The two boys sat across from each other outside the tiny coffee shoppe. Not the Lima Bean. A little, independently owned, out of the way place Blaine had stumbled upon a few months ago. He'd immediately fallen in love with the indie music, the mismatched furniture, the original art on the walls, the friendly atmosphere, the strange food, everything. He just hoped Kurt enjoyed it as much as he did. Maybe even enough to help shake him out of whatever funk he'd been knocked into.

Kurt was staring nervously at the table, picking at his food. He hadn't even touched his coffee.

"Kurt?"

"Hm?"

Kurt jerked so suddenly he almost bumped his dishes off the table.

"Okay, that's it," said Blaine, done with this suffer in silence crap, "What's wrong? Something's got you seriously freaked out. Talk to me."

Kurt looked like a deer caught in headlights, eyes wide as saucers. He swallowed and Blaine could see his adam's apple bobbing.

"Something's going on with you."

Kurt stared at him for a long time. Probably questioning where the hell Blaine got off demanding information like that when they weren't even friends.

"Of course something's going on with me," he said eventually, quiet as death.

"Well, what is it?"

Kurt laughed. He actually laughed. It was a hard, bitter sound. Nothing like the sweet honey of before.

"Are you for real right now?"

Blaine frowned. "I don't understand."

Kurt slammed a hand down on the table, making Blaine jump.

"I know you don't! It's everything, Blaine. It's this school, it's this town. It's your violent, hateful, homophobic friends. You wanna know why you keep finding me on the ground? You think I'm down there by choice?"

Kurt sucked in a heavy breath but didn't look away.

Blaine's mouth fell open as the truth hit him like a ton of bricks. Kurt hadn't been questioning why Blaine wanted to know what the problem was. He'd been in utter disbelief that Blaine didn't know already. Suddenly the boy felt like total shit. Like the completely ignorant, insensitive jackass that he was. He couldn't meet Kurt's eyes. He had to look away.

"I didn't know," he said. Which wasn't a total lie. He didn't know because he hadn't wanted to. He hadn't wanted to see so he hadn't looked.

Not once he knew what he'd find if he did.

Blaine hummed the opening bars of "Something's Coming" as he pulled the Westside poster from his backpack and moved to hang it on the door of his brand new locker in his brand new school. He was in a great mood. His first two classes had gone very well and he'd just been accepted into the glee club. He could already tell this was going to be a great year.

He lowered the poster a moment and looked around the hallway one more time, taking in the sights. All the students milling about. The hustle and bustle. Down the hall a couple were making out, a teacher was yelling at a kid with a mohawk, a bunch of jocks in letterman's jackets were making their way toward him, and, across the hall, the pale-faced boy he'd seen in glee was staring at him.

Blaine offered the last a smile and the boy blushed and looked away.

Blaine turned back to his poster. He was just about to stick the double-sided tape to the thin metal when suddenly the poster was ripped from his hands. Blaine saw, with no small measure of surprise, that it was the pale boy now holding his Tony poster with a look of fear in his wide, blue eyes.

"You can't hang that up," he whispered.

Blaine frowned in confusion. "What? Why?"

"Hey, would you look at that!" A deep voice boomed from behind Blaine. He turned and saw the group of letterman jackets standing over them, leering at the taller boy at his back. "Can't even let the new kid get through his first day without molesting him, huh, Hummel?"

Blaine opened his mouth to protest, but was cut off.

"Can't even walk down the hall without making a total ignoramus out of yourself, Azimio?"

The large jock, Azimio, reached out and snatched the poster from the boy's hands.

"Musicals, Hummel?" The boy sneered, "Just when we thought you couldn't get any gayer."

Blaine felt anger and indignation bubble up inside of him. He wasn't just going to stand there and watch this.

"It's not his," Blaine declared.

Suddenly every pair of eyes was on him.

"Oh, yeah? Who's is it? Yours? You some kind of fag too, new kid?"

Blaine was half-considering saying something like 'so what if I was' but a deep, shameful sense of fear in gut stopped him. That and a gentle hand on his arm.

Blaine turned back to the taller boy, Hummel. The boy looked at him steadily, perfectly calm and slowly shook his head once.

Later, Blaine would regret the choices he made that day. The unforgivable cowardice that ruled his actions. But in that moment fear had control of him.

"It's not mine," said Blaine, turning back to the jocks,"He found it on the floor."

"Yeah right," the jock answered with a sneer, "Like there'd be two freaks like him in this school." The jock crumpled up the Tony poster and tossed it at Hummel's head. It bounced off his perfectly coiffed hair and landed on the ground at Blaine's feet.

"Stay away from him, new kid," Azimio warned, "You don't wanna get any queer juice on you."

Blaine was about to bark out something that would surely land him in the principal's office were it overheard, but Hummel's hand was still on his arm and a soft squeeze from the taller boy killed the words in his throat.

