Sliding the first letter and photo back into their slots in his memory box, Kurt took out the next letter in line, reaching behind it to grab a second folded piece of paper. Again, the letter was carefully smoothed out across his bed before he started reading.

This letter was dated a few weeks after the first, sent around then end of September. Kurt remembered the giddy feeling he’d had opening it, reading that familiar scrawl on a day where nothing else had gone right. He’d messed up lyrics in a vocal class, tripped over his own feet in dance, and gotten soaked by the rain while wearing a favorite shirt. But then a padded envelope had been waiting from Blaine after classes, and somehow the day just turned itself around before he could even cut down his roommate with well-placed sarcasm in their shared closet.

Dearest Kurt,

We’ve got trouble. Right here in Lima, Ohio. With a capital “T” that rhymes with “P” that stands for pool!

Or maybe we’re just getting ready to put on “The Music Man”. Seems the less controversial choice thing went down so well last year that Mr. Schue decided to go for an even less controversial choice for this year’s musical. I tried to convince him towards something Disney. Surprise, surprise. Aladdin would have been awesome. We could totally have turned Artie’s wheelchair into the flying carpet. Okay. Maybe not, but a guy can dream. Still, I’m feeling this massive urge to catch you on Skype and sing “A Whole New World” together.

Auditions finished last week, and the cast list posted this morning. Guess who’s the next Prof. Harold Hill? If you said Sam or Joe, you’re totally wrong. Artie’s directing again, but with Mr. Schue this time. Last year I had to pretend to fall in love with Rachel on stage. This year, I get to pretend to fall in love with Tina instead. It’s been great this year, well month, seeing her confidence grow. A year ago, she’d have never considered auditioning for Maria. Now? She easily snagged the role of Marian. I feel like she’s stepping out from behind Rachel and Mercedes shadows.

On a random note, I never realized how similar those two names are until I wrote them down for this letter. Maria. Marian. Apparently I only fall in fake love with people with names are similar to Mary. Would it get me brownie points here to point out that I only fall in real love with people named exactly Kurt?

The musical should be a good distraction. Between glee, classes, and the musical I’ll barely have time to think. If I start to sing 76 Trombones every time we Skype, you’ll know what happened. Though really, I wonder how many jokes I’ll be able to get away with on that one. Having a gay kid sing a song about trombones just seems like the set up for all kinds of dirty jokes. Artie’d appreciate them at least, right? Since I won’t have Mike to pal around with on set this time. Or you.

I’ve enclosed Exhibit C. (What happens when I get to Z by the spring? Will I have to start over? AA?) I stole the cast list from the bulletin board long enough to make a copy on the Cheerio’s machine for you. I hope you appreciate the risk I took. Coach Sue could have caught and tortured me. Or stopped calling me such nice names. I’m also rather starting to feel like that lawyer my father wants me to become, holding the world’s strangest trial.

As you can see from Exhibit C, yours truly wasn’t lost in a world of disappointment today. I don’t think there are a lot of surprises there. Elliot, the boy I wrote you about in the last letter, got cast as Winthrop. I hope that won’t just make him more of a target. I guess it’s that crazy need to mentor someone you always tease me about, but I just feel like he needs a big brother around here. Yes, I know you’re going to laugh at me. Please start now and be done by the time I talk to you tonight. Deal?

Alright, these aren’t getting their own exhibit letter, but I tossed in a couple pictures I took with my phone at glee the other afternoon. Thought it might be nice to see we’re surviving here in the wonders of Ohio. (Or is the hellhole of Lima more appropriate?) And hey, you can put faces with the names of new people I might ramble on about.

I know I’ll have already told you about this on Skype, so getting the story again might be annoying. But remember the silly romantic thing! Handwritten letters sent to you from halfway across the country and all that. 

I know I’ve told you I love you a million times, but here’s one more in writing. I love you so much, and I miss you horribly. Why couldn’t we have graduated together?

Yours truly, (and with all cheesiness)

Blaine

Kurt smiled fondly as he read the closing of that, reaching out for the piece of paper sitting beside the letter. The cast list received barely a glance, Kurt instead reaching for the handful of photos folded inside.

Each picture came complete with its own caption. The top of the stack today was of Sam, surrounded by a couple of bored looking younger teenage girls. Sam fails yet again to charm the new girls with his impressions and knowledge of Klingon. I think he’d have better luck if he just walked around shirtless instead.

That image was slipped aside with a chuckle to glance down at the next: Rory and Artie dueling with plastic toy lightsabers. Mr. Schue was running a little late Wednesday. Why Artie had lightsabers in his backpack is a good question. A better one might be why either of them seemed to think Sugar might be at all impressed with this. Such questions probably had no answer, Kurt assumed, even this much later as he set the photo aside, flipping to the last one.

Proof Artie believes in colorblind casting. That was all Blaine had written on the back. The photo itself was a quick candid of Tina, leaning over to point something out in a notebook to a younger boy. Even months ago, before meeting some of the newbies over winter break, Kurt had known this had to be Blaine’s new pet project of a person. Blaine had been right. The kid looked more like a sixth grader than a freshman, and the Harry Potter t-shirt wasn’t helping that much with adding maturity. And with loose black curls and caramel toned skin, Elliot would fool no one into thinking he was Tina’s little brother. He’d have better luck with trying to convince people he’s was Blaine’s little brother with a good tan and less hair gel.

Kurt neatly tucked the pictures back inside the cast list, laughing lightly as he remembered the rather guilty feeling of relief he’d felt on seeing that last picture for the first time. It wasn’t like he really thought Blaine would cheat on him. Seeing the kid’s picture had made it clear, though. This wasn’t attraction on Blaine’s part. Just his overwhelming need to be a mentor and big brother figure to any vulnerable soul around him. It was the sort of thing that would make Blaine someday, far in the future, like in ten years, a good father to their kids. Not that Kurt was quite ready to say as much yet.

And on that note, it was time to distract himself with another letter, this one tucked safely away before Kurt lifted the next one, his eyes getting just a bit misty as he picked up the ticket stub that immediately fell out of letter number three.