Remind Me to Forget

Chapter 24

Kurt carefully wipes up the last of the spilled Coke – a victim of the sudden thunder storm and an easily startled blonde – from the table, ignoring the how the sticky remnants remind him of tossed slushies. He suppresses a wince as thunder cracks again, and quickly moves aside as the blonde's arms swing out in response, narrowly avoiding a hit to his nose.

Behind him, he hears Santana snort a laugh.

He snaps the cloth at her as he passes by on his way to the counter a moment later, smiling when he sees an ice cube hit her shoulder before slipping to the floor.

“You're gonna pay for that, Hummel.”

Kurt flicks the towel again in response, pointedly ignoring the hiss he gets in return as he drops the towel in the proper bin and moves to wash his hands.

By the door, Dani laughs, blowing Santana a kiss before resuming her mopping; Kurt shakes his head and shakes the excess water off his hands, stopping when Santana moves to stand beside him.

“Is there a reason you're lurking, Santana?”

“I didn't know I needed a reason to stand by the counter.”

Kurt ignores Santana's smirk and steps away, moving to pick up the plates intended for the overly loud group in the corner booth – and suppressing a grimace when he sees the extra mayo on the side of one plate, next to a truly impressive pile of fries.  He carefully sets all the plates on a tray before slowing making his way across the diner, wary of the still-wet floor.

He pauses at his customers' table, shamelessly eavesdropping on their conversation as he waits for them to notice him (and move their arms) so he can set down the food. When the two seniors – based on their wrinkled clothing and discussion of final projects – show no sign of having realized Kurt is here, he politely interrupts before setting down the plates, pointedly ignoring the lingering gaze of the recipient of the plate with the outrageous amount of mayonnaise.

If he ensures his ring is visible as he gathers their cups for refills, that's his own prerogative.

Waiting for the cups to fill (Sprite and Coke) at the fountain, Kurt takes a moment to pull out his phone –

And promptly drops it, when something cold slides down his back.

He spins, his phone clattering to the counter even as his arms scramble, attempting to reach the piece of ice in between his shirts.

“Santana!”

Several feet away, Santana has her hands over her face, her cackling laughter – audible even over the thunder – the only response to Kurt's shout.

“She did warn you,” Kurt gives Dani a scowl in response, although he does allow her to help him move, deftly catching the partly-melted ice cube in her palm seconds later.

Kurt steps back to the counter, picking up the now-finished drinks and resolutely ignoring Santana as he moves to his table, placing the sodas down with a slightly strained smile.

Text message from Kurt:

Remind me to hide my coffee later; Santana doesn't deserve the privilege of sharing

Text message from Blaine:

Taking away coffee privileges?!

Text message from Blaine:

…she didn't actually commit murder, did she?

Kurt feels his lips twitch in a smile in spite of his mood, and he shakes his head to keep Dani and Santana from seeing.

Text message from Kurt:

Although I wouldn't put it past her, she hasn't – not that I'm aware of, anyway

Text message from Kurt:

She did put an ice cube down my shirt

Text message from Blaine:

I thought I was the only allowed to do that?

Kurt feels the blush heat his cheeks and back of his neck and takes a breath before he returns his focus to the counter where he's attempting to get rid of a particularly stubborn stain.

Text message from Kurt:

It was over a hundred degrees out – that doesn't count

Text message from Kurt:

And if you ever want to even think about what happened after again, you'll agree with me

Text message from Blaine:

Of course ;)

Kurt huffs a laugh at Blaine's swift response, internally rolling his eyes even as his phone buzzes with another reply.

Text message from Blaine:

I love you!

The words are common now, said at least once in every conversation they have, and yet Kurt still feels the joy-awe-bliss he first felt across a table in a mediocre coffee shop whenever Blaine says (or texts) them.

Two years in, and Kurt hopes that it will continue for two, twenty, forty more.

Text message from Kurt:

Love you too :)

Text message from Blaine:

…and tell Santana your fiancé would appreciate it if she kept her hands and ice cubes to herself  

Text message from Blaine:

[photo] Miss you!

