"Touch me."

"Trust me."

"I love you."

"Mr. Kurt Hummel, would you care to refresh my memory on what I have just reminded you fifteen minutes ago?" I heard the statement quite clearly. Even with my daydreaming and staring outside the window, I was easily brought back to reality. And reality sucks.

"No daydreaming. I'm sorry Mrs. Cornwell. I'll try to stop." I said guiltily

"And try you will." She replied. Mrs. Cornwell was my last period Math teacher. It wasn't my best subject, I know. But usually even if I try so hard, I can't concentrate even though I really need to. I spent the next five minutes of class trying and failing to catch up, and when I couldn't, I spent the last ten minutes looking outside daydreaming. I was lucky Mrs. Cornwell didn't punish me with anything harsh. With my bad grades in Math, I couldn't afford anymore consequences, especially not with her.

The bus ride home was no different. I almost fell asleep, actually, if it weren't for those noisy juniors at the back. I always sat front. It was far from everyone else and a place where I was fine by myself. Too bad Rachel wasn't here, though. I got a text from her saying she was out with the cold. That bitch. She couldn't even warn me, her best friend. I could have played sick too. Though I doubt dad would buy it. He always knew if I was faking sick, which is why I never had the chance to do it when I was a kid.

"Hey Kurt, made us some dinner. Hurry up and eat while it's warm." I heard him say from the kitchen. It was only on rare occasions that dad would cook, and usually only when there was something important. I could only wonder what it was.

"It's a bit too early for dinner and I'm not yet hungry," I shouted while I made my way up the stairs to my room. "I'll be down in thirty minutes."

I loved my room. It was one of those places I could go to and act like the world is an illusion. I was usually alone in my room, and I love it. Dad was always too uncomfortable to spend twenty minutes here, probably because of all the stuff I have.

It was actually quite wonderful. A mixture of Broadway memorabilia I managed to collect through the years, some stuff dad always said was for girls, to which I always replied were "unisexual", and some heavily-boyish stuff. I always wondered why I have them, some basketball figurines, and others I couldn't even explain. The light blue walls, which I had painted that way because it reminded me of Glinda's bubble dress from Wicked, just relax me whenever I see them. And my bed, oh my bed, let's just say is the comfiest bed I will ever have.

I dove face first onto it the moment I entered my room. I wanted to scream, but I didn't want dad to run up here. I remembered last period Math, how all I could do was daydream and get in trouble for it. Well, it wasn't my fault. I saw him by the basketball court just by the side of the building. Luckily, I had the best seat in the house. It was wonderful watching him play; the way his arms tense whenever he shoots, the way he wipes his face with his shirt. It wasn't my fault I was distracted by him. It wasn't my fault I find him so dreamy. That Blaine Anderson.

I still remember the first time I ever saw him. We were homeroom classmates then, freshman year. He was this boy that always had that geeky smile on his face, immediately surrounded my many. Me? I didn't care for him. He seemed like one of those people I could never be with even as friends. But that moment he smiled at me. Oh, I would never – forget it. That smile. Those eyes. He just made me melt and within ten seconds of being in the same room.

I screamed into my pillow with laughter upon remembering that time. That time I knew I was in love. And now, here I am – a sophomore who still hasn't given up hopes of being with Blaine Anderson one day. Quickly, I changed my clothes and ran down into the kitchen. Dad must have been tired waiting for me, seeing he decided to watch TV instead.

"Come on, dad. Let's eat." I said to him, to which I heard a "Finally" in a grumble reply.

Dinner was chicken pot pie. It wasn't exactly the most effort dad had given to a dish; he happened to stumble upon a cooking show that made it doable in less than an hour with just the need of premade dough. The most effort he had given in a dish was on the night of mom's funeral. I remember he tried to make chicken, but he left it in the oven for too long. We had takeout that night, Chinese. Dad had tried to make the best dinner, because he knew we were both too sad to think of anything else.

"So, what's wrong?" I finally asked

He finished his mouthful of chicken first before answering, "Yeah. Um, about that – Mrs. Cornwell called." He looked at me as though waiting for me to react. When I didn't, he continued "Your Math grades have been dropping. You're doing fine in other subjects but Math doesn't seem to interest you that much."

"Come on, dad, it's not like it's been your favourite subject." I sighed. "Okay, I'll do better. It might not work but I'll try. I promise."

"Good," he said. "But she also said something about a tutor."

"A tutor?" I asked.

"Yeah, I don't know much. She said it would be better if she told you herself." Dad said while eating another spoonful

I lost my appetite to eat. I just excused myself from the table, telling dad I wasn't hungry and making sure I compliment him on his cooking. He likes that. It makes him feel good about himself. And I have a feeling that lately, he needed them.

My room was the escape I needed. A tutor, I can't believe Mrs. Cornwell got me a tutor. It might have been worse, but still! A tutor! I just hope it's one of the few people in school I can stand. Then, I just heard the beeping of my alarm waking me up. All I could remember of last night was that I was doodling Kurt+Blaine on my notebook. I saw the notebook on the floor; it must have fallen while I slept. Lucky dad didn't come inside and see it. On the other hand, he never would have come in anyway.