- - -

‘Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.’ Kurt held his fingers in his ears all the way to the choir room. He didn’t dare look back at Karofsky’s retreating form down the hall, but the bully’s shouts still echoed in his head.

Thankfully the screaming died away with the click of the choir room’s door. 

“How do you do it?” Kurt growled in frustration as he nearly ran over Rachel Berry by the piano. 

Rachel blinked. “Do what?”

“Block out thoughts. I mean, you hear other people’s thoughts don’t you? I wanted to know how you stop yourself from hearing them all the time.”

The petite diva sighed. “I’m not telepathic, Kurt,” she explained, “It’s more… I get impressions, which helps me press the right buttons to influence others. And it doesn’t even happen unless I’m using my ability.” Her eyes narrowed, “Has a telepath been bothering you?”

Kurt looked away crestfallen.

She laid a sympathetic hand on his shoulder and squeezed it encouragingly, “That’s not to say you can’t block it out, mental types like ourselves come by mental defenses more easily. You just have to learn how. Maybe Miss Pillsbury knows.”

“She won’t be able to do anything about it without reporting it. Reporting an  Accursed is like…” Kurt faltered over the words, thinking to all the other close calls him and his friends had over the past few years. He groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “No,” he started, “I… I’ll deal with this myself. Besides, Puck told me to… ugh… whatever.”

“Puck asked you to…?”

“You’ll be so proud of me Miss Berry, I’m going to go spying.”

- - -

It didn’t go well.

Kurt eyed the other boys anxiously, “Can I ask a personal question?” The three nodded. “Are all of you… gay?”

Blaine laughed, but it wasn’t malicious. “No,” he grinned boyishly, “I mean, I am. But these two have girlfriends.”

 “You’re all so… civil here. You can just, be open about your sexuality and,” Kurt laughed hollowly, “I thought I saw a kid with gills. Is it true that Dalton doesn’t report the Accursed?”

“We prefer to call them gifts, or abilities,” Blaine replied. “Wes can camouflage himself, David is a normal, and I’m a telepath.”

Kurt’s eyes widened. ‘A telepath?’ Telepaths were rare, and it was even more so to find a sane telepath. Kurt couldn’t be sure if Blaine wasn’t insane, but it sure didn’t seem like he was.

Blaine smiled, ‘Surprised?’ “Would you guys excuse us?” He asked aloud to his companions, they shared a glance and with a polite nod to Kurt left the room together. Kurt swore the air shimmer around Wes as he walked away.

“You spoke in my head, color me surprised,” Kurt replied honestly. He didn’t care that he was openly staring at the other boy. A telepath… a real telepath… and he was gay… and he was gorgeous. Kurt blushed, suddenly very aware of the fact that Blaine could read his thoughts, and feverishly hoped he hadn’t. “I have a problem… with this kid at school,” Kurt blurted quickly. 

The other boy looked at him levelly, waiting for Kurt to continue. “He’s… I suspect that he’s only just now discovering his…” Kurt faltered. The vocabulary sat strangely in his mind, he and the others had never been taught to treat these curses as gifts, they had always and only ever been looked down upon with distain and mistrust.

‘It’s okay. Continue.’

“… abilities. He just… yells in my head all day. I can’t make him stop. I don’t even know if he’s doing it on purpose as another way to bully me or if it’s just… happening.”

“He’s another telepath?” Blaine asked patiently.

Stuttering, Kurt replied, “I think.”

Blaine looked at him imploringly, “And you want me to… talk with him about it?”

Kurt blanched, “God, no. That would only make it worse.” Considering he might not know, considering he hates me, considering you’re gay.

“Tell you what,” Blaine said diplomatically, lacing his fingers together on the table, “I can try to teach you how to block out others.”

“In exchange for…?” Kurt raised an eyebrow expectantly.

Blaine looked at him with surprise. He shook his head, “No… I mean… I’m not expecting anything in return. What he’s doing, whether intentional or not, is harassment, and you don’t have to be a victim.” He stared at him with the utmost sincerity, “I mean it Kurt. No one should have to go through that, ever.”

