Kurt stalked out of the school, pulling out his keys and unlocking his Navigator with a beep and a flash of the headlights from across the parking lot. The nerve they had, didn't Puck and the others realize he had enough on his plate without having to put up with their shit?

Of course not. No one ever did.

He sat in his car, his head tipped back as he rubbed his Letter absently underneath his thin-cut black leather cuff, a habit he'd gotten into. It was a small red B situated on the inside of his left wrist. He remembered when it first appeared - he'd been in his room doing homework when pain like that of a needle stabbed into his wrist, causing him to cry out in surprise. The pain had been almost unbearable at first but, thankfully, it had died down by the next afternoon, leaving just a Letter there.

The first few days of having the Letter had been irritating, to say the least. It was barely a tickle, but Kurt could feel it - a slight tug, like a string was attached to the mark. He had been constantly rubbing, scratching, itching at it in an attempt to alleviate the sensation with no luck. Soon enough, however, he'd gotten used to it, though he still preferred to keep himself distracted by sketching in his notebook.

He'd never told anyone how weak the pull was – actually, only the New Directions knew about the Letter, thanks to changing in close quarters for competitions (he supposed the cuff was a dead giveaway, but at least no one else seemed to notice – or care). But the idea that his soulmate, B (as Kurt had taken to calling him in his mind), was most likely somewhere in Ohio was infuriating. How often he'd imagined traveling the entire state, searching for that missing part of him - but it was impractical.

Really, this whole soulmate system was silly, Kurt thought. No wonder many people never found their partners. Looking for someone purely based on a single letter of their name and the strength of a pull was something that - in this world of minutes, seconds, even milliseconds - wasted precious time and energy.

"Fuck this," Kurt muttered, turning the key in the ignition. He needed a break from Lima, and what better way to do that than to take Puck's oh-so-kind advice to spy on Dalton? Kurt tapped the details into his GPS, determined that he could make it to the school around its last period of class, and headed home to change into something that might help him blend in.

It wasn't long before Kurt was on the freeway, his Broadway playlist blasting in the car as he drove to Westerville. He felt increasingly sick, and wondered if he'd have to make a stop, but still he drove on. By the time he pulled into Dalton's parking lot - and gaped for a few moments at the building - he was seriously reconsidering his decision. It felt as though there was something trying to claw its way out of his stomach, yet he felt it as though it was an echo of illness. It was there, but he wasn't exactly incapacitated; he felt the symptoms without the usual lethargy or the sense of being a sort of flu zombie. It was the strangest thing Kurt had experienced since getting his Letter.

After some time, during which Kurt had tried to calm his stomach to no avail, he decided to go in. Once in the school's doors, Kurt quickly realized that his attempt at camouflage would be useless - there were uniforms everywhere. Slipping on his shades so he could avoid eye contact from confused students, he started down the hall to his right.

Walking down a spiral staircase, Kurt overheard two boys just in front of him talking about Warbler's rehearsal. He stopped them at the bottom of the steps with a rushed "Excuse me," and asked where he could find out more about the show choir.

"Well, we were supposed to have an impromptu performance today-" one of them began, shaking his blonde hair out of his face. Kurt resisted the urge to mention that the term 'impromptu' generally suggested 'unplanned.'

"-But our lead singer is stuck in his dorm, sick," the other - shorter, with dark, wavy hair - finished. "You can come by the senior commons after school if you want, but you should probably wear your uniform. We don't need anyone thinking you're here to spy on us or something."

"Wes might actually throw his gavel."

"Thanks, but I think I'll pass," Kurt said as they began to laugh. "I'm not feeling too well either."

"Man, that sucks. Another day?" the blonde asked hopefully.

"Maybe," Kurt said with a nervous smile. They nodded and waved at him as they walked away, and Kurt found himself wondering what it was like here. Aside from the odd suspicious glance, no one seemed to look twice at him. Those two guys didn't even flinch at his voice, which had gone higher than usual under the pressure.

Then another wave of nausea came over him and Kurt figured it was pointless to stay any longer, so he slowly made his way back to the parking lot, unable to shake off the feeling that something was wrong.

