Brainy. Brilliant. Beautiful. It was like the words had been on repeat in Kurt’s mind ever since he had left his friends in the hallway, and he couldn't fathom why.

From the moment Brittany got her tests scores back, conversation at McKinley had finally shifted gears, and Kurt’s party became a mere speck in the rear-view mirror. And thank god was all Kurt could think, because the school hadn’t been stalled by such a tedious topic of conversation since the Glee Club’s double baby scandal of ’09.

On Thursday morning, students had flocked to Brittany, whose B grade phenomenon had been picked up by Jacob’s blog. He’d cited the first of many conspiracy theories, namely that it was a hoax. But Brittany had proudly hung her framed test paper in her locker, and in the space between homeroom and first period, a plethora of wild explanations had already been enthusiastically debated. Everything from body swapping (as if that was even remotely plausible- that would be like Kurt just waking up one day, putting on plaid, and becoming his stepbrother) to divine intervention in the form of the newly-resurrected Grilled Cheesus.

This had led to a strange fad where people periodically touched Brittany in the hallways for ‘luck,’ as if she possessed some kind of supernatural aura. Soon the entire school was convinced that with Brittany’s supernatural prowess, the Cheerios were guaranteed to win their competition. This, of course, was the other main topic that had people buzzing: Cheerleading Sectionals, to be held in McKinley highs own gymnasium, made possible Sue Sylvester, through underhanded means which Kurt could only shudder to think of.

With the prospect of dozens of young cheerleaders flooding the halls in just a couple of days, the student body, particularly the half packing their genitals up front, were keyed up, to put it mildly. Of course, this also meant that the Cheerios would be competing on their own turf. Figgins had announced that this was an excellent opportunity to bring honour to their school, which, loosely translated, meant that losing was not an option for the Cheerios.

Kurt wouldn’t normally be worried: sectionals were essentially a formality with the Cheerios’ legacy. But this routine was Kurt’s baby. He’d begged and pestered Sue to hand over the creative reigns until finally she’d reluctantly agreed. This routine had been entirely crafted by Kurt’s hands, from the choreography right down to the Cheerios costumes, which he’d custom-designed for this performance and included as part of his portfolio for Parsons. The entire thing had been a labour of love. And Kurt was feeling off his game!

Ever since that god-forsaken party he’d been so excited to throw only a couple of weeks ago, Kurt had been floundering, stumbling over steps and missing his cues. It was just so unlike him that it was ridiculous, as if he was missing something essential that made him work, like a cog in one of Blaine’s pocket watches. Blaine… His thoughts just seemed to keep segueing back to Blaine, Blaine, Blaine.

Nothing had changed since the almost run-in between the two of them. Every time Kurt tapped out an email or picked up the phone, he’d hover on the precipice before ultimately backpedalling. No words felt right; nothing conveyed how he felt, because Kurt couldn’t even articulate that inside his own brain, let alone to someone else.

Without talking to Sebastian himself, Kurt was still reluctant to believe that his boyfriend was capable of what Blaine had accused him of. Until he could decide one way or the other, Kurt couldn’t even begin to make amends with Blaine. And Kurt feared that by the time he could, maybe it would be too late.

Since Sebastian’s last text, letting him know that he’d be at the tournament, Kurt hadn’t heard a word from him. It was too late now to just go to the hospital for a simple test, and Kurt absolutely cursed his stupidity, because as much as he despised hospitals with every part of his being, at least he’d have gotten a clear-cut answer. Mistake after mistake after mistake- it wasn’t just the dance steps he was screwing up.

If only his father was here, he’d know exactly what to do, just like he did with cars. Burt knew instinctively how to fix things. But he’d already called a while ago to say there was a storm, and it looked like he wouldn’t be back until late Saturday night. When Burt had asked to speak to Finn, he’d had to admit to his dad that he didn’t know where his brother was. Like Kurt, Finn was still dealing with the fall-out of the party, and he hadn’t been at school all day today. When Kurt had texted him threatening to call the police if he didn’t come home, he’d texted back telling Kurt to leave him alone and let him sort things out.

That suited Kurt just fine; he had enough to deal with as it was without subscribing to the latest drama on The Finchel Show. He flopped melodramatically into the chair in front of his vanity and switched on the light bulbs surrounding the large mirror.

