Good Samaritan [Kurt/Blaine, AU, one-shot]
Title: Good Samaritan
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: none
Warnings: some cursing and violence
Length: 5900 words
Summary: Klaine AU: Blaine knew that one day his inability to think things through would get him into trouble. At least he got through this mess with only four stitches and that cute guy’s number.
Note: Despite the seemingly heavy beginning, this is actually a rather light story. I waffled about posting this because I have this fear that I'll find a bajillion mistakes after I press the 'submit' button, but what can you do, right. =D I love Klaine, I love AUs, and this was actually supposed to be this long, epic story but I'm incapable of committing myself to long fics, so. =(
--
Blaine didn’t live in the best part of the city. That’s why he tried to be home before midnight and personally installed four different locks inside his door. But Nick had a family emergency and Blaine offered to cover his shift at the store. Nick had been relieved and that had been enough for Blaine, but it hadn’t occurred to him that the last shift didn’t end when the shopping hours were over - there were clean-up duties, closing procedures, and all sorts of other things to do. It was almost eleven-thirty now and Blaine was barely off the bus with a good fifteen minute walk left ahead of him.
“Thank you,” said Blaine politely to the driver as he stepped out. The driver made nothing more than a noise of acknowledgment, but it pleased Blaine to see his face - eyebrows taut and lips pinched tight - relax a little bit before driving off.
It was fine though, thought Blaine, wrapping his scarf around his neck. The fact that he had been able to help his friend out had Blaine’s spirits high, and he even found himself smiling as he pulled his coat tighter around himself to guard against the frosty wind. In fact, it was probably a good thing that it was so late. Curls were starting to stick up from his scalp and Blaine had a horrible feeling that he had leaves somewhere in there, which just - no. There were some standards Blaine would not fall short of.
Unless he was drunk. But that was just that one time and in either case, Blaine had sworn off alcohol for the rest of time, so it was a non-issue anyway.
Lost in his thoughts about fashion, alcohol, and hair care products - he really needed to invest some time to dig up those coupon books he had gotten during freshman orientation in August, a shopping trip had been overdue for months - Blaine almost completely missed what was going on just a few feet ahead of him.
There were six people in total, observed Blaine, but it was obvious that they weren’t all part of the same group. Four of them, three guys and a girl, were clearly one party. They were dressed in a manner that Blaine would love to see draped over a motorcycle in a sexy magazine spread, perhaps with a fallen angel theme with highlights of black and silver. But at this time of night in this part of town, the leather and chains, combined with their body language, looked nothing short of terrifying.
The other girl and guy were standing straight and wore looks of stark disgust on their faces, but Blaine knew there was no way they weren’t uncomfortable, if not scared. They were putting up one hell of a front, however: the girl, blonde and in a pretty sundress and cardigan, gave a look of pure disdain to the thug who reached to touch her hair before her - friend? boyfriend? brother? - companion knocked the hand out of the way.
Blaine had never actually witnessed something like this before, despite knowing far too much about it in theory. He heard the girl’s voice carry over, soft and cool - “again, please excuse us, we have to catch our bus” - and then the jeering laughter she received in response - “but darling, we’re having so much fun with you and your girly friend” - and all the moisture in Blaine’s throat disappeared in an instant, leaving his throat parched.
Some other people walked by, but no one did anything, averting their eyes from the scene. The girl in the sundress’ eyes narrowed more and more with each passerby. More words were exchanged while Blaine remained frozen under the shadow of an old building, heart hammering away inside his ribcage, before:
“Don’t look at her like that, you vermin,” said the guy in the chic white jacket, automatically moving closer to his friend. There was pure loathing on his face. “Don’t touch her with your filthy hands.”
Immediately the obnoxious laughter stopped.
Even the girl in the sundress faltered for a moment, the look of icy condescension disappearing. Sundress clasped Chic Jacket’s arm. “Wait-”
The tallest of the leather jackets took a step forward. “What did you just say, fag?”
Chic Jacket somehow stood up taller, sneering. “Need me to repeat it? Don’t look at her like that, ver-”
And, okay, that was enough to get Blaine moving. Throughout his life he had been called slow, oblivious, and flaky, but even he could see that this wasn’t going to end well.
“Hey,” called out Blaine, fighting to keep his voice even. He kept his steps steady, casual. “Is everything alright, here?”
All six pairs of eyes landed on him. Blaine pretended they were the audience of a performance.
“Just keep on walking, midget,” said the one in combat boots and a bandana. “And leave a group of friends to their business.”
Blaine’s hands were shaking in his coat pocket as he dialled 911. He thanked whatever it was he believed in that he was obsessed enough with social technology that he could navigate his phone with one hand, blind.
You don’t have to do much, he thought, just keep talking and delay any fighting until the police get here.
“Those two look like they’re just about ready to leave,” said Blaine carefully, not looking away from Combat Boots. Lack of eye contact showed fear, he remembered, but then again, that was from a special on the Discovery Channel from when he was thirteen. Maybe the rules were different when dealing with a guy who was half a foot taller than him. Maybe Blaine was unknowingly exuding defiant arrogance.
Combat Boots glared. “I think they’re just settling in.”
“Actually,” interrupted Sundress, straightening. Blaine slowly turned to look at her, and she gave him the smallest of smiles before starting to step towards him. Chic Jacket looked unreadable, but ready to follow. “We’re ready to go. Do you think you can accompany us to the bus stop?”
Blaine nodded. “It’d be my pleasure,” he said, and meant it. He’d probably get on the bus with them and find a longer, out-of-the-way route back home.
The tallest one - who had been touching Sundress before, Blaine recalled, fighting the urge to shudder - blocked their path. He faced Blaine fully, and Blaine had to fight to not flinch.
Okay, judging by the way Tall One smiled, Blaine was pretty sure that despite his best efforts, he still flinched. His fingers wrapped tight around his phone. Gosh, he hoped the operator was still there and - address, thought Blaine. He needed to get say their location out loud somehow.
“See, I don’t like it when my friends make all these decisions without me agreeing to them,” said Tall One. “And I don’t appreciate you coming here and butting into things that have nothing to do with you.”
Blaine had no idea how people in movies, or indeed, real life, handled these situations. He felt that if he opened his mouth he was going to vomit or stutter or have a heart attack.
He was saved from having to say anything, however, because Chic Jacket spoke up.
“Actually,” he said, and from the tone of his voice Blaine wouldn’t have believed they were talking to four potentially dangerous people, “I love the idea of the bus stop too.”
Blaine steeled himself and looked at away from Tall One to focus in on Chic Jacket instead. It wasn’t a difficult action, since Chic Jacket was like, really, really attractive and - so not the time, Blaine.
“Just walk one block north to Elm,” said Blaine, pointing in the direction he just came from. Talking directly to Chic Jacket helped stabilize his voice. And heart rate. It helped that Chic Jacket didn’t look away and had the most incredible, oddly coloured eyes. “The stop is right outside the 24-hour Harvey’s there.”
There, thought Blaine, hopefully that was specific enough to get the police here and as soon as Blaine got home, he was going to spend all night researching how the emergency system actually worked.
“Hey,” snapped Combat Boots, “don’t ignore us.”
Blaine looked back at them. “I wasn’t,” he said, voice polite.
“I think he just wants to cause trouble, Stan,” spoke up the girl of the group for the first time, dropping her finished cigarette butt on the ground and crushing it under a heel.
