Alright. It was a terrible idea. The worst Blaine has ever had, if he’s honest; bad enough to convince his father to send him to a Catholic school-cum-convent. Blaine is not completely stupid – yet, he’s stupid enough to kiss boys in broad daylight – and he knows what people say about Our Lady of Martyrs School For Boys. He knows what kinds of boys are sent there and what happens to them. He’s heard the men in his family whisper about it enough as he was growing up, heard the snickers and the comments about how his father should put him on the list before it’s too late.

Apparently, it’s too late now.

The silence in the car on the way to the institution weighs down on Blaine but it’s nothing new. Ever since they were caught by the baker’s daughter, Blaine’s father hasn’t said a word to him. It was his mother who told him where they were sending him, his mother who helped him pack and his mother, again, whom he felt he was letting down in all of this.

The scenery changes around them until the forest has completely taken over. It’s almost an hour before they reach the small village where Our Lady of Martyrs is located. It’s a tiny, desolate village, the kind that actually has to change the sign telling how many inhabitants they have when someone dies: 1,042 people as they drive by it and Blaine suspects that’s counting the boys in the school. Underneath it, smaller, another figure tells them how many of their men were sent to fight abroad. Blaine wonders if their number was withdrawn from the total count of inhabitants and thinks that if it hasn’t, no matter how many of them manage to survive and come back in one piece, the village is bound to see its population dwindling down to naught very soon.

The school is located right next to the church, which is small and made of white wood. Blaine can almost smell the heady scent of incense that certainly is embedded in the wood of the walls. The school itself is an austere building made of sharp angles and steep gables. It looks like an orphanage or a mental institution; in all honesty, it’s probably a bit of both. The boys sent there are better off forgotten by their parents and they certainly need fixing. A shiver runs down his spine as he looks at the windows; as a cloud passes in front of the sun, they look like tens of glassy eyes casting looks around without actually seeing anything.

The church and school both face the central place of the village, where a plain fountain has been placed to lighten up the gloomy atmosphere of what surrounds it. Its single jet of water only makes everything look more miserable and soulless.

“Isn’t this a lovely little town!” his mother exclaims from the front seat, turning around to smile at Blaine. “You’re going to have a good time here, sweetheart, I can tell. Who knows what mischief you and your classmates will get up to in those streets!”

Next to her, Blaine’s father huffs and clears his throat. Well of course, he doesn’t want Blaine to get into any sort of mischief with boys and he needed to remind everyone, just in case they were starting to enjoy themselves too much. This isn’t a time for rejoicing, as he makes a point to remind his wife.

Blaine’s father stops the car in the small courtyard of the school and Blaine gets out, clutching his small suitcase tightly with both hands. His parents start towards the school and Blaine follows them. If the weather outside is hot and stifling like an early September day is wont to be, the inside of the school feels like the inside of a oven. They are ushered down a long corridor with bare white walls by a man Blaine dislikes at first sight. The reality of his situation is starting to dawn on him and he feels his throat tighten with the urge to cry. Blaine’s mother’s heels click against the hardwood floor and he focuses on the sound to ground himself and try to control how his head is spinning. He won’t give his father the satisfaction to cry in front of him.

He doesn’t pay much attention to the meeting with Father James, which earns him a slap behind the head from his father.

“As I was saying,” the religious man says in a calm, measured voice once he has Blaine’s attention. “Mr. Anderson will receive an excellent education here, beyond academia. Our institution’s main goal is to instill good values in our students and to ensure they grow up to be hard-working, well-respected men. Obviously, your son has to understand that in order to achieve this, there will be rules he has to follow closely lest punishments will be administered, starting now. It is customary for our institution to forbid students who come in for a situation similar to Blaine’s to join extracurricular activities, such as choir or reading groups. Understood?”

Blaine nods stiffly, his eyes going from the man’s serene face to the crucifix hanging on the wall behind him. He swallows thickly, the knot in his throat now painful.

“Now, Brother Benjamin will show Mr. Anderson to his dormitory. He will be given twenty minutes to unpack and then will be escorted to his classroom, where he will join his classmates. A schedule and his textbooks have already been placed in his room. He is expected to follow his classmates’ lead to know which behaviour to adopt at all times. We will finish filling the paperwork in the meantime. I recommend you say your goodbyes, now.”

The goodbyes are brief, to say the least, and before Blaine knows it, he’s walking into a classroom filled with boys wearing the same uniform than he changed into before leaving his dorm room. Scratchy gray trousers made of wool, a white dress shirt, a navy blazer and a matching tie. He is told to sit at one of the empty desks and to try to keep up by a severe Brother with a wheezing voice.

Blaine catches the boy sitting to his left glancing at him a few times and he risks a smile the next time he does. Their eyes meet and Blaine’s stomach swoops at the sight of the boy’s almost impossibly blue eyes. The boy nods at him and then turns back to the blackboard. Blaine lets his eyes linger on him and the more he takes in his profile, the worse he feels. This is exactly why he’s been sent here and within an hour, he’s already gushing over another boy. It’s obvious he deserves everything he’ll be put through.

He tries to catch him after the class ends but the boy runs off as soon as the bell rings. Blaine follows the crowd of boys as they walk down the hallway in silence and waits for all of them to sit down before going to the only empty desk.

By the time this other lesson ends, he realises none of the boys have said a single word since he arrived. His mind then goes to those friaries which made vows of silence and he wonders if that’s what he was put in, and what he’s supposed to do if he can’t even talk, let alone sing, and the knot in his throat is back.

“Can I help you?” a Brother asks him and Blaine realises he’s standing in the middle of the dormitories floor without moving.

“Hum—yes—er. What am I supposed to do? I don’t—I’m new here.”

The Brother smiles at him and Blaine relaxes. He’s allowed to talk, if only some of the time.

“You are to put your books in your room and proceeds to the refectory. It’s lunch time. You are advised to sit with your classmates. Hurry up or you won’t get anything to eat before dinner.”

Blaine nods and swiftly goes to his room to throw his books on his bed before walking out again. He spots a few boys he remembers seeing in his classes and follows them down the narrow hallways and steep staircases.

They enter a large room with high ceilings filled with tables seating about five boys each. Blaine looks around nervously and sees that none of them have food, no plates even, and figures they’ll have someone walking around serving them. With that in mind, Blaine makes his way to a table with only one person sitting at it. He breathes a sigh of relief when he sees the boy from his first lesson.

“Is this seat taken?” Blaine asks, trying to hide his nerves as he points to the chair in front of the boy. The boy looks at him with curious eyes and shakes his head. Blaine sits down and gives him a small smile, which the boy returns. “I’m Blaine Anderson. I’m new here.”

“I figured. You better keep your voice down,” he says in a whisper and Blaine realises the only conversations around him are carried in hushed voices. “Kurt Hummel,” he adds, extending his hand over the table to shake Blaine’s.

His skin is soft and so pale the contrast with his own is startling, and—no. Blaine stiffens as he lets go of Kurt’s hand and he glances at the large crucifix hanging behind the main table, which is placed perpendicularly to the others, and where many Brothers and Father James are seated. These thoughts are wrong. This is what landed him there in the first place. He can’t go and fall for another boy, even if he’s breathtakingly beautiful. Blaine should not even notice that.

When he looks back at Kurt, the boy has his head bowed down and a blush on his face. Feeling Blaine’s eyes on him, he looks up and frowns.

“You’re here for the same reason than I, I assume.”

Blaine holds his eyes and nods slowly. “I think it’s safe to say I am.”

Kurt’s frown intensifies. “Then you have to stop looking at me this way, Blaine. You shouldn’t even have talked to me. This is wrong,” he whispers animatedly, leaning slightly forward as he emphasises ‘wrong.’ “We are wrong, Blaine, so very wrong. We are wretched creatures if we give in to those sinful instincts. The only thing that awaits us is the fires of Hell if we dare let those thoughts fill our minds. We—you will have to go to confession. Tonight. I know what you are thinking and I won’t let you contaminate me again with those wicked—I won’t let you.”

Blaine watches as Kurt finishes his spiel by crossing himself and muttering a prayer under his breath. Blaine lets out a shaky breath and clears his throat, averting his eyes when Kurt looks up.

“You mean not all of us here are—that?” Blaine risks asking.

Kurt glares at him. “Obviously not. What would the odds be? No, you have your delinquents, your street urchins, your orphans—all sorts of very lovely boys. God have mercy on us all,” Kurt says darkly and there’s so much self-loathing in his voice that Blaine winces. “Some of us are even more than just one of those. You still have parents?”

Blaine nods and is stopped from returning the question when a boy in a wheelchair nears them. Kurt moves a chair away so he can get closer to the table and once he’s in place, he flashes a large smile to Blaine. His eyes look huge behind his thick glasses and Blaine smiles back, already liking him.

“New kid?” the boy asks Kurt, who only nods stiffly and busies himself scratching a dark spot on the tabletop with the nail of his thumb. “I’m Artie Abrams.”

Blaine shakes his hand. “Blaine Anderson.”

“I see you met our very own ray of sunshine, Kurt Hummel,” Artie teases, smirking when Kurt huffs. “Don’t mind him. He’s a righteous pain in the—”

“Artie!” Kurt hisses.

“Alright, alright, don’t have a hissy fit. Kurt’s our favourite pillar-biter, he is,” Artie replies, still smirking.

“How dare you!” Kurt snaps, his face glowing with anger and embarrassment. “Do you know what awaits liars? You should—”

“Mr. Hummel, I must ask you to keep your voice down,” a Brother asks as he walks between the tables. “Your meals are about to be served and you wouldn’t want to be asked to leave the refectory without eating, would you?”

“Sorry, Brother Joseph,” Kurt whispers sheepishly.

Artie looks at Blaine in a way that says ‘you’ve seen nothing yet’ and Blaine shrugs in an equivocal way. He doesn’t want to get on either boy’s wrong side yet so he prefers to stay neutral.

“Anyway, what brings you among us?” Artie asks lightly before quietly cheering when boys who don’t look more than twelve enter the room pushing carts covered in plates of food.

Blaine looks at them in confusion, wondering what they did to get sent to kitchen chores. Artie follows his puzzled gaze and lets out a joyless laugh.

“Orphans,” Artie explains. “They have no parents to pay for their stay here so they work instead. Like Kurt and I, except we’re not in the kitchen. I help with the laundry, Kurt with sewing.”

“You’re orphans?” Blaine asks the both of them though his eyes remain on Kurt.

