Addicted

Pilot - Part One

Blaine groans as his alarm clock rings loudly from his bedside table. He surfaces from under his pillow and turns off the grating buzzing sound. He’s not ready to wake up and face the day. By now he’s somewhat settled in the new house, using the past month to get used to the new rooms and neighborhood. He hadn't gone into town much, but he had discovered a coffee shop called the Lima Bean. Most of the people in his neighborhood were older and their kids had all moved on to start their own lives, so Blaine found himself reading in his room or reorganizing his bow tie collection more often than not.

But today Blaine can’t hide in his room. Today Blaine is starting high school.

His father had taken him over to William McKinley one day a few weeks ago so Blaine could see the school. It looked large and well-maintained, unlike the high school Blaine would have gone to had he stayed in Westerville, which was forty years old, and in dire need of redecorating. Even though the school looked nice, Blaine was still apprehensive. He knew how accepting upperclassmen were of freshman and he knew how accepting kids in general were of their gay peers. Blaine had only come out a few months before moving, but the news spread fast at his old middle school thanks to his former and only best friend. After everyone was told of his sexuality, Blaine didn't really talk to people much and people, for the most part, didn't talk to him. He preferred it that way.

Even if his classmates bullied and ignored him, Blaine refused to lie about who he was. He wasn't going to let people to tell him who he should be. Blaine figured that the people who accepted him were the ones he wanted to associate with, not those who hated him because of who he loved. It didn't matter how people treated him because of that; he wasn't going to let himself lie.

With another groan, Blaine pushes himself out of his bed and shuffles to his bathroom. Turning the water in shower onto a warm temperature, he strips and stands under the warm spray. He lets the water beat down his back and tries not to think of the day ahead. Maybe he would be pleasantly surprised and find that the students here in Lima were accepting and friendly. Maybe the gay population at McKinley was actually rather large and he'd fit right in. And maybe the teachers didn't ignore the kids who needed help, academically or socially. Blaine imagined a utopian high school with clean halls, competent faculty and amiable peers.

Blaine realizes with a frown that his plan about not thinking about the coming school day is failing miserably.

He shuts off the water and reaches for the plush towel hanging from the back of the door. Toweling his hair dry, he steps from the shower and back into his room. He had already picked out an outfit (last week, he was so nervous and he had nothing to do and he couldn't just sit still, so he decided to make all the possible combinations he could with his clothes until he found the perfect one) and it hangs neatly on his closet door. A short-sleeved white dress shirt, a forest-green sweater vest, a simple gray bow tie and grey slacks. It’s his style, but not as flamboyant as some of his other pieces. Blaine, but not overtly so. He hopes it would help him avoid the attention of less-than-friendly upperclassmen.

After he gets dressed and convinces himself to stop fiddling with his clothes, he returns to the bathroom in search of his hair gel. A month in this house and he still couldn't figure out his bathroom. He laughs softly at himself, unsure of whether it’s bitter or light-hearted. He fumbles around in his cabinets, knocking over cleaning supplies and hygiene products, until finally he recovers the small white container. Blaine warms the gel between his fingers and spreads it through his curly dark hair until it’s styled to his liking; gelled, but not too gelled (he doesn’t want to look as if he’s trying too hard).

He examines himself in the full-length mirror in his bedroom. A jolt of panic speeds through him; his clothes make him look like a little kid going to Sunday school; his hair is a pathetic attempt at making his unruly curls look under control; he’s just so short, people would ask him if he needs help finding the Lima Elementary school. He isn't ready for high school. He isn't even for high school. The people there would laugh at him or throw him into the lockers. He’s pondering if he should just tell his mother he feels sick when he hears her yelling from downstairs.

"Blaine Maxwell!" She shouts, agitation clear in her voice. "If you don't get down here now, you'll be late! Hurry up!"

Her sudden calling snaps Blaine from his panic. He exhales once and eyes himself in the mirror, standing up straighter.

"You can do this, Blaine Anderson," He tells himself coolly. "It's only eight hours. You can do this."

~

Blaine has to repeat his mantra to himself at least fifty times on the bus ride over. He thought because it was so early in the morning (why the hell does this school start at 7:20 AM?) kids would be asleep or so out of it they couldn't even speak.

He’s really wrong.