The other jocks laughed and the red and gold herd moved away from them down the hall and out of sight.

Blaine turned back to the boy who had quite possibly saved his future at this school and found himself at a loss for words. Should he thank him? Apologize?

"That was surreal," he managed.

The kid raised an eyebrow. "Oh it's very real," he assured, "Welcome to McKinley High, the most homophobic place on Earth." He bent down and scooped up the crumpled poster, handing it back to Blaine. "You should get rid of this," he said seriously, "Shit like that'll get you in big trouble around here."

"It's just a poster."

"Believe me. You don't want them scenting gay on you. You'll never have a moment's peace." The boy hesitated, giving Blaine a curious, almost hopeful look. "You're not, are you?" He asked, eyes searching.

"Not...oh, gay? No. No, I, I don't think so."

God, Blaine could just imagine what would happen if even rumors painting Blaine as gay made it back to his father. Thank heaven for this kid.

The kid nodded, not quite hiding his disappointment. "No," he said, "I didn't think so either." He straightened up and offered his hand, "I'm Kurt, by the way."

"Blaine," he replied taking the boy's hand.

Kurt smiled a little, "Yeah, I know."

"You do?"

"Glee club?"

"Oh, right."

Kurt chuckled. For a moment, their eyes met and suddenly Blaine felt all those positive feelings he'd been experiencing before the unfortunate incident had occured come back to him. And then some. He smiled.

"Good to meet you," he said.

"I'm sorry, Kurt," Blaine said sincerely, shaking the memory away, "I didn't realize... I didn't know it was still so...I should have."

"Yes, you should have. But why would you? Why would anyone?"

"Kurt-"

"I should go."

"No," said Blaine abruptly, reaching out and placing a hand over Kurt's, "Please don't. I'm sorry. Please don't go."

"Why?"

"Because," Blaine pressed firmly,"You've been dealing with this shit since before I met you. I know that, now. But that back there? That was something else. What happened?"

Kurt sighed heavily and looked away.

"Why do you care?" He asked, echoing his words from days before. And Blaine knew he deserved a real answer this time.

"Because...I care about you. You're my friend. Or, at least, I'd like you to be."

Kurt looked baffled, "Since when?"

"Since always, Kurt. Ever since you saved me."

"Saved you?"

Just then Blaine's phone rang out an obnoxiously loud rendition of "Don't You Want Me, Baby," totally disrupting the tense, possibly pivotal moment.

Rachel's ringtone.

Blaine didn't want to answer. He didn't want to talk to Rachel. He wanted to talk to Kurt. He wanted to explain himself. But the song kept playing and Kurt kept staring and Blaine knew hanging up on Rachel was not an option.

Finally, with a heavy sigh, Blaine pulled out his phone and hit 'answer.' "I'm sorry," he mouthed, but Kurt just looked away.

"Hey Rach," he said with false cheeriness, "What's up?"

"What's up?" She practically shrieks at him, "Where the hell are you?"

"I'm with-"

"You're supposed to be here. With me. At rehearsal. The musical!"

Shit. Blaine had completely forgotten.

"I'm sorry, I-"

"Get your ass over here, please. We only have so many rehearsals, Blaine. We can't afford..."

She went on and on and Blaine had to hold the phone away from his ear. He covered the mouthpiece and turned back to Kurt.

"I'm sorry," he said again, "I have to go."

"I know."

The next few days were... a mess, basically. It was hard for Kurt to pin down exactly what his feelings were. He was angry sure. And filled with a whole new level of terror in regards to David Karofsky. But he was also slightly ashamed at having taken out his anger and fear on an unsuspecting Blaine who had done nothing but try to help and comfort him.

Still, it wasn't like he'd said anything that wasn't true. Blaine was just as oblivious to his pain as the rest of them, if not more so. And if he really did want to be Kurt's friend as he claimed, he may as well know that.

Kurt wasn't used to playing things that way though. His tried and true MO in respect to the bullying and indifference of his classmates had always been "head down, mouth shut." It was easier that way. But he'd broken that pattern twice now, in quick succession. First with Karofsky and then with Blaine. And he was paying for it in a big way.

Ever since the kiss, the jock had doubled, no, tripled down on his terrorizing of the poor countertenor. The shoves and dirty looks were coming more and more often. To the point where Kurt found himself on the ground more often than not. He was bruised all over, and there was something new in those hateful eyes of Karofsky's... something that chilled Kurt to his very bones.

It was like David wanted to hurt him. Wanted him to be scared out of his mind. Before, Kurt felt, it had been an almost casual thing. It had seemed, at least, that Karofsky was hurting and humiliating him only for the same reasons everyone else was. Because that was simply his role in the school. His punishment for be unique and different and unashamed. It was expected, it was... normal.

