Warning right now for extreme mental disorders raging through this. Mentions of sexual abuse, rape, violence, suicide, cutting and strong apathy. Also a buncha shit I forgot about. Sorry to offend anyone by writing this piece or anything. I had a sudden inspiration at God knew what time out of nowhere, so I just wrote this. I stated this at 2AM, powering my way to 4AM, and from this morning's 8:30 to the current 11:27. I just wanted to write a piece like this. This is set from 2x06 to 2x10. This portrays a completely opposing thought to Kurt's character than we thought before, so be prepared. This is very clear-cut. It seems confusing but you'll get it most at the end if anything. Anyway, I do not own any of the scenes from 2x06 to 2x10 that are very lucidly described here.

If I did offend you, I'm sorry and didn't mean to. I love you all, you're all gems for just reading this, so… overall, I'm unsure how to feel about this piece, but I had a great sudden urge to write it so ciao! xo Sam/Peanut Butter.

The glass dome on the ceiling almost looked like a dream.

The glass looked so fragile. He wondered if it would break and fall on his head, shattering him into a million pieces. He fixed the large glasses he had on his face, Chanel, authentic, he'd gotten at a midnight auction on the nineteenth of February two years ago – a large jacket that he himself thought hid his entire existence away in fabricated nothing. The weight he'd lost hidden by thick fabric, and his pants were this quite lovely plaid-style. His shirt was hidden, along with his rather obnoxious red tie. Kurt took off the glasses, adjusting to the light.

"Excuse me," he asked to a boy with gelled hair that was just passing by. This boy – he stuck out, even in a sea of navy, red and white. "Can I ask you a question? I'm new here."

The boy's lips curled into a small smile. The uniform made him look atrocious. He looked like he lived a nice, happy life in a nice, happy bubble. "My name is Blaine."

He extended his hand. Kurt was nearly afraid to shake it, but somehow, his hand fumbled its way towards this boy's – Blaine's – hand and he shook it. Quite frankly, he didn't look like a Blaine.

"Kurt," he watched the number of passing by students. "So, what exactly is going on?"

"Warblers," the boy's eyes lit up completely. "Every now and then, they throw an impromptu performance in the senior common room."

He still looked like he was living in a land of bubbly rainbows and clouds. Kurt almost envied him for the striking confidence he showed with that smile, and the glitter that his hazel eyes – more green in his light – struck Kurt completely. He said something else about the school that Kurt had completely missed as more students pooled into the common room, but he understood the overall. To be honest, Kurt wasn't really interested in sunshine pants.

"So wait," Kurt said. His voice was light, and held none of the contempt that was rising in Kurt's thoughts. "Glee club here is kind of cool?" he couldn't even think of any better words to represent his thoughts that weren't spiteful, mean, or just plain horrid. This boy, this broken brunette, that had been the object of Karofsky's fists from day one was envious of this boy – sunshine curls. He couldn't really see him as Blaine. If he saw him as Blaine, he would be giving him a name, a meaning and right now, Kurt didn't like him at all.

"The Warblers are like rock stars." Dear Prada, just shut up. Your teeth are incredibly large.

This however, made Kurt's eyebrows rise in surprise either way, because in a school where any Glee club were like 'rock stars' meant one thing: it was safe.

"Come on." Blaine – sunshine curls – grabbed Kurt's hand and Kurt felt his heart thudding. "I know a shortcut."

They ran into a hall, hand never letting go.

This seemed so surreal, out of a movie. In Kurt's head, a lovely piano-like melody was playing that was soothing over his bones. All contempt and…fear…erasing from Kurt's mind and body. Blaine never let go of his hand. Suddenly, Kurt's mind flashed to impossible romances, like the Titanic. The walls were brighter. The world was like a dream, an elaborate beautiful fantasy. His hatred of Blaine suddenly erasing if only for a fleeting moment, and he felt somewhat cherished as long as Blaine held his hand and the piano kept on playing –

"I'll never let go Jack," Rose whispered, as she let go of Jack's hand. "I promise."

The yellow flowers. The decked halls. It was all so magical. He remembered being eleven and waiting for his Hogwarts letter to get out of this crummy place because Puck shoved him into a locker and called him faggy and gross.

It was perfect, every piece falling in – except for Kurt.

"I stick out like a sore thumb," Kurt said out loud.

"Next time don't forget your jacket new kid," Blaine smoothed out his jacket and suddenly, Kurt can feel all of the smoothness of the leather and the purity of everything all in one go. Blaine winked at him and Kurt felt like they shared a secret. Kurt's stomach was in knots. He felt like a butterfly – or ironically, a warbler, a bird, floating. Flying. "You'll fit right in."

First tones of something a lot like Teenage Dream filled the air. Kurt suddenly felt that those were the right words to describe everything he was feeling. Like a teenage dream, unreal – completely and utterly surreal.

"Now if you'll excuse me."

Now when Blaine sung, Kurt's stomach wanted to projectile vomit glitter. He sounded like a complete and utter – well, dream. Kurt suddenly felt like he was savouring the first bites of his favourite cheesecake, as mascarpone and cherry lightly filled his nostrils in a fluffy-feeling make-believe. All of them were getting along with it, cheering and Kurt simply clutched onto his bag as tightly as possible. Suddenly weighed down by his rubber boots, almost as if he was trying to grip onto reality itself in fear of it sailing through his head and crashing into the form of Karofsky.

"Don't ever look back. Don't ever look back."

