One-hundred and twenty eight days before

The moment I laid eyes on Kurt Hummel, I wouldnt object to you saying it  changed me a bit. 

It wasnt love at first sight, or a sudden revaluation, it was an instant admiration for his fierce devotion towards being himself, so obliviously to any others looking or judging him. 

 The first thing I noticed about him was the up-most posture he holds himself, like the world is a pair of Armani shoes, resting neatly in his closet. He holds his head high, chin strutted out, with his hands gently held out in front of him, his posture contorting everyone around him to look his way, he was a gleaming star in a patch of dark, empty sky.

Looking back, I know now where to look for the slight shaking on his hands and soft look in his eyes when he sees something beautiful, the subtle weaknesses he doesnt let many see. Everyone has weaknesses after all, I have always thought it important to know no one is perfect. But looking at him in that moment, on my first day at Culver, I saw him utterly flawless and strong, a blatant picture of everything I wished to be.

I sat next to Puck at the table, a few chairs down from him, ignoring the wailing of Principal Sylvester as she gave her speech, waiting until it was over to mindlessly fill my plate. Incognizant of the world around me, but so sharply aware when the beautiful Kurt Hummel came over and sat in front of me. 

"Hello," He addressed me, "my name is Kurt, and Im guessing you are Pucks new roommate." He smiled stunningly, perfect white teeth gleaming even in the dreadful florescence of the cafeteria.

"Um yes-- hello Im Blaine." I blurted out in a rush.

"Hi Blaine," He went on, " so where are you from, anywhere in Alabama?"

I played with my hands absentmindedly, taking a deep breath before I started talking. "No, Ohio actually, but I move place to place."

He raised an eyebrow, "Really? We are from Ohio too, well me, Puck, Sam, and my step-brother Finn are. Weird coincidence. So where have you moved to? Anywhere out of the states?"

"Well," I blushed under the intensity of his eyes, " I have just stayed in the states, never been past New York really."

 "Oh, well lets hope you can stay here for a while, this place is great, and we would love to adopt you into our strange little family." He glaced around the table, "I bet Puck has even tried to give you a nickname." I nodded. 

"Mmmmmmmmmm ....... Puck!" 

Puck looked over, " What?"

"Blaine needs a nickname." 

"I know, I tried already."

"Hey are you trying to give the new kid a nickname?" A tall boy asked beside Puck.

"Yes Finn, now help." Said Kurt.

Finn nudges the blond boy beside him,"Sam, we are trying to give the new kid a nickname."

"Hmmmmmmm...." Sam wondered.

"How about Blainebo?" Puck grinned, "Blainebo,  Bilbo, because of his hobbit like qualitys!"

Kurt rolled his eyes, although Puck was extremely serious, "Blaine Devon Anderson do you hereby accept this nickname, to be accepted into our group of Weirdos from now and foreverrrr." He stretched out forever until he felt it was silent enough to begin again, "to sing show tunes and commit pranks of the highest honor?" 

 "Yes, I accept." 

"So from now to all on, you are known as Blainebo, the magical hobbit boy." 

"Yes, and now that you know your name you must know ours," the tall boy said,"Im Finn aka Frankenteen, this is Sam aka Troutymouth, Puck is the Puckasaurous, and Kurt is Porcelain."

I nodded, stashing their names for later. Finn, Puck, and Sam turned back to their previous conversation, and Kurt looked at me from across the table.

"I hope you will have a good time here," Kurt played carelessly with the food on his plate, "this place is like my second home."

I smiled lightly, "I hope so too."

Truly, right then, hope was enough.

.......

Going to sleep was a strange event. 

My body was tried, but mind rushed at a speed intangible to me.

Today, I had said goodbye to the illusion of a family, moved into a new school, and made friends. Not just one friend, four friends. 

Four friends.  

It was amazing to me. I had heard about Culver, and hoped, I hoped for a new beginning without depression taking me under.

