"I'm in love with you, and I'm not in the business of denying myself the simple pleasure of saying true things. I'm in love with you, and I know that love is just a shout into the void, and that oblivion is inevitable, and that we're all doomed and that there will come a day when all our labor has been returned to dust, and I know the sun will swallow the only earth we'll ever have, and I am in love with you."

-Augustus Waters
The Fault in Our Stars by John Green

Kurt wasn't sentimental about very many things. Naturally he cherished the memories of his mother, and anything associated with her, but that was the extent. He didn't believe in holding on to something if it was impractical, such as birthday cards or souvenirs from places he'd visited a hundred times. Kurt saw the items as useless, because he didn't need reminders of when he'd had a good time. He just remembered.

So why, then, was this little scrap of paper, so completely without purpose, still resting on his otherwise immaculate vanity, among his array of face creams and moisturizers? Just a small rumpled square of lined paper, a couple lines scrawled on to it in red ink. It wasn't important - certainly Kurt could just throw it away, discard it for the litter it was.

But every time he tried to put it into his trash bin, something stopped him.

And it wasn't because the handwriting on the paper was so elegant or because the very scent of it was so damn good. It most certainly wasn't about the boy who'd shyly handed Kurt the note.

So why did it matter so damn much?

Why couldn't he bring himself to toss it?

It had been a Monday morning. Kurt was in the process of his ten a.m. touch up ritual, consisting of heavy amounts of hairspray and more than a little lip balm. Kurt was nothing if not punctual and perfectly groomed. He had an image to maintain - being the only outwardly gay kid at McKinley meant people looked up to him for fashion statements (or because he was just taller than most people). If being slammed into lockers could be made trendy, then only Kurt Hummel could make it happen.

Being gay also made Kurt a social pariah. Outside of Glee Club he spoke to no one, and those in Glee with him weren't always friendly either. His sexuality acted as a barrier, and people usually maintained a three foot radius so as not to "catch the gay." In truth he'd never been good at making friends, and never once had someone over to his house. He didn't need anyone, Kurt often reasoned with himself. Sometimes, in order to be outstanding, you had to stand alone.

So when a little "ahem" broke through his ever-present haze of hairspray, Kurt jumped at the sound. No one had the nerve to approach him outside of a secure environment such as a classroom, for fear of being outcast along with him. Kurt turned slowly, eyes wide and shocked, to face the person who dared converse with him.

Kurt's cerulean eyes fell upon a mop of dark brown curls, frightened golden eyes, and a shorter but bulkier body. Blaine Anderson, he thought immediately, matching a name to the face. Kurt had always had an excellent memory, and it helped with his people skills. Except he never had people to use them with.

Kurt raised his eyebrows, saying nothing in fear that he would scare the boy away before he had a chance to talk. Blaine looked utterly terrified, and Kurt understood why. Being a transfer student, Blaine knew very little about the school but was probably already warned about one thing many times over: stay away from Kurt Hummel. So Kurt, thinking maybe Blaine would ignore the social stigma and hang around with him, decided the best thing to do would be to wait and listen.

Blaine opened his mouth, giving Kurt a glimpse of straight, pearl white teeth, and attempted words, but all that came out was a loud whoosh of air. Looking thoroughly embarrassed, Blaine began to dig around in his jeans pocket (which were flood-length and red, mind you) and fished out a crumpled piece of paper. Hurriedly he shoved it into Kurt's hand, purposefully looking down and away from Kurt as he ran down the hall, blending in with the crowd so Kurt would have no chance of finding him. With a sinking feeling in his stomach, Kurt looked down at the note, expecting hateful slurs or worse.

The emotions that flooded his system upon reading the message could have sent his body into shock.

So what was he, Kurt, to do about it now? He had feelings brewing just under the surface that he had yet to sift through, and more happiness than he knew what to do with.

But what did this boy, beautiful in his youth and innocence, want with Kurt, a striking (if impossibly haughty) reject? There was no one Kurt could go to about this, save his father, but Burt wasn't the most comfortable when he was talking to his son about boys. Desperately, for the first time in a long while, Kurt felt longing for friends to turn to when he was in need of advice and comfort, though he'd never admit to it.