And Kurt won't. He grinned, clutching even tighter on the clutch on his bag. He hadn't seemed to register the fact that this was not his reality. There were cheers, mounds of them – applauses like Kurt had been starved of. Except he really didn't seem to care anymore. It took him a moment to realise that he was clapping too. His grin left but if he had a mirror, he would've realised his eyes were glistening a rather faint blue.

Blaine's last look, the last look he shot, was at Kurt.

Kurt suddenly felt like he was the centre of everyone's attention. Blaine had walked towards him and now all eyes were on Kurt. He felt like they were to see how mismatched his clothing was, how off he looked, how he was misplaced there but all Blaine did was offer him a smile. "I suppose you really are rock stars," Kurt chimed in, still trying to register the applause.

"You don't like me very much, Kurt," Kurt had stopped right there, dead in his tracks. Had Blaine been able to read his mind? Blaine had smiled anyway though, almost as if nothing can dampen his mood.

Kurt didn't dare meet Blaine's eyes as Blaine added on. "So I'd have to put some love potion in your cup of coffee. How does a latte sound?"

Kurt was thrown back completely, stunned. It almost sounded like a date.

Blaine chuckled. "Come on."

The piano started playing again in his mind. Suddenly, years of piano practice that he'd never dared to skip that had left his hands sore and in pain didn't seem to matter at all.

This time, Kurt had reached out to grab Blaine's hand. And he never did let go of it either.

If Kurt had a perfect scene for a coffee shop, it would all be warm-coloured, beige, cream, brown – kind of like Starbucks without the green logo. Just plain warm colours…and that was exactly how the Dalton dining hall was like.

Blaine had pushed the small coffee cup. Kurt would've preferred a bigger size but he knew that he should technically cut down on his caffeine consumption. "Latte." Blaine called out.

"Thank you," Kurt said in a low voice, almost as if he was worrying about disrupting the fabulous design on the walls that even Kurt would have never thought of in a billion years.

"This is Wes," Blaine explained. "David." Each nodded to their name.

"It's very civilised for you to invite me for coffee before beating me up for spying," of course, none of them appeared to be able to hit him, but Kurt knew better than appearances gave. He also knew that there was no way that he could be in this beautiful room without something going terribly amiss, and since he was so used to being pushed to his limit, he would expect this. It won't be painful. At least there was no discomfort in his stomach as of yet, just the warmth of the latte.

"We're not going to beat you up," Wes' dark eyes didn't seem to have any amount of darkness in them. Ironically, they were nearly pitch black.

David called him endearing with a grin. Blaine sipped his coffee.

Blaine then added on in an understanding voice, "Which led me to believe that spying on us wasn't the real reason you came."

Kurt wanted to throw up now. He'd much rather have Blaine beat him up or throw the scolding hot coffee on Kurt's face. Kurt actually felt like everything was written from him. Can Blaine see Kurt's vacant eyes, his visible ribcage underneath his shirt, and the thoughts of self-abuse that he'd been running over his mind for days now? Can he hear any of it?

Kurt can only smile, a fake smile, before chuckling humourlessly. "Can I ask you guys a question?" They didn't say anything which led Kurt to believe that their silence was a silent 'we're waiting for the question' type of thing. "Are you guys all gay?"

Various chuckles were only thrown in response instead of the shove Kurt had expected.

"Uh, no," Blaine explained, eyes still lit with humour. "I mean, I am, but the other two have girlfriends." He pointed to them in indication when talking. Kurt realised that Blaine used hand gestures a lot up until now. He didn't know what that meant. He didn't know what any of that meant.

The latte was still warm.

"There is a zero-tolerant harassment policy."

"Everyone gets treated the same." This all seemed like fucking music to Kurt's ears and he had quite a restrictive taste of music currently. Usually choosing to scream in his pillow at the dead end of the night and calling it heavy metal. "No matter what they are. It's pretty simple."

Kurt was rendered speechless. Blaine was still staring at him, almost as if he was waiting.

"Would you guys excuse us?" Blaine asked, and they left, just like that. Knowingly. Almost. They said something but Kurt's anxiety was pretty much through the roof and the coffee he'd just ingested tasted too bitter in his mouth.

"I'd take you're having trouble at school." Blaine simply stated.

Kurt wanted to ask how sunshine curls knew.

"I'm the only person out of the closet in this school," Kurt finally admitted. "And I tried to stay strong about it, but there's this Neanderthal who has made it his mission to make my life a living Hell. And nobody seems to notice."

All of these words seemed unclear. They were raging with some other emotion that Kurt couldn't read, an emotion that made his stomach drop ten times lower and his mind shout: just don't think about it anymore.

"I know how you feel," Blaine finally said. Kurt wanted to retort that no, you don't, but Blaine's eyes told a different story. "I got taunted at my old school. And it really…"

Blaine shook his head, as if trying not to think about it, "…pissed me off. I even complained about it to the facility. They're sympathetic and all but I can just tell that nobody really cared. It was just like 'hey, if you're gay, your life is just going to be miserable'. There's nothing you can do about it. So I left. And I came here," another gesture with his hands and his eyes wandered around, barely flickering with emotion as it was. "So that was that."

Kurt stared down.

"So you have two options," and now, Kurt had met Blaine's eyes again. "You know I'd love to tell you to just come and enroll here but tuition's also kind of steep and I know that it's not an option for everyone or…"

Kurt's eyes were hungry for the other option. "You can refuse to be a victim."

