"It's your fault, you disgusting coward!" Kurt hissed, fighting against the strength that was now crushing his wrists. But what he said had gone too far. Karofsky slammed him to the floor, anger flooding him beyond his control. Kurt gasped at the impact, but was too late in reacting. Karofsky was already picking him up by his arm and was now dragging him away from the hallway and into a room.

"I'm going to go make us some hot chocolate." Kurt said, smiling. Blaine had just come out of the bathroom, tugging at the edges of the shirt he was wearing. It seemed much too small for him.

"Okay," he replied. "But uh…do you have anything…bigger?" He asked, still tugging at the shirt to cover up the small sliver of skin that was showing.

"Of course I do." Kurt smirked, and proceeded to go up the stairs.

"Hey, wait!" Blaine said, stopping at the foot of the stairs. "Aren't you going to give me another shirt?"

Kurt blinked. He raised an eyebrow in confusion. "Why would I do that?"

"Because this shirt is really tight."

"That's the point." Kurt winked at him, leaving to prepare the chocolate.

Blaine smirked in spite of himself. He supposed that he did deserve the torture after all the teasing he did. The times he spent embarrassing Kurt were far too numerous. But the shirt was small and barely covered his belly button, leaving his scars exposed. He reached down to run his fingers over the cuts. It had been three years and yet the scars hadn't gone away. In fact, the skin hadn't completely healed. Tracing the letters with his fingers, he could feel the difference in the texture. The scar tissue that had slowly stretched over his cuts was far softer than his skin. Ironic.

He looked curiously at the door, wondering if he had enough time. He turned to look at the vanity mirror apprehensively. Was he ready to look at his scars after years of avoiding them? Slowly, he took a few steps towards the mirror and held his own gaze. He could feel goosebumps spreading across his skin as a wave of cold submerged him. His eyes traced their path down his chest, to his bellybutton, and then to the left. He cringed at the sight of the cuts.

It had been at least 2 years since he took his time to properly look at them. For the first year after the incident, all he could do was run his fingers over the cuts, remembering how Bryan had made his life miserable. After he transferred to Dalton Academy, however, he could no longer look at his scars. He wanted to forget; forget Bryan, forget the bullying and most of all forget what he had done. He couldn't bring himself to look at the word that had caused him so much grief.

But now as he looked at the word etched into his skin, he couldn't help but remember everything. The memories came flooding back to him.

After the confrontation in the locker room, he just hadn't been the same. His whole world had turned upside down. He could put up with the insults, the teasing, even being pushed into lockers. But this was something entirely different. For the first time in his life, he started to doubt himself. Doubt whether the fighting was worth it, doubt whether or not he should keep going, doubt whether or not he really deserved what he was getting.

For the very first time since his outing, he felt worthless. After all, a person could only stand the attacks for so long. He had handled all of the things Bryan had done to him before. But this had changed everything. Every new insult thrown at him was like a knife to his stomach. He began to fall apart, the cracks in the dam expanding with every shove, every hateful gaze. Phrases like 'you're worthless' and 'kill yourself' became a part of his daily life. He jumped at every noise, shuddered at every touch or sensation that passed him by. He began to lose control of himself, unable to concentrate on anything except the danger. His senses had become hyper-sensitive, able to detect the slightest move or dullest sound. He no longer felt safe.

And even though everything had suddenly become too overwhelming for him to handle, nothing new happened. Bryan never pushed the boundaries farther than he already had. Though Blaine was suffering from every small attack, it was simply more of the same old thing. For the next few months after the incident, Bryan had reverted to his usual work. He teased, insulted, pushed, but nothing more. Maybe it was because he felt his mission was accomplished. Blaine hadn't been the same since the locker room and that satisfied him. But he felt like he hadn't done enough.

However, the few months of quiet weren't long-lasting. They were simply the calm before the storm.

"Blaine?"

Kurt had walked in with the two cups of hot chocolate in his hand and Blaine hadn't noticed. He turned around, his hand still on his scars. For a moment he didn't register where he was or what he was doing. He had been caught up in the memories.

