Blaine Anderson has terrible eyesight. Not many people know this; not even his beloved Kurt, who has seen Blaine's hair at its frizziest and fluffiest and declared it adorable, Kurt who has sung him to sleep in his silliest cartoon pyjamas and called him lovely, who has seen Blaine make a fool of himself on countless occasions and decided, somehow, that he was entirely worth loving anyway. Blaine loves Kurt, and he loves their relationship, and he is confident and charming and yes, a little cheesy, but he is comfortable in his skin and that, he thinks, is what counts.

But Blaine has terrible eyesight, and he hates it.

It's why The Slushie Incident hurt so much, really. On top of the humiliation and the sadness - because Blaine can't think in terms of betrayal and anger, he just can't - was the fear, superficial and silly, yes, but fear all the same that he'd have to go back to wearing the embarrassingly thick lensed glasses, that he'd somehow become ineligible for the Lasek he'd been carefully saving for since he was 14 and having his glasses knocked off his nose almost daily.

And it was the first insult he'd ever had hurled at him, actually. Before hobbit and loser and faggot and queer and a million worse things that make Blaine's skin crawl, before all that there was four-eyes and all its associated variations, and there were shoves into lockers, and glasses skidding across dirty hallways, ratty sneakers and heavy boots stamping on plastic frames while grunts of thuggish laughter echoed somewhere above Blaine’s head.

He'd been a nerd, he supposes. A classic cliché of broken spectacles and bad hair, worse skin and dorky suspenders holding up the hand-me-down dress pants he'd inherited from his brother. He'd had a briefcase, for heaven's sake, something that he's sure Kurt would approve of now but then… Then he'd had his books tossed across the cafeteria and his lunch stolen (ham sandwiches on whole wheat and an apple, packed by his sweet mother with a 'surprise' chocolate or mini-candy bar, in a brown paper bag) almost every day. He'd been locked in toilets and jeered at in showers, tripped up in PE and bombarded with spit balls or tiny bits of paper in English class; paper which he never noticed was there until the end of the day, combing through his nightmare of an afro and discovering the offending items sitting there among his curls.

Eventually, of course, it all took a darker tone; the insults becoming hateful, shameful words and the pushes and shoves becoming punches and sometimes kicks, and after the Sadie Hawkins dance, after Blaine's arm is broken and his ribs cracked and his lip split and worst, scariest of all, his temple ripped open by the metal hinge of his glasses, narrowly missing his eye and leaving a thick scar that he prays will fade, after that dance Blaine decides enough is enough. His mother, stroking his forehead and humming his favourite songs as he dozes in bed, his first day home from the hospital, promises a shopping trip with an unlimited budget. Blaine blinks up at her through fuzzy vision, through the fluffy haze of the bandage on the edge of his vision and the smudged lenses of his spare glasses, and cries a little, but then grins and asks if she'll pick him up the latest issue of Vogue when she goes to the store later.

~

He tries piercings and leather jackets, but it's summer and he nearly gets heat stroke, and his nose piercing gets infected when his allergies play up, and he nearly rips the hoop out of his ear one day practising Roxy Music dance moves in his bedroom.

His mother is relieved when that look doesn't work.

He tries skinny jeans and band t-shirts and converse and hoodies but he feels like a slob and his legs are too short for the jeans and he falls over one day dancing in his room, and his mother hears the thud and comes running upstairs to ask when their next shopping trip will be.

He panics, before his first day at Dalton Academy. He's not boarding, but chooses to go in on a Saturday to attend the start of semester brunch and maybe check out the school's glee club at their 'welcome' performance. But he wakes up late, having been up until 4 trying to decide on an outfit, and besides he still hasn't actually found his New Look. He wishes it were a weekday so he could put on his new uniform and be done with it, but he's in a hurry and it's too late now anyway so he grabs a pair of the ill-fated skinny jeans and a shirt - and of course in his haste he buttons it up wrong - and a tie that clashes with his shirt, that he can't quite manage to tie just right, that he nearly strangles himself with, and he grabs his glasses, the old ones with the tape around the bridge, because he fell asleep in his new ones again and now they're somewhere down the side of his bed.

It'll… have to do.

