Blaine was left gaping at the back pockets of outrageously purple pants as Kurt abruptly walked away.  Do I smell bad?  Blaine discreetly sniffed under his collar, but it seemed to be alright.  Was it something I said?  He mentally kicked himself for speaking without thinking.  Kurt probably wasn’t concerned with someone who couldn’t even form sentences correctly.  God, more than anything it was probably that damn kitten throw blanket. 

Kurt didn’t disappear into the crowd like Blaine expected, desperate to get away from the inarticulate cat-blanket-owning dork that was supposed to be his mentor.  Instead, Kurt seemed to be very deliberately walking towards a blonde guy who was playing a game on his iPhone.  Well, Blaine hoped he was playing a game, or the violent jerks and screen-swiping were extremely unnecessary.

He could picture this guy in California with Kurt.  He had an almost surfer-dude vibe with the blonde swooshy hair and laid-back attitude.  He also—whoa—had a huge mouth.  Blaine immediately detested his own dark, curly, very un-swooshy hair and normal-sized mouth, but he didn’t know why.  It could, however, have something to do with Kurt and his purple pants being much more interested in this big-mouthed blonde than in anything Blaine had to say.

But Blaine could see the appeal.  Big Mouth was certainly more relaxed than most of the students milling around.  Just from where Blaine was standing he could catch more than one conversation filled with boasts of LSAT scores, community service work, personal accomplishments, undergrad GPAs— Harvard was the best of the best, meaning students now had to fiercely compete to be on top when before it had come easily.  While all the other new law students were bragging, nervously flipping through text books, or staring at the campus maps, this guy was the only one self-assured enough to be nonchalantly playing a game.  Blaine, who hadn’t taken the time to make friends while in law school, let alone play video games, couldn’t help the tiny bit of dislike that wedged into his opinion of Big Mouth.

Kurt leaned gracefully on the column nearest Big Mouth, one knee bent, his foot resting on the marble with an impressively convincing air of casualty, Blaine noted.  Kurt pulled his own iPhone out and started tapping the screen.  After a moment, effortlessly appearing as though he was doing nothing but glancing around the courtyard, Kurt turned to look at Big Mouth while simultaneously arching his back off the column and tilting his chin up.  Blaine choked on the air he was inhaling because damn, those pants and his neck and that hat—Blaine needed to look anywhere else, anywhere but at Kurt.  He quickly sought out Big Mouth to gauge his reaction.  Unfortunately for Kurt, Big Mouth was completely unconcerned with anything but his game, which Blaine had guessed was Fruit Ninja from the amount of angry swiping he was doing.  Kurt, also noticing this, sighed with frustration and collapsed to settle back against the column.

Blaine was confused, to say the least.  Did Kurt know this guy?  If they did both come from California, why wouldn’t Kurt just go up and say hi?  Was he—was Kurt flirting with this guy?  Blaine had to physically close his mouth to stop the harsh nervous laugh that suddenly bubbled out.  It wasn’t really funny, he was just shocked, that was all, taken aback and surprised because now that the thought had crossed his mind he was sure that Kurt was flirting.  It was so ridiculous and so obvious at the same time that laughter was the only reaction he could manage.

Kurt’s head began to turn Blaine’s way, probably to find the source of the creepy bark-laugh, and Blaine had to avert his eyes quickly.  He ducked his head and tried to seem occupied with the hem of his sweater, completely disgusted with himself on how ashamed he felt to be caught looking.  It’s not like he had been spying, Kurt had walked away so rudely and he had every right to know why.

He willed Kurt to look away as he watched the progression of a line of ants on the concrete.  Inhale, two, three, four—exhale, two, three, four… He breathed in and out twenty times then ventured a glance back to the column.  Kurt was thankfully once again preoccupied with Big Mouth, and Blaine relaxed a little, his cover not blown.

Kurt, however, looked like he had made up his mind about something.  Blaine watched, eyes wide, as he purposefully pushed off the column to walk towards Big Mouth.  Blaine took two steps forward without having actually made the decision to do so, his whole body filled with unbearable curiosity and a deep desire to find out what would happen.