“At my old school, I ran Kurt, I let my bullies chase me away and it’s something I really, really regret,” Blaine continued. He wasn’t looking at Kurt anymore, locked away in his own world, “I… my abilities give me some insight into people, and Kurt, you’re one of the strongest people I’ve ever met. You’re not a victim Kurt, and you never will be. Helping you with this would be my honor.”

Kurt leaned back into his chair with muted shock. It took a moment to regain control of his thoughts, but eventually replied, “That’s… alright.”

“Maybe we can, meet for coffee, or something,” Blaine said, “When we’re not, spying or skipping class…”

Like a date?

“… or something…” Blaine confirmed, suddenly bashful and blushing, although he hadn’t given away whether or not he had heard Kurt.

- - -

Later that week, Kurt found himself across from Blaine (still in uniform) at the Lima Bean.

There was a guilty look on Blaine’s face, and Kurt tried to dismiss it an tense smile of his own. 

“After our last conversation, I didn’t think you would want to…” Blaine said in a small voice, shrinking into the seat. He had wordlessly bought both of their coffee earlier, some sort of small penance for his previous advice to stand up to the bully before he could teach him how to block him from his mind.

Kurt’s eyes flashed, thinking about the locker room and the tearful confession over the phone. No. Kurt was stronger than that, Blaine had said so himself, and he was all the more determined to protect himself now. “You didn’t know,” Kurt replied stiffly.

Blaine huffed, “Yeah but it was bad advice and I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

‘I am. Really. I’m so sorry…’ 

Guilt and regret washed over Kurt and he could tell it wasn’t his own. Blaine seemed to be projecting his own emotions as well as his stream of apologies. ‘Blaine,’ he thought firmly, putting all the conviction he had behind the word. 

The guilt ebbed away as Blaine took a deep breath and seemed to psych himself up. “Alright,” he said with forced cheer, determined to salvage the purpose of the afternoon. He clapped his hands together, “We’ll just… get straight to the meat of things then.” 

The McKinley student smirked, he might have been waist deep in his own denial, but at least Blaine seemed to be getting the hint to just move along with the current as well. It was the only thing Kurt knew to do at this point. 

“You’re unique yourself, and that will make this easier. I think. And you told me you’re a mental type too, which is good, because mind… umm… things. Uhh, I’ve never really taught anyone before and it’s been a while since I’ve even had to think about the whole…”

“Blaine.”

“Right, sorry. What I’m going to need you to do is concentrate on something solid, safe, like a wall,” Blaine laced his fingers together diplomatically. 

Kurt looked away from Blaine, thinking as hard as he could a brick wall – the straight lines of the mortar, interrupting the terra-cotta background like lace. He briefly hoped that a brick wall wouldn’t manifest in the middle of the Lima Bean. 

Knowing his temperamental abilities… it could.

His concentration was broken by a calm voice in the back of his head. ‘It helps if you close your eyes,’ Blaine whispered blithely.

Kurt rolled his eyes at Blaine with a huff. Blaine, who couldn’t see him because his own eyes were closed, somehow still managed to feel Kurt’s expression and grinned mischievously. Kurt feigned indignation and said aloud, “I can’t help if being in a coffee house is distracting.”

‘The barista has Bad Romance stuck in his head and doesn’t know the words. The kid behind me is studying notes on the influence of the Catholic Church in medieval Europe. The elderly woman in line has been weighing the pros and cons between vanilla and mocha for three minutes straight… Remind me who’s distracted?’

Kurt closed his eyes, re-imagining the wall again. He admired his handiwork with pride – Kurt Hummel was very good with his imagination. Still, even as he was ever-so subtlety reinforced the wall, (a little ivy here, a bit of plaster there) he began to feel tentative tremors run through it.

The mortar trembled, small cracks sounded in the bricks. 

Until it crashed down.

‘Again.’

Kurt frowned, taking a stubborn sip of his mocha first.

This time he pictured a concrete wall, post tensioned with rebar, all the strength and massing of roman aqueducts. 

And like the Romans, with time it came down in ruin.

‘Again.’

Kurt sunk into his chair, sighing woefully to Blaine, “This isn’t working…”

“You can’t expect to just get it,” Blaine replied patiently, “It takes practice.”

