He was seated in a dark lecture theatre, an old and sleep-inducing professor droning on and on about something to do with the Industrial Revolution in England. He knew he should be listening and scribbling down notes like his friends were doing around him. But this man had no concept of keeping over a hundred college students interested and Blaine had seized the chance to stare at the name of his soul mate.

Kurt Hummel.

He’d always imagined that a name like that belonged to someone both elegant and beautiful. His brother Cooper had recently connected to his soul mate, a dainty girl by the name of Heather Barton. Cooper had imagined Heather as a small and soft spoken girl. The small part was right but soft spoken, not so much.

When picturing his future with Kurt, Blaine was sure that he’d be a passionate person but no more soft spoken than Heather was.

“This was an important moment in the Revolutionary times, as you can clearly see by the number of eyewitness accounts.” The old man’s voice sounded louder as he walked very slowly across the front of the lecture hall and passed the microphone that was permanently switched on.

Blaine’s eyes left his left hand for a moment and looked up at the lecturer. He was pointing with a laser pointer at something on the PowerPoint presentation behind him but that Blaine didn’t even bother to look at. Whatever he was rambling on about would be uploaded to the intranet a few hours after the lecture by the TA.

Those online lecture notes were sacred to the NYU students and had saved Blaine many a time when a surprise quiz had been sprung or an essay topic had been talked about while Blaine was too hung over or bored to pay attention to.

He’d passed the entrance requirements to get into NYU with flying colours and had chosen history to major in. Partly as a way to adhere to his father’s requirement that Blaine do something useful with his college degree and partly as a way to rebel against the same condition. History wasn’t a nothing subject but what on earth could Blaine do with a history degree other than teach. And being a teacher wasn’t the first choice for an Anderson son.

Then again, neither was being an actor but Cooper still managed to get away with that.

Blaine stopped rubbing the name across his palm and picked up a pen. He’d started writing notes, planning on paying attention to this lecture as there was an essay due in about three weeks’ time. He’d had all the best intentions but fifteen minutes later he’d given up. Now he started doodling on the half written notes, which consisted of dates and some words about what took place on those dates scribbled beside them. Circles and geometric shapes and writing Kurt’s name in cursive script took up the rest of the page.

The clock struck quarter to and as if a bell had rung to signal the end of the lecture, everyone began to pack up their bags. The lecturer looked up and spoke loudly over the noise of the movement of the class.

“Don’t forget the essays are due in a few weeks’ time.” He tried to get his voice heard over the kafuffle but most people were ignoring him anyway. “I’ll have office hours this week if anyone needs to ask any questions.”

“For heaven’s sake,” Nick, one of Blaine’s friends who had been sitting next to him during the lecture and who had managed to stay focused enough to take notes the whole time, grumbled to Blaine as they walked towards the end of the row. The crowd of students exiting the hall was moving quickly so the two boys waited until most of the people had passed before leaving. “Please tell me why I took that fucking module. He can’t teach for love nor money.”

Blaine laughed and agreed wholeheartedly, straightening the shoulder strap of his bag and he lifted it over his head to settle it more comfortably.

Nick turned around and raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t pay attention to half of it!” He accused, his voice filled with mirth. “How would you know it was utter boredom?”

“Because staring at Kurt’s name for forty-five minutes is far better than listening to him speak.” Blaine countered, knocking his shoulder into Nick’s playfully.

They reached the doors to the lecture hall and stepped out, the noise level increasing with the crowd of students still milling around the entrance. This particular lecture theatre exited onto the street next to an NYU building rather than most which led to the inside of university buildings. As such, Blaine and Nick stepped out into the bright sunshine and cool weather of the early springtime.

“Blaine!” An excited voice rang out from the crowd and both Blaine and Nick turned to look. “Nick!”

A girl broke free from the crowd and hurried to stand by them. Shorter than both boys, Jennifer Lewis had put her rucksack on both shoulders which left her hands free to type frantically on her phone. When the internet page she’d been searching for loaded up, Jennifer shoved the phone into Blaine’s hands. Nick peered over Blaine’s shoulder to be nosy.

