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It’s a school day like any other.
Blaine is sitting on the ground underneath the bleachers, leaning back against the chainlink fence, legs stretched out in front of him, like usual. There’s a cigarette between his fingers, but he hasn’t lit it - he can’t decide if he wants it yet. Sometimes the act of holding it feels like enough. In front of him, Kurt’s splayed out on the old, lumpy couch, puffing quietly at his own, just like he always does.
His eyeliner is a little smudged, and he looks cute today.
Not that Blaine would ever tell him that.
It’s just not what they do. They don’t even talk, not really. When Blaine transferred to McKinley at the beginning of the school year, annoyed at the change and unwilling to make the best of it, Kurt had quietly taken him under his wing, showing him the best places to stay out of sight while skipping classes and smoking.
They found an immediate solidarity in their appearances - Kurt’s streaked blue hair and his nose ring, Blaine’s everyday leather jacket and the chain fastened to his belt loops - and they hadn’t let go.
Whenever they aren’t popping into a class or two a week, just to show their faces and keep the principal off their backs, they spend their days down here, underneath the bleachers by the football field. Sometimes Blaine will do a little bit of homework or bring a book, but for the most part, he just sits, and so does Kurt. It makes the world go fuzzy around the edges, makes the whole day run together, like nothing here is important at all. And nothing is, not really.
In fact, Blaine’s started to lose track of time. If the grumbling in his stomach is any indication, it’s nearly lunch period, but he can’t be sure, and he doesn’t bother trying to find out. It doesn’t particularly matter, after all. They won’t be moving anytime soon.
He’s bored, though. It happens sometimes. He used to like school, always enjoyed learning and doing well, but he’s not that guy anymore.
There’s no point.
“I’m bored,” he complains, just because he can. He knows Kurt won’t do anything about it, but he says it anyways.
“Stop being grumpy. It’s lame,” Kurt tells him, flicking at his cigarette. Blaine watches him do it, noticing not for the first time the length and grace of his nimble fingers. It’s mesmerizing in a way he doesn’t quite understand.
Everything about Kurt is, really, but Blaine’s never let himself think about that for long.
“Entertain me, then.” He’s pushing, and he knows it, but he wonders what he can get away with. He wonders if it could be more, if their odd unspoken truce could become a friendship.
If they could just get to know each other better, even, to have someone to talk to every once in awhile.
“No. Go to class if you’re so bored.”
Well, it was worth a shot.
Sometimes Blaine wonders if he should just cave and go back to school like he’s supposed to, if all of this is even worth It. It’s all an act - of course it is. This isn’t him, the abrasiveness and the rebellion. He’s kind, caring, eager, curious. After school, he goes home and plays his keyboard or reads, watches science and astronomy videos on Youtube just for fun, helps his mom cook dinner and watches game shows with his parents. He thinks about boys, about falling in love eventually, and he thinks about performing on a stage one day, too.
But public school is dangerous. After what happened at his last one, being beaten, bruised, bloodied, he won’t let it happen again.
Acting untouchable, he’s come to learn, is the best way to stay in control.
He wonders if Kurt’s the same way. He wonders what Kurt is like when he gets home in the afternoons, what his family is like, what his room looks like, what he wants to be when he grows up.
He really wants to know, but Kurt clearly trusts no one, keeps his cards impossibly close to his chest, even around Blaine, the closest thing he has to an ally.
Blaine gets it, he supposes, but sometimes it hurts, even if it isn’t necessarily personal. Sometimes he wishes he could find a way to convince Kurt to trust him.
He can’t imagine ever hurting him, after all. If Kurt ever decided to let him in, Blaine would treasure it, would honor the permission, in any and every way.
But it’s a big if, big enough that he doesn’t even let himself hope for it.
He doubts Kurt will ever take the risk, considering they can never be completely untouchable. There are cracks in their armor, no walls to their hiding spot, an inevitable humanity to the both of them.
And Sebastian weasels his way in more than anyone else. He’s a fresh transfer, even newer than Blaine, but he immediately made himself known - known to Kurt, in particular. Blaine doesn’t understand it, but Sebastian refuses to leave Kurt alone, constantly hitting on him in the crassest, most inappropriate ways.
Before he showed up, Kurt and Blaine rarely had a problem, aside from dodging the administration and staying out of sight during the periods when the gym classes use the field. Their days were quiet, uneventful, solitary, even the football team more or less leaving them alone.
