Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The first time Blaine lays eyes on Sebastian Smythe, he almost doesn't notice him.

At the time he is understandably distracted, surrounded by a flock of baby-faced, wide-eyed freshmen and a few tag-along parents waiting to depart on their tour of the school grounds. His phone has been buzzing intermittently in his pocket all morning, no doubt with updates from Kurt on his first day back at McKinley, and he is itching to dig it out and check it but this is his first time helping out with student orientation as a representative of the Warblers and he really wants to make a good impression.

That had been one of the many pieces of advice Wes had imparted on him when he had tugged him aside at his leaving party over the summer to extol some parting wisdom. Always make a good first impression.

Blaine is waiting for the last of the stragglers to pick up their information packs and their schedules, trying not to look impatient as he rocks on the heels of his school shoes and brushes a fleck of lint from the sleeve of his blazer (that he seems to have outgrown over the summer, if the way it is pinching around his shoulders is any indication) when he catches sight of the boy loitering at the back of his group.

The boy sticks out like a sore thumb amidst the gaggle of nervous freshmen, standing over a head taller than even the gangliest of the bunch and most of the parents. His handsome face is trained in an expression of boredom as he glances around the entry hall with a kind of bemused disinterest, like he is more amused than awed by the elaborate décor (unlike the whispering group of boys that are scattered around him.)

He most definitely does not look like a freshman.

Blaine blinks rapidly, dragging his eyes away from the boy with the reminder that he has a job to do and turns on his best and brightest smile, aiming for nothing short of effortlessly charming as he calls out, “Welcome to Dalton Academy, my name is Blaine Anderson, I’m a junior here and I'll be your tour guide today.”

--

“Okay, one final sales pitch and then we can talk about making over Nancy Grace,” Kurt says, leveling a determined stare across the table as he settles in to make his case.

Blaine has been avoiding this conversation all summer.

It’s not like Kurt hasn’t noticed – there is no way he has missed every unsubtle evasion Blaine’s made of the hints that have been dropping since before the summer even began. They have been falling thick and fast since almost the day Kurt transferred back. It has become a running gag at this stage, Kurt rolling his eyes whenever Blaine changes the subject, shooting him those looks that crinkle his nose just a little bit, the ones that Blaine takes to mean, next time you’re giving me a real answer.

Even as the summer burns away behind them, it remains something carefully hidden behind jokes and gentle nudges; conversations that are laced with double-meanings lest they be taken too seriously. And Blaine can’t quite bring himself to treat them as such.

They have had an entire summer just for themselves and, to Blaine’s way of thinking at least, there is no room for such serious decisions during summer break; not when he could be enjoying his free days and nights with his boyfriend. Instead he ducks his head, looks down at his hands, or up through his eyelashes and grins because he’s not sure he knows what he wants these days if the answer isn’t just Kurt.

But when it is quiet and Kurt has gone home, when he lets the constant rattle and hum of happiness that he carries around deep in his bones grow still and he lets himself think, it feels like a lot to take in. He spends half his time biting back smiles about nothing lately, but these thoughts are bigger than even that expansive feeling of warmth in his chest.

It is a huge thing to consider, transferring schools again, and a part of him is still surprised that Kurt even asked. Blaine knows that there is a lot he still has to tell Kurt about what his life was like before Dalton but whenever he thinks that he should, the words don’t seem to want to come. He knows that he is going to have to think about it eventually, that Kurt is going to want an answer, but it is summertime and their time isn’t up yet.

Except, when Kurt’s not talking about college applications and New York and Juilliard (and Blaine really doesn’t have the heart to tell Kurt to actually google Juilliard, not with the way he and Rachel whisper about it whenever they are together) he is talking about how great it will be when Blaine transfers.

Kurt has had it all worked out since even before the summer began.

The first time he points out that Blaine’s parents’ house technically falls within the very, very outskirts of McKinley’s district, just close enough to make a case for transferring, it is while they are waiting in line for hot pretzels, two days into summer break. He smiles brightly the entire time like he thinks he is being subtle and Blaine has no idea how to respond, words sticking in his throat until they are at the front of the line and he almost sighs in relief as he turns away to place his order.

Blaine finds ways to fend off those discussions after that.

When they are sneaking kisses in Kurt’s room with his family roaming the house and Kurt asks, “Have you decided yet?” (he likes it better when Kurt phrases it that way) he leans in and steals another kiss.

When Kurt picks him up for a community theatre production over in Westerville and asks, “Did you ask your parents?” as he is climbing into the car Blaine pretends not to hear and sings along with the radio until Kurt sighs and eventually joins in.

It becomes another game they play, the many ways he can distract Kurt from asking him questions he doesn’t want to answer.

He knows that it probably means something that he can’t even bring himself to really consider it. It should be simple, he loves Kurt and of course he wants to spend more time with him, to spend every day with him, to share a choir room with him again and sing duets that aren’t confined to the car and to just be near him. It’s just a school. (It is a lot to ask.)

But he isn’t certain and that is what stops him.

Dalton makes him happy. The Warblers are his friends. He is the lead soloist. He is safe there.

But the idea of McKinley, in those brief moments when he lets himself think about it, makes him curious. Kurt’s friends from McKinley are interesting, he doesn’t know them all that well but he thinks that he might like to. He even likes the New Directions style of performance - the freedom and reckless abandon of them on the stage is so different to perfect harmonies and strict choreography - the motley array of voices that blend together into one beautiful chorus.

McKinley feels dangerous and unknown. It isn’t safe and it isn’t certain, but it has Kurt and Kurt wants him there.

Kurt, at least, has no reservations about telling him what he wants and Blaine thinks he would probably do anything to keep Kurt happy. To be near Kurt.

Which is what makes it so frustrating that he just can’t decide.

Blaine doesn’t know what is holding him back, why he can’t just sit down with his parents and run through the speech he has been halfheartedly composing in his head for the past few weeks (the one about facing his fears and Dalton tuition and the dorms and is definitely, definitely not about wanting to spend more time with his boyfriend).

But come the start of school year they are sitting in the Lima Bean again, Kurt eyeing his blazer reprovingly and Blaine still hasn’t so much as mentioned transferring schools to his parents, let alone made a decision, and the only words sitting on the tip of his tongue are, You promised you wouldn’t pressure me.

(A traitorous part of him thinks that the blazer in itself should be decision enough.)

The Dalton school year hasn’t officially started - freshman orientation was something he had volunteered for at the end of last year - and he still has a few days before he has to be moved back into the dorms, not nearly enough time really, and Kurt is not impressed.

His voice is teasing, but there is an edge there that tells Blaine what he really wants to be hearing.

Kurt makes his case one more time with a promise that this is it and for a moment - for a clear moment - Blaine can see what it would be like to go to McKinley.

Blaine can see himself walking through the halls with Kurt; holding hands and sharing lunches, he would be able to slowly work his way through the rainbow of colors sitting disused inside his closet door. Listening to each of those different and wonderful voices pay homage to whatever ridiculous theme of the week Mr. Schuester had chosen and spending time with Kurt again that is not just on the weekends.

And for the first time it feels real.

Kurt wants his senior year to be magic and Blaine wants that for him too.

He wants to say yes then and there, because he has never been able to say no to Kurt when he is looking at him like that, instead they clasp hands over the table and Blaine knows what he has to do.

It fills his head as he is driving home, thoughts of Mr. Schuester’s insane purple piano recruitment scheme fitting together with the need to make some grand gesture to inform Kurt of his decision when all the pieces fall into place. His fingers slide over the knot of his Dalton tie and it gives him pause for just a moment, makes him wonder if the Warblers will be mad at him for transferring without warning.

He can’t imagine that his friends could truly be mad at him for this, but maybe they would be disappointed; hurt that he didn’t talk to them about his plans. They would get over it though, they’d probably even be auditioning for solos within minutes.

It hardens his resolve, the thought that this could be a good thing for the Warblers too. That it might give them the opportunity to shake things up and make some changes. He can’t seem to stop smiling, giddy excitement jittering through his limbs as he drums his fingers across the steering wheel along with the radio. More than anything he wants to turn his car around, to go back and just tell Kurt. He wants to see his face when he tells him -

- But first he needs to talk to his parents.

They will have to move quickly after he tells them. The McKinley school year has already started and if his parents want their deposit back on tuition and boarding fees they will have to let the office at Dalton know straight away but there is a freedom to having finally made his decision after an entire summer of indecision.

He will wait until dinner to bring it up so that his mom and dad are together. He could open with the speech he has had running through his head for weeks now, a combination of wanting to face up to his fears (sure to win over his father) and concern about wanting to save money better spent on college tuition (thoughtful enough to appeal to his mother) and wanting to spend more time with them, to not spend most of the year living in a school dorm, to sweeten the deal.

It is simple, it is perfect and Blaine is absolutely certain that it is going to work.

--

It doesn’t.

Dinners in their family have never quite worked out the way his mother wants them to since Cooper left for LA. However much Blaine might pretend not to notice, Cooper was always the buffer between them, the interpreter who took it upon himself to ease the two factions of their family through the awkwardness of each other’s company.

It has been years now but still they don’t quite know how to function without him. Blaine thinks he probably understands his parents about as well as they understand him.

Blaine probably should have remembered that nothing ever quite goes to plan if you are an Anderson. His parents are only ever predictable when it suits them.

The speech starts off well enough, the words have been stuck to the tip of his tongue for weeks now and he knows his parents well enough to be confident that they will at least hear him out before they give their response. For all of their differences, his parents have only ever wanted what is best for him - all he has to do is convince them that McKinley is going to be that.

