Spotted on the Upper East Side: Kurt Hummel's live-in-love, Blaine Anderson, arriving at Carlisle Academy for his first day of work as a teacher at the venerable school. No word yet on what classes he will be teaching, but you can bet attendance will be high. Why would anyone skip a class when there is such guaranteed eye-candy to be had? We'll share the top student tweets as they come in. — New York In a Minute, September 1st, 2020

=^..^=

September

"Blaine, thank you for making yourself available on such short notice."

Blaine nodded at Headmaster Pamela Foley as he slipped into the chair she'd indicated with a wave of her hand. He lifted his chin and pasted on a smile that implied a confidence he didn't really feel. He tried to tell himself that it was a good thing that his boss was calling him in for an unscheduled, but "very important" meeting only two weeks into his teaching career at Carlisle Academy. She probably just wanted to touch base and see how things were going. She was just checking in on him.

It most definitely didn't have anything to do with the two love notes he'd found on his desk that week or the whispers that followed him down the hallways or the paparazzi that had been thrown off campus the morning of the first day of school.

Definitely not.

Probably not.

He cleared his throat to dislodge the jumping-contest-sized frog that had lodged there. "I was happy to hear that you wanted to talk. We haven't really had an opportunity to meet since school started."

"I hear you're quite the hit with your classes. There hasn't been this much chatter about a new teacher since I don't know when. We've had famous students here before, but never a famous teacher." Pamela's eyes sparkled even though her face remained serious and Blaine felt the tightness in his chest loosen just the slightest bit.

"Oh, the kids are just excited about having a teacher kind of close to their age," he protested modestly. "They'll get over it as soon as I give the first pop quizzes."

"Hmm…I think it might have something to do with your," Pamela lifted up the tablet computer from her desk and peered at it over the top of her glasses, "and I quote 'Cute smile and incredible eyes'. That was a tweet by a student in your World History class. There were lots to choose from, so I picked one of the tamer ones. There were also several about your," she looked at the tablet again, "'tasty boyfriend' and how you are one half of the student's 'OTP'. That means 'one true pair'. I looked it up on the Urban Dictionary."

Blaine's chest seized up again as he squirmed in his chair. "That isn't…I mean…I—"

"Relax, Blaine." Pamela smiled slightly, seeming to find his discomfort amusing. "The student body's fascination with you isn't why I've called you here today. We have a situation that I'm hoping you might be willing to help us out with."

"Of course," Blaine said with a questioning tilt of his head, incredibly glad for the opportunity to pretend that his boss hadn't just recited a fan tweet to him. "What can I do to help?"

Pamela swiveled her chair a little to the left and laid her tightly clasped hands on the top of her desk. "We've unexpectedly had two high profile students enroll in kindergarten who require some additional security precautions. Now, this normally wouldn't be a concern, since, as you know, we've taught the children of many prominent families over years and pride ourselves on the secure environment we supply, but Mr. Billings, who is the kindergarten teacher best equipped to handle the situation, has just informed us that he's going to have to take an indefinite leave of absence due to health issues."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Blaine said politely, trying to remember if he'd met Mr. Billings yet.

"Thankfully the problem isn't life threatening, but this leaves us in a bit of a lurch. We need someone to take over the class who has a background that will reassure the parents that their children are in safe hands. We'd like that teacher to be you."

It took a second for the words to register. Though Blaine was teaching classes for several grades, they were all middle school and up. He was certified to teach at a kindergarten level and many of the kids he'd protected over the years had been between the ages of five and ten, but still. "Me? But what about the classes I already have?"

"It would be much easier to replace you for those classes than for us to find another kindergarten teacher who fits our specialized needs. Your history as a bodyguard is invaluable. Plus—and this is just fortuitous and not a reason for this request, I assure you—it would also give the older students a way to get used to your being here without putting you in such…close proximity. A way to temper your presence, if you'll forgive the cooking metaphor."

