“Gentlemen, gentlemen!” The gentle urges of David’s whisper—he’d hardly spoken in days, hoping to preserve his voice for Sectionals—does nothing to still the chatter flowing through the room. 

“Attention Warblers!” Wes cries out, pounding his gavel sharply. The room cuts to silence. “We only have two weeks before Sectionals, and we’ve lost Blaine to the competition.”

The mention of Blaine stirs up groans all around and a few choice remarks. Jeff punches one of the boys in the arm. Wes glares at him, but softens his eyes when Jeff shrugs and mouths, “For Blaine.”

“Anyway, we have a great deal of work to get done in the next few days to make up for this… loss,” Wes continues.

“Wes, if I may?” Thad speaks up. Wes nods and takes his seat at the council table. Two chairs over, Thad stands slowly, shuffling a few papers and making a quick note on one before looking at the room packed with attentive eyes. “Warblers,” he begins, a catch in his voice causes him to pause and clear his throat. He tugs at his tie momentarily, before standing straight and continuing, “Blaine’s departure hit us hard. It doesn’t help that he’ll probably be joining the McKinley glee club.” A few Warblers murmur at the mention of McKinley. Jeff coughs loudly and glares. “We all must remember to support our friend in his endeavors, even if those endeavors place him in our opposition.” Many heads around the room nod in agreement.

“Now, interestingly enough, we have a secret weapon.” Wes cuts back in, nodding once to Trent, who turns around on the spot and flings open the doors to the hallway.

Kurt’s head lifts up as the room expands before him, and grasping the strap of his bag tightly, he steps into the Warblers’ chambers. His eyes glance around the room, flickering back and forth from the sea of faces to the hardwood floor beneath his feet. There are so many of them. Kurt stills himself as butterflies flit around his stomach.

“This is Kurt Hummel. He just transferred here… from McKinley.” The room is stone silent. All eyes are on Kurt as he adjusts the edges of his blazer and swallows a lump in his throat.

“Hold up,” a boy with a strong jaw and dark, floppy hair at the back of the room stands up and walks toward Kurt. He’s taller than Kurt, but only by an inch or two. Kurt stands up straighter on instinct. “We lose our source of sex-appeal to the likes of McKinley, and they send us Tinker Bell to take his place.”

Kurt lifts his head and locks eye with the boy. He rolls his head to the side and blinks slowly, opening his eyes wide and staring as though to question Who the fuck are you and why are you even in my line of sight? Kurt holds the boy’s gaze for a moment before parting his lips and taking a sharp breath. A twinkle flashes in the boy’s eye and Kurt can’t help but notice the sparkle of green. The whole collection of the boy’s features, angular but soft, vibrant but with a delicate chill, a don’t fuck with me vibe emanating from the hazel-green of his eyes, sends a shiver down Kurt’s spine.

“Please, I’m hardly a fairy,” Kurt says pulling at the strap of this satchel bag and smiling at the floppy haired boy.  A small twinge at the corner of the boy’s mouth pulls up at his full bottom lip, and Kurt quickly glances away. “A wood nymph, on the other hand. That’s more me,” he says, sauntering past the boy and further into the room, taking a place leaning on the arm of the leather sofa next to Jeff.

Nick’s eyes follow Kurt’s petite frame across the room. He grumbles inwardly at the small skip in Kurt’s step, the way he glides over the floor and prissily perches himself against the sofa. “Nick, take a chill pill, man,” Thad says from his place at the council table, without looking up as he scribbles into a notebook.

Jeff moves to fist bump Kurt, and Kurt looks at him with a scrunched nose. Jeff doesn’t let his fist drop. He glowers at Kurt, eyes turning to dark slits, a near-snarl on his lips, as though no insult could be higher than an un-bumped fist. Kurt delicately holds up his closed fit and lets Jeff briefly connect their knuckles before shaking his hand away from the contact. Jeff nudges Kurt and shows off a toothy grin. Broship activated! Kurt smiles and looks at his feet as Wes pounds his gavel and begins the meeting.

Nick rolls his eyes and moves to a chair adjacent to the sofa on which Kurt’s slight body was resting. He kicks his foot against a small freshman sitting comfortably in the chair and nocks his had to the side and arches his eyebrows, indicating the universal sign for that’s my spot, now move. The freshman scrambles out of the chair and slides in behind a few taller Warblers standing along the side of the room. Nick settles back into the chair and focuses his gaze on Kurt. Kurt angles himself away from Nick as much as possible, but Nick fixes his eyes on Kurt’s ear, studying the slight curl of Kurt’s hair across his temple.