Kurt imagines Santana's reply to Blaine's comment and stifles an embarrassing laugh at the image, especially when he imagines her seeing Blaine's exaggerated pout as well. The frantic waving from one his customers changes his smile to a sigh but he quickly taps out a reply before making his way over, side-stepping the “Wet Floor” sign as he goes.

Text message from Kurt:

I don't think you have to worry…

Text message from Kurt:

Duty calls – don't you have a lunch to be eating? <3

Kurt does laugh when, five minutes later, Blaine sends a picture of his empty lunch tray, complete with a folded napkin.

-*-*-*-

Blaine takes his seat in the choir room and silently curses the tiled floor and open space; great for choral acoustics, less so for the high pitched laughs and yells of the glee members when Blaine already has a headache.

“Hey! Give me back –”

“Get back here, Anderson!” Down and he can't move, can't get away from the taunts and growing pain.

“Yeah, they're down, Mitch –”

“What's up with them?”

“Hm?” Blaine turns at Tina's question, blinking away memories even as he turns again, focusing on the source of the shouting where Ryder, Marley, Unique and Jake seem to be having some kind of competition/argument/discussion in the middle of the floor. “I have no idea.”

“Well,” Tina shifts in her seat, “it can't be too important, otherwise I'm certain they would have shared whatever-it-is.”

Blaine takes in her narrowed eyes before nodding in agreement. “Sure.”

“And what's up with you?”

“What?” Blaine leans forward, closer to Unique and twists his hands in his lap.

“Those four,” Tina offers a judgmental nod to the center of the room, “can't shut up, and you're giving one-word answers.”

“Oh,” Blane shrugs and offers a smile. “Sorry – headache. Probably from the new unit in Calc.” And possibly his Elavil, but he keeps that fact to himself.

Tina offers a wince in reply, “And here I was hoping I could get you to be my tutor.”

Blaine laughs, shaking his head, “I can't say I recommend that, sorry.”

Mr. Schue enters then, clapping his hands before moving to the board, circling where “Memories” is written, making the letters slightly harder to read. He starts to speak, but Blaine can't make out the words over Marley's shriek so he turns back to Tina with a shrug.

Text message from Blaine:

[photo] Sometimes I miss the order of the Warblers Council

Text message from Kurt:

It did lead to a more comprehensive rehearsal…

Text message from Kurt:

[photo] I'd still trade you, though – this is just for theatre history. I still have rehearsal tonight with my acting group :(

Text message from Blaine:

And here I thought the movies were exaggerating about college finals

Text message from Kurt:

They weren't

Text message from Kurt:

Although they did lie about college parties and drunken escapades

Text message from Blaine:

Is that a good thing?

Text message from Kurt:

I haven't decided yet

“Hey, you can talk to Kurt later.” Tina comments as she leans over and plucks the phone from Blaine's hands.

“What?”

“I don't like being ignored,” Tina says, moving the phone further from Blaine's reach. “And,” she narrows her eyes and Blaine scoots back in his seat, “you've been doing enough of that lately anyway.”

“No, I –” Blaine pauses, thinking back over the past week, of his schedule of therapy, school, the garage, and home. “Sorry,” he offers a smile and a shrug, “end of year craziness, you know?”

Tina's reply is cut off by Mr. Schue's raised voice as Unique moves to the row in the back, and Marley and Ryder take their seats in front of Blaine, with Jake unhappily stomping behind them. Blaine lets out a quiet sigh of relief, grateful that Tina's response remains unspoken.

“Now,” Mr. Schue continues, “I know I said we'd finish the solos today,” he holds up his hand at the resulting onslaught of raised voices, “but with the festival tomorrow we need to run through the performance before we leave. So we'll have two performances today and we'll finish the assignment on Monday.

“So,” Mr. Schue smiles, “Who's first?”

There's a clamor of sound as Sam, Jake, and Tina all start to speak, and Blaine takes the moment to lean forward, touching Jake on the shoulder. “I don't mind waiting til Monday.”

Five minutes later he's managed to convince Tina to wait as well, after promising that she can have the last performance and reminding her that she owes him since he's doing her the favor of dropping off the costumes at the cleaners after she double booked herself; Tina smoothly hands him back his phone in recompense.

