A distinct crispness in the air sweeps across the rosy apples of Blaine's cheeks as he walks along the sidewalk carpeted by a cluster of leaves; ablaze with shades of red and gold. He looks up from his tattered notebook, absorbing the beauty of autumn as he gazes along the dripping colors of amber. He inhales the woodsy smells of pine and oak around him and sighs dreamily, pulling the warmth of his hat down firmly over his ears before he gazes back down at the scrawled words on his notebook.

Birds chirp happily in the colorful trees above Blaine while the crunch of dead leaves sounds beneath his shoes with every step he takes. A few blocks down, he manages to tear his eyes from his notebook and up to the school gates of McKinley, breaking his peaceful reverie as his ears meet a clamorous cacophony of students.

Blaine's sighs of bliss and contentment tumble into melancholy, doleful sighs – releasing a heavy exasperated breath as he reaches the heaving corridors. He tucks his notebook away in his bag safely and begins to make his way through the crowd towards his locker, shuffling past students with his head down until he reaches his locker.

Last year, days at McKinley were always the same: he'd start the day by waiting at his locker by himself until the bell rang, before scurrying to class to make sure he wouldn't be late. Then, he'd have to sit through class surrounded by a sea of idiotic imbeciles while he was forced to listen to their nonsensical - although slightly comical - remarks. At lunch, he'd grab his tray of food and make his way to the school restroom and situate himself on the closed toilet lid in a grubby cubicle as he ate his lunch where no one could disturb him. Usually, he would spend his spare time in the library, either writing or catching up with homework.

But today was the beginning of his senior year and he didn't have the slightest ounce of enthusiasm for repeating the same old boring routine for another year. However, this was his final year at McKinley and he was definitely looking forward to finally getting out of this hellhole to pursue his aspiration of becoming a writer. He didn't know what sort of writer though – perhaps a novelist, maybe a songwriter, or even a journalist – all he knew was that he wanted to travel to different cities and go on adventures as his imagination took him on a journey of colorful stories and dreaded climaxes.
For Blaine, writing was almost like a fulfilling spark of hope. It gave him the ability to escape from the cold-hearted ignorance that surrounded him and into another world that was filled with joyousness and optimism, while simultaneously producing a story or piece of music by stringing various words together and creating something beautiful by the very depths of your own imagination.

"Blaine What's-his-face." Blaine glances up from his locker at the sound of a shrill voice interrupting his thoughts; a pair of sharp, inquisitive eyes accentuated by square glasses shadowed his view as a microphone was held to his mouth. Jacob Israel.

Blaine rolls his eyes. "It's Anderson," he mutters, irritated by the unwelcome presence that was Jacob – whose goal was to pry into as many students' private lives as he could, preferably on the first day of term. Blaine turns to face his locker, collecting his notes and textbooks ready for class.

"Right, whatever," Jacob says, twitching his nose. "Anyway, considering you're one of the few out-of-the-closet gays at McKinley, what is your opinion on the new manifest gay transfer than just reeks high-standard fashionista?"

Jacob nods his head towards the opposite end of the hallway and Blaine follows his line of sight, eyes widening instinctively because wow, he hadn't been expecting that. Stood at the other side of the lockers, was a boy that Blaine could've sworn emitted beauty. His elegant stance never faltered, nor did his remarkably-styled golden hair as he stood by his locker, twisting and pulling at the latch while Rachel Berry accompanied him at his side, her lightly-tan skin punctuating the boy's fair complexion.

"Huh, how has Rachel Berry already taken a liking for him within five minutes of being here whereas I've been here for almost four years and she still doesn't notice me?" Jacob moans, shaking his head. "What's wrong with me?"
"God knows," Blaine mumbles under his breath, not tearing his eyes away from the boy. "What did you say his name was again?"

"I didn't," Jacob says bluntly. "But since you have some big fat, disgustingly obvious gay crush on him – his name is Kurt Hummel."

Blaine's whips his head around, his face flushing bright pink. "I do not have a crush on him."

"Yeah, whatever." Jacob wrinkles his nose. "I have more interesting lives to investigate on, so if you excuse me – hey you, how did you feel when you found out you got your girlfriend's mom pregnant?"

Blaine shakes his head as he watches Jacob speed down the corridor, interrogating several students on his way. His eyes drift back to the boy – Kurt Hummel – just while he was being led down the hallway by Rachel Berry and disappearing into a cluster of students.

Blaine sighs and closes his locker. He pulls his messenger bag over his shoulder and starts making his way to class, his thoughts occupied with sudden realization.
Maybe this year will be different.

