Kurt was tapping out a reply to Quinn, his thumbs dancing across the artificial light of his phone screen, when he felt his phone being snatched from his grasp.

"Mr. Hummel I have had enough of this. You never pay attention in my class. All you do is sit and tap away on your phone. Well, I have had enough. Detention, after school." said Madame Patterson, firmly.

All eyes were on him, burning into his porcelain skin. He never really payed attention in French class, that was a fact. He didn't need to. His grades in the subject were excellent. Apparently that wasn't enough, though.

Coach Sylvester could pull a few strings to ensure his high grades. He didn't have time to study for big tests and whatever. Being a Cheerio was a full-time job, mind you. And, he appreciated the salary he earned.

"But Madame, Blaine here was texting too." Kurt defended with a smirk, nodding his head over to his left where Blaine sat, fire in his eyes after processing what Kurt had said.

"Fine," Madame Patterson gave in. "Mr. Anderson, please hand over your phone. You will have detention after school as well." she said.

Kurt and Blaine were both taken aback, Kurt sat up straighter if possible in his seat, and Blaine's lips parted with his eyes squinting critically. "What?!" they exclaimed in chorus. I have to spend an hour with this dweeb? I didn't ask for this! I only wanted that hag to take his phone away!

"Madame this is unf–"

"You can't possibly–"

"Save it." Madame Patterson said with finality. She didn't seem like changing her mind any time soon. Kurt slumped back in his seat, groaning. Sixty minutes with Anderson in the room, how dandy.

Why couldn't she just have confiscated Blaine's phone and left it at that? It was bad enough that Kurt had to attend detention. He absolutely needed to ensure that the Cheerios' routine was flawless.

Kurt heard Blaine muttering under his breath and saw him pinching the bridge of his nose from the corner of his eye. He clearly didn't fancy the situation either.

Kurt went through the final hours of school with a clouded mind. He was distracted. He was thankful for his position on the Cheerios, for he would've already bumped into several students in the hallway with his mindless walking in the hallways.

He thought he saw Santana pinning a terrified Jacob Ben Israel against the lockers shouting rapidly in another language, but he wasn't sure. Quinn's text still boggled his mind. He'd just call her about it sometime.

"Hi, Unicorn!" Kurt heard the unmistakable chipper voice of Brittany. He spun on his heel gracefully to face his friend. "Guess what? I got detention! Isn't that cool?" the blonde said, ever so enthusiastic.

"Um," Kurt began, mulling over his choice of words. "How exactly did you get it, Brittany?" Kurt questioned, curious as to how someone like Brittany could've gotten detention. She couldn't hurt a fly.

"Oh," Brittany uttered. "I asked that old guy with the furry moustache if I could have one because he gave San one too. I really think his moustache is responsible for the crimes against bears. They aren't doing so well with the honey shortage." she said with a genuine frown on her face and an upset tone.

Kurt simply nodded, taking in what Brittany had said. At least he had Santana and Brittany with him for detention. Them, he could handle. He hated just being in the same building as Anderson. Why did he hate Blaine, though?

Duh, Hummel. You gotta ask that to yourself?

Brittany walked, no, more like skipped, to detention. He wished he could have her optimism. He strode into the classroom, looking for a place to sit. Brittany was seated in front of Blaine, with Santana to the boy's right. Kurt sat beside Brittany.

A couple other students were in detention, too. Three to be precise. One was sleeping in the corner, by the trashcan. Two were throwing crumpled paper at each other, several used ammo littering the floor.

"Students," the teacher who indeed had a disturbing moustache on his face began. "You will all behave appropriately while I am gone. I will be in the teacher's lounge, having a much better time than you. If I am to find out that any one of you delinquents have left the classroom without my permission, I will personally grant whomever did not follow my instructions five more days worth of detention. Goodbye." he finished with a pointed look.

Well, this was going to be fun.

...