Kurt Hummel’s second store opening a total success!

Kurt Hummel, designer, fellow person who hailed from Ohio and the man that Blaine was convinced couldn’t be his Kurt. Nick and Jennifer both insisted that of course this Kurt could be Blaine’s Kurt but Blaine never wanted to believe them.

He had been inexplicably drawn to the young designer though, ever since Jennifer had bought that copy of Marie Claire and Blaine had flicked through it one night before their friendship group went out for drinks at a bar close to their halls. The name of his soul mate had jumped right out of the pages and Blaine had stared unblinkingly at the title for minutes before even bothering to read what was written.

He’d skimmed the words. Kurt was from Ohio, just like Blaine, and had started his fashion line by selling clothes online. He’d opened up a small store in New York and the clothes had been described as “innovative and beautiful: a wonderful new collection for the fashionable male.”

After he’d gotten over the shock of seeing what appeared to be his Kurt’s name in the magazine, Blaine had rushed across the hallway to his dorm room, taking Jennifer’s magazine with him. He’d gone straight to his computer and opened up Firefox, typing Kurt Hummel into the search bar.

Kurt’s website, hummels.com, had been the first returned hit and Blaine had ordered far too many shirts and jumpers than he should have done. Even if this Kurt wasn’t his Kurt, the clothes had been beautiful.

Reading the newest article on the website Jennifer had found while she’d been avoiding listening to the lecture, Blaine saw that Kurt had opened up a second store in the heart of the fashion district here and there had been people queuing outside to be the first to buy in Kurt’s new store.

“Have you gotten to the end yet?” Jennifer asked, her voice light and full of excitement. She even bounced on the balls of her feet, brown hair swinging with her movements.

With his thumb, Blaine flicked right down to the end of the article. He spotted the bit that Jennifer wanted him to read immediately, hearing Nick snort with laughter when he read the words as well.

Along with the eagerly waiting fans was someone who loudly claimed to be Kurt’s soul mate. Unfortunately for her, Kurt quickly assured her that she was not. In fact, he went so far as to say that he was flattered but that she should be looking for her real soul mate who was out there somewhere.

Kurt also informed us that he hasn’t found his soul mate yet.

There are still the rumours about Kurt and Broadway actor Chandler Kiehl. It is known that they’re friends from Ohio and they’re always together for the photographs at red carpet events but neither has announced that the other is their soul mate. Maybe they’re keeping it quiet for now?

After four years in the spotlight, you’d think that someone with Kurt’s name on their palm would come forward to find out whether this handsome young designer was theirs. If he hasn’t already been snapped up by Chandler.

The store itself is a beauty-

Blaine handed Jennifer her phone back. “Just because I’ve got his name on my palm doesn’t mean he’s got mine, Jen.” He said for what had to be the thousandth time.

“But what if he does!” Jennifer argued. She threw her hands into the air, tightly clutching her phone in one. She too had argued this a thousand times since she’d run into Blaine’s room to get her magazine back and seen what had gotten her friend so flustered. “You could be Kurt’s soul mate and then end up giving me all the free samples of women’s clothing he’ll give you that you won’t use.”

“And that’s why Kurt gets people saying they’re his soul mate every day.” Nick said. He threw an arm around Jennifer’s shoulders and dragged her down the street towards the subway, Blaine following behind the pair and rubbing the scarred name on his palm as he walked.

--

Blaine lay on his bed that night completely unable to sleep.

He didn’t count himself a slave to fashion. He subscribed to Vogue, an indulgence the meagre money he had as a student didn’t discourage, and read that cover to cover but he didn’t watch Project Runway or America’s Next Top Model religiously. He didn’t slave over the fashion blogs and track any and all movement of the top designers. He wasn’t like Jennifer, who bought the latest trends and then replaced her wardrobe as soon as she could. But something about Kurt Hummel made Blaine want to know everything about him.