Then he followed Kurt's eyes to his stomach and realized where he was. He pulled his shirt back down and rushed to the bed, pulling the covers over him as quickly as possible.

Kurt narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Uh…are you okay?"

"Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Well, you were kind of staring at your stomach and then you ran to the bed to cover yourself up as if you were hiding something." Kurt said matter-of-factly.

Blaine just laughed it off.

"Do you have a tattoo I should know about?" Kurt asked, grinning as he set the cups of hot chocolate on his dresser. He walked over to the bed and crossed his arms.

Blaine blushed. "No and even if I did I wouldn't put it there."

"Well if you don't have anything there, then I as your boyfriend should be entitled to see you shirtless."

Blaine pulled the comforter to his chin and blushed beet red. He looked away bashfully.

"Kurt…I'm not ready to move to the next base. We haven't even had a proper French kiss! I would appreciate it if you didn't pressure me into anything." He said in a mock-serious voice.

This time it was Kurt's turn to blush. He punched Blaine's shoulder and turned around with his arms folded across his chest. "You know I didn't mean it like that!" He hissed at him, the embarrassment evident in his voice.

"Didn't you?" Blaine smirked. His grip on the comforter eased as he looked at Kurt.

There was simply no way to win with Blaine. Anything that he tried to do to make him uneasy would always come back around and leave Kurt in a flustered mess. He couldn't count the number of times he had blushed at his clever remarks or at the advances. It was true though, that they hadn't french-kissed yet. In fact, they had barely even kissed at all. Though Blaine took his chances to do so Kurt always backed out, his fear and anxiety far too immense to allow himself to let go. Anytime he looked at Blaine's lips, he couldn't help but feel a surge of warmth lighting throughout his body. There was simply no way that he could contain his composure, not when his lips were so soft and enticing. He turned around to eye the boy, looking at the curls that were sticking out at odd angles, allowing his eyes to study the shape of his eyebrows, the length of his lashes. He couldn't help but blush at the fact that this boy was his boyfriend and he was currently lying in his bed.

"Thinking of naughty things?" Blaine asked with a half-smile.

Kurt blushed a brighter red. But before he gave his usual defensive reply, an idea came to mind. He was always the victim in these word battles. It was he who always lost due to embarrassment or his timid nature. But this time, he wasn't ready to lose. He wanted to catch Blaine off-guard, show him that he too could play the game. He took a deep breath, preparing himself to push his own boundaries, then he smiled.

"Actually Blaine, I am." He walked closer to the bed, satisfied with the look of disbelief on Blaine's face. He hadn't been expecting that answer. Kurt willed himself to keep going with the charade, to push past his embarrassment and simply played the part. "I was just thinking that we're home alone," Kurt said softly, "and you're laying in my bed with a shirt that I'd really love to take off of you..." He smiled coyly as he traced a finger from his shoulder, over his biceps, and down his arm. Blaine stared at Kurt, completely aghast. He could feel the heat quickly rising to his face and spreading to his ears. Did he really just hear his boyfriend make the slightest of intimate references?

"In fact," Kurt whispered as he climbed over Blaine on the bed and leaned forward, "that's not the only thing I'd like you to take off." His hand was now gently tracing circles on Blaine's shoulder.

"Kurt, what—"

"Shhhh." He brought his lips tantalizingly close to Blaine's and then he turned to whisper in his ear.

"Since you were complaining that we haven't had any French kisses yet, I thought I'd meet your request." His breath touched Blaine's ear, tickling him. "And then some..." Blaine couldn't help but let out a small moan.

"Kurt…" he whispered, his breathing becoming heavy. Kurt turned his head, his lips stopped millimeters away from Blaine's. He smiled at his boyfriend's questioning and eager look, then he did the unexpected.

Blaine wasn't sure what hit him. Kurt's hands were suddenly reaching down to his stomach in search of something.

"Kurt, what are you—" Blaine gasped.

Tickle war. Kurt grinned as he tickled Blaine who was completly taken aback. He jumped at the touch of Kurt's hands on his stomach, began thrashing around on the bed gasping for breath.

"This—is—payback!" Kurt said as he moved his hands across the sides of Blaine's stomach.