"So, hobbit." Blaine turned to his right to face Santana, who was studying her perfectly manicured nails. "How's about that offer? Change your mind?" she questioned

"Santana, I already told you. I'm gay. You already asked me once. Once is enough." Blaine said tiredly with a sigh at the end.

"Oops, she did it again." Brittany piped up. Blaine couldn't help it, he released a chuckle. Santana was shaking her head, but she was clearly amused.

Blaine was startled out of his seat when a loud crash had echoed in the room. The boy sleeping in the corner had fallen over, his chair not so upright. He stood, gathered his things, and walked out of the classroom.

Um?

Seeing Blaine's confusion etched all over his face, Santana spoke, "That's Randy. He sleeps during last period. Pretty deep sleeper." Blaine nodded in understanding. Poor guy. No one bothered to wake him up?

Santana and Brittany stood up from their seats, randomly walking around the classroom. He checked his wrist watch. Fifty-four minutes left in detention. He groaned, frustrated. Stupid Hummel. Stupid texting. Stupid detention...

"Excuse me?" he heard Kurt's - offended? - voice. Shit. Did he say that out loud? "It's not my fault you texted in class!" Kurt exclaimed, his face slightly scarlet, his twisted body facing Blaine from where he sat.

"I wouldn't be here if you hadn't told Madame Patterson about my texting!" Blaine countered.

"I wouldn't have anything to tell to Madame if you hadn't texted in the first place, dumbass!" Kurt retorted.

Blaine was about to give out a biting reply before a crunch-like sound was heard by he and Kurt. They both swivellled their heads towards the interruption. It was Santana chewing on a granola bar, sitting on a desk smugly.

"By all means, don't mind me. This is pretty hot. Carry on, carry on." the Latina said with a mouthful of food, her words slightly slurred.

Kurt crinkled his nose in disgust and rolled his eyes. He huffed and turned away from Blaine, whom crossed his arms and turned his head away from the brunette. Blaine pulled out some scratch paper and a pen.

He drew five straight lines horizontally, with practiced ease. He drew a G clef with gentle strokes, already so accustomed. He closed his eyes, breathing in slowly and deeply. He tried valiantly at imagining he wasn't in a classroom with a guy he despised.

Music came so easily to Blaine. The notes on the sheet of paper were definitely no longer notes in his mind. His head was filled with the upbeat tempo of anger and fury, although his face showed none of this - just pure concentration.

The symphony ceased when his desk was bumped and his hand was forced along with it, causing an inch or so of ink to be imprinted on the paper in a straight line, messing up his composition. Blaine clenched his jaw, his grip on his pen tightening and his knuckles turning white.

"Oops, I'm sorry." Kurt said, two seats away from Blaine. His mouth was curled into a smirk.

"This isn't funny, Kurt." Said boy raised his eyebrows at the intensity of Blaine's voice. "You cross the line when you mess with my music." Blaine stood up abruptly, his chair screeching across the linoleum floor, and slammed his palms on his desk.

"Whoa, whoa, calm down here, boys!" Santana intervened. They had apparently caught the attention of everyone in the room, including the two boys at the back whom paused their little feud.

Kurt's smirk was no longer existent. His eyes were bulging out of their sockets. Was he scared?

Blaine exhaled a shaky breath, tearing his eyes away from the male cheerleader. The boy unclenched his jaw, relaxing the muscles there. He sat back down on his chair and crossed his arms. He checked his wrist watch again – he still had thirty-one minutes left.

He spent the final minutes doodling and thinking thoughtfully. He probably overreacted when Kurt bumped his hip with his desk. Ugh, he's probably doing this on purpose to make me feel horrible about myself.

He was humming a tune silently under his breath when the door creaked open, finally. Finally. The teacher with the peculiar moustache sauntered in chewing on - is that a pork rind?

"You're free to go. Woo." the teacher uttered, monotoned. "Blaine Anderson, Kurt Hummel, your cellphones." he set them down on his desk and walked out of the room, still chewing on a pork rind.