Big Mouth didn’t see Kurt coming.  In fact, he was entirely oblivious until Kurt brushed right past him, one shoulder ghosting across another.  The blonde guy glanced up from his game, looked back down, and then did a double-take just like a cartoon character.  If Blaine hadn’t been holding his breath he would have laughed.  If his reaction wasn’t so intensely vital to Blaine at the moment, it would have been hysterical.  But for reasons he didn’t want to begin to think about, nothing mattered until he heard what Big Mouth had to say.

“Kurt?” Big Mouth was in total disbelief.  His mouth was wide open and larger than ever, eyebrows invisible under his mop of hair. 

Blaine drooped, the breath he was holding whooshing out into the bright summer air.  So they did know each other, and Blaine had no chance at an opening to swoop in and save Kurt from the clutches of a pushy stranger.  He was almost disappointed; it was kind of his job to stick up for his group, and the opportunity for him to leave Kurt with a good impression was swiftly closing.  Blaine only hoped that by the next time they had to meet up, Kurt would forget how weird he had been back in the quad.

“Sam!  Wow, hi!” Kurt replied, his voice higher than normal in excitement and disbelief.  Blaine smiled at Kurt’s near-perfect acting, almost believing it himself that Kurt hadn’t noticed Big Mouth – Sam—until that moment.

“What? No, how —what are you doing here, Pooh Bear?”  Sam was confused, and almost panicked.  The pet name wasn’t lost on Blaine either (Pooh Bear, really?), and now he was so very interested he felt he would burst if he didn’t find out what was going on.  And, as Kurt’s mentor, this was totally part of his job description.  Past relationships were a huge detriment to college success, and from what Blaine could see this Sam wasn’t too happy about Kurt being there.  Knowing the situation from the beginning would only help Blaine’s inevitable pep talk to come later.

 “Oh I go here!  This is so funny, because I had completely forgotten that you go here!  And look, here we are, both going here!”  Blaine winced a little at Kurt’s failed nonchalance, his ruse much more apparent now.  Kurt seemed to get the same message and shut his mouth tightly.

A group of girls behind Blaine started laughing incredibly loud, drowning out everything else.  Blaine had already been straining to hear Kurt and Sam, and now all he could do was watch their lips move.  Sure that Kurt was way too involved in his conversation to notice, Blaine took a circuitous route to the bench not six feet from where Sam had stationed himself near the door to the lecture hall.  He kept his head down, pulling out his yellow legal pad again to make it seem as though he wasn’t listening in and hopefully to obscure his face.

“…Sorry, I’m just a little confused,” Sam said as Blaine pulled his pen from the side pocket of his shoulder bag.  With the pretense of tugging his pants from where they bunched at the waist, Blaine shifted his knees a few degrees to the right so that Kurt and Sam were once again in eyesight without having to turn his head.  He leaned gingerly against the brick wall, mindful of his sweater, and hugged his right knee into his chest so he could rest the legal pad there.  To a casual observer it would appear that he was just scribbling, sitting because he was immersed in his own world instead of eavesdropping to infiltrate Kurt’s.

“Harvard Law, Sam.  This university in which we are currently standing, right this very minute?  I’m a student here.  I have an ID and everything.”  Kurt was endlessly patient and positive, pulling his wallet from the bag slung across his shoulder and brandishing the dark red plastic card in Sam’s face.  Blaine winced a little for Kurt’s sake, the discomfort and anxiety on Sam’s face that was so obvious to him It was clearly going right over Kurt’s head.

Sam’s big mouth was open and he seemed to be searching for something to say when the doors to the lecture hall swung open and the crowd of students began to press inside.

“Oh, I guess I should go get a good seat!  Let’s catch up after class, okay?”  Kurt was gone with an airy wave and one last excited smile.

Sam, however, seemed rooted to the spot, his lips moving but no noise coming out.  Blaine grabbed his bag and went over to Sam, trying to seem just mildly interested, though the curiosity was still tight in his chest.  Sam didn’t react to Blaine’s presence, so he cleared his throat pointedly.

When Sam finally looked up he said, “Ah, who is he?  To you, I mean.”  Blaine cursed his own incoherence once again, but Sam seemed to get the point.

“Kurt?  We both went to UCLA.  He’s… my ex-boyfriend.”

