A punch to the jaw. I wince, rubbing my face, eyes squeezed shut. Another blow hits me in the back by my kidneys. My arms go up to protect my head and face, and a hit in the stomach brings me down to the ground. A scream tears from my throat, and it earns me a right hook to the mouth. Everything feels bruised and broken. A kick in my ribs has stars bursting in front of my eyes. People above me are jeering, calling me nasty names like "homo" and "bitch." My insides feel like they're on fire, and my breaths come and go in shuddering gasps. I hear the scraping of metal on metal, a sharp metallic sound that makes me instantly go numb. I try to lift my head, but someone has placed a heavy foot on the back of my neck. The dull blows stop, and there is a very tangible silence. All I can see is asphalt, the left boot of some jean-clad man who holds me pinned down with the other. And then, there is pain, a searing burning agony on my back, my skin being split apart. Fire runs through my veins as I scream, so loudly I'm sure the whole world must hear me, but no one comes. It doesn't stop though, repeated lines dug into flesh, spelling some word that finishes after I've already blacked out.

When I awake, it's to the bright lights of the infirmary and the stoic expression of an elderly nurse. My head pounds with an ache like I've never experienced. I try to sit up, but the movement causes excruciating pain across the top of my back. I wince, turning on to my side to avoid putting strain on it./i What happened? iI think to myself. And, as if answering my thoughts, a doctor in a white lab coat strides into the room, who has a kind face and neatly-trimmed gray hair. He grabs my chart, greeting me with a tentative smile, before reading to me what my exact injuries were and the procedures done in order to reverse them. I see flashes of the incident, brief moments that come and go, but I can't remember a face, or a name. Finally, I ask the doctor about my back. He hesitates, not sure if I'm strong enough to handle the news, but he forges ahead anyway. Multiple lacerations: some were deep and cut tendons in my muscles; others not so deep, flesh wounds that wouldn't leave scars. I ask if they'd spelled a word. The cuts. The doctor nods, blue eyes sad and reluctant. He mutters it, but the horror of it echoes in my mind./i Faggot.

I shudder as wary fingers gently brush against the scars on my back, smooth raised skin that I grew to despise. Countless times I stood shirtless, my back to the bathroom mirror with a compact in my hand, staring at the ugly word and hating myself for who I was. I had just come out at school, and I thought people were reacting kindly to it. That night I had a date to the Sadie Hawkins dance with a boy I really liked. Everything seemed to be going fine – until we were ambushed. People said I could have died that night. I'd lost so much blood. Those guys, whoever they were, beat me up and left me for dead simply because I was gay. But I guess nothing's ever really simple.

I turn my attention back to Kurt, who is still slowly stroking me, his fingertips ghostly softly, causing goose bumps to rise on my skin. I twist around to look into his face, and am shocked and dismayed to see tears sliding down his cheeks. "Shhhh," I say in comfort, swiping my thumbs across his cheeks. Kurt bites his lip, and I'm familiar enough now to recognize when he's choking back sobs. His glasz eyes are so sorrowful, a mixture of anger and pity so strong that I can practically feel it. I stay silent, not knowing what tosay that would make it any better. I wait until he feels comfortable enough to speak.

Kurt utters a single, terrible-sounding word. "When?"

"Back in freshman year, before Dalton." I lower my eyes. "I'd just come out of the closet. It was a Sadie Hawkins dance, and I was going with a boy. There were some guys there that . . . weren't too happy about it."

"Were they ever caught?"

I shake my head. "No one witnessed the fight, and neither the boy nor I could remember a face or a name. Blocked memories, I suppose. I try not to think about it." I rub at my fingers with my thumbs, a nervous habit that made itself present only when I was particularly stressed.

"I don't blame you." Kurt and I are both quiet for a while, and I can feel him absently tracing the jagged word carved into my back. For the sake of preventing any embarrassment, I pretend not to notice him sniffling almost inaudibly. He startles me by wrapping his fleece-covered arms around my torso, pulling me in to an inverse hug. Kurt's chin rests on my shoulder, and I cover his hands with my own, rubbing softly. His whispering breath tickles my ear, and his fingers lightly tickle my stomach. Instantly I'm pulled out of my bad mood, laughing as he bites down on my neck and continues skittering his fingertips over my sensitive skin. I twist away, trying to get him to stop, but he clamps on to my neck harder, his hands now pressed flat against my ribcage. I still squirm, but because of the pleasant sensations that flood my body. Kurt licks and kisses the mark he's created on my lower neck, and I can feel his smirk as he presses his mouth back to my shoulder.

"I love you," I whisper, turning in his embrace to look him fully in the eyes. His smile is dazzling and warm, making me feel fuzzy and wonderful from head to toe.

Kurt glances away from me, burying his head into my neck. "I love you more."

My hand goes to his face, trying to guide his mouth to mine, but he doesn't budge. "Kurt?"

He hums into my neck.

"What's going on?"

"Nothing," Kurt mutters evasively. "Want to go see a movie?"

"Kurt, it's 2 am. Why are you changing the subject? What's the matter?"

Kurt raises his head and sighs, but still won't meet my eyes. "I'm just a little . . . scared. That's all."

"Of what?" My hands go to his pajama-clad thighs.

Kurt shakes his head. "Honestly, it's nothing." But the way his voice cracks, it doesn't sound like nothing. "Just . . . There's this boy, at school. He's been, well, threatening me."