“He is, I’m not,” Artie says. “Why am I working, then? Easy. What’s the use of a cripple on a farm, I ask you. When I lost the use of my legs, I became a burden to my family. All I could do what sit around the house and read books. A waste of food, I tell you, and with food so hard to come by, they registered me here as an orphan so I would get a good education without costing them a dime.” Artie shrugs as he finishes his explanation but the look on his face says he doesn’t feel as lightly about the matter as he pretends to. “It’s supposed to be a secret but everyone knows. I’m not the only one. They don’t really mind, the Brothers, as long as I work for free.”

“You should be grateful for what your parents and this institution offer you, Artie, instead of complaining about your situation,” Kurt says coldly before sweetly thanking the young boy giving him his plate.

“Alas, gratefulness is but the expectation of further favours, my dear Kurt, and I refuse to be indebted to anyone. By complaining, I ensure that no one gives me more than what I worked for, that way I know I owed everything I get.”

Blaine nods in agreement when Artie glances at him and then looks down at his plate as the entire refectory says grace. The food looks decent but he doesn’t expect it to taste very good. The first bite confirms his prediction. It tastes bland and dull, and there’s no salt or pepper to be seen on the table so Blaine resigns himself to endure the meal.

“What about you, Kurt? What happened to your parents?” Blaine asks to fill the silence.

“They’re dead,” Kurt answers primly without looking at Blaine.

“Obviously… How?”

“Very tactful,” Artie mutters with a smirk.

“I do not wish to talk about it with a complete stranger, Blaine Anderson,” Kurt replies before sticking his nose up – Blaine would not have believed someone Kurt’s age would do something as childish if he hadn’t seen it himself – and ignoring both Artie and Blaine for the rest of the meal.

The afternoon goes by before Blaine knows it and the three lessons leave way to—well, Blaine doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do, now. He’s sitting on his bed, his dorm room door opened just like everyone else’s, and staring at the wall. He didn’t get homework and he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to wander around the school. He doesn’t even know if he’s allowed to leave his room to go to the bathroom without asking for permission.

He gets his answer when Artie wheels himself in his room, a stack of sheets on his knees.

“I knew you’d be confused about what you’re supposed to do. Here’s the list of work we’re supposed to do at night. We had to copy it down at the beginning of the year, so I figured you wouldn’t have a copy. We’re expected to hand in the entire week worth of exercises on Friday so I imagine you have to do the same, even though it’s Wednesday.”

Artie starts wheeling himself backwards out of the room but stops abruptly. “If you have any questions, I’m four doors to the right of yours. I’m working in the laundry room after dinner until nine, but otherwise I’m always there.” He starts again and stops. “And Kurt wanted me to tell you that confession is in the village church from seven to nine. He said you needed to go.”

Blaine lets out a shaky breath and thanks Artie. He’s dying to know more about Kurt but doesn’t dare ask yet. Artie’s allegiance to Kurt is certainly strong and pushing too much might make him go to Kurt and tell all about Blaine being nosey, which would cause Kurt to have another fit.

Besides, showing too much interest in Kurt is very wrong and exactly why he will be first in line at confession tonight.

To busy himself until then, Blaine starts copying down the lengthy list of work he’s expected to do every week. He now knows what he will do to fill his free time. It’s obvious they intentionally make sure he doesn’t get any. Hopefully he won’t have any time left to think about what he’s not supposed to think about.

Kurt is nowhere to be found at dinner and Artie explains that Kurt often does that. “He starves himself when he thinks he acted wrong. He got angry at me during lunch so he’s punishing himself.” Artie half-shrugs and gives Blaine a sad smile. “This kid is messed up. I don’t know what happened to him before he came here but he’s—passionate, and not necessarily in a good way.”

Blaine nods but doesn’t push for more information. The less he thinks about Kurt as anything more than a classmate, the better he will be.

He leaves for the church as soon as he’s done eating. The church is empty when he enters and he takes his time to look around. It’s far from the one in Westerville, with its elaborately carved Way of the Cross and statuesque organ. This one as very simplistic wooden carvings and the pulpit is simply a book-holder in the middle of a raised platform.

Noises coming from behind his back make Blaine turn around in time to see Kurt leave the confessional. Their eyes meet and Kurt inhales sharply before hurrying out of the building, crossing himself as he goes. Blaine swallows and looks around before walking towards the confessional.

Blaine stops in front of it, suddenly frozen. He feels nauseous and like his stomach has turned to lead. In that instant, he knows he can’t go in and confess. Before anyone catches him there, Blaine hurries out of the church and stops in the central place, heaving like he ran a marathon. Staggering, he sits on the ledge of the fountain and takes his head in his hands to try and steady himself.

“You didn’t do it.” Blaine’s head snaps up to see Kurt sitting a few feet away from him.

“No,” Blaine mutters, looking down again.

Kurt huffs and the rustling of fabric tells Blaine he scooted closer. “Coward,” Kurt sneers.

“Yeah, I am,” Blaine says with a sigh.

“I go every day,” Kurt tells him haughtily. Blaine looks up and sees he’s staring off in the distance.

“You can’t possibly commit mortal sins every day, Kurt.”

Kurt huffs. “Don’t be silly. I confess venial sins as well.”

“Like getting angry at Artie?”

“Exactly.”

“He had it coming,” Blaine notes.

“It doesn’t change a thing,” Kurt replies. Their eyes meet and Kurt quickly turns his gaze away.

Blaine hums but drops the subject. His nausea is receding and his head has stopped spinning. “What happened to your parents, Kurt?” he asks.

Kurt shakes his head but smiles. “How did you get here, Blaine?” he asks back and his tone has an amused tint to it that Blaine is surprised to hear from the boy. It’s unexpected and makes Blaine feel terrible because he likes it way too much.

Blaine smirks at him. “I was caught kissing the milk boy behind the general store.”

Kurt gasps and pales. “You acted on it?!” he hisses, his eyes darting around in sheer panic. “You are—thinking it is bad enough but acting on it is boldly defying everything! How—and you look so calm about it, too! How can you—don’t you even feel guilty about it?”

“Kurt, calm down,” Blaine says hurriedly.

“How do you expect me to calm down when you are even more wretched than I thought?” His voice has gone shrill. “And you won’t even confess! Next thing we know, you’ll tell me you enjoyed it?” Kurt is once more red in the face and his eyes are wide with panic.

“Hey, hey, you need to breathe, Kurt, or you’ll work yourself into fits.” Blaine reaches forward to rub his back but Kurt flinches.

“Don’t touch me, you heathen.”

“Give me time.” “It’s my first day, here. I—I know what I did was bad, I’m aware of that. But confessing would be—I’m not ready to face the consequences, yet. Yes, I’m a coward. I need time.” Blaine shakes his head. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Obviously,” Kurt deadpans.

“I need guidance.”

“Still stating the obvious, I see.” Kurt looks up to the sky, which is darkening by the minute, and gets up. “I better go back inside.”

“What happened to your parents, Kurt?” Blaine asks again, tentatively teasing.

“Confess and maybe I’ll tell you,” Kurt shouts back over his shoulder as he walks quickly towards the entrance of the school.

Blaine bites his lip hard when he catches himself thinking that he really likes that odd kid.

---

A month later, Blaine is still unable to confess. Whenever he gets near the confessional, he starts feeling physically sick and has to run outside, finding himself breathing in the crisp October air like he spent hours underwater. Despite the many sermons he heard telling him in barely veiled words that his very being is wrong, he still can’t face the punishment that unavoidably awaits him the day he decides to step inside the confessional.

His internal struggle is nothing compared to Kurt’s, though. If Blaine is torn between his cowardice and his conscience telling him he ought to be absolved of the horrible things he’s done, Kurt seems to be caught between hating and befriending Blaine and it makes Blaine think that perhaps, the boy doesn’t truly hate him.

It only gets worse with time. Blaine finds himself teasing or being downright flirty with Kurt more and more and surprisingly, Kurt is receptive, sometimes, and will give Blaine covert smiles and light brushes of his hand on his arms or hands that he pairs with furtive glances, even as he tells Blaine to leave him alone. Then, the next day, he’ll act aloof and cold like they don’t even know each other. It’s slowly driving Blaine insane.

On the days Kurt is nice to him, though, they can spend hours walking around town or on the school grounds, discussing without ever running out of topics. Sometimes, when the mood is right, they even end up almost flirting and those are Blaine’s favourite days. These are days when Kurt lets their hands brush, laughs louder and smiles wider. Blaine is terrified of the things Kurt’s eyes and smiles do and say to him on those days.

“Kurt tells me you still haven’t confessed,” Artie says as they walk through the village.

It’s a cold yet sunny Saturday afternoon in late October and they’ve just walked out of a funeral ceremony for soldiers who died recently. Five empty coffins for five boys barely older than Blaine, killed in Poland, or Germany, or France; Blaine has lost count. It’s the third ceremony he attends since he arrived.

“I haven’t, no,” Blaine replies lightly, hoping Artie won’t push further.

“It’s really upsetting him that you don’t. I have half a mind to stop going just to bother him but even I do it at least once a month.”

“What’s wrong with him, anyway?” Blaine asks, more sharply than he intended.

“What do you mean?”

“One minute he’s friendly and the next he’s ignoring me.”

Artie purses his lips and looks away from Blaine. “The Puckermans used to live there,” he says, pointing a house to their right.

“Who?” Blaine doesn’t even try to hide his annoyance at Artie’s intentional avoidance.

“The Puckermans. Noah, their son, he used to deliver food from the grocers when I worked in the kitchen a few years ago. They had to flee last year.”

“What happened?” Blaine asks but he already knows the answer. It’s making his stomach knot.

“They were Jewish,” Artie says in a low voice. “People tolerated them before, but you know how it is. In a small town like this, with a friary on the grounds, religion is everything. That’s what’s wrong with Kurt.”

Blaine squints at Artie. “I’m not sure I’m following.”

“Well, you better try to understand. Kurt is worrying himself sick over you.” With that, Artie quickly wheels himself away from Blaine and back to school.

Later that night, Blaine spends ten minutes pacing his room before he makes up his mind, cursing himself for acting like such a fool for something as banal as talking to Kurt, his friend. Grabbing the bundle of clothes he’d made earlier that evening, he leaves his room and walks down the hall towards Kurt’s. Knocking lightly on the doorframe, he peaks his head inside hesitantly.

“Hey, Kurt, are you busy?”

Kurt looks up from his schoolwork with a start and frowns when he sees Blaine. “Yes.”

It’s a bad day and Blaine’s face falls. He shouldn’t expect much when Kurt is in that sort of mood.