What is worse is that Blaine can see the exact moment that he starts to lose them, the points he had rehearsed in his head, so sure of their reaction, turning to lead in his mouth. His father’s carefully neutral expression turns solemn when Blaine mentions facing his fears and his mother shakes her head indiscreetly, her eyes wide and unhappy, when he tries to point out they could save money by sending him back to a public school. Both of them smile sadly when he stumbles into his final point, because every single one of them knows it is the biggest lie of all.

Silence follows his speech, weighing the air between them as his father sets his cutlery neatly down on his plate and watches him carefully, his expression strained. Blaine watches them exchange looks and clearly his father finds an answer on his mother’s face that Blaine can’t decipher, because he nods and clears his throat before turning back to face Blaine.

“You didn’t transfer schools for a better education or a change of scenery, Blaine,” his father reminds him, not unkindly. “We sent you to Dalton so you would be safe. We should never have let you stay at that school for so long and – you know how much we regret letting things get so out of hand. We’re not going to make the same mistake again.”

Blaine watches his father pick up his knife and his fork and resume eating and he knows that is it. He imagines words like, no matter what ideas your boyfriend’s been filling your head with, tacked on to the end of that sentence, can almost hear them spoken in that same calm, careful tone of voice. But that isn’t fair. He knows it isn’t fair.

He could protest and try to change their minds. Appeal to his mother and pretend he hasn’t noticed that she is already on her second glass of wine when she usually only has the one. But that wouldn’t be fair either, to put this on her.

Blaine’s life has never exactly been fair, so he isn’t sure why he expected it to start now.

Instead he picks up his own knife and fork and he follows his father’s example, pretending not to notice how the tension melts from his mother’s shoulders and the way his father relaxes back into his seat.

It’s not like he is any stranger to disappointment anyway.

--

Half his night is spent dreaming up ways to change their minds. He is consumed by what ifs and maybes, considering each one like they could possibly change the hand he has been dealt - the answer that a part of him had always expected.

Maybe if he had brought it up two months ago and kept at it, gnawing at their resolve until they cracked under the pressure. Maybe if he had given more thought to what another fresh start could actually mean to him. It is clear to him now that he was never going to buy that shining opportunity with empty shells made of bravery and extra money in the bank; it has never been about the money for his parents and his courage is what landed him in the emergency room the first time around.

In the safety of the dark Blaine can admit that at least part of the hunger he had felt for that shining glimpse of what life at McKinley could be was less about the love he wants to revel in and more about the quiet, whispering doubts of not fair that still lurk in the back of his head, demanding a do-over.

You couldn’t face up to your bullies at your old school, so you can do it at mine.

But now the opportunity has slipped through his fingers; that glimpse of possibility fading from his thoughts until he can barely remember the resolve and excitement he had felt that afternoon.

He has to tell Kurt.

Blaine remembers him shrugging that afternoon, maybe teasing (maybe not) as he said -

I’m not sure our budding young love can survive that -

- and there are no more maybes or apologetic shrugs left to buy time with; all those brilliant plans Blaine has been stockpiling in the back of his head have crumbled to dust beneath the weight of the wrong answer.

It would be much simpler if he could hate them for this, if he could uncover something ugly in their reasoning or burrow into his bedcovers to sulk for days in some grand gesture that might convince them of his sincerity, but it wouldn’t do any of them any good and Blaine knows why they made their decision.

And maybe, as Blaine closes his eyes and lets the very last thread of hope slip from his fingers, he thinks he might even be just the tiniest bit relieved.

--

He sleeps late the next morning, long enough that his eyelids itch and droop heavily when he finally rolls out of bed. The house is silent and still again, as sure a sign as any that his parents are long gone, probably grateful for being saved any awkward attempts at conversation that would have followed last night.

Blaine is grateful for the quiet when he stares down at the screen of his phone, fingers hovering over the touchpad as he tries to figure out what to say. He tries to imagine what Kurt’s face will look like when he tells him and sighs as he lets his phone drop back into his lap, the message still glaringly blank.

He can’t help but think how disappointed Kurt will be. He had spent the entire summer under the impression that Blaine was the one he had to convince.

With a sigh he rubs a hand down his face, scrubbing furiously at his eyelids before he picks up his phone and determinedly types, Need to talk to you. Lima Bean this afternoon? xx.

He sends it before he can change his mind and takes a deep, steadying breath.

Within minutes there is a reply, Can’t today. NYADA mixer with Rachel. Tomorrow?

Blaine gets the feeling it is going to be a very long day.

--

Blaine can tell from the moment he walks into the Lima Bean and spots Kurt sitting over in the corner near the window, both of their orders sitting untouched on the table in front of him, that something isn’t quite right. He had spent half an hour picking his outfit today, sifting through the entirety of his wardrobe and soaking in the textures and colours with the strangest feeling of loss as he deliberated over how to break the news to Kurt.

However secure the Dalton uniform makes him feel, he thinks he would have quite liked the freedom of choosing a new outfit every morning. Not that it matters.

He brushes his fingers absently over the bowtie at his throat and smiles when Kurt looks up and sees him. There is definitely something wrong, Kurt’s smile is a little slower arriving than usual, which he suspects isn’t going to make this any easier.

“Hey you,” he declares as he sinks down into the seat opposite Kurt’s, crossing his legs at the ankle and noting Kurt’s amused assessment of his outfit.

Blaine doesn’t mind – he is planning to take full advantage of his last remaining days of short sleeves before he has to wear the blazer again five days a week.

He waits until Kurt’s eyes have returned to his before he asks, “Bad day?”

“Bad week more like,” Kurt replies as he nudges Blaine’s coffee across the table with his knuckles and smiles glumly. “But you had something you wanted to talk about, right?”

And that wasn’t exactly subtle.

“Right,” Blaine agrees, taking a sip from his coffee to stall for time. He had decided it would be best to just get it over with as quickly as possible, but faced with the prospect it is hard to get the words to come to him. “I talked to my parents about transferring to McKinley the other night.”

Kurt’s reaction is immediate, his head snapping up and his eyes widening and Blaine has to cut him off, to stop the excitement before it gathers because he doesn’t think he can bear to see it. “They said no.”

Excitement drains from Kurt’s face so quickly Blaine wonders if it was ever there, something disappointed lingering in his eyes as he trains his face to something painfully neutral and says, “Oh.”

Blaine watches Kurt take a sip of his coffee to avoid speaking and his stomach twists uncomfortably at the sight. Before he knows it there are other words tumbling from his lips, rushed and desperate enough that Kurt lifts his head to look at him again, “I just wanted you to know that I really, really wanted to transfer.”

Kurt’s smile of response is small and disappointed, but he sounds sincere enough when he says, “I know.”

They sit in silence for a while, only looking at each other when they think the other isn’t watching and sipping at their coffees until Blaine says, “So, I guess we’re going to be rivals after all, huh?”

There is a soft snort in response and Kurt looks over at him with the beginnings of a smile as he says, “I guess you should probably get used to the idea of losing then.”

Blaine grins, shifting back in his chair as he laughs back, “We’ll see who’s laughing when you have to face the Warblers at Sectionals.”

Kurt outright smiles at that and Blaine impulsively reaches out to catch his hand, stroking his thumb absently across Kurt’s knuckles as he says, “Weekends and holidays, then?”

The smile he gets is a little sad and he can still see the badly hidden disappointment on Kurt’s face, but he shrugs a little and says, “There’s also these things they call cellphones, you know.”

Blaine rolls his eyes and squeezes Kurt’s hand before he sinks back into his seat, taking another long sip of his coffee before he asks, “So, tell me about this NYADA mixer.”

--

Blaine doesn’t think he’ll ever really get used to Dalton.

There is something about the first sight of those grand, old buildings as he pulls into the parking lot, the ripple of early morning sunlight across the glass, which never fails to make his breath catch in his throat. It had been an intimidating sight for the almost-fourteen year old he had been, especially on the back of being chased from his previous school, but over time Dalton has become a sanctuary for him.

He knows that if his parents had said yes to him transferring, he would have desperately missed the feeling he gets in his chest whenever he catches sight of those buildings.

The view from the boarders’ parking lot, hidden around behind the dorms, is considerably less stirring.

It takes him three trips to unload his car, the first spent gathering his keys and room assignment from the new office lady who offers him one of those same pitying smiles he had always quietly resented from the old one. When he had first arrived at Dalton there had been plenty of smiles like those to go around. He had started to think he’d finally outgrown them.

His roommate’s belongings are already scattered across the side of the room closest to the door and he nearly trips over the lacrosse stick that is propped up against the wall, but whoever they are, they aren’t around and Blaine is determined not to let who they're not affect his opinion of them, so Blaine dumps his belongings on the empty bed and starts to unpack.

Almost all of his belongings are strewn in piles across his side of the room, waiting to be put away into their rightful places, when the door swings open and Blaine gets his first look at who he assumes will be his roommate for the rest of the year. He hadn’t recognized the name when he was handed his keys, but the face is vaguely familiar.

Blaine thinks they might have been part of the same History group project in his freshman year.

“Hi,” he says, trying desperately not to laugh when the guy nearly trips over the same lacrosse stick Blaine has been avoiding all afternoon and grapples to catch it before it falls.

“Oh, hey - hi,” the guy replies, tossing the stick onto his bed and Blaine watches a little warily as he glances over the mess scattered across Blaine’s side of the room.

