Blaine arches his back, stretching without opening his eyes, the Spanish lilt of the female voice through the door settling into his brain.

Assess the environment.

Comfortable bed.
Parent who cares to wake me up.
Ability to move all limbs.

Okay.

Female.

Safe.

Blaine opens his eyes, hands sliding down his sides, taking note of the body he is in today. He traces the lines of his hips with delicate fingertips and then brings them up to his face, feeling his full lips, the gentle slope of his nose.

He knows when he gets out of bed and looks in a mirror he will be beautiful.

He takes in the room, a computer on the desk strewn with cosmetics and picture frames, a closet open to reveal three cheerleader uniforms, meticulously pressed.

He groans, hoping today is not a cheering day, before sitting up and craning his neck around to look behind the bed, noting a Bob Marley poster on the wall.

“I’m up!” he yells through the door, surprised at the strength in his voice, and then slips off the covers, standing with strong, smooth legs on the floor and taking in the pictures on the desk. He has found, over the years, that pictures in the room of the person he’s occupying are the biggest help to making it through his day, as the pictures that his host usually chooses are the ones that they hold nearest and dearest...show who the person is and what they value.

Days with no home or no pictures are usually the hardest.

His eyes devour the snapshots, pulling in as much information about his host as possible.

Santana in front of him:

Smiling with an older woman, her eyes shining.

With her arms wrapped around herself, standing to the side of a group of people who look like they’re singing.

As part of a cheerleading pyramid.

With her arms around two blond women, herself in the middle, a playful look in her eye.

In a red dress, kissing one of the women from the previous picture. The other woman is in a dress as well. Maybe a prom?

So no kissing boys today.

Blaine feels a tiny stab of sadness at this. It’s not that he doesn’t like women - on the contrary, half the time he IS a woman, so he sees their appeal, the way they are and how they interact with each other has become less of a mystery to him over time. He has just found, over the same years, that men spark something within him - call it attraction, sexuality, whatever you will - and the idea of being in love with a man is very appealing to him.

If he could ever fall in love.

Which he still isn’t sure about.

Blaine makes his way over to the full-length mirror and just takes Santana in. Having looked at the pictures he already knows she is beautiful, but real life is that much more stunning. Her hair, although slept on, is a rich, shiny black, her eyelashes long and her lips are, indeed, full. She has the long limbs of a dancer or cheerleader, the tone of an athlete, and the manicure of a lady.

He knows he’s going to have to be confident as this one today.

He hums to himself, happy to find that Santana must have some vocal training, as he makes his way to the closet to get his cheerleading uniform. She had been in it in every picture, and he wants to look the part, if only for one day.

He’s not in Denmark anymore, after all.

***
After he’s showered and dressed, Blaine’s scouring his room for a hair tie and hoping that his ponytail skills are enough when the cell phone on the bedside table starts to ring.

And I love you I love you, I love you...like never before...”

The old Fleetwood Mac song cuts off as Blaine answers, a picture of the blonde girl with the name “Brittany” as the contact.

“Uh, good morning,” he begins, not knowing exactly how Santana starts these things.

“Hi. Lord Tubbington says I need to remind you that I’m picking you up. He says you’re awfully weird today but he won’t say more. So I’ll see you soon?”

Blaine pulls the phone away from his ear to look at it as though it will tell him what this odd girl is talking about, and who the world Lord Tubbington is, but he can hear Brittany talking again so he lifts it back to his ear.

“Yeah, so soon, okay? Love you.”

“I, uh, love you, too Brittany,” he gets out, mindful of her name.

He hears her laugh and then: “Wow, you ARE weird today. It’s been so long since you called me that!”

Blaine knows he’s caught and then she’s talking again.

“It’s okay, honey. I know something’s weird today. Don’t worry. I’ll bring glitter and we’ll make it.”

Blaine stares at the phone again, the call disconnecting. He shakes it off, though, reaching for an errant hair tie with a noise of victory before turning to the mirror to finish preparing for the day.

