Happy Corners

When Kurt was six years old and struggling with learning how to write, his mother helped him keep frustration at bay. She showed him, happily, how the best tactic was to just take a moment to breathe and draw a few happy things on the corner of the paper, so that he could fill it with positive energy. In a matter of weeks he was addicted to what he liked to call "happy corners". As he grew up, he continued the practice, often times introducing it to his friends or stealthily filling his classmates' notebooks with surprise happy corners, more out of fondness for it, than actual necessity; and when his mother died, it felt like a way to keep her always in his life.

Now, verging on eighteen years old, he uses it mostly to entertain himself in moments of boredom in class – keeps the hands busy and kind of looks like he's taking notes. After a week in McKinley High School, he can easily predict his notebooks and manuals will be covered in happy corners. The curriculum in this school is, to say the very least, basic.

He's early for Math and sits right in the middle of the classroom, rarely getting the luxury of choosing the sweet, sweet, anonymity of not sitting in the front or in the back.

As the classroom fills out, the seat next to him is left vacant, as predictable. Not only is Kurt the mid-term transfer kid no one really knows yet, he's also very obviously gay – something that doesn't take a genius to figure out isn't exactly a good thing in this school.

By the time the teacher clears her throat to start the lesson, it's the only place empty. Kurt doesn't mind – at least he gets to spread his stuff.

That is, until the door opens carefully and a student pokes his head inside and says "Sorry I'm late, Mrs. B. May I come in?"

The teacher shrugs and nods, clearly unbothered by the tardiness, and the boy comes in. He's so very handsome in that classical way that usual leaves Kurt sighing and gazing longingly, but the letterman jacket on his torso is a red flag (both figuratively and literally). Carefully, Kurt pulls his pencil case back to his half of the desk as the boy walks over and puts down his things. As he drops on the chair, a cloud of shower gel, shampoo and freshly applied deodorant nearly send Kurt into a coughing fit, and Kurt notices the boy's hair is still wet. He must've just had some kind of practice.

Kurt's not surprised that the boy only gives him a fleeting glance and a small, polite smile instead of a direct greeting, given that he's so very clearly a jock and half a week in this school is enough to know they're at the top of the food chain. But at least, this one has proper hygiene habits, which is more than can be said for about half of them, if the constant smell of sweat and bad deodorant polluting McKinley's corridors is anything to go by.

The boy carefully extracts a notebook and pencil case out of his bag, clearly trying not to disturb the class (despite the fact that about seventy five per cent of the students were chatting or on their phones and the teacher had yet to scold a single one). He opens the notebook, jots down the date and then proceeds to pay attention.

Kurt is mesmerized and confused by the phenomenon that is a studious jock, but when he looks back towards the boy, not fifteen minutes after, his eyes are closed, his forehead resting against his left hand, fingers spread to hide his eyes from the teacher, and pen loosely held in the other. It seems that it is not today that Kurt's paradigm shifts.

Not that he can blame the poor guy – this class might seriously be the most boring Kurt has ever had, and that is saying something because his old History teacher adhered to the horrible technique of reading straight out of the textbook, without interruption or pause for questions. His own notebook page for the day is covered in flowers, hearts, rainbows, lollipops and suns halfway through it. Needing a serious boost in activity so he won't follow the same fate as his fellow student, he smirks to himself and carefully draws a tiny, itsy flower on the corner of the other boy's notebook. Sleeping beauty next to him doesn't even twitch in his sleep, so Kurt grins and goes for the second. This time, however, the finishing flourish sends the notebook crashing against the boy's elbow, knocking it out and causing the boy faces to practically free fall into the desk. He manages to catch himself in time, waking up with a yelp.

The teacher doesn't so much as pause.

"I fell asleep?" the boy asks in a hushed voice.

Kurt nods, his cheeks burning at the prospect of having been caught drawing flowers on a stranger's notebook.

"Dammit." He mutters, "Kick me in the shin if I doze off again."

"Huh… sure."

After that, noting the boy has picked his pen back up and is preparing himself to take notes, Kurt looks pointedly ahead. In the periphery of his vision he can see him looking for a long moment at his notebook and then at Kurt's. It takes all of Kurt's willpower to keep his expression neutral, instead of slamming his own flower-filled notebook shut and dissolving into a puddle of embarrassment and horror.

To his surprise no new words are spoken and the boy merely hunches over his notebook and starts scribbling away.

It isn't until the very end of the class that Kurt has the guts to look anywhere near the vicinity of the other boy and as he closes his notebook Kurt chokes having caught a glimpse of a gigantic meadow of tiny flowers, trees, and flowing rivers covering the entire page, several different colors used. They leave the classroom without exchanging any more words, the boy in an apparent hurry, but Kurt can't help feeling like he just might've made a strange kind of friendship.

