Kurt realised he had slipped into consciousness when a throbbing pain reverberated inside his head, rendering him unable to think. It was like somebody had hit him again, and again, and again, and it was unbelievably sore. He let out a soft groan, but it died in his throat, and he somehow managed to lift his hand up to clutch at his head, squeezing his eyes shut.
What had happened? Where was he? He couldn’t remember. He seemed to be lying on a floor, as he was sure he was horizontal, and his cheek was pressed up against a smooth, ice cold surface. He remembered…talking to Mercedes at lunch about Blaine. Going over to Blaine and actually making some progress with him. Walking to English with him…then everything went blank. And now he was here, lying on an uncomfortable floor, with a head that felt like it was splitting in two.
He lay there, not moving a muscle, hoping and praying that his headache would go away. He waited, and waited, and gradually the pain began to subside. Not completely, but enough for him to open his eyes and survey his surroundings.
He seemed to be in a store cupboard. He knew that some classrooms had these leading from them, filled with jotters and textbooks and all the stuff you could really need for school work. There was a bright light on the ceiling, and as Kurt focused on it, the intensity blinded him and he had to narrow his eyes to slits. He had been right, he was lying on the floor, and many shelves towered above him.
He slid his eyes back to the ground and noticed the most important (and most attractive) feature in the room.
Blaine was leaning against the wall furthest away from him, but still only a couple of steps away. His head was back, hair pressing against the hard surface, and he had his eyes closed. His chest was rising and falling steadily, as steadily as the drum of raindrops he could barely hear from outside their confinements. His face was completely relaxed, and Kurt almost believed he was asleep until the boy started humming softly to himself. He recognized it at once. It was ‘Teenage Dream’ by Katy Perry. Kurt almost snorted at this, but refrained from doing so. He chose to stare at Blaine for a couple more minutes before he would alert him to the fact that he had regained consciousness.
The boy, just as Kurt had known the moment he set eyes on him, was beautiful. The only thing that dampened his soft features was the red cut that was on his forehead. And this was what triggered Kurt’s memories flooding back to him like a tidal wave, cruel and relentless.
Karofsky throwing Blaine into a locker and the boy sobbing from the pain.
Kurt also being thrown onto the ground by him. And then nothing.
Kurt gave out a muffled sob. That was why he was in a store cupboard. Karofsky had managed to force him and Blaine into there, and now they were probably trapped. He scrambled up, pain echoing through the caverns of his head, and tried the door.
Really, he had known that it would be locked. Why would their captors-if he was right about the arrival of the situation they were in-leave the door unlocked?
But as he clutched the door knob, trying desperately to turn it but with no prevail, it finally hit him.
He was locked.
In a store cupboard.
With no way to get out.
This time he made no attempt to muffle his sob of desperation, of hopelessness, of helplessness.
“It’s locked.” He heard a clear voice from behind him. Summoning all his self control not to scream at Blaine for stating what was completely obvious, he turned around.
Blaine was still sitting in the exact same position Kurt had last seen him in, head thrown back against the wall, but this time his eyes were open and staring at a furious Kurt. His face was like a mask, expressionless. No emotions danced across it, no light or sparkle was in his eyes. He looked bored if anything.
Kurt narrowed his eyes at him, almost daring him to state another painfully obvious fact, but warning him of the consequences at the same time.
Blaine’s face remained impassive.
Kurt sighed and slid down the door until he was sitting on the cold, hard, copper coloured ground. He crossed his legs and rested his face on his hands.
“What happened?” He said to Blaine. He half hoped for him to have some reassuring words for Kurt to calm his frazzled nerves, but no such offer came,
Blaine sighed, shaking his head, a disgusted look on his face.
“Karofsky,” He spat out, his jaw set, “decided that it would be funny to lock us in one of the English store cupboards. I have to say, it was hilarious when he threw you on the floor hard enough to knock you out, and Azimio cracked me up when he dragged me by my neck into here. And locking it, knowing that nobody would be back here for at least two hours was just the cherry on top of the massive, humour filled cake.” His tone was laced heavily with sarcasm, and he looked absolutely furious.
Kurt could only stare in horror. Karofsky, the one who had robbed him of his first kiss, had gave him so many cuts and bruises he had lost count, who had threatened to kill him, had now turned on Blaine.
He couldn’t let them hurt him. He didn’t care about himself, but for some reason the thought of them even looking at Blaine the wrong way sickened him.
He didn’t understand the strong urge to protect Blaine that had risen within him, engulfing all thoughts for himself.
He just knew it was there.
And that it wasn’t going to go away any time soon.
