Laugh Until Our Ribs Get Tough

Blaine only has three minutes in the hallways of McKinley High before someone throws a slushie in his face.

It’s cold and sticky, dripping red down his neck and onto his clothes. It’s supposed to be cherry-favored, he realizes as he tries to get the worst of the melting ice off his face, but mostly it tastes like sugar. Some of the other kids laugh, snickering behind their hands as they walk by.

Blaine frowns, but he doesn’t say anything. He’s not really a student here, and he won’t have to see any of them again if he doesn’t want to. It’s not like his old school, where he had to come back, day after day, to the same abuse. Today, he can grit his teeth and get through it and then it will be over.

It’s still an unfortunate turn of events, because he doesn’t have an extra change of non-Dalton clothes in his car. He’s pretty sure that dripping corn syrup and food coloring all over the floors is only going to make him more conspicuous, not less. He can already hear the lecture that Wes would give him about the importance of being discreet while engaging in covert operations. Really, he should have let someone else -- maybe Thad or Trent -- do the spying on New Directions. In general, it’s a terrible idea to go along with any of Sebastian’s suggestions, even if the other Warblers tend to disagree.

Blaine finds himself in the boys’ bathroom trying to salvage as much as he can. The room is dim lights and grotty tiles and sinks with rusting faucets, a bit of a shock after a year of the well-kept restrooms of Dalton. His hair is going to be difficult, but he does have some extra gel in his bag for emergencies. On the other hand, his sweatervest is a lost cause, and he’s not looking forward to explaining any of this to his mother later. His khakis are a near thing. If he gets a longer shirt, he can probably cover up the worst of it.

Someone comes in as Blaine is washing the remaining slushie off his face and neck.

“You must be new,” the newcomer says.

Blaine catches sight of him in the mirror. Blue eyes and pale skin and an arched eyebrow staring him down. “Uh, yeah,” Blaine says.

“I can tell because no one who’s been here for more than two days would wear that much white to school. It’s like painting a giant target on yourself.”

Blaine looks down. Okay, so maybe wearing a white sweatervest over a white dress shirt with light-colored khakis wasn’t the smartest choice for blending into a public high school, but he wasn’t exactly thinking about that when he was picking out his outfit this morning. He thought it might be fun to brighten up a damp, fall day. He doesn’t get many chances to wear something other than his blazer and tie, and he wanted to make the most of it. “I guess so,” he says. He turns around. “I don’t really know anyone here.”

The other boy is cute, dressed in tight jeans and an amazing brow button-up shirt that does interesting things with ruffles. His hair teased up in a way that almost makes it look like he didn’t use any product to get it to do that. Blaine doesn’t like to make assumptions because his fledgling gaydar is terrible, but he’s pretty sure that this kid is like him. “I’m Kurt,” the kid says, holding out a hand.

“Blaine,” Blaine says, shaking it. “I guess I don’t quite know the lay of the land yet.”

Kurt’s expression is wry, almost tired, and far more knowing than it has any right to be. There’s something about him that seems almost fragile, even as he radiates a self-possession that Blaine almost never sees outside of Dalton. Kurt says, “You’ll learn it soon enough.” There’s a deeper story there, and Blaine finds himself wanting to know it. Not in a creepy way or anything, but Blaine’s sure that if they ever got around to comparing stories, they’d be more similar than not.

“Would you like-- do you want to get some coffee? I’d love to learn all of this from an expert.” It’s the end of the day, so there probably aren’t any classes from here on out, and peeking in on New Directions’ rehearsal isn’t going to happen while he’s still covered in slushie.

Kurt tilts his head to the side, narrowing his eyes like he’s trying to figure out Blaine’s angle. Blaine doesn’t have an angle. At least, he doesn’t think he has one besides getting to know Kurt a little better. It’s not often that he gets to spend time with other gay kids his age. Well, besides Sebastian. Sebastian really doesn’t count. For some reason, the most of the gay kids at Dalton spend their time hooking up or pretending not to know each other. Blaine doesn’t understand it at all. “Sure,” Kurt says, eventually.

“Really?” Blaine asks. He feels a smile spread over his face. It’s probably the goofy one that makes him look like the world’s biggest dork, but he can’t bring himself to care. “I know just the place.”

