Chapter 7

You have five new messages.

"HUMMEL! Why aren't you hereeee? Get here now- hic- I'm borreddd."

...

"Kurt! Kurt! I stole your number from Blaine. Blaine is so awesome. He's my new duet partner now, Kurt. Kurt, he's so awesome."

...

"Oh my God- answer your- hic- phone. I'm bored and- no, Sam, go away, I'm busy-"

"Hey Kurt, man! I don't know you much but you seem awesome. Santana's busy now... bye!"

...

"Alcohol is funnnn. Tina! TINA! Pull yourself off Mike and say hi to our boy."

"HI KURT!"

...

"I really lo- hic- you, you know. You're so awesome. More awesome than me. I'm a freaking coward and you're so- hic- brave. Why can't I be- hic- too? What? Okay. Okay, Sam, I'll be there in a minute."

"So," Kurt grinned, swaying slightly on the spot he was coiled up on the floor.

"So?" Blaine absently parroted as he shuffled around, though his thoughts seemed elsewhere.

"So, I heard you guys got pretty drunk at Rachel's on the weekend?" he ventured, biting down on his lip as he finished, pulling down the smirk playing there. The squeak of Blaine's shoe across the stage floor echoed across and his shuffling stopped.

"Oh God," he groaned. "You heard about that?"

With the stifling of his laughter failing, Kurt threw his head back and let himself snigger at Blaine's worried tone.

"Santana told me what you got up to," he coughed in between laughs, jolting as he heard the sudden screech of the piano stool being pulled across the floor. Blaine refused to say anything else and carried on moving things around. The familiar shuffle of papers followed, and his iPod dock being placed back on the piano. Kurt's lips curled, fingers tapping against the floor idly.

"What was it like?" he asked mockingly, "Kissing a girl?" He dragged the last word out, letting it hang in the air between them, not missing Blaine's irritated scoff.

"We were drunk," he muttered, forgetting his plan to ignore Kurt. Kurt rocked on the spot, bringing his knees to his chest.

"Ah, true love," Kurt teased, bringing his hand to his heart. "Rachel and Blaine sitting in a tree..." he began to sing despite Blaine's indignant "Kurt!"

"K.I.S.S.I.N.G. First comes love," he drawled, laughing and continuing even after Blaine's pleas of Shut up. You aren't funny. "Second comes marriage..." He was cut off by the wind being knocked out of his lungs as Blaine collided into him, cackling and grabbing his waist. He shouted in surprise as he was pulled out of his curled up position, legs flailing in the air as he landed on the floor with a thump.

"Shut up."

Kurt scowled up from where Blaine's voice was laughing above him, staring up in disapproval though his heart beat erratically under where Blaine's hands were wrapped up in his shirt.

Lifting his own hands up, he pushed against Blaine's chest, but Blaine pulled Kurt up with him until they were kneeling, knees brushing faintly.

"Sorry," Blaine apologised meekly, voice fading softly as if he was ducking his head. Kurt caught the smile that edged the sound of his words.

"No you're not," he chuckled, pushing Blaine's chest, becoming all too aware of how close they actually were. Kurt's hand rested momentarily on Blaine and he longed to drag it up and trace lightly along the contours of his face, or tangle them tenderly through his hair.

"Well you can't pick on me," Blaine protested. "We were drunk and it was a dare, okay?"

Shaking his head, Kurt tried to bring himself back to what Blaine was saying.

"Yeah..." he mumbled. "Did you enjoy it?" He laughed the question out, but his fingers playing nervously with the pocket on Blaine's shirt gave him away. Being this close to Blaine had clouded over his thoughts, the reason they'd ended up like this was hazy and unimportant. Why were they still talking? Why couldn't he tilt his head up and lean forward and-

"Not really," Blaine sighed, pulling Kurt out of a part of his muddled thoughts. "It was fine but... you know. I tried to pretend she was a boy."

His strangled laugh felt foreign, and if he hadn't felt it bubbling in his chest, Kurt wouldn't have believed it was himself who had laughed it. Blaine's small chuckle tickled his cheek, only their soft breaths left between them as their voices died down.

"Dance with me," Blaine breathed, hands skimming over Kurt's arms until they wrapped around his hands, pulling him up and twirling him on the spot.

It had happened like this every day for the past week. The slow dancing and easy movements as Blaine hummed instructions to Kurt and he'd follow. Kurt would always follow, never able to do anything more, but perfectly content being held and twirled around with Blaine as some far-off music played in the background. The rush of blood through Kurt's ears, his pulse thrumming in his temple nearly always drowned out everything else but the sound of Blaine's calming breaths.

