* * * *

The crowd bobs up and down and dimmed lights reflect off glasses and bottles. Kurt and Blaine sit at the bar, ordering a Sex On The Beach and Frozen Margarita, sipping their drinks and judging the worst dancers from afar.

“That guy has no game.” Kurt points at a blond built like a brick, currently trying to chat up a girl. “Look at his pit stains. He's getting nowhere.”

“You're looking at his pit stains?”

“It's hard not to look at his pit stains.”

Blaine chuckles in agreement and swirls his drink. “Those girls over there keep giving us the side-eye. Think they're into us?”

“Think I care?”

“Oh come on, I'm willing to get you a boyfriend! Might as well help me in exchange.” He pouts and Kurt slaps him.

“If you want them to come over, you better stop that.”

“Honestly though, what do you think?”

“I think that you have the worst gaydar ever, Mr Anderson.” Kurt jerks his head at the girls, who are leaning into a passionate, very moist kiss.

“Shit.”

Kurt laughs and hooks an arm around Blaine's neck. He hears the beginning of “Human” by the Killers blare from the speakers and stumbles toward the dance floor, dragging Blaine with him. He murmurs “Show 'em your moves!” into his ear, then turns around and deliberately bumps into a slender brunette, who smiles and apologizes. “You can make it up to me by dancing with my best friend; he's single,” Kurt says bluntly and pushes her towards Blaine.

He would love to see how it plays out, but he knows he should wait back at the bar. Being a wingman requires patience and distance.

“Hummel? The fuck are you doing here!”

Pivoting, Kurt catches sight of a black hunk pushing his way through the dancers. His heartbeat speeds up painfully as he recognizes the angry frown.

“I have a right to be here,” he hears himself say – it sounds much too defensive.

“Oh, hell to the no. Are you getting' cocky?”

Kurt keeps forgetting. He has worked so hard to detach himself from school and the jocks, has reduced McKinley to nothing but a tiny fraction of his life – he never expects to run into school trouble in his free time. And not Azimio, of all people.

“Say somethin' Hummel or I'll kick you right outta here. You're spreading your homo stench in my bar.”

“Your bar?”

“Don't force me, fag.”

Kurt's jaw clenches. His mind shuts down and the fear that roars in his stomach is nauseating. When was the last time someone had talked to him like this? He'd thought the locker-shoving and dumpster-throwing had died down, had subsided along with the immature urge to cut off anyone who was different. He'd thought his school had changed. And now, at the worst time and the worst place, life had decided to punch him in the face and yell “you're wrong!”

“You mute, Hummel?”

“I have a first name.” Stop trying to be witty. When has that ever fucking worked?

Azimio's widen and he begins cracking his knuckles, allowing Kurt a few seconds to prepare for the beating that was sure to last several painful minutes before some random bar person decided to break it up.

“Who the hell are you?” Blaine voice is completely at ease as he appears behind Kurt. Relief turns into panic as the mental picture of Azimio beating up Blaine freezes Kurt to the core.

“What, this your boyfriend, Hummel?”

Blaine tenses and he shoves Kurt behind him as his eyes narrow to deadly slits. “I asked you a question, Hulk.”

“Don't worry, Lady over there's a good friend of mine. We used to hang by the dumpsters all the time.” Azimio's face lights up at his own joke. “I kinda miss those times. Think we should have a rebound.”

A shiver runs through Blaine's back and Kurt wants to hold him back but he can only stare in fear as his best friend strides forward and stops mere inches from Azimio's face. “Want me to show you a rebound?” he hisses.

Kurt's blood runs cold. Yep, they're dead.

But Azimio doesn't move; his eyebrows are drawn up in surprise and he sways backward. He's unsure about Blaine. Doesn't know how to react.

“If there's one thing I know,” Blaine continues quietly, “it's that I can't fucking stand guys like you. Thinking you can put a label on this guy, just because he's living his life.”

“Listen, dude--”

“No, you listen. If you think that you can momentarily leave him alone, then come back and scare the fuck out of him, you're wrong. Stop whatever you're doing and forget this ever happened and I won't have to ruin your face.”

It's a language Azimio understands. He takes a step back, hesitates, glares at Kurt, then Blaine, then Kurt again. His mouth opens, but there's something about Blaine that radiates power and Kurt can see the wheels inside Azimio's head turning... Maybe his father's a lawyer, maybe he knows my dad, maybe he has some kind of influence on Principal Figgins and I could lose my football scholarship for this.

“This isn't over, Hummel,” he growls and with one last glance at Blaine he finally leaves.

The tension rushes out like a broken dam and Kurt's knees go weak. He feels Blaine's arm on his and lets himself be guided to the bar where they sit in heavy silence for a few minutes.

When Kurt looks up, Blaine's eyes have softened. There is a speck of interest there, unquenched curiosity that he's holding back for Kurt's sake.

“That hasn't happened in a long time,” Kurt explains shakily. “I've grown from the wimp I used to be and I thought my school had accepted that.”

“He was just surprised to see you here and he lashed out on instinct. Like a stupid, black bulldog.”

Kurt looks up. “He said he wants a rebound. Don't you get what that means?”

“Well, I'd like to doubt he even knows what that means.”