He’d bought his own copy of Marie Claire when Jennifer had demanded he return hers. He’d tried to get a ticket for the fashion show where Kurt had showcased his first line, failing because they’d been sold out before the designers had even been announced. He’d also rushed out to try and buy a ticket to Kurt’s second show but had failed due to popularity. He’d waited impatiently by the pigeon holes in halls where the students’ post was distributed on the day that the edition of Vogue with the article about Kurt had been delivered. He’d also read that article so often he’d ended up ripping the pages.

And when he immediately went out to buy another copy, he knew he was too obsessed.

The name on Blaine’s hand had developed when he been fourteen, which had been quite late in comparison with Blaine’s friends. Kurt’s name had appeared quickly: he’d woken up with two letters (K and u) on his palm and by second period, the full first name had developed on his palm. By the next morning, Kurt Hummel was scarred onto Blaine’s palm and he’d bounded down the stairs to reach the house phone to call his brother.

After he’d crowed down the phone to Cooper that his soul mate had a truly beautiful name, he’d gone to the yearbook on his shelf and yanked it off. He’d settled on the bed with his legs crossed and flicked through all the students of Westerville High. No Kurt Hummel.

Then when he’d moved to Dalton, he’d done the same. Surely at a school for boys there must be a Kurt Hummel. Again, no such luck.

When Facebook had become popular, Blaine had hurriedly typed Kurt Hummel into the search bar. His eager smile dropped immediately when he saw that there were fourteen Kurt Hummels in the US alone and the number only grew if he increased the search worldwide.

Now if Blaine searched for Kurt Hummel on line, most of the hits would be about the designer. And what was the likelihood that Kurt Hummel the designer was his soul mate?

Unfortunately, as Nick, Jennifer and most of their friends who had made the connection between the name on Blaine’s palm and the new designer frequently pointed out, it was quite high.

They were both from Ohio. The interview with Kurt in Vogue had stated that Kurt was born and raised in Lima, which was only two hours away from Westerville. Kurt had been in his school’s show choir: Blaine could have even competed against him in a competition.

They were also both in New York. Two people around the same age who came from the same area in the Midwest were both in the same city at the same time. Admittedly, Blaine had come to New York the year after Kurt as he was a year younger but that was a poor counter argument.

Little details stuck out that also shook Blaine’s argument that this Kurt wasn’t his Kurt. Like the fact that they had both been in show choirs. In the interview, Kurt had mentioned that he had originally wanted to be on Broadway but his passion for fashion had been far greater than that of a theatre actor. Blaine had begged for weeks for his family to visit New York just so he could see Wicked for his tenth birthday.

And how Kurt had gushed in the interview about how he regularly read Vogue as a teenager, keeping up with the latest fashions while he drew his own designs. That was the same as Blaine: minus the drawing of his own clothes.

There was also no denying that Kurt was gorgeous. His perfect fashion sense, his flawless skin, eyes that always sparkled in every photograph and his smile. The first photographs that had emerged of the designer had shown his genuine surprised smile, like he was shocked that there were photographs being taken of him at all. That was the smile Blaine liked best. The more recent photos were far more practiced.

“Don’t be stupid.” He said out loud. Blaine sat up in bed and roughly rubbed his hands over his face. He glanced at the clock. 2:48. Kurt Hummel the designer was not his soul mate and he’d prove it.

He had found the article Jennifer had shown him after the lecture, along with others written by journalists who’d been present at the store opening. One of them was bound to give explicit instructions as to where the store was. He had a day off tomorrow. Rather than writing the ridiculously boring essay, he’d go to the store and find out, once and for all, whether Kurt Hummel was his soul mate.

That decided, Blaine lay back down and turned onto his front. He burrowed into the covers to get comfortable in a makeshift cocoon and closed his eyes, refusing to listen to the annoying voice in the back of his mind that was asking what he would do if Kurt was his soul mate.