Some kids are actually sleeping - or at least trying to - but so many of the kids are excited to see the friends they'd lost touch with over the summer. They pull out their schedules and compare classes, discussing which teachers were mean or lenient or cool or hot.

No one actually notices Blaine, but he still feels slightly intimidated by the rowdy and occasionally crude students he's sharing a bus with.

He lets out a sigh of relief when the bus lets the students into the school parking lot. He breathes the cool morning air and his incantation is given new life. Blaine follows the crowd to the doors of the school and tells himself once more, you can do this.

He finds his locker with ease. It's fortunately close to his first period, so Blaine takes his time opening his locker. He puts a few extra notebooks into the locker, there just in case he needs one.

Blaine glances at his watch and sees he still has about ten minutes before he needs to be in class. He wonders if he should just wait by his locker, but decides it's not worth it. He doesn't care what it looks like to other students if he's the first on there; he's not going to let other's opinions of him affect the way he acts.

Blaine finds his English class with ease. At the desk is an octogenarian woman with large glasses that slide down her hook-like nose. She's reading a book and looks like she'd rather be anywhere but the classroom. Moving past her desk, Blaine looks around the room. In a desk towards the back of the class is a girl garbed in black, dark hair tumbling around her face. Deciding that sitting in the back is a good choice, Blaine moves into the desk next to her.

Before he can even think about what to say, he blurts out, "Hi."

The Asian girl looks up at him through her curtain of hair and offers a short, indifferent, "H-hi." The girl looks back down and her desk and doesn't say anymore. Blaine gathers from her body language that she obviously does not want to talk and decides to leave her alone. Blaine doesn't want to piss off anyone on his first day and he doesn't want to bother someone who obviously wants to be left alone.

More and more students begin to trickle in. Some kids look just as shy as the girl beside him does. Others are looking around them and striking up conversations with the students nearest to them. Others still are meeting up with friends they already know. Blaine wants to mingle, but it seems everyone has already found a conversational partner and he hates interrupting others. Before he can strike up the courage to introduce himself to anyone, the final bell rings and a voice comes on over the intercom.

"Good morning students," Says a man with a thick Indian accent. "This is your principal Figgins. Welcome to the 2009-2010 William McKinley school year. I would like to remind all that girls that jean-leggings - so called 'jeggings' - are not an appropriate substitute for pants and all boys that the bathrooms are not your personal playgrounds. Good luck to you and have successful school year."

It's obvious to Blaine that the principal doesn't interact much with the student body at all.

He doesn't have much time to think about the disembodied voice because his elderly English teacher is standing up in front of the class. She's short, even shorter than him (5'4", but he's till got a good one or two growth spurts left!). She introduces herself as Mrs. Enrico and informs the students she's been teaching at William McKinley since it opened fifteen years ago, but she's been teaching for over forty years.

In her hand is a stack of papers, the syllabus Blaine assumes. Silently, the teacher passes them out, handing a small pile to the first student in each row and instructing them to pass back the papers. When the student in front of Blaine turns around, she gives him an odd once-over glance, hands him the paper and turns back to her own syllabus. Mr. Enrico reads the class itinerary verbatim, droning on about assigned readings and late-work policies. Already some of the students are asleep, heads down. Some are doodling in the margins of their paper. A select few are actually paying attention and Blaine notices will a small smile that the girl beside him is one of them.

After handing out the textbooks and recording each student's book number, she passes out another sheet of paper with a set of questions on them. It looks to Blaine like a peer survey.

"Pick a student that you don't know," she emphasizes, "and interview them with the questions on the paper." Without any dismissal, she sits at her desk and turns back to her book. Blaine can already tell this is one of those lenient, possibly even lazy, teachers his peers were talking about the on the bus.

A light hand taps Blaine's shoulder and he looks up to see the long haired-girl staring at him shyly. He reads in her face that she's asking him to be her partner for the exercise and he smiles comfortingly at her.

"Question one," he begins, trying to come across as kind. "What is your name?"

"T-tina," She answers. He notices her stutter but tries not to think anything of it. He understands what it’s like to be perceived as different because of something others don’t like. He doesn’t want to do the same thing to others.

"Hello, Tina," He says politely. "My name's Blaine." He offers his hand to her and she accepts it, shaking it softly.

