Everyone thought he was crazy, or stupid, or both, but Blaine ignored all of the protests from family and friends and transferred to McKinley anyway. Dalton had been the right choice after “the incident.” At the time he had needed sanctuary, protection, a community, and he'd found it. There, behind Dalton's ivy-covered walls, Blaine had gained strength and confidence. As lead singer of the Warblers he had come into his own. And thanks to a dorm full of hormonal teenage boys, he had discovered the joys of crushing openly on other boys, dating other boys, making out with other boys.

But Dalton was a bubble – a very privileged bubble – and it was temporary. Eventually he'd have to graduate, go to college, enter the real world and face all of the same ignorance and hatred that landed him in the hospital mid-way through his Freshman year at Liberty High. The thought that he would show up at Yale (his choice) or Harvard (his father's choice) or Northwestern (his mother's choice) having never truly stood up to a bully or risen above haters made him feel stuck, like he was still that stupid (his word), naive (his father's word), innocent (his mother's word) 14-year-old kid with a mouth full of blood and gravel.

He had to know from experience that he could handle anything and anyone. He had to find out what he was made of without the protection of his father's money and Dalton's zero-tolerance policy. He had to survive one normal high school year. If he could do that, he'd be golden.

“But why McKinley?” his mother asked for the fortieth time. It was the night before the first official day of his senior year, and he was ready. But she wasn't.

“I told you. Liberty isn't an option—“

“Absolutely not—”

“—and at least I know people at McKinley. And they have a Glee club, a pretty good one. Remember? I told you about them. They won Regionals last year with original songs.”

“Right,” she answered, staring at his brown leather messenger bag, packed and ready and sitting next to his bedroom door.

“You know, Mike's club? I'll be with Mike, Mom. And you remember his girlfriend, Tina? She's in the club, too.”

The Changs and the Andersons had been “tennis” friends for years. They'd played mixed doubles every other Sunday for as long as Blaine could remember. They went in a table a the hospital fundraiser every year, and showed up to their respective holiday parties, wine in hand. And every summer the Changs and the Andersons sent their kids away for four weeks, to Asian Camp.

“Julia said last year there was a big issue with bullying,” she said.

Blaine grabbed his mother in a tight hug, and let her rest her head on his shoulder for a minute. Amihan Anderson (Ami for short) was tiny, but formidable. With her husband pulling 90-hour work weeks since the year they were married, she'd practically raised their four sons on her own – no small job even under the best of circumstances. They were mama's boys, all of them, especially Blaine, her baby. But from the time they were toddlers she encouraged them to live authentic lives, and so even though it pained them to defy her, in the end her boys always chose to follow their path.

“Mike mentioned that, but he's got my back. And I've met a few of his friends, all giant, burly football players, okay? Don't worry,” he said, kissing her forehead. At the sight of her raised eyebrow and and anxious eyes he added, “How about you just—worry less?”

***

McKinley is everything Dalton is not. It's messy, and loud and confusing, with so many cliques and inside jokes and “rules” Blaine begins to feel like he's in one giant experiment in social Darwinism. He'd tell his classmates this, he really would, except that there aren't that many people who would get it. Mike would, and probably Tina. Maybe Quinn. And Kurt.

Definitely Kurt.

He'd met the only other out gay kid on his first day, sitting at the lunch table with Mike's crew, otherwise known as the New Directions. It was hard to follow the thread of conversation, much less get a word in, everyone trading barbs and making plans and speculating about what happened to Quinn over the summer.

“Don't bother, Rachel. She's out. I mean, we could work with the pink hair but that tattoo? Hopeless,” Kurt had said, stabbing a sprig of broccoli with a plastic fork.

“It's worth a try. I can be very persuasive,” Rachel replied.

“Kurt's right, Rachel. Quinn's a lost cause,” Santana said.

“Quinn Fabray? I know her,” Blaine had chimed in. For the first time since Mike had introduced him to most of his friends (he'd already met Finn and Puck at a party), all heads turned to face him. “I mean, we're not best friends or anything, but our dads were in the same fraternity at Harvard. So I've, you know, been to her house a few times.”

