Kurt was exhausted the next morning. Getting up and driving to school passed by him in a haze of tiredness. His grainy, stinging eyes struggled to focus on anything, and he viewed his usual weekday morning routine in a series of blurred snapshots: his phone on the nightstand lit up with the time, toothpaste barely clinging to the bristles of his toothbrush, buttons slipping out of fumbling fingers, the breakfast he barely touched dumped in the trash. It was probably worrying that hed driven himself to school this morning, but he didnt have the energy to care.

The artificial lights of the school halls had an odd, lazy blur to them. The off-white floors seemed too bright and the banks of lockers lining the walls had an unusual sharpness to them. Kurts heavy head pounded dully from the assault of dozens of raised voices, a starkly unwelcome change from the soft purring of his cars engine. The thought of the headache brewing in the back of his head was almost enough to make him turn around and head back home to bed.

Almost.

It took him three attempts to get his locker open, but he didnt really pay attention to what he was doing the first two times he attempted his combination, his focus slipping away before hed even selected the first number. The day was going to be a disaster; it always was following a night like last night, when he hadnt been able to pull himself into wakefulness quick enough.

His best friend Rachel appeared by his side as he was pulling books from his locker. Bubbly, chatty, and endlessly enthusiastic, Rachel was a tiny whirlwind of energy who stopped at nothing to get what she wanted. She used to be the very picture of someone Kurt didnt want to be around when hed had a bad night, but Rachel had long since learned the ability to sense when he wanted to talk about one of his bad dreams and when hed rather sit in silence. He loved her for it.

Rachel took one look at Kurts drawn, pale face and his slow, sloppy movements and her face morphed into an expression of quiet understanding. She waited until Kurt had closed his locker before looping an arm through his.

"Lets go to class," she said gently.

She guided him down the hall towards their first period English class in a manner reminiscent of someone guiding a blind man. In a sense, he was blind to the typical goings-on in the halls they walked through, his glazed eyes sliding unseeingly over the groups of chattering girls, fist-bumping football players, and laughing band members who were swinging the cases holding their instruments in their hands. His head was a static fuzz of cotton wool, and the sights his eyes landed on got lost in the thick stuffiness.

It was a relief to sit down in their English classroom - weaving through the packed corridors had taken more energy and dexterity than he had at the moment. He allowed himself to slip into a stupor while waiting for class to begin. In the seat next to him, Rachel busied herself with setting her notebooks and pens on her desk.  

As his thoughts drifted away from the classroom, his mind replayed a scene from last nights dream. The boy with the hazel eyes standing by the doorway of the room hed been in, his presence enough to jolt Kurt awake as he suddenly became aware that he was dreaming. Those eyes meeting his own had been the unusual feature that had told him this isnt real, the trigger that had enabled him to wake up.

It wasnt seeing another person in his dreams that was unusual, it was having a connection with them, a true connection that he felt right through to his bones; hed never experienced that before. That was how he always woke up from his dreams: he saw something that didnt seem right, he became consciously aware he was dreaming, and he woke up. The trigger was usually something banal, like an object that had been flipped upside down or warped slightly, something being the wrong colour, or proportions being wrong; it had never been a person before.

"Kurt!"

Starting out of his thoughts, Kurt jerked away from the sharp elbow Rachel had just jabbed into his side. He glared at her, rubbing his ribcage pointedly, but she just nodded her head at the front of the room where their teacher had begun the lecture.

Hoping he wouldnt bruise, Kurt opened his notebook and picked up his pen, knowing full well hed never get away with not paying attention while sitting next to Rachel. She hated it when someone didnt listen and then had to ask for clarification later; hed learned that the hard way.

By third period his teachers were starting to notice his inattention. His math teacher, Mrs. Harper, sent him a number of hard, disapproving stares and made a point of calling on him for answers several times. At the end of the lesson while everyone was making to leave, she called to him to wait behind for a moment. Biting back a heavy sigh, Kurt stood by her desk and waited for his classmates to file out of the room. Once they were alone she turned to him with a stern look.

