But thankfully he never did and the torture was confined to the English and Chemistry classrooms. That was, until Friday’s double period of French. This time Kurt was alone, none of his friends were in his AP French class and here was Blaine sauntering into the classroom, head held high.

In fact Kurt had given up his “Blaine watch” as he liked to call it where he would look out to make sure Blaine wasn’t heading his way. Kurt had given up and had his head resting in his arms on his desk, he was shattered, and he hadn’t slept properly since that first meeting.

Kurt had experienced reoccurring dreams of himself knocking Blaine off that stupid motorcycle and Kurt would always wake up suddenly before he discovered if Blaine was dead or alive, Kurt awoke scared, heart beating a thousand to one.

So now here was Kurt on Friday morning trying to get some rest. French was a breeze for him and most of the time he could answer the teacher’s questions without even hearing the English translation so dozing off in this class wouldn’t be a problem.

Kurt was not impressed when Blaine took the seat directly behind Kurt with another wink. Kurt wished Blaine would stop doing that, it made his stomach flip in annoyance, but he had learned by now there was no way to get Blaine to stop anything.

He still put his feet up on the desk in Ellis’ classes and he had not shown up to another of Wilson’s classes since the first which Kurt had been over the moon with. But here they were stuck in another class together, a class where you were actively encouraged to interact with other students. Kurt sighed deeply.

Mademoiselle Clarke set the class to work on a verbs task and for Kurt smiled happily when she designated the task to be completed on paper rather than out loud, this meant Blaine would not have any excuse to strike up a conversation with him. Kurt had started to become very tired of Blaine's snide remarks and cocky attitude very, very quickly.

The class harmoniously shuffled their books and papers and soon the noise settled so that the only thing that could be heard was the scratching of pens against paper. The sound was soothing to Kurt's tired mind and he began absently filling out the worksheet in front of him.

Soon Kurt was so absorbed by the French verbs that he had forgotten Blaine’s presence behind him but apparently Blaine wasn’t about to let Kurt forget him that quickly, so, just as Kurt began to sink back into his seat, relaxed, a foot caught Kurt’s calf.

Kurt let out a squeak and jumped in surprise. The teacher looked up from her desk and the papers she was marking, looking directly at Kurt who just looked down at his own work as an involuntary blush rose in his cheeks.

Once Mademoiselle Clarke had gone back to marking papers Kurt twisted round in his seat, “what do you think you are playing at?” he hissed at Blaine, who’s face once more held that smirk that appeared to never be wiped off.

“Oh come on Hummel, you know you love it really, just let go, have a bit of fun in your life” Blaine chuckled, watching Kurt's uptight posture retuning. “You don’t know what you’re missing out on Hummel” Blaine whispered, leaning towards Kurt, once more whispering into the shell of Kurt's ear, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

Kurt furrowed his brow in anger “you don’t know a thing about me Anderson” he spat before turning back, and shuffling his chair as far forward and away from Blaine as was possible. However the desks made it impossible for Kurt to put much distance between himself and Blaine.

The leather clad boy spend the rest of the lesson occasionally rubbing his foot against Kurt's leg at intervals, when Blaine thought Kurt was becoming too relaxed and forgetting Blaine's presence.

Kurt wished Blaine would leave him alone. After the incident with Karofsky last semester Kurt feared Blaine was playing him. This game wasn’t fun for Kurt, he had never had anyone pay the slightest interest in him and then his first kiss had been stolen by the bully. Kurt had only just begun to recover and now here was a new tormentor playing the game of making the only openly gay kid at the school feel as nervous as possible.

In fact, Kurt preferred being tossed in a dumpster or pushed into lockers to this. At least that was only physical pain that would go away in a few days but this, this was different, and Kurt had never felt so alone. These forward remarks and actions Blaine was showing just reminded Kurt he had never been in love, never had a boyfriend, never been kissed, well at least one that counted.

Kurt sighed and tried to ignore Blaine’s advances and attempts to begin conversation for the rest of the lesson and Kurt had packed away his belongings before the buzzer rang to signal the end of the class and he had raced out of the door before Mademoiselle Clarke had finished her last words.

Kurt raced through the hallways, tears threatening to break over the dam, dodging the students beginning to spill out of the other classrooms and he finally made it to the boy’s bathroom at the back of the school behind the auditorium that wasn’t used often.

Kurt slammed the door behind him and leant against the tiled wall and slid down, pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them and burying his head between his knees. Kurt allowed the tears, that had been threatening to come, spill over and they left warm streaks down his cool pale cheeks.

He let all the feelings, the hurt, the fear from last semester flow into him once more. Karofsky had stolen his first kiss, he had threatened Kurt's life if he told anyone and so Kurt had lived in fear but by now Karofsky appeared to be completely ignoring the exchange between the two and went back to the old simple throwing Kurt into dumpsters and shoving him into lockers if they passed each other in the corridor.

Not that getting thrown in a dumpster didn’t hurt, Kurt was pretty sure he had broken a toe one time in sophomore year, and being shoved into lockers would often leave you with bruises down one side of your body, especially if the locker was open and you caught the shelf at the wrong angle.

Kurt hated being the center of the bully’s torment but over the years he had become used to it, though it still hurt every time. He was reminded how invisible he was, how nobody cared, that he was merely a punch bag.

Yes, Kurt had the New Directions now but they didn’t understand, not really. Yes, they got slushy facials too but not on the same level as Kurt who had been receiving them since he became more outwardly gay, once people started to guess, a long time before he had first told Mercedes at the beginning of sophomore year.