This thing…will have really long chapters so I won't update frequently and it's like a huge, huge character study from Blaine and it shall extend all the way to 4x04. Okay, hold your hats on. This is long and I wrote this just because I wanted Blangst. Slightly inspired by The Machinist, but I didn't copy/paste the plotline. Actually, barely. Not meant to offend anyone or any character. If there is character bashing, it isn't intentional. Anyway, warnings for language, mentions of sex, extreme religious ideals by Blaine, and a horrible amount of self-loathing.

Chapter 1

Blaine's head pounded. The world was made of only fogginess and the only thing he wanted to do was sleep at the pulsing gnawing pain that managed to envelope him. His body felt strained, as if he'd been boxing for three consecutive hours. His Father always told him how mad it was. You know what you can do instead of punching something for three hours? You can go down and confront 'em if you want. He had managed through a measured two-hundred-and-thirty calorie bowl of cereal before he had said that enough was enough. He'd managed to go through the whole day surviving on nothing more than sugar-free hot chocolate, water and tea. He hoped that he wouldn't quite feel so bad when he'd be transferred to Dalton, a school that his Father had his heart set on. His nose was stuffy and he had no energy to move. Dalton had agreed to take Blaine in but that was only until next year and then he'd have to repeat the year he'd missed out on.

"It's insane," his Father, Joseph, had said. "They're gonna let the kid repeat the year in another school because he got beat up by some bastards."

"It's insane." His Mother, Maria, had nodded towards him. "Completely insane," she added on again.

Blaine had stopped eating the sticky revolting rice. The hospital food tasted like ashes in his mouth, and somehow also like plastic. The vegetables had lost all of their taste and the texture annoyed him. The carrots were so lean Blaine wondered if he would ever be able to eat the real proper thing ever again.

"Blaine, love, I'm sorry."

Blaine hadn't said anything. "I'm fine," he said after a while and then realised that the silence was better than the lie his parents can read around.

"He's just upset about the food," Maria finally said. "Aren't you dear?"

"Yeah," Blaine said, as he took another bite of the rice. He was somehow trying to convince himself that it really was the rice. "The rice is horrible."

"Mmmm," Joseph murmured under his breath and then cleared his throat. "Should get you something proper from the cafeteria, okay?"

Joseph left, and Blaine was staring down at the broth-based soup that smelled like they'd drowned a salt shaker in it. "I don't care about rice, Momma," Blaine said.

"Must be the carrots." The woman tried to convince herself so.

"Yeah," Blaine said, as he pushed around the rice with his fork. "Must be."

He had just gotten back from the hospital a week ago. He had been there for a little under a month and then he was told he had to repeat that year. His stomach felt queasy and he was nauseated. He did not want to repeat an entire year of Hell in any other school. He just wanted to curl up in a hole and die. High school, his Dad laughed, like they made it ten times worse than it was before and chucked kids in em for nothing.

Blaine had been pummelled to practical death on the hands of the jocks of his older school. Nobody did anything. It's not that nobody couldn't do anything, Blaine had explained, it's that they didn't want to bother. Stephen had not only gotten hurt on that night in the Sadie Hawkins dance – he had died.

"Steph, Steph, stay awake, please." Blaine had demanded from him. Blaine himself was fighting to stay unconscious.

Stephen laughed. Stephen was just so different from everyone else. Blaine stared at the splatter of freckles on his nose. "Shouldn't call me Steph. Sound like a fucking girl."

Blaine nodded his head. Stephen's hand had went to Blaine's full head of hair, and smiled as he ran his hand through it. "Blood. New hair gel."

"Can you stay serious for just one second?" Blaine finally said, annoyed and frustrated. "Ambulance is gonna get here quick. I called. I—"

"Why so serious, Blainey? Life's a laugh." He coughed, splatters of blood coating his mouth. "I fucking hate that bowtie. I hate all of your bowties. You look like you're from the era of—"he coughed again, and Stephen pressed his head against Blaine's arm.

Blaine's eyes filled. "Stephen, don't die."

"I'm not gonna die, babe." Stephen laughed again but it meant more blood. "That's one way to shut me up. Shit. I fucking hate blood."

Blaine felt Stephen's left hand clutch his arm. "Hey, Blaine? Sort of funny but I feel like I'm gonna…"

Blaine gripped tightly onto Stephen's wrist with the hand that was around his arm, and Blaine can feel Stephen's pulse, weaker by the minute. "Don't you dare," Blaine finally said, voice shaky. "You said you wouldn't."

"Also promised to take you out to dinner tonight after, but I guess that's not happening either." Stephen shook his head. "Blaine, damn you."

"This is my fault. I took you here. I took you here and now, you're dying because of me." Blaine shakily said, as he tried to pull Stephen away from the entrance. The music made Blaine feel nauseated, mostly because how could they play music and not care? How could they leave Stephen here? Blaine's BlackBerry dug into his flashy cobalt blue pants and all he could do was stare at Stephen.

"Dammit, Blaine. You're so damned melodramatic. I'm fine," Stephen said. He didn't feel like he can die from being beaten.

"Stay awake."

"You sound like my Mom."



"Don't call me Blainey."

"Don't call me Steph." Stephen coughed again and this landed blood on Blaine too. Blaine would never forget the feel of the cold blood sliding from his shirt, or how Stephen was so pale.

"You're really pale, Steph," Blaine said, voice weak.

"Do I look like that boy you stare at when we're getting coffee? Whaz his name? Kurt? Kurt…something. Pummel?"

"Hummel," Blaine corrected. "Kurt Hummel."