Oh, what has become of my face? Kurt thought sadly, tugging at the sallow, tired skin with his fingertips.

Fumbling for the drawer, he pulled out a lethal concoction of moisturizers and lotions he saved for apocalyptic levels of skin deterioration.

Oh sweet Jesus what have you done to our face?!

Kurt looked up, startled. His reflection was just staring at him. Ok, that sounded ridiculous because, hey, reflections tend to do that! But no, this was different; it was like the Kurt in the mirror had a conscience, his features pulled into an expression of horror and disdain.

Seriously, I thought we’d at least have become famous before you had us spiralling into a train-wreck hot-mess nightmare.

“Ok, this is beyond the Dali realms of surreal. I’m going to close my eyes and this…this whole twilight zone or whatever moment will be over.”

Kurt shut his eyes and counted back in his mind: Five, four, three, tw-

You can shut your eyes, but you know damn well I’m not going anywhere.

Kurt sighed, peeling open his eyes and resigning himself to the fact that after this crazy-ass week, he’d finally succumbed to legitimate crazy-ass behaviour.

Seriously, how have you managed to screw up so much in just one week? Were you trying t-

“Believe me I was not trying to-”

Did I say I was finished?

“No but-”

Well then let a Diva finish his monologue!

Kurt rolled his eyes at his reflection, “Am I really this much of an ass?”

Uh, yeah, actually. A massive ass.

“Not a ‘massive’ ass.”

Mirror Kurt glared at him.

Huh… so that’s what I look like when I bitch glare someone he thought bemusedly. No wonder I made that freshmen cry.

Kurt sighed. This was seriously weird, and he was possibly going to need therapy later, but for now, it seemed like Mirror Kurt had something he wanted to get off his chest. Hearing him out was probably going to be the only way he’d get rid of the delusion.

“Ok so I’m a ‘massive ass’. Fine. Seriously, is there a point?”

Duh, of course.

Mirror Kurt seemed to pause, pondering something.

Even before the party, you had doubts about Sebastian. And you’re seriously having them now. Why don’t you just swallow your pride and face the fact that your boyfriend is a scumbag. Go grovel to Blaine for being a ginormous ass and not believing him when he’s the one you should have believed without a second’s hesitation.

“Hey! I still don’t know for certain Sebastian tried to do anything at all! And besides Blaine’s the one who’s been acting weird and keeping secrets from me. For weeks he’s been distant and then he shows up at my party after saying he was far too sick to come and…and shows up dressed all…all…”

Hot?

Kurt glared at the smirking reflection. “Not Blaine… and with some random guy. Whoever this Jeremiah is…he’s obviously trouble. I’ll figure things out with Sebastian…either way. And Blaine well…he’ll come around…”

His reflection gave him the most pitying of expressions, looking as if he wanted to reach out and pat Kurt on the shoulder.

Condescending asshole, Kurt thought, huffing and stabbing his fingers into the pot of moisturizer before closing his eyes and smoothing the creamy mixture under them.

There was a long silence and Kurt took a deep, even breath, believing the hallucination had finally gotten bored with tormenting him and left. Opening his eyes, Kurt’s shoulders sagged as Mirror Kurt gazed at him, head tilted to the side in contemplation.

“What?”

You really don’t see do you?

Kurt sighed exasperated, slamming the pot down, “See what?”

He smiled at him cryptically, and said two more words before settling back into sync the way a reflection should be.

You’ll see.

…

Crazy isn’t thinking your reflection can talk to you, (an occurrence which Kurt had eventually attributed to sleep deprivation or hairspray poisoning) crazy, as it turned out, was hosting Cheerleading Sectionals in your school’s own gymnasium.

Every member of the student population, as well as crowds of supporters for the competing schools’ squads, the Lima Heights Sharks and the Westerville Wranglers, were crammed to the nosebleed rows of the bleachers. Well, all except for the New Directions, who were out scouring Lima for Finn, who’d failed to return all night. Kurt would have been one of them, but having received a message from his step-brother to let him know he was at least alive, Kurt was satisfied to let his friends go.

Of course this now meant that there were no New Directions, no Burt, Carole or Finn in the audience.

No Blaine.

