There was a new student.

    If you had asked a 16 year old Kurt Hummel whether he could ever see himself teaching music to a group of juvenile delinquents in the middle of Lima, Ohio, he would have probably laughed in your face. After years of torment from his peers, coming back to a place that practically bred intolerance and poor personal hygiene would have been at the bottom of his list. Even so, at 22, that’s exactly where he ended up. 

       What had appealed to him most about this job was the opportunity to make a difference for his students. He knew that what he had experienced in high school was nothing compared to what most of his students went through on a daily basis. Still, he couldn’t help but see a part of himself in amongst them, silently wishing for someone to come to his rescue. 

       Despite how challenging his job had proven to be, it had always proven to be equally as rewarding, and Kurt Hummel was nothing if not determined. So he stayed. He stayed through each new challenge that sauntered their way into the back of his classroom at the Lima Juvenile Facility, jaded by what life had thrown at them.

    This particular new challenge came in the form of tardiness, an overgrown mop of hair, and the overwhelming stench of cigarette smoke. The new student drifted into the classroom with ease about thirty minutes past the bell and plopped into the only empty seat at the back of the room. He quirked his eyebrow at Kurt with a look that said, I dare you, and for a minute, Kurt thought he might just pretend that he had been on time.

    “You’re late,” Kurt spoke, his voice wavering slightly despite his best attempts to remain grounded.

    The curly-headed boy just shrugged in response as heads turned around to stare at him with intense curiosity. Their eyes lingered just a moment too long for the boy’s liking apparently, and he jerked to his feet, nearly knocking his chair over in the process.

“Why don’t you all just mind your own fucking business?” 

His reaction was almost immediate, and the intensity of it seemed to startle the entire classroom, Kurt was no exception. What was even more impressive was the time in which it took for the rest of the class’s heads to return to their previously forward-facing positions.

    The new boy, Blaine Anderson as Kurt had remembered from his attendance roster, seemed to care very little for his personal appearance. His dark curls were overgrown to the point that they almost covered his eyes, and if they had been any longer, Kurt would have missed the shiner the boy was currently sporting on his left eye. His shirt was splotched with enough unidentifiable stains that it could pass as a painting straight from the Impressionist era, and his pants were slightly baggy for his small frame. Whatever he may have lacked in physical size was filled by his presence, however, and the other students seemed to stretch in their seats to avoid it. 

Blaine sat back down, his chair making a loud clang as he did so, but nobody so much as moved a muscle in response.

    Normally Kurt’s class was unbearably talkative, all of them eager to trade snide comments with one another, but now, the sterility of quiet filled the air. An uncomfortable quiet. He wasn’t sure what it was about this new student, but his appearance in the room had caused any bit of familiarity or routine to vanish from Kurt’s life.

    It wasn’t until he heard the stifled cough of one of his students that he realized he had been mouthing wordlessly at Blaine since his little outburst. He hurried to fill the silence with the scolding tone of his voice.

    “Anderson, please do not curse in my classroom, we work hard to maintain a respectful atmosphere,” Kurt said, but his words were lost in the cacophony of silence. 

Blaine simply rolled his eyes at that, seemingly unaffected by Kurt’s words.

    “I hate to break it to you, princess, but this is a fucking juvenile facility. I’m not here because I’m known for kissing teachers’ asses.” Blaine said amusedly, and he muttered something else under his breath that Kurt could not quite hear. 

    Kurt’s mouth fell open, not for the first or last time that day, “Blaine.” He said, using every muscle in his body to remain calm, “I understand that you’re angry, but I’m not your enemy.”

    “Don’t patronize me. You don’t understand shit.” He spat in Kurt’s direction, eyes flashing with anger. The previously amber orbs were turning a dark shade of yellow as they bore into Kurt’s with unwavering intensity.

    The rest of the class continued much like this; Kurt’s reprimands falling on deaf ears, as the rest of the students avoided the new student’s gaze as best they could. 

       Apparently Blaine hadn’t just arrived late, he had arrived entirely unprepared. After asking, or demanding rather, Kurt for a pen, he spent the rest of the class writing sparse notes across his hands and arms. When Kurt had inquired as to why he hadn’t brought any supplies of his own, all he received was a shrug in response. Kurt began to wonder if that was Blaine’s response to everything. 

       In a weird way, Kurt was thankful for the silence that came along with the new boy’s presence. It was a pleasant, though admittedly unusual, change from his regular boisterous classes, and it allowed his voice a break from attempting to speak over everyone. But it wasn’t a comfortable silence that came from his students’ concentration on the lesson, it was a fearful silence. Fearful that the new boy might snap on one of them.

    When the bell finally rang, the class nearly knocked one another over rushing to leave the room. But before Blaine could join them, Kurt called the boy to his desk.

    Blaine slowly walked over, his dark curls bouncing in rhythm with his feet, which Kurt wasn’t sure if he knew how to properly use as he dragged them almost the entire way to Kurt’s desk. 

       “What can I do for you, Princess Hummel?” Blaine asked, raising his hand in a small salute.