Suddenly, Kurt was unsure. His mind reeling with a thousand thoughts. Blaine suddenly said those words that rung into Kurt's ear, "prejudice is just ignorance. You have a chance right now to change it."

"How?" Kurt just really didn't want to. His stomach was concaving in, almost like a mash of pain and that…other unidentifiable emotion.

"Confront him. Call him out." Blaine said, and then added on.

"I ran, Kurt." Blaine said. "I didn't stand up. I let it all chase me away and it's something I really, really regret."

Kurt nodded, standing up to leave.

He really didn't want to think this way, but…what if Kurt wanted to be the victim?

Kurt slid out of his bed. He looked into the mirror, grunting as he took a handful of his hair which was falling out. Either from lack of food or because he wasn't quite maintaining it. Even if he wasn't quite maintaining it, why it was falling out was making him angry and confused. Burt had called him downstairs, and Kurt didn't even meet his eyes. He was wearing one too many layers, skipped breakfast and drank three cups of coffee.

All of them were lattes. His mind was still swimming in this warmth ecstasy.

He could not stop thinking of Blaine, or the conflicting emotions when he'd seen Blaine. Sometimes, he hated him. Mostly because Blaine reminded him of himself, and he hated himself. Kurt never knew why but he had contracted this hatred for his body. In his English glass, he had to fill in blanks and found the word guilty on his paper. He rolled his eyes. Guilty as charged, Kurt was ultimately avoiding reality by thinking of Blaine and Dalton. Every little corner reminded him of the perfection that was Dalton academy and to be honest, he wanted to escape there…

His cellphone buzzed. Once. Twice.

In the choir room. Courage.

In the hallway. Courage.

So Kurt stood up. He screamed. He yelled. He was done being in pain. He was angry now and suddenly grew five inches and ninety pound of muscle and just wanted to stand. He got…

A kiss.

His mind raced and he felt like falling flat on his face. The image of Blaine's text still numb in his mind. He didn't know why. He couldn't tell anyone. Not anyone but Blaine.

He didn't know why, but nobody can know. Nobody.

But Blaine.

Kurt was walking with Blaine. Blaine all decked in his Warbler uniform. Suddenly seeing him out in the real world made Kurt believe that something was terribly wrong with the world. It made Blaine real. He still quite resembled Prince Charming. Suddenly, when he smiled, he made Kurt melt instead of annoying him with his teeth.

Kurt just didn't know why his emotions shifted so quickly. Just that Blaine was safe. Hearing him talk about his struggles at his old school suddenly made Kurt feel like Blaine was safe. The only safe person in Kurt's life. The only one Kurt stuck an 'okay' label to.

"Just let me do all the talking," they were walking up together towards one of the school entrances. Almost climbing. Almost something.

"There he is," Kurt said, eyes on Dave.

He wondered if the blue sweater he was wearing could get any bigger compared to how small he felt. Suddenly, the jutting of his bones underneath was hurting him and there was just ice. How long had it been since he'd had anything but coffee?

Lattes. All of them.

"I've got your back."

Kurt's mind flashed to the Warbler performance – "Don't look back." Kurt was only looking forward at Dave's face.

"Excuse me," Kurt's stomach churned at Blaine's politeness, almost reminding him that Blaine was pretty much the equivalent of a fictional character in a romance novel.

"Hey, lady boys."

Dave stared at him. "That your boyfriend, Kurt?"

Blaine's voice suddenly turned icier. "Kurt and I want to talk to you about something." He sounded so strong. Kurt wondered how he could've been fragile at all. If it was all a lie. Everything seemed like a lie.

"I gotta go to class."

He touched Kurt's chest, even lightly. Kurt was suddenly aware of the sharpness of his chest.

"Kurt told me what you did," Blaine said, eyes settling down at the jock. Not quite giving up with the extreme confidence he was sporting now.

"Oh yeah?" the large male stared back up at Blaine. "What's that?"

"You kissed me," suddenly, Kurt spoke. He couldn't believe how he sounded, different. At least to himself. He sounded different.

"I don't know whatcha talking about."

Kurt looked at Blaine. His stomach was seriously hurting him. Kurt pinned it down to hunger. He was unaware of when was the last time he'd eaten. It was seriously jagging up his stomach now. But what if you wanted to play the victim?

And like a guidance counselor or a therapist, Blaine calmly said. "It seems you may be a little confused. And that's totally normal. This is a very hard thing to come to terms with and you should just know that you're not alone."

Dave turned around, suddenly fury in his eyes.

Kurt seriously felt like throwing up by now. Kurt heard a series of grunts as Blaine was pushed up against the fence. All Kurt can suddenly see was blood pooling from skin, bursting…he couldn't fucking take it! Kurt suddenly had the power to push away the large male. Out of nowhere. He didn't know how any of that can make sense.

"Stop it!"

Stop all of it. He suddenly left. The feeling slightly went away. He didn't want to look back at Blaine. Suddenly, he was afraid all of the visuals in his head would come true. The blood that Kurt had been accustomed to seeing. All of it.

"Well, he's not coming out any time soon," Blaine said. "What's going on?" he said, as he noticed Kurt sitting down.

"Why are you so upset?"

Kurt felt his mind spinning. "'Cause until yesterday, I have never been kissed. At least, one that counted." He just waited for Blaine to kiss him now, to set it perfect, and right. To go back to that moment in Dalton. Piano keys still playing in Kurt's mind.

