Although Kurt had had to rearrange his morning skin care moisturizing routine by an hour and a half, it was definitely worth it. He walked into the school precisely at 7:00 AM. His boots clomped with determination as he walked down the long hallway of West McKinley High School, finally reaching Blaine's locker: 1734. It appeared to any outsider a standard red locker that furnished the halls of the Lima, Ohio school.
But soon it would be a piece of art.
Kurt carefully laid out his supplies and began to transform the rust piece of metal into a design only worth of his boyfriend. It was the beginning ofTWERPweek.

What time are you going to be at school? Kurt had texted him.
Blaine never replied. Although it was against his dapper ways, Blaine Anderson had a plan in mind, and he was not going to let anything or anyone slow him down.
Blaine walked with a snappy pace towards locker 3421, relieved that no one else had tried toTWERPKurt yet. He was his, and decorating this locker would only intensify that fact to the mass of students at West McKinley High School. In his mind, they could probably care less.
Blaine smiled as he reached his boyfriend's locker, and soon began to design it according to his sketch.
Once the work was complete, Blaine headed down three flights of stairs. He intended to reach his locker. Yet he never found it.
In it's place was a piece of his boyfriend's incredible creativity. Cut out of individual letters from various covers of magazines were the words: Blaine Anderson, you've just beenTWERP'd! You are an incredible man and I love every moment we spend together. L'amour, K :)
The locker was covered in different patterns of scrapbook paper, and there was even a bow tie connected to the vent. The smile on his face couldn't have been larger, the happiness in him more obvious.
He had beenTWERP'd.

Kurt hadn't a reason to go to his locker but at only one time during the school day: right before lunch. He walked his regular route, finally reaching his locker through the swarm of sweaty adolescents.
He nearly screamed at the sight of it.
His locker was completely encased in various covers of Vogue. There was a single gold star in the middle of it that said his name, like on a Broadway stage door. Underneath the star was a handwritten note backed on purple cardstock. In Blaine's neat handwriting was written, "I hope this gives you an inkling of your future, one that I definitely want to be a part of. HappyTWERPweek, baby. Courage. L'amour, Blaine."