At the end of that day, when he shuts his locker and gets ready to head home, his eyes meet a vaguely familiar set of hazel ones, and he can't help smiling. He's pleasantly surprised to find the boy smiling back and nodding his goodbye.

It goes like that – Kurt still doesn't know his name because he's about as close to making friends as he is to becoming Senior Class President, which is not at all (considering he isn't even running for it) – for the rest of the week and until they have math class together again. They greet each other in the halls with quick smiles and polite nods. Kurt wonders if the boy's only being remotely nice to him because he's afraid Kurt will tell on him for drawing flowers.

This time Kurt's the second one there, and he's shocked to find that the boy is sitting in the exact same spot as the week before, notebook already out, but busy with his cell phone. Kurt walks carefully over and asks "Mind if I sit here?"

The boy looks up and shakes his head, "Not at all." His voice is calm and neutral, and Kurt likes the reassurance that he's definitely made a tentative desk-buddy.

He sits and busies himself getting his stuff ready until the teacher starts up the class, remarkably coherent with the boredom theme of last week.

Kurt's busying himself disassembling and reassembling a pen so that he can keep his hands and happy corners to himself this time, while the boy's still fiddling with his phone. He may be itching to establish further contact with him, but he's quite aware of how creepy that might look.

Roughly twenty minutes into the class, when Kurt has given up on toying with the pen, lest he look maniac or anything like that, the boy puts down his phone and lets out a long, suffering sigh. They sit still and quiet for the next five minutes. And then, something extraordinary happens.

The boy reaches out and pulls Kurt's notebook towards himself, before flipping it open on a random page and doodling a snowman smack in the middle of it.

Kurt gapes at him, feeling his cheeks reddening.

"It's more season appropriate." The boy shrugs, like that explains everything, and pushes the notebook back towards Kurt.

Kurt can't help smiling and chuckling as he bends down and picks up his favorite glittery purple pen, and draws a scarf around the snowman. No better way to discern if the guy's a homophobe, right?

Instead of dissing it, though, the boy reaches for the pen as well and adds a matching hat. They continue like that, for the rest of the class, until they have a true Christmas town – some drawings more proficient than others (ahem, the boy can't draw, ahem), but mostly stupidly cute.

As the bells rings, they exchange smiles, and put their stuff away. As he swings his bag over his letterman jacket clad shoulder, the boy says "My name's Blaine, by the way."

"Kurt." He replies on automatic.

"We should decide on a theme for each week – by the end of the year, we'll have a collection worthy for a gallery."

Kurt can't help laughing, and he nods, "Only if it's in New York – it's not worth it, otherwise."

"Of course. Nothing but the best." Blaine winks, before jogging his way out of the classroom.

The next week, Kurt draws a microphone. Blaine gives him a questioning look, and Kurt says "I'm joining glee club today." , to which Blaine nods and grins, and bends down to draw the outline of a stage. When class is dismissed Blaine says, "See you in glee club!"

The following week, Blaine starts with a coffee cup, and Kurt adds on a cinnamon roll. Once the page is covered in pastries and drinks and all kinds of snacks, the bell is ringing, and Kurt makes quick work of putting his things away. Blaine's bag is already on his shoulder when he asks, "So, you want to go for a coffee after glee club?"

"Huh, sure." Kurt stutters out, completely confused and entirely surprised.

"Sweet."

Christmas break interrupts their little thing, but they do go for coffee twice during break, and when they school restarts, they get back on track. As weeks go by they become friends. Kurt leanrs things about Blaine besides the fact that he's a jock, can sing and can't draw. For instant, he's part of the McKinley boxing team, and despite his tiny size he's supposed to be quite good at it – hence the letterman jacket and the way everyone seems to idolize him (a treatment clearly not reserved for many other Glee club members). He's a straight A student, senior class president, and equally interested in comic books and musical theatre.

And yet, despite the fact that as time goes by they get closer and closer – coffee after glee club becoming a fixed thing – Kurt can't quite figure out if Blaine is gay or not. He's clearly not homophobic, but he's so popular that Kurt can't wrap his head around the possibility that it might be more than that. Sure, he likes Broadway shows and knows show tunes lyrics by heart, he dresses well enough (even if simple and understated), and he's never once talked about any girlfriend or anything like that… but he mostly hangs out with what people would call guys' guys, he always backs up Puck, Finn and Sam's classic rock songs in glee club without breaking a sweat or looking too out of place, and, most of all, he's popular.

And there's always Tina, who Kurt can't figure out if she's girlfriend or hag.

Kurt knows he's buying into stereotypes with this kind of thinking, but his gaydar has to be based on something, right?

