I know, I know. I should be working on my other neglected stories. But I was bitten by the reform!Klaine bug.

This wasn't happening.

There was no possible way this was happening.

Blaine nervously readjusted his tie in the rear view mirror of his car once more, while simultaneously scanning the grounds behind him. There were a few students wandering around outside the school before the bell rang. To his left a group of boys were smoking, and to his right, a muscular guy with a mohawk was eagerly devouring a blond cheerleader's face; both his hands disappearing at the hem of the girl's skirt. Blaine grimaced and fidgeted with his tie some more.

So this was his new school.

Blaine still couldn't see what the big deal was. He'd gotten tired of people pushing him around at his old school, so he threw a few punches; broke a few noses. Then before he knew it, his mother was crying, his father was shaking his head in disapproval, and he was being transferred to a… new school.

Blaine gritted his teeth and forced himself to at least think the word. If he couldn't even think it, how the hell was he supposed to survive in it?

Fine, Blaine thought to himself, a… reform school.

A thud echoed through the car as Blaine's head hit the steering wheel. He could always skip class; boys skipping classes at a reform school was sort of expected, wasn't it? But he was in enough trouble with his parents already. He needed to be good.

But how do you be good while attending a reform school? He's going to get the shit kicked out of him.

A few taps on the window shook Blaine of his thoughts; the boy with the mohawk was awkwardly leaning over, peeking into his car; the cheerleader from before nowhere to be found. Blaine cautiously rolled down the window.

Oh god, this guy could probably kill me.

"Hey," The guy greeted, appraising Blaine with hazel eyes. "I just wanted to make sure you weren't dead or drunk or something."

"Drunk? On school grounds?"

"Yep," the boy confirmed, picking at his teeth in Blaine's side mirror. He looked back over at Blaine; eyes scanning over his perfectly gelled hair and his symmetrically tied tie. He, on the other hand, wasn't even wearing a tie, and in place of the mandatory dress code oxford shirt, the boy had on a wife beater beneath the blazer. "You new here?" He asked, smirking as if he already knew the answer- which he probably did.

Blaine nodded, "First day."

The boy opened his mouth to say something else but a deafening roar cut him off.

Blaine's head whipped around to source out the sound. At the entrance to the student lot, a sleek, black motorcycle was charging forward, its rider's head covered by a helmet and bent low over the handle bars.

Beside him, Blaine heard the boy laugh and whoop in amusement as the motorcycle rushed behind them and pulled into a parking space with an ear-splitting screech.

The mohawked boy jogged off to meet the boy dismounting the motorcycle, calling a fading "See you, newbie!" over his shoulder.

Blaine watched as the two boys briefly clasped hands; like thugs or gangsters did in all the movies. Then the motorcycle-boy reached up and removed his black helmet, revealing his face.

Blaine's jaw actually dropped.

He wasn't sure what he was expecting, but it definitely was not what he saw. The boy's skin was pale, nicely contrasting with his chestnut hair, which was currently being pushed back off his forehead by long, thin fingers. His face was long, with sharp cheekbones and a prominent jaw line. Even from here Blaine could tell that the boy could probably freeze water with just his gaze, though he couldn't quite tell the color of his eyes. He'd have to get closer to find out.

But then piercing eyes met Blaine's and all plans to get physically closer to the boy disappeared in a split second.

Blaine couldn't look away; the boy held his gaze for two more seconds before his eyes flicked back to the mohawked boy. He tucked his helmet under his arm and turned, heading into the school, keeping up a conversation with his companion.

Damn it, Blaine thought as he stared at his hands. Rule number one, if you're going to survive this place: don't openly stare at the boys.

Blaine looked in his rear view mirror at the retreating figures.

Even if they look like that.