Kurt’s head whips around, snapping unnaturally to the side as his body flies into the wall behind him. Thankfully his head doesn’t smack back into the brick because that would cause a concussion for sure, and more than likely, he’d black out.

Kurt can’t do that. Maybe he’s not that good at fighting back, especially when the odds are three to one, but he can’t lose consciousness. He needs to stay awake. That’s the only way he’s going to survive.

Enough is apparently enough. These boys aren’t content with tossing him into dumpsters and slamming him into lockers anymore.

This time, they’re going to put him in the hospital … if he’s lucky.

“Get up, fag!” the boy in the center, the ringleader, shouts so loud it might as well be in his ear. Or is that a migraine he feels coming on? It’s a strange combination of pain and calm. It throbs, it hums, it aches, but it makes him feel at peace. Like he’s no longer alone. “You wanted to fight, you fucking smart ass! So fight!”

Kurt is surprised that the volume of his voice doesn’t attract more attention, especially since most of the school knows what happens back here behind the 4-H building. There should be a security guard or something. But there’s nobody – no teachers, no students, nobody.

Or not exactly nobody.

Kurt’s head lulls to his right and he sees a boy sitting there, forehead almost touching his, his brow creased with concern.

Kurt knows this boy. He recognizes him.

Even though he’s never seen him before in his life.

Correction. Not physically. He’s been in Kurt’s mind before, and in his dreams. But they’ve never been in the same place at the same time.

Get up, the boy says, staring at Kurt with deeply pleading eyes.

I’m … I’m trying, Kurt says. The world has gone slow. He’s not where he was, but sitting beside himself – his breaking husk - about ready to give up.

You need to get up, the boy says, as if Kurt doesn’t already know. They’ll kill you if you don’t.

I don’t know that that matters, Kurt says with a shake of his head. I don’t … I’m not strong enough.

“Who the fuck you talkin’ to, huh? You tryin’ to play crazy? Because it ain’ gonna work with us!” The jock hits Kurt again, slamming his head into the pavement. The blow opens a cut on Kurt’s forehead that stains the pale grey cement a shocking shade of red, pouring fast and free so that Kurt can almost hear it. He doesn’t turn to look, but he sees it in the reflection of the boy’s hazel eyes. The boy looks from Kurt’s body, to the bullies, to the boy sitting beside him.

Can I? he asks.

Kurt swallows. He’s heard this boy’s voice before, but not as clearly as he does now. He remembers him from before a time when he can even remember, as if he weeds in and out of Kurt’s conscious, leaving behind footsteps like scars, even as they fade. This boy - his voice plants flowers in Kurt’s mind, roses of red and yellow. Their scent is always with him. And for some reason, Kurt’s survival seems to mean more to this boy than it even means to himself. 

What? Kurt asks, confused, but then he realizes that this boy is with him. He lives within him somehow; a part of him in his brain. This boy is not him, but they exist with one another. And this boy wants to help him. Yeah. Sure. Go for it.

The boy stands up. He stands up, and Kurt’s body stands up, but to Kurt, it’s the boy taking his place. He can see them both clearly – himself and this boy – as if they occupy the same space.

Apart, yet they still manage to be one.

The three jocks in front of him look surprised to see Kurt on his feet, blood draining down his face as he walks, gravity and pressure forcing it from Kurt’s body and yet, there he is, striding toward them as if he hadn’t been hit at all.

The hulking monster in the middle, the one who dealt out most of the blows, comes at him again, ready to finish what he started. His fist flies, but Kurt dodges, delivering his own blow to the boy’s left cheek – a blow that sends him back a few steps and almost drops him to the floor.

“What?” the boy in Kurt’s body says, spitting out a mouthful of blood. “Did you think you guys were done? I was just getting warmed up.”

“What the—?“ the boy to his right says with eyes wide and fearful. “That isn’t …this isn’t …”

“Shut up!” the boy nursing his rattled jaw barks. “Don’t wuss out now just because he got in a lucky punch!”

“Oh, that one was lucky. But the rest, they’re not going to take any luck at all.” Kurt’s body walks steadily closer, the two boys flanking the one in the middle trying to pull him away, staring at Kurt as if they’re seeing a ghost.

And Kurt, sitting on the floor, staring up at his body fighting off these boys, isn’t entirely sure he’s not seeing a ghost himself.