Blaine grabbed his phone and walked out of the room too, not looking back.

...

Slam. Slam, slam.

Blaine's fists pounded against leather in an endless string. His knuckles were sore, but he couldn't find it within himself to stop.

His skin was glistening with sweat, his hair damp and his curls free from gel. The wife beater he had on was clinging to every inch of his skin that it covered.

Slam.

He had to go through a day of school completely distracted and disoriented. He couldn't shake Kurt out of his mind all day. The brunette just really pissed him off. He drove Blaine nuts.

The ball was in Blaine's court now. He had to think of a way to get back at Kurt.

Slam, slam.

Blaine still held a grudge over Kurt slushying him on his first day. If it were anyone but Kurt, he wouldn't have. Kurt had to have suffered some form of bullying in his lifetime. Lima didn't really seem accepting of gay people.

Kurt should've known how it felt like to feel lonely, to feel out of place. Ignorant prick, Blaine thought.

Slam.

Blaine hated him. Hated him. Blaine had to figure Kurt Hummel out. There had to be something beneath the cold exterior of that ice queen.

Why did Kurt have to be so complicated? Why couldn't he just let Blaine live his life peacefully without ever having to wonder about the brunette?

Slam. Slam, Slam.

Blaine wanted the last year of his high school career to be unproblematic and memorable, in positive terms.

Kurt just had to sneak his way into his life like that, didn't he? Asshole.

Slam. Slam...

Blaine was exhausted. Boxing had always been another way of relieving his stress. He pulled off his boxing gloves and flexed his fingers. He shook his hands to try and get rid of the numbness he was feeling.

He drew in steadying breaths, his chest heaving. Droplets of sweat made their way down his skin. He curled his fingers around the hem of his wife beater and pulled it over his head, leaving him shirtless.

He whistled a cheery tune, not quite fitting his current mood, and walked to his gym locker. He soon unlocked it, feeling the cool metal under his fingertips. He put his boxing gloves inside along with his drenched - ew - wife beater.

He grabbed his towel and laid his fresh clothing on the bench. He entered a decent shower stall and turned the knob, allowing the shower head to spray water on his toned body.

He decided to sing to maybe lighten up his mood. Music always helped, somehow.

You'd think that people would have had enough of silly love songs

Blaine carded through his hair and massaged his scalp with shampoo. He failed to hear the door to the locker room opening, someone entering the stench-filled room.

But I look around me and I see it isn't so

His eyes were closed. He grabbed a bar of soap and used it as a microphone, nearly slipping on his feet with his little dance moves.

He continued his rather reckless singing until he was sure he was all cleaned up and ready to go. He wrapped a towel loosely around his hips, since he wouldn't have it on for much longer anyway.

He stepped out of the shower stall and walked over to his locker. He noticed another pile of clothing was laid on the bench several few feet away from his, a silver-looking object on top of it. Someone must be showering too.

He bended over to check the shower stalls and sure enough, a pair of feet occupied one stall. He didn't pay the person much mind and started dressing up, his mood lighter.

Blaine made sure to grab all his things, shut his locker, and walked towards the gym locker door. A glint caught his eye, but he ignored it, choosing to just go home and get some much needed rest.

...

Friday, the day of the Cheerios' performance.

Kurt, along with the other cheerleaders on the squad, were pumped up. He'd be performing in front of the student body today. He was confident he'd do amazing. He was never one of stage fright.

He was ecstatic. Yesterday, he had heard that voice singing in the males' locker room. The guy studied here. As in, McKinley High.

He still didn't know who the person was, but he was sure he at least knew the person. The voice was just so familiar. He couldn't put his finger on it.

He was one step closer to finding out who that voice belonged to. It sounded even more beautiful up close, even with the echo of the shower stall.

Kurt was desperate to know, but he surely wouldn't have gone as far as peeking into the shower stall and at last seeing how his crush looked like.

