Another shove.

Another crash.

Another wince.

Another laugh.

Another sigh.

Blaine doesn't move. He just leans back against the lockers and watches his tormentors hi-five one another and laugh down the hall from his place on the floor. Once they disappear, Blaine closes his eyes for a fleeting second. It hurts. The silence stretches on and on, a type of silence that seems to enjoy being unbroken.

For Blaine, silence is good.

Silence means safe.

Silence means peace.

Silence is a time to focus on the pain which blossoms from his shoulder and back. And wherever else hurts. Today it's his chest. Again. That's going to bruise, Blaine thinks resignedly. God he hates every minute of this.

He misses Kurt.

This school year began worse enough without his boyfriend. But then a few days into the new school term, the slushy facials had restarted. And the locker shoving. And the taunting.

The bad economy had driven packs of private school boys away from their high tuition Christian college preparatory palaces and into public high schools all over the state. And McKinley was no different.

People fought back at the beginning. The Glee club, the library dwellers, the math geeks. The "nerds". Blaine gave whoever touched him a black eye or a fight they didn't expect. But soon his frequent visits to Principal Figgins' office on grounds of fighting resulted in the establishment of a heavy ultimatum: If Blaine is part of one more fight, he will be suspended. Protests and explanations fell on deaf, oblivious ears, and Blaine's greatest weapon, his ability to fight, a weapon he had honed and practiced for years so he would never again have to be in this exact situation, was taken from him by the very people that were supposed to protect him.

McKinley High School transformed. Those originally freed slunk away and locked themselves back in their little closets. The hallways quieted. Even the school seemed to lack color. The teachers noticed and tried to help and miraculously the majority of the noticeable physical bullying during classes ceased. Maybe an "accidental" shove. Maybe a foot stuck out that sent somebody clattering to the floor, papers flying about with no one ready to help. Maybe a slushy facial every so often and a hissed slur. But it was better than nothing. Certainly better than the beginning of the year.

Not for Blaine though.

With an unsatisfactory home life, to put it gently, he was forced to study in the library after classes to focus. After school, alone, and the middle of football season. So when the librarian kicked Blaine out and locked up, hurrying down the hall to go home, Blaine would shove his books into his bag and head out. Quickly.

But every time he would be intercepted by the freshly showered football players who would stay a little extra to make sure they caught him before he went home. Every time he was either shoved harshly against the lockers, or had his breath whoosh out of his battered chest when a stray foot sent him crashing to the cold floor. And every time he would bite his lip and clench his fists. And every time he would just pick himself up with a sigh and drive home.

Every night he would pull off his shirt and inspect the new bruise. And every night he would crawl into bed with a wince, because it hurt.  And every damn night Blaine would miss Kurt, but be thankful that Kurt had escaped this hell.

A hell Kurt doesn't even know exists.