"Mr. Hummel, how do you expect me to do my job and help you get a good education if you dont pay attention to what Im trying to teach you?" She peered at him expectantly, her slightly protruding eyes giving her the unpleasant look of some kind of unblinking toad.

Kurt resisted the urge to pinch his brow with his fingers. "Im sorry, I just- Last night was difficult."

He didnt really expect Mrs. Harpers expression to soften into understanding and he wasnt proven wrong.

"Mr. Hummel, I know your...condition may make school a little more challenging some days, but if you put in a bit more effort you can surely manage." She lowered those unpleasant eyes from his face and began straightening papers on her desk just as her next class started trickling in. "I wont give you any special treatment - lack of sleep is a poor excuse for substandard effort in the classroom."

She nodded briskly at Kurt in a manner that told him he was dismissed and he scurried out the door, his feet automatically taking him to his next class.

A lot of people, like Mrs. Harper, didnt get it. What he suffered from was so rare that most people hadnt even heard of it and out of the ones who had very few actually understood it. With lack of understanding came severe ignorance: people thinking his only problem was he was tired a little more than the average person, and the tiredness was perfectly manageable - just have a cup of coffee and hed be good to go, right?

Wrong.

With a soft sigh, Kurt massaged his temples, trying to alleviate some of the tightness and stuffiness in his head. He was starting to wish hed taken the easy option and stayed at home today. If only he wasnt worried about falling asleep...

"Dude, are you okay?" Sam asked when Kurt dropped into the seat next to him, immediately closing his eyes. "You look kinda pale - more so than you normally do."

"Im fine; just tired," Kurt assured him. He kept his eyes closed, the darkness soothing.

"Oh." Sam was quiet for a moment and Kurt knew without having to open his eyes that his friend was trying to think of the best way to respond. He knew Kurt hated suggestions that he go home and sleep and he wasnt a fan of sympathy, either. Neither of those were of any help to him.

"That sucks, man," Sam said eventually.

Kurt hummed noncommittally in response. He heard the rustle of paper next to him and guessed the lesson was about to start, but he didnt open his eyes; he was in no hurry to have the bright lights and colors assault them again. He allowed himself a few more seconds of peace, before opening his eyes and getting ready for the lesson. If there was one thing he couldnt do in class, it was fall asleep.

The rest of the school day dragged on and Kurt was glad when it finally ended. He wanted to go home, lie on his bed, and rest his eyes. At this point he didnt even care if he ended up falling asleep; hed take the risk of seeing that boy with the hazel eyes again. He was so damn tired.

His step-mom, Carole, was in the living room when he arrived home, watching some chat show on TV. She looked up from her program when he walked through the front door and immediately muted the TV.

"Kurt, honey, whats wrong?" She shifted on the couch to get a better look at him. "Did something happen at school today?" Her forehead creased in a concerned frown and her voice was tinged with worry.   

Despite only marrying his father six months ago, she treated Kurt as if he were her own son and they were close to the point where Kurt felt comfortable telling her almost anything. Carole wasnt a replacement for the mom he lost in a car accident when he was eight, and she wasnt trying to be, but she was a fantastic step-mom and a good friend to him. In spite of this, he still hesitated before telling her the truth.

"I didnt sleep well last night," he admitted. "It wasnt a particularly pleasant dream - it was verging on a nightmare, really - and it took me a while to break out of it."

Caroles eyes filled with understanding, while the concerned frown lines on her forehead deepened. When Kurt had told her about his condition back when she and his dad had been engaged, she had taken it upon herself to learn all about it, reading up on the history and physiology of the condition, the sleep disturbances and other symptoms it caused, and all of the latest research and potential treatments. Sometimes, Kurt wondered if she understood it all better than he did. But with all of this understanding and knowledge came the suggestions of doctors visits and enrolment in clinical trials for possible new therapies. Kurt knew she meant well, but he couldnt help but dread conversation about his condition with her.

Hoping to head her off before she could reel him into a discussion about whatever new article shed read, Kurt shrugged nonchalantly.

"Its no big deal. Im just a little tired, thats all." He took his satchel off his shoulder and set it down on the floor. "Im used to it."

Carole didnt look convinced by his blasé attitude. "You look ill with it," she said. "Youre so pale."