“But I can tell you’re hardly even trying,” Kurt said with exasperation, “No matter how strong the wall is you’re getting through.”

Blaine eyed Kurt critically. “It could be many things. For one, I’ve been at this a long time. I know how to get around amateur walls. I think against a new telepath you’ll have no problem blocking out his thoughts.Secondly, the walls you’re picturing are superficial. It’s less about the appearance of security, you need to feel and believe that it’s protecting you.”

“Like?”

His eyes searched the room, “I don’t… this is really hard to explain. It’s something that makes you feel really safe.”

Kurt stared at his coffee cup and in a small voice asked, “Would my Dad work?”

“I’ve never…” Blaine shook his head and with it whatever negative thoughts he had. He returned Kurt’s question with a wistful half-smile, “If that’s what makes you feel safe.”

The McKinley student found it suspiciously odd that Blaine had worded his reply that way.

Constructing walls and imagining aqueducts came easily with Kurt’s imagination. Imaging his father’s arms around him was second nature. The nuances of the of his cologne that Kurt insisted he wore if he even had a chance of running into Carole, the way the atrocious but comfortable plaid of the collar turned down around his fathers neck as he leaned into the embrace.

There was a heaviness there, but it wasn’t sadness or longing, but the weight of the unconditional love between the two.

Burt hugged Kurt like he was the only thing in the world that mattered, and in many ways that was true.

But as much as he loved his father in return, he still felt a hole in his chest that family couldn’t fill. He thought about that love he craved so much, his own Teenage Dream. He wanted someone who loved him, matched him, and wanted him in return - emotionally, physically, spiritually.

Burt was swept away in a wave of silver sparkles and Kurt found himself staring at Blaine. The Dalton boy didn’t say anything, but his golden eyes said it all in the way they crinkled at the edges with a deep sense of understanding.

Kurt opened his own eyes, and the real Blaine met him with the same expression of overwhelming melancholy as his imagination did.

“Kurt, I…”

“Don’t.”

The two sat in silence for an awkward minute. Kurt didn’t want to explain to Blaine, or even himself, why that didn’t work, the distance between them grew with the infinite sensation of emptiness left in Kurt’s heart. He had sabotaged himself. 

“That was better,” Blaine finally said assuringly into his coffee mug. 

“End result was the same though,” Kurt retorted in frustration. He didn’t know what he was missing, or if he was just doomed to have bullies even in the privacy of his own head.

“I think,” Blaine furrowed his eyebrows together. He contemplated whatever it was for a moment, “You’re not missing anything, all you need is to have faith in your mental walls and trust that they’ll hold.”

“No pixie dust required?” Kurt asked playfully, allowing a slight smile to grace his lips.

The younger boy laughed, “No pixie dust required. But faith and trust are important…” Realization dawned on the Dalton boy, “Of course. I’ve been… I’m sorry Kurt… this isn’t any failure on your part at all. I hadn’t thought…” Blaine trailed off bashfully.

“What?”

‘You’re doing well,’ Blaine admitted, ‘But you’re not really trying because you trust that I’m not going hurt you. You’re going to actually want to block him out, Kurt, and that will help you not have so many ways to get through.’

Kurt blushed. Maybe he wasn’t trying as hard as he could because it was Blaine?

“Let’s try again,” Blaine interrupted. He took both of Kurt’s hands into his, warm and solid against the paler boy’s skin. “I want you to really, really try this time.”

The older boy closed his eyes, this time dismissing the wall and the image of his father, instead focusing on Blaine’s hands encompassing his. The weight of those hands over his; knowing that the owner was patient, and kind, and enveloped him wholly with… well it wasn’t quite love, but something close.

After what seemed like eternity, Kurt pursed his lips together and cracked open one of his eyes to find Blaine grinning idiotically. “What?” Kurt asked in annoyance.

Blaine smiled wryly, “I’ve been trying to sing It’s a Small World to you for almost five minutes.”

Kurt rolled his eyes but could hide his own triumphant smile, “You would.”

“Disney is classic.”

“Hmmhm.”

“And Small World is classic Disney.”

