His bowtie is a bright blue today, dotted with tiny flowers and resting neatly under the collar of his white shirt. Kurt had adjusted it slightly and snuck a quick kiss to his cheek when they had met at his locker in the morning, eyes shining with approval. His cardigan is a darker blue, loose and soft under Kurt's fingertips as they touched his arm briefly. His jeans are dark and fitted, but not skintight like Kurt's white capris today.

Kurt departs to English and Blaine to Calculus after the first bell. His timetable is still sinking into his brain, its mark not quite made, but he remembers when he has lunch and where his homeroom is. Calculus is very close to his locker and he shares the class with Artie and Tina – the latter beams at him when he enters the room and indicates the seat next to her.

For some reason the girls of New Directions had been much more welcoming than the guys – they're indifferent at best, frosty and snappish at worst. The girls pat his hand and link arms with him on the way to class, always ready with a smile and a discussion to slip him easily into. Mercedes, who had previously seemed rather cool with him, now pinches his cheek and would wiggle her fingers at him in a wave if they saw each other in the hallway. Brittany perches herself on his lap and asks about the elves living in his hair, twisting it and freeing them from their gel prison (much to Kurt's delight). Rachel rambles to him about prospective performances and the school musical, and oh, he must audition. Santana blows him kisses, eyebrows waggling suggestively but with a soft smile he always returns. Tina explains her outfits to him, knowing he will appreciate them in a way Kurt won't, voice quiet but strong as she discusses her favourite music and shyly offers him an earbud.

Quinn is never brought up, and he thinks it best to avoid her in the corridors. Her nose-ring and ever-arched eyebrow is quite intimidating.

Tina has laid out her pens in the order of the rainbow, yellow to black. Blaine fishes out his own stationery and leans his elbow on the desk, chin propped up on his hand.

"How are you?" he asks her, fingering his bowtie.

"Tired," Tina is wearing a very pretty dark blue dress today. "Mike was arguing with his mom about college at dinner and I didn't get home till late."

"That sucks," Blaine taps the desk lightly with his nails. "What are the options?"

"Stanford, Harvard, OSU, UCLA," she lists them off on her fingers. "Chemistry or Business. It's really stressing him out."

Blaine was about to answer with I can relate (he really can – his parents are leaving him brochures of universities very far away from New York and thus Kurt) but their teacher arrives, slamming a wad of papers down on the desk and looking very much in the need of coffee.

He's on the way to lunch period when he hears them.

Puck and Finn are walking ahead of him, letterman jackets standing out starkly next to the multi-coloured outfits of McKinley High's less athletic students. They are talking quietly – they seem to be closer, now (over the summer Kurt had explained the whole drama with Quinn and then with Rachel), and are bonding whilst complaining about something.

"I'm never going to get any solos now," Puck is saying, hands thrust into his pockets. "I hope he realizes we're not his freaking fan club like the Garglers were."

"He'd better realize public school works differently," Finn replies. "Glee club works differently. I bet you five bucks he throws a tantrum when I get a solo at Sectionals."

"Ten. Done," Puck and Finn bump fists. "We don't need a prissy prep school kid ruling over us."

They turn the corner, leaving Blaine fighting the prickling behind his eyes in the middle of the hallway.

At his first high school whenever he turned up at his locker to find cruel names spray-painted across it or was shoved into the wall particularly hard or had to ignore a shouted slur, he would find somewhere small and hide.

He knows there is one out-of-order cubicle in the boys' bathroom at McKinley, and he turns around, almost barreling into a sophomore who huffs and straightens her pink folders in her arms. The bathrooms are only three corridors away, so he apologizes hurriedly and begins to walk in the opposite direction.

Unfortunately when he walks up to the bathrooms there are two hockey players waiting with cherry slushies, and they promptly dump them over his head, ruining his cardigan and his shirt, yelling obscenities as they run past.

Blaine is not unfamiliar to the slushie treatment – he was subjected to three in the last week – but his eyes still burn and he's freezing. He blinks carefully, opening his eyes enough so he can make his way to the boys' bathroom.