Jake moves to the center of the room with a smirk that reminds Blaine of Santana, his moves confident as he gestures for the band to start. He sees Marley stiffen in her seat as the opening chords become recognizable, her hand reaching for Ryder's. Behind him, Blaine hears Unique's “Oh no hedidn't” as she crosses her arms. A glance shows Mr. Schue looking slightly worried, but not moving to stop the song.

Text message from Blaine:

…Has Mr. Schue ever stopped a performance?

Text message from Kurt:

He stopped us to have us rework some steps before when he randomly decided we needed to work harder, but never a weekly assignment…why?

Text message from Blaine:

[photo] ‘Since U Been Gone' for this week's assignment…

Text message from Kurt:

One time Rachel and Finn sang “With You I'm Born Again” while dressed up as a nun and a priest…

Blaine feels his eyes widen at the message, pauses, reads it again. When it doesn't change he subtly shakes his head, glances up to see Jake spinning in front of Marley before he types out a reply.

Text message from Blaine:

Wow. I can't decide if I want to see the pictures or not…

Text message from Kurt:

Check the scrapbook in my room ;)

Text message from Kurt:

Besides, Santana sang “Trouty Mouth” to Sam and you guys sang “Blurred Lines”

Text message from Kurt:

Plus…I seem to remember a certain someone singing “It's Not Right But It's Okay” in the middle of the choir room

Text message from Blaine:

I apologized! There were cookies and kisses!

Text message from Blaine:

…And I thought we agreed to never speak of that again

Text message from Kurt:

And now we won't, but I think Jake's going to get his chance in this week's spotlight

Text message from Blaine:

Kurt Hummel: Knower of All Things

Jake ends the song then, and if the weak applause he gets in return affects him he doesn't show it, sauntering back to his seat with a smile.

He's barely in his seat before Marley's standing, her haste almost tipping the chair before she rushes from the room, Unique following quickly, despite her heels. Ryder's turning to Jake with arms raised and Blaine is tense, waiting for blows when Sam steps between them, holding Ryder back even as he turns to Jake with a “Not cool, man” that's clearly audible across the small space.

There's a moment where Blaine waits, hopes he won't have to step in – he is closer than Mr. Schue – but then Jake steps back with a huff, stalking to his seat while muttering about overreactions and girls.

Unique and Marley return moments later, and Marley's eyes still look a little watery but she's composed, silent as she and Unique take their seats, noticeably further away from Jake than before.

Sam waits for a smile – from Marley and Ryder – before moving to the center of the room, motioning to the band as he goes. The band starts and Blaine nods along to the music, joining in when Sam hits the chorus, thinking of Kurt as he sings, “Im blind and waiting for you.” He pulls Unique into an impromptu dance, carefully leading her down the few steps and around chairs before spinning them both away. He sees Kitty laughing a few feet away, holding onto Artie's shoulders as he spins them on his chair; everyone is dancing, singing along (except for Jake, who Blaine spies slouched in a chair, resolutely staring at the wall).

The song, in Blaine's opinion, ends far too soon.

Mr. Schue finally puts an end to the shouts and high-fives, telling them all to head to the auditorium for rehearsal.

It's amazing, really, how quickly laughter can turn to groans of disapproval.

Blaine slowly moves back to his seat, grabbing his water bottle from his bag before heading for the door. Rehearsal may be draining but at least it's Friday.

-*-*-*-

Kurt carefully steps around the legs of several students sitting in the halls, obviously waiting for classes to begin – but really, sitting on the tile floor when it's rained? He barely suppresses his grimace – and makes his way toward the exit. He passes a few classmates as he goes, offering small nods of acknowledgement before stepping outside. Luckily it's stopped raining for the moment, though the clouds hold the promise of rain again in the near-future, and there's still dozens of puddles on the ground.

The gloomy weather is doing nothing to help his mood, or his ability to remain awake, and he decides to move his study session to the local café instead of staying at the library after retrieving his inter-library loans. The café's coffee is infinitely better anyway, and if he's lucky he'll manage to grab a booth and be able to spread out his work instead of attempting to cram everything into one of the tiny cubicles on the library's second floor.

