Just a few notes:
I went to a boarding school for three years, so my experience of them is the basis for what Dalton Academy is like, because it's not particularly well-explained in the show. However, my boarding school was in rural England and not America, so who knows what the differences are. That being said, I've made it so the boys each have their own room, and there are separate 'halls' in different buildings. Again, this is just my experience and also makes it easier for me to write this story, so take it all with a grain of salt, and if anything is wildly inaccurate I apologise in advance.
Secondly, I am such a sucker for Kurt & Warbler friendship fics. They're like crack to me. So I decided to try my own hand at it, hope you enjoy!

Thirdly,I have a few ideas for future chapters, but I don't know how many chapters this will have or if it will be updated on a regular basis. Subscribe at your own peril!

Chapter 1: Wes

The walls between rooms aren't thin, exactly, but they're not soundproof either. A conversation at normal volume can't be overheard, but shouting, or crashes when someone tries to jump onto their desk while singing and the entire thing collapses (Blaine) are pretty audible to everyone in the hall.

Which is why Wes startles awake at 2:57am one Wednesday morning from a scream.

After a few moments of bleary confusion, during which he karate-chops his Chemistry textbook, he realises that it was Kurt screaming, because a) it seemed to come from very close-by, and as Wes's room is at the very end of their halls, Kurt is his only neighbour; and b) it's a very high-pitched shriek, somewhere around the Defying Gravity high F, which Wes knows only Kurt can reach. He shoves his feet into his slippers (shut up David, slippers don't make him an old man, they're practical) and pads out to find half of the dormitory's occupants have also been roused and are groggily trying to figure out what's going on.

Blaine's room is on the other side of Kurt's, and then next to him is David, who thankfully is also awake and outside his door. Blaine, of course, is still asleep, because Blaine sleeps like the dead (once the bookshelf in his room fell over and he didn't wake up, though everyone else in the entire building did) until his body decides it's bored now, and then he jerks awake all at once with all the energy of a man who's downed ten shots of espresso. David catches his eye and raises an eyebrow in query, and Wes makes a small shrugging motion in response and then jerks his head towards Kurt's door.

It's times like this that he's glad for their friendship, because David immediately recognises the gesture to mean 'I'm pretty sure that was Kurt, and I'm going to check on him, could you please make sure that none of these well-meaning but idiotic miscreants come barging in to ask if he wants to play COD to cheer up', and he starts ushering people back to their rooms, all the while keeping an eye on Kurt's door to make sure nobody's heading over there.

Apart from Wes, of course. He knocks twice, waits for an answer, then slips in after thirty seconds of silence with a soft, "Kurt?" He closes the door behind him, looks around the room (dimly lit by a small lamp on the desk) and then hears the unmistakeable sound of retching from the en-suite bathroom.

Well, good thing he's not a sympathetic vomiter.

"Kurt," he says again, mainly to warn him of his presence, then raps on the bathroom door with his knuckles. He doesn't receive permission to come in but he overhears more pitiful noises, including what sounds like a pained whimper, so he tries the handle and the door opens easily. Kurt's kneeling over the toilet, one hand clutching at his own stomach as he empties its contents, and the other scrabbling uselessly for grip on the tiled floor as he heaves. His hair isn't styled and flops over his forehead, and he's wearing a massive football jersey that swamps his frame. The entire thing makes him look about five years younger than he actually is, and the usual protective bubble that Wes gets in his chest around Kurt swells to about fifty times its normal size.

Without thinking, he drops to a crouch behind the younger boy and smooths one hand through his hair, the other dropping to rub between his shoulder blades. "It's okay," Wes says, "it's all okay," though maybe it isn't, he's not sure.

Kurt shudders and throws up again. Not for very long this time, though, which Wes takes as a good sign. Another fit of retching brings up what appears to be mostly bile. Kurt chokes on the acrid taste of it, takes a moment to recover, and then delicately closes the toilet lid. He flushes by pressing the handle down carefully with two fingers, grimacing even as he does so. Unsteadily, he clambers to his feet, either not noticing or pretending not to notice Wes's hands under his elbows, and stumbles over to the sink. Wes stays crouched, not wanting to spook him or invade his personal space.

He simply watches as Kurt turns on the tap and washes his hands like a surgeon would, passing the bar of soap over his hands and fingers and halfway up his wrists, working up a lather until he's finally satisfied. The water coming out of the tap is steaming, it's so hot, but Kurt doesn't react as he washes the soap off, then picks up the towel and pats his skin dry meticulously. Rubbing is probably bad for you or something. The hot water is switched off in favour of cold, and Kurt grabs a small paper cup and rinses his mouth out. Then he brushes his teeth, has another rinse with the water, then with some mouthwash, then water again, then turns off the tap and throws the paper cup in the trashcan.

Finally, he turns around, looking remarkably composed. "Thank you for coming to check on me, Wesley, but I'm fine now. I'll let you get back to sleep." He smiles, close-mouthed, and his eyes stay carefully blank.

Wes considers, then pushes off the floor to stand, wincing when his knees click. "I think I'll stay for a bit longer," he says, equally as pleasantly, and guides Kurt out of the bathroom with a hand on the small of his back so fluidly that he doesn't protest. Kurt flicks the light off as they exit and shuts the door behind him, then goes to open the bedroom door. "No, Kurt, I'm staying," he says firmly, and Kurt stops in his tracks and then turns back to him.