“Oh, well,” Blaine steps inside the room anyway, earning himself a heavy sigh from Kurt. “I was wondering if you could repair some of my things? Most of my socks have holes in them now and there’s a tear in one of my shirts. I know that’s your job here, so I figured I’d ask.”

Kurt rolls his eyes but pushes his chair away from his desk and gets up to cross the small room. He pulls Blaine’s clothes out of his hands and makes sure to not meet his eyes. “Come back in an hour, I should be done.”

“Do you mind if I stay?”

Kurt sighs and rolls his eyes before sitting down again and putting his textbooks away, replacing them with Blaine’s clothes. He opens one of the drawers and takes out needles and thread. Blaine watches in silence for a moment as Kurt nimbly starts sewing his socks.

“It’s really warm in your room, do you mind if I open the window a bit?” Blaine asks after several minutes in silence.

“If you want to kill me, you are free to do so,” Kurt snaps.

“What do you mean?”

“My mother died of tuberculosis. It’s only a matter of time before I have it, too. So, sure, if you want me to get consumption, go on and open the damn window.”

Blaine’s eyes widen at the same time than Kurt’s back tenses. “Kurt Hummel, did you just curse?” Blaine drawls, a smirk on his lips.

Dropping his needle and Blaine’s sock, Kurt crosses himself before putting his hands together and muttering a prayer under his breath. Then, turning towards Blaine, he sniffles. Blaine feels his stomach knot up when he sees Kurt’s eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“You are a foul person, Blaine Anderson. I don’t know what I did to you so that you would find amusement in my misery. You have caused me nothing but trouble since you arrived and I wish you would—” Kurt stops talking and shakes his head, pressing his lips together until they disappear. “I have to—I’ll be right back.”

He gets up and leaves his room. Blaine follows right after him instinctively, almost running down the hallway to keep up with Kurt’s long strides. Kurt ignores him until he enters what looks like a storage room. The door closes heavily behind them and Kurt lets out a frustrated groan.

“Why can’t you leave me alone?” he snaps, stalking through the aisles formed by the shelves, Blaine on his heels. “What have I done for you to harass me like you do?”

“Kurt, if you want us to talk, you’ll have to stop running away from me. Let me at least apologise. My conduct has been despicable.” Blaine winces at his own words. He sounds like his father.

“I’m not running away from you, I need white thread to fix your clothes and didn’t have any in my room.”

“You know what I mean.”

Kurt’s shoulders slump and he stops at once. Blaine catches up with him and goes to stand in front of him. Kurt keeps his head bowed down and Blaine doesn’t try to meet his gaze. He hates forcing himself on Kurt that way but he needs answers.

“Every time you talk to me, I have to confess,” Kurt says quietly. “I was doing so well. I thought I was cured, but then you had to come and—” Kurt shakes his head and his voice breaks into a sob. “You have no idea what I go through whenever I confess that.”

“And you expect me to go and suffer through the same things than you do?” Blaine chuckles dryly.

“You’re living a lie! As long as you don’t confess, you’ll be treated as any other student in this school while I remain a pariah. It isn’t fair that you get the privileges of being just another normal student while I endure the whispers from my classmates and the chastising from the clergy!”

“And this is why we can’t be friends?”

“This is why I shouldn’t even talk to you, Blaine,” Kurt says coldly. He raises his chin in defiance after grabbing what he came for. “It was great, but I think we ought to stop this acquaintance.”

Kurt tries to walk around Blaine but he blocks his way, their bodies inches from each other. Their eyes meet and they hold still as seconds pass. Something warm churns in Blaine’s stomach. His breath picks up and his heart starts thumping in his ears as they continue to gaze into each other’s eyes. Kurt is as flustered as Blaine, he can feel his warm breath against his lips and knows Kurt can feel his, but when Blaine almost involuntarily leans forward, Kurt dashes out of the room.

Blaine doesn’t sleep well that night. He tosses and turns without being able to fall asleep for hours and when he finally does, it’s to wake up soon after when thoughts of Kurt occupy his dreams; he’s kissing him feverishly, their flushed skins pressed together as they cling to each other and make noises he can still hear ringing in his ears after he wakes up.

With horror, he realises he’s hard in his pajamas and he lies motionless for long minutes, willing it to go away as angry tears fill his eyes. It isn’t the first time it happens to him but never before had it been so clearly caused by thoughts of a boy.

Kurt is right. They are wrong. They are so very wrong and he needs to be cured. He has no other choice. First thing tomorrow, he’ll go confess and endure whatever he deserves to go through. No more thoughtless flirting and teasing with Kurt.

With that resolution in mind, he slips his hand inside his pants, letting the images from his dream fill his mind once more as he bites his lips to stifle the sobs and moans that threaten to escape.

---

Kurt is in trouble. He hasn’t been this much in trouble since the first time he realised he did not only like Finn Hudson as a friend.

Except, this time, instead of being a tall guy who would too soon turn into his brother, it’s a short boy who follows him around like a puppy. And he looks like a puppy, too, and seriously, how is Kurt supposed to hate a puppy?

Kurt can’t get him out of his head. He occupies his thoughts night and day – oh and the nights are when it’s really bad because Kurt’s imagination is his worst enemy. It’s become so bad that he stopped confessing: at that point, they’d probably excommunicate him. That’s how filthy his mind has become.

Say, for example, they’re in English class. They’ll be allowed time to read a chapter of whatever they are reading right now – it might be A Tale of Two Cities but Kurt really hasn’t been paying attention in the past weeks and for all he knows, it’s War and Peace – and he’ll find himself covertly looking at Blaine the whole time. He’ll watch the way he rubs the corner of the pages with his thumb as he reads, he’ll follow the curve of his neck longingly, he’ll marvel at the length of his eyelashes, the shape of his nose, the broadness of his shoulders and how they stretch the fabric of his blazer and before he knows it, he will be squirming uncomfortably in his seat and cursing himself under his breath.

So, obviously, he’s mean. He has to keep Blaine away lest he does something they will both bitterly regret, and it usually works until Blaine says something that can be interpreted as flirtatious and Kurt melts, gives in, and flirt right back.

Yet, his fit in the storage room the week before seems to have calmed Blaine and Kurt hates that he misses the attention. He misses their conversations and how easy it was to talk to Blaine and he misses that he had someone who understood his life.

But it’s for the best, right? No more interactions with Blaine means no need to monitor everything he says and does.

Maybe if he repeats it often enough, he’ll believe it but, so far, it’s not working.

Trying to push thoughts of Blaine and everything that’s wrong about the friendship he longs for away, Kurt enters the shower room and groans in frustration when he hears a few showerheads. He hates showering when he’s not alone but curfew is in twenty minutes and he hates doing it in the morning even more than he dislikes the tension his presence causes.

Quickly stripping off his clothes, he wraps a towel around his waist and picks up his shampoo and soap before heading for the showerhead he always picks: the farthest away from the door, next to the back wall, so he can face the corner and pretend he’s alone if he’s not.

He’s almost there when he notices Blaine. It takes him so much by surprise that he lets out a yelp he barely manages to stifle. Not letting his eyes linger on Blaine’s back – definitely not, no, of course not, he is not looking – Kurt hurries away and focuses on washing himself. With a metallic squeak, a boy shuts the water and Kurt chances a glance over his shoulder. With him gone, he’s alone with Blaine.

It doesn’t take long before his eyes drift towards Blaine. He’s two showerheads away from him and hasn’t noticed Kurt or if he has, he’s playing innocent really well. Kurt follows the curve of his back with his eyes and his breath quickens as he looks at Blaine’s round, naked ass. He continues to look down and takes in the muscular thighs with a shaky sigh. Kurt closes his eyes and wills himself to look away before curiosity gets the best of him and he oversteps too many of his own boundaries.

“Kurt?”

Kurt falters and steadies himself against the wall before opening his eyes. He needs to calm down, he’s too nervous for something as banal as showering near Blaine. “Blaine?” he asks innocently.

“Look at me, Kurt,” Blaine says hesitantly.

“Blaine, don’t be silly,” Kurt snaps. “This is not the place.”

“I know it’s wrong,” Blaine groans and the sound goes straight to Kurt’s groin. “I confessed, you know.”

“Do we really have to discuss this here?” Kurt asks in a small voice.

“I just—I know what you said, and I respect that, but we have to talk. I need it.”

“I certainly won’t talk to you when we’re both naked! And to be honest, there is nothing to talk about, Blaine. We—we are in the same situation, I offered you guidance, you followed it, that’s it! There’s nothing else to be done! You do whatever it is you have to do to absolve yourself of sins and avoid them in the future, and I do the same. Each to his own.”

Kurt wonders if Blaine can tell how little he believes in his words or the effect his voice has on him.

“Look me in the eyes and tell me there’s nothing more to talk about.” Blaine’s voice sounds too close and Kurt risks opening his eyes. He’s standing a foot away from Kurt.

Kurt finally meets Blaine’s eyes and he gulps at the fire he sees burning in them. He has to know. There’s no way he doesn’t know the effect he has on Kurt; it’s near impossible that his rapid heartbeat can’t be heard echoing around the room and if Blaine doesn’t notice the way Kurt can’t seem to tear his eyes away from him, he’s probably blind. Having Blaine so close after a week of complete deprivation – and yes, it does feel like an addiction, which is very saddening, Kurt is fully aware of it – seems to set something in motion in his head and before he knows it, he’s nodding.

“Come to my room after curfew. Don’t get caught.” His voice comes out breathy and low.

Blushing at both his words and voice’s betrayal, Kurt turns the water off, grabs his things and stalks out of the room. He only notices he hasn’t even washed after he’s put on his pajamas and thrown himself on his bed to groan into his pillow. It’s too late, now, and he’ll have to do it in the morning.

Half an hour passes before his dorm room opens and closes quickly. He hasn’t moved from his prostrated position on his bed. He feels the mattress shifting and pulls his legs to his chest so Blaine can sit down.

“Kurt,” he whispers and Kurt hums in acknowledgement. “I never meant for any of this to happen.”

“Me neither.”

“What do they do when you confess this?”

Kurt huffs. “What did they do?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Me neither.”

Blaine is quiet for a while and Kurt risks a glance at him. He’s sitting with his back against the wall and he’s staring at the ceiling. Kurt shifts to continue looking at Blaine. The moonlight is barely lighting him up but Kurt doesn’t need much light anymore to guess Blaine’s features, he knows them by heart already.

“Do you really think we’ll go to Hell for what we are?” Kurt is about to answer when Blaine talks again. “I know you talk like a Bible fanatic but I have a feeling you really aren’t. Well, either a feeling or a really strong wish. And it makes me sad to think about what they must have done to turn you into one.”

