Hello and welcome to the very first chapter of New Perspective! The story will alternating between Blaine's and Kurt's point of view, so double check the title to see who's turn it is. I'll be writing for Blaine (check out my original fanfic, ninjadoodles) , and Tris (SpiritOfTheStaircase) will be Kurt. You should totally look forward to the Blaine chapters because I'm obviously a way better writer than Tris.
Okay, she's better than me, but don't tell her I said that.
So, uh, I guess that's about it. Hope ya like it!
-Viv
Disclaimer: I don't own Glee, and if Tris owns it, she hasn't mentioned anything
"May I help you?" The librarian sitting at the front desk asked. She seemed concerned, and had a right to be, seeing as I was the only one besides her in the almost-empty room. Paintings were thrown carelessly around the room on bookshelves and the occasional stack of books, and a small tray of sad-looking cheese and grapes sat on a table in the center of the room. The only sound in the almost silent library was soft jazz music playing in the background in an (failed) attempt to make the event look classy.
"No, no," I replied, moving from piece to piece, examining the artwork closely. I had to kick aside a few books to move around.
The librarian shook her head and went back to her Sudoku, muttering something about kids these days.
Being in charge of the Arts section of the newspaper at a school like McKinley is hard. The art's department itself was small and wildly underfunded. Students who took the few classes that the school offered are almost always looking for an easy A. So there I was, at the Annual McKinley Art Show, desperately looking for something that didn't look like the paper was being slaughtered by an elephant with a paint can, as were the majority of the paintings, when I finally saw it.
I didn't see the painting at first. It was small, and was hung up in the very back of the library-turned-gallery, so it took me a while to reach it. Amid the clash of color hung around the room, it appeared almost dull in comparison.
The first thing that caught my eye was the expression on the woman's face. She was gazing out a small window, her thin eyebrows drawn together and lips parted slightly in a frown. A golden ray of light streamed out from the window and illuminated her proud features and chestnut hair, which fell in glossy waves down her back. She sat straight, back ridged and face turned to the side to look out the window. If you studied it closely you could see that the woman's pale hands were clenched, the silky material of her blue dress bunched in them. The woman had an almost wistful expression on her face, with a sad undertone that made you think that she had gone through more than her years than most people ever did. I wanted to reach into the painting and comfort her, or at least find out what caused that expression. The brushwork was delicate, and the lights and darks blended into each other. The colors were perfect, soft and warm and bright. The artwork was impossibly complicated, the technique incredible, yet the actual picture was simple.
I was in love.
At the very bottom of the canvas, the words K. Hummel were scrawled in muddy yellow paint. Unlike a proper art show, none of the pieces were labeled, but I knew straight away that I wanted to meet this unique artist. I had found my next feature article.
"Excuse me, who made this?" I asked the librarian, who looked up at me with a bored expression on her face. Her eyes lit up when she saw which painting I was pointing to and the boredom vanished from her features.
"That's by Kurt Hummel. The only talented one of the whole bunch, if you ask me." She smiled at me. "It's a shame they put it in the back. You have a good eye."
"Thanks," I said, quickly typing the name into my phone so that I wouldn't forget it.
"Oh! You must be that Blaine Anderson kid!"
"Yes, unfortunately," I said.
"Nonsense! You're the only one that can write in our school's pathetic excuse for a newspaper." She winked. "Speaking of which, don't they have a meeting today?"
My eyes widened in panic, "I forgot! Thanks!" The librarian nodded and said something like, "no problem" but I was too busy rushing out the door to notice. I had already been late three times for a meeting this month, and Schuester was not going to be happy.
The computer lab that the writers and editors of McKinley's Titan Times used as their office was always filled with the sound of keyboard noises, arguing, and song. Yes, song. The newspaper staff doubled as the schools resident geeks and freaks haven, the glee club. The New Directions (or, if you must, the Nude Erections) constantly practiced their songs while editing the latest articles. So along with the monotone humming of the computers, there was always someone singing. Rachel Berry, resident features editor (a running joke among everyone, considering her nose) and drama queen, had just begun to belt out the first few notes to 'Don't Rain On My Parade' when I walked into the room.