It was something about the note, the way it was so carefully worded and constructed, that led Kurt to believe it was genuine, not some sick joke meant to mess with his head. Glaringly absent were hateful and offensive nicknames such as Ladyface or Fag boy. And it wouldn't have been the first time the football jocks had tricked him into something horrifyingly embarrassing. But the way Blaine had seemed so flustered, so shy and sputtering, made him seem sincere. And there was that word, which had never been used in a sentence when referring to him, ever. Kurt was many things - incredibly gifted, surreally beautiful, and more arrogant than was good for him; but he was not "extraordinary." In his mind, Kurt was anything but.

Feeling overwhelmed with fierce waves of emotion in that moment, the strength of which threatening to throw him down to his knees, Kurt sat down at his piano and hovered his lithe fingers over the ivory keys. For a moment he paused, eyes closed, and let his years of classical training flood back into his memory. Without opening his eyes, Kurt's hands began to fly over the keys, hitting notes in a flurry of soft and loud. There was no real melody at first, no objective other than testing the waters. He channeled his loneliness and confusion into the delicate harmonies he tentatively created. Kurt hummed along although there was no tune - the piano wasn't even perfectly pitched - but the twinkling sounds were inviting, wrapping around Kurt like a fleece blanket. A tear slipped off his cheek and fell to a B key, and Kurt tapped that note furiously, the sharp twang assaulting his ears and breaking through the trance that had fogged his mind. With an anguished sob, Kurt collapsed onto the keys of the piano, the cacophony of sharps and flats escalating his aggravation and confusion into sheer panic. Kurt cried until his eyes ran dry, not knowing exactly what - or who - he was crying for. The note Blaine had given Kurt opened up the wound left by the death of his mother and the absence of people in his life who loved him. More than anything, although Kurt had put up an aloof and uncaring facade, inside he was dying for someone to see through his hard exterior and realize just how devastatingly ALONE he was. Blaine's simple note - three sentences, eleven words - held more kindness than Kurt had seen in a lifetime.

Kurt curled up in his bed on top of his quilt, knees touching his chest, and hugged himself tight until he fell asleep.

At school the next day, Kurt was mostly focused on making it through a day without getting a slushie facial and having it ruin another white collared shirt. Although he could pull off anything, raincoats were both out of season and horribly uncomfortable. Because Kurt was preoccupied with repeating his daily mantra of "You're fine, you're better than all of them, keep your head high," he didn't plan any sort of follow-up to the note Blaine had given him the previous day. He didn't know if it would be expected of him, or if Blaine would even approach him again. It came as a huge surprise to Kurt when he sat in the back of the choir room that afternoon for Glee practice, and saw Blaine waltz into the room in his stupid short pants - a horrible mustard color today - behind Mr. Schue. His face was confident, not cocky; one of few emotions Kurt couldn't pull off. Kurt felt slightly mortified to be in the same room with the other boy, without really knowing exactly why. Blaine didn't look at him, speak to him or come anywhere close to Kurt, yet Kurt couldn't help but feel incredibly nervous, his quivering insides threatening to push his breakfast back up. The boy with the bowtie announced he was "inspired by someone special" - most of the members rolled their eyes, but a small grin surfaced on Kurt's face - "to audition for Glee." Although most people groaned, not wanting any new blood to shake the chemistry already established after two years of competing together, Mr. Schuester looked ecstatic and gave Blaine the floor. The song was dramatic - a show tune Kurt had never heard, and that was saying something - but Kurt was more caught up in the way Blaine performed, all sultry looks and hip sashays and passion. And this was most definitely not the bashful stuttering boy at Kurt's locker the day before - now he was a different person altogether, oozing sex and confidence. Blaine's neck snapped up and met Kurt's stare straight on, and burning fiery gold met stormy waves of blue. Kurt never felt more exhilarated - or turned on - as he did in that moment, cheeks flushing a deep red from, for the first time, arousal instead of embarrassment. His throat constricted and he felt light-headed, the blood fueling his brain beginning to run south. Kurt loosened his tie, meaning to be inconspicuous but failing as he exhaled loudly. Blaine looked up at him triumphantly, finishing his song with a flourish and to the reluctant applause from the rest of the club. Most of the girls exchanged looks and eyebrow waggles, while the boys muttered gay jokes under their breath.

