August 5, 1969

My Dearest B,

I don't think I can begin to tell you what your letter meant to me. In the weeks since I have been here, thoughts of you have been what has gotten me through, just knowing you're out there; but to actually hear from you and know that I have been in your thoughts too, nothing can compare. I must admit a small part of me worried that you wouldn't write back, that you didn't really care or that Puck slipped something in my food and you were a wonderful hallucination. Being away from the farm and seeing once again what the world is really like... it is hard to believe sometimes that you really exist and that you love me too. Your words though, they were just what I needed to know that all those fears were silly. You should be a writer someday, the way you described everything it was as if I was there again. I could also feel your heartache through your words. I'm just glad I wasn't the first one to break down in tears after a letter from home, because I couldn't have stopped myself if I tried. Your words moved me. Please don't ever stop writing.

Puck wrote me as well, (Quinn too) and told me all about his adventures in New York. I have to say I almost find in unbelievable. Maybe there is hope that things could change. I still wonder if this will be enough for some to stop hiding, I guess only time will tell. Part of me wants to promise to be more open after I get out of here, but I can't begin to think of that while I am being called a faggot and cocksucker on a daily basis without anyone knowing anything. Right now, I just have to get through each moment at a time.

You were so full of questions too, I don't know if I can answer all of them but I will try, for you. Basic training has been kind of like an extensive day in P.E., I think for the most part they are trying to get us physically ready for what the Army has in store for us. But I also think they are trying to break us down and take away what individuality we have. It's not just the scheduling or the uniform, it's also things like never using our names unless they absolutely have to, and never being praised for what we do well at, only yelled at when we mess up. The physical aspect is hard too. Yesterday we had to tread water in full gear and packs for an hour. The only way I got through it was thinking of you. I thought back to our times in the tank and just imagined that it was you on my back. I lost myself in my imaginings, transporting me to our tank; I'm sure I looked a sight: my eyes closed with a blissful expression painting my face as I imagined holding us both up in the water. It was not a purely innocent fantasy either, but opening my eyes and seeing where I was saved me from any embarrassment I could have felt. Last night in my bunk, not for the first time, I wished for some privacy so I could jerk off to the thought of you.

At least that is one thing the army can't take away from me. They can tell me what to do, and how to act, but they can't control what I think. Right now, my thoughts are all I have control over. I wish I could be noble and say that my thoughts are filled with ways to bring about peace while here, but no, my thoughts are always filled with you. You give me the strength to hope that things will get better, somehow, someway.

We graduate from basic training next week and our assignments should be here soon. Where we are placed for our advanced individual training depends on how we score on our placement tests. They were pretty rigorous, the test, and I am just hoping that I scored well enough to train as a mechanic. I figure that wouldn't be so bad, I shouldn't have to fight and my dad was a mechanic is Korea and he never made it further than Guam, so there is that. Most of us will go on to infantry training though, and if that happens I honestly don't know what I'll do, end up in Leavenworth for insubordination probably.

I know I didn't come close to answering all the questions you had, but lights out should be soon, and honestly, I don't know what will be happening soon. It all depends on my assignment. Just know that no matter what happens I will always love you and you will be in the forefront of my mind. I know you will be leaving the farm soon, just let me know before you do, so I know where to write you. I have to go now; they are calling lights out. I love you.

All my loving,

K

P.S. got my assignment this morning: infantry, I am fucked.

Blaine read the postscript again and his heart felt as if it had stopped dead in his chest. The smile that had played on his face as he read Kurt's words fell instantly as dread engulfed his soul. He wanted to offer Kurt words of encouragement but could think of none, his mind filled will images of Kurt in a jail cell and him throwing down his gun as bullets rained around him replaced any that could have come. He flipped that page over hoping that maybe Kurt had written something there, but it was blank.

For a week, Blaine had waited for a reply from Kurt only to have it end with such devastating news. Blaine finally gathered himself enough to leave the mailbox where he had torn into the envelope with the excitement of a kid at Christmas. He walked down the rutted driveway, reading over everything Kurt had written again and again until he made it back to the farm house. Puck was sitting on the porch, guitar already in hand. He smiled when he saw the letter in front of Blaine.

"So Kurt has forgotten about all the rest of us and only writes you know?" He asked jokingly.

Blaine looked up blank faced, "They assigned him to infantry training."

