Although they’d been dating for almost a year and fashion was undeniably Kurt’s forte, Blaine didn’t ask for his boyfriend’s assistance with outfits nearly enough for Kurt’s liking.

So Blaine’s text plea for help was like a ray of sunshine on that cold, gray Sunday afternoon that Kurt had previously determined would be devoted to studying AP French.

As soon as Blaine opened his front door, Kurt understood why he’d been called in for backup. His bright, excited smile faded to a gaping stare.

“What the hell are you wearing?” he gasped.

“Okay, not the reaction I was hoping for,” Blaine said as he took in Kurt’s horrified expression.

Kurt couldn’t tear his eyes from the saggy, faded black sweatpants Blaine had on. They were quite possibly the most ill-fitting pants Kurt had ever seen: clinging tightly to his ankles and stretched out around his knees and butt. Worse, they were covered in pills – pills – from being washed too much.

“You look like you have a diaper on underneath.”

“I knew I could count on you for an honest opinion,” Blaine said wryly, holding the door open to let Kurt in from the cold. “The audition guidelines said I should wear ‘movement clothes.’ This is the closest thing I have to what I think that is.”

“Why do you even own those pants?” Kurt still couldn’t get over the fact that his boyfriend had considered wearing something so terrible for an occasion as important as his audition for NYU’s music theater program.

“They were part of a costume for a show once,” Blaine replied, looking down at his legs as the two boys climbed the stairs to Blaine’s bedroom. “I guess they’ve kinda fallen apart since then…”

“Probably because they were purchased from the pre-teen boys section at Walmart.”

Blaine started to pace anxiously across his bedroom floor. “I mean, what the heck are ‘movement clothes’? I don’t own leotards or anything like that, if that’s what they’re getting at.”

Kurt sucked in a breath. He couldn’t help but let his mind wander to an image of Blaine in a leotard. He shook his head to clear the thought from his brain. For now.

“I think they just mean you should be able to move around properly for the dance part of the audition,” Kurt offered. Then he laughed. “That doesn’t ever seem to be a problem for you, no matter what you’re wearing. I remember you moved quite freely in your Dalton uniform.”

Blaine sighed heavily and sank down onto the edge of his bed, his shoulders slumping forward. “I just…I just want to do this right. These people decide if I get to go to New York. With you.” He sighed again and put his face in his hands. “I want this so much.”

Kurt put his hand on Blaine’s back, gently rubbing up and down as if he could smooth away his fears. “You are going to go with me to New York,” he said resolutely. With his other hand, he pulled one of Blaine’s hands into his own. “Blaine, you’re amazing. You can do this.”

Blaine finally looked over at Kurt, who was smiling sweetly at him. Blaine rested his other hand on top of their joined ones and returned Kurt’s soft smile. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Kurt replied, his eyes bright. Then his expression suddenly turned serious. “Now, I want you to listen to me very closely, because you will never hear me say these words again.” He paused deliberately for effect. “It doesn’t matter what you wear next weekend, as long as you’re comfortable.”

Blaine blinked at him. “Wow,” he said, a grin slowly spreading across his face. “That’s some serious blackmail material I have against you now.”

“Are you kidding me? I’ve seen you in these dumpy sweatpants.” Kurt lowered his eyes to Blaine’s lap. “Which you’re still wearing for some reason.”

Blaine threw him a saucy look. “Kurt, are you trying to seduce me?”

Kurt responded with his best bitch, please face. “Don’t even think you could ever get laid while wearing those,” he said sarcastically. But Blaine could see the corners of his mouth twitching as he hid a smile.

“Come on!” Kurt patted Blaine’s thigh, then jumped up from the bed to start rummaging through his closet. “We’re going to find you an outfit that screams, ‘Pick this dapper, drop-dead sexy man!’”

Later that evening, after he and Blaine had chosen what Kurt deemed the perfect audition outfit, the two boys cut the hideous black sweatpants into a dozen squares and threw them into the Andersons’ rag pile – but not before Kurt snapped a photo of Blaine holding them up to his waist. He later posted the photo and a caption to his blog:

Note well: Black is not always a flattering option. (The offending boyfriend who owns this abomination of a pant shall remain nameless.)

***

Okay, he was nervous.