Kurt had been holding on to the small hope that Blaine might have made an appearance since he hadn’t missed a single one of Kurt’s meets since the age of seven when they’d become friends. That including the time he’d had chicken pox and had snuck out and infected half the school just to be there for Kurt. But when Kurt arrived at the gym, there was no familiar car parked in the lot and no bowtied and bespeckled boy in the bleachers.

There was only going to be one person out there for him, and he’d failed to make his appearance yet, although Kurt had sent him several text messages to check. Kurt felt a sense of guilt claw at him, because while he did have some pretty heavy doubts about his boyfriend, he couldn’t help but want someone to be out there for him. Even if that someone had possibly drugged him and broken a decade-long friendship.

Well, at least after today I’ll know for sure one way or the other, Kurt thought as he sat carefully applying a series of appliqu� silver studs to his face, smiling at the elaborate make up, his black shiny lips and Smokey eyes. The effect was startling, exactly as he’d pictured in his mind.

Kurt and the Cheerios were ensconced in the choir room, putting the finishing touches on their own hair and make-up while Kurt did the rounds, diligently adjusting the uniforms (well, costumes really by this point) he’d designed himself. It was when Kurt was tugging on the hem of Sugar’s skirt and berating her for managing to wear it high enough that she looked like a granddad and low enough to … when he noticed Sue’s squishy-faced henchman, Howard.

Kurt could see in Sugar’s mirror that he was holding something behind his back and talking quietly to Sue. He couldn’t explain why, but Kurt felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. He moved down the line to Cheerio standing closest to the duo, pretending to adjust her hair as he listened to their conversation.

“Yeah, I put together the equipment like you told me, but…there was an extra bar left over,” Howard said, dangling the item he’d been holding in front of Sue: a long studded black pole with safety bar marked on it in florescent yellow paint.
“…do you think it’s important?”

No…freaking…way…

Sue swiped the pole, twirling it in her hands like a baton. “Nah, the Swedish are infamous for over-filling their boxes, just like their promiscuous European sisters in the red-light district.”

Kurt turned on the pair, shaking his head violently. “Oh no! There is absolutely no way I’m getting into that death trap!”

“Oh, sweet Porcelain, death is only a possibility if you get up there. It’s an inevitability if you don’t.” She gave him a vicious poke with the steel rod, making him stumble. Kurt was about to absolutely lose it, despite the likelihood that it would probably land him in a lake wearing concrete stilettos, when Sue leaned in and whispered in his ear. “Besides, I’m the one writing your college recommendation letter and I’d hate to inform them of your cowardice and lack of team spirit.”

Chuffing him on the chin, she strode out of the room. Kurt’s face turned a deathly shade of white. He wasn’t aware that he’d begun to hyperventilate until hands were holding his shoulders firmly and Mercedes was telling him to breathe.

“Kurt, go to your happy place! You’re floating on an ocean… There are three seas: cool, calm, collected.”

“Oh screw ‘cool calm collected’ to the wall!” Kurt spat, shaking her hands off him and practically shrieking, “‘Cool calm collected’ is a capsizing ship, and I’m cannon-balling right into a whirlpool of crazy, carnage, and chaos!”

Santana stepped forward and slapped Kurt clean across the face. “Kurt! You needs to get a grip! Those Lima Heights sharks can smell blood in the water, and you’re flopping to pieces like a hot mess in some wanky teen slasher!” Kurt gaped wide-eyed at Santana as she plucked silver appliqu� studs off her palm (castaways from Kurt’s face).

“Walruses are more bloodthirsty than sharks. They’re ocean vampires,” Brittany chimed in obliviously as she finished gluing on her white feather eyelashes.
Santana nodded as if that was the most logical statement ever voiced, and Kurt flopped down in an empty chair, completely deflated. It was as if he’d become detached from all sense and logic. He was utterly losing it: so numb, resigned, and full of dread that he couldn’t even feel Mercedes rubbing his shoulder as she asked what had happened.

“Hey Kurt, you betta get yo-self together and not screw this up fo us! The whole school is watching!” Becky piped up from his side, like Kurt needed a reminder that he was potentially about to fall to his death in front of all of McKinley.
Santana overheard and sauntered over. She looming over Becky, stabbing her shoulder with a manicured fingernail, “Speaking of walruses who suck, Becky, did you find your missing chromosomes yet?”