Blaine had thought about that, had added it to his mental list of possible scenarios, but he wasn’t prepared for it to be fact.  He reeled just a little, his curiosity finally satisfied but some other part of him just awakened.  There was no time in the quickly clearing courtyard to examine the way the little bit of dislike he felt towards Sam explode into hot judgmental aversion.  Blaine nodded jerkily and stepped around Sam into the lecture hall, walking right to the front of the room in an attempt to get away from the blooming feelings that he couldn’t place.

When Blaine turned to face the packed lecture hall, the fifty bright, open faces sitting in neat rows, he pushed down the tangle of emotions and tried to focus on the leader role into which he easily fell.  The action was so familiar that it was nearly robotic to shut off one part of himself and turn on another.  It was the same way he had been elected class president three times, how he got nearly every solo in his school choir, how he was respected, admired, wanted but never really accepted or loved.  Being in charge was safe, and taking care of other people was so much simpler than trying to take care of himself.  This spot in front of an audience where most people felt exposed was just where Blaine felt the safest, content to hide behind the confident smile and easy persona that had become a mask.  This was exactly what everyone expected from him, and he knew if everyone else was happy then he could pretend he was happy, too. 

Blaine knew all these things, he saw himself for the fraud he was, but altering his ways was something he didn’t dare to think about because he wouldn’t have the first clue how to change.

Kurt couldn’t help humming to himself as he slid primly into the front row, moving all the way to the last seat of the curved desk space.  There were five rows in all, curved into semi-circles so that every student had a view of the huge whiteboard, projector screen, and podium.  Standing, Kurt could almost reach out and touch the corner of the tray that held several dry erase markers.  Sitting, Kurt placed his bag carefully onto the desktop and swiveled in the chair to watch the classroom fill up around him.

The smile on his face refused to waver, fueled by the warm fire that seeing Sam had ignited.  He had been so surprised to see Kurt, something that Kurt had anticipated, but he had also been kind, something Kurt had not foreseen.  He had predicted indifference, suspicion, and maybe even outrage, but he had not been so optimistic as to expect kindness.  Images of being back in Sam’s arms ran through his head, adding thoughts of cozy shelter from cruel New England winters to his memories of salty kisses and sandy beach days.  Dreamily he rested his chin on one hand, wiggling the foot of his crossed leg to an aimless melody. 

Though Kurt was keeping an eye on the door he still hadn’t seen Sam, even when the steady stream of students had trickled to nothing.  He was just beginning to get worried when the door flew open and Blaine strode in, looking extremely upset about something.  Kurt stopped humming and sat up a little straighter, trying to imagine what could have happened in the five minutes between them walking up to Pennington Hall together and Blaine now stepping through the door.  Was it something Kurt did?  He couldn’t remember anything in particular he had said to Blaine since that morning, his head so full of Sam’s hair and his face and his chest.  Kurt couldn’t look away from Blaine’s bowed head and his tense arms gripping the back of a chair, trying to telepathically send good thoughts his way. 

Kurt was so intent that he nearly fell out of his chair when Blaine straightened, looking like a new man.  Every bit of apprehension was gone from his face, smoothed over into the small friendly smile Kurt remembered from earlier in the quad.  It was like Kurt had imagined the entire entrance.  Kurt blinked hard, trying to focus on what was in front of him, but Blaine’s wooden smile remained and he was now confidently moving to the center of the open floor.  He looked alright, but Kurt couldn’t help but feel suspicious.  How could anyone get over being upset so quickly?

Blaine didn’t even wait for the room to quiet down before he launched right into speaking. 

“Harvard Law School is not what you think it’s going to be.”

 Kurt couldn’t help but be impressed when everyone fell silent as soon as they noticed Blaine, before he even finished the sentence.  Blaine had incredible charisma.

“It’s probably going to be a lot more difficult and a hundred times more rewarding than you could ever imagine.  I’m Blaine Anderson, Professor Smythe’s teaching assistant, and I was sitting in your seat just three years ago.  Graduating from Harvard Law was a long, grueling process, but I can promise you that it was one of the best experiences of my life.  And that experience, for you, starts today.  It begins here in those squeaky chairs and with a million hopes and dreams that all come down to where you are right now.  You’re here because you’re the best of the best, and if you continue to work diligently, you’ll leave Harvard much better than how you first started.”

Kurt found himself nodding subconsciously, soaking in every word.  Blaine certainly knew how to work a crowd.