Waves of anger crash through my body, pulling me this way and that, becoming more powerful as I see the frightened, dejected look in my boyfriend's face. "Who is it?" I spit.

"He's a football player, Blaine. You wouldn't stand a chance against him. Please, don't get involved," Kurt begs.

"Like hell I won't. This guy is threatening you, you said? Do you really expect me inot/i to say something?

The hurt look in Kurt's eyes kills me. "It'll get better, I promise. He's just a bully, Blaine, that's all."

"Justa bully?" I'm furious now, and Kurt shies away from me. "Those men who hurt me, were they justbullies, Kurt? I could have diedthat night, and you expect me to take this lightly? If someone is threatening you, or hurting you in anyway, you best believe I'm going to be a part of it. I don't want what happened to me, to happen to you. What's this guy's name?"

Kurt whispers very softly, "David Karofsky."

"Karofsky." I spit the name out like poison. "How have I never noticed this? How did he threaten you?" My voice has taken on a very low, serious tone that even scares me a bit.

"Well, he," Kurt starts reluctantly. "A few times he pushed me into lockers; sometimes he just calls me names. Once, he . . ." Kurt trails off, his voice too low for me to hear.

"What?"

Kurt's eyes glisten with an unimaginable terror. "He threatened to kill me."

My vision darkens, and all I can see is red. My hands shake and I ball them into fists, clamping down on my palms. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

Kurt lets go of just the tiniest hint of a smile. "Because I knew you would react like this."

"Well yeah!" Kurt flinches, startled. "Look, Kurt, obviously something needs to be done about this kid. Please, tell your parents, tell administration, tell someone, or I will. I don't want you to shrug this off, and get hurt because of it. Please? Do it for me?"

Kurt gives a tiny nod, his hands folded in his lap. I watch him nervously as he worries the corner of his lip with his teeth, eyes downcast.

"Hey," I say, putting my hand on his chin. He looks up at me. "Don't worry, okay? You're safe with me. I'll protect you."

I pull Kurt into a fierce embrace, wrapping every part of my body around him, trying to comfort him without words. "Thank you," he whispers into my ear. I answer with a kiss. We fall asleep with arms and legs tangled on top of the duvet, noses touching and lips just barely brushing.

I awake bright and early Monday morning, excited for Glee club later that day. I've been preparing a song all weekend for Kurt, perfecting it. Pre-performance jitters fill my stomach all day, but it's worth it for the opportunity to sing to Kurt.

As we file into the chorus room, I go over to Mr. Schuester, an eager look forcibly plastered to my face. "Mr. Schue, I know we usually have a new theme every Monday, but I've been preparing this song that I'd really like to sing for Kurt. He's been having a rough few weeks, and I just want to cheer him up a bit."

Mr. Schuester nods. "I don't see why not." He turns to the class. "Alright guys, settle in. Before we get started on the set list for Regionals, Blaine would like to perform a song – for Kurt." Rachel and Tina "awww" and Puck makes a face.

I step up to the middle of the room, facing my peers, and directly across from me is Kurt, a look of shock and surprise adorning his features. I smile at him. "This song is called You Won't Feel a Thing and it's for Kurt." I mouth Love you at him, before nodding at the piano player and signaling the band.

Oooh, oh

Oooh, oh

I've been kicked right down
I've been spat in the face
I've been pulled, weighed down
To the lowest place
I've been lied to, shamed
I have been disgraced
Been ex-communicated from every holy place

I pour my heart in the song, singing from my soul and trying to make Kurt understand. I look at him. He's listening. I emphasize the next verse, the lyrics so personal and raw it feels like I could have written them.

I've been beat up and robbed
I've been left for dead
For the way I look
For the things I said

I transition from the verse into the bridge, the song leading to a crescendo at the chorus. My voice is strained as I sing with everything I have in me, Rachel and Mercedes joining in as planned, laying down a lattice-work of lyrics and melodies that contradict the song in the most beautiful way.

Cause I will take it on the chin
Eh, for you
So lay your cuts and bruises over my skin
I promise you won't feel a thing
Cause everything the world could throw
I'll stand in front. I'll take the blow for you.
For you.

I sing about protecting Kurt, and about getting revenge on the world for the way we've been treated, because of our choices and who we are. I sing to only him, feeling the world revolved around only us, just the two of us alone in a crowded room. My voice cracks on the hook of the song, betraying the tumultuous emotions that scramble through my body.

And if I fall here
At least you know my dear that I would die for you
Promise you won't ever feel a thing

And if I fall here
At least you know my dear that I would die for you
Promise you won't ever feel a thing

I repeat the chorus, fading into the last verse, my voice taking on a tender note as I held back tears. I'm being sentimental, I know, but the song meant so much to me. To us.

Yeah everything the world could throw
I'll take the sticks, I'll take the stones for you
For you.

"For you," I finish, pointing at Kurt, masking my emotions with a cheesy smile. The Glee club explodes with applause, but Kurt clapping more vehemently than anyone else. His expression is enthused and honored. Thank you, he mouths at me as I sit next to him. I take his smooth, pale hand in mine, placing our hands over my heart. Anytime, I mouth back. I lean over and whisper in his ear, so only he could here. "I'll always be here to protect you, Kurt. I'll never let you fall."