***

Somehow Blaine made it through the car ride with Brittany, no small feat considering he had a lot of difficulty following the...odd things that she had to say. Before long, though, they are pulling up in front of McKinley High - a normal looking all-American high school, Blaine guesses, as he can see the football field from the parking lot and students are streaming into the front doors, some dressed in red and white like he is, others just milling around in groups and staring at the two of them getting out of Brittany’s car.

“Do they always stare like this?” he finds himself asking before snapping his mouth shut as Brittany turns to answer.

“Of course they do, we’re hot.” She leans in to kiss Sananta’s cheek, threading her fingers through Blaine’s and pulling Santana’s body close. “And everyone wants to be us, even the boys. The boys the most, I think, because I heard them talking about our sex tape again and-”

Blaine completely loses the thread of conversation, though, because there’s a boy walking toward them. Not really a boy, though, because he’s obviously growing into full-out man, his white tailored shirt hugging his broad shoulders, his trim waist accentuated by the vest he’s got painted on. His pants are positively sinful, hugging his hips tightly while black boots lace all the way up his calves. Blaine’s breath catches in his throat and he feels his blood burn just looking at this boy - man. He’s just-

“Greetings, Brit,” the man trills, sending tingling socks down Blaine’s spine and, to his utter humiliation, through his nipples. Why a girl today? Why? WHY? “-Devilwoman.” the man finishes, obviously directing his nickname at Blaine. Wait, devilwoman...?

He’s looking at Blaine like he’s expecting something and Blaine flounders, reaching his hand up to cover his chest and cough - as convincingly as possible - to get out of whatever it is he’s expecting. The man just watches him as though he’s some sort of experiment before looking down at him from his nose and refocusing on Brittany.

“Well, I’m just here to remind you that you are dueting today. Ms. Rachel Berry insisted that I remind you even though you clearly never forget a cue.” He stopped to look at Santana again. “Except maybe right now.”

Blaine knows he should quip back but he just can’t. Not when he’s looking into those blue eyes and-

“Kurt, you need to be nice to Santana today. Lord Tubbington said she’s not herself.”

Blaine watches as the man - Kurt - snorts derisively toward Brittany before patting her arm.

“Okay, Britt. Let’s just go before we’re all late for class.”

They all turn toward the direction of the doors, Kurt settling into step next to Brittany as she chatters on about her cat. Blaine watches Kurt’s long legs and smooth gait as the doors grow ever closer before rushing forward and pulling the heavy metal and glass door open.

“After you,” he hears himself say in Santana’s smooth purr of a voice. Brittany giggles and then sweeps into the hallway, oblivious to the fact that “Santana” is still holding the door for Kurt, the boy in question frozen in place before the doorway. “You, too, Kurt,” Blaine breathes softly, tasting his name on Santana's tongue and wishing he knew what it would sound like in his voice.

Kurt just stands there, his eyes locked with Blaine’s with an odd look on his face before speaking.

“You really aren’t yourself today, are you she-devil? No one’s ever- I mean, Sebastian doesn’t even-” Kurt flushes red at that and then seems to pull himself together before continuing. “Um, thank you? For the door.” he gets out before scampering through, holding his bag tight to his chest.

“You’re welcome,” Blaine says brightly, wondering how to get through this day now that Kurt exists.

***

Three hours later and Blaine hasn’t gotten any further in knowing how to deal with Kurt, but he is starting to understand what Santana is like on a daily basis.

Male AND female students seem to stay out of her way, almost parting in the hallways for her to go through. Brittany somehow always materializes next to her after classes, vanishing with a quick kiss to the cheek as Santana enters a classroom and reappearing like clockwork at the end. His first three classes - calculus, AP English (the class he raised an eyebrow at because whoa, mold breaker, and European History - weren’t all the horrible as Blaine had been through many variations of the same all over the country, and the world. He had learned long ago to listen quietly, answer only when spoken to, and that a smile went a long way when he didn’t really know the answer to a teacher’s question.

