He never understood why the world was so full of hatred and prejudice and why people couldn't just be happy being themselves. Sometimes when he wandered into downtown New York, he couldn't help but feel like he was surrounded by shells of people who had torn themselves apart and rearranged themselves to feel accepted, even if it meant losing who they were.

And Kurt just didn't understand why they were like this, other people, and why they looked at him with narrowed eyes and upturned noses as if he was a lesser person because he wore shirts stained with streaks of paint and clay. Or because he carried a Prismacolor HB pencil tucked behind his left ear, always, or because of the canvas bag that looked like it had been run over by a lawn mower several times. Or because he was gay, and maybe it just showed like the bright splotches of paint on his clothes.

Sure, most people didn't care. This was New York, no one was expected to care. There were simply too many people to expect anything from. It was hustle and bustle. They always had somewhere to go, somewhere to be. But every once in a while, Kurt saw someone different, unique. Those were the people he liked. The ones who looked so at ease with everything, light and free and weightless. The only ones he felt he could relate to.

Which is why he was surprised to find himself staring at a random businessman in the coffee shop he frequented. Behind the overly-gelled hair and stiff suit (which fit the man very well, mind you), Kurt was surprised to see a real person behind those eyes. His bright hazel eyes and faint laugh lines told stories of happiness and life, even when his defeated posture and tired face screamed otherwise. He stood out from everyone else, like a splash of color in a sea of greys. And needless to say, Kurt was intrigued.

Before he knew what he was doing, his sketchbook was out on the small table in front of him and the pencil was out from behind his ear, now sketching a rough outline of the man sitting in his chair. From Kurt's perspective, he had an almost full-frontal view of the stranger as he worked tiredly at his laptop. The lighting is perfect, he thought to himself.

And it was. His face was sharp lines and angles, creating perfect shadows that fell delicately across his face. His pencil ran smoothly over the paper, carefully outlining the stranger's full lips and straight nose that ran over his thick eyebrows into his forehead, melting into barely-held-back curls drooping from the strong hold of the gel. It was the end of the day, and Kurt managed to replicate the exhausted look in the stranger's beautiful hazel-green-brown eyes. He began shading, softly at first, then bolder as the picture began to come to life. Kurt realized with a shock that he recognized this man--he also frequently visited the coffee shop. There were a few other unfinished sketches of him, as well as various other strangers lining the corners of his sketchbook. He was the same jawlines and big eyes over and over again, scattered around the pages.

He looked up once, twice, then on the third time, the stranger looked up as well and they locked eyes.

And Kurt felt his stomach swoop.

Having those eyes locked onto his made him a little breathless--the man was gorgeous, he couldn't deny this. But what really surprised Kurt was the look on the man's face; had it been someone else, he would've received a look of disdain and mild fear when the person realized they were being drawn. But this man, he had his head tilted to one side, eyes filling with curiosity and amusement. Kurt watched, gripping his sketchbook tightly, scared that the man's reaction would change and he would storm out.

But instead, he saw the man's eyes dart down to the book and pencil in Kurt's hands, then back up to Kurt's eyes. He smiled and packed up his things, and walked over to Kurt's table.

"Hi, um...were you drawing me?"

Kurt gaped at the man. "Yea--um, yes. I was." He stuttered a bit, still a bit anxious.

"...Can I see it?"

At Kurt's hesitation, the man seemed to lose confidence. "I-I mean, if you don't want me to look, that's fine--"

"No, it's okay! It's just that no one's really asked to see before."

The man smiled and visibly relaxed as Kurt pushed his sketchbook over to the man. Mr. Hazel Eyes took the book and said, "I'm Blaine, by the way."

"I'm Kurt."

"Nice to meet you, Ku--woah, this is really good."

Kurt blushed slightly and watched as Blaine stared at the drawn image of himself. No one had ever really taken interest in his work, besides his dad, college professors, and one or two close friends in high school. Besides those few people, he had been mostly ostracized because he was different.

Some say he was bullied. But that was behind him, and Kurt didn't like to dwell on it much. Life was too short to keep your sight set on the past, because you just might miss something important up ahead.

"Thanks," Kurt murmured. This was so foreign to him. "I'm not a creep though, I promise. The lighting was just really good where you were sitting." He tried not to blush even more.

"No it's fine, I don't mind. It's actually really flattering." Blaine turned to Kurt and gave him a small smile. He looked like he was going to say something else, but then his phone chirped loudly from his pocket and he was frowning and muttering an apology, then leaving with a backwards wave.

Kurt sat, still in shock.

What just happened?a279;