Chapter 4

(KURT'S POV)

I just really want my pocket knife.

I buried it in my suitcase for the flight here so that it wouldn't get confiscated. But now I want it back. I want to feel the cold, smooth metal in my palm and run my fingers across the glossy red exterior.

But it's not like I can just tell Finn's girlfriend to pull over because I need to get to my pocket knife. They'll all look at me like I'm crazy and I hate it when people look at me like I'm crazy.

Plus, my throat hurts again from the constant switch from talking with my fake deep voice to not talking for a long time to going right back to using that god awful voice again. My pocket is full of Halls cough drop wrappers and I have this itching need to throw them all away but there isn't a trash can anywhere near me.

So my fingers are all twitchy and my throat aches and my anxiety levels are phenomenally high and I really want my fucking pocket knife.

Plus, Finn and Rachel won't stop singing stupid songs from their stupid glee club I was too weak to join.

And Rachel's creepy roommate won't stop staring at me.

I feel super uncomfortable when people stare at me, and I keep hoping that if I look out the window hard enough, maybe he'll get bored and look at something else. But Blaine is having none of that so I just take out a cough drop to sooth my throat and start sucking on it because I have nothing else to do.

I put yet another tiny little wrapper in my pocket, and, for some inexplicable reason, that's when he turns his head away.

Finally.

Only now his face is practically pressed up against the window, one leg now crossed over the other, clearly in some desperate attempt to get as far away from me as possible.

I keep trying to meet his eye again because I feel like I've somehow done something wrong even though I haven't done anything at all. Does he think I'm ill or something?

But maybe I have done something.

God, are my social skills so off now that I don't even know when I'm being weird anymore?

Suddenly I can't tell what's worse. Scrutinization or alienation. Scrutinization makes me feel unclean and awkward but I've faced alienation my entire life and I was sort of hoping the people in New York would be different.

But maybe not. Maybe I'll just be a black sheep wherever I go.

I feel this heavy, sinking feeling in my chest that I know is a bit irrational (which somehow just makes it worse) and I am so consumed by own self-pity that I don't even know how long we've been driving by the time Rachel announces, "We're here!" way too enthusiastically.

The apartment building looks pretty nice to me, but then again, even a cardboard box on the street would look nice to me, as long it was situated in a state other than Ohio.

We park and gather the luggage from the trunk. While everyone else is focused on getting Finn's heavy suitcases safely out onto the pavement, I unzip the the top of my own. I plunge my hand inside and dig around until I can feel the object I've been craving so much. I look up and make sure no one is watching me, before I quickly pull out the glorious pocketknife and jam it into my pocket. My pulse is racing way too fast over something this stupid and it makes me feel even more pathetic than I already do on most days.

I squeeze the metal; instant relief rushes through my body and my heart begins to pump slower.

Control. I can control my life.

I lift my head up and see that everyone is making their way inside. I quickly scramble to keep up, and soon enough we are in the elevator, heading upward.

The four bags plus the four of us makes it quite cramped, and I'm nearly shoved up against the sliding doors. The elevator music is absurd and really quite comical. I suppress the urge to laugh because I don't know if the others will understand what is so funny to me. I don't want to have to explain it.

Soon enough the doors ding! and slide open, and I stumble a bit in my attempt to not fall on my face. I'm not sure if the others noticed or even cared but I keep my head down and my flushed face out of sight.

We walk down the hall and I keep my eyes trained on the back of Rachel's feet so that I know where to go. I hear a jingle of keys and then the door is being opened and Rachel is shouting, "Here we are!"

I pick my head up and look around the living room as we all shuffle inside.

"Finn's staying with you, right?" Blaine asks Rachel.

"Of course," She smiles. "You guys can just put his suitcases in there." She gestures toward the open door to her room.

A moment later, Blain emerges, muttering, "Gotta use the bathroom."

He walks over to another door on the other side of the room, and closes it behind him.

