Jacob and three tech-geek friends look absolutely dead after Blaine had forced them into the school gym for two hours. Two refused to run around the track, that is until Blaine threatened to kick their asses, which made them run ten. Their limbs were jelly like by the time Blaine was through with them.

"Even slaves are treated better!" exasperated Jeremy as he lies on his back, flat on the dirt ground.

"Even the slave elves in Harry Potter are treated better!" chimes in Phat Ho, his face searing red which Blaine was told happens when he gets too tired.

"Oh relax. It was just a little weight lifting, crunches, sit-ups, jumping jacks, pulls up and running. We havent even gotten to the worst parts," tells Blaine.

He understood the agonizing pain most beginners for stringent workout regimes would feel. He felt it himself back in his days at the CIA when they trained him till every muscle in his body would ache so bad at the end of each day that he wouldnt even feel comfortable sleeping. Imagine that- not being comfortable sleeping because you hurt to bad when sleeping is the single most comfortable thing to do. Blaine thought that since the agency trained him so well, why not pass the knowledge to a couple of twinks and fatties who really needed it. He has grown fond of these four boys, of their utmost perseverance to better themselves, and he knew they would never give up no matter how tough it got.

"Well looky here, its the big loser and his four pack of fugly dogs," says an all too familiar voice. He turns around to find Puckerman, followed closely by two jocks, no doubt who worship the very ground he walks on. He carries what looks like a gym bag over his shoulder.

"Careful, Puckerman. Last time you encountered Jacob, Im pretty sure he had you on your knees, and not the sexual kind of position," teases Blaine, because the last time, Jacob had used one of Blaines moves to stop Puckerman from sending what could have been a lethal right hook.

"He caught me off guard," argues Puckerman, trying to keep his feigned nonchalance.

"Keeping telling yourself that so you can sleep at night. Anything else we can help you with?"

"Yeah. Get off our turf. All the sports faculties in this school belong to the jocks so you and your team of fucktards should know your place," spits Puckerman. He looks positively infuriated when Jeremy snickers, but does nothing to reciprocate the rude response. Maybe he was scared after all.

"As I recall correctly, school facilities cater to the students, not just the jocks. Unless you have some sort of written document stating this is your property?" ask Blaine. He knew of course no such thing could possibly exist, but it was always priceless to see the look of irritation of Puckermans puffy face.

"The next time I see all you losers here-"

"Youre going to what? Punch me again? It didnt work out too well for you the last time, Noah," says Jacob. Even Blaine couldnt stop his jaw from falling. Puckerman looks
In disbelief but he storms away, shoving Blaine aside.

"Youve grown a pair now, havent you?" teases Blaine in which Jacob only manages to roll his eyes.

He was proud of the boy. Hes come a long way since the boy who allowed himself to be tossed into the trash, and have Blaine fish him out. He now stood up to Puckerman, not provokingly at all but in a way that kept his dignity without having to resort to physicals violence. He could take credit, but he knew all he did was taught the boy a few moves to defend himself, the new found sense of courage was all him.

"Screw prom, and this whole exercising regime" suddenly bellows Jeremy from the miserable spot of the earth his body has taken residence on. "I rather go home and play some Modern Warfare and eat some good ol pasta. Whos with me?"

"The hell you will," snarls Blaine to the boy. He rarely gets angry- well, thats not true. In his profession, if he didnt get angry missions would deteriorate, but when he was never a fan of quitters. "Nobody will quit, understand? You guys asked for my help, and whined about how you had no girls to take to your senior prom, which I hear is like this big ass massive fucking big deal, so if youre going to forgo one of the big ass massive fucking big deal event of your entire sham of a life simply because youre too fucking lazy to get off your sorry ass to do some sprints, then why dont you just sign up to be a janitor already? You know why? Because that is the life youre destined for if youre a quitter."

The boys look absolutely surprised. Blaine couldnt blame them. He usually would spit out profanities when he was angry, but he hated quitters, and whiners. Whiny quitters were the worst. He believed that if you set a goal, do not stray away from it. Stay until its over, even if it kills you. He was in grape shape himself, and although there were times the temptation of a thick juicy cheese burger would get to him, he would never allow himself to indulge in something so rich with something that would shorten your life span. He believed in staying fit and healthy, because it was imperative in the agency. The second youre sickly and weak, the CIA would terminate you in a heartbeat and send your ass to the curb because they needed able-bodied people to protect the country. They were ruthless, but for a reason.

"So whats it going to be, Jer? A bag of cheetos and some side potato chips in front of a big TV screen playing whatever game you just mentioned, or looking fit and being healthy and have girls pinning to get into your pants? You want to kiss some girls, dont you?" ask Blaine, his eyes giving a cautious look to the boy whom shrivels up into an almost insignificant little ball of cellulite.

"Girls," responds Jeremy, in the tiniest voice possible.

"Wise choice," says Blaine. "Now all of you drop and give me fifty push-ups. Anybody who cracks will cause twenty more for everybody except for himself. "

"I thought we were done!" exclaims Jeremy, face looking absolutely pale but Blaine knew well enough he hasnt even remotely reached their limits. In CIA training, if you could still walk without fainting, you havent reached your limits yet. That was how strict their training was- to fourteen year olds.

"Done? I can smell the stench of sloppy joes coming from your sweat. Fifty, and you guys can get on your merry way," tells Blaine. He knew he was being harsh, but if this boy really wanted his help, they would have to follow his way- and sometimes it wasnt the easiest thing to do. The boys groan in unison, but they knew well enough he was right.

After about another thirty minutes of cracking and restarting, the boys finally complete their first day of pre-prom work out. He felt satisfied as Jeremy had to physically carry Jacob into the locker room. They would thank him for this. He wasnt being mean, he was being constructive and motivational and if they boys took it the wrong way, it was because they were weaklings. But thats okay, because even weaklings can be trained to be stronger.

The day was slowly turning into dusk. The sky is painted an orange with an ombre coloured red. If he could see the sun actually setting into the horizons of some mountain, it would make the view all the more breath taking, but for these short seconds, Blaine allowed himself to inhale the nature of the forest surrounding the track filed, allowed to hear the birds chirping as they went about from tree to tree, looking for a home for the night. The ambiance was just the right temperature, not too warm nor too cold. With the many puzzle pieces in his head, Blaine decides to take a jog around the track.

The rubber track provides a kind of relaxing bounce with every step he took. He wondered if jumped high and hard enough, if the track could actually throw him into the air. Though highly unlikely. There was just so many things in his mind, with the stupid deadline hanging over his head, his very poor lead towards Elizabeths discovery, this whole confusing he has with Kurt which he tries to believe its only pretence but pretending should be easy. This time its difficult. Theres also the case about Lucius Dame in which it seems as if he literally dropped off from the face of this Earth.

