(AN: I realize it's basically the kiss of death to write fanfiction about a character before they even show up, because chances are I've got Blaine all wrong...but I just had to! Call me a creeper fangirl if you want, I'll take it, but damnit I love me some Darren Criss. And Kurt deserves a little happiness every once in a while.)
Detained; or, What I'm Supposed to Learn
Okay, so Kurt has definitely worn a skirt to school at least four times. He's always had pants of some kind on underneath them, of course, because these are not the sort of things you can bare hairy legs under and men shaving anything but the face and other certain choice areas is starting to cross the line from metro-homo to just plain freaky; and they've always been of a respectable length, because within the dresscode students are only allowed to wear skirts that come to mid-thigh or longer, except for Cheerios in uniform because Sue Sylvester has her finger in every goddamn pie. So he's not doing anything wrong, and even if he was doing something wrong, he has done it four times before with no issue.
But freaking Mr. Harnblatt never felt the need to say anything until now.
Kurt's always been a really fast test-taker, and he's got a good stock-pile of fashion magazines to skim through for the last half hour or so of the class period, so he bites the awkward bullet and gets up and turns his paper in first. And everyone's staring at him, which, sigh, isn't anything new, but Mr. Harnblatt is giving him a particularly hard and disconcerting stare, and Kurt has pretty much decided that he does not like the looks of it.
"Kurt. What are you wearing."
"Isaac Mizrahi, Mr. H.," says Kurt. "I'm not exactly rolling in the greenbacks right now, and Target's fall inventory is always their best."
"Kurt, are you wearing a dress?"
The history test is still in Kurt's oustretched hand, Mr. Harnblatt hasn't even taken it. He lets out a sigh and adjusts his bangs with his free thumb. "No, because a dress is generally an article that encompasses both the top and bottom garment zones, and as you can see – "
"What I can see is that you're a boy, Kurt," says Mr. Harnblatt, "and you are wearing a dr – a skirt," he amends quickly, with a brief roll of his eyes, at Kurt's disbelieving look, because seriously? Doesn't this guy have a wife? "What on God's green earth are you doing wearing a skirt to school?"
Now Kurt is just annoyed. He lays the test on the teacher's desk, because clearly he's not actually going to take it from him, and just for that he hopes he's put it in a totally different stack of something and Mr. Harnblatt is going to have to sort everything back out later. "What, so sixty percent of glee club can dress up like Mama Monster and parade around in the halls in sequins and lobsters, but I can't – "
"That was for a club project that was sanctioned by a teacher." His voice is getting a little loud and some of the other students are starting to look up from their tests, and suddenly? This is a lot worse than being the first one up to hand his paper in. "Kurt – "
"Look, I'm not violating the dresscode," he says, because it's true. "Last I checked this was a public school free of required uniforms and I was allowed to use my manner of dress as a vehicle for self-expression – "
"Now look, Kurt, I was just trying to understand what might possess you to make such an- an outlandish decision – but if you're going to continue to have an attitude with me – "
"What, you'll give me detention?" He crosses his arms across his chest and cocks his hip, and damn if that doesn't make the skirt swish exactly right to make his point. "Go ahead."
So Mr. Harnblatt does.
And that is so not the way this whole interaction was supposed to go.
-xxx-
Okay so wasn't Mr. Schuester running after-school detentions at some point?
So when did they start being on the same days as after-school glee practice, and when was Coach Bieste suddenly in charge of them instead?
"What do you mean you're missing glee club today?" Mercedes frowned. Kurt frowned, too. "Apparently Mr. Harnblatt can wrap his head around the little intricacies of every obscure minuscule battle of World War II but he can't grasp the concept of my fashion decisions. I've got detention." "I don't get it, didn't Tina parade around in a blond wig and plastic bubbles for two days? Didn't Finn freaking Hudson roll up in here in a shower curtain?" "Kurt got...mouthy," said Tina, butting in as she popped out of fifth-period art. (They didn't used to go this way, usually, but the center hall had turned into primo slushying territory as of late. And also, "Nobody asked you." "Well, he wouldn't be Kurt if he didn't." Mercedes shook her head. "But you do know who's doing them on Tuesday/Thursday now, right?"
"Mister Hummel!" She's awfully chipper for someone who looks and sounds really unfortunately like a bear. "Welcome to afternoon detention. Don't usually see faces so well-groomed as yours around these parts."
Kurt scans the three other people in the room – a grungy two-steps-down-from-ghetto-fly senior who should have graduated two years ago, a frighteningly twitchy freshman, and Lauren Zizes – and has to agree with her. He takes the seat against the wall two from the front because he wants to sit as close to the door as possible but also as far away from the Bieste as he can. This is a very delicate balance to achieve.