Probably just my stomach, Kurt thought uneasily, looking back at the building. He reached the Navigator, and the slam of the door as he got in startled him from his thoughts. With a sigh, he turned the key, huffing irritably when it took longer to start than usual. Soon enough - or maybe too soon - it rumbled to life, and Kurt drove out of the parking lot. He left the music off, simply driving in silence with nothing but his own mind for company. And it was miserable company.

One thing Kurt was grateful for was how his stomachache gradually ebbed away, soon disappearing altogether as he turned onto the final stretch towards Lima. However, he started to notice the pull on his wrist again, and he adjusted the cuff in a fruitless attempt to ease the sensation. Being at Dalton - with its tastefully muted colors and somewhat vintage feel - must have distracted him from his Letter, or maybe it was the odd phantom flu he'd experienced.

Kurt refused to think that the connection had actually faded away in Westerville. To do that would be to foster hope, something that he'd been slowly losing. He didn't want to be lifted too high, to put too much stock into what could easily have been a vague, fleeting daydream.

It'll hurt too much when he inevitably falls.

Blaine took a deep breath, his eyes closed and his heart beating fast. It was ridiculous how nervous he was; it was only Sectionals, after all, yet he felt like he had twice the usual jitters.

The Warblers had already performed their Train medley, and Blaine was confident that it had gone off without a hitch. Well, except for Nick's slight misstep - seriously, it's a two-step, it's not that hard - but he doubted that any of the judges noticed. Blaine was now sitting in the audience with the rest of the group, waiting for the McKinley High New Directions to start performing. He'd heard about them, and he had to admit he was interested in seeing just how good they were.

"Hey. Blaine," Wes hissed from the row behind him. Blaine turned as the announcer started to recite an advertisement for Breadstix's rival pasta chain, Parma Sean's. "Are you actually oblivious to the entire universe?"

"What?"

"Your phone has been vibrating for the last five minutes." Shit.

Blaine took the phone out of his pocket, one glance at the screen telling him that he had three missed calls. All of them were from Cooper. Wary, Blaine opened up his messages to find just one new text - also from his brother.

From: Cooper

2010-11-26 19:18

hey squirt call me, it's an emergency

Blaine didn't stop to think - he whispered a quick apology to the others and slipped into the aisle, all but sprinting to the door. He nearly knocked over someone standing just outside and ignored the offended huff that he heard behind him as he kept moving away. Blaine felt a strong twinge of annoyance at - what? The guy that he just practically bulldozed?

He shook off the thought; he could ponder any leftover irrational emotions later. For now, he found a secluded corner of the building and started a call to Cooper. The call rang through once, twice, three times and kept going. Blaine leaned heavily against the wall and sighed.

"Hey, this is Cooper Anderson from - Free Credit Rating Today dot com! If you'd like to contact me about an audition or a role, please leave a message. Slash savings!"

"Of course," Blaine muttered. He hung up before the voicemail tone and tried again. This time it only rang twice before someone answered.

"Hello?"

"Coop,it's me," Blaine said, relieved that it had only taken two calls this time.

"Squirt! What's going on?"

"Don't call- You know what, nevermind. What's the emergency?" Blaine asked, anxious. He didn't wonder why Cooper didn't seem to know about Sectionals - his own parents didn't care, so why should his brother care?

"Emergency?"

Blaine slipped down the wall so that he was sitting on the floor; he really wasn't in the mood for this today. He briefly considered just hanging up on Cooper before he heard his brother's voice again.

"Squirt? Are you- Oh! Yeah, there's an emergency."

"... Well?"

"I need your help with an audition I scored. Three words: Disney, animated, playful woodland creatures."

"Five words."

"Whatever, will you help me out?" The line clicked as Blaine hung up. He knew it was a childish thing to do, to run from the problem like that - but then again, he always ran. Fighting meant losing; running meant safety.

Even if he felt like he lost a bit of himself every time he fled.

Blaine stayed there for a while longer before remembering that there was an awards ceremony to get to. Brushing away the single tear that had escaped, he hurried backstage. He found the Warblers there already, and clearly worried. Wes looked like he was about to send out a government search party.

"It's about damn time," Wes said quietly. "You okay?"