A cold, prickly feeling had washed over Blaine’s entire body when the loud screech of his alarm jolted him awake at 3:00 a.m. He’d stared at the glowing green digits for several long moments as the shock of reality quickly cleared the sleepy haze from his brain. My audition is today.

Blaine never got nervous when he performed. Entertaining gave him a huge adrenaline rush. He loved getting up in front of people to sing and dance; to make them forget about their lives for a few minutes and simply enjoy the music.

He’d been on plenty of auditions before: the Warblers, New Directions, school musicals and silly gigs at theme parks. But this one was a big deal. This was for New York. The dream he and Kurt planned and plotted endlessly over dates at the Lima Bean and during whispered phone conversations that went late into the night, while each boy was tucked away in his own dark bedroom.

If he didn’t blow them away today…well, that was it. The dream would stay just that for another long year.

But Blaine knew there was another, deep-rooted reason for his anxiety. He’d mused over it while sitting in his dim, quiet kitchen, eating a slice of toast slathered with strawberry jelly.

The silence of the air around him burned in his ears. In the rooms above his head, no one stirred.

His mother had quietly slipped into his bedroom the night before, watching her son with a wary eye as he anxiously checked and re-checked his duffel bag to make sure he had everything he needed for the next day: clothes, shoes, scripts, sheet music, iPod and headphones, bottled water, granola bars, a pillow for the car ride, his neatly printed resume, and the gorgeous black-and-white headshot Kurt had taken with his mother’s old camera.

“Have fun tomorrow, sweetheart,” she’d said to him with a tight smile. Not good luck. Have fun. Like he was going on a field trip to the mall with his friends, and not setting off to try and accomplish one of the biggest things he’d ever done in his life.

Don’t parents want their kids to do what they love?

He hadn’t even bothered to tell his father – who was still extolling the virtues of Georgetown and a law career – about his plans to audition. Blaine couldn’t take any more of the awkward, silent moments that had defined their relationship over the past year.

Blaine shook his head bitterly as his car sped along Lima’s dark, empty streets. He had to do well today – not just for himself, but to finally prove to his family that he could achieve his dreams. That he was being the person he was meant to be.

Blaine pulled his car to the curb in front of the Hummels’ house and cut the engine. He paused for a moment to take in the lively scene, which stood in stark contrast with the silence at his own home.

Warm, golden light poured out from the living room windows, bathing Finn and Rachel in the barest glow as they held each other closely on the front step.

Then Kurt opened the front door, sending a flood of harsh light onto the pair. Blaine chuckled as he watched Kurt’s face crinkle with disgust when he realized what he’d interrupted. With an exaggerated flourish, he shielded his eyes and ducked around his best friend and stepbrother before making a beeline for Blaine’s car.

Kurt was practically skipping down the driveway as Blaine got out of his car, dragging his duffel bag across the front seats along with him.

“I made coffee for the road,” Kurt greeted him excitedly, holding up a big thermos.

Blaine didn’t reply; instead, he gathered Kurt’s body close and pressed their lips together for a slow, soothing kiss. Blaine could feel some of his anxiety melt away against Kurt’s mouth, which felt like a hot furnace in the frigid, February night.

As they slowly pulled apart, Kurt studied Blaine intently. He could read the hopes and fears in his boyfriend’s eyes. Kurt leaned in again – this time to brush a soft kiss against Blaine’s cheek. The tender gesture had new butterflies dancing in Blaine’s stomach; except these flutters felt warm and fluid, not cold and terrifying.

“You always know exactly what I need,” Blaine murmured as Kurt pulled away again.

Kurt laughed softly, his breath forming white puffs in the dark, winter air. “I hope you mean the kisses, not the coffee.”

“Maybe both,” Blaine joked with a teasing shrug of his shoulders.

Kurt reached for Blaine’s hand. “Ready?” he asked, his face alight with a smile. He tangled his warm fingers into Blaine’s cold ones and led him up the driveway.

Rachel and Finn were already standing next to Kurt’s car. Burt had joined them, clad in a ratty plaid bathrobe and holding a steaming mug of coffee. The group greeted Blaine with smiles, hearty shoulder slaps and cheerful good luck wishes.

“Go knock ‘em dead, kids!”

“We’ll be pulling for you today. Can’t wait to hear all about it.”

Then, over Burt’s fatherly lecture about driving safely on the interstate, Kurt, Blaine and Rachel piled into Kurt’s car and set off into the night to chase their dreams.

