Word of Blaine’s orientation circulates around school.

Blaine figures it out when he starts getting curious, disgusted, and what appear to be threatening, looks. He tries to ignore them, but it’s difficult because once he knows it’s happening he notices it constantly. Sometimes he’ll hear homo or fag or fairy as he passes, and he tries to ignore that, too.

What he can’t ignore is getting pushed into his locker, which is happening even more frequently lately. Blaine has bruises on his back and arms, and his shoulder’s been sore all week from a particularly hard shove into the brick wall outside of school. It’s usually Karofsky. Sometimes it’s a hockey player, but more often than not, it’s Karofsky. Ever since that day in the locker room, Karofsky’s been out for blood, and he’s the only one in Kurt’s group that doesn’t seem to be held in check by whatever Kurt did or said to get them away from him.

Blaine doesn’t tell Kurt. He doesn’t want Kurt to have to fight his battles, and knows Kurt has already put himself on the line trying to keep them off his back. What’s he going to do? Tell Karofsky to lay off a guy that to his mind, Kurt isn’t even friends with? And there’s a small part of Blaine, deep down, that knows the real reason is that it will hurt too much if Kurt chooses his reputation over Blaine. He certainly doesn’t want to force Kurt to come out, but he also hates the thought that Kurt would knowingly hang around with people who are hurting him. It’s just better this way.

Blaine is fumbling with his combination when he gets shoved, hard, and is taken so unaware that he falls to the floor. “Watch yourself, homo,” says Karofsky, who Blaine only places once he looks up and actually sees the hulking jock continue on his merry way down the hall.

“Fuck you,” Blaine says, but his voice sounds hollow to his own ears. He doesn’t think Karofsky hears him, anyway.

He picks himself up and his hands are shaking a little as he takes his Biology and English books from his locker. It’s starting to get to him. He’s trying hard not to let it, but he’s losing that battle. He slinks into Biology class, head down, making a point not to look at Kurt on his way in. He feels bizarrely ashamed.

He gets a text, of course.

K: What’s wrong?

Blaine bites his lip and texts back. Nothing.

----

Blaine hates basketball day in Gym class. Kurt always manages to talk Bieste into using the exercise machines instead of playing, and someday Blaine’s going to learn Kurt’s trick because he sucks at this game.

The game is almost over and Blaine isn’t paying close enough attention, loses his footing when he jumps for the ball, and accidentally stumbles, falling right against Karofsky.

“Get off me, fag!” Karofsky shouts, shoving him to the floor. Most of the players look their way, and the game stops abruptly.

Everyone is looking at him, snickering, laughing.

Someone mimes a blowjob and Blaine snaps.

“That’s not what you said last night!” he says loudly, getting to his feet. He tries to smile and knows it probably looks deranged because he’s so angry.

Karofsky stops. “What did you say?”

“I said, I thought you liked that blowjob I gave you last night?” Blaine yells, wanting the whole gym to hear. If Karofsky’s going to try and humiliate him, he’s going to give it back.

“I—you fucking—”

Blaine advances, curling his shaking hands into fists. “Maybe you wanna blow me this time? Huh? You wanna—”

There’s a loud, sharp whistle from Bieste across the gymnasium. “Alright, break it up! What’s goin’ on over there!?”

There are murmured voices around him and Karofsky looks absolutely murderous.

“Nothing,” Karofsky says, staring at Blaine.

Blaine stalks off for the locker room, ready to ignore anyone who tries to stop him.

No one does.

----

Blaine doesn’t see Karofsky for the rest of the day. He’s getting ready to leave, and not a moment after he closes his locker door, Karofsky fists a hand in his hair and smashes his face into it.

Karofsky’s voice, close to his ear, hisses, “If you ever pull that again, you’re dead.”

The hand in his hair lets go, and Blaine is stunned. Pain blooms along his nose and forehead, sharp, sudden. He feels wet dribbling from his nose and gingerly raises a hand to feel. His fingers come away sticky red, and Blaine looks down the hallway at Karofsky’s retreating back.

No.

No.

Blaine runs after him, grabs the back of Karofsky’s jacket when he catches up just inside the boy’s locker room. Karofsky’s too big, and Blaine’s attempt to fling him, well, somewhere, fails. Karofsky turns, eyes wide and accusing. He clearly hadn’t expected Blaine to come after him.