"Kurt—please—I can't—" Blaine was laughing too hard to talk, trying to get Kurt off of him. For such a frail boy, he had surprising strength. Blaine rolled underneath Kurt, only to have Kurt tickle the space behind his knees. He thrashed around, laughing hysterically as Kurt tried every spot he could find.

"Okay—okay—I'msorryIgiveup!" Blaine said, turning back around to face Kurt.

Kurt sat up, grinning triumphantly. He rolled over to Blaine's side and lied down next to him, laughing as he did so.

"Geez, Kurt…" Blaine was still trying to catch his breath. "How about you warn someone before you go and do something like that." The blush that had been there before was still evident on his cheeks.

"The point of tickling is not to tell someone when it's coming." Kurt laughed.

"Yeah, but you didn't have to tease me to do it." The red on Blaine's cheeks was growing darker.

"Oh, but it sounded like you liked it. If I remember correctly, I think I heard a moan…" Kurt smiled as he looked down at Blaine's ears which had gone just as red as his face. His gaze turned to Blaine's exposed stomach.

"Next time you try to tickle me can you avoid seducing me first?" Blaine muttered through his teeth, his breath still a little heavy as he tried to cool himself down.

Kurt had gotten quiet. His hand reached for Blaine's stomach, snapping the other boy out of his reverie. He traced the letter F with his finger before Blaine pushed his hand away and got up from the bed.

"Blaine, what-"

"It's nothing." Blaine said quietly.

"I don't understand, what's the letter F doing on your-"

"Leave it, Kurt."

"...Were those cuts?"

"I said it was nothing, Kurt." Blaine said with a little more finality.

"What does the rest of it say?" Kurt breathed, barely audible.

"Kurt, can you please-" Blaine cut himself off. He brought his hand to his face and ran his fingers through his hair. He seemed to be struggling with something to say. "Just...it's nothing, alright?" He could feel his voice getting shaky and he took a deep breath.

"Come, sit down." Kurt said softly, patting the sheets next to him. Blaine looked at him wearily before he obliged. He sat on the edge of the bed with his elbows resting on his knees and his hands clasped together. He refused to look at Kurt, for fear of what he might say.

"I'm sorry about today..." He said, placing his hand on Blaine's back. "I shouldn't have yelled at you like that...I was just frustrated. And I probably shouldn't have said those things that I said, because clearly I don't know the first thing about your past or what happened to you...but I know the you that I see and hear every day, and I don't want to lose him."

He grabbed one of Blaine's hands and intertwined their fingers. "I know that you probably have some secrets you don't want to share right now, and as you could probably tell by how wonderfully I hide my feelings, I have some too. But I trust you, Blaine, and I'll share them with you when the time comes. I just want you to know you can do the same with me. Until then, I'll just pretend this never happened, okay?" He looked at him with comfort in his eyes, hoping to reassure him.

"Pretend what never happened? The part where you tried to sex me up, or the tickling part?" Blaine responded, as he looked to Kurt with sultry eyes.

"BLAINE, UGH!" Kurt yelled, going red in the face. "WHY DO YOU ALWAYS RUIN MOMENTS LIKE THESE?" He stood up and walked out of the room, clearly trying to hide his embarassment. Blaine followed after him, picking up the two cups of hot chocolate that were sitting forgotten on the dresser. He couldn't help but smile as he watched Kurt pacing around the living room nervously.

"What? I'm not lying. You were trying to seduce-"

"I was just trying to tickle you!" Kurt hissed, his pale skin glowing a bright rouge.

"Yeah, sure that's what they all say." Blaine snickered. He put the cups down on the coffee table and took hold of Kurt's hand. He didn't allow himself to say anything, but his eyes were enough to show the appreciation he felt. He gave Kurt's hand a squeeze of gratitude which was returned. Kurt gave him a small smile and sat down on the couch.

"Anyways, so about that offer..." Blaine mumbled.

"What offer?"

"You know," Blaine nudged Kurt gently with his arm, "the offer to kiss me and then some?" He couldn't help but laugh as he said it.

"Screw you." Kurt huffed as he walked back to his room.

"Exactly! Isn't that what you were trying to do?"