"Been in a love affair with him?"

"I know his name."

"He's cute."

"Don't touch him, Steph."

"Why, Blainey? He yours? Always knew you were turned off by freckles." Stephen shut his eyes. "I'm just gonna take a little nap…"

"STEPHEN, WAKE UP!" Blaine frantically yelled, shaking him. This caused Stephen's eyes to snap open.

"I'm awake, jeez. I'm just tired is all." Stephen shut his eyes again and his hand fell from Blaine's arm. When the sirens were heard about a few minutes later, Blaine had shaken Stephen awake.

"Come on. We have to go."

Blaine shook Stephen over and over, more and more violently by the minute. "Stephen, don't you dare give me a fucking premature heart attack! Wake up!"

Blaine felt tears fill his eyes. "Wake up, Steph. Wake up. Please…please…wake up. I'll…I'll…STEPHEN! STEPHEN WAKE UP!"

The taller male was unresponsive. By the time they'd taken him away, Blaine felt like something was slipping away from him. Blaine ran his hand and felt the blood matting his hair. Suddenly, it all felt real. Blaine suddenly felt like he really was going to throw up. When he was being pulled as well, his arm's incentive was to reach out for Stephen. He would never forget how Stephen's skin felt like – cold, rubbery, and it made him cry. It made him cry as hard as he'd ever cried before.

One of them was checking on Stephen. "Time of death. 9:42."

Blaine always remembered that time. It was the time where he laid in bed, staring at the wall, not knowing what to do. Lost. It was the time that his heart felt like it was made out of metal and sunk into his chest. Blaine didn't know that then, but he'd known even then that he would never see those numbers the same way again. Blaine to reach for Stephen again but he passed out before his hand had touched that dead skin again. That was the last time Blaine Anderson ever touched Stephen Blake.

Stephen was such a strange person. When Blaine had told Stephen that he was strange, the taller male's only quip was thanks. I'm taking it as a good thing. You have crazy hair—like it's all curly and in ringlets. I fucking love it. Blaine had been hospitalised for the attack in Sadie Hawkins and that was the first time he made a newspaper. Blaine realised how badly he hated those ringlets, that curly hair they grabbed on when they forced him to give him a blowjob. He had lost so much of his coursework in ninth grade and he was not going back there. He was petrified. He still remembered days of his Father screaming at the board for letting something like this happened but nobody ever opened it up as a case back then. Blaine always thought it was because he was vile.

"You ain't vile, Blaine," his Father assured him. "People just don't like different. They think it's bad."

Blaine stared at the wall. "Different didn't kill Stephen, Dad." He let out a painful chuckle as hot tears filled his eyes. "I did."

His older school was just adjacent to a Catholic religious school. They all told him that he was disgusting, that he brought it on himself—Blaine can remember clearly when he knew he was gay. A boy said he wanted to try out kissing so he kissed a girl named Angel and said she had nice lips. Blaine kissed Angel and thought her lips were gross and it was weird feeling her against him like that. It was just weird.

"I didn't like it." Blaine mumbled to a blonde boy. "I think I'm weird now. A bad weird." He used to be a good weird because he read a lot of books and knew words and things people didn't know. That was a good weird, but not liking kissing Angel was weird because all the other boys did.

Blondie laughed. "Stephen."

"Blaine." The young eight year old didn't quite understand. "Steph, can I kiss you?"

"It's Stephen. Steph is the name of that girl Stephanie," he said, but then nodded. "Sure, Blainey."

Blaine looked at Stephen in distaste as he leaned upwards on his tip-toes to kiss Stephen. Even back then, he was too short. Stephen pulled back and didn't say anything about it. "Your lips taste better than Angel's," Blaine finally said. "Your lips taste really good and I'm kinda scared."

"What? Why?" Stephen asked.

"Because they're not supposed to," Blaine wanted to cry.

He left the playground without a single sound. Blaine could remember not wanting dinner even though it was really yummy mashed potatoes with a lot of delicious butter and smelled really fresh. Blaine just wanted to go to bed and in bed, he just cried. He cried because he was weird – a bad kinda weird. He was scared. Blaine curled up in his bed. "Please, don't let me like boys. I don't want to like boys. I don't wanna be gay. I don't wanna. Please."

It was so stupid to bring a boy to the dance, but Stephen made Blaine feel happy. He'd always made Blaine feel happy. He wanted to be able to do normal things, like go to dances with boys he liked and dance with them. He wanted to kiss boys in the rain, wear nice rings and point in the crowd and say that's my boyfriend. I love him. Stephen brought Blaine really nice locally grown roses and told them he needed to muster up the courage against these people. Courage ran away when Blaine was being beaten senselessly by the hands of jocks he barely knew the names of.

A few months ago, they'd finally filed it as a hate crime. Blaine didn't care about what happened to them – he barely knew them, but he knew they will be punished and that was enough for him. In the small portion of Blaine's mind, all he could repeat in his mind was how he had deserved all of it. You killed him. You killed him. It was your fault. You wanted him to go to that fucking dance with you! Stephen had died because of him that night. Blaine would never see that beautiful powerful jaw again, or run his fingers against Stephen's blonde hair. He would never kiss those really pink lips again or stare into those beautiful brown eyes. Stephen was his first everything, first kiss, first dance, first boyfriend, first fuck, first everything and now, he was the first person that Blaine ever witnessed dying. Blaine had never known anyone to die but the process of mourning was painful. It was horrible that Blaine was scheduled for surgery during Stephen's funeral. That he didn't even have that ability to see Stephen's sending off. It's better this way, he told himself. Stephen's family wouldn't have wanted me to see me anyway. I'm the reason he's dead. No reason to make them even more depressed than they are.