Now, they’re faced with Sebastian a couple times a week, intruding on their territory, violating the tentative fort they’ve built for themselves, not intimidated by them in the slightest.
He always saunters up like he belongs there under the bleachers, too, getting in Kurt’s personal space, trying to win him over, to get in his pants and god knows what else.
It’s a Tuesday, and Tuesdays tend to be Sebastian days. Maybe it’s what works best with his class schedule, but regardless of the reason for it, Blaine can’t remember the last one they’ve had without having to shake him off.
Like clockwork, Sebastian shows up shortly after the lunch bell rings, a cocky, crooked smile on his face.
“Hey there, killer,” he says smoothly, coming to perch on the arm of the couch, far closer to Kurt than Blaine has ever dared to get. He throws Kurt a wink, then turns to Blaine, expression and voice going cold. “Anderson.”
It’s new to be acknowledged, at least, but Blaine can’t bring himself to care. He’s too focused on Kurt, watching him bristle, feeling a sympathetic pang in his chest as Kurt gets up, stepping back to regain his distance.
Not thinking twice about it, Blaine shifts to stand right next to him, offering a silent support. He doesn’t know how Kurt feels about Sebastian’s advances, exactly - whether it scares him or just makes him uncomfortable, or even if he’s just playing hard to get. But Kurt clearly doesn’t want to give in, and Blaine won’t ever leave the two of them alone, just in case.
He doesn’t trust anyone here - anyone but Kurt, really - but he might trust Sebastian least of all. Considering his boldness and his determination, Blaine has no idea what he’s capable of, doesn’t want to find out.
“What do you want?” Blaine wants to know, crossing his arms over his chest. “We’re busy.”
Sebastian barks out a laugh, shaking his head.
“You know very well what I want,” he says with a grin, and yeah, maybe Blaine walked right into that one. He rises up off the arm of the couch, completely undeterred from getting right back in Kurt’s space. Kurt moves back again, and Blaine follows, hoping against all hope that he’s helping more than he’s hurting.
And then he gets an idea.
“Kiss me. He’ll leave,” Blaine whispers, disguising the movement of his mouth by reaching up to toy with his earring, a nervous tic he’s had since getting his piercings, anyways.
It’s a feeble hope, but it’s the only one he has. Maybe if they act like they’re together, Sebastian will give up. Maybe they’d be stronger that way, even if just for pretend, for defense.
“I prefer not to surround myself with diseased rodents,” Kurt spits instead of acknowledging him, eyeing Sebastian up and down. It’s like Blaine hadn’t spoken at all, but he knows Kurt must have heard him. “Who knows what you’re carrying.”
“But you associate with him?” Sebastian points at Blaine, throwing him an annoyed glance.
“Who I associate with is none of your business.” Kurt’s voice is dripping with enough ice to make Blaine shiver, even if he isn’t on the receiving end of it. “I don’t like you, Meerkat. I don’t trust you. I don’t want you. End of.”
“Come on, handsome. I know this whole hardened criminal thing is an act,” Sebastian pushes, stepping closer. Kurt’s nearly backed up against the metal fence now, but Blaine goes with him, sticking close to his side. He’s close enough, pressed shoulder to shoulder, that he can hear Kurt’s breath hitch in his chest, can feel it going shallow.
He looks as still and emotionless as ever, but Blaine can tell he’s afraid. Something as small as Kurt’s breathing is enough of a tell for him to know, and it makes Kurt more human, more vulnerable, more real in Blaine’s eyes than he’s ever been before, and Blaine is all the more determined to protect him.
Even though he’s never said as much, Blaine knows Kurt would have his back, too.
“Please just kiss me already,” he hisses in Kurt’s ear, pinching his side discreetly for good measure. He doesn’t understand why Kurt won’t - it’s the only way to truly get this asshole to finally leave them alone, the only thing they could truly even do, and he figures Kurt knows that, too.
Besides, half the school already assumes they’re together, based on the rumors Blaine’s heard in the hallways. So what’s the difference, what’s the harm?
But Kurt won’t do it. Blaine can tell without even looking at him. Tension is rolling off of him in waves, and Blaine can see the tight clench of his jaw out of the corner of his eye. Kurt hates Sebastian - they both do. Blaine is sure of that now.
Kurt’s stubbornness against taking the easy way out, though, is unexpected.
“Whatcha whispering about, Anderson?” Sebastian asks, cocking an eyebrow in Blaine’s direction. “We could make room for you, too, if you know how to play nice.”