“Are you okay?” Kurt said, horror-struck. He watched as Blaine raised his hand up to his neck and lightly stroked it with his fingers.
“Of course. I’m sure the marks will fade eventually.” And as he lowered his hand again, Kurt gasped. All over his neck were angry, red marks.
The marks of fingers. Fingers that had repeatedly and forcefully driven themselves into Blaine’s neck, only out to cause pain.
“Blaine!” He gasped the boys’ name, unable to stop himself. Blaine just looked at the wall. He had regained his composure, and Kurt wasn’t sure whether he was relieved or disappointed at this.
“Blaine, I-”
“Please don’t, Kurt. I’m not used to this sympathy thing. And don’t feel sorry for me, you’re the one who has a cut identical to mine now.” Blaine cut him off, nodding to point out Kurt’s forehead.
Kurt frowned, confused. The pain was still drumming deep inside his head, but it wasn’t nearly as relentless as before. He raised his hand cautiously to brush at his forehead, searching for the cut Blaine spoke of.
He knew the moment he found it.
The pain doubled in intensity, and he winced, letting out a small gasp of pain. He removed his hand quickly, the pain letting up slightly.
Blaine gave him a sad smile. Now they had matching cuts. Excellent.
“I guess…I guess I have to warn you about Karofsky now.” Kurt sighed, facing what was inevitable. He was going to have to tell this boy the story for him to understand. He couldn’t let him go back out there not knowing what Karosky was capable of.
Blaine snorted. “Warn me? Isn’t this warning enough?”
“No, it isn’t Blaine.”
Blaine turned around to face Kurt. Kurt’s tone had changed, and it was not a change for the better. He frowned. “Okay.” He said softly, trying to show Kurt that he would listen.
Kurt took a deep breath, preparing himself for the memories to come avalanching back.
“I’ve been bullied by the jocks since I came here. They immediately latched onto the fact that I was gay, and hated me for it. So, they threw me into dumpsters, shoved me into lockers, the lot.” He broke of, eyes squeezing shut tight.
“It got worse.” His voice was soft and quiet, and Blaine could barely hear it. But he didn’t think he wanted to hear what was next, because somehow, the thought of Kurt getting hurt didn’t at all appeal to him. In fact, it pained him to think of it. Before he could be shocked at this sudden realisation that he had come to, Kurt continued. He looked so broken.
“The incidents of bullying got more regular, Karofsky in particular got more forceful. Until I snapped. I…ran after him into the boys changing rooms and confronted him. I called him names and then…” He broke off, a single tear rolling down his porcelain cheek. And all Blaine wanted to do was comfort him.
“Kurt, you don’t have to-”
“And then he kissed me!” Kurt sobbed, voice breaking and wavering through the tears that were streaming down his face. “He kissed me, and then told me if I told anyone, he would kill me.” Kurt was shaking, and he had thrown his face into his arms, crying.
Blaine did what he did next without thinking, acting on impulse alone.
He shuffled towards Kurt, and gently wrapped his arms around the shaking boy, placing his head on top of Kurt’s. Kurt clutched at Blaine’s arms tightly, too tightly, but the boy didn’t care. All he could think of was the pain and horror that the boy in his arms had gone through, and nobody deserved that.
Especially when he was just trying to be himself.
His beautiful self.
They stayed like that for a while, until Kurt’s sobs became soft whimpers, and the whimpers finally stopped altogether.
Kurt slowly stopped clutching Blaine’s arms, and the curly haired boy took this as a sign to let go of him.
Drifting back slowly to the other wall, eyes downcast, a million thoughts were running through Blaine’s head.
But he knew what he needed to do now.
He needed to share with Kurt some of his past. It was only fair. Kurt had opened himself up to Blaine, when he barely even knew him, just so he could have some sort of forewarning. And it seemed only fair that Kurt should know a bit of his too. A past for a past. But there was also this overwhelming need to tell somebody about it. He had kept it inside him for all those years of suffering, and Kurt…he just knew Kurt should be the one that he told. They barely knew each other, but he could feel something connecting them. He trusted him. And as much as that simple fact overjoyed him, it scared the hell out of him too.
Kurt slowly looked up, tears making his sea blue eyes shine in the light, and he met Blaine’s eyes.
In the glowing hazel orbs, tears had pooled, and Blaine looked so fragile, so lost, that Kurt nearly burst into tears again.
“Thank you.” Kurt managed to breathe out. Blaine just nodded, desperately trying to blink back the tears.
Because finally he was ready.
Ready to tell someone about what he had faced. What he had gone through. And that someone was the boy staring back at him, eyes glossy and wide.
He took a deep breath and started his story.