This just leaves Rachel and me standing here awkwardly. Having seen the entrance to Rachel's room and to the bathroom, I can't help but notice that there is only one more door, which I'm guessing must be Blaine's room.

"Um, Rachel?" I ask quietly. Her eyes meet mine. "Where am I gonna stay?" My hand, still holding the handle of my suitcase, is slick with sweat.

"Well, we have a pullout couch, and since we don't have any extra guest rooms or anything, I was thinking you could sleep there?" She phrases it like a question, like she isn't sure how I'm going to react. I'd been so caught up in getting the hell out of Lima that I didn't even bother asking if there was enough space to fit me in.

I realize that the only time I will ever get any privacy from now on is when I'm in the bathroom.

It feels as though my heart has fallen into my stomach, but before I can feel the panic rise in my throat, a voice in my head-- one that sounds surprisingly like my dad's-- says What in god's name do you need privacy for anyway? It's not like you ever do anything.

I nod my head at Rachel's anxious expression. "Sure. This is great." I force a smile onto my face, one that she reciprocates.

"We bought a pullout couch when we first moved in here mainly 'cause Blaine's brother crashes here whenever he's in town for work or the holidays or whatever." Rachel's babbling as she adjusts and readjusts the folded up blankets and pillow that are already resting on the arm of the couch. "So, um, here are your sheets and stuff--"

Blaine emerges from the bathroom and stands next to Rachel, bouncing absentmindedly on the balls of his feet.

All of a sudden Finn walks out of Rachel's (their?) room with a fresh shirt on, saying, "So what are we gonna do tonight?"

"There's this great pizza place down the block Rachel said she thought you'd enjoy." Blaine offers.

"Oh, good, I'm starving." Finn grins, patting his stomach.

"So, pizza it is, then?" Blaine angles his face in my direction. "Kurt, is that alright with you?" Blaine asks me. However, I'm not expecting being addressed full on and I can't remember the question.

"Sorry?"

"You good with pizza?" He asks again, patiently.

"Oh, um, yeah."

He grins not unkindly at me, seeming to sense my nerves. He then addresses the room at large.

"Cool. Well I gotta change out of my sweats first, then do you guys wanna head out?" Blaine asks. Everyone nods in agreement, and Blain disappears into his room.

I want to change as well. I feel sweaty and grimy, despite the fact that it's cold outside and I showered this morning. I plop down onto the couch and rummage through my own suitcase, tuning out Rachel and Finn and whatever they're now talking about.

I sigh softly. All I brought with me are t-shirts, jeans, and flannel button-ups. They're the only clothes I own.

I grab a white t-shirt and green flannel shirt, and a comb, deciding to keep on my jeans and use my grey hoodie as an extra layer to ward off the chill.

I make a beeline for the bathroom to get dressed.

I put the clothes on the toilet seat and turn to the sink. I twist the warm water on. While I wait for it to heat up, I grab a small face towel from the neatly folded stack on the counter. When I like the temperature of the water, I put the material under the stream and soak it. I turn the faucet off, and wring out any excess water, before leaning forward and pressing the whole towel onto my face.

I let the warmth seep into my skin and breathe in the moist air.

Inhale, exhale. It's strangely calming.

After a minute or two, I remove the towel and squeeze the remaining water out of it, before hanging it onto the rack that was currently sporting larger towels.

I dress quickly and comb my hair flat, parting it so that my bangs don't cover up my eyes.

I don't eat out with friends. I only ever eat with Finn or my parents. Finn is quite a talker and my dad tends to discreetly ignore me so I can usually get by without saying much.

What if they expect me to speak a lot? Or contribute interesting things to the conversation? I'm not entirely sure I can do that. What would I bring to the table? I never do anything noteworthy. What if they think my opinions are stupid? What if they don't care about my opinions at all?

Oh God, maybe I should just tell them that I really am sick. I should just stay here.

Who needs pizza anyways? Not me.

