Red.

That was Kurt Hummel's favorite color.

For most people, a favorite color represents something they care about, and Kurt was no exception to that rule. The only difference was that red wasn't the color of his car, or the color of his bedroom walls. It wasn't the color of his favorite shirt, or his childhood blanket. It was the color of the blood that he created with a glimmer of silver pressed into a sea of white.

On his first day of school, Kurt was seeing a lot of his favorite color. When movies portray self-harm, they show emotional breakdowns and uncontrollable sobbing and shaking. Maybe he was the only one, but it was never like that for Kurt. He wasn't panicked or emotional; he was quiet as he let out his breath with each push of the blade. He had five minutes before he had to leave for the first day of his senior year and, unlike the rest of the kids who were worried about who had a better summer than they did, Kurt was concerned that he might not make it if his arm didn't keep bleeding through the bandages.

Kurt was ashamed. For two years, that had been his life. Angry red cuts on top of white scars. When he was a sophomore, Kurt had had the New Directions to keep him grounded and safe from the bullies, but the club was disbanded due to budget cuts after a loss at sectionals. He was still friends with most of the original members, but he had to admit that it wasn't the same. This first day brought him nothing to look forward to, only bullies and loneliness.

As he finally got the fresh cuts to stop bleeding, he heard his dad call him from downstairs saying that if he didn't leave right at that moment, he wasn't going to make it to first period in time.

When Kurt finally arrived at school, he realized that he'd wasted his breath rushing to get there. His first period was a senior-only study hall, and seniors were allowed to leave campus during study hall and lunch so long as they returned for their other classes. Although he had no reason to, he decided to report to the study hall anyway. The monitor's name was unfamiliar: "Anderson, B." According to his schedule, Mr. Anderson would also be teaching his AP English class. Kurt figured that he might as well make a good impression on the new guy, knowing full well that the other Neanderthals of McKinley wouldn't have the common courtesy to do so.

Kurt stepped into the classroom to find an extremely attractive man, no older than 25 or 26, tapping a pen on his chin and letting square framed glasses slip off the bridge of his nose. He had a small green lamp on his desk, and despite the sunny day, had it lit among the classroom lights. He was singing "Teenage Dream" to himself and had just gotten to the line about skin-tight jeans when the tall boy walked into the room.

"Did I come to the wrong classroom, or...?" Kurt's voice appeared to give the man at the desk a heart attack. He jumped up, took off his glasses, and straightened his black bowtie (Kurt had to admit that it was pretty adorable).

"Oh, uh, no, no you didn't. I wasn't expecting anybody, the school said that seniors are allowed to leave campus for study halls and I assumed... That doesn't matter. I'm Blaine An-Mr. Anderson, and I'm the new English teacher at McKinley."

Kurt was in awe. Blaine had the voice of an angel. It's not easy to judge a singing voice by one line, but he knew that the voice he was hearing was beautiful. Kurt was so far off in his daze that the teacher thought he'd stunned him. "Uh, hello? I'm not an expert on public school manners, but I think this is the point where you would tell me your name."

"K-Ku-Kurt. Kurt Hummel. I'm in your 9th period AP English class."

"Nice to meet you, Kurt. As you probably guessed, I'm new here, and I've never actually taught anywhere else before. I subbed for two years out of college, and now here I am. I'm not familiar with the school, but it seems alright. Do you like it here?"

Kurt stifles a laugh. "No, no," he says, looking down at the floor with a fading grin, "I don't. You'll find that it's not as nice as it may appear from the outside." By the end of the sentence, Kurt has absentmindedly begun rubbing his wrist with his thumb and it doesn't go unnoticed by Blaine. He doesn't say anything, though, because just because it reminded him of a nasty habit from his high school years, it didn't give him the right to accuse Kurt of such a thing.

An awkward silence filled the room and neither of the men knew exactly what to do, so Blaine clapped his hands together with his hands. "Well, Kurt, I'd love to stay and chat, but I need coffee. Can I trust you to not burn down the school while I'm not supervising you?"

"Maybe. If I'm feeling good today." Kurt wanted to slap his hand over his mouth after he'd 0said it. It was almost flirting, something Kurt hadn't done in years and certainly shouldn't have been doing with his English teacher.

Blaine, however, simply chuckled as he walked out of the room. "Would a cup of coffee from the teacher's lounge turn that 'maybe' into a 'yes?'"

Kurt raised one eyebrow, "Now you're talking, Mr. Anderson."