It was a light at the end of the tunnel, something so far, and yet close enough for you to skim the surface. Close enough to have hope you can break out your restrains and take it. I feel I have almost maybe broken free, but the monsters of my past are still there right behind me, keeping me from it.

Only now I have a few angels behind me too, encouraging me towards my goal, and there has never been those before.

One-hundred and twenty seven days before.

I studied my body in the mirror the morning of my first day.

I was skinny, too skinny, I looked all sunken in and tiny. I was just small in general, and I always caved in on myself. And my hair was all frizz, and lacked its curl in the Alabama humidity.

 I studied my horrible scars, the ones from the fights last year, the internal and external. The scar from baseball team freshman year.

 I swiped my hand over the word carved jaggedly into my skin, its been almost two years, but it still burns to touch it. 

I closed my eyes as gray clouded my vision, my eyes burned and my lungs ached with pain, I clinched my fist and took deep breaths. I knew I couldnt afford anymore of this, last year already left me broken enough. This year is my only chance to pick up the pieces. Everything is riding on my well-being.

I turned on the shower all the way to the hottest, and jumped into the scalding water. I clinched my fists and leaned on the wall, while the water washed my body clean. The gray feeling treaded in and out of focus, I took deep breaths and my self control tested me. Everything spun, it hurt, but I didnt have time for it, I needed to get over it. 

I had to be strong.

.......

"This way." Puck said pulling me toward the first class we shared for the day.

It was the fourth period, and so far I had extremely hard French with Madame Fleur, calculus (ugh....) ,and two classes on history (I do thoroughly enjoy history.)  The classes had been quite a bit harder, but everyone is ten times as nicer, so the deal worked  out very well for me, I only wish I could be more open to everyone. After years of being closed off, opening up so suddenly is a shocking contrast. I do think I will get better though, again, I hope.

 This class was creative writing, which I was really excited for, I loved writing. We sat down at the front and waited for the totally awesome (as Puck described him)  Mr. Shue to arrive. And we waited and waited, finally I nudged Puck, "Is he usually this late?" I asked. He shook his head, glaring at a group of guys making spit- balls in the back. 

Right on cue, Mr. Shue walked in, not even looking back at the group of guys before announcing himself: 

"Now, Mr. Swanson, throw another spitball in my class and you will be in detention for the next month, and then maybe youll actually learn some discipline and pass this class instead of flunking another year."  

I bite my lip, I already liked this guy. 

Mr. Shue walked with a steady confidence, his curly brown hair slicked back in waves, with a pair of sharp eyes that looked as if they were about to pierce right through you.

He quickly surveyed the class, "Hello , I am Mr. Shuester and I will be your creative writing teacher for these next six months, so you better get used to me. I know that if you had a choice, a great few of you would not be in this class,*looks at the back, spit ball boys* given this is a mandatory credit if you what to pass, Im sorry but you have no choice." He grinned at the Swanson boy as he said this, and he blanched. "I always hope for a few people who have passion for my class, and if you are one of those people, I look forward to writing with you." 

"Now," he said slipping on a pair of glasses, "get out a pencil and paper, I have a few questions for you."

He waited, leaning against his desk casually, "Okay, Ill start with an easy one." He cleared his throat. "What is the color of the cafeteria floor?" 

In the back I saw a few guys look up at the ceiling, like it had never dawned on them to look down at the floor of the cafeteria.

Mr. Shue smiled at the confused looks, getting ready for the second question. "Next, I want you to write down whether you think I am right or left handed." I took a second to analyze what I remembered from when he walked in, then studied his hands, writing down my answer.

"Okay, lastly, I want you to tell me the time the clock is stuck on on the wall behind my desk. No looking Puckerman!"  Puck cursed under his breath, grinning. I quickly recollect the number.

"Now trade papers with the person next to you and listen for my answers." 

"First off, the floor of the cafeteria is black," He chuckled, whispering snidely under his breath, "you would think after two years here Swanson...."

"Second, that was a trick question, I am neither right nor left handed I am ambidextrous." 

Puck looked at me, "How the hell did you know that?" He whispered. I shrugged heedlessly.