“I’m Blaine,” he offers, sliding the shirt he is holding onto a hanger and shoving it into the closet before extending a hand cautiously. “I guess we’re roommates this year.”

“James,” the guy offers, shaking his hand, “You’re the Warbler guy right?”

“One of them,” Blaine agrees with a guarded smile. “That isn’t a problem, is it?”

James shrugs, “You don’t sing scales in your sleep or anything do you?”

“Not that I know of,” Blaine replies with a hint of a laugh as he turns back to hanging his clothes. “You don’t snore do you?”

“Terribly,” James replies and Blaine hears him hit the mattress with a thump. “You have my permission to throw things if it makes you feel better.”

He doesn’t bother to hide the laugh this time, relief bleeding through the initial tension as he glances over his shoulder to say, “Thanks. If I ever start singing in my sleep you can feel free to return the favor.”

James returns his smile, running a hand through his hair before gesturing vaguely towards the piles of stuff on Blaine’s bed. “You want a hand with that?”

And maybe this isn’t the way Blaine had hoped his year might be starting, but he thinks that maybe he could make it worth remembering, nonetheless.

--

The uniform he wears is brand new, not that anyone would notice.

Blaine thinks he is probably already done with growing upwards, has had enough time to come to terms with it as his peers continue to gain inches on him, but over the course of the summer his shoulders have grown broader, his arms stronger. The new blazer cuts a sharp line across his shoulders where the old had been starting to pinch when he had tried it on, it tapers neatly to the shape of his waist, snug but not uncomfortable.

It fits better than the last had, looks crisper and brighter to his eye as he carefully slides the knot of his tie to rest snugly at the base of his throat and flips the collar of his shirt back into place. For (nearly) two years this uniform has felt like a second skin to him. It has bought him friendship and acceptance and a sense of belonging when he’d had none of those things. Something about wearing it again eases the unrest he has felt since his parents had denied his request to transfer to McKinley.

He smoothes his palms over the lapels, traces a thumb absently over the embroidered Dalton insignia and takes a slow breath before he smiles, wide and effortless, at his reflection.

It is just another year and then one more after that. In the grand scheme of things, two years is practically nothing.

They have absolutely nothing to worry about.

--

Blaine is running late.

He probably knows the grounds of Dalton Academy better than the back of his own hand by now. Blaine has had the fastest (and the slowest) paths between the different wings of the buildings all mapped out in his head since his first semester and he had managed to decipher the erratic numbering system of Dalton’s classrooms within two months of his transfer (with only a few nudges in the right direction from Wes).

If anyone were to ask he could tell them the most likely places to find members of the Warblers during breaks, that they should avoid the courtyards if they want to get anywhere quickly, the best times to find a quiet place in the library, what days to avoid the cafeteria and when the gym is most likely to be quiet. On orientation day he had given out almost all of those tips to the incoming freshman.

Unfortunately, none of this knowledge is enough to get him to his first class of the year before the second bell rings.

Instead he curses beneath his breath as his phone buzzes in his pocket again, a reminder of why he is running through the empty halls in search of the door marked 13s, and determinedly ignores the persistent buzzing. His satchel thumps uncomfortably into his side when he skids to an abrupt halt in front of the door he is looking for, but he takes the time to carefully smooth his blazer back into place and take a deep breath before reaching for the door handle.

With some relief he notes that he can’t be that late – the rest of the class are still unpacking their bags. Jeff catches his eye and shoots him a wide, amused grin from the back of the room when the door snaps shut behind him.

“Good of you to finally join us, Mr. Anderson,” comes the bored drawl from the front of the classroom before he has even made it two steps inside.

Blaine winces, determinedly ignores the way he can see Jeff’s shoulders shaking silently with laughter from the corner of his eye and instead turns his best apologetic smile towards the all too familiar disapproving stare of his least favorite teacher. “Sorry I’m late, sir, I was just-“

“- Late. See it doesn’t happen again.”

There is something just a little bit amused in the arch of Mr. Archer’s eyebrows, enough that Blaine feels not quite so put on the spot as he nods and agrees, “Of course,” before hurrying to claim one of the few remaining empty seats near the front of the class, wincing when he feels his phone buzz in his pocket again.

He focuses on unpacking his satchel instead, determinedly ignoring the vibration in his pocket because the last thing he needs is to be called out for texting in class as well. He is dividing his attention between where Mr. Archer has resumed outlining the syllabus for the year and digging his folder out of his satchel when another call of, “Mr. Anderson?” draws his eyes back to the front of the room.

There is complete silence as he glances up, wondering just how badly he is going to suffer for already getting himself on Archer’s bad side, but instead he finds his teacher holding out a thick stack of stapled papers.

Determinedly withholding the sigh he desperately wants to give, Blaine pushes back to his feet and heads back to the front of the room to collect the handouts. As he makes his way around the classroom, passing out the syllabus to his classmates and rolling his eyes at Jeff’s far too enthusiastic thank you, he thinks that this isn’t exactly the triumphant start to his junior year he’d hoped for.

He lets himself drift as he moves down the aisles, imagining what he would be doing if he was at McKinley – if he would have a free period like Kurt seems to have – when a pen clatters to the floor from behind him and he hurriedly traps it beneath his heel before it can skitter away. It is an automatic thing to stoop and pick it up, the buzz of his phone in his pocket covered by what sounds like hastily stifled laughter.

It makes him stand a little quicker than he had intended, frowning as he turns to hand it back to it’s owner and is greeted by a face he doesn’t recognize, the bright spark of green eyes that drift lazily up to meet his and a slow smile that makes heat crawl uncomfortably up the back of his neck.

Blaine isn’t sure he likes the emphasis the boy puts on, “Thank you,” or the way his fingers graze the back of Blaine’s hand as he reaches for his pen.

His own response of, “You’re welcome,” sounds as uncertain as he is suddenly feeling and he regrets the ingrained habit the moment he opens his mouth, if only for the way it makes the other boy’s eyes crinkle a little in the corners like he finds it funny (and the way that makes Blaine’s breath catch uncomfortably in the back of his throat).

Blaine’s frown deepens as he determinedly ignores the flustered heat that is rapidly rising up his neck and drops a syllabus in front of the boy and his partner (Blaine is almost certain he is the one who had laughed, judging by the hand indiscreetly plastered over his mouth) and hastily moves on.

It takes until he is settled in his own seat again, on the opposite side of the classroom, before he can stop feeling like the weight of the boy’s eyes are still fixed on him. Even then there is still the itch of discomfort, heavy at the back of his neck, something warm and flustered spilling across his skin that he can’t seem to shake off as he stares down at the syllabus in front of him.

The rest of the lesson passes with only the rise and fall of Mr. Archer’s voice to fill the air and the occasional buzz of Blaine’s phone against his thigh, neither of which are distraction enough to subdue the urge to squirm uncomfortably in his seat. When the bell rings Blaine isn’t sure he had heard a word that had been said, but when he tucks the syllabus into his folder there are notes dutifully scribbled in the margins.

None of that seems to matter quite so much as getting out of that classroom as quickly as possible.

--

There are seven text messages waiting for him when he slides his phone out of his pocket, still unable to shake the pervasive jitter of flustered nerves as he walks to his next class, ignoring the way Jeff leans over his shoulder to peer down at the screen while he scrolls through them.

You and I are brainstorming for my election campaign tonight.

Want to hear a terrifying origin story about unicorns?

Brittany wants to be my campaign manager. Can you imagine?

Which of these songs best says ‘I am your one and only choice for Tony?’

“Who’s Tony?” Jeff asks, wrinkling his nose down at the screen.

“West Side Story,” Blaine explains as he skims to the next message with an intent frown, carefully winding around someone who had stopped in the middle of the hall to rummage through his bag.

I’m the Greatest Star –

“Subtle,” Jeff snorts and Blaine drives an elbow out to the side, smiling just a little at the indignant whine he gets when it connects.

- or Music of the Night?

“Tony doesn’t sing either of those songs,” is Jeff’s opinion as he glances reproachfully over at Blaine, rubbing at his side. “He has seen West Side Story, right?”

“Of course Kurt’s seen West Side Story,” Blaine replies immediately, worrying at his lower lip. “He’s auditioning with a song that plays to his strengths. It makes sense.”

There is something thoughtful in the look Jeff sends him before he says, “You’d make a good Tony.”

Blaine resists the urge to roll his eyes as he replies, “Not helpful,” and drums his fingers across the edge of his phone.

“Why doesn’t he just audition with a song from the show?” Jeff asks while Blaine continues to frown indecisively down at the screen.

“He wants to make an impression,” Blaine replies with the smallest of shrugs, something fond drawing a smile to his lips as he tries to envision Kurt singing either one of those songs.

Jeff doesn’t seem entirely convinced by the logic, but he still shrugs and offers, “The first one.”

Blaine frowns as he considers it, tries to imagine how Kurt would punch personality into the verses and finds himself grinning as he nods his agreement and taps back his response, Jeff votes I’m the Greatest Star, before slipping his phone back into his pocket.

“So what happened to you this summer?” Jeff asks the moment that his phone is out of sight, like he had just been waiting for the opportunity to change the subject.

“What do you mean?” Blaine asks, trailing a hand distractedly across the stitching of the pocket he had deposited his phone in before glancing back to Jeff to catch his curious stare.

“This summer,” Jeff repeats, his voice so carefully light and unaffected that Blaine instantly knows he is serious. “It was like you fell off the face of the planet or something. None of us even knew if you were coming back this year. Trent had his money on alien abduction but Thad insists you joined a travelling circus troupe.”

