Chapter Text
Who ever loved that loved not at first sight?
- Christopher Marlowe
Blaine looked himself over in his living room's mirror, lightly fixing his tie with a discontented sigh. He almost went back to his bedroom to change his clothes again, but the clock thankfully warned him that another change of outfit would have definitely made him late. Sighing again, now only slightly exasperated, he picked up his bag from the floor and left his tiny apartment: all in all, it wasn't important what clothes he was wearing or if the color of his tie matched with his socks. Or at least it wasn't as important as arriving on time.
Being late on his first day of school would be unacceptable, so he sprinted to his car and drove to McKinley, savoring the mid-September breeze reaching him through the down-turned window.
A fresh start was exactly what he needed - a small bite of freedom and independence - he didn't ask for anything else, really, after all that time spent studying. Maybe at McKinley he wouldn't be as appreciated as he thought he deserved, but that was only the start anyway.
He got out of his car and looked around: everything was as he had pictured in his head. It didn't look like Dalton at all, where the pupils walked orderly in the hallways leading from the dorms to the classrooms. Here, a stream of students crawled among the cars, kids were shouting as they ran after each other and others shared warm hugs after the whole summer spent apart. Even the colors were different: at Dalton everything was blue and red, while here everyone could wear whatever they wanted.
Blaine was suddenly struck by how long it had been since he had entered a school without wearing a uniform. He checked his clothes once again in his car's rear view mirror, then he fixed a rebellious curl behind his ear. His hair, that, that would never change. But why exactly was he worried about his clothes? Nobody would give a damn about his pants, or his shirt for what matters.
He took a deep, encouraging breath, clenching his bag's strap as if it were his lifeline and closed his car's door. He dived into the colorful crowd moving towards the school's main entrance.
In the hall, he looked around in confusion not remembering where the secretary's office was. He had been there only a week before but he had evidently forgotten any useful information to help him locate it now.
“Mmm...” he mumbled under his breath, as he pretended to read the papers pinned to the board on the wall, trying to remember the way to the office.
He surely couldn't ask one of the kids passing next to him; he already was new there and to be pegged as new and dumb wouldn't be the best option for sure. He glanced to his right and saw the secretary struggling to make her way through the crowd of students; he let out a relieved breath and ran after her, following her path to the room just before Figgins' office.
“Anderson! You scared me coming up to me like that. Did you use to do this to your poor secretaries at Dalton, too?” she said, as she took off her jacket and turned on the computer on her desk.
“I'm sorry, my enthusiasm got the best of me. Have you everything ready? I should be in my classroom in...” he glanced at his watch, a rather new gift by his father, “Well... Five minutes ago.”
She giggled, reminding him that the first day of school was a slow one for everyone so he should feel free to do the same, nobody would judge him badly for being a few minutes late. She handed him a couple books and a small stack of paper, wishing him good luck.
“You'll need it. This hell is nothing like Dalton.”
He swallowed audibly. Blaine smiled tightly at the secretary, after all she only meant well, and left the room. The hallway was almost empty by now, apart from a few students who were late to class (as he was). He walked slowly, trying to put off as long as possible the moment he would have to go into his classroom. He ran his fingers distractedly over the lockers and read some of the flyers pinned to the walls. After one last glance at the trophies on the shelves, he held his small load of paper and books to his chest. It was time to get in. Everything would go well.
When he opened the door the inside was hell: three girls were smoking with their heads out of the window, a boy was lying on the floor held down by two peers sitting on top of him, spit soiled paper balls were flying in the air and most students were shouting, each one of them trying to overpower the already deafening noise in the room.
Blaine loudly shut the door behind himself, causing about fifteen heads to turn in shock and stare at him. This only lasted about five seconds, just enough time to study the new kid, before everyone got back to what they were doing before.
What they weren't expecting was Blaine walking to the teacher's desk, instead of sitting at one of the few free desks among those already occupied by the students. They also weren't expecting Blaine's reaction when they all carried on being extremely loud, even though he had cleared his throat more than once, trying to catch their attention. After his third useless attempt, he took a sharp new piece of chalk and scratched it on the blackboard, crossing it from side to side and generating a noise so piercing that one girl let her cigarette fall on her jeans in the haste to cover her hears with her hands.
He only added a dazzling smile. When everyone went to their own seats, he turned and began writing his name on that same blackboard he had used as torture method.
“Blaine Anderson,” he read out loud, then he turned his attention to the class in front of him, “Obviously, you can call me Mr. Anderson. This year I will be your AP English and American Literature teacher. My secret hope is that you all chose this course because of your great passion for this subject, but I know that is not why. I’m sure that some of you are here because you think that this course will be easier than Calculus or Chemistry, but that - I'm sorry to break it to you - that is not true at all.”
The only reply he got from his students were mournful whispers.
“If you're not going to take this course seriously, you have one week to change your attitude or move to more pleasant places. Now... It's time to introduce each other, isn't it? Then we'll move on to the fun stuff.”
