A/N: Sup everybody! This is my first Klaine AU ever, so I really hope you enjoy! And a heads up, this is M for future chapters!
Feedback would be wonderful, I would love to hear thoughts on it :)
Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or it's characters, sadly
Blaine Anderson had been called many things in his lifetime, but never an artist. But, as he stood back and admired his work, he figures he ought to be one by now.
The gray outside doors of McKinley High School's auditorium provided the perfect canvas for his project. He twirled the spray can in his hands, smirking at the curvy, red painted words in front of him:
NUDE ERECTIONS.
A masterpiece for those pathetic choir kids.
Clicking of heels echoed around the corner of the building. Blaine pocketed the can in his worn, leather jacket and was preparing to sprint away before getting caught, but those clicks were closer than he anticipated.
A short, brunette girl wearing a plaid skirt and a bright, yellow sweater froze at the sight of him, almost dropping her bag with her over-dramatic gasp. "You!" she shrieked, before yelling over her shoulder, "Anderson's here!"
Shit, Blaine thought, never expecting tiny Rachel Berry would be the one to rat him out. He turned to dash the opposite direction, only to slam right into another body.
"Ow!" exclaimed his barrier.
Blaine stepped back, taking in the sight of the tall and quite irritated Kurt Hummel. Berry's friend, and also member of the shitty excuse of the school's show choir, straightened his dark blue jacket and tugged his gray scarf back into place. His eyebrows were furrowed down, those piercing blue eyes glowering at Blaine. "Excuse you," Kurt snapped.
In all honesty, Blaine would much rather be chewed out by Kurt than Rachel any day. The other boy may glare at him, no thanks to Blaine's infamous reputation, but still he appreciated Kurt's slender figure, which stood only a few inches higher than his own always decked in colorful clothing, matching like perfect pieces to a puzzle every day while also giving the world a gift in those skinny jeans.
And Blaine couldn't help admiring the only one who didn't look at Blaine like he belonged in the bottom of a sewer. Or because Kurt didn't know that he and Blaine were the only ones at McKinley who were into dudes.
Blaine held the palms his hands up in defense. "My apologizes," he said. "Looking sexy in those pants, by the way." Blaine winked before trying to make a run for it (again.)
Kurt stepped in his path (again), unfazed by Blaine's attempt at distraction. His glower triumphing his obvious blush, though. Blaine prided in his success so much that he almost didn't catch that Kurt had more back up-some jocks named Sam and Mike, those skinny Cheerios, and Kurt's towering step-brother, Finn. Blaine was backed into a corner with no way out.
"What happened?" asked Finn, coming up beside Rachel and glancing at her. She scoffed, crossing her arms tightly and shooting a death glare right at Blaine.
Blaine crossed his own arms in imitation while putting on a theatrical pout just to annoy her more. He watched her huff and Finn quickly placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder.
His right hand, to be more specific. The hand bearing the scrawled letters revealing nature's match for his soulmate: Rachel Barbra Berry.
Blaine swallowed thickly, suddenly remembering what tonight meant for him.
"Anderson's graffiti'd us," Kurt explained to Finn, gesturing at the words on the door. "Again."
The three Cheerios scrunched their noses up at Blaine's artwork while the jocks looked ready to beat his ass in the pavement. Blaine, however, looked over at Kurt and shrugged nonchalantly. "You're welcome."
"God, you're an asshole," Mike muttered.
"I do ever so try," Blaine responded, making a slight bow while trying to inconspicuously back away from the growing circle of people.
"I'm calling Mr. Shue!" Rachel said, taking out her cell phone and tapping away. "You are not getting away with this!"
"You can't prove anything," Blaine protested, eyeing towards the parking lot where his faded Chevy pickup was. If he could bypass Kurt and sprint...he could probably make it-
"There's like, ten witnesses!" said Sam.
"Oh my god, just let him go," Kurt said with a signature roll of his eyes. "We have practice to get to, remember!"
The rest of the group didn't seem to be too pleased with that request, but Blaine had his eyebrows raised in Kurt's direction, pleased and certainly pissing Kurt off with it.
"Ugh, fine, whatever." Rachel snapped her phone shut, throwing her hands up in exasperation and stomping inside.
Blaine caught Kurt's eye and winked at him. "Thanks, Hummel."
Kurt raised a brow, looking ready to do an eye roll yet again. "Kissing up won't give you everything, Anderson."
