The midlife crisis is a well-documented phenomenon. It’s something that the collective is aware of; people know it happens, they know how to recognize one, they even (for the most part) know how to deal with people going through one. Why, then, is it that no one seems to acknowledge the far more dangerous quarter life crisis? The brief but terrifying mania that consumes those in their mid-twenties; struggling to define themselves, questioning their worth, morphing from “grown-up”s to Grown-ups.

Kurt Hummel, 23, fresh from graduation, was most definitely going through a quarter life crisis. It was as if, by receiving his diploma, he’d been stripped of every ounce of self-esteem he’d managed to accrue through the past five years. Suddenly he wasn’t smart enough, or talented enough, or enough enough. Being single, something that used to make him feel fiercely independent, suddenly had him questioning everything; it seemed pathetic. Was he not attractive enough? Not funny enough?

And what the hell was he planning on doing with his damn life? College was one thing; studying and pretending to be a real adult, pretending to take care of himself and to be independent while still staying warm and comfortable in the knowledge that the mommy-daddy safety net remained. But now? Now he was a graduate, he was living in a tiny apartment in New York (although this wasn’t any different than before graduation, it suddenly felt more important), he found a shitty job as a bar tender, and he felt…stuck. How was he going to be a giant Broadway star if he wasn’t even enough enough to impress himself?

It was with this mentality that Kurt made his way to the bookstore around the corner from his apartment one afternoon. He slipped in, doing his best to avoid contact with any of the workers. He knew what he was looking for, and he knew how stupid it would sound if he tried to explain it. Kurt quickly found the books he wanted, brought them over to the small table in back of the shop and set to work, scribbling things down and scratching them out on the small notepad he’d tucked into his jacket that morning.

“Is there something I can help you with?” Kurt, startled by the sudden intrusion into his world, jumped slightly before looking up. The guy to whom the mystery voice belonged was roughly the same age as Kurt with curly hair that he had clearly tried to gel into submission. His green-hazel eyes seemed kind and curious and Kurt was wondering why he was there. “Is there something I can help you with?” he repeated when Kurt didn’t respond.

“Oh, um, no, no thanks,” Kurt said, hurrying to gather his discarded scraps that he now realized were strewn around his general area. “I kind of made a mess…sorry.”

“Not a problem,” the stranger laughed, leaning down to help Kurt. “I’m Blaine, by the way,” he added, offering a few scraps of paper and his hand.

“Kurt,” he replied, taking the discarded paper and shaking Blaine’s hand. “You work here?” he added, noticing the name tag and khaki pants.

“Yeah, as of last week. What are you doing, anyway? Seems like a lot of work.” Kurt really just wanted to be left alone; it was embarrassing enough without this stranger hanging around asking questions. But at the same time…at the same time he was glad that Blaine was lingering.

“It’s stupid.”

“I don’t believe you,” Blaine said, sitting in the chair opposite Kurt’s. He was forward, which Kurt appreciated, and he was kind of pushy, but Kurt found himself wanting to tell Blaine about his insane mission.

“Fine,” Kurt sighed. Blaine’s grin spread until Kurt was afraid that his face might split in two. “I’m writing a sort of bucket list.”

“A bucket list?” Blaine was intrigued. He leaned in across the table, clearly trying to glimpse the writing on the random paper scraps.

“Yeah, you know, ’25 things to do before I turn 25.’ And I’m aware of how ridiculous it sounds,” Kurt stared at his hands and felt a heat rising in his cheeks.

“It’s not ridiculous,” Blaine said with a chuckle. Kurt glanced up, his eyes meeting Blaine’s. “It’s not,” Blaine repeated, sincerely. Blaine smiled, patted Kurt’s hand, and stood. “Welp, gotta get back to work. Let me know if you need anything!” Kurt nodded and then Blaine was gone. Just...gone.

25 minutes later Kurt rose from his table, list complete, and returned the books he’d been perusing. He’d never intended to buy them, they were all stupid and inane and none of them had more than one or two items he was truly interested in doing, but it was enough to inspire him and that was exactly what Kurt had been looking for. He made his way to the front of the store and found that he was slightly disappointed to not run into Blaine as he pushed open the door, causing an overly-loudly jingling of bells. He was five steps down the block when he heard his name.

“Kurt!” Blaine repeated, hurrying after him. Kurt stopped and turned and before he even really processed what was going on he felt a pair of lips on his own. Blaine his brain put a name with the entity standing before him just as the kiss ended.

Blaine stood before him, gigantic, stupid grin. “Um. Hi?”

“Twenty two,” Blaine said. Kurt was now sure that he’d fallen asleep, this was all one big dream, and he would wake up any moment. After all, incredibly hot strangers do not just randomly kiss - twenty two.

“Twenty two – kiss a total stranger,” Kurt recited, voice in a monotone, look of astonishment on his face. “How did you?”

“I saw a couple of things on the list,” Blaine admitted. “Only one or two. I wanted to help.” Again with the stupid grin.

“Why?” Kurt was astonished. Stuff like this didn’t happen to him. Rachel sure, but him? Not a damn chance. There was a flicker of confusion across Blaine’s face and Kurt realized that he wasn’t kidding.

“Because you’re intriguing, Kurt, erm, whatever your last name is,”

“Hummel,” Kurt offered before he could stop himself.

“Right, thanks. Because you’re intriguing, Kurt Hummel. And I think this list of yours is a super cool idea. And I want to help. Consider it my philanthropic effort for the year.” Kurt looked at Blaine as though he’d suddenly sprouted a second head. Blaine shifted uncomfortably, grin faltering slightly. “Look, I, uh, I gotta get back in there,” he thumbed at the store behind him, “but here.” Blaine held out what looked to be a business card between his pointer and middle fingers on his right hand, offering it to Kurt. “In case you need help with any of the others,” he added.

Kurt silently took the card and examined it. Blaine Anderson, freelance, 555-0205. He quirked an eyebrow at Blaine’s now-retreating back and stuck the card in his pocket before continuing on his way.

”How exactly did you intend on helping? No more accosting me I hope,” he wrote, trying desperately to ignore the butterfly colony that had migrated to his stomach.

The reply was instant.

”Well, first I need to see the rest of the list.”