Kurt forced a smile. "Im fine. Like I said, Im used to it."

He headed into the kitchen to grab a drink of water and held back a resigned sigh when he heard Carole following him.

"I know you dont like seeing doctors about this, but this isnt healthy, Kurt; you cant go on like this."

Kurt took his time opening the fridge and taking out a bottle of water, allowing the snappy retort that had sprung to the tip of his tongue to sink back down his throat. Carole didnt deserve an angry, argumentative response even if this wasnt the first time shed said this to him and he was sick of hearing it. He knew she meant well and had his best interests at heart, but she just didnt see this from his point of view.

He could sense Caroles hesitation; could almost feel her confliction in the air. He unscrewed the cap on the bottle slowly and took a sip of water.

"Maybe you could visit a doctor again," she suggested tentatively. "There have been some positive results for this new medication-"

Sucking in a sharp breath, Kurt spun around to face her. Some water splashed out of the bottle and landed on the side of his hand where it began dripping down his wrist. "I dont want to see another doctor," he said tersely. He was sick of going round and round in circles with doctors. When Carole opened her mouth to speak again, Kurt gave her a small apologetic smile. "None of those treatments work. This is just something I have to live with."

Hed accepted this fact a long time ago, back when hed been a skinny nine-year-old with grazed knees sitting at the office of yet another doctor who was about to tell him that there was no treatment option for him. Hed tried numerous drugs, from sleeping pills to experimental medicines that attempted to reduce the activation of the brains parietal lobe during sleep to decrease the relay of sensory information. None of these had helped. Hed accepted that he was going to have these dreams for the rest of his life and he knew other people living with the condition had, too, but still his dad, Carole, and some other sufferers were determined an elusive treatment would be found.

Carole deflated visibly, her shoulders slumping and the tiny spark of hope dimming in her eyes. "Okay," she said in a small voice. "It was just a thought." She bit her lip, gazing at him sadly for a moment. "I just hate seeing you like this."

Guilt crept through Kurt, making his insides feel shrivelled up. He had tried going to doctors visits and taking medicines to appease his family, but the deceit made him feel just as bad as the guilt at turning down their offers to help. He couldnt go back to doing that again, no matter how bad he felt saying no to Carole now.

"Im sorry," he said sincerely, meeting and holding his step-moms gaze. "I know youre only trying to help, but I couldnt stand going back to that cycle of testing and failing with doctors and drugs. Id rather have the dreams."

Carole still looked uncertain, her brow still furrowed with concern, but she nodded all the same.

Taking a step backwards, Kurt waved a hand in the direction of the stairs. "Im gonna go start my homework."

At Caroles acknowledging nod and smile, he fled the kitchen and headed up to his room, scooping up his bag on the way. He feebly hoped putting a floor between himself and his step-mom would alleviate his guilt. When he was inside his room he tossed his satchel on the floor and threw himself down onto his bed.

Kurts room, like that of most teenagers his age, showed evidence of his favorite music artists, his path through high school, and his social life. CDs were lined on shelves above stacked textbooks, framed photographs of his friends and family were displayed beside trinkets hed accumulated over the years, and the usual collection of electronic gadgets were scattered throughout the room. What separated Kurts room from that of most teenage boys were the Broadway playbills, jars of moisturising creams, and pile of Vogue magazines. The final thing that made his room unique among most others was the evidence of his condition: the tried and tested treatments and therapies that hed abandoned after no improvement: sleep masks, aromatherapy oils, CDs of relaxing music, and one or two herbal remedies. Right then he was almost desperate enough for a peaceful sleep to re-try some of them.

Had he not been so tired he would have noted that this was the first time in a long while that he was desperate for a dreamless sleep. Usually he liked having the dreams, though he would never admit it to anyone. There was one main reason for this: bullies.

A sharp clanging and a goading sneer carried clearly over the dull roar of many students in one of McKinley High Schools main hallways the next morning as Kurt was shoved roughly into a bank of lockers. Only one or two people passing by spared Kurt a glance as he stood slumped against the locker, clutching at the arm that had smacked against the metal and wincing, everyone else ignored it as they did with other such daily occurrences, such as the cafeteria staff clearing away dirty trays, the janitor mopping the floors, and the front office staff talking on the phone. Kurt squeezed his eyes shut and winced again as a bolt of pain shot through his elbow. If only his tormentors would ignore him like that.

