A/N: This is basically just a little experiment of mine. I honestly don't know how far this'll go, but this idea has been bugging me for a while, now, so here it is!

Sight: Prologue

In a modern world filled with stereotypes that are unfortunately being distributed around constantly by the social media, an outsider's view of my life seems to be similar to a bad teen drama. You know what I'm talking about: those teenage dramas filled with a web of characters that are connected by an endless amount of love triangles, and the outspoken, loudest characters are the ones that are in center-view. The less-recognizable side characters are identified mainly only by their appearance or stereotype that's pointed out by the TV show, such as "homo", which is mine. The stories of these characters are hidden by the plotlines of the main characters who seem to make the most mistakes, and all that you know about them is their name and a couple lines of dialogue said or maybe even a small, brief act of defiance. By the time the show ends, there's bound to be at least some people who mindlessly wonder: What was their story? How'd they get to the point to where they are now, at the end of the show? However, these questions don't get answered, and they probably never will. And so, life moves on. More bad dramas come out with the same kind of patterns, and only a tiny bit of them come out to be unique.

But, no, that isn't the story of my life. In fact, that isn't the story of my life at all, or anybody else's life. My life is one full of opportune moments for fashion while on my way to stardom, and so far, that path consists of high school, Glee club, and a heavy undertone of suffering and endurance. But let's save the past for my future memoir, when I become as big as Patty LuPone some day. Let's just focus on the fact that this, now, is my story, and I'm the star. Not Rachel Berry, not anybody else, just me. And I'm the one who's telling it.

Walking in the student-raided hallways is unmistakably one of the most treacherous aspects of my high school life. Today, I'm just brushing past my "fellow" students while holding my chin up and keeping my eyes locked on the end of the hall that's just edging closer and closer with every step, ignoring the sneers and glares headed my way—just the same old routine that I've been practicing ever since freshman year. After years and years of silently observing and spiting the raging, vast majority of the school's ignorant youth that fill these very halls daily, it's easy to depict what kind of people there are in William McKinley High School:

Type A) Glee club.

Type B) Other students who value other ideas more than sheer reputation, but just stand by in spite of the constant bullying that happens around here.

Type C) The jocks, the cheerleaders, and their followers.

Type D) Blaine Anderson.

Let's start with Type A: Glee club. The members of the Glee club are my friends, actually, people who've been with me and still have ever since I came out. Although their—as I stated before—endless amount of love triangles can be highly annoying, my life wouldn't be the same without them. Being there with them is amazingly fun, and I can actually be myself there. (Also, coordinating New Direction's fashion ensembles for competitions is a big plus.) Recently, however, Rachel Berry, "captain" of the glee club (as she calls it) and I have a long, bloody history as a result of clashing, undeterred egos, she and I have developed a type of….truce. (No, I'm not just saying that because I'm too embarrassed to call her my friend, what are you talking about?) But before I delve into the reasons why Rachel Berry is certainly not a friend (starting with her hideous reindeer sweaters), time to go to—

"How's it going, homo?" A terribly familiar voice boomed from the right edge of the hallway. A parade of jocks marched over their way towards me, with David Karofsky in the lead. I groaned instantly, rearing away from their disgustingly bright red letterman jackets. Type C. The jocks. AKA, the group of people that just loves to make my life a living hell.

I immediately attempted to veer away to the left side of the hallway, but it was no use. Once Dave was at the appropriate distance, his large palm roughly dug into my side and shoved me into the nearest locker. A distinct, instantaneous pain panged my right shoulder once it hit the merciless, blunt metal. I winced as I slowly slid onto the floor, gritting my teeth while they laughed boisterously and high-fived each other as they walked past. I tried to calm my breath and to ignore the bruise forming in my shoulder as the rest of the school walked on, none of them saying a word, none of them noticing.

Typical. This brings us back to Type B, those who strolled past without a word, as if there wasn't a human being suffering down here from being a victim of a long-term bullying predicament. But, that didn't really matter to them, did it?

