We Go Together

Author's Note: Hello! I was inspired by the dance-off in Grease to write some kind of Klaine filler for it. I hope you enjoy! The title was taken from a song title in the Grease soundtrack.

Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or Grease.


"Game rule one: All couples must be boy/girl."

Kurt and Blaine shared a glance and grimaced in slight disappointment, but not in surprise. Brittany and Santana also looked at each other and shrugged. They were the only out couples at school and got harassed for it. They had wanted to go to the dance together and let loose and forger all of that. But, apparently, that was against the rules.

"Okay, Short Stuff, wanna go?" Santana said, smirking with ruby red lips, "You're not as good a dancer as Britt, but I guess you'll have to do."

Brittany looked sad as Blaine stuttered. "But, who will I dance with?" she asked.

Santana stood up from the bleachers, pulling Blaine with her. "You'll dance with vampire gay face, of course," she told her girlfriend. Kurt looked taken-aback and the Latina scoffed, "What? You're pale." The tall boy shrugged in affirmation. Santana called everyone (except for Brittany) names all the time, but she didn't mean it whenever she was talking to her group. Santana, Brittany, Kurt and Blaine had to stick together because they had nobody else who understood them.

Santana was really tall in her high heels, even taller than she usually was. Blaine felt very short dancing with her. He looked across the room and could just make out Kurt and Brittany twirling around. The blonde girl was out-dancing everyone in the room and Kurt was struggling a little to keep up. Blaine caught his boyfriend's eye as Brittany whipped him around the dance floor an Kurt shot him a slightly alarmed look before he was pulled out of sight. Blaine turned back to his dance partner, who was also watching the other pair dance away. "I love the red dress," he commented, having to yell over the upbeat music, "You look pretty fierce."

Santana smirked with lips like blood. "Thanks, Broccoli-Head." Blaine frowned and touched his hair frantically, but continued to swivel his hips. She laughed at him when he realized that the gel still held. Then, she grabbed his hand again and spun him around once. "Seriously, though," she said, shimmying towards him to the music, "You look pretty hot, too."

Blaine gave her a genuine smile, lifting her up by her waist. "Thanks."

They made their way across the dance floor, passing other couples grooving along. "When we stopped by your house to pick you up," Santana continued, "Hummel got all doe-eyed as you walked down the stairs. So, you must have done something right." Blaine blushed.

Just then, some guy moved in from beside them and feigned a trip, shoving Blaine away from Santana, where he landed on his ankle awkwardly and fell. They heard the guy mutter, "Fag," before leading his partner away. Santana helped Blaine stand up, glaring at the nameless guy.

"What a dick," she said in disgust. A judge holding a clipboard passed them by and noticed that they were standing relatively still in order to brush Blaine off. He tapped them on the shoulders, indicating that they were out of the dance. As the man walked away, Santana gave him the finger behind his back. "Oh well," she sighed, "I was getting tired, anyway. Let's sit down." Blaine nodded and followed her, limping a little, towards the bleachers along the wall. "Hey, you alright?" Santana asked in concern when they reached the bleachers and Blaine sat down in relief.

Blaine pursed his lips. "I think I twisted my ankle a bit when I fell."

"When you were pushed," his friend corrected, "Don't make excuses for them."

The curly-haired boy nodded in agreement, but let the subject drop. "Have you seen Kurt and Brittany recently?" he asked, looking around for their familiar forms.

Santana shrugged, "Knowing Britt, they've probably covered the whole gym by now. That girl can dance circles around anybody here."

"I feel bad for Kurt."

The girl laughed mercilessly. "So do I, Short Stuff."

They sat in companionable silence, watching the other couples dance as the crowd thinned out. Soon enough, there were only about five pairs left. One of them was Kurt and Brittany. The girl was moving flawlessly, owning the spotlight and flinging the ends of her green dress; Kurt—not a bad dancer, himself—was doing his best to keep up with her and catch her when she went for a lift.

"Woo!" Blaine cheered, clapping his hands, "Go, Kurt!"

Santana rolled her eyes. "Are you kidding me? He's not doing anything."

"Come on," Blaine chastised, "Support both of them, not just your girlfriend."

"I didn't hear you making any noise for anyone but your boyfriend."

It was Blaine's turn to roll his eyes. "Yeah, Brittany!" he shouted to the dance floor, "Brittany S. Pierce, killin' it!"