But the calm before the storm only lasted a few months. He was sitting in the last class of the day, Algebra, waiting for the bell to ring. He eyed the clock anxiously, already planning out his route out of the school. Every day he had to exit through different doors. It was the only way to avoid Bryan and his gang. He never used the same exit twice in a row, and always randomized his routes, sometimes doubling back through a hallway to throw them off with added time. Of course, this was never a fool-proof method. Despite his attempts to avoid the group entirely, they had run into each other at least three times, and each time had been painful. Whether they were taking turns to spit at him or simply punch him in the stomach, he never got out untouched.

The only thing he could be grateful for was the simple fact that they never tried to split up. They could easily cover the ten entrances to the school if each person stood guard at their respective posts. But Blaine knew that they were far too scared to act alone, so they always traveled in groups. At the very least, he had a ninety percent chance of getting out of school without trouble. The problem was never knowing which door held that opposing ten percent of danger.

The bell rang. Blaine looked up at the clock and gathered his stuff nervously. In a matter of seconds, he was out of the classroom and running down the hall towards the back staircases. He had used this exit two days prior, and he figured that they wouldn't expect him back so soon. Praying with all of his might that he wouldn't encounter the group, he pushed open the double doors that led to the hidden staircase and looked around. No one was there.

Sighing with relief, he slid down the railing to the foot of the stairs and pushed his way out the door. The cold wind hit his face with a sting, and he was finally able to relax. No altercation today. Blaine followed the crowd of students walking away from school. He took his usual shortcut, weaving in and out of a residential neighborhood, stopping by a coffeehouse nearby to grab a comforting, steaming cup of expresso before he continued. Another day was over, and he was safe.

Though school was his hell, he knew he couldn't be touched the moment he stepped out in the public world. He allowed his nerves to calm down and his senses to relax so he could enjoy the walk home.

But that was the problem. He allowed his reflexes to slip away as he hummed a tune. He didn't notice taking the wrong turn into the empty alleyway, he didn't notice the group of scattered people that had been walking behind him. And why should he? There were at least a dozen other kids who took his same route to their own houses, it was never something he had to worry about. But as he met the brick wall at the end of the alley, he realized his mistake and turned around to double back.

"It seems our lovely fag prince lost his way home."

Blaine froze. There they were, Bryan and his gang, standing right in front of him.

"Surprise, surprise," Bryan said. He smiled at him, stepping closer. The boys behind him were holding on to plastic bags.

Blaine tried to speak but nothing came out of his mouth. He could feel his stomach dropping, far, far below him. The ground beneath him started caving in and he fell to his knees. His feeling of security had just been robbed. All he could do was kneel before the group, mouth agape, silence choking his vocal chords as he looked from boy to boy and realized everything was over.

"Get up." Bryan hissed.

Blaine shook his head. If he was going to lose to them, he wasn't going to give them the pleasure of answering to their commands. He had already given up, that much was true. He wouldn't fight whatever it was that could be coming his way, but he wasn't going to beg, cry, or show any signs of weakness. He steeled himself for the blow he knew was coming.

"I said, get up."

Blaine was stock-still, unable to move, unable to do anything but realize that he had finally given up. And then the hit came. He felt the sting on his right cheek, he could feel the taste of iron flooding his mouth as he fell to his side. He made no noise, no sign of a whimper or a twitch. He lied on the floor, staring blankly, waiting for whatever came next.

"Oh, was that not good enough for you, prince?" Bryan asked, anger evident in his voice. He picked Blaine up by his collar and pinned him to the alley wall. Blaine could feel the blows to his stomach, the air rushing out of him, the struggle to keep his eyes open as he felt the pain shooting across his chest. Bryan let him fall to the floor with a thud.

He motioned for his group to bring out the ammunition. One of the boys took an egg from his bag and threw it directly at Blaine's head. This time, his eyes shut forcefully at the pain. He could feel the yolk running down the side of his face, a hint of red evident in the mess.