“Now, we’ve all seen the videos of McKinley’s performances last year, but maybe Kurt would like to enlighten us on anything that might help us compete?” Wes says.

Kurt’s head snaps up, his face twists in confusion. “I… I don’t think…”

“Wes, that’s not really fair, is it? I mean, those are Kurt’s friends, and he’s probably still feeling very loyal to them,” Trent speaks up from his place by the doors. Kurt’s heart dances as Trent comes to his aide. Note: buy Trent coffee. Lots of coffee. Jeff too, I guess.

“Great, so Blaine’s going to go all Mata Hari on our asses, and Kurt here is fucking Mother Teresa,” Nick throws up his arms in defeat.

“First of all, Nick, Warblers watch their language in the chambers. This is sacred space, and you know it. Second, I don’t think you really know anything about Mata Hari or Mother Teresa, because that was all kinds of inaccurate. And thirdly, Trent is right, we can’t force Kurt to give up New Directions secrets. It’s not fair to him or to our competition,” David says softly. Wes sulks next to him. Thad writes furiously in his notebook. “This discussion is unbecoming of the Warblers and it is over. Wes,” he turns to his friend.

Wes grips the hand carved handle of his gavel, his jaw locked. David sits back in his chair; a peaceful look covers his face, as he waits for Wes’s conscience to catch up to his ambition. The Warblers remain silent, watching Wes. Finally, he sits forward in his chair and says, “So, auditions for leads…”

Kurt feels a weight lift off his shoulders and realizes he had been holding his breath. He settles back against the arm of the sofa and absorbs his first Warblers meeting.

No one sings at the meeting, which Kurt finds both disheartening and relaxing. No Rachel to fight for solos or even just lead. No avoiding Finn’s flailing arms and clown feet. No poorly chosen or inappropriate songs as chosen from Mr. Shue’s endless 80s playlist. On the other hand, Kurt feels the performing itch, the need to burst into song stirring in his heart. He pushes that feeling down, and focuses back on Wes listing ideas for solo songs.

As the meeting progresses, Jeff leans over and whispers clarifying remarks in Kurt’s ear whenever his face screws up in confusions. He explains the point of the council, the auditions procedures, and little historical facts about Dalton and the Warblers. Most of his commentary is laden with inappropriate comments that cause Kurt to stifle many snorts and cough through those that sneak past his lips. Lots of coffee, Kurt makes a mental note.

Throughout the meeting, Kurt cheek burns under Nick’s searching eyes, viridescent and intense. It takes all his willpower not to return the look and lock on to those sparking eyes, not to search out that smooth, pale face flecked with freckles, not to zero in on those rose-pink lips that turn up in the corners, creating the illusion of a perpetual smirk. No, Kurt refuses to look. He absolutely refuses to—fuck it—he looks.

Two hours later, Kurt lays on his back, his head pressed firmly against his pillow, staring up at the ceiling waiting for the phone on his chest to buzz. He called Mercedes thirty minutes ago, and she distractedly blew him off, saying she’d call back soon before quickly hanging up. How long is soon? Who the hell invented the word soon? It’s the least specific time-related word in existence. It’s pretty much pointless to use except to placate people. Shit, am I being placated? What could possib—“Hello?” Kurt scrambles to answer his phone, fingers fumbling to slide the arrow across the screen several times before finally it catches and he’s talking to his best friend. 

Or rather, his best friend is talking at him. Mercedes nearly screams into the phone, her voice muffled in over-exuberant pithiness. “…anIcovinceimtcomtlee..” she rapidly squees.

“Mercedes! MERCEDES!” Kurt shouts, producing a pause in Mercedes’ vocal acrobatics. “Good lord girl, you can talk fast. I didn’t catch a word of that. Start from the beginning with, I dunno, how about ‘Hello Kurt, my best and most wonderful friend, how was your first day at Dalton?’ and then I can ask you all about Blaine.”

Mercedes remains completely mute. Kurt waits for her to break the silence and soon wonders if they were disconnected. “Uh, so you know about Blaine?” she finally asks.

“Did you really expect me not to find out?”

“No, I just thought I would be the one to tell you. I mean, we just met him today.”

“The Warblers told me on Friday when I moved in. So, is he as godlike as they say?”

“Kurt, I—I’m sorry. You’re first day at Dalton, away from us, and I freaking can’t contain my excitement over a new kid. Let’s back this train up. How was your day, sweetheart?”

“Nah uh, no. We will hash out this Blaine situation and then I will tell you all about the mean but gorgeous boy who hates me.”