The first thing Blaine had done when he'd been discharged was go to Stephen's grave. Blaine felt dissociated and out of bounds. He had forgotten how he'd gotten there, or if it was really Stephen's body lowered into the ground, in that coffin that he could not see. Blaine wanted answers as he had many questions but he'd come to realise that not everything had an answer. Actually, kid, his Father started, you'll realise that you'll live, you'll learn but you'll always have more questions than answers and sometimes, that's not a bad thing, alright?

Sometimes, Blaine still remembered things about Stephen, things that he suddenly paid more attention to. He had been so in love with him that he hadn't realised the littler things about him. Blaine was an artist. He drew. He sketched so much, but his last drawing would be one of Stephen, incomplete. Blaine could never bring himself to finish it, and then he couldn't bring himself to look back into that sketchbook. Blaine had a habit of drawing people, their faces, people he didn't really know, and people he did. He had a habit of giving himself timings to finish certain pictures. The last sketch he had ever done was that incomplete one of Stephen. He did not draw again, because he couldn't leave a project incomplete and whenever he thought of Stephen and finishing that picture, he just curled up into his small bed and thought: maybe one day. The thing was that 'one day' never came.

At dinner, his Mother had shoved him a plate of greasy, oily, cheesy filled-to-the-brim spaghetti. He had finished halfway before he started coughing and pieces of meat felt the need to dislodge itself from Blaine's throat. Blaine hadn't eaten or touched meat since then.

"Do you know what a vegetarian is?" Stephen had told him. "People who don't eat meat. Pretty much a death sentence I think. I can't live without flirting with this steak right here, you know? It's pretty much begging me to eat it."

"Yeah," Blaine rolled his eyes. "The dead carcass that was slayed for you to eat…yup. It's begging you to eat it."

"Don't you turn vegetarian on me now, Blaine. You'll lose ten pounds and die."

Ten pounds. Blaine laughed. Ten pounds was nothing compared to the rapid weight loss he'd gone through now. Blaine can barely recognise the boy in the mirror that was fifty pounds thinner than he was before, with his sunken eyes, tired, drawn-out, exhausted and most of all, all of the cuts marring his body, all of the scars. He was so pale, and it honestly scared him. He used to be one-sixty-five, and now he was barely one-ten-five on his scale and it scared the hell out of him. He was five-foot-six by then, and he honestly thought he looked sick. By the time that he had gone to Dalton, he had gained twenty pounds, looked a little better and so many of his cuts were healed into scars by then.

That was also when he had first gelled his hair.

"I'm taking it as a good thing. You have crazy hair—like it's all curly and in ringlets. I fucking love it."

Blaine decided it was just because it looked horrible ungelled with the uniform, that he'd look more put-together. Those were all lies he told himself. He just didn't want to see his hair ungelled. It was all Stephen and people grabbing at it and forcing him to give them a blowjob. He had rarely ever assumed his hair without bountiful mounds of gel now. Blaine was unrecognisable in the mirror.

"Blaine Anderson?" the English teacher called Blaine out.

In these Dalton halls, he was just another somebody with just another normal story. His blazer made him fit in. His hair was hidden behind mounds of gel and his eyes glittered in the light but all of it was so subtle. He just fit. It was like a puzzle piece. Nobody cared how it looked like alone, but when put together, there was that image.

She told him to come into his room. Jeff made 'oohs' and 'ahhs', trying to figure out what Dapper Blainey did to piss off the most stern teacher. It was also the day the figured out that Amy was Blaine's aunt. They talked a little sometimes, sometimes about assignments and how comfortable he was at this school. "I have to know how comfortable you are in this school because if you're not comfortable, I'll do things in my power to make you feel comfortable, so Blaine, are you comfortable?" Blaine hated the word comfortable right now, considering how many times he'd heard it that week.

When she called him in the middle of his second week, it was to tell him that his parents were dead.

Blaine didn't know how to react. He was too shocked to cry.

He stared at the cookies she had for him and the tea he was drinking tasted bitter. He stared back at her, trying to fabricate the idea of his parents being dead. It seemed so impossible. They were alive, healthy and fine just over a few hours ago. It seemed like an impossible thing. "Okay." That was all he could say. It was definitely not okay, but he had no ability to react.

Blaine sunk into his chair and stared at her with soft eyes. "Blaine, do you need me to call one of your friends to pick you up?"

Blaine shook his head and with a soft voice that was devoid of any emotion, "No." He felt like a rat trapped into a maze and everything cashed onto him.

She nodded. "You have to live with me now, Blaine. You're young and I'm paying for your tuition. You're staying here with me at Dalton. Do you have your car keys?"

Blaine had pulled out his car keys to his Buick and thrown it towards her. The woman caught it, put the keys into a drawer and shut the drawer with her own key, pocketing it. "I'm sorry, Blaine, but when you want to go out – even for coffee, you come to me and tell me where to go. I can't bear to lose you. You're sitting here in the dorms with Nicholas and Jeffery. I'm sure you don't mind that and I'm sure they don't mind your sexuality."

Blaine stared at her for a moment. He didn't want to say that his parents were dead, because saying it would be admitting it was really happening so he just stared at the cookies. "Are those maple?" he asked.

"Honey maple, yes," it took Amy a while to realise that at Blaine's house, these were a staple in his house. Blaine stared at the cookies for a long time and Amy coughed. "Yes…I…I'll let someone take you to your dorms."