"Come on. I'll buy you lunch." Kurt's stomach nearly growled at the thought of food entering it. As they walked down, Kurt's eyes stared at the side of Blaine's face as his hand went to Blaine's. Kurt never quite stopped staring and as they left, their hands met with each other, if only for a second – for that second, neither of them let go.

His Father saved him. He was going to Dalton.

The uniform fit perfectly. His measurements were much better now than before. He wasn't always hungry and hurt. Suddenly, Kurt felt like floating again. He cannot feel most of his bones as previously. Most of his favourite pants now fit again as accustomed to the weight gain. Suddenly, Kurt felt like this was a fantasy again, a perfect elaborate fantasy.

He walked in with a grin that can burn through the whole world. He wore a pin, just so he didn't feel out of place. It was the only thing he can dress him up in. He walked down those halls, proud. Suddenly, everything else didn't matter and Hogwarts can nip its butt.

A random male wanted a high-five.

It was all just so perfect.

"And now, as a welcoming addition to the Warblers: Kurt Hummel," he heard his name as golden doors opened.

Kurt walked in. They were all cheering. The applause he'd been starving for. Right there.

"In our oldest tradition," Wes looked up at Kurt with a smile, "For our newest Warbler."

"Kurt," Blaine looked down at the cage. "Pavarotti."

Kurt heard Wes drawl on, talk about the importance of the bird. It was so small in its cage. Kurt tried to maintain a smile, but it reminded him of something…someone. "It's your job to take care of him, so he can carry on the Warbler legacy."

Suddenly, Kurt's stomach was hurting him again and he couldn't look at those innocent, dark eyes. They reminded him of someone.

"Protect him. That bird is your voice."

Somehow, Kurt took him. It didn't feel so scary anymore. He felt like he can take care of this bird. This bird. Kurt made a joke, and when nobody laughed, he tried to disregard what he'd said. Wes had done his 'order in the court' wooden hammer smashing against the table, and Kurt was brought to attention.

"Council come to order…"

He got a solo. He went to Rachel. The song she said she wanted people to sing for her funeral – Don't Cry for Me Argentina.

"It won't be easy. You'll think it's strange…when I try to explain how I feel. That I still need your love after all that I've done…you won't believe me…"

Kurt sung his heart out. They didn't give him a solo, but somehow, that didn't matter. He blamed Pavarotti, as he fed the adorable bird. He didn't really blame him. How could he? As Kurt fed him, Blaine walked in. Somehow, it was strange having Blaine and Pavarotti in the same room. It was somewhat wrong, somehow. He didn't really understand. Kurt didn't really know that it wasn't because he didn't understand – it was because he didn't quite want to understand.

All Kurt did was sit down, stare at Pavarotti, feel…some strange intense emotion, and then feed him a lot of food. All of which Pavarotti didn't much of at all. After the third day, Kurt got him nibbling on a very small piece of cracker but he stopped nibbling after a while, turning to his water. It made Kurt concerned for the bird, that he'd barely eat, and he didn't sing quite as much. Sometimes, Pavarotti wouldn't sing at all.

Kurt pressed his head forward. Pavarotti looked sad.

Blaine walked down towards him, holding a coffee – now, that Kurt was looking down at Pavarotti's food habits and back at Blaine – he realised he'd never seen Blaine without some form of caffeine but he'd very rarely seen Blaine eat. Of course, he wasn't around Blaine 24/7, a meager amount of time. He wondered if it would be considered rude for Kurt to ask Blaine to take off the form-fitting blazer just to see what was underneath. "I might even say you're a little love struck for Pavarotti."

Kurt smiled softly. A sudden twinge of emotion twisted in his stomach. "Well, he's quite a charmer."

Kurt looked back down at the bird, that was burying his face anywhere away from Kurt. Blaine sat his coffee down, opening Pavarotti's cage and the bird eagerly flew into Blaine's hand.

"Wait, wait!" Kurt said.

"He needs to be out of his cage a little," Blaine simply said, laying the warbler on his shoulder. He fluttered his wings. "Don't worry. His wings are clipped."

Kurt placed his hand towards Pavarotti's feet, hoping the bird will hop on. Blaine chuckled. "Not when I'm here."

"Oh," Kurt chuckled softly. "So Pavarotti likes you, doesn't he?"

Blaine shrugged with a small smile on his face as he pulled Pavarotti up in his hand again. Blaine had spent the next six minutes trying to get the hyper bird in the cage now before shutting it. "If you're going to take him out, don't do it inside. Try to keep it in the dorms," he murmured against the cage. Pavarotti moved towards Blaine again. Blaine had fed him a few crackers and the bird hungrily nipped. This made Kurt's stomach hurt him. He didn't know why, but it was almost as if the bird had told him that something was wrong with him. Something was wrong.

Decked in perfect golden lined colours, white walls, brilliant maroon curtains and coffee-coloured rooms – there was something wrong. Kurt can't put a finger on it, but something.

He watched as Pavarotti sulked in his cage. Blaine left with his cup of coffee.

Kurt laid a hand on Blaine's. Blaine didn't do anything. He smiled, and let Kurt squeeze back. Kurt stood up, and they walked downstairs. They went to the dining room. Kurt reached in for fluffy, comfort food that tasted amazing and was warm.

