"When you have insomnia, you never really sleep, but you're never really awake either."

The words rattle around Kurt's head, as they had since Finn had dragged him out of his room and forced him to watch that movie with him.

Finn wanted Kurt there because while Puck said Fight Club was an awesome movie with punches and boobs, Rachel had cocked her head and shot him a funny look when he told her he wanted to watch it on their weekly date night.

"Are you sure?" she'd asked. "Isn't that movie a little heavy for us?"

Finn decided that if Rachel thought it "heavy," then it was probably complicated, which meant it would fly over his head. It wasn't that Finn was stupid; on the contrary, he could be very insightful. Occasionally. But sometimes it just took him a while to get things and it was just so much easier to have Kurt explain stuff.

Kurt was surprisingly good at it.

And while yeah, he sometimes shot Finn those looks that said You are such a dumbass and I don't know why I bother, Kurt would also be patient and mold words around in a way that they made sense to Finn and stuck in his mind.

Maybe it had something to do with the fact that they were sort of brothers now. Like they could read each other's minds or something. But then Finn would think about it and how he rarely had any idea what Kurt was thinking and thinking hurt sometimes so Finn gave up. But still made Kurt watch movies with him.

So Kurt sat on the couch, knees drawn up to his chest and head leaning on one if the armrests, and quietly watched as Edward Norton and Brad Pitt destroyed the world with a single punch. And Finn sat next to him, confused and underwhelmed, until Kurt helped him understand it.

Now, lying on his bed at 3:16 am in a darkened room, Kurt stares at his ceiling. He almost can't see it in the dark, but the faint light from the streetlamp outside seeps in around the window shades and gives soft definition to everything.

Nights are Kurt's time.

He closes his eyes and let himself feel all the pain and hurt and the hate that he hides all day, every day beneath a cold fa�ade. His hands cover his mouths as the sobs claw their way out of his throat, silently as always.

Kurt had gotten good at crying without making a sound.

At first it was because he didn't want to worry his dad, didn't want his father to know that his son came home from school with a new bruise or twenty from another shove, another trip, another locker slam, all because he was gay and he liked boys. He didn't want his father to realize that the reason Kurt shopped so much was because he actually had to, that he hadn't had an outfit last a full week with getting high fructose corn syrup stains on it or torn and ripped up since middle school. He didn't want his dad to realize his little boy, his Kurt was getting called every name under the sun and even some drudged up from the bottom of the ocean, and that the stupid rhyme every baby learned was bullshit and words do hurt. They have for a long time, just cutting Kurt up and slicing him into tiny pieces under his armor; little shreds of paper that get stomped on and crushed and torn until Kurt barely recognizes himself anymore.

But then crying in the dead of the night became a routine for Kurt, a way to let everything out without actually dealing with it. Therapeutic. Because if he got his tears out at three in the morning, then maybe he could hold it together during school.

No one needed to know how close he was to giving up and just screaming at the top of his lungs for someone to notice me, help me, I'm so fucking tired and I just want it to stop.

When everything is out and Kurt feels drained and empty, he lowers his hands. He swipes at his wet cheeks; sniffling and taking deep breaths, trying to keep his mind empty long enough to fall asleep without that creeping sense of despair that got harder to fight off every night.

In a few hours, he'll be back at school and struggling to come up with a reason to continue through the day and deal with everyone's problems but his own. He'll go through the day with a smile and sarcasm, without really seeing anything, and then he'll come home and bicker with Finn and chastise his father for trying to sneak snacks when he knows Kurt has him on a diet and dodge Carole because all she ever wants to do is talk and Kurt can't talk, can't for a second let all of his shit see the light of day. And after dinner and after homework and a movie and a quick goodnight hug from Burt, Kurt will go to his room and do his moisturizing routine and change into pajamas and wait in his bed until he's certain everyone is asleep. And then he'll cry until he can hardly breathe, can hardly see, and then he'll sleep and wake up and start over.

The routine keeps Kurt sane and lets him survive, but he doesn't know how much longer he can keep it up.

New York is still a dream, but it dims and fades a little more every day.

Listening to Rachel Berry the next morning rant on about yet another cosmic problem makes Kurt want to scream. He settles in to his default school mode: smile and nod like you hear everything, ignore every word.

Kurt is lost in the fog of his own mind when a thick hand clamps down on his shoulder and shoves Kurt into the lockers. He forgets to turn at the last second and hits the cold metal face-on, forehead knocking into the doors with a loud crack. It shocks Rachel into silence, which Kurt is briefly thankful for as he feels a headache begin to swell beneath his skull. The red letterman jacket is already halfway down the hall and the rest of the school walks on, lost in their own crises. Rachel stays by his side, touching Kurt's shoulder lightly as Kurt just stands there for a minute to collect himself.