~

Wes Montgomery takes a final sip of his coffee and straightens his tie – a Warblers performance means full uniform, even on a Saturday, of course – and steps into the main hall. Brunch is underway and he greets his friends and fellow Warblers graciously as he makes his way to the head of the table. The Warblers are dotted around the room, the blue of their blazers standing out amongst the ridiculous mix of pyjamas and t-shirts and dress shirts that the other boys are wearing. He nods at Clement, and then frowns and gestures at his tie, clearly indicating that the junior Warbler's own tie is askew and must be fixed before they begin their performance. The younger boy pales and excuses himself hurriedly in search of a mirror.

As Clement reaches the entrance to the hall, however, the door is wrenched open and a small bedraggled looking boy careens into him, stuttering and twitching and coughing as he tries to get his words out. The hall falls silent.

"Um… Hi? I'm… Blaine Anderson?"

Wes stands. "Well are you or aren't you?"

The boy – Blaine – turns pink and stammers a little more. "I… I m-mean. I am? I am. I'm… new," he finishes lamely with a little wave of his hand.

Wes sighs. He sees David grinning out of the corner of his eye. David does love a project.

"Well, you'd better come take a seat, New Kid." Wes gestures to the empty seat by him – he likes to welcome new students personally – and then sits and goes back to his eggs.

~

Blaine's glasses steam up when he takes his first sip of coffee, and he sighs, staring at his plate and hoping the fog will clear before anyone notices. After a few minutes he spills ketchup down his shirt, and later when one of the boys in uniform – David? – says something funny, Blaine forgets himself and actually snorts, pushing his glasses up his nose and then freezing as the boys near him stop and stare.

The head boy – head boy? Prefect? Is he maybe Dalton's version of a jock? Blaine isn't sure yet – smirks a little and lays a firm hand on Blaine's shoulder.

"New Kid, do you have plans tomorrow?"

"I uh… No? I mean I was maybe going to get a head start on the reading for Li—”

"Very good. I need a few assorted school supplies; you know how it is. Would you care to accompany me?"

Blaine beams.

~

(The Warblers, incidentally, are amazing. Like rock stars, Blaine thinks, starry eyed and awestruck as exuberant boys all around him dance and cheer and pump their fists in the air.

At Blaine’s old school he hadn’t been a member of Glee… Not cool enough even for the school losers, hiding behind their outcast status like a badge of honour. Blaine wasn’t ‘alternative’ loser, he was just straight up loser, no attitude or cool music or trips out of town, just cheerful smiles and misplaced optimism and a good work ethic. And ridiculous glasses. Even the glee losers hadn’t wanted him.

But these guys aren’t losers. They’re royalty. And they’re friendly, all pats on the back and warm handshakes and easy laughter, and Blaine’s breath catches in his throat when David slings an arm around his shoulders on the way out to the car park, saying he’ll see him tomorrow with Wes and don’t be late and maybe bring a parent’s credit card.

Blaine starts to ask questions but David just wiggles his eyebrows and makes a Star Wars reference as he jogs away, leaving Blaine at his car with damp eyes and a pounding heart and a feeling of something that might be acceptance, although he isn’t sure yet.)

~

He gets to the mall early, of course, nervous and fumbling and having given up on his hair and tried to cover it with a hat. He’s wearing jeans and a t-shirt that has ink stains on it but was all he had clean, since he hadn’t been planning on going out today. He hopes maybe it makes him look arty.

He hurries into the Coffee Bean by the mall’s entrance and gets in line, wanting to buy coffee for Wes and David before they arrive but worrying about what drink to choose for each of them. Wes, he thinks, might be a simple, medium drip man. David, with his sparkling eyes and mischievous grin must like more frilly drinks. He orders him a caramel mocha with extra whip and, feeling adventurous, gets a shot of hazelnut in his usual soy (he has dairy allergies, of course) latte.

When Wes and David arrive – they look so put together how do they look so put together at 9am on a Sunday? – Blaine gestures to the coffee with a proud flourish and the boys reward him with bright grins, David immediately licking the whip off his mocha and Wes picking up Blaine’s latte.

“Mm, hazelnut – my favourite. Good guess, New Kid!”