“You have the luxury to look normal,” Kurt begins softly. “I don’t have that chance. I’m a poor orphaned boy who looks and sounds like a girl. I’m an easy target.”

Blaine inhales sharply and shifts closer to Kurt. “Did they—”

“No,” Kurt says strongly. “No, they haven’t. But I’d rather be safe than sorry.”

“For the record, I think you’re handsome. But, ah—” Blaine clears his throat and scratches the back of his neck, looking away from Kurt. “Do you really think we’ll go to Hell?”

“Do you?”

“No.”

Blaine answers so strongly that Kurt lifts himself on an elbow to look at him. “No?”

Blaine shakes his head. “I know what they say. I listen to their sermons and what everyone says but I—I don’t see why the fact that I happened to fall for someone I shouldn’t like makes me a bad person and why because of this, no matter what I’ll do for the rest of my life, I’m damned.”

“You fell for me?” Kurt hears himself whisper and he puts his hand over his mouth immediately.

Blaine chuckles and clears his throat again. “Did I say that out loud?”

“You did,” Kurt breathes out, blushing.

Blaine chuckles nervously again. Kurt pushes himself up into a sitting position, his back against the headboard. He starts mindlessly scratching his nails against the cotton of his pants and worrying his lip between his teeth as he feels Blaine’s eyes on him. Somewhere in the distance, Kurt hears a clock ticking, the steady rhythm almost lost under the sound of Blaine’s breath.

“I think you’re handsome, too,” Kurt says quietly, bashfully. “And I don’t really hate you, not really.”

“I know. It was really obvious.” Blaine almost sounds smug, then, so Kurt extends a leg to kick his thigh. “Hey! Don’t hit me! You know it was.”

“Well, you didn’t make it hard to hide with all your flirting and your smiles.”

“So we were flirting.”

Kurt doesn’t answer right away. In that instant, he’s terrified. It’s scarier than hearing his father tell him Mommy won’t be coming home tonight because she’s sick, and then won’t come back home ever again. It’s scarier than being pulled out of class to be told his father was found dead after a heart attack. It’s scarier than sitting at his parents’ funerals, scarier than confessing to a cold-voiced priest that he’s homosexual. It’s trusting that Blaine won’t let him down and won’t run away.

Kurt breathes in shakily. “I really hope we were.”

Silence stretches between them, pulling at Kurt’s nerves and making him regret his honesty.

“Can I kiss you?” Blaine’s voice is steady despite how he’s wringing his hands nervously in his lap.

“Yes.” Kurt gulps and bites his lip while frowning, fully aware that this is the point of no return.

For a moment, Kurt thinks Blaine hasn’t heard him but then he’s moving forward and putting his hand on Kurt’s cheek as he kneels before him. Kurt can feel his panting breath on his face and he shivers.

“Are you sure?” Blaine whispers.

Kurt nods stiffly before closing the gap between their lips. He sighs sharply through his nose and reaches up to cling to Blaine’s arms as the other boy presses his lips more firmly against his. Kurt kisses him back, the slide of lips dizzying and intoxicating until he can’t breathe anymore and has to pull away.

He falls back against the wall and closes his eyes before touching his lips with the tip of his fingers. “I can’t believe—” he begins but his voice breaks.

Blaine shifts so he can hold Kurt’s head between his hands and kisses him again. Kurt kisses him back and pulls him closer. Kurt lets out a whimper when he feels Blaine’s tongue against his lips and he parts them, gripping Blaine’s sides when he licks into his mouth before sucking briefly on his bottom lip.

He tries the same on Blaine and it causes him to pull away with a gasp.

“What are we doing?” Blaine asks nervously, moving away from Kurt with wide eyes. “Seriously. What are we thinking? That we’ll be fine? You—you know better than me what they’re capable of and we’re—we’re kissing on your bed. In your dorm room. Inside a Catholic school, where I’ve been sent exactly because I kissed a boy,” Blaine whispers animatedly while gesticulating wildly. Kurt had hoped his mind would have taken a bit longer to catch up with his actions.

“I don’t know what to tell you. I don’t know what to think. I’m panicking, too. But—I know we can’t confess this. They’d keep us apart if they knew,” Kurt replies, moving away from Blaine and curling up against the headboard of his bed once more.

“Wouldn’t that be better?”

Kurt leans forward and kisses the corner of Blaine’s lips. “Do you really mean this? Because we can stay away from each other, but if they keep us away, God knows what horrifying ways they’ll find.”

“You’re saying we can’t repeat this?”

Kurt bites his tongue so he doesn’t speak his mind. Blaine is right. “We shouldn’t, no. It’s too dangerous. And it’s wrong,” he adds automatically but without conviction.

Blaine surprises Kurt by kissing him again. “So very wrong,” he mutters against his lips before kissing them again.

“Yes,” Kurt breathes out, his eyes closing and his hands tangling in Blaine’s hair. “So wrong.”

This time Blaine doesn’t hesitate to slip his tongue in Kurt’s mouth, making him arch his back and whimper. Blaine moves his lips to his jaw, where he starts kissing down to his neck. Kurt wraps his arms tightly around Blaine’s shoulders and moves his head to expose more of his neck, which Blaine immediately covers with kisses.

Kurt opens his eyes briefly and his eyes fall on the crucifix hanging over his bed. Tensing up but not pushing Blaine away, he moves his gaze to try to focus on something that won’t bring up guilt, only to focus on his rosary. He gasps and pushes Blaine away hurriedly.

“Stop, stop,” he hisses, pushing until Blaine unwraps his arms from around him and moves back. “Go. Leave my room. Now.”

“But Kurt—”

“I shouldn’t have let you in. This is wrong. We can’t do this. Go before we get caught!”

Kurt gets off his bed and starts pushing Blaine towards the door until he collides with it. Kurt holds him against it and kisses him again, pulling away as soon as Blaine tries to kiss him back.

“Out!” he finally hisses and nearly slams the door when Blaine is out. Kurt leans his forehead against it and finally lets his mind take over, panic and fright washing over him like a tide.

---

Blaine can’t say he’s slept in the past week. He’s haunted by the memories of that night in Kurt’s room whenever he closes his eyes. He’s on the edge and even Artie noticed that something is up. He gave up asking what’s wrong when Blaine snapped at him to mind his own business two days earlier.

He hasn’t confessed since that night and that, too, is gnawing away at his mind. Kurt probably hasn’t, either, because he still looks alright. They haven’t talked since. In fact, Kurt barely acknowledges him.

It’s not the other way around, as much as Blaine wishes he could get the boy out of his mind. Maybe he found it hard to focus his attention on something else than Kurt before, but now it’s like he can’t think of anything else.

It’s dinner time a week exactly after their terrible mistake when Kurt talks to him. Well, he talks to both Artie and Blaine, but Blaine counts this as a victory.

Kurt walks oddly slowly as he enters the refectory and that detail alone worries Blaine. He’s watched Kurt’s every move enough to know his demeanour and this is uncharacteristic of him. He winces as he sits down and keeps his back ramrod straight instead of leaning against the back of his chair.

“Hey, Kurt!” Artie greets him lightly.

“Hi,” Kurt answers tightly before swallowing. From up close, his eyes look bloodshot.

“Are you alright?” Blaine asks cautiously.

Kurt purses his lips and shakes his head. Tears begin pooling in his eyes and Blaine has a hard time not reaching for Kurt’s hand.

“Did you know they still use flogging nowadays?” Kurt chokes out before letting out a self-deprecating laugh and wiping his eyes angrily. “Because I found out firsthand.”

Artie whistles. “Whatever you did, Kurt, I never imagined you’d have the guts to do anything to earn a punishment like this. I’m almost impressed.”

“Shut up, Artie,” Blaine snaps before he can help it.

“Yeah, you know what? You two are boring lately. Whatever is going on, you better sort it out. Tell me when you have, because I need a break, alright?” With that, Artie rolls away from them and joins some of their classmates at another table.

“You confessed it?” Blaine breathes out.

“What choice did I have?” Kurt hisses.

“Did you—”

“No, I didn’t give them your name, Blaine, but they probably know anyway. They’re not idiots. They know about your—your issues, and they know we’re friends.”

“I don’t want to get flogged,” Blaine whines, more to himself than to Kurt.

“Unless you confess, they have nothing against you but assumptions. You’re safe.”

They stop talking as they are handed their meals and Kurt seems resolute to stay mute.

“When did they do it?” Blaine finally asks when he can’t stand the silence anymore.

“Just now. My shirt is surely ruined.”

“Let me take care of your wounds.”

“What? No!” Kurt snaps. “Don’t you think you’ve done enough, already? Look, just leave me alone, okay? You’ve caused me enough problems. Please.”

Kurt pushes his peas around his plate with his fork for a second or two before roughly pushing his plate away and leaving the refectory. Blaine stares after him, numb with confusion and shock.

He stares at Kurt from a distance in the following days. The other boy seems decided to never talk to Blaine again, which he can live with. Maybe.

“You fought with Kurt, didn’t you?” Artie asks in a hushed voice as they’re walking back from Mass one very cold Sunday morning.

“What makes you say this?” Blaine asks lightly, frowning in mock-confusion at him.

“Only my legs are crippled, Blaine. Don’t think I’m an idiot,” Artie snaps.

Blaine sighs and looks around. They’re standing in the central place, the village slowly leaving the church around them and going back to their Sunday leisure activities. He catches sight of Kurt, who tightens his scarf around his neck and hurries back towards the school. When he looks back at Artie, he sees he followed Blaine’s gaze and is now frowning.

“You could say that. We didn’t exactly fight, but it’s clear he doesn’t want anything to do with me.”

Artie squints at Blaine with a pensive look for a while and Blaine shifts uncomfortably under his gaze. “Are you—wait. No. You can’t be, can you?”

“I’m what?” Blaine asks sharply.

Artie leans forward and Blaine bends down to listen. “Are you like Kurt? You know—that?” he whispers.

Blaine’s eyes widen and he jerks backwards. “What makes you think that?”

“You never told me why you were here. Why would parents send a nice, clever, and well-behaved boy like you in a place like this if there wasn’t something that needs fixing in him, you tell me.”

Blaine groans and sighs. He takes hold of the handles of Artie’s chair and pushes him through the village until he finds a quiet corner. Once there, he leans against the wall of the building behind which they hid and rubs his hands over his face.

“Okay, so, what if I am like Kurt?”

When Blaine looks at Artie, he’s grinning. “Well, he likes you. You either turned him down, don’t see it, or—” he studies Blaine’s face, who blushes under the scrutinising gaze. “Or you—no. I can’t believe it. You guys—”

“We kissed,” Blaine mumbles, agonising with a mix of shame and embarrassment under Artie’s gaze.

