A/N:  I didn't think I'd ever write a soulmate fic, since there are so many wonderful ones out there.  But I kept expecting to see one with this idea, and since I never have, I figured someone should write it.  It will have three chapters, and I'm hoping to churn one out every day.

As long as I can remember, I've been a silly romantic.

I used to watch Cinderella every night before bed, sighing as Prince Charming rode his stallion across the land, comparing soul marks with every young woman he passed.  His frustration was so palpable, I'd clench my little fists and groan along with him as each maiden revealed a different man's name.  

“Why wouldn't Cinderella just show him her mark when they met at the ball?” I would ask my mom.  “It would have saved them so much time!”

“It's just a fairy tale, Kurt,” Mom would say every time.  “It's not real.”

It felt real, though, when Cinderella pulled off her glove, and Prince Charming glowed in thin script on her palm.  She took the prince's hand, and they gasped as their soul marks connected, and when they kissed, the music swelled—

“There aren't really princes out there,” I said one day, sadly.  “Not in America, anyway, and most soulmates are from the same country.”  I was so dejected that I missed Mom's sharp intake of breath.  It was only when I looked up that I realized my slip.  “I mean...”

“You'll find your perfect match,” she assured me quickly.  “And royal or not, you'll find them the most charming person on earth.”

We didn't talk about it again, and at her funeral, as my dad sat beside me in the church pew, I wondered if she'd ever told him.  

“It's just you and me now,” he said softly, taking my hand. I turned it and traced over the silvery script of my mother's name.  I'd never felt so close to her, or so far.

Soul marks don't appear until your fifteenth birthday, but I kept checking every morning of my fourteenth year anyway.  Every day I'd hold my breath in hope, and every day, my palm was blank.

“What if I don't get it?” I asked my dad.  “What if I'm the first person in history not to get a soul mark?”

“Kurt, relax. There's months to go before his name appears.  Eat your breakfast.”

I wondered if Mom had told him my secret, or if he'd figured it out for himself. 

Finn Hudson was the first person in the grade to get his mark, and the hearts of every girl at McKinley broke when he showed up to school with Anna McGovern written across his palm.  I bit back a sarcastic comment when Rachel threw herself sobbing to the floor, because if I were being honest, I'd sort of hoped to see my name on there too.

Puck was next, and people were shocked when head cheerleader Quinn Fabray's name appeared on his hand.  I was in the cafeteria when he showed it to her, and the strangest expression crossed her face — something between elation and horror.  They didn't have to wait long for the confirmation; less than a week later, Quinn came to school with Noah Puckerman written on her hand, and they'd been inseparable ever since.

Artie, and Tina, and Mercedes followed.  Those of us with spring birthdays watched enviously, and waited.

Finally, May came.  The night before my birthday, I couldn't sleep.  I kept switching on my bedside light, checking to see if my soulmate's name had appeared.  I'd been born in the early hours of the morning, but my dad wasn't sure of the exact time, and refused to dig out my birth certificate.

“Kurt, go to sleep.  He'll be there in the morning.”

I fell into an uneasy sleep, dreaming of warm smiles and honeyed eyes, soft touches and dark curls.  A little after three, I jolted awake, and turned on the light.  There, in the most lovely silver script across my palm, was a name.

“Blaine Anderson,” I read aloud. “Wherever you are, I love you already.”

High school got easier after that.  I wore a thin glove over my hand, as was required after the first day of marking, but I kept stealing away to the restroom to peel off the glove and gaze at my mark. Shoves into lockers and tosses into dumpsters couldn't wipe the smile from my face.  

I had a soulmate.  Somewhere in the world was a boy meant just for me.

“Anderson is a common name in Europe,” I told my dad.

“I know, Kurt, you've mentioned that a couple hundred times. You think your soulmate lives in Europe?”

“No,” I said. “I feel like he's close. I think we'll meet any day now.”

“You don't say,” my dad said drily, and I rolled my eyes.  Yes, I'd made the same claim for most of my life, but I felt Blaine now.  I just knew we'd meet, any day now.

I was fifteen and a half when I finally heard from Blaine.  

I'd dreamed about it every night.  We'd meet in a park, or a field somewhere.  There'd be a spark, a recognition.  I pictured fireworks.  Pounding hearts and swelling orchestras, and life as we knew it, changed forever.

Instead, I got an email.

To: kurthummel@google.net

From: blaineanderson@aol.net

Dear Kurt,

I hope you won't think this is crazy, but I'm emailing every Kurt Hummel at every email domain I can think of.  Gmail, AOL, Hotmail, Yahoo, everywhere.  See, ever since my soul mark appeared, I've been waiting for you, but it's so hard.  I want to meet you!!  I have this image of you in my head, and it's all that keeps me going sometimes.  