“I think you’re right, Mace,” said Tall One, whose name was apparently Stan. He stepped closer and gave Blaine’s shoulder a hard shove. Blaine stumbled. “You hear to cause trouble, midget?”
“Of course not,” said Blaine. Blood was rushing in his ears. He couldn’t think properly.
“See, I think you are,” said Stan. To a little bit of Blaine’s relief - but mostly to his horror - the group moved away from Chic Jacket and Sundress to surround him instead. Blaine felt the air in his lungs freeze along with the rest of him. “And I don’t like it when people cause trouble for me.”
Oh, God, thought Blaine, fear shooting up his spine. This was such a bad, bad, bad idea, why did Nick’s sister have to have her baby today-
And then Stan’s fist hit Blaine’s jaw and Blaine fell onto the sidewalk.
I’m so pathetic, thought Blaine, frozen into place. The only action he was capable of doing was blink. His father was right, not only was he a disgrace to his family but he was also a disgrace to intelligence, and Blaine could just hear the disappointment in his father’s voice at Blaine’s funeral tomorrow, saying, “Who gets beaten up by some kid named Stan, anyway, it’s probably short for something nerdy like Stanley.”
And, okay, that was probably not going to be what happened, but Blaine knew that this would be the final nail in the coffin that was his father’s respect for him, after coming out as gay, and running off to study music in the city with his boyfriend instead of following his family’s practical plans. Running off with the boyfriend who - God, Blaine couldn’t believe it still hurt to think about him - had dumped him two weeks later because he was “too much, Blaine, you’re way too intense and it freaks me out a little” and he couldn’t call home because he couldn’t deal with the inevitable I-told-you-so’s and he really was a failure wasn’t he?
“You’re going to regret doing this, Blaine,” his father had said, proud and tall and unforgiving as Blaine stood in the doorway, hand clasped tight over a duffel bag. His mother had stood silent, hand crossed across herself as though it was hers, not Blaine’s, whose heart was breaking.
“It doesn’t matter,” Blaine had replied. “This is something I love, someone I love, and if you can’t deal with it and help me be happy - then I have to do it myself.”
Blaine’s last words to his parents had been, “I’m not the one who will be regretting this.”
Of course Blaine turned out to be wrong, which was even more humiliating. That was how his life worked, he should have figured out by now that he was bound to screw up everything life threw his way. What was the matter with him, thinking he could survive by himself in a place like this, living in a tiny apartment and taking care of his tuition and eating ramen for three meals a day-
“Oof,” said Blaine as he felt a kick in his sternum.
“Get away from him!” came Chic Jacket’s voice, shouting. There was the sound of boots against pavement and Blaine opened his eyes just in time to see Chic Jacket throw himself at Stan hard enough to slam him to the ground.
Blaine slowly got to his feet. Stan had pushed off Chic Jacket, and Sundress muffled a scream. She started after him but then Combat Boots grabbed her arm.
“Let me go,” she said ferociously, giving Combat Boots a truly spectacular kick to the chest - Blaine suspected a background in athletics - which would have been even more effective if she had on stilettos instead of those adorable red flats.
Combat Boots swore. “Son of a bitch-”
At that moment, Blaine’s mind forgot everything except that he had gotten these people into this mess, and even if it meant he was going to get his ribs broken and possibly become the poster child for a, ‘this is why you have to make smart decisions, kids! so you don’t end up in a coma like Blaine!’ campaign, he was going to do something, anything to help them get out it.
And when he saw Combat Boots actually move to hit Sundress - Blaine was appalled that anyone would even think about raising his hand against someone that pretty - Blaine shouted, “Watch out, Sundress!” and ran as quickly as he could to put himself between them. Combat Boots was confused enough that Blaine managed to compose his trembling, flailing hands into two solid punches on either side of Combat Boots’ face.
Blaine’s rush of giddiness at his accomplishment was further amplified when he heard the sound of police sirens in the distance. Unfortunately, his joy lasted only for a moment because someone else - who wasn’t Stan or Combat Boots or the girl, Mace - socked Blaine hard enough that his vision blurred as he smashed into a wall.
“The cops are coming,” the new comer yelled and Blaine faintly remembered that oh yeah, there were initially three guys who were part of this group. “We gotta get going, now!”
“Shit!” cursed Mace. “I’m outta here, boys.”
Combat Boots took the time to give Blaine one last angry look and punch before running off. Before Stan could follow, Chic Jacket kneed him in the crotch and Blaine winced as Stan crumpled to the ground with a yell of pain. No man wanted to be on the receiving end of those boots Chic Jacket had on.
Blaine’s head felt woozy, his mouth was bleeding, and he suspected that he was missing some teeth. He dropped to the sidewalk and took in a deep breath, trying to get him mind to slow and down and settle on one thing.
As it was, he currently was thinking of nothing but the ache in his hands and the warmth dripping down the side of his face.
The sirens were right beside Blaine’s ears now, and Blaine thought it was now safe to freak and pass out because, well, professionals were on the scene. He heard Chic Jacket say, “Leave the paramedics here and go after them! I swear, officer, we’re not in any position to be going anywhere but I’ll be most displeased if they get away.”
--
Blaine was in and out of consciousness on the ride to the hospital, though he suspected it was from panic and deliriousness than any serious injury. He thought Sundress and Chic Jacket were in the ambulance with him, but he couldn’t be sure. He hoped they weren’t; that would mean that they were hurt too and could you even have more than one person in an ambulance at a time? It really had been a long time since Blaine last watched Grey’s Anatomy if he couldn’t remember that.
He finally woke up properly on a bed at the emergency room; curtains were drawn all around him, creating the illusion of a tiny room. Blaine tried to sit up but the blood immediately rushed out of his head so he slumped back down, taking in slow, deep breaths. At least he wasn’t hooked on to any IVs or something. And he was still in his own clothes - sans the jacket, which he had to get back as soon as possible with it being the most expensive piece of clothing he owned and all - so that was something, too.
“I wouldn’t suggest trying to get up again,” said a voice dryly from beside him, and Blaine actually let out a short scream. He turned to his side to see Chic Jacket sitting on folding chair at the foot of his bed, eyebrows raised, right foot resting elegantly on his left knee.
Thankfully, he didn’t comment on Blaine’s less than manly shriek and instead just said, “You’re pretty roughed up.”
“I feel like I was just beat up by four thugs,” confessed Blaine. “Oh wait.”
A little amused sound escaped Chic Jacket’s throat. From such a close distance, Blaine confirmed that Chic Jacket was, in fact, even prettier than he had originally thought. Sure, his hair was beginning to flop a little but a man just didn’t argue about attractiveness when the person in question had a face like that and eyes like that.
Let it be noted that Blaine never claimed to have a powerful vocabulary - or indeed, a powerful anything - in the presence of good looking people.
“You’ll be happy to know that the police caught them,” said Chic Jacket, breaking Blaine out of his thoughts. “They’ll want to talk to you soon to get your statement and see if you want to press charges and all that. They’re actually with Quinn right now.”
Blaine blinked.
“Quinn?” he asked. “Sundress?”
“If by Sundress you mean the blonde girl in the yellow dress who looks like she can tear the flesh off your bones with just one look - then yes, that’s her, Quinn Fabray, the one cloud in my otherwise perfectly sunny life.”
Blaine had no idea what half that sentence meant, so he just gave Chic Jacket a smile. He received a slow, sweet one in return, and Blaine was pleased to see that Chic Jacket held an arsenal of good looking faces that portrayed positive emotion, and not just anger and condescension.