He could find out if he wanted to, but that would draw too much attention. In fact, if he wanted to, he could have easily tackled Puckerman to the ground and beat him to a pulp until he spilled every single detail. Blaine was still keeping a watchful eye at the boy every time they were in the hall way. He knew Puckerman had spoke to his uncle recently, and he was tasked to something- and that something probably has to do with Kurt. In no way would he allow anyone to hurt Kurt.

Fragile, innocent, witty, beautiful..Kurt.

The boy was eccentric in the best forms and ways possible. He has never met somebody of that raw quality before. He was just- real, in every sense of the word, and different. How he perceives things, the way he blushes, the way his eyelashes bat in what seems like slow motion, the way he walks with grace, the way he always looked to the floor when he walked around the school, with so much doubt about himself that only fuels his allure. Something was definitely attractive about this boy, and though Blaine had chosen the risky path, he needed to stay aware that this is all pretence.

But he feared something was going to happen. He had great instincts, he knew that evidently from all his previous missions that were always successful thanks to his keen sense of instinct, and his instinct was telling him that something bad was approaching. He couldnt pinpoint what exactly, but something was off about this operation. The blocked files, the missing culprit, the connection with Puckerman, the blocked files being under government protection. It didnt feel right, as if someone was doing this intentionally to throw them off their game, or to plot for something bigger than just stealing a science creation.

Nothing was of certain of course, and he was assigned just two missions- protect the subject, and retrieve the discover. Whatever happens outside these two was nothing of his business. But still, the nagging feeling would not stop. He feared what the week and a half would bring, but what he dreaded the most was the end of this period. The CIA would step in, and Blaine would be taken out and Kurt would be told that he was an agent, assigned a mission, and he would know everything was fake. That very notion- scared the life out of him. How would the boy react?

"Nice booty shorts!" shouts a familiar voice, and just thinking of the devil. The boy, Kurt, stands in the bleachers donned in a fitted trench coat, dark jeans wrapping his legs and combat boots to pair. He looks radiant in the warm glow of dusk.

"You think so?" laughs Blaine as he crosses the field and strides towards the boy, who makes his way down to the track as well. "How did you know I was here?"

"A little birdie told me," mysteriously smiles the boy.

"Would that birdie happen to have really large, auburn Afro hair?" ask Blaine just as he comes face to face with the boy. The warmth radiating from him comforts Blaine like a blanket on a cold winters night.

"And moon specs, yes," says the boy. He fills the gap in between them, catching Blaines lips with his own and for that spilt second, everything was gone- just like it always was as he enters the portal into a new dimension. Cold and fecade obliterate into thin air, and there was nothing but sincerity here. "Are you okay?"

"Why?" ask Blaine as he catches his breath when they part. He missed the warm already, but the arms he was wrapped around the boys slender waist, with his coat pressing against his bare legs were comforting.

"I dont know. Some people jog to release stress. I assume you were stressed," shrugs the boy, and though Blaine wanted to pour his heart out and tell the boy that he was stressed beyond his mind, he couldnt. Not by a long shot, because this was his subject and he couldnt get attached to the subject. Maybe it registered on his face because the boy sighs. "I have a better stress reliever."

"And whats that?" taunts Blaine, shooting a smile that earns a blush from the boy.

"Lay down," instructs the boy as he takes a step back, their enfold lost.

"Excuse me?" ask Blaine as if he needed to hear that again.

"Close your eyes and lay down on the ground," orders the boy. He does not look to be in a gaming mood, but rather he is serious about what he was asking. Normally he did not take orders from people, even the director, as well respected as he was, Blaine normally did the opposite of what he orders because his instincts actually trumps human orders, but for this boy- he would submit.

He closes his eyes and sinks to the ground, making sure his head was well rested on the rubber track. The wind was rustling dead leaves around, the cold breeze was creeping up his legs but the excitement for whatever the boy had planned filled him with just the warmth that he needed. He found himself holding his breath. His life rarely had this kind of adrenaline, except when he was sticking knives into peoples chest.

"Okay, open them," orders Kurt. He sound close, and from the soft fabric he could feel from the tip of his fingers, he knew the boy was right next to him, somehow giving him a sense of security. He opens his eyes and gasp.

The sky looked as if he came from a painting, or a green screen projector. It was a soft hue of orange, but night was creeping in. If he squinted his eyes really tight, he could make out the twinkling dots in the celestial. The vague sight of the moon was still faddish in the portrait, and clouds flowed by untouched and so serene. The sight gave him a sense of tranquillity he never experienced before in his chaotic life.

"I do this a lot, at my backyard. Its comforting, isnt it?" ask the boy.

"Its amazing," tells Blaine, in all truthfulness. It almost made the propagandas and the riots and wars that happen in the world to be non-existent because how could such violence happen under such a beautiful sky. In the moment, his life seemed insignificant as compared to the vast spectrum of possibilities that laid beyond this layer.

"When my mother died, this was what I did right after her funeral, and there was a shooting star. I thought it was her, you know? Going up to the heavens," tells Kurt. "You were right, by the way."

"About what?" ask Blaine, tilting his head so he could look at the boy, who seems lost into the clouds.

"That wishes are akin to how stars die. A gradual evolution," says the boy. It goes back to the time Blaine had found him at a bus stop, and when he took the boy home. Their very brief discussion on the reliability of wishing stars.

"Why do you say that?" ask Blaine.

"Because one of my wishes was to find somebody- who would care for me, and who desired for me," says the boy. "You were right, because my wish brought me you."

In that moment, nothing else mattered- not the deadline, not the absolute rule operatives swore by, not the fecade, nothing, because this all felt too real to be something fake. Blaine shuffles over and carries himself, climbing on top of the boy and holding himself up with his feet and his hands. He hovers over the boy and stares deep into those very interesting set of eyes. In that moment, things came into perspective, and he would worry about it later.

"I wished for somebody who would bring me back down to Earth, and the star brought me you," tells Blaine because it was not a lie. Nothing was a lie for now, and in his life, he always wanted somebody to reintroduce to a normal life, one where he could forget the evils this world had to offer, and a star brought him this beautiful boy with a smile so bright the sun came second in place, with eyes so intent yet a calming colour like a fierce ocean.

He leans downward and catches the boys lips with his own, and everything was again- gone in the rustling wind.