“And you’d fit right in with the smiling singing little munkins.”

Blaine tilted his head and returned with a slight smile, “You’re only like half an inch taller than I am.”

“Hmmhm,” Kurt nodded, trying, and failing, to mask his own grin.

“Inch, maybe. Inch and a half at the most.”

Kurt’s whole body shook as he laughed, only then was he all-too aware of Blaine’s hands still over his. He pulled them close to him sharply. Blaine wore a fleeting crestfallen expression that morphed into blushing embarrassment. Kurt unsuccessfully brought his now lukewarm coffee in an effort to explain his reaction, “Our coffee is probably getting cold.”

Blaine only nodded, tracing the lid of his own cup. “Yeah,” he mumbled, “Right. Of course.”

“If you don’t mind,” Kurt asked hesitantly, “What do you use? For your wall, I mean.”

Blaine contemplated it for a moment. “I think… I’ve never given it much thought to be honest, after a while you don’t have to think about it anymore,” he replied honestly, “It’s a bit different. I have to make sure I don’t hear unwanted thoughts; otherwise it gets all jumbled in my head. It’s hard to hear myself over so many other voices. But to answer your question, I think it’s Dalton. At least, it feels like Dalton. I feel safe there, and that translates into my head as well.”

The afternoon turned oddly domestic the rest of their time there as the sun sank behind the built suburbia of Lima, and neither seemed to want the day to end. However good the conversation was, both needed to be on their own ways, Blaine on the long stretch of highway back to Dalton and Kurt to make dinner for him and his father.

“Kurt?” Blaine pulled him aside as the two neared the exit. He seemed unsure of how to continue for a moment before taking a breath. “I know this is hard for you, us, but…” He lost his nerve and faltered again.

“But what Blaine?”

Blaine clicked his heels against the linoleum tiled floor anxiously. “I’m not saying he needs to be out or proud or anything, and he certainly has no right to continue to harass you. I mean, yeah, no… that’s the most important thing, obviously…”

Kurt frowned impatiently and nudged Blaine on the shoulder to keep him on track.

“But he needs help,” Blaine said quickly. He pulled away from Kurt, surprised and scandalized at himself that he had said it aloud. He backpedalled, wringing his hands together, “I know what it’s like. I mean, we both know what it’s like. Both… umm… I guess it could be all of us with the… everything. But both him and I are you know, and…”

“You still want to talk to him?” Kurt whispered. It felt as though his heart stopped. Kurt only wanted another method of ignoring that Karofsky even existed, and not in a million years had he even considered trying to help him through the things the bully had so relentlessly harassed Kurt for.

Yet this was the second time Blaine had suggested it. Blaine didn’t... Kurt couldn’t even breathe. Thoughts raced through his head at the prospect of confronting the bully again, extending an olive branch - a helping hand - to his tormentor. But he was wrong, because Blaine did know, which was why he had suggested it.

Kurt felt his heart begin once more, and tried to steady his breath nonchalantly.

The younger teen bit his lip, looking back and forth between his hands and Kurt’s eyes. ‘I do. I’ve never met another telepath who wasn’t…’ “… Don’t you wish someone early on would have just explained what was happening, that you weren’t alone, and to not be afraid?”

- - -

God damn telepaths, Kurt thought ruefully, watching the other two with anxiety.

Blaine’s thoughts washed over him, ‘Don’t worry. We’re just talking. We’re fine.’

Kurt rolled his eyes indignantly. ‘Oh? He looks like he’s about to murder you.’

The Dalton student broke off the staring contest with Karofsky to offer Kurt a small smile. ‘He’s scared, I’m just trying_’

Karofsky glared bullishly at Blaine, taking the opportunity to shove him hard into the wall of the stairwell. If Blaine had been shocked, he certainly didn’t show it on his face, matching Karofsky’s eyes with a bored defiance.

Kurt, however, did panic. He pushed the two apart and whispered urgently, “Stop it, both of you.”

Blaine huffed, dusting off his blazer as he recomposed himself. The football player glowered, but backed off, if looks could kill both teens would have been dead were they stood. Once he had left, Blaine massaged his temple tiredly. “Well that was unpleasant,” he acknowledged.