“I hung out with you,” Blaine protests. “I definitely hung out with you all.”

Jeff levels him with a look that is so pointedly not accusatory that Blaine throws up his hands instantly in defeat and sighs, “Alright, so I didn’t hang out with you guys as much as I usually do. I was just –“

“- Hanging out with Kurt,” Jeff finishes for him.

“I was going to say busy,” he corrects with the slightest hitch of his eyebrow, doing his best to suppress just how defensive he is suddenly feeling when he doesn’t even know if Jeff is trying to suggest anything.

“-Busy hanging out with Kurt,” Jeff teases, nudging him in the arm with his elbow to show that he is kidding. “We were starting to wonder if we were going to have to file for visitation rights when he stole you away to McKinley as well.”

Blaine can feel the heat flaring up beneath his skin, something distinctly guilty settling in his stomach as he tries to laugh it off. “Oh come on, I wasn’t that bad.”

“He did ask you to transfer though, didn’t he?” Jeff presses on.

“Yeah he did,” Blaine admits, his fingers winding tighter around the strap of his satchel, not quite knowing why he does it as he adds, “But obviously I’m still here, so.”

Jeff smiles at him for that, one of the broad grins that Blaine’s infinitely more used to than the half-smiles he has been getting so far, claps him on the shoulder as the door of their English class comes into sight and says, “Good thing too. Imagine the nightmare if we lost Wes and you in one year, the Warblers would be in complete shambles.”

Blaine is saved the necessity of an answer as they enter the classroom; instead he returns the smile and winds his way through the maze of desks towards the back of the room. He is just settling into a seat when someone brushes past him and he catches a glimpse of long limbs dropping into a seat in the row behind him from the corner of his eye, close enough that he must have followed them into the room.

He cranes his neck around, like he is going to talk to Jeff, and instead finds himself covertly tracing the profile of the boy from his AP Bio class from the corner of his eye. Blaine doesn’t really know what he is doing – it’s not like he’s checking him out – but he is curious, he had felt the boy’s eyes on him during his last class. There is a scattering of beauty spots that trail across the boy’s skin, dotted across his cheeks and down the length of his neck, disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt.

The boy’s head starts to turn and Blaine automatically jerks back towards the front of the room, determinedly ignoring the insistent crawl of warmth up the back of his neck as he realizes he had just been staring for no apparent reason and busies himself with dragging his folder out of his satchel.

It is much easier to ignore the heat prickling at the back of his neck, the part of him that tells him to turn around and see if he is being watched, when Trent arrives, loudly bemoaning the misfortune of having first period gym class on a Monday with Nick in his wake, pulling faces at the back of his head. Both of them drop into seats in front of Blaine and Jeff and proceed to fake astonishment at Blaine’s presence.

Jeff shoots him a look that so blatantly says, I told you so, that Blaine feels even guiltier for not trying harder to balance his time over the holidays.

Being back amongst his friends is the first reminder he has had of why he didn’t want to transfer in the first place, why he had blown off Kurt’s questions for so long. It had been almost too easy to forget, when faced with the sheer force of Kurt’s enthusiasm, but whenever he is around the Warblers he is reminded of how they were the first people to ever make him feel like he truly belonged somewhere.

There is a part of him that honestly can’t bear to imagine what it would feel like if that were to ever change.

His phone buzzes against his thigh and he drags it out, frowning down at the response of, I wasn’t asking for Jeff’s opinion, that leaves him feeling as distinctly uncomfortable as Jeff’s pointed questions earlier had.

The phone is shoved back into his pocket without a reply but when he glances up Nick is watching him, his curiosity evident as he asks, “Everything alright?”

“Everything’s fine,” Blaine replies, flipping open his folder and slipping back into a smile like it could cast off the uncertainty he is feeling.

Nick shrugs it off and it’s almost like it works.

-

He makes it right through until lunch without any further hitches in his day. The new boy doesn’t show up in his math class and Blaine texts responses to Kurt’s updates about McKinley while he is on his way to classes, taking care to avoid the question he really wants to ask (what did you mean by-)

The Warblers all converge on the same table at lunch, crowding around to catch up with each other and confirm times for the first official meeting of the year. Lunch is spent debating the merits of a recruitment number and carefully avoiding the subject of replacing Wes’ place on the council. In truth they hadn’t lost that many graduating seniors and the audition sheets are never lacking for names but Blaine is thankful for the distraction.

It is easier to think about performances than it is to remember that Wes, who had been his first real friend at Dalton and such an integral part of their group, isn’t going to be there this year. Easy enough that Blaine lets the conversation wash over him, smiles a little as Thad and David try to take the reigns on keeping the other Warblers in line and lets his attention wander.

Kurt had told him all about the New Directions attempting to recruit new members with a Go Go’s number in the school cafeteria over coffee last week. He’d had tiny little splatters of what Blaine thinks was spaghetti sauce dotting the skin beneath his jaw that had been missed in the hasty clean-up, kind of like the beauty spots that trail the length of the new boy’s throat.

The memory of Kurt bemoaning the state of his dry cleaning bill and the complete lack of auditions the stunt had gotten them makes him wonder what would happen if the Warblers ever tried to take over the cafeteria for a performance. Somehow, he doubts it would end in a food fight.

Blaine smiles a little, realizing his eyes have been wandering when he catches sight of his roommate across the hall, seated amidst faces he vaguely recognizes as being on the lacrosse team. His eyes move on, searching the room even though he knows that the people he is looking for aren’t here (Wes is in Chicago, settling into his freshman year of college, and Kurt is in Lima, probably working on his audition for the play) but they stop dead at the glimpse of someone looking back.

The new boy is seated a few tables away, amidst a group of people that he doesn’t seem particularly interested in talking to, his eyes unflinchingly fixed on Blaine. His eyebrows inch upwards, the corners of his lips twitching and he seems entirely unphased, like he didn’t just get caught staring.

Blaine’s attempted smile of response is weak, tempered by embarrassment, his eyes darting swiftly away at a timely nudge to his shoulder as Nick laughs, “Are you even in there, space cadet?”

“I was just thinking the Warblers haven’t done a performance in the cafeteria before,” he replies when he realizes that Nick is not the only one watching him. “Do you think we’d start a food fight?”

“They wouldn’t dare despoil the blazer,” Thad pipes in immediately.

“Why would anyone throw food at us?” Trent asks, ignoring Thad’s outburst to eye Blaine curiously, “We can’t have gotten that out of practice over the summer.”

Across the table Jeff snorts loudly and tries to stifle his laughter as David intervenes with a strained, “I suspect Warbler Blaine may have been making a joke.”

“Spaghetti stains are no laughing matter,” Thad grumbles down at his plate, stabbing a fork viciously into his salad and casting a pointed look in Blaine’s direction.

Blaine smiles apologetically in Thad’s direction in the hopes it will soothe whatever offense he has taken, and lets his attention drift as David redirects the conversation again. The seat the new boy was sitting in is empty when he glances back, the remnants of his lunch deserted, and Blaine tells himself that he absolutely isn’t disappointed about that at all.

He suspects that the less time he spends thinking about the new kid, may be for the better.

--

Kurt’s phone call that night is dominated by debate over his audition song for the play and his decision to run for class president. Blaine is making his way through the worksheet his History teacher had given out that afternoon (earning herself the maligned title of the first teacher of the year to assign homework), listening to Kurt list the pros and cons of his choices and occasionally adding input when it sounds like it’s required.

“It feels risky you know? Nobody sings a Barbra song with Rachel Berry around,” Kurt sniffs, sounding part put-out by the fact and part fond, before he sighs loudly and Blaine hears a soft thump, like he has thrown himself back onto his bed. “What would you sing, if you were auditioning for Tony?”

Blaine taps the end of his pencil against his desk, sinking back into his chair as all thoughts of dates and names disappear from his thoughts and he only has to think for a moment, staring up at the off-white ceiling before he decides, “‘Maria.’ Or ‘Something’s Coming.’ No, definitely ‘Something’s Coming.’”

There is silence on the other end for a moment before Kurt laughs and says, “You’ve given this some thought.”

He drops his pencil on top of his worksheet and shifts on the bed, curling his fingers around his ankle as he says, “I always liked West Side Story.”

Kurt sighs, the sound echoing in the receiver and Blaine knows what’s coming before he even says it, “If you were at McKinley you could have been in West Side Story.”

Blaine doesn’t speak, his fingers curling tighter around his ankle as he stares down at his bedspread, waiting as Kurt sighs again before he hears the sounds of movement. He imagines Kurt sitting up at the edge of his bed, shaking his head, before the strained, “So, ‘Something’s Coming’?”

It’s Kurt’s version of sorry.

“It’s so hopeful – all about possibility and new beginnings,” Blaine says, shifting to let his head thunk back against the wall of the dorm. “It’s always been my favorite Tony song from the show.”

“Of course it is,” Kurt replies, his voice only a little teasing and Blaine can imagine him smiling. “I feel like I need a song that will show them exactly who I am though.”

Blaine frowns, reaching for his pencil again and tapping it against his bedspread before he declares, “You should go with ‘I’m the Greatest Star.’”

“Really?”

Blaine suspects that Kurt just wants to hear the confirmation.

“Really.”

He can practically feel Kurt’s excitement radiating through the phone as he reaches for his worksheet again, listening as he details the costume he has been planning and something about scaffolding that he is pretty sure he must have misheard. Blaine is almost finished the worksheet by the time Kurt has wound down.