And even though they've become very close friends (maybe best friends) in the space of two months, Kurt can't bring himself to just ask. He doesn't know what would happen if Blaine said that he was gay.

Maybe then Kurt would have to admit to himself the ginormous crush he's been developing for Blaine, and how it might still not be reciprocated.

As it is, he's managing the balancing act of pushing those feelings to the back of his mind and nurturing a close friendship with the kind of boy that somehow manages to keep him in a constant state of surprise and awe, filled with strange, but sweet, contradictions and a smile that makes every room that little bit brighter.

"God, I'm in need of doodling therapy." Kurt groans as he sits next to Blaine on their usual desk, one Wednesday in the middle of February.

Blaine gives him a smile – the soft, soothing kind. His cheeks are pink and his eyes are bright and there's something strange about him that day. Not bad-strange, but definitely strange. "I believe it's my turn to start…?" Blaine pulls Kurt's notebook to himself, and picks of a red sharpie.

Kurt frowns slightly at the heart drawn only slightly off-center on the page. "You too? I swear this whole school is consumed by Valentine's Day. I'm not sure I'll survive tomorrow."

Blaine's soft blush intensifies but he clears his throat and pushes the notebook towards Kurt, "Your turn," he says, "And please don't ruin it. I like Valentine's Day."

Kurt rolls his eyes but obliges, drawing an arrow crossing the heart, "It's about as much as I can do without ruining it. Sorry."

Blaine gives him a glare, no heat behind it at all, before he picks up a black ballpoint pen and encases the heart in the outline of an open Hallmark style card. Without much imagination, Kurt lays out a small box of chocolate under the card and gives pen and notebook back to Blaine.

"Hey, I don't think we're supposed to write, these are doodles!" Kurt interjects as he notices that Blaine's filling the inside of the card with something, and he even goes to snatch the pen out his hand when Blaine pulls away, biting his lip and turning the notebook towards Kurt.

In the card it's written

Roses are red,

I like you, Kurt,

I'm not a poet,

Be my valentine?

"Also, I don't have a chocolate box, but I can bring you one tomorrow, if you want. I was thinking more along the lines of flowers, but you can choo-"

"Really?"

"I – of course, yeah." Blaine nods, speaking in a hushed voice because, despite all indication to the contrary, they are still in the middle of a class, "Kurt, I mean it. I like you. I like you so much."

"You're gay?!" Kurt gasps.

"What do you mean am I gay? Of course I'm gay!" Blaine mutters back.

"I… I didn't know. You never said. I thought maybe you were, but-"

"I'm very much gay." Blaine interrupts with a strange smile, "As evidenced by the fact that I have the biggest crush on you. Also a boy. And hopefully also gay."

"As the fourth of July." Kurt deadpans, to which Blaine bursts out laughing, finally earning them a glare from the teacher.

Both of them have the decency to blush and look away from each other. Kurt's faced with his notebook and the drawn Valentine's Day card. With a barely concealed grin he picks up his purple pen and jots down YES! next to Blaine's poem, nudging the notebook towards the middle.

He glances to find Blaine beaming, and doing a strange but adorable little shimmy in his seat.

"You bring the flowers, I bring the chocolate." Kurt whispers, leaning carefully into Blaine's space.

"Deal."

They sit in silence until class is finally dismissed, both bodies fizzing with barely contained energy and giddiness. As he hastily collects his stuff, Blaine leans over and plants a solid, though quick kiss on Kurt's cheek and says "Gotta go, I'll see you in Glee."

"Wait!" Kurt gasps, rushing out of his chair grabbing Blaine's wrist and pulling him back before he loses his nerve. Without allowing a second thought he pulls Blaine's body close and presses their lips together. Blaine responds at once, hands finding purchase on Kurt's waist and squeezing as his lips push back, tenderly, against Kurt's. The kiss feels like butterflies, fireworks, champagne popping and electricity – the whole shebang. It feels like the fulfillment of the most amazing promise Kurt's ever made and received.

A few whistles register in the confines of Kurt's brain – an alternative universe, perhaps – but it's a loud, and very adult cough that pulls them back to reality.

They break apart, faces flushed pink and lips glistening red, to find their teacher eyeing them with a stern look. "Inappropriate." She declares, before she walks away.

"Huh…" Blaine frowns after her, but he's quick to recollect his smile and turn back to Kurt, grinning, "I really gotta go – class is in the other side of school." He breathes, before grabbing the back of Kurt's neck and pulling him back in for a quicker, but deeper kiss. And then he's off sprinting to class and Kurt is left breathless and reeling and thanking god that he ever thought drawing a stupid pair of flowers on a jock's notebook was a good idea.