He counted Bach and Strauss among his favourites, and he enjoyed the tranquil strings, the sudden clashes of cymbals and the final, rapturous cessation. It was the general feeling of having an orchestra in his room while he lay on his bed, one hand gripping the sheets while he used the other to pump himself, slowly at first before gradually getting faster. He liked to keep his mind clear as he did so, focusing all his effort of the harmony of the various instruments and the energetic movements of his hand.

Blaine had never explored the prospect of dating at Dalton. He had taken three different girls out for dates when he attended public school, but he never felt he had a connection with either of them. He had kissed two of said dates, but he had felt nothing. There had been only one another boy that he knew was gay, but there was an incident involving him that made him decide to leave the school, and he did not like talking about it. Now at Dalton, he considered himself far too busy to romance anyone, what with the extended study and Warblers practise he had to contend with.

On one particular Thursday night, the day after he had made the mistake of returning the satchel to its owner at McKinley, he turned on his iPod and sank back onto his pillow, sneaking his hand down to the inside of his boxers. He gave his cock a tight squeeze and began to stroke himself as the second movement of Mendelssohn's Symphony No. 4. played to him. As his breaths became more laboured, he let his eyes flutter closed, and his thoughts drifted to a certain other individual. The same individual whose hands had caressed his jaw, whose lips had moved in earnest against his and whose moist tongue lapped at his mouth…and he felt something stirring beneath him, coming to life…

Blaine snapped his eyes open. His hand stopped mid-squeeze and he tucked himself back in to his boxers. He lifted himself off the bed and walked over to his speakers, using his unspoilt hand to quickly switch off the music. He leaned both hands on his dresser and hung his head, refusing to look at his reflection in the mirror in front of him.

…

Blaine thought he was done with Kurt Hummel, but a week later, his thoughts still continued to torment him. It came to the point where the boy had begun to invade his dreams. But instead of being kissed, he was watching through the window of a cell door as Kurt being kissed roughly by a boy with a Mohawk. His insides seethed with jealousy as the boy pushed Kurt up against a wall, Kurt gasping and moaning with pleasure. Blaine awoke that morning drenched with sweat, and he doused himself with a cold shower, shivering under the spray of water as it hit his back.

Friday came around and lifted his spirits; it was the first sign that summer was on its way. As he left the Dalton school library, he didn't even care that he had to wait around for his father. The shining sun brought warmth to the afternoon and he breezed past the landscaped lawns to the front entrance of the school. He hummed a tune to himself that he had been practising earlier that afternoon with the Warblers. As he walked through the front gate, he counted himself fortunate that he was able to leave on time to catch the bus and avoid McKinley altogether.

'Hello handsome.'

Blaine almost tripped over his own shoes as he whipped around – to find the source of his torment to the left of him, leaning against a large tree trunk.

He could not help but briefly admire the style of the boy that was Kurt Hummel; while it may have looked ridiculous on anyone else, his black waistcoat, long patterned sleeved shirt and tight black jeans suited him perfectly. A top hat cast a shadow over his eyes, but Blaine could tell that they looked delighted to see him.

But while Blaine stood, the episode that unfolded a week and a half ago came back to him as a torrent of vivid thoughts, and he remembered what the other boy had subjected him to. He felt his face stiffen and he met Kurt's gaze with his own look of loathing.

'You've got a lot of nerve coming here,' Blaine remarked, not bothering to hide the anger in his voice.

'I would have said the same thing about you last week,' Kurt replied coolly. 'I was beginning to think that I wouldn't see you again.' He lifted his top hat slightly so that his eyes were no longer shaded. 'I wish I could show you how truly delectable you are when you're upset.'

Blaine ignored his last comment. 'What do you want?'

Kurt gave Blaine a half-smile. 'I was hoping you'd be careless and miss your bus again,' he replied, gazing at Blaine with a genuine playfulness.

'My dad is picking me up.' Blaine winced at how childish he sounded. 'How did you get here?'

'Unlike you, I have my own ride.' He motioned to the curb behind him where a small green truck stood stationary.

Blaine snorted. 'Probably stolen.'

The playfulness vanished and Kurt's eyes flashed in anger. 'My father gave it to me on my sixteenth birthday. He trusts me.'

'Yeah, well, just as well that he does. You put on a good performance for your friends while I was there last week.'

'They're not my friends,' Kurt replied quickly.

'Friends, cell mates, whatever. Why do it?'

Kurt was silent for a moment, and Blaine could sense that he was thinking carefully.

'It bought me at least a week of respect,' he finally responded, turning his eyes away from Blaine. 'It…was not my intention to humiliate you. I found myself much more attracted to you that I have been to anyone else. I know you may find that confronting…' His eyes turned to Blaine's again and the playfulness had returned. 'But I know what I like.'

Kurt's admission of honesty seemed to stump Blaine momentarily, and he blurted out his words before he could stop them.

'I'm not afraid of you.' He winced again.

Kurt laughed lightly, and it was a pleasant sound to Blaine's ears. 'So I've noticed. But like I said: I'm not all bad.'

'Right,' muttered Blaine. He didn't feel he could continue with the conversation. Kurt was saying something but he was trying to make sense in his mind of what had previously been said. He didn't realise Kurt had moved away from the tree until the scent of vanilla and spice hit his senses. He looked up; Kurt was slightly taller than him but no less threatening as he looked down at the lower pocket of Blaine's blazer with concern in his eyes.

'You have something on your blazer,' Kurt repeated, and he reached over to touch Blaine's blazer, picking off a speck of lint. His hand remained there, stroking the material through his fingers. The sudden gesture and the closeness of Kurt made Blaine lose his trail of thought completely, until Kurt looked at something behind Blaine, and Blaine followed his line of sight.

A familiar silver BMW had pulled up by curb. His father had arrived as promised. Blaine felt a strange tug on his blazer before it was released; Kurt had let go of it and had leaned back against the tree, looking like the picture of innocence.

'Well, what are you waiting for?' he said, observing him with amusement. 'Off you go, sweetie.'

Blaine turned and walked towards the car, hearing Kurt call out behind him: 'And I'll be seeing you again very soon.'

'Not very likely,' Blaine growled under his breath. By the time he had placed his satchel in the rear of the car and buckled up his seat belt, Kurt and his small truck had already disappeared.

As his father drove him home, both in agreed silence, Blaine leaned his hand on the left hand side of his uniform where Kurt had removed the speck of lint. He frowned as he felt a slight weight in the pocket of his blazer. Fishing his hand in, he pulled out a small watch with a brown leather band. He turned it over in his hand and after reading the engraving on its back he groaned, leaning his forehead against the passenger side window. He didn't need anyone to tell him what Property of K.H. stood for.