Once inside he strips off his cardigan, sticks his head under the tap and tries to dislodge the icy gunk from his hair (he's been wearing less gel but it still reacts weirdly). He finds the towel conveniently placed on the windowsill by the last Glee club member to receive a slushie and pats his face dry, wishing with every bone in his body that Kurt was there with a set of warm, dry clothes and a hug.

He drags his bag and cardigan into the out-of-order cubicle, locking the door and slumping down next to the toilet. He lodges himself there, arms wrapped around his legs and face buried between his knees.

He can count the tears that he lets soak the fabric of his jeans on two hands.

Kurt's leg is jigging, eyes flicking between the door to the choir room and the empty seat next to his.

"Where is he?" He mutters to himself, frowning and checking his phone again.

"He'll be here," Mercedes pats his knee. "You know he wouldn't miss Glee."

"All right, guys," Mr Schue arrives then, clipboard in hand and sweater vest just as hideous as ever. "Is everybody here?"

"Blaine's late," Tina says, prodding Mike when he rolls his eyes.

"Let's just start," Finn says loudly, ignoring the scowl on Rachel's face. "We don't really need him here, anyway."

"Excuse me," Kurt stares incredulously at his brother. "We do need him, Finn. We wouldn't start without you if you were late."

"Because I've been here longer and I deserve to be the leader in here, not him-"

"Oh, so this is what this is all about," Mercedes interrupts, tone scathing.

"He can't just walk around expecting people to worship the ground he bounces around on," Puck interjects.

"He doesn't expect anything-" Kurt is shrill now, fists clenching in his lap.

"He expects us to give him all our solos," Finn shouts back, getting to his feet and turning to face his brother. "Just because he has no idea what it's like in a public school-"

"Where the hell did you get that idea from?" Kurt is standing as well, now, cheeks pink in outrage.

"His parents probably sent him to a private elementary school," Puck says, rolling his eyes. "They could probably afford it."

Kurt is almost speechless with rage, protectiveness expanding in his chest as if Blaine is cowering behind him.

"How," he storms down the steps and shoves Finn back into his seat. He points an imperious, shaking finger at him. "dare you make an assumption like that. If you'd bothered to listen when he was around – God, Finn, I swear this was implied three hundred times."

He straightens and faces his Glee club.

"Now I want you to all listen to me," the guilt swells –Blaine should be the one saying this. "Blaine transferred to Dalton in the middle of his freshman year. He missed six months of school before that."

"Why?" Artie is looking subdued, wary, as if he can tell what Kurt will say next.

"Blaine attended a Sadie Hawkens dance with another boy," his voice is thickening, a lump lodging itself in his voice. "Three guys beat him up afterwards. They broke four ribs and both his arms."

The New Directions stare at him, mouths open and completely silent for once.

"And before that," Kurt wraps his arms around his middle. "He got the same treatment I did. Pushed into lockers. Called names. Ostracized. Except he didn't have a Glee club. He didn't really have any friends."

Rachel looks close to tears; Brittany has the saddest expression he's ever seen on her face and is mumbling something about a dolphin.

"And he comes here, because he thought he was running away," Kurt shakes his head, the idea still completely ridiculous. "He comes here so he can be brave – and we're all outcasts, aren't we? We're the misfits. We don't really fit anywhere so we come here and sing about it. And you're turning him away because you're insecure and you think he's going to take solos away from you."

Mr Schue stands.

"Kurt," he rests his hand on his shoulder. "Do you want to go and find him?"

Kurt nods and strides out of the room, scrubbing at his cheeks and heading towards his locker for the bag with a change of clothes. Just in case.

It's the pink stain on the beige linoleum floor outside the boys' bathroom that gives Blaine away.

It's still sticky – less than a few hours old – and smells of sickly artificial flavourings that Kurt daren't even consider digesting. Kurt sighs and steps carefully over the stain, thankful he decided to take the spare towel with him too.

The bathroom is deserted and he heads straight for the cubicle with the ripped and running "OUT OF ORDER –DO NOT USE" sign taped messily on to the door. Kurt knocks twice.