Kurt simply scoffed at them all, disdain written all over his face, feeling a strange sense of pride in that moment, though he couldn't pinpoint exactly why. Blaine didn't mean anything to him, not really - they barely knew each other, the extent of their conversations relating to borrowing writing utensils. Blaine wasn't Kurt's boyfriend - wasn't even his friend - so why was he so hung up over the boy all of a sudden? Sure, he was so gay that flames sparked from his rear end, and clearly showed an interest in Kurt. Not to mention the things Blaine's hips did to Kurt, who was beginning to appreciate the payoff of abdominal workouts. But Blaine had something - correction - was something special. The sparkle in his golden eyes, the way his lips tipped up in the gentlest of smiles, the curls controlled with a faint sheen of gel, even his quirky fashion sense with the bowties and tight sweaters and cuffed pants. His appearance screamed innocent schoolboy, but his personality was spitfire and wild, all in a pint size package. Blaine's voice could have been gifted to him personally by the angels, and the careless ease with which he held himself made Kurt instantly envious, knowing he could never pull off the purposefully nonchalant head nod. Kurt admired the younger boy - no doubt he was gay, but he seemed to own it, wear his heart proudly on his sleeve, and that, Kurt thought, was what kept the bullies away. Maybe Blaine liked boys, but that didn't mean he wasn't tough.

Kurt came to this revelation as Mr. Schuester was welcoming Blaine into the New Directions and then proceeding to discuss songs for regionals. He was so deep in thought he almost didn't notice the boy in the ugly yellow pants drop himself into the chair next to him. Kurt froze up immediately, his crossed legs tensing, his fists balling involuntarily. Eyes blown wide with adrenaline and nerves, Kurt pretended to be studying the white board very intently, but found the fingertips ghosting over his knee very hard to ignore. Kurt swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing, but still did not look at Blaine. This kind of PDA - although subtle and innocent - wouldn't go over well if it was noticed by some of the other members of the club, so Kurt shifted his body to the left, now leaning against a filing cabinet. This had effectively moved his body out from under Blaine's touch, and Kurt was grateful that the boy took the hint. The other boy kept his hands to himself for the rest of the Glee club meeting, fidgeting and shifting in his chair but staying silent.

Mr. Schuester finally released them after an hour of vocal practices, which involved scales and silly exercises that made everyone feel ridiculous. Kurt was the first person out of the room, taking long strides in his heeled boots to his locker, fumbling around with the lock as his mind drew blank. Now that he had a moment to himself, the thoughts he had about Blaine (some innocent enough, some unspeakably inappropriate) overwhelmed him. Kurt found that what little he knew of the mysterious boy didn't really add up. He seemed shy one moment, outgoing and fearless the next. Could it have been possible Blaine had been faking the nervous act the previous day when he'd handed Kurt the note? It was possible Blaine was only playing him, messing with him to get into his head . . . Which was exactly what was happened. Kurt promptly felt displeased with himself, and mentally forbade himself to make a big deal out of it. If Blaine wanted him, then he would chase him. All Kurt had to do was sit, look pretty, and wait.

Kurt was almost out the front doors, shoulders slumped after a long exhausting day, when he heard his name. Knowing it could only have been one person, Kurt turned slowly on his heel to face the boy with the cringe-worthy pants.

"Kurt," he repeated, sounding slightly out of breath, as if he'd run to catch up with him. "Glad I caught you."

Up close, with a beaming smile and hands resting gently on his hips, Kurt decided the boy looked dapper, like a truly chivalrous gentleman. "Hi," Kurt squeaked, sounding like an excited schoolgirl.