* *

With the crack of his notebook, Blaine lets his imagination spill on to the paper. Constructing each sentence with a variety of descriptive adjectives and verbs, until each word built up to form paragraphs of vivid images and illustrations.

As Blaine loses himself in words, he doesn't notice the dark shadow that casted over him until he was jostled forward by a familiar force, causing his pen to spring out of the grip of his hand. He looks up from the notebook – his eyes meeting an unfriendly glare and a red letterman jacket hunched over a largely built body with several identical ones scattered behind him, stood with sly expressions crafted across their faces.

"Leave me alone, Karofsky," Blaine mutters, trying to restrain his voice from breaking. He knew he should have just stayed and ate his lunch in the bathroom where he'd be safe, but when he came in to the cafeteria to collect his lunch, there was an empty table at the back, near a window that looked like the perfect place to add the finishing details to his short story. Clearly not.

"Sorry to disturb your precious story-telling time, Anderson – no wait, I'm not," Karofsky snickered in unison with the pack of jocks behind him. "The boys and I think you deserve a small welcome back gift, since you know – it's the first day of term and all. Isn't that right, boys?"

With a smirk, Karofsky turns to the jocks that dispersed around him, grabbing something out of one of their hands and continuing to bring the item into Blaine's field of vision, stepping forward until he was in full proximity. Blaine's widened eyes darted to the cup that was filled with bright blue slushy. He gulps and squeezes his eyes shut tightly as Karofsky extends his arm outwards above Blaine's neatly gelled hair.

He could run now. He could run and avoid the surge of mortification that'll come from this. But he couldn't. He was fixated on this spot, his body unable to move as he waited with his eyes shut tightly, trying to block out the vacant stares of the watching students.

And then a sharp slap of coldness hits his face as the contents spills onto him, freezing him inside out with humiliation. He wipes at his eyes as the frozen slush obscures his vision and grabs his messenger bag quickly, flinging it over his shoulder as he races out of the cafeteria doors, laughter echoing after him before the doors slammed shut.

He stands awkwardly in the middle of the empty hall, not knowing how or where to go when the slush was still fogging up his eyesight. He flails his arms around in front of him helplessly, hoping to find some sort of wall or door to grip onto to support him.

"Come on, let's get you cleaned up."

Blaine stops moving in his tracks as a melodic voice accompanies him. He feels a warm palm against the small of his back that begins to move him forward. Blaine lets the hands guide him, steering him in various directions – left, right, left– moving step by step as their shoes make light tapping sounds on the polished floor as they walk.

After a few moments of walking in silence, he was halted to a stop and the hands disappeared, the warmth of their palms still lingering on his back a little. He kept his eyes shut firmly and didn't dare move, in case he was led in to some sort of trap by the jocks that would cause him to trip and fall if he walked forward a step.
"I'm just going to lock the door so no one comes in, okay?" the voice spoke again, followed by the sound of a door being locked securely.

"I... okay," Blaine says awkwardly, his eyes still firmly closed by the iced drink.

There was a slight hesitation in the atmosphere followed by an elongated silence, and Blaine starts to wonder if the person left, but after a while he could feel the heat of another body radiating against the front of his own and a familiar warm hand cupping his cold cheek.

Blaine knew instantaneously he'd been guided to the bathroom when the sound of water running from a faucet ricocheted off the walls. He flinches instinctively when a damp towel presses to his face and the palm that rests on his cheek removes itself almost too quickly. "Sorry," the voice says quietly. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"It's fine," Blaine replies. "I just wasn't expecting it, that's all."

"Um, just stay still, okay? I'll be quick."

Blaine nods and the towel was pressed to his skin again, wiping gently at his cheeks and eyes. He soon relaxes against the touch, indulging in the pleasant tingling sensation he got from it. He wasn't used to being physically touched (with the exception of hugs and kisses from his family) without it resulting in his skin forming bruises of different shapes and colors, so this was a new to him – being handled in such a caring way.

There was a sense of tranquility within the way he listened to the running water and the soft intakes of breathe opposite him. It almost made him want to stay in this state of serenity forever, but he knew as soon as the bell rang he'd be sucked back into reality and obscenities would be thrown around him again.

"Open your eyes," he was told softly after a few minutes.
Blaine obliges, blinking his eyes open and closed a few times until they adapt to the light, eventually meeting another pair of eyes that come into focus as they stared back hopefully; they were a collection of beautiful colors mixed together – blues and greens and yellows – almost reminiscent of the autumn scenery he had admired on his walk to school.

Clearing his throat and shaking his head, Blaine finally manages to tear his eyes away and take in rest of the boy's artfully sculpted features – features that looked all too familiar, making Blaine's eyebrows shoot up in growing realization.