"Look, you know the drill – well, Kurt, you're new – but fact of the matter is I wanna be here as little as you do. Do whatever you want as long as you're quiet and not getting out of your seats – and not destroying school property," she adds with a bear-scowl at Twitchy in the back. "In other words, sit down and shut up."
Lauren takes out a Twilight fan-mag from the depths of her oversized black canvas handbag, probably the most appalling combination of possessions Kurt has ever seen, which is a disturbing kind of impressive if you consider he's been in Finn's basement. Twitchy starts picking at his fingernails in a super-disgusting way, and Thug Lyfe by the window sticks in some earbuds and scrolls through his unsettlingly expensive-looking MP3 player, and okay, that sounds like a pretty good idea, and Kurt has an old portable CD player in his tote. (Because he definitely doesn't bring his iPod to school. Because he thinks it will probably go the way of the one in the hands of the guy by the window.)
He plugs through Madonna's Immaculate Collection while engaging in a series of other pastimes: Staring out the window. Thinking about doing but not actually doing his math homework. Scratching doodles into the front cover of his notebook, moons and comets and hearts and wishes that won't come true. (Oooh, maudlin. He crosses the coupled-up initials out, even he's not that bad.) Checking on the Bieste, to observe that she's somewhat dozing off at her desk in the front. Buffing his nails. Frankly, he doesn't quite know what he's supposed to be doing. Kurt's never done this before and the whole concept is foreign to him. What exactly is detention? What purpose is served by keeping him detained? True, he is feeling kind of lousy that he's not in the music room singing with all the other glee clubbers, but that's more just making him feel angry than teaching him any kind of lesson about not sticking up for himself against close-minded Pearl Harbor enthusiasts. And he's pretty sure Coach has started to snore.
Above all, what happens is he seriously loses track of time, because before he knows it he's hitting "Cherish" and peeking around through the little window set into the door of the classroom and there's glee club letting out, and all his friends whisking by on their way to the freedom that he won't have for another fifteen minutes.
Finn and Rachel bounce by hand in hand and don't even see him. Mercedes catches his attention, and waves, and from down in front of her a gloved hand just barely pops up into the gap of the window and Artie waves too. Mike and Tina are arguing, and she shoots Kurt an apologetic look but doesn't stop. The cheerleaders have clearly gone some other direction, probably taking Puck and Sam with them. The last one to sweep by is Blaine.
Oh boy.
He lingers in this cute-annoying Blainey way he has right outside the door, bobbing a little on the balls of his feet and waving with his fingers. Kurt waves back, uneasy. Then Blaine's flailing a little and his lips are moving like he might be whispering? But duh Kurt can't hear him, and he indicates as much, first pointing up to the front at Bieste like are you stupid, she'll run you off and then gesturing feebly at him with his walkman, and please let this get him to leave, because Kurt seriously cannot deal with detention and the aftermath of last Tuesday. But apparently "speak of the devil" still works when you're not even actually, you know, speaking because there's no way he could have knocked on wood fast enough to prevent the stupid Blainey light that shines up onto Blaine's face as he perks up, rummages around in his backpack and then waves something at the window too fast for Kurt to see. Then he's totally out of sight, and then swish through the crack under the door something comes sliding: a crappy paper disc sleeve with a CD in it. It stops a few inches from Kurt's feet and Kurt reaches down to pick it up before Coach Bieste can catch on to what's happening. He looks back up to make a face at Blaine but Blaine is gone.
The CD in the sleeve says Muse & other stuff in Blaine's dopey looping chicken scratch. Kurt scowls at it a little, because really, it's not exactly thrilling, and he almost doesn't even swap it out with Madonna and probably wouldn't if A) Vogue weren't getting a little weird after that escapade with Coach Sylvester and B) he weren't so terrified that Zizes's creeper senses would start tingling toward anything that might indicate a band from the Twilight soundtrack. He pops the silver CD-R into his player and hits play.
Oh. Oh, it's not Muse, the band. It's a loose and kind of twinkly guitar and the sweetest clearest notes of Blaine's voice and wow this is suddenly awkward. Because this is Blaine. Singing. On a CD. Kurt is pretty sure the only other members of glee club that have CDs of themselves just ready to drop are Rachel "Queen In Her Own Little Brain" Berry and Mercedes "It's Not Really Me It's My Church Choir, Except It's Mostly Me" Jones, the two loudest and most decidedly female vocalists of the bunch. Meaning no person of the particular kind of person that Kurt would care to be experiencing in such a way has ever been in a position to have their (his) voice so intimately close to Kurt's ears in a way that would...be like this. And Kurt has to stop, and just kind of...listen.