Triumphant laughter and the slap of several high-fives moved along the corridor away from Kurt as he stood there waiting for the spasms of pain to ease. When the pain had receded somewhat he opened his eyes and pushed himself off the locker he was leaning against. He tugged up the sleeve of his sweater to check the damage and sighed - his elbow looked slightly red from impact and felt tender; there would definitely be a bruise later. Annoyed, Kurt yanked his sleeve back down. Add that to the two blotchy purple marks on his back and that was his third bruise this week, and it was only Wednesday. Mentally reminding himself that it would soon be summer and then hed only have one more year left in school, Kurt picked up the books hed dropped and went to his next class.

Despite his best efforts, counting down the time remaining until he could escape McKinley High wasnt enough to get him out of bed and to school each day. Friends, Glee club, and his ‘I will survive attitude could only help so much, and on some days, when homophobic bullying and complete indifference from nearly all students and staff was rampant, it wasnt enough to keep him from hating his life.

It was times like this when he liked his condition. He liked the escape the dreams provided, the freeing sense of being in a world that didnt judge him for being who he was. Sometimes, he wished he would stay in the dreams for days, or - rather wildly on particularly bad days - forever. He didnt really mean such thoughts - he would miss his friends and family too much to stay in dreamworld - but when the bruises were still throbbing and the slurs were still ringing in his ears, it was a nice thought.

Jiggling his leg in a fit of nervous energy, Blaine frowned across the waiting room at the cork board plastered with medical alert notices and information posters. Somewhere in the row of chairs to his left an elderly gentleman coughed hoarsely and he found himself inadvertently hoping the man didnt have anything contagious. With his massive school workload, an upcoming piano recital, and a performance at a local charity event coming up, the last thing he needed was to get sick.

He checked the time on his watch and his apprehension increased when he saw his appointment time had just ticked by. His doctor was running a little behind schedule, but he had expected that; she was busy. It did give him more time to stew over his concerns about his last dream. This wasnt a good thing.

Leaning forwards to rest his elbows on his knees, Blaine sighed softly. He just didnt know what would be the best thing to do. He could see pros and cons to both options and he didnt know which way the balance swung more favorably.

As he sat there, his mind bouncing backwards and forwards between the two options, the face of the boy hed seen in his dream appeared in his head. Pale skin, thick brown hair, and blue eyes, the boy had shocked Blaine into waking up when their eyes had met. Blaine had never seen anyone like him before which could only mean one thing: he had travelled for the first time last night.

In a normal dream every face seen was one which the dreamer had seen before at some time in their lives - the brain couldnt create completely new people. And it wasnt just the boys unfamiliar appearance that had alerted Blaine that this was something different, it was the fact that the boy had seen him, too; they had connected. In people with his condition, oneironauts, seeing someone in your dreams that you had never seen in your life meant you were travelling. It was fairly common in people with this condition; they not only dreamed lucidly, they were able to share dreams with other oneironauts, to travel into their dreams. Thats why they were known as dream travellers.

While travelling was something most oneironauts experienced, it tended not to occur immediately after diagnosis; which was why, in his four years of having the condition, this had been Blaines first time experiencing it. He wasnt all too sure how he felt about it, really. Though he didnt particularly believe dreams were symbolism for his struggles or what was happening in his life, he still thought having someone else in his dream was an invasion of privacy. He was unintentionally sharing the same dreamworld with a stranger while asleep and vulnerable; it was unsettling. And it was whether or not to share his first travelling experience with his doctor that had him conflicted.

Blaine chewed indecisively on the inside of his cheek where the flesh was already raw and slightly ragged. He knew telling his doctor would probably alter the treatments they were trying and would possibly lead to her asking him to spend another night or two in the sleep laboratory so they could measure his brain activity while he travelled - it would be a great research opportunity for her. But he also wanted to keep this private. There was something about the boy hed seen in his dream, something about the way hed felt when their eyes had met that made him want to keep it to himself. Then there was the fact that the dream wasnt purely his, hed shared it with the blue-eyed boy - shouldnt he get a say in this? It didnt feel right to invite a doctor to study someone elses private dream.

