God.

He really was magnificent.

Of course Blaine had heard stories about Kurt Hummel. There wasn't a single teenager in the spelling game that didn't know who he was – spelling prodigy, highest achiever in every age category, extra words put into competitions by curious judges who wanted to see if he was as gifted as they'd heard he was.

Word on the street (the somewhat niche street of competitive spelling) was that he could spell onomatopoeia at age three and had consistently had a reading age double his real one.

And now Blaine Anderson, in the 16+ category for the first time, was finally getting to see him use that mysterious technique he's heard so much about right before he went into spelling retirement.

“Mr Hummel. Opportunity.”

The boy onstage, just metres away from him, snorted.

“Opportunity?”

“Would you like a definition? Or its use in a sentence?”

Another snort.

“I can provide my own, thank you: a time or set of circumstances that makes it possible to do something. For example, today I fear I will be given very little opportunity to show the extent of my talents.”

The judges blushed, embarrassed by this unbearable but impressive teenager. For a moment, Blaine was worried he wasn't going to do it, as he was clearly in no need of any help, but the glint in his eye said that he knew what people came here for. He wasn't just a speller – he was a performer.

He gave a little rotation of his right hip, as if he were limbering up for a race. He took a deep breath and Blaine did the same, his palms clammy with anticipation.

“Opportunity.” He raised his foot and Blaine gasped, hoping nobody heard. The foot slowly lowered to the ground again, toe pointing down, and it began to form shapes on the stage. First, a circle. “O.” Then lines, curves, twists and bends, “P, P, O-R-T,” Blaine swallowed, in complete awe as he watched what had been dubbed the ‘Magic Foot' technique, pioneered by Hummel, in which he spelled his words on the stage floor with his foot, as if he were dancing. “U, N, I-T-Y.” The dance stopped, but the silence in the auditorium remained. “Opportunity.”

For the previous speller, the judge's hand had hovered over the bell, teasing the contestant with the idea of being ejected so early. The audience always lapped it up. But nobody played such games with Hummel.

“Th- that is correct.”

Kurt leaned very slowly and deliberately toward the microphone.

“I know.” He spun around and returned to his space next to Blaine on the bench. Blaine stared helplessly at the boy he'd admired from a distance since he first heard what a spelling bee was.

“Mr Anderson?”

“Mmm?”

Blaine was busying himself desperately hoping Kurt would give him a glance, yet simultaneously hoping he would never be subjected to that stare. Except maybe in a more intimate setting. Yeah, having those eyes boring into him, that hair maybe falling forward a little sweaty, that body on top of his and grinding up and down-

“Mr Anderson!”

Kurt finally looked at him – oh god he knows I was thinking about him oh god oh god – but quickly switched his gaze to the lonely-looking microphone centre stage with a nod.

“Oh! Sorry!”

He willed his blood to stay near his brain and away from his crotch as he rushed to the mic.

“Everything okay?”

Blaine nodded nervously.

“Yes, ma'am.”

“This is Blaine's first time in this age group, making him the youngest of our contestants today,” the announcer chimed from somewhere at the side. Great, Blaine thought. I really want him to think I'm a little kid. Thanks, lady.

“Mr Anderson, your word is albumen.”

Blaine frowned.

“May I have a definition?”

“Of course.” Her tone stung a little, as if it was obvious that he needed to be babied. He was distracted, but he wasn't an idiot. He'd made it to regionals, after all. “Albumen is the white of an egg. The word comes from albus, Latin for ‘white'.”

“Oh, right, right. Could you-” he decided not to ask for its use in a sentence. He couldn't risk looking weak. He wrote the word on his palm using his finger, a technique he'd seen a few others using. He scrubbed out the imaginary ‘I' and replaced it with an ‘e'. He took a breath and nodded.

-

Kurt tried not to laugh at the sickly-sweet tone being aimed at the kid. They were always the same with the youngest one there, even if they were just days younger than the next one up. This boy didn't do himself any favours, though – he was dressed like a toddler at a birthday party. Nice ass, though, made very visible by the combination of red pants and bright lights. Beautifully curved shadows cast by what had to be supple, round cheeks.

No, Kurt. Stop eyeing up the newbie and concentrate. Even if he's cute and scared-looking and keeps blushing – people could talk. It wouldn't be good for the boy, caught flush against the bad boy of spelling backstage at the bee. Besides, if anyone knew what he was thinking, it would be seen as a weakness, a distraction, an Achilles' heel. He didn't have time for that. He was a speller, and this was his last chance to come out on top.