Blaine uses Karofsky’s surprise to his advantage and swings an arm back to deck him. “Fuck you!” he screams, and knows his voice sounds like a wounded animal, but doesn’t care, doesn’t care because he is not going to be pushed around by this ignorant, posturing jerk. He clips Karofsky in the jaw, but it doesn’t seem to do a whole lot, only seems to piss Karofsky off more.

“You’re done for, Anderson!” Karofsky yells, slamming him up against the lockers. Blaine makes a soft oomph sound, flails and struggles.

“You’re nothing!” he yells back, kicking at Karofsky’s legs.

“Fag!” Karofsky says, wrenching Blaine’s fists to his side. “You need to learn your place.”

“So what! I’m gay and I’m better than you!” Blaine screams, gasps, eyes and lungs burning. “You’re just jealous!”

“Shut the fuck up—”

“I’m gay and you’re just pathetic and scared and stupid!”

“Shut the fuck up, Anderson!” Karofsky yells, and clamps a hand over Blaine’s mouth.

Blaine screams, the force of it hurting his throat, nostrils flared and sucking in oxygen. He can’t move, not anything substantial, not with Karofsky’s giant body pinning him to the lockers. He has one hand free, which he uses to try and dislodge Karofsky’s hand, but it’s no good. Karofsky’s hand moves from his mouth and downward, fingers firm around his neck and jaw.

“Just shut up,” Karofsky says again, words clipped.

“No,” Blaine croaks. “Let me—”

Karofsky kisses him.

Karofsky’s mouth is on his, hard enough to almost hurt, hot and wet and terrifying. Blaine can’t move at first, all he can think is what is happening? what is happening? And then he’s shoving and punching and he almost thinks he's trapped, and what is Karofsky going to do next? until he’s free, skidding across the locker room floor on his ass.

“What the hell, you sick, crazy—?” he says all in one breath, scrambling to get up. Karofsky moves to follow, looking angry and scared, and it’s the fear he sees in Karofsky’s eyes that’s almost the worst.

“I’m sick!? You’re—”

“Stay away from me!” Blaine moves to the door, staring Karofsky down from across the room. “I’ll tell everyone!”

“You tell anyone and you’re a dead man, Anderson,” Karofsky says, but Blaine’s already running into the hallway, stumbles and runs and runs.

He doesn’t stop until he barrels through the girl’s restroom door, tumbling into the room, making some mousy freshman shriek. “Sorry,” he says, and locks himself in a stall. He manages two unsteady breaths before retching into the toilet. It's mostly dry heaving, whether from the fighting or nerves or both, he can’t tell, but it’s a good long while before his insides stop clenching and his hands stop shaking.

When he leaves the stall, the room is empty. He washes his mouth out in the sink, dunks his whole head under, sending pink rivulets streaming along the clean white porcelain. He has a small cut along his hairline and his nose still has blood caked underneath. His mind has gone blank. He’s moving on automatic, pushing down on his emotions. He’s reaching for the paper towel when he feels his pocket vibrate.

Three text messages from Kurt. They were supposed to meet after school.

Flexing his fingers, Blaine fumbles with the tiny keyboard to reply.

be out in min

He cleans himself up as best he can and slowly makes his way out to the parking lot, glancing around as he goes, but there’s no one (Karofsky) around. Kurt is waiting for him, leaning against his truck, and Blaine can see the moment his expression goes from irritation to concern.

“Blaine?”

Blaine’s gaze darts anywhere but Kurt. “Sorry, I—”

“What happened?” Kurt asks, searching his face, and god, how can he tell?

“It’s nothing,” Blaine says, but he can hardly hear himself and his stupid, traitor eyes are burning. He grits his teeth, willing himself not to tear up, and pushes past Kurt to get into the truck. “Let’s go.”

“Blaine, what happened?” Kurt repeats, his voice taking on a sharper tone.

“Nothing, Kurt! I’m fine!” Blaine snaps, turning back around.

“Yes, I can see that,” Kurt says dryly, and comes closer. Kurt reaches for his face. Blaine feels the tips of his fingers touch his upper lip, near the cut on his forehead, and he gently bats Kurt’s hand away. “Who did this to you?”

Blaine doesn’t answer, feeling humiliated.

“Blaine…”

“I can take care of myself,” he hisses, tipping his head up, eyes blinking rapidly.

“I know you can, but as your friend I’d like to know,” Kurt says. And that’s a low blow, right there. How can Blaine refuse an answer in the face of friendship?

“Karofsky,” Blaine mumbles.

Kurt’s nostrils flare and his lips thin into a grim line. “He punched you?”

“He…we fought,” Blaine says around the tight feeling in his throat.