----

This was bad. Really, really bad. Blaine had brought Kurt coffee and they'd spent the entirety of first period discussing Kurt's future and Blaine's experience with college. Kurt knew by the end of that period that he was falling for his English teacher. Blaine had gotten him to joke around and be happy, which was something he'd shut out a long time ago. If he was able to do that to Kurt in forty minutes, what could he do to him for an entire year?

Kurt was thinking about all of this as he sat at the lunch table with Rachel and Mercedes, and they noticed immediately. "Kurt, are you okay?" Rachel asked. "You're not yourself today." He had to laugh at that. He hadn't been himself for two years, but no one really seemed to notice that at all. He guessed that maybe those cheesy pictures he had seen on Facebook that said, "A smile can hide a million tears," held more truth than he originally thought.

"Of course, I'm fine. I think it's the stench of school food. My body isn't used to it. I... think I'm going to go to the bathroom. I had a lot of coffee this morning."

Rachel, full of herself as always, was convinced and began telling them about all of the things that she did with Finn that summer. Mercedes, however, wasn't convinced. She knew about Kurt's past issues with self-harm, and she knew that the look on his when he announced that he was going to the bathroom was the same one he wore whenever he needed to cope with something big. She let him be for now, but made a secret promise to herself to text Kurt later and make sure he was okay.

----

Fortunately for Kurt, the bathroom was nearby, and he found himself rolling his sleeve up inside one of the cramped stalls before he could even think about stopping himself. The toilet wasn't the most comfortable seat, but it was the only one he had. He pulled his "travel razor" from his bag and got to work. Press. Drag. Repeat.

Kurt had made about ten fresh lines when he heard a beautiful voice singing to himself as he walked in the bathroom. He froze, not wanting to be caught by the man in the bathroom. He knew that voice, and he knew that it belonged to Mr. Anderson. Blood from Kurt's arm dripped onto the floor and he hoped that the teacher wouldn't notice, because leaning down to clean it up would make it all the more obvious.

"I am in misery,

There ain't nobody who can comfort me.

Why won't you answer me?

The silence is slowly- Hello? Is someone in there? Are you okay?" Blaine knocked on the bathroom stall and began to get worried when there was no answer. He leaned down to see if he could see anything and was shocked by a pool of red on the white tile. "Is that blood on the floor? Are you okay? I'll bust down the door if you don't answer me!"

Kurt realized that he was going to have to do something, fast. He dropped the razor in his bag and rolled down his, unfortunately gray, sleeve. "I'm fine."

"Kurt, is that you? Come out of the stall."

As he came out of the stall, Kurt noticed that he hadn't had time to bandage his arm, and the dark red color was already showing through the light colored sleeve. "Shit," he whispered. "Sorry, Mr. Anderson. Yeah, it's me. I'm really alright though. That stain was in here when I got here," he lied.

"Well, I'm glad you're alright, then. I guess I should-" Then Blaine noticed the stains forming on the sleeve of his student's gray button up. "Kurt..."

At first Kurt was confused, and then he realized where Blaine's eyes were looking. He quickly put his arms behind his back, foolishly thinking that maybe Blaine would forget if he couldn't see them. "It's nothing. Really."

"It's not nothing. Roll up your sleeve, Kurt."

"Why? No. I don't want to."

"Kurt. If you don't show me, I'll have no choice but to take you to the nurse so she can make you roll them up."

Kurt sighed and began rolling up his left sleeve. He expected his teacher to gasp, to be disgusted and run away. But the only difference in Blaine Anderson was a softened expression and a quieter voice. "Kurt... I'm so sorry."

Kurt couldn't think of anything to say. Mr. Anderson had no reason to apologize to him, yet he couldn't make himself tell Blaine that. All he could do was roll down his sleeve and run out of the bathroom, planning to hide in the one-stall handicapped bathroom in the lobby.

He heard the shouting behind him, but he ignored it and kept running. When he finally got to the bathroom, he locked the door and looked around him. The bathroom was generally only for guests to the school, so it was much cleaner than the student bathrooms. The white tile floor sparkled, and the paper towel dispenser was actually filled with towels. The white toilet didn't have urine stains all over it, and neither did the floor around it.

As he slid down the wall to sit on the floor, Kurt realized that his original plan to cut again might not work. If Mr. Anderson found Kurt's hiding place, he would make him pull up his sleeve again. He might even show someone. Anymore cuts added on and the teacher would be sure to notice. Kurt decided that his other arm would be safe; after all, he'd only rolled up the left sleeve and didn't plan on rolling up the right one as well. Just as he dragged the blade across his skin for the first time, there was pounding on the door.