Blaine looked up at her with lost eyes. "Okay." He said again, but dammit, it was not okay. Blaine, it was not okay.

Blaine stumbled out of the doorway, feeling physically sick. He was naked without his car keys. He tightened his Dalton scarf around his neck, wondering if he can choke too. He stared down at the ground and he felt like his loafers were digging into his feet. He was suddenly aware of different scents in the air – cedarwood and the sickening scent of latte mixing in the air.

"You look like shit," Thad muttered.

"Blaine? Earth to Blaine?" Jeff tried to pull Blaine out of his reverie. "What happened?"

My parents are dead.

And when Blaine finally really realised it, he threw up all over Jeff's new loafers.

Blaine had pretty much been sinking in his own misery. He didn't want to do Teenage Dream. He did not feel like singing. He wanted to throw up into Thad's pants half the time. He did not look it. He wore his hair gel religiously, his clothes were always prim-and-proper because if his aunt mentioned a therapist again, Blaine was sure he'd scream. Or sing. Or both. He'd honestly been toying with the sheet music for Teenage Dream before the bell rang, signalling him to leave the classrooms.

He had been trying to leave when –

"Hi, I'm new here. Can I ask you a question?"

Blaine turned around to stare at that boy. Blaine knew that boy. Stephen mentioned him when he was dying. That boy that always ordered non-fat mochas and lattes when he was upset. That boy that had a high-pitched voice. Somehow, just seeing him made Blaine feel comfortable, like he had stopped the moment when Stephen was just lying against the grass, dying. "My name is Blaine," he finally said.

"Kurt," that boy. It had to be that boy. "So, what exactly is going on?"

Blaine smiled now, suddenly finding enthusiasm. He could barely tell if it was fake, or if it was true enthusiasm. "The Warblers," he explained with a sudden happiness in his voice that sounded fake to his ears, but he ignored that. No way he was going to appear as that gay depressed child whose parents just died, because somewhere on the inside, something was wrong with visiting your rival school. Something must've pushed him. Kurt looked lost. "Every now and then, they throw an impromptu performance in senior commons. Tends to shut the shoot the school up for a while."

Kurt looked like he'd just heard something revolutionary. "So, what the Glee club here is kind of cool?" he said that word as if it was just impossible to link those two together.

"The Warblers are like rockstars," Blaine explained. He forgot to mention how it was like a bad thing to have the whole student body shooting you pitying glances because your parents weren't alive anymore and you were locked into a school with minimal going out unless your aunt lets you, but he honestly just didn't want to remember. He kept a smile on his face on all times as if it was wrong to be sad, because he knew Kurt was sad. He needed this. "Come on. I know a shortcut."

Kurt's hand was so warm and soft when Blaine had touched it. He wondered if Kurt used any crèmes or lotions. Kurt looked like he was going through clouds in his dream when Blaine refused to let go of his hand as he took him to the common room. Kurt's hand was just so different, so soft, so nice…it was almost like Kurt was indirectly comforting him. When he'd taken him inside, Kurt looked frantic. "Oh, I stick out like a sore thumb."

Blaine felt some slight discomfort in his stomach, knowing that feeling more than anything. Blaine knew it was not just the clothing, the atmosphere, so much more. He knew.

Joseph left, and Blaine was staring down at the broth-based soup that smelled like they'd drowned a salt shaker in it. "I don't care about rice, Momma," Blaine said.

"Must be the carrots." The woman tried to convince herself so.

"Yeah," Blaine said, as he pushed around the rice with his fork. "Must be."

In that fashion, Blaine had slowly pulled the collar just to smooth him out, as if trying to convince himself that there was nothing wrong with Kurt, even though he knew there was. "Next time don't forget your jacket, new kid." He told him. "You'll fit right in," he winked at him to ease the tension. Lies. All of it was lies, just to help Kurt feel at ease.

He put his shoulder bag down. Suddenly, he forgot that just a few moments ago he didn't want to do this performance and if Thad donated a lung, he wouldn't. Nick had been pestering him for months, but Blaine didn't know. There was something about Kurt, something as strange as Stephen, something beautiful that only he could see. Something weird, a good kind of weird. "Now if you'll excuse me."

He sung. He sung like his life depended on it.

The only thing that fuelled that song was Kurt's smile. What a strange, strange beautiful thing that was. Immediately after, Blaine had gone up to Kurt and then he realised that Kurt was indeed very strange, because he smelled a lot like locally grown roses and espressos, but it was the kind of strange that kept Blaine sane at that very moment. Because Stephen used to give him local roses and that made him happy. Now, just being next to Kurt, he felt more at ease than he'd ever felt in years – the kind of ease that outdid Stephen, because Blaine knew what Kurt was. Kurt was him. They were both lost, and God had given him such a beautiful gift. Kurt was there for a reason and Blaine hated his 'everything happens for a reason' reasoning right now.

Kurt was going to leave.

"Coffee?" Blaine quickly asked, just to let him stay for a bit.

Kurt was upset. When Kurt was upset, he drank lattes. Blaine knew this from a fact from years of standing behind Kurt in line and watching him order things. Blaine can tell when Kurt was depressed and faking things, mostly because Blaine himself did the same thing.


That took Kurt by surprise, but as Blaine pushed the coffee towards him in the coffee-smelling dining hall, Blaine couldn't help but feel like even with the scent of coffee lingering in the air, Kurt's scent was still as intoxicating as ever before, even when he was so away from him.

"Thank you," Kurt said, taking the coffee from him.