"Hey Hobbit, about time you showed up," drawled Santana, glancing up from her latest piece in her column "Cheerio Confessions".
I blushed and nodded at Santana (the girl was dangerous) and quickly skirted around Rachel, who was now jumping dramatically from chair to chair while singing her heart out and headed towards the unfortunate man who ran the whole newspaper operation. Will Schuester.
"I've found my feature article!" I announced proudly, raising my voice to be heard over Berry's wailing, a task that was harder than it sounds, no pun intended.
Mr. Schuester smiled. "That's excellent, Blaine!" he exclaimed, "What is it?"
"I want to interview an artist!"
The smile disappeared. "I don't know Blaine, your last interview didn't go so well. Every reply was a one word, one syllable answer!" I winced. The interviewee hadn't exactly been the most talkative. Or, now that I think of it, they hadn't been the most artistic either. In the background, Mercedes was attempting to out-sing Rachel's performance and the noise in the room was steadily increasing.
"Trust me, I haven't met this guy yet, but I know I need this interview," I pleaded.
"What do you mean you haven't met him yet?" Schuester said, frown deepening.
"I, um, well not exactly," I said, realizing my mistake.
"Who is it?"
"Kurt Hummel." The teacher's expression darkened further.
"Blaine, Kurt is bad news. Trust me. He won't be cooperative." My face fell. "Kurt won't agree to the interview, and you don't even know who he is!"
At that point I felt like giving up, but I forced myself to remember the beautiful painting from earlier. I had to meet him. I just had to. "Please, sir! If he refuses to interview I'll find something or someone else to write about!"
"Blaine, your deadline is at the end of the month! I doubt you can find a new subject by then."
"Trust me, Mr. Schuester. I will! And it probably won't have to come to that."
Schuester sighed and massaged his temples. "Are you sure you can score the interview?" I nodded rapidly.
"Fine. One condition, though."
"Anything." I needed this interview. That painting was beautiful and I just had to meet the artist.
"I need conformation that you have met the artist, and that he will do the interview, by the end of this week,. If not find another topic." I kept nodding. I was getting a little dizzy, to tell the truth. "Blaine, you can stop nodding your head now." I stopped, smiling sheepishly.
"All right guys! Assemble!" Schuester called to the rest of the group. With a great deal of grumbling, the staff turned away from their computers (a few of them had to turn away from their not-so-well-hidden games of Angry Birds) and faced the teacher. "Now, as most of you know, our huge, double feature, mid-year newspaper comes out at the end of this month so I want all of you working twice as hard to put it out!"
A few Glee clubbers (Santana and Puck) snorted at his unintentional innuendo. Mr. Schue continued on with his speech, oblivious as usual to the giggling in the back of the group. "And let's not forget that Regionals are also coming up! I want each of you to pick a song that we could use on our set list and maybe even get to perform it on stage. And I mean everyone," he said, glaring pointedly at Santana, who was widely known to not, for lack of better words, to give a shit about glee club.
"Um, Mr. Schue? May I ask a question?" asked Rachel, back perfectly straight and hand raised.
"Rachel, do you have to interrupt every time we have a meeting?" grumbled Finn (sports editor), Rachel's on again, off again boyfriend. Apparently they were off at the moment. By next week they would probably be back together though.
"I second the motion," yawned Puck (comics). Rachel glared at both of them.
"Can we perform more than one song?" she continued.
"Just one song each, Rachel," said Schuester.
"Besides, you've all ready sung enough solos! Some of us want to have a chance to shine too!" That was Mercedes, unsurprisingly (fashion column). Tina (graphic design) nodded her head in agreement.
"All right then! Back to work everyone!" Schuester clapped his hands together and motioned for everyone to return to their computers. Unsure of what to do, I stood awkwardly while everyone else returned to their computers.