"Kurt, I know you're in there. Please let me in. I'm just your teacher, but I know more about this than you think I do. Please."

"You don't understand, Mr. Anderson."

"I do understand. Give me a chance. If you're... Please tell me you aren't doing it now." The next thing Blaine heard was a piece of metal clatter against the floor. He sighed. At least he got Kurt to stop. "If you slip that under the door and promise that you don't have any others with you, I'll leave you alone until after your English period."

Kurt weighed his options and realized that it was the only choice he had, so he reluctantly pushed the blade under the door. He was surprised when there was no response besides a crumpled up note that showed up beside him.

"Thank you. See you 9th period. :) –Mr. A."

----

Blaine turned the razor blade over and over in his hand. Memories from high school flooded into his mind, and he actually smiled when he realized there was no longing to dig the blade into his skin. He sighed and threw it into his desk door. How was he going to handle this?

He taught a freshman English class 8th period, so it went by pretty quickly. When Kurt Hummel walked into the door of his classroom 9th period, he was covered in a rainbow of sugary drink syrup. Every other student in the room besides a short, brown haired girl (who admittedly dressed like Blaine's grandmother), burst into laughter as Kurt took his seat in the corner of the room. Blaine did his best to ignore the urge to call the student out until the end of the period. Kurt wouldn't even make eye contact, and he clearly wasn't paying attention as the teacher started to speak.

"Hey guys, I'm Mr. Anderson, and I'm your AP English teacher. This is a college credit course, so it's gonna be a lot of work. We have to go over all that summer work that the other English teacher made you do, and I have to hand out the syllabus for you to get your parents to sign, even though most of you are almost adults anyway." There was a groan throughout the room. "...But I don't think any of us want to get into that today, so we'll worry about that tomorrow." Blaine could see the happiness in all of the kids' eyes. They'd gotten enough of that for one day and he felt bad adding on to it.

"Now, unlike the other teachers, I haven't seen you all walk through these halls the past three years. I don't know anything about any of you, and you don't know anything about me. Can everyone take out a piece of paper? Write your name, what you want to do after high school, a job you'd be interested in, and three facts about yourself. Hand them in at the end of the period. After you finish you can do whatever you want."

Most of the kids were happy to complete such an easy assignment, but the small girl sitting next to Kurt raised her hand. "Yes, uh," Blaine checked over the seating chart, "Rachel? What can I do for you?"

"Don't you think that, as you're expecting this from us, you should return the favor?" Her voice was almost as annoying as the way she dressed. But because he was her teacher, Blaine wasn't supposed to be thinking thoughts like that, so he just smiled politely and clapped his hands together, a habit he'd picked up in college when he was nervous while public speaking.

"I guess that would make sense, wouldn't it? Okay, well, my name is Blaine Anderson, I want to retire after high school," that comment made some of the good-humored kids laugh, "I'm obviously interested in teaching. I went to OSU... Let's see, I'm guessing that doesn't count as one of my facts, right?" Rachel shook her head. "I love to sing, I two instruments, piano and guitar, but I'm not very good at the latter. I taught myself. One more thing... I have an addiction to coffee. Is that enough?" Rachel nodded, beaming, and went to write on her own sheet. "Okay, get to work everyone."

With only five minutes left in the period, all of the students had completed their sheets and Blaine couldn't bear it anymore. He stood up from his desk and tried to stop the talking. "Alright guys, it's the first day and I can tell that none of you really want to be here, so you can leave now as long as you promise not to leave campus until the bell rings. Leave those sheets on your desks along with your summer assignments."

All of the kids rushed to the door, including Kurt. "Kurt, can I see you in my office, please? And bring your sheet." Blaine had been lucky enough to get one of the classrooms at McKinley with an attached office for the teacher. He had been confused at first about what he was going to use it for, but was thankful for it now as he sat at the desk in the secluded room.

Kurt sighed and said goodbye to Rachel, explaining that it must be something about his summer work because he'd turned it earlier that day. (That was a lie, but Kurt had no other way to cover himself.) She promised to call him later so that she could tell him all of the details about her first day of senior year and the exciting plans that she and Finn had for their anniversary. Kurt pretended to be interested and let Rachel kiss him on the cheek before she pranced out of the room looking for her boyfriend.