----------------

"I assume you were out retrieving the objective?" ask Carl the very second Blaine stepped into the premises of the headquarters. He wondered if Carl would ever cut him some slack, but if he ever did, he wouldnt be doing his job so technically Blaine could not complain.

"Yeah," lies Blaine, because he had been doing anything but that.

What happened earlier in the day was something he was trying to process. It all felt realistic, as if he wasnt a CIA operative, as if he wasnt on a mission, but instead he was a boy, with another boy who shared mutual feelings for each other under the scenic, painted firmament. It was a perfect romantic scene, but that was it- it was a scene, in a movie, where people pretend- where Blaine pretended. He wanted to badly to believe it was real, but at what cost? The boys life? His life? His career? It was all strung together so was he willing to risk it?

"Whats wrong?" ask Carl, because apparently whatever Blaine was thinking registered well on his face. He needed to stop letting that happen. He used to be so good at hiding his thoughts, now every time he was on a reverie, the whole world could tell, and question, but he did wanted to enquire something with Carl, and he hoped the man wasnt suspicious.

"Can I ask you something? Its just something Ive been wondering is all, which has absolutely nothing that pertains me. Its just-- curiosity gets the better of some people, right?" says Blaine, in which Carl shoots him a quizzical look.

"What is it?"

"Did you ever know what happened to Michael Donovan? I mean, I heard some stories back in the agency, but seeing as you come from a more- substantial sector, maybe you would know," ask Blaine, hoping he was being discreet.

Carl watches him with such heavy suspicion it was impossible to be under his scrutiny, but soon he relaxes his face in which Blaine hopes he resolves his suspicions and assumes it really was curiosity when really, Blaine wondered because he might be destined for the same fate. "Michael Donovan fell in love with the girl he was assigned to protect. It got complicated because his judgements was always clouded by how much he loved her. When we wanted to place her under a witness protection program, but that would be exiling her from anybody she knew, including him, so he protested and said how he could protect her himself, and when those Russian men found her, he managed to get her out of the building and into the arms of the CIA, but they caught to him in a large number before he could take off from the ambush."

"Thats really how it happened then?" questions Blaine, receiving yet another dirty look from Carl. What was wrong? Was he swore by some sort of code or something?

"Why do you ask, again?"

"Curiosity, my man," counters Blaine, trying to keep as casual as possible. He hated being suspected of something, and he hated when somebody looks at him the way Carl was doing right the instance, but even he had to admit that the question was sort of random. Carl rarely succumbs to idle office gossips. The man exasperates before he leans forward and covers the otherwise wide space between them.

"You cannot tell anyone, got it?" says Carl, his voice dropping an octave, volume so quiet it was almost impossible to hear, but Blaine nods. Clearly whatever he was about to tell Blaine was strictly forbidden information to on-field operatives. "There is this myth, a protocol myth that only the director knows about. Its nothing concrete or anything. I mean, nobody knows for sure but what Ive hear is that the protocol will call to-- bring the undead back into the agency. Do you understand?"

"Not a fucking clue," tells Blaine

"There was a rumour that suggested Michael didnt actually die, but because those Russian men escaped, he became a liability- he would be the cause of vendetta if those men found out he was still alive-"

"So the CIA killed him?" ask Blaine, trying to keep his voice as inaudible as possible but he could not conceal his horror. What kind of corruption lies in the agency he worked with? He only stuck to his department and never bothered to find out what the CIA were really capable of.

"Well- I dont think so," tells Carl, a sudden curve ball. "Hence the protocol. To bring the undead back."

"Carl seriously, can you explain it to me in a more eloquent manner?" presses Blaine, getting frustrated with the mans desperate attempt to keep it super vague.

"Rumor has it that Michael never died, but because he was a liability, the CIA pronounced him dead anyway. Nobody actually knows what happened to him, but a few suggest that he went through a full reconstruction that made him unrecognisable," tells Carl. The very notion was sickly, and hard to believe. Would the CIA go to such lengths to ensure their own safety? Maybe Blaine didnt know the CIA as well as he thought he did.

And what about Michael himself? He would have to consent it. They couldnt actually reconstruct him out of his free will, then again the CIA was ruthless. They could live with collateral damage, so long as the very building they reside in was standing tall. Still, what could have possibly been convincing enough for Michael to go through with it, if it were really true. His unfailing love for his subject, to play dead so she could live without fear of anyone using her as leverage to anything? If it was true, it could be the greatest love story ever told.

"Then again, nothing is for certain. Idle gossip in the office," tells Carl though just the way he told the story made Blaine think otherwise. Maybe Carl did know something, but he was legally obliged to keep his lips sealed. "Be honest, whats the real reason that brought his absolutely random topic up?"

"Curiosity. How many times must I tell you that," snaps Blaine. He was beginning to feel nervous, but he tried to reassure himself that he wouldnt meet that fate. He would retrieve the objective, put the Hummels at safety..and then..leave.

Maybe this was why the absolute rule was to never get attached to subjects, because it will be hard when he inevitably had to leave. He did not know how that was going to be possible now- with how fond he was of Jacob and his three friends, the little club of defence skills he taught to the students- and then the biggest elephant of all, Kurt. How was he suppose to just up and leave Kurt?

He couldnt admit it to himself. He mustnt admit what was already engraved in his heart no matter how real the moment at the track field felt. He needed to remind himself that this was all part of the plan, part of his plan. His own device, his own craft. Now he would have to deal with it when the time came, and it was soon. The director will step in, and everything will come to light- and Kurt will know everything was pretend, even though it wasnt entirely.

"Been keeping tabs on Noah Puckermans phone trace. So far no incoming calls from New York," tells Carl, pulling Blaine from his train of thought. Maybe his distressed registered in his face. It was a habit these days to be vulnerable. Years of CIA training down the drain. "Has he made any attempts to infiltrate the boy?"

"None so far. Hes kept his distance even, but we still have to monitor him. No signs of Lucius anywhere?" ask Blaine.

"None. Its odd, isnt it? We practically have every eye in the city scouting for him but not one sign of him. Its as if he knows where hes being monitored so he avoids those places," tells Carl.

"Yeah, well we can thank his accomplice for that. Whoever it is. Have you managed to bypass the firewalls? Since you said there were chinks in the armour or whatever," ask Blaine.

"Not yet. Its proving to be harder than I anticipated, but I should get it soon. How do you think its going to work out? If we dont succeed, well be removed from this site. How do you think the family will react then, if they find out theyve been monitored all this while?" ask Carl and a shudder courses through Blaine. Did Carl know of what he was doing with the boy? He hoped not, and from the looks of it, Carl was clueless, though how long could he keep up the charade?