“Yu-huh, in the gutter, along with your panties, ho,” she snapped back, and Mercedes had to turn her attention from comforting Kurt to holding back the fiery Latina. If Kurt weren’t so terrified and broken, he might laugh, because Santana “going all Lima Heights” on someone was something of a pre-show tradition. Santana leered over the tiny blonde, spitting, “You piece of-”

“Come on ‘Tana you need to stretch,” Mercedes left Kurt to do damage control, tugging on their friend’s arm and dragging her to the door. “Stretch her over a rack!” Santana cried as she left, and the majority of the squad followed her out. With shaking hands, Kurt re-affixed the detailing on his face as he pondered his options.

On one hand, he could perform on almost certainly faulty equipment, plummet to his death, and maybe take out a few Cheerios on the ground at the same time. On the other hand, he could run away, right now, change his identity, and move into a nunnery (which would have the added bonus of solving his boy troubles).
I already have a girl’s voice, and I could totally work a habit; plus, I’d get to live out my secret “Sister Act” fantasy!

Kurt had actually reached the point of googling directions to New York convents on his iPhone when he stopped and sighed exasperatedly. Where was Blaine when Kurt needed him? In a crisis, he was logical, calm, and pulled Kurt away from these ludicrous trains of thought.

So much for Blaine’s promise: ‘I will never leave you,’ Kurt thought with a dull ache he couldn’t quite locate.

“What are you doing?” he said out loud to himself.

“Bringing you roses.”

Kurt looked up, his heart faltering as he caught the glimpse of a large pair glasses peeking out over an elaborate bouquet of red roses.

“Blaine? ” Kurt asked, twisting around quickly. His face dropped when he saw bleached blonde hair peeking out of a woolen cap and a smile wider and creepier than the Joker’s.

“You have no idea how many people confuse the name Chandler with “Blaine”! You’re like the sixth person to call me that today!” a cloyingly cheerful and enthusiastic voice rang out as the boy with the flowers strode over to him, grinning like some demented pixie.

“Now, all joking aside, I have been tasked by my employer to deliver these fabuloso flowers to Mr. Kurt Hummel! The Cheerio’s lead singer, slash dancer, and unanimously voted best-dressed two years running on my little contribution to the blogosphere Chandler-lier! Side note: It’s a pun on ‘chandelier’,” he stage-whispered at the end as he thrust the flowers at Kurt. Kurt gawked at the boy, eventually taking the roses and plucking out a small white envelope.

The boy continued to chatter animatedly (like, honestly, Kurt was pretty sure this guy was a cartoon character) as Kurt read the note silently:

Hey Babe, can’t make it.
Will make it up to you.
Seb x

Kurt saw red, and it wasn’t just from the tacky-as-taffeta roses. Looking up, he was certain he could see his reflection laughing at him, and he flipped out, throwing the entire arrangement violently at the mirror. It knocked over several bottles of lotions and open pots of glitter, which spilt out over the floor like blood splatters.

“Whoa! Trouble in paradise? I had this boyfriend once who-”

Kurt growled (literally, like some feral teen wolf) and the boy jumped, uttering a squeaky, “Well… I’m going to skedaddle!” before making a beeline for the door.

Kurt stood, shaking right to his core, forcing his eyes shut in a vain attempt not to let tears coarse down his face.

You are so STUPID! he screamed inside his head, balling his fists up, the skin straining to the point he thought it would actually rip open.
This is what you deserve for hurting Blaine, for not believing him. And now you’re all alone, are you happy?! Kurt berated himself internally, wanting to slap himself.

There was no way he was going out there now. He was already turning towards the door when his panting, flannel-covered father walked through it.

“Hey, Kurt!” he practically bellowed.

“Dad?” Kurt cried out, surprised, blinking rapidly at him. “Oh my god! You’re here! You actually made it!”

Kurt flung his arms around his father, shaking and gulping as he tried really, really hard not to burst into floods of tears.

“Jeez kiddo! I’ve been gone a week!” Burt laughed, hugging him back hard, squeezing Kurt tightly against his warm, familiar and solid body.