Kurt had tried to ignore how close they were pressed together, the heat building in his chest and stomach, the goosebumps along his arms as Blaine stroked a thumb barely across his hand. He tried to ignore the times when Blaine's fingers on his back would dip lower, or slip as they danced, and graze over the bare skin showing from where his shirt had ridden up and the shivers of odd pleasure they'd send shooting up Kurt's spine.

Sometimes he'd let his own fingers curl lightly in the fabric of Blaine's shirt, or entwine their fingers and pull them closer to his chest. He didn't know what he was doing, only that he wanted Blaine as close as possible.

He hadn't expected Rachel to interrupt them an hour later, brows knitted in confusion as Blaine pulled away.

"She wants me to do some vocal training with her?" he apologised. "I'm sorry. I'll tell her I'm busy."

Kurt shrugged, ignoring the tug in his chest.

"Don't worry," he smiled. "I should be getting home now anyway." He forced the smile to stay on his face as Rachel greeted him. The sour look on his face as Blaine drove him home a substitute for glaring at the back of Rachel's head.

As the week dragged on, Kurt's only salvation were the hour spent with Blaine, finding himself lost in the sound of their footsteps and laughter. It was easy to make mistakes, and not shrink away like he had the first few times, when Blaine tripped and messed up every so often. Blaine's muttered apologies and fraught laughter along with a picture of him blushing helped Kurt find it easier those times he stumbled over his own feet.

Rachel ended up popping up after every hour, with a flurry of eager words flying out her mouth as she listed things she and Blaine could focus on that night. While Blaine packed up, she'd turn to Kurt, because for some reason she could not stop talking.

The conversation would usually turn into Rachel's favourite topic about her dreams of getting out to New York, of being on Broadway, of where she saw herself in two, in five, in ten years. Even though he zoned out a few times, eyes drooping a little as she droned on, something she'd say would perk his interest every so often and he'd sit up and spit out everything he knew about musicals and Broadway to join in.

Blaine was lucky if he ever got a word in edge ways, but Kurt could hear him laughing, picturing him shaking his head at the pair of them.

He found himself beginning to look forward to Rachel's entrances interrupting their sessions and her sometimes harsh comments.

"Blaine, that's sloppy," she'd declare as she strolled in. "Straighten up. Like Kurt. Kurt has perfect posture." Blaine grumbled and mimicked what she said as Kurt smirked smugly in his direction, earning him a soft shove.

He could get used to this routine, especially the car journeys home, the sound of Rachel flicking through a note book and reading from her list, Blaine trying to keep up.

Kurt curled up in the back seat and listened to them, Blaine's distant humming as Rachel recited her list over again. The amount of times the words Regionals and we have to be fully prepared came up ended with his head lolling against the window dreamily, enjoying the sound of their avid laughter.

Rachel was a handful, he'd gathered that much from Blaine's late night phone calls describing their vocal exercising sessions, but he could hear the smile in Blaine's voice. He could hear how he grinned down the phone and how he laughed while probably shaking his head as he recounted the weird things Rachel came up with.

At the end of the week, when Blaine met up with Kurt in the auditorium again after school he was yawning widely, Kurt imagining him stretching his arms out above his head, mouth open wide.

"You aren't overworking yourself, are you?" he asked, worry creeping into his voice. Blaine hummed softly in confusion. "I mean... with Glee and your sessions with me and then Rachel's every night. And homework. You must be exhausted."

"I'm fine," Blaine insisted with a small yawn. "I'm enjoying myself so I'm fine." Kurt sighed and forced his lips into a small smile.

"Look, don't worry," Blaine insisted, moving over and grasping his hands gently. "Rachel doesn't want to do anything tonight after what happened in the assembly," Kurt suppressed a snort before he ended up laughing, "So, I can go home and get a good night's sleep."

"Living it up on a Friday night," Kurt laughed dryly. With a small shove, Blaine moved away, laughing in spite of himself.

They fell into their easy rhythm, gliding across their small spot, humming along to the music. He should have been bored of this by now. Yet even though dancing with Blaine was one of the simplest things he could do, it was also the only thing Kurt did with another person that made him so entirely comfortable he felt like he was floating away from the rest of the world. His fingers tightened around Blaine's as this realisation hit. Never before would he have believed he'd have found dancing comfortable.

He forced back the prickling in his eyes, but let his smile grow wider, laughing as Blaine swayed him carefully around.

The song drew closer to its end, their movements getting smaller and smaller until they finally stopped with it. With no music to cover it up, the beat in his chest was deafening, thrumming through his veins until the new song started.

"You lead this time," Blaine whispered, moving their hands, shifting their position and pulling Kurt a little closer.

Kurt shook his head. "I can't."

He didn't know how he would start. Or how to move and glide Blaine across the stage the way Blaine did with him. All too conscious of Blaine's lingering gaze, he dipped his head, cheeks burning.

"It's easy," Blaine told him softly. "Pretend you're playing piano. That the steps and beat are as easy as the music you're playing."