Puck smiled sadly at Blaine patting the wood beside him. Blaine sat down, still not sure what else to do. "Okay, clearly you haven't known Kurt as long as I have," Puck began. Blaine just gave him a look that said, 'well obviously' causing Puck to laugh before continuing. "Kurt isn't going to just roll over and do something he doesn't want to do."

"He left with Finn," Blaine said plainly.

"That was different; he was trying to protect you. He was doing what he thought was in your best interest. The thing about Kurt that you have to understand is, he is always going to stand up for what he thinks is right and for what he believes in. In high school, things were different than they are now. For a while, I was all about being the popular kid, and that means giving shit to those who choose to be different. We all went to school together from the beginning. Kurt he was always different. While the rest of us guys would go out and play rough on the playground, Kurt would always be sitting under this old oak tree drawing. We didn't give him much shit for it in elementary school. At first, I think because he was so much smaller than the rest of us but then it was because he was the poor kid with the dead mom. We may have been little assholes, but we weren't heartless. Then we went to high school, there football was king and we thought we were hot shit. I remember we were freshman when we first started giving him grief for being talented off the field. I'm not proud of what we did, let's just say we treated him like garbage. But Kurt, he would just dust himself off afterwards and tell us he wasn't going to stop drawing or painting because of what we did. Being the jerks we were it didn't change anything. I remember one day he came to school and had clearly been crying; his face was red, and his eyes were bloodshot. I wish I could say we eased up, but we just laughed at him and gave it to him harder. I think we thought he was weak because he never fought back, we thought that day we had broken him finally. He was crying again when he pulled himself out but told us again, 'I will not deny my talents just because they are not what you think they should be.' I heard from my mom that night that both his grandparents had died over the weekend. I don't think I have ever felt so shitty before in my life."

Blaine looked at Puck as he spoke, he could see the pain in his eyes as he recalled what he had done. He wanted to go back and punch the Puck that thought Kurt's talent was something he should be beaten up for. "Is that what made you change?"

"I wish I could say it was," Puck said, "I mean we laid off for a while, a couple of weeks maybe. And I didn't take part as much even when the rest started in on him again, but I didn't tell them to knock it off either. No, we all stopped completely that summer. Everyone in town knew that Finn and I had no dads. It's just something everyone knew. That summer though, Kurt talked to his dad. Told him that we needed a father figure and he should train us in his shop. Apparently Burt was not thrilled by this idea, told Kurt he didn't need any extra help, or to babysit other people kids. Kurt wouldn't take no for an answer though, he stood up for us, telling Burt all these reasons it was important that he do something. In the end, Burt reluctantly agreed. Burt straight up told us this when he asked us to meet him. I couldn't believe it, here was this kid we tormented everyday and he basically demanded that his dad teach us all about cars. I always thought of Kurt as this weak thing who didn't play football because he couldn't, but I learned differently that summer. Kurt's tough, he could probably kick yours and my asses but he never would. He doesn't because he cares too much even when he shouldn't. But I'm rambling, basically what I am saying is you shouldn't worry about Kurt, he will stand up for what is right."

Blaine hung his head, "I just don't know what to say to him about this. It just doesn't make sense, but I can't not write to him. What should I do?" Blaine asked hoping Puck would have an answer.

"Sleep on it." Puck said with a shrug. "Sometimes that is all you can do. And if tomorrow you still don't know what to say, tell him that. Tell him that you don't know what say, trust that he will understand."

Blaine did sleep on it, or tried at least. He mainly lay in bed begging sleep to overtake his brain, even as it raced with half formed thoughts. It wasn't until most of the night had passed before he finally found restless slumber. He didn't wake until the groan of the pipes announced Puck was filling the bath below. He resolved he would write him the next morning after he help with the chores. With letter writing pushed fully to the back of his mind, he joined the rest of the house for lunch.

Blaine was just about to step in the bath the next day when Puck burst into the bathroom brandishing an envelope in his hand. Blaine fell back against the wall at the surprise not even registering his current state of undress. "A letter!" Puck yelled, "From Kurt!"

Blaine rushed forward and snatched the envelope away, tearing it open and in seconds was reading the words. He didn't notice, Puck slip out the door, closing it behind him.