“Now Blaine, not everyone is as exceptional as you are.”  Kurt gasped a little, along with most of the rest of the room, when Professor Smythe swept through the open door behind Blaine.  He was tall, or maybe Blaine was short, but the effect was staggering to say the least.  Smythe was probably in his mid-forties, his perfectly styled hair just beginning to gray at the temples.  He was clad in a delicious dark suit that Kurt wanted to rip right off his body, partly because Kurt wanted to wear it himself and partly because he would love to see what was underneath.  Kurt had never been one for older men, but for Professor Smythe, he might have to make an exception.

Blaine’s smile faltered for the slightest second but he seemed to catch himself and quickly return it, making Kurt think he was imagining things again.  No one else seemed to notice, their eyes on Professor Smythe.  Blaine still sounded sure of himself when he said, “Class, Professor Sebastian Smythe.  Also a Harvard alum, and a very brilliant lawyer in criminal proceedings, as well.”

Kurt was seriously well on his way to swooning until Professor Smythe stepped forward and unceremoniously swept Blaine to the side.  He literally shoved Blaine over with his whole right arm, forcing Blaine to scuttle or be knocked over.  Blaine chose to shuffle, his face turning pink and the line of his jaw set hard.  Kurt couldn’t help the outraged scoff that slipped through his lips.  Professor Smythe turned his head sharply towards the noise, his face furious.  Luckily Kurt wasn’t the only one who was more than a little taken aback at Smythe’s behavior so the professor couldn’t single him out.

Every asset that Smythe had was fully eclipsed by his gross mistreatment of Blaine.  For a Harvard professor to act so carelessly towards the assistant that he had personally chosen was ridiculous.  Kurt fumed silently, the disapproval no doubt evident on his face.  Just because Blaine was small and agreeable didn’t mean he deserved to get pushed around.  Kurt had an involuntary flash back to his own hellish high school days and he clamped down on those memories tightly, locking them away.

If he was trying to impress his students, Smythe had failed.  But if intimidation was what he was going for, then he had certainly succeeded. The room was abuzz with outraged murmurs that stopped abruptly wherever Smythe looked, and a few students in the front row across the room from Kurt had slouched so low in their seats they were disappearing. 

“Now what Mr. Anderson told you is quite—charming—but not necessarily true.  Though it’s certainly wonderful and endearing to believe that everyone has what it takes to become a lawyer, the harsh reality is that it doesn’t matter.  You can get into the most exclusive schools in the world, your mommies and daddies can shell out every single dollar they have, and you can study until your eyes fall out, but none of those things will make you a great lawyer.” 

Smythe paused to let his words settle over the class.  Kurt knew a dramatic pause when he saw one, mostly because he employed them on a regular basis, and this one was a doozy.  Every face he could see was stunned and almost nauseous.  A few kids were typing furiously on their laptops, no doubt ranting to their parents or maybe even the Dean of Law School about the bashing they received in Smythe’s first class.

“You have to be tough, and tenacious,” Smythe continued.  “You have to want this so badly that you’ll die before you take no for an answer.  You’ve heard that lawyers are sharks?  Wrong.  Good lawyers, the ones that win, are bulldogs.  Bulldogs don’t care about the size or strength of the animal they attack.  They just grab on, lock that jaw and never let go, no matter what.  Sure, you can work hard, but you also have to be single-minded and ruthless to be great.”

Kurt raised an eyebrow, more to himself than anything.  Blaine was the only lawyer he personally knew, and it was certainly hard to picture Blaine as ruthless in any respect of the word.  Even the lawyer who had handled his father’s workplace injury case was perfectly friendly, his wife and kids lovely and polite.

“Law school is an excellent litmus test to separate those who think they will be great lawyers and those who will actually become great lawyers.  You all got into Harvard based on your past accomplishments, but when those of you who are lucky enough to survive Harvard Law graduate, the real test begins.  The internships and job offers you get when you graduate will depend on how you do in school, and they will also depend on the connections you make here.  I, along with your peers and other professors, can be your biggest ally or your greatest enemy.  Don’t overestimate yourself and don’t underestimate anyone else.”

The class had fallen silent once again, no typing or murmuring.  Smythe, satisfied with his extortion, continued with the lecture.

“Now, if you’ll all turn to page 54.  I assume that last night’s reading went well?” 