"I'm fine. Are they going to call us up?"

"Any second now."

"Let's reintroduce the competing groups," the announcer called, his voice muffled from backstage. "First we have the Dalton Warblers!"

Blaine nodded and led the way to the stage. He bumped into a boy wearing a deep maroon dress shirt that was slightly taller than him and felt a strange shock of nerves - probably just got startled or something - that nearly made him stumble. Instead, he kept his head down, muttering an apology as he made his way into the spotlight for the second time that night.

About ten minutes later, the Warblers ended up in second place and didn't qualify for Regionals. Blaine didn't feel as dejected as he would have thought - in fact, he felt almost buoyant and joyful. He supposed he was just happy for the New Directions, who were celebrating on the stage near them. From what he'd heard, they deserved this shot.

"They did a good job," Trent mused from beside Blaine.

"I missed it - what did they do?"

"One of the girls sang lead on Valerie while a couple of the others did a crazy dance routine. But the awesome part was the duet before that." Trent's eyes were wide; it must have been good. As the Warblers walked off the stage, Blaine prompted him to keep going. "Oh, these two guys sang (I've Had) The Time of My Life. There's one of them."

Trent pointed towards the New Directions, who were filing past the Warblers in good cheer. The person in question, a well-built guy with a shock of sandy blonde hair, looked up at Blaine and nodded, smiling cordially.

"The other one... Huh, I don't see him. He had an insane vocal range, though, I wish you could have heard him."

"Me too. Hey," Blaine said, raising his voice so all the Warblers could hear him. "Does Breadstix sound good for a second-place celebratory meal?"

The others all murmured their affirmation, and Blaine made a mental note to ask the bus driver to stop. Technically it wasn't allowed to make such a stop, but Dalton didn't exactly adhere to regular school standards anyways.

As they headed out the door to get to the bus, Blaine rubbed at his Letter, which was conveniently hidden under the uniform's right cuff. He hadn't felt it much that night - if at all - and he supposed he'd been too distracted to notice the tug. It was so weak, he couldn't always be sure whether or not he was just imagining that it had faded away.

Preoccupied with his thoughts, Blaine didn't even notice that anyone was speaking to him until he felt a hand on his shoulder. Looking up, he saw a man - likely in his early forties - who wore a cap on top of his head and a flannel shirt. Blaine's first instinct was to flinch, but the man's eyes were kind, so he resisted.

"You guys did good," the man said, smiling. "Congrats."

"Oh- Thank you, sir," Blaine said. "The New Directions blew us out of the water, though."

"Yeah, they can do that sometimes. They're a crazy bunch, but they're good kids."

Before Blaine could ask how he knew the New Directions, Wes called him from the bus, looking distinctly irritated.

"If you're not on this bus in thirty seconds-"

"I'd better go," Blaine said, his expression apologetic. "I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it, kid. Go have fun, and good luck next year."

Blaine nodded, taking the hand that was offered to him and shaking it. He thanked the man again before turning to walk briskly towards the bus, shooting a glare at Wes. The guy was actually looking at his watch, for goodness' sake.

"You're a dictator," Blaine said to him as he climbed into the bus.

"I'm a leader, and so are you," Wes said loftily. "Which means you should be on the bus when the rest of us are on the bus."

"Whatever you say. To Breadstix, John," he added, addressing the bus driver. The vehicle shuddered as it started to move, and Blaine settled himself on one of the seats, exhausted.

He pulled his sleeve up by a few inches and stared at the K on his wrist, just as vibrant and clear as it had been that afternoon in the hospital. With a single finger, he traced the lines, a feeling of hopelessness threatening to break through his fragile shell. His soulmate was in Ohio, within 3 hours from Westerville at the most, and it was proving impossible to find him. Or her.

No, him. Of that, at least, Blaine was sure.

There didn't seem to be any point in actively looking for this K person, considering the limitations of the Letter. Funny how it's meant to help in the process of finding one's soulmate, yet Blaine had no real way to search. Hiding his Letter under the sleeve again, Blaine decided he would try to live his life on his own. If he found K along the way, great, if not...

Well, he wasn't going to think about that just yet.