Blaine opens his mouth to protest but thinks better of it – these are not his friends, not yet, and they are doing him a favour today by letting him tag along, and he’s been meaning to try a more grown up coffee anyway – and gulps down the medium drip, just barely managing to suppress a wince at the bitter tang of it.

“Right, Mr Anderson.” Blaine blinks up at Wes, feeling short and young and already slightly buzzed from the caffeine. “Where is your optician?”

David grins. Blaine gulps.

~

He’s thought about contacts before, of course, but had worried about the expense and the routine of it, always putting it off to some distant time in the future when he would eventually get around to it.

It seems that now might be that time.

They’re uncomfortable at first, and he blinks rapidly and his eyes water a little and his lashes stick together, and he rubs furiously at his eyes, scared that the older boys might think he’s crying.

He stares at himself in the mirror, unused to seeing his face – with any clarity, at least – without the thick black frames he favours. Wes nods his approval and claps Blaine on the shoulder, steering him out of the store before he’s really finished admiring himself.

“Are we getting your school stuff now?” Blaine asks, checking his watch. Wes seems to be in a hurry… he hopes he’s not taking up too much of their time. Maybe they want to get away, maybe they’ve realised how lame Blaine is, how boring, maybe—

“Of course not. School starts tomorrow Blaine, do you really think I don’t already have everything I need?”

“But you said—”

“Don’t worry about it, Squirt.” David grabs Blaine’s other shoulder, steering him towards the GAP a few stores down. It’s not unkind, the nickname, not venomous or mocking. He squeezes Blaine’s shoulder reassuringly and Blaine relaxes a little.

“I—”

“You need better pants, Blaine,” David says seriously. “These… don’t fit you.”

Wes hums. “He’s right. They just won’t do. Especially not if you want to join the Warblers—” Blaine’s heart thumps. Had he been that obvious yesterday? “—certain standards to uphold.”

“…ok,” Blaine says obediently, and follows Wes over to the jeans section.

~

After GAP is American Apparel (“for basics, Wesley!” David insists when Wes tries to veto the choice), followed by Urban Outfitters (where Blaine almost walks into a display – more than once – as he stares, lovestruck, at the pretty hipster boys working behind the registers. He’s glad he didn’t come here with his mom, god.)

(He worries, for a second, that Wes or David might notice him staring, and he tries to play it cool, picking up a frankly disgusting shirt that Wes immediately grabs out of his hands and throws onto the nearest display counter as if it’s burnt him.

He’s about to say something about the colour, or the cut or something, when he sees a boy over in the girls’ section and quite loses his focus again.

The boy is tall and slender, all pale skin and sharp angles, his plaid blazer cinched in at the waist in a way that makes Blaine’s mouth go dry. A couple of nearby girls send him funny looks, giggling and whispering – no doubt at seeing such a boy, beautiful, yes, but also so masculine – in that side of the store. The boy stands a little straighter, sticks out his chin and shoots the girls a glare that can only be described as acidic. Blaine smiles, captivated.

Someone clears their throat then, and Blaine jumps, realises both Wes and David have followed his gaze towards the Beautiful Boy, feels his heart sink so fast he feels dizzy. Oh, no. This is it. Game over. He takes a breath, gasping a little, his hands numb with panic.

“I just uh… jacket. I mean his. That girl over— I should. Go—”

But David just grins. “Go talk to him man!”

“Huh?”

“While this outing is not intended as a romantic escapade, we are slightly ahead of schedule. If you want to—”

“Go get his number!” David interrupts Wes, giving Blaine a little push.

“No!” Blaine almost shouts. He’s terrified, but confused and… relieved? He clears his throat. “I mean, I’m not…”

Wes arches an eyebrow. “I hope you don’t think we’re so unevolved as to care which gender you prefer to ogle in ridiculous fashion stores, Blaine.”

“I… You don’t?”

“Uh, duh,” David nudges Blaine with his shoulder. “But it’s kind of irrelevant now. Pretty boy’s disappeared.”

Blaine looks and sure enough, the boy is gone. He sighs, crestfallen. He’s not quite sure what just happened, but he makes a mental note to hang out in this store every weekend until he sees that boy again.)