“Well she's completely lost her shit,” Santana said. “Maybe you can date her and screw some sense into her. You're just her type, except short. But your German luxury hand-me-down probably evens things out.”

“Sorry? I don't follow—”

“She's talking about your ride, dude. We all saw you pull up,” Puck explained.

“Oh. Well I can't date her,” Blaine said, bracing himself. He'd come out dozens of times—to friends, girls who wouldn't take no for an answer, coaches, doctors, extended family who seemed to forget he was gay and asked him about girlfriends every freaking holiday—but it still made him nervous, every time. He looked over at Mike, who just smiled and nodded, and then announced, “I'm gay.”

It was then that Kurt looked at him, really looked at him, and Blaine's heart dropped to his stomach. He was without a doubt the most gorgeous boy Blaine had ever seen, real or imagined. He remembered him from competition, remembered thinking he was cute, remembered being amazed by his vocal range, but he didn't remember him being so unbelievably hot. Something had changed. Kurt had grown, filled out, become more at ease in his own skin. He looked like he stepped right out of a magazine, and Blaine was most definitely crushing on the boy.

But it wasn't until a couple of weeks later, when Kurt took him aside after Glee practice and handed him a canvas bag that Blaine realized Kurt was not only the most beautiful boy in Ohio; he was also the bravest.

“What's this?” Blaine asked.

“Your survival kit. Two shirts, one short-sleeved, one long-sleeved, wet wipes, stain remover, a hand towel, a spray bottle for wetting down your hair after, and since I know you'd die without it, a travel-sized bottle of gel.”

“I don't understand—”

“They know, okay? I overhead Karofsky and his assholes talking about 'the new midget queer' – sorry – and I thought you might need this. In case you get a slushy to the face,” Kurt said.

“Oh. Really? They'd do that?”

“Yes. For sure. Just be careful. If they find you alone, they might rough you up, too,” Kurt said. “Stay close to Mike, and Finn and Puck. They were my personal security detail last year when it got really bad, and they'll have your back. And shower fast. You don't want to be the last guy in the locker room. Trust me.”

“You seem to know a lot about this.”

“Unfortunately, yes. I have to go. See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah. See ya. And thanks!”

“No problem,” Kurt said.

Blaine watched Kurt walk away, his calf-length boots click-clacking in the hallway, his skintight jeans hugging his glorious ass so perfectly Blaine wanted to break into song, and decided the first chance he got, he would ask Kurt out.

***

It was the beginning of October before he got the chance. Well, he could have asked him any day at school, but it never felt right. Kurt was always surrounded by his girls, and while Blaine was practiced in his approach, he just didn't want to face rejection in front of them.

One weekend Finn invited the guys over for game night, and included Blaine. His mother smiled affectionately at him as he left that night, relieved that so far, his senior year was incident-free, happy that he was making friends. When she noticed him check his hair in the mirror in the foyer she asked, “Someone special?”

“Maybe,” he said, and slipped out the door, muttering, “Probably. Definitely. Absolutely. Yes.”

There was no doubt about it: Blaine was smitten. Once he got it into his head that Kurt was boyfriend potential, he took note of, well, everything about him. He was amazed that Kurt looked bored in nearly every class, and yet pulled straight As. He was fascinated by his ability to be two things at once, by the juxtaposition of kindness and blunt insults, encouraging and supporting his friends while still criticizing their wardrobe or music choices. And he loved the way Kurt's features softened whenever he mentioned his dad.

Yes, Blaine's list of “Things I Like About Kurt Hummel” was pages long, and after weeks of pining, and waiting, and trying not to stare, Blaine was beyond ready to share that list with Kurt.

When he arrived at the Hudson-Hummel house, Kurt was nowhere to be found. After a few games Blaine asked, “Where's Kurt? Isn't this a guy thing?”

Puck laughed and said, “He's not into guy stuff.”

“Have you ever asked him?” Blaine asked.

Finn looked up from his double-decker pizza slice and said, “Uh, no? I mean, he never wants to hang with us in Glee, so we just, don't ask.”

“Is he around?” Blaine asked, trying to sound like he didn't care one way or another.

“Upstairs. Third bedroom on the right,” Finn said.

