If one were to look at Blaine Anderson without having ever met him before, chances are you'd say something along the lines of, “He looks a decent enough fellow to me!” or perhaps, “Yes, I'd wager he's a fine student. Someone you'd be proud to introduce to Mother.” And in extreme cases, well, you'd probably mutter something about how you'd perhaps like to see him in a closer, more intimate, and possibly less clothed situation. Yes, Blaine Anderson is the type to give off a rather grand first impression.

However, once you get to really know Blaine Anderson, tiny details about him slowly reveal themselves, putting chips and cracks in the debonair, respectable boy you first perceived. But very few are granted the opportunity to see the real Blaine Anderson. Like one Kurt Hummel.

The first thing you need to know about Kurt Hummel is that he is Blaine Anderson's very best friend. They've been best friends for a long while. Learning each other secrets, their fears, their hopes. More often than not you'll find them in their favorite coffee shop or in the library, their conversations hearty and their silences not uncomfortable in the least. Sometimes, when the two of them feel secure and unburdened by the eyes of the judgmental, Blaine finds himself dizzy with contentment. He smiles naturally and frequently and has to actually force himself to stop staring at Kurt.

Which is actually somewhat of a Herculean task considering Kurt is the most beautiful thing Blaine has ever seen.

Yes, Blaine is in love with Kurt. Sometimes Blaine thinks he's been in love with Kurt since the very first time he heard his voice. It just took him a long time to realize it because, well, you might say being inherently clueless about things that seem obvious to others is one of these “chips and cracks” of his. For the past few weeks Blaine has found himself plagued with fear. He wants very badly to inform Kurt of his feelings, but what if Kurt doesn't return them? What if Kurt gets uncomfortable and they become distant? The thought makes Blaine ache.

He wishes he was braver.

Most days, he distracts himself. He'll spend the day with Kurt as usual trying his absolute best to put on a casual demeanor. But it's just so difficult when Kurt feels the need to drive Blaine to complete madness by doing things like smile at him and hug him goodbye with his cheek pressed right against Blaine's and look so comfortable stretched over Blaine's bed while they do homework. How in the name of all that is holy is Blaine supposed to possess any shred of sanity if Kurt is unwilling to cooperate?

So yes, Blaine distracts himself when he's away from Kurt. He'll read his favorite books, learn to play a new song on his piano, pleasure himself furiously in the darkness of his room. You know, typical means of distraction.

Today's master plan of distraction is shopping. Antique shopping, specifically. Blaine has always had an appreciation of the past and has a rather impressive collection of old, intriguing knick knacks and gadgets. His very favorite is a faded, gold monocle he secretly wears in front of the mirror speaking in a voice that thankfully no other soul is aware of.

9 am on a Saturday, Blaine finds himself digging through tables of junk at an old woman's yard sale in hopes of finding something to add to his collection. The old woman looks grouchy and close to a thousand years old, Blaine estimates. He's about to move on to the next yard sale in fear of her turning into a gargoyle when his foot collides into the leg of the table, knocking several things over. He bounces up and down holding his injured foot, hissing through his teeth, while the old woman silently watches him with renewed disgust. He hastily picks up the items, thankful that none of it is fragile. And then he sees it.

Lying underneath the table is a copper hard cover journal. He picks it up and runs his finger over the many intricate designs carved into the cover. In the very center is a flat, round, black stone held in place by twisting, gold pieces of metal. He touches the stone and finds that it's smooth and cool to the touch. Opening it, he finds that the pages are yellow with age and miraculously, blank. Blaine bites his lip. He really wants this journal.

He looks around some more with a neutral expression because he has a feeling the old woman won't sell it to him if she realizes how much he wants it. He picks up a paperweight in the shape of a very stylish boot and a broach with musical notes dangling on it, thinking of giving them to Kurt. He hands the three items to the lady with a polite, “Hello, how much for these three?” He becomes very interested in studying his fingernails while the old woman deliberates a price. He sucks in a breath when she suddenly holds up the journal.

“I don't know whose this is,” she says with a very grunty voice that reminds Blaine of dying trees.

“I found it beneath your table, ma'am,” Blaine says, praying she'll let him have it.

