This was going to be part of a much longer Blaine-centric fic I started writing earlier this year (it was the first thing I started writing for this fandom, actually), called Sensitive Kid. I found it when I was going through my writing folder for nostalgic/science purposes. The fic itself has kind of lost its shine for me, and the rest of what I've written really isn't any good, but I really liked this section, and, as there wasn't anything else I could think of to put it in, it's going here. It's the end of the year, I need to get rid of these things anyway. Plus it will add to my total word count for the year!
Word count is 724. My only warning is for blangst. I feel I need to warn for it because it shatters my own heart so much.
Enjoy?
***
Blaine is locked in a broom closet.
Again.
He’s beginning to get just a little tired of the ritual. The irony of the situation has most certainly not been lost on him, and never has been, but it seems that the joke never stops being funny for those doing the shoving and the locking and the guffawing.
Thankfully, Blaine knows enough now to not point this out to them. He’s smart enough to know not to make matters worse.
(He's smart enough to know a lot of things now. Getting food, drink, blood out of clothes, has definitely been a helpful addition to his skill sets.)
This time Blaine’s alone in his closet, for which he’s quite grateful. Last time they put him in here Tanya and Jethro came in twenty minutes later to make out and didn’t see him at first, so he just had to sit there quietly the whole time, trying not to make any noise or move too much so they didn’t notice. He didn’t want to cause a scene, and the midget gay kid sitting in on someone else’s makeout session would most definitely have been A Scene. Luckily, the two of them were so into it at the time that he didn’t really need to be discreet.
Of course, though, they saw him when they finished up and came out. Surprisingly neither of them really had an issue-and everybody always had an issue (he suspects that Jethro was far too deep in the memory of actually getting to second base to care about anything much).
In fact, Tanya asked if he enjoyed it.
He said no, he wasn’t really into girls making out with people, and Tanya wasn’t his type, but thank you anyway. (Because if Blaine Anderson is anything, it’s thoroughly honest and painfully well-mannered.) She shrugged.
“You could’ve just said you liked it.” She said with a sigh. “Only trying to make your life easier, kid.”
Blaine draws his legs up to his chest and shifts a fraction to the right so the steel mop bucket isn’t digging into his back. He waits. They always let him out eventually, or someone else finds him. The waiting’s not so bad, really-it’s quiet and safe, unless they decide to come back, which they don’t usually do, and sometimes he’s got his Walkman or something to do with him and he can while away the time in peace.
The door swings open and light streams in through the door.
Blaine’s heart leaps to his throat.
“Oh-jesus, kid, you wanna be a little more conspicuous next time? So tiny, sittin’ down there, nearly gave me a heart attack-“
It’s the janitor. Blaine breathes again, struggling to his feet in the cramped space.
“Sorry,” he says, voice cracking from lack of use.
“Ah, don’t be sorry, kid, wasn’t your fault.” Blaine just stops himself from apologising for saying sorry. He looks up and the janitor sees him properly. His brow furrows.
“You’re in here a lot, aren’t you?”
“Yeah,” Blaine shrugs, “I don’t mind it though, really.”
The janitor shrugs. “If you say so, kid. I’m always around if you need hand, though.”
“Thank you, sir. I should... get to class. I’m sorry.”
He manages to get away before he can apologise for apologising again.
When he finally makes it to class, the teacher looks up at him in annoyance from her desk. He drops his eyes to the ground.
“Mr. Anderson, you’re late again, how many times this week-“
“Jerking off, were you, Blainey?” hoots Jackson from the back of the room. The whole room cackles and Blaine’s face burns hot.
“Jackson, enough. Mr. Anderson?”
Blaine straightens up. He knows how to talk to teachers. He can Do Manners. It’s one of the only things he can do, and it’s the only thing to do in a situation like this.
If he can still be calm and polite, he tells himself, secretly he’s won the whole thing.
“I’m terribly sorry, Mrs Roberts, I was delayed helping Mr Foley in the library. I can catch up on anything I’ve missed in my own time. I have my homework from last week here?”
He doesn’t listen to the sniggers and names as he walks to his seat, head held as high as it can go.
He won this time.