"Hi, Bbb-blaine."

"Question two, where are you originally from?"

"I've always l-lived in Li-Lima," Tina responds. "Bb-but I've ne-never ssseen y-you be-before."

"Unless you've ever been to Westerville, you never would've." Blaine tells her. "I moved here during the summer."

"Oh!" Tina replies. "H-how dddo y-you li-like it?"

"I don't know. I haven't really explored much." Blaine remarks. "But I guess it's okay. Not that different from Westerville." Blaine wonders if that's a good thing or a bad thing.

"W-well, wel-welcome to L-lima, Bblaine," Tina says with a small smile.

"Thanks," Blaine returns, feeling just a bit better from Tina's warm welcome. For the rest of the period, they go back and forth over the questions, enjoying each other's company.

Blaine doesn't see Tina in his next three periods, nor does he make any more new acquaintances. A lot of the students in his classes ignore him, opting for the company of their own friends, and some even seem to be judging him silently. He shrugs it off. Blaine's expected them to do this and he's already prepared himself for this kind of treatment. Instead he focuses on the words of his teachers and tries to absorb all the different policies and assignments he sees outlined in the class syllabi.

Finally his fourth period class lets out and students hurry excitedly toward the cafeteria for lunch. Blaine isn't at all eager to go to lunch. Students all gathered in one place with their friends and ignorant teachers and then there's Blaine, who has no one and absolutely hates it. It's not that he worries others will make fun of him for it; he honestly just wants some kind of companionship.

He brought a lunch from home, so he bypasses the lunch line and finds an empty table. He sits and begins to eat his sandwich listlessly. Blaine starts to make a mental checklist of the supplies his teachers said the students would need for class. He thinks he should write it all down but doesn't care enough to pull out a notebook and pencil.

A body slides into the seat next to him, pulling him from his reverie. Blaine looks up and is surprised to see Tina glancing at him. She smiles and turns to her own lunch. After a few minutes of eating silently, Tina looks at Blaine.

"Sso, d-do you have any ff-friends bback ho-home?"

"Not really, no," Blaine returns, trying not to sound disappointed.

"No gi-gi-girlfriend, even?"

Blaine chuckles before telling her, "Definitely no girlfriend. I'm gay."

"Y-you are?" Tina asks, mildly shocked. Blaine diverts his eyes to his hands that are sitting in his lap, feeling suddenly self-conscious. "N-not th-that it's a ppproblem! I-I've ju-just nnever m-met a g-g-gay p-person bb-before."

Blaine looks back at her and grins. "It's alright, Tina. I understand. But, I'm honestly not that different from a straight person."

"I-I kn-know," Tina tells him.

"What about you?" Blaine questions. "Got a boyfriend?"

Tina ducks her head. "N-no," she replies quietly. Blaine can understand why she's so insecure about the subject and doesn't press further.

"If only I were straight, right?" He says with a wink. She giggles, blushing.

They chat amiably for the rest of lunch and part ways with friendly goodbyes. Blaine hopes it isn't the last goodbye he shares with her for the day. Not only does he like her, he likes finally having a friend who isn't scared by his sexuality.

~

As it would happen, Blaine doesn't have any more classes with Tina. He's disappointed, but tries to get over it as quickly as possible. There's nothing he can do about it and just has to get used to the idea. The three remaining periods pass slowly, more of the same syllabi being passed out and discussed. When the final bell for the end of the day rings, Blaine can't get out of his seat fast enough. The school's front doors come into view and Blaine speeds up his pace, excited to just get on the bus and go.

He isn't expecting to be hit by a wall of shockingly cold ice.

Blaine can hear someone yelling, "Welcome to McKinley, nerd!" The offenders laugh and lumber off. Blaine tries to open his eyes, tries to breath, tries to do something, but the slushie- it feels like more than one, actually- is dripping down his shirt and it's so damncold.

Blaine thinks he hears other students laughing and whispering, but he tries not think about how absolutely humiliated he feels.

Just when he's about to turn down the hallway in search of a bathroom, a voice appears beside him.

"Oh dear," Says someone who adds a small tsk. "Alright, let's go to the bathroom." He feels someone grab his arm and begin to drag him somewhere. Blaine decides not to resist- they did offer to take him to the bathroom after all- and instead focuses on not slipping and falling on his ass.