Text message from Kurt:

[photo] I know there's a song about rainy days and Mondays, but what about rainy days and Fridays?

Text message from Blaine:

…I think we'll have to write one?

Text message from Blaine:

[photo] And it's just muggy here – can you send some of the rain?

Kurt shakes his head at the picture of the parking lot of Hummel Tires & Lube, the tow truck and Blaine's car along with various others shadowed under a grey sky.

Text message from Kurt:

While I'm flattered that you think I'm equal to Storm, I can't actually control the weather

Text message from Kurt:

But we can write a song…we should do that this summer :)

Text message from Blaine:

I'll add it to our ‘to-do' list!

Kurt laughs at Blaine's enthusiasm even as he arrives at the entrance to the library, opening the door and wincing when the squeak of shoes from some of his less fashionable classmates follows him as he makes his way to the circulation desk. Luckily the line isn't too long, although Kurt hopes he can get his books and make it to the café before the rain starts again. His umbrella is only so much help, after all.

Text message from Kurt:

Add making sure we never buy shoes that squeak in the rain, too

Text message from Kurt:

I'm cringing

Text message from Blaine:

If it makes you feel better, the guy who dropped off a rusted Chevy was wearing overalls with no shirt and a cowboy hat.

Text message from Blaine:

No one needed to see that, Kurt. No one.

Kurt's still laughing when he makes it to the desk, handing over his ID with a smile.

-*-*-*-

Blaine pauses in gathering the correct oil carton, taking a moment to breathe and relax against the wall beside the shelves of supplies. He's tired, the combination of classes and Glee having sapped most of his energy, and while he wasn't required to be at the garage, there was something calming about changing oil and rotating tires.

And he could do with some calm.

He's getting better; he knows he's getting better, that the medicine and therapy and acceptance are part of it. And yet –

Accepting what happened to him means acknowledging it. Acknowledging that it's affecting him now – that it's not normal that he freezes when he sees a green truck, or hears a raised voice;  that he needs a moment when a white car speeds by, or when he hears certain names.

And talking about those things two times a week makes it harder for him to push them from his mind when he's elsewhere.

Like at school.

Shaking his head, Blaine grabs the correct carton of oil and pushes away from the wall, making his way back to where Burt stands by a blue Kia.

“There's a reason we tell people to bring ‘em in for whichever they hit first. But,” Burt nods toward the car, “apparently six months sounded better than three thousand miles. Luckily it's not too bad this time. Anyway,” Burt continues as he readjusts his cap, “you manage to find the oil?”

“Oh, yeah,” Blaine waves the container in his hand before setting it down, “you might need to order more soon though; we're running low.”

“I'll put in the order we –”

A shouted name interrupts Burt's sentence, and Blaine turns to see one of the mechanics jogging to the door –

Shoes pound behind him before an arm grabs his shoulder, spinning him around and into a punch that pushes him further into the arms of his captor. “Look at me! Think you're too good to look me in the eye? Be a man, Anderson!” Pain bursts and his breath catches –

Burt huffs in annoyance. “I've told them not to yell for no reason…they just keep tellin' me it's the fastest way to get an answer.”

“Well,” Blaine clears his throat and blinks, focusing on the Kia, “they're not wrong.”

A hand claps on his shoulder and Blaine hopes his stance against the car hides his slight jump. “And here I thought you'd agree with me, being the poster boy for manners.”

Blaine laughs and pulls off the oil cap. “Believe it or not the etiquette books never mentioned mechanic shops.”

“Of course not,” Burt mutters, moving to help Blaine under the hood of the car. “Anyway, let's finish this up – etiquette or not, Carole will have words for both of us if we're late for dinner.”

-*-*-*-

A particularly loud burst of thunder has Kurt startling in his seat, second-guessing his decision to study in a booth by a window. His books lay scattered across the table in front of him, and he blinks as he finally looks away from the harsh light of his computer screen.  He leans back, taking a moment to stretch and pull out one of his headphones, replacing Enough for Now with the chatter from the coffee shop. Only for the peaceful sounds to be interrupted by a shout of his name moments later.  A quick glance toward the door and he's carefully piling up his papers, closing his laptop, and placing his pens and highlighters back in his case, offering a slightly embarrassed wave to Santana, Dani, and Elliott.