"Stop trying to be gangster, Blaine. It's never gonna happen." Santana checked herself out of the conversation then, ignoring Blaine's pout in favour of watching the dance competition. The cameras were circling like vultures, and they had to peer over the crowd of student who were gathered in an oval around the last people dancing. Their friends were in the final three and it looked like their prospects of winning were high. Blaine had the fleeting vision of them winning and showing the rest of the ignorant teenagers that they didn't care what anyone thought.

Then, Danny Zuko and his new dance partner took over the floor. Kurt and Brittany were eliminated. "What a bunch of crap," Santana said, "They were way better than Zuko and that slut." Blaine just smiled because she had said that both of them were good, not just Brittany. Even though she put on a tough face, Santana really cared about everyone in their little group.

They looked up to see their friends pushing through the crowd and coming close to where they were seated on the bleachers, away from everyone else. Brittany was grinning as she sat down beside her girlfriend and interlaced their pinky fingers. Kurt looked exhausted. He sank onto the place to the left of Blaine and took deep breaths. "That was intense," he said, "I don't think I've ever danced so hard in my life."

"You were so good, Baby-hands," Brittany said. Kurt smiled back in thanks.

He got up, fixing his hair. "I need to get some punch. Be right back."

Blaine watched his boyfriend walk away, smiling a little. Even though nobody really accepted them, it was still nice to come to a dance with Kurt.

He got pulled into a conversation with Brittany about the circumstances in which he would wear a solid powder-blue suit and he almost didn't notice that Kurt had been gone for longer than he should have been. Just as the thought entered his mind, Blaine addressed his two friends. "Have you seen Kurt since he left?" he asked, looking around the dance floor and trying not to seem too anxious.

Santana shrugged. "Nope, not since he got off the dance floor."

"He said he was getting a drink…he should be back by now…" After glancing over the crowd a few more times, Blaine made the decision to look for his boyfriend. He stood up from the bleachers and walked across the side of the room to get to where the punchbowl was. His left ankle jolted unpleasantly if he put too much weight on it, so he traveled with a slight limp, but Blaine didn't notice as he continued to scan the decorated room. No signs of Kurt.

Maybe he was in the bathroom? Blaine decided that it was as good a place as any to look, so he made his way over to the men's washroom. Nobody hassled him along the way, which was a relief; he wasn't sure how well he would be able to defend himself (verbally or physically) at the moment. All he wanted to do was find Kurt.

When he pushed open the heavy door, a wave of relief washed over him at the sight of his boyfriend, facing away from him. However, the happiness was short-lived. "Kurt, I was starting to get worried. What—"

Then Kurt turned around to face him and Blaine shuffled forward as quickly as possible when he saw the upset look on his freckled features. The second thing he saw was the evident reason for the taller boy's distress. The white shirt of his tuxedo had a large, dark pink stain down the front. Kurt's hair, which had been styled flawlessly, was soaked. Strands of it stuck to his forehead like limp and sticky ropes. Small rivulets of pink substance ran down the side of his face.

"Oh my God, Kurt," Blaine whispered as he gently took his boyfriend's pale face in both hands. "What did they do to you?"

Tears were collecting in his blue eyes, but they refused to fall as he took a shuddery breath. "I just went over to the punch bowl and a group of them saw me. They…called me names, then upended their drinks over my head." Kurt looked like he would hang his head if Blaine didn't have a gentle hold on the sides of his face. "I'm sorry. I couldn't even…I just ran away."

"Oh, Kurt," Blaine murmured, "Don't be ashamed. It would make no sense for you to stay and start something. You did the right thing in that situation, I promise." He tilted his head up to kiss Kurt on the lips softly.

Kurt closed his eyes at the contact and a couple tears fell and mixed with the sugary liquid on his skin. "Our night is ruined," he choked out.

Blaine promptly wrapped his arms around Kurt's waist and buried his nose where his pale shoulder met his neck. "No, it's not," he argued, holding his boyfriend close. Kurt wrapped his arms around the shorter boy's shoulders and ran his fingers through the curls that rested on his jacket's collar. After a few moments of soaking in each other's proximity, Blaine drew back. "Let's get you cleaned up."

The janitor had left a chair in the bathroom from when he was cleaning. Blaine dragged it towards the sink as Kurt carefully unfastened the button of his black jacket and placed it on the countertop. When the taller boy was seated with his back to one of the sinks, Blaine left him momentarily to lock the door. The last thing they both needed was to get harassed by someone who happened to walk in on them.