And like, he tries to listen to the words, but he can't really focus on anything but Blaine's voice, Blaine's voice catching sweet and lullaby-like over Blaine's guitar being played by Blaine's hands and mother of grilled cheesus he does not want to think about last Tuesday.
But he does.
"Hey Kurt, you were pretty amazing back there," he said, bouncing after him, backpack slung one-shouldered. "Yes, well, there's no love lost between Andrew Lloyd Webber and me, but there's always some occasion where Memories is relevant and we can't let Rachel have all the thunder," Kurt said, popping his locker open to stuff his biology binder back inside. But Blaine didn't go away. "No," he said, hovering awfully close behind Kurt's locker door, "I mean it. You do crazy awesome things with your voice, I have literally never heard someone else do that. It's kind of freaky and yet I'm also somehow insanely jealous." Kurt shut his locker and Blaine was there just...grinning. His smile was so brilliant it was kind of disarming. "Oh. Well, thank you? I guess." Blaine's eyes flicked away, then back again, and he tugged on the strap of his backpack. "I am also going to be insanely jealous if you've already got some other plans for next Thursday night." He took a step back. The color crept into his cheeks so fast he could actually feel it happening, which was kind of awful. "Why...why do you ask?" "Because the a cappella group from my old school has a performance at that coffee house over on Fifth Street and I was definitely going to invite you. To meet some of my old friends, I think they'd really like you." He paused. "And for coffee." Kurt was already shaking his head, even under the force of that million-watt smile, even with Blaine so close he could smell the salon-grade shampoo he'd clearly used that morning. "Do you mean like a date, because this can't possibly be a date, you don't understand – " "Why not? You're right, I don't understand, I thought you were – " "I am, I Blaine, bouncing Blaine, yummy-smelling-hair Blaine, one-forearm-braced-on-the-lockers-by-his-head Blaine, leaned in and kissed Kurt full on the mouth. "Oh." Kurt blinked. Hard. Several times. "Oh, okay, wow." "You're "I – " Kurt came perilously close to throwing up on Blaine's black Chuck Taylors, and instead what he did was squirm out from underneath him and run.
Even reliving it over in his head Kurt kind of wants to puke. See, he knows he's gay, he's known he likes boys since before he was even old enough to really like anyone, and he has absolutely never been afraid of himself or who he is. What has turned out to be more than a little terrifying is the concept of anyone ever liking him back, of anyone ever wanting to be gay with him. And Kurt is well aware that it doesn't really make any sense, but that is why he's so damn terrified. Because he doesn't have a very hard time seeing himself falling for this guy – but is this falling for him like falling in love, or falling for him like falling for it? Does Kurt like him because he's Blaine, or does Kurt like him because he's the only other gay teen whose existence he's aware of in a thirty-mile radius of McKinley High School? And without any little floaty needlemarks to gauge it by, how is Kurt supposed to know?
Santana has had more same-sex lovin' than Kurt has, and she's slept with most of the football team. Most of the rest of the glee club lost their virginity before Kurt even had his first kiss.
Which was Blaine, by the way. Last Tuesday. (Because he's not really counting Brittany, no offense. Kurt is out and he's out for good.) Blaine, who is not as doofy-jock-handsome as Finn, and definitely doesn't have the four years' worth of history in Kurt's mind for him to cling to and idolize, because ladies and gentlemen you do not just get over a crush of those epic proportions like you are throwing out last winter's trends. Blaine, who is not as genuinely stunning as Sam, lemony as his locks may be, the only person on which Kurt has ever found that nerdy aw-shucks total ignorance of his good looks infatuating rather than obnoxious. Blaine, who is, however, the only other gay teen whose existence he's aware of in a thirty-mile radius of McKinley High School, and who definitely fits into Kurt's (slowly, depressingly becoming predictable) pattern of the dorkiest show choir singers imaginable, and who, okay, not that he has much experience to compare it to, can still kiss like a freaking dream.
Blaine, whose voice is still softly crooning in through his earbuds, something too damn charming for his own good about the moon. It glides to an end and then the track changes. And then everything changes.
A voice that is Blaine's but is also startlingly very not Blaine grinds out the words I hate where I'm at, and the guitar that follows is hard-thrummed and angry, and Kurt is suddenly very much paying attention to the CD. He's sitting up straighter, staring kind of blankly into space in the direction of the beat-up green chalkboard, and before he knows it his fingers are curling sweaty-palmed ever-so-slightly around the battered edge of his spiral notebook. The first two songs on the CD were delightful. This...this is intense. This is shockingly good. Kurt's pretty sure he's never heard Blaine sing like this at any of their glee practices. Where's he been hiding it?