“Is she okay?” asked Blaine, his face warm. “I mean, you look like you got roughed up a bit too.”
“What, this?” Chic Jacket reached up to touch the beginnings of a bruise against his cheekbone. “This is nothing. You should see the other guy. He’s not going to be moving any time soon.”
It was all said with an air of such extreme bluster that it had to be fake. Blaine laughed. “I remember. You were pretty amazing.”
“Thank you,” said Chic Jacket, and gosh, Blain couldn’t take it, the guy’s eyes actually lit up. And what pretty eyes they were. “And Quinn’s fine, just angry and on a warpath to land those jerks in prison.”
“I’m not surprised.”
Blaine was feeling warm under the sheets of the tiny bed, enough to drift off again. His joints were still aching but it was nothing he couldn’t ignore. He snuggled in deep and gave a slow smile to Chic Jacket, whose eyes widened slightly before looking away.
“Um,” he said, “a doctor or a nurse should be here soon to talk to you about your injuries, but from what I understand you’re alright, you just needed some stitches for your forehead. You’ll also be sore for a while from all the bruises, but all three of us have to deal with that, so.”
He stopped for a moment, hesitating. “Are you feeling okay, though?” he asked, biting his lip. “Do you want me to go get someone? Or I could stop talking so you can rest? Or I can do both?”
Blaine laughed.
“No, no, I’m fine and I’d love to keep talking to you. But thank you,” he added, sincere. “For asking. And telling me all that.” He paused, thinking. “And also for waiting with me.”
Chic Jacket rolled his eyes.
“Of course we did,” he said. “You did get into a fist fight for me and my friend, so it’s the least we could do.”
Blaine felt embarrassed because that wasn’t what happened at all.
“Oh, don’t say that,” he said, physically feeling his cheeks warm because it was just his luck that Chic Jacket would also be funny and gracious and didn’t need him to have a wrong view of Blaine. “My butting in probably made the whole situation worse.”
Because the tone of Chic Jacket’s words suggested that Blaine did something brave, that he saw someone in trouble and jumped right in to help. Chic Jacket didn’t know that Blaine waffled about for a good while wondering if he should do anything, and basically stood there trying not to pee in his pants while getting the crap beaten out of him.
In fact, Chic Jacket was the one who threw himself into the fray of things without a second thought, tackling Blaine’s initial attacker to the ground.
Chic Jacket hummed. “Maybe,” he said, responding to Blaine’s comment, “but it definitely made us feel safer,” he said. “Quinn’s a very pretty girl, you know, and I practically have a flashing neon sign above my head screaming ‘gay!’ complete with the exclamation mark.”
He paused, smiling a little self-deprecatingly. “The two of us are practically the sure fire recipe for drawing the wrong kind of attention. The other people walking by knew that too, so don’t sell yourself short there. You helped us out, one way or another.”
Chic Jacket gave Blaine a fond look, and Blaine averted his eyes. He really couldn’t let Chic Jacket walk away thinking this when all Blaine had done was stand around like a fool and get beat up. But it would probably be more awkward to bring it up and deep down, Blaine liked the idea of knowing that Chic Jacket thought he was kind of cool, even if it wasn’t true.
Blaine could take this one thing for himself.
“So,” he said instead, furiously searching his mind for another topic. “What’s your name?”
Chic Jacket looked surprised. “What?”
“Well, I can’t very well go around calling you Chic Jacket for the rest of our conversation,” pointed out Blaine quite reasonably.
Chic Jacket instantly curled his fingers around the sleeve of his jacket. “Oh, do you like it?” he asked happily. At Blaine's nod, he continued, “You have no idea what I had to do to get it.”
“Yeah?”
Blaine received a vehement nod in response. “50% off at Banana Republic. You’d think it would be like a jungle in there but in reality, it was so much worse. I had to tear down the self-esteem of one particularly sassy redhead to get my hands on this. Sure, it led to my eyes almost being gouged out but it all worked out in the end.”
Chic Jacket caressed his jacket fondly. “I’m Kurt, to answer your question. Kurt Hummel.”
Blaine stuck his hand out from the bed. “I’m-”
“Blaine Anderson,” finished Kurt. He raised an eyebrow playfully towards Blaine. “Do you think we wouldn’t find out the name of our curly haired partner-in-crime?”
Blaine’s hand immediately went to his head. “Oh gosh,” he said. “I really need to buy longer lasting gel.”
“I don’t think any kind of product would last through the night that you just had,” said Kurt, thoughtfully tapping his chin. Blaine smiled a little sheepishly.
Kurt smiled back before standing up. “I’m going to go and check on Quinn, so you rest and wait for the doctor, okay? I’ll be back in just a bit.”
Blaine nodded and watched as Kurt parted the curtains just enough to slip out. He noticed that his coat was draped across the back of the folding chair Kurt had been sitting on, and felt a completely irrational burst of warmth in his chest. It was just so typical, he thought, that he’d meet such a cute guy while looking like he was on the losing end of a bar fight. And like him so much already.
Still, Blaine slumped back on the bed with a smile on his face.
--
The doctors came and went in the time it took Kurt and Quinn to come back. They mostly repeated what Kurt had told him before, and did some basic tests to confirm that his head was okay and there was no need to perform more complicated procedures. All this was excellent news to Blaine as he had no idea if he was still under his parents’ health insurance.
They also let him know that he wouldn’t need to come back in to get the stitches removed because they would dissolve by themselves.
“Is this something new?” Blaine had asked, fascinated. “Is it safe?”
The doctor had given him a look that suggested that Blaine was a moron. “Of course it is,” she had said. “We wouldn’t use experimental tools on patients without their explicit permission.”
Blaine sat there, legs hanging off the bed and feeling like an idiot as she left.
He heard Kurt and Quinn bickering a few seconds before they actually reached his little makeshift room. “Just let the guy have some peace, Quinn,” Kurt was saying exasperatedly.
Blaine had just finished putting his shoes on when the curtain flew open and he was face to face with a very determined, almost unnaturally beautiful girl. Much like Kurt, she was even better looking up close.
“Sundress!” said Blaine brightly before he caught a hold of himself. “I mean, you must be Quinn. Hi, I’m Blaine.”
Quinn glared, green eyes cool. Blaine felt the need to cower as she stared at him unflinchingly, hands resting imperiously on her waist. Kurt stood in the background, exasperatedly rubbing at his temples.
A girl in such a happy looking dress and with such gorgeous hair falling around her perfect face should not be allowed to look so scary, thought Blaine forlornly. It was almost unfair.
“I just wanted you to know that what you did was extremely stupid,” she said, voice sweet and light and yet Blaine could feel it cut into his skin. “People don’t do things like that for a good reason. You know why? I’ll tell you.” She leaned her face close to his and Blaine instinctively moved back, gulping. “Because they get the crap beaten out of them. Do you understand?”
“Yes?” tried Blaine.
Quinn gave an approving nod.
“Good,” she said. “Because I also wanted to say thank you, what you did was really brave. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t come by, but you did, and everything ended up working out so - thank you.”
“You’re welcome?”
Quinn’s face finally relaxed into a smile. Blaine didn’t think it was possible for her to get any more beautiful. He wasn’t quite in the realm of beginning to question his sexuality - only Rachel had ever managed that, but there was alcohol involved and at any rate, Rachel was in a whole separate league of her own - but he had definitely crossed a line.