Brittany’s with him now, her weight leaning into Santana’s side, as they make their way to the lunchroom. Blaine knows the moment they’ve reached the eating space simply by the amount of noise trickling out into the hallway, and he pulls Brittany closer, just to make sure they aren’t separated.

“Ooh, hi,” Brittany breathes against his neck and he would’ve responded, at least tried, if Kurt hadn’t been sitting on a bench alone, sitting sideways along the bend with one foot planted firmly on the ground and the other leg bent up at the knee, the sole of his boot sitting solidly on the bench. He was sitting with one elbow on the table, his cell phone balanced on his knee, one hand typing at it while the other is swiping furiously at the screen.

From Blaine’s viewpoint he can see everything and it takes his breath for a moment. The long line of Kurt’s legs, the tension in his shoulders as his vest clings to the muscles there, the sharp curve of his jawline and elegant cant of his profile.

Blaine knows, he knows he has never seen a more beautiful human being before.

And that’s saying something.

Brittany’s stopped talking, at least for the moment, so he leads them to where Kurt is sitting. Once they are closer, however, Blaine can see that something on Kurt’s phone has bothered him. The crease between his eyebrows, the scowl on his lips, and the little moaning noise he’s making just solidify this idea as Blaine moves to sit down across from Kurt, waiting for him to lift his head.

Brittany stays standing, looking between Santana and Kurt before turning to the lunch line, tossing an “I’ll get yours, too!” over her shoulder at the table.

Blaine’s hands immediately begin to sweat, his own thoughts taking over Santana’s physical reactions, and he aches to touch Kurt’s shoulder, to make him look up, to erase the worry on his face. Blaine is nothing if not patient, however, having been trapped in the ruined shells of bodies with debilitating illness, limited mobility, or the inability to speak.

Sometimes even all three.

He doesn’t have to wait long, though, before Kurt is practically slamming his phone down onto the table, seemingly unaware of Santana’s presence, before looking up, all fiery eyes and thin-lipped anger.

“Bad day?” Santana’s dusky voice asks.

Kurt cocks his head and lifts his chin, appraising Santana for a moment before slumping his shoulders in defeat.

“I guess I can talk to you about this because you seem genuinely interested. But so help me Santana, if you mock me on this one, I’ll-”

“No, no, I wouldn’t,” Blaine rushes to talk over Kurt, just wanting to hear what he says.

Kurt stares at him for a moment, considering, flicking his gaze to where Brittany’s waving to them from the long line and then settling his gaze back on Santana.

“I don’t know who you are today, but it looks good on you, Satan.” Kurt begins, physically settling himself into the conversation by bringing both legs underneath the table and leaning in to talk to Blaine almost conspiratorially.

“Remember that time we talked about sex, Santana?” Kurt begins, his cheeks reddening, his teeth coming out to bite at his lower lip as his right hand floats up unconsciously to rub at the exposed area of his neck. Kurt searches Santana’s eyes, begging him to help, to make him feel safe.

“Yes,” Blaine lies seamlessly, wanting nothing but to help in this moment, “I do, so what’s up?”

Kurt sighs, putting his head down on the table and breathing out loudly, his body seeming to melt into the surface.

“I just can’t, San. I can’t. And Sebastian just...he...I-” Kurt lifts his head, his eyes swimming with tears before he physically reins himself in, wiping furiously as he continues, “It’s not like we haven’t done things, okay? But there are things and then there are things and I know you get it, and you said last time to ‘never let a fucker fuck you’-” he says this last part with a little shiver and air quotes and Blaine thinks that just might be the defining quote for his understanding of Santana all day before Kurt’s continuing. “-and I don’t want to just be, um,” he stops again, lowering his voice and reddening ever more, “-fucked, oh my god I can’t believe I said that, but I don’t. I want more than that for me, Santana. I mean YOU said it, and my DAD said it and...”