Kurt nodded stiffly, throat dry. He wet his lips absently and pulled at Blaine.

They hadn't talked about what Blaine had done for him the previous week much. They hadn't even talked about it since, but Kurt longed to reach out and tell him clearly. Hold his face in his hands and tell him as visibly as he could.

When he'd let Kurt take his hand and lead the way, with himself blinded to the world around him, it had been enough to push Kurt to tell him about the accident and his mother. Blaine would probably never know how much a small hand hold had meant, but no one had ever done that before. He'd done it the first day they met and he continued to do it now.

No one else had ever let Kurt lead before.

They were rough steps and broken movements, not like how Blaine had led them so effortlessly through, but thankfully the music played slowly and their steps almost lazy.

Left and right and back again. And spin.

The words echoed in his head, his thoughts driven by them. The squeeze on his arm pulled him out as Blaine's fingers dug in lightly.

"Piano, Kurt," he reminded him. "You're playing piano."

Dancing was easy, with a smile that split across his face, laughing softly as Blaine hummed along to the song, letting Kurt lead him. No guiding tugs or changes to the way Kurt led them across. His feet still felt heavy but he replaced the words in his head with notes and beats and let his feet move in time, heart fluttering slightly at Blaine's soft compliments that were quickly replaced by his delicate voice, singing along with the music that played.

Kurt's fingers tightened in Blaine's shirt, nose and eyes burning. He laughed breathily, blinking away the moisture in his eyes. A few droplets stuck to his eyelashes, yet he ignored it and let a couple roll down along his nose. The lump in his throat stuck as Blaine leaned forward and whispered the words against Kurt's ear in tune, his fingers flexing in Blaine's.

He swallowed the words on his tongue, stopped himself from singing along, comfortable in being wrapped up in Blaine and the sounds of his voice.

Pulling away as the song ended tore at him, reaching his arms up to pull Blaine back as he left him to pack away. The warmth around him was gone in an instant, so quickly Kurt stood dumbly wondering what had happened. He'd expected to stand holding each other for a few seconds at least, even if his wishes of Blaine pulling back and leaning his head in were pushing it.

"That was lovely, Kurt," Blaine spoke up after he'd scuffled a few things into his bag. His hand rested on Kurt's shoulder and giving it a soft squeeze. "You're doing amazingly." A short laugh fell easily, though the weight in his stomach pressed down.

"We should get out of here," Blaine sighed sadly. "My parents want me home early tonight." He huffed in annoyance, but relief rolled from Kurt in tides.

As they made their way out, down the wind corridors, Kurt wondered briefly if everyone suffered from ridiculous paranoia when they were in love.

His steps faltered, Blaine's voice carrying a little ahead of him but sounding faraway and blurred. Quickly stumbling forwards again, before Blaine noticed something was wrong, he pulled himself straight, ignoring the words that had run through his head but hadn't admitted to himself fully until now.

Blaine's voice still sounded so distant but the voices of at least three other people rang clearly down the corridor.

"Great, we ran into the homos," a voice groaned, the laughter of his accomplices joining in alongside it. Kurt pulled his bag tighter over his shoulder, gripping it against his chest. He knew that voice. He'd heard it enough times in math class when he and the other football jocks decided to steal his pencils and paper because that was so amusing to them.

"Great, we ran into the Neanderthals," Kurt shot back, reaching out to Blaine's arm. "Come on, Blaine, let's get out of here." Blaine didn't move, frozen under Kurt's light grip. "Come on, Blaine," he added insistently with a tug. It was met with another chorus of laughter from Azimio and his gang and he turned his head and glared their way as well as he could.

"Um..."

"What's the matter, Anderson? Afraid of finally getting what's coming to you?" another voice laughed.

Karofsky.

Kurt's stomach dropped and the walls were closing in around him. His heart fought against his constricting chest to keep beating.

Most of the football players were barely annoying, others like Azimio liked to make Kurt's day as hard as possible. But none of them bothered Kurt. None of them terrified him. Except Karofsky.

Footsteps heading towards them felt louder against his eardrums as his heart pounded against his chest. He rubbed at it as it drummed painfully, his breaths raw and shallow.

"Little sick, aren't you, Anderson?" another voice from someone Kurt didn't know the name of.

"Yeah, not only is he a fag, but he likes stalking little blind kids, too," Azimio piped up. "You know, I think that's deserving of some kind of punishment."

They were drawing in closer but Kurt didn't shrink back. He pulled into himself and straightened his shoulders, opening his mouth willing an insult, a come back... anything to push them away.

He felt nothing, but the sound of a body smacking against the lockers rattled through the empty corridor, as Blaine's arm slipped away from under his fingers.