He kept staring, regardless. The boy had paused at a fairly easy word, by anyone's standards. Surely he wasn't going to ask for it in a sentence? He didn't look like he was concentrating on the word. He was just looking into the audience.

Oh, god.

There were two empty seats out there, just along from Burt and Carole. Surely not.

-

Blaine had known his mother wouldn't come. Her seat was just symbolic. He glanced at the clock – she would probably be bathing in the Ganges right about now. Last month's postcard was still under his pillow: “Finally feeling like I have a purpose. Like I know who I am. Like I could really be happy. I'll send for you soon, I promise. Love, Mama x”

He'd rolled his eyes, knowing it was as true now as it had been six months ago, two years ago, even nine years ago when a seven-year-old Blaine had fallen asleep against the front door, cheeks striped with tears, voice hoarse from begging her to stay.

“I'm so sorry, sweetheart,” his father had whispered as he carried him to bed, “you deserve so much better.”

Still shaking his head and knowing her cards meant nothing, he rushed to write back anyway, to tell her all about the spelling bee and how he'd made it to regionals and he would save her a seat just in case – but he'd always known she wouldn't come, no matter how hard he'd hoped.

Dad, though. Blaine had at the very least thought he'd be here. Work was tough and cuts were being made, but… this mattered. Blaine thought of the dictionary in the bathroom, the words that had comforted him when nobody else had been around, and wrote the word again on his palm.

“A, L, B, U, M, E, N. Albumen.”

The judge smiled warmly. He resigned himself to the fact that he would never inspire the same fear Kurt did, and pretended the nice people in the seats behind the empty ones were his parents.

“That is correct. Well done.”

Nobody else all morning had gotten a ‘well done'. He sighed, nodded, and returned to his seat, thrilling at the point of contact between him and Kurt. It made him more nervous than he was already, but it was a nice distraction. He felt a slight shift at his side and turned to see Kurt- well, it could hardly be called a smile, but not-glaring at him. He even gave a slight nod before turning back to the audience.

“Ladies and gentleman,” the disembodied voice sang over the speakers, “we will be taking a short break so our spellers can recharge.” There was a gentle ripple of laughter through the auditorium. “Refreshments will be available in room 206 down the hall.”

“Well, that gives us half an hour. See you back here.”

Blaine froze. Had Kurt really just spoken to him? As if he were a real human being? Could they maybe become… friends? As soon as Blaine could think of a response (albeit a terrible one), he found himself staring at an empty seat. It seemed about right.

He made his way out to the backstage area, where teenagers were chatting excitedly, some trading phone numbers so they could stay in touch, some just trying to psych out the weaker competitors. He ignored the fact that nobody was talking to him, choosing to be grateful that he wasn't seen as prey. Or maybe he was just so pathetic they knew he'd be out in the next round. Oh, well. It was fun just to take part, right? He glanced at Kurt, standing alone to the side, face blank as he listened to music and made a point of not socialising.

Blaine rushed through the crowd to try to find a quiet corner with cell reception. He settled for what looked like a janitor's closet and closed the door.

“Dad?” His heart fell when the ‘hello' was followed by ‘you've reached David Anderson's phone. Sorry I can't answer right now…' He felt the sting of tears in his eyes. It was just a stupid contest.

Get over it.

“Hey, Dad, it's just me. Blaine. I, uh-” he sniffed, “I guess you're driving. Or working. It's fine. Just- don't panic trying to get here, okay? I'm fine. The other kids are really nice. I've made a tonne of friends. Yeah. Just, uh, do what you have to do, and get here if you can. It's all okay. She- I knew she wouldn't come really, but-” he took a second to gulp back a sob, “I still hoped- I thought maybe this time, maybe if I won- it's not your fault. Look, I've got to get back out there. I'm fine. Ignore this. I'll see you tonight. I'm still fine getting the bus home if you can't make it. Love you. Bye.”

He leaned back against the wall and let himself slide to the floor. What good was that going to do? It was just going to make him feel guilty, and now Blaine was even more stressed out than before. He closed his eyes and tried to refocus, putting his head on his knees and massaging his forehead with his knuckles, until he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Is, uh- everything okay?”

He looked up. He hadn't even heard him come in.

“You- you're Kurt Hummel.”

“I am. And you're Blaine…”

“Ah- Anderson. Why are you here?”

“Um,” Kurt moved his hand away from Blaine, reaching back to rub his own neck awkwardly, “you looked upset. Parent stuff?”

“Kind of. Just my dad.”

Kurt nodded.

“A tonne of the kids from my school have got deadbeat dads. Is your mom here anyway?”