There was a collective rustle and shuffle as everyone pulled a textbook out and flipped pages.  Kurt looked around fretfully, but no one seemed to be as panicked as he felt.  Who assigns reading for the first day of class?!  He reached into his bag to pull out the criminal law textbook that he bought on Amazon and had shipped to his apartment, mostly because it was huge and scholarly and Sam would be so impressed to see him with his nose buried in it.  The plastic shrink wrap was still in place.  Kurt tried his best to slice the plastic and pull it off with minimal noise.  He winced when it crinkled loudly, and glanced up to see Blaine watching him.  Kurt looked away quickly, shoving the plastic noisily into his bag and fighting the blush creeping up his cheeks.

“Criminal law is essentially about acts that can land a person in jail, such as larceny, burglary, rape, assault, murder.  There is a much better, more verbose description in the forward of your book which you are free to read.”  Smythe waved his hand at the textbooks open on the desks to indicate the words he didn’t have time to mention.  “Now, this sample case is about an armed robbery of a gas station convenience store.”  Kurt skimmed the case description quickly, skipping over all the flowery lawyer words and Latin phrases that were completely foreign to him. 

“Mr. Jones, the suspect in question, has been arrested and is about to be put on trial.  You are hired to represent him.  Who can tell me, as the lawyer for this client, how you will begin to organize your defense?” Blaine offered Smythe the class roster and he took it, skimming the list.  “Ah, yes, how about Hummel?”

Kurt froze in his seat, his eyes darting around on the small off-chance that there was any other Hummel in the room.  No one was volunteering.

“Kurt Hummel?” Professor Smythe said again, his eyes narrowing dangerously.  Kurt raised a timid hand in acknowledgement, willing himself not to tremble.  Smythe spotted him and the arrogant smirk and steely glint in his eye made a sweat break out all along Kurt’s hairline.  “Yes, Mr. Hummel, care to answer the question?”

“Well,” Kurt stalled, trying to ignore the dozens of eyes on him, including the two hazel ones belonging to Blaine, and focus on the case he just read for the first time.  “You need to find out if he’s guilty or not?” 

He hadn’t intended for it to come out as a question, but there it was.  The pause stretched out forever, and there was no safe place to look.  Kurt resolutely ignored Blaine, unprepared to handle disappointment from him on the first day.  He couldn’t handle Smythe’s smug face or the mocking smiles of his classmates, so instead he stared at a little X gashed into his wooden desk, rubbing it over and over with his thumb.

Smythe chuckled a little, an invitation for everyone else to join in.  A lot of the class did, though the laughs weren’t genuine and sounded more out of fear than mirth.  Kurt chanced a glance up, hoping he could convey to Blaine how sorry he was for embarrassing him.  Though Blaine blessedly wasn’t laughing along with everyone else, his face was unreadable in response.  Kurt nodded a little, rubbing harder at the X, trying to calm down the panic suddenly rising in him like bile.  It had been many years since high school but he hadn’t forgotten how it felt to be maliciously singled out.  He again pushed at the memories that crept around the edges of his consciousness, trying to keep them out.

“Yes, well, that’s certainly—” Smythe began, but stopped.  Kurt glanced up to see him staring at a prim young blonde woman with her hand in the air.  “Miss…?”

“Quinn Fabray,” the girl said matter-of-factly, folding her hands on the desk in front of her.  “I would like to answer the question, if I could?”  Smythe nodded, a little surprised.  Kurt couldn’t help but gape at her as she locked eyes with him, turning up her nose and giving him a tight smile of superiority, the simple motions turning her delicate features ugly.

“First you would need to find Mr. Jones’s criminal record, as well as get the details of the robbery, like how much he took and if he injured anyone.  Since Jones was the one arrested and thrown in jail, there is no question as to his guilt.”  She punctuated the last part right at Kurt, and he fought hard to breathe evenly through his nose.  I will not cry in this classroom.  

The laughter was back, now more enthusiastic and less timid.  Kurt quickly snipped every tie he had to emotion, feeling his face harden as his resolve did, too.  Blaine wasn’t the only one who could pretend like nothing was wrong. 