They reach his table just as Kurt gives up and shoves everything into his bag, cringing when he sees some of his printouts crumpling into awkward angles.

“And here I thought you'd be eagerly anticipating our arrival.”

“It's Finals, Santana, the only things I eagerly anticipate are coffee and sleep.”

“Hopefully not in that immediate order,” Elliott adds, offering a smile, “unless you're now immune to caffeine?”

“Wait,” Kurt says as he clears away the last of his post-its, “can that actually happen? Because I need my caffeine. I can't get through NYADA without my coffee.”

“I wouldn't worry,” Dani comments as she takes her seat, “otherwise everyone over twenty-two would avoid coffee or be drinking decaf.”

Kurt hums in agreement before looking to the counter. “On that note, I'm going to get some food; we were meeting for dinner, right?”

“I don't know about them,” Santana turns her head toward her girlfriend and Elliott, “but just your company isn't enough to drag me out in the rain on a Friday night, so why don't you get me a sandwich, Hummel.”

“I'm not buying you dinner,” Kurt sighs, “especially when I know you made more in tips than I did this week.”

Santana offers a truly terrifying smile.

“I'll go up with you,” Dani comments even as she slides out from the booth, “and I don't mind buying for lovely ladies, especially when it means they'll make it up to me later.”

Kurt groans and Elliott attempts to cover his laugh in a napkin.

“You are seriously spending way too much time with her,” Kurt says as they take their place in line. “Now even you're mentioning your sex life in public?”

“Trust me,” Dani smirks, “I have no reason to hide anything about my sex life.” A wink, and Dani continues, “Besides, at least I wasn't talking about your sex life. Santana says your fiancé is quite the catch.”

Kurt feels his cheeks burn and silently curses his pale complexion. “I – I think we're done with this conversation. Have you tried their spinach wrap? Is it good?”

“You're not subtle at all, Kurt. And no, I haven't, but so far everything here has been good.” She pauses and then offers a smile, “But really, we did well, I think. We have some smokin' significant others.”

Kurt ducks his head as he laughs, absently twisting his ring as he does. “Well, never let it be said that I claimed Blaine was anything less than good-looking.”

They arrive at the counter then, placing their orders and it's only as Kurt takes in the food on display that he realizes it's been hours since his last meal.

Another thing the movies got right: everyone's eating habits in college are abysmal.

Back at the booth minutes later with arms full of food and cups of soda, Kurt carefully slides in next to Elliott.

“Sorry I had to leave after the performance last night, by the way,” Kurt moves his fries away from his wrap before carefully pouring a pile of ketchup. “But I think it went well – the audience seemed to like it, anyway.”

“Of course they did,” Santana adds as she takes a bite of her sandwich, “I had two solos. Although,” she narrows her eyes across the table, “be glad this is a good sandwich – did I mention I don't like going out in the rain just to fit in to your schedule? I could be –”

Kurt's never been more thankful for Dani than when she cuts off Santana's tirade by leaning over and whispering in her ear, even if he never wants to know what she says judging by the blush now staining Santana's cheeks.

“It was a good performance,” Elliott agrees, and Kurt turns to face him, “and the audience really seemed to like that we switched genres.”

“Makes us unique,” Dani chimes in, “we're more than some one-trick pony.”

“We've got half the queer rainbow in our band,” Santana comments with a smirk, “we couldn't be a one-trick pony if we tried.”

“I'm not sure I want to know what you mean by that,” Kurt mutters, eating some his fries.

“Anyway,” Elliott draws out the word, blatantly changing the topic of conversation, “Dani and I were thinking we could build on that –”

“Oh! Yeah,” Dani continues talking about classic songs across the musical spectrum and Kurt holds in his sigh that his bandmates have, yet again, discussed the band without him. Still, he manages to join in the conversation from time to time, adding in names of songs and artists, and soon his plate is reduced to crumbs, with only a few smears of ketchup left to show his consumption. “So,” Dani concludes, “we'll meet Sunday? Usually the shop isn't too busy, then.”

