"Words are a pretext. It is the inner bond that draws one person to another, not words."

- Rumi

How Are You?

Kurt's eyebrows shot up at the question. A small smile made its way to the corner of his mouth, where it rested there. Blaine couldn't help but focus on that minute corner of his face.

"Oh, uh, I'm good. H—um—how are you?" Kurt asked unsurely. Blaine gave a half smile and shrugged his shoulders.

Kurt nodded. He looked as if he had somewhere to be, but was putting it off for sake of the conversation. Blaine thought back to the arrested activist, the one that knew Kurt. Did it have something to do with him?

Blaine furiously turned the pages ofHow Are You?, attempting to find anything that could keep Kurt hooked. Finally, he found a good page.

What's your name?

Of course he already knew Kurt's name, but he wanted to hear him say it himself. Moreover, he wanted Kurt to ask the question to him, for him to point to his nametag, and for Kurt to say his name out loud. It had been years since he'd heard his name.

Kurt squinted at the page, and then smiled. "I'm Kurt Hummel," he offered. Blaine nodded. Kurt Hummel. The name seemed to slip around in his mind, working its way into crevices he had long forgot.

"And you're...Blaine?" Kurt asked. Blaine's heart skipped a beat at the sound of he name. He nodded furiously, a blush creeping up to his cheeks.

"And what's your last name, Blaine?"

The goers of the library gave Kurt an awkward look; they hadn't been eavesdropping, but everyone in this age knew what it sounded like when someone spoke a name. Speaking a name meant casual conversation, and for many of them casual conversation meant death. Kurt was likely unaware of how well known he was making his wealth.

Blaine scrambled to find a way to express his last name. An idea suddenly sparked, and he ran back to the stacks. He looked through the Shakespeare section, looking for a particular book. Finally, he found it.

It was titled"Shakespeare" by Another Name,and was written by a long dead journalist named Mark Anderson. Blaine had never read the book itself, but had often passed it in recognition of the shared last name. He grabbed the book off the shelf and rushed back to Kurt at the desk.

He held up the book, pressing his finger over the Mark.Anderson.

"Anderson, Blaine Anderson." Kurt nodded happily, and Blaine felt as if he might die. It was a drug to him, hearing his full name. He wanted to be wrapped up in it, to sleep soundly to the faint sound of his name being uttered.

But that wasn't possible.

Even Kurt, who seemed to have enough money for all the words in the world, would never have enough to make that a reality. Names were a waste, Blaine reminded himself.

Still, he couldn't help but fight the urge to say Kurt's name out loud, to scream it on the top of his lungs. Blaine was in love with names, but it was a rather one-sided relationship. It was abusive, it was maddening, it was tragic.

Kurt quickly looked at his wrist, and Blaine realized he was looking at a watch. Watches were expensive, but it was possible to get old fashioned ones for a rather small amount. Kurt's watch was nothing special, just a ratty knitted band that made it look as if it was the cheapest watch he could find.

This was peculiar. Kurt had enough money to have what seemed like a lifetime supply of words, and yet he was wearing a very low class watch.

"I have to go." Kurt frowned, letting out a troubled sigh. Whatever it was he was procrastinating, it seemed serious. Blaine nodded, trying to convey his sympathy through a simply gesture.

"Um, I'll come back soon. It was really great talking to you, Blaine." Kurt smiled. Blaine watched woefully as Kurt walked out the door. He checked the stamp for the books. Kurt wouldn't be back to return his book for another two weeks.

With that thought in mind, Blaine sat down once again at his desk. He played Kurt's saying of his name over and over again in his mind. No matter what, he had to speak to Kurt again.

The rest of Blaine's shift passed in a blur, stamping books and giving noncommittal waves goodbye to the patrons of the library.

All he could think of was his successful conversation with Kurt, and the promise of at least one more. Though he was immensely pleased, he was also quite shaken.

He had wanted to waste words.

Again, for the second time in a single day, he had had to squelch the desire to say words out loud. Though his bumbling conversation with Kurt had seemed lovely, it had also been nearly fatal.

I only have twenty-four words, Blaine reminded himself. He had to stop being so careless. If he didn't get a hold of himself soon, he would speak his mind and run out of words and die.

And as of this afternoon, Blaine surely did not want to die.

He smiled once again, thinking of the way his name smoothly slipped out of Kurt's mouth. Blaine Anderson. Oh, what he would give to hear that again.

Blaine was once again caught up in his love of words. Words were precious gemstones: even though the could be spent, you simply wanted to protect them and never let them see the light of day.

He thought back to Shakespeare and his plays, to the tale of two young star-crossed lovers whose infatuation with each other surpassed all bounds. In only three days, they were able to achieve a romance that was adored for generations. In many ways, Blaine had the same relationship with words as the two infamous teenagers had with each other.

Of course, in reality, at the end all their love truly resulted in was destruction.