Kurt had always known he was special.

His voice. His immaculate skin. His impeccable style. His perfectly coiffed brunette hair.

They set him apart in the hormonal, pimple-ridden populous of William Mckinnely High. He was an oddity. He was alone. And he could deal with it simply because he had Mercedes. Oh dear Lord was that girl a God-send. Another diva, his other half and yet so completely opposite of him it was baffling.

Mercedes Jones was the yin to his yang. Where he was pale and creamy, she was dark and silky smooth. Where his voice was a crystal clear, counter-tenor Mercedes sang in a similar range but with enough gospel and sass to stop you in your tracks. She was every bit the diva that the Broadway-bound Kurt was and while they were both unsung heroes in their Glee club, they both knew that if they truly wanted it they could easily take Rachel on and threaten he place in the club as top-diva.

But alas, that would cause turmoil and drama in the club, of which they'd had enough of this year and while they were far from happy with the Jewish girls reign over the club, they were for the most part able to whether the storm. Occasionally they'd get sick of her and snap back but most of the time they simply spent time bitching to each other about it. Jokes like "the gnome isn't worth getting up set over" and "how can someone so small make me so mad" were often tossed around. Of course Rachel was one of theirs, a diva and a gleek, and they stuck together, the whole club did and so they stood up for from time to time and helped her clean up after getting slushied but that didn't mean they liked each other. That was simply something family did for each other. They didn't have to like each other to care.

But nevertheless Kurt was special. And that's what made him a target.

Noah Puckerman, Azizmo Adams, Dave Karofsky. They bullied him because they said he was a fairy. Because he needed to know that gay was not okay. That's what they said.

But Kurt knew it wasn't true.

They bullied him, pushed, shoved, tripped, hit and trashcanned him because they were scared. He threatened them with his top of the line, designer clothes and his fierce independence. They were intimidated by how open he was with himself, how honest he was with himself.

They were scared because he as the truest form of a badass, able to control his emotions and cut someone down to nothing, though he did with his words, glares and intelligence rather than physical strength(as if he had any). Nevertheless he was a badass, though he'd never call himself that. No, no. He preferred to be called a diva. Cause that's what he is and diva's had to suffer before they could thrive.

It was with that thought and sentiment that Kurt found the strength to wake up each morning, go running, eat and then head off to school, much like he was doing now. It was 5:30 at the moment and Kurt was grumbling sleepily about how his stupid alarm was a jerk and couldn't malfunction once and let him sleep in a little. Sighing he reached over and once his fingers found purchase on the pink, rubbery outer layer of the OtterBox on his Iphone, Kurt sat up, blinking a few times and then quickly punching in his password to shut the dumb thing up.

Finally after a few tries and being locked out once, Kurt's fingers gained enough dexterity to correctly punch in the number of his mother's birthday. It was just one of the small ways, Kurt strived to keep his mother alive, remembering her in the small things. Of course there were days he'd just open up all the drawers in her dresser and would sit in the attic for an long times, just thinking about her and life. He missed her more than words could describe and some days when he just need his mother he'd retrieve her clothes from the vacuum-sealed, airtight bags and would just bury her face in her favorite shirt, a beautiful white blouse with elegant lace embroidery. Kurt had thankfully inherited his mother's fashion sense rather than the plaid-shirt, jeans and a hat look his father had going on.

Finally awake enough to see clear, Kurt rubbed the sleep from his eyes before heading to his en-suite bathroom to splash water on his face and brush his teeth before he dressed and went for a run. Turning the faucet on, Kurt cupped his hands under the cold flow of water before splashing it in his face and nearly gasping when it his porcelain skin. Instantly blood rushed to his cheeks in an attempt to warm them, the water icy cold. Once again grumbling about how the stupid pipes in this hick-town of Lima always got to damn cold during winter, and how he couldn't wait to move somewhere with actual civilization, Kurt sighed and looked into his mirror. Playing with his hair slightly, he got it under control enough to be presentable for a run. Heading back to his room, Kurt slid on some black yoga pants that did wonders for his butt but made his thighs look fat(as if) and a pair of grey sweats he wore around the garage. They were stained a little but were still okay to wear in public, barring any rips that he couldn't see.

Slipping his pajama top off and throwing them into his hamper, he looked through his options. Checking his phone Kurt realized it was already almost six and he needed to hurry up. It was forty-degrees outside and so he slid on some light grey, long-sleeved under armor, a black thermal and a sweat-jacket. Grabbing a pair of head phones, Kurt got his sneakers on ASAP and was out the door, hooking his earbuds into his iPod and putting them in his ears.

He ran to a playlist consisting of Beyonce, Gaga, songs from Wicked, and a few songs Mercedes had suggested. Today was a two-miler but he had time and he felt like he could do it so instead of making a right which would eventually lead him back home, he continued straight, jogging at a steady, semi-fast pace. Looking about he took in the scenery around him. Grass, covered with soft icy or sometimes snow-like mush that at one point had been dew, was common on the front yards, the green lawns proof of the small, All-American values in each house. Values that consisted of gay being wrong and sinful, values that Kurt had long ago said "Fuck you very much" to.

Rounding a corner and deciding to run the last quarter mile of his three-mile-jog, Kurt took off, sprinting gracefully, cold air rushing past his face and filling his lungs with each breath but he didn't care. He used to love running around as a kid, having been a ball of energy in his younger days. Now he directed that energy to his devil-may-care-facade and his ice-queen persona that he kept up around every but his family and most of the Glee club, save Puck and Santana at times, and almost always Rachel.

As he neared his house Kurt was going to try to push faster when he suddenly became aware that he was being watched. And it wasn't just one of those feelings you suddenly got, where you looked up from your test or suddenly felt the need to check you surroundings.

No. This was decidely and pointedly different. This feeling was intuitive. Kurt didn't think he was being watched. He absolutely, one-hundred-percent knew it. He didn't know how and he didn't know why, but he just did. Slowing, though maybe running faster would've been smarter when one feels this, Kurt came to a stop at a corner, a black, yellow-lined gap of no more than ten-feet, if that, separating him from the corner that turned on his street. Looking about at the houses that surround his own, Kurt thought maybe he was being paranoid, but his gut was telling him that he wasn't and that there very much was someone watching him and so he turned his music off, wanting to be able to hear everything.

"Ummm... hello? Is anyone there," Kurt called out, scared out what he may hear in reply.

When there was no immediate reply, Kurt's body language relaxed on slightly before he started to step on the street, finally disbelieving that gut feeling. Shaking his head, Kurt was about to turn his music back on, relaxing, which was probably why he screamed when the sound of a confident, masculine "Hey Kurt" reached his ears..