“Alright!  Wow, Miss Fabray, excellent answer.  The key to succeeding in criminal law is often just knowing the law itself.  There are many times that an entire trial can be thrown out because of a police misstep or a lack of evidence, even if the defendant is indeed guilty.  As a criminal lawyer, it is my job and yours to get a client the lightest sentence possible regardless of his or her guilt.  Better luck next time, Mr. Hummel.  Now, as for our client Mr. Jones…”

Kurt sat incredibly straight and stared at a spot high on the opposite wall, wishing for the floor to open up and swallow him whole, for Smythe to end the class, for someone to have an asthma attack and make a distraction so he could slip out.  He wished that he had chosen a seat right beside the door, that Quinn Fabray would fall on her face and that Blaine and the whole focus group would pretend like nothing happened.  More than anything he wished that Sam had zoned out for the whole class and missed the entire humiliation.  Not even one class in and the damage was way past being controllable.  Maybe if I just crawl in a hole for a year or two, the whole thing will blow over.

Smythe moved on to torture other students, making Kurt feel slightly better.  Though everyone else clearly knew about the reading assignment when he did not, that didn’t mean that they knew the answers to Smythe’s questions.  He took every opportunity to demean and outsmart his students and at times Blaine. 

“Mr. Chang.  Define manslaughter,” Smythe asked Mike, and Kurt shifted uneasily.

“Manslaughter is involuntary or accidental killing of another person.  As a legal term it usually also means shorter and lighter sentences for the client.”  Smythe nodded approvingly and Kurt relaxed as Mike aced the question, of course.

The next student wasn’t so lucky, forgetting completely the meaning of gravamen. 

When Kurt got brave enough to look around the room again he found Blaine watching him, no doubt wondering how he could get Kurt transferred to another focus group immediately.  Blaine appraised him for a second, then mouthed, You okay?  Kurt took a deep, shaky breath and nodded, attempting a smile that probably looked more like a grimace.  Blaine seemed to be satisfied, nodding in return and going back to listening to Smythe.  Kurt went back to wishing for the class to end.

“If Mr. Dewitt was under the influence of drugs, would he still be liable for murder?” Smythe asked this one to Santana.

“Well sir, that depends on the type of drugs he was on, because when I drink tequila I’m definitely not responsible for my actions.”  Kurt joined in the laughter this time, grateful to Santana for giving their classmates something to remember besides his fumble.  She turned her head his way and he smiled.  Her lips twitched for just a moment before she looked away.  Kurt counted it as a win.

Smythe would be the only professor to keep his class for the entire period on the very first day.  Kurt found himself watching the clock like he was back in grade school, feeling every tick of the minute hand in twitches of his fingers on the desktop.  All around the room students were getting antsy, unused to sitting for so long after a long summer of no classes.  Kurt found himself clicking his pen incessantly until he got a nasty glare from the girl seated next to him.

“Now, before I excuse you,” Smythe began at ten minutes before class was scheduled to end, stopping when his words brought forth a flurry of packing up activity.  He stood, silent, until every student was once again paying attention.  He tried again.  “Before I excuse you, I must confess that there is a reason I grilled you all today.”

Several people grumbled, including Kurt.  Maybe Smythe wasn’t as sadistic as he seemed?  Doubtful.

“This semester I teach Criminal Law.  Next semester I teach Legal Practice, and if you have any sense at all you’ll sign up to take me again.  My law firm allows me to choose four interns every year to assist me on my biggest cases.  Those interns come from my classes here at Harvard.  Do the work, pay attention, read your book, impress me, and you might just land one of those spots.  Oh, and interns of mine?  I can guarantee that they will have extremely successful law careers.  You are dismissed.”

Kurt slipped his textbook back into his bag, taking care to not bend the pages of the sketch book already inside.  He buckled the bag closed as he slid down the aisle, apologizing vaguely to people he bumped as he made a mad dash for the door of the lecture hall.  Just getting out of the room eased most of the tension in his body, the sunshine helping him to forget his public criticism.

He perched on the railing at the bottom of the stairs down from Pennington Hall, trying not to look like he was waiting.  From behind his iPhone he scanned the crowd for blonde hair.

The last of the students were filing out and Blaine tried to follow to make sure Kurt was really okay.  He couldn’t shake the weird vibes he got from Kurt’s tiny grimace and his stoic body language, the way he seemed to shut down to a shell of his former lively self.