“I know but…no one’s here Dad! Finn’s run off somewhere and the New Directions are looking for him. Sebastian… I don’t even want to talk about him… And Blaine…Oh, Dad, we had this huge fight and I haven’t seen him and we haven’t spoken all week and, and…” Kurt flung his arms around his father, shaking and gulping as he tried really, really hard not to burst into floods of tears.

“Hey buddy, hey! Calm down!” Burt said, gripping and then patting his back. He held Kurt until the shaking subsided before pulling back and gripping his shoulders ferociously.

“Ok first, I found Finn. He was sleeping in his car in the parking lot of Taco Bell,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone.

“Oh, how’d you..?” Kurt began to ask, but Burt cut him off with a shrug. I know where guys go when they’re heartbroken.” Kurt actually laughed in spite of himself.
“Anyway he’s off makin’ up with that daffy chick with the loud voice now. Said he’s sorry he couldn’t make it and that he’s sorry for everything. But anyway, what’s this about you and Blaine?”

Kurt sagged in his grip, the momentary respite ending far too soon. Gulping air, he stared down at his shoes, shuddering as a few stray fat droplets fell from his eyes, like rain falling unimpeded to the earth.

“Kurt, buddy, hey!” Burt said, pulling him in for a softer hug, hands rubbing soothingly into his son’s shoulder blades. “He’s never going to speak to me again, Dad,” Kurt stated slowly, resignation clear in his tone.

Kurt was surprised by how far away and small his own voice sounded in that moment; it was almost like he’d stepped out of his own body. And that was the moment when he realised two things at once: Blaine had been right, (Of course he was right! You are such an idiot! Kurt thought, shame painting his skin crimson) but Kurt was right too. Blaine would never speak to him again… and Kurt deserved it.

“Come on Kurt, you guys have…ok, no, I don’t think I’ve ever actually seen you fight… jeez, that’s a miracle, ‘cause you’re more argumentative then those frickin’ Kardashon gals you keep makin’ us watch.”

“Kardashian’s,” Kurt said emphatically, crossing his arms over his chest. “And seriously, you call this helpful? ” he continued, his expression incredulous.

Burt just laughed. “Ok, you’re right, not helpful. But look, Kurt, people fight; I used to fight with your mother all the time!”

“But you were married to her,” Kurt whined, his voice breaking a little towards the end. Burt clapped a hand over his son’s shoulder, smiling, about to say something, when Sue interrupted them, gripping Kurt’s other shoulder with what felt like steel talons and yanking him away.

“As touching a display of familial diversity as this is, and I’m sure some TV station would be delighted to produce this into a mismatched, all-encompassing American sitcom, I’m going to have to prise your gaybie away from suckling on your manboobs. We’ve got a show to put on!”

“You can’t talk to my son like that!” Burt jumped to Kurt’s defence, squaring off against the track-suited tyrant.

Kurt pressed his palm worriedly against his father chest, using a soft placating tone. “Dad, it’s ok. Go take a seat in the bleachers; we’re about to start and… don’t worry. I’m ok…” Kurt took a deep long breath. “Well, I mean, I will be ok.”

Before he left, Kurt wrapped his arms tightly around his father, feeling the familiar fabric of his baseball cap press against his cheek, wafting the comforting scent of motor oil and fabric softener. As he strode towards the gymnasium, the muffled sound of hundreds of voices and music filling his ears, Kurt finally began to believe that with his dad out there rooting for him, maybe things really would be ok.

…

“And now, ladies and gentlemen, the seven-time reigning national cheerleading champions… the McKinley High Cheeriooooos!!”

Kurt held his breath, counting each beat of his heart in the silent room.

One… Two… Three… Four… Five… Six… Seven…

The first spotlight hit Santana, illuminating her sinuous form, wrapped tightly in shimmering black and red. She hung suspended above the crowd on a thick length of floor-to-ceiling satiny red ribbon. She descended like a fallen angel, her sultry voice filling the gymnasium:

“Oh you’re filthy…”

The second spotlight lit Brittany, startling in shimmering white, her blond hair pointing to the ground as she slid head-first down a parallel length of ribbon. The fabric coiled around her thigh as she cascaded, glittering like a shooting star she sang sweetly:

“Gorgeous…”

The lights went out again entirely before they reached the ground, plunging the cavernous room into opaque darkness. Kurt reached for Mercedes’ hand, and they fluttered their fingers against each other the way they always did right before a performance. With hands on hips, their postures oozed attitude as a stream of light slowly illuminated them. McKinley’s brass band began to play.