August 6, 1969

Oh my sweet B,

I am so sorry for any worry I caused with the abrupt ending of my letter. I was still reeling from my assignment when they were making a final call for mail. I added my postscript without even thinking about what it would do to you. I am so sorry. Right after sending your letter, we were out doing our morning calisthenics when it really sunk in what my assignment meant. Right in the middle of jumping jacks I turned and walked to the officer's buildingall the while my drill instructor was yelling at me to come back. I still had my orders in my pocket and with the ass yelling at me the whole time how worthless I was, I walked in to the commanding officers office. Looking back on it, it was kind of funny how my DI shut up instantly as we walked in. I wish I had a picture though, of him walking out like a whipped dog with his tail between his legs when he was dismissed without being allowed to utter a single word.

Once the door was closed, he asked me what the problem was. I told him, "I can't do this," slapping the assignment down on his desk. We talked, for a long time we talked. He pulled my records and he actually listened to what I had to say. I told him that I couldn't kill anyone, told him I didn't even eat meat. I told him it wasn't that I am afraid to die. I don't want to, but I am not afraid of death. I have lost so much to it already that dying doesn't scare me. I promise though, I want to live. He listened to all my reasons, all the while reading my file. Finally, I told him I would serve in any complicity, but I couldn't and wouldn't fire a gun.

He looked at me for a long time after that, before returning to whatever that damn file held, but he didn't look bored or mad, just thoughtful. He told me I had top scores on the exams. I asked about being a mechanic, and he told me that while I have the scores and probably the skill, that they were required to learn the use of guns as well. Apparently, it isn't easy to change the army's mind about things once an assignment is given; however, he said he could help. It's not official yet, but I do have a new assignment.

I wish I could tell you that it is better, in a way I suppose it is, but I can't assure you it is safe. God I wish I could tell you that I will be safe, but I can't. He told that as soon as I finish boot camp, I am to report to Fort Sam Houston in Texas to begin medic training. I won't know until I receive orders which post I have received. There is still a chance I will be sent to Vietnam, but it won't be with a gun in my hand. I may even get to help people. I guess this was the best I could hope for.

Write soon, I love you. I hate ending these letters, because writing I love you just doesn't seem enough. Just know I love you and want to hold you and kiss you. Maybe soon.

All my loving,

K

Blaine sank into the cold water, letting his shoulders sag with the slight relief he felt. Yes, Kurt was still going to be serving in the army for the next two years, but being a medic sounded a whole lot safer than being in the infantry. After all weren't medics, even combat medics protected by the laws of war, the Geneva Convention? He found his hope again, that all would be well. His heart still ached with Kurt's absence but Blaine knew it always would until Kurt was by his side again. Once clean, smelling of Kurt's homemade soap, Blaine returned to Kurt's room to finally write the letter that he had been agonizing over for the last day. He told Kurt all that went through his mind after reading his postscript, and of his talk with Puck. His birthday was approaching, so he told Kurt he would write again once he was moved into his dorms. He hated there would be a silence between them, but as long as it took letters that it was unavoidable. To help fill the space between this letter and his next he wrote all his best memories they had shared at the farm. He ended the letter with a promise to make more memories he as soon as he could return.

Blaine left the farm the next morning, loading a much larger duffle bag into his trunk along with the painting, Blaine first watched Kurt paint. His guitar lay across the back seat. His surprise at being pulled into a hug by Quinn was nothing to the shock he received at the bear hug Puck gave him. After telling them, he would try and make it down soon, Blaine left the farm. In a way, it was a relief to be away for the place that his mind associated solely with Kurt. The prospect of not constantly meeting visual reminders of the man he loved, who he could not be with was nice in its way. However, as much as it hurt to be surrounded by Kurt, it was comforting. He dreaded meeting new people who never knew Kurt and couldn't know how much he meant to Blaine. He didn't want to have to hide the pain of having his lover so far away. He resolved in that moment, that even if people only knew of him as Blaine's best friend, they would know of Kurt and what he was doing.

His mother, as expected, fussed over the state of him. His curls now reached close to his chin, his face sporting light but visible scruff. Even his clothes were different, Kurt having given him a few new shirts and jeans. Her distressed reaction was nothing compared to his father's explosion. He refused to cut his hair though, and merely packed his 'disgusting' clothes in his dorm boxes. He refrained to point out that soon Blaine would not 'be under his roof' for much longer.