Kurt picked up his sheet and walked over to the office. He was feeling something way more intense than butterflies. It felt like there was a rock shaking around in his stomach. When he stepped into the office, he had to take a moment to take it all in. The cream-colored walls were bare aside from a diploma from OSU, but the bookshelves were covered in photos of boys in blazers and trophies that appeared to be from singing competitions. The rest of the room contained two black chairs, a trash can, a mini-fridge, and the desk where Blaine was sitting. When his eyes finally finished scanning the shelves, he found his teacher smiling softly at him and wasn't sure how to take it. "Mr. Anderson?" He didn't answer, just kept staring. "Um, Mr. Anderson? Here's the paper you wanted."

The teacher jumped this time and grabbed the paper from his student's hand. "Sorry, I was daydreaming. I didn't sleep too well last night... First day nerves. Teachers get them too." He chuckled at his own comment, but Kurt just smiled. It didn't reach his eyes. Blaine had noticed that Kurt's smiles never reached his eyes. "Uh, so, anyways, take a seat." He gestured to the chair closest to his desk and started speaking as Kurt say down. "I think we both know what this is about."

Blaine pulled the desk drawer open, pulled out the piece of metal, and set it on the desk. The desire to get the blade burned inside of Kurt, but he stopped himself. He could see a dried brown stain on the silver metal. He hadn't had time to clean it before slipping it under the door. The sight of it, and knowing that his teacher had probably noticed it, too, made Kurt sick to his stomach.

Blaine gave Kurt a moment to speak up, but he didn't take the opportunity so Blaine continued. "First, though, can I ask you what happened before you came into my class?"

Kurt shrugged. "I got slushied. It happens. I expected it, so I didn't wear any of my favorite clothes."

"... Slushied? Does that mean they dumped frozen drinks all over you?"

"Yeah. That's something the football team started when Glee club was still around and they haven't stopped since." He noticed his teacher's quirked eyebrow and decided to explain the Glee Club catastrophe. "Glee Club was disbanded my sophomore year. We lost a competition and, without the money we would've won, the school couldn't afford to keep us going anymore. It's not a big deal, though. We get bullied less now. Most of us, anyway."

"Well that's too bad about Glee. It was my favorite part of high school. I'm guessing that it was a good way for you to cope with the bullies and make some friends?"

"Yeah, I suppose. But mainly it brought more bullies for my friends. They didn't deserve that."

"And you do?"

"I guess so. Everyone seems to think that."

Blaine's heart was already about to break, and they weren't even far into the conversation. Kurt thought he deserved it. Confident, intelligent, and, admittedly beautiful, Kurt. He got up and sat in the chair next to Kurt. "Despite what might believe, you don't deserve that. No one does. I mean, look at all you have going for you! Look at this," he pulled out the sheet that Kurt had handed to him previously, "You want to go into fashion or music. That's great! You're in AP classes, you love to sing, you want to go to NYU. Those are all really great ambitions, and you can get there!"

There was a moment of awkward silence. Kurt only shrugged. The look in his eyes was completely unreadable, but Blaine could guess what he was feeling. When Blaine's parents found out about his self-harm, he'd probably worn a similar expression. "I know that it's going to be hard, but we need to talk about the cutting."

"No we don't. We can pretend this never happened. You can teach me AP English and I can pay attention and I'll pass and-"

"Kurt. If we don't talk about this, I'll be forced to tell your parents. I should anyway, but I'm willing to compromise if you'll talk to me."

"Compromise... how?" Now he was talking. Anyway that Kurt's parents didn't find out was the best way.

"If I give you my phone number, will you promise to text me when you feel like doing this?" He gestured towards Kurt's arm.

If his teacher actually thought that he would text him when he felt like cutting, he was crazy. But if a lie convinced him to keep the secret, it would work. "Yeah, sure."

"Uhuh. I'm not an idiot, Kurt. That's not all. You also have to agree to come in during your 1st period study hall once or twice a week and talk about how you're doing with me."

Kurt sighed. He knew that the simple lie wasn't enough. "Fine. But can I ask what qualifies you to be a counselor?"

"Pull up your sleeve." Kurt was puzzled, but did so. The teacher had already seen his arm anyways. "Now hold out your arm next to mine. Look carefully." Kurt couldn't see much at first, but when he looked closely he noticed faded white lines on his teacher's tan skin.

"Mr. Anderson..."

"You can call me Blaine when we're not in class. Now, do we have a deal?" Blaine held out his hand as if this was a business agreement, nothing personal at all. But Kurt shook it anyway. "Deal."

Blaine noticed him smile and, for the first time all day, it almost reached his eyes.