Oh, shit, Kurt realizes. Has he been hiding it? The whole thing is suddenly so personal, in a way that Kurt really wasn't expecting. This is more than just a dorky, cute-annoying way for Blaine to try and cheer him up during his pointless detention (which is almost over, he notices - the Bieste is stirring). This is Blaine giving Kurt a little piece of something he hasn't shared with anyone else at McKinley yet, something he may not have been sharing with many people at all. This CD isn't like Rachel "Queen In Her Own Little Brain" Berry, trying to sell herself out to anyone and everyone like she's trying to rechannel a past life as a streetwalker into something more productive. This is freaking show and tell.
And is it so wrong that this openness kind of...touches Kurt, in a way? Because in case you haven't noticed, there hasn't been a whole lot of openness in Kurt's life. His dad certainly isn't the most forthcoming person in the history of the world. Spending the majority of your life in (an admittedly semi-translucent) closet doesn't exactly encourage it either. But here, in every raw note of Blaine's thick angry CD-voice, he's showing Kurt that he trusts him, that Kurt is someone worth this sort of little-black-girl-in-School-of-Rock-style revelation. And it's either the burritos from the cafeteria, or something about that, sitting in the pit of Kurt's stomach, leading him to believe that maybe it's not just because there aren't any other gay teens around and Blaine's his only option. Maybe it's because for once in his life, someone who's willing to expose this much of himself to Kurt (oooh, no pun intended but Kurt will take it) is also someone who has said, and I quote, you're amazing, Kurt. Sam will never really do that. Finn's never done that, and Finn's known him since grade school.
It's still about as terrifying as Kurt's recurring nightmare of auditioning for American Idol in the nude, but this time, the fear feels kind of awesome.
Just as raw angry (and Kurt will admit it, totally hot) Blaine is doing the best falsetto screaming of the words let me go since Bohemian Rhapsody, Coach Bieste echoes it, and lets them go. Kurt packs up his notebook and his CD player, vowing to listen to the CD's other four tracks as soon as possible, and – as soon as Zizes is out of his way, she does fill basically the entire doorway – escapes, blessedly free, no longer detained. And still not entirely convinced that the punishment served its intended purpose, whatever that was.
Leaning on the row of lockers next to the door of the remedial English classroom they use for detentions is, of course, Blaine.
"I thought...you left," Kurt stutters, trying his hardest not to look like he just suddenly came to a big gay romantic epiphany about the boy in front of him, and probably failing.
"I had planned on it, yeah," says Blaine. "But I dunno, after I slipped you my CD I got kind of...anxious? Like I felt like I just had to stick around and see how you felt about it. Oh my gosh, does that make me the biggest attention whore ever or what?"
Kurt takes a deep breath and just freaking goes for it. "Well you have every right to be an attention whore, because this is incredible," he gushes. "I was just kind of plugging along really enjoying it and then I got to the third one..."
Blaine flushes a little, more vulnerable than Kurt's seen him before, just like the CD. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," Kurt breathes. They are very close, he realizes. Blaine is probably going to kiss him again, he realizes.
Oh, there it is.
Mmm, yes please.
(For the record, Brittany S. Pierce, boys' lips taste like some weird fruity flavor of Orbit, and some kind of intoxicating soft boy-skin-flavor that might actually, now that Kurt thinks about it, probably just be Blaine-skin-flavor. And now the only thing about it that's all that scary is that Kurt thinks it could probably get pretty damn addictive.)
"That a cappella gig," Kurt realizes suddenly, Blaine's lips still fluttering around the corners of his own, soft and lush and scandalously good, "that's tonight, isn't it?"
"Having second thoughts?" Blaine says with a grin, and then kisses Kurt even harder, but faster, but oh, tongue. "Think you might want to go, now?"
"I might want to go, yeah," Kurt says, and yeah of course he's a little breathless, wouldn't you be? "I really want to go."
"Didn't realize me and my guitar were that persuasive." Blaine gives up on the kissing, content to talk instead, but slips his hand into Kurt's, roughened from chording out strings in a way that he thought would be a total turnoff against his well-moisturized palm but is actually kind of wonderful. (Everything about this should be weird but is actually kind of wonderful.)
"Oh," says Kurt, a perfect vision suddenly coming to him: "Do you think I could wear a skirt?"