“There’s something else,” Kurt finally says. “You won’t even look at me.” Kurt touches his face, it’s so tender, and why is Kurt being so sweet? Kurt is hardly ever the one to touch, it’s always Blaine, so casually tactile, but not Kurt. Blaine can’t hold the tears in any longer, and they escape with a small shudder. “What is it?”

“He…he kissed me,” Blaine whispers, feeling sick to his stomach. He just can’t get the way Karofsky looked at him out of his head. “He hit me and I followed him and I was trapped. He was so—”

But Kurt’s not there anymore.

Kurt is running toward the school, and Blaine’s satchel falls from his hand. “Kurt!” he yells. He wipes furiously at his cheeks and runs after. He has to stop Kurt before…he doesn’t know, he just has to.

Blaine finally catches up with Kurt before he makes it to the front doors, grabbing his arm and nearly sending them both stumbling. “Kurt, stop!”

“No,” Kurt snaps, pulling to get out of Blaine’s grasp. “No. I’ll kill him.”

“Kurt, please, it’s not like he—”

“It’s not like he what?” Kurt says, suddenly close. He looks furious. “It’s not like he assaulted you?”

“But. You’re supposed to be on his side,” Blaine says helplessly, not wanting Kurt to end up in the same sort of position he’s in.

“Screw his side!” Kurt throws his hands up, and Blaine has never, ever seen him look so mad. “I hate them. I hate him. Don’t you get it? I only care about you,” Kurt says, like the words are ripped from his throat.

Blaine just stands there, heart beating in his ears. He wonders if Kurt can hear it. He wonders if Kurt knows.

“I don’t want you to get hurt,” Blaine whispers, because it’s hard enough to speak at all, the way he’s feeling.

“He can’t get away with it,” Kurt says, and stalks into the school. Blaine follows him, trailing close behind.

“We can just tell Figgins,” Blaine says.

“Where is he?”

“The principal’s office?”

“Karofsky,” Kurt says.

“I…he was in the boy’s locker room,” Blaine says, jogging a little to keep up with Kurt when he takes off in the direction of the gym.

The boy’s locker room is empty. So is the gym and the bathroom and the hallways, save for a few stragglers and teachers. Kurt slams his hand against a locker, and Blaine jumps.

“Maybe we should just tell Figgins,” Blaine says quietly once more. Kurt glares at the locker, and Blaine isn’t sure at first if he’s going to answer at all.

“Yeah, okay,” Kurt says, and heads that way.

Blaine tells Figgins what happened in a hushed voice, not only out of nervousness, but because of Kurt. Even if Kurt already knows, Blaine hadn’t gotten specific, and with each new piece of information he looks more and more angry. By the end, when Blaine confesses to Karofsky having kissed him, Kurt is fuming.

Figgins says he’ll contact Karofsky’s parents, and that he’ll have to contact Blaine’s as well. He tells Blaine to wait in the office lobby for one of his parents to arrive, and it takes everything in him not to break down. He just feels so humiliated, and to have to tell his parents? They don’t even know he’s gay.

Blaine slumps down in a chair, and Kurt sits next to him. Blaine glances over. “You don’t have to stay,” he murmurs.

Kurt gives him a look, and takes Blaine’s hand.

“Kurt, please,” Blaine says, pulling his hand away.

“I don’t care, Blaine,” Kurt says, and finds his hand, tugging it between them and holding on.

Blaine looks away, rubbing at his eyes with the heel of his free hand. They sit in silence for a while, Blaine lost in his own thoughts, Kurt most likely in the middle of his own.

“This is my fault,” Kurt eventually says.

“How?” Blaine asks, astonished.

Kurt shakes his head, looking at the wall opposite them. “I feel responsible. What’s the point of all this if I can’t even keep them off your back?”

“I thought the point was to keep them off your back,” Blaine says.

“That was before.”

“Before?” Blaine asks. Kurt’s thumb swipes over his knuckles, back and forth.

“Before we became friends,” Kurt says, turning his head to look at Blaine. “You’re the only real friend I’ve ever had. I was so dumb to almost throw this away for them.”

Warmth fills Blaine and makes him smile. He can hardly breathe for how badly he wants to kiss Kurt. He wants to say I like you, wants to touch him, to…he doesn’t know. He just wants Kurt.

Blaine opens his mouth to say something, when the door opens and in walks his father. His mouth closes immediately and he smoothly withdraws his hand from Kurt’s. If he was a dog he’s sure his ears would flatten.

