Kurt’s eyes rove over the prone body snug beneath the stark hospital sheets, shuffling his weight from foot to foot as he stands beside the nurse. Blaine’s young, which is not something Kurt had expected and it certainly unnerves him. He’s too young, because he can’t be much older than Kurt himself (if he’s older at all) and he shouldn’t be in a coma. But that doesn’t stop the fact that he is.

He’s dressed in pajamas, or so Kurt can assume from the very soft-looking heather grey t-shirt Blaine is wearing, but he’s also covered in bandages and bruises. His face is handsome, Kurt can tell, despite the fact that it’s a mottled rainbow of colors around his eyes and nose and that his head is wrapped up pretty thoroughly. If Kurt didn’t see his side burns, Blaine might as well have been bald.

“He’s only been open for visitors for about a day or two, but you’re the first volunteer to come see him.” That’s all the nurse says before she smiles at him and leaves the room and Kurt is left with a comatose stranger.

The hospital wasn’t his first choice as far as places-to-volunteer go. It’s a little early to start his college-application-volunteering; Kurt is only a sophomore and he certainly has time. But schools like McKinley don’t exactly have a lot of reputation and he needs every last bit of leverage to get himself out of Ohio and to New York. It would be nice if there was a way to do volunteer work without exposing himself to something unpleasant, but he did choose entertaining hospital patients to old people.

Kurt just hadn’t expected his first assignment to be a young guy in a coma.

Glancing around, he pulls up a chair, careful to maneuver it around any wires—it would be just his luck to kill the poor guy while trying to keep him company. The thing is, Kurt doesn’t really know if Blaine’s aware he’s there. He’s never dealt with a person in a coma before so how is he supposed to know what to do?

“They say that people in comas know what’s going on around them.” It seems like a good place to start. He’s sure that Blaine doesn’t know much about comas, either, even if he is in one. “So, um, I’m Kurt. I volunteer here at the hospital. And I figure it’s nicer to listen to someone talk rather than some beeping monitors.” Was that in poor taste? Maybe Blaine likes being able to hear that he is still alive. Kurt’s eyes flicker to the machine, but it just keeps beeping as if he’s not even there at all.

“I, um, didn’t really expect this. I mean, if I’d known I would have brought a book or something to read. A magazine, maybe—I could keep you up to date on all the latest fashion and gossip.” Kurt grins, but it slips off his face, and he taps a finger against the railing on the bed. It reminds him of those beds toddlers sleep in as they transition from cribs to real beds and frowns slightly, assessing Blaine. His injuries jump out against his olive skin and Kurt wonders briefly what exactly is wrong with him and how it happened.

It’s patient privacy, he knows, that keeps him from getting this information. After all, the volunteers are there to bring smiles and laughter, not to nose about in people’s business. But Kurt doubts Blaine will smile at him any time soon.

“You know, I never realized how hard it was to have a conversation with myself until I tried it. Who knew, right? So, um, I guess I’ll tell you about my day?” Kurt chews his lip for a moment before scooting the chair a bit closer and crossing his legs. “I go to McKinley High. I doubt you go there, because I’m sure I would have seen you. Or you would have seen me. It’s not a very diverse school, I’m afraid. I’m a sophomore—you look around that age, too, so you’ll probably appreciate my mundane high school life and all the drama that accompanies it.” The longer Kurt talks, the easier he finds the words, and he leans forward a bit as he continues. “At least, you can sympathize with it.

“Anyways, so I’m in my school’s Glee club—New Directions. Our assignment this week is Madonna…”

“I’m home!”

Crouching in the small tiled rectangle that serves as their entryway, Kurt begins working at unlacing his boots. A shadow falls across him and he glances up to see his father standing in the opening to the living room, holding what appears to be a microwave dinner (and Kurt knows that, if it appears to be, it most certainly is.)

“Hey kiddo. How was the hospital?” Burt Hummel looks down at his son over his food, prodding at something in the cardboard with his fork so that it’s easy to see the steam streaking off of it.

“Fine.” Kurt shrugs dismissively, standing as his boots come completely off. He picks them up and then looks at his dad’s dinner choice with a frown of disapproval and a raised eyebrow. “What is that?”

“Dinner.” His dad shrugs with one shoulder and turns back towards the living room, where Kurt can hear the distinct sound of some sport or another coming from the TV. He rolls his eyes, knowing full well that his dad is using football or baseball or whatever as a deterrent against Kurt’s disapproval, so he heads towards the kitchen to fix himself something healthy and start on his homework.

His visit at the hospital had been fine. He’d only stayed with Blaine for about an hour before a nurse had come in to turn him. The whole situation had been awkward enough that Kurt had excused himself and spent his other hour in the pediatrics ward watching cartoons with a little girl who had broken her leg.

As strange as it had been at first, Kurt realized that he’d actually enjoyed his time spent with Blaine. Which was strange, in and of itself, because Blaine hadn’t done much of anything. But Kurt has to admit to himself that it was nice having someone just listen to him talk. He supposes if he ever went to a therapist for some reason it would feel much the same, except therapists generally had something to say. Blaine, really, is just a very good listener.

Grinning to himself, Kurt pulls his geometry homework from his bag as he waits for water to boil. Maybe he’ll visit Blaine again.

“So how often are you doing this hospital gig? It’s not gonna interfere with Glee, is it?” Closing his locker, Kurt turns towards Mercedes and rolls his eyes affectionately.

“If you mean will it interfere with our super fabulous, top secret Madonna project, then no, it will not. I’m only going twice a week.” Leaning against the locker wall, he taps his fingers against his Spanish book in thought, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Not that it will be hard to stand out in Ohio. I doubt many of the apes at this school even know what volunteer work is.”

He links their arms together, beginning to make their way down the hall, eyes shooting around to check for red and white or outstretched slushie cups.

“Kurt, you stand out anywhere.” He preens at her compliment and she hugs his arm closer. “You enjoying it?” He raises one of his shoulders in a half shrug.

“I’ve only been the one time, and I spent the whole time talking to Blaine—”

“Blaine? A boy?” Her eyes widen as her lips tip up in an excited smile. “A cute boy?”

Kurt scoffs. “Well, considering he was covered in bruises, bandages, plaster, and is in a coma, I wasn’t exactly checking him out.” Well, not really, but it was difficult to talk to someone for an hour and not look at them. And appreciate the curve and length of someone’s eyelashes and the definition of their arms. “Besides,” he continues, negotiating them past an “enthusiastic” couple. “I’m interested in someone,” he sniffs, eyes darting to the side just in time to catch sight of that someone. Mercedes follows his gaze and sighs.

“Boy, you need to give that up.” His attention snaps back to Mercedes in a glare and he lifts his chin.

“You don’t give up a battle that’s hardly been started, darling.”