Some tried to become an inanimate unit with their desks, leaning face down over them; others grumbled that maybe it would be better if they just switched to some other course. While he called out the names on the list the secretary had given him, Blaine tried very hard to link the names with the faces of the students in front of him. “Hudson?”
An extremely tall boy held up his hand from the last row of desks. His disoriented face didn't promise any good, but Blaine reminded himself not to judge a book by its cover and just smiled, going on with his list of names.
“Hummel?” Nobody in particular answered, however the whole class started snickering.
“Kurt. Kurt Hummel?” He repeated a bit annoyed, still getting no response. The same boy who had just answered the moment before raised his hand again, waving it from side to side to be noticed by his teacher, as if it were necessary with his definitely remarkable height.
“Yes, Hudson?” He asked, his eyebrow arched.
“Er... Kurt is my brother, we drove to school together this morning, I don't know why he isn't here now,” he replied confusedly, as if not even he were sure of the words coming out of his mouth at the moment.
“Your brother? Hudson and Hummel are two different last names... Are you trying to make fun of someone here?”
The boy shook his head emphatically.
“We're step-brothers, sir.”
“Well. That explains the different last names. Now, I gather that Mr. Hummel found something more interesting to do than show up to class,” he wrote down something on his register, then went on calling the other students, not giving Finn the chance to add anything else.
Blaine had thought about it for a long time, about what approach would be best to adopt with his students. He was in his early twenties, it would have been so easy to start off a friendly teacher-student relationship with his class. He dreamt of amicable pats on the back and pizza slices shared on the school steps, but then he thought better of it; the kids would have eaten him alive if he gave them the impression of being so naïve. He was too young to even think of trying something like that, so he opted for a slightly stricter route.
He told his students to take out their copies of Dubliners, then he stood up and started his lesson. He walked between the desks to make sure that everyone was listening to him or taking notes without getting distracted. He confiscated some cellphones and a hilarious little note with his caricature. In the drawing he blew fire out of his nostrils.
Unbelievably, when class was over the students left the room tidily, each of them taking their copy of the week's homework that Blaine had neatly stacked on his desk's corner. In the meantime, Blaine was taking small notes on his agenda, while trying to remember what part of the building held the teachers' toilets. The last one in line was Finn, who stood in front of Blaine's down-turned head, nervously creasing the homework paper in his hands.
“Mr. Anderson?” he asked timidly. Blaine looked up from his agenda and waited for Finn to elaborate.
“Please, don't give Kurt a demerit. There has to be a reason why he didn't come to class... I'm sure there's an explanation. It's not like him to skip class,” he mumbled embarrassed.
“If tomorrow he'll deign us of his presence, I'm sure he'll have the chance to explain himself. Now go or you'll be late for your next class,” he replied, going back to his notes. As soon as Finn finally left the room, Blaine jumped up from his seat. Where the hell were the teachers' toilets? Be damned his bad memory and his passion for extra-large coffee cups!
As the bell rang, he left his classroom and checked the hallway. All the students were at class so he wouldn't draw any unwanted attention wandering the school with his legs squeezed together. He ended up in a part of the building with no classrooms and only a few unused laboratories. He was going to turn around and go back, when he saw the door to the boys’ toilets. At that point he decided not to think too much about it, to be found in a puddle would be so much worse than using the boys' toilets instead of the teachers' ones.
Blaine sneaked into the deserted toilet and he was about to enter one of the cubicles when he heard a sob coming from the last toilet at the far end of the room. Blaine sent a dejected look to the wall in front of him before exiting the cubicle and finding himself again in the main part of the room.
“Hey?” he asked unsure, walking towards the source of those sobs. He found a boy sitting on the floor with his knees drawn up to his chest, his face hidden behind his arms. He was evidently crying, if only because of the constant tremors going through his body. Blaine approached him and crouched down, a strong scent of mint took him by surprise.
“What's wrong?” he asked, laying his hand on the boy's shoulder. Only then he noticed that his t-shirt was soaked in a freezing green liquid and that good part of the tremors were actually cold shivers.
“You're freezing!”
The boy mumbled something, but his face was still completely hidden by his arms so it was quite hard to understand his words.
“I'm sorry but if you stay like that it won't be possible for me to understand what's wrong.”
Then the boy looked up. Blaine did not see the marks on the boy's forehead left there by the pressure of his skin against his watch, nor did he see the redness caused by his crying. He only saw bright blue eyes, which were now looking at him with uncertainty.
“I said that it's only natural to be freezing, if they empty three extra-large slushies onto your head,” he whispered with a hint of a wry smile. Blaine tucked his hand in his blazers pocket and handed his handkerchief to the boy. He said nothing and used the handkerchief to dab at his eyes.
“Shouldn't you get up and change into new clothes? Maybe you could also tell me what happened and who gave you this unwelcome shower.” Blaine got up and reached out to him. From the floor, the boy stared at him intensely for a moment, then he clenched the hand containing the handkerchief and stretched out the other one to let himself be helped to his feet.