Smythe stopped Blaine short as he made for the door, almost clotheslining him with his freakishly long arms.  Blaine huffed as he turned around, much more concerned with Kurt’s well-being than he was with whatever pointless task Sebastian wanted him to perform.  He was not a coffee lackey.

“So, Anderson, what did you think of my lecture today?” Smythe folded his arms and leaned against the podium easily.  Blaine, who hadn’t had Sebastian as a professor for his own first year Criminal Law class, was frankly off-put and confused by the severe first lecture.  Competing for an internship or not, there was no need for Sebastian to instill such hostility and fear among his students. 

Blaine, who had been silent for a moment as he thought of a response, realized that Smythe was smirking openly at his discomfort.  He could tell that Blaine was itching to get out of there and he was torturing him on purpose.  Just like he tortured his students.  Blaine fumed a little, his composed and calm demeanor slipping.

“Was your main goal a power-trip? Because that was about all that I got out of the lecture.  Monday morning probably wasn’t the best time to try and scare them off of law school forever. To be honest, it was too much.” He fought hard to sound unattached, but the words had an angry edge that he couldn’t help. Blaine tried to shrug to counteract his tone, but it wasn’t working.

 Sebastian’s face contorted into that same smug smile, but this time Blaine felt a shiver all the way to his toes with the hard steely danger that was there.

“Oh Blaine, you’re always so sweet, and always so infuriatingly naïve.  If I don’t tell them now, and they find out a year down the line, then I haven’t done my job as a professor, have I?  Brutal honesty is key.  These students come here with big heads, their parents having filled them from birth with ideas about how special and wonderful they are.  It’s high time they meet reality.” Sebastian’s gaze swept from Blaine to where Kurt was sitting earlier. “Law school isn’t for everyone.” Blaine took notice of Smythe’s pointed look, a sudden wave of protective outrage putting him on the verge of lashing out, but he held his tongue at the warning in Smythe’s eyes.

“Don’t make me go to your father over something so silly as this.”  Sebastian’s mocking smile had disappeared, his tone low, now slippery and greasy and thoroughly evil.  “We both know that this TA job is all that is keeping him from disowning you.  And we also both know that you don’t need to push me very far before you’ll regret ever saying anything.  If you knew what’s best for you, you’d smile and nod and do exactly what I tell you to do.  I’ll let that little comment slide, but from now on you watch your mouth and be a good little boy, or I’ll go tattle on you to daddy.  One misstep, and we both know you’ll be out on your ass. Got it?”

Sebastian was right, but Blaine wasn’t going to admit it.  If he wanted to survive he was going to have to play games, just like he had for most of his life.  Blaine nodded slowly, scowling to make his feelings clear.

“Good boy.  Now, let’s try again.  What did you think of my lecture today?”

“It was great,” Blaine said, hastily putting up the remnants of the façade that Sebastian had crumbled.  “Really, you did a fine job of introducing new students to law.  It was most enlightening.” His false cheer fell totally flat.

Smythe seemed satisfied.  “Much better.  But next time, let’s go a little lighter on the sarcasm, okay Blaine?”  Sebastian slapped his butt lightly and patted his head like he was a puppy, turning to go back to his office.  Blaine smoothed his hair irritably, trying to ignore the way his skin crawled at Sebastian’s touch.  He glared at his back until the office door slammed.

Blaine seethed, flexing his hands to stop the unbearable urge to hit.  He would have to pack his boxing gloves in his shoulder bag every morning in order to deal with Sebastian.  Picturing his face on the bag would have to substitute for what Blaine really wanted to do.

He glanced at his watch, figuring he had an hour before he had to have lunch with his father.  Just enough time to block out the world before he had to rejoin it again.

It wasn’t Sam’s shaggy mop top that approached him first.  It was Quinn Fabray and her perfect blonde bob.

“What do you want, Fabray?” Kurt said shortly, looking over her head at the mass exit from Pennington Hall.

“Hummel,” she said smoothly, putting out her hand to shake his.  “Nice to meet you.” 

Kurt eyed the hand apprehensively and didn’t take it.  “Is there a reason you’re here, other than to rub that mishap from earlier in my face?”

“Sorry about that,” she said dismissively, not looking sorry at all.  “I just can’t help myself sometimes when I know an answer.  An IQ of 173 does that to a person.”