"Stop it!" he yelled, reaching around wildly, cruel laughter echoing around him. He could feel how the space around him had emptied and they'd all moved to the side, crowding Blaine. He couldn't see where they were. Or what they were doing to Blaine. They laughed at him, one of them reaching an arm out and pushing him hard in the chest so he fell back, cane falling with a crack even though he managed to stay balanced.

"You three."

Everything stopped. Their laughter died and Kurt heard the shuffle as they moved back and stood up. Someone was by his side instantly, fingers ghosting over his hand as his cane was returned. He surrounded Kurt with requisite warmth, holding his hand and pulling them away slightly.

Kurt felt him shake under his grasp. He squeezed his hand back and pulled him closer.

He had never been so thankful to hear Sue Sylvester's voice.

"What are you doing? Don't you have some remedial class to get to in case there is actually any chance of knowledge passing through those thick skulls of yours? In fact, you can see me in my office now."

The corridor was silent. Kurt let his eyes fall shut and forced images of the scene in front of him. The three boys tilting their heads in confusion, looking at each other with worry.

"Don't just stand there. Go. Now."

Clambering footsteps followed as the three scampered off down the hallway, their mocking laughter dead in their throats.

Blaine let out a long breath, fingers relaxing against Kurt's, his shoulders dropping.

"Thanks," he said, with a small sigh.

"No problem," Sue replied stiffly, though her voice was softer than Kurt had heard it before. He heard her hesitation and when she continued, that tone was gone.

"Next time get out of the way. Maybe all of that product in your hair has turned your brains to mush but there's no point in staying and fighting."

With a squeak of her sneakers against the floor, Kurt listened to her stride back the way she had come from, footsteps dying as she turned and made her way to her office. They were all gone now, and Blaine was pulling his hand away, but the shivers down Kurt's arms prickled at his skin.

"Don't worry," he muttered, gripping his cane in both hands. "She's just like that. You'll get used to her."

He could still remember the first time he'd met Sue Sylvester, back in his second week of freshman year, as he tried to find his way to English class.

"Well, if it isn't Kurt Hummel, taking up the hallways once again," he heard a voice from behind him. He stopped, wondering how the woman speaking knew his name.

"Sorry," he replied huffily, trying to place the voice to any teachers he'd already spoken to. "I can't really see where I'm going."

"That's no excuse," the woman replied. "I have places to go and people to insult and your blindness isn't an excuse for distracting me." Kurt opened his mouth to retort but found his voice stuck.

He cleared his throat. "Can't you just go around me?"

"I will not," she scoffed. " I don't just walk around people, Hummel. People move out of my when they see me, and just because you can't do that doesn't give you special privileges. Now move along before I take those stupid looking glasses off your face and give them to some has-been rapper who wears those things indoors in a sore attempt to regain a level of coolness he never really had in the first place. When really, it just looks like he's covering up his conjunctivitis."

Kurt shut his mouth when he realised it was hanging open.

"You're an offensive person," he muttered, stepping out the woman's way.

"Tell that to someone who cares," she sniffed, walking off, Kurt imagined without a second glance back at him, leaving him alone to go over what actually just happened, in the middle of the empty corridor.

He shook himself from his memories but Blaine still hadn't said anything. He stayed silent, feet scuffling slightly against the floor.

"Blaine, are you alright?" he asked. "Did they hurt you?"

"No," Blaine answered quickly. "I'm fine. I'm good, really."

"You don't seem it," he argued, wishing he could curl up to Blaine and hold him.

"Can we just get this stuff in your locker and leave?" Blaine grumbled, moving slowly in front of Kurt, waiting for him to follow.

"Blaine, I-"

"Please, Kurt." His tone was pleading and Kurt could hear the unspoken words as if they were louder than the ones he was actually saying.

Drop it. Leave it. Don't talk about it.

He didn't seem fine. He wasn't okay. He could deny it for all it was worth, he could laugh and hum along to songs on the radio as he drove Kurt home, but the memories of how he'd frozen up and then shook against Kurt when he'd held his hand wouldn't leave even as he lay curled up on the couch that night.

He shivered as the sounds of clattering against lockers that echoed through against his ears, and he pulled a blanket over himself tightly. He clenched his eyes shut, drowning the sounds out with Blaine gentle voice singing against his cheek. His fingers relaxed in the thin blanket.

He could see a smile. A soft one, eyes wide and loving. He could see it falling, colourless eyes brimming with tears and a faceless person breaking, until there was nothing left.

His eyes flew open, making no difference, the make-believe image still burnt across his thoughts.

He downed six cups of the coffee over the next two hours, willing himself to stay awake. Dreams of crashing cars and shrill screams were rare nowadays, but he couldn't cope with the thought of more dreams of watching someone break. Watching a best friend whose face remained a mystery, and always would, hurt when he could do nothing about it.