“It’s not fun,” Kurt replied coldly. “I don’t… I just don’t know what good this will do.”

“But we can hope he’ll try to get help.” Blaine let the rest of his thought fall away.

The McKinley student scoffed, wishing he could just be bitter and angry at Karofsky, but he couldn’t bring himself to. Curses - abilities - didn’t necessarily make the wielder’s lives any easier. Just different. If Kurt hadn’t had his father when he was younger, he would have been in a psych ward or God-forbid one of those accursed facilities the rest of his life. 

Blaine was still looking at him with pleading eyes, waiting for Kurt’s reaction, trying to make him understand. Kurt understood perfectly well, but wanted to forget the whole thing ever happened. Except Blaine, he had been a nice addition to Kurt’s little world despite the whole situation.

Kurt crossed his arms in front of him, determined to drop the subject and move onto another, “This time was different. He would get halfway through a sentence and just… stop. It was like a dropped call or something. Was that you?”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t able to hold his attention the whole time. I knew he would try to yell at you too,” Blaine admitted after a moment, looking more than a bit ruffled at his own confession. “But it’s a headache to keep up two conversations at once.” 

Blaine pinched the bridge of his nose, and Kurt stepped in close, worried whatever exchange the two had was too much for Blaine. The dark-haired teen shook his head and blinked a few times, and dismissed Kurt with a confident smile. Kurt followed the other teen down the staircase and glared accusingly, “That was exactly what you were doing.”

“I’ve been at this a lot longer than both of you have,” Blaine replied with a boyish smile and rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. 

The waver in his stance, however, set Kurt on edge. “Blaine,” Kurt began worriedly.

Blaine sighed, and admitted quietly, “I’m fine. I just need an aspirin, and maybe a library. It doesn’t really matter, so long as there aren’t a lot of people.”

Kurt took Blaine’s arm, “Let’s go to the chorus room.” 

The Dalton student stumbled only once on the way to the empty choir room. He mumbled something about vertigo and too many people in the hallways. Kurt hoped the spell would pass quickly once the rest of the students filtered back into their classrooms and to the boring existence of high school. 

Kurt handed Blaine a water bottle and a container of Tylenol from the room’s rather impressive first-aid kit. A group of misfit underground Accursed meant more than a few injuries when they were training.

'Gifted.' Blaine gently reminded him.

“You keep saying that, but so far all I’ve experienced outside these walls have been a curse,” Kurt retorted, slumping in the seat besides Blaine. “Your walls helped, but they didn’t stop me from hearing him today.”

“We’ll keep practicing then,” Blaine replied. 

The McKinley student felt his heart leap and twist at the implication. “Alright,” he smiled, “I can handle that.”

The dark-haired boy set the bottle of water down beside his chair and nursed the back of his neck with closed eyes. His features relaxed as the minutes passed, the medicine (at least the idea of the medicine) kicking in as well as all the students around them being lulled into not-thinking about the class lectures.

Kurt found himself hypnotized by the minute rise and fall of Blaine’s chest.

“So I know you’re Gifted,” Blaine said, opening one eye to stare at Kurt, “And you’re mental, in a good way, not like you’re crazy or anything, I think, I mean… of course you aren’t. You know what I mean. But you haven’t told me your power yet.”

“You could have just read my thoughts and known,” Kurt replied respectfully.

“But I try not to do that,” Blaine said pointedly.

Kurt stiffened, flexing his hands open and closed. He stood up and looked at the chalkboard at the front of the classroom. He felt Blaine sit up interestedly.

All across the chalkboard, drawings of plants and birds and flowers came to life, shifting and moving - bursts of color erupted across the surface and then faded back to the white dusty color of typical chalk.

Blaine stood and walked to the board. He reached a hand out to the moving pictures with awe. “That’s amazing Kurt. It’s beautiful.”

Kurt blushed, “I suppose.”

