Anderson was nothing if not persistent, as Kurt discovered the next morning as he walked into school and caught sight of the boy leaning against Kurt's locker, hands buried deep in the pockets of his leather jacket.

Kurt fought back an annoyed sigh, gripping his bag strap tighter over his shoulder and narrowing his eyes as he stalked towards the row of lockers, keeping his gaze fixed pointedly on the metal to the left of Anderson's head.

"Morning."

He fumbled with his padlock, clicking the numbers with hands that shook with barely restrained annoyance.

"My first name's Blaine, in case you've spent the last twenty four hours wondering."

"I don't care," Kurt said, ignoring the offered handshake and wrenching at the stubborn lock. "Stop staring at me," he hissed eventually through gritted teeth, when the wrong code had slipped in three times in a row and he could feel his palms sweating with the itch of Blaine's gaze.

"Why?" He was leaning in closer, fingers reaching out to brush the pulse point of Kurt's neck until he jerked hard away from the touch, "Do I distract you too much?"

His fingers were rough and warm, and he smelled like woodsmoke and cinnamon, something dark and musky and tantalising and Kurt jabbed his elbow hard into the leather of his jacket until the hand was forced away from him.

"Don't touch me, Anderson. And no you don't distract me. Disgust me, yes," he spat, yanking the locker door open so hard that Blaine swayed backwards to avoid a collision, "I find you downright deplorable, distasteful and despicable, yes. But not distracting."

"That's a lot of words there, Hummel."

"And that's just the D's, imagine what I could do with the rest of the alphabet."

He yanked books from his locker haphazardly, not even bothering to look and ramming them all tight into his bag while Blaine watched.

"Do you want some help carrying all that?"

"No."

He slammed the door shut so hard the row of lockers quaked and a handful of kids turned to look, raising their eyebrows as Kurt turned and marched away so fast that Blaine was scrambling to keep up.

"Well how about I walk you to class?"

"Oh you can walk somewhere, Anderson. Preferably in the other direction. Maybe even go so far as to walk out of the doors and under a bus, I don't care. Just don't walk anywhere with me."

Blaine laughed and it grated at Kurt's ears, sending a sharp shudder right down his spine and he flexed his fingers tighter around the books in his arms. Kurt gritted his teeth, his jaw clenching until it was painful and he could already see the questioning looks of the students they were passing. The confusion building on the faces of the football team and the hockey players as the head cheerleader walked the corridor pursued by a common delinquent.

Kurt could feel a blush staining his cheeks, the faint tinge of humiliation growing in his mind as Blaine fell into step beside him, face spread with a wide grin as his jacket brushed Kurt's bare arm.

"Do you have any idea what you're doing?"

He stopped, halting Blaine in his tracks with a shout of exasperation. Blaine flinched at his tone and frowned.

"Are you throwing a tantrum?"

Kurt fumed, his mouth moving in soundless shapes and resisted the urge to stamp his foot and cry because this wasn't fair, and Blaine was looking at him like he was a spoilt child and somehow that was even worse than the disparaging glances of his classmates.

"Will you just leave me al–"

"Are you alright here, Princess?"

Kurt felt his eyes fall shut in sudden relief, the tension fading from his shoulders at the familiar voice from the figure at his elbow. He opened them to see Blaine's face twist in confusion as his gaze flickered from Kurt's to fix upon Puck as he loomed high above them both, reaching out one hand to touch Kurt's elbow.

Blaine's back stiffened slightly. He knew Puck. They'd gotten high together and been arrested together, smoked during class and broken into the principal's office to steal answer papers and student records together. He would count him amongst his friends, if not acquaintances.

But Puck was the one boy at McKinley who could drink with Sebastian and get Quinn pregnant one day, and still be invited to a party at Santana's house the next. He could smoke with Blaine and then hang out with Finn Hudson without anyone batting an eyelash and Blaine knew that no matter how friendly they were, Puck could still break his nose to defend his best friend's brother.

And he probably would.

"I'm fine Noah," Kurt said, his voice stiff and calm, raising his chin with his jaw set in a firm line, "Thanks."

"Anderson," Puck nodded, his stance less defensive as he looked between them both, "You alright?"

Blaine sighed, rubbed a hand through his messy hair and took a few steps backwards.

"Yeah, man. Yeah. Fine."

Kurt watched him walk away, patting Noah's arm in a vague gesture of male familiarity and vanishing into the crowds of students as the bell echoed through the hall.

"Why the fuck was he bothering you?"

"Hell if I know," Kurt said, following Puck down the hall and into their classroom and falling into the seat beside Santana.

His phone vibrated against his thigh and he slipped it out, unlocking the screen beneath the desk.

From: Unknown

This isn't over, Hummel.

�

He let out a snort of irritated amusement. At least Blaine was thorough in his stalking, even if it was reaching perverse and creepy by this point.