August 22 began with a pancake breakfast. Much to Blaine's surprise, not only were both his parents there but so was Cooper and his wife Mary. Mary was a quiet woman, her shyness making her seem so much younger than her 28 years. She was a teacher in the local public high school, teaching Home Ec and English. He hadn't seen her since Christmas, her obligation to attend her own schools graduation, keeping her away from his. He knew that their continued childlessness was a bone of contention with his father, and Blaine thought that perhaps they were secretly using birth control just to piss him off. Mary seemed to like her job, but knew she would be forced to quit once she became a mother, Anderson women didn't work outside the home after all.

Conversation that morning was business as usual. Blaine did better feigning his interest but caught Mary's smile a couple of times and thought at least she knew his mind wasn't really in it. As he help her put on her coat as they readied to leave she surprised him when she whispered, "I love the change in you. Don't let them take it away." He hugged her extra tight before she left.

It was afternoon when Blaine pulled his Mustang up in front of the local draft board. He steeled his shoulders knowing what he was going to do. Promise or no promise, he was going to follow the example of those men and women of New York, he was not going to hide who he was. He had thought long and hard about it, it was a little step, and he knew he couldn't tell his family or school, but he could do this, at least for now. A older gentleman greeted him at the door and after filling out his name and basic information was ushered into a long hallway.

"Okay if you would just strip to your underwear, the doctor will see you in a moment," the man told him before beginning to turn and leave.

"Wait. Isn't there an interview first?" He asked confused.

"Maybe some places, but here we do the physical first, frees up time so we don't have to bother with the interview if they can't serve." He said with a shrug before walking away.

Blaine did as he was told feeling awkward standing there in nothing but his underwear. After five minutes another old man, this time in a crisp white coat called him from down the hall. Blaine handed him his paper when asked and stood waiting for further instructions. He read from and eye chart and had his hearing tested. He stood while the doctor measured and examined his body. He was surprised when the doctor abruptly stood up and said, "You may get dressed."

Blaine looked over ready to ask what came next, when his eyes caught the large stamp in the man's hand just as it came down on the paper leaving behind the bold red word, failed. "What?" Blaine asked before he could catch himself.

"You are exempt from service, young man." The doctor told him, a sympathetic look on his face.

"But why?" Blaine asked feeling off kilter, this wasn't how this was supposed to happen; he was supposed to proudly declare he was queer. He had decided if they didn't believe him he would describe to them just how much he like to take it in the ass if he had to. It wasn't supposed to be like this, less than five minutes into an exam, not when Kurt had fought so hard only to be denied.

The doctor looked at him again with that damned sympathetic look as if Blaine was upset by the rejection and not by the means of said rejection. "Your left leg is shorter than your right son, it's not very pronounce, only half an inch, but it's enough that the military can't take you. I'm sorry son."

"But you don't understand..."Blaine began, and cut off the doctor as he opened his mouth to speak once more. "I'm queer, that's why I should be exempt, not this."

"Be that as it may son, I've already stamped your official papers I-VF," he leveled Blaine with a steady gaze, "but may I suggest you seek psychiatric help, there is still hope for you, you are young after all."

Blaine just nodded at a loss for words as the doctor turned around and left him to dress. He did so, swallowing back tears, not sure, why he was so upset. The first man patted his back saying, "tough luck" as he handed him his draft card, freshly typed, when he walked out.

His father was surprised when he inspected the card when he returned home from work. Blaine thought he caught the words disappointment as he walked up to his room. Blaine began another letter to Kurt that night, telling him all about his plans; and how they were thwarted by his own body. He let his disappointment flow out onto the page, along with his regret than Kurt couldn't enjoy the same fate he did.

The next morning with no word to his parents, he loaded his car with all the boxes and bags he could fit. With only a hastily written note on the kitchen table, Blaine made his way to Kent State. There not only did he check into his new dorm, he also officially changed his major. Without the threat of Vietnam or the Army over his head he resolved to live the life he wanted fully, his father be damned.

That night alone in his dorm, Blaine finished his letter to Kurt telling him of his new plan, finally feeling freer than he had ever before away from the farm. He promised that when Kurt returned home, he would be someone Kurt would be proud to be with because he would completely be himself. With a kiss, he dropped the letter into the campus mailbox the next morning, sending his love to Kurt the only way he knew how.

