Some moments are meant to be passed by, thrown by the wayside into the pit where all missed opportunities find their resting place. Others should be hastily grabbed, held, cherished before they pass like water through splayed fingers, all too fast. Still others are present so that one may find meaning in them, intended to look back on them in times of need.

But some moments don’t have any purpose at all. They only exist as part of the seedy underbelly of life, the flaw in the design. They bring only pain.

The moment Kurt met Blaine was one of the last kind of moments.

Blaine was dark, Kurt was light. Blaine was dangerous, Kurt always played it safe. Blaine was fascinating, and Kurt was fascinated. Blaine was a drug, and Kurt was addicted. It was the classic story.

For a while it went on that Blaine was the Sun and Kurt was, if anything, some type of flower, absolutely starving for his rays. As a simple plant, Kurt didn’t notice the subtle things his Sun did to tear him down. They were eclipsed by adoration.

Silly little thing. You’re not very smart. But so very pretty. Gorgeous. I’m so glad I found you, so I can protect you. I love you, my star. Not like those boys that hurt you. I would never hurt you, even if you did the things you did to them. I know you teased them, you provoked- No, yes you did, do not argue with me- no, shhhh, shut up, I’m speaking. You provoked them, by being so beautiful, ok? You are so beautiful. But they couldn’t have you and that made them upset. It’s fine now though, because you’re mine. I’ll protect you.

You’re my little star aren’t you? With the most beautiful voice I ever did hear. You’ll never make it out in the world, but it’s all right because I’ll always be here to listen to you. My star. My pretty little caged bird. They’d eat you alive out there; you’re not very strong. But I’m here so it’s all right now.

Eventually though, he noticed. Kurt noticed the way his own eyes stared back at him in the mirror with just slightly less luster than they had before. He observed the way his interactions with his friends, his family, his teachers, anyone other than Blaine were slightly stilted, more withdrawn than ever. He noted with particular interest the way that, when he resisted, tried to reason with his Sun, his Blaine, tried to tell him, tried to resurrect some of his old self confidence and tell Blaine that the things the other boy was saying about Kurt hurt him, and that Kurt didn’t believe them to be true, his Sun grew cold. His eyes formed ice and his smile stiffened. His arms drew around Kurt and his hands, slightly less gentle than they usually would be, as if his porcelain doll has disappointed him and needed to be punished, slowly forced Kurt’s face into the crook of his neck and whispered in his ear.

You shouldn’t say things like that. Star’s aren’t meant to speak. They’re meant to twinkle. And you twinkle so well. You’re such a pretty little thing.

To Kurt, the fresh-cut, blood red roses set on his doorstep in the middle of the night afterwards were a kind of a warning. Love me, lest you discover my thorns.