You look weak enough right now, Hummel. Don't give them more ammunition.

Aside from the usual impact to his perpetually injured shoulder, Kurt had hit his head pretty hard and he was sure that there was an ugly purple bruise already beginning to form beneath the skin there.

Everyone is going to be able to see it, he thought to himself, completely panicked.

This seemed to be the thing to send him over the edge and he felt hot, embarrassing tears begin to slip from his eyes. No one seemed to notice - too involved in their own drama or else too afraid of being on the wrong side of the jocks to want to do anything about what they had more than likely just witnessed.

He was about to make a run for the bathroom next to the choir room - the only remotely safe one in the school, when Rachel Berry cautiously approached him. She silently offered him a neatly folded handkerchief from a pocket in her ridiculously hideous sweater and Kurt took it, not quite sure what was going on. They normally never said two words to each other, even though she was Finn's girlfriend. Why was she doing this?

"Come on," she said, placing an unsure hand on his arm. "Let's talk to Mr Schuester."

He allowed himself to be led by the small brunette, wondering what was going on. The last time that they had had anything that remotely resembled any kind of conversation was when she had complained about Kurt being featured too heavily when it was unlikely that he would ever get a solo in a competition performance. Rachel was mean. She was horrible. She didn't do anything unless there was something in it for her. So Kurt wondered why she was making sure that he went to their Glee coach's office. What was she after?

As Kurt predicted, it looked like Mr Schuester couldn't do anything to help him. He said something about speaking to Coach Bieste about it and maybe calling in his parents, but Kurt knew that the chances of him getting what he needed - Karofsky's transferal or expulsion - were extremely unlikely.

He left the office with his heart heavier than when he entered. To make matters worse, Rachel, who had been waiting outside, waiting anxiously for news, immediately started bombarding him with questions about what happened.

"He can't really do anything," said Kurt, feeling bitter tears form behind his eyes again. "He told me to take the rest of the day off, though. So I guess that's something."

"Kurt... I can't even begin to tell you how awful I feel about this," she said, hanging her head. "I hate that you're going through this and I just-"

"What are you doing, Rachel?" asked Kurt, cutting off the rest of her sentence. "I mean, the only time we ever speak is when we're arguing about something. Why are you suddenly being so mysteriously nice?"

"Because I know what it feels like to be picked on for being different," she said, looking up him with sincere brown eyes. "But what you're going through is so much worse than what I ever go through. Because I choose to set myself apart. I choose to be driven and ambitious and annoy people to the point of violence. But you were born the way you are, Kurt. You can't help who you love. And for them to pick on you for that is just so..."

She looked away and Kurt realised he felt a small pang for her. She didn't have many friends (mostly due to her horrible personality and constant need to be the center of attention) and the fact that she was showing any kind of compassion to anyone was quite a surprise. He waited for her to continue, sensing that she had something more to say.

"I can't stop imagining my dads going through the same thing," she admitted softly, hugging her arms across her chest self-consciously. Kurt placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and gave her a half-smile, trying to simultaneously say 'I understand' and 'thank you'. They were a long way from being friends, but Kurt couldn't help but feel that he could be one to her, if that's what she needed.

After all, after a ghost, what was a diva?

The crazy thing about having someone co-inhabiting your bedroom, Kurt decided, was that your secrets - the things that never really went beyond the four walls of your bedroom - were no longer secrets. This was evidenced by the "Oh my god!" that greeted Kurt the moment he opened his door to crash on his bed and try desperately to erase the events of the morning from his memory.

"What happened? Are you okay?" asked Blaine with such concern in his voice, Kurt wanted nothing more than to hug him.

Not that he didn't normally want to hug him. Hugging him formed a big part of his thoughts these days. Hugging him and holding him and exploring his perfect neck with his lips and tongue and...

Where are these thoughts even coming from? Kurt asked himself. Focus. You're meant to be sad. Today sucked.

"It's nothing," Kurt lied smoothly, not wanting to upset Blaine. "I tripped at school and... hit my head on the floor."

Blaine considered him for a moment as if he didn't quite believe him, but eventually nodded in understanding.

"You'd tell me if it was something serious, right?" he asked.

"Of course," said Kurt, feeling guilty at the amount of lying he was doing. He justified it by reasoning that Blaine wouldn't really able to do anything to help him. Not that he would want him to anyway.

"So you're fine?" Blaine asked with a concerned frown.

"I'm completely fine. They sent me home early because they were concerned about my head, but they really didn't need to," said Kurt with a smile, hoping that it didn't look as fake as it felt.

"Well I'm glad they did, in any case," said Blaine, grinning as Kurt threw himself onto his bed. "I miss you when you're at school."

"Well it's that or lifelong barista work, so I can't feel too upset about that," Kurt replied, choosing to ignore the slight thrill that went down his spine at Blaine's words.

He didn't mean anything by it. You're his only friend. Of course he misses you when you're gone.

He pushed his feelings aside and slowly got up from his bed to change into more comfortable clothes for sleeping. He was suddenly acutely aware of the fact that Blaine might be watching, so he turned around.

"Do you mind?" he asked and Blaine looked at him confusedly for a moment before saying "Oh!" in realization and disappearing.

Kurt knew he probably hadn't left the room, and assumed he would have enough decency not to sneak a peak, but he still couldn't help the tingle of excitement at the thought that Blaine could very well still be watching. Kurt had never really considered himself an exhibitionist, but something about Blaine made him want to be.

Five minutes later he was climbing into bed, feeling completely drained from the morning he had lived through. As he turned onto his side to get more comfortable, he noticed Blaine smiling softly at him.

"Should I even bother asking you not to watch me?" asked Kurt.

"Well there's not much else to do," said Blaine simply. Kurt stared at him for a moment before replying.

"At least sing or something - make yourself useful," he said turning and grinning into his pillow.

"As you wish," Blaine smiled before quietly crooning a heartbreakingly beautiful lullaby. Kurt was asleep within minutes.

He can't possibly know what he means to me. And he can't possibly know that I know he's lying about that bruise on his head. And he can't know how much it breaks me to see him in the smallest bit of pain. And he can't know that I'd do anything for him. And he can't know that I'm in love with him.

I know that I'm limited. I know that anything between us would be limited. I know that it's unfair to even hope that these feelings are mutual. He doesn't need to be tied down to something that isn't even tangible. Something gone, but lingering. Me.

Still, as I see him lying there as I sing him to sleep, I wish I could be as much his everything as he is mine now.