“Blaine,” his father says, perpetually stern. He’s in a suit and tie, having likely come from work. Blaine interrupted his father at work, which is never a good thing.

“Dad…”

“You got into a fight?” his father asks, looking at him as though he's a stranger.

Blaine shrinks back into his seat a little, and Kurt must sense his current inability to reply because he speaks up. “The other guy hit him first, sir.”

His father frowns at Kurt, and Blaine fights the impulse to throw himself in front of Kurt to spare him such a look. “And you are?” his father’s asking.

“Kurt Hummel, sir,” Kurt says, the epitome of cool. “I’m a friend of Blaine’s.”

Blaine starts to say something, when Figgins’ office door opens. Figgins quickly scans the room and plasters a smile on his face. “Hello, I’m Principal Figgins,” he says, moving forward and extending a hand. “Mr. Anderson, I presume?” Blaine’s father shakes his hand with an affirmation, and Figgins ushers them into the office.

Kurt is excluded from the meeting, and Blaine gives him one last, fleeting look before the door closes.

“Now, Mr. Anderson,” Figgins starts as they sit, “Blaine here has made some accusations which I have taken very seriously. He told me one of his classmates was harassing him, verbally and physically, and…” There’s a pause where Blaine can tell Figgins is trying very hard to come up with the best way to say it. Blaine wants to save him the trouble, but he already feels so humiliated he just can’t. “The other student…kissed him. Now, we here at McKinley—”

“He did what?” Blaine’s father interjects, looking mildly horrified.

Blaine’s father is looking at him now, like it’s his fault, and he balks. “Dad, please…” Please what, he doesn’t know.

“Mr. Anderson, I have contacted the other boy’s parents and he will be dealt with according to policy. Now—”

“Some boy tried to force himself on you?” Blaine’s father asks, clearly disgusted.

Blaine’s voice comes out tinier than he intends, “Dad, it's--”

“Is that what happened, Blaine?” Blaine’s father demands.

Blaine doesn’t know what to say, because it is what happened, technically, just… “Yes.”

“That is sexual assault, and we will be pressing charges,” Blaine’s father says, looking back to Figgins. “What is the other boy’s name?”

“No, dad, Jesus, he’s just a bully, I don’t want to have to-- to go to court or s—”

“Quiet, young man,” Blaine’s father snaps, and Blaine automatically shuts up. “Go wait outside, I need to talk to Mr. Figgins without you cutting in.” When Blaine doesn’t immediately get up, his father glares. “Now.”

“Real nice of you to take such a close freaking interest in me now, dad,” Blaine explodes, getting up and slamming the door behind him.

Blaine wants to take it back, all of it. It was a bad idea, telling on Karofsky. Blaine should have just dealt with it himself - does not let himself think of the look in Karofsky’s eyes, his thick fingers around his neck, the taste of his mouth – he should have just tried to forget about it.

He stalks out of the office, down the hall, walking by memory because he certainly can’t see anything right now, everything is blurry and he doesn’t know when he started running, but he’s out of the school and fuck this, fuck Karofsky, fuck his dad, fuck—

“Stop!”

He thinks the yelling may have been going on a ways back, but it catches up with him now. Kurt catches up with him, Blaine knows because Kurt stops him with his whole body, like he’s a barrier that Blaine will heed.

He does.

Kurt smells familiar and he’s warm and he’s everything.

“Blaine, Blaine,” Kurt murmurs, holding him. There are sobs and they’re coming from him, making his whole body tremble. He wants to stop but he can’t.

“He’s going to know,” Blaine says into Kurt’s shoulder, clinging to him. “God, Kurt, he’s going to know about me now. He’s going to hate me. He’s not like your dad, he’s not--”

“I know,” Kurt says softly. “I could hear from outside the door.”

“God,” Blaine says weakly.

The tears stop, but he still feels borderline hysterical. He pulls back from Kurt’s embrace with a shudder, everything going cold. “I want to leave,” he says.

“But, your dad,” Kurt starts to say, looks at Blaine and just nods. “Where?”

“Anywhere,” Blaine says.

Kurt takes Blaine’s hand like a child and leads him to his truck. Blaine moves on instinct, even remembers to buckle as the truck pulls out of the parking lot.

The radio plays quietly while suburbs taper off into farmland. Crops and an occasional cow or two zip past the window, but Blaine hardly notices. His mind is fighting with itself between thinking about what happened, and not. He’s on edge. School and home have now become uncertain variables. He doesn’t know what to expect from his parents, what to expect from Karofsky and the rest. Nowhere feels safe. Nothing feels right.