To: Anderson

How the fuck did you get my number?

�

The reply came almost immediately and Kurt bit back an incredulous laugh at the words on the screen.

From: Anderson

Student records hold an amazing number of personal details you know Hummel. Happy Birthday if I don't see you on the 27th by the way, and I hope your two hours of World Lit this morning aren't too distressing and you can make Cheerio's practice from three until five.

To: Anderson

You've officially reached stalker levels of creepy here Anderson.

From: Anderson

And yet you still find it strangely flattering, I'll bet

To: Anderson

I'm blocking your number now.

�

"Hummel!"

He pushed the phone deep back into his pocket, turning towards Santana with a look of feigned interest at her disparaging glare.

"What?"

She quirked an eyebrow incredulously, glancing from the vibrating lump against his leg to his face, acrylic nails tapping languidly against her cheek.

"Nothing. I've just never seen you text in class before."

Kurt frowned, sitting up straighter and folding one leg primly over the other, giving her a withering look.

"Of course I text in class," he said, watching a paper aeroplane swoop over her head to catch in the hair of the boy in front.

She gave him a look and turned away, filing her nails into scarlet points the same shade as her lips in a steady repetitive scratch that Kurt tuned out as he watched the clock tick away the minutes, his pen thrumming absently against the desktop.

When he turned his head to glance out of the window he caught a hint of something, a faint lingering on his collar and dipped his nose slightly to breathe in. It was like cinnamon and nutmeg, coffee and smoke and autumn and it made his mouth water as he watched the browning leaves drift, giant and lazy past the glass.

He didn't look at his phone until he was out of Santana's reach, ducking into the deserted boys toilets to glance at the screen and immediately wish he hadn't.

From: Anderson

No you're not.

�

"So I heard a nasty rumour," Finn said, clattering down between Brittany and Puck, blissfully unaware of the grumbles as everyone shifted to accommodate him.

"That the amount of time you've gone without getting laid means that yes, you are in fact a virgin again?" Santana said, not looking up from her phone.

Kurt bit back his grin at Rachel Berry's indignant squeak as she hovered by Finn's elbow, stabbing his fork through the limp lettuce on his plate and twirling it distractedly across the plastic. She might be his girlfriend, but the spread of cheerleaders and football players up the lunch table didn't deem that an acceptable reason to let her sit with them.

Finn blinked at her, "No…Um. Shut up."

She looked up, smiled viciously and turned back to her phone.

"Kurt?"

"Yes, brother of mine?"

"Apparently Blaine Anderson has been bothering you."

Kurt dropped his fork in annoyance, ignoring the rattle that sent salad strewing across the dirty table and fixed Finn with his hardest glare. Finn swallowed, leaning back into the hand Rachel placed on his shoulder.

"Look, I'm just looking out for you. That guy is –"

"An aberrant mess, a complete waste of both time and space, someone I wouldn't voluntarily breathe the same air as?"

"I told you it wasn't true," Finn mumbled to Rachel as Kurt folded his arms tight across his chest in defiance. He raised an eyebrow at her.

"Well…well we were just –"

"Some of the guys," Finn cast a sidelong look down the table, "They've already been talking, okay? It just…doesn't look right for you to be seen with him."

"Finn, do you honestly think it was intentional on my part? Did you not see the way he was chasing me down the hall?"

"Oh. No. I just wanted to make sure…look, Kurt. He's bad news okay, he put Karofsky in hospital last year, remember? I just don't…I don't want you getting mixed up with someone like that."

Kurt's gaze softened slightly and he reached out to touch Finn's hand.

"Hey. I know. You're my brother, it's what you do. Even though I'm eight months older than you and I know how to handle myself."

Finn smiled.

"And anyway, Puck already told him to fuck off. And he fucked off, so there's really no problem here."

Finn seemed appeased, turning to take Rachel's hand and catch up with Puck as he left the table, and Kurt stared down at his plate, suddenly not hungry.

"Do you think we worry about our image too much?" he said, as Santana smoothed her index finger over her lips in her mirror, rubbing the red paint in thick, even strokes.

"No."

"Really? That's it?"

"Look, Hummel. Without our image, what are we? Really? Do you honestly reckon you would be anyone without that uniform?"

He looked down at the red and the white and thought.

Because he knew what it was like to not wear this uniform, he'd been there. He'd been slushied and beaten, and he'd spent his first years of school learning that when bruises fell on top of bruises, they didn't fade and heal quite so easily.

Sometimes Kurt would catch a glimpse of his back in the mirror, and if there was anything that could convince him to put the uniform on every morning it was the uneven mapping of faded pink skin that painted from his shoulders to his hips – months upon months of broken blood vessels that never quite faded.

And he knew now that the Cheerio's uniform was the strongest steel he could wear if he wanted to survive.