The duo’s spotlight slowly grew, spreading out in front of them to create crisp silhouettes of their bodies, feet tapping to the persistent baseline. Eventually, the light began to fill the entire gymnasium as one by one, an army of Cheerios came to stand in perfect formation behind Kurt and Mercedes. Together, they turned on their heels, finally facing the crowd, and began to march down the aisle created by the band.

Kurt licked the surface of his glossy black lips with a quick flick of his tongue. The opening was his, and his heart was fluttering wildly in his chest. After days of fluffing his lines and missing his steps, his confidence was battered. Kurt began to feel the return of his own clawing doubt…

But the music coursed through his veins like electricity, turning on something deep and innate in his body as he began to move automatically, the choreography ingrained into his limbs after weeks of practice and years of training. They were same moves Blaine had walked in on Kurt rehearsing only a couple of weeks ago.

At that memory, Kurt’s eyes darted around the room, searching for Blaine one final time, but he was nowhere to be seen. But Burt was there, beaming so broadly at him, so obviously proud, that Kurt squared his shoulders, drew in a long, deep breath, and searched for the words:

“When you're walkin' down the street,
And the man tries to get your business,
And the people that you meet,
Want to open you up like Christmas.
You gotta wrap your fuzzy with a big red bow -”

Santana and Brittany flanked him on either side wrapping red ribbon that matched those of their entrances around his waist. Turning a triple backwards somersault, Kurt slipped out of the ribbon, which Brittany and Santana then unraveled to reveal white glittering letters: McKinley High Cheerios!

“Ain’t no sum (drum beat) gonna treat me like a ho!
I’m a classy, honey, kissy, huggy, lovey, dovey ghetto princess!”

Kurt jumped, turning 180 degrees and landing heavily on his heels with his legs spread open, running his hands up and down his ribs and waist like a child in middle school pretending to make out with someone. The trio consisting of Mercedes, Brittany, and Santana rejoined Kurt as he ended on a high kick, punctuated by Becky on the xylophone. He took a breath, grinning because he’d actually done it! Kurt Hummel had finally re-established his groove.

The rest of the number flowed on seamlessly. Mercedes took the helm on the chorus while the other three did backing vocals, circling around her with fast, twisting dance moves while her rippling vocals resounded broadly. Brittany was pure magic when she danced. It was as if the ground had less friction than ice when she moved, full of grace and power.

Her leg kicked high, and she arched back, her body bending like a crescent moon. Santana reached for her hands, spinning her on the spot, and then Brittany twisted around and flipped over Santana’s shoulder. Kurt grinned as the crowd gasped. While he loved to be the center of attention, it was better to be a part of a team, working off each other’s strengths and relishing with pride in his friends talent. It’s why he stuck with Glee, even when Sue commanded him to quit; these teams were his family.

The girls tangoed with complicated and frenzied steps while the rest of the Cheerios danced in regimented lines like the worlds sexiest army as Mercedes brought the house down with her incredible voice.

Despite his building fear of the big finish, Kurt was surprised to find that he was actually enjoying himself. The crowd was going wild as Cheerios were flipped into the air, cartwheeling and shimmering in their glitter-accented uniforms like fireworks.

And Kurt was right there in the thick of it. For the first time in in what must have been an eternity, he felt like he was regaining some semblance of himself, about who he was and where he was meant to be.

Well, until the two trampolines were brought forward.

They were held by nervous-looking Cheerios, gripping the steel edges until their knuckles turned white.

Hell, they should look nervous, Kurt thought, sweat beading on his forehead. During practice Kurt had failed to make this move more times than he’d been able to successfully land it, so either Kurt would pull this off and shine like a star, or he’d miss and almost certainly maim himself for life. Unlike rehearsal, there was no safety net to catch him this time; only the skinny Cheerios still dancing in formation below.

Kurt tore off his headset, handing the small microphone to Sugar as he blew a kiss to the audience and ran straight for the first taut trampoline, somersaulting onto it. He bounced off it, the centrifugal force propelling him to mirror the move as he landed on the second circle. Kurt soared through the wide expanse of space and caught the edge of a large silver-edged hoop by his knees, suspended high in the heavens.

