Right As Rain, Chapter Six
VI. Blaine
"Hey, faggot," Karofsky said as he passed, shoulder-checking Blaine into his locker. Blaine hit the metal hard, teeth biting into his lip as he fell. Karofsky glanced over his shoulder, smirking, as he walked away.
Just a minute, Blaine thought. Just one minute and then I'll get up and continue with my day like nothing happened. Like I do every day.
He was starting to get tired of the charade.
"Are you okay?"
Tina was standing in front of him, her eyes concerned, her hand stretched out towards him.
"Yeah," he said, forcing a smile as he took it.
He and Tina had never really been close. They were both sophomores-the only sophomores in Glee club besides Artie and Sam, actually-but for some reason, they'd never talked much. She was dating Mike, who Blaine was a little bit closer to, so they'd exchanged friendly smiles and words once in a while, but...
"Locker checks can be rough," she said, sympathetically.
Blaine reached up to his mouth to swipe a droplet of blood away from his lip. "You're telling me," he agreed.
Tina hesitated. "Look, I know we all get our fair share of locker checks and dumpster tosses and slushies. It kind of goes with the territory of Glee club. But what Karofsky's doing to you... it seems like he's targeting you specifically."
"He's not," Blaine said, shortly.
Tina studied his face. Her concerned expression was almost too much for him to handle, and he turned away. "I have class."
"American Lit," Tina said, promptly.
Blaine glanced at her, warily.
"I'm in your class," she reminded him. "You sit in the front, I sit in the back. That's probably why you don't remember."
"Oh," Blaine said softly, reaching into his still-open locker to grab his lit book. "I'm sorry, I just--"
"You like to focus in class," Tina said, closing his locker for him. "You don't have to apologize for that. Mike's the same way."
They began to walk, slowly. Blaine's hip ached where it had banged into the locker.
"Promise me something?" Tina asked, as they reached the door to their American Literature classroom. "If it gets too bad, or even worse than it already is in any way at all, please tell somebody?"
Blaine's lips curled downwards in a slight frown.
"It doesn't have to be Mr. Schue," Tina said. "God knows he doesn't exactly do much of anything to help us out now. But... Kurt, or Santana, or Rachel. Somebody, okay? I know you and I aren't exactly friends, but I'm always here if you need me."
Blaine blinked.
He wasn't really accustomed to people just being kind to him, no ulterior motives or hidden agenda or bitter, sarcastic cynicism cutting out the true meaning of what they were saying. Santana was great, but she had always shielded affection with insults and condescension, and lately she had been distant and sad. Quinn nearly always had an ulterior motive to her kindness. Rachel was wonderful, but ambitious, sometimes tactless, and often selfish.
Tina was standing there, simply being kind.
Blaine wondered again why they weren't really friends.
"I will, Tina. Thank you."
Blaine set his books down on his usual desk, looking up in surprise when Tina set down her bag at the desk next to him.
"You don't mind, do you?" she asked.
He found he didn't.
* * *
Kurt was standing by his locker when he finally left the American Lit classroom, having stayed behind to speak to his teacher. He stopped, blinking a little.
He hadn't seen Kurt at all yet that day, and he had to admit that it was a little bit jarring to see Kurt out of his uniform at school.
Kurt bit at his lip, pulling himself away from the locker and straightening up. "Hi."
"Hi," Blaine said, feeling irritatingly breathless at the way Kurt's lip slid from between his teeth, pink and wet and full. At the way Kurt's eyelashes fluttered over blue-gray eyes, at the way his nose crinkled in the most adorable way when he smiled.
"Are you busy after school today?"
Glee practice had been canceled for the day, the official reason being that Mr. Schue had a dentist's appointment. The unofficial, but widely acknowledged reason was that he was confronting the World's Hottest Dentist about the nature of his relationship with Emma. Dr. Howell had only been into Glee Club once to talk about oral hygiene, but Blaine could see why Miss Pillsbury had chosen him over Mr. Schuester.
"Do you want to practice for our duet again?" It was in two days, and Blaine knew that Kurt was nervous about it, even if he tried to hide it.
"I had something a little bit different in mind." For some reason, Kurt looked nervous, worrying his lip between his teeth once more. "Cheerios practice got canceled today-Coach Sylvester said that she wanted to go to the dentist's too so she could laugh at Mr. Schuester."