Kurt touched Santana's shoulder as he got up, "I'll see you in practice," and left the half eaten lunch and the table as he turned away.

There was something thrilling in walking the corridors of McKinley if you were Kurt Hummel, knowing everyone was watching you. Everyone was judging you. And everyone wanted to be you.

Kurt held the strap of his bag tighter over his shoulder like a safety net and wished he wanted to be himself a little more.

He found Rachel in the auditorium and stood for a moment at the top of the stairs, holding the doorframe and looking down into the gloom and the lit stage. There were eyes on his back like a constant pressure, like the hall was drowning and stepping into the almost empty room was a gasp of air.

"Hey."

She turned, gave him a faint smile and turned back to the piano, plucking keys and scribbling notes on sheet music. He dropped his bag and curled up at her feet, hugging his arms around his knees.

She didn't say anything and he didn't either, because sometimes they just didn't need to. Their friendship was one based entirely on the fact that during their first year at McKinley she had beaten him to the lead role of the school musical and when he became head Cheerio years later he returned the favour by slushying her publicly during lunch.

But then she'd started dating Finn, a mystery even Kurt couldn't quite unravel and suddenly she was at their house whenever he blinked. He would catch her humming along to his music as she passed his room, giving him nervous smiles as she perused their DVD collection and always, always selected one of his favourites.

Conversations with her actually became enjoyable, and though Kurt would always voice the fact that it was his brother's awful choice in girlfriends and the fact that she was the only person he knew who could out-sing him that struck up their unlikely friendship, he actually liked spending time with her.

"Writing another song?"

"Mmm. This time it's a thoughtful ballad about the woes of being allergic to cats. It's called 'My Allergic Reaction', and I think –"

Kurt laughed for the first time all day, laying back across the cool floor and letting it seep through his shirt and into his skin, not caring about the dust on the white fabric. He watched the heavy curtains sway in a non-existent breeze and let Rachel's voice carry him into a lulling security.

"Are you alright, Kurt?" she said eventually, jerking him back from the brink of sleep.

He sighed and sat up, propping his arms behind him and appraising her.

"I was going to ask you if you ever consider your personal image, but judging by today's monstrosity of an outfit choice I think I already know the answer."

She smiled and tugged at the turquoise blue of the jumper.

"What's bought this on?"

"I don't know," he groaned, letting his head fall right back until his words were catching hard against his strained throat, "I just…I've been thinking."

"Is it about…Anderson?"

"Seriously? The guy talks to me once and suddenly everyone thinks I'm having some sort of popularity-identity crisis?"

Rachel blushed and stared at her nails, fiddling with her pen.

"Well. I don't know, I know Finn overreacted a little. And I know how everyone else would react if anything was to…not that I'm saying it will!" she said quickly, raising her voice as he opened his mouth in protest, "But you've been alone for a long time."

"I like being alone," he said sharply, rolling out the crick in his neck from lying on the floor.

"You've always been alone, Kurt," she said in a small voice, not looking at him, "How would you know any different?"

Kurt pressed his lips together hard, ignoring the sudden ache in his throat and they were silent for a long time.

"Let me hear your song then," he sighed and she squealed, smiling and turning back to the piano with a flourish.

It was two days later and Kurt was leaving Cheerio's practice with an aching neck, his sweat-soaked shirt clinging to his chest as he rolled his head back with a groan, following the memorised layout of the school with his eyes half closed.

Two hands grasped his arms, shaking his head back down to face Rachel, her face twisted with concerned bewilderment.

"Don't look now, but there's a meteor by your car."

Kurt blinked, his tired brain twitching with confusion and shook her arms off him, deciding he'd misheard as he looked over her shoulder and saw two figures leaning against his car.

"Are you okay?"

"It was a codeword, Kurt. I had a whole dinosaur extinction vs. popularity metaphor planned out and –"

"Okay, you need to lay off the late night TV and conversations with my brother."

He inched around her, pulling out his sunglasses and slipping them on against the bright sun as she ran to catch up with his strides.

"Kurt."

He ignored her.

"Kuuurt!"

"What, Rachel?"

"What are you going to do?"

He sighed, dipping his glasses down his nose to consider the pair, almost blending entirely into the black of his car. He saw the trail of smoke rising from them and grimaced.

"Oh for –"

Rachel's brows were knitting in confusion and he rubbed his thumb between them to smooth the skin out.

"Wrinkles, Rach. Look, I'm just going to tell them to get the fuck off my baby and leave me alone. I think that should get the message across pretty easily."

"But –"

"What?"

"They're criminals!"

"I think the correct term is failed juvenile delinquents with too much time on their hands. They're harmless and annoying and have clearly, for some unknown reason, set out this school year purely to piss me off."

"Which they're succeeding in," she muttered, looping her arms into his elbow as he shot her a sharp look, and smiling sheepishly.

