Chapter 7

(KURT'S POV)

Finn looks so freaked out right now it's almost comical. The drag queens probably aren't helping...

"But why would those dudes wanna dress like girls?" Finn asks for the second time in three minutes.

"It's just what some people like, Finn-- I don't know..." I answer once again.

"Do you wanna go, Finn? You don't look so good..." Rachel says, rubbing his back.

"No, no, I can handle it. Plus, it looks like Blaine's having a good time..." Finn nods toward the middle of the room, where Blaine is laughing with an-- admittedly handsome-- bartender.

God, does Blaine know everybody?

I look back over to see a guy in leather giving Finn a slow once-over, his lips quirking into a suggestive smirk once he meets Finn's eyes. Finn visibly pales and turns to Rachel instantly.

"Yeah, no. I can't do this."

"Okay, baby, let's just head home." Rachel grabs his hand and then faces me. "Kurt, you gonna stick around? I feel bad leaving Blaine by himself..."

"Y-Yeah, but I mean he looks like he's doing just fine..." I comment, refusing to watch him and the bartender smile at each other for reasons I can't explain.

"Okay, well, your call." She smiles warmly.

I bite my lip.

"You could always just stay a little longer and come home whenever." Rachel suggests.

"I don't know the way back, yet." I remind her.

"Oh, right."

"I-I'll just stay here. It's only midnight and it's my 'first big New York outing.'" I joke. "I'm not ready to go back yet..." Don't think on it, don't think on it, just go home... I chant, hoping Finn won't rib me later.

"What do you mean 'it's only midnight'? You never stay out late. You never stay up late." Finn remarks confusedly.

"That was in Cowtown, Ohio. This is New York." I retort curtly, suddenly pissed for absolutely no reason.

Just go away already.

Finn's eyebrows furrow at my biting tone, but he doesn't comment on it.

"Alright, well, tell Blaine we're ducking out, then." He says before he and Rachel make for the exit.

I sigh, exhausted.

Idiot, why did you just do that? You said you'd stay here? Of all places?

I trod over to a barstool, and sit down. I'll tell Blaine about Rachel and Finn once he's done with his conversation... Wouldn't wanna intrude...

I bite my lip for a second, my eyes lingering on Blaine, before flickering toward the surface of the tabletop.

There's something I've always wanted to try, but I've just been too afraid before.

He's not looking-- just do it.

What if he comes over?

He won't. Just look at him-- totally absorbed in that other guy.

I close my eyes for a second.

If this doesn't work, I'm punching you in the face.

Wait, what?

"Can I get a strawberry daiquiri?" I ask.

"Of course." The bartender smiles.

Soon enough he's handing me the gayest drink I've ever held in my life.

Fuck, it even has a strawberry on the rim of the glass. Oh god, what am I doing?

I need to go home. This was stupid.

I push off of my seat, but as soon as my feet touch the ground, I hear a voice in my ear.

"Leaving so soon?"

I turn around to see a pair of bright blue eyes a few feet from my face.

"I'm sorry?"

"Hi. I'm Peter Rothenburg." He smiles. Well, that name is a mouthful...

"Uh, Noah Puckerman." I say the first name that comes to mind as I shake his hand.

"Can I buy you a drink?" He asks.

My heart falls to my stomach as I remember how I said those exact words to a girl less than two hours ago. Suddenly I don't feel like talking. My eyes wander over to where Blaine is now chatting two good-looking guys, before snapping back to meet Peter's eyes again.

"I'm good, thanks." I gesture toward my daiquiri.

"Then can we just sit here and talk?" He asks, persistent.

"... Okay." I agree, only because he's looking at me like he wants to eat me and it's kind of thrilling.

He ends up staying longer than I'd anticipated, picking up the next round of drinks... and the next... and the next... and I've just stopped counting by now...

Oh, and now he's pulling on my arm to go outside...

I'd started feeling tipsy half an hour ago, and theoretically I know that my decision-making skills aren't quite what they should be anymore, so when he tugs me toward an alley out back behind the building, I follow him.

It's not that I like him-- I don't at all, really. During our conversations he'd seemed pretentious, self-satisfied, and extremely pleased with the sound of his own voice. Eventually I had just stopped listening to whatever he was saying in favor of watching his face move as he talked.

But now I can't see his face because he's pushed me up a brick wall and has said face buried against my neck.

When did this happen?

"W-Wait, I don't know about this-" I stutter as his hands clamp around my jaw. He sucks painfully on the skin underneath my collar. A breeze makes his spit on my neck cool and I squirm uncomfortably.