Blaine blinked, his mouth rounding into a little 'o' of surprise.
"So I was thinking that we could do something," Kurt said, his cheeks pinkening. He didn't meet Blaine's eyes, choosing instead to focus on what was apparently a particularly interesting patch of wall behind Blaine's head.
"Sure!" Blaine said, cheerfully, although he was certain that Kurt could hear his heartbeat from where he stood. "What did you have in mind? Did you want to head to the Lima mall?"
"No," Kurt said, quickly. "Santana and her posse will be hanging out around there and I would rather not be around them, if at all possible."
"Santana isn't that bad if you get to know her, Kurt," Blaine protested, mildly.
"She's a good friend to you, Blaine," Kurt said, his eyes cool as they met Blaine's. "I won't argue that. But she doesn't like me, and she doesn't like me hanging around you. She's made her view on that very clear. I'd rather not fan the fire of her wrath, if you don't mind."
"Of course not," Blaine said, properly chastised. "Then what should we do?"
Kurt bit his lip again. "How do you feel about archery?"
Blaine blinked, taken aback. That was not at all what he'd expected. "Archery?"
"Yes, Blaine." Kurt sounded a little exasperated. "You know, a bow and arrow? You shoot the arrow at targets?"
"Also known as toxophily, first introduced into the Olympics in 1900, one who practices is typically known as an archer or bowman. I know what archery is, Kurt." Blaine ran a hand softly over his hair, checking for errant curls. "I was just surprised, that's all. Isn't archery a little... nerdy?"
Kurt recoiled, visibly hurt. "Well, if you don't want to go, fine. It was just a suggestion." His backbone pushed into his usual ramrod-straight posture, his hands tightening into fists at his sides.
"No!" Blaine reached out a hand unthinkingly, grasping at Kurt's. "Hold on, Kurt, I didn't mean it that way. I was just surprised. I'd love to do archery with you. Where do you go?"
"There's a place nearby. A kind of shooting range," Kurt said, relaxing visibly at Blaine's touch. "I have my own bow, but you'll have to rent one out."
"That's fine," Blaine said, smiling at Kurt in what he hoped was a reassuring way. "Do you just want to meet at your car after class?"
"That would work perfectly," Kurt said, smiling with the corners of his mouth. He glanced down at his and Blaine's hands, still clasped together, and gave Blaine's hand a quick squeeze before dropping it and turning to quickly stride away.
Blaine slumped against the lockers, a ridiculously silly grin spread across his face.
* * *
"So where is this place?" Blaine asked, sliding the seatbelt across his body.
Kurt smiled, serenely. "You'll see."
They fell into silence, both relaxing back into their seats to listen to the music playing softly over Kurt's stereo. Blaine had never been one to be comfortable with silence-he'd always made idle chatter during what he considered awkward silent moments, no matter who he was talking to.
With Kurt, it was different. And as silly as it sounded, it was part of the reason Kurt was just special. Silence never felt awkward with Kurt. He never felt the need to fill it up with inane remarks about the weather or school or Glee. He was content to just sit in companionable silence.
"So," Blaine said, finally, as Kurt pulled into a tree-enclosed parking lot with uneven pavement and faded paint lines. "Is there a reason for archery, or?"
Kurt shut his door gently behind him, walking around the car to pull his bow from the back seat. "My mom, actually."
Blaine's eyebrows lifted slightly. He knew that Kurt's mom had died in a car accident when he was young-everyone knew, actually, which was why Kurt never had "your mom" jokes thrown at him. It was part of the football jocks' twisted sense of morals, right up there with how they refused to punch Artie because he was in a wheelchair, but would still slushie him and lock him in the port-o-potties.
Kurt locked the car behind him, and strode towards the small shack at the corner of the large field. Blaine jogged a bit to catch up to him.
"Hi, Max," Kurt said, leaning against the scuffed counter.
"Mister Hummel." Max was mid-forties, with several earrings in one ear and a carefully styled mop of blond curls. "How are you? I haven't seen you in a while."
Kurt shifted a little, brushing against Blaine, his hand reaching to brush Blaine's side. Blaine tucked himself a bit closer, delighting in the hot shudder that vibrated under his skin at the touch of Kurt's fingertips. "Cheerleading practice and Glee club take up a lot of my time," he explained. "But I happened to have a free afternoon today."