"Are you okay?" she asks quietly.

Like always, Kurt opens his eyes and forces a smile. "I'm fine." The words sound hollow and empty and like such a huge lie that Kurt fights the sudden urge to run away forever and never look back. Instead he straightens his back and picks his bag up from the floor, wiping imaginary dirt off of his dark jeans. Kurt's smile is tight but steady, until he glances over Rachel's shoulders and sees him.

He, Blaine Anderson, is new. A junior, like them, but beyond that no one really knows much else other than his parents are filthy rich and he drives a '69 Chevelle, in Ohio. Kurt grew up with cars and liked them enough that his jaw dropped with envy that first morning when Blaine Anderson roared his way into the William McKinley High School parking lot, tossing a cigarette butt out the window and smirking at every person that dared set their eyes on him.

Blaine Anderson is gorgeous, if maybe a little short. But he has thick dark, curly hair and bright hazel eyes and a permanent grin on his face, like he enjoys his life and who he is. Confidence pours off of him, confidence that Kurt wants so badly. From the second Blaine saw him in their AP American History class; Kurt knew he was in trouble.

Sometimes Kurt hates his heart. He hates that it feels so much that it hurt, that it attaches itself to boys so easily when those boys would take it and crush it into oblivion. Like with Finn. And Sam.

Blaine Anderson, rumored bad boy and supposed juvenile delinquent, would break his heart then hand him the shattered remains if Kurt let him. But when those eyes, those golden eyes that somehow sees more than Kurt thought they should catches his, it's hard to breathe.

So Kurt swallows, breaks eye contact and walks to his first period class, leaving a confused Rachel Berry behind.

Surprisingly, given the rumors, Blaine is in most of Kurt's classes. With years of having no friends, Kurt has actually read a lot and so has been in the advanced classes for most of his school career.

Kurt sits in the back of class to avoid spitballs. He likes it. Most days he tunes out the teacher and recites songs and daydreams of a better place, one where he isn't hated on sight or beaten down. He rarely pays attention to his classmates. They don't see him clutching his battered body on the floor on top of his scattered papers that fly around him, so why should he notice them? Kurt stares at his desk, one arm wound tight around his waist and the other hand up by his mouth, tapping gently as the teacher drones on. His classmates file in slowly but Kurt doesn't see them, slipping back into his distant persona like a warm coat.

Petals broke from the tips of roses hidden underneath my arms…

"Hey."

Kurt starts at the whisper and looks at his right. Blaine is looking at the teacher, the perfect picture of attentiveness but for the quick wink and small smile he directs at Kurt. Kurt just stares, caught between confusion and fear and a tiny sliver of hope because this beautiful boy is looking at him and talking to him and it's been so long that he's had anything from strangers other than a dirty look and a harsh word that Kurt has almost forgotten what it's like.

"Hi." Kurt hates how small and faint his voice is. To cover, he swallows and looks at the blackboard, embedding the dates in his mind. Columbus set sail with three ships: The Santa Monica…

But a piece of paper falls on his desk and Kurt's eyes fall to it. It's folded neatly and crisply and sits there so cheerfully. Kurt can almost feel Blaine's excitement bubbling up through the folds and he glance at Blaine, but the other boy is focused on the lecture; only a barely restrained smiled giving him away.

Tell me again that part how you didn't feel a thing…

Kurt takes Blaine in. Blaine likes to wear a dark leather jacket that has clearly seen a lot of love. He pairs it with black boots that should look pretentious and clich� but somehow don't; along with jeans and V-necks of various colors. Today is white. His ears have several small silver hoops and studs, though his face is left alone. Sometimes Blaine forgoes shaving and lets his scruff grow a little, making him look rougher and older. But his eyes are always twinkling, like he knows a secret joke that he wants to share, but doesn't. Blaine's wrists have several bracelets of all different colors, all handmade and Kurt wonders who makes them. Maybe his girlfriend. Kurt's stomach grows cold at that though.

He unfolds the paper.

HEY! YOU'RE IN MY NEXT CLASS RIGHT?

Kurt frowns. He's not used to people noticing him, but Blaine's even capitals look friendly and Kurt finds himself writing quickly underneath them and tossing the paper back when the teacher turns around.

yeah i am

Kurt tries to ignore how even his handwriting is small and thin. It feels like too much of metaphor for his life.

In seconds, the paper is back in front of him. Kurt blinks and reads.

AWESOME! I'VE BEEN HERE A WEEK AND I
STILL GET LOST. WALK WITH ME?

Kurt looks at Blaine again and sees big, puppy dog eyes.

He hides a smile.

sure.