“That was my first kiss with a boy,” Blaine mumbles, staring past his reflection at a seemingly endless corn field.

“I didn’t know you held such notions of romance,” Kurt says after such a long moment, Blaine wasn’t sure he was going to say anything at all. His voice is quiet, lilted in a way that’s trying not to sound so morose.

“Of not wanting someone who hates me to kiss me? Imagine that,” Blaine says, smiling a little.

Kurt huffs. “I can’t imagine why you didn’t reciprocate, Blaine. That Karofsky, he's quite a catch. So nice, so mannerly.”

Blaine cracks a smile. “Guess I’m just shy.”

“I spent so much time around him and I never would have thought. Never,” Kurt says, the teasing in his voice gone.

“You know what this means, right?” Blaine asks.

“Mm?”

“All the bullies at McKinley are just closeted.”

Kurt doesn’t reply, probably less than thrilled to be likened to Karofsky. Blaine doesn’t care at this moment, just stares out the window.

After an hour and a half of aimless driving that feels more like five or ten, Blaine starts to recognize the roads they’re on. It isn’t long before they’re in his neighborhood. He knew this would happen, it’s not like he can stay in Kurt’s truck forever, yet he can’t stop the knot of dread building in the pit of his stomach.

Kurt stops in front of Blaine’s house and looks over at him. “Do you want me to come with you?”

Blaine wishes dearly he would, but doesn’t ever want to expose Kurt to his parents’ bigotry. “No. I’m. I’ll be fine.”

“If you need anything, I’m a phone call away,” Kurt says.

“I know.” Blaine stares up at his house, willing his legs to move.

“Blaine…” There’s a hand on his knee, and he looks over into a face of earnest concern. A face belonging to a boy he doesn’t know what he’d do without. “You did nothing wrong.”

Blaine nods mutely and forces himself to unbuckle, open the door, step outside. He wants desperately to ask Kurt to come with him, but reminds himself he can’t.

“I’ll call you.”

“Thanks, Kurt,” Blaine says, and musters up a smile.

Kurt returns it, and it’s like the sky opens up to reveal the sun. Blaine drinks it in, figures if he sees it enough it’ll start to replace other thoughts.

Kurt's truck doesn't leave until Blaine closes his door behind him.

----

It is pitch black and pouring and Blaine has forgotten an umbrella.

He stands huddled under the tiny awning of Kurt’s porch, soaking wet, toes numb and body shivering. His coat feels like it weighs thirty pounds. He doesn’t know what time it is and all the lights are dark, so instead of knocking, Blaine calls Kurt’s cell. It rings twice before Kurt picks up.

“Blaine?”

“Did I wake you? I’m sorry, I—c-can I come in?”

“Come in?” Kurt echoes.

“I’m kind of on your porch.”

“Oh. Yes, sure. Of course. I’ll be right down!”

Blaine shoves his phone back into his coat pocket and the door opens a moment later. Kurt’s jaw drops. He opens the screen door and tugs Blaine inside.

“Oh my god, Blaine, what…you’re soaked! How long have you been out here?”

“I walked,” he tries to explain.

“Blaine!”

“Shh, Kurt, your dad…”

“Your lips are blue, Blaine. It’s November! Are you crazy?” Kurt’s fingers are working to get Blaine’s coat unbuttoned and off. “Take your shoes off, please, before you drown in them. Even your socks are soaked! Do you want to get pneumonia and die?”

Kurt looks at him, his eyes filled with such intensity that Blaine can hardly breathe. Not with Kurt’s fingers, warm and steady, brushing his shoulders and sides as he pushes Blaine’s coat off. Blaine shivers and knows it isn’t from the cold.

“I needed to see you,” he whispers.

“Blaine…” Kurt’s just looking at him, and it’s a moment before he adds, “We need to get you warmed up, and then you tell me what happened.”

Kurt leads him upstairs and into his bathroom, ushering Blaine in and then stepping back out. Blaine pulls his shirt off with numb fingers and tosses it into the bathtub. His shirt is heavy and wet despite the winter coat he’d been wearing.

Kurt returns with some clothes and pauses in the doorway. His gaze lingers and Blaine’s breath catches in his throat. He can’t imagine Kurt being attracted to him, not like this, not ever, but especially not like this. But god, he wants him to be.

“You’re shivering,” is all Kurt says, and once the clothes are in Blaine’s arms, he leaves, closing the door behind him.

Right. Blaine looks like a drowned rat.