Blaine was stirred out of his thoughts by the doctor calling his name.

"Sorry for the wait," Dr. Lewis said, showing Blaine into her office. "Weve been flat-out all day and I had to fit in an emergency earlier..." She sat down at her desk, indicating for Blaine to sit down opposite her. "Anyway," she smiled warmly at Blaine, "how have you been since we last saw each other?"

"I-" Blaine shifted in his seat, thoughts of the boy from his dream still lingering at the forefront of his mind. "Good." He paused, collecting himself and trying to remember what all had happened since his last appointment. "I dont think those new pills are helping."

"Hmm." Dr. Lewis scanned the notes on her computer screen for a moment. "Theres been no change in the frequency, length, or lucidity of your dreams at all?"

Blaine shook his head. "Not that Ive noticed, no."

Dr. Lewis made a note on her computer. "And what about the music? Has it altered your dreams at all?"

Along with a new medication supposed to alter the activity of the brain during sleep, Blaine had been playing a CD of specially selected, relaxing music while he slept that was supposed to influence what he dreamt about. By combining the two, Dr. Lewis had hoped to change Blaines dreams to ones that were less vivid and more similar to what was considered a "normal" dream. Blaine had been dutifully taking the pills and playing the music every night for over three weeks now and had seen no difference. Yet another failed effort at treating, or at least controlling, his condition.

He shook his head again. "It didnt make any difference: my dreams were just the same as always," he replied.

Dr. Lewis turned away from her computer to look at him intently. "And you didnt notice any change in the subject matter or atmosphere of the dreams? No patterns or links to the music?" she asked.

Other than the presence of someone else in his latest dream there had been nothing, and Blaine had finally decided to keep the travelling to himself for now. Telling his doctor just felt wrong.

He shook his head for the third time. "Nothing."

Dr. Lewis looked mildly disappointed, but she hid her feelings quickly and wrote up a few more notes, the computer keys tapping loudly in the otherwise silent room.

Blaine couldnt even bring himself to feel sorry for denying Dr. Lewis the opportunity to perform research on the dream travelling phenomenon, he was far too relieved that his inherent nature to please everyone hadnt made him reveal something he would much rather keep private. He had avoided himself and another teenage boy dealing with the same condition being guinea pigs in experiments that would be detailed in research papers and that was far more important to him than making his doctor happy.

He settled more comfortably in his seat as the remaining vestiges of nervous tension left him.

Dr. Lewis frowned at him contemplatively, her left elbow resting on the desk and index finger tapping rhythmically against her mouth. "We have two ways we can go from here, Blaine," she began, speaking in slow, ruminative tones. "We can continue with the combination therapy of medication and music that youre on - results from clinical trials show that it can take up to eight weeks for effects to be seen - or we can discontinue that particular therapy and keep an eye on these new therapies being trialled and see if we can give any of those a go." She lowered her hand from her mouth and looked questioningly at Blaine. "What do you think?"

Blaine didnt have to think about it, hed known what hed wanted to do before hed arrived at the clinic. "I think Id like to take a break from therapy for the moment."

Dr. Lewis nodded and made another note on the computer. "Okay, thats fine. You can dispose of any pills you have remaining at a pharmacy and Ill keep watching these ongoing trials and let you know if anything is worth trying, alright?"

"Okay." Knowing the appointment was over, Blaine got to his feet. "Thank you, Doctor."

"Youre welcome." Dr. Lewis smiled at him. "Ill be in touch."

Feeling light and liberated now that he was free from medication and restraining therapies, Blaine all but skipped out of the clinic and into his car. For someone who had been tirelessly seeking an effective treatment for his condition with hopes for an eventual cure, it should be odd that he was so happy to put some distance between himself and therapy, but he didnt care; he had other things on his mind now. He wanted to travel again, and he wanted to see the blue-eyed boy again.