They drew closer and Blaine was looking up, throwing Kurt an offhand grin as he blew smoke towards them.

"Fabray if you even put that cigarette out anywhere near my car I will grab the back of your Barbie head and make you lick it off," he snapped as the glowing tip drifted dangerously close to the smooth paintwork.

She looked at him, tipping her glasses down her nose to raise an eyebrow, flicking ash towards her feet. Blaine snorted, grinning as he took as drag and dodging the sharp stab of her elbow towards his ribs.

Kurt shifted uncomfortably as Blaine's eyes raked over him, feeling a blush spread up his already hot neck as he looked long and slow from Kurt's feet up to his neck, gaze dragging over the tight damp of his shirt over his chest and his tongue coming out to touch his lips as his eyes met Kurt's.

Kurt felt his face twist into a scowl, resisting the urge to shudder at the pressing tingle Blaine's scrutiny seemed to leave on his skin. Like Blaine could see him, see every part of him and he was naked and helpless and pinned by his ridiculous stare.

He folded his arms over his chest, nails digging deep into the crooks of his arms in a feeble attempt to ground himself and felt Rachel move slightly closer to his side.

Quinn Fabray was staring at her, her fingers brushing the edge of her sunglasses as she considered the girl at his side with an intense, unreadable glare.

"Look, is there a point to this," he said exasperatedly, when neither of them seemed likely to speak any time soon, "I'm exhausted right now, and really don't have the time or patience to play mind games with you, Anderson."

"I want you to go out with me."

Kurt felt Rachel squeak and bury her nose into his arm, her fingers gripping into his sleeve but his head was spinning and his mouth dropping open in shock.

Quinn propped one arm against Blaine's shoulder, leaning in close.

"Well done, that was nice and to the point at least," she murmured, dropping the cigarette to crush it beneath her boot, "I don't think it will get you anywhere."

"Oh fuck off," he hissed back, cocking his head and considering Kurt and the frozen confusion twisting his features.

His eyes fell closed and fingers pressed against his temples for a moment before he looked back up, incredulity and suspicion burning through his eyes.

"No."

Blaine raised his eyebrows. Okay so he hadn't really been expecting a passionate agreement, but he'd expected a little more than that.

"No? That's it?"

"Yep. That's it. I want nothing to do with you, Blaine. Nothing. Now please get the fuck away from my car and leave me alone."

He barely gave Blaine time to move, striding closer and forcing him bodily away from the car with a surprising burst of strength, his hands flat and cold on Blaine's chest for a moment, palms digging into his ribs as Kurt pushed him to the side and sprang into the driver's seat.

Blaine took a step back as the engine revved and Kurt cast him one last look of anger before he spun the wheel and sped him and Rachel out of the parking lot with a vicious roar of metal.

"Well that went well," Quinn said, heavy sarcasm lilting her tone and he rolled his eyes at her.

"Yeah. I got that, thanks. It wasn't a complete waste, though."

"Oh?"

But he didn't reply and pulled his phone from his jacket to tap out a text, pressing send and watching the tiny box check received a moment later.

Kurt's hands gripped the wheel until his knuckles were bright white, his fingers numb and strained and Rachel didn't dare make a noise as he breathed hard, speeding the car down the highway at twice the speed limit, barely noticing.

He was irritated, seething with a silent, building anger that seemed to ripple from the base of his spine and up into his hair, raking across his scalp like a cat with its fur up when faced with danger.

Blaine had settled like a constant itch under his skin, like that tickle across the roof of your mouth that just wouldn't go away, and he wanted to run away and scratch until his skin was raw and he couldn't feel his presence anymore.

He hated him, hated him. The kind of loathing that had seemed to grow from nothing and spread like a raging wildfire in less than a week. Because he'd been happy. Or at least he'd been the perfect disguise of it. And he'd been coping and riding his free wave of popularity with ease, letting it carry him through the final year and out until he never had to look back.

But three days and suddenly Blaine had fractured him like a blip on his radar, a broken cog in the wheel that kept McKinley's social structure winding, and the worst thing wasn't even the anger that surged when Blaine had dared ask him out. It wasn't the way the boy made his feel, the way he was infuriating and frustrating and suddenly all Kurt could think about.

It was the tiny fraction of Kurt that hesitated before saying no.

His phone vibrated against his thigh and he fished it out, ignoring Rachel's noise of protest as he looked away from the road to glance at the screen.

From: Anderson

You've never called me Blaine before. Is this your version of reaching second base?

�

Kurt barely had time to grit his teeth before another one came through, one that had him throwing the phone over his shoulder to hit the back seat with a smack and let out a growl of frustration as he screeched to a halt at a red light and slapped his hands hard against the wheel.

From: Anderson

I told you that you wouldn't block my number.