“What? No, she's- well, I wouldn't say ‘deadbeat', but it's her that- she was never going to come. My dad's doing the best he can. It's hard for him, being on his own.”

“Shit. Sorry. I shouldn't have assumed-”

“Don't worry. Everybody does it.”

Kurt wanted to make it absolutely clear that he didn't care about this kid's wellbeing. He was just an obstacle between him and the trophy, just waiting to be crushed. But he just looked so sad. Kurt sat next to him.

“Well. You're doing pretty great, even if they're not here.”

Blaine's whole face lit up at the praise.

“Really? You think so?”

Kurt made another attempt at a smile, and it almost came off as comforting.

“Sure. I mean, you're hardly me, but you're better than most of these idiots. Trust me, I know who's got it and who hasn't. You're good.”

“Oh, Kurt, you have no idea what that means,” Kurt stiffened as Blaine threw his arms around his neck, “coming from you, of all people.” He suddenly went still, as if he'd only just realised what he was doing. “Um. Is this weird? Sorry. It's- it's weird, isn't it?”

“But you're still hugging me.”

“Yeah. Like, I know I should get off you, but- I don't want to. It feels nice. Do you want me to get off?”

“That's a very loaded question.”

Blaine pulled back.

“Excuse me?”

“Um. Nothing.”

“Did you just hit on me? When I'm crying about my mom?”

“No.”

“Yes, you did.”

“No, I didn't.”

“Okay.”

“Look, people don't usually hug me at these things, alright? They don't even talk to me. I arrive, I win, and I leave. That's it. Got it?”

Blaine's surprised deer-in-the-headlights look made his stomach squeeze with guilt.

“Oh. Sorry. I didn't mean-”

“No, no, I just- next year I'll be too old for this. I have to take home that trophy.”

“Then what?”

“I don't know. I become some pathetic loser with no friends and a big ass trophy? I ramble about the glory days and work at Staples and live with my parents until I'm fifty?”

Blaine put a hand on Kurt's knee.

“You could have one friend. If you wanted.”

“Oh. Um. I-”

The jolt of electricity up his spine made speaking difficult.

“Sorry…” The hand disappeared. “So, um- are there any words you really don't want to come up?”

Kurt narrowed his eyes. Was he really going to go back to spelling that quickly? He shook his head.

“No. I think I'll be fine.” The derision from earlier was gone. “Just holding onto this while I can. One more year. I'll call it a victory lap so it won't sound so tragic. What about you?”

“I don't know. Test me?”

This was an awful idea, helping the competition, but-

“Foulard. A French silk handkerchief. Like the one I'm wearing now.”

Blaine reached his hand up to feel the silk between his fingers for a moment. It felt exquisite. Kurt's breath caught in his throat.

“Can they ask French words?”

“They can ask anything. It's used in English, too.”

“Um… F-o-u… L… a-r-t?”

Kurt shook his head again.

“It ends with ‘d', not ‘t'. Semaphore.”

“S-e-m-”

“Don't want a definition? Use in a sentence? Etymology?”

Blaine smiled in defiance.

“S-e-m-i-p-”

“Ding! You might think the ‘p-h' is the only thing they're trying to catch you out with, but it's s-e-m-a-phore, not ‘semi'. It's not half of anything.”

“Right. Fuck.”

“Hey, don't worry. They won't even come up. And if they do, now you'll know them.”

“Okay. Thanks. Should you be giving me tips? Don't you want to win?”

“I- Yeah. But maybe I want to give myself a challenge.”

Blaine smiled and nodded.

“Right. Sure. You know when you were hitting on me before?”

“I wasn't-”

“I know you weren't, but- I wouldn't mind if you did.”

“I didn't- wait. What?”

Blaine paused for a second, then shook his head with a sigh and lunged forward to kiss Kurt. He almost knocked him over, and Kurt could still feel a little wetness on his nose where he'd been crying, but it was- it was a real connection with a real boy, and his guard somehow dropped for the first time since- since he didn't know when. He kissed him back, his hands sliding down to Blaine's hips, lifting himself to straddle Blaine's thigh. Blaine didn't falter once, choosing instead to cup Kurt's face with his hands and twist himself so he was lying flat, Kurt hunkered down on top of him. He felt the rub of Kurt's thigh against his crotch and reached down to palm Kurt clumsily through his jeans.

“Oh, god-”

“I know.”

“God, Blaine, what are we doing?”

“I don't care- go shut the door.”

Kurt's eyes widened.

“Where's this coming from?”

“Spelling just really turns me on, and we have twenty-six minutes to burn.”

Kurt scrambled up to shove the door shut and paused to lean against it.

