano in one of the classrooms nearby.

He located the room, but before he reached the door, a voice came ringing from inside.

I dreamed a dream in time gone by…

The singer's voice gave him goose bumps. It was so unique, so clear and strong, and perfect. He'd never heard a voice like that before.

Blaine motioned slowly to the door, walking as if he was approaching a fretful cat he wanted to catch. He didn't want to disturb the singer, he didn't want the song to end.

The glass in the door revealed to him a room with walls covered in dark gray wallpaper and a grand piano situated in the middle. There was only one person inside, sitting at the piano, playing and singing. A strikingly familiar person. The perfectly arranged hair, the upturned nose, the white dress shirt, the black vest and the seemingly carelessly worn beige silk scarf…

But the voice-

He stood there, mesmerized, soaking up each note that left Kurt's mouth, each movement of his fingers on the keyboard, each expression that crossed his face.

When the last notes had died out, Kurt lingered a moment with his fingers still pressing the keys and his eyes fixed on the sheet music. A small smile arched his lips.

Then he turned on the stool, facing the door. His eyes fell on Blaine and his expression became a mixture of surprise and uneasiness. It seemed he didn't like being snuck upon.

Blaine flushed with embarrassment. He pushed the door open, feeling awkward, but not wanting to look like a stalker.

'Sorry I eavesdropped,' he said with a grimace. 'I didn't mean to, I was just passing when you started singing. I didn't want to interrupt your rehearsal-'

'It's okay. I wasn't rehearsing. I just like staying here sometimes and playing, and singing a little.'

Kurt stood up and began to fumble through his folder of sheet music. He was trying not to seem uneasy with having been eavesdropped on. Performing on a stage with hundreds of people in the audience didn't freak him out as much as having only one listener or a handful of them in front of him.

'Anyway,' said Blaine, as an attempt to break the uncomfortable silence, 'that was amazing. Wow, your voice is...'

'Like a girl's, I know,' interrupted Kurt.

'No, that's not what I wanted to say. It's just… incredible.'

Even though Kurt had heard that particular word in reference to his voice many times before, it spread a warmth from his chest and through the rest of his body, until the tips of his fingers and toes tingled pleasantly.

'Well, thank you.' He shot Blaine a sheepish smile.

'You're welcome.' Blaine shifted, realizing Kurt probably wanted to be left alone. 'Um, I guess I should be going. See you around.'

And he left, although the last thing he wanted to do was go out of that dark classroom and away from the boy at the piano.