I wrote this for a school assignment…of course, the characters were all named after Starkids rather than Glee characters (my LA teacher would hate me forever if I did that; she doesn't-I assume-know what Starkid is), and Kurt was actually a girl named Lauren Holden and Blaine was Joe Criss…whatever. There's also I plethora of Starkid references, because I needed to. I've had this edited for awhile, but never found the time to post it…but in honor of The Box Scene, I will.

I don't own Glee. Also, I apologize for any errors, especially those regarding the 1940s. While I did lots of research for the project this was written for, I'm still a seventh grader (well, I was; school's out!). And, um, ignore the fact that homophobia existed. (Exists. As if.) Because I don't want to deal with the "gay witch hunt" crap.

New York, New York, January 1945

The bar was noisy. Haggard men flounced around the place, flirting shamelessly with its occupants. On a streamer-laden stage, a tall woman belted out the last few notes of some encouraging song I'd never heard before. Being at war tends to isolate you.

I took another sip of the drink in front of me. While it may not belong to me, it sure was satisfying. The cool burn of liquor dripping down my throat soothed me, reminding me of the parties I attended before the draft sucked me into the war. Now I was alone, sitting on an uncomfortable bar stool with a cheap wooden leg and a scar of terrible memories.

My eyes began to wander, and I let them. You can see the most interesting things when you're not really looking. For example, I spotted my two best friends trying to sneak up behind me.

"Hey, guys!" I shouted over the racket, laughing when they jumped.

"You didn't have to scare us, Blainers!" Santana Lopez snapped, sitting next to me. Santana and I had known each other since we were kids, when we met each other in a community production of Show Boat. She was the sister I never really wanted, but appreciated none the less.

Brittany Pierce, on the other hand, was a big bundle of oddities. How Santana, her girlfriend, could understand her musings was a mystery to me. But she could be serious if she needed to, and was a valuable friend.

"Why didn't you tell us you'd be back?" she cried, flinging his arms around my neck. That was Brittany, always the thespian.

"I didn't plan on blowing my leg up," I sighed.

"I heard about that," Santana mourned regretfully, "Mercedes, that black hairdresser, was blabbing on about it. Said I'd find you here."

"I appreciate you going out of your way to find me," I said with a sad smile, "but it won't change a thing. I can't move on with me life, because I've got no way to make money. I can't box anymore, I can't fence…I can't even wait tables! What am I gonna do?"

Brittany frowned. "You're only human, B. Don't beat yourself up because of it."

"Yeah," Santana added, "you're the brightest person I know! You've just gotta get back up. I bet there are loads of stuff you'd do even better at than boxing."

"Whatever," I mumbled.

"Oh, stop your whining."

"C'mon, Blainey-bear. We're trying to help you!"

Tired of my friend's chatter, I turned around and ordered a drink, feeling worse than I did before I came. I loved my friends, I really did, but they could be so overbearing at times. Why can't they see I don't want their sympathy? Can't they recognize a loser when they see one?

I felt a tap on my shoulder.

"Damn it, Santana, I don't-"

Except it wasn't Santana, or Brittany. It was a man, a gorgeous man I'd never seen before, and I knew at once my meddling friends had sent him over. Maybe, I thought, maybe I should stop worrying about everything and let go for awhile. Yes, that sounded nice.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, "I didn't realize you were expecting someone. I'll just, ehm, go."

"No!" I leapt off the stool. "It's fine, really. Just mad at my friends, and I thought you were one of them. But you're not. I mean, we could be friends, or something. If that's what you want, I mean. I don't want to come off as an ass. Well, I suppose I did, yelling at you, but, oh, never mind."

The man chuckled-a beautiful, melodious sound. "Let's start over. I'm Kurt . What's your name?"

"Blaine. Blaine Anderson," I said softly, grasping his hand and kissing it like my father had taught me to when I was a boy.

"So, Blaine," he purred, "how is life after the war? I assume you're a veteran. Or you got into an automobile crash, but the former seems more likely."

I blushed, although I'm not really sure why. "Yeah, I was a pilot. My plane crashed. I'm lucky to be alive," I patted the wooden replacement, "but that's not the happiest tale."

"It sounds rather interesting," he put his hand on it, too, and, "I'd love to hear it. We have all the time in the world."

I might add onto it later, depends on the response I get. I have to go fix my shorts now, I just realized I put them on inside out.