He was taller than Blaine.
“There's no need to be this kind,” his voice was still a bit broken by his tears as he grabbed his bag that was previously left against the wall.
“Let's say that I'm doing what has to be done. Now, do you have a change of clothes with you or do I have to go get you something from your locker?”
The other looked at him with surprise.
“Are you new? I've never seen you before. You must be a senior, right? Who knows, maybe we even have some classes together... For your own good, you should go before someone sees you with me. I could ruin your reputation even before you actually build yourself one.”
He unzipped his thin sweatshirt and took it off, laying it on the sink next to them. Blaine was going to reply when the boy started talking again.
“Damn, they got my t-shirt wet, too,” he uttered, his gaze fixed on the green stain stuck to his chest. Blaine didn't say anything, he just stood there unsure what to do.
The boy turned to look at him irritated. “Listen, you should really go now. I'm saying this for your own good. Go away. You already have a good anecdote to tell, you can let everyone know that you found me sniveling on the toilets' floor. With a story like that they could even let you in the football team.”
He started to take his t-shirt off. Blaine instinctively turned away. Maybe another teacher wouldn't have done it, but he did not want to be involved in any rumors. Sooner or later his students would find out that he was gay but combine that information with the fact that he almost saw his student semi-naked, it didn't promise anything good.
He took one of the nearby towels and dampened it with some warm water. He handed it to the boy, still not turning back around.
“I'm going to inform Figgins about this. Nothing like this should ever happen.” The boy's bitter laugh at that took him by surprise.
“Yeah, sure... As if I hadn't tried for years to make that idiot understand that my life here is hell. Good luck, really.” He heard him rummage in his bag and the soft sound of fabric suggested him that he was getting dressed again. “By the way, you can turn around. Even if you look at me, you won't catch it, you know?”
Blaine turned around. If he didn't want to indulge himself before, now he let himself take a swift peek. The boy was tall and toned with a hint of muscle. His hair had been obviously styled before getting ruined by the mix of ice and syrup, his skin was fair with a light pink hue.
“Catch what?” Blaine asked, as he watched the boy put on a dark green cardigan.
“The gay. Don't pretend that you don't know it.” he replied, a bit insecure. He found himself wavering now; maybe that cute boy really hadn't noticed or he was just too kind to say anything. Maybe he wasn't another one of those people who pushed him away as soon as they knew... well, as soon as they knew his tastes. His thoughts were interrupted by Blaine's laugh, that sent him right back into his 'defensive mode'. But what shocked him were his next words.
“Well, I think you're too late for that.” he said this with such an expression on his face to dissolve all of Kurt's doubts. Unknowingly, he had given him hope – maybe he wasn't as alone as he thought, maybe he had found someone. “We should go now. It might be useless but I'd like to go to Figgins to let him know about this anyway.”
He motioned for the boy to follow him out of the toilets' door and to Figgins' office, but Kurt just shook his head.
“It’s better if I don’t. Maybe if I keep my mouth shut they won't get too mad,” he considered, slowly walking up to Blaine.
“But-” tried Blaine.
“Believe me, it's better this way. Anyway... thank you,” suddenly very red in the face, Kurt leaned out and, before Blaine could stop him or say anything, he kissed him softly on the cheek. The younger boy then took a step back and left the room, not leaving Blaine the time to clarify their situation.
***
Stupid stupid stupid... he repeated to himself as he was running from the toilets to Biology class. How could he be so blatant? He let someone see him in disastrous conditions, he had treated him incredibly badly; trying to chase him away when the other boy only wanted to help him and then, out of the blue, he decided to kiss him on his cheek, like a junior high schoolgirl.
If that guy hadn't already decided to avoid him, he would probably change his mind now. And he had every reason in the world to do it.
Kurt got to class late, he sat down next to Finn and dropped his books on his desk.
“You're in trouble. The new Lit teacher got so pissed when you skipped class earlier,” Finn whispered to him, while the teacher handed out some papers.
“Tomorrow I'll ask dad to write me a note about how I missed the bus or something,” he replied, his heart still racing.
“You can’t,” Finn mumbled, looking guilty.
“And why is that?” he questioned distractedly.
“Because I told him we went to school together. And he gave you a demerit. That Anderson guy is a pain in the ass.”
“WHAT?” shrieked Kurt, “Damn it Finn, you're a disaster. Today couldn't be any worse.”
He rested his chin on the palm of his hand and tucked the other in his pocket, ready to listen to the teacher and get terribly bored, but something in his pocket caught his attention. He pulled out his hand, bringing with it a rather small blue handkerchief, still damp because of his tears. He had forgotten to give it back to that boy. As he passed it through his fingers, he saw that on one corner of the handkerchief two initials had been embroidered with dark blue thread. He stared at the two letters as he caressed them with his fingertips, feeling once again like a complete idiot.
B. A.
“What's that?” asked Finn.
“Nothing.”
He put it back in his pocket.