    Kurt’s brow furrowed, expression beyond sour, “It’s Mr. Hummel. For your sake, I’m going to pretend that was a slip of the tongue.” He said, attempting to remain poised. If he had gained anything from this job, it was a great deal of patience, though Blaine was certainly testing it.

    He could see a small smirk tugging at the corners of Blaine’s mouth; it was the first real expression he had seen on the boy’s face other than his, seemingly natural, scowl.

       “Wait, where are you pretending I slipped my tongue?” Blaine asked, voice low and raspy.

    Kurt was clearly flustered. As much as he told himself to remain calm, his face would not cooperate. He could feel his cheeks heating up (damn his rosy cheeks!), and his eyebrows had lowered significantly. He knew this was exactly the reaction Blaine had been going for, and it only frustrated him more that Blaine seemed satisfied with himself.

    “Your behavior is appalling, Anderson. If I have my way, your crude attitude is going to to go before the end of this year,” he spoke, once he had regained some of his composure.

    The new boy smirked, he smirked, and looked up at Kurt with narrowed eyes. It was the first time that Kurt had noticed their height difference and he relished in the fact that he had at least one advantage over Blaine.

       “Oh trust me, I’d really like you to- have your way with me.”

       If the implications of his statement hadn't already been clear, then the eyes hungrily raking over Kurt’s body would have given them away. 

       This boy was infuriating. Dealing with his bullies in high school had given Kurt a quick wit and an uncanny ability to come up with top-notch comebacks in the blink of an eye, but as he opened his mouth to speak, no words came out. All he could do was stand there, gaping at Blaine.

       “I know I'm good looking, but it's rude to stare,” Blaine said, though the teasing edge to his voice was gone, replaced with something much more elusive.

       “Y-you, I was not. Detention, Anderson!” Kurt nearly squeaked.

       “Okay, Hummel.” Blaine responded, putting an unpleasant emphasis on his last name, “Clearly whoever fucked you last night didn't loosen you up quite enough, because you sure are uptight as hell!” Blaine retorted, throwing the pen he had borrowed down on Kurt’s desk and storming out of the room.

    Kurt stood there, his eyes were wide and his mouth hung once again. Who did this - this kid, dare he even call him that, think he was? He taught a class of juvenile delinquents for Christ’s sake, and still, he hadn’t felt so disrespected since his McKinley High days of slushie facials and dumpster dives.

    Unfortunately for him, the rest of the school week had continued like this. Every day since the first day, an incident of some kind had occurred with one, Blaine Anderson. Between his casual, don’t-give-a-fuck attitude, and overall ridiculous demeanor, Blaine set him off in every possible way a person could set someone off.

    “How has work been?” Burt had asked during Friday night dinner, his usual routine question. Since Kurt had moved out, his dad had insisted they keep up the tradition of Friday night dinners as long as Kurt lived in Lima, and after Kurt had almost lost him before, who was he to say no?

      Before Kurt could answer his question though, Burt was cursing at the salad in front of him.

       “I still don't see why you and Carole insist on making me eat this stuff. I haven't had a heart attack in 5 years,” he said, frustratedly as he pushed leafy greens around with his fork. “You were saying?” 

    Kurt groaned in response, replacing the habitual good that typically followed any question regarding his work. 

    “You okay, kiddo?” Burt asked, still picking distastefully at the food in front of him.

    “Blaine Anderson.” Kurt said, simply. “He’s a new student of mine. I haven’t really figured out how to handle him.” Kurt sighed. “I’m usually really good at this dad, and with him, I’m just- not. He’s a pain in the a- he-he’s challenging.”

       Burt nodded in response, clearly not understanding the severity of Kurt’s statement. Instead of trying to explain and wasting anymore energy thinking about Blaine Anderson, Kurt redirected the rest of the conversations back to his dad. Thankfully, Burt had been too distracted mutilating his salad to show much interest in Kurt’s new student, anyway.

       Kurt thanked the god he didn’t believe in that the week was finally over. It meant no more Blaine Anderson, at least until the next week, but Kurt avoided that thought altogether. Instead, he chose to bask in the presence of Saturday morning. He was supposed to meet Rachel and Mercedes for brunch later, and it was the only thing giving him the energy to get out of bed at the moment. 

       He went through all the steps of his usual skincare regimen and coiffed his chesnut-colored hair skillfully. Once he was pleased with what he saw in the mirror, he headed out the door. His appearance was one thing that he would always have control of. It was why, back in high school, he had insisted upon wearing McQueens and keeping up with an extensive moisturizing ritual, though that hadn’t stopped the Neanderthals from taking artistic liberties and splattering their slushies over him.

Kurt was thankful that the topic of discussion at brunch hadn’t transferred to his work, and it actually proved to be quite a healthy distraction from the events of the week before. Between Rachel’s bitching about one thing or another, or everything, and Mercedes’ playful banter about why Kurt needed to “find himself a man”, Kurt had had no time to even begin to think of Blaine Anderson.

That was, until a familiar mop-headed boy appeared in the empty space of the booth beside him.