“I knew it! I can’t believe you didn’t tell me! You have to share those things with me, I’m your friend!”

“This isn’t an exciting detail of my life, Artie, for Christ’s sake, it’s a traumatising one!”

“Yes, of course, because Hummel is ugly and it’s a hardship kissing him.”

“But it’s wrong!” Blaine whines, and to hell with maturity because this is the first time he voices this with someone who doesn’t compulsively crosses himself.

“Look, you and Kurt, sometimes I think you’re too impressionable. You let those sermons and all that completely dictate your behaviour like it’s God sent.” Blaine stares down at Artie, who shrugs. “Yeah, it is. Fine. But look how miserable it makes you.”

“But it’s what we’re supposed to do.”

“I was raised on a farm, Blaine. I almost lost my mother because she gave birth to too many kids, and then we were constantly starved because we had too many mouths to feed. Yet, having kids is what my parents were supposed to do. I had to nurse some of my siblings and later see them die because of what my parents were supposed to do. So don’t go and tell me that everything we’re taught is right. Sometimes, you have to listen to what feels right for you, as a person, despite the rest.”

“My father probably disowned me,” Blaine points out, clinging to anything that could prove Artie wrong. “How is that right for me?”

“Unless you want to be him, you don’t need him.”

Blaine slips against the wall until he’s crouching on the ground, his face hidden in his hands. “I can’t do that. I can’t let him down. He expects me to be cured.”

“Jesus, it’s like talking to Kurt all over again,” Artie groans in frustration, rolling back and forth.

“Don’t swear.”

“Yeah, I can see why you get along with him. Seriously, Blaine. The only person you’re letting down right now is yourself. He obviously doesn’t care about you if he sent you here.”

“But it’s wrong—”

“You’ll tell me you gave a damn about religion before being sent here? I heard you muttering the wrong prayers at Mass on your first days. Can you honestly say that what you’re thinking when you kiss Kurt is how wrong it is?”

Blaine shrugs and looks up at Artie. “What should I do?”

“Endure through the rest of the school year, graduate, and live to kiss lots of boys.” Artie starts leaving the backstreet and heading towards the school. “Ah, and by-the-bye, Kurt’s an atheist,” he calls over his shoulder before disappearing around a corner.

Blaine’s eyes widen and he starts after Artie, his shoes slipping on the snow and causing him to skid as he stops next to him. “What?”

“He never told me or anyone, but it’s obvious, isn’t it?” Artie says with a smirk that Blaine almost misses in his haste to go try and find Kurt.

He opens the doors roughly, wincing when the noise reverberates through the building. He has no idea where to find Kurt so he heads towards his dorm room, where he’s probably spending his Sunday reading.

He’s so caught up in his thoughts that he almost trips over Kurt. The boy is scrubbing the hardwood floor on all fours and he pushes his hair out of his eyes with his wrist before looking up at Blaine.

“You are ruining my work,” he snaps, eyeing the trail of water Blaine’s shoes left on the floor.

“And why exactly are you scrubbing the floor?”

“I’m taking on more chores. Because of—you know. I’m punishing myself by ruining my hands,” Kurt says haughtily and resumes working.

Blaine looks at Kurt for a moment, at the way the muscles of his back stretch the starched fabric of his uniform shirt and he licks his lips reflexively. Kurt’s head is bent down and the nape of his neck glows white in the sunlight pouring from the tall windows of the hallway. Blaine sees Kurt’s hands shaking before he realises Kurt is looking at him again.

“What do you want?” Kurt asks in a strained voice.

“To talk to you.”

“You know what can happen when we talk.” Nevertheless, Kurt drops the brush back in the bucket of water and gets up, wiping his hands on his pants. “Where do you want to go?”

“Follow me.”

Blaine doesn’t stop walking until he reaches the storage room where he followed Kurt weeks ago. He opens the door and waits until Kurt is inside before stepping in, closing the door and pressing his back against it.

Kurt is standing a short distance from him, avoiding his eyes. “It’s like you’re not even trying to get over me. Don’t think I can’t see you staring.”

“Maybe I don’t want to,” Blaine replies with bravado, holding Kurt’s eyes when he glares at him.

“Do you want to see my back? It’s healing quite slowly. You need a reminder of what happens to boys like us?”

Kurt starts pacing back and forth, disappearing in the shadows and reappearing, the pale sunlight breaking through the dusty windows making his face look ghostly. He’s twisting his hands nervously and worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, a deep crease on his forehead.

“I talked to Artie,” Blaine says casually to fill the silence.

“Great. This is breaking news. You talked to a friend. Can I go now?” Kurt deadpans, stopping at last and shoving his hands in the pockets of his slacks.

“He said something—surprising about you.”

“What would that be?” Kurt asks primly, his chin raised.

“He said you’re an atheist.”

Kurt lets out a joyless laugh. “And you believed him? My poor na�ve Blaine.”

“Why wouldn’t I? I hear you ramble on and on about how wrong we are, but I hear the same words every Sunday morning. Have you ever been honest with me, Kurt, or was everything always a lie?”

Kurt opens his mouth and closes it. His countenance falls at once and he sighs, leaning heavily against a shelf. “It’s your fault.”

“What?” Blaine snaps. “How is that my fault? Why is it always my fault? It takes two to kiss.”

“Why did you insist to be my friend, Blaine? I’ve been nothing but mean to you ever since we met.”

“Not always. Sometimes, you gave me glimpses of the real Kurt.”

“Yes, and it was a brilliant idea,” Kurt sneers. “It’s all a game for you, isn’t it? Charm a boy, get him to kiss you, and then act like you are a victim in all of it? Is that how it works with you? Because maybe that guy in your hometown didn’t suffer any consequences for it, but I will. Hell, I already have!”

Kurt pushes past Blaine and goes towards the door.

“Wait!”

Kurt shakes his head and lets his shoulders fall, his arms wrapping protectively around himself. “What do you want from me?”

“I don’t know, Kurt. All I know is that when I’m with you, I don’t feel wrong, or disgusting. I’ve been honest with you. I was hoping you would do the same.”

“What do you want me to say?” Kurt shouts, making the two of them jump. “Yes! I’m living a lie!” he continues, lowering his voice. “I don’t know that I’m an atheist, Blaine, but I’m not sure I believe in any of this. Why do you think Artie calls me a pillar-biter? I pretend like I believe to strive through this hell but as soon as I’m out? You can bet I’m never stepping inside a church again.”

Blaine blinks a few times in shock. “But—you’re so intense with religion and how wrong we are. I know you said it was easier to pretend but you are beyond pretending, Kurt. This is almost obsessive.”

“I’ve convinced myself I believe in all of it. Or I don’t know. That maybe if I follow their rules I might be cured.”

“So you’re the coward. Not me.”

“You call it cowardice, I call it survival instinct.” Kurt glances up briefly. “I disgust you, don’t I?”

Blaine swallows and squares his jaw. “You’ve never been more interesting to me.”

Kurt laughs nervously. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“You panicked in my room, the other night. Where do you stand, now?”

Blaine shrugs. “I don’t know, but I know that you make it feel like we don’t need fixing and that’s good enough for me.”

Blaine sees it on Kurt’s face the moment he lets go of whatever restraints he’d forced around his mind. He pushes himself off the door to take a tentative step forward. “Well, that’s good,” Kurt whispers, walking closer until Blaine is caught between the door and Kurt’s body.

“What are you doing?” Blaine asks with a smirk.

“I don’t know. I’m following my instincts for a change.” Kurt presses his forehead against Blaine’s and breathes out. “This could have very grave consequences.”

“Not if no one finds out,” Blaine replies in a breath. He wraps his arms around Kurt’s neck and inches his chin forward until their lips touch. Kurt kisses him back, his hands going up to rest on Blaine’s hips.

“What are you suggesting?” Kurt asks against his lips, stroking Blaine’s hipbones with his thumbs.

“I don’t know. Any ideas?”

“All I know is that I’m tired of fighting. For once, I want to get what I want.”

“I don’t see why you shouldn’t, then,” Blaine says before kissing Kurt again, humming when Kurt wraps his arms around his waist.

They kiss until Blaine’s jaw becomes sore and he feels his neck cramp up from the angle. He pulls away and laughs when Kurt breathes out loudly.

“What?” Kurt asks softly.

“You’re adorable, that’s all.”

Kurt smiles and it goes all the way to his eyes. “So are you,” he says in a breathy voice before kissing the tip of Blaine’s nose. “But I’ve got to go, now. Those floors won’t scrub themselves.” Kurt takes a step back but Blaine keeps his arms around him. “Blaine,” he scolds playfully.

“Come to my room tonight?”

Kurt studies his face for a moment before smiling. “Okay.”

They kiss one more time and Kurt lingers against Blaine until he pushes him away with a laugh. “Go! I’ll see you tonight.”

---

Kurt really likes kissing Blaine and he doesn’t have the chance to do it as often as he wants. They risk going to each other’s room past curfew every other day but it’s not enough. Kurt needs more and it’s slowly gnawing at his sanity.

“We need—” Kurt pants. “We need to breathe.” He rolls off Blaine and tries to calm down. Feeling Blaine’s warm body next to his makes it almost impossible and Kurt has half a mind to get up and pace his room for a while before they pass the point of no return. They haven’t allowed themselves to, yet.

“I don’t want to,” Blaine whispers in his ear, nuzzling the side of Kurt’s face, his warm breath tickling his skin and making him squirm. “Please?”

Blaine lets his hand trail down Kurt’s body until he reaches the waistband of his pants and settles it there, the heel of his palm close to the base of Kurt’s cock.

“We’ll get caught. B—Blaine, this is too dangerous,” Kurt stammers when Blaine’s warm lips press on the side of his neck and suck briefly at his pulse point.

“Not if we’re quiet,” Blaine says against his skin. He rolls on his side and holds himself up with an elbow so he can unbutton Kurt’s shirt and make him whine when he presses a kiss to his chest. Kurt throws his head back, his back arching under Blaine’s white hot touch on his over-sensitive skin and his eyes fall on the crucifix above his bed.

“Blaine,” Kurt breathes out, his fingers tangling in Blaine’s hair. “Wait.”

“What’s wrong?” Blaine sits back on his knees and through the darkness, Kurt can make out that he’s frowning.

“This,” Kurt says quickly before getting up on the bed and taking the crucifix off the wall. “I can’t do this if Jesus is watching.” Kurt gets off the bed just as Blaine lets himself fall face first into the pillow to muffle his laughter. “Stop laughing, you’ll get us caught!”