Over the next few days, the campus began to fill with students. Most of the guys in his dorm seems nice enough and Blaine found his guitar was a nice ice breaker. More than once Blaine found himself approached by new people as he played different songs out in the quad by his building. Blaine could see that most of the girls were flirting with him, it was flattering he supposed, but nothing more. When the flirting became more overt, he would start playing a love song and mention his sweetheart. This made most of the girl to suddenly remember some important task they had to attend to, but sometimes they would blush a bit before just talking to him.

Soon it was time for him to meet his advisor and hash out his schedule. Professor Scott was younger than most he had glimpsed in the offices, perhaps Coopers age if not a bit younger. He was friendly man and greeted Blaine with a smile. He didn't give Blaine's appearance a second look, though he was wearing one of the few pairs of bellbottoms he now owned paired with chambray shirt Kurt had embroidered for him. He merely gestured to the chair across the desk. "Sit down Blaine, so I see you want to major in English is that correct."

"Yes sir," Blaine answered with a charming smile he had learned to use at Dalton. "I think I want to be a writer."

"Really," Professor Scott said with a smile, "and what kind of writer do you want to be?"

Blaine rubbed the back of his neck suddenly feeling nervous though his advisor's smile didn't leave his face. "Um... well I'm not sure. I just know that I like to write and I want to use my writing to make a difference."

"No, that's fine. I wasn't trying to judge you." He said with another easy smile. "I was just trying to figure out if you wanted to take classes geared more towards journalism or creative writing."

Blaine could feel the nerves leaving his body, he wasn't being judge, he was being listened to. This was something he wasn't used to with the adults in his life. "I'd like both if at all possible. I want to see what seems to fit first."

"Completely possible. Now I usually advice my freshmen to take twelve hours, that is usually enough to keep the draft board happy with their progress."

Blaine shook his head, "No need to worry about that with me, I'm already exempt so I don't have a student deferment. I would like, however, to take as many classes as possible. I, uh... want to stay busy,"

"Are you sure?" Scott asked, concern diminishing his smile. "College is a huge adjustment; I don't want to set you up for failure."

"I am sure. I just graduate from an intensive private school so I am used to a challenge." Blaine began, before preparing himself for the real reason for wanting to load himself down with work. "My best friend was just drafted, he couldn't get an exemption or deferment, and I just want to keep myself busy from worrying about him. I know it won't take the worry completely away but I figure it will help."

The professor nodded with true sympathy. "Is he going to 'Nam?"

Blaine shrugged, "I don't know yet, he should just be graduating from boot camp now, and I haven't heard from him in a week or so what with my move. So I don't know exactly what is going to happen, but even with him stateside I would still worry."

Blaine could see the sympathy still there as Professor Scott nodded, "Fair enough, let's see what we can do."

Before Blaine left the office, he was scheduled for eighteen hours, the maximum the university would allow. He was not only taking math, history, and government class, but also an English Literature class as well as a creative writing and intro to journalism. Blaine was please that Professor Scott was teaching both his English and Creative writing class.

He called his parents that night, glad when his mother answered the phone. Although he was disappointed that she pretended that his abrupt departure hadn't happen and that everything was fine; it was better than the lecture he was sure his father would have given. After securing her promise that they would wire him money the next morning for books and his other fees, he bid her good night.

Blaine was unaware of the change that would have been evident to any that knew him at Dalton. He carried himself differently, not just due to his change in clothes; it was a more inward change. Before, Blaine walked with an almost stiff set to his shoulders, as if afraid if he didn't he would curl in on himself. Now he walked with an easy confidence, not quite the dancelike movements of Kurt, but as if his skin fit perfectly. His smile was easier, not force or overtly polite, although a tinge of sadness filled his eyes even when he laughed now. He would sit on the grass for hours, playing his guitar, unmindful of the looks he was getting; only realizing he was drawing attention when approached.

In just a few days, Blaine was on the tongues of most to the student body, though most didn't know his name. The talk was mostly positive, only a few boys jealously accused him of not belonging in the university. They were quickly shut up however; as most enjoyed the atmosphere, he brought to the campus.

Blaine would have probably recoiled at the attention he brought to himself, but unmindful he lost himself in the music. None of those watching him or talking about him knew the worry that lay on his heart. No one knew of the letter that he longed to receive. None knew that his heart yearned for a young man whose location he didn't know, not at the moment, not without that letter. Their opinions might have changed had they known what was in his heart.

Lost in his own world though, in his own thoughts and yearnings, Blaine played on; every song for Kurt. All for Kurt.