Blaine dries himself off with the towel, scrubbing it through his hair, his curls free and crazy looking, and changes into the clothing Kurt brought him. He’s starting to get the feeling back in his fingers and toes, that which he hadn’t even realized he’d lost.

“You gave me pajamas?” Blaine says when he leaves the bathroom.

“Do you know how late it is?” Kurt asks, sitting on the side of the bed. “You might as well stay. It's not like you’ve never stayed over before.”

“No, it’s fine,” Blaine is quick to amend, “thank you.”

“Come get warm,” Kurt says, holding the comforter up for Blaine to presumably get under.

He hopes he isn’t blushing too hard when he climbs into Kurt’s bed. There are so many blankets and pillows, and Kurt right there next to him. It’s exactly what he needs.

Kurt looks over at him expectantly.

Blaine exhales loudly. “Right, so…I told my parents.”

“About Karofsky?”

“Well, yeah, that and…about me,” he says, his throat already going tight. He doesn’t want to talk about it, really does not, and wishes he could just fall asleep and forget it ever happened. But Kurt is looking at him with such worry, what else can he do?

“You came out?” Kurt says, voice hushed.

Blaine nods to keep from speaking, but clearly he’s expected to go on, so he swallows and does. “They weren’t happy. They…when I said it, the looks on their faces. It was like, at first they didn’t believe me. Like I was kidding, but it wasn’t funny. So I had to insist, yes, I was sure, no, it didn’t have anything to do with Karofsky--”

“Oh Jesus, what, they thought he turned you because his mouth touched yours?” Kurt asks.

“I don’t know, I think…they probably don’t understand people are just born like this. They probably refuse to believe it because in their minds it’d mean there was something defective in them, like they made an alien baby or something,” Blaine says, his voice building to a higher pitch from anger.

Kurt lays a hand on Blaine’s arm, probably in part to quiet him.

“Once they realized I was serious, they were just so disappointed.” He pauses, because he can see their faces so clearly in his mind. It only just happened hours ago, but he knows it’s something he will never be able to forget, no matter how hard he tries. “No,” he says, “they were disgusted.”

“Oh, Blaine,” Kurt says.

“I knew they would be, Kurt. I know what they’re like. I guess I’d just hoped, because it was me, they would…I don’t know…”

“I know, Blaine,” Kurt says, raising a hand to Blaine’s damp curls.

“It’s not like being gay changes anything,” Blaine says, a certain edge of desperation in his voice, like it’s Kurt he’s trying to reason with. “Not really. I mean, yeah, it’s a part of who I am, but I’m still me. I’m still the same person, I just don’t want to date girls. What’s the big deal?” Kurt’s stroking his hair, fingers gentle against his scalp, trying to calm him, but Blaine’s just so upset.

‘I didn’t raise you to be…like this,’ his father had said, and Blaine had known what had been in his mind, the words he'd been thinking; fag or a homo or queer.

“I’ve just tried, my whole life, to make them proud. They were never happy with any of my achievements, I could never get it right, so I tried harder and harder, and all I wanted-- and now, I can’t undo this. I can’t try again or try harder. It’s done. I’m gay, so I’m just like…a disappointment forever. Their only son—”

“Blaine, no,” Kurt cuts in sharply. “I’m sorry your parents don’t understand, believe me, I want more than anything to make them, for you, but you are not a disappointment. Not on any level. No parent could ask for a better son.” Kurt slides his hand from Blaine’s hair to his jaw, making sure he’s looking at him. “They’re in the wrong, not you. Don’t look at yourself through their eyes.”

“Whose, then?” Blaine asks, voice barely audible. “I can’t just find a new family.”

“Then…make me your family,” Kurt says. “Listen to me, not them, because I know the truth. You’re smart, funny, and talented. You’re the kindest person I know. You have to be, to put up with those nerds in glee.” He smiles, and Blaine can’t help but try and return it. “And to put up with me.”

“Shut up, Kurt,” Blaine says, eyes downcast with a small smile. It’s hard to look at Kurt, his heart is pounding so hard.

“It’s true, Blaine.” Kurt shifts closer, curling Blaine into his side. Blaine tries to resist at first, even tries to push Kurt away, but Kurt’s hold only tightens, and Blaine finds himself giving in. Kurt slides them both down so they’re no longer sitting. “Get some sleep. Hopefully things won’t feel so hopeless in the morning, hm?”

