Blaine shoves the spatula he’s holding into Mike’s hand and runs down the steps into the water. He shoves past Rachel and Santana, his eyes wide and frantic.

“Why did you do that?” he shouts.

Santana folds her arms across her chest. “It was all fun and games. I didn’t see you trying to stop Puckerman from chasing him around.”

He half walks, half hops his way across the pool, past all the people, still trying just to make his way to Kurt, who for some terrifying reason, has yet to resurface. “It’s one thing to drench someone and another thing entirely to pull someone into shallow water.”

Finally, Kurt surfaces with a gasp, the towel draped tightly over and across his body like a shawl. Blaine pushes his way towards him and lays his hands on his shoulders, spinning him around until both boys are facing each other. But Kurt won’t meet his eyes. He keeps his head hung low, his shoulders rising and falling with each deep breath.

“Kurt, are you okay? You were under a long time, baby.” His voice is laden with concern, his eyebrows drawn together in a tight frown.

Kurt just tries to wriggle out of his grasp, moving quickly toward the stairs. Blaine follows him, grabbing right wrist.

“Say something,” he pleads. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

Finally, he shakes his head, just enough that Blaine can see him before he wrenches his hand free again, running (as much as one can in water) to the stairs, where he stops suddenly.

In one smooth movement, he pulls the heavy towel off himself, throwing it in the direction of the gathered crowd of glee club members, before tearing out of the pool. His hands are up around his head, and he makes it out and across the deck in a mere matter of seconds.

Rachel, in her panic, just stutters out a quiet “K-Kurt, the floors” as he runs inside, the door slamming behind him

It echoes throughout the quiet backyard. Brittany fingers the wet towel nervously, and Quinn is the first to speak up.

“Did – did it look like his head was red when he ran out to anyone else?” She glances around at everyone else, but no one speaks. “Did he hit his head when he fell in, or something?”

The group breaks out in quiet murmurs as they all talk to themselves about what happened, what it could mean, what they should do. Blaine rounds on them all just seconds after the door slams, jabbing a finger into Santana’s chest.

“Look what you’ve done,” he hisses. “You’re all supposed to be his friends. ‘It’s all fun and games until someone gets hurt,’ right? That doesn’t just mean physical pain. He’s supposed to – we should all – feel safe around you guys, all together. By forcing him to do something he didn’t want to do – how does that make you any better than the bullies that torment him every single day? This was supposed to be one of our last days together before school starts back up to just relax and enjoy each other’s company. You crossed a line when you physically dragged him down. I hope you’re happy.”

And with that, he leaves, leaving a stunned group in his wake.

------------------------

Kurt runs as quickly as he can back into that tiny bathroom, feet slipping and sliding the whole way on the Berry family’s prized wood floors. He throws himself into the room, just barely managing to lock it with trembling hands before he empties the meager contents of his stomach into the toilet, unable to stop until he can do nothing but heave, tears streaming down his face.

He rests his elbows on the seat, cradling his head in his hands. How had everything fallen apart so quickly? One minute he was gossiping with Mercedes, exchanging overly-sweet stories about the latest dates their significant others had taken them on, and now…

Now he has absolutely no idea just what everyone out there knows. No idea what they saw. He doesn’t know, and that just makes it that much worse. He can’t even acclimate himself to his secret being out, because he doesn’t know.

Slowly, and with shaky legs, he pushes himself up and walks over to the sink, taking a long glance at himself in the mirror.

His hair never changes length. If anything, it becomes a bit more styled – more of a layered pixie cut and less of a traditional boy’s cut. But the color… his traditional brown locks are now a bright, flaming red. His face becomes slightly softer – fewer angles and more curves. His cheekbones are higher, his eyelashes are longer, his eyes just a bit wider, his chin less defined, his lips fuller.

He looks like a girl.

Well, according to the neanderthals at McKinley, he always looks like a girl, but now he really does. Which is accurate, he supposes, since technically by body he is, though he’s still very much a boy in his mind.

His gaze travels down even further. The v-neck he slipped on earlier (just in case, he’d told himself, and thank God for that bit of precaution now) clings to his body, and it’s not just because of the water. There’s now much more to him under his clothes. His chest has filled out, breasts forming with the transformation. His waist has pulled in some as well, becoming smaller (though his hips – which he already jokingly calls pear hips – have filled out even more).

The transformation itself isn’t painful, despite the numerous and extensive physical changes his body endures, but it does take some time. Kurt knows Blaine at least noticed how long he was underwater. He just wishes he knew if any of them had seen some of the more obvious changes he undergoes.

Surely they did, he thinks. This form is… certainly not lacking in any department.

He takes a deep breath before turning the faucet on, splashing his face with cool water just to rid himself of the light sheen of sweat he had developed when he was sick. Bringing a cupped hand full of the water to his mouth, he swishes it around, wishing he had thought to stick a toothbrush in his bag before leaving. He spits it out and stares at his reflection in the mirror for a moment longer before turning away, beginning to strip out of the wet clothing.

Shower. He needs to take a shower. That’s the only way he can change back here – the only way he can douse himself in enough hot (hotter than body temperature) water.