Currently he was firmly situated in the world of, ‘I’ll hire someone who knows how to draw and then hang your portrait above the fireplace of my future home and occasionally look at it while sipping expensive wine. Ideally, your good looking friend over there would be married to me and we’d have our two dogs at our feet and he’d tell me how it was creepy that we had a painting of you in our dream home.’
Blaine wasn’t sure this was the right attitude to take, either.
“Really,” said Quinn, laying a hand comfortingly on his arm. Blaine didn’t know how she managed to switch from Ice Queen to maternal in less than a heartbeat, but he definitely felt warmer. “Thank you. I know the two things I said stand on opposite ends of the spectrum here, but I meant both.”
Blaine felt lost, much like when Kurt had nonchalantly thanked him for the same thing. He looked a little helplessly at Kurt, whose face softened. Overwhelmed and nervous and completely out of his depth, Blaine dealt with it the only way he knew how: pretend he knew what the hell he was talking about, and cover up the rest with bravado.
“It really wasn’t a big deal,” said Blaine, giving the two of them a big smile. “I mean, I couldn’t just stand by and have your unrealistically beautiful faces get hurt.”
The effect was instantaneous: Quinn rolled her eyes and Blaine felt apprehension leak out of his heart. Kurt muffled his laughter behind a fist and when their eyes met, Blaine’s smile widened.
Quinn looked back and forth between the two of them curiously.
“Okay then,” she said, pulling on the cardigan she had draped over her arm. “I’m going to go out and wait for Finn to come and leave you two to flirt in peace.”
Kurt’s laughter immediately ceased and his expression morphed into one that could only be described as 'bitchy.' “Way to go, Quinn. No really, good job.”
Quinn didn’t deem that statement with a response and simply walked out, waving goodbye to Blaine, who returned the gesture.
“Finn?” inquired Blaine.
Kurt rolled his eyes. “My stepbrother, her ex-boyfriend. It’s a very complicated and metaphorically incestuous story which I’ll tell you about some other time. It’s pretty much a Greek tragedy.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” said Blaine with a grin. “I love my Greek tragedies.”
Kurt looked ready to respond, but hesitated. Blaine thought it was adorable how his fingers tapped against the side of his legs like a nervous tic. “I really am sorry about what she said,” said Kurt. “I know it can be a bit awkward-”
Blaine was surprised.
“What, you mean the thing about the flirting?” At Kurt’s uncertain nod, Blaine actually laughed. “Don’t be sorry! She wasn’t wrong, you know. I was flirting. Or trying to.”
A slow smile unfurled on Kurt’s face. Pretty, pretty smile, thought Blaine, heart beating just a little bit faster. Gosh, it was pathetic how much he missed this, the feeling of having someone affect him like this. His ex-boyfriend was right, he did take every little thing too extremely, too intensely.
A little prickle appeared at the back of Blaine's throat, but Kurt’s voice distracted him enough for it to go away.
“Were you now?” asked Kurt.
“Oh, come on!” said Blaine, finding it easy to muster up enthusiasm in Kurt’s presence. “I called you Chic Jacket inside my head. That had to be a clue that I was at least a little gay.”
Kurt laughed.
“I did suspect,” he agreed, “but I also noticed that right now, you couldn’t take your eyes off of Quinn.”
“Well, of course,” said Blaine sensibly. “I’m no artist, but even I could tell that she’s the kind of subject people would sell their souls to capture in a canvas.”
So was Kurt, but in an entirely different, more vibrant way. Blaine had enough sense, however, to not say anything like that out loud and scare the guy off. He hoped that nothing was showing on his face.
Though really, spending more than an hour in Blaine’s company would be enough to figure out that he really wasn’t right in the head, so maybe it was a moot point.
“You sound like a poet,” said Kurt, not noticing anything amiss. There was a definite teasing quality to his tone, however, that Blaine immediately picked up on.
“A failing one, maybe,” he said, and was pleased when Kurt laughed again. “But no, really, I don't know if you read Vogue but gosh, she’d look just fantastic in that Ralph Lauren number featured in last month’s issue-”
Kurt’s eyes widened. “The off-white one, with those adorable pleated sleeves?”
Blaine gave an energetic nod. He had a feeling that Kurt would know. “Worn by the brunette model with the butterfly clips?”
“Yes, that one!” said Kurt, giving a quick, excited clap of his hands. Blaine’s mouth was actually hurting from the force of his smile. “I’ve been telling Quinn for days now that I could totally make it for her if she gives me like, an hour to get those pesky measurements and-”
His phone buzzed right then, and the enthusiasm faded away from his face to be replaced with displeasure.
“And Finn continues to have the worst timing in the world,” muttered Kurt under his breath, sighing. He glanced apologetically up at Blaine. “That was a text from my stepbrother, he’s outside. I have to go.”
“Oh,” said Blaine, nodding. A little bit of disappointment unfurled in his heart, but Blaine was an absurd person, so he ignored it. “That’s cool, I guess.”
He stood up so he was standing facing Kurt. “It was really great meeting you, Kurt,” he said, giving an awkward, bashful little laugh, “even though the circumstances weren’t ideal.”
“Likewise,” smiled Kurt. He hesitated, again, and it made Blaine curious because from the short amount of time that Blaine had known him, Kurt Hummel didn’t seem like he was scared of anything. Unlike Blaine who still didn’t feel comfortable going to sleep in complete darkness.
“Do you...” said Kurt, pausing for a bit before shaking his head. “This is ridiculous. Do you want to exchange numbers, Blaine? I’d like to see you again.”
It was ridiculous. But what was even more ridiculous was the fact that Kurt’s tone had a hopeful tilt, as though there was a chance that Blaine would say no. Blaine could literally feel his face light up without his consent.
He didn’t even have to think before answering, “Yes, definitely,” and found himself unable to look away from the faint, pleased flush that rose to colour Kurt’s cheeks.
They barely knew each other, but Blaine had already started to hope that being with Kurt would be different, better, than his previous boyfriends. They were still far, far away from actually being in a relationship never mind reaching boyfriend status, but there was something about Kurt, the way he stole those little glances and showed no fear and-
Slow down, thought Blaine, and don’t get ahead of yourself. Don’t make this out to be something it’s not. You just talked with the guy for twenty minutes.
But regardless of what he told himself, Blaine knew he wasn’t strong enough to stop liking someone too much, too fast. It wasn’t ideal, but he didn’t know how else to be, so he’d just have to deal with whatever happened.
“Would it be weird if I told you I was glad I got punched in the face multiple times?” he asked after a few seconds, handing Kurt’s phone back to him after programming in the number.
“In every context, yes,” said Kurt, but his lips were most definitely curled upwards.
“Well,” said Blaine, unrelenting. “I am.”
Kurt reached forward to touch Blaine’s arm and Blaine felt like he was five seconds away from passing out. He could feel the warmth of Kurt’s fingers seeping through the fabric of his shirt. It was so very different from all their other interactions so far, quiet but decisive.
“You’re so strange,” said Kurt softly, almost to himself.
“Is that... a compliment?” asked Blaine uncertainly. With his history, Blaine thought there could never be any harm in clarifying, even if it made him sound like a tool.
Kurt looked surprised at the question, immediately letting his hand fall to his side. Blaine tried not to look too disappointed.
“Oh,” said Kurt. “It’s most definitely a compliment,” he confirmed.
“Well,” said Blaine, pleased. “In that case, thank you.”
Kurt beamed and Blaine found himself helplessly smiling back.