"Lets just focus, forget the deadline for now. I need to gain entry to Elizabeths office. I have a hunch its there filed away in the computer or something. Ill try to get it tomorrow when I go over the boys house," tells Blaine.

"Youve managed to gain his trust then?" questions Carl, as Blaine gulps.

"Yeah, you could say that," says Blaine.

Blaine retreats to the bedroom, his sanctuary, really. A place where he could actually be alone without having the hassle of the agents outside making the ambiance feel so chaotic. Sometimes the life of an operative can get so intolerable it was questionable to move on or not, but ultimately this was all for the benefit of the world. To be the hero in the shadows, to expect no recognition. That was why he chose to go into this line of profession in the first place, to protect, to serve the nation, to ensure the safety of Americans, but this all stemmed from his parents first. This was why he joined the CIA, because of the content he was exposed to in that summer camp aka CIA training ground. What he was shown scared the wits out of him, and he swore that he would do everything in his human power to ensure his parents lived a safe life-- even if it meant not being with them.

And now there was somebody else he cared about- Kurt. His line of profession is the reason why the boy is protected, and yet he was the one who was going to hurt the boy. Ironic, isnt it? The person who is obliged to protect you, will somehow in some way be the one to hurt you as well. He was too conflicted with his feelings for the boy. Everytime they kissed, everything felt real, that he was just a high school boy with feelings for another, but when they part the dreadful reminder that this is all pretend, and a part of a plan settles in. It was agonizing. He wishes it could be simpler, but he knew the second he decided this profession, a part of him knew nothing would be simple in his life anymore.

----------------

It was lunch time the following day, which honestly is the only time the students in McKinley could catch a breather. Kurt had been drowning in final exams, and now that they were left with the last few subjects to mug for, he could almost feel his weight lifted off his shoulders. Marley and Tina are chattering away when they join Kurt on one of the cafeteria tables. It definitely was an odd thing to have people sit with him. In his life, it had always been him and a good book, or a sketch pad to kill the time, but now as the school draws to a close, it was somewhat nice to have people to share lunch with.

"Tina and I were wondering if you wanted to join us at the salon next week before prom," ask Marley as she settles her tray that holds only an apple and a bottle of mineral water. She was already as flat as a plank of wood. Why this girl did not want to take advantage of her genes and just indulge in fattening food was a real wonder. Girls these days-- too superficial.

"A little pampering before the big night?" teases Kurt. "Sure."

"We still dont know if youre going or not. Has this secret, mysterious guy asked you yet?" presses Tina.

"No, not quite, and Im not holding out hopes on it. You guys should know how well this school takes homophobia. If its not frowned upon, its rull rounded illegal," points out Kurt. It really was no secret that this school was infected with homophobia. The jocks and the cheerleaders were a great testament to that.

"Still, that shouldnt stop you from going to your prom. Its a rite of passage for all high school students, no matter what orientation you are," explains Marley. Not only was this girl hopelessly obsessed with staying skinny, she was optimistic as well. That should fade away when she graduates.

"I agree. You can take a bodyguard with you? Or talk to principal Sue?" tells Tina. Somehow the idea of a bodyguard almost sounds laughable. Judging by the way Lance was, a bodyguard would be deeply irrelevant.

"I dont know, maybe I guess" shurgs Kurt. It all depends on whether Lance would even ask him to go, and to be honest- he wasnt sure he would. He wasnt even sure himself if he wanted to go to be honest. Sure, when he watched one of those stupid coming of age movies, he always longed to don a slick tux to attend prom, but this was reality and reality isnt as merry as movies.

"Well, I hope he does eventually ask you. Would be fine. Maybe all of us can carpool with our dates in one huge limousine or something. Thatd be really cool," suggest Tina. She looks positively in glee, face lit with a glow-- almost as if that glow was man-made or something.

"Did you get a spray tan?" ask Kurt, the words escaping him before he managed to stop himself.

"What? Of course not," assures Tina, though judging by how shaky she sounds, and the way those red cheeks were burning under the chemical mix, somebody had definitely uncovered her secret. It wasnt something to be embarrassed about or anything, Kurt would know everything there was needed to know about seeking cosmetic help. He would have the skin that he had without his uber helpful, all natural lemon face scrub.

"Oh my god. Okay, hes coming, everybody stay cool," suddenly burst Marley, in such a hushed tone it was almost inaudible in the loud bustles of the cafeteria. She looks nervous all of a sudden as she pretends to play around with her apple.

"Whos coming? Ryder?" ask Kurt, nervous all of a sudden too. He didnt actually know Ryder or anything. The only time Kurt has ever talked to the boy was when he had asked Kurt how to pronounce the world Cloud. Weird boy, with nice subtle red locks and broad shoulders. He had hockey to thank.

"No, Lance," says Tina, rolling her eyes. "Marley has an impossible crush on him."

Kurt choked on the salad he was chewing on, coughing searingly. Lance? Marley had a crush on Lance, his Lance? The simple notion was comical, ridiculous and hilarious. Not that he could blame Marley though- handsome, well physique, dark and slicked locks, incredible, hypnotic eyes. It was hard not to crush on someone like that, especially when he had natural charms and wit to fit into the package. No, he wasnt upset or jealous at all, he was amused. He didnt have a reason to be jealous after all. Lance was his-- especially that diary-worth moment at the track field. It gave him jitters just thinking of the way they kissed..

"Lance? I thought you were going to prom with Ryder. Maybe Im old fashioned, but arent your prom dates like..the people youre together with?" questions Kurt, basing what he knew from movies, once again.

"I am, but Lance is still like- my number one crush. Im only going with Ryder because he was the only one who asked me. Thats not to say I dont like him, because I do. Hes sweet, thoughtful and very sexy, but Lance is just..I dont know, he just has his own flair that is so attractive," explains Marley. Kurt had no shadow of a doubt to agree. The boy practically walk with blazes in his trails. Maybe it was the way he carried himself, so assuring, so confident as if he lived life longer than the rest of the mere mortals in this school. It was not arrogance, nothing like that. With every stride he takes, he just radiated a certain form of mastery.

"Sure," says Kurt, not wanting to say anything much considering he couldnt disagree with the girl, but it was still horrible what she was doing to that Ryder boy, making him sound like a consolation prize. Nobody should ever be a consolation prize. You either are the trophy, or they dont win you, but girls are contradicting that way, Kurt assumes.