Kurt was nonplussed.  “Ookay, then why are you talking to me?”

Before she could speak he spotted that familiar messy head of hair over her shoulder.  “Sam!” he called, elbowing past Quinn and secretly enjoying her yelp of pain.

The lecture hall doors slammed shut behind Sam and only a handful of students were still milling around the courtyard of Pennington Hall.  Finally, he could talk to Sam without any interruptions.

“Sam!” he called again when Sam couldn’t figure out where the voice was coming from.  Sam looked almost guilty, not really unhappy to see Kurt but not happy either.  Apparently the surprise had passed, and now he was just… conflicted?

“Sweetheart!” Kurt tried again, moving forward to smooth Sam’s collar like he often did.  Sam shrank back a little, his eyes focused on something to the left of Kurt’s head.  Kurt pouted, waiting for him to speak.

“Pooh Bear,” — Sam cleared his throat loudly— “Kurt, I’m sorry, really I am.  You caught me by surprise, and—”

“Sorry?” Kurt interrupted sharply, crossing his arms.  “Sorry for what?”

The last straggling trio of students scrambled away at Kurt’s threatening manner, uneager to see the confrontation.  Hillary was among them, and she gave Kurt one last lingering look before she followed the others.

Quinn suddenly appeared.  “Samuel, don’t you have something to tell our friend Kurt here?”  Kurt’s eyes bugged out of his head as she wrapped her arm around Sam’s elbow.

Kurt glanced from their interlocked arms to Sam’s eyes in disbelief, trying to figure out the joke.  This cannot be happening.

“Quinn, meet my friend Kurt Hummel from California.  Kurt, meet Quinn Fabray.”  Quinn nudged him pointedly until he swallowed and added, “My girlfriend.”  Sam might as well have slapped him in the face for all the betrayal and hurt that slammed into Kurt.  Quinn looked incredibly satisfied, smiling triumphantly.  But he could also see the revoltingly sympathetic apology written on Sam’s face, and just like that night at Chef Sake’s, it made something inside him snap.

“Oh, so you date girls now, do you Sam?” Kurt said loudly, feeling a twist of perverse satisfaction at the way Sam’s vapid kindness completely fell away, replaced with stunned disbelief.  “That’s funny, because you didn’t when I was your boyfriend for two years at UCLA.”  Quinn’s pretty face was once again contorted and horrible, and she looked like she might throw something.  Kurt knew he should leave it at that, but it was too late; Kurt was so broken he couldn’t think straight.  Everything about that day had caught him off guard, and now he was powerless to stop the venom that was pouring out of him. 

“But we couldn’t have the famous Evans family tarnished by a son-in-law, could we?  You can’t convincingly claim to be holier-than-thou when your youngest son is acting on the gay side of bi.  And I know all about that, don’t I Sam?  You can fool everyone else, but you can’t fool me.  I remember every time you told me you loved me, and that your family’s opinion didn’t affect who you loved.  So much for that now, huh?”  He gestured to Quinn, making sure she could see the disgust written on his face.

“I hope you’re happy Sam, I really do.  But I’m not going anywhere.  This isn’t over.”

Kurt stepped back and stood for just a second more, hating himself for appreciating all the emotional wreckage he had just created.  Then he turned and ran to his car so he could break down in peace.

Blaine was left gaping at Kurt’s back for the second time that day.  Sam and the blonde girl hanging on his arm were staring, too.  Blaine had only heard the last words to come out of Kurt’s mouth before he ran, but judging from the scene, it had been quite the confrontation.  He was reminded of big dramatic stand-offs in the western movies his dad loved so much.  Only this time, vicious words were drawn instead of guns.

Blaine stepped out from the shadow of the double lecture hall doors, moving quickly to try and catch Kurt.  It wasn’t until Kurt’s muffled sobs reached his ears and made him stop that he rounded on Sam.

“What did you do?” Blaine shot as he ground to a halt, his words cruel without restraint.  His punching bag would have two faces on it today.

“I, I don’t…” Sam was floundering.  Blaine rounded on the girl, recognizing her face from the class but not her name.  She said nothing and wouldn’t meet his eyes, her face closed off.

He gave up and instead sprinted to the parking lot.  He ran down every aisle, yelling Kurt’s name, but there was no one in sight.