Yeah, he thought to himself, not going to be able to stop myself.
end.
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: none
Warnings: some cursing and violence
Length: 5900 words
Summary: Klaine AU: Blaine knew that one day his inability to think things through would get him into trouble. At least he got through this mess with only four stitches and that cute guy’s number.
Note: Despite the seemingly heavy beginning, this is actually a rather light story. I waffled about posting this because I have this fear that I'll find a bajillion mistakes after I press the 'submit' button, but what can you do, right. =D I love Klaine, I love AUs, and this was actually supposed to be this long, epic story but I'm incapable of committing myself to long fics, so. =(
--
Blaine didn’t live in the best part of the city. That’s why he tried to be home before midnight and personally installed four different locks inside his door. But Nick had a family emergency and Blaine offered to cover his shift at the store. Nick had been relieved and that had been enough for Blaine, but it hadn’t occurred to him that the last shift didn’t end when the shopping hours were over - there were clean-up duties, closing procedures, and all sorts of other things to do. It was almost eleven-thirty now and Blaine was barely off the bus with a good fifteen minute walk left ahead of him.
“Thank you,” said Blaine politely to the driver as he stepped out. The driver made nothing more than a noise of acknowledgment, but it pleased Blaine to see his face - eyebrows taut and lips pinched tight - relax a little bit before driving off.
It was fine though, thought Blaine, wrapping his scarf around his neck. The fact that he had been able to help his friend out had Blaine’s spirits high, and he even found himself smiling as he pulled his coat tighter around himself to guard against the frosty wind. In fact, it was probably a good thing that it was so late. Curls were starting to stick up from his scalp and Blaine had a horrible feeling that he had leaves somewhere in there, which just - no. There were some standards Blaine would not fall short of.
Unless he was drunk. But that was just that one time and in either case, Blaine had sworn off alcohol for the rest of time, so it was a non-issue anyway.
Lost in his thoughts about fashion, alcohol, and hair care products - he really needed to invest some time to dig up those coupon books he had gotten during freshman orientation in August, a shopping trip had been overdue for months - Blaine almost completely missed what was going on just a few feet ahead of him.
There were six people in total, observed Blaine, but it was obvious that they weren’t all part of the same group. Four of them, three guys and a girl, were clearly one party. They were dressed in a manner that Blaine would love to see draped over a motorcycle in a sexy magazine spread, perhaps with a fallen angel theme with highlights of black and silver. But at this time of night in this part of town, the leather and chains, combined with their body language, looked nothing short of terrifying.
The other girl and guy were standing straight and wore looks of stark disgust on their faces, but Blaine knew there was no way they weren’t uncomfortable, if not scared. They were putting up one hell of a front, however: the girl, blonde and in a pretty sundress and cardigan, gave a look of pure disdain to the thug who reached to touch her hair before her - friend? boyfriend? brother? - companion knocked the hand out of the way.
Blaine had never actually witnessed something like this before, despite knowing far too much about it in theory. He heard the girl’s voice carry over, soft and cool - “again, please excuse us, we have to catch our bus” - and then the jeering laughter she received in response - “but darling, we’re having so much fun with you and your girly friend” - and all the moisture in Blaine’s throat disappeared in an instant, leaving his throat parched.
Some other people walked by, but no one did anything, averting their eyes from the scene. The girl in the sundress’ eyes narrowed more and more with each passerby. More words were exchanged while Blaine remained frozen under the shadow of an old building, heart hammering away inside his ribcage, before:
“Don’t look at her like that, you vermin,” said the guy in the chic white jacket, automatically moving closer to his friend. There was pure loathing on his face. “Don’t touch her with your filthy hands.”
Immediately the obnoxious laughter stopped.
Even the girl in the sundress faltered for a moment, the look of icy condescension disappearing. Sundress clasped Chic Jacket’s arm. “Wait-”
The tallest of the leather jackets took a step forward. “What did you just say, fag?”
Chic Jacket somehow stood up taller, sneering. “Need me to repeat it? Don’t look at her like that, ver-”
And, okay, that was enough to get Blaine moving. Throughout his life he had been called slow, oblivious, and flaky, but even he could see that this wasn’t going to end well.
“Hey,” called out Blaine, fighting to keep his voice even. He kept his steps steady, casual. “Is everything alright, here?”
All six pairs of eyes landed on him. Blaine pretended they were the audience of a performance.
“Just keep on walking, midget,” said the one in combat boots and a bandana. “And leave a group of friends to their business.”
Blaine’s hands were shaking in his coat pocket as he dialled 911. He thanked whatever it was he believed in that he was obsessed enough with social technology that he could navigate his phone with one hand, blind.
You don’t have to do much, he thought, just keep talking and delay any fighting until the police get here.
“Those two look like they’re just about ready to leave,” said Blaine carefully, not looking away from Combat Boots. Lack of eye contact showed fear, he remembered, but then again, that was from a special on the Discovery Channel from when he was thirteen. Maybe the rules were different when dealing with a guy who was half a foot taller than him. Maybe Blaine was unknowingly exuding defiant arrogance.
Combat Boots glared. “I think they’re just settling in.”
“Actually,” interrupted Sundress, straightening. Blaine slowly turned to look at her, and she gave him the smallest of smiles before starting to step towards him. Chic Jacket looked unreadable, but ready to follow. “We’re ready to go. Do you think you can accompany us to the bus stop?”
Blaine nodded. “It’d be my pleasure,” he said, and meant it. He’d probably get on the bus with them and find a longer, out-of-the-way route back home.
The tallest one - who had been touching Sundress before, Blaine recalled, fighting the urge to shudder - blocked their path. He faced Blaine fully, and Blaine had to fight to not flinch.
Okay, judging by the way Tall One smiled, Blaine was pretty sure that despite his best efforts, he still flinched. His fingers wrapped tight around his phone. Gosh, he hoped the operator was still there and - address, thought Blaine. He needed to get say their location out loud somehow.
“See, I don’t like it when my friends make all these decisions without me agreeing to them,” said Tall One. “And I don’t appreciate you coming here and butting into things that have nothing to do with you.”
Blaine had no idea how people in movies, or indeed, real life, handled these situations. He felt that if he opened his mouth he was going to vomit or stutter or have a heart attack.
He was saved from having to say anything, however, because Chic Jacket spoke up.
“Actually,” he said, and from the tone of his voice Blaine wouldn’t have believed they were talking to four potentially dangerous people, “I love the idea of the bus stop too.”
Blaine steeled himself and looked at away from Tall One to focus in on Chic Jacket instead. It wasn’t a difficult action, since Chic Jacket was like, really, really attractive and - so not the time, Blaine.
“Just walk one block north to Elm,” said Blaine, pointing in the direction he just came from. Talking directly to Chic Jacket helped stabilize his voice. And heart rate. It helped that Chic Jacket didn’t look away and had the most incredible, oddly coloured eyes. “The stop is right outside the 24-hour Harvey’s there.”
There, thought Blaine, hopefully that was specific enough to get the police here and as soon as Blaine got home, he was going to spend all night researching how the emergency system actually worked.
“Hey,” snapped Combat Boots, “don’t ignore us.”
Blaine looked back at them. “I wasn’t,” he said, voice polite.
“I think he just wants to cause trouble, Stan,” spoke up the girl of the group for the first time, dropping her finished cigarette butt on the ground and crushing it under a heel.
“I think you’re right, Mace,” said Tall One, whose name was apparently Stan. He stepped closer and gave Blaine’s shoulder a hard shove. Blaine stumbled. “You hear to cause trouble, midget?”