"Hey guys, mind if we join you?" ask Lance as he approaches the table Kurt and the two girls were seated at. Jacob, the boy with the crazy hair, and Jeremy, the one with the throbbing boil on his nose closely behind Lances trail. The two boys were dressed so heinously Kurt had to force his eyes away from them for fear of judging them. Lance was dressed in a simply navy t-shirt, with faded jeans and a pair of Chuck Taylors. He has lost his flamboyant, dapper look which Kurt missed. Though not all of his choices actually meshed together, the way those capri pants wrapped over his perky behind was definitely something to miss.

"Sure thing. Theres an empty seat beside Marley, Lance," suggest Tina, gesturing towards the empty place in which Lance shrugs indifferently and fills the space, much to Kurts approval. It wasnt as if he was envious or anything, he already established that he didnt have a reason to be, but it still was aggravating how he couldnt share a seat next to the boy.

He wondered to himself what the boy would say if he asked to go public with their relationship. Would he be reluctant, hesitant, afraid, angry? Or would he be all for it? There was again the issue of that legendary rumor, about those two boys who were beaten to a pulp, one dying, for going public with their relationship in this very school. But this is the twenty first century after all. Homosexuality was an open topic, but homophobia was just as open if not bigger. Still, how long was he going to fear holding his boyfriends hand in public? He would break the rules, if it meant for his happiness, but he would never risk humiliation for the boy even if Kurt himself could take it.

"So Lance, we were just discussing about prom," says Tina as she does a quick glance over to Marley which, Kurt could not deny, annoyed him by just an inch. "Who are you taking to that glorious event?"

"Prom is anything but glorious," chimes Jacob. "In case you guys wanted to know, Quinn will be winning prom queen. She told me to ensure her win."

"Why do you bow down to her?" snaps Marley.

"She gave me a picture of her boobs. Seemed like a fair trait," cheekily grins Jacob.

"Can I see this infamous photo?" ask Marley, in which Jacob discreetly hands her a photograph he pulled from inside his jacket. Marley studies the picture as if it was instructions before a science project before she emits a laughter. "This isnt Quinn. Its Vanessa Hudgens leaked nude photo."

"How can you be certain?" ask Jeremy, looking surprised himself. So, did Jacob share the picture amongst his good friends to- what? Get them something to get off on? The very thought was disturbing.

"I tried to find those panties at that bra online once," guiltily admits Marley, before she quickly hands the picture back to Jacob and keeps her eyes focused on her half eaten apple. Technically eaten though. All she did was scraped a few parts of it with a fork.

"Back to the question. Lance, who are you taking to prom?" repeats Tina, clearly not derailed by the stray of topic. Jacob os sulking, looking at the picture as if it was the biggest disappointment hes ever received in his life. Honestly, Kurt did not understand the obsession with Quinn Fabray. She had a beautiful face, sure, and nice hair, but she was the biggest whore in the school. Is that what straight guys found attractive then? Whores?

"I dont know, actually. I have a person in mind, but I dont know yet," says Lance, his eyes focused directly at Tina not quavering one bit, in which Kurt, of course, embarrassingly choked on yet again a piece of lettuce. Marley was blushing, but none so like Kurt.

Who else could the boy be talking about, right? Does that meant he wanted to go to prom just as much as Kurt did, and di not think it was too childish to want to go? The boy just had a certain form of sophistication about him sometimes Kurt felt so pubescent being in his vicinity. He wondered if that was intentional, what the boy did. He was teasing Kurt, and because Kurt handt experienced things like this before, he had no idea how to respond- something witty, definitely.

"What dont you know yet?" ask Kurt, before he could stop himself. Lance glances over at him with such ease, with the least apprehension in the whole universe and all of its caves and seas. An amused smile spreads across his face, and in comparison with Kurts stupid, baffled expression, the boy was definitely winning.

"Nerves, I guess," says the boy.

"You shouldnt be nervous. Im sure whoever it is-- wouldnt mind going as well," tells Kurt.

"You think so?" ask the boy, the same playful grin on his handsome face.

"Pretty certain," answers Kurt, holding their gaze.

"Okay. Will you go to prom with me, Kurt?"

The whole table erupted in variations of their own complete and utter surprise. Including Kurt himself. Tinas eyes were so wide she could have passed for a western, Jacob and Jeremys jaws dropped for low it practically dissolved into the ground, eyes riddled with shock and confusion, Marleys lips were trembling, her eyes darting quickly from Kurt to Lance. Kurt himself could not grasp the words himself. He had been so worried and conflicted with going to prom, and picturing how he would ask the boy himself, but Lance just asked with such ease and confidence. He really was the epitome of a guy. Never in Kurts whole live did he ever imagined going to prom, let alone being asked and even though it was as simple as a blank sheet of paper, it was as intense as fireworks.

"Youre- wait..huh?" incoherent mutters Jacob, looking crossed and eyes boring into Lance, desperate for an explanation. "Youre gay?"

"Dating Kurt?" ask Tina.

"Yeah, you could say that. I was planning a bigger gesture, but I thought- simplicity is always best. Kurt, would you please do me this honour?" says Lance, ignoring the rest of their crew, reaching across the table and clasping Kurts hand, entwining their fingers together.

"Hold on!" shrieks Marley. "How come you didnt tell us you were gay?"

"I didnt think I needed to. Im a person, I dont need labels," states the boy.

"But- thats preposterous. How can you be gay? Youre-- urg," exasperates Marley as she grabs her satchle and flees from the cafeteria, practically knocking over a few by passers who werent too happy with being shoved aside, but for this moment, Kurt paid so little attention to his surroundings because what mattered were those hazel eyes watching him with intent, with admiration, with everything Kurt never thought somebody would look at him with.

"What do you say?" ask Lance, and this time, his voice drops so low it was as if everything around the room goes into a state of silence- the chatters, the laughter, the clatters of utensils, the turning of the fan above, the rusted creaks of the swinging doors, everything was quiet except that voice.

"Yes," says Kurt, smiling so wide his jaw was starting to ache. The boy responds with a smile equally dreamy, his hands still intact with their small audience of three watching them.

"Okay, well now that that is settled, can you please explain to us how your orientation never came up?" demands Jacob. Lance sighs tiredly and turns to face the boy.

"Would that have mattered?" ask Lance, questioning the boy, though judging from how strained he sounded, it was more of a threat.

"No, of course not. That would mean a homosexual beat up the entire football team with one hand practically tied behind his back. Im all for the gays now," says Jacob, either sugaring his words to keep from being punched, but he looked genuine.

"Me too," says Jeremy. "Im actually proud a gay guy is teaching me how to fight. Ill never judge someones orientation. Ever."

"You just single handedly eradicated homophobia," chimes Tina.

