Dave Karofsky.

Kurt shrank back down, realizing he wouldn’t have a chance, and this wasn’t the time. He needed to find this person, this... what was his name again? B…Blaine. That was it.

“What’s wrong, homo, trip over your designer heels?” The words spit out of Dave’s mouth, but with much less anger than usual. Was that a tear in his eye, or just the light? Kurt didn’t have time to find out, because Dave was already walking past, eyes staring straight forward, focused on something way more important it seemed.

A soft hand hooked under Kurt’s arm and grasped it. As the hand slowly pulled him up, Kurt turned, to be looking into the eyes of an unfamiliar face.

“Are you alright?” He asked, his voice seeming like velvet, gliding off his tongue like butter.

Kurt was stunned. Staring into those eyes, those beautiful brown eyes, with those oh so attractive triangle looking eyebrows, he couldn’t compose himself. He felt like an hour had passed before the stranger had gently shaken him again, chuckling.

“I said, are you alright?” He asked again, tilting his head.
God, he was gorgeous.

Kurt shook his head, laughing uncomfortably. “Yes, yes I am. Th-Thank you.” He caught himself staring at the boy again, who was staring back equally as intrigued.
His thoughts were broken by the reminder of the fact that he was a slave now. He wasn’t allowed to fall in love with anyone without permission, or so the law says. What was the point? He needed to find someone, and he was getting off track.

“Thank you. Again. I have to get going, now. Thanks!” Kurt yelled behind him as he rushed off to the office, trying not to focus on the fact that he’d said ‘thanks’ more than enough in the last few sentences.

Walking into the calm office area, Kurt regained his strength, putting on his best smile as he asked the nearest secretary about his new “owner”, or whatever sick term it was called.

“A Blaine Anderson, you said?” The secretary confirmed, frowning as she squinted at the computer screen, her index finger scrolling down the page.

“Ah, here. He should be in Calculus right now, Room 35A.” She smiled brightly, handing him a pass.

Kurt mumbled a “thanks” under his breath, as he walked out, staring down at the script handwriting which had written Blaine Anderson with the room number. It seemed so simple, yet not, that that was the name of the person who could now control him in any way he wanted.

Kurt shuddered at the thought, breathing in and out, forcing himself to calm down. Maybe he’d be nice, you know.

Finally getting to the room, he hesitated slightly before opening the door, interrupting the class. Every head turned to look at him, and the teacher, a relatively old ginger lady, looked pissed, having been stopped in the middle of something probably important.

“I’m very sorry, Miss Turpek, I am. If I could just borrow Blaine Anderson for a second, please?” Kurt asked, apologetically.

She nodded her head dismissively, as he heard metal scrape metal as someone’s chair was pulled out, and he saw a guy stand up in the corner of his eye.

Shit.

Shit.

Shit.

Fuck.

Blaine Anderson, owner, master, commander of him, was the same incredibly gorgeous boy from before, who’d helped him up in the hall. The very same one, in fact, that he’d made a complete idiot of himself out of in front of.

He might have been hallucinating, but he swore he saw an arrogant smirk pass across Blaine’s face, as he followed him out of the room.