Kurt feels the smile stretching across his face even as he nods. Dani and Elliott  - and Santana, if he's being honest – had accepted his contributions, listening to his reasoning before adding their own suggestions. And he's not being excluded; they're all going looking for music.

“Not that I'm actually hating this conversation,” Santana comments, “but didn't you have some practice thing tonight? I was looking forward to having the loft to myself for a while.”

Kurt jerks his head up even as he pulls out his phone.

And curses.

He's supposed to meet his Acting group in twenty minutes.

An angry swipe at his phone shows him that while he did set the alarm he didn't actually turn it on, so his plan to have time to leisurely walk back to campus and call Blaine is now moot.

He's out of the booth and sliding into his jacket seconds later, mumbling his thanks when Elliott offers to take care of the trash while Dani offers an exaggerated wave. He hastily throws his bag over his shoulder as he heads for the door, pulling out his phone as he goes.

“Hey,” Blaine's voice is warm, welcoming, “Have a good dinner? Carole made some kind of casserole thing and I'm pretty sure I ate my weight in pasta.”

Kurt laughs even as he pauses at the door to the café, staring out at the rain coating the glass and city streets. “My sandwich was decent enough, although your meal sounds better. Look,” Kurt sighs and tightens his grip on his phone, “I know we planned a Skype call but can we move it to later?” At Blaine's silence he hurries to continue, “I forgot to actually turn on my alarm and now I'm running late and I have to be at rehearsal in…eighteen minutes or my Acting group might actually kill me. And,” Kurt sighs and reaches for his umbrella, “it's still raining.”

“Oh,” Blaine's voice stays soft, but sure, “That's fine. I have some homework to do anyway.”

“And you could keep me company now,” Kurt adds, hating how his voice catches, “I'm walking back to campus so I shouldn't lose service.”

“Hm. You're walking in the rain? You have your umbrella, right?”

Kurt allows a small smile at Blaine's concern, “You've seen my wardrobe. Do you really think I'd leave home without my umbrella when it's supposed to rain all day?”

“Well,” Blaine's voice takes on a slight teasing edge, barely audible over the rain as Kurt exits the café and opens his umbrella before making his way out into the downpour. “Not intentionally.”

“I get caught in a freak summer storm without an umbrella one time and you never let me forget it.”

“You were wearing a white shirt, Kurt. I couldn't forget that day if I wanted to,” a pause, “which I don't.”

“You're incorrigible,” Kurt mumbles as he makes his way around a slow-walking tourist, before his brain remembers what Blaine had mentioned minutes before. “Are you actually doing homework at seven on a Friday night?”

“Well,” Blaine draws out the word, “my fiancé postponed our date, so I suddenly find myself with some unexpected free time.”

His response cuts Kurt short, and he tightens his grip on his umbrella even as he waits at the crosswalk, unsure of his next words. The rain pounding on the umbrella makes it hard to decipher Blaine's tone, and he wonders if the remark was meant to be teasing or not. He thought he and Blaine had worked out their issues (most of them, anyway) but against his will his mind flashes back to their argument the week before, and he feels his shoulders tense. “I'm sorry, Blaine.” Kurt keeps his voice steady, even if it is soft, “I didn't mean to lose track of time. I know I've had trouble with this in the past, but I'm working on it. And I've been doing better but I just got caught up today.”

“Kurt, Kurt!” Blaine's shout has Kurt pulling the phone away from his ear a bit, even as he joins the crowd in crossing the street. “No! I didn't mean it like that. I know you didn't mean to. I just –” a pause, “You are always saying I have an awful sense of humor.”

Kurt huffs a laugh and feels the tension slip away, gone as quickly as it had come. “You're lucky I love you.”

“Yes.” Blaine agrees, “I love you, too.”

Kurt smiles and glances to where his left hand is wrapped around the handle of his umbrella, his ring a flash of silver against an otherwise dull wash of color. “I do. Questionable humor and all.”

“So, tell me,” Blaine draws out the words, “how was the post-performance band meeting?”