"This is Wes and David," Blaine explained, just to have something to say. He just wanted to say something, anything.

"It's very civilised for you to invite me over for coffee before you beat me up for spying," Kurt had finally said and Blaine felt like chuckling. Kurt was just so proper that it just…fit. Blaine didn't know what any other word to use. The whole thing and ensemble he was wearing and his voice fit somewhere in Kurt's mind. It was like he'd known him for years, but Blaine had only seen him walk, get coffee and the occasional muffin, complaining about the calories when eating said muffin and telling people how he was going to gain nine pounds from said lovely muffin.

"We're not going to beat you up," Wes assured him.

"You were such a terrible spy we thought it was sort of endearing," David added on with a persistent smile.

Blaine drank coffee. The only reason Wes and David hadn't kicked him out for trespassing was because he made Blaine look like sunshine and rainbows again. Blaine honestly couldn't feel bad anymore, but now that he was thinking, he felt that pain accumulating inside of his chest. He pushed away his problem like he pushed away Kurt's.

Blaine tried to maintain his posture as he pulled down his coffee. "Which led me to believe that spying on us wasn't the real reason you came." Please let me be wrong. Please let him be okay.

"Can I ask you guys a question?" Kurt said, and when he didn't get a response, he cautiously asked, "Are you guys all gay?"

Blaine's chest tightened. He hated that word. He tried to avoid that word as much as possible. He always never used it. He said 'he liked boys' and 'he didn't like girls' but the word gay felt strong and got stuck into his throat. Blaine nervously laughed which made Kurt laugh along with him just to not feel completely and utterly humiliated.

"Uh-uh—no," Blaine said after a while, trying to steady himself. "I mean I am," he couldn't even bear to say the damned word, "but these two have girlfriends."

"This is not a gay school," David explained and for some reason, gay came off as harsh in Blaine's mind. "We just have a zero tolerance bullying policy."

"Everyone gets treated the same, no matter what they are. It's pretty simple."

Killer. Killer. Killer. Killer. You're a killer. Blaine's mind ran over his head as he stared at Kurt's face, which was full of disbelief. Blaine's heart pounded, but he kept his face stoic. He could not do this. He could not break down and make Kurt suddenly shake with confusion and fear. Kurt did not need this. He cannot ruin someone else's life. You can fix him. You can fix him and forget about Stephen and it'll all be okay. It'll all be okay if you help someone like him. Something strange like him. It'll be okay. Deep down in the bottom of Blaine's heart, he knew this wasn't true at all.

Blaine still found his voice and asked, "Would you guys excuse us?"

They knew when Blaine said that, he had to be alone with him. David would've normally protested, and maybe even Wes sometimes but they still left without a sound. They felt sorry for him. What a stupid thing. You killed Stephen and now, God took away your parents because you're a gay sinner. You should go rot in Hell.

"Take it easy, Kurt," Wes told him before he left.

Blaine knew why. He could see it too. He can see Blaine in Kurt, but honestly, all Blaine can see was Stephen…even him…he can see in Kurt what he saw in every petrified gay child he'd ever known, fear, disgrace, pain, horror, unaccepted, judgement…just being done. Done.. Kurt took a deep breath afterwards. Kurt was trying to steady himself too. Blaine can tell he was just appearing composed, but there was something inside that mirrored Blaine's pain.

"I'd take it that you're having trouble at school," Blaine said, and by God, he hoped it was wrong and he can just stick carrots up his mouth and shut up. By God, all he wanted to do was shut up. He was trying to get into someone else's life, but he felt obligated to. Not even because of Stephen, but because Kurt was so sad. Those blue eyes were so sad.

"I'm the…only person out of the closet in my school," Kurt finally said and Blaine felt the first blow to his heart, making him feel shaky. He didn't even flinch. Kurt was just opening up to him, just now, and if he made a scene or threw up, Kurt would be turned off. Kurt would believe he'd turn into Blaine. And what was Blaine anything but—

Killer. Killer. Killer. Killer.

"And I…I tried to stay strong about it," Kurt said, and Blaine can hear it too, a strength that nobody else could, something just beyond those blue eyes. "But there is this Neanderthal who has made it his mission…to make my life a living Hell."

"I know how you feel," Blaine hated using those words. Those words were often incorrect, but Blaine was honestly just telling the truth. Blaine hated he was right and now amount of convincing that Kurt was alright made him stop speaking. Kurt was not okay and he won't be unless Blaine did something. "I got taunted at my old school. And it really…pissed me off. I even complained about it to the faculty. 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," he made a gesture with his hands just to steady himself again. He didn't know how Kurt can't see a thing of his façade, but that might be good. "So that was that."

Kurt stared down right now, and those blue eyes flickered.

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

Blaine tried not to think about the other option but he spat it out anyway. "You can refuse to be a victim."

Blaine just explained, tried to. He tried to give Kurt what he'd always wanted, a courage in him he can't find. "Prejudice is just ignorance. You have a chance right now to change it."

"How?" It seemed so foreign to Kurt that it hurt Blaine too. Blaine had never considered it an option to stand up to anything as he hid in the shadows with Stephen, giving him stolen kisses and pretending they didn't even know each other in school at Valentine's Day.

"Confront him. Call him out." Blaine said, trying to motivate Kurt but he felt like he was failing at it morosely.

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

I'm sorry. I'm sorry I killed you, Steph. I'm sorry.