My name's Blaine Anderson, and if you see my name on your palm, please write me back.

XO Blaine

I was trembling by the time I'd finished reading the email.  He was out there, searching for me!  I wondered if he was in a high school nearby.  Maybe he was a singer too.  

Imagine the duet opportunities.

I spent hours in school reading and re-reading his email, and sent a reply once I got home.

To: blaineanderson@aol.net

From: kurthummel@google.net

Dear Blaine,

I am so thrilled to hear from you.  I've been waiting for you, too.  I feel like I love you already.  Do you live in Ohio too?  I'm in Lima, a backwater town with lots of truckers and bikers and absolutely no culture.  Where do you want to live when we get married?  I dream of living in New York City one day, but wherever we go, as long as you're by my side, I'll be happy.

XO Kurt

A response came after only a few minutes.

To: kurthummel@google.net

From: blaineanderson@aol.net

OMG IT'S YOU!!  I'M SO HAPPY TO HEAR FROM YOU!!!!!  I'm from Steubenville, Ohio.  It's a little under four hours away from you.  Maybe once I'm done with classes on Friday I could drive out to visit you for the weekend?

Truckers and bikers, huh?  That's really hot.  Do you have any tattoos?  

XO Blaine

I blinked at his email, confused for a minute.  Truckers and bikers, hot?  But maybe Blaine was a fan of Grease, like me, and was imagining Danny Zuko with his slicked-back dark hair and dangerous smile.  In any case, he wanted to meet me!

To: blaineanderson@aol.net

From: kurthummel@google.net

Yes, it's me!!  I will have to check with my dad to see if you can visit for the weekend, but we have a pull-out couch in the den, so he might say okay.  I don't have any tattoos, no.  You have to be eighteen to get them, and I'm fifteen and a half.  How old are you?

XO Kurt

He didn't write back that night, and I worried I'd said something wrong.  I asked my dad, and he said it was fine to have Blaine stay with us, as long as he got permission from his parents.  When Blaine finally replied the next morning, I saw that that wouldn't be an issue.

To: kurthummel@google.net

From: blaineanderson@aol.net

You're fifteen?  Wow.  I'm a junior in college.  Well... I mean, the soul marks are never wrong, right?  I'm sure we're compatible in every way.  Sure, I don't mind taking the pull-out couch.  I'll sneak up to your room after your dad goes to sleep to ride your cock all night.  How big are you?

XO Blaine

I nearly spat out my coffee as I read his email in the Lima Bean.

“What is it?” Mercedes asked eagerly from across the table.  “Did Blaine write back?  What'd he say?”

“Nothing,” I said, coughing and feeling my face flush.  “Just a joke.”  

To: blaineanderson@aol.net

From: kurthummel@google.net

Haha, I don't think there'll be any funny business going on when you visit, we'll have just met!  And I'm 5'8”, but still growing.

XO Kurt

The reply came almost instantly.

To: kurthummel@google.net

From: blaineanderson@aol.net

You're so cute.  I meant how big is your cock.

XO Blaine

This time I really did choke on my coffee.

Blaine's last class ended at 2:10, so he said to expect him in Lima by 6:00.  I skipped glee club and got home right after school ended, to change into my skinniest pair of jeans and make sure my hair was absolutely perfect.  I put a lasagna in the oven to bake.  Then there was nothing left to do, so I paced back and forth in the den until my dad got home from work at 5:20, and then we paced together.  I think he was nearly as jittery as I was.

“He sound like a good guy?” he asked.  “In his emails?”

In truth, Blaine's emails had made me sort of uncomfortable.  I'd made it clear that we wouldn't be sleeping together, but he kept talking about sex.  In, like, every single email.  “Yeah,” I said faintly.  “I mean, he's my soulmate, so...”

“So he's perfect for you,” he nodded.  “So we shouldn't worry.”

We both kept pacing.

At 5:56, the doorbell rang.  Dad shot to his feet.  “I'll, uh, check on dinner.  Give you two some privacy.”

I took a deep breath, peeling my glove off.  Blaine Anderson, my palm reminded me cheerfully.  My heart pounded as I approached the front door.

The doorbell rang again, and I opened it, smiling nervously.  And then I relaxed.

“False alarm, Dad!” I called.  Standing on our doorstep was a tall, willowy woman with long blonde hair.  She smiled at me.  “Can I help you?” I asked.

“Kurt Hummel?”

“Yeah?”

“I'm Blaine,” she said, holding out her hand.  “Blaine Anderson.”

To be continued...