***

Blaine had wanted to go to New York to audition, of course. But Kurt couldn’t afford to make the trip, and Blaine wanted him – needed him – there. So he decided to audition in Chicago, one of several cities where the school was holding artistic reviews. Chicago was an easy drive from Lima, even though it meant they had to leave at an ungodly hour to make it there in time.

It was probably for the best, anyway. Blaine could just imagine his family’s response if he’d asked to go to New York for an audition: uncomfortable silence and a polite smile before a somber speech about choosing a realistic career and growing up a little.

Rachel had fought with Blaine over not auditioning in New York for nearly a month before grudgingly going along with the boys’ Chicago road trip plan. Kurt and Blaine knew – even though she would never admit it – that Rachel needed the support of friends on that important day, too.

So Kurt played chauffer for the two music theater hopefuls, driving them past acres and acres of cornfields as they sat together in the backseat rehearsing their solos and monologues. In between rapturous cheers and words of encouragement, Kurt spun happy daydreams about their future together in New York. It seemed so close now; he wanted to reach out and grab it.

With two hours left in their trip, Rachel suddenly fell silent. “Boys, I’m going to rest my voice now until we arrive in Chicago,” she notified them brusquely.

Kurt rolled his eyes. “Okay, Celine Dion.”

Rachel frowned at him and, with a huff, covered her ears with headphones and settled back against the headrest.

Blaine looked at the driver’s seat in front of him. “I could probably use a nap, since we still have awhile to go.”

Kurt smiled at him in the rearview mirror. “Go ahead. I’ll wake you up when we get into Illinois.”

Blaine leaned his head against the window. He watched the highway signs whiz by: Elkhart. South Bend. La Porte.

Blaine had discovered music early. He was barely four when he plunked out the first few notes of “Chopsticks” on his family’s piano. His mother had squealed with delight and enrolled him in lessons the very next week. Guitar lessons had naturally followed. Then Blaine started singing and dancing.

His father had been averse to the singing lessons at first. But he figured there couldn’t be any harm as long as his son could still talk Buckeyes football with him on the weekends.

Blaine soon found that he loved performing. He could feel the music flowing like blood through his veins. When he was on stage, people smiled and moved and laughed. It made him feel good – no, it made him feel on top of the world.

But his success in music wasn’t good enough to take attention away from the areas that some didn’t consider him to be quite so perfect. In fact, it amplified them.

Blaine knew his parents had their own dreams for their only son. And none of them involved him going off to New York City with his boyfriend to become a performer.

He’d tried to talk to them about everything: music, college, his sexual orientation. But he always caught the apprehensive glances they’d shoot each other across the dining room table. Or the way his sweet, doting mother would nod and smile at him, even though the gesture never quite reached her eyes. And the confusion and disappointment he could feel radiating off his father – like it physically hurt him to hear Blaine talk about singing and dancing and dating boys.

Then it would be Blaine’s turn to shift uncomfortably in his seat while his parents laughed together over a story about how they met when his dad was at Notre Dame Law. Because he knew what they were trying to say: You could meet a nice girl when you go off to college, too.

It was like they heard Blaine talk, but they never actually listened. He wanted to be a good son – but why couldn’t they just accept him for who he was?

So, eventually, he stopped trying to talk to them about anything substantial. Because it was easier to stick to conversations about college football; that way, he fit in and didn’t ruffle any feathers.

Good thing he was great at performing.

When Kurt came into his life, Blaine finally felt like he’d found someone who would listen. Someone who understood him and believed in him and shared his dreams.

Blaine meant it with every ounce of his being when he told Kurt, “I’ve been looking for you forever.”

But Kurt also led Blaine to admit to himself that he shouldn’t try to hide what he knew in his heart to be true. Lately, Blaine had been living with a war going on inside of him: conflicting voices struggling between keeping things peaceful and standing up for what was right.

And as these voices battled, Blaine could feel the tension in his house building, like a balloon filling with helium. As he drifted asleep, Blaine wondered how long it would take for everything to finally pop.

***

When Kurt, Blaine and Rachel entered the theater lobby a little after 9:00 a.m., they were greeted by a crowd of hundreds. There were people everywhere: singing, dancing, laughing and crying as they prepared to take a shot at their own New York dreams.

Blaine looked over at Rachel. For the first time that day, he saw the nerves flicker in her eyes as she scanned the crowd. But they vanished as soon as they’d appeared.