“That don't help me figure out whose it is, now does it?”

Blaine stares at the woman pleadingly, at a loss for words.

She hesitates for such a long time that Blaine actually fears she died with her eyes open before she finally croaks, “$17 dollars. For all three. Take it or get off my property. My ass hurts from sitting out here all morning.”

Blaine quickly hands her a twenty with a breathless, “You can keep the change!” before nearly dashing to his car with purchases. He puts the items in the box full of his other findings from that morning giddy to go home and look at them better. Especially the journal.

When Blaine gets home he carries his box up the stairs, humming. He sits on his floor cross-legged and takes out each item one by one. A ring full of old keys, a tiny black globe with the continents painted on gold, a pen cleverly designed to look like a sword, Kurt's gifts. He saves the journal for last.

For this, he gets up and moves over to his desk. Should he write in it? Or leave it blank? He always did find writing a rather therapeutic activity. But the journal is so ancient looking and just... awesome. Blaine feels if he did write in it surely it deserved to be written quill and ink style.

BUT WAIT!

His sword pen! It's too perfect. He runs back to his pile, picks up the pen, and then dances back to the table. It's perfectly acceptable to dance because of journals in the privacy of your own bedroom.

Feeling reassured that it's okay to write in the journal simply because he has a worthy enough writing utensil, he begins his first entry:

Dear Mr. Journal,

I gotta say, it's such an honor to be able to write in a journal as grand as yourself. I feel this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship. I'm going to be clich� and write my feelings in here. Terribly sorry.

Blaine stops to wonder if it's proper journal etiquette to behave as if the journal is something sentient before continuing.

Anyway, so. There's this guy. His name is Kurt. We've been best friends for a long time and recently I've come to the conclusion that I am inherently in love with him. I think I used that right. When I say “inherently”I mean like really, super, ultra, mega in love with him. It's almost pathetic, really. Sometimes I daydream about calling him cute couple nicknames like “boo bear”and “honey cake”and one time I was thinking about couple names while he was in the room and I accidentally called him, “angel face”. I actually had to go to the bathroom and hide for a few minutes because I was blushing so bad. Embarrassing.

Blaine feels his face warm up at the memory. Never again.

He's so beautiful, Mr. Journal. In every way a person can be beautiful. One time we went ice skating and I held his hand because it was my first time and I was afraid of falling and it just felt so right. It was pretty embarrassing because I kept stumbling but god his laugh was so worth it. He had on the cutest little winter outfit. (I have no idea where on earth he gets all his clothes.) His cheeks and face were pink from the cold and laughing so much. I think if I had the guts and the ability to hold myself up I would have kissed him then. But that's the problem. No guts.

Blaine swallows as he reads over the last few words. It's almost a bittersweet relief to be writing it all down.

I don't know when I fell in love with him, Mr. Journal. All I know is he's the first thing I think of when I wake up and the last thought I fall asleep to in hopes that I'll dream about him. I want to tell him more than anything in this whole world but the truth is, I am terrified. I will do anything to keep Kurt in my life. If I tell him and he doesn't feel the same way, things won't be the same. He won't be as comfortable around me anymore. What if I accidentally stare too long and he catches me and decides I'm creepy and gets a new best friend? I can't... I just can't do it. I just can't think of anything harder to do than this. Honestly, I think I'd be better off wrestling a lion or something. I don't want to lose him. Maybe I'll do the whole middle school girl thing and have a friend ask him about me and then that friend will report back to me. NO!! I can't do that. That feels dishonest. And I think that's instant revoking of my mancard too. I don't know. I'll get over him one day. (No I won't.)

-Blaine Anderson

Blaine sighs heavily as he stares at his signature. Okay, so his journal methods are a bit unorthodox. He shuts the journal with a quiet thump, rubbing his eyes. When his vision begins to clear again he notices the black stone on the cover looks... different.

The stone looks like it is... rippling?

Blaine blinks. Yeah, it's definitely rippling. Like a perfectly round black puddle. Heart pounding, he carefully touches the stone with his fingertips. When he removes them, Blaine stares with wide eyes. In golden, cursive handwriting, words begin to scrawl across the black, rippling stone.

“You're pathetic, Blaine Anderson.”