Kurt. Blaine's breath catches in his throat as he gazes at the same boy that managed to take his breath away earlier at his locker, but somehow manages to look even more beautiful close up. How is that even possible?

"I, um. I can see," Blaine finally manages to say, blinking his eyes open and closed again.

"I'm glad you appreciate my optical skills." Kurt chuckles, and Blaine's stomach does a somersault at the sound. "But – um, there's still some in your hair," he continues, blushing slightly as he gestures to the mass of slush atop of Blaine's gelled hair that is starting to form small curls as the liquid spread. "I could, uh, wash it out for you if you'd like?"

Blaine's hand sprang up, touching at his hair self-consciously. "Oh, no, that's – that's all right. I only live about ten minutes away so I'll just go home to shower and, um, change," he says awkwardly. "Thank you, though, for helping me – I mean."

"You're welcome," Kurt says and smiles a little, which Blaine returns timidly. They stay like that for a few seconds, staring at each other with shy smiles touching at their lips, before Kurt clears his throat and breaks his gaze, holding out his hand to Blaine. "I'm Kurt, by the way."

"I know," Blaine says instinctively, eyes going wide as his brain catches up with his mouth. Idiot. "I mean, uh, I'm Blaine," he corrects himself, shaking Kurt's hand gently. "Anderson."

Kurt chuckles softly just as the school bell ricochets around the restroom. "Well, Blaine Anderson, it was a pleasure to meet you – but God knows what'll happen if I'm late for class on my first day of a brand new school." He picks up his bag from where it was placed on the floor and hooks it over his shoulder with a smile. "I'll see you around?"

"Yeah, yeah, of course." He watches as Kurt turns and heads for the door, his hand just about touches the handle when–

"Oh!" Kurt spins around abruptly, startling Blaine a little. "I almost forgot..." He walks back up to the spot in front of Blaine, fishing around in his bag before pulling out a worn-down notebook; the spine tattered with loose pages struggling to stay in place. "I believe this is yours," he says as he hand's it to Blaine. "You left it on table in the cafeteria after you ran out, so I picked it up for you."

"I... my notebook, you..." Blaine stares down at the book in his hands, dumbfounded. He thinks of all his stories, creations and imagination that he stores in that book and what could have happened if it had all vanished. All his elements of escapism would be washed away; in such a far-away proximity that would inevitably shatter the pieces that held him together, just by the absent of simple words written with a pen and paper.

He looks back up at Kurt; his honey-colored eyes wide as a shy tugs at his mouth. "Kurt, thank you – I... If I'd have lost this then... I don't know what I would have done and I..." He gulps, and lets out a breath. "Thank you."
"It's the least I could do," Kurt replies. His smile falters before continuing, "You're okay, though, right? I mean what they did to you..." he trails off, before finding his words, "you don't deserve any of that, Blaine."

Blaine's eyes fall to where he holds his notebook in his hands and his feet shuffle around nervously, mumbling, "Uh, yeah, I'm fine. You sort of get used to it after a while."

Kurt watches Blaine closely, curiously, as his sad eyes cast down where he twiddles with the spine of his notebook. "I know what you mean," Kurt says quietly, causing Blaine to lift his head curiously. "Um, I should go," he says immediately, zipping his bag closed hastily. His features soften when he looks back up at Blaine, his voice gentle when he says, "It was really nice talking to you, Blaine - and uh, maybe we can get a coffee sometime soon?"

Blaine's eyes widen slightly at the invitation. "I – of course," he stutters out, not really knowing how to respond, having rarely been asked it. "That'd be nice. "
"Great!" Kurt says cheerfully. "I'll see you around, Blaine."

He stares in awe at Kurt as he turns and exits the bathroom. "See you around," Blaine whispers after Kurt has left, barely able to comprehend what just happened. He looks up to see his reflection in the mirror – his clothes and hair soaked with slushy and skin flushing red from the cold, but he was smiling. A true smile that curls at his lips, crinkling the corners of his cheeks.
Okay, he's pretty sure this year will be different after all.

* *

After showering for the second time that day (slushy mixed with hair-gel isn't the easiest thing to wash out of hair...), Blaine walks out of his bathroom dressed in fresh pair of cozy pajamas and smelling of a refreshing strawberry scent. He settles down next to his window and a cool gust of wind blows across his face as he looks out at the night sky; the crescent of the moon and constellations of stars almost creating a magical feel for Blaine. He grabs his notebook and pen from his desk, and neatly scribbles down the first thoughts that enter his mind:

It was as if a light entered the darkness of my life; a beautiful, illuminating light that burns out the pessimism, and ignites the good.