"Shhh..."

"But-"

"Just relax." He murmurs.

I swallow down more air, trying to calm my racing heart. My head is so fuzzy from all those drinks and it just won't clear.

'Loosen up!'

'Just relax.'

Okay. Okay.

His hands travel down to my belt, unbuckling it without even bothering to slide it all the way out. His fingers pop open the button of my jeans with a practiced ease that only makes me more nervous.

Am I supposed to be doing something as well?

My hands clench around the fabric of his shirt, spurring him on.

And then I feel it.

The hard, unmistakable length of his erection rutting against my thigh, making me gasp.

That is a dick. That is another man's dick. And it's touching you.

I've never been this close to a penis in all of my life and now all of a sudden it right there mocking me. I can feel the entire length of it. Primal fear courses through my whole body in a way I've never experienced before. Ever.

You are standing in a dirty alleyway behind a gay bar with a stranger's tongue lapping slimy stripes up your neck and his DICK RUBBING ON YOUR LEG and none of your friends even know your queer and GET HIM OFF GET HIM OFF OF YOU NOW--

All of a sudden my hands are pressing flat on his chest and I'm pushing him off of me as hard as I can.

"I'm sorry-- I can't. I can't do this." I babble.

"Noah, come on--" He says, moving in again, his hands inching toward my waist.

"No. Stop." I push him back again.

"Why?"

"I just can't, okay?"

"Fuck, are you serious?" He looks really mad and I can't blame him. "After all that fucking money I wasted on those drinks?"

My hands scramble for my wallet in my back pocket. I open it up, taking out a twenty and 3 ones, and I hold it up for him to see.

"It's all I've got." I tell him. I can't think clearly enough to know if it's too much or not enough compensation but I just want him to leave me alone now so I don't even care.

With a frustrated sigh, he yanks the bills out of my hand, muttering "It's the least you can do..." And then he's stalking off out of sight.

So where does that leave me?

Well I'm standing here with my tie loose, my pants hanging open, my collarbone feeling bruised and unpleasant, and my wallet empty. It's dark here and there's trash everywhere and fuck now my eyes are watering. I feel dirty and I don't even know why, and how did everything escalate so quickly? and I feel lost. But most of all, I feel completely humiliated over someone I don't even know--

Ugh, and now the drinks have really hit home I have to pee so bad.

I stumble toward the mouth of the alley and look around for Scandals-- it's just two buildings away...

... Fuck! I was supposed to tell Blaine something... What was I supposed to tell him, again?

I button my pants and buckle my belt as soon as I step onto the sidewalk again.

A young man smoking a cigarette happens to pass by at that exact moment, his eyes flickering between my belt, Scandals, and Peter's retreating form, and I know what he must be assuming.

"Faggot." He mutters without even slowing his pace.

And just like that, I'm not twenty-seven-year-old Kurt living in New York, I'm fourteen-year-old Kurt back in Lima, Ohio, banging furiously on his stereo that just won't stop playing Wicked-- Dad's home, just shut up already!

~

"Give it to me." Dad demanded, his hand open and his arm outstretched.

"What?"

"The CD! Give me the CD, Kurt!"

I was torn. Why was he so mad?

His eyes narrowed at my hesitation. I barely had a second to think before my cheek erupted in pain, my dad's palm crashing into the side of my face. I stumbled backward and bumped into my dresser, knocking over a couple containers of skin-care products, wishing I could just crawl into a hole and hide because I really didn't need my dad to notice those right now on top of all this-- oh god, why is he looking at me like that?

I boldly returned his gaze, refusing to clutch my stinging cheek.

He moved past me to the stereo, pushing the "open" button and not even waiting for the disc to stop spinning before yanking it out. He turned back around and zeroed in on the look on my face.

"What, are you mad at me now?" He mocked. "Show me."

I just stared at him, confused.

"You never fight back, Kurt! Stop being such a fag all the time and just come here! Hit me if you want to! Just do something, for god's sake! Don't just take it all the time!"

I moved further into the corner of my room, my eyes never leaving his. I wasn't a fighter. We both knew it.

It was silent for a good while, him just analyzing my face and me just staring back at him still, like a loser.

He gave a humorless laugh and shook his head in both amazement and puzzlement.

He moved closer to me and sighed, as though he had the weight of the world resting on his shoulders.