"Um, Blaine? Don't you have anything to do?" Mr. Schuester asked.
"Um… not really," I said.
He patted my shoulder and smiled. "You can go home early then if you want."
I brushed his hand off. "Thanks."
I took my time getting out of the room, weaving around the chairs and stopping to chat with Mercedes. Outside, the hallway was deserted, seeing as almost all the students had either left school for the day or in one of the various clubs or teams.
"Hey B," said a voice from behind me. I turned to see my best friend, Quinn Fabray (She writes Ask Lucy, an advice column), leaning against the wall. Quinn is pretty, and she knows it, with her short blonde cut and blue baby-doll dress.
"Hi Q." The corners of her pink lips turned up as she smirks at me. Her eyes have a treacherous glint to them that betrayed her good girl exterior. "Oh no, I know that smile," I said, backing away. "We are not talking about that."
"Come on, Blaine!" pouted Quinn, "Can I please at least set you up on one little date again?"
"No. Remember the last time you tried to set me up with someone?," I said indignantly.
"Oh come on Blainers! That was a total accident! How was I supposed to know that Sebastian was such a man-whore? But you totally need a boyfriend. Give me one last chance?" She wiggled her eyebrows as she said this.
"I repeat, no."
"Pretty please with a cherry on top?" Quinn whined, sticking out her lower lip and drawing her eyebrows together.
"Nope. Not gonna work on me, Missy. I am the king of puppy dog faces," I said.
Quinn rolled her eyes and relaxed her face. "Fine," she said, "but you could at least try for once."
"What about you? Do you have a boyfriend? Hmm?" I said, changing the subject quickly.
Quinn rolled her eyes. "Blaine, you know what happened with Beth, and no changing the subject! Anyway, like I said before, I'm focusing on myself this year."
"I'm sorry," I said, feeling guilty about bringing the sensitive topic up, "I didn't think. But in all seriousness Quinn, you're beautiful. If I wasn't gay I would totally tap that ass."
She tried to stay serious at that, but broke into giggles "I cannot believe you just said 'tap that ass'."
"I admit that I might be spending too much time with Puck…" She laughed again before calming down a bit.
"That reminds me! What's your new feature article going to be?" she asked.
"I'm going to interview an artist!" I said, glad I had averted the subject away from my (non-existent) love life.
Her face brightened. "Who?"
I grinned at her eagerness. "Kurt Hummel."
The smile instantly dropped from my best friend's face. At first she looked surprised, then a little sad, and then the evil smirk from earlier returned. "Interesting," was all she said.
"What do you mean, 'interesting'?" I asked, feeling dread at the sight of her expression.
"Nothing." She kept smirking at me. She turned and started walking away.
"Oh no you don't!" I said, grabbing her waist. She laughed uncontrollably as I began to tickle her. "Tell me!" I said. Her face turned pink with laughter.
"I… No…aha ha… stop…" she said, trying to control the giggles.
"Not until you tell me about Kurt!" I said.
"Fine! Fine! Okay! Let me go!" I released her. She wiped tears from her eyes and straightened up. "Well uh, Kurt used to go to Glee club, but then he quit all of a sudden and none of us knows why. But that's not important, because if he's still the Kurt I know, he's perfect for you!"
Trust Quinn to try and set me up with someone who I'm going to interview.
A small, traitorous part of me thinks that I'd happily kiss anyone who could paint to beautifully, but I shove that thought away. I didn't even know the guy after all.
"Really?" I asked before I could stop myself. The evil grin returned once again. I groaned internally.
"You looked just like a puppy when you said that!" Quinn laughed. I gave her a withering look. "And yes, really."
"Now then, would a fine lady such as yourself desire to venture out for coffee?" I said in my best British accent.
"Of course." We both laughed. Linking arms, we walked down the hallway together just like that.