Looking around his room, Kurt tries to think of where he could hide the crucifix, all the while mindlessly tapping it in his left hand. Finally settling on his socks drawer, he opens it and buries it at the very bottom.

On the bed, Blaine is still laughing and when Kurt climbs back, Blaine turns his head to look at him with a grin that Kurt can barely make out. He wishes he could see his face more clearly but it is way beyond their curfew and any light would attract the night guardian.

“Be quiet!” Kurt hisses playfully before pulling Blaine down with him and curling up against his side. He smiles when Blaine wraps his arms around him. Kurt tangles his legs with Blaine’s and moves closer to him, resting his forehead against his chest. He feels Blaine putting his chin on the top of his head and Kurt presses a kiss over his heart.

“I’m going to fall asleep,” Blaine says in a thick voice.

Kurt blinks up at him, himself on the edge of sleep. “You should go, then.”

Blaine nods but makes no move to leave. “What time is it?”

Kurt turns around, grinning when Blaine loops his arms around his waist to pull him closer, and takes his pocket watch from his nightstand. “It’s ten to midnight.”

“We still have some time, then,” Blaine mutters, his warm breath on the back of Kurt’s neck sending a shiver down his spine.

“We do.” Shifting to lie on his back and pulling Blaine above him, Kurt bites his lip. “We have to be very, very quiet.”

“I’ll try.” Blaine kisses him and when he pulls away, the noise makes Kurt hold his breath.

“Even this is loud,” he whispers. He sneaks his hands under Blaine’s pajama top and lightly scratches his nails down his back. “We can’t make a sound.”

Kurt pushes himself up on his elbows to kiss Blaine, who shifts his weight on his knees and wraps his arms around Kurt’s back, holding him up and close to his chest. Kurt whimpers in the kiss and clings to Blaine, who lowers him back on the mattress and carefully lays his weight over Kurt, kissing him still.

They start kissing languidly, more tongues mingling than anything else, and it goes straight to Kurt’s groin. He drags his hands down Blaine’s back once more and settles them low on his back, pulling Blaine’s hips down in the process.

Blaine breathes out loudly right when they hear the floor outside of the room creaking as someone walks by and stops right at the door. Kurt puts his hand over Blaine’s mouth and holds his own breath, hoping the person standing outside his room will go away. Blaine is barely breathing above him and he must be cramping up but moving is too dangerous.

“Is everything alright, Mr. Hummel?”

Kurt’s eyes widen and he looks at Blaine in panic when the doorknob squeaks. Despite the darkness, Kurt can see that Blaine’s eyes are almost comically wide.

“Y—yes,” he stammers, his throat dry. “Everything is fine.”

“I thought I heard laughter and talking.”

“No!” Kurt answers too quickly. Blaine winces. “I was talking to myself. It helps me think.”

“Have you seen what time it is? Be quiet or I’ll have to report you to Father James.”

“I’m sorry. I will be,” Kurt says sheepishly.

At last, right when Kurt’s nerves are about to give in and send him into a hysterical fit, the footsteps start again and grow distant. Kurt waits another minute before letting out a sigh in relief.

“Oh my god,” Blaine breathes out, sitting on his heels and rubbing his face with his hands. “That was close.”

Kurt nods, his eyes still on the door. His heart is racing in his chest and he can hear his blood rushing in his ears. His hands shake as he moves them to card his fingers through his hair.

“We can’t risk this anymore,” he breathes out, moving his eyes to Blaine.

Blaine opens his mouth to say something but closes it right after. It isn’t the first time they almost get caught. There was that one time Kurt had a coughing fit in Blaine’s room and that time Blaine fell off Kurt’s bed, or when Kurt almost got caught going back to his room at two in the morning. They’re playing with fire and they can’t deny it anymore.

“I know,” Blaine replies, leaning forward to rest his forehead against Kurt’s shoulder. “I know.”

“This isn’t it,” Kurt says in a rush. “This isn’t over. We are not over.”

Blaine looks up at Kurt and shakes his head. “No. Definitely not. We’ll just have to find new ways to—to see each other.”

Blaine nods and kisses Kurt. It’s short and chaste but Kurt finds himself leaning into it anyway, chasing Blaine’s lips as he moves away. “I should go.”

Kurt nods and climbs off his bed, Blaine on his heels. Careful not to make the floor creak, Kurt walks to the door and waits until Blaine is right behind him to open it. He peaks outside to make sure the corridor is empty. Shutting it silently, he turns to Blaine.

“You can go. I’ll see you tomorrow at breakfast.”

“Good night, Kurt.” Blaine kisses him again.

Kurt kisses him back and pushes Blaine away with a soft laugh when the boy tries to lengthen the kiss. “Go! Good night.”

---

Being safe turns out to be incredibly frustrating.

“Why do I feel like I could see you more often before?” Kurt groans under his breath as they walk down the hallway between their morning classes.

“Because you could,” Blaine replies, glancing around nervously to make sure no one is eavesdropping. “I’m scared that if we act friendly, they’ll suspect something.”

“They already are.” Kurt nods his head towards three Brothers walking past them and frowning pointedly at Kurt.

“They’re not. They can’t be. They’re upset we’re talking in the hallway.”

“You’re not exactly subtle in the way to look at me, Blaine,” Kurt hisses. “If you ruin everything because of—”

“I would ruin everything? Again, it’s my fault. Sure, you’re completely innocent in this. After all, I made you shove me into a broom closet yesterday and forced you to kiss me. You had nothing to do with it.”

“Blaine!” Kurt glares at him and Blaine returns it before turning his back to Kurt to enter the classroom.

Kurt sighs with frustration as he sits at his own desk. From across the room, Blaine is resolutely looking outside the window, undermining Kurt’s efforts to meet his eyes. His jaw is set and his shoulders look tensed. Kurt manages to stay focused on the lesson for about five minutes before his eyes drift back to Blaine.

He inhales sharply when he sees Blaine blatantly looking at him. The look on Blaine’s face sends Kurt’s heart racing and he has to scratch his nails on the wool of his trousers to keep a straight face as heat flares up in his stomach. Kurt holds Blaine’s eyes, lifting his chin in defiance, until Blaine licks his lips—unconscious or not, it forces Kurt to look away as a blush creeps up his cheeks and he finds himself breathless.

Blaine grabs Kurt’s wrist on his way out of the classroom after the lesson. Kurt’s heartbeat picks up again and he stumbles after Blaine, who almost races down the hallways.

“Wait, wait,” Kurt eventually says. “Take a right at the next corner. Third door on the left side.”

Blaine nods stiffly and a minute later, he’s groaning in frustration as the doorknob refuses to turn. “It’s locked,” he says gruffly before turning to stare at Kurt with an annoyed frown, his hands on his hips.

“I know,” Kurt says airily as he retrieves a key from the inside pocket of his blazer. When Blaine’s eyebrows raise in bafflement, Kurt chuckles. “I was sent there last year to clean up after I confessed that—” Kurt’s voice falters and he lowers it. “—that I’d – hum – touched myself.” His cheeks burn but he forces himself to look at Blaine, who looks dazed and awed.

“And you kept the key?” Blaine asks after clearing his throat.

“No,” Kurt says as he unlocks the door. “I ‘forgot’ to give it back one night and had my friend Noah craft me a double. I came here a few times since. It’s quieting.”

“Artie told me about the Puckermans,” Blaine comments.

Kurt can’t stop his face from falling. “Puck, in his own special way, was a really good friend. Artie and I haven’t heard from him in months.”

“I’m sorry to hear it,” Blaine says softly and he strokes Kurt’s back.

Kurt gives him a tight smile and then opens the door, coughing a little at the dust it lifts. Looking around briefly, Kurt steps in and pulls Blaine after him, shutting the door before being pressed against it by Blaine.

“Wait—” Kurt says when Blaine leans in to kiss him. Fumbling around blindly, Kurt locates the doorknob and turns the lock back on. “We shouldn’t be disturbed, now.”

“Good,” Blaine growls before pressing his lips to Kurt’s.

Blaine kisses him with insistence, his hands firmly gripping Kurt’s hips and his body pressing up against Kurt’s. Kurt kisses him back, his arms looping loosely around Blaine’s neck. He’s already panting when Blaine decides to move in closer and slip his thigh between Kurt’s. With a gasp, Kurt rolls his hips down against Blaine’s thigh and sends his head colliding against the door with a dull thud that makes his skull throb.

Kurt pushes himself off the door and grips Blaine’s shoulders tightly to stir him towards the stairs. Blaine misses the first step and stumbles backwards, landing on his ass with a yelp. Kurt follows after him and sits in his lap, his hands gripping Blaine’s face to kiss him again sloppily.

“What about lunch?” Blaine gasps out, breaking the kiss.

“I don’t care,” Kurt growls before pressing his lips to Blaine’s jaw, undoing his tie and the top button of his shirt before tugging it away and pressing his lips to the crook of Blaine’s neck, kissing and licking and sucking until Blaine keens and slips against the step, the rough wood making a scraping sound against the fabric of his blazer.

Blaine wraps his hand around the nape of Kurt’s neck and brings his mouth back to his, kissing him feverishly. “I want you so much,” Blaine mutters against Kurt’s lips.

Kurt whines and nods, wrapping his arms tightly around Blaine’s shoulders. Blaine moves his hands from Kurt’s hair to his neck and then down his chest, where he starts tugging on Kurt’s blazer. Kurt shifts back to take it off, nearly elbowing Blaine in the eye, and drops it on the floor behind them. Immediately, Blaine starts unbuttoning his shirt and Kurt throws his head back, panting. He focuses on the ceiling and tries to regulate his breathing even as Blaine presses a kiss to his chest and Kurt can feel the warm heat of it through his undershirt.

Kissing back up to Kurt’s mouth, Blaine grips the back of Kurt’s thighs and turns them around, kneeling between Kurt’s leg on the step below and looking up at him with a smirk. Kurt leans back with his elbows on the step above him and looks down at Blaine with a quirked eyebrow. The sharp edge of the step is digging in his back, the sensitive skin covering the fading wounds stinging.

“I have no idea what I’m doing,” Blaine says and it’s so earnest that Kurt bursts out laughing. He puts his hand over his mouth to stifle it and doesn’t miss the spark that appeared in Blaine’s eyes at the sound.

“That makes two of us.”

Blaine smiles at him sweetly and Kurt returns it, reaching forward to stroke Blaine’s cheek. Blaine leans into his hand, closing his eyes and turning his head to kiss his palm.

“You’re beautiful,” Kurt breathes out, blushes, and then lets out a nervous laugh.