The school bell goes off in that moment, with principal Sylvesters voice booming through the speakers order the students to get back to class, though ordering them in her way. As the students shuffle out, as Jacob, Jeremy and Tina leave, Kurt stays rooted in his seat, hand still clutching to the boys. It wasnt that he didnt want to let go, but it was because he needed to hold on to that hand to make sure this moment was real, and judging by the warm flesh wrapping around his own hand, he knew it was real- but it still felt surreal.

---------------

The events that transpired earlier in McKinleys daunting cafeteria was still hard to process. Kurt used to dread the minute he had to enter the cafeteria to get a bottle of juice because hed have to deal with the hooligans and Neanderthals that would pounce as if the cafeteria was the animal kingdom, but after what happened earlier in the day, it just became his most favorite place in entire school.

If he could picture his prom proposal, he would picture a meadow, the sky deep into the night with the celestial littered with diamonds, the moon in its full form casting the soft glow down to Earth, and when Kurt utters his inevitable yes, fireworks will explode and illuminate the sky with hues of neon colours, but Lance topped that. He did not need all the theatrics, he did not need anything- just his words of sincerity, a reassuring grasp and eyes so calm like a sunset. Kurt was a puddle.

He had been struggling so much, telling himself he did not need to go to prom as a declaration of the boys feelings or to complete his life, but he wanted to go because that is, like Tina said, a rite of passage for high school students. Was it really wrong for him to succumb to the norm every now and then? He was human after all, an adolescent with needs as well. But he would not let this define him. He would stay true to himself, and appreciate what no doubt the soul of his late mother has left him-- a trail of happiness in her wake; a boyfriend, friends, prom..things were looking pretty good in his life, and though he would not forget where he came from, a boy in a corner, forced into solitude, he would embrace this new found fortune.

The phone rings then and Kurt leaps to answer it, thinking it was Blaine, but its not. In fact, there was nobody on the other line, or at least no voice coming from the other end, but there was the faint sound of screeching tires in the background, very faint or outside an enclosed area.

"Hello?" says Kurt into the line, but he receives no response. As he strains his ear, he could make out the very subtle sound of breathing. For some reason, this sends a tremor coursing through his body. "Who is this?"

No response.

"Hello?" tries Kurt, but to no avail. "You got the wrong number then," says Kurt before he slams the phone back to its place, creped down to his bone. He wouldnt jump into conclusions no matter how many Police Cases documentaries he has watched. That was probably some old man who dialled the wrong number, and had hearing problems which would explain why he couldnt hear anything. The phone rings again and Kurt answers.

The breathing was heavier this time, so heavy it was the only thing Kurt could hear from the other end. He did not wait another second and slams the phone shut, about to pull out the cord but it rings again. He gulps hard, and contemplates running to his father, but remembers he was out a few colleagues for dinner and bowling. His palms start to sweat to badly while the worst possible scenarios start forming in his head, but ultimately after mustering all the courage he had, Kurt picks the phone up and screams into it.

"Okay, listen here, I dont know who you are but you clearly have the wrong number. Stop calling me or Ill call the cops," tells Kurt. He waits, for some reason he knew there would be a response, whatever it was. The breathing was faint and quiet now.

"Sorry," says the voice. A deep voice, the voice of a man, before the line goes dead.

The door bell startles Kurt. He jumps off his bed so quickly he stumbles and tumbles to the ground. Not understanding his instincts, he pulls out the old hockey stick he had found deep in the garage and stored under his bed in case he ever needed protection and defence. He did not quite understand his fear, maybe that unknown phone call had messed him up and gave him quite a scare, but he was trembling as he climbs the stairs and heads to the living room, where there was a loud pounding coming from it.

"Kurt! Kurt are you in there!" yells a familiar voice. He drops the hockey stick and sprints to pull the door open, to find the boy, Lance, standing on the front porch, breathing heavily, forehead littered with beads of sweat. He pushes his way in without even a word. "Whos home?"

"No one. What are you doing here?" questions Kurt as he follows the boy down to his bedroom. He says nothing as he studies the bedroom. "Lance?"

"Is everything okay?" he ask, turning around, his filled with a random concern.

"Yes? Why?" ask Kurt, confused. Sure, he was little shaken from that stupid phone call, but how would the boy even know about that. "I got a little weird phone call, but nothings life threatning if thats what you mean."

"What did the phone call say?" presses the boy. For some reason, Kurt did not bother to question but tells anyway.

"I dont know who it was, but he called and didnt say anything the first two calls, and on the third, I got a little pissy and he apologzied- for calling," tells Kurt, not even sure how this could be of any gem of information but the boy takes this in as if it was cocaine and he was a crack head.

"Anything else?" he ask, an authoritative tone in his voice.

"No, why?" says Kurt, still absolutely confused by the sudden rush of ordeal. Heaving a sigh of relief, the boy settles on the small reading couch as if a weight was lifted of his shoulders. Kurt notices he was merely wearing flip flops, with the same outfit as today still on his back. "Lance? Whats wrong?"

"Nothing, sorry. Just- wanted to see you, and I saw the hockey stick and assumed something was wrong," tells the boy, and for some reason this gave Kurt a blanket of comfort.

"I just was spooked I guess, plus being alone at home and getting weird phone calls dont actually marry with each other," tells Kurt as he slides onto the arm rest of the couch, studying the boy and taking in his sudden presence here in his home. Minutes ago he was worried about some stupid phone call which no doubt was a prank or something, now he had the boy in his home. "You sure everythings alright? You look terrified, with some crazy glint in your eyes."

"Nah, Im fine," assures the boy. He stares up at Kurt, and for that brief moment, it was as if he was thankful for Kurts existence, and that he was safe from harm which made no sense whatsoever but still, he was flattered to be seen in such a way. "Come here."

Kurt creeps towards the boy, nervous for some reason. His eyes were bright with a certain gleam, but there was no telling what exactly was he thinking. He was good that way, hiding his thoughts, at least to Kurt because he was nervous good with gauging facial expressions. He does something unexpected, something that felt absolutely random. He swings his long, spidery legs over the boys thighs and strangles his lap, resting his hand on his shoulders. They were built like an ox, but despite the muscles, they were strained, as if he was tense.

"Sure youre fine?" ask Kurt, a little sceptical, but the boy says nothing else. He simply allows his hands to wander carefully around Kurts waist, gulping slightly. He knew very well where the circumstances could lead to, simply considering they were the only ones at home, but just that notion made it all the more exciting. "So, were going to prom?"

"We are," breathes the boy, a smile on his face. He was relieved about something, but in no way did Kurt understand. "I hope I didnt put you on the spot."

"No, of course not," says Kurt, the simply thought sounding absurd to him. "I thought you wanted to be discreet and secretive- about us."