Blaine slipped away and climbed the stairs slowly, listening. At Kurt's door he heard muffled sounds, like Kurt was singing, or humming. He knocked twice. “I'm not making you a sandwich!” Kurt shouted from behind his door.

“It's Blaine.”

Kurt opened the door and held onto the doorknob, not ready to let Blaine in. “Oh, hey. Are you here for the game thing?”

“Yeah.” Blaine leaned against the door frame, ready to turn on the charm. “I was hoping to see you, though. You're not into it? Video games, I mean.”

“Not a gamer, no,” Kurt said. “Wait—you were hoping to see me? Why?”

“May I come in?” Blaine asked.

“Oh, sure. Just, let me move some stuff,” Kurt said, stepping back into his room. Blaine watched as Kurt shuffled some clothes and what looked like a stain-removal kit to made space for him on his bed. “Trying to get the slushy dye out of a few things I can't replace,” Kurt said, sitting down on the corner of the bed. Blaine sat down on the other corner, a few feet away from Kurt.

“I was hoping to see you tonight because I've been meaning to ask you something,” Blaine started. He shifted on the bed, lifted one leg up and turned to the side so he could look Kurt in the eyes. “Would you go out with me?”

Kurt blushed, and then looked down at the bed. After a minute he looked up again and said, “Like on a date?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you very much Blaine, but I can't accept,” Kurt replied.

“Oh. May I ask why?”

“I'd rather not say,” Kurt said, looking down again. “But I'm happy you asked.”

Kurt smiled at him, blushing again. Blaine sat there for a moment, his eyes fixated on Kurt's long neck, and imagined what it would be like to nuzzle him there, right there, for hours, days, maybe forever. He was staring too long. It was beyond awkward and he knew it, but he couldn't help himself. He was in shock. He knew he wouldn't be able to get at Kurt's neck, or earlobes, or thighs on the first date, that he would have to work his way up to that and more, but the prospect of never getting the chance to try was too much to wrap his brain around.

He'd already imagined Kurt laughing with him, under him, on top of him. He'd already pictured what it would be like to hold hands in the halls at school, to meet him for coffee and have picnics and learn to love him, to fall for him, to claim a place in his heart.

Kurt reached out and touched Blaine's forearm, giving it a squeeze. “I'm really sorry,” he said.

“It's okay. Friends?” Blaine asked, willing his eyes to stay dry and his face to stay neutral.

“Of course.”

***

He probably should have left it alone, should have let Kurt's rejection stand and focused instead on preparing for auditions for “West Side Story” or getting into college or homework or something, but Blaine just couldn't let it go. He watched Kurt like a hawk now, and though he worried he was turning into some sort of creepy stalker, he couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right.

A week after game night Blaine decided to confess his feelings for Kurt to Mike during lunch. It was their regular Thursday thing. They both took Advanced Chem and had a lab on Thursdays that caused them to miss first lunch, and consequently, miss out on eating with the rest of their Glee friends.

“Does Kurt have a secret boyfriend?” Blaine asked.

“Don't think so,” Mike said. “Why?”

“I like him. A lot. Too much, maybe,” Blaine answered.

“Kurt's awesome, man. You should totally date him. It makes perfect sense,” Mike said.

“It does?”

“Sure. I mean, you're the only gay guys in the school,” Mike offered.

“I'm going to try not to be offended, because you're a pretty fantastic friend, Mike, but you do realize that what you said is like people expecting you and Tina to date just because you're both Asian,” Blaine said.

“But that's not why we—oh, I get it. Sorry, man,” Mike said, looking nervous.

“It's cool. And we're not the only gay guys by the way,” Blaine said.

“Huh?”

“There's at least half a dozen guys who are 100% gay, and a bunch more who probably swing both ways, or are figuring shit out,” Blaine said, biting into his turkey sandwich.

“No way! Who?”

“It's not for me to tell,” Blaine said.

“But how do you know?”

“I just know. It's hard to explain.”

They ate in silence for a few moments, and then Mike said, “So all this time, Kurt wasn't the only one.”

“Nope.”

“But he was the only one who came out.”

“Yup.”

“Fuck. He's like—a real bad ass,” Mike said.

“Pretty much.”