He feels himself being pulled into a room and tries to open his eyes but the slushie slides into them and he shuts them immediately against the offending substance. Blaine hisses quietly.

"Yeah, I wouldn't try opening my eyes just yet if I were you," The voice informs him. Blaine can tell it's a boy who's leading him into the bathroom but he notices he has a very high-pitched voice.

The boy pushes him up against a sink and disappears from his side for a moment. Blaine hears the sound of a paper towel dispenser being used. A gentle hand grabs his chin and holds him still as the slushie is wiped from his face.

"You can open your eyes now."

Blaine follows the order and comes face to face with a pale, very young looking boy. He has bright blue eyes and soft-looking chestnut hair that falls lightly on his forehead. He isn't smiling, but still Blaine notices how nice his lips look.

Woah Blaine, don't be creepy, he scolds himself.

"They got you with red and purple, the hardest colors to get out," The boy informs him. "Your dress shirt is probably a lost cause, but the bow tie and vest should be salvageable."

"Thanks," Blaine says softly.

"You're welcome," The brown-haired boy answers. Blaine decides he quite likes the sound of the boy's voice. It might be high-pitched, but that doesn't mean it's necessarily bad. It sounds musical, almost, and Blaine decides he could listen to it endlessly. "That was the football team by the way. Karofsky, Azimio, Hudson, Puck and a few others were the ones that slushied you. Puck was the one that actually yelled at you."

"They slushie people here?" Blaine asks incredulously.

"Yeah, it's how they remind you that you're nothing and you never will be." The boy says bitterly. "Every year on the first day of school they pick one freshman to slushie. It seems that it's you this year."

"Great," Blaine mumbles. The boy hands him more paper towels so he can wipe off his neck and collar. Once he's gotten all that he can, the boy takes the towels and throws them out.

"Are you wearing an undershirt?" He asks.

"Yeah." Blaine answers.

"Vest and shirt off." The blue-eyed boy orders. Blaine complies quickly, all too eager to get out of the sticky, cold clothing. He’s a little embarrassed about practically stripping in front of the gorgeous boy that he’s known for all of five minutes, but he’s too afraid to disobey him.

"Head under the faucet," He continues. Blaine looks at him with wide eyes, but then he realizes his hair is wet and sticky. He bends over and puts his head under the faucet like the boy asked. The boy turns on the water and begins gently washing the ice from Blaine's hair. Blaine likes the feeling of the boy’s fingers massaging his scalp, but tries not to think about it. The action is clearly platonic and doesn’t mean anything. The boy finishes quickly and hands Blaine more paper towels to dry his hair off with. Blaine grumbles about his hair and how it'll curl wildly but figures it won't matter since he'll be going home soon anyway.

"Why are you helping me?" Blaine asks the boy.

"Because last year they slushied me." He answers somberly. "No one helped me and I had to clean up all on my own. It sucked."

"Thank you, again." Blaine tells him sincerely. "What's your name?"

"Kurt." He replies and sticks out his hand. Blaine takes it.

"I'm Blaine." Blaine states. He stands and looks at his and Kurt's clasped hands. Kurt lets go abruptly and Blaine blushes, realizing how strange it must be to Kurt to have a boy holding his hand for longer than was necessary.

"It's nice to meet you Blaine," Kurt says politely. "Well, you've missed your bus by now. I guess you'll need a ride?"

"Oh, no you don't have to, I can walk-," Blaine starts, but Kurt holds up his hand and cuts him off.

"What I meant to say is I'll give you a ride."

Blaine nods, unsure of how to respond and follows Kurt out to his car. They walk silently through the parking lot until they arrive a large, black SUV.

"This is the Navigator," Kurt tells Blaine. "My baby. My dad gave it to me when I got my license over the summer. Try not to get any left over ice on the seats, okay?"

Blaine nods, but he's not sure he can really control whether or not ice drips on the seats. He decides to try though, telling from how seriously Kurt talks about the car that he really cares for it. He gets into the passenger seat and buckles his seat belt and tries not to think about getting a ride home from the cutest guy he's ever seen. He tries not to think about the way he eyed Kurt's tight jeans hugging his hips as they walked through the parking lot. He tries not to think about Kurt's beautiful blue eyes.

