Kurt Hummel loved to perform.

Numerous obstacles had presented themselves in the duration of his life – enduring high school as the only openly gay kid, being rejected from NYADA, never getting so much as another guy's phone number until he left Ohio at eighteen – but, at aged twenty-two, Kurt could be found spending his nights on an actual stage in New York City.

Admittedly he played a supporting role in an off-Broadway play, but still, everyone had to start somewhere, right?

The play did kind of suck. Kurt knew that it sucked. But it was a leg-up and, as he positively put it, could be considered a stepping stone to the Tony award he dreamed of one day winning.

No matter how bad the play was, or how many people forgot their lines, or how many times the badly built sets fell down during rehearsal, his passion for performing never dimmed.

Kurt was, as he himself so optimistically put it, a star waiting to shine.

So, as he waited in the tiny dressing room ten minutes before their first show on opening night, he attempted to harness this passion and motivate himself to perform in perhaps one of the worst plays ever written.

Kurt had been cast as the quirky butler who witnessed the grisly murder of his employees and owners of the grand mansion – the set of which was still falling down, but Kurt had mastered the art of dodging scaffolding and only hoped that the cardboard chandelier didn't crash to the ground, reminiscent of Phantom of the Opera.

The lights flashed on and off, signalling that it was time to get into places, and Kurt took a deep breath and reminded himself that, at the very least, the worse his co-workers acted, the better he looked.

All things considered, the first night of the performance had a pretty good turnout. However, by the fourth performance there was a noticeable drop in attendance. It was hard performing to such a small, unresponsive audience, and Kurt often found it hard to stay in character when he squinted past the stage lights and into the rows of near-empty chairs.

One night, about a week into the show, Kurt was late in leaving the theatre; the rest of the cast were going out for drinks and he hoped that by prolonging how long it took for him to get changed back into his normal clothes they would just leave without him. He saw enough of them during performances and rehearsals as it was and, although he didn't actively dislike them, he was sure he wouldn't keep in touch after the play's run.

As he was walking out he noticed a man a little ahead of him, who had stopped underneath a nearby lamp post to read what looked like the program that came free with the ticket to their show. He looked up as Kurt passed and a shy smile formed on his face. His hazel eyes flickered nervously from the program to Kurt and then back down again. Kurt smiled back and carried on walking back to his apartment.

He didn't think of the man again until the next night. After delivering one of his character's jokes he heard one loud laugh break the silence of the audience. Unable to make out any faces due to the bright lights, he watched from the wings after the show and caught a glimpse of a man with brown hair exactly like the one he'd saw the previous night, but he shrugged it off; why would anyone be willing watch the terrible excuse for a play two nights in a row?

It was when they were halfway through their run of performances and the stranger in the audience hadn't failed to miss a show yet that Kurt started to get really suspicious.

He sat on the very front row every night looking positively enraptured, and Kurt made it his mission to discover just why he would sit through the god-awful performances night after night.

At around this time the director – who could only be described as delusional – decided to put on refreshments after the show and invite the audience to stay and talk to the cast about "the true meaning of the play". Which, if he was being honest, Kurt didn't even know.

To Kurt's delight the stranger decided to stay back after the shows, though he never talked to any of the cast. He was definitely interesting to watch, and Kurt made no move to talk to him just yet, preferring to appreciate him from a distance. And boy did he appreciate him.

Kurt smiled tightly at a joke his director made and tried not to cringe at the chorus of shrill laughter from the others huddled around. He looked up to check the time on the wall clock, wondering if it was an acceptable for him to leave, but his attention flickered to another spot of interest. The very same man who had attended every show was now stood less than a foot away from Kurt and appeared to be hesitating on the verge of conversing with him.

He had the same look on his face as the men who asked for Kurt's number: hopeful and, even more so in this man's case, nervous.

He was always at the theatre, and Kurt always bumped into him when leaving late...

Was he really there for Kurt, only too shy to show it?

Deciding there was only one way to find out, Kurt walked up to him with a confident smile.

"Did you have a question about the show?" he asked sweetly.

The man looked at him with wide eyes and shook his head before mumbling something and taking off.

Kurt rolled his eyes. The man was extremely handsome and he found himself wanting him, but Kurt was obviously going to have to make the first move. He vowed to confront him the next time he saw him.

Which was, of course, the day of the next show.

Kurt entered the after-show room later than everyone else, as usual – he always took longer to get changed than everyone else in the cast - and saw his stranger - or, as he joked to himself, his stalker – listening to one of the director's ridiculous speeches about "his muse". He looked up when Kurt walked in and visibly blushed. Kurt smiled and walked up to him after the director and ensemble has dispersed from around him.

"So since you've been stalking me for quite some time now I assume you either want to date me or kill me. So next time I see you, you better bring flowers or have a knife and stab me."

He left the dumbfounded man alone and headed home early, putting an extra bounce in his step in case the stranger was looking.

The next day, after the show, Kurt was about to head to the dressing room when he heard someone clear their throat quietly and felt a soft tap on his shoulder. Turning around, was met by a sight that made him laugh.

Stood right in front of him was his stranger, holding a bouquet of red roses and a blunt butter knife.

"Good enough?" he asked, and Kurt giggled.