“And you're into him. That's cool, man. You should totally ask him out,” Mike said.

“I did. He turned me down,” Blaine said.

“Really? That sucks. Did he say why?” Mike asked.

“No, but, I get the feeling he wanted to say 'yes,' but something stopped him.”

“Want me to ask Tina to find out for you?” Mike asked.

“Absolutely.”

***

Tina comes up empty. Kurt is sweet as pie to Blaine, but still sits in the back during Glee practice, and when they're forced to sit, or stand, or dance next to each other, he's careful to put at least two feet of space between them. Blaine tries not to take it personally, but it kind of drives him crazy.

Blaine lands the part of Tony in “West Side Story,” playing opposite Rachel and Mercedes, on alternate nights, and Mike is thrilled when he gets the part of Riff. It's easy for them to play best friends, their friendship stronger than ever now that Blaine is at McKinley.

He's surprised to see Mike's Dad in the audience on opening night, right next to Julia Chang and his own parents; he was always such a hard ass. He's even more surprised at Kurt's performance as Baby John. Kurt is a natural performer; it's like he doesn't even have to try. Blaine notices that despite his Congressional bid, Kurt's dad comes to every performance, sitting next to Finn, and sometimes Finn's mom, Carol (if she can make it).

Blaine was walking out to his car after the last show when Mr. Hummel stopped him. “I'm Kurt's dad, Burt Hummel. Just wanted to tell you that you were great, kid.”

“Thanks, Mr. Hummel. Kurt was really great, too.”

Mr. Hummel beamed and said, “He's better than this place, you know? He's got big plans.”

“He should. He's amazing,” Blaine said with a sigh.

It's written all over his face—he's besotted, and now Burt Hummel knows Blaine has it bad for his son. After a moment Mr. Hummel asked, “You like football?”

“I'm a Buckeyes fan. Josh, my brother, he plays,” Blaine answered.

“Is your brother Josh Anderson?”

“Yes.”

“Holy crap. He's the best thing we've got going,” Burt said. “You doin' anything this Saturday? If not, come over and watch with me and Finn.”

“Okay. Thanks. I will.”

Blaine arrived early on Saturday, hoping to catch Kurt before he went out. But Kurt's plans seemed to consist of organizing the kitchen pantry and making lists, so Blaine ended up spending the entire day in the same house with Kurt, listening. That morning Blaine heard Kurt puttering about, heard snippets of his conversations with Carol, heard Kurt on the phone with Mercedes, but he never saw him.

“He's does this every month, the pantry thing,” Burt (“call me Burt, kid”) explained during halftime. “After his mom died I couldn't figure out how to get through breakfast without cryin', much less make something healthy for me and Kurt. He sort of took over. He likes to take care of people.”

Finn couldn't get over that Josh Anderson is Blaine's brother, so he talked Blaine's ear off in the second half, and Blaine lost track of the sound of Kurt in the house. Just before the Buckeyes called their last time out, Kurt suddenly appeared in the living room and sat down on the arm of the couch, right next to Blaine. His hand dropped, just inches from Blaine's thigh. It's too much and not enough all at once.

“Who's winning?” Kurt asked.

“Buckeyes,” Burt replied.

“I'm going out with Mercedes,” Kurt said. “I'll be back for dinner.”

“Uh—hey Kurt,” Blaine said, finally getting the words out. “I didn't get a chance to tell you, your Baby John was awesome.”

“Thanks, Tony.” Kurt replied, giving him a wink.

Blaine watched Kurt leave, his eyes on his shoulders, so broad and perfect. After a moment he noticed Burt watching him and blushed profusely.

“You like my kid,” Burt said, his tone without hostility or accusation.

Blaine swallowed and straightened his back. “I might be in love with him.” It's the first time Blaine said it out loud, or even admitted it to himself.

“He turn you down?”

“He did.”

Burt turned his attention back to the game and said, “Persistence is a virtue, and Kurt always did go for the virtuous types.”

***

After that asshole basically outed Santana in his campaign ad, Kurt showed up at Blaine's locker. “We should talk to Santana. She needs to know where to go if things get bad.”

“Really? I mean, she's kind of abrasive,” Blaine replied.