And Blaine’s done. He’s done with Kurt being treated like an object. He’s done with Kurt being so resistant, doing nothing but making it all worse, and he’s done with Sebastian’s sneering and his entitlement and his stupid face.
If Kurt won’t listen, he’ll do it himself.
Silently praying Kurt won’t kill him for it, Blaine makes quick work of turning, lifting slightly up on his toes to compensate for the height of Kurt’s combat boots, cupping his face in one hand, and kissing him right on the mouth, hard and insistent and hopefully with enough certainty to look like they’ve done this dozens, hundreds, countless times before.
Instead of pushing him away like Blaine expects, Kurt immediately reaches up to fist Blaine’s leather jacket in both of his hands, holding him there. There’s a soft whimper, a moan, and Blaine can’t tell who it’s from, but it sends a rush of a spark through his body, makes his lips part with a stuttered gasp. And then Kurt’s tongue is there, pushing past and just barely dipping in, and it feels like it isn’t their first, like Kurt wants this, and strangely enough, Blaine wants it, too.
When it finally breaks, he’s panting, stomach in knots, arm falling limply back to his side, stunned. Kurt is close, so close, but Blaine can’t read any bit of the look in his eyes, though he can barely make himself focus enough to try.
He’s never felt this way, has never known anything close to it.
“Wow. What a show,” Sebastian says dryly, his voice snapping them out of it. It’s like a shock of cold water to his system, immediately bringing Blaine right back down to earth, reminding him of where they are and why it happened in the first place.
“Clearly,” Blaine manages, trying to still himself back into the shell of an untouchable, unafraid persona he wears every single day. “We don’t have room for you.”
It’s lame. The second it comes out of his mouth, Blaine knows it; it’s a ridiculous comeback, but he’s barely able to keep himself from shaking long enough to think. He doesn’t understand why he’s suddenly so affected by all of this - the situation itself, Kurt beside him strangely burning hot in his proximity, Sebastian more irritating than ever.
He isn’t supposed to let things get to him like this. That’s the whole point of the leather jacket, the all-black, the tattoo, the chain, the eyeliner. Safety, protection, armor.
But when Sebastian turns around and leaves, surprisingly giving up without another word or any more of a fight, Blaine doesn’t feel any better.
“Don’t you ever do that again!” Kurt snaps, using his hands still grasping Blaine’s jacket to press him up against the fence. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”
“I-I was trying to help you!” Blaine stutters, his head spinning, not understanding, not comprehending. He doesn’t know why Kurt is so angry, why he’s exploding, why he is on the receiving end of Kurt’s fury, especially when Kurt had kissed him right back, when Kurt had held him in it.
And then Blaine is angry, too.
“I don’t need your help,” Kurt says in a low, near growl, eyes swirling with steel blue and stormy gray. “I don’t need you or anyone else.”
“Why not?” Blaine asks, the question bursting out of his chest and then continuing, firing one by one, each redder in intensity. “Why did you kiss me back, then? What are you so afraid of in the first place? What do you think I’m going to do to you?”
He doesn’t know what it is, what exactly causes it, but Kurt entirely deflates, his face crumpling, fingers letting go and arms falling away.
“You’re going to hurt me,” he says, voice barely above a whisper, wavering. “You’re going to hurt me, just like everyone else has.”
Just like that, Blaine gets it.
Just like that, his anger dissipates, and he softens, and he relaxes the fists he hadn’t even realized he was clenching at his sides.
Just like that, he knows this isn’t who Kurt is, either. He knows they’re alike in their armor, alike in their hardness, but they’re alike in their softness, too.
And Blaine wants to know every bit of Kurt’s, every bit of who he truly is.
In a last attempt of daring, he reaches up and cups Kurt’s face, in both hands this time, rocking in to press another kiss to his mouth, gentle, unhurried, lingering.
“What if I don’t?” Blaine murmurs softly against his lips with a confidence he's never quite had before, feeling settled, hopeful, truly present for the first time since starting at McKinley, for the first time since the attack, maybe even longer.
Patiently, he waits, steadfastly accepting the warm gust of Kurt’s shaky exhale as a wordless response, as a silent agreement - it’s enough, at least for now, enough for Blaine to stay right where he is, to keep their foreheads leaned together, to stroke his thumbs over Kurt’s cheekbones in a tender punctuation of reassurance, trust me, trust me, trust me.
I promise, I promise, I promise.
Try, try, try.