"Wesley, I would hate to keep you from being well-rested—" Kurt begins another protest, but Wes interrupts him by pressing on his shoulders until his knees buckle under the pressure and he ends up sitting down on the edge of his bed.

He wasn't planning on going anywhere without checking Kurt wasn't physically ill anyway, but now there are some serious alarm bells going off in his mind. For one thing, Kurt keeps calling him Wesley, which is something he has never done before. Also, Kurt's a bitch most of the time, and only seems to put aside that attitude and his diva behaviour around Blaine (and even then only some of the time), so his eerily formal and polite behaviour makes Wes want to shake him and tell him to make a snide comment about how Wes's slippers and pyjamas don't match. It used to irritate him, Kurt being like that, but now it's just Kurt.

"I don't want to push you into talking about anything you're uncomfortable with," he begins, crouching again (his legs are going to pay for that later) so he's at the same level with Kurt. He looks even paler than usual, but Wes can't tell if it's from emesis or emotions. Both? Neither? "But I also don't feel comfortable leaving you alone after you were distressed enough to scream and then throw up."

Kurt doesn't say anything, just stares at a spot over Wes's shoulder and nibbles at his lower lip. A minute passes, then another. Wes waits patiently. He knows if he just bides his time, shows Kurt that he's not going anywhere, that he actually cares, then –

"It was just a nightmare." The words come out on a hurried exhale, sounding even breathier than his voice usually does. Also more untruthful than usual.

"'Just'?"

"A…memory, and then a nightmare," Kurt amends. "I-uh—" Stuttering is added to his mental list, along with Wesley and being nice. "Something happened, with a jock, at my – my last school. That's the memory. Sometimes, my brain likes to imagine what would have, uh, happened, had I not…gotten away." Kurt accentuates the last two words with a gesture that somewhat resembles sad jazz hands, an obvious attempt at his usual exuberance that falls flat.

Wes doesn't want to pry, he really doesn't, and he especially doesn't want to push Kurt back to that place he'd been when he'd first started at Dalton; hesitant, jumpy, shielding himself with sharp words and caustic actions that had made Wes dislike him until he realised just how good Kurt had gotten at hiding who he really was, and endeavoured to peel away his protective mask. (Which turned out to be totally worth it.) However…he also doesn't want to do nothing. "Does Blaine know?"

Kurt smiles a little, the first time that night. Wes counts it as a victory, even if it is technically because he brought up someone else. "He knows everything," he says softly. Wes thinks that maybe they've stopped talking about just the nightmares.

"So you are talking to someone about it?"

Kurt nods. "Yes, and I'm fine, Wes. Now, seriously, you should get to bed. It's a long day tomorrow."

Wes considers. A full day of classes, meaning eight hours of lessons almost back-to-back, and then two hours of Warbler practice following that. "True," he mutters to himself, then grabs Kurt's skinny ankles and lifts his legs up onto the bed.

"What are you—?" Kurt near-squawks when Wes manhandles him (gently and carefully) into the middle of the bed, and climbs on next to him.

"I call big spoon," Wes replies cheerfully, and pulls up the covers from where they've been kicked to the bottom of the mattress. "Come on." He curls himself round Kurt's back before he can answer, or protest, or do anything, and stays carefully still so he can feel if Kurt tenses or freaks out.

There's a moment where Kurt does tense, but it ends almost as soon as it begins and he relaxes, squirming back a little bit and cementing himself more firmly into the cuddle. "Thanks, Wes," he says quietly, and yawns.

Before he can answer, the door swings open, a knock added as an afterthought. "Everyone's gone back to bed," David announces. "And I checked on Blaine. He's actually managed to twist himself half out of bed– his head's on the floor. I put a pillow under him, he'll be fine."

Kurt's already falling asleep and answers, "Mmph." If he was awake, his response would be more along the lines of "Dear Gaga no he'll break his neck in the middle of the night David go pick him up now and put him back before he dies", and Wes looks up just in time to see the same realization hit David.

They've both discovered at this point – mostly thanks to Blaine, who has many a late-night study session with Kurt – that the younger boy is much more pliant and uncharacteristically open to physical affection when he's tired, so David wastes no time in announcing, "Kurt sandwich!" triumphantly, and takes a flying jump onto the spare side of the bed.

The entire bed jolts with the motion, and Wes smacks David on the shoulder and Kurt groans a little at being jolted. He sighs happily, though, when David settles down against Kurt's front and throws an arm over him and Wes. "Cuddle pile," he chirps, and looks contrite when Kurt protests against the noise sleepily.

Blaine wakes them up at six-thirty sharp the next morning, looking rather adorably disgruntled that he wasn't involved, but it's a testament to the Wevid bromance and how well he knows Kurt that he doesn't seem particularly surprised by what's going on. His expression transitions into gruntled when Kurt sleepily tugs him on top of them, effectively adding him to the cuddle pile, even as Wes and David complain about being squashed.

If you have any ideas for future chapters or particular characters you want to appear, please let me know! And thank you so much for reading 3