"You think this isn't bad, fag?" Bryan muttered through gritted teeth, clearly frustrated that Blaine wasn't showing any sign of fear or weakness. "I'll show you." And with a motion to his group, they crowded around the broken boy on the floor. Blaine wasn't sure what was going on. He could feel several hands probing, could feel the cold wind hitting his bare skin. More hands reached for him and tore his shirt off, and that's when he realized what was going on. Before he could protest, someone pulled him back up and pinned him against the wall. He gasped as someone took a knife to his jeans and ran it down his left thigh, not minding whether they were cutting into him. He could feel the hot, searing blade cut through his skin, not deep enough to leave a scar, but vulnerable to the wind that was now wrapping around his torso.

In a flash his jeans and boxers were gone, as were his shoes and socks. The person who had pinned him to the wall let him go and he fell to the stone floor, his vision blurred. He could feel the humiliating laughter all around him, echoing in his ears. Could see the boys approaching him, picking him up just to push him around. He could hear the rustling of plastic bags as the boys took out their eggs, and threw them at him. Blow, after blow, after blow, the eggs crashed against his chest, his stomach, his legs, his groin. His body was rapidly getting covered in bruises and blood and yolk, and all he could do was stand there. He felt rough hands grabbing him by the elbow and pushing him up against the wall, his face scraping against the bricks. And then he felt the slashes cutting across his back, the repeated strike of rope as the threads seared his bare back. He bit his lip, trying to stifle the sobs that he was sure were trying to break out. Hands pushed him back down to the floor, and before he could even look to see what was coming he felt the hard blows to his stomach. They were kicking him without restraint, sharp hits to the legs, the groin, the abdomen...

Then silence. He closed his eyes, willed himself to hang on a little longer. He could hear their laughter and then their feet shuffling as they ran away from the scene of the crime. Bryan was the last to leave. He threw a balled-up plastic bag at him, and stepped back. "Here. At least have some decency to put that on when you're walking home. No one wants to look at fags like you."

And just like that, he left.

Blaine opened his eyes, and finally let the tears fall. His entire body ached. He could feel the blooding pooling in his mouth, the burning cuts across his back, the stinging bruises that covered every inch of his body. The tears fell silently, his eyes blank and void of any emotion, any life. He let out a shuddering breath, and closed his eyes.

The rest of the week didn't go as painfully as the first day. Karofsky was keeping his distance from Kurt, if anything to make sure that the portrayal of his role was believable. And even though Kurt knew this wasn simply a charade, he appreciated the next four days which went by relatively hassle-free.

"Settle down everyone!" Mr. Schuester said as he walked into the choir room, where the glee club members were arguing about their next song choice.

"All I'm saying is that we should give Run Joey Run another shot because it would showcase all of our talents quite beautifully-" Rachel could be heard saying over the bickering crowd.

"NO!" Everyone shouted in unison.

"Guys, guys, calm down!" Mr. Schuester said as Rachel huffed and sat back down in her seat. "And I'm sorry Rachel, but we won't be doing Run Joey Run again."

Everyone but Rachel sighed in relief. "Actually, since we have time before regionals, I wanted to delve into another theme." Everyone groaned in response.

Mr. Schuester ignored the reaction and kept going. "I want all of you to create a music video." The interest in the group had suddenly spiked. "Oh, so I see I have your attention now?" Mr. Schuester smirked as some people sat straighter in their seats. "This project is honestly meant to be fun, just to give you all a little break right after regionals. But, I do want you to take it seriously. So, to make it even more interesting, we're going to make it a contest."

"What does the winner get?" Santana asked, clearly interested.

"The usual," Mr. Schuester said, smiling. "Dinner for two at Breadstix."

There was a murmur of excitement across the room and everyone turned to face their director. "So...what's the catch?" Sam asked.

"The catch is everyone has to work on their projects individually, and..." he took a moment to pause for dramatic effect, "you have to choose from Disney songs."

The reaction from the crowd was mixed. All of the girls except Santana and Lauren squealed in excitement, while most of the boys, excluding Kurt, rolled their eyes.

"Oh, and one more thing," Mr. Schuester continued, "your music video for the song that you choose has to reflect the movie that it was chosen from. I want all of you to add your own interpretations to the films and make them your own."

Kurt raised his hand, a smile spreading across his face. "Can we use other people in our videos, just as part of the films?"