Blaine nods and tries to look up, but Kurt has him using his chest as a pillow. He doesn’t know what to do with his arm, so he curls his hand in the blanket and lets it rest on Kurt’s stomach. Kurt is warm and the bed is comfortable, and any other night Blaine would never be able to sleep curled up against Kurt like this. They’ve shared his bed before, but never so close. Blaine is exhausted, though, physically and emotionally, and it isn’t long after he closes his eyes that sleep takes him.

----

Blaine wakes to the gentle press of fingers on his neck. He opens his eyes, confused, and finds Kurt gazing at him. Kurt’s lying on his side, facing Blaine, and slowly withdraws his hand.

“You’re bruised,” Kurt says in explanation.

Blaine raises his own hand to his neck. “Karofsky.”

There’s a flash of anger on Kurt’s face, but Blaine can see him push it down. A long moment passes, and Blaine lets it, warm in bed, here with Kurt.

“I told my dad,” Kurt finally says.

“That’s okay,” Blaine says, because honestly he didn’t expect Kurt not to.

“No, I mean…” Kurt swallows, sucks his lower lip into his mouth a moment. “I came out.”

“What?” Blaine sits up, a tentatively excited smile forming on his face. “When?”

“This morning. Like a half hour ago.” Kurt drags himself up as well, but doesn’t look happy. He looks anything but.

“Kurt?” Blaine prompts. “Was he mad?” Blaine can’t imagine it, but he doesn’t know what else to think with the look on Kurt’s face.

“No…he said he knew. He didn’t care. I’m sorry, Blaine. I did it because of you. You’d been so brave, I thought…if you can do it, so can I. I wanted to because of you,” Kurt says, and it’s all coming out in a rush. “Like solidarity, or—“

“Kurt, stop—Kurt. Why are you sorry?” Blaine asks, because god, he’s touched that Kurt would be inspired by his mess. If anything he thought it would only make Kurt more reluctant.

“Because it’s not fair,” Kurt says. “You deserve to have the understanding parent. I’ve known and hidden like a coward, I’ve been mean, and all you’ve ever been is honest. How does this make sense?”

“Kurt, no…hiding wasn’t cowardly,” Blaine admonishes. “You had every right to be scared. God, Kurt, I probably wouldn’t have told them a thing until I was moved out at college if I hadn’t felt like I had to. You deserve your dad. You’re good to him. And you’re being honest now, aren’t you?”

Kurt doesn’t say anything at first, palms pressed to his forehead. He looks up at Blaine. “I just want good things for you.”

Blaine can feel a fluttering in his chest he’s come to associate with Kurt. “And I want them for you,” he says gently.

“My dad would adopt you, you know,” Kurt says.

Blaine almost wants to laugh at the absurdity of that statement, because the weight of it, when taken seriously, is too much, and Blaine feels like he’s done enough crying for a lifetime. “Does that mean I’d have to start calling you brother?”

“Brother from another mother.”

Blaine laughs, imagining it.

The tension mostly gone, Blaine washes up and they go downstairs for breakfast. Kurt made it, this time, and Blaine can’t help but feel a little amused that the both of them came out to Burt during breakfast preparation.

Burt seems happy enough to see him, and he must not mind too much that Blaine’s there, because he ends up staying over the entire weekend. He doesn’t mean to, but Kurt keeps insisting, and it isn’t like he’s in any hurry to return home.

----

Blaine is nervous to return to school.

He’s been assured Karofsky has been suspended, expulsion pending, but Karofsky has friends and Blaine has no idea who knows what. Kurt seems reluctant to leave his side, and Blaine can’t help but wonder what he’s going to say to Azimio and Puck and the rest. Kurt hasn’t talked about it and Blaine can’t bring himself to ask.

Mid-morning, when Blaine is alone at his locker switching his books out, Azimio corners him.

“Heard you got my boy suspended, Anderson,” he says.

Karofsky’s always been the more physically violent one of the group, but that doesn’t mean Blaine trusts Azimio to keep his cool. Still, Blaine can’t keep his mouth shut.

“He got himself suspended.”

“’Cause you were tryin to mack on him? That’s just wrong, Anderson. Keep your homo urges to your glee club queers,” Azimio says.

Blaine is surprised Karofsky told Azimio about the kiss. Maybe he thought Blaine would tell, so he wanted to turn it around on him? The kiss is not something Blaine wants anyone to know, and he slams his locker door closed in frustration.

“You’ve got your information wrong, I wouldn’t kiss that creep if he was the last guy on Earth,” Blaine snaps. He tries to walk away to his next class, but Azimio follows.

“That’s not what Karofsky said.”