"Lastly the time is 6:45, which I hoped you would have noticed since its only 11 in here." He smiled looking around, "Now did anyone get them all right?"

I blushed at the lack of raised hands, scratching my neck before shakily volunteering my hand up. Mr. Shue saw my hand, both eyebrows raised, "Mr. Anderson, well I cant say Im surprised, that essay you wrote was amazing, absolutely wonderful." 

I wrapped my hands around my waist, and he gave me a smile before moving on to the rest of the class, "The reason for that exercise is to show how many things you dont take notice in life, and how often you look over things you dont see are important, in writing, you dont need to look over things like that. You have to show every little detail, because the writing is never for you, it is for the reader. So show them your world of imagination, every little detail counts."

........

The rest of the day was quite pleasant.

For lunch, Kurt and I ate together, since the rest of the group were all juniors. And after our classes ended, Kurt told me that we were going to the Pit.

The Pit, as Kurt described it, was the only place in Culver Creek campus that held any kind of TV, gaming station, or even a music player or phone. Kurt told me that once upon a time it was a huge abandoned barn, that a bunch of freshman used to hide there electronics in, so finally Sue just decided to make it into a function able place, since everyone hide everything in there anyway.

The moment I walked in, I immediately understood what Kurt had boasting about on the way there.

There was air conditioning.

The breeze flew out from the rusty vents on the wall, producing  an abundance of cool, processed air. Kurt smiled, "I dont think I have seen someone so relieved since I dragged Finns ass here freshman year."

"Mmmmmmmm" I said, blissed out. "Do we ever have to leave?"

He grinned and the other three boys walked in behind us. "I see Blaine has found the miracle of the only spot in Culver that has air conditioning." Sam commented.

"Im relieved to see our boy so refreshed, but no stalling!" Puck exclaimed, dragging Finn and Sam by there shoulders. "I have a job to do, got to beat you two at some black ops." They grinned, rushing over to the game station. 

Kurt took my hand in his, "Lets go watch." He declared brightly, pulling us toward an empty couch. 

We sat down and I was suddenly, very aware of Kurt had not let go of my hand, and did not show any signs that he was going to do so.

Puck and the others played on the game system, skillfully shooting at things on the screen. It was strange watching them, because I had never had a chance to see anything like that before. The way they played together, in sink, effortlessly, was something I, in a way, envied.

 I was abruptly confused on why these boys were different, they were nice to me, even though Puck puts on his badass shell, and Finn and Sam play football, and Kurt is confident and proud. I had never had many people be nice to me, much less normal, happy people like these four.

"Blaine." Kurts voice broke through my thought bubble. I glanced at him, I realized I was shaking. "Blaine, are you okay? He asked.

"Im just confused." I replied back, avoiding his eyes.

"About what?" He inquired. 

"I just--," I struggled for proper words, looking up at Kurt.

He was beautiful, with baby blue eyes and an endless expense of flawless skin. His chestnut hair quaffed perfectly and thin figure covered in designer clothes. The difference between us was a jarring. Him tall and beautiful, me short and curly, with my scars and endless imperfections. I closed my eyes, trying to control myself, only to see gray, panic rushed through me like a tornado.

I couldnt let him see me like this, this cant happen now. 

My hand grasped at his for strength, shaking like a leaf.

"Blaine, you need to calm down your as pale as a ghost. I think your having a panic attack." Kurt soothed. "Take deep breaths, come on, open your eyes." I open them to look in his anxious face. "Now, there is nothing to panic about, I am here, over there Puck, Finn, and Sam are playing their stupid game, and you are safe and nothing is going to happen here." 

I nodded, my breath began to slow, panting coming to a stop. "Your okay." Kurt mumbled, keeping my hands in his. 

I looked down at my feet, "Thank you."

"Its no problem." He gazed at me, concerned. "Blaine, I hope you know that there is nothing to be scared of here, we will all protect you."

It was confusing, but I decided not to question it anymore. I had friends, people who cared, and thats what I had wanted my entire life.