The line goes quiet for a moment, Blaine frowning as he scribbles out the answer to the last question, before Kurt says, “So, anything new and exciting happening at Dalton?”

It sounds strangely forced, but Blaine is grateful that Kurt is even willing to talk about it when it is still something of a sore spot that he is here.

For a brief moment he thinks of telling Kurt about that morning, but he doesn’t want Kurt to think he had been the reason Blaine had been running late (even though he kind of was) and he remembers that strange text he had gotten in response to him mentioning Jeff. He could tell Kurt about the new boy, maybe, but it’s not like he really has anything to tell on that front. Instead he leans back against the wall and laughs as he says, “You know Dalton. Same as ever.”

Kurt makes a vague noise of agreement, before announcing, “I may have agreed to letting Brittany manage my campaign for student president. I’m going over to her house tomorrow to go over campaign ideas – want me to text you updates?”

“Do you even have to ask?”

--

--

It is kind of surprising just how easy it is to step back into the natural rhythm of how Dalton works.

There are classes and Warbler meetings and friends to catch up with. The new additions to his schedule tying seamlessly into his old trusted routines. Nightly calls with Kurt now coincide with his usual homework time and they text between classes or when he gets a free moment.

It isn’t necessarily the way he had envisioned his relationship with Kurt going this year, or even the junior year that he had wanted, but it is what they have, so Blaine is determined to make the best of it.

There is, however, one small, inconsequential little hitch in his usual routine that he hadn’t exactly accounted for.

--

“You’re Blaine Anderson, right?”

Blaine’s head jerks up in surprise, distracted from the task of tying his shoelaces to find the new kid standing just opposite him, already changed into his gym gear and leaning back against the locker bay as he watches Blaine with a strange, small smile.

They have been trading smiles for a few days now and Blaine has caught the new kid looking at him a few times, but Blaine hasn’t really figured out what to make of him yet.

“Hi,” Blaine replies a little breathlessly, at a complete loss for what else to say and feeling more than a little surprised when the boy takes a step forward to extend his hand with the smallest quirk of his lips.

Blaine reaches out to take it, his knee digging into his chest as he leans in to catch the boy’s hand. The boy’s long fingers curl around his palm, tips grazing across the back of his hand and squeezing just a little as he introduces himself. “Sebastian Smythe. We’re in a lot of the same classes.”

“Yeah,” Blaine agrees immediately and then wants to cringe at how dumb that must have sounded because of course they are. He resolves to do better (and not entirely just to satisfy that niggling curiosity that has begun to surface every time he catches the boy’s eye in one of his classes) and smiles politely up at him as he asks, “Did you just move here this year, or?”

“You could say that,” Sebastian says, his smile widening as his eyes meet Blaine’s for just a moment before they drop pointedly downwards and Blaine follows them, belatedly realizing that he is still holding on to Sebastian’s hand.

Heat floods his cheeks as he retracts his hand and curls it around his ankle instead, resting his chin onto his knee and dropping his eyes as he resumes tying his shoelaces and asks, “So where are you from, originally?”

“Ohio,” Sebastian replies deadpan, still watching him with that far too amused look in his eyes, though he doesn’t move back to leaning against the lockers like he had been and Blaine can see the toes of his sneakers just at the edge of his vision. He tugs sharply at his laces and drops his foot back to the floor before dragging the other up to repeat the process. “I was living in Paris for the last few years though.”

“Paris?” Blaine asks, his eyes drifting up before he can stop himself and he hopes he didn’t sound quite as eager as he thinks he must have, judging by the expression on Sebastian’s face.

“My mother lives there,” Sebastian says, catching his eye again as he shrugs a little.

“Wow,” Blaine murmurs before he can stop himself and is forced to duck his chin to try and cover it as he resumes pretending to focus on tying his shoelaces.

He doesn’t understand why he can’t seem to just talk to Sebastian like he is a normal person or even why Sebastian is hanging around, apparently waiting for him, when they haven’t even spoken before now. “That must have been cool.”

For his part, Sebastian seems to find it funny. He looks like he is on the verge of laughing by the time Blaine looks up again, letting his feet drop back to the floor before he pushes himself up off the bench.

Blaine patently ignores the broad grin and Sebastian’s lack of an answer as he fixes a smile on his own face, tugging at the hem of his t-shirt to get it to settle properly before turning to head out of the locker rooms. He has gotten all of two steps toward the door before Sebastian calls out, “Hey, Blaine.”

He turns his head, forehead furrowing in confusion as Sebastian smiles back at him, tilting his head just slightly and letting his eyes drift downwards before he adds, “Nice shorts.”

Warmth rushes up back into his cheeks and Blaine turns stiffly around to walk out into the gym, his breath catching uncomfortably in his throat as he decides that he is definitely not in the least bit interested in getting to know Sebastian any better.

--

Except that, for all his resolutions, Sebastian proves to be kind of hard to avoid.

--

He knows that it is kind of ridiculous, but Blaine has always had an almost pathological desire to make people like him. It isn’t that he needs the approval or validation of strangers to get through his day (no matter what certain people might say), but he likes to be liked, and he doesn’t see how that is necessarily a bad thing.

Which is what makes his Biology class (or rather, his Biology teacher) kind of a problem.

Mr. Archer’s longstanding grudge against the Warblers has achieved an almost legendary status over the past few years, if you were to believe the Dalton rumor mill. He is the one member of the faculty who has repeatedly objected to their status as a student-run club, has been known to protest their performances on school grounds loudly and publicly and holds a residual grudge against any and all Warblers who enter his classroom – not that he would ever admit to it.

And over the course of the past week, he seems to have decided to turn the full force of that grudge on Blaine.

Blaine knows it is silly to think that he can change Archer’s mind and it isn’t like that dislike has manifested as anything more than having to pass out worksheets or calling on him more often in class, but it still makes Blaine uneasy to know that one of his teachers actively dislikes him.

It is what finds him settling into his seat right before the first bell rings, trying not to smile too broadly down at the table as he unpacks his books into neat stacks. Blaine might not be able to make Archer like him, but he refuses to make it easy for him to hate him either.

He is flipping through his folder when the loud scrape of a chair across the floor draws his attention, his neck craning to watch as Sebastian Smythe drops down into the seat next to him. Blaine stares bewilderedly at the sight, blinking slowly and wondering why, with the veritable sea of empty seats around them, he chose that one. They haven’t even really talked since that weird encounter in the gym, though Sebastian has taken to smirking at him whenever their eyes meet.

Sebastian drops his satchel with a thump on the table and it jolts Blaine out of his thoughts.

Blaine runs his tongue across his lower lip, shifting a little in his seat to ease the proximity between them (if only by an inch) and smoothes his fingers across the open page of his textbook as he offers a cautious, "Uh, hi?"

Sebastian’s head turns toward him, that slow, familiar smile crawling wide across his lips as his eyes dip towards Blaine, lingering just a little too long to be innocent before they flicker away, back to his books and he asks, "Where's your flock?"

It takes a moment for the response to sink in, something flustered crawling in beneath Blaine’s skin as his nose wrinkles in confusion. "Pardon?"

"Your little Warbler friends," there is an unsubtle twitch at the corner of Sebastian’s mouth as he speaks, every book dropping onto the growing pile in front of him thumping loudly in counterpoint to the inexplicably fast drum of Blaine’s heart. "I think this is the first time I've seen you without at least one of them trailing around after you."

"They aren't my flock," Blaine replies indignantly, turning in his seat to face Sebastian and almost jerking his knee away when it skims the other boy’s thigh.

The change in angle only serves to better highlight the skeptical raise of Sebastian’s eyebrows and the dismissive shrug, sharply undercut by the amusement in his voice when he says, "That's not what I heard."

Blaine firmly stomps down the desire to ask exactly what Sebastian had heard. He knows as well as anyone how much Dalton boys like their gossip, harmless or not.

The indignant reply of, “They’re my friends,” sounds petulant even to his ears.

It is made worse by the telltale tremor of laughter in Sebastian’s shoulders that he finds he can still see even when he is turning determinedly back to the front of the room, but Blaine refuses to rise to the bait. Instead he hooks his feet onto the support bar of his stool, well out of the collision range of Sebastian’s long, long legs and bites down on his lower lip.

Whatever it is that Sebastian wants from him, Blaine is determined that he isn’t going to get it.

"Here they come," Sebastian murmurs as he angles in toward Blaine, leaning across the distance between their seats and lowering his voice to ensure his commentary is solely for Blaine’s benefit.

It makes Blaine’s spine stiffen, his eyes shifting from where he can just glimpse Sebastian lazily inclined towards him, to the doorway where Jeff is wandering into the classroom. Jeff’s eyes scan the room before he catches sight of Blaine, his eyes shifting pointedly towards Sebastian before he raises his eyebrows. There is a question there, followed by a smile that says he isn’t going to be getting out of answering it, as Jeff moves past them to claim his seat.

Blaine cranes his neck around to frown when Sebastian laughs, low and quiet and his long legs stretch out beneath the table, inching into Blaine’s space.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Blaine finally mutters when he can no longer stand the pointed look fixed on the side of his face.

“It’s sweet,” Sebastian continues, condescension dripping from the smirk on his lips as he flips open his folder, shifting just enough to angle himself towards Blaine as he speaks. “People call them your fanclub.”