This, this was not normal. This was not "bullying the loser." This was... targeted, dedicated. This was personal.

David Karofsky hated him.

With a passion.

And Kurt had no idea how far the boy would go to alleviate whatever pain Kurt's very existence was causing him.

And then there was Blaine.

Kurt had no idea what to do, think, or feel about Blaine. His recent words and actions were knocking Kurt on his ass almost as often as Karofsky and Kurt wasn't sure whether to yell "fuck it" and dive headfirst into this newly burgeoning friendship or to turn tail and run screaming for the hills from it. And the whole ordeal was scaring him nearly as much the bullying.

Like the time, two days after the kiss, when Blaine had found him on the ground...again.

Kurt's face smashed into the locker door and his books went flying. He lost his footing and tumbled to floor. Kurt felt traitor tears bubble up behind his eyes at the pain and humiliation of it all and he reached up to wipe them away. As his fingers came away bloody, Kurt realized to his horror there was a cut on his forehead.

Shit.

His dad had been growing more and more suspicious and now this. How exactly was he supposed to explain this?

Kurt shook his head and shifted onto his knees to start gathering up his stuff. He was just reaching for his French book when another hand came into his vision, offering the text to him. Kurt's eyes flew wide in horror when he saw who it belonged to.

"Hi," Blaine said quietly.

Kurt dropped his eyes as he took the book.

"Hi."

"Kurt-"

"I'm fine."

"You're bleeding again."

"I'm fine."

Kurt was not entirely sure where his short temper with Blaine was coming from, but he was too frustrated and embarrassed to care. Blaine should have been affronted by his behavior. Should have written him off and walked away. But he didn't.

He just gathered up the rest of Kurt's books and stood, waiting for Kurt to take them back. Kurt did so without meeting his eyes.

"I'm sorry," Blaine offered out of nowhere, and Kurt's head snapped up in surprise. "For what happened at the coffee shop."

Kurt sighed as an unwelcome sense of guilt settled over him. "No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have lost it on you like that."

"It's understandable," said the beautiful boy, "I was out of line."

"You were just trying to help," answered Kurt, looking away.

"I'd still like to. If you'll let me."

Kurt considered this. What did he have to lose besides his heart and his entire grip on reality?

"How?"

"I know you're not the type to let other people fight your battles," Blaine started, "But I wonder if you'd let me help you fight them yourself?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Self-defense," said Blaine, "I don't know if you've heard, but I'm actually quite a decent boxer. I could teach you some things."

Kurt snorted, "No, thanks." The last thing he needed was to go looking for a fight.

Still, it was bizarre that Blaine would even offer. What was he getting at?

Was he really just trying to be a friend? Could he really be genuine?

Kurt had no idea, but it wasn't something he ready to mucking around in.

Or was it?

"Actually," he backtracks, and Blaine's face lights up hopefully, "I'll let you know."

And the following day at the Lima Bean...

Kurt was nearing the end of a very long double shift. He was desperately looking forward to going home and flopping right down on his bed and staying there for the next three years, give or take. Or at least until the end of high school, as the hellhole was becoming more and more unbearable every passing day.

He was just delivering drinks to a triplet of girls when they began to giggle.

"What?" He asked, fighting to keep a cheery look on his exhausted face, "Did you see that vine with the kitten impersonating Bette Middler?"

"No," one the girls squealed,"That guy over there is staring at you."

Kurt frowned and turned to look. When he did, his face heated up red and he quickly straightened up and spun away.

Over on the couches in the middle of the store, sat a group of McKinley's Most Popular. Among them, Santana, Brittany, Sam, Rachel...and Blaine. Blaine who was currently twisted in his seat staring hard at him like he had winning lottery numbers printed on his forehead.

Out of the corner of his eye, Kurt caught Blaine spin back around to face the group, his cheeks almost as red as Kurt's.

What in holy HELL did THAT mean?

In short, Kurt was freaking out.With Blaine's insistence on behaving nonsensically gentlemanlike, Kurt could feel himself rapidly losing track of what was real and what was just in his head. How much did Blaine actually care? How did he view Kurt? What exactly did he want from him? And what was Kurt expected to do?

Could he really allow himself to be friends with Blaine? If that's really what Blaine wanted in the first place.

Could he handle that? Emotionally? Socially?

He didn't know.

And it was going to drive him insane. God help him, that was the only thing he knew for sure anymore.

Santana only knew one thing for sure: She was in love with Brittany. Whether that made her gay or bi or whatever was immaterial to her, though she did have a sneaking suspicion she was a lesbian since she'd never really felt anything resembling love toward a man before. She knew she needed to have Britt for her own, that she wouldn't, couldn't be happy without her.

But how did Britt feel?