“Pretty good, actually.” And if he spends the next ten minutes of the walk to campus gushing about how his bandmates actually listened to his ideas and how they're going music shopping Sunday, well, there's no one he trusts more with his emotions than Blaine.

Time seems to have rushed, then, because Kurt's entering the building, hears his classmates talking in a commandeered classroom down the hall – their voices echoing in the otherwise empty building. “Look…I hate to do this, but –”

“You're at school, aren't you.”

“Well since comedy's out you could always try being a psychic.”

“I think that only works with you.”

Kurt laughs even as he shakes his head. “I'll take that as a compliment. Anyway, this should only take a few hours, I hope. So around 10? Maybe 10:30?”

“I'll make room in my busy schedule.”

“I'm flattered.”

“Hm,” Blaine agrees, “I'll talk to you later, then. Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

Kurt lowers his phone and enters the classroom, pushing away thoughts of his band and fiancé; the sooner he finishes the sooner he can get back to Blaine.

-*-*-*-

The streetlamps flicker on as Blaine pulls into the parking lot, a not-so-subtle reminder that his trip to the dry cleaners is hours later than he had planned. He parks with a quiet sigh – near the red Corolla but away from the door and the surrounding potholes – turning off his car (and the sounds of Pompeii from his speakers) and moving to unbuckle his seatbelt.

He had gotten caught up in homework after his conversation with Kurt, hoping that by finishing his calculus assignment he'd be able to enjoy the rest of his weekend. An hour and a half later had left him with three problems – and four sheets of notebook paper – finished and the desire to throw his graphing calculator against something. It was only as he'd moved to take some Tylenol that he'd glanced at the time, and the picture of him and Kurt after last year's nationals had reminded him of the costumes currently piled on his back seat.

Text message from Blaine:

I think I need to work on my time management skills – help me make a schedule?

With a sigh, Blaine puts his phone in his pocket and exits his car, slowly moving to gather the outfits and huffing a laugh as he remembers Burt's comments about the size difference between the amount of clothes and himself – if he staggers slightly under the weight of the costumes at least he's the only one to notice. The drop-off for the dry cleaners may be open twenty four hours, but it's not the busiest place in Lima on a Friday night. Even the Walgreens and Speedway around the corner are quiet.

Then again, the only places busy on Friday nights – in Lima, anyway – are places with movies or food.

For a moment as he picks his way across the pot-hole ridden parking lot he debates texting Sam or Tina, asking if they want to see what's playing, but then he remembers that Mr. Schue wants them in the auditorium for a last-minute run through at nine the next morning, and they're due at the festival by ten-thirty despite not being scheduled to perform on stage until noon.

Carefully, he adjusts the pile of costumes in his arms and steps up to the drop off window, pushing the clothes through with a grateful sigh. A flash of headlights illuminates the lot briefly, and Blaine feels a flicker of kinship – at least he's not the only one making last minute runs to dry cleaners.

His eyes adjust as he turns away from the building, the now-dark headlights allowing him to see a truck – dark in the low lighting, blue maybe, or green – parked a space over from his own car.

Breathe in. It's just a truck.

Breathe out. It's not them.

He pauses, drumming his fingers against his thigh.  Blaine stills his hands before he takes a steadying breath and heads for his car.

-*-*-*-

“Be a man Anderson!” A shout that echoes along with harsh laughter making his ears ring. “I guess you can't do that, huh?” He's caught, tight arms trapping him against a body too large for him to overthrow. He can't breathe, air trapped in frozen lungs, unconsciousness beckoning like a siren's call.

“Freakin' homo. Didn't you learn nothin' before?”

A white car idles in a parking lot, voices carrying over even the sounds of engines.

“You couldn't even put up a fight?” A punch and he's dropping, gasping for breath and ignoring the jarring of his knees.

“Look at me!” Hands grab him and he feels a pop, his arm going numb as his phone drops, the plastic shattering inches away even as he falls, pain growing with each heartbeat, shadows dancing across his vision.

A dark haired student leans against a dark truck, waiting for the gas to pump.

Pain flares in his side, blurring his vision even as a shoe returns, hitting again.

“You're finished, Anderson!”

Darkness.