---

The Lima Bean is busy after school lets out, though not so busy that they can’t find a table. Some people raise eyebrows at the obvious red-pink stain running down the front of Blaine’s sweatervest, but Blaine assures them that he hasn’t killed anyone lately, and it’s just food coloring. People give him even funnier looks after that. At least it seems to amuse Kurt more than it annoys him.

They get a tiny round table in the middle of the room, one that’s so small their knees knock against each other. Kurt takes a sip of his non-fat mocha and stares Blaine down in a way that makes the back of Blaine’s neck prickle.

“So,” Blaine says. His own medium drip rests on the table in front of him. “It looks like the bullying at McKinley is pretty terrible. And even before I told anyone I was gay this time.” He sighs, scratching at the back of his hand.

That seems to startle Kurt. His expression softens, turning more thoughtful. “Yeah,” he says. “Being yourself can come at a bit of a price around here. Especially if you’re out.”

Blaine looks down. “It was pretty bad at my old school. It got to the point where it-- " He can’t quite bring himself to talk about Sadie Hawkins, not just yet.

Kurt lips twist up into a sad sort of smile. “It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me,” he says. “We have our own fair share of that around here.” He opens his mouth and then closes it, like there’s something he wanted to say but decides against it. He takes a deep breath and blinks a few times before looking back at Blaine.

“We can talk about something else,” Blaine says, even though he wants to know more. He wants to fix this for Kurt, the way it never quite got fixed for him.

“Yeah. Good idea,” Kurt says. There’s a quick flash of a smile before he changes the topic.

The thing about Kurt is that he’s utterly fascinating and doesn’t even seem to realize it. He’s done all sorts of things, like design his own outfits and play as kicker on the struggling football team and perform duets with himself. He has a razor sharp sense of humor that has Blaine giggling into his coffee, and he’s the only other person that Blaine knows who also likes The Millionaire Matchmaker. Well, maybe except for Weird Eddie in his physics class, and there’s a reason why everyone calls him Weird Eddie, though never to his face.

Every once in a while, Kurt will mention that he’s in the glee club, which is a bit confusing because they’re supposed to be having rehearsal right now. Blaine does his best to steer them away from that topic of conversation. He’s still feeling a little guilty for befriending Kurt under false pretenses. No need to make it any worse than it is.

“So,” Kurt says after Blaine tries to distract Kurt from the New Directions sectionals setlist with a discussion about patterned scarves, “what are the Warblers planning on singing?”

“I-- uh,” Blaine says. He knows his eyes have gone wide and round. “I don’t know what--”

Kurt cuts him off. “You’re a terrible spy.” He’s smiling, though, and none of the other members of New Directions have jumped out from behind the potted plants, so Blaine is probably going to get out of this without any bruises.

Blaine winces. “I guess I wasn’t that great at being inconspicuous.”

“Also, Rachel already paid some kid fifty dollars to record one of your impromptu performances, and I recognized you as soon as I saw you get slushied.”

“Oh,” Blaine says.

Kurt ducks his head, suddenly shy. “I liked your version of ‘Teenage Dream.’”

“Really?” Blaine says. He sits up straighter. “Because I think Katy Perry is--”

Kurt’s phone picks that exact moment to start buzzing. He checks it, shaking his head. “Sorry,” he says. “Glee club crisis. You know how it is.”

Blaine isn’t sure that he does, unless you count the time that David decided to do all of their steps half a beat late just to annoy Wes and Wes nearly hit him with his gavel.

“I-- I’d really like to do this again sometime,” Blaine says. “Coffee or dinner or…” He doesn’t want this to end here. He wants to know Kurt better. He wants to know the story of how Kurt ended up coming out to his dad (who sounds amazing) and he wants to know about Kurt’s first kiss (if he has had one, anyway) and he wants Kurt to be safe and happy, because he deserves to be. It’s a burst of emotions, sudden and strong, and Blaine’s not sure he’s ever going to figure it out. He’s not even sure he wants to.

“As in a date?” Kurt asks. His cheeks have gone pink, and his smile is so wide, it makes him look younger, sweeter. It’s pretty adorable.

The goofy grin is making its way back onto Blaine’s face, but he doesn’t care about it this time either. “As in a date,” he says.

FIN.