He picks up a bag there, at Urban, a leather satchel that appeals to his bookish side but, David assures him, is definitely trendy and “won’t make you look top heavy like that backpack does, Squirt. You look like you might topple over right now, seriously.”

He also picks up a couple new hats, prompting Wes to frown and tug curiously at his hair.

“It’s time, New Kid.”

“What? I—”

“Don’t fight it.”

“But—”

He’s being steered again, and then he’s being dragged a little bit, and he’s not quite sure what’s happening but suddenly he’s sitting in front of a mirror while Wes, David and a heavily coiffed man called Jean Pierre gaze critically at his hair, hands stroking chins and fingers tapping lips in thought.

“Don’t worry Blaine, Jean Pierre has done my hair since I was six. He’s very capable. David and I will return in an hour or so.”

They turn to leave.

“But I—”

“Be good, Anderson!”

Blaine sighs and offers Jean Pierre a weak smile.

~

He didn’t know a haircut could be so expensive. He didn’t know hair products could be so expensive. Actually, he didn’t know there were so many hair products in existence, but Jean Pierre has given him very detailed instructions on the use of the ‘moisture boost’ oil and the de-frizz mouse and the curl definer and, most importantly, the ‘flexible style hold’ gel, and he feels terribly grown up, all of the sudden.

Jean Pierre is not Blaine’s type, not at all, but he’s so suave and together and handsome and when he’s not looking Blaine stares at himself in the mirror, trying to mimic Jean Pierre’s facial expressions. Suave. He can do suave. He pops his collar and smirks at himself in the mirror before heading to the register to pay.

~

“I got you some skin clearing products and a good, light moisturiser you’ll have to use every night, ok?” Wes says by way of a greeting outside the salon.

David reaches over to turn down Blaine’s collar. “And we’ll know if you don’t, Blaine. We’ll know.”

“O-ok,” Blaine says, and then clears his throat, waiting for the verdict on his new hair.

Wes just nods approvingly and, Blaine realises, that’s the best compliment he’s going to get. He grins and follows after the boys, running a little to keep up with their longer strides, as they lead him towards Brooks Brothers.

~

“But it’s so cool,” Blaine says, eyes wide.

“Absolutely not, Blaine. At Dalton we wear ties. You are fifteen, not fifty.”

“But… pretty.” Blaine pouts up at Wes, fingers tracing the edge of the blue and gold bow tie currently around his neck.

“I dunno Wesley,” David says, stepping back to cast a more appraising eye over Blaine. “He’s kind of making it work…”

Blaine grabs a nearby sweater vest that has a similar shade of blue in the piping and slips it on over his polo shirt, doing it up quickly and then holding up his hands as David rolls his eyes and reaches in to redo the buttons, slipping them into the right holes this time.

“Look, it goes with this! And this one,” he picks up a purple bow tie and waves it in front of Wes’ face. “This one will go with that other vest I’m getting! And—”

“Ok, ok. Maybe you’re right. Go and try on another combination. The green one. And put one of your new pants on. And the boat shoes. In fact keep those on, I’m throwing those awful sneakers away right now.”

Blaine gazes mournfully at his sneakers for a moment and then gives his head a little shake. He can do this. His New Look has no room for sneakers. He passes them to Wes, who takes them gingerly, wrinkling his nose.

“And David,” Wes says as he heads out to find a trash can, “please refrain from calling me Wesley.”

~

The navy pants are still a little long; Wes had suggested Blaine have his mother take the hems up a little, but he considers his reflection for a moment and then leans down to roll them up, pulling off his Superman socks and sliding his bare feet into his new shoes, wriggling his toes and giggling as he thinks for a second about how in the olden days, showing your ankles was considered so racy.

He tucks one of his new polo shirts into the pants and pulls on the green sweater vest before turning his attention to the blue and green bow tie hanging loose around his neck.

When he’s done, he steps back to take in his reflection. He blinks once, twice, reaches up to tuck a few stray strands of hair back into place and then steps out of the cubicle to find his new friends waiting for him.

David whistles, and Wes looks exceptionally pleased with himself.

“Well hello, Blaine Anderson. I think you’re finally ready to become a Dalton man.”