Kurt’s big finish was mostly inspired by the Sparkling Diamond sequence in Moulin Rouge. Bellow him the Cheerios routine became simpler, their backs to the audience as they swayed, shaking their asses so the pleats of their skirts shimmied, hands resting on each others’ backs. Mercedes led the vocals as Brittany and Santana flanked her, draping themselves around her, whining and hissing the backing vocals, while up in the sky Kurt shone like a star.

His liquid limbs contorted into inconceivable shapes, resting in the curve like he was sitting on the moon, swinging around, looping and coiling like a snake as he thread himself through the hoop like he was boneless. For a split second, he looked like he was going to drop to the ground, but he caught himself at the last moment by his ankle. The crowd gasped over the swell of the music, but Kurt just swung back up into the sky. Kurt Hummel was literally defying gravity.

Over the last chorus, an explosion of confetti and glitter fell from the air above Kurt like sparks from a comet. He closed his eyes on instinct to avoid the tiny flakes as the music swelled to a climax. Kurt’s final move was to drop to his armpits and hang like a crucifix, timed to land right on the last note.

And that was it: months of practice boiled down to just three minutes and forty-seven seconds.

Applause erupted around the room, a thunderous roar loud enough to shake the foundations of the building as Kurt opened his eyes, gasping for air and gazing at the sea of hands, utterly awed. He scanned the room, searching for his father’s face in the bleachers, bewildered by the overwhelming cacophony of noise, movement and indecipherable faces.

Then, astonishingly, his eyes caught a familiar glint of gold, a singular point of light, sharp and blinding. A beacon in the haze.

Blaine.

Blaine with his wide and beautiful golden eyes, staring right at Kurt.

“You came...” Kurt whispered to himself over the noise of the raucous roaring crowd.

Kurt’s stomach lurched all of a sudden… no, his entire body jerked, a shiver shaking him to his core. Something snapped and he felt sudden vertigo surge through his nerves, lurching his body like someone had cut the cables in an elevator.

Oh god, the safety bar! he remembered, his mind suddenly locking onto the image of the steel rod in Sue’s hands.

Panicking, his eyes snapped shut, and Kurt felt the earth fall out from under him as he plummeted.
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Air rushed over his face.
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His entire body went numb.
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Everything slipped out of his control.
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And Kurt knew for certain he was going to die when images of his life began flashing before his eyes: a rapid succession of fleeting images…
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And Blaine was in every frame.
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Blaine’s hand slipping from his in the park as he fell into the stream.
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Blaine’s golden eyes peeking at him over the rim of a coffee cup at the Lima Bean.
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Blaine’s brow furrowed in concentration over a textbook as they studied.
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Blaine’s body lying beside his as they gazed up at the stars on his bedroom ceiling.
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Blaine’s lips, shining and pink…
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And so close, so tangible, that he could just reach out and…
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And still the audience clapped.

Why aren’t they screaming?
Why I aren’t I road kill?
What the hell’s going on!?!?

Kurt pried open his eyes tentatively, peeking out between the small openings and feeling momentarily disoriented. Everything was exactly where it had been the moment he’d clamped his eyes shut. The audience still undulated below him, and the Cheerios jumped and hugged each other far below. Eventually Kurt realised with shock that he was still holding onto the hoop, still high up in the air.

But... but I fell?

Confusion quickly gave way to clarity when his eyes locked again on Blaine.

The image you see in a mirror might seem like the real thing, but it’s a deception: a perfect duplicate. Looking at Blaine now, it was as if Kurt’s entire perspective had flipped, as if up until this moment, he’d been staring at the cold glass of Blaine’s reflection. A perfect replica, but not him.

And now…

Now it was like the mirror had exploded, shattering into billions of tiny pieces. Now Kurt turned to see the boy who’d been staring into the mirror, the true Blaine. The Blaine that had been there all along on the other side of the glass. Warm, solid and heartbreakingly beautiful.

Kurt had an earth-shattering revelation as silver confetti and glitter continued to flutter in front of his face like fragments of the broken mirror, reflecting his stunned face.

Kurt had fallen all right.

Kurt had fallen in love with Blaine.