"And you brought a friend," Max said, and there was something in his eyes when he looked at Blaine, a little smirk twitching around his lips.
When Blaine looked at Kurt, there was color in his cheeks and he steadfastly ignored Blaine's questioning gaze. "Yes, well. He needs a bow, if you could. And arrows, please."
Max eyeballed Blaine a little. "You're, what, 5'6"?"
Blaine flushed. "5'7", actually," he said, a little too hotly, and Kurt laughed softly from beside him.
"Don't laugh at me. It's a sore spot," Blaine murmured, folding his arms across his chest.
Kurt reached up to tug at them, gently unfolding them with strong, deft fingers. "I think you're the perfect height, Blaine."
Blaine fought the smile that was threatening. "Thank you," he said instead, his voice somewhat haughty.
"Any time," Kurt said, and when Blaine looked over, his ears were red and his gaze was fixed on the wall.
"This should be the right size," Max said, sliding a slightly worn-looking wooden bow across the counter. "Kurt prefers recurve, so I assumed he might want you to use that too--easier for him to teach." He placed a sheaf of arrows beside the bow. "And the arrows."
Blaine picked them up, shooting a quick glance at Kurt to see how to hold them. "Thank you."
"Thanks, Max," Kurt said, curving a hand around Blaine's elbow. "We'll be at the last target."
They walked in silence. Kurt hadn't let go of Blaine's elbow-Blaine wondered if he remembered that it was even there; he looked caught up in thought. His face was somewhat troubled.
"So," Blaine said, a little hesitantly, holding up the bow. "I've never done this before."
"I can help you," Kurt said, appearing to shake off whatever thoughts had been clouding his mind. "If I'm a horrible teacher, though, you can't say I didn't warn you."
"I doubt you'll be a horrible teacher," Blaine said, drawing an arrow from the sheaf and pointing it at Kurt teasingly. "And even if you were, how would I know the difference?"
Kurt's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"
"Name one good teacher at McKinley."
"Ah."
"So do I just--" Blaine slid the arrow into place, pulled back the string, and let it fly. It went about four feet and landed in the grass with a soft thump.
Kurt had his hand over his eyes. He was laughing.
"Perfect, right?" Blaine asked, his arms lifted triumphantly into the air. He nearly clocked himself with the bow in the process, ducking just in time.
"You're a natural," Kurt said, his voice wry and his expression deadpan.
Blaine bowed.
"Just watch me?" Kurt suggested, and Blaine nodded.
Kurt's posture went rigid, his right arm high and level with his eyes and bent sharply at the elbow, drawing back the bowstring, his left arm holding the bow straight out in front of him. He took a moment, letting a long breath whistle out through slightly parted lips, and released the string.
Straight in the bulls-eye.
Blaine shook his head disbelievingly as Kurt turned, his expression smug. "You continue to surprise me every day, Kurt Hummel."
"I hope that's a good thing," Kurt said, his voice teasing as he drew and notched another arrow between his pointer and middle finger. "Okay, one more time, and then I'll help you, okay?"
The second arrow hit right beside the first, and Blaine broke into applause as Kurt turned and bowed. "Very well done."
"Are you right-handed or left?" Kurt asked, gesturing with his bow.
"Both," Blaine said, grinning.
Kurt blinked.
"I'm ambidextrous," Blaine explained. "When I was five I taught myself how to write with both hands."
"And you say I'm full of surprises," Kurt murmured. "Which hand do you tend to favor?"
"My left," Blaine said, and Kurt got into position-the reverse of what he'd been doing before.
"You just want to gaze through-there's a little scope sort of thing on your arrow, do you see it?"
"Yes."
"That's how you take aim-do you have it?"
"Yes."
"Okay, now release."
The arrow missed the target by about a foot.
Kurt sighed, but he was laughing.
"I'm sorry!" Blaine protested. "I'm not very good with hand-eye coordination. There's a reason I don't play any sports, you know."
"Here," Kurt said, and slid up behind Blaine to fix his posture. He pushed on Blaine's back, pulled his elbow back until Blaine felt his shoulder strain. "Hold this for a second, really let yourself feel it."
For a moment, they were silent, close enough to hear each other's breath.