“She needs us. Meet me under the bleachers after lunch. She usually there, making out with Brittany before fourth period.”

After Kurt stuffed a paper with “crucial phone numbers” scribbled on it into her hands and promised to be there for her if she needs him, Blaine launched into his “It Gets Better” speech, and didn't quit, even when she folded her arms and smirked like she was about to unleash a powerful demon sure to destroy them all.

“Are you done yet, ivy?”

“Yeah. That's all I've got.”

“Santana, just, don't do anything rash,” Kurt warned. “Come to us first.”

“And why would I come to you, Hummel? Because your life is all rainbows and pixie dust? You're a fucking whipping post, an dickhead magnet—you might as well paint a target on your ass and be done with it.”

“Hey!” Blaine interjected.

“I speak the truth. It's all fucked. We're all fucked. There's no yellow brick road for 'Friends of Judy,' buttplugs. Just don't expect me to pretend otherwise,” Santana said, looking out onto the football field.

“Did you just call us buttplugs?” Blaine asked, horrified.

Santana backed up and gestured wildly with her hands. “What of it? I'm done here.”

Blaine watched Kurt's face as Santana walked away and without thinking, reached out to touch his cheek. He looked so sad, so defeated, Blaine had to say something to make him feel better. “She took the paper. That's something.”

“I know,” Kurt replied, leaning into Blaine's hand. For a moment there was total silence, as if the world stopped and it's just the two of them, suspended in time. And then they were kissing, and there was nothing innocent about it. Hands gracing belt buckles, fingers teasing over abdominal muscles, a knee in between thighs, it was all tongues and gasps and groans and wildness. And then before Blaine could beg Kurt to reconsider he was gone, running up the steps faster than Blaine's cement-filled legs could chase him.

It felt like a dream, a dirty-sweet-awesome dream. He'd never even had a chance to take Kurt out, and suddenly they were making out like two teenagers in love. Blaine let his body slide along the wall and fall to the ground, his face in hand.

“You don't get it, do you?”

The last person Blaine expected to see at that moment was Quinn, her pink hair traded in for her natural blond, with green stripes. When she stepped out of the shadows, cigarette in hand, he couldn't help but see her in her sundress, her long hair in a pony tail, giggling and poking him in the side while they played Truth or Dare on the back steps of his house.

“What don't I get, Quinn?” he asked, feeling hopeless and very, very tired.

“Kurt will never date you, because he's the mascot,” she explained.

“Mascot for what?”

“Homos.”

“Nice word, Quinn.”

“It's not my word. Don't you hear what they call him? That's the least of it, believe me,” she said, lowering herself to the ground and bumping her knee against his. “He's the one they pour all of their fear onto, all of their hate, and he just takes it, 'cause he's strong and beautiful and he'd never let that happen to you. Not after what you've been through.”

“Okay, what am I missing?”

“I'm talking about Liberty. The bashing, after the dance. He knows.”

“How?”

“I told him. We were watching you at Regionals, and he nudged me and said, 'He plays for my team.' I laughed and told him he was right, that I knew you, and it just came out, the whole story.”

“So he thinks he can protect me, by not going out with me?”

“Well, have you had to deal with any bullies this year so far? Like, at all?”

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah. Holy shit,” Quinn said, smashing her cigarette out in the dirt. “You know, it's hard to give up a role you've been playing your whole life. Head Cheerleader, Queen Bitch, Gay Kid, whatever. You get used to it, even if it fucking sucks. And then sometimes there's a baby, or a boyfriend, or a promise, and you get a chance to break wide open, to be someone else.”

“Is that what you're doing? Breaking wide open?”

“I'm trying. I may be going about it all wrong, but I'm trying.”

***

The next day, Ami Anderson stopped Blaine before he left the house, her eyes frantic. “You can't wear that. Go back in the house and change!”

“No.”

Ami grabbed his T-shirt, the block letters spelling out F-A-G and tried to yank it off of him, tears streaming down her face. “Please, Blaine! You've been safe. Don't do this now.”

Taking her hands gently in his own, Blaine said, “I'm not afraid. I have Mike, and Finn, and Puck, and the girls, and Kurt, and I'll be fine. I have to do this.”

