Without a doubt the library at Dalton had to be Kurt's favorite place in the whole antiquated building. It was quite simply a huge room constructed of honey-colored wood with towering bookcases crammed full of books, mostly classic novels with rich leather covers and gold embossed spines. It was a quiet sanctuary that looked like it could have come straight from the pages of a Jane Austen novel. The room from floor to ceiling smelled of age and virtue and wisdom. Kurt could be found there before and after school, even on his lunch break. He often got lost in those stacks for hours.

For a long time he thought the music room where they held Warbler rehearsal should be his favorite, but it was pretty much just a reminder of how the Warblers, at heart, were a group of young men who didn't seem to appreciate his uniqueness and originality. Besides, they already had their star in the form of Blaine Anderson, their goblin king. Kurt smirked. He knew he shouldn't think that way about his boyfriend, but sometimes he just couldn't help himself. Blaine had told him that the students of Dalton all wore uniforms because they were a group, with no one person shining out more than anyone else…that is unless you're Blaine, apparently.

Ugh. Kurt felt so conflicted. He didn't want to be jealous, but, there you go. He was.

Kurt tried not to think about; tried to let the tension diffuse through his fingers and into the books he ran them over. He pretty much knew the order of the books by heart without having to look at the titles.

'The Count of Monte Cristo…Just So Stories…A Christmas Carole…'

Kurt smiled. He didn't actually understand the system Dalton used to organize their books. It really made no sense.

'A Tale of Two Cities…'

His fingers fell in a space right where Crime and Punishment should be.

Kurt looked at the shelf where his fingertips rested on a worn leather journal he had never seen before. He looked around for the librarian, but she was nowhere to be seen. He pulled the book down slowly, expecting at any second that someone would come over and claim the misplaced book, but none of the other students around him seemed to notice. He held the book in his hands, painfully curious, dying to crack the well-worn spine, but he hesitated. It looked like a personal journal…maybe even a diary.

But if it was, why would it be stuck here on the shelf?

It looked expensive. The soft leather cover alone was probably worth a few hundred dollars. Whoever this book belonged to must be looking everywhere for it. He could just turn it in at the front desk, but there was no guarantee the book would find its owner shoved in among countless forgotten sweatshirts, sunglasses and cell phones. No, he had a duty to this gorgeous journal since he had been the one to find it.

He would just open the front cover and look for a name.

He opened the book reverently to the inside cover, and then the first page, but there was no name to be seen. He flipped through the pages of perfect, neatly written script, and sighed as his eyes swept over the fluid, expressive handwriting. Kurt always felt you could tell so much about a person by how they wrote, the way they dotted their 'I's and crossed their 't's, whether the words lifted at the ends, or stuck down in the line they were written on.

Kurt's own handwriting was almost calligraphic.

Blaine sort of wrote like an over-enthusiastic fifth grader.

Without meaning to, his eyes stopped on a page with a four line passage…a poem…and he read…

"In his eyes

Ice and fire meet

And when I see them, my tongue is struck dumb

Every…single…time…"

Kurt held his breath. A poem. A love poem.

Another boy in this very school – another gay boy – who wrote love poems.

Oh dear spaghetti monster in the sky!

Kurt flipped to another page, another poem.

"How stupid…how childish…how truly masochistic to love someone you'll never have…

At least I can love the idea of him…"

Oh…unrequited love. Even better.

Kurt closed the journal and held it to his chest protectively, feeling a little paranoid as he escaped to his special corner of the library. His chest ached with guilt at reading someone else's private thoughts of love, especially a love that might never be fulfilled, but he needed to see this through. He needed to follow the clues and find out who this was…

…and maybe, just maybe, he could bring these two lovers together.

On and on he read, page by page, captivated. He almost heard a voice reading the words to him in his head.

"He deserves roses, and I am no more than a thorn, and I keep pricking at him, aggravating him, filling him with hate for me…

…because if I can't have his love, I'll take his hate if that might turn his azure eyes on me…"

Azure eyes, Kurt mulled. Azure means blue. Blue eyes. So the love of this boy's life had blue eyes.

He smiled.

"He sings like angels and like sirens,

It calls to my heart and to my blood,

I would woo him,

I would love him,

I would set him on fire,

And I would tell him so,

But at five o'clock I'm there staring in at the door,

I cannot approach him,

I cannot touch him,

All I can do is wait another day…"

He sings…at five o'clock every day he sings…holy shit!

Kurt bounced on the floor where he sat, feeling a little giddy.

Every day at five o'clock!

He's a Warbler. Whoever wrote this book is in love with a Warbler.

Kurt couldn't remember ever seeing someone hanging around the doorway peeking in on their rehearsals…not that he ever paid much attention. Today he would. Kurt tried to remember who in the Warblers besides him had blue eyes. He bit his lip. He would need to find some stealthy way to check.

The longer he read, an unexpected side effect seemed to overwhelm him. He was falling in love; falling in love with the words in this book, and the anonymous author roaming the halls of school. He knew it was irrational. He knew it was unreasonable, especially since he had a boyfriend who, for all intents and purposes, was sweet and kind and devoted, who serenaded him with cheesy love songs and texted him meaningful song lyrics.