"My mom used to take me here," Kurt said, his voice hardly a breath above a whisper. "She learned how to do this in Girl Scouts when she was little and it stuck with her ever since. As soon as I was old enough, she got me a little beginner's bow and began teaching me herself."
Blaine was still. His arm ached, but he didn't dare move. Kurt seemed to be in a trance as he spoke, his voice misty and far-away.
"It reminds me of her. She used to be a cheerleader, too, did you know that?"
He seemed to be expecting some sort of reaction, so Blaine made a small noise of surprise.
"It's the reason I do it," Kurt said, softly, his breath ghosting across the back of Blaine's neck, warm and cool all at once. "I like the reminder."
Blaine turned his head.
Kurt's eyes were light green, and they were fixed on Blaine's. They were so close Blaine could see the tiny flecks of blue and gray in Kurt's irises, could count each individual eyelash surrounding. Could feel Kurt's breath, sweeping warm across his nose and lips.
Kurt's eyes flickered down to Blaine's mouth.
Kissing distance.
Blaine's heart was staging a revolt, climbing high into his throat. His lungs couldn't seem to pull in enough oxygen.
And then Kurt pulled himself away, busying himself with straightening Blaine's elbow once more. "I think you're ready," he said with a smile, a clear dismissal of whatever it was that had just happened. "Remember how to take aim?"
"No," Blaine said, perhaps a touch too peevishly. He let the arrow fly.
Second ring, this time, and Kurt's beaming smile made his heart flutter stupidly in his chest.
* * *
They were silent as they got back into the car.
"Thank you," Blaine said, finally, as Kurt was pulling out of the parking lot.
Kurt blinked in surprise. "What for?"
Blaine shrugged. "I don't know. For sharing that with me? It meant something to you. So thank you."
He kept his eyes fixed on Kurt, even as Kurt stared straight ahead, a small smile playing the corner of his lips. The late afternoon sun glowed through the window behind Kurt, lighting his face in profile, a dark silhouette against the bright yellow of the sky.
It was unexpected, the way he felt sometimes. The strong tug in his chest, the actual ache he felt at his smile and his laugh and at the way Kurt's eyelashes sometimes fluttered so prettily over his blue-grey-green eyes. The longing he felt was strong, painful, so intense that he almost couldn't breathe with it. He'd wanted before, but only fleetingly; brief crushes on boys who were cute or thoughtful or particularly talented singers (he would never, ever own up to the two-day crush he'd once had on Noah Puckerman).
Kurt was different. Kurt was real and flawed and so beautiful that Blaine felt like exploding every second he wasn't touching him. Kurt made him feel giddy and reckless and scared and strong and hopeless and over the moon all at once. Kurt made him feel like twirling around singing classic love songs and like burying himself in his covers and refusing to come out for the rest of his sophomore year. Kurt made him feel teenaged sometimes, in a way he hadn't since he'd moved out of his parents' house. Kurt made him feel like a stupid fifteen year old boy with a crush.
Kurt also made him feel different.
When he looked at Kurt's face, half in shadow now as the setting sun made a picture around them, he felt like a fifteen-year-old boy with his first real crush. He also felt like something deeper, something stronger, something that was so frustratingly difficult to describe that it itched at his skin when he tried to. It eluded him whenever he tried to grasp at whatever it was that he was feeling. It was so beyond his fifteen and a half years of life that it hurt his brain to think about what it could be, and why it was that way. Why it felt so right when Kurt's hand touched his, when Kurt smiled just for him. Why Kurt doing those things, above anyone else, gave him such a sense of joy and satisfaction and complete and utter fulfillment.
Why he felt the things that he felt when Kurt sang.
Kurt's fingers came down to tap against his on the steering wheel. "You're quiet."
"Just thinking," Blaine said, and his whole body leaned towards the touch of Kurt's fingertips.
Kurt glanced at him quickly, his attention flitting back to the road ahead. "How are things with Karofsky?"
Blaine wanted to lie. But he wouldn't, not to Kurt, not now. "As good as they can be."
"That was surprisingly cryptic, for you," Kurt said, turning into Cooper's driveway and cutting the engine. "Would you like to explain what you mean by that?"