She didn't know, but there was only one way to find out. And it scared the living hell out of her like nothing ever had before.

It took her a few weeks to work up the courage, deciding what words to use, practicing in the mirror. She needed to be very clear with how she felt and what she was asking. She needed Brittany to understand that this wasn't friend-type love. This was the real deal.

At last, almost a month after the duet assignment and her life-shattering epiphany, she finally conjured the nerve to approach her best friend. How pathetic was that?

She walked up to Britt at her locker, feeling uncharacteristically vulnerable.

"Hi," she started.

"Hi."

"Can we talk?"

Britt's forehead wrinkled adorably, "But we never do that."

"I know," said Santana, feeling a touch of shame when she realized that was true, "But I've been doing a lot of thinking."

Britt's frown deepened.

"And what I've realized..." Santana swallowed around the lump in her throat that had suddenly appeared there, "Is why I'm such a bitch all the time."

She took a steadying breath that didn't seem to help at all. "I'm a bitch because I'm angry. I'm angry because I have all of these feelings..."

She faltered for a moment as a letterman's jacket brushed by. She was suddenly very aware of how public a place this was and wished she'd chosen a more intimate spot. But there was no turning back now.

"Feelings for you," she pressed forward, "that I'm afraid of dealing with..." Santana's voice cracked in spite of herself as she felt the tears of shame burn the corners of her eyes. Shame for being so afraid. "...Because I'm afraid of dealing with the consequences," she admitted, then added, "And Brittany, I can't go to an Indigo Girls' concert, I just can't."

"I understand that."

Santana had a sudden fear that she hadn't made herself very clear, in spite of all her preparation.

"Do you understand what I'm trying to say here?"

Britt shook her head, "No, not really."

Santana sighed, then looked Britt right in the eye. She needed her best friend to understand this, "I want to be with you. But I'm afraid of the talks, and the looks. I mean you know what happens to Kurt at this school."

Brittany smiled reassuringly. "But honey," she said, "If anybody were to ever make fun of you, you would just kick their ass or slash them with your vicious, vicious words."

Britt's confidence in her was overwhelming, and it made her feel that much more ashamed and humiliated by her fear. The traitor tears finally escaped and Santana couldn't hold back a sniffle.

"Yeah, I know," she choked out, "But...I'm so afraid of what everyone will say behind my back." She took a breath, "Still, I have to accept, that I love you." The words came out a blubbery mess, but Britt smiled softly at the declaration.

"I love you," Santana said much more emphatically, "And I don't wanna be with Sam or any of those other guys. I just want you."

Santana was bearing her soul here and Britt was just standing there. She had a sudden, terrifying thought.

"Please say you love me back," she begged, "Please."

"Of course I love you," said Brittany, and Santana's heart soared, "I do. And I would totally be with you if it weren't for Artie."

Santana just stared, not comprehending.

"Artie?"

"I love him, too. I don't want to hurt him," Britt continued, "That's not right. I can't break up with him."

Santana didn't understand, she could feel anger start to mix with the hurt and betrayal.

"Yes, you can! He's just a stupid boy."

"But it wouldn't be right."

Tears were rushing freely down Santana's cheeks now in the face of Britt's rejection.

"Santana, you have to know," Britt implored, "if Artie and I were to ever break up, and I'm lucky enough that you're still single..." She reached out and took Santana's arm but she pulled away.

The anger had grown, powering through the other emotions, consuming her. She shook her head, disgusted.

"Don't," was all she could manage.

"...I am so yours, " Britt continued her thought, oblivious to Santana's pain, "Proudly so."

But it was too little too late. Bitch-Santana had taken over.

"Yeah," she said cuttingly, "Wow. Whoever thought that being fluid meant you could be so stuck?"

Britt's face fell. "I'm sorry," she said quietly, "Don't-" She moved in for a hug but Santana's shoved her away, utterly humiliated.

"Get off me!"

"I'm sorry!"

Santana spun on her heel and rushed down the hallway as fast as she could without drawing attention to herself. She couldn't believe what had just happened. She didn't see how that could have possibly have gone any worse.

Tears poured down her face and she could feel a sob building as she ducked into the ladies' room and screamed at the freshmen inside to get lost.

She stared at herself in the mirror as they scattered, the horror and embarrassment crashing over her. Fucking Artie? Was that all she was? A consolation prize?

The sob escaped her throat and she ducked her head.

No! No, she wouldn't stand for it. He head snapped back up. She was fucking Santana Lopez for fuck's sake! No one got to treat her like that. No one said 'no' to her.

She was in love with Brittany. Head over heels for a girl who thought she had to be loyal to a boy for god only knew what reason. But that just wouldn't do. Santana wouldn't rest until she'd convinced Britt that she was wrong. That she belonged with her. Only her. Forever and always.

She'd do whatever it took. She couldn't live without her.