But those were other people's words.

Whoever this book belonged to, these words belonged to them, came from their heart…

…and were meant for someone else.

Kurt swallowed hard and sighed.

The time for fantasies and dreams was over.

With a heavy heart he closed the book and stood from his hiding place. He would turn it in at the front desk and pray every day that the proper owner found it, and in his head he could put the fairy tale to rest.

Some very special, amazing man in this school was missing out on true love.

He emerged from the stacks and ran headlong into a frazzled looking Nick Duval.

"Hey, Nick," Kurt said, trying to sound more carefree than he felt.

"Hey, Kurt," Nick answered back, but then his hazel eyes fell on the book in Kurt's arms and his entire body relaxed. "Oh thank heavens," he sighed, pulling the leather journal from Kurt's folded arms. Kurt felt a cryptic loss the minute the book left his arms. "I've been looking for this everywhere."

"Oh, well…there it is," Kurt said lamely. "I found it on the bookshelf. I was about to turn it in."

"Then it's a good thing I found you first," Nick sighed, his relief palpable, and in a small measure it cheered Kurt up.

But suddenly there was another problem.

A couple of them actually.

Kurt was certain, positive actually, that Nick was head over heels for Jeff Sterling, but Jeff had brown eyes.

So, who was the mysterious stranger Nick had been writing about?

And probably more daunting, was Kurt actually in love with Nick Duval?

No, he thought, giving himself a mental shake. Nick was one of his closest friends. He couldn't be. That would be too weird for words.

He definitely wasn't in love with Nick Duval, though the sudden inexplicable feeling of heartbreak settling in his chest would beg to differ.

"Well, I've got to get going," Nick said, slightly perturbed by his friend's daydream expression.

"Yeah, sure." Kurt watched Nick retreat, wondering if he shouldn't just confront him, if for no other reason than to ask who the blue-eyed siren was that Nick had fallen in love with.

Common sense kicked in, and Kurt decided to wait. He watched Nick walk out of the library, turning around once to wave at Kurt, still looking slightly confused.

There were too many overwhelming questions, too many riddles.

Kurt couldn't just fall in love with someone from reading their journal. That's impossible. Even if it was possible, this is apparently Nick Duval. Nicky. Kurt refused to fall in love with Nick.

What about Blaine?

They had passed the simple handholding stage a long time ago, but they hadn't gone much further than heated make-outs and a few awkward hand-jobs. Not much that went on between them curled Kurt's toes anymore, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't seem to make that feeling come back.

It might if Blaine said he would set him on fire…

Kurt had started walking without taking much notice, his body moving on autopilot out the heavy double doors. He heard laughter coming from the far end of the hall, and when he turned the corner his heart froze in his chest. Nick stood with his head bowed, his face a strange mask of discomfort and distress while Sebastian and Hunter cackled like the hyenas they were, and in Sebastian's hands, open to some arbitrary page, was the leather journal. Kurt felt heat rise to his cheeks, burning through the ice that kept him rooted to the spot where he stood. He barreled down the hallway, unsure exactly of his next move, with his eyes fixed on that beautiful book, spurred on by everything it held, everything it must mean to Nick…everything it had come to mean to him.

He caught Sebastian off-guard and snatched the book away, holding it to his chest with his arms crossed over it. All three boys stared at him in surprise, but Sebastian's cheeks in particular started to grow pink.

"What the fuck, princess?" Sebastian growled.

"Those are his thoughts, and feelings, and words, and you don't get to take them! You don't get to exploit them for your cruelty! You don't get to make fun of him for it!"

"You…you read it?" Sebastian stuttered, and the color seemed to drain from his face.

"N-not intentionally…" Kurt stammered, unsure why he was still talking about this with Sebastian when he should just turn the journal back over to Nick. "I found it in the library. I thought it was just a book…and why am I still talking about this with you?"

"Kurt," Nick intervened, putting a hand on Kurt's shoulder and squeezing gently, "that journal isn't mine. It belongs to Sebastian."

Kurt almost dropped it. His eyes shifted from face to face around him. Nick looked sympathetic. Hunter looked way too amused. Sebastian's expression was blank.

"But I thought…no! No, it can't! It's not…"

Kurt looked down at the worn leather book filled with beautiful poems, random thoughts, and passionate essays on life and indecision…and love. He felt betrayed. He felt his soul break. He saw himself falling in love with the boy who wrote this book.

But Sebastian?

Why did it have to be Sebastian?

Sebastian, the meerkat-faced asshole?

Sebastian, the bane of his existence, who hovered and lurked, always with some insult, always with some evil taunt…

Sebastian, the constant thorn in his side…

Thorn…

Oh no…oh God no…

Kurt's hands shook as he turned the journal over to its owner, and then without another word he shot back down the hall, his cheeks on fire, his heart in his throat, his knees so weak they barely carried him, the blood rushing in his ears so loudly he didn't hear Sebastian call out to him, or the sound of his footsteps when he started after him down the hall.