Kurt seems to realize that he’s just told Santana that he talks to his dad about sex because suddenly his eyes are on Santana’s, his whole body rigid as if waiting for her to strike and-

“You are worth more than that, Kurt,” Blaine whispers, knowing for sure that it’s not what the real Santana might say but not really caring at the moment. “I mean, I know we’re not like, besties, or whatever,” he rushes on, trying to hold on to some semblance of the Santana everyone seems to be wary of, “But you’re beautiful, Kurt. Just, honestly, I- I’d like to know you more and help, if I can.”

Kurt sits up straighter, wincing at the word “beautiful” and then sitting open mouthed, looking at Santana like she’s the sun.

“Are you picking on me, San? Calling me a beautiful girl?”

Kurt’s eyes are slits, and Blaine realizes that this term has been used to hurt, mock, tear and burn Kurt from the inside out and he can’t have him thinking that he’d - that SANTANA would do that.

“Absolutely not. I’m serious. So what’s going on?”

He tries to sound nonchalant, picking at the notebook on the table in front of him and avoiding Kurt’s gaze, letting the boy consider Santana without the weight of her gaze. He knows when Kurt’s made up his mind because he draws a breath and continues.

“Thank you, then, I guess. I...okay, so I’m having trouble in my trig class and I need to study tonight. The people in that class are a bunch of homophobes and meatheads and so there’s no one to work with and Sebastian-” his voice goes dark and that’s what makes Blaine look again, Kurt’s face a mixture of anger and sadness as he stares at the table and it makes Blaine just ache to gather him up and hold Kurt, show him that he matters and-

“-and Sebastian just keeps laughing it off and saying he has “needs” for tonight. He...I mean, he loves me, San, in his own way, but why can’t he just take this seriously? I need to get a good grade on the test tomorrow so I can stop stressing out but he’s just so focused on, on well, other things.”

Kurt’s staring at him, waiting for a reply, when Brittany returns with a mountain of food and three cups of ice water.

“I got you the sparkliest food I could, Kurt. I don’t know what unicorns eat.”

That shakes them both and they turn to eye Brittany, then Kurt’s eyes drop to the tray she’s set in front of them.

Blaine hears himself as Santana starts to snicker, because apparently the “sparkliest” food on the menu today are oil-drenched tater tots, their greasy exteriors reflecting the glaring fluorescent lighting.

Blaine looks to Kurt and chuckles even louder because if ‘disgust’ had a picture in the dictionary, it would be Kurt’s face looking down at those tater tots. He watches as Kurt schools himself, apparently for Brittany’s sake, and looks up at her sweetly.

“Oh, honey. Thank you so much for offering but I am actually still full from breakfast,” he says, grabbing for his ice water and picking up his phone again.

Blaine settles in with his lunch - more tater tots and a tuna salad sandwich - and considers Kurt for many minutes before deciding to speak.

Don’t interfere, don't interfere, don’t-

“I can help you with trig tonight.”

Kurt’s eyes shoot up at the same time that he feels Brittany turn her head to look at him.

“But San, I thought that tonight we were-” Brittany begins, but Blaine speaks over her.

“Britts,” and thank god he had seen a note from Brittany in his locker for that one, “I think that what we had planned would be nice but Kurt obviously needs our help here. Apparently Sebastian is being a fucker.”

As Blaine says the last word he looks up, hoping not to have said the wrong thing. But Kurt’s smiling at him like he’s some sort of strange new thing and Brittany’s smiling, too, but her face is filled with love.

“Awww, I knew you loved him as much as I do!” she gushes before Blaine finds himself with a lap full of Brittany, her lips fused to Santana’s neck. He looks up at Kurt sheepishly, and finds Kurt grinning madly.

“I’ll just text Sebastian and tell him you’re going to help me, and that’s that.” He watches as Kurt picks up his phone, face set determinedly.

He shouldn’t have to worry about it so much, Blaine has time to think, before extricating himself from Brittany’s wandering mouth to eat his lunch.