“Do you ever just stop and look at something and think to yourself ‘huh that was thought of by a human being?’ Like everything that has a name, was given that name, by a person, some person. Like, can you imagine about fifty or so cavemen sitting out in a field and looking up at that thing above them? But they don’t know the thing. So one points and calls it the ‘sky’. And the rest nod and grumble words of solidarity under their breaths. So, another one is inspired. He picks up his club and points it to the sky and says ‘blue’. It’s blue. The blue sky that hung over the heads of…; another points to himself and says ‘man’. But millions of years later, we call them ‘cavemen’ and ourselves ‘man’.”

Blaine takes another drag of his cigarette and looks out to the crowd. He creeps closer to the microphone, so he is sitting on the very edge of the stool.

“Who do we think we are? What are we anyway? Oh right, we have a word for that. What is this?” Blaine holds up his cigarette, “Oh right, we have a word for that too. And words are beautiful, powerful. This is what makes them scary.” Blaine touches the microphone stand and lets his hand slide down its length, “This is a faggot. You don’t believe me? Well, don’t I have the power to call it what I want? I don’t know what this is. So, I call it a faggot. I’d like to think this is what goes through people’s minds when I sit next to them on the subway, or walk past them on the street. When they call me a faggot, too. I guess they think they have the same privilege as those cavemen did. Because when they don’t know something, someone, they think of the first word that pops in their feeble brains. My word just so happens to be faggot. But this, this is a microphone stand, this is a cigarette, this is a shirt, and I, my friends, am a man. Like so many others before me.”

The entire coffee house erupts in snaps and the occasional whistle. Blaine smiles shyly and waves their gratitude away with his hand. The host of the poetry event hops back on stage and hive-fives Blaine and then escorts him off the stage.

“And that was Blaine Anderson, everybody! He’s a regular here. You can mostly see him, though, at the poetry slams. Another one for Blaine, you guys!”

And the coffee house gets loud again. Blaine smiles and goes back to his seat. Tina hands him his coffee with a smile.

“That was so good. I’ve never heard that one before.” Tina says before taking a sit of her tea.

“That’s because I never wrote it.” Blaine fiddles with the lid of his coffee.

“What do you mean?”

“I never wrote that poem down.”

Tina raises an eyebrow, “You’re telling me you just got up there and spewed out some bullshit?”

“Well, it apparently wasn’t bullshit because everyone seemed to have liked it.”

Tina rolls her eyes and gives a playful smile, “I would write it down if I were you.”

“I can’t remember what I said.” Blaine sips his coffee and puts out his cigarette in the ash tray on the table.

“Whatever…hey have you decided if you’re coming to Sugar’s Halloween party yet?”

“Not yet. I mean…Tina I’m not even friends with her. I’ll feel so awkward. I won’t know anybody there.”

“You’ll know me.”

“That’s exactly why I don’t want to go.”

Tina glares and tips his coffee back so it almost spills on him, “You’re going.”

Blaine slams his coffee down on the table and crosses his arms.

***

Blaine remembers putting on his costume. He remembers Tina smiling because “it’s the same costume you wear every year. Do you ever get tired of being Beetlejuice?”

Blaine remembers sticking his tongue out at her and laughing. He remembers the happiness that was wafting in the air.

Blaine remembers the subway ride to the party and how everyone was giving them weird looks.

He remembers the elevator ride because Tina and he took pictures of their reflections in the big ceiling mirror. He remembers the huge fancy apartment.

Blaine remembers the flashing strobe lights and the glow-in-the-dark LED’s, which made his head hurt.

He remembers the blurriness he saw everything with after drinking six shots of tequila; the blurriness that only enhanced when he snorted some stuff off of a masked man, who he didn’t know the name of.

Blaine doesn’t want to remember being cornered in the bathroom by four men. He doesn’t want to remember them ripping down his black and white striped pants.

Blaine remembers saying “no”.

When Blaine wakes up he has an excruciating head ache. His bed feels comfier than usual and the walls seem whiter than usual. He looks up and notices the water stain is gone. That’s when he starts to panic. He rips himself out of bed and stumbles over to grip on to the wall, near the big window, when pain shot up his spinal cord. Okay, no standing.

“Hey! Hey sit down.” And suddenly hands are on his shoulders and Blaine lashes out and starts kicking. He can feel tears welling in his eyes.

“Don’t…don’t touch me,” barely came out in a whisper.

“It’s okay…I’m not going to hurt you…” The other voice was soft and finally Blaine turns his head. He meets the blue eyes of the unforgettable, Kurt. Blaine sighs and backs up until the back of his knees finds the bed. He sits. He looks up at Kurt and bites his bottom lip.Kurt is wearing a white tank top and expensive looking silk pajama pants. Blaine looks down at himself and realizes that he, also, is wearing a white tank top and expensive looking pajama pants.

Blaine looks up and tilts his head in confusion, “Are you stalking me?”

Kurt chuckles and shakes his head slowly, “No, I’m not.” Kurt pauses and looks at Blaine hard, like he has something really important to say, but instead he drops his gaze, “Do you want tea?”

“Do you have coffee?”

“Sorry…no, I only drink tea.”

Blaine shrugs and wishes he hadn’t, “Tea’s fine then.”

“I can…run down to Starbucks and get you something.” Kurt rushes, before bending over and picking up a coat from off the floor.

Blaine puts up his hand and shakes his head, “Tea is fine, thank you…Kurt.”

Kurt smiles, “You remember my name.”

Blaine looks up at Kurt and the way the sun is shining through the window, his smile looks almost angelic. “Did we have sex last night?” Blaine blurts out.

Kurt almost chokes and places his coat on the bed, “No…no we didn’t.”

Blaine just nods, before looking down at his lap, “Can I get that tea now?”

“Oh! Oh, yes you may.” Kurt scurries to the bedroom door.

“Oh and Kurt?”

“Yeah?”

“Advil too?”

“Right…”

And then he’s gone.

Blaine looks around the room and he’s confirmed that Kurt is one rich bastard. The entire room is white, and with the huge window, it’s bright too. Just above the headboard of the bed is an art piece and Blaine’s breathe is taken away. It’s beautiful. He’s never seen anything like it. He can tell it’s an original piece. Blaine looks to the right hand bottom corner and sees the signature.

“I made that back in college.”