In the back of his mind, it never left Kurt that one of Blaine's hand was grasping tightly against Kurt's. The other one was picking at his food, as if there was something wrong with his food. This made Kurt uncomfortable for a bit, and the taste of heated mac and cheeses, rice pudding, hot chocolate and dumpling soup made him forget the fact that Blaine was picking at his food for a moment.

Kurt looked up, meeting Blaine's eyes and suddenly felt an uncomfortable tightness in his chest.

"Blaine," sunshine curls, Kurt smiled weakly. "Aren't you hungry?"

"Oh, no," Blaine said it with his usual careless demeanor. He shrugged. "Big lunch." Kurt's finger graced over the small bone on Blaine's bony wrist.

Kurt didn't say anything. "Blaine…do you have curls when your hair is ungelled?"

Blaine was thrown back by this question and nodded his head, allowing a soft smile to appear on his face. "Wild, horrific Medusa hair."

Kurt chuckled humourlessly, eyes still set on Blaine's wrist as Blaine took the first bite of food. As Kurt saw Nick walk towards them, Blaine suddenly took another bite almost as if all food had suddenly became interesting.

"Kurt?" Blaine raised an eyebrow.

Kurt sighed. He hadn't realised he'd been gripping too tightly on Blaine's hand. "I'm sorry. I'm just…stressed," he tried to find the word for it.

"Just wait until the next semester," Nick dully muttered, taking a spoonful of his rice.

Kurt's eyes never left Blaine's wrist for some time as he nodded dully. There was no piano music playing in his head tonight.

"Don't try so hard next time."

"I didn't realise that caring was frowned upon."

Kurt knew what that meant, as he washed his face for the seventh time that day, trying to wash away any evidence of…his entire face. It was almost as if he was just trying to conceal his identity. His socks were suddenly too bright. His boxers too tight. His mind was reeling with numbness, and he can't quite grasp on anything anymore.

It was all fleeting. Something was wrong, as he washed his hand with too expensive soap, and washed away his face with lukewarm perfect temperature water.

Walking down the hallway late at night after his standard skin-care routine that wasn't going to suffer here, with a mask of a lovely cucumber and mint infusion, he had passed by the nurse's office. He walked inside and found Nick on the bed.

Kurt slicked into the room. "Nick Duval?"

Nick looked up at him and now, Kurt can see how small Nick looked. He looked so short all of a sudden, even though he was only an inch shorter than Kurt.

"I don't know how you did it in your old school, but did you notice we all wear uniforms here?"

Kurt's mind suddenly played that statement that Blaine had told him, over and over again, as his eyes dropped to Nick's body. Nick looked okay. He looked okay. Jeff was suddenly walking towards Nick, laying a hand on Nick's cheek.

"Leave, Kurt," Jeff's voice was soft, innocent. Like its always been.

Kurt moved closer, and Jeff's eyes suddenly filled with a flash of fury. "Kurt, please! Just go! This isn't for you to know or anyone to find out!"

Kurt suddenly felt something was wrong, something. He found himself catching a glimpse of what. Nick's cheeks coloured. He was embarrassed. He looked exhausted, and now that Kurt was paying complete attention, Nick's shoulders were shaking horribly.

The uniform hid most of it. Kurt can only see what had spilled onto the sheets with contact of Nick's ass to the sheets.


Now, that Kurt was thinking about it, he continued to make his way down the hall, splashed hot water on his face in an attempt to erase that image as he turned towards the toilet, and threw up the contents of his stomach. He mewled in pain, curling up and holding his head in his hands. An intense emotion burst from Kurt, making his stomach and chest tighten.

"Hey," Kurt looked up, eyes full of tears, finding Blaine there, as Kurt was pulled up by him.

"N-N-Nick. The blood…"

Blaine shut his eyes, nodding his head in confirmation. Kurt was suddenly shell-shook. Nick, so innocent and adorable, what kind of monster would dare attack him in any way? Make him bleed that way? Make him possibly traumatised for life.

"It's okay," Blaine said, rubbing Kurt's shoulder. "He's going to be okay."

Blaine's reassurances did nothing to Kurt's mind, which was replaying it over and over again. He only heard stories about these kinds of things. He didn't really want to think about them. He passed by the nurse's office, finding Jeff painfully clinging onto Nick's body, almost afraid to let go. In that moment, Kurt can recongise the one intense emotion sprouting from Nick's eyes.


Kurt's hand went to Blaine's, holding it tightly. The hallways were too vast, too silent. Which was perfect because Kurt wanted to forget. The candles were lit. They always were at night times. If the lights were open, it would disturb some people, but everyone knew it wasn't quite realistic that all the Warblers be in bed by nine pm, and even if so, in the case of an emergency, the ability to see where one was going was crucially important.

Kurt's eyes seemed to wander towards the candles near Blaine's room.

The roses were dead. One of the candles unlit. Kurt seemed to notice, as Blaine had taken him to his dorm room, which he normally share with Jeff. Jeff probably wanted to stay with Nick.

Kurt was hurting again. He normally stayed with Nick. He normally watched his cute rosy heart face in the morning, with that brilliant white smile, and those eyes that were to-die-for. He watched him every day. How could this have happened? He almost always suspected that the Warbler halls were like a castle sometimes.

There was a dragon in their castle. It unlit hope, and destroyed fragile, pretty things. Like roses and Nick.

The light was slowly stripping away into something darker, a bit too dark for Kurt's taste. Kurt didn't that Blaine was by his bedside, holding his hand until he fell asleep. He woke up groggy and foggy. He took a steamy shower, and wore the uniform, which suddenly felt wrong, almost as if he was being stripped of identity. Kurt then realised he wanted very much to just be stripped of identity. He threw his pin away, and left with Blaine.