Maybe if I remain in here long enough, I can get away with pretending to puke. Food poisoning, perhaps? Would they believe that? Maybe I could--

There's a soft knock on the door, followed by a "Hey, Kurt?"

Blaine.

"Yeah?" I answer on instinct, but I use my regular voice by accident, and it cracks from being suppressed for so long. Fuck. Fucking reflex reaction. Fucking dumb shit can't do anything right-

"Sorry to bother, but my hair gel's in there. You think you can slip it through the door?"

I'm being stupid. Are you too much of an idiot that you can't even eat a meal with people? Get your shit together. This is what normal people do.

"Y-Yeah, I was just leaving." I stammer, scanning the counter. When I find no sign of gel, I open the medicine cabinet behind the mirror, and to my relief spot the recognizable brand instantly. I grab the container and close the cabinet. I gather my discarded clothing in one swift motion.

"No rush--" Blaine starts but I've already opened the door before he's finished his sentence.

I hold up the container questioningly, staring at his surprised face.

"Yeah, that's it." Blaine reaches for it. Our fingers brush for a split second during the exchange and I flinch noticeably, the way I always do when faced with human contact.

Flushed and embarrassed, I shoulder past him without another word, going straight to my bag to put away my stuff.

I regret combing my bangs back. I'd like them to cover my face right now.

For a moment the air is stagnant, as I wait for him to taunt me or make some kind of joke about how unfamiliar I am with real social interaction, like how my dad does, like it's somehow hilarious. The kind where I laugh along even though I don't find it funny at all, and my dad knows I don't and that just makes him laugh harder.

But nothing happens. The door just closes quietly, and that's that.

My eyebrows furrow as I sit back on the couch.

After a couple of (thankfully) comfortable minutes of silence with Rachel and Finn, Rachel calls out, "Blaine, I'm sure your hair looks fine! Let's go!"

I hear a muffled, "Okay, okay," through the bathroom door and a moment later it swings open.

My eyes are greeted with the sight of Blaine in a coal grey peacoat, red skinny jeans, and black boat shoes, his hair slicked back and looking quite dapper for a casual pizza joint.

I'm getting the impression that he just wears whatever he wants no matter where he's going, if the work out clothes at the terminal and now this are anything to go by.

Meanwhile, I either dress like Finn or a lumberjack on my best days. I try to suppress a shudder and avoid looking at my current outfit... Or Finn's.

Blaine, though... he looks nice...

Wait-- shit-- everybody's leaving.

I scramble off the couch and shuffle toward the door to try to keep up as everyone makes their exits.

I'm hit with a sudden pang of jealously that I just can't explain as we all stroll toward the New York streets.

Honestly, I'm speechless.

Out of all the possible scenarios I'd thought of in my head of how dinner would go, I'd never considered this. I'm actually quite surprised I hadn't.

It's almost exactly like before. Only now it's Finn and Rachel talking over each other and Blaine being passive and laughing at the right moments. I mean, there is slight change-- Blaine looks like he wants to say things but simply can't get a word in edgewise.

This better not become a permanent thing.

I get that Finn and Rachel are in love, and that Rachel is quite a talker, and that this move was overwhelming and exciting (I'm still buzzing a bit from the walk to this restaurant-- all those people outside and bright lights...) so there's lots to talk about for them but this will become old hat pretty damn quickly.

I'm doing that thing now where I sort of hyper focus on observing rather than participating, which makes my hearing feel a little distant and distorted. I've accumulated this handy skill throughout the many family dinners over the years.

Nevertheless, I don't feel excluded. Not at all, really. I feel some sort of tension between Blaine and me, but so far he hasn't shown any similar feeling. I'm probably just making things bigger than they are, like I tend to. I wonder if he even noticed my weirdness at all.

However, he's pulling a Carole. And by that, I mean that he keeps sending me these looks-- whether he's doing it subconsciously or consciously, I'm not sure.

The only difference is that Carole's looks were pitying and made me feel small and kind of weak. Blaine's just seem laced with curiosity.

I don't dislike it.