Photography was the one art class McKinley offers that I was fairly competent at. Really though, I just took it because it was supposed to be one of those 'easy A' classes, just like almost everyone else in the class.
Emphasis on supposed to be.
Last unit, Ms. Holiday made everyone redo their nature shots. Because they didn't look natural enough. The worst part was that Ms. Holiday was apparently a super lax teacher anywhere else, but apparently she was obsessed with photography, thus her forcing everyone to do their best in the class. This was McKinley. Slacking is part of our curriculum.
Anyway, that week we were going to partner up and do portraits. I was not looking forward to it.
"All right class! Today's the day! We're starting our portrait studies," Ms. Holiday said as she breezed into the classroom, clapping her hands together excitedly just as the bell rang. The class let out a collective groan.
"Wow! You all seem so excited!" she said in her sarcastically cheerful voice.
"Anyway, you guys will get to partner up and try and capture a photo of your partner that you think represents them the best," Ms. Holiday continued. She called on a blonde girl with over-glossed lips in the back row. "You in the pink shirt! Do you have a question?"
"Um, Ms. Holiday," the girl said, popping her bubblegum, "do we get to like, choose our partners?"
"Um, like, no," replied Ms. Holiday, mocking the girl. The class groaned again. At least with partners we had a chance of passing. "That would be too-" she was cut off mid sentence by the slamming of the classroom door. All heads turned to look at the entrance to the classroom.
"Sorry I'm late!" huffed the stranger, "There was another explosion in the science labs."
I stared open mouthed at the latecomer from my seat by the door. Not because of the explosion, those happen all the time here. No, I was staring at him because he was just- wow. He was tall, with perfectly coiffed chestnut hair (Oh my God, did I really just use the word coiffed?) that was streaked with blue and yellow paint. Another splash of red paint went across a slightly upturned nose, directly above his thin pink lips. My eyes trailed down a fitted shirt and scarf (probably designer) and the tightest dark wash jeans I had ever seen. How the hell does he get out of those, I thought, before settling on the conclusion that he must just paint them on every morning. That would of course explain the random splashes of paint on his face. The holy jeans disappeared under a pair of expensive-looking black boots.
He was the strangest, most beautiful, unique person I had ever seen.
"What?" he asked with a sharp edge to his voice.
Realizing he was talking to me, I blushed and looked down at my desk, trying not to think about the color of his eyes, which were a blue-green galaxy. I also tried not to think about how I could help him out of those jeans. Think dapper thoughts, Blaine.
I peaked out from under my lashes to look up at him again. His hands were also covered in paint. An artist? I thought hopefully. What if he was- no, it couldn't be. I wasn't nearly that lucky. Ever.
"Again? I swear I'm going to have to talk to that science teacher some day! That's the third explosion this week!" huffed Ms. Holiday. Like I said, explosions were normal here.
I concentrated on staring at my desk, figuring it would be just awkward if he caught me staring again.
"Sorry, it won't happen again," Hotty McHot Pants replied. (I needed to call him something, okay?)
"Take a seat," said Ms. Holiday, rolling her eyes.
I watched as he sauntered towards the back of the class and told myself I was only watching to see where he would sit, and not because I wanted to stare at his ass. Which would be very ungentlemanly and not at all dapper of me.
How have I never noticed him before? I wondered. A person as exquisite as him couldn't have gone unnoticed by me for several months, but when I glanced back at him one last time, I noticed how well he blended in with the other students. If I hadn't seen him standing alone, he would go unnoticed in the group of goths and preppies and nerds. It was a skill I wish I had.
"Anywaaaay," continued Ms. Holiday, "I will now announce the partners!" She cleared her throat in a way that reminded me of Rachel and began reading from a crumpled piece of paper on her desk.
I held my breath, waiting for my name to be called, and hoping that maybe, just maybe, I could be partnered with him. Or at least someone who I didn't hate.
At last, she read aloud my name.
"Blaine Anderson and Kurt Hummel."
Oooh! Cliffhanger!
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