Blaine forces his eyes back to the front of the room, schooling his face the best he can as he bites back any response that he might have had, half-formed protests about being a team and them being his friends floundering. He is certain that Sebastian has no idea just how uncomfortable the idea that the Warblers treat him differently makes him, how it reminds him of Kurt’s casual barbs from last year and just how much they had made him wonder if any of the other Warblers felt the same way.

Sometimes I don’t feel like we’re the Warblers. I feel like we’re Blaine and the Pips.

He can feel heat crawling up the back of his neck beneath the weight of Sebastian's eyes, fixed to his profile as if he is just waiting out Blaine’s response long after he picks up his pen and tries to focus on what Archer is saying. Blaine is determined to ignore him, biting harder at his lip as Archer talks until he tastes blood.

It should be easier to ignore Sebastian when he is busy taking notes.

Instead there is a soft, sudden tap against the leg of his chair, completely out of sync with the steady rhythm of Sebastian's pen against his page that Blaine can’t seem to block out. It thrums through the metal, close to where his own feet are hooked onto the bar and Blaine pauses for a moment, running his tongue over the tender indents in his lip, and frowns down at his notes like he is just taking a break from writing.

Sebastian makes a soft noise that sticks in Blaine’s ears, like he finds Blaine’s determination funny, and it happens again, the tap of his shoe picking up something like a rhythm between the beats of his pen until Blaine jerks his head around to acknowledge him with a low whisper of, "What are you doing?"

“Getting your attention,” Sebastian replies, pausing in his incessant tapping to smile broadly at Blaine. “Did I offend you, Anderson?”

Blaine frowns down at his paper as he says, “No.”

“Good.” The reply gives him pause and when he glances over Sebastian is watching him intently, something in his eyes and the faint twitch of his lips catching Blaine’s attention and refusing to release it. “Because I heard that you’re the guy to ask for advice on how to fit in here at Dalton.”

He stares for a moment, searching Sebastian’s face for some sign that he is joking before something hot and ashamed washes over him when it becomes clear that Sebastian’s perfectly serious.

The reminder that Sebastian is a new student and that he is probably still trying to figure out who is who and how he is going to fit in is a sobering one. Blaine remembers how grateful he had been to Wes when he had taken him in under his wing during those first awkward weeks at Dalton, how intimidating that first view of those buildings had been when his arm was still stuck in a sling and he was besieged by rumors. He remembers how hard it had been for Kurt to adjust to Dalton last year.

Realizing that he has been projecting his own frustration at being back at Dalton on Sebastian doesn’t sit well with him at all.

Feeling suitably ashamed of himself Blaine summons up a smile, noting the way that Sebastian’s carefully neutral expression shifts just a little in response, and says, “Well I have been informed that I make an excellent tour guide, if you wanted.”

Sebastian’s response is a devastating flash of brilliant white teeth, stirring something that Blaine quickly determines as relief inside of him, before he says, “I bet you do.”

It draws an awkward laugh half up his throat before Blaine turns away, fixing his eyes firmly back on his books as he tries to stifle the blush that is rising in his cheeks (Sebastian probably didn’t even mean anything by it) and chokes out, “Great.”

Sebastian sounds far too amused, lips quirking ever so slightly when Blaine’s eyes dart over towards him, as he echoes, “Great. I look forward to any insights you can give me, Blaine.”

“As do I, Mr. Anderson,” Archer’s voice cuts in, loud and sudden and Blaine jerks his head around to find their teacher staring directly at him. “If you’re quite finished flirting, maybe you’d like to pass out these worksheets.”

Face burning anew, Blaine determinedly doesn’t look in Sebastian’s direction as he trudges to the front of the class to pick up the worksheets and begin his circuit of the room.

Apparently he’ll have to start his battle to win Archer over again another day.

--

It is surprisingly fun, showing Sebastian around the school grounds, even if it is starting to seem like Sebastian is more interested in asking questions about Blaine than the school itself.

He is sure to get bombarded with questions from his fellow Warblers about skipping their usual lunchtime plans to show the new kid around, but he is starting to find that the more time spent with Sebastian, the less abrasive his personality seems to be. Besides, it’s not like he hadn’t done the exact same thing for Kurt when he first arrived.

They spend half the lunch hour wandering around campus with Blaine pointing out things off the top of his head - the best parking spots and the shortcut between the arts wing and the science block out the back - and Sebastian telling his own stories in turn, about the trip he had taken over the summer to Milan and how he can’t seem to find decent coffee anywhere here. Blaine listens intently, a little surprised at just how hungry he is for the prospect of something so much bigger than Dalton and Ohio and small towns.

By the time Blaine realizes he has stopped mostly talking about the school and has spent the last ten minutes trading questions, they have ended up over by the student dorms.

“So, you’re a boarder huh?”

Blaine glances over from the corner of his eye, smiling a little hesitantly as he replies, “Yeah, I mean, it’s kind of a long way to drive every day and it wasn’t really practical when I first transferred, so.”

Sebastian grins and nudges his elbow into Blaine’s arm as he asks, “No wild dorm parties I should know about?”

“Now those are top secret,” Blaine informs him with a smile, glancing over at the dorms as he says, “I actually needed to pick up my folder for History, if you don’t mind?”

“Inviting me back to your dorm already, Anderson?” Sebastian asks, eyebrows raised.

Blaine rolls his eyes, laughing uncomfortably as he says, “You can wait here if you like.”

“And miss the rest of the tour?” Sebastian replies, lips twisted in that same far too amused smile, “No way, this is just starting to get good.”

It’s how he ends up with Sebastian following him down the corridor, peering curiously at the rows of closed doors with interest. Blaine is surprised to find that the door to his dorm is already open and when he cautiously sticks his head in he finds what he assumes are James’s legs sticking out from beneath his bed.

Sebastian leans in the doorway, peering down at the spectacle with interest as Blaine edges inside and asks, “Hey - are you alright?”

There is a thump and a groan before the legs start to shuffle backwards and Blaine hurriedly gets out of the way as James emerges, rubbing at the back of his head, and turns to look at Blaine in surprise. “I was looking for my Economics textbook,” he says when Blaine just stares at him, before his eyes turn towards Sebastian standing in the doorway and his eyebrows twitch upwards. “I can get out of your way if you wanted some-”

“No,” Blaine cuts him off immediately, certain he doesn’t want to know what James is about to say or hear it spoken out loud with Sebastian standing right there. “I’m just picking up my History folder.”

James shrugs, still rubbing at the back of his head before he glances meaningfully in Sebastian’s direction again and Blaine rolls his eyes before saying, “Sebastian, this is my roommate James. James this is Sebastian - he’s new here, I was just showing him around.”

“I think you’re in my math class,” James says brightly. “Seriously though, it’s cool if you wanted some alone time, you know. Just because most of us are cock-blocked by the lack of-”

“James, shut up,” Blaine cuts in, a little desperately.

“Say no more,” he continues, grabbing his backpack off his bed and smiling broadly as he backs towards the doorway, slipping past Sebastian with a broad smile. “I was never here. Nice to meet you, Sebastian.”

Blaine squeezes his eyes shut, takes a deep breath and hopes that Sebastian is going to miraculously forget that the last few minutes ever happened and that he won’t completely freak out over James’s complete misjudgement of the situation.

“Your roommate is very invested in your sex life,” Sebastian says, sounding entirely too amused and far closer than he had been, there is the soft thump of something hitting a mattress and Blaine cracks an eye open, glancing over to find Sebastian has dropped down onto his bed and is grimacing a little. “Though I can’t imagine he’s ever actually tried to have sex on one of these.”

“I am so sorry about that,” Blaine finally manages to get out, busying himself with rummaging through the papers on the little table he had managed to cram into his side of the room in search of his History folder. “My roommate apparently doesn’t have any boundaries. Or filter.”

“It doesn’t bother me if it doesn’t bother you,” Sebastian replies, leaning back onto his hands and smirking over at Blaine who pointedly keeps his eyes fixed away.

By the time he finally spots his folder and snags it out from beneath the pile of History notes it is with an almost palpable sense of relief, he stuffs it into his satchel as quickly as possible before daring to glance in Sebastian’s direction.

“We should get going,” Blaine says firmly when he finds that Sebastian is just watching him, the corner of his lip quirked up in a half-smile.

“I’m ready whenever you are,” Sebastian replies easily as he pushes himself back to his feet.

And if it sounds like Sebastian is talking about something else entirely as he brushes past Blaine in the doorway, close enough that Blaine gets a noseful of his cologne, he very pointedly chooses to ignore it.

--

He doesn't know what Sebastian thinks he is doing.

It's like every time Blaine sees him now he is talking to one of the other Warblers and he has even seen him talking to James, on occasion, since that awkward encounter in their dorm. Blaine distinctly remembers the look on Sebastian’s face the day he had called the Warblers Blaine’s fan club. It makes him wonder what has changed that they are now, apparently, worthy of Sebastian’s time.

There is something unsettling about watching Sebastian stroll into their English class looking for all the world like he is actually listening to what Trent is saying, but even more unsettling is Trent announcing, "I was just telling Sebastian he should come along to our auditions next week."

Blaine smiles in response, because he knows that there is no logical reason for him to not want Sebastian to join the Warblers, and says, "That sounds like a great idea."

Sebastian gives him one of those looks that make him feel like he is utterly transparent and says, "Trent was saying you sometimes put on performances for the rest of the school."

"Yeah," Nick says brightly, "They tend to shut the school down."

"Oh," Sebastian is practically laughing at them, his eyebrows raised as he glances over to Nick before looking back at Blaine. "I can’t wait to see one then."