I sighed and forced myself up, brushing myself off in the process. Once I looked up, however, I took in a deep breath as I spotted Blaine Anderson emerging from the left corner of the hallway. I held my breath as he maneuvered his way past McKinley's impassive students, his broad shoulders twisting and turning and his neck muscles flexing as he walked, his dreamy hazel eyes focused on something other than the students in front of him, like always. Instead of turning to see what he was looking at, I batted my eyelashes dazedly; more concerned at staring at him and admiring the way he sculpted his dark curls today. I silently approved his attire, clad in a black polo shirt, a red, white, and blue striped bowtie, and red, tight jeans…

Once his handsome figure disappeared from my sight, I exhaled tremulously and I suddenly realized that I pressed myself against the metal lockers as if bracing myself for the sparkling splendor of Blaine Anderson. Wait, sparkling? I shook my head, trying to ignore the burning sensation in my cheeks as I promptly separated myself from the lockers and continued on my way, turning to another hallway towards my next class.

Type D. Blaine Anderson. The only reason why I placed him in a single category was because I didn't know where to put this boy, which was very unusual for me. Blaine Anderson was just so frustratingly attractive yet so bewilderingly confusing. When I first spotted him in the hallway at the beginning of junior year, I immediately knew that he was gay due to his carefully-gelled curls and the fact that no straight guy would make himself so polished in such a dapper way. But nobody, not one person, would ever push him around for it, let alone make fun of him. It was highly unusual for a school like McKinley. It was almost as if he were invisible. How could Blaine Anderson be invisible, though, if he stood out so much? It didn't make sense to me at all. I always got that nagging feeling that I should be jealous of him or angry because nobody even dared to touch him, but I wasn't. Instead, I was painfully curious to what his tactics were. Was there a reason for this? If so, what the hell was it?

That was probably part of the reason why I was so intrigued by him. The other part, obviously, was his good looks. Maybe I was only so attracted to him because I'd developed some infatuation with guys who have dark hair and lightly tanned skin ever since my past obsession with Taylor Lautner (which I admittedly still slightly possess), or because there was an undeniable air of mystery around him. I wanted to get to know him, to learn how he was able to build up such a reputation despite being so obviously gay—and maybe, our relationship would grow to something more than just friendship.

But, this was a lot more complicated than what it appeared to be. Although I knew he was gay, I could never muster up the courage to go up and finally talk to him. And that was more than strange, because in the past, I jumped right at the opportunity of getting to know someone that I was interested in. I was never that nervous about it, but when it came to Blaine Anderson, I was ridiculously tongue-tied, and my legs were cemented to the ground whenever I saw him walk past. I was always so caught up in admiring him from afar, because that was the only thing that I could do. The possibilities of repercussions were overwhelming—what would I actually say? What would I do? What if he took it badly, and thought that I was creepy and gave him unwanted attention? What would I do then?

I know; I'm an idiot. It's stupid having a huge crush on somebody who's practically a stranger—but, God, the boy was beautiful, and I liked him so much I might actually burst if I don't do something. I sighed as I walked into my classroom, automatically ignoring the glances and the hushed whispers as I slid into my desk, promptly getting out what I needed for U.S. History.

I was clearly at a loss. This was undoubtedly a dilemma, and I needed an intervention. Fast.

And, of course, my brain decided that watching Twilight with Mercedes and Rachel during another one Rachel Berry's sleepovers was timely for such an intervention.

"I need help," I blurted once we reached a scene in which Bella and Edward were delightfully eating off each other's faces. Rachel and Mercedes glanced confusedly in my direction, their attention momentarily snagged by my outburst. I sighed before adding, "With a boy." Immediately, their eyes widened simultaneously (which was unfortunately just creepy).

"A boy?" Rachel quickly scooted forward, her polished fingertips taking a firm hold on my sleeve, as if not quite believing that this situation was entirely real. I ripped my arm away as if she had burned me, and I eyed her irritably.

"Yes, Rachel, a boy. God, is it so strange that I need help with a boy for once?"

Rachel immediately squeaked, her chocolate brown eyes almost popping out of her eyelids as she eagerly clasped her hands together. "Oh my God, oh my God! I'm so sorry, it's just, oh my God, Kurt, who is he—?"

Mercedes thrust her hand out in front of Rachel, as if she was barricading Rachel from doing anything obscene. "Woah, woah, Rachel, calm down. Let the boy talk," She huffed out with a laugh, but her eyes shifted quickly toward me, her eyes twinkling with a silent curiosity. I gulped unexpectedly at the shift of attention, and I forced myself to get the words out.