He has no idea how it's possible for Blaine's smile to get larger, but it does. Maybe Kurt won't mind history so much anymore.

YES! THANK YOU SO MUCH!
BY THE WAY I'M BLAINE ANDERSON

Kurt Hummel.

He sees Blaine mouth out his name as he reads it out of the corner of his eye. Blaine is about to scribble another note when the bell rings, and all of sudden there is a curly-haired hobbit bouncing in front of Kurt's desk and grinning so sweetly Kurt wonders if the sun is jealous.

Blaine holds out his hand for Kurt to shake, which he does. "Nice to meet you Kurt." Blaine's eyes are still twinkling. "Sorry, old habits die hard and all." Kurt wonders at that.

"Right," Kurt says as he packs up his stuff and stands. "We should go; Pre-Calc is on the other side of the school, and I know how hard it is to walk fast when you're the size of Frodo." Kurt doesn't mention how he leaves either really early or really late to avoid the jocks between classes. It doesn't always work. Somehow, though, he suspects Blaine already knows.

Blaine just smiles, ignores the insult, and follows Kurt into the hallway dutifully. Once free of the classroom, Blaine is suddenly right next to Kurt and walking almost hip-to-hip and Kurt can't figure out why it makes him nervous but happy and generally all twisted up inside.

Nothing you say can, will ever penetrate
the walls that I, that I, I, I create…

They talk all day in their shared classes: Blaine constantly; with long rambles and frequent questions and Kurt more quietly and snarky; with short answers and looks more often than words. But Blaine doesn't seem to mind. Kurt feels his defenses start to slip and it scares him, but when he's talking with Blaine like this, Kurt forgets how fucked up his life really is. It's nice.

Walking with Blaine, Kurt gets looks. Curious ones, hostile ones, even friendly ones from people in Glee Club. Everyone looks at Blaine because he's only been there here for a week and he's still new and different, and he's walking with that gay kid and touching his arm like it's the most natural thing in the world and the gay kid doesn't try to stop him.

The most hostile looks come from girls that are now starting to suspect Blaine's sexuality from the way he walks with Kurt and touches him. A few of the scarier ones come from the jocks. Kurt sees a dark expression on Dave Karofsky's face during lunch and he has to throw away the rest of his salad before he gets sick. He shrugs off Blaine's worried questions but stays at their lonely table, head held high and meeting every glare with one of his own.

Kurt feels Blaine itching to say something but he doesn't.

When Kurt finally looks at him, Blaine's face is sad and pained and Kurt hates himself for putting it there.

"You probably shouldn't sit with me unless you want everyone to think you're gay." Kurt says and bites his lip. He wants to sit with Blaine. He likes how Blaine makes him feel whole and happy and not like such a fuck up. But he can't ask Blaine to go through slushies and violence every day.

Blaine snorts and Kurt looks at him. And only sees anger. "I want to sit with you," Blaine says stubbornly. "Besides," Blaine raises his voice so the other students that are surreptitiously listening in can hear. "The magpies here can shove it since I am gay." Blaine flashes an evil grin at a clearly disgusted girl over Kurt's shoulder. He takes another bite of his hamburger and winks at Kurt. "Can't get rid of me, Hummel."

Kurt doesn't think he wants to.

"Are you really a 'badboy' or is all this an image?" Kurt asks after their last class lets out. He has Glee, but suddenly the idea of being locked in a room with a dysfunctional group of teenagers is too much for him and he finds himself walking with Blaine to the parking lot.

Blaine grins and slides out a cigarette, lighting it with practiced ease. "It's complicated," he says, then sizes Kurt up. Standing in the middle of a crowded parking lot with Blaine eyeing him; Kurt has never felt more naked. "Is this whole 'fuck-you-ice-queen' act really you?"

Kurt doesn't move, doesn't speak. He's known Blaine all of a day, and he already know him better than his own friends do. It makes Kurt angry and pissed but warm all at once and Kurt forces his legs to keep walking. "It's complicated." He says.

Blaine just shrugs and waves and hops in his car. He throws Kurt a grin as he drives past. Kurt raises an eyebrow but waves back.

He gets in his own car: a black Lincoln Navigator. A birthday present from his father to mask the fact that he hadn't had enough friends for a party last year. Kurt texts Finn that he's leaving early and to find his own ride home, then rests his head against the steering wheel as he waits for a reply.

It's been a weird day.

The phone buzzes in his hand, but when he looks at it, it's not Finn.

'You're pretty when you smile.'

Kurt stares at the words. They don't seem real. The phone buzzes again.

'It's Blaine by the way. Got your number from Puck in gym.'

As Kurt types out a reply, he smiles to himself. Blaine Anderson could be the best thing to ever happen to him.

Maybe he won't cry tonight.