Day 7-Order

Blaine Anderson loved order.

He hadn't always been this way. He used to be a free spirit, hating anything that could be considered a rule and smashing it into a thousand little pieces. He use to be spontaneous, never planning, just... living. He even used to let his curls go loose, once his mother had stopped gelling them down when he started to get old enough to groom himself. But not anymore.

Not since that night.

Sometimes, when he closed his eyes right before he drifted off to sleep, he could still see it, as if he was a third party watching down from above, a bird on a tree limb. Sleep was the worst; he couldn't control his dreams. He violently switched perspectives once he drifted off, once again becoming the center of attention as his memories hit him full blast. He could hear his laughter as he and Davy had stood there, waiting to go home. He could hear the catcalls, the jeers. He could feel the panic rising in his stomach, threatening to spill out as vomit. He could feel the rough hands gripping his shoulders, tossing him to the pavement like a ragdoll. He could feel every blow as he shielded his head with his arms, praying to anything that would listen to just let it be over....

Blaine would wake up then, panting in his bed. Pulling the sheets closer, he would curl up into himself, hugging his knees tightly to his chest, willing the tears to go away, regulating his breath until his heart stopped pounding. Usually he would drift off into an uneasy sleep for the rest of the night, waking up roughly with the blaring of his alarm. On the worst nights though, he couldn't get control of himself. Sometimes he would lay there for hours, quietly sobbing and shaking until it was time to face the day.

Thank goodness for medium drip.

He would rise then, jumping in the shower. He would massage his head, slowly working out the previous day's gel. He really should wash it out before bed, but he already lost control so much at night, he clung to his one security measure. The strands eagerly greeted the water, though the gel was much more reluctant to end the partnership. Blaine inhaled deeply as he shampooed his head, taking in the relaxing scent as he put his psyche in order. By the time he shut the water off and wrapped a towel around his waist, he was in control. He would dress quickly; between his shower and his hair, he barely had enough time in the morning. But he wouldn't sacrifice either. Dressing wasn't difficult; he always wore his Dalton blazer. Except for the weekends, but then he just wore an T-shirt (new of course, he couldn't bear to wear anything from before...). Unless he was going out. Then he'd put on a dress shirt, probably a tie (straight, not a bowtie, less conspicuous). And he was in control.

The next step was his hair. He'd look at his reflection every morning, see the curls, happy and free as they began drying, a droplet of water looping down to drip onto his nose before he rubbed it vigorously with a towel. Blaine probably used a bottle of gel every month, but he didn't care, couldn't let himself care. He needed that much to keep his hair under control. He would brush his hair vigorously, then pour a large amount of the product into his palm, smoothing it into his scalp. His comb was next, carefully sculpting his masterpiece.

Taking a moment to examine his handiwork, Blaine would breath, emptying his brain of all unwanted thoughts. He would slip into his car and persona at once, so thankful he had finally gotten his licence, and drove to the Lima Bean. It wasn't exactly close to Dalton, but it had the best coffee around. All the guys went there after school, and it was practically on Blaine's way. He'd order his medium drip, maybe a muffin or a scone if he had time. Then it was back in the car, pulling into the Dalton parking lot at exactly 7:45, exactly fifteen minutes before his first class. He finished his breakfast and made his way to first period, books stacked neatly on his desk, ready to go minutes before the bell.

This was his life. Every day started off pretty much the same. Class, practice, home, homework, some reading if he was lucky and then more fitful sleeping. But it was regular, it was reassuring. As reassuring as eight hours of nightly torture can be.

But today was different. He had just been informed last period that the Warbler's were performing spontaneously. This had to be his least favorite part of being a Warbler, the never knowing when he would have to put his other show face on. But he had become their de facto leader (perhaps because of his love of order?) and he couldn't let them down.

"Excuse me?" He froze for a moment, confused. That sounded like a girl... He turned around. It wasn't a girl, alright. Just the most beautiful man he'd ever laid eyes on. Blaine kept his cool, calm, controlled persona in place, carrying on a conversation, spouting some obnoxious remark about them being rock stars, but internally he was examining the smiling, nervous face in front of him. He couldn't describe his attraction to this boy, Kurt, he just learned. It wasn't a physical attraction, per se, although he was rather attractive. But Blaine definitely felt a pull towards the other boy. He was new. Blaine didn't have to ask to know why. He could see it in his eyes. How many mornings had he seen that look in his own?

His thoughts were in chaos, but not uncomfortably so. His orderly focus had been shattered within seconds of talking to this boy. And the strange thing was, it felt good. it felt...liberating. Impulsively, he reached out, and grabbed Kurt's hand, dragging him down the hall to the commons. The touch was reassuring, comforting, grounding. It made no sense. He could barely walk straight with the thoughts swirling around his head, but that touch made it manageable.

They walked in where the rest of the Warblers were waiting. "Oh god, I stick out like a sore thumb," Kurt muttered, clearly mortified.

Blaine turned to him, grinning, his new, impulsive streak growing. He wanted to impress this Kurt. He really wanted him in his life, especially if he could make him feel this good for no reason. "Next time don't forget you're jacket, new kid," he practically flirted. Easy Blaine, you want to make friends, nothing more. You're not ready for that. "You'll fit right in." Kurt seemed to like that. And the song. Blaine couldn't take his eyes off of the new boy as he sang Teenage Dream, meaning every word. Well, aside from the hands on the skin tight jeans, and getting drunk parts. Okay, well, none of it really applied, literally, but somehow it fit. Kurt seemed almost giddy when he asked for his number, he really was enthusiastic, wasn't he? It was contagious. Blaine didn't remember the last time he had just let himself feel and it didn't hurt. It felt...amazing.

The rest of the day blew past as it always did, night coming all too soon. On another impulse, he took a quick shower, freeing his hair from it's cage just as he had released his heart. As he snuggled under the covers, Blaine braced himself for the sudden onslaught of emotion and heartache. But it never came. Instead of seeing leering faces, he saw an almost elfish one, grinning from ear to ear, slightly gawky but entirely endearing. Caring. A kindred spirit. Instead of jeers he heard a tinkling laugh that made his stomach do strange things. Instead of pain he felt the warm, soft, steady weight of Kurt's hand in his. Blaine slowly slipped into the most restful night's sleep he had gotten in almost a year.

It seemed as if a new normal was in order.