“I wonder if I’ll end up competing with any of these people for solos in our college productions,” she said self-assuredly, raising herself up to her full height. Kurt and Blaine passed each other a look over her head.

“Rachel, I don’t think any of these people will want to compete against you for solos after you annihilate them in your audition today.”

Rachel turned to Kurt and gave him a warm smile, then bowed her head and laughed. She was the only person Kurt had ever met who could turn from cocky to bashful like that. “Thanks, Kurt,” she said, capturing her friend in a fierce hug.

Kurt planted a noisy kiss on her cheek. “Go get ready. I’ll be in there rooting for you.”

With one last grin, Rachel left the boys and headed to the locker room to change and prepare. Once she was gone, Kurt turned his full attention to Blaine, whose eyes were still lingering over the huge crowd.

“Do you want me to watch you, too?” Kurt asked him tentatively. “I can sit in the audience if you want. Or if that will make you too nervous, I can come out here in the lobby when you’re up –”

“No!” Blaine exclaimed, cutting him off. He reached for Kurt’s hands and linked their fingers together. “Are you kidding me? I need you in there.” He brought their joined hands up to his face, breathing into them before placing a kiss on Kurt’s knuckle.

“You know you’re going to going to be spectacular. You always are,” Kurt said reassuringly. He kissed his boyfriend’s hands – one last comforting act before Blaine left to get ready. Then he reached just slightly to touch his lips to Blaine’s. “Just remember,” he whispered as they gazed at each other. “I’m your biggest fan. No matter what.”

***

“Welcome, everybody. Thank you for coming to our audition today.” An older woman, clad in all black, stood in the middle of the stark stage. “My name is Lesley Ballard, and I’m a music theater professor in the Department of Drama at New York University’s Tisch School of the Arts.”

Blaine and Rachel gripped each other’s hands as they sat together with 126 other program applicants at the front of the auditorium. Blaine forced himself not to think about that figure, instead focusing on the professor’s speech. She seemed friendly; although Blaine got the impression she’d sat through many, many of these auditions in her life.

“I’ll be leading the auditions today, along with a faculty panel from the department. We’ll begin with singing evaluations, and then move on to acting and dancing evaluations. During the evaluations we’ll ask each of you a few questions to get to know you a little better.”

Kurt sat in the back of the theater along with a scattering of other well-wishers. Part of him wanted to cheer loudly; but the other part of him wanted to bury his face in his hands out of sheer anxiety.

“We’re going to go down the list of applicants in alphabetical order,” the professor said, glancing down at a sheet of paper in her hands. “First of the day is Anderson, Blaine.”

Blaine’s heart leapt into his throat. First. Shit. He forced himself to draw in a deep breath before getting up from his seat and stepping onto the stage.

As he was walking across the stage, he realized he couldn’t hear his footsteps over the sound of his own pulse thumping loudly in his ears. He just hoped it would die down enough for him to hear his music begin playing.

Blaine stopped at the center of the stage and turned to flash his brightest smile to the panel of five professors in front of him.

“Hello.” Blaine’s voice cracked as he spoke. He cleared his throat before trying again. This time his words rang out clearly and confidently. “Hello. My name is Blaine Anderson and I’m from Lima, Ohio.”

“Hello, Blaine,” Professor Ballard said with a cordial smile. “Thank you for being here. I like your choice of clothing very much.”

Blaine looked down at his outfit – a light green, short-sleeved button-down and a green plaid tie under a deep brown vest – and smiled again, this time with the memory of his session with Kurt the previous weekend. “Thank you.” He paused before adding, “Actually, my boyfriend picked it out.”

Blaine’s eyes traveled to the back of the theater. He couldn’t see Kurt, or anyone else in the audience, beyond the bright, white spotlights that were trained on the stage. But he knew he was there.

The professor briefly turned her head to glance at Kurt, who’d given Blaine a wink and a wave of encouragement at the mention. “Hopefully he’s planning to go to New York with you and give you style guidance for all your auditions!” she laughed.

“Yes,” Blaine beamed. “He was already admitted to NYU early decision. He’s going to be studying fashion journalism and marketing.”

The professor turned to Kurt once again, giving him a small nod of approval. “Well,” she started, turning back to Blaine. “Let’s see if you have what it takes to join him there.”