The younger teen pressed his fingers to the surface, the images moving underneath his fingertips. To Blaine's surprise, the vines moved around them, stretching and flexing as they moved down his arm and spilling out of the frame. Blaine jumped back and the vines followed. Grass grew around his feet and began to fill the classroom. The whole room became a moving tropical paradise, drawings of birds flew out of the chalkboard to become real parakeets and canaries and warblers that danced and swooped around both of their heads with chirps and songs.

Blaine collapsed to his knees, and Kurt panicked. The rainforest burst into a cloud of silver sparkles and returned to the empty choir room. “Are you alright?” Kurt asked worriedly, rushing to help the shorter teen back to his feet.

His eyes were sparkling with delight. “That was the most magical thing I’ve ever seen,” he replied breathlessly. “Kurt…”

“They’re only illusions. I can’t make them real,” he replied in a small voice. He used to think they were, during a terrible portion of his childhood that ended poorly.

“Don’t sell yourself short. I bet with practice you could make them tangible, I mean the sky’s the limit right? You’re like a wizard or something,” Blaine interrupted his thoughts with a ridiculous smile. “You’re amazing.”

- - -

The hallways of McKinley were quiet and empty after Glee practice, long afternoon shadows only served to make the hallways seem small and claustrophobic. 

Kurt smiled, the afternoon hours at the school belonged to the Glee Club. They were getting better. He glanced up at Blaine’s picture and felt his chest swell.

Karofsky cornered Kurt at his locker, turning him around and jolting him from his reverie. “Question for you,” he said roughly, “You tell anyone else what happened? How you…”

Kurt could feel the jock trying to force his thoughts against the wall, he knew what he was thinking anyway. ‘Coward,’ Kurt thought to himself. He couldn’t say it aloud. “You kissed me, Karofsky,” Kurt replied dangerously, “And I understand how hard this is for you to deal with so no. I haven’t told anyone.”

A shadow moved down the hallway and Karofsky tensed. He glared daggers at the silhouette and then back at Kurt, “You keep it that way. You tell anyone, and I’ll…”

Kurt’s hands tingled, and all the training and effort that Blaine and him had practiced over the few short weeks they had known each other went out the window. This was more than Kurt had the capacity to deal with. Kurt gulped, staring wide-eyed at Karofsky. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t even think…

The larger teen scowled one last time at Kurt, ‘And I’ll kill you,’ before he stormed away opposite the approaching shadow.

He was was frozen to the spot, standing ramrod still as the silhouette came closer.

“Hey,” the newcomer said warmly, “You okay?”

Kurt blinked at the familiar teen. “You… shouldn’t be here,” he stuttered dubiously. “You’re not real. You should be at Dalton.”

Nevertheless, not-Blaine moved as though to lay a comforting hand on Kurt’s shoulder. He stopped just shy of Kurt, illusions had never been able to touch him in the past. “You need to tell someone about this,” he said worriedly.

Kurt pulled himself away from the specter, protectively crossing his arms across his chest. “You’re not even really here,” Kurt said spitefully to the ghost, “You’re just… not. Okay? You can’t really help me right now.” He threw up his hands in frustration and turned on his heels.

“You should call me then, call someone at least,” not-Blaine protested, grabbing at one of Kurt’s hands.

Shock filled him when a warm pressure actually connected, but Kurt couldn’t be bothered to think about it. “I know! Alright!?” Kurt yelled at the ghost. Not-Blaine pulled back as though burned. Kurt panicked, pulling the ghost by the hand back to him. “I’m sorry Blaine,” he mumbled hurriedly, “I’m sorry. I’m not angry at you. You’re only trying to help.”

“Don’t do this Kurt,” the ghost said flatly, his eyes dull and expressionless, so unlike Blaine’s. “Not again.”

But Kurt was past that. He buried his face into not-Blaine’s shoulder, crying pitifully, “I’m sorry. You were the one that scared him off.” Kurt’s fingers trembled as they brushed his own lips. He was going to be sick. Kurt wrapped his arms around the specter needfully - slowly, sadly, kissing his lips to the crook of not-Blaine’s neck. He wondered what Blaine smelled like.

Probably cinnamon and coffee.

Not-Blaine rubbed his back in small, comforting circles. Kurt briefly wondered how the illusion was able to touch him, but he find he didn’t care.

- - -