"Blaine? Are you in there?"

He hears sudden movement from behind the door and knocks again. "Blaine?"

"Yeah," Blaine sounds hoarse, feeble.

"Will you come out?"

"No," Blaine's voice is merely a whisper, and it sounds like he has buried his face in his arm.

"Okay," Kurt slides to the floor and then puts his hand under the door. It only takes five seconds for Blaine's fingers to reach out and entwine with his.

"What happened?" Kurt murmurs, thumb stroking Blaine's fingers.

"Finn and Puck hate me," Blaine replies in a very, very small voice. "And I was going to hide in here anyway and…"

"Oh, Blaine," Kurt rests his head on the door, closing his eyes. "I have fresh clothes. Oh, honey, I wish I'd been there. Was there a towel in here?"

"Yeah, on the windowsill."

"I yelled at everybody," Kurt tells him, squeezing his fingers. "They were all being assholes and now they're all going to apologize to you."

"Thank you." Blaine's voice is still tiny and miserable, and Kurt has an overwhelming urge to reach through the door and put his arms around him.

"Blaine, honey, open the door. Please."

Blaine sighs wetly, but he lets go of Kurt's hand. Kurt can hear shuffling and the squeaking of his shoes on the floor before the lock clicks and the door opens. Kurt gets to his feet and opens his arms.

Blaine doesn't cry – he trembles slightly, but only because he's cold and Kurt is so very warm. He nestles his face into the crook of Kurt's neck and loops his arms around Kurt's waist, clinging. Kurt hooks his elbows around Blaine's neck, hand clasping his shoulder and the back of his head.

"I'm sorry, Blaine," he breathes, kissing Blaine's temple and rocking them slightly.

"'S'not your fault," Blaine seems to be trying to press even closer despite the distinct lack of space between them.

"I am so ashamed of them," Kurt babbles. "They were worried you were going to steal their solos."

"But that's so stupid," Blaine's hands are slipping underneath his waistcoat now. "I don't want their solos. I've had lots of solos."

"I know," Kurt huffs. "I know."

"Kurt," Blaine says suddenly, pressing his cheek to Kurt's shoulder. "Do you have any gel? I forgot mine today."

Kurt now registers that he can actually touch Blaine's hair without sinking into a sea of product – his hair is soft, slightly greasy beneath his fingertips but that could be easily sorted out when Blaine next washed his hair. He finds Blaine's scalp and presses gently. Blaine moans slightly.

"Hm," Kurt pulls back ever so slightly. "No, I don't. But you don't need any. It looks fine."

"It's messy," Blaine squirms and tries to hide his hair by cuddling closer.

"It's nice messy. Hey," Kurt tugs Blaine back and smiles at his boyfriend's pout. "There's an upside to no gel."

"What-"

Kurt cups Blaine's jaw and covers his mouth with his own. His fingers fist in Blaine's hair, tugging gently. Blaine squeaks, gripping tightly to Kurt's waist and letting Kurt roll his tongue into his mouth. He responds eagerly, pushing Kurt back against the sink; his hand travels to Kurt's hip and finds the waistband of his capris.

Eventually they break apart, gasping for air and lips swollen. Kurt presses one last kiss to the corner of Blaine's mouth.

"Do you see the upside now?" Kurt lets go of Blaine and finds the spare shirt. "I think it's a huge upside."

"Not going to disagree there," Blaine still looks slightly dazed but takes the shirt. He smiles at Kurt. "Thank you."

"I love you," Kurt replies simply with a shrug. Blaine bites his lip and his eyes go all wide and full like they often do around Kurt – like he's trying to say something but he doesn't know how, and that desperation to turn it into words just ends up pushing and pushing against his eyes until it bursts out of his mouth in the only form he really knows.

"I love you, too," he says, the corner of his mouth turning up in a lopsided, dopey smile that reminds Kurt of a puppy who has just been scooped up into someone's arms.

Kurt finds his hand and touches his smile to the palm of Blaine's hand.