Whenever he thought of Stephen, Blaine just sent Kurt a text. Courage. In the middle of Warbler practice. Courage, when his mind rang of the thought of those brown eyes. The thing was that Blaine barely thought of Stephen anymore. He used to think about him all the time but in the span of three days, he'd only thought about him twice. Blaine didn't know how to feel about that. He knew the blonde would've wanted him to let go, but he couldn't. He couldn't let go. It made him physically sick to think about letting go, but it made him horrible thinking about clinging on any longer.

The thought of his parents seemed to be the last straw and it was so hard not to think about his Father's blue eyes or his Mother's brown eyes. He'd always looked like his Mother. It was always something he was proud of and now he hated it. He despised it more than anything that he looked like her, because now, he was living a personal Hell just by looking at the mirror every day. Blaine hated that he had her eyes or her skin tone, but even if he looked like Cooper, he'd hate it too because he'd think of his Father.

Kurt was supposed to confront Karofsky soon and ever since that talk, Blaine had three panic attacks at the thought of Kurt being hurt, or winding up dead for no reason. He cannot handle another death. The panic attacks were slowly sent by a trip to the nurse where she made him fall asleep for an hour or so before he had to go to his next class. The third time it happened in less than a week, Amy had taken him to a Doctor and he'd been giving pills. Blaine hadn't taken any of them. He prayed and prayed and prayed—

And then his phone rang.

Blaine had taken it into his ear, and composed himself, trying to think of all things God, but thinking of God made him think of how revolting he was, and how wrong he was. He suddenly felt just as bad as he would've if he'd had sex every day and still turned to God to plunge all of his skins. He heard from his religious uncle once that God will cleanse every sin, Blaine, every sin – but going against God himself and he'd killed Stephen. He can't see how God for forgive him for murdering the boyfriend he shouldn't have had.

Put down the Bible, Blaine. It's not for you. It's for good people. You're not a good person. You're a fucking whore.

Blaine heard Kurt talk. When Kurt's voice was frantic, Blaine thought Kurt was hospitalised or on the verge of death and Blaine didn't want to think about Kurt dying on the phone. He'd felt his heart race and his hands go clammy. His anxiety meds peered at him from the drawer. Kurt explained that Karofsky kissed him. Blaine heard Kurt say that he was the only one who knew. Kurt trusted him. God was giving him another chance and by God, if he screwed this up, he wouldn't know what to do to himself.

Thank you thank you thank you thank you.

That Sunday, Blaine went to his church. This time, he didn't have his parents, but they let him sit down. They all knew he was gay. Some of them wouldn't dare approach him but the priest, Gabriel's, first words were, "God has not told us to judge. We all live in peace. Blaine's sexuality may be a crime or a sin but have we not all lied? Have we not all sinned? If you discriminate the words of God, you are worse than a sinner. Being gay is not one of the deadly sins, but pride is one and do you think that your arrogance to Blaine or any homosexual is the direct path to Heaven? Yes, being gay is an abnormality in all religions but is not putting your body through cosmetic procedure, or even a genetic disorder an abnormality? Does one choose to be gay to be hated by this society? Do you have a say in what is right and what is wrong?"

Blaine stared up at the man with shining eyes that were filling. Blaine told himself that that was the last time he would be so weak, as to cry. He stayed even after their time was up. He prayed. Some of the prayers were to Stephen and his parents, and to rest in peace after death, but most of them were to Kurt. He prayed that Kurt would be okay, and told God that he could punish him all he wanted for his sins but just to not hurt Kurt. He hoped God would listen.

Almost as if Gabriel knew what Blaine was thinking, "Pray, child. God will always listen."

Blaine realised he was envious of Kurt in some way. He was envious that Kurt was so effortlessly perfect despite everything. Blaine had always been after perfection but along with the feelings of envy, he was envious most of all that Kurt had a parent that loved him. Blaine would do anything to have any parent, any one of his parents really. The envy made Blaine sick. Envy was one of the deadly sins, and he prayed that it would go away. Kurt was effortlessly perfect, and Blaine had to work on being perfect, on not losing his cool and being angry. Now, anger was just another sin. Blaine was so full of sins and he wished to redeem himself. Blaine had tried to purge his sins through music sometimes, but that wouldn't work. He'd say on how sorry he was or how evil and disgusting he was but it wasn't as pure as it was. He was a killer. He was nothing more than a murderer. When Kurt had asked him to come to him, to help him with the Karofsky situation, Blaine jumped at the chance for redemption. Of course, Blaine felt horrible that he was just happy that Kurt was hurt so he can show him that he'd always have Blaine.

"Just let me do all the talking," Blaine had told Kurt when they'd gotten there. If they got in trouble, Blaine did not want Kurt to take the fall for it.

"There he is," Kurt had told him, and his eyes were on Dave right then.

Blaine had stared up to see the predator. He looked large, like one of those jocks that bashed his head in. Blaine felt like he was confronting his past instead of Kurt's bully.

Blaine just told Kurt right then, "I've got your back." Like Stephen had his on that night.

"Excuse me," Blaine tried to be polite. He found no use in violence just yet, but Dave looked like he didn't want the politeness, just the violence, just like those boys that beat up Blaine to a pulp.

"Hey, lady boys."

Dave asked Kurt quite bluntly. "That your boyfriend, Kurt?"

Blaine found iciness in that statement. He didn't know why that statement made him feel the way it did, but it just did. "Kurt and I want to talk to you about something."

"I gotta go to class."

Dave touched Kurt's chest and even that gesture made Blaine's blood boil. Please God please God please God don't make me explode in anger, make me strong…pristine…pure…perfect.

"Kurt told me what you did," sporting a confidence he had never known before, Blaine thought that this was more appropriate than the violence screaming he wanted to fall into.