"I—um, his name is Blaine Anderson," I paused for a moment, gauging their reaction. To my shock, there was strangely no flash of recognition across any one of their faces. Absolutely none. Rachel blinked.

"Wait, who?"

"Never heard of him."

I furrowed my brow, confusion immediately pulling me away from what I was initially going to do. "I—never? Dark, gelled hair, bow ties, dreamy…no?"

They both promptly shook their heads. "It doesn't matter, just continue," Mercedes urged eagerly, and I sighed, leaning back against the pillows, chewing on my lip.

"I—um, okay. Well, I…I'm in love with him, but I never actually came around to try to get to know him and I get really nervous around him and now I really don't know what to do. Simple as that," I spoke quickly, trying to ignore the rush of heat pooling in my cheeks as they both gaped at me in disbelief, presumably about how flustered I so obviously was. I groaned, flailing against the pale lime sheets helplessly. Rachel visibly tried her best to compose herself as she formed a barely suppressed grin, her eyes wide.

"Awww, Kurt, you have a crush—!"

"Okay, okay, Rachel, let's get past the obvious and please just try to help me? You both have to have some kind of idea what to do," I pleaded, slowly growing more desperate as the time passed. I was starting to regret telling them in the first place, because this was already ridiculously embarrassing. To my dismay, Mercedes snorted and actually started laughing, throwing her head back in effect. I narrowed my eyes at her, annoyance nearly bursting out of me. "What?"

Mercedes finally managed to calm down, and she grinned. "No, no, it's nothing, Kurt, it's just, the great Kurt Hummel is finally completely helpless at something," She seemed to have caught sight my threatening glare, and she continued quickly, "but—okay, Kurt, to be honest, the only solution to this is to go up and talk to him, because it's the most normal of your possible options. I mean, I doubt you want to do something insane, like pretend to bump into the boy and drop your books, or slip notes into his locker, right? Just talk to him. You'll be fine," she reassured.

Rachel paused for a moment, looking deep in thought after hearing Mercedes' words before nodding in agreement, her lips pursed. "You know what, Mercedes has a point. Remember when I met Finn—during an early New Directions rendition of 'You're the One That I Want'? I pulled him into doing a little shimmy with me during our duet, and although he looked a little taken aback, I think it went well. And just look where we are now! If that turned out just spectacular, then I'm sure that a small thing such as just talking will spark a little something, if you're really meant to be." An eerily sweet smile stretched across Rachel's face as she brushed a pigtail away from her shoulder, as if to emphasize her point. I raised my eyebrow at her words, briefly recalling the series of frightened-puppy faces that Finn frequently wore whenever Rachel abrasively approached him last year, but I refrained from saying more. One glance at Mercedes' bemused expression, and I knew that she was thinking the same thing.

I sighed and leaned back against the pillows, letting their words—especially Mercedes'—sink in. What Mercedes' said unfortunately rang the truth in my ears. I stared up at the ceiling, silently begging the plaster above me to give me some kind of answer. Who was I kidding? Of course talking to him would be the best approach, but I was still expecting the worst.

"But what should I say?" I murmured. "I know—I can introduce myself, but what about after that? What if he takes it badly, or I'll say something that I didn't intend to, and then I'll just screw everything up—"

"Kurt, you'll never know if you don't try. Just be you. Introduce yourself; maybe you can induce a conversation by bringing up fashion," Mercedes suggested while Rachel nodded eagerly, and I blinked slowly, contemplating Mercedes' words.

"Using fashion as a way to a guy's heart—okay, got it. Honestly, though, I've used something like it before, but hopefully this time it'll be productive." I sighed, and laid my head against the pillows once more, staring up at the ceiling again. "Let's just hope I don't make an idiot of myself and that my mind doesn't go blank whenever I look at him, because lately it seems to be that way."

Rachel immediately oohed and awwed and tittered gleefully. "Kurt!"

I looked back up at her, raising my eyebrows at the both of them, and immediately flushed once I saw the barely-suppressed grins on their faces. "What?"