They held hands again and the piano was playing softer than usual.

They were all sitting down, happy chatter, roses all around, and vases bursting to the brim with lilies and ribbons. Kurt felt disturbed for some reason, as images of Nick still played in his mind. Something was wrong. Something was terribly, terribly wrong. Kurt wondered if he should mention Nick, or Jeff. David said something. Blaine drank coffee, seeming completely unbothered by it.

Nick walked towards them, eyes completely vacant. Knee slightly bobbing up and down when he sat down, almost as if he was trying to keep control of his body. Jeff sat down beside him. Jeff's eyes were just as vacant. Nick emptily ate his sandwich. He laughed bitterly.

Nobody said anything. It was as if whatever happened to Nick yesterday didn't really happen as long as nobody talked about it.

"You're not going to make it as a Warbler if all you care about is getting noticed."

Blending in. Like Nick. Like Nick who was raped that nobody really gave a damn about. Like Nick who flinched silently when Blaine touched his wrist, and the Nick that was wandering around the halls late at night. That Nick. It was almost like Nick wasn't noticed at all. No support. Nothing. It all didn't exist.

Nick was fake happy all the time. And he was perfect at it.

With that thought in his mind, Kurt felt his cold skin meet the lukewarm water again.

"I know it's going to take some getting used to. But you'll fit in soon enough. I promise."

Kurt didn't want to fit in. He didn't even want to know what it meant. Today, he accidentally found Nick in the bathroom. Nick's arms were slashed completely, his arms around the toilet bowl as he threw up. He didn't quite catch Kurt staring, as Kurt watched the blood run down from Nick's arms. There was a razorblade right beside Nick's arms. Nobody would know.

He stepped backwards, and hit Blaine's body.


Blaine pulled Kurt away from it, practically shoving Kurt down the hallway with him, almost as if not wanting to see Nick break, almost as if preventing Kurt from doing the same.

"Blaine! This is ridiculous! Life's not all sunshine and rainbows! Nick has been raped. He cuts—"

Blaine looked at him, straight at him. "Don't you think we know?" it took for a while to notice that Blaine's neck was full of bruises, his hands were cold and clammy. His hair was dishevelled into their natural curl state. His eyes had grey circles. His cheeks were sunken in. "I know, Kurt."

The images were still vividly haunting Kurt. He was sitting down with a notebook on his desk a few days later. Between worrying about Nick, slipping in secret notes of care and love in his blazer that ended up crumbled and into the trashcan and wondering about what Blaine really had, or any of these people did, he'd gotten behind in his schoolwork. This was something he couldn't afford at all, so he had sat down and had done most of his work. This led to solitary confinement for days. Kurt realised it was much more peaceful to bury his nose in countless of information other than going to Warbler practice or seeing Nick walk by with those bands that were made to hide everything.

It came close for Kurt to realise that Nick would die one day because of blood loss if he kept this up. He really wanted to call someone but every adult authority seemed to be brainwashed. He can go anywhere in the weekends and all, but to be honest, he didn't either have the time with Blaine scheduling Warbler sessions – and wanting to tag along. It seemed friendly at first, and now, it was forceful, like he wanted Kurt not to come to terms with everything. Like he wanted to hide everything from Kurt.

Blaine had put down a stereo, smiling at him as he walked into the room. "Hey."

With that being said, Kurt had somehow forgotten that Christmas was coming.

"You scared me," Kurt chuckled humourlessly. Blaine looked so put together. He saw a glimpse of Nick passing. He seemed fine as well. Everyone seemed fine, but really, everything was so skin-deep, so superficial, so…nothing.

"I'm Marley's ghost and I'm here to tell you to stop studying so hard."

Kurt wanted to bury his nose in his book right now, but his eyes never seemed to meet Blaine's. He looked for bruising, for grey circles under his eyes – nothing. Either Blaine knew how to apply good makeup or Kurt had been confined to this dorm room for far too long. He realised the last time he remembered going out with Blaine and Mercedes was in November. They were in mid-December, with the 25th seemingly right around the corner.

"What's with the boom box?"

"I need you to sing with me," Blaine said. "Well, rehearse with me. I got a gig singing Baby It's Cold Outside in the—"

Somehow, Kurt's mind froze after Blaine saying that song. It was somewhat of a cliché song, but it was also something Kurt remembered from his childhood, where everything was better. Of all the songs, Blaine just happened to blurt out that perfect one.

"Uh, personal favourite," Kurt knew that Blaine probably didn't want to hear a sob story about how he used to sing this with his Mother all the time before. "Too bad they'd never let us sing together."

Blaine had a nearly quizzical expression. If you knew Blaine Anderson quite well, you'd say his eyes dulled up and he was fumbling with his fingers out of nervousness.

"I mean, as…two artists," Kurt corrected.

Suddenly swooned by the amount of lightness in his chest, Kurt didn't realise until very later that studying and Nick somehow was at the back of his mind, non-existent, with Blaine's so glittery-beautiful eyes.

"So are you going to help me out here?"

Kurt made some ludicrous comment about anything to get him to stop studying or something or rather. To be honest, all Kurt wanted to do was escape the reality of Dalton now. Before, it was McKinley. He wanted that fantasy back, that perfection – and Blaine was going to sing with him and everything was snowy and fluffy. He wanted to forget everything. Even about Nick. He knew this was wrong. He knew this was probably the way that Blaine was thinking, the way that everyone was thinking – everyone would escape the world and ignore everyone's issues simply because they can't handle it anymore.