“What?! Tell me now. Right this instant.”

“Nope, you dove into Blaine-adoration first, so you must now suffer the wait.”

“You are evil. I miss you so freaking much, boy.”

“You better.”

“I do.”

“Good.”

“Yep.”

“OMG, Mercedes, just get on with it.”

Mercedes laughs, “Not very nice, is it? Waiting.”

“Haha.”

“Okay, well, Blaine is a sophomore, which you probably know already.”

“Actually, I didn’t know that bit. But Jeff and Trent are sophomores and they seem like they were pretty close to him, so that makes sense.”

“Jeff and Trent? Making friends already, I see.”

“Jealousy does not become you, my dear. Continue.”

“Well, I have Biology with him first thing after homeroom. Since Tina, Artie, and I are the only group of three, Mr. Harris put him with us, so we got to know him a bit.” Mercedes slows her speech as she finishes her sentence, as though she’s searching for the right words or contemplating something distant but not unrelated.

“What’s wrong?” Kurt dives right into pry-mode. He’s found something of intrigue and isn’t about to let it go.

“Nothing, it’s just… What have you found out about Blaine? From the Warblers or others at Dalton?”

“Umm, well, not a lot. They seem to think he’s the greatest addition to the planet since the polished shoe. Seriously, these guys are obsessed with shiny shoes. I nearly stepped on Trent’s foot leaving the Warblers meeting this afternoon, and my god if he didn’t have a heart attack right then and there. I thought I was obsessed with my clothes.”

Mercedes doesn’t respond. Kurt begins to shift around in the silence, moving to sit up and smacking his head against the top of the headboard. “Shit, ow…”

“You okay?”

“She speaks! I just bumped my head. Now, you continue with your tales of the new kid,” Kurt cringes as he says it. New kid, I hate that damn moniker.

Mercedes sighs, “Well, he’s gay. Did you know that bit?”

“I might have heard something akin to such a label.”

“He says he transferred to ‘confront his past.’ Those were his words exactly. Tina didn’t buy it though. Not after we saw the Warbler’s set list. They had him down for every solo, Kurt!”

“He showed you guys the set list?” Kurt’s mouth fell open. I guess Blaine is a bit of a Mata Hari... No, David’s right, that doesn’t sound correct.

“Oh, well, not really. I found it. He was showing us some notes the Warblers took on New Directions. I think he was just got a bit over enthused when he realized who we were. He quickly snatched back the notebook once he realized that he kinda pulled a Benedict Arnold”—ah, Benedict Arnold—“on his Warbler friends. He looked super guilty.”

“They tried to get me to give up New Directions secrets today,” Kurt admits. “Trent and David spoke up for me though, and I wouldn’t have given anything away. You guys are still my family, and I wouldn’t betray you.”

“I’ll pass that on to Rachel. She’ll be glad to hear it.” Mercedes and Kurt laugh.

“So, why didn’t Tina buy it?”

“What?”

“You said Tina didn’t buy Blaine’s reason for transferring.”

“Well, she made the point that Blaine gave up solos…”

I gave up a solo.

“…and his friends…”

Gave those up too.

“…and a world class education…”

Okay, maybe not that though.

“…to face some bullies. She just doesn’t buy it.”

“It is a little strange, but you don’t honestly believe there’s some sort of mysterious reason he transferred?”

“It was so last minute though.”

“What do you mean?”

“From what we can work out, Tina made the connections when we saw the dates in the notebook, Blaine transferred within days of being given the solos. You don’t just up and transfer out of the blue.”

“…”

“Oh, I mean, you had a reason, Kurt. Your safety was in question. Blaine says he transferred to face bullies, not because he was running from them.”

“…”

“Not that you’re running from them. Ugh, sorry, Kurt. My foot is in my stomach it’s so far down my mouth.”

“No, you’re right. On both points. I ran from my bullies, and Blaine’s sudden transfer is a bit mysterious, considering the circumstances.” Kurt flops his arm over his head, pressing his head against the headboard, and closing his eyes.

“Well, Tina asked him point blank, and he just shrunk. It was strange. I mean, he’s a pretty small guy, but he looked positively miniscule in that moment. She struck a chord. He wouldn’t talk to any of us for the rest of class.”

“But, you said you talked him into coming to glee.”

“YOU DID UNDERSTAND ME! Oh, you are evil.”