"Great," Blaine murmurs to himself as Sebastian drops into the seat behind him.

"Great," Sebastian echoes, low enough that Blaine's sure he is the only one who was supposed to hear it.

He doesn’t dare turn around to see if Sebastian is half as amused as he sounds.

--

Blaine could probably talk to Kurt about this.

He should probably talk to Kurt about this.

The problem is trying to get a word in edgewise.

Kurt has so much going on, a list that seems to grow longer by the day as he looks for things to stack his NYADA applications with, but the topics that dominate their nightly phone calls are always the same. Play auditions, glee club and Kurt’s campaign for student class president.

It’s not even that Blaine minds talking about any one of those things, it is actually kind of nice to listen to Kurt talk with such enthusiasm while he slogs through his daily allotment of homework. The problem is that whenever Blaine so much as mentions Dalton or the Warblers, there is a distinct chill that Blaine can feel all the way through the phone line.

Blaine is starting to think that maybe Kurt isn’t quite as okay with him not transferring as he has been led to believe.

“It was a complete nightmare,” Kurt bemoans as Blaine triumphantly scrawls his final answer down on his Biology worksheet and sets it aside. “I don’t think anyone has ever grapevined for that long in the history of showchoir. The power has completely gone to Mike’s head.”

“It sounds like you guys are really taking things seriously this year,” Blaine replies as he unclicks his pen and starts sorting his homework back into piles, ready to be put back into his satchel.

There is a beat of silence and Blaine wonders, for a minute, if he said something wrong before Kurt says, “Maybe we shouldn’t be talking about this.”

Blaine frowns, slipping his Biology homework into his textbook so it won’t get wrinkled and asks, “What do you mean?”

Kurt makes an odd noise and Blaine can hear him shifting around before he says, “It’s just something Finn said the other day. I mean, we are rivals again now.”

“Okay,” Blaine replies after a moment.

He must sound uncertain because Kurt hurries to add, “It’s not that they think you would ever steal our ideas or anything.”

“No, it’s fine,” Blaine agrees, silencing the part of him that thinks that is exactly how it sounds. “We’ll just talk about something else.”

There is silence for a moment, like Kurt doesn’t entirely believe him, before he speaks again, practically brimming with enthusiasm as he asks, “Okay, well, did I tell you about the campaign posters I’ve been making yet?”

--

While his first few weeks back at Dalton may not have been easy, Blaine is kind of surprised at just how smoothly he and Kurt have adjusted to the constraints that distance places on their relationship.

They text and they call a lot and Blaine spends a lot of time wishing that the dorms had WiFi because he misses seeing him, misses kissing him and holding his hand and looking at him while they drink their coffee and just talk, but he thinks it will get easier when he is finally able to make it home for weekends again.

Of course that means that it is all a little too good to last.

--

He has been back at school for what is approaching three weeks, but over the course of the past week, the initial enthusiasm of Kurt's text updates has been starting to wane, something distracted and upset starting to enter Kurt’s voice during their phone calls at night.

It is when the texts he does get start to grow steadily gloomier over the course of the week that Blaine begins to worry.

Brittany's running against me for student class president.

Mercedes left the glee club.

Wish me luck for my audition.

And after that, there is nothing. There are no enthusiastic replies when Blaine texts him to ask how the audition went, he misses first one phone call and then another without explanation, and doesn’t pick up when Blaine tries to call him instead. Blaine is starting to really worry - is considering calling him at home or texting Rachel to ask what is going on when he gets a curt text that reads, Can’t talk - there’s a lot going on, that may as well have said, I don’t want to talk about it.

Blaine finds himself wondering if he has done something wrong. He runs through their last phone call wondering if he had said anything that could have upset him, if they are in a fight and he just doesn't know it. By the end of the second day he has gotten himself worked up enough with worrying that, rather than risk biting James's head off when he gets back from lacrosse tryouts, he heads down to the gym.

There are only a few people still milling around at this time of day and nobody pays him much attention where he sits in the locker room, carefully taping up his fingers before pulling his gloves into place. The coach knows him well enough that nobody will bother him.

Someone is lifting weights in the corner but the room is otherwise deserted and Blaine ignores them in favor of making a beeline for the corner where the punching bag is set up. The first swing is little more than a tap, just to center himself, and he shifts his feet accordingly, finding a better balance before he picks up a rhythm and lets go.

Things get easier, after that. Blaine likes the uncomplicated burn of his arms and the slow ache that builds in his fists. He likes the way the motions come naturally to him now; how they feel practiced and earned by every hour he has spent laying his frustrations bare into the unchanging surface before him. Every hit breaks another piece off of the tightly wound ball of frustration that has taken up residence in his chest.

Blaine can feel the way it unravels like twine, falling away to nothing until the pressure in his chest gives way to the rapid expansion of his lungs and the jackhammer of his heart, replacing the numbing, hopeless frustration that has been sitting there, leaden, for the past two days. He doesn't know how long he has been at it before his muscles start to relax and the tense, angry set of his shoulders softens into something more fluid and easy.

His breathing is loud in his ears when foreign fingers curl around the sides of the punching bag, holding it in place and Blaine drops his fists automatically. His arms hang heavy at his sides, hands feeling like lead, his muscles wobbly and kitten-weak with the loss of momentum and he wonders how long he has been at it to feel like that.

Without the smack of his gloves against the bag there is only the labored sound of his breathing, loud in the still air, and an amused voice interjecting, "Easy there, Killer."

Sebastian looks different out of the uniform, broader or taller somehow without the stiff shape of the blazer. Though that could just be because of the proximity.

Blaine takes a step back as he wipes the sting of sweat from his forehead with the back of his forearm, tugging at the straps of his glove with his teeth to get it undone and eyeing Sebastian warily as he asks, “What are you still doing here?”

The frustration that he had been feeling earlier has all but burnt out, leaving only the heavy feeling of exhaustion that follows whenever he spends too long in the gym. He wishes he had thought to bring a towel with him as he reflexively reaches a hand to his hair and grimaces at the slimy feel of gel displaced by sweat, inexplicably self-conscious as Sebastian edges back into his line of sight.

Sebastian is wearing a generic version of the Dalton gym uniform, but is carrying what Blaine recognizes from the growing pile of junk that occasionally creeps out from beneath James’s bed as lacrosse pads beneath one arm.

“Lacrosse tryouts, huh?” Blaine answers himself once he has tugged both hands free from his gloves and lets them drop to his feet, flexing his hands with a wince.

“So you’re not just a pretty face then,” Sebastian says and Blaine laughs in spite of himself, eyeing the way Sebastian’s hair is drooping limply across his forehead with more fascination than he can really justify.

He looks away before Sebastian can call him out for staring or anything equally as embarrassing and instead glances down at his hands, trying to rub some of the stiffness from his fingers before he sets to work unraveling the tape and asks, “So, did you make the team?”

“Of course, no surprises there,” Sebastian replies, with an amused tip of his head and Blaine can practically feel the blatant drag of Sebastian’s eyes up his body before he says, “I wouldn’t have picked you for the boxing type.”

Blaine scoffs a little at that, picking the last of the scraps of tape from his fingers before balling it all up into one hand and rolling his shoulders back to try and loosen them up. “I find it relaxing.”

“I can think of a few better ways to help you relax,” Sebastian replies with a slow quirk of his lips, pushing his hair back off his face.

Awkward laughter bubbles up his throat and he is ducking his chin, halfway to the conditioned response of rolling his eyes or brushing it off that he has learned all too well over the years, when he notices how intently Sebastian is watching him.

Oh.

The laugh dies, choked off at the back of his throat and heat crawls beneath his skin at the realization that Sebastian isn’t joking.

He clears his throat to cover the silence, lowering his eyes and feeling unaccountably self-conscious as he says, “Boxing works just fine for me.”

There is a stifled huff of laughter as Blaine stoops to gather up his gloves, tucking his arms around his chest as he stands again and feeling strangely defensive when he meets Sebastian’s eyes.

“Clearly,” Sebastian replies with a pointed dip of his eyes. “For the record, this whole bashful schoolboy thing you’ve got going works just fine for you too.”

Blaine looks away, biting down on his lower lip and schooling his expression to hide the twinge of a smile that is threatening to spread across his face, because he knows that this is not okay, that he has to put a stop to it as soon as possible, but the realization that there are boys out there who might find him attractive is still a bit of a novelty.

“Look Sebastian,” he starts, forcing his chin up to look Sebastian in the eyes as he says, “I have a boyfriend.”

“So the rumor mill tells me,” Sebastian replies as he swipes limp strands of hair from his eyes. “Which one is it? The blond that keeps giving me the eye in Bio or the one with the dimples who looks like he wants to cry every time you speak to him?”

Heat floods his cheeks as he shakes his head, not entirely sure that he wants to know who Sebastian means by the latter, and his mood dims with the reminder as he says, “Kurt doesn’t go to Dalton anymore. He lives in Lima.”

Sebastian’s eyebrows inch upward, the barest hint of a smirk still present on his lips as he says, “Lima huh? No wonder you’re in here working out all of that frustration on inanimate objects.”

There is a lazy roll of Sebastian’s shoulders as he takes a step forward and then another and Blaine’s feet may as well be stuck to the floor for all that he can seem to move, his eyes following Sebastian’s slow advance towards and then past him. Sebastian lets out a low noise just as he passes by and Blaine catches his eyes dipping low and across as he turns his head.

It is suddenly made obvious what Sebastian was looking at as he laughs out, “Such a waste.”