“Of course not,” said Blaine. Blood was rushing in his ears. He couldn’t think properly.
“See, I think you are,” said Stan. To a little bit of Blaine’s relief - but mostly to his horror - the group moved away from Chic Jacket and Sundress to surround him instead. Blaine felt the air in his lungs freeze along with the rest of him. “And I don’t like it when people cause trouble for me.”
Oh, God, thought Blaine, fear shooting up his spine. This was such a bad, bad, bad idea, why did Nick’s sister have to have her baby today-
And then Stan’s fist hit Blaine’s jaw and Blaine fell onto the sidewalk.
I’m so pathetic, thought Blaine, frozen into place. The only action he was capable of doing was blink. His father was right, not only was he a disgrace to his family but he was also a disgrace to intelligence, and Blaine could just hear the disappointment in his father’s voice at Blaine’s funeral tomorrow, saying, “Who gets beaten up by some kid named Stan, anyway, it’s probably short for something nerdy like Stanley.”
And, okay, that was probably not going to be what happened, but Blaine knew that this would be the final nail in the coffin that was his father’s respect for him, after coming out as gay, and running off to study music in the city with his boyfriend instead of following his family’s practical plans. Running off with the boyfriend who - God, Blaine couldn’t believe it still hurt to think about him - had dumped him two weeks later because he was “too much, Blaine, you’re way too intense and it freaks me out a little” and he couldn’t call home because he couldn’t deal with the inevitable I-told-you-so’s and he really was a failure wasn’t he?
“You’re going to regret doing this, Blaine,” his father had said, proud and tall and unforgiving as Blaine stood in the doorway, hand clasped tight over a duffel bag. His mother had stood silent, hand crossed across herself as though it was hers, not Blaine’s, whose heart was breaking.
“It doesn’t matter,” Blaine had replied. “This is something I love, someone I love, and if you can’t deal with it and help me be happy - then I have to do it myself.”
Blaine’s last words to his parents had been, “I’m not the one who will be regretting this.”
Of course Blaine turned out to be wrong, which was even more humiliating. That was how his life worked, he should have figured out by now that he was bound to screw up everything life threw his way. What was the matter with him, thinking he could survive by himself in a place like this, living in a tiny apartment and taking care of his tuition and eating ramen for three meals a day-
“Oof,” said Blaine as he felt a kick in his sternum.
“Get away from him!” came Chic Jacket’s voice, shouting. There was the sound of boots against pavement and Blaine opened his eyes just in time to see Chic Jacket throw himself at Stan hard enough to slam him to the ground.
Blaine slowly got to his feet. Stan had pushed off Chic Jacket, and Sundress muffled a scream. She started after him but then Combat Boots grabbed her arm.
“Let me go,” she said ferociously, giving Combat Boots a truly spectacular kick to the chest - Blaine suspected a background in athletics - which would have been even more effective if she had on stilettos instead of those adorable red flats.
Combat Boots swore. “Son of a bitch-”
At that moment, Blaine’s mind forgot everything except that he had gotten these people into this mess, and even if it meant he was going to get his ribs broken and possibly become the poster child for a, ‘this is why you have to make smart decisions, kids! so you don’t end up in a coma like Blaine!’ campaign, he was going to do something, anything to help them get out it.
And when he saw Combat Boots actually move to hit Sundress - Blaine was appalled that anyone would even think about raising his hand against someone that pretty - Blaine shouted, “Watch out, Sundress!” and ran as quickly as he could to put himself between them. Combat Boots was confused enough that Blaine managed to compose his trembling, flailing hands into two solid punches on either side of Combat Boots’ face.
Blaine’s rush of giddiness at his accomplishment was further amplified when he heard the sound of police sirens in the distance. Unfortunately, his joy lasted only for a moment because someone else - who wasn’t Stan or Combat Boots or the girl, Mace - socked Blaine hard enough that his vision blurred as he smashed into a wall.
“The cops are coming,” the new comer yelled and Blaine faintly remembered that oh yeah, there were initially three guys who were part of this group. “We gotta get going, now!”
“Shit!” cursed Mace. “I’m outta here, boys.”
Combat Boots took the time to give Blaine one last angry look and punch before running off. Before Stan could follow, Chic Jacket kneed him in the crotch and Blaine winced as Stan crumpled to the ground with a yell of pain. No man wanted to be on the receiving end of those boots Chic Jacket had on.
Blaine’s head felt woozy, his mouth was bleeding, and he suspected that he was missing some teeth. He dropped to the sidewalk and took in a deep breath, trying to get him mind to slow and down and settle on one thing.
As it was, he currently was thinking of nothing but the ache in his hands and the warmth dripping down the side of his face.
The sirens were right beside Blaine’s ears now, and Blaine thought it was now safe to freak and pass out because, well, professionals were on the scene. He heard Chic Jacket say, “Leave the paramedics here and go after them! I swear, officer, we’re not in any position to be going anywhere but I’ll be most displeased if they get away.”
--
Blaine was in and out of consciousness on the ride to the hospital, though he suspected it was from panic and deliriousness than any serious injury. He thought Sundress and Chic Jacket were in the ambulance with him, but he couldn’t be sure. He hoped they weren’t; that would mean that they were hurt too and could you even have more than one person in an ambulance at a time? It really had been a long time since Blaine last watched Grey’s Anatomy if he couldn’t remember that.
He finally woke up properly on a bed at the emergency room; curtains were drawn all around him, creating the illusion of a tiny room. Blaine tried to sit up but the blood immediately rushed out of his head so he slumped back down, taking in slow, deep breaths. At least he wasn’t hooked on to any IVs or something. And he was still in his own clothes - sans the jacket, which he had to get back as soon as possible with it being the most expensive piece of clothing he owned and all - so that was something, too.
“I wouldn’t suggest trying to get up again,” said a voice dryly from beside him, and Blaine actually let out a short scream. He turned to his side to see Chic Jacket sitting on folding chair at the foot of his bed, eyebrows raised, right foot resting elegantly on his left knee.
Thankfully, he didn’t comment on Blaine’s less than manly shriek and instead just said, “You’re pretty roughed up.”
“I feel like I was just beat up by four thugs,” confessed Blaine. “Oh wait.”
A little amused sound escaped Chic Jacket’s throat. From such a close distance, Blaine confirmed that Chic Jacket was, in fact, even prettier than he had originally thought. Sure, his hair was beginning to flop a little but a man just didn’t argue about attractiveness when the person in question had a face like that and eyes like that.
Let it be noted that Blaine never claimed to have a powerful vocabulary - or indeed, a powerful anything - in the presence of good looking people.
“You’ll be happy to know that the police caught them,” said Chic Jacket, breaking Blaine out of his thoughts. “They’ll want to talk to you soon to get your statement and see if you want to press charges and all that. They’re actually with Quinn right now.”
Blaine blinked.
“Quinn?” he asked. “Sundress?”
“If by Sundress you mean the blonde girl in the yellow dress who looks like she can tear the flesh off your bones with just one look - then yes, that’s her, Quinn Fabray, the one cloud in my otherwise perfectly sunny life.”
Blaine had no idea what half that sentence meant, so he just gave Chic Jacket a smile. He received a slow, sweet one in return, and Blaine was pleased to see that Chic Jacket held an arsenal of good looking faces that portrayed positive emotion, and not just anger and condescension.