"Was that what you wanted?" ask the boy, he sounds sincerely regretfully now but Kurt quick jumped to reassure him.

"No, but you know how McKinley is with homosexuality. They practically eat prejudice like its a bowl of cereal. I just- am scared that when they find out about us, when the whole school finds out, therell be repeat of what happened years and years ago, about these two boys who were an item in McKinley. One day, as they were making their way home, they were jumped by a few jocks and beaten to a pulp. One of them actually died. I just- fear something like that might happen," pours Kurt. He at least needed to let the boy know of the risk, and let him decide for himself.

Lance process this, his face not giving a hint if his thoughts, lips slightly pursed and eyes deep in thought. He sighs then and pulls Kurt closer, filling the gap in between them and resting their foreheads together. It was eerie to be in this proximity, to feel anothers heat pressed against his own flesh. A shudder courses down Kurts spine as the boy speaks, deep with clarity.

"You dont have to fear. I wont ever let anything happen to you," says the boy, his fingers tantalizingly skimming downs Kurts temple, a finger that held the ability to send static electricity through Kurts very veins. He spoke with such assurance it was hard not to buy into that, and despite Kurts life battles, his years of torments and brick walls to keep people out, he knew that he needed none of those things now, because his saviour, his very own form of a brick wall stood right in front of him.

The moment consumes him, and not wanting to delay the intensity any longer, he leans forward and claims the boy as his, because he was- in every excessive detail, and though theyve only been together for a couple of days if not weeks, he knew that nobody will ever live up to the heaven high level this boy has set for the poor mortals in his future. In was clear now, as if coming close to death would set everything in perspective, Kurt has met his. He did not need convincing, he did not need fear, he did not need anything else because he knew now, that it was the time. As if scripted from a movie for the right time to utter those simple, yet profound words. This was his time.

"I love you," breathes Kurt, words as natural as humanly possible, as if written for him for this scene right here, but it wasnt scripted. It came from the deepest core of his heart, breaking through those walls of years of exile, words he thought hed never use one anyone the second his mother passed, now they surface- and the boy did not need to even try.

Those fingers tracing the contour lines of his face stop in place, lips slightly drifted away, but the tether between them was still intact like an unbreakable, indestructible power cable build to endure the worst of circumstances. For the briefest of seconds, Kurt wonders if he had caught the boy off his guard, but he wouldnt take it back. There was nothing to take back when it was the truth, but he feared he drew the boy away, that is until the boy crashes his lips onto Kurts, picks him up by his thighs and strides towards the king bed with such ease before he released and drops Kurt onto the mattress, but time was not of wasting as the boy climbs on top, thoughts and all out of the window.

Kurt was not left a second to his thoughts whatsoever as the boy fills every leisure second with a kiss, with a firm grasp, with the gentle yet earnest and desperate strip of clothing until what stands in between raw flesh was thin air. Eyes kept shut, Kurt allows himself to be carried into the moment, ridding his thoughts of worry and fear because in these hands, in these arms, with these lips on him, he had no reason to fear.

----------------

It wasnt as if Kurt was absolutely clueless about sex. He has tried watching those kind of movies, but it was always repulsive when he thought about how these people who were in that profession had parents and families. He tried his hardest to not jude, but it was hard not to when a little twink was on all fours, moaning out the word Daddy. Anyway, he did succumb to the one of those teenage boy norms, but he never did understand the fascination with sex, that is until he was sweating, panting, having his entire world blown into shards of sparkles by one person; Lance.

Nothing could have prepared him for what had happened, nothing could have prepared him for the boy. He wasnt allowed a moment of doubt, not that he needed doubt even, but every moment was filled with some form of intimacy from things Kurt has either read about, or seen in those movies, to things he never knew even existed. He felt relieved, loosened, as if experiencing something he never knew he wanted to experience only to have it been the most invigorating, mind blowing thing he encountered. He couldnt even get into details of how everything transpired. What he did know was that he was drenched in sweat, both his and Lances and that his bum ached.

The boy is silent, only his heavy breathing audible in the otherwise silent room. His chest rises and falls, slowly and in spaced out seconds. Kurt does not dare take sight of his face for fear that he would read regret or something much worse, disappointment. Everything just happened in such an accelerated velocity it was hard to process and analyse it, not that Kurt wanted to even, because what happened ranked probably one of the best things that he ever happened.

Kurt makes the first move, wondering if it would be awkward. He leans towards the boy, eyes set on those lips and kiss them, reminscing on how everything happened- with the most innocent form of intimacy, and when a smile spreads across the boys face, Kurt knew it wasnt a mistake, not to him nor the boy.

"We had sex," mutters Kurt, not knowing whether it was the best of things to say. I mean, honestly, what do people even say after flowers blooming, diamond showers, world imploding sex? The boy emits a dreamy laughter in which Kurt sighs, thanking the people in the heavens up above that the boy didnt find it awkward.

"We did. I hope I was up to your satisfaction," says the boy. He pulls Kurt on top of him, in which Kurt crosses his arms and rest them on the boys chest, his chin taking home on the crossed arms, watching the boy through the canopy of his lashes.

"You exceeded my non-existent expectations," smiles Kurt. "I understand everyones obsession with sex now."

"It is amazing, isnt it?" ask the boy, a salacious smirk on his graceful face.

"Mind blowing, though I reckon its because its you I had sex with, and nothing to do with the sex itself," tells Kurt, smiling up at the boy. It was true. Who you have sex with did make more of an impact than sex, and seeing as he had sex with someone he loved- yes, loved- it made it all the more mind blowing. "Youre my first."

"Im honoured to be," says the boy. Even in his exhausted state, beads of sweat on his forehead, he still looked as if ripped of a Mens Health magazine. It was unfair just how handsome the boy was, without even trying. His hair has dissolved all those products he added to keep it sane, now it was all natural and to be honest, it couldnt have looked better.

"You were really all I needed after one stressful week, not saying I took advantage, but truly, stress is an abstract idea after what he just did," tells Kurt. Being in the middle of the tornado that was final exams, he needed a stress reliever, and never did he thought sex would be the until cure for all of that. Maybe the boy truly did have a keen sense to know exactly just what Kurt needed, without even knowing it himself.

"Finals killing you, I assume?" says the boy, as if reading Kurts mind.

"In all forms. Its not to you, I assume," counters Kurt, pouting at the boy who laughs aloud.