“This isn't some weird thing to do with your mother, is it?”

Blaine propped himself up on his elbows, pinks cheeks and pants getting very tight and uncomfortable. He shook his head.

“You're nothing like her.”

“I would hope not.”

“You're here, for a start.”

“Christ. Mommy issues much?”

Blaine laughed.

“Kurt. I've had a crush on you since Nationals 2010.”

“Oh, god. My hair looked great that year.”

“I know. And yeah, I'm having a weird day, and I'm mad at her, but this has nothing to do with that. It has everything to do with how sexy it is when you get a word right, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Like everyone else in that auditorium is a moron.”

Kurt grinned, really grinned, dimples and teeth and all, and took a few small steps towards Blaine where he was sprawled on the ground.

“Well, they are. Except you. So, is that true, Blaine? That you get turned on by spelling? B…l…a..i…n…e?”

His tongue curled around each letter. Blaine's chest started to rise and fall a little quicker, and his mouth hung open.

“Jesus. Do it again, and use the foot. Then get back down here.”

Kurt's smile widened and he bit his lip.

-

Both boys returned to the stage, their faces flushed and beaded with sweat. In fairness, it wasn't that noticeable. Spelling bees were notorious nerd hook-up joints, and almost everyone else was panting a little.

“Mr Anderson, you're up.”

Kurt gave his thigh an imperceptible squeeze as he got off the bench and he bit back a grin.

“Hello.”

The judge smiled at him and he smiled back, as if butter wouldn't melt in his mouth, and as if Kurt's cock hadn't done exactly that just minutes earlier.

“Are you ready for your next word, Blaine?”

“I sure am!”

“Alrighty then – your word is chimerical.”

Blaine breathed in and out.

“May I have a definition?”

“It means ‘Unreal. Imaginary. Visionary. Wildly fanciful, highly unrealistic.”

Kurt just watched as Blaine's happy, post-orgasm glow slipped away and he closed his eyes. His shoulders sagged, as if they were weighed down.

He would've laughed at himself if he could.

‘Wildly fanciful' – an image drifted into his mind. And image of his family, the way he'd wanted it to be – his mother, father and brother, all together, not even here but anywhere, as long as they were together again, like a real family. ‘Highly unrealistic.'

He opened his eyes again, searching for those two empty chairs again, but there was only one this time. Next to it, he saw his dad, beaming in his rumpled suit and too-big overcoat, holding up a crudely scrawled sign: “You're not just anything, Blaine.” Blaine let out a squeaky, tearful laugh, and looked back at Kurt, who was smiling at him. His dad was grinning and waving like a maniac, giving him a huge thumbs up, and Blaine laughed again.

“Mr Anderson? Are you familiar with the word?”

“Oh, yes. I think we all indulge in the occasional chimerical thought, don't we?”

Another ripple of laughter.

“Yes, Blaine, I suppose we do.”

“But sometimes what's really there is much better.” He grinned at his dad, and the lady judge smiled in confusion. The male judge leaned toward the microphone.

“Son, you're going to have to spell the word sooner or later.”

He looked back at Kurt again with a mischievous smile. Kurt mouthed ‘Are you okay?' and he nodded and turned back to the audience. This feeling, these people being here for him, this could have been the fantasy. But it was right there.

“C-h-i-m-e-r-i-c-a-l. Chimerical. Highly unrealistic. Wildly fanciful.”

“That is correct.”

-

“E-u-d-a-e-m-o-n-i-c. Eudaemonic.”

“That is correct.”

“N-a-r-c-a-l-e-p-s-y.”

A bell rang.

“I'm sorry. That second ‘a' should have been an ‘o'.”

“U-b-i-q-u-i-t-o-u-s.”

“E-l-u-c-u-b-r-a-t-e.”

“V-i-v-i-s-e-p-u-l-t-u-r-e.”

“P-o-c-o-c-u-r-a-n-t-e.”

“C-y-m-o-t-r-i-c-h-o-u-s.”

The bell rang over and over again and Blaine clenched his fists every time even though it was never for him. A girl who had been going into a trance every time she'd had to spell a word got distracted by a fly and just wandered off the stage, blonde ponytail bobbing behind her. A boy got an erection mid-word and fumbled his letters. Another girl had a sudden outburst about how much pressure she was under and how she just wanted to disappoint somebody for once, and she seemed to succeed.

Blaine kept his place right next to Kurt, right where he wanted to be, and after another hour of tears and sweat from the other contestants, it was whittled down to just the two of them. They were made to stand side by side, and they placed themselves a little closer together than necessary. Nobody but the sound tech could see their hands tangling together behind them.