Yes, Kurt had a crush - a silly teenage crush. The feelings probably wouldn't ever escalate. He hoped to all the deities that they wouldn't. He didn'tknow the guy in the first place.

Kurt Hummel loved performing.

Eversince Kurt could utter a sound or stand up on two legs, he'd love entertaining other people. As a wee child, he'd love making mommy's and daddy's friends laugh. He always loved when mommy would congratulate him afterwards.

He was definitely a crowd pleaser.

Kurt's mother had taught him several songs on the piano. He'd sit on the piano bench, his still short legs dangling, and watch his mom play with a look of astonishment in his expressive glasz eyes.

His mom would gently guide his fingers over the ivory keys, teaching him which notes he should play and when. She would clap after every few notes that he'd get right, and he'd feel all warm and fuzzy inside from the praise.

He adored praise from daddy, too. Daddy would ask him to hand over a specific tool from the toolbox to help daddy. Daddy would pat his back and say, "Good job, kiddo!"

Kurt loved the thrill and the adrenaline he'd get from performing. He felt young and free. He stretched his legs and arms, jumping every now and then. He made sure all his muscles were thoroughhly prepared.

"Hummel! You ready?" Santana asked him as she helped Brittany stretch. Kurt smirked.

"As ready as I'll ever be, Satan." he said to Santana. The gym was finally packed with people all chatting amongst themselves. He heard Figgins calling everyone's attention. The principal kept on tapping on the microphone, disturbing sounds bursting through the speakers.

The team of cheerleaders quickly got into formation. Their school band started up on the brass instruments, queuing the start of the song. Kurt and Santana strutted across the gym, confidence excuding their pores.

Come on girl

I've been waiting for somebody to pick up my stroll

Their voices meshed pleasingly with one another, much to their audience's entertainment. The Cheerios continued their dancing, captivating everyone witnessing the performance. They were clearly very well-rehearsed.

Kurt scanned the crowd as the song went on. Someone out there was the person he was looking for. He briefly locked with intense hazel eyes.

He sported a smirk as he sang. He totally had this thing in the bag. Encouraged by the fact that his crush, might be watching him this very moment, he gave his all into every step and every note, if he hadn't already.

Time is waiting

We only got 4 minutes to save the world

The performance was coming to a close. Kurt was praying he had done enough to impress him. He had most likely put the most effort he's ever had into those few minutes sharing the spotlight with his team.

Tick tock tick tock tick tock

A majority of the audience stood up and applauded, cheers echoing throughout the gymnasium. Kurt's chest was heaving, exhausted from the effort.

He took everything in and soaked it up - the lights on him, the applause, the smiling faces, the adrenaline pumping in his veins. He never felt more alive.

"Settle down, settle down." Figgins said into a microphone. Soon, everyone did as they were told, calming down and listening to the principal.

The Cheerios dispersed from their positions. Several of them had bodies that were aching, their muscles screaming at them. Kurt wiped his forehead delicately with a towel and decided to confront Quinn about that text.

"Hey, Q!" Kurt called to her, his voice slightly raspy from singing. Quinn seemed to notice him, but quickly avoided him, looking in a different direction and walking swiftly away from him.

Kurt's face contorted into a slight frown, but not for long. He took one more longing glance at the crowd, his mind bombarded with thoughts and questions left unanswered.

Figgins dismissed everyone with parting words. Kurt searched vainly for Quinn among the see of people all walking and heading to their respective locations. He spotted her blonde-haired head and quickly walked in her direction.

He unintentionally bumped into someone, sending whoever they were sprawling to the ground, "Ow." the person uttered, pulling themself up.

The boy had raven hair and sky blue eyes. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry! I have to go, I'm trying to catch someone but - sorry." said Kurt hastily.

"No, no, it's fine, really." the boy said, although Kurt no longer heard him because he had chased after Quinn.

She was nowhere in sight.

Kurt sighed, maybe he'd get her to talk next time.