Blaine chuckles and shrugs. “Not as much as you.”

“Aw!” Kurt coos and leans forward to kiss Blaine’s forehead lingeringly.

When he pulls back, Blaine looks at him again and bites his lip. Before Kurt can ask him what’s wrong, Blaine’s hands move to his belt and he undoes it clumsily. Kurt stares at him in shock as Blaine moves on to the button of his trousers and only manages to squeak in alarm when Blaine tugs the zipper down.

“Is this okay?” Blaine asks with his eyes riveted to Kurt’s crotch.

“Yes,” Kurt lets out in a breath and then keens when Blaine hesitantly presses his hand to Kurt’s crotch.

Blaine begins slowly stroking him through his underwear, his breath as loud and laboured as Kurt’s. Kurt watches him in silence, his lips parted in awe. This isn’t the first time they touch each other there, but neither of them had ever done it this boldly, instead using hesitant touches made by shaking hands to explore the other’s clothed body in the dark, with their eyes closed. This is different; it feels more real when he can see Blaine’s eyes fleeting nervously around, see his cherry-red lips parted and shining with saliva, see his trembling hands.

With a gulp, Kurt hooks his fingers under the waistband of his underwear and starts pulling them down, his pants following. Blaine leans back and keeps watching as Kurt pushes his hips off the step to slip his clothes off.

“Wait,” Blaine croaks out. He takes his blazer off and motions for Kurt to move before putting it on the step. “You’ll get splinters.”

Kurt bends forward to kiss Blaine briefly before pushing his clothes past his knees and leaning back on the step. He feels exposed under Blaine’s unwavering eyes and shifts with unease, throwing his head back to look at the ceiling.

“Kurt, oh my god,” Blaine lets out, his voice breaking. “Oh my god.” Blaine wraps his hand around Kurt’s cock and squeezes tentatively, repeating ‘oh my god’ again when Kurt moans. “I don’t know what I’m doing. Is this okay?”

Kurt rolls his eyes fondly. “Yes,” he says in an exasperated sigh, his breath catching when Blaine moves his hand up and down once. “This is very okay.”

Blaine nods stiffly and starts stroking Kurt’s cock faster. He flicks his thumb over the head experimentally and Kurt has to bite his lip to stifle a moan, his hips bucking up into the tight circle of Blaine’s fist.

Blaine grows bolder as minutes pass, twisting his hand and pressing his thumb under the head of Kurt’s cock or in the slit, almost too rough and quick and he keeps this up until Kurt is keening and squirming, trying to find something to hold on to. He grips the edge of the step and spreads his legs wider, moaning when Blaine speeds up his hand and then stops abruptly to lap tentatively at a bead of precome.

“Oh shit,” Kurt groans. “Blaine—don’t—” he warns when Blaine does it again.

Blaine moves back to grin smugly at Kurt just as he starts coming, his knuckles turning white as he clenches his hands around the step, his eyes rolling back and his mouth opening around breathless moans while waves of pleasure course through his body, making him shake.

Blaine is too taken aback to do anything but hold Kurt’s cock steady as it pulses in his hand, painting his fingers with white streaks.

Kurt falls back against the step, wincing as it digs under his ribs. He closes his eyes and lets go of the step to rub his face. He feels like his limbs are made of cotton balls and there are still tremors coursing through his body every now and then.

Kurt lowers his hands to look at Blaine and as soon as their eyes meet, Blaine is leaning over him and kissing him, one hand tangling in his hair and the other holding him up.

“Oh my god, Kurt,” he groans against his lips, shifting to press closer and inadvertently brushing his erection against Kurt’s bare hip. “I never thought I would love it so much—it was—you know how we’re both here because we like boys, but I never really realised that I liked—you were completely a man and I loved it so much, Kurt, so much, oh my god,” Blaine rambles, covering Kurt’s face in kisses and rolling his hips against Kurt’s, seeking friction through his layers of clothes.

“Blaine,” Kurt says with a laugh. “Calm down, or you’ll—”

Blaine tenses against Kurt before he can finish his sentence. He buries his face against Kurt’s shoulder and shakes through his orgasm, his hand in Kurt’s hair pulling until it stings in a way that shoots straight through Kurt and makes his cock twitch painfully.

When he collapses on top of him, Kurt winces again and shifts. When he can’t find a comfortable position, he abandons and wraps his arms around Blaine, stroking his back soothingly while he pants against Kurt’s neck.

Kurt strokes Blaine’s hair soothingly, clicking his tongue when he looks down to see the gel utterly ruined, curls pointing in every direction. Blaine eventually looks up and they grin at each other.

“This is really uncomfortable,” Kurt says after a while.

“Oh, sorry.” Blaine leans back on his knees and then gets up. “Oh my god, look at you. You look so debauched.”

Kurt turns a deep shade of red when Blaine starts looking him up and down, his eyes lingering on Kurt’s dick. “Why don’t you help me up instead of making me uncomfortable?”

Blaine gives him a cheeky grin and then holds out his right hand. Kurt eyes it with a quirked eyebrow until Blaine realises his mistake and blushes. “Oh, huh. Sorry.”

He wipes his hand on the back of his shirt and offers Kurt his hand again. Kurt takes it and let’s Blaine pull him up. He swiftly pulls his pants up while Blaine dusts their blazers.

“How do I look?” Blaine asks after he’s buttoned his blazer.

Kurt looks at him appraisingly, the light pouring from the lucarne up in the attic putting golden hues in Blaine’s eyes. “Handsome.” Blaine smiles smugly so Kurt adds: “and disheveled. You need to go to your room and fix your hair.”

“So do you.”

“I wonder why,” Kurt asks coyly. “I guess it has to do with how you nearly pulled it out.”

“You liked it,” Blaine teases, smirking.

“Maybe.”

They both grin and Blaine heads for the door. Kurt follows after him and pushes it close as soon as Blaine opened it. Wrapping his arms around Blaine’s waist, Kurt presses his body against his back and buries his face in his neck.

Blaine presses back into him, sighing deeply. “Let’s go.”

Blaine opens the door again and steps out. Just as Kurt is about to follow him, Blaine slams the door shut. Kurt jumps back, narrowly avoiding getting his nose broken by it.

“Mr. Anderson, what are you doing here?”

“I—huh. I was fetching something for Bro—Brother—” Blaine stammers out and Kurt slowly turns the lock, holding his breath when it clicks in position.

“Do not lie to me, Mr. Anderson,” Father James snaps. “How did you get in there?” There’s a moment of silence. “Who’s in there? Who was there with you?”

“No—no one, I swear!” Blaine replies too quickly.

“Open this door.”

“I can’t—”

“Open this door immediately, Mr. Anderson.”

“I don’t have the key! I locked it from the inside when I left, I don’t—”

“If you think this is all a game, Mr. Anderson, I have a thing or two to teach you. As for the student who’s hiding in there, I recommend you step out right now if you want to avoid severe punishment.”

“There’s no one there, Father,” Blaine repeats. His voice is small and pleading and Kurt has half a mind to step outside and take part of the blame.

He’s actually about to unlock the door and step outside when someone starts turning the knob aggressively. “Open this door!”

“There’s no one, I told you!”

“Mr. Anderson, you will go find Brother Peter. He has the key to the attic and will settle this misunderstanding once and for all, unless your friend wants to step outside and share the punishment with you.” A pause. “Nothing? You found yourself a cowardly friend, Mr. Anderson. Now go to the refectory and come back with Brother Peter. I will wait here.”

Kurt listens to Blaine’s footsteps fade away and he backs away from the door, putting his hand over his mouth to muffle his terrified breathing. He starts climbing the stairs as silently as he can and looks around for somewhere to hide, his vision almost blurred by his panic. Taking a steadying breath, Kurt starts pacing the room. Nothing will do; all he finds are boxes of books and broken chairs and he knows there’s nothing, he cleaned that place himself.

Heading further among the rafters, Kurt once again feels panic overcoming him when he hears the door opening in the distance. Biting down on his fist to stifle his whine, Kurt takes a sharp turn right and sees a broken refectory table, the exact one that was broken when Noah Puckerman was caught stealing and banned from the premises. The table top is resting against the back wall and there’s just enough space behind its angled surface for Kurt to crawl behind. Climbing over a box and nearly scattering its content everywhere, Kurt dives behind it just as he hears footsteps reaching the top of the stairs.

“I told you there was no one,” Blaine says in a nervous voice.

“I would suggest you keep quiet, Mr. Anderson,” Father James replies coldly. “Now is not the time for hide and seek, young man. I am out of patience.”

“Father,” Brother Peter says calmly. “I think Mr. Anderson is telling the truth. There is no one here.”

“I’m not ready to believe this, I know Mr. Anderson’s leanings and he’s been acting a little too brazenly, lately. Alright, then, maybe he will tell us how he acquired a key to this door and we’ll work from there?”

“I—” Blaine’s voice falters. Kurt has no idea how he’ll get out of this one without dragging Kurt down with him. He should probably step out and take the blame. Kurt starts crawling backwards when Blaine talks again. “I found it in my room. In—in one of the drawers. I dropped it the other day and the key fell out. The previous occupant must have left it there.”

“And you thought you’d go around and try to find which door it unlocked? Curiosity is a reprehensible trait, Mr. Anderson, and a sin when put to bad use.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Give me that key, now, so there is no repeat of today.”

It’s over. Blaine won’t have any key to give them. Kurt has no choice, now. Reaching into the pocket of his blazer, Kurt fumbles in it to retrieve the key and then leave his hideout. His heart quickens when he can’t find it. Before he even has time to panic about it, Blaine speaks up.

“Yes, of course. Here it is.”

“Very well. You’ll come with me to my office where we’ll find a punishment suitable for your shameless lies and disregard of school regulations. As for your friend, he can count himself lucky this time.”

“There’s no one else here, Father,” Blaine says, his voice growing distant as they head for the stairs.

“Yes, of course. And you’ll tell me the red mark on your neck is a mosquito bite you miraculously got in the middle of December, I imagine?”

---

Blaine disappears for the entire afternoon and by the time Kurt goes to the refectory for dinner, his anxiety is getting the best of him.

“Did someone put worms in your trousers, Hummel?” Artie asks, breaking the silence.

“No, no, I just—” Kurt trails off and glances towards the door again.

“Where’s Blaine? I can’t believe he’s skipping a meal, especially when we’re treated with mystery meat. No, wait.” Artie takes a bite and makes a pensive face. “I think it’s pork. What do you think?”

“I don’t know where’s Blaine,” Kurt snaps, using his fork to push his green peas around his plate.