Blaine’s stomach dropped to his knees at her words. He took a few slow, shallow breaths to steady himself. All right. This is it.

“What are you going to sing for us today?” she asked.

“I’ve chosen ‘I Don’t Care Much’ from Cabaret.”

“Very good.” She nodded. “Whenever you’re ready.”

As the pianist began playing the first notes of his song, Blaine tore his eyes from the panel and focused on the darkened expanse beyond.

His last thoughts before he started singing were of Kurt’s words to him in the lobby: I’m your biggest fan. No matter what.

I don't care much
Go or stay
I don't care very much either way

He started off quietly, his voice a haunting whisper that made the professors lean forward in their seats to listen more closely.

Hearts grow hard on a windy street
Lips grow cold with the rent to meet
So if you kiss me, if we touch
Warning's fair
I don't care very much

Tears pricked behind Kurt’s eyes as he watched Blaine perform. He could hear the raw, bitter sadness in Blaine’s voice.

I don't care much
Go or stay
I don't care very much either way

Blaine’s voice slowly rose to a crescendo, tearing like a knife through the silence of the auditorium.

The tears were streaming down Kurt’s face now. He’d watched Blaine perform so many times – energetic pop songs with the Warblers, passionate ballads at McKinley and silly, intimate ditties together in the car on the way home from school.

But this was different. This was Blaine.

Underneath his polite, cheerful exterior was a boy who’d suffered. Physically, at the hands of bullies who tried to beat the gay out of him. Emotionally, from unsupportive parents who couldn’t see past their own dreams for their son to understand the man he was becoming.

Even though he knew Blaine couldn’t see him over the lights, Kurt felt like his boyfriend was singing to him: admitting his pain and struggles, and his intense desire to make something of himself despite all of that.

Words sound false when your coat's too thin
Feet don't waltz when the roof caves in
So if you kiss me, if we touch
Warning's fair
I don't care very much

Blaine finished the song quietly, much as he began. The auditorium was completely silent once the last mournful note died on his lips.

Blaine opened his eyes. He hadn’t even realized he’d closed them while he was singing.

The audience suddenly erupted in applause. Kurt took the sound as permission to jump out of his seat and clap wildly.

Professor Ballard gave Blaine another nod and a smile. “Thank you, Blaine. You can return to your seat and wait for your acting evaluation.”

“Thanks.” Blaine walked briskly off the stage, putting every ounce of his effort into not jumping in the air with joy.

***

“Next: Berry, Rachel.”

Rachel walked swiftly to the center of the stage and faced the panel. “Hello, my name is Rachel Berry and I’ll be singing Don’t Rain on My Parade from Funny Girl.”

“Ah,” the professor chuckled. “Our first Barbra of the day. We usually hear at least a dozen Barbra songs every year.”

“Well, you won’t need to hear any more after me,” Rachel said haughtily. A few scattered laughs rang out across the audience.

Professor Ballard raised an eyebrow at her. “Very well, Miss Berry. Whenever you’re ready.”

Kurt and Blaine never had any doubt that Rachel would kill it. And she did, performing her signature song with more passion and urgency than Kurt had ever seen her display. The girl was born to be on Broadway, Kurt thought as a fresh set of tears formed in his eyes. The audience was once again on its feet as Rachel finished.

“Thank you, Rachel,” Professor Ballard said as the cheers died down. “If I could please call Blaine Anderson back up on the stage for a moment?”

Blaine jumped when he heard his name called unexpectedly. He quickly ascended the stairs to the stage, enveloping Rachel in a tight embrace and kissing her cheek before turning to face the panel once more.

Professor Ballard peered down at something on the table in front of her – our resumes, Blaine realized. “I see that you both attend William McKinley High School in Lima, Ohio.” She looked up sharply, her eyes darting between the two young faces. “Do you perform together?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Rachel replied. “We’re both soloists in our glee club, New Directions, and we’re co-starring in our school’s production of West Side Story this spring.”

The professor crossed her arms across her chest and leaned back in her chair. “I’d just like to remind you both that our music theater program is exceptionally selective. I cannot recall a year when two students from the same high school were both admitted.”

The two teens cast a glance at one another. Blaine could once again see the quick flash of nerves in Rachel’s eyes.

The professor continued. “So I’d like for you to tell us: why should we select both of you to attend NYU?”