“Welllll…”

“Ugh, okay, so it turns out we have the same schedule. So Tina, Artie and I pursued him for the rest of the day. Tina felt bad for calling him out. She felt that she must have struck something really personal and it was wrong for her to be so forward. She apologized profusely for two periods. At lunch, Artie sat with him and somehow got him to talk to us again. By final period, I convinced him to give us a chance. So, Tina and I took him for coffee after school. That’s where I was when you called. He said he would sit in on glee club tomorrow, but refused to promise he would join or anything.”

“So, you snatch up the Dalton golden boy. You are going to murder us as sectionals.” Kurt attempts to pass it off as a joke, but his voice is pitchy and he cringes when he suspects Mercedes could hear his jealousy.

“You? Us? Since when are you one of them?” Mercedes glides over Kurt’s tone change.

“Since I got an audition for a solo,” Kurt smiles in the dark, remembering Thad volunteering Kurt for the audition list.

“Spill!”

“Nothing really to spill. The Warblers asked me to audition. I think they mostly want to see what I’ve got. I doubt they honestly think I’m good for a solo. I didn’t exactly have a shining moment in either New Directions performances last year.”

“They don’t know what they’ve got!”

“My sentiments exactly.”

“You are so full of yourself.”

“My sentiments exactly.” Kurt chuckles.

Mercedes’ mom calls up to her for dinner, and she promises to call back right after. “You still owe me gorgeous-boy-you-are-smitten-with details.”

“Gorgeous boy who hates me, you mean.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Go eat your food.”

“BRB,” Mercedes says before abruptly hanging up.

Kurt wanders down the hallway of the Holyrood House. His hands glide along the walls, sensitive to tiny bumps in the fibrous wallpaper. It’s more like silken cloth than paper.

After his first day, Kurt googled Dalton extensively and found out the whole school had been shipped over from England brick by brick. The art and the statues were owned by Lord Dalton, the man who on his death bead bequeathed the palace-esque mansion to his middle daughter, an unwed school teacher who won his favor with her beautiful heart and humble looks.

Gloria Dalton turned her inheritance into an even more generous gift, opening her house to orphaned boys in need of food, shelter, and an education. Gloria was a talented teacher, but an unskilled businesswoman. By the end of her life, the house had fallen to near ruin and she was destitute.

When she died, one of her first students, a young boy she had personally taken in and cared for, saw her obituary. From her kindness and attention, the boy eventually found his way to Yale and made millions as a successful textile manufacturer. He pooled funds with two other men who grew up under Gloria’s wing and they bought the Dalton house, fixed it up, covering the walls in some of the finest textiles and papers from around the world, and recovering many lost pieces of art once owned by the Dalton family and sold by Gloria to feed the orphaned students. They reopened the school, and for many years it ran as Gloria intended it, as a school for wayward, abandoned or orphaned boys.

Eventually, when the three men died and no heirs desired to take over, the school was sold to a businessman, who turned it into a private preparatory academy for the sons of well-to-do families.

Kurt wonders how Gloria would feel about the Dalton Academy of today. Was this what you were hoping for Gloria? I don’t think it was. But Kurt was grateful to that businessman anyway, for providing a place that Kurt could be safe. Sorry, Gloria, but you never met Dave Karofsky.

Kurt makes his way to the dorm kitchen just as Trent and Jeff stumble through the swinging door, giggling childishly, a large place of brownies balancing on Jeff’s hand.

“Kuuuuurrrt!” Trent exclaims, grabbing Kurt’s hand and swinging it back and forth between them. “Kurt, come watch a movie with us!”

“With who?”

“Everyone! The whole house is gathering in the common room.” Trent leans into Jeff, placing his head on Jeff’s shoulder. Jeff returns the gesture, laying his head on Trent’s.

“You sure you two don’t want some private time?” Kurt says, his eyebrow lifting quizzically.

“Oh, Trenty-poo, he’s caught us. Kurt, you should know, I’m just so in love with little Trent here. Come here you—“ Jeff leans in to Trent making kissy faces. Trent pulls away quickly, snatching the brownie tray from Jeff’s hand and darting off down the hall toward the common area.

“I take it Trent doesn’t return your love?” Kurt says, moving toward the kitchen door. Jeff follows him in and hops up on the counter top.

“Just not his type, I guess.”

“You’re not many people’s type, I would assume.”

Jeff folds his chin to his chest and sighs. “Alas, there is but one love for me. Bright blue eyes, like the sea at high summer, and lips as red as blushing cheeks.”

“Yeah, and does she reciprocate?”

Jeff pauses, a slow smile spreads across his lips. “You were never going to fall for it were you?”