“You guys are fighting again?”

“No. Definitely not.” Kurt can’t help a small smile from appearing on his face.

“Oh, I see,” Artie drawls, smirking. “Where is he, then?”

“I don’t know, I told you, do you even listen to me when I talk?” Kurt sneers, glaring at Artie.

“Calm down, jeez.”

Kurt rolls his eyes and goes back to digging trenches in his mashed potatoes. His stomach is knotted and his throat feels tight.

“You have to eat something, you know,” Artie tells him after a while. “You missed lunch. You’ll pass out before the night.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Well, re-enacting the last war with your vegetables is not going to help you find Blaine,” Artie comments when Kurt starts lining up his peas in the potato trenches.

“No, but it helps me stay calm.”

“What happened, Kurt?”

Kurt sighs and drops his fork to rub his eyes. “I don’t want to talk about it, Artie, please. Maybe later, once I know he’s safe.”

Artie nods and gracefully steers the conversation to another topic. “Are you staying here for Christmas?”

“Are you?”

“No. I’m going to spend a few days with my family. I guess Blaine is doing the same?”

“He hasn’t told me anything about it. I was hoping Carole would contact me, but—” Kurt trails off. He reaches across the table and steals Artie’s spoon to start pouring his gravy into the trenches, overflowing them and drowning the pea-soldiers.

“She still might. I thought you told me once she was settled with a steady job, she’d invite you over.”

Kurt shrugs and uses his fork to destroy the battlefield. He hands his plate back to the kid walking around to clean the tables and sighs. “I’ll go back to my room, if you don’t mind skipping our evening walk.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Kurt slowly walks down the hallways back to his room. A snowstorm has been raging outside since the middle of the afternoon, its strong winds making the windows rattle and the corridors chilly. Kurt wraps his arms around himself, stroking the sleeves of Blaine’s blazer to warm up. He figured out Blaine accidentally interchanged their blazers when he was dusting them, unknowingly saving his own life in the process.

Blaine has to be alright. He has to. Kurt cannot fathom the possibility that they might have expelled him; for one, it would be admitting defeat and Kurt knows they never would. The alternative isn’t much brighter; Kurt knows firsthand what they’re willing to do to cure them and Blaine has put himself in a very dangerous position.

It’s half an hour to curfew when Kurt hears unusual noises coming from the hallway. Putting down the sock he’s been trying to fix all evening without success, Kurt gets up and walks to stand in his doorway.

Blaine is being pulled by the arm by Father James, the man’s grip vice-like. He’s being escorted to his room while the priest loudly admonishes him with a sermon even more violent than what they’re used to at Sunday Mass. The students of the entire floor are peaking out of their rooms. Kurt meets Artie’s eyes and the boy mouths ‘shit’. Kurt nods at him and looks back at the scene. Blaine’s face is blank but when his eyes finally fall on Kurt, he shakes his head and his eyes fill with water.

Father James notices and follows Blaine’s gaze to Kurt. His face contorts in an ugly mask of satisfaction, his eyes narrowing in on Kurt. Shoving Blaine in his room and slamming the door shut, the man crosses the hallway, headed for Kurt’s room.

Kurt takes several steps back as the man enters his room and shuts the door behind him. He keeps backing up until he painfully hits his dresser. He grips the edge of it as Father James gets near enough for Kurt to smell the stale odour of cognac on his breath.

“Your friend is loyal, he never said your name, no matter what I did to him,” the man sneers.

“I don’t know what—” Kurt begins, stopping abruptly when Father James slaps his cheek.

“Do not lie to me, you ungrateful brat!” He slaps him again and Kurt wills himself to keep a straight face. “Don’t think I didn’t have a clue who you were talking about when you confessed that you kissed one of the students. I knew you meant Blaine Anderson. Who else could it be? He was sent here exactly because he had the same disease than you.”

Kurt inhales sharply when Father James grabs the front of his shirt and pulls him closer. “This is no longer a matter of Nature’s law, Kurt. The problem with boys like you and Mr. Anderson is that you’re in dire need of a good beating to put your spirits straight. You think you’re so clever when you defy authority and I bet you brag about it to your friends like you’ve accomplished something worthy. You’ll never do anything good with your life, Mr. Hummel, I can guarantee you that. But I do wonder what I might find out if I questioned Mr. Abrams—”

“Leave Artie out of this!” Kurt replies before he can stop it. It earns him another slap and this one brings tears to his eyes.

“Shut up! You are not to speak unless asked. Understood?” Kurt nods jerkily. The edge of his dresser is digging in his thighs as he tries to inch away from Father James. “I asked you a question, Kurt.” He slaps him again and Kurt can’t hold back a whimper this time.

“Yes, Father.”

Gripping Kurt’s wrist tightly, the priest roughly pulls him forward and through the room to throw him down on his bed. Kurt bounces on the mattress and then sits up, scooting to curl up with his back against the corner of the room. It looks like Father James is about to lean in to pull Kurt out of that position when he freezes, his eyes fixed on a point above Kurt’s head.

“Where’s your crucifix, Kurt?” he asks, too calmly. Kurt’s blood turns cold as he realises he never hung it back after that one night with Blaine. “I asked you a question.”

“In my socks drawer,” Kurt answers in a barely audible voice.

“And what exactly is it doing there?”

Years of being a snarky kid bring the answer ‘taking a vacation’ to Kurt’s mind but saying this would probably send him to the morgue before he realises what happened.

“I think I know. Shall I answer for you? You were being inappropriate on this bed with Mr. Anderson, couldn’t bear to be reminded of the ignominy of your actions and thus you removed a sacred ornament in hopes it would relieve you of your guilt. Is that it, Kurt? Don’t bother lying, I’ve been told a lot of unusual noises have been coming from yours and Blaine’s rooms in the past weeks. Did you seriously think no one would notice? That no other student before you had tried to mess around behind our backs? Your impudence is disgusting, Kurt. It’s a good thing your father is dead because your behaviour would have sent him straight to the grave.”

“Don’t talk about my father!” Kurt shouts.

Father James grips him by the hair and pulls his head back roughly. “Silence! Do you want another flogging? If this is what you’re after, trust me, it’ll be my pleasure to give you another one. What will it take for you to take us seriously? When we took you in, many of us said there was nothing to do with you but I told them I would break you.” The priest lets go of his hair, sending Kurt’s head against the wall. “I guess the only thing I managed to get out of you is hypocrisy. I’ll fix this.”

Father James heads towards the door and Kurt lets out a breath in relief. He stops with his hand on the doorknob. “I advise you stay away from Mr. Anderson, lest we think you’re once again going against us. Don’t even think about paying him a visit tonight. You are under close watch from now on. Good night, Mr. Hummel.”

Kurt waits until the door clicks shut and he hears a key turning in the lock to let out his held back sobs. He crawls towards his pillow and grips it tightly, burying his face in it to muffle the sounds as he cries harder than he has since the night of his father’s funerals.

The next morning finds him pale and sickly looking. His eyes are bloodshot and rimmed red from sleeplessness, his cheeks are swollen and painful and he’s pretty sure the dark circles under his eyes are not only there because he barely slept.

Artie is surprisingly quiet during breakfast, barely talking beyond his usual greeting, but Kurt has other things to worry about. Blaine is sitting at another table, his back to Artie and Kurt, and the brief glimpse of him Kurt had when he entered the refectory made his stomach twist up with guilt.

Kurt eats despite not being hungry. He feels light-headed and dizzy and knows it’s because he hasn’t eaten in the past twenty-four hours but every bite is hard to swallow. More than once, he catches Brothers looking his way, watching him as if they expect Kurt to get up and do something stupid right under their nose.

“Are you okay?”

Artie’s voice makes Kurt jump and drop his spoon with a loud clunk. Wiping the gruel he sent flying on the table so he doesn’t have to look at Artie, Kurt shrugs.

“Yeah. I am.”

“You should put some ice on those bruises. I can try to sneak some out of the kitchen for you, if you want.”

“I think it’d be a good idea if I stopped going against the rules, now,” Kurt says coldly. “Besides, they’re not bruises, they’re just a sign I haven’t really slept last night. Insomnia.”

Artie hums skeptically. “And the ones around your wrist?”

Kurt reflexively pulls the sleeve of his blazer down. “They found out for Blaine and I,” Kurt says in a breath. “He—he only had to look at me and they knew. I don’t even—” Kurt closes his eyes and breathes deeply. “Can you try to find out if he’s alright? I can’t talk to him, it’s too dangerous.”

Artie nods. “Yes, of course.”

“But be careful. They suspect you might know things we’re not saying.”

Artie frowns. “Wait, you and Blaine are more than just acquaintances?” he asks before winking at Kurt.

“Just be careful.”

“Don’t worry about me, Hummel.”

Kurt doesn’t hear from Artie until the next day. He eats lunch and dinner alone and spends his evening catching up on the work and sewing he didn’t do the night before, grateful that it requires his full attention. After another mostly sleepless night, he’s awakened by Artie not long after he finally managed to sleep.

“Hey Kurt, wake up, I don’t have much time.”

Kurt blinks up at Artie, his eyes dry and his vision blurry. There’s a constant pressure behind his eyeballs and his whole brain is throbbing. “Wha—”

“Blaine is fine. Bruised and upset, but fine. He wants to talk to you but he’s not sure if you want to ever see him again.”

Kurt groans and buries his face in his pillow for a second. “Idiot,” he mutters. Looking up again, he rolls his eyes. “Of course I want to see him again. I was sure he didn’t want to see me again.”

Artie scrunches up his nose. “You’re so in love. Ew. Anyway,” he continues after Kurt punches his arm. “Any idea?”

“What for?” Kurt asks around a yawn. “What time is it?”

“Fifteen to six. I didn’t want to get caught coming here, you can’t say I’m not a good friend. So think, Kurt.”

Kurt rubs his eyes, yawning again. “I don’t know. Didn’t he have any idea?”

“No, he was too busy panicking because he was convinced you hated him.”

“Aw,” Kurt coos, smiling softly.

Artie rolls his eyes and makes kissing noises until Kurt swings his arm to try and hit him. With a laugh, he rolls out of Kurt’s reach. “Focus, Hummel.”

“Right. Are you on cleaning duty tonight? We could both accidentally bring our dirty laundry to you at the same time?”

“Tonight is a bad idea. We have a new kid working with us so he’s being supervised. Maybe next week, once he can work on his own.”

“A whole week?”

“Unless you have a better idea, I’m afraid so.”

“This will have to do,” Kurt says with a sigh.

“It’s only a week, Kurt,” Artie says reassuringly before leaving the room.