It was Rachel who spoke first. “We should both be admitted because we’re stars,” she answered determinedly. “It doesn’t matter where we live, or where we go to high school.”

“We auditioned individually and we want to be evaluated that way,” Blaine added. His solo had given him a burst of confidence, and he wasn’t going to back down now. “We just proved to you that we have what it takes to succeed. To make NYU proud.”

The professor paused long enough for Blaine and Rachel to give each other another worried sideways eye. “Thank you both,” she finally said. “You may return to your seats.”

As Blaine and Rachel hurried off the stage, Professor Ballard looked down at their portfolios once more. “Lima, Ohio,” she murmured to the professor to her left. “There must be something in the water in that town.”

***

The car ride home was decidedly quieter than the one to Chicago that morning. The day’s mad adrenaline rush finally caught up with Blaine and Rachel, who’d fallen asleep in the backseat before Kurt could get the car back on the interstate.

Alone in the driver’s seat, Kurt absently sang along to show tunes as he sipped on a venti mocha and watched the sky turn inky black. Fresh bursts of pride bubbled up in his chest each time he thought back to Blaine’s moving performance. I didn’t realize it was possible to fall even more in love with him.

It was dark out when Blaine finally stirred. “Where are we?” he rasped, his voice hoarse from singing and sleep.

“We just crossed into Ohio,” Kurt responded, his eyes flicking up to his rearview mirror. He grinned as Blaine broke into a huge yawn. “Not much longer now.”

Blaine looked down at Rachel. She was still fast asleep, curled in a ball across the back seat with her head on his lap.

“Thanks for driving,” Blaine said to Kurt, keeping his voice low so he wouldn’t wake her. He rubbed his face with his hands. “I’m sorry I couldn’t stay awake.”

“I think you’re entitled to crash after such a long day.”

Blaine turned his gaze back to the window, watching the erratic stream of headlights on the other side of the highway. He basked in the hazy, comfortable glow of waking up from a satisfying nap in the warmth of Kurt’s car.

“Do you feel good?” Kurt asked, watching Blaine’s shadowy figure in the backseat through his mirror.

Blaine paused as he slowly reviewed the day’s events in his sleep-fogged mind. “Yeah,” he finally replied. “I feel great. It’s like a huge weight has been lifted off my chest.”

He knew an uncomfortable conversation with his parents was inevitable. But Blaine didn’t care right now. He was one step closer to his dream. And he was here with his boyfriend, who kept stealing loving glances at him through the rearview mirror. Blaine had an overwhelming sense that he was headed in the right direction.

“Promise me something?” Kurt’s soft question interrupted his thoughts.

Blaine met his eyes in the mirror. “Anything.”

“When you get your acceptance letter, I better be the first person you call.”

A slow, lazy smile spread across Blaine’s face. “I couldn’t possibly think of anyone else.”

***

Blaine would always remember March 20, 2012. Despite the calendar’s claim that it was the first day of spring, a spitting, freezing rain had fallen throughout the afternoon, encasing Lima in a frigid crust of ice.

It had been a long day. He’d rehearsed with glee club till 5, practicing harmonies over and over with Santana for their duet at Regionals. Then he’d gone straight to musical rehearsal till 8. West Side Story opened in just 12 days, and they still had a lot of work to do to get the choreography right.

The clock on the living room wall read 8:49 when Blaine finally trudged through the front door. He was drained. All he wanted to do was collapse into bed, but he still had a pile of homework to finish before he could sleep off the day.

Blaine had begun wearily ascending the stairs to his bedroom when he heard his mother’s voice call up from the den.

“Blaine, is that you? There’s an envelope for you from NYU in the kitchen.”

Blaine froze in mid-step, paralyzed by the realization that he was about to learn his fate.

He shook himself out of his reverie and surged back down the stairs. When he burst into the kitchen, his eyes zeroed in on a thick, white packet on the counter.

Blaine grabbed the envelope and stared at the return address: New York University. Office of Undergraduate Admissions.

Sinking down into a barstool, Blaine tore open the envelope and ripped the contents out. It took him about five seconds to scan the cover letter before letting out a loud whoop of joy.

He reached into his shoulder bag, fumbling for his phone before carelessly dropping the bag to the floor with a loud thud.

The phone rang twice before Kurt picked up. Blaine could only manage to utter three shaky words through his huge, wide grin.

“I got in.”