“I don't understand,” she whispered.

“Just because I can pass, doesn't mean I should, Mama.”

Talk of Blaine's shirt was all around school in a matter of minutes, and it did the job. People looked at him with disgust, in amusement, with pity, but the haters diddn't say anything. Why should they? He's already said it about himself.

Mike and the boys looked concerned and huddle to come up with a gameplan for added protection. After Tina and Rachel kissed him on the cheek, Artie shook his hand and Brittany asked him what “F.A.G.” stands for, and then Santana stopped him on the way to first period, saluted him and then walked away.

But Kurt wasn't happy. He was pissed.

“Why do you even own that? It's disgusting,” he said.

“I'm taking the word back,” Blaine explained.

“Why the hell do you want it?”

“Their words can't hurt me,” Blaine said. “And you don't have to protect me from them anymore.”

“Everything can hurt you. And now you're fucked,” Kurt said, walking away.

By second period Principal Figgins had confiscated the “offensive” shirt, but Blaine came prepared. At lunch, the entire Glee club buzzed with excitement and trepidation, impressed with Blaine but worried at the same time. It took Kurt longer than everyone else to notice Blaine's other shirt, the one he wore under the first, the one with “I'm not gay, but my boyfriend is” in big, bold letters.

Kurt paused and then glared at Blaine. When he couldn't take it anymore he finally asked, “So who's your boyfriend?”

“You.”

***


Blaine didn't waste any time bringing Kurt home to meet his parents. He texted his mom to make sure she knew he made it through the day, unharmed, and then texted her again to say he would be bringing a friend over – and could she please make the brownies with chocolate chunks?

“I only just agreed to go out with you,” Kurt said when Blaine asked him to come home with him after school.

“I'm not trying to get you alone. I want you to meet my mom, okay? And maybe my dad, if he makes it home early,” Blaine said.

“You want me to meet your parents?” Kurt asked, cheeks pink. “Is that something you do? Take boys home to meet your parents before the first date?”

“No. I've never introduced my parents to any of the boys I liked,” Blaine said.

“So, why now?”

“Because I don't want there to be any confusion. I like you, like, officially like you. I want you to know my intentions,” Blaine said.

“God, you are so prep school, Blaine.”

“You don't like it?” Blaine asked.

“No. I do like it,” Kurt said, learning into the locker next to Blaine's. “Just, what are your intentions?”

“To be yours. And for you to be mine.”

And then Kurt smiled a real, open, happy smile, gave Blaine a tiny peck on the lips and said, “We'll see.”

When they entered the Anderson home, Kurt still had that shell-shocked look on his face, so Blaine took him by the hand and guided him through the long hallway, back to the kitchen. He squeezed his hand and said, “Hi Mama. This is Kurt Hummel.”

Ami Anderson fought back tears, kissed Kurt on the cheek, and over the next hour, proceeded to fall in love with the boy who captured her son's eager heart.

***


After Kurt opened his gift from the Andersons (a Macy's gift card, Blaine's idea); after the new couple suffered through endless ribbing from Blaine's older brothers; after they said their goodbyes; after they drove to Kurt's house and said hello to the Hudmels; after Blaine opened his gift from Burt and Carol (a french press coffee pot, Kurt's idea), Kurt took Blaine's hand, walked him up to his room and shut the door behind them.

“It's Christmas. And your parents are home,” Blaine protested, remembering how Finn nearly caught them with their pants down just the other day.

“I just wanted to give you my present in private,” Kurt explained, sitting on the bed and patting the space next to him. Blaine sat down, as close to Kurt as possible. When Kurt pulled out the square box wrapped in silver paper, he said, “It's really a gift for both of us.”

Blaine opened the present, paper and ribbon dropping to the floor. Inside the box he found two matching silver bands with the word “HIS” engraved in the center. Blaine's breath caught in his throat and his heart skipped a beat. Then another. Then another.

“It's probably too soon,” Kurt said in a rush. “But I'll wear it every day, if you will.”

Blaine cupped his stunning, amazing boyfriend's face with both hands and kissed him closed-mouthed, but hard, his intentions clear.

“It's not too soon. If anything, you're late.”