They should have noticed earlier. They didn't take the time out that they should have to look at Kurt and see that he was struggling far more than they first thought. They knew he was being bullied, everyone knew, but even though they had seen it first hand; the locker shoves, dumpster dives, slushie facials, even though they had heard the cruel names they called him, no one really appreciated how much it got to Kurt. Maybe they should have realised when Kurt's biting, quick-witted comebacks diminished, maybe him no longer fighting for solos should have indicated how low his confidence had dropped, how tired he was of it all.

Later they argued it in their heads, consoling themselves with the fact that Kurt hadn't outright asked for their help, that he had hidden his pain from them because he didn't want them to realise how bad it was and so could they really be blamed for not realising sooner? They knew it was selfish of them, a way of easing their consciences. A greater part of them was guilty; they knew they should have seen past the fabulous outfits, the quiet way he brushed himself off after a brutal shove, a hurtful insult.

The reality of the situation was that they had failed Kurt. He had gone from healthy and round-faced to gaunt, sunken-eyed and painfully thin. He hid it well, layering up even more than usual; jackets and cardigans over thick shirts to hide his diminishing size. They should have noticed when he wore three layers in the hottest summer months. They should have noticed that he was wearing knee-high boots, jeans, and an oversized sweater to their celebratory end of school swim party and cook out in late June. They should have noticed that he could barely contain his shivers in the choir room early September, when the summer heat was starting to fade but it was still months before Figgins allowed the heating system to be turned on.

It wasn't until a few months into the new school year, when the New Directions were holed up in the choir room throwing out ideas about what songs they were going to perform at Sectionals that everything finally came out.

“All I'm saying,” Rachel argued, “is that we should stick with what we know-“

“Yeah ‘cause that really worked last year, didn't it Hobbit?” Santana drawled, “Personally, I think some people,” she didn't even try to cover up who she was talking about, facing Rachel directly “should take more of a backseat this time and we should see what other members of the group have to offer.” She turned back to face the front, flipping her high ponytail over her shoulder.

“Well that's certainly something we can look into,” Mr. Schuester reasoned, clasping his hands together, “Alright, who would like to be considered for a solo?”

A handful of arms shot in the air, Rachel, Mercedes, Santana, Tina and even Brittany. Mr. Schue didn't even seem to notice that Kurt, who was once again sitting alone on the highest tier of seats, hadn't thrown his arm up, a far cry from how he'd reacted the previous year when he'd protested loudly about the lack of equal distribution of solos.

“Anyone else?” Mr. Schue asked, turning away from the whiteboard where he had written the names of the nominees, “Puck? How about it?”

Puck shrugged off the suggestion “Ah, I think I'm good.”

“Alright, if you're sure. Quinn?”

The blonde looked uncharacteristically shy and distinctively not like her ususal HBIC attitude. Glancing at the other girls in the group as if matching herself up against them, she replied “I…I dunno, a duet maybe, I don't think I'm quite ready for a solo just yet.”

“Okay, well I think that's a great idea, we'll talk about duet ideas next,” he held his hand up when Rachel was about to open her mouth, assuming she'd go off on a tangent about why her and Finn should be the duet, “Anyone else for a solo? Come on guys, usually there's a battle for them! Guys, we can't let the girls have all the glory now can we? Artie?”

No one noticed, Mr. Schue included, how Kurt shrunk even further in his seat. Was he really that invisible? The teacher had passed right over him, considering basically every other member of the group without even acknowledging the boy who had pushed for months for a chance at a solo. He didn't speak up, too tired to even raise his hand or put himself forward. He sat there, staring right at Mr. Schuester as if he could telepathically make himself be noticed, but the teacher moved on, asking each of the members whose names were on the boards what ideas they had for songs they wanted to audition with. Something inside Kurt broke and he pushed himself out of his seat with shaky legs, stepping down onto the raised middle row before slipping between Rachel and Mercedes, seated at the very front, and making his way towards the door.

“Kurt?” Mr. Schue spoke up, and Kurt told himself that the questioning tone of his voice was because he was surprised at the action, not because he hadn't even realised Kurt was there, “Kurt, what's going on?”

The teen stopped, internally toying over whether to turn around or just continue out of the choir room. He took a breath, ignoring the black dots that appeared in his vision and slowly turned around, “So you do know I'm here then?”

“Kurt?” Mercedes this time, and it hurt to think that not even the girl who for so long had been his best friend, his only confidant, the one he'd bitched at for so long whenever he'd been shot down for yet another song, hadn't spoken up and suggested him, hadn't asked him why he wasn't the first to volunteer.

Mr. Schue stepped closer to Kurt, “What's wrong, Kurt?”

“You've preached at us for over a year now about how together we're a team, a group of misfits that stand together against everyone who wrongs us,” he took a breath, feeling lightheaded as he tried to get his words out, “And yet even here I'm invisible. Since the middle of last year no one has noticed that I don't fight for solos, I hardly even speak up against some of the stupid ideas people have, the repetitive lesson plans. No one notices that I hate being here, that the slushies and the dumpsters are just child's play, that I don't even want to…to,” the fight was staring to leave him now, he was breathing heavily and his vision was blurring, his mouth not moving fast enough to get his words out properly. He swayed on his feet and saw Mr. Schuester step forward, arm out as if to steady him.

“Kurt? Kurt!” The boy suddenly crumped before them, eyes rolling in the back of his head as he fell to the floor. Everyone rushed forward as Mr. Schue caught him by the elbow, gasping as he felt the sharpness of his thin arm through the thick jumper before gently lowering him to the floor.

“Should we call 911?” Rachel shrieked, clutching her hand to her chest.

“I…just, someone go get the school nurse, Kurt? Can you hear me?” he tapped the pale boy's cheek, he had a pulse, slow but it was there, and he was breathing shallowly, “Kurt, wake up!”

His brow furrowed first, eyelashes fluttering rapidly and he moaned softly.

“Kurt? Everyone move back, give him space. Kurt, are you okay?”

Kurt slowly opened his eyes, the once clear, bright blue now somewhat dull and glazed, “What?” He tried to sit up but a hand held him down.

“Just hold tight, Kurt, we're going to get you to the hospital, alright?”

He woke up a bit more at that, trying to sit up again but with no avail, his energy drained, “No, no hosp'l” he whispered tiredly, “No hosp-“

“Alright, okay Kurt, don't panic, Mike's gone to get the school nurse and we'll have her check you over, okay?”

Kurt nodded a little, head falling to the side; he didn't know why he was so sleepy all of a sudden. He felt a pain in his left arm, in the inside of his elbow and he slowly slid his other hand over it, rubbing gently.

“Kurt?” the teacher noticed the movement, “Are you hurt?” He reached down, prying Kurt's thin fingers from his arm so that he could roll back the layers of material. There was a collective gasp from the group as they took in the painfully skinny arm and the dark hand-shaped mark curled around his elbow.