Blaine was enjoying his classes and was already charmed by several of the students, but he had to admit, if only to himself, that his quasi-fame and very real notoriety had proved disruptive at times. It would be nice to come in and not have to wonder if the girl in the third row was tweeting about him or if the note being passed in the back of the class was about him or Kurt. He'd always loved little kids and it was the years he'd spent with his youngest charges that had made him want to return to teaching in the first place.

Pamela's eyes were locked on his face and they narrowed as he considered the offer, as if sensing that he was leaning towards saying yes and only needed a slight push to make the commitment. "You'd actually be teaching two different classes of fifteen students each. One in the morning and one in the afternoon," she said as she pushed a little pile of photos towards him with one finger. "Here are some pictures Mr. Billings has taken of the classes so far this year. The children are very well-behaved and the plan for the year is already laid out. You'd just need to follow it." She leaned forward, going in for the kill. "The kids need you, Blaine."

If there was anything Blaine wanted more in life than to be needed (other than be loved by Kurt) he didn't know what it was. He flipped through the photos, taking in each adorable smiling face. Pamela had found his Achilles heel and she'd taken him down with one swift strike.

He agreed to her proposal and they finished out the rest of the meeting making plans for his transition. Finally, he shook her hand and hoisted his bag up on his shoulder. He waited until he was halfway down the hall before pulling out his phone to call Kurt with the news. As he waited for Kurt to pick up, he leaned back against a row of lockers, his fingers drumming against the metal as his mind raced with plans and possibilities.

=^..^=

As soon as the front door closed behind him, Blaine dropped his bag to the floor with a loud thud and lurched towards the bedroom, where he could hear Kurt humming like he always did when he was reorganizing his closet. It was only a few days until it was officially fall and the summer clothes were being relegated to the guest bedroom in favor of longer sleeves and jewel tones. Kurt had showed him the diagram of his planned layout the night before.

Pausing for only a second to gently kick off the bright blue boat shoes that had been a first day of school gift from Kurt, he lifted the covers up off the bed and slid under, yanking them back in tightly over his head to form a warm and dark cocoon. The comforter didn't smell nearly as much like dog as he'd been expecting. Kurt had probably just had it dry cleaned. He wondered if it was possible to asphyxiate there under the weight of all that down. Well, if Kurt loved him at all he would come save him from his certain death and if not, at least the paramedics would find him on a fresh smelling bed. Not as big a deal as having clean underwear on (which he did, of course. Yay him!), but it was something.

A tug on the material he held clutched in his fists startled him and he let go. Cool air wafted over his face and he pried one eye open a crack to find Kurt crouching down beside him.

"How'd it go?" Kurt asked biting his lip as if fighting a smile.

"Remember Schwarzenegger's first day in Kindergarten Cop? Well, he's an expert compared to me. The kids are going to go home and tell their parents about this new idiot they had for a teacher and how they hated him and I'm going to be fired." Blaine sighed all the air out of his lungs, watching as a stray feather poking out of the pillow flickered with his breath. That was how he felt—like a feather buffeted by the wind, trying hard to not be knocked over. "The bright side is that we'll be able to spend more time together when I'm unemployed."

A smile warred with a sympathetic frown on Kurt's face. The smile won. "Drama queen. Where's my confident Blaine from this morning? The fearless bodyguard who stares down stalkers and red carpet crashers without a flinch? The one who just this morning talked about how he was going to revolutionize teaching as we know it and maybe write a bestselling book in the process?"

Blaine scowled at the ceiling morosely. He wasn't a drama queen. He was legitimately the worst teacher ever in the history of…ever. "Turns out my tactics work better one-on-one. Holly, the absolutely cutest little girl with a missing front tooth and bright red hair, was crying because her goldfish died last night and while I was talking with her, the other fourteen were turning all the coats inside out and filling the pockets with paint. And that was the best thing that happened all day."

Kurt's pursed his lips sadly. "Poor goldfish. I remember all too well the deep and lasting pain of first fish death. The agonizing choice between flush or bury. The cold, empty bowl left sitting on the counter as a sad reminder of all that was lost."