"Things with Karofsky are what they've always been," Blaine said, his tone even. "It's nothing that I can't handle, and Tina--"
"Specifics, please, Blaine?" Kurt said, lightly, but his eyes were hard. "I'm not stupid. I know he targets you more than anyone else in Glee Club and I know why."
Blaine sighed, fidgeting under Kurt's gaze. He'd gotten so good at lying about Karofsky's actions and words to people who heard what they wanted to hear-Principal Figgins, Mr. Schuester, most of the Glee club. But here was Kurt, sitting beside him and insisting on hearing everything, and not the PG version.
"Just the usual," Blaine murmured, eyes flickering up underneath his eyelashes to gauge Kurt's reaction. "Locker checks, slushies. Dumpster tosses sometimes, but less often now than they were last year."
Kurt's hands clenched into fists against his thighs, bunching the fabric of his pants tight between his fingers.
Blaine reached over to prise his fingers apart from each other, ignoring the hard thud of his heartbeat at the warmth of Kurt's fingers. He tried not to notice the way Kurt's hands fit against his, long-fingered and warm and slightly bigger than his own.
"This is what happens to me, Kurt," Blaine said, gently. "It's kind of how the social order works."
"It doesn't have to be," Kurt said, vehemently. "It's ridiculous, that you have to deal with this. The school claims to act 'en loco parentis'-shouldn't part of that be protecting students from things like this? What kind of parent would let their child suffer through something like this?"
Blaine raised his eyebrows.
It took Kurt a moment, but he stuttered, grasping at Blaine's hands. "No, Blaine, that's not what I meant--"
"It's fine," Blaine said, quietly, letting himself guiltily enjoy the way Kurt's fingers felt threaded through his. "That's not... uh, exactly how my parents are, anyway. It's a long story. I promise I'll tell you sometime."
"I'm going to do something about Karofsky," Kurt promised, his eyes hard and fierce on Blaine's. "I might not have the physical means or power to stop him, but I refuse to believe that Coach Sylvester doesn't. I'm tired of hearing that there's nothing they can do about it. I refuse to let anyone be bullied."
Blaine blinked against the sudden threat of tears that burned against the back of his eyeballs. "Nobody's ever done anything like that before," he said, and was ashamed to hear his voice break a little on the last work, his lip quivering in his effort to hold back tears. Kurt's face was so determined, so caring and worried about Blaine.
There was a beat, and then their arms were around each other, Kurt's hands gripping just as tightly at Blaine's back as Blaine's were at Kurt's. Blaine blinked hard, fiercely willing the tears clinging to the corners of his eyes to dry. Kurt's body was warm and solid and firm and large against Blaine's, and when it came time to let go, Blaine did so a little too reluctantly.
Their eyes met, their cheeks tinged pink with embarrassment, and Blaine let out a noisy gust of air. "Kind of a heavy day."
Kurt slumped back in his seat, nodding. Blaine appreciated the way Kurt was taking his time to fix his vest so Blaine could quickly swipe away the tear tracks on his cheeks.
"Thank you," Blaine said, and Kurt looked up.
“Thank you,” Kurt said, quietly.
* * *
"What makes him so different?" Quinn asked, from her position on the bed. She was curled up against his pillows, a magazine open and forgotten on her lap.
Blaine thought about it, lifting his legs and spinning around in his desk chair, gripping the back of the chair to keep from falling over.
"I don't know," he said, finally. "I mean, you would think that it would be the obvious things-he's gay and we're friends-but I don't know. It's different than that. Kurt's so--" He huffed, blowing out his cheeks.
Quinn's eyebrows lifted, her gaze shifting to her lap. "Yeah, I know," she murmured, after a moment. "He's something special."
"He gets it," Blaine said, after a moment of chewing on his lip. "It's like he completely understands me, even when I don't understand me. And he has this way of surprising me; he never does what I expect him to do." His fingers knotted together around the back of the chair. "He's so-different, and special. He's guarded, but he lets himself be so real around me."
Quinn was watching him, a soft smile lighting her face. "How can you tell?" she asked.
"The way he smiles," Blaine said, and he was aware of the way his voice went soft and dreamy. He couldn't help it. "It's so different from the smile he uses at school and in glee. He smiles at me the way he smiles at his dad-all toothy and dimple-y and scrunchy-nosed, like he can't help how happy he is--"
Quinn threw a pillow at him. He ducked it, reaching out a hand to keep it from crashing into his stereo. "Hey!"
