"I can't believe we have to do this," Kurt grumbled to himself, eyeing the other freshmen around him warily. The gym was packed and he was sitting in the second row of the bleachers, right on the edge of the aisle. The student to his left - an admittedly cute, tall boy talking excitedly about the upcoming football tryouts - had given Kurt a wide berth.

"Well, I think it's important," a too-loud voice said from the row behind him. Kurt turned to see a girl who looked as though the children's section at Kohl's had exploded all over her. He raised an eyebrow, hoping she got the hint to continue. With an exaggerated huff, she did. "We should be educated about soulmates because it's a huge part of our culture and without knowing what the concept means we could make serious mistakes that define our entire existence."

Kurt stared at her, wide-eyed and a little bit scared. "I think you might be overreacting. I've heard that only about 40 percent of people even find their soulmates, so it can't be that disastrous-"

"That doesn't mean we shouldn't know everything we can about it! Your soulmate is the one person that truly completes you and without her, you're always going to feel at least a little bit lost."

"I'll take my chances, thanks," Kurt snapped. The girl crossed her arms, clearly as irritated as Kurt felt. He hoped he'd never have to speak to her again; unfortunately, the universe seemed to have it in for him today.

"I'm Rachel Barbra Berry, by the way. Future Broadway star."

"Kurt Hummel. Future murderer," he added in an undertone as he turned back around, relieved when the lights started to dim. On the makeshift stage, the principal - Kurt couldn't remember his name - stepped up to the microphone, tapping it a few times before speaking.

"Good afternoon. Quiet children. Quiet please. I would like to introduce a very important speaker to you all today. Please give your best McKinley High welcome to Mr. Terry, author of Soulmates: A Mystery Unsolved."

There was scattered applause as a short, slightly rotund man dressed in a drab grey suit stood up from a chair at the edge of the stage. He took over the microphone with a nod and adjusted it - a high-pitched squeal pierced the room, drawing a number of groans from the crowd, but Mr. Terry didn't so much as flinch.

"Hello, I'm Mr. Terry," he said - actually, it was more of a mumble. Kurt tipped his head back, silently pleading to a God he didn't believe in that this would be over soon. "I'm here to give you the basics on soulmates. Can anyone tell me what a soulmate is? Yes, you - in the red."

"It's the person you get the best sex from," the student said, his voice smug. Kurt craned his neck to see who it was; sure enough, he spotted the trademark mohawk. Noah Puckerman.

"Hm. Well, that's not untrue-" Mr. Terry was interrupted by a few appreciative whistles. "-but I'm looking for something more like... the person that you're drawn to without regard to anything but love, your other half. A missing puzzle piece, if you will.

"Now, I'm sure you've heard some of this from your parents, but in a few years - most likely between the ages of 18 and 21 - a Letter will appear. Capital L," he added for clarification. "Usually it's on the left wrist but, in rare cases, it can be on the right. It's the first letter of your soulmate's first name. Any questions?"

Mr. Terry glanced around the audience, looking equally as bored as the students. Kurt stretched, straightening his posture out of habit, and thought of all the things he could have been doing instead of sitting through this lecture. He could have started and finished his French homework by now.

When no one raised their hand, Mr. Terry continued. "A few things come with the arrival of the Letter, meant to help you find your soulmate. Depending on how far from your soulmate you are at any given time, you'll feel a tugging sensation. Imagine tying a string around your wrist and having someone pull at the other end - that's what it feels like.

"The further you are from your match, the harder the pull will feel. It's not painful, but it can be annoying. The closer you are, however, the more the sensation will fade."

Kurt felt his attention ebbing; it wasn't that he didn't care about finding his soulmate, he did, but having it all explained to him so clinically was off-putting. Mr. Terry said a few more words to summarize what he'd already described, Kurt practically halfway out of his seat in anticipation of their dismissal.

"I have a question," someone asked, clearly unaware of the glares now directed at her. "Can anyone be soulmates?"

"That's a controversial subject. Many feel that those who claim to have same-sex soulmates are faking it."

"Of course," Kurt muttered as the principal dismissed the students to their final class of the day. "Because anyone that strays from the beaten path must be delusional."

"That's an old-fashioned, bigoted opinion," Rachel sniffed; she must have been following him.

"Do you mind? I have a class to get to."

"I'm just saying that my dads are gay, and they're definitely each other's soulmates." It sounded as though she'd repeated that line more than just a few times, and though Kurt's mood was distinctly lifted by this information, her voice still rang a little too loudly in his ears.

"That's fantastic, Rachel. May I go to English now?"

"We're in the same class," she reminded him. Kurt had to resist banging his head against the nearest locker, instead forcing a smile on his face as he nodded.

He stepped into the classroom, trying not to let his thoughts stray. Despite his efforts, a little flare of hope expanded in his chest as he imagined meeting his soulmate at last. He wondered if it would be immediately after turning eighteen, as some did - as his own father did.