“As I'm sure everyone in our audience realises by now, we are in a sudden death situation. If one of our spellers makes a mistake, and his opponent spells the same word correctly, then we will have our winner.”

“Isn't it exciting, ladies and gentlemen?”

There was a momentary buzz from the audience until the male judge looked over his shoulder to silence them.

“Mr Anderson, if you'd like to step forward.”

He did as he was asked.

“Your word is semaphore.”

“Semaphore?”

He heard Kurt snorting behind him.

“Yes, Blaine, semaphore. Would you like a definition, its use in a sentence, or the origins of the word?”

“It's the flag thing, right?”

The woman giggled.

“Well, that's not quite what I have on my card, but… yes, dear, the flag thing.”

“Huh. Would you believe it – that's not the first time I've heard that word today.”

“My goodness!” She was thrilled that for once a speller was actually getting involved in the banter, giving it a little pizazz. A bit of showmanship never hurt anybody. “In what context could that possibly have come up?”

“Well, Judy, sometimes things have a habit of popping up when you least expect them to.”

Blaine didn't have to look behind him to know Kurt would be holding in a giggle. The judge held nothing in, though, and tittered again, a high-pitched, sing-song, tinkling laugh.

“Surely then, sweetheart, you must feel pretty confident about spelling it.”

“You know,” Blaine said with a mock frown, “I'm not sure I do.”

He looked into the audience at his father, whose enormous smile more than made up for the empty seat next to him. He knew that smile wasn't going anywhere, no matter what happened next. Kurt frowned.

“Blaine,” he whispered, “what are you doing?”

Blaine ignored him.

“Let me think about this a second. It involves holding up two flags. Semaphore. Maybe it's like, half of the pair is just one flag. Semi-phore.”

The judge's fingertips whitened where she was clutching her cards.

“Take your time, dear. No need to rush.”

“No, no, I think I've got it.”

“Blaine!” Kurt hissed.

“No conferring, please.” The male judge droned.

“Semi-phore. S-e-m-i-”

The woman's face fell as the man next to her tapped the bell on their desk.

“I'm sorry, that's incorrect. Kurt, if you can spell this word, you've won the bee.”

“Oh, gosh,” Blaine sighed, “silly me. May I say a few final words?”

The man scowled.

“Uh, people don't usually-”

“Of course you can, Blaine,” the lady chimed in again, still loving the drama he was adding to the occasion.

“I would just like to say hello to my father, who came all the way out here to see me spell. And my mother, who, frankly, can stay right where she is. I thought winning would change something, but-”

“Really, most kids just leave. You haven't even lost yet-”

“But I've had a wonderful day,” he smiled at Kurt, who had stepped forward to stand next to him, “and I've made some great friends, and I've really learned a lot about what winning really means.”

He took a deep breath in and out and smiled at his dad again. He knew winning wouldn't make her come back. He knew the suitcase he had quietly packed to join her in India would never be pulled out from under his bed. But his dad was here, his smile exactly the same as when he was still in the running, and this was Kurt's word. It was Kurt's bee, and Blaine just wanted to thank the boy who was there when nobody else was.

“I think I've learned that… just bee-ing here is w-i-n-n-i-n-g.”

There was an ‘aww' from the crowd and a grimace from the man at the desk. Judy was in tears.

“Oh, Blaine, that was beautiful. Wasn't it, Derek?”

Derek sucked angrily on a juicebox.

“Semaphore, Mr Hummel. If you don't mind.”

Blaine stepped aside to give Kurt room at the mic stand. Kurt stepped gingerly - not a word ever used to describe Kurt Hummel before – into the spotlight. He glanced at Blaine, eyebrows raised, and Blaine nodded, a dopey grin on his face. ‘Are you sure?' he mouthed, and Blaine nodded back.

“Yes, of course. Semaphore. S-e-m-a-p-h-o-r-e.” No foot, no gimmicks, just a boy and a word.

Before Judy could finish saying “Kurt Hummel, you are the Regional Champion!” Blaine had thrown his arms around Kurt's neck and kissed him, in front of the entire audience. After a second of surprised flaccidity, Kurt's hands came to Blaine's hips to pull him closer, to ground him as lights flashed and audience members gasped. Blaine heard a ‘Woo!' from his father. Their lips parted but they stayed close, clinging to each other while the judges walked onstage to present them with their 1st and 2nd place medals.

“Congratulations, champion,” Blaine whispered in Kurt's ear, “That was the hottest thing I've ever seen.”

“How about later I do it wearing nothing but this medal?”

“It's a date.”