“Is she okay?” asked Blaine, his face warm. “I mean, you look like you got roughed up a bit too.”
“What, this?” Chic Jacket reached up to touch the beginnings of a bruise against his cheekbone. “This is nothing. You should see the other guy. He’s not going to be moving any time soon.”
It was all said with an air of such extreme bluster that it had to be fake. Blaine laughed. “I remember. You were pretty amazing.”
“Thank you,” said Chic Jacket, and gosh, Blain couldn’t take it, the guy’s eyes actually lit up. And what pretty eyes they were. “And Quinn’s fine, just angry and on a warpath to land those jerks in prison.”
“I’m not surprised.”
Blaine was feeling warm under the sheets of the tiny bed, enough to drift off again. His joints were still aching but it was nothing he couldn’t ignore. He snuggled in deep and gave a slow smile to Chic Jacket, whose eyes widened slightly before looking away.
“Um,” he said, “a doctor or a nurse should be here soon to talk to you about your injuries, but from what I understand you’re alright, you just needed some stitches for your forehead. You’ll also be sore for a while from all the bruises, but all three of us have to deal with that, so.”
He stopped for a moment, hesitating. “Are you feeling okay, though?” he asked, biting his lip. “Do you want me to go get someone? Or I could stop talking so you can rest? Or I can do both?”
Blaine laughed.
“No, no, I’m fine and I’d love to keep talking to you. But thank you,” he added, sincere. “For asking. And telling me all that.” He paused, thinking. “And also for waiting with me.”
Chic Jacket rolled his eyes.
“Of course we did,” he said. “You did get into a fist fight for me and my friend, so it’s the least we could do.”
Blaine felt embarrassed because that wasn’t what happened at all.
“Oh, don’t say that,” he said, physically feeling his cheeks warm because it was just his luck that Chic Jacket would also be funny and gracious and didn’t need him to have a wrong view of Blaine. “My butting in probably made the whole situation worse.”
Because the tone of Chic Jacket’s words suggested that Blaine did something brave, that he saw someone in trouble and jumped right in to help. Chic Jacket didn’t know that Blaine waffled about for a good while wondering if he should do anything, and basically stood there trying not to pee in his pants while getting the crap beaten out of him.
In fact, Chic Jacket was the one who threw himself into the fray of things without a second thought, tackling Blaine’s initial attacker to the ground.
Chic Jacket hummed. “Maybe,” he said, responding to Blaine’s comment, “but it definitely made us feel safer,” he said. “Quinn’s a very pretty girl, you know, and I practically have a flashing neon sign above my head screaming ‘gay!’ complete with the exclamation mark.”
He paused, smiling a little self-deprecatingly. “The two of us are practically the sure fire recipe for drawing the wrong kind of attention. The other people walking by knew that too, so don’t sell yourself short there. You helped us out, one way or another.”
Chic Jacket gave Blaine a fond look, and Blaine averted his eyes. He really couldn’t let Chic Jacket walk away thinking this when all Blaine had done was stand around like a fool and get beat up. But it would probably be more awkward to bring it up and deep down, Blaine liked the idea of knowing that Chic Jacket thought he was kind of cool, even if it wasn’t true.
Blaine could take this one thing for himself.
“So,” he said instead, furiously searching his mind for another topic. “What’s your name?”
Chic Jacket looked surprised. “What?”
“Well, I can’t very well go around calling you Chic Jacket for the rest of our conversation,” pointed out Blaine quite reasonably.
Chic Jacket instantly curled his fingers around the sleeve of his jacket. “Oh, do you like it?” he asked happily. At Blaine's nod, he continued, “You have no idea what I had to do to get it.”
“Yeah?”
Blaine received a vehement nod in response. “50% off at Banana Republic. You’d think it would be like a jungle in there but in reality, it was so much worse. I had to tear down the self-esteem of one particularly sassy redhead to get my hands on this. Sure, it led to my eyes almost being gouged out but it all worked out in the end.”
Chic Jacket caressed his jacket fondly. “I’m Kurt, to answer your question. Kurt Hummel.”
Blaine stuck his hand out from the bed. “I’m-”
“Blaine Anderson,” finished Kurt. He raised an eyebrow playfully towards Blaine. “Do you think we wouldn’t find out the name of our curly haired partner-in-crime?”
Blaine’s hand immediately went to his head. “Oh gosh,” he said. “I really need to buy longer lasting gel.”
“I don’t think any kind of product would last through the night that you just had,” said Kurt, thoughtfully tapping his chin. Blaine smiled a little sheepishly.
Kurt smiled back before standing up. “I’m going to go and check on Quinn, so you rest and wait for the doctor, okay? I’ll be back in just a bit.”
Blaine nodded and watched as Kurt parted the curtains just enough to slip out. He noticed that his coat was draped across the back of the folding chair Kurt had been sitting on, and felt a completely irrational burst of warmth in his chest. It was just so typical, he thought, that he’d meet such a cute guy while looking like he was on the losing end of a bar fight. And like him so much already.
Still, Blaine slumped back on the bed with a smile on his face.
--
The doctors came and went in the time it took Kurt and Quinn to come back. They mostly repeated what Kurt had told him before, and did some basic tests to confirm that his head was okay and there was no need to perform more complicated procedures. All this was excellent news to Blaine as he had no idea if he was still under his parents’ health insurance.
They also let him know that he wouldn’t need to come back in to get the stitches removed because they would dissolve by themselves.
“Is this something new?” Blaine had asked, fascinated. “Is it safe?”
The doctor had given him a look that suggested that Blaine was a moron. “Of course it is,” she had said. “We wouldn’t use experimental tools on patients without their explicit permission.”
Blaine sat there, legs hanging off the bed and feeling like an idiot as she left.
He heard Kurt and Quinn bickering a few seconds before they actually reached his little makeshift room. “Just let the guy have some peace, Quinn,” Kurt was saying exasperatedly.
Blaine had just finished putting his shoes on when the curtain flew open and he was face to face with a very determined, almost unnaturally beautiful girl. Much like Kurt, she was even better looking up close.
“Sundress!” said Blaine brightly before he caught a hold of himself. “I mean, you must be Quinn. Hi, I’m Blaine.”
Quinn glared, green eyes cool. Blaine felt the need to cower as she stared at him unflinchingly, hands resting imperiously on her waist. Kurt stood in the background, exasperatedly rubbing at his temples.
A girl in such a happy looking dress and with such gorgeous hair falling around her perfect face should not be allowed to look so scary, thought Blaine forlornly. It was almost unfair.
“I just wanted you to know that what you did was extremely stupid,” she said, voice sweet and light and yet Blaine could feel it cut into his skin. “People don’t do things like that for a good reason. You know why? I’ll tell you.” She leaned her face close to his and Blaine instinctively moved back, gulping. “Because they get the crap beaten out of them. Do you understand?”
“Yes?” tried Blaine.
Quinn gave an approving nod.
“Good,” she said. “Because I also wanted to say thank you, what you did was really brave. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t come by, but you did, and everything ended up working out so - thank you.”
“You’re welcome?”
Quinn’s face finally relaxed into a smile. Blaine didn’t think it was possible for her to get any more beautiful. He wasn’t quite in the realm of beginning to question his sexuality - only Rachel had ever managed that, but there was alcohol involved and at any rate, Rachel was in a whole separate league of her own - but he had definitely crossed a line.