“Are you going to follow me around like a lost puppy all day, Azimio, or are you just trying to make new friends?” Blaine asks, walking a little faster.

“All I’m sayin is your ass is done for when Karofsky comes back,” Azimio says.

Blaine spins on his heel. “What, you don’t want to take care of it for him? Since you’re so interested in my ass and all.”

Azimio recoils. “Don’t get freaky on me, dwarf. I’ll introduce your face to my friend the brick wall.”

“Of course your friend is a brick wall, it matches your intelligence level.”

Blaine stops short. He didn't say that.

He turns to see Kurt giving Azimio a scathing look from behind him.

“What crawled up your ass, Hummel?” Azimio says, defensive. “Hope it wasn’t Anderson here.”

Kurt looks like he’s ready to kill. “Good one, Azimio. I’m impressed. What’s even more impressive is you picking on someone after Karofsky got suspended. Very smart.”

“What is with you? Have you hopped on the Homo Express?” Azimio snorts.

Kurt shoves Azimio into the wall, which is impressive considering Azimio probably has something like two hundred pounds on him. “Fuck off, I swear to god—”

“Kurt!” Blaine cuts in, grabbing at Kurt’s arm.

Kurt grunts in annoyance and shakes Blaine off, but steps back, posture still threatening. “Fine.”

Azimio barks out a laugh. “What is this? You a full-fledged fag, Hummel?” He whistles low, and Blaine has to physically hold Kurt back.

“Stop, just stop, Kurt—”

“--I will feed you your teeth, Azimio—”

“Boys!” It’s the Geometry teacher, who’s old as dirt and stands about a foot shorter than Blaine. The look on her face could stop a bear in its tracks. “Just what are you doing?”

Blaine lets go of Kurt, and he’s the first to speak up. “Nothing, Mrs. Bletheim. Sorry.”
 
Kurt and Azimio don’t say a thing as Mrs. Bletheim stares them down. “Well? Move along, then!”
 
Azimio rolls his eyes and walks off in the opposite direction. Blaine glances at Kurt, and follows him. “Are you okay?” he asks, keeping his voice quiet.
 
“Yeah. I mean, I’m pissed off, but I knew this would happen,” Kurt says. He sighs, and looks over at Blaine. “Are you?”
 
Blaine nods, but he can’t manage anything but a frown. “Yeah, I’m okay. Thanks for standing up for me, but I don’t want you to get hurt. I don’t want you to take crap from them.”
 
“I’m done pretending. I don’t care anymore,” Kurt says. He shrugs and shifts his bag from one shoulder to the other. “I’m not ready to come out, but I’m not going to act like their friend.” He stops walking and turns to Blaine with a smile. “You’re my friend.”
 
Blaine smiles and blushes and looks down. What is this? Why can’t he stop feeling like this? “Okay…”
 
“And this is your class,” Kurt says, indicating the door they’ve stopped in front of, and Blaine can tell he’s trying not to laugh.
 
“…Oh. Right.” Blaine does laugh, mostly to kill the weird tension that seems to be all of his own making. “See you later.”
 
“See you,” Kurt says, and disappears around the corner to get to his own class.
 
Blaine walks into the room on autopilot. He gets in just as the bell rings and barely even registers his desk when he sits down at it. He can’t stop remembering the way Kurt said it, you’re my friend. Like Blaine is the only important person in the world. He can’t stop smiling. Doesn’t notice it at first, just knows when his cheeks start to ache a little. About a half hour into class Blaine realizes the teacher is talking, has been talking, and he’s even been taking notes, which…when he looks down at them, sees they are nothing but mindless doodles. Okay…
 
His pocket vibrates, and with as much stealth as he can, he reaches down to check it (and put it on silent). There’s a feeling of anticipation that plummets when he sees the name on the screen isn’t Kurt’s.
 
He’s staring stupidly down at his phone when it hits him.
 
He’s in love with Kurt.
 
He knows it’s true, especially after the weekend. After such a devastating turn with his parents, to feel as good as he did over at Kurt’s house? He’s hardly even let himself think about his father. All he has thought about has been Kurt’s sweet, calming voice, eyes the color of a golden universe in the middle of sky, smooth skin, and arms unafraid to hold him when he’s upset.
 
…Oh god. He's comparing Kurt's eyes to things. He has it bad.
 
But Kurt has been there for him in a way no one else has, in a way he doesn’t want anyone else to be. Blaine knows without having to be told that Kurt cares about him, him, just as easily as he knows he loves Kurt.
 
He smiles down at his notes and forgets to reply to the text.