Blaine's smile widened briefly before he turned his gaze to the floor. When he looked back up into Kurt's eyes, which looked bottle green today, there was a spark of mischief amongst the amber. He rocked back and forth slightly on his heels, a quirk Kurt found instantly endearing. "I like your jacket."

Kurt blinked, Blaine's surprising compliment stealing all the words from his head. "Thanks," he replied, fingering the pinstriped blazer. "It's an old Alexander McQueen." There was a moment of awkward silence, Kurt visibly wincing before pushing himself to continue. "You were great in Glee club today."

Blaine seemed genuinely happy about that comment, his grin now stretching ear to ear. "Yeah? Did you like the song?"

Kurt nodded, grateful they'd gotten to a more comfortable and easy topic of conversation. "I thought it was great, really catchy, but I didn't recognize it. What musical is it from?"

"Ahhh, see that's the thing," Blaine said. "It's not from a musical. Well, not yet."

"What does that mean?"

"It means," Blaine repeated, "I'm writing a musical, and that song was the title song from it."

Kurt felt utterly flabbergasted in that moment, processing what he'd just said. "You're, writing, a musical? You can't just write a musical!"

"I don't see why not." A bit of color flushed Blaine's face. "I've always really wanted to compose and perform. And why wait till you're older when you can do it now?"

Kurt shook his head in disbelief. "That's great. Blaine." The added name felt foreign on his tongue - they hadn't even properly introduced themselves - but Blaine seemed comfortable with that level of familiarity.

"Did you like my note?"

Kurt had expected Blaine to mention it, or wait for him to, but he didn't expect it to be so outright. "Oh, um, well yes, I suppose-,"

He broke off when Blaine started laughing. "You must think I'm crazy," Blaine choked out in between giggles. "Telling you things like that when we don't even know each other. It's just that I'm shy, with most people. Maybe it doesn't seem like it, but that's what performing brings out in me - it brings out personality. A lot of the time, I have trouble conveying what I think verbally, and so I write it down. I've had that note for over two years, Kurt, and I never planned on giving it to you. But I was watching you at your locker, and you had this sad look on your face, like you were fixing more than your hair. You were fixing your mask, to wear around so people couldn't see the real you underneath. And I figured you needed a pick me up, something to lift your spirits, because you are too special to ever be sad about anything. I walked up to you and I had planned what I was going to say, but then I saw you and I lost the words and I handed you the note and ran." Blaine paused to take a deep breath. "When I was little, I had a series of operations on my throat." He ran his fingers lightly over the thin shiny scar running vertically along his throat from chin to collarbone. "I was premature, and my vocal chords were underdeveloped. I needed reconstructive surgery until I was twelve years old. Every time after I had a surgery, I would lose my ability to speak, sometimes for months on end. That was horrifying for me in school - people didn't like me because they didn't understand me. After I finally finished my last surgery and healed from it, I decide never to take my voice for granted again. I took up singing, found I was actually good at it despite everything I'd been through. I never stopped speaking or singing or writing or composing, because I needed to communicate with people in the best and loudest way I knew how, never for a moment taking for granted how fortunate I was to keep my voice. After what I went through, I decided not to let inhibitions keep me from saying how I feel. You were the only exception, Kurt. When I transferred here in my freshman year and you were a grade above me, I was star struck by you. I went to every performance and function you performed at, craving your attention but also wanting to stay in the background for a while longer. I wanted to talk to you, but every time, I went completely numb. Something about you, your face, your don't-give-a-shit attitude . . . You left me speechless, Kurt. Something I swore I'd never be again; yet, for you, I don't mind."

Kurt was utterly mind blown, couldn't even fathom a response, but there was no need. Blaine took his face gently between his hands, his eyes so sure and steady, and their lips connected softly. It was tender and slow and was over before it had even begun, but Kurt didn't mind in the slightest. Blaine's hands traveled down Kurt's shoulders and arms to his hands, where they linked fingers. Kurt leaned down to nuzzle his nose into the shorter boy's neck, breathing in the comforting musky scent and knowing already that it would be so hard to say goodbye to this boy.

"Was that okay?" Blaine breathed into his ear.

Kurt sighed contently. "Perfect."