As Kurt sat down in his seat, now aware of Rachel's presence on the other side of the room, he realized that he wanted to be in that 40 percent more than he cared to admit.

His chest hurt. His ankle hurt. His head hurt worse, hardly alleviated by the steady beeping that pounded its way into Blaine's skull as he slowly drew out of his stupor. He kept his eyes closed, unwilling to face the real world just yet.

The last thing he remembered was something swinging at him - a bat, maybe - and then nothing. He remembered excruciating pain, so much pain that it gave way to near numbness, like white noise. He also remembered a sharp, stinging sensation in his wrist.

Which was still there.

Blaine groaned as he blinked his eyes open, trying to adjust to the sudden, crisp light of the hospital room. There were voices, but they were distorted and Blaine couldn't make sense of them, so he didn't try to listen. Instead, he tried to lift up his right arm, wincing at the spike of hot pain that shot through his wrist every other second, a steady rhythm.

Just when he'd almost managed to get his arm up far enough to see what was wrong, someone pushed it carefully back down, their tone urgent.

"...have to stay still, Blaine, don't want to make anything worse," she was saying, and Blaine recognized the voice as his mother's. "The pain meds must be wearing off if you're waking up, I'd better-"

"Wh- What's on my-" Blaine mumbled, shifting his arm as much as he could to indicate what he was talking about.

"I don't see anything, honey," she said. "Maybe there's a scratch they missed on the inside of your arm, let me-" She stopped abruptly after turning Blaine's arm over so his palm faced upwards.

"Mom?"

"You've got- Look," she said, gently lifting his forearm. On the inside of his right wrist was a small Letter, a K, which looked as though it was written in bright red ink. It continued to sting, and Blaine said as much.

She nodded, putting Blaine's arm back down for him.

"I'll get someone to help explain," she said, leaving. "You rest."

But Blaine couldn't rest. Despite how exhausted his entire body was just from the effort of waking up, the discovery of the Letter had him too curious. He wasn't eighteen, wouldn't be for a few years yet - why was it suddenly here?

He heard a door opening and a new voice, somewhat high-pitched and way more cheerful than Blaine thought the situation called for.

"Hello Blaine! I'm Dr. Anderson - we have the same last name!"

Oh dear god.

"Anyways, you can call me Betty. You mom said that you got your Letter a bit early?"

"Yeah," Blaine croaked, though he was glad to find that his voice was getting stronger. "Why?"

"Well, sometimes when one person ends up in a traumatic situation, something in their brain instinctively reaches out for their soulmate ahead of time, so the Letter appears! It's not too uncommon, but it's not something that happens every day either. It's like your body is trying to help you find the one person that can truly help you no matter what."

"Does the other person get it too?" his mother asked.

"Yes, and I'm afraid it's hurting for her too, Blaine," Betty said with an expression that was probably meant to be apologetic but it was more of a leer than anything. "Still, whoever this girl is - maybe a Katie, or a Kellie - I think she's going to be very lucky to find you, you little charmer!"

"But I'm-" Betty left without another word, completely ignoring his halfhearted protest. "-gay."

"It's okay, honey," his mom said, rubbing his arm comfortingly. "You know, there aren't very many boy names that start with K..."

"Please don't start this," Blaine muttered. "Not now."

"Well, it would certainly be safer for you, if that dance was any indication," she said with a hard edge to her words. Her expression softened, however, as she watched her son - broken and defeated and lost. "I agree with that basket case, though. Whoever it is is one lucky person."

Blaine smiled with a little difficulty - the muscles hadn't had a need to move that way in a few days - and felt himself drifting off. He had one more question, though.

"Why is my Letter red? Yours and all the others I've seen are black." He didn't mention how his mother's Letter didn't match his father's name; that was considered disrespectful since so many people never did find their soulmates, and it's usually a touchy subject for that reason.

"I'm not sure, but I have seen a few red Letters," she said. "It's still a mystery, but some people say that a red Letter is a sign of a more intense bond with your soulmate, whatever that might involve. Others say it's no different, but I guess that's up to you to find out," she added with a wink.

They talked for a short while longer about Blaine's hospital stay (a bruised ribcage, a mild concussion, not as bad as it could have been given the circumstances) and then his mother had to leave.

"Your father wants me to attend his company dinner, so I need to get ready," she'd said, a bit sadly. "I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it," Blaine sighed, accepting the kiss on his forehead.

He had plenty to think about, to keep himself occupied until he finally fell under the influence of the pain medication again, but it still stung that she was leaving. Didn't he - who was bedridden in a hospital after having been attacked, never mind that he was their son - rate higher than a fancy dinner?

As usual, however, Blaine didn't say anything. With a final wave and a nervous smile that looked more like a pained grimace, his mother left. He expected the familiar sense of loneliness to come once she'd gone out the door, but it never did. He felt angry, resentful, but not lonely.

As he refocused his attention on the pain shooting through his wrist, now at a much slower rate, he thought maybe he wasn't alone anymore. Not like he used to be.