Kurt had obviously tried to save the shirt first by scrubbing at it, but the stain had done nothing except spread out a little more. Blaine sighed as he smoothed down the wrinkles in the now pink fabric; he knew how much Kurt cared about his clothes, and how much work he always put into his appearance.

Blaine's ankle was killing him by standing and leaning over to gain access to the sink, so he simply straddled Kurt's lap instead. Kurt didn't say anything, only placed the palms of his hands on Blaine's lower back to give him more support as the shorter boy turned on the sink and began to work his fingers gently through Kurt's hair. He took his time to wash out all traces of punch to the best of his ability while still being achingly gentle. Almost against his will, Kurt began to relax. His eyes were closed when he felt something soft against his cheek. He looked up to see that Blaine had wet his pocket handkerchief to clean the sugary substance from Kurt's face. Once that was done, Blaine placed a soft kiss to his boyfriend's lightly-freckled cheek.

"There. All clean," he muttered, but neither boy moved from their position. Kurt looked up at his boyfriend with clear blue eyes, no longer clouded with tears, and Blaine couldn't help himself. He leaned down and captured Kurt's bottom lip in a chaste kiss. "How about we leave this stupid dance, and you come over to my house instead?" he suggested, whispering the words against his boyfriend's slightly-parted mouth. Kurt nodded.

They took the route that kept them mostly out of sight from the people who would torment them—through the group of bitter, single and lonely girls. They got a couple glances from said girls, but nothing serious. When they passed Brittany and Santana on the way to the door in order to fill them in on the fact that they were leaving, Brittany gave them both hugs and Santana rewarded the couple with a rare, sympathetic smile. And then they were driving to Blaine's house with the radio playing softly in the background.

"Do you think it will ever get easier?" Kurt asked, his face pressed against the cool glass of the passenger side window.

Blaine glanced at him with thick eyebrows drawn down in slight confusion. "Of course it will," he said matter-of-factly, keeping his eyes trained on the road.

"How do you know?"

The curly-haired boy reached over and grabbed Kurt's pale hand in his own tan one. He brushed his thumb lightly over the pronounced knuckles as he drove. "It can only get better from here, right?" he explained, "Not every place in the world can be like this."

The weariness in Kurt's voice was almost palpable. "I guess not."

"Plus," Blaine added, "We have each other, right?"

It was then that Kurt finally allowed a small smile to grace his features. "Yeah," he agreed softly, and the rest of the drive was spent without tension as Blaine absently hummed along to the radio.

The first thing Blaine did when they got to his house was grab Kurt's hand and lead him upstairs to his bedroom. When they walked through the door and into Blaine's space, Kurt gave his boyfriend a stern look and sat him down on the desk chair. "You need to get off that ankle this instant. Stay there and I'll go get an icepack."

"No, wait!" Blaine said, standing before the other boy could leave. He ignored Kurt's exasperated look and grabbed his upper arms gently. Looking up at his boyfriend with large hazel eyes, he begged, "Dance with me."

"Blaine, you're hurt—"

"Please, Kurt."

"There's no way you can—"

"Pretty please?"

"…Don't give me that look, Anderson. You're not as adorable as you think you are."

Blaine smiled wickedly when Kurt stopped arguing with him. "Yes, I am."

Kurt rolled his eyes fondly. "Yes, you are," he admitted.

"So you'll dance with me?" The shorter boy wound his arms slowly up and around his boyfriend's neck and smiled up at him.

Kurt sighed and placed his hands lightly on Blaine's narrow waist. "Yes," he conceded, "But you're not doing anything but swaying, you hear me? And then we're going to sit you down, I'll get you an icepack, and we're going to cuddle."

Blaine didn't stop smiling. "Sounds great to me."

"There's no music, Blaine."

"Then make some."

And that was how they spent the rest of the night, holding each other close and memorizing the way their bodies fit together as they swayed slowly around the room. No matter what the stupid people in the world did to knock them down, they wouldn't be able to touch moments like those, in which they could be themselves, be happy, and fix what they thought was broken with a few words and gentle touches.

This was all they needed.


Author's Second Note: Once again, I had trouble with the ending. I hope you don't mind it too much. Please review! :)

Take care.

-Patricia Sage