"Kurt…I don't mean to demean the pain of your first pet's death, but could we maybe get back to me and how utterly horrific my day was?" Blaine said. He knew he was whining, but it wasn't often he indulged in self-pity and he wanted to get the most out of it while he could. Maybe Kurt would draw him a bubble bath. Or give him a massage. Or a sympathy blow job. Or preferably, all three.

"Of course, poor baby," Kurt cooed. Blaine closed his eyes and let himself sink down deeper into the bed as he felt fingers begin to stroke through his hair. "You'll do better tomorrow. Just remember that you can't take your eyes off any of them for a second. I think you just dialed the bodyguard awareness back a little too far, that's all."

"Do I have to go back? Can't I just stay here and play with Elphie all day? You make enough money for me to be a house husband, right? I promise I'll wear a sexy outfit while I clean."

"If I thought for even one second that you really wanted to quit I'd be behind you, but we both know that you don't back down from a challenge. You just need to regroup and maybe reset your expectations a bit and you'll be all set to start again tomorrow. How about some soup? Would that help?"

Blaine opened one eye again and looked up at Kurt hopefully. "Is it your curry squash?"

"It is." Kurt slid off the bed and reached out a hand. "Come on, it's possible I made my famous salted browned butter Nutella chocolate chip cookies, too."

With his mouth watering and spirits lifted, Blaine allowed Kurt to pull him to his feet. He could feel static crackling in his hair and knew within seconds it would expand into a 'fro of epic proportions. Nothing about this day was working out as planned. "Did you make enough for me to take to class? I bet they'd love me if I brought them cookies."

"Just who do you think you're talking to, mister?"

=^..^=

To Blaine's great surprise, the stampede of outraged parents demanding that he be removed from his position never materialized. It wasn't as if they didn't have the opportunity—almost every kid was dropped off at the door by some adult, be it parent, nanny, or chauffer—but each and every one of them left with just a smile and a nod in Blaine's direction. No yelling, no accusations of neglect, nothing.

By the time the morning bell had rung, all fifteen of his charges had arrived and were in the process of organizing themselves into a very lopsided version of the circle he'd had them gather in the day before. He watched them with a certain degree of apprehension, briefly entertaining the idea that they'd met in secret before school and come up with a plan to lull him into a false sense of security before sweeping in for the attack.

Intimidated by fifteen five- and six-year olds. If only his old co-workers could see him now.

"Mr. A?" A girl seated in the most misshapen part of the circle called out (Blaine got a warm, fuzzy feeling at the use of the nickname he'd asked them all to use the day before). "I made something for you!"

Blaine came over and dropped down into his place in the circle, afraid if he moved too fast he'd startle the kids, like a herd of wild antelope. "You did?"

"Me too!"

"Look at mine! My mommy helped"

"I brought you an apple! Do you like apples? My mom says they keep the doctor away and I hate the doctor, so apples are my mostest favorite."

A red apple that looked suspiciously like it had been nibbled on and several pieces of colored construction paper were thrust at Blaine from various directions and he took each one with a grin and a polite "thank you."

On one of the pages was a drawing of Blaine wearing a gigantic version of the bowtie he'd had on the day before, while another showed what was presumably a stick figure Blaine surrounded by a circle of smaller smiling stick figures. There was a drawing of a dog with five legs, a paper almost completely filled with colorful flowers, and last, but certainly not least, an amazingly well done drawing of him riding a giant pink dinosaur.

Looking down at the art, Blaine felt his heart warm in his chest. Not only hadn't his students hated him, but they'd liked him enough to think about him when they got home. They'd liked him enough to create art for him. Art.

"Ah, guys, these are amazing," he said around the growing lump in his throat. "Thank you so much. I think we'll pin these up on the wall over there, what do you think?"

Blaine looked around at the smiling faces and grinned. Huh. Would you look at that? And he didn't even have to bribe them with cookies.