"Well, it seemed to work on you."
Kurt only scoffed, narrowing his eyes and showing the tiniest hint of an unamused smile.
The rest of the group followed Rachel's suit reluctantly, side-eyeing Blaine with sneers that would make his father proud. Kurt was last to go, and yes, Blaine used this opportunity to appreciate how well those skinny jeans fit on him...
He pulled up to the curve of his house as the sun set over the treeline, parking it and hopping out.
The neighbor's Chihuahua yapped at him where it was chained up. Down the street he could hear people screaming at each other through their open windows. Next door some suspicious clanking was going on in a garage. But Blaine ignored them like he did every other day. This was normal for living on the shittiest side of Lima.
His home wasn't any less shitty than the others. Small, two stories, with fading brown paint and dust filling around the window edges. The yard was either overgrown or dead. The front porch had boards cracked and missing, thankfully none to the path of the entrance. Blaine twisted open the rusty handle of the front door and pushed on in.
The smell of smoke would hit anyone else's nostrils like a punch to the face, but again, Blaine was used to it. Even when he was little his mother would just sit on that ancient armchair and smoke while watching crappy reality shows.
Speaking of which, that's exactly where she was now. Maria Anderson, with her dark brown hair an unkempt mess and the bags under her hazel eyes even more prominent than ever, sat there with her legs crossed and a cigarette between her index and middle finger. She held it with her right hand, the name of Blaine's father written across the back-
His throat tightened again. Only a few more hours.
"I'm back," Blaine said, kicking his shoes off and walking to their tiny kitchen.
"Mmph," was all Maria said before taking another drag.
He grabbed a Pepsi from their refrigerator and the bag of chips from the pantry, grateful there was actually decent food here today. Perhaps a birthday present from the universe.
The only one he'll receive all day, besides his Mark, of course.
He sighed, trudging up the squeaky, wooden steps to his bedroom, not knowing whether to feel distress or anxiety.
Every human, throughout all of history, has been given the knowledge of their soulmate's name once they reach the age of seventeen. There's no bright light or fireworks, just thin, black letters of their other half's name appearing on the back of their hand. No one's quite sure why nature decides to do this; theories include to create the perfect offspring, others say it has to do with literal souls being matched to each other throughout reincarnation. Either way, it's not like this system generates a happy ending for everyone.
For example, hearing stories of people finding their soulmate over Facebook or Twitter, and being utterly disappointed. People having children unmarried and without each other's names on their hands, refusing to leave one another. Others given the name of a celebrity, and therefore bombarded by the media. People given names of the same sex, and being discriminated just by that.
And who could forget Blaine's own parents. His father's original soulmate, some woman named Felicia (Blaine only saw glimpses from the fading words on his father's skin) had died in a terrible car crash, leaving Richard Anderson alone only with his young son, Cooper. But Maria had Richard's name already on her hand, granting him another soulmate and, barely a year later, another son. Blaine.
Who had now collapsed on his bed, hearing the springs groan under his weight. His phone read 6:42.
Three more minutes.
He huffed out a breath, considering whether it would be worth it to take out his own stash of cigarettes before the 'grand reveal.' It might calm his nerves, he told himself. He might forget the dread that has been building up inside him for years.
6:43.
When Blaine was younger-like, way younger-he sometimes wondered who his soulmate would be. He never doubted that wishing for a boy's name was wrong. Until he grew up and was met with reality. Now he knew whoever the poor guy was had to deal with...this.
6:44.
Holy shit, was his heart pounding. Blaine rolled over to his stomach, locking his eyes to the back of his hand, waiting. Maybe nature will fuck up and not match him with anyone. That's happened before, hasn't it?
It took a millennium until the clock read 6:45.
A small, black line began forming on his skin.
Blaine froze, watching as some invisible force inscribed the letters right in front of his eyes. They became legible at random. He could make out a capital H, a small B, even a Z somewhere in the middle name.
He hadn't even noticed his teeth were tugging at his bottom lip. His mind was trying to guess the name before all the letters came. The first name now had a K...Kyle? Keith? Ken?
Wait. He blinked, furrowing his eyebrows. That started with a K and now was growing a U right beside it…
Oh, no, Blaine thought, panicky. Oh, no, please no, oh, no-
Two thin letter M's were the last to appear, and Blaine now stared wide-eyed at the completed name, unable to move.
Kurt Elizabeth Hummel.