By the end of the song, Kurt was on the couch, leg on top of the other, eyes meeting with Blaine and it was so surreal and dream-like that Kurt thought it was wrong not to think about Nick. Or Jeff's pain over Nick. Or David. Or anything but Blaine's eyes looking back at him right now as their hand met for a momentary slide together, gripping tightly for only a second. But for that second, they were never letting go.

When Blaine made a comment about Kurt being much-better than that girl, Kurt curled his lips, tasting a sudden infusion of ice-cream. Something he'd tastelessly eaten outside from what he'd told Franny, one of the passing workers, to get for him. He didn't want to face real people, and he decided if he was going to be a scolded, old bat in a cave, he might as well eat as much ice-cream as possible.

Then Will walked in and suddenly, Kurt felt sudden excitement. To be honest, McKinley didn't seem as much of a Hell as the…feelings he got at Dalton sometimes. Sometimes. Not like right now.

Kurt would realise later if Blaine hadn't done the duet with him, he'd have thrown himself at Will and told him to take him away.

"Mr Schuester," he stood up, laughing, all the glee in his eyes. He caught a reflection of him in the mirror, all rosy cheeks. Had Blaine done this to him? Made him feel so perfect, so lovely, made him forget everything in a fraction of a second an like a snowflake drifting on his tongue, made him melt so keenly on the inside?

Now that Kurt was revising it, the emotion had…had to be love. It had to be.

You just want to love people, don't you? But you don't love anyone. Not anyone. Kurt's mind was snippily telling him, but he really didn't listen right now. Everything was at the back of his head, like the apocalypse and Nick's cuts.

"Good to see you, Kurt," he gave him a quick hug that was barely even a hug. "Someone special?" he indicated towards the doorway.

Kurt had denied it, then said, "On the upside, I'm in love with him and he's actually gay. I call that progress."

In love. Now that Kurt said it, he can feel it bursting out of every core of his being. Starved for the affection that only Blaine can provide, wanting to see those eyes, so sweet – honey in the light when they were doing their duet. Everything was all so magical again, like a bursting beautiful fantasy. "How are you doing?" Mr Schue asked.

If it was only a day ago, Kurt would have miserably cried, but right now, all he could complain about, with that ridiculous smile on his face, "Classes are harder but people are kinder."

He made a joke about pencils and weapons and asked Mr Schue for why he was there. Mr Schue confessed to his situation of needing help of finding Sue a present.

Before Kurt can stop the words from escaping his lips, "I have the perfect idea."

It only dawned on him a few hours later, that he used the word 'perfect' and it made him feel pretty on the inside again.

Kurt had been walking down with a warm holiday basket for Blaine. It was a combination of Blaine's favourite candies – all seemed so bright and cheerful and Kurt didn't even care about the calorific content or nutritional value. He had also made a few muffins with the help of Franny, the worker that was so inclined to get him ice-cream, and just as he turned around the corner. He was faced with Nick curled up to a corner, and his eyes full of tears. Still somewhat in shock. Kurt turned around, walking across from the hallway.

He should've kneeled down and made sure Nick wasn't hurt or if his cuts weren't too severe, but until now, Kurt realised one thing about him: he ran away. A lot right now.

"I ran, Kurt." Blaine said. "I didn't stand up. I let it all chase me away and it's something I really, really regret."

Kurt didn't seem to care at all. There was no courage in him, but none existed in Blaine either. He spun towards the bathroom, just to calm himself down. In the next five seconds, he threw up completely. There was Blaine on the ground, there was an incident amount of blood pooling from his head, dripping mercilessly against the ground.

Blaine was dead. Blaine just killed himself—

Kurt felt numb with shock.

This time, when he twisted to throw up again, he found himself falling somewhere. From a bed, a height, he threw up the contents of his stomach. Suddenly, everything was white. Everything was clear in Kurt's mind, clearer than ever before.

Kurt looked around, seeing his Father make him stand up, and pulled him against the hospital cot. How long had he been here?

"Blaine," Kurt called out in pain.

Burt didn't seem to hear him, as he pulled the sheet against Kurt's body. "Just calm down, okay?"

"How long was I asleep for?"

Kurt noticed that the calendar on the left corner, but couldn't believe the day. "A couple of weeks," Burt finally responded as Kurt nodded his head. "Do you want any coffee? I can get ya some coffee. They do it the way you like it here, with some low-fat creamer and shit."

"I'm the only person out of the closet in this school. And I tried to stay strong about it, but there's this Neanderthal who has made it his mission to make my life a living Hell. And nobody seems to notice." Blaine whispered. His predator and bully was watching him.

Kurt can remember, watching him walk down the hallways, hollow cheeks, gaunt, if anyone wanted to throw him around one or twice, it would've surely bruised him. He seemed so small and brittle.

"It's your job to take care of him, so he can carry on the Warbler legacy."

Kurt's therapist explained that in Kurt's mind. He made it out so he was the victim. Pavarotti was Blaine. Pavarotti who wouldn't eat or drink, flinched at his touch but was warm and welcoming to everyone else.

"Protect him. That bird is your voice."