"You have it so bad for him," she laughed, her tongue sticking out teasingly between her teeth.
Blaine ducked his head, his smile bashful.
"Awww," Quinn cooed. "This is so sweet."
"Shut up," Blaine muttered, bringing one hand up to cover his face. "This is the last time I talk about boys with you--"
"Oh, come on," Quinn said, uncurling her legs and scooting herself to the edge of the bed. "You were walking on a cloud when you came in, you didn't even notice me sitting here--"
"--because I don't expect girls to be sitting in my bedroom, I don't know why Cooper keeps letting you in." Blaine interjected.
Quinn raised her eyebrows haughtily, smoothing out the skirt of her dress. "Fine," she said, lifting her chin and shaking back her short blond hair. "We can talk about something else, if you'd like."
Blaine eyed her, gears in his brain grinding. Her attention had turned back to the magazine, her delicate fingers slowly turning the pages.
"Why don't we talk about your crush on Rachel Berry?" he asked, and felt a small sense of vindictive satisfaction when her grip tightened on the magazine, tearing one of the pages.
“What?” Quinn asked with an incredulous, unconvincing smile.
Blaine slung his folded arms across the back of the chair and stared at her.
Quinn threw the magazine at him.
He ducked it, laughing. "Why am I target practice today?" he asked, swinging his leg from around the chair and standing up. He crossed the room to his bed, sinking down on it beside her. "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to, but you know I won't tell anyone if you don't want me to."
Quinn flopped back on the bed, hair splaying across his pillow, and threw and arm over her eyes. After a moment, she peeked out from under her forearm. "Promise?"
Blaine hid a smile. "I promise."
Quinn let the arm fall back to cover her eyes once more. "I can't do this if you're looking at me."
"Would you like me to leave the room?" Blaine teased. "We can talk through the door."
"I hate you," Quinn said, her voice muffled. "I'm not used to talking about my... feelings."
"And I am?" Blaine asked, kicking off his shoes and stretching out on the bed beside her.
"No, but you're a huge romantic sap," Quinn said, her voice dry. "You cry every single time we watch Marley and Me."
"And you don't?" Blaine demanded.
Quinn flapped her free hand. "Do you want to know about Rachel or not?"
"Yes," Blaine said, rolling onto his side to prop his cheek up on his hand. "When did this start?"
Quinn's free hand fell to her stomach, her fingers drumming as she thought. "A little while after I started dating Finn, I think."
Blaine's eyebrows shot up. "That long?"
Quinn groaned. "Yes, that long."
The problem with Finn and Quinn and Rachel had been wrapping up by the time Blaine had gotten involved in Glee Club, but that didn't mean he hadn't heard the stories about it. Finn and Quinn dating, and then the Beth disaster, and then the massive blowout between Rachel and Quinn-everyone had thought that after Finn and Quinn had broken up once Finn found out the truth about Beth's father, Finn and Rachel would get together. Surprisingly, it hadn't happened. Instead, in a move that shocked everyone, Rachel and Quinn became friends.
Blaine nudged her with his elbow. "And when did you actually realize how you felt?"
"About the same time Kurt first saw--" she cut herself off, sitting up abruptly, her expression panicky. "What time is it? It's a school night. I have to go."
Blaine's brow furrowed. Quinn had already slid from the bed, slipping her feet into her shoes and reaching for her jacket. "Hold on--"
"I'm sorry, Blaine, I guess I completely lost track of time," Quinn said, apologetically, leaning over to kiss the side of his head. "I'll see you tomorrow in Glee? Are you and Kurt going tomorrow or Friday?"
"Friday," Blaine said, automatically. "But--"
"Tomorrow," Quinn said, firmly, and closed the bedroom door behind her, her shoulders slumping as soon as she was out of sight. Kurt would have killed her if she'd finished that sentence.
Blaine fell back against the pillows once more, shaking off his confusion. He'd never really understood Quinn Fabray, and he wasn't about to start being able to decipher her any time soon. He reached for his phone, unable to stop the smile from crossing his face at the text that lit up the screen.
From Kurt:
Any plans for tomorrow afternoon, after Glee?
To Kurt:
None besides finishing a paper and maybe rehearsing for our duet. What did you have in mind?