"Yes, of course. As long as no one else is singing the song with you, it's fine."

Mercedes raised her hand as well. "Mr. Schue, by Disney songs do you mean just from the animated films or any Disney film in general?"

"Any Disney film is allowed. Now everyone, you have the rest of this period to plan out your project. It'll be due next Friday, so you have a whole week to work on it."

Everyone broke into their typical groups to exchange ideas. Tina, Mercedes, Rachel, Quinn and Kurt sat in a circle in one corner of the room, writing a list of all the songs they knew.

"I'm thinking of doing 'A Dream Is A Wish Your Heart Makes'," Rachel giggled, "it's from my all-time favorite: Cinderella. I'd be able to wear an extravagant princess dress!"

The rest of the girls and Kurt rolled their eyes. "What about you Mercedes?" Tina asked.

"I was thinking of something more jazzy, with attitude. Something like 'We Are Siamese'."

"Nice choice," Kurt said nodding "Definitely up your alley. Any ideas yet, Tina?"

"'Reflection', from Mulan." She said smiling.

Everyone turned to look at her expectantly. "What?" She said defiantly. "It's not just because I'm Asian, okay? I really like that song!"

"Well, I was thinking of doing 'Someday My Prince Will Come.'" Quinn said to break the tension.

The girls and Kurt sighed, rolling their eyes at the obvious choice.

"What about you, Kurt?" Mercedes said, turning to him.

"Mine's going to be a secret." He winked. And with that, he got up and walked away getting ready to create his masterpiece. The girls exchanged glances of amusement and continued to argue over what songs they could do.

"Once this is over, I'm throwing a huge party to reclaim my manliness." Puck muttered.

The other boys murmured their agreements and sighed. It was going to be a long week for them.

Kurt walked down the hallway, his mind reeling with all of the possible songs he could sing. Every name that crossed his mind just reminded him of Blaine, and he couldn't help but blush. He couldn't sing 'I Won't Say I'm In Love' because that would be too forward. He walked into the boy's bathroom to check his hair and send a quick text to Blaine, but the moment he stepped in he got quiet. He could hear someone sniffling in the last stall and the moment they heard Kurt come in, they got quiet.

Unsure of what to do, Kurt looked at the other stalls. They were all empty. Was something wrong? He looked again to the last stall and realized there was a letterman jacked hanging over the door. His eyes widened.

He quickly went to the sink, turned on the faucet for about ten seconds and then proceeded to the door. He opened it, counted to five and then closed it, tip-toeing to the first stall so that the person in the last stall wouldn't see him. There was silence for another moment, and then once the person realized he was alone again, the sniffles became more pronounced and Kurt could hear the coughs mixing in with the sobs.

"Fuck!" the guy muttered, punching his own stall causing all the rest to vibrate. Kurt held his breath, listening to the last of the sobs dying down. He heard the click of the lock, and the stall door opening as the boy moved forward to wash his hand and his face.

"You make me feel like I'm living a teenage dream-" Kurt let out a gasp, his hand flying to his pocket, reaching frantically for his phone. Shit, shit, shit, he thought as he pressed the silent button.

"Who the fuck is hiding there?" The boy growled. Kurt closed his eyes, ready for what he knew was coming. The boy walked to the first stall and kicked it open.

"You..." He hissed.

"Look, Karofsky, I was just-" Kurt tried to squeak, but Karofsky had already covered his mouth and was dragging him away.

He didn't know how he had gotten home. Maybe it was because he didn't want to remember the looks he'd received on the street, the cat-calls and the stares that he had tried to ignore. He didn't want to think about how he had walked the last three blocks to his house, completely naked with only a black garbage bag to tie around his lower body. To be honest, he wasn't entirely sure how he had even gathered the strength to do it. Every step drained his energy, every movement sent pain shooting throughout his body.

But he had gotten there, and for better or worse, no one had been home.

So now he was lying on his bathroom floor, having finally cleaned himself of all the blood and the yolk and the filth that covered his body. He held the razor poised over his wrist, closed his eyes, and slid it across his wrist.

Blackness engulfed him.