"Contrary to your beliefs, I am struggling too. I mean, how do teachers expect students to study and ace ten subjects? Its literally impossible unless you were some super genius with a huge ass brain, like Jacob maybe," points out Lance, and Kurt couldnt help but to agree. He sighs and plants a kiss in between the boys rock hard chest, the fine hair on it tickling his lips. "Well get through it."

"You will. I dont know about me, to be honest. My future in college just seems so bleak its ridiculous," admits Kurt, sighing dejectedly.

"I highly doubt that, Kurt," assures Lance. Kurt slowly rolls to the empty space next to the boy, feeling a little exposed what with being naked by under the warmth of his blanket was as much discretion as he got. He could feel the boys toes on the tips of his own. "Where do you plan to go? College, I mean."

All his life, Kurt has been paved one road and that was to Columbia, to rightfully follow the footsteps of his mother. What he could gather was that she was one of their brightest students, and was even offered a career there, which she took and though Kurt admired his late mothers achievements, he never actually was fond of the idea of being a scientist, or going to Columbia for that matter. He had never voiced out where his passions was pointing him to, but after what he just did with Lance, the most intimate form of bonding, he knew now that he didnt have to hide anything from the boy, and that he was allowed to be irrevocably himself with.

"I havent told anyone, and youll be the first, much like you are with everything else in my life," teases Kurt, in which the boy pulls a shy smile. "Ive always wanted to enrol into New Yorks School of Design Arts, and major in fashion studies and apparel design."

He was nervous all of a sudden, letting that one last piece he kept sacred from everybody else. He knew that people were allowed secrets, but with this boy, this sweet, caring lover of his, he would not have any secrets with because he could be vulnerable with this boy because he feared nothing.

"That sounds like it could be your forte," tells Lance. "Why dont you want to pursue it?"

"I dont think my dad will be too convinced of the idea. I mean, hes never actually voiced out his disapproval, but hes a realist, you know? To major in fashion designing and enter an industry with so much uncertainly in itself was risky, and my dad really isnt much of a risk taker. Besides, he wants me to be a scientist just like my mother was, and I guess thats good enough for me," tells Kurt, pouring himself empty because he could. The boy sighs and inches closer towards Kurt, his warm flesh radiating onto Kurt, and wraps a gentle yet strong hand around Kurts waist, pulling him closer as well until the tips of their noses were kissing.

"Good enough is not what you deserve, Kurt. You deserve the best, and you deserve to do what you love. If being a scientist isnt your passion, then you cant force yourself to follow your mothers footsteps just because its paved for you. Sometimes- sometimes you just have to follow your own route to get something..not happy how uncertain that road might be," tells the boy, his voice dropping an octave and eyes suddenly riddled with something secretive, like a realization of some sort, but Kurt chooses not to press on. Much like himself, sharing deepest darkest secrets should come naturally, but it killed him a little how the boy wasnt as open and vulnerable as Kurt was being.

"Maybe in the future, but for now- I think I just need to do what my dad wants me to," tells Kurt, in all honesty because his father was ultimately his world, and he would go to the cliffs of it to make sure he felt happiness.

"If you say so, but its not healthy to let someone else determine your life," tells the boy. "No matter how high their authority might be, youre ultimately the creator of the life you want. Whatever consequence might come of that, youll deal with it anyway."

Maybe the boy was right. Maybe he should start paving his own routes in life. He loved his mother, right down to the corner and he was always fascinated with her craft, but should that determine what his own would be? This was again, one of those high school kids norms, to not have the ability to have a voice against our parents. Maybe he Kurt needed to realize that, as much as he loved his mother, being a scientist truly wasnt his passion. Not that he ever could anyway, he never had a love for science except when his mother explained to him with sure amusement. He never did find it an interesting subject in school.

"Can I show you something?" timidly ask Kurt, a little insecure but this was yet again another step to being completely vulnerable to the boy, because he could and he wanted to.

"Sure," says the boy, a little sceptical but interested nonetheless. Kurt shuffles out of the boys grasp, missing the warmth a little but he stretches to his night stand, clearing out the contents of the bottom drawer to reveal what was in the fake bottom. He pulls out a small sketch pad, half the size of his forearm and hands it to the boy. "Whats this?"

"My passion," tells Kurt. The boy frowns, an amused smile on his face before he cracks open the book and flips through the pages. It was agonizing to feel so tensed and nervous. He has never shown anyone that book before. He would have it everywhere he could go, but since his mothers passing, he never truly indulge himself in it any more because it was just another reminder of how he didnt manage to show this to her before she passed.

"Kurt," says the boy, rising to a seated position. His back was well structured with muscles protruding on every end. Kurt shudders, reminding how he had his nails digging deep into them, and if he squinted hard enough, he could make out the marks. "This is extraordinary work."

"Youre only being nice because we had sex-"

"Im being honest! Theyre so- well thought out, and so well executed. You thought of every single detail," says the boy as he flips through page after page, his hazel eyes studying in sketch. "This really is your passion. I can see it in every sketch."

All he could do was smile, because really what else could he do? He has never offered this part of him to be showcased, but as he mentioned how he wanted to be as vulnerable as possible to the boy because he could, he decided to show him, and receiving such positive response gave him such a sure comfort, it was a little overwhelming.

"You should enrol in that school! You clearly have a knack for designing, Kurt! One day, Ill see your name plastered around New York, department stores lining up with people wanting to wear your designs! I promise you that," says Lance. "And do not say otherwise because I might actually kiss you until youre thinking straight again. This really is amazing."

"I really just- love you," says Kurt, and this was the second time he has said it tonight, but it did not lack sincerity, if anything he was even more sincere. The boy snaps his heard around, stunned by the words again. There was a battle in his eyes, until he pulls a small smile and shuffles towards Kurt, taking his lips with his own.

"Kurt- I..I.." says the boy, but Kurt silences him and steals one more kiss.

"I dont expect you to say it back, I just wanted you to know, and when if youre ever ready, you can say it to me, but I expect nothing," tells Kurt, because it was the full truth. What he said came from the deepest core of his heart, a part that was selfless. He did not expect the same words of truth to come from the boy because the words I Love You loses its desperate sentiment if it was flaunted everywhere like it was in this generation. Kurt didnt want that. He still believed that those words should only be used for compelled and true, and not just infatuation.

"So, now that Ive told you of my biggest secret of all- fashion designing, what dont you tell me yours?" ask Kurt.

The boy seem to take a never ending time to answer his question. Kurt wasnt sure what he was expecting. The same, maybe? What his own passion was, maybe more of his childhood, a secret explanation as to why he was just so mature than everybody else, or a secret behind his trail blazing flair, but what the boy said next was definitely not on the list of possibilities, and so confusing.

"My name is Blaine."

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