“Nope. I’ve got too much experience falling for straight men. I could write a book.” Kurt immediately regrets his words. As much as he would love to never fall for a straight boy again, and avoid the embarrassment, the lack of potential suitors for a vivacious gay boy in Ohio are slim pickings. I’m so going to fall off the straight-boy-crush wagon. I just know it.

“Damn. I was going to have so much fun. Blaine lasted nearly a week before he figured it out.”

Kurt hums and nods as he pops open the refrigerator and pulls out a carton of orange juice. He is reminded of his conversation with Mercedes and can’t help but take advantage of the situation. “Did Blaine really leave for… how did you put it, ‘to fight for his rights’?”

Jeff, who had been kicking his feet back and forth and bobbing his head to some internal rhythm, very suddenly stops moving and stares at Kurt. His eyes bulge and he hops down from the counter. Kurt races him to the door and steps in his path. “Don’t even think about it!”

Jeff steps back against the kitchen island, crossing his arms in front of his chest, and stares at the floor by Kurt’s feet. “I can’t tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

“I can’t tell you why Blaine really left. Partly because I don’t really know the real reason, and partly because it’s not for me to tell.”

“But there is something to tell.”

“Kurt, listen,” Jeff sounds serious, and Kurt is almost uncomfortable with the unusual tone, “you seem like a cool guy. I like being your friend. But I’ve only known you a few days. Blaine’s been one of my best friends for a year, and I’m not going to betray that trust. He has his reasons for leaving, and while I do know a little bit more than I let on, it’s Blaine’s life and his reasons. It’s his story to tell to whom he chooses.”

Kurt steps aside from the door and leans against the counter across from Jeff. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Not really, no. I’m only curious because Blaine has apparently taken up with my friends. He may even be joining New Directions. They are my family and I’m protective of my family, but if you say Blaine has his reasons for his secrecy, then I’m going to trust you.”

“Okay.”

“But I swear, if shit goes down because of Blaine and his secrets, I will have your head.”

Jeff smiles and pushes off from the counter. “So, movie and brownies with the boys?”

“Sure, but I’ll skip the brownies.”

“Damn, you really are nothing like Blaine, are you? He ate four before he realized…” The kitchen door swings open, cutting off Jeff midsentence. Kurt turns toward the entering body, his heart sinking into his stomach as his eyes meet with the familiar hazel-green ones that haunt Kurt’s thoughts.

“Jeff, can you come take care of you friend,” Nick says, turning slowly from Kurt to Jeff. “He’s eaten five of those brownies and now he’s trying to climb the bookcase in the common room.”

Jeff rolls his eyes and pushes past Nick into the hallway and out of Kurt’s mind. Kurt’s entire focus is swallowed up by Nick’s presence. Nick faces Kurt, his hands sliding into his pockets as he rolls back and forth on his heels.

“So, good first day then?” Nick’s voice cracks as his attention shift from Kurt’s eyes to his lips and back again.

“For the most part,” the words come out very slowly as Kurt searches Nick’s expression.

“Everyone treating you well, then?” Nick looks down at Kurt’s feet.

Kurt is silent. His forehead crinkles and he scratches the back of his neck.

“Yeah, Kurt, I’m—“ Nick starts. Kurt’s pants pocket vibrates and he jumps from the sensation. Of course, Mercedes would choose this moment to call me back. He holds up a finger to Nick and pulls the phone from his pocket.

“Mercy, I’ll call you back later. I’m going to watch a movie with my housemates. We can talk about what you wanted to talk about later, okaaaaay?” Kurt holds out the final syllable, willing Mercedes to read, or in this case, listen between the lines.

“Gorgeous boy?”

“Yep.”

“Something’s happening?”

“Goodbye Mercedes. Say hi to your new BFF, Blaine, for me tomorrow.” Nick looked up from the floor at Kurt’s words. Kurt recoils as a storm of confusion, then anger, and then sadness flashes across Nick’s face.

“Kurt, he’s not—“ Kurt cuts her off, hanging up his phone and putting in back in his pocket.

“So, do you have any idea what movies they’re going to watch?” Kurt looks into Nick’s face, and Nick’s features soften when their eyes connect, the storm fading away to the corners of his eyes.

“Monty Python and the Holy Grail.”

Of course they would. Kurt laughs. “Of course. Well, shall we?” He extends his arm towards the door. Nick eyes him suspiciously and nods with an air of caution, his left eye narrowing at Kurt.

Nick turns and pushes through the kitchen door, Kurt following after him, his eyes tracing up and down Nick’s retreating figure. I might have to put off writing that book for a bit.