"Oh yeah?" the large male's eyes locked with Blaine's, and Blaine saw that…that thing he'd seen in Kurt, in Stephen, in him, the flash of fear. "What's that?"

"You kissed me," Blaine's heart thudded and gave away. Blaine was suddenly mesmerised by how perfect Kurt was, by how strong he was.

"I don't know whatcha talking about."

That denial struck Blaine the hardest. Blaine spent his whole life in that denial, and so did his parents. He still did, so that made Blaine slightly warm up to Dave. His heart melted into sympathy and all of the anger disappeared. "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."

You're not like me, Dave. You're not a murder. A killer. Don't be one. Run away. Because you'll regret it, because you'll regret all of it.

Dave had shoved Blaine into the fence. Blaine wanted to be beat up. He wanted to die. He'd rather have him die instead of Kurt. He should've died instead of Stephen. He should've done something. He didn't fight back. He did not retaliate. He was ready for another blow when—

"Stop it!"

Blaine heard Kurt become something more than just a boy like him. Blaine had something Kurt would never have, that perfection that made him so beautiful, so pristine and so porcelain lovely that he'd stood up for Blaine to the one male that had driven Kurt insane and made his life a living Hell. Dave had left, and Blaine's first defence, like his Father, was try to make a joke out of it.

"Well, he's not coming out any time soon," Blaine laid back towards the fence, ignoring the pain.

"What's going on?" he asked when he noticed Kurt had sat down. "Why are you so upset?"

"'Cause until yesterday, I have never been kissed. At least, one that counted."

Blaine's mind flashed back to his first kiss, with Stephen. In that second, he just wiped Stephen out of his mind. I ran, Kurt. And he was still running hard, away. Every minute of every day, his mind was usually filled with thoughts of Stephen, of his family, of how he killed Stephen, of how God had taken away his parents because of what he did to Stephen and God had all the right to show Blaine how selfish he was, how wrong he was, try to change him.

"Come on. I'll buy you lunch." Blaine offered, trying to change the subject. Blaine realised that was his life now. He thought of Stephen or his parents all the time, tried to run away from it, only for the thoughts to somehow find their way back again, leaving him a wreck. The Dalton uniform felt like a prison and Kurt's hand was just so warm when they left hand-in-hand. "Kurt, do you use any lotions?"

"Well yes," Kurt chuckled weakly. "Is it bothering?"

"No," Blaine said, running his thumb against Kurt's knuckles. "It's just different." Blaine had noticed Kurt was distant. "What?"

"Different," Kurt said, shaking his head. "That's the word some people use to describe gay people. I like it better, but it's not realistic. We're not different, we're the same as anyone else in the world, but the only thing that is different is our taste in sexuality. It's like saying that you and I are different because we're not girls. It's normal. We're the same as anyone else in this messed up universe. Blaine? Blaine, are you okay? You're zoning out on me."

Blaine nodded his head. He was numb. He had no thought process. "Just your scarf. It's nice."

"Oh! This?" Kurt tugged at the grey scarf. "Well, I'd let you have it but this one doesn't work with your blazer to be honest and I'm a stickler for proper clothing and…"

Blaine smiled weakly as he fixed Kurt's scarf slightly. This caused Kurt to stare at Blaine as if Blaine had done something magical. "Oh," Kurt blushed into a deep rosy hue that made Blaine feel like his world was melting at the palm of his hands. "How do I look?"

"You look like the most perfect thing in the world," Blaine stared at him, eyes glittering in idolisation of this completely perfect person, "I think it's called a Kurt."

Kurt was safe.

Kurt was safe and that was all that mattered.

Kurt was safe and loved him.

Blaine met Jeremiah. Jeremiah was older than him. Blaine got hopelessly lost again. He went to church the next day because he felt like he'd just sinned when he'd made Jeremiah lose his job.

Kurt was safe.

Kurt and Blaine got together. Blaine kissed him when Kurt sung Blackbird. During that moment, he could not think of anything but Kurt, and Kurt's voice. Blaine knew right then Kurt was the medicine for an ailment Kurt didn't even now he had. The kiss was magical and Blaine thought it was better than any kiss he'd ever had. Blaine knew he never wanted to kiss any other lips in the world.

Blaine laughed. He hadn't heard his own laugh in a real long time. It was so genuine, so beautiful. Blaine realised he loved to laugh.

It flashed 9:42. Blaine did not freeze or stare at the time. He barely even noticed it passed.

Blaine told Burt about his parents. He told him that his Dad used to try to straighten him up with a car. Then came a time where he didn't. When he found Blaine praying. Blaine had always prayed because as much as he was wrong, he still believed in God, and he still believed he can be saved.

For the first time ever, Blaine wondered why something so beautiful as love can be a sin. He had washed his face with cold water and went to church for five hours, just sitting there. Gabriel told him that love was the most beautiful thing in the world and that they didn't know if God would punish him for loving people. Gabriel said to him it seemed impossible. Blaine didn't know. All of his life he'd been taught it was a sin.

That moment, Blaine realised all of his life was a lie.

He had lied. He'd told Kurt he'd never had a boyfriend. That was the first lie, and lying was a sin. He was a horrible, horrible person and he should choke on his own vomit right now.

Blaine realised as much as he loved laughing or medium drips that he paid with his aunt's money, or any of that, he loved Kurt Hummel more than anything else in the world.

And Kurt loved him back.

Kurt loved him back.

Kurt was safe.

Kurt loved him back.

When Kurt had told him to leave Dalton, he did.