Currently he was firmly situated in the world of, ‘I’ll hire someone who knows how to draw and then hang your portrait above the fireplace of my future home and occasionally look at it while sipping expensive wine. Ideally, your good looking friend over there would be married to me and we’d have our two dogs at our feet and he’d tell me how it was creepy that we had a painting of you in our dream home.’
Blaine wasn’t sure this was the right attitude to take, either.
“Really,” said Quinn, laying a hand comfortingly on his arm. Blaine didn’t know how she managed to switch from Ice Queen to maternal in less than a heartbeat, but he definitely felt warmer. “Thank you. I know the two things I said stand on opposite ends of the spectrum here, but I meant both.”
Blaine felt lost, much like when Kurt had nonchalantly thanked him for the same thing. He looked a little helplessly at Kurt, whose face softened. Overwhelmed and nervous and completely out of his depth, Blaine dealt with it the only way he knew how: pretend he knew what the hell he was talking about, and cover up the rest with bravado.
“It really wasn’t a big deal,” said Blaine, giving the two of them a big smile. “I mean, I couldn’t just stand by and have your unrealistically beautiful faces get hurt.”
The effect was instantaneous: Quinn rolled her eyes and Blaine felt apprehension leak out of his heart. Kurt muffled his laughter behind a fist and when their eyes met, Blaine’s smile widened.
Quinn looked back and forth between the two of them curiously.
“Okay then,” she said, pulling on the cardigan she had draped over her arm. “I’m going to go out and wait for Finn to come and leave you two to flirt in peace.”
Kurt’s laughter immediately ceased and his expression morphed into one that could only be described as 'bitchy.' “Way to go, Quinn. No really, good job.”
Quinn didn’t deem that statement with a response and simply walked out, waving goodbye to Blaine, who returned the gesture.
“Finn?” inquired Blaine.
Kurt rolled his eyes. “My stepbrother, her ex-boyfriend. It’s a very complicated and metaphorically incestuous story which I’ll tell you about some other time. It’s pretty much a Greek tragedy.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” said Blaine with a grin. “I love my Greek tragedies.”
Kurt looked ready to respond, but hesitated. Blaine thought it was adorable how his fingers tapped against the side of his legs like a nervous tic. “I really am sorry about what she said,” said Kurt. “I know it can be a bit awkward-”
Blaine was surprised.
“What, you mean the thing about the flirting?” At Kurt’s uncertain nod, Blaine actually laughed. “Don’t be sorry! She wasn’t wrong, you know. I was flirting. Or trying to.”
A slow smile unfurled on Kurt’s face. Pretty, pretty smile, thought Blaine, heart beating just a little bit faster. Gosh, it was pathetic how much he missed this, the feeling of having someone affect him like this. His ex-boyfriend was right, he did take every little thing too extremely, too intensely.
A little prickle appeared at the back of Blaine's throat, but Kurt’s voice distracted him enough for it to go away.
“Were you now?” asked Kurt.
“Oh, come on!” said Blaine, finding it easy to muster up enthusiasm in Kurt’s presence. “I called you Chic Jacket inside my head. That had to be a clue that I was at least a little gay.”
Kurt laughed.
“I did suspect,” he agreed, “but I also noticed that right now, you couldn’t take your eyes off of Quinn.”
“Well, of course,” said Blaine sensibly. “I’m no artist, but even I could tell that she’s the kind of subject people would sell their souls to capture in a canvas.”
So was Kurt, but in an entirely different, more vibrant way. Blaine had enough sense, however, to not say anything like that out loud and scare the guy off. He hoped that nothing was showing on his face.
Though really, spending more than an hour in Blaine’s company would be enough to figure out that he really wasn’t right in the head, so maybe it was a moot point.
“You sound like a poet,” said Kurt, not noticing anything amiss. There was a definite teasing quality to his tone, however, that Blaine immediately picked up on.
“A failing one, maybe,” he said, and was pleased when Kurt laughed again. “But no, really, I don't know if you read Vogue but gosh, she’d look just fantastic in that Ralph Lauren number featured in last month’s issue-”
Kurt’s eyes widened. “The off-white one, with those adorable pleated sleeves?”
Blaine gave an energetic nod. He had a feeling that Kurt would know. “Worn by the brunette model with the butterfly clips?”
“Yes, that one!” said Kurt, giving a quick, excited clap of his hands. Blaine’s mouth was actually hurting from the force of his smile. “I’ve been telling Quinn for days now that I could totally make it for her if she gives me like, an hour to get those pesky measurements and-”
His phone buzzed right then, and the enthusiasm faded away from his face to be replaced with displeasure.
“And Finn continues to have the worst timing in the world,” muttered Kurt under his breath, sighing. He glanced apologetically up at Blaine. “That was a text from my stepbrother, he’s outside. I have to go.”
“Oh,” said Blaine, nodding. A little bit of disappointment unfurled in his heart, but Blaine was an absurd person, so he ignored it. “That’s cool, I guess.”
He stood up so he was standing facing Kurt. “It was really great meeting you, Kurt,” he said, giving an awkward, bashful little laugh, “even though the circumstances weren’t ideal.”
“Likewise,” smiled Kurt. He hesitated, again, and it made Blaine curious because from the short amount of time that Blaine had known him, Kurt Hummel didn’t seem like he was scared of anything. Unlike Blaine who still didn’t feel comfortable going to sleep in complete darkness.
“Do you...” said Kurt, pausing for a bit before shaking his head. “This is ridiculous. Do you want to exchange numbers, Blaine? I’d like to see you again.”
It was ridiculous. But what was even more ridiculous was the fact that Kurt’s tone had a hopeful tilt, as though there was a chance that Blaine would say no. Blaine could literally feel his face light up without his consent.
He didn’t even have to think before answering, “Yes, definitely,” and found himself unable to look away from the faint, pleased flush that rose to colour Kurt’s cheeks.
They barely knew each other, but Blaine had already started to hope that being with Kurt would be different, better, than his previous boyfriends. They were still far, far away from actually being in a relationship never mind reaching boyfriend status, but there was something about Kurt, the way he stole those little glances and showed no fear and-
Slow down, thought Blaine, and don’t get ahead of yourself. Don’t make this out to be something it’s not. You just talked with the guy for twenty minutes.
But regardless of what he told himself, Blaine knew he wasn’t strong enough to stop liking someone too much, too fast. It wasn’t ideal, but he didn’t know how else to be, so he’d just have to deal with whatever happened.
“Would it be weird if I told you I was glad I got punched in the face multiple times?” he asked after a few seconds, handing Kurt’s phone back to him after programming in the number.
“In every context, yes,” said Kurt, but his lips were most definitely curled upwards.
“Well,” said Blaine, unrelenting. “I am.”
Kurt reached forward to touch Blaine’s arm and Blaine felt like he was five seconds away from passing out. He could feel the warmth of Kurt’s fingers seeping through the fabric of his shirt. It was so very different from all their other interactions so far, quiet but decisive.
“You’re so strange,” said Kurt softly, almost to himself.
“Is that... a compliment?” asked Blaine uncertainly. With his history, Blaine thought there could never be any harm in clarifying, even if it made him sound like a tool.
Kurt looked surprised at the question, immediately letting his hand fall to his side. Blaine tried not to look too disappointed.
“Oh,” said Kurt. “It’s most definitely a compliment,” he confirmed.
“Well,” said Blaine, pleased. “In that case, thank you.”
Kurt beamed and Blaine found himself helplessly smiling back.
Yeah, he thought to himself, not going to be able to stop myself.
end.