"Kurt... with your mom gone, it's just me who's gotta raise you. And kids don't come with an instruction manual, you know? I don't want to hear you singing this crap anymore, 'cause it's putting ideas in your head that you don't need." He laid a hand on my shoulder. "We've only got each other, and as your dad, I'm just trying to steer you in the right direction. Okay?"

His demeanor changed, and he was looking at me almost fondly, like we were friends, or family, or something. It was odd. I was so confused I couldn't stand it.

"Okay." I murmured to my shoes.

"What? I didn't catch that."

"Okay-- Sir." I said louder.

"Look at me, Kurt." He demanded with a firmer tone of voice.

I lifted my eyes to meet his, defeated.

His eyes roamed my face for a tense moment, before he nodded. "Okay."

Then his hand slipped from my shoulder, and he ascended the stairs. The door swung open and closed, and then he was gone.

Crash!

One of my moisturizers had rolled off of the dresser and onto the floor, the sound startling me.

Suddenly my breathing became erratic. With hot tears spilling out of my eyes, I turned around and started chucking all of my creams and lotions into my trash can. Expensive bottles and tubes that I had saved up forever for, each one making a satisfying thump! against the bottom of the bin. I tore down my small Singing in the Rain poster (a movie I'd only ever watched with my mom) and crumpled it up, throwing it away as well, my walls now bare.

I pulled a (dad approved) New Balance shoe box out of my closet, tossed the sneakers out, and then set about going around my room collecting any musical CD's I could find, stacking them all inside and pushing the lid on top before shoving the box under my bed, next to the small container with my mom's perfume bottle hidden inside.

It'd be months before I'd dare to even look under my bed again.

~

My blood boils uncontrollably.

"Hey! I'm not a faggot!" I yell, my palms connecting with the stranger's shoulder blades as I shove him, hard.

He stumbles forward a bit and whips around, stunned.

I look around, noticing the wary gazes of the passersby and not caring in the slightest.

"The fuck?" He sputters, shoving me back.

'Just do something, for god's sake! Don't just take it all the time!' Dad's words echo in my mind.

I swing a punch at his face and miss, but fast as lightning I deal another, this one a successful blow to his stomach. He bends over in pain, but recovers quickly and charges at me from the lower angle, smashing my back against the wall of the outer edge of the alley.

(BLAINE'S POV)

"So you guys are finally together?" I smile at Jeff, his arm around Nick's waist.

"Yeah, it only took him forever to ask me out." Nick laughs.

"I was trying to be professional." Jeff defends. "I thought he was just a regular here."

"I've been coming to Scandals for months, Blaine, always ordering from him and hoping he'd pick on any of my numerous signals."

"But you can't really blame Jeff, I mean that kind of stuff is hard for some guys-" I start.

"Says King Oblivious, himself!" Nick teases, referring to boy drama from our high school days.

No argument there.

I'd missed these guys so much from our time at Dalton. I couldn't believe it when I'd found out Jeff was a bartender here. I always make a point of stopping by every once in a while to catch up, only this time Nick showed up halfway through, to see Jeff. I hadn't known Nick was in New York so we've had tons to talk about. I've had so much fun reconnecting with my old teammates that I have no idea how long it's been since we got here.

I check my watch.

"Damn! We've been talking for a while!"

I look around for Rachel, Finn, and Kurt, but I can't spot any of them.

"Who're you looking for? You're not meeting someone here, are you?" Jeff asks excitedly.

I wish.

"No, no. Just some friends. Who don't... appear... to be here anymore..." I trail off, craning my neck to no avail. "Well, it was awesome seeing you guys again."

"Likewise." Nick says.

"I guess I'd better go..." We say our goodbyes, and I step outside to make a call.

She picks on the fourth ring.

"Blaine?" Rachel asks.

"Where are you guys? I can't find anyone..."

"... Um, home."

"You're home?! What, you guys just left me here without a word?"

"Of course not! Kurt stayed... He said he'd tell you..." Rachel sounds as confused as I feel.

"Well he's gone and he didn't tell me anything." Now I'm slightly irritated. "... I guess I'll just head back then..."

"Okay. Sorry about that..." Rachel apologizes.

"It's fine." I hang up after we say goodbye.

I start walking down the street, but blocking my path a few buildings down is a small crowd of people gathered around some guys who appear to be brawling on the sidewalk.

I roll my eyes, labeling them off as drunk idiots as I pass by.

However, a flicker of bright blue in the corner of my vision catches my eye... Wait-- is that my shirt?

I inhale sharply.

Oh, fuck.