Kurt manages to squirm his way out of the heavy, soaked cloth after a minute or two. With a sigh, he walks over to the shower, pushing the curtain to one side. Thankfully, he’s had many a sleepover at Rachel’s, so he knows just how to work the complicated shower. He kneels down, just getting ready to flip it on, when he hears it.

A timid knock at the door.

The knock at the door is almost so quiet that Kurt isn’t sure if he’s really heard it. He holds his breath, hoping maybe whoever it is will go about their merry way, but no luck. Whoever it is knocks again, this time a bit louder.

“Kurt?” Two more raps. “Are you in here?”

Blaine sounds worried. “Kurt, please – it was just a game. He didn’t mean to upset anyone. Please open the door?”

There’s a sigh followed by a bunch of rustling noise before one final rap on the door. Blaine’s voice sounds somehow closer when he speaks. “I’m not going anywhere, you know.”

Kurt shakes his head. “Please, Blaine. I – I’m fine. Go enjoy the party,” he whispers. If Blaine notices the change in his voice (which has settled into an even higher, more delicate pitch than normal), he isn’t mentioning it.

“Not until you tell me what’s wrong,” he says, and Kurt bites his lip. He feels bad for worrying his boyfriend – he does – but he can’t tell him. Not yet. Not like this. Not because of some careless accident, a stupid prank, a game. “Please just – open the door? I’m – you’re scaring me, Kurt.”

After an agonizingly long silence, Kurt clears his throat. “If I let you see me for a minute, will you go?”

“Kurt, what’s-“

“Blaine.”

Another thunk on the door, and it sounds much heavier than the previous knocks. After a moment, Kurt realizes it’s Blaine’s head. “I – fine. Yes. I’ll leave after that, if you want me to.”

Kurt squeezes his eyes shut tight at that. Blaine sounds so defeated. “It’s – it’s not like that, Blaine. I just... you’re freaking out over nothing. I’m fine, I promise.”

“Then why won’t you open the door?” he asks.

As quickly and as precisely as he can, Kurt wraps his hair up in a towel. It takes him a moment to tuck the shorter pieces of his hair up into the cloth, but eventually he manages to make sure all of the red is hidden. He wraps his body in another, trying to make it look as if he’s just gotten out of the shower. He holds the excess fabric tightly in his fist, just over his heart, letting the rest hang loosely about his frame.

Once he’s completely sure he’s covered, that nothing out of the ordinary is visible, he opens the door a crack. Blaine falls back a bit, having been leaning against it and not expecting the door to move, but quickly regains his balance. He’s on his knees in a second, facing Kurt with wide eyes.

“Kurt,” he says breathily. “Are you alright? Why’d you run off?”

Kurt steps aside and lets Blaine come into the room. He lowers the lid of the toilet and sits down on it, staring down at the fabric pooled in his lap. “I don’t know,” he says, biting his lower lip nervously. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m sorry.”

“Why won’t you look at me?”

He squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head quickly. “I can’t.”

Kurt immediately knows it’s the wrong thing to say, because Blaine flinches back from him, looking as if he’s been slapped. “I’m sorry. I – I should’ve stopped Puck from chasing you around. I should’ve said something, I know, but I didn’t think… I didn’t think that any of them would-“

“Blaine, no,” Kurt interrupts. He reaches out a hand, just enough that it brushes up against Blaine’s, but he still doesn’t raise his eyes. “I’m not mad at you. I’m just… I’m scared.”

He hears the sharp intake of breath, and he can practically see Blaine’s confused and started look in his mind. “Scared of what? Of Puck? Santana?”

Again, Kurt shakes his head, and again, Blaine tenses – this time visibly taking a step back. “Of… me?”

Kurt doesn’t answer, and that’s an answer in and of itself.

Blaine’s back hits the wall across from where Kurt’s sitting, and he slides down until he’s sitting on the floor, his knees pulled up close to his chest. “I don’t… I don’t know what I did. I – God, Kurt, I’m so sorry for whatever it was. But please, please talk to me. I can’t… fix whatever it is unless you talk to me.”

It takes a while for Kurt to answer, and when he does, his voice is barely there. “You didn’t do anything. It’s that I’m afraid of what you will do.”

With his elbows propped on his knees and his hands tangled in his hair, Blaine looks up at him. “What do you mean? I don’t – none of this is making sense to me, Kurt.”

Kurt slides off the toilet until he’s kneeling in front of Blaine. He still refuses to raise his eyes, but he brings a hand to Blaine’s shoulder.

“I’m afraid of what you’ll do when you find it. I’m not afraid of you. I’m just afraid that I’m not… good enough for you.”

Blaine slides his hand up over Kurt’s, linking their fingers together. With his other hand, he caresses his cheek slowly, lovingly. “You’re perfect for me. Nothing will ever change that.”

They stay that way for a moment – just sitting close together and breathing together, Blaine’s hand tenderly following the line of Kurt’s cheekbone – until his hand suddenly freezes. His fingers halt just by the corner of his eye, and Kurt’s breath catches in his throat.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, and he cringes at how high and shaky his voice sounds.

Blaine’s fingers move again, almost in a slight pinching motion. “What is this?”

Kurt backs away, bringing a hand up to where Blaine’s was. “What’s what?” he asks, feeling across his face frantically. And then his fingers close over it.

Some of his hair – his bright, unmistakably red hair – has fallen free from the towel.