The back of his neck is still burning as he listens to Sebastian retreat, calling a bored, “Later Blaine,” over his shoulder before the door to the weights room swings shut behind him.

It is too quiet in Sebastian’s wake and Blaine glances around the deserted gym in sudden jarring awareness, wondering what the time is and how long he has been there. The usual calm that follows a session with the punching bag has deserted him, leaving only aching knuckles and buzzing skin and the traitorous pounding of his heart for his efforts.

The reminder of Kurt sears through him, guilt mingling with the annoyance and the worry that has followed two days of almost complete radio silence and that makes it worse because he didn’t even do anything.

He squashes the balled up tape inside in his fist and takes a deep steadying breath.

Somehow, he gets the impression that this is only just starting.

--

He waits until it is clear that Kurt isn’t going to be calling before he makes his decision. If Kurt is angry at him, he needs to know why, and there is one person who he is certain will know exactly what is going on.

It is harder than he expected it to be to compose a message that is vague enough that Rachel won’t figure out that Kurt isn’t talking to him if she doesn’t already know but will hopefully garner him some insight into what is happening. How are things at McKinley?

It takes all of a minute before his phone is buzzing back at him, but the indignant response only holds more questions.

Tell Kurt that if he wants information on my campaign he can ask me himself.

Blaine stares down at it for a long time, suddenly exhausted by the revelation that it has been a grand total of three weeks since he last saw Kurt and he apparently has absolutely no idea what is going on in his life.

--

Kurt finally calls the next night, his voice determinedly cheerful, like he hasn’t just been ignoring Blaine for the past two days, and it is clear that something isn’t quite right when he says, “I got Tony.”

“Of course you did,” Blaine replies immediately, because strange behavior or not, Blaine has never doubted that Kurt would get the role he wanted.

“If only everyone was so easily convinced,” Kurt replies wryly, his voice a little strained, but it doesn’t long outlive the more genuine enthusiasm he starts to muster as he outlines his plans for Tony’s costume.

“That yellow blazer should have been retired in the eighties,” Kurt declares firmly.

“I like the blazer,” Blaine replies lightly, “It adds authenticity.”

“Of course you like the blazer,” Kurt retorts, his voice a little sharper than he had probably intended, because he immediately amends, “You’ll have to help me pick out alternatives this weekend.”

A smile breaks across Blaine’s face at the reminder that he is finally going to be allowed to leave for the weekend again as he laughs, “I can’t wait. I’ve been going completely stir crazy stuck in these dorms again, I miss you.”

Kurt makes a sympathetic noise and adds, “I miss you too. It’s like everyone at McKinley has lost their minds. Did I tell you about Quinn?”

And it is so easy to just talk to Kurt again, to let their conversation drift wherever it wants to and the past few days have been a jarring enough reminder of how much he misses talking to him face to face, seeing him whenever he wants to, that he doesn’t want to ruin it by asking what had happened. It’s nice enough that Blaine hesitates before tentatively bringing Rachel up, that strange text at the forefront of his thoughts, and doesn’t push for answers when Kurt blows the subject off.

“Anything exciting happen at Dalton?” Kurt asks and the question makes him tense a little, dragging a hand across his bedspread and staring up at the ceiling as he considers his answer. “Added any new, shiny Katy Perry showstoppers to your repertoire?”

Blaine rolls his eyes and laughs a little, reminded for a moment of maybe we shouldn’t talk about this as he says, “I’ll have you know that’s highly classified information. The council would have me up for treason if I said anything.”

Kurt laughs and the sound soothes away some of the worry he has been feeling whenever Dalton comes up in their conversations now. He knows that there are things he could tell Kurt, that he could bring up Archer’s ridiculous vendetta or the miserable event that has been every Warbler meeting this year. He should tell Kurt about what happened in the gym the other day. Instead when the line falls quiet again he says, “You know Dalton, same as always.”

He will tell Kurt everything this weekend, when they are face to face, so he can be certain of his reaction. It’s not like there is anything to tell anyway.

By the time they hang up, it is almost like nothing had even happened.

James wanders in right as he is hanging up, shaking his dripping mass of hair in Blaine’s direction on his way past before he collapses backwards onto his mattress and moans, “Stop smiling like that. It makes me feel like you were having phone sex before I came in and dude, boundaries.”

Blaine throws a pillow at him.

--

Friday can’t come quickly enough for him.

There is a restless energy buzzing beneath his skin that is there from the moment he wakes up that he can’t seem to shake. Sebastian’s eyes follow the drum of his fingers across his textbook throughout Biology and Nick forcibly confiscates the pen he has been tapping against his page in Math with a pointed scowl.

Gym is the only class of the day where he doesn’t feel like he is ready to burst out of his skin, the rhythmic slap of his sneakers against the track is steadying amidst the nerves that nothing can quite seem to settle. He knows that it is ridiculous, that there is no reason he should be nervous about getting to see Kurt again, but the exercise at least seems to help.

It is warm enough that he can feel his gym shirt starting to stick to his back within three laps, his breath forming in soft panting gasps as he circles the track. He is so focused that it takes him a few moments to recognize when someone falls into step with him, the slap of their feet just slightly out of sync with his own.

Blaine blinks back into focus, his eyes shifting curiously to the side to catch sight of Sebastian’s profile before he quickly looks back to the track.

Since that conversation in the weights room Blaine has started noticing things that he hadn’t let himself give any thought to before. Sebastian hasn’t said anything since, but Blaine gets the impression from the way he smirks when he meets Blaine’s eyes sometimes that it hasn’t been forgotten.

He thinks he should probably be putting a bit of distance between them, that he should be ensuring Sebastian knows that he isn’t interested in anything like that, but Blaine has found that his resolve always seems to falter when he is actually in Sebastian’s presence. The problem is that he likes talking to Sebastian, that he is interesting and different from the other boys that Blaine knows.

The problem is that for some inexplicable reason Blaine really wants to be friends with him.

“Are those even regulation?” Sebastian asks, voice steady but the pointed dip of his eyes when Blaine glances over is answer enough to his confusion.

“Shut up,” he scoffs back, rolling his eyes as one hand smoothes self-consciously over the material of his shorts.

“Practically indecent, Anderson,” Sebastian replies with a shrug. “Here was I wondering why half the class was loitering back there.”

Blaine is suddenly absurdly grateful for the warm flush of exercise, if only for how well it conceals the heat of the blush that is crawling up his neck. The last thing Sebastian needs is encouragement.

“They are not,” he replies, leveling a pointed look in Sebastian’s direction that is met with only an amused shrug of his shoulders.

“I wouldn’t blame them if they were though,” Sebastian continues easily, “It was a fantastic view.”

Hurriedly swallowing the inexplicable laugh that bubbles up his throat, Blaine sends what he hopes is a thoroughly disapproving stare in Sebastian’s direction instead. From the self-satisfied expression on Sebastian’s face, it isn’t nearly as successful as he had hoped.

“They were the only ones left in my size when I transferred,” Blaine informs him, following it up with a quelling look when Sebastian grins and looks like he is going to say something else.

For a while they fall into silence, the synchronized pound of their shoes against the track and panting breaths the only punctuation to their progress. But it doesn’t take long for Sebastian to break the lull in conversation. “What’s with you today?”

Glancing over, Blaine studies Sebastian for a second, forehead furrowing as he asks, “What do you mean?”

“You’ve been wired all day,” Sebastian replies with a laugh and Blaine is just a little preoccupied by the color that is starting to rise beneath Sebastian’s skin. He looks warm and flushed, a few strands of hair just starting to droop across his forehead and his eyes all the brighter for the exertion. “I thought Archer was going to staple your hands to the table this morning.”

He shrugs a little, focusing on the track ahead as he says, “I’m not wired – I’m just, excited for the weekend.”

There is the slightest quirk of Sebastian’s lips as he pauses for just a moment, just long enough that Blaine wonders if he imagined it, before he says, “You sure about that? You look like you need to relax to me.”

Blaine narrows his eyes, “I’m fine.”

“My offer still stands,” Sebastian replies with a shrug. “It’s not like anybody needs to know. You don’t even have to tell your little Lima boyfriend if you don’t want to.”

“I never want to mess my thing up with him,” Blaine says between breaths, a hint of annoyance working in beneath his skin when he notes the way Sebastian just shrugs it off. “I really care about him.”

“Wait a minute – that’s what this is, isn’t it?” Sebastian asks, laughing to himself. “I didn’t know you had it in you, Anderson. Weekend booty call?”

Blaine is pretty sure that nothing could hide the blush this time, heat crawling beneath his skin as he shakes his head and insists, “It isn’t like that.”

The laughter dies off, Sebastian glancing over and Blaine is at least satisfied that he is starting to sound out of breath as well as he murmurs, “Pity.”

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Blaine glances away at the sound of their coach yelling to pick up the pace. And it may be kind of childish, but growing up with Cooper had certainly taught him his fair share of tricks, so he lets Sebastian draw just a step ahead before aiming a light tap at the back of Sebastian’s knee.

Blaine picks up his pace as soon as Sebastian’s knee folds beneath him, the sound of Sebastian cursing with surprise as he falls behind bringing a broad smile to his face.

A call of, “You’re breaking my heart here, Anderson,” follows after him and he bites down on the smile that determinedly tries to stretch wider across his face.

Instead he glances over his shoulder and waves as he calls back a cheerful, “Bye, Sebastian.”

The smile doesn’t fade until long after he has left the locker room.

--