Blaine's voice is laced with cocky humor, his eyes twinkling mischievously. He must be feeling like the biggest badass, Kurt thinks.

“I just want to forget this happened,” he says resignedly, hating how small his voice sounds.

Blaine stands up and wraps him in his arms, resting his chin on Kurt's shoulder and whispering “Shhhh, it's okay.” As his strong hands rub soothing circles across his back Kurt realizes he's crying.

“God, I feel like a fucking wimp,” he sobs miserably into Blaine's shirt.

“You're strong. You've grown so much. You're so strong.” The words are murmured against his ear, a chant of strength and praise. “You'll be fine. You're fine.”

“I'm sorry he ruined our evening. Why are people so fucking mean?”

“Because they suck.”

Kurt heaves out one more sob before Blaine grips his shoulders and holds him away, gazing deeply into his eyes. “Promise me you won't let this get to you? Promise?”

“Okay.”

“Good.” Blaine moves his thumb over Kurt's cheek and wipes away the tears. “And don't apologize. The girl wasn't that pretty anyway.”

Kurt smiles and blows his nose. He'd caught a glimpse of his past, a life before Blaine, and it has made him realize how much he needs his best friend and his protectiveness. He needs Blaine and their goofy afternoons and teasing and God he just needs a guy. Someone strong and possessive and down-to-earth.

Please, he could have never counted on Rachel to have his back in a fight.

* * * * *

“Roof. Drinks. Two minutes?”

Kurt nods. “Gimme three. My parents are home.”

Blaine rolls his eyes and wraps his jacket tighter around him. “Hurry up though. Bring blankets.” He disappears into the night, moonlight shimmering on the six pack he's clutching to his chest.

They had decided to leave the bar after the Azimio-disaster, so Blaine had purchased drinks and planned the rest of the night, which involved Kurt's roof, pillows, one bottle of red wine, six bottles of beer, and music. One might think this is dangerous, but Kurt has done this plenty of times. Back when he was helping Blaine study they'd celebrated good grades with a couple of drinks and since neither the Hummels, nor the Andersons approved of their spending time together, the roof was pretty much the only place to go.

But there is always one disadvantage.

“Hey kiddo, Shuester called me today. Said you stormed out of practice.” His father stands in the door wearing an apron, which doesn't help the situation. Suppressing a chuckle, Kurt slides past him and hangs up his jacket.

“Sorry, dad. I got mad.”

“Yes, I can see that, but that's no reason to leave without giving me a call.”

“I'll warn you next time.”

“Where did you spend the rest of the day?”

Kurt hesitates at the stairs, swaying back and forth impatiently. “I hung out with...” Shit, he couldn't say Glee clubbers because they'd all stayed in practice. He mentally slaps his forehead. “I hung out with Angie – my lab partner in chemistry. We did our homework together. Can I go now?”

Burt narrows his eyes at him, disbelief plain on his face. “Do I have to call Angie's parents?”

“You really don't.”

“Don't disappoint me, kid.”

Kurt doesn't know whether to take this as a good or a bad sign, but he decides not to dwell on it and smiles reassuringly at his dad before racing up the stairs to his room. He gathers blankets and some popcorn from the last movie night, stuffing that and his iPod into a backpack and slinging it around his shoulder. With a practiced hop, he climbs out of his window and up the brick wall, his fingers quickly finding the hand holds he and Blaine had smoothed out with sandpaper almost a year ago.

There used to be a tree with long, sturdy limbs that served as an excellent climbing help, but it fell in a storm last winter and ever since they've learned to rely on the vines and jutting bricks to help them up to the roof.

The roof itself is not very flat, but there's a niche that's nice and cozy and shelters them from the wind. Blaine's already crouching inside, head snapping up as Kurt approaches.

“Did you bring blankets?”

Kurt hands him his backpack and they start wrapping themselves up, huddling together under layers of cotton. Blaine passes him a beer and they sit there quietly, listening to the hoots of owls and the cold breeze rustling through leaves. Shivering, Kurt pulls closer to Blaine and rests his head on his best friend's broad shoulder.

“Thanks for tonight, B.”

“For what? The drinks?”

“No, for what you did back at the bar.”

“Don't worry about it.”

Kurt switches on his iPod and the relaxing opening tunes of Night Air by Jamie Woon float to his ears. He takes a sip from his beer and sighs. “This is nice.”

Blaine hums in agreement, his eyes fluttering closed. “One day, I hope we can spend more time in your room though, rather than hiding up here.”

“Sorry 'bout that. Hey, do you think my parents have Angie's number?”

“Who the fuck is Angie?”

“I was supposedly gone all day studying with her.”

“I think they'll call her.”

“I think they will.”

Kurt knows what this means – soon he'll have to leave their little spot, go downstairs, keep an eye on his parents and elaborate on his excuses. It wasn't fair that Blaine wasn't accepted, it was stereotypical thinking and though Blaine didn't mind, it was definitely insulting and ridiculous. But they'd learned to go with the flow.

“Let's just stay a little longer though,” Kurt murmurs as his eyelids dip and the effects of alcohol waft through his senses. He snuggles closer to Blaine and hears him chuckle and with the troubles of the night momentarily forgotten, Kurt finally drifts into a light and happy sleep.