Kurt's therapist then went on to explain how he'd make himself the victim just so he would forget. He made an elaborate fantasy where everything was okay, where Blaine hadn't been bullied, where Blaine hadn't complained to the facility with hopeful eyes and was shoved away. Kurt made an alternate ending where Blaine just ran off and found someplace – that he didn't really slowly break, writhing, that his stepfather didn't really sexually abuse him. Kurt seemed to make up Nick's pain to take off some of the agony off Blaine, to pretend it was non-existent, but slowly, his fantasy had aspects of his real life.

That nobody cared when Blaine started self-harming, when Blaine was raped, when Blaine was pushed to the point where he just blew his brains out. That Christmas morning, Blaine had honestly thought it was a gift he'd given to everyone.

Most of all, his therapist had told him that he had created a fantasy where he wasn't Blaine's bully, that he didn't take Blaine into his arms and forcefully kissed him. She told him that Kurt had denied all of it, that he was in some sick way in love with Blaine.

"You said," she said, looking from the clipboard. Her black haired bob. "If I recall…that…you held his hand when you found him, right from when his pulse was very weak until it was non-existent. Is that correct?"

Kurt seemed to push this away. "When can I see Blaine?"

"Mr Hummel, Blaine is dead."

Kurt's eyes were a soft clear blue. He looked down at his hands, almost as if imaging Blaine's hand there. He can still feel Blaine's hand.

"Mr Hummel," her voice was curt. "You do not love Blaine. You have a personality disorder. You have only created a fantasy where you can love and feel emotion. You do not care about anything. You've stated this several times before."

"I can love," Kurt whispered with some soft darkness to his voice.

"Mr Hummel, you killed your Mother. You are a danger to your Father and everyone around you. You cannot deny this any longer. The intense emotion you were describing for years now?" her eyes were full of hardness, like Kurt was trash. "It was guilt, something you don't recongise if it's not in dream form. I have to transfer you to a psych ward."

Kurt stood up to leave, and walked outside where Burt was looking down at him. "What went on there, huh?"

"Shut up," Kurt murmured coldly under his breath.

Burt laid his hand onto Kurt's shoulder. "Don't worry. They gave me meds. Plus therapy sounds good, huh?"

Kurt didn't even look at him. "Where's Blaine?"

Burt didn't answer.

"Where. Is. Blaine?" Kurt repeated, voice full of current spite.

"You really wanna know?" Burt whispered. Kurt nodded his head. The drive was about fifteen minutes afterwards. Kurt had stumbled across the field. Burt looked uncertain as Kurt made his way towards the stone. He waited for some sort of emotion, anything. Nothing came. He looked down at the grave. Blaine Anderson. 1995-2012. There were no flowers. Nobody gave a damn about some gay kid. Kurt didn't really either. He stared at the grave for some time, waiting to feel some sort of emotion. He felt something conflicting, something in his mind – he didn't know. Maybe it was a feeling, something. Kurt was somewhat tempted to dig up the body to see him.

Somehow, he can remember it vividly now.

"I love him. You believe me, right?" Kurt said with a bit of tightness in his voice.

"Of course, I do, kiddo," Burt didn't believe a single word Kurt had said. "Come on. I gotta find some meds to put you on."

Personality disorders were untreatable. They can only hope some meds would work and that was a long shot as well. Therapy didn't work, so they stuck him in a school, maneuvering him with a straightjacket.

Kurt took a deep breath when he saw the institution he was being moved too. He knew this all along.


Kurt watched as Nick, a boy that used to be in his school, slit his wrists. Jeff, a boy with panic disorder, held him close. Trent threw up his food after eating the whole damn hall. David was bipolar. A boy named Sebastian Smythe had severe narcissism. Dalton was a lot like he'd imagined it – except in reality, he just didn't give a damn well fuck about any of these people. In his fantasy, or so his therapist said, he made it the complete opposite – that he was the only one with emotion. It was always the opposite in his mind. That didn't matter because Kurt didn't dream anymore.

Nick's self-harming escalated but the only one he leaned on was Jeff. Kurt liked making Jeff panic by keeping a rather large array of anything pointy he found around just so Nick can slit his wrists and die. When he did, Jeff was completely mute. He called Trent fat all the time until he was pushed into his currently 90lb state. Kurt played with David's meds until his rapid-cycling bipolar had spun out of control. He had slammed Sebastian's mirror into his face and slashed his body with a knife. Instead of his perfect body and face, he now had multiple scars.

This world was different. It was no fantasy. It was mere reality. Kurt could not love anyone. He had no ability to sing because to sing, he had to have a heart to sing. The minute he saw a bird like Pavarotti, he slammed it headfirst into the window and counted how many seconds until it was completely dead. In three years, he'd been moved to a cell with other people who wanted to murder and have sex with corpses. He was insane, but he was too young to be insane according to the DSM-IV anyway. His life was planned before him. The minute he turned 18, he will be diagnosed with a personality disorder he'd had since young and thrown in jail for the rest of his life.

"I'll never let go Jack," Rose whispered, as she let go of Jack's hand. "I promise."

His life was cold, dark, miserable and Kurt did not wish a better reality for anyone.

You fucking let go.

"Fantasy, by Merriam-Webster: the power or process of creating especially unrealistic or improbable mental images in response to psychological need ."

questions to answer: why was Kurt in a coma for weeks? i thought that it was from shock at first. but you can come up with whatever you want. and yes, this is a bit skewed. there are a lot of fill in the gaps that i made just so you can fill them in yourself c:.

xo Peanut Butter/Sam.