"Blaine?" Kurt prompts, bringing Blaine back to the present.

"Sorry, come again?"

"I asked where you lived."

"Oh, 222 Smith Street," Blaine answers.

"Wow, you live way towards the end of town," Kurt remarks. He starts the car and pulls out of the parking lot.

"Maybe my parents will listen to you if you tell them," Blaine jokes lightly, hoping Kurt will smile. A small smile appears on Kurt's lips momentarily and Blaine cheers inwardly.

"Are you new in town?" Kurt inquires. "I've never seen you around before and Lima isn't that big."

Blaine nods his head once. "My parents and I just moved here from Westerville a month ago."

"Westerville, huh?" Kurt repeats. "Why'd you move?"

"My dad's law firm opened a new branch here and they asked him to lead it," Blaine discloses. Kurt hmms in response. "What does your dad do?" Blaine questions, unsure of what else to say.

"He's a mechanic," Kurt speaks. "He owns Hummel Tires and Lube. It's how he got this car so cheap." Blaine notes the name of the car shop in his head, thinking if ever his dad had car trouble (or he wanted to find Kurt) he would want the name.

"It's a great car," Blaine remarks.

"Thank you!" Kurt exclaims, brimming with pride. "I selected everything myself."

"It's really nice," Blaine adds, running his finger along the seam of his seat. The leather is smooth and dark and warm from sitting all day in the sun but it feels nice against Blaine's chilled skin.

A long silence occupies the car as Kurt navigates the streets of Lima. Finally Blaine musters up enough courage to ask the blue-eyed boy what’s been troubling him the entire ride. "So how often do people get slushied at school?" Blaine asks, the apprehension thick in his voice.

"At least once a week, sometimes more." Kurt explains. "Not to worry you, but I'd be more afraid of dumpster dives and locker shoves. They're much more frequent. I got thrown in the dumpster this morning."

"Wow, that's awful," Blaine responds, angry and worried. He doesn’t want to get thrown into a dumpster because how humiliating would that be? But he’s even more upset that Kurt would get tossed into one. Blaine knows it’s weird that he doesn’t even know Kurt and he’s feeling so strongly, but bullying anyone tends to disturb him.

"Unfortunately you get used to it," Kurt asserts. Blaine realizes the car has stopped and they're sitting outside his house.

"Would you like to come inside for a drink?" Blaine asks. Kurt is about to decline, but Blaine continues before he can. "It's the least I can do for you. I really appreciate the ride home." Kurt sighs and agrees, turning off the car and following Blaine inside. Blaine pours Kurt a glass of water before he rushes upstairs to grab a t-shirt. When he returns, Kurt demands to see his schedule and analyze his classes and teachers. He tells Blaine that Mrs. Enrico doesn't even know what year it is and that Blaine's geometry teacher, Mr. Ark, won't give an extension on an assignment even if the world was ending. Kurt tells Blaine about the football team's usual haunts so Blaine can avoid being harassed. Kurt asks to see Blaine's closet and gives him a very icy glare when he see the hundreds of bow ties Blaine has.

Blaine can't remember laughing with someone this much or enjoying someone's company so much since he stopped talking to his old friend from Westerville. Kurt is definitely bitchy and judgmental, but he wants to help Blaine and Blaine enjoys his company.

Blaine doesn't even realize two hours have passed until Kurt speaks up.

"Well I should probably head home." Kurt breathes as he stands up. "Some of my teachers assigned homework, and I wouldn't want to fail on the first day of school."

"I'm gay." The words are out of Blaine's mouth before he could even think to stop them. "I, uh, just thought you should know. I know some people aren’t exactly… comfortable with it." Blaine could feel the blush rising on his cheeks. He curses himself inwardly, firstly for awkwardly blurting out personal information and secondly for getting so flustered about it. Please don’t be scared, please don’t be scared. I really want to know you, please don’t be scared.

"Oh, uh," Kurt mumbled, surprised by the outburst. "Well, you know, that's okay. The football team will probably target you even more for that, but it's good that you're proud of it. It’s okay to be gay, Blaine." Kurt gives Blaine a small smile and hurries from the room.

Blaine isn't quite sure what to make of Kurt's hasty exit, but he knows one thing for sure.

He has a crush on a straight guy.