He talked to Amy, laughed with her and she was happy he was so happy. He found her keys, got the keys and just drove. He had nothing but the money in his pockets that he'd saved up over the course of weeks. It was only sixty dollars and he had to live by sixty dollars for food. His clothing was all in the back of his car and he didn't need anymore. If he wanted to shower, he had to do it in a lake. Blaine had realised he was just insane. Insane for being so swooned by Kurt. He could tell Kurt he had no parents, and that Dalton was his only home. He hadn't been in his house for a year and a bit and Amy would look for him there first. He left Amy a note saying Please don't find me. I'll text you. He always texted her in restaurants or cafes that were really far apart from each other. She called him but he never picked up.

He had gone off to different churches every Sunday just in case Amy would find him and then he'd run. He hadn't caught up with her yet, but he was running again. He hated running. It was all weakness. All of it. Just a day before he registered for his classes at McKinley all by himself, he needed her and she did it for him. She didn't even look at him, spitting out words about how insane he was, about how he should go back home and that was when Blaine threatened her with suicide. Blaine had never said that word out loud but ever since he had, she'd been scared of doing anything and he'd been contemplating it day in and day out. It seemed so perfect. Sometimes, he planned out deaths in the back of his car.

All Kurt knew was that Blaine somehow walked down the school hallway dressed in red pants, his yellow sunglasses placed on his hip just above a white belt that kept his pants together, his black shirt and a bowtie. He felt so free and colourful. He nearly felt beautiful, but beautiful people didn't murder other people. He saw Kurt spraying his hair with hairspray. They were no strangers.

"Hey," Blaine greeted him, pressing against Kurt's locker.

"Aren't you a sight for these sore eyes," Kurt's eyes were completely locked with Blaine's.

Blaine felt so self-righteous placing a hand on one of the lockers, as he asked him, "Bad day?"

"Bad week more like it," Kurt complained and just about to leave, Blaine had followed him in the hallways. Everything was new. Everything was a whole different memory and even Kurt's rosy-smelling skin smelled so different in these hallways. They smelled okay. Blaine didn't know why he wasn't in so much pain right now, because that night, he was thrashing around in that car, screaming from a hunger pain, screaming from how much he wanted to sleep but the sharp cutting pain across his stomach prevented him from falling asleep as his tortured body tried to distract Blaine from his exhaustion. Right now, all of that didn't seem to matter. Blaine didn't know why, but just seeing Kurt washed away the pain, and all that memory. "Wait, what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be at Warbler practice doing the fine tuning touches on a new Katy Perry show-stopper?"

Kurt's voice made him melt. The universe seemed right, all of it.

"Okay," Blaine began. "For someone who loves clothes so much, I can't believe you haven't noticed I'm not in my Warbler outfit."

Kurt's face lit with recognition. "Wait, wait," he said, putting a finger in the air as he put two and two together in his mind. All Blaine can do was grin and then he was attacked with something so warm, so beautiful, and so perfect that it wasn't just an embrace. It was an envelope of promise, and security that Blaine hadn't felt in such a long time. "Wait, wait, you didn't do this for me, did you? Well, if you did, it would be very romantic for one but it could lead to resentment which could lead to anger which could lead to a horrible, horrible nasty breakup like you know—"

"Hey, hey, hey," Blaine said, cutting Kurt off in the middle of his babble. "I came here for me because I can't stand to be apart from the person I love."

They talked about how Blaine was going to introduce himself to McKinley. He was happy. He was light. He didn't think of Stephen at all when he was dancing down to It's Not Unusual. Even though it was Stephen's song. His favourite song. Stephen was gone, he realised, but maybe he didn't have to be guilty. He wasn't guilty. He can't be guilty for something he couldn't stop, right?

That night, Blaine was still in his car, staring at the ceiling of his car and realised everything. He lived in the same clothing day in and day out, making different combinations of things from his obscenely large closet. He still had that sixty dollars. Sometimes, Amy would text him to give him money. He'd always lie and said he didn't need that much money. She gave him moneys in fifties for him. He was too ashamed to tell her he needed more for that in a week, alone. He had a savings for gas…other savings for food. Amy bought him a card as he can just swipe a card at McKinley so he can pay for food. Blaine realised he was living Hell when he was alone, hungry, scared…hearing voices he'd never heard before, trying to drown out everything with his iPod. He usually walked to stores and shops, and sometimes would call Nick or Jeff or any of the Warblers to 'spend a night'. They had no idea that Blaine didn't have a home.

Blaine realised right then that people can tell him that he wasn't guilty, that he didn't want to kill Stephen that it wasn't his fault, but he'd never believe it.

He will always be a disgusting, revolting sin. He would always be condemned to Hell.

When he came to this realisation, he was in the park, on his laptop doing his Spanish assignment – he'd have written it on paper but it was already too dark and Blaine was too tired to walk all the way towards a store. Laptop had its own light. He wrote and wrote and then he realised his life had no purpose, nothing. He would die and go to Hell. He was already living Hell.

It was in that moment alone did Blaine really try to figure out how he wanted to kill himself. Suicide was also a sin, but he'd be so sinful. He'd pushed away God, he'd pushed away everything and everyone. He—

His phone buzzed. He looked down and saw that Kurt had texted him. I love you, Blaine.

Blaine smiled weakly, taking the phone in his hand. If he died, Kurt's friends might not give a damn, his step-brother might even be happy, the Warblers would get over it…but Kurt…the boy whom he had wanted to save, would die on the inside.

I love you too, Kurt. I love you too.

xo Peanut Butter/Sam.