"Damn, Kurt, you got it bad." Mercedes replied, clearly amused.

I groaned and sat up a little on the bed, gathering my knees up to my chest defensively. "Okay guys, really, giggling over my gigantic crush doesn't really help the fact that I might possibly ruin the chance of a lifetime—"

"We wish you luck, Kurt. You know that! We're just happy to see our little Kurt being so head- over-heels for someone. It's sweet! Maybe you could introduce us sometime," Rachel enthused, grasping my hand and squeezing it. I bit my lip to keep myself from spitting out a biting remark about the new nickname. Our "little Kurt"? Really?

I sighed, and averted my gaze to the patterns on Rachel Berry's comforter, thinking about what Rachel said about "introducing" Blaine to them eventually, if our relationship ever progresses that far. If we even form a relationship. I looked back up at them, hoping I didn't look as sullen as I felt. "Yeah, maybe," I smiled weakly at the both of them, getting an ominous feeling that that wouldn't be happening anytime soon.

I started my hunt after Glee, the day after the slightly scarring sleepover a.k.a. my little "intervention" about whether or not I should make a move on Blaine Anderson. Which, obviously ended as, yes, I should, and the best way to do that apparently was simply by talking. I snorted. It surely sounded much, much easier than it actually was.

I waited patiently until everybody had left, including Mr. Schue, who had annoyingly insisted on waiting with me until my dad came by to pick me up—God, it's not like I'm in elementary school. I was more than exhausted after our vigorous dance rehearsals for Sectionals, which was coming up soon, but I couldn't possibly have waited any longer for an opportunity like this. If I didn't do this now, I surely wouldn't be able to do it later. I sighed as I approached the door, and leaned in to peek into the hallway cautiously. I turned my head left and right, trying my best to hear or see anything that would signify human presence, more specifically, Blaine's. Dread suddenly flooded my mind. What if he immediately went home after school? God, why didn't I think of that? What am I going to do now? Put a note in his locker and ask him to meet up with me later? But that's totally suspicious and just creepy—God, please don't tell me this was a waste of my time.

All of a sudden, Blaine's figure soundlessly swerved from the corner of the hallway into my direction. I sucked in a breath and quickly pressed myself against the wall beside the door, a sudden nervousness filling my head. Oh God, he's right there. He's right there, alone, and there are no imposing students around him at all! This is my chance. Oh God, this is my chance, this is my chance, right here, and if I don't step into that hallway now, I won't ever be able to know what it was like to be in a relationship with Blaine Anderson. Hell, I won't ever know what it would be like trying.

I gulped as my ears picked up the soft footsteps of Blaine Anderson, coming closer and closer to the choir room door. I took a deep breath and hoped for the best as I swung around and stepped into the hallway, only to be met by an empty corridor. I furrowed my brow, confused, before I whirled around and saw Blaine quickly starting to disappear into the shadows at the end of the hall. I inhaled sharply and ran towards him in panic; because there was no way that I was going to lose him, not now, after I had planned this for so long.

"Wait!" I called out desperately, slowing down once I was a few steps away from him. Blaine froze in his position for a moment, and I held my breath, only to see Blaine beginning to resume his walk. I furrowed my brow, the terrible feeling of horror quickly weighing down on my chest at the way he had so obviously ignored me. But instead of letting it get to me, I stepped forward once more, because there was no way I was going to let this go.

"Wait! Bl-Blaine Anderson?" I yelled out, stammering once Blaine froze again, but then slowly turned around, his expression visibly perplexed.

I took a deep breath, and then stepped closer to him, managing a half-smile. I took out my hand, holding it out in front of him. I hoped he couldn't see the way it was shaking.

"Hi, it's nice to meet you. My name's Kurt," I started, pleading with whatever was out there that Blaine couldn't hear the deafening thrum of my heartbeat. Blaine turned around fully, his beautiful eyes slowly widening. I gulped, silently berating myself for being the cause of his confusion.

Of course he wouldn't shake your hand. You basically just marched right up to him and thrust your hand out! You're an idiot, I thought angrily, biting my lip to keep myself composed while analyzing his expression.

Blaine's mouth opened and closed a few times, before words finally fell out of his mouth, his voice faint.

"You can…you can see me?"