Kurt Hummel had been planning to commit suicide that day.
Blaine Anderson had been planning to commit suicide that day.
He was tired of being the world's punching bag, a receptacle for daily slushy attacks. He was sick of the murmurs of 'fag' that followed him everywhere he went. He was tired of David Karofsky blaming all of the problems in the world on the fact that he was gay. He was tired of being in constant pain and having to throw away his nice clothes with stains that would never come out. He was tired of nobody giving two shits about him. The glee club was about as good at noticing his pain as the jocks sometimes.
He was tired of not being able to live up to the perfection that everyone expected of him. His parents had turned him away- sent him away- because of his sexuality, sent him to a private school where nobody would find out about his 'disease'. Dalton expected perfection of him, in his grades and demeanor and that he would be the perfect dapper schoolboy. The Warblers expected perfection of him, perfection in his ability to act like his façade wasn't cracking. He felt so hollow inside, like he was living each day but not really living at all.
He'd already written letters to everybody: his dad, Carole, Finn, the rest of the glee club. Even though they'd abandoned him lately, he still cared about them and there were parting words that needed to be said. His letters were written and lying on his bed next to a nearly full bottle of expired painkillers that his father had thrown out the day before, and therefore wouldn't miss. Medicine like that strengthened when it expired. It wouldn't take much to end his life.
Blaine had written some letters, but there wasn't many to be written. If he wrote to his parents, they wouldn't have cared enough to read it, and he had nothing nice to say to them anyways. He wrote to Cooper, and to the Warblers he was closest to: Wes, David, Thad, Jeff, Nick, and Trent. There was a sharp razor hidden underneath the toiletries in his bathroom. He'd cut before. He knew how deep he would have to go to end things.
But he would humor the New Directions this one last time- he would humor Noah this one last time. He would go to Dalton and spy on the Warblers and tell the New Directions what he learned. They at least deserved that from him, since he would be leaving them one man down so close to sectionals. They'd find someone else for sectionals. They always seemed to find ways to make it work out.
But he would humor the Warblers this one last time. He would humor Wes and his crazy idea to sing 'Teenage Dream' as an impromptu performance in the senior commons this afternoon. They deserved that, at least- not to be embarrassed because their lead soloist didn't show up. They could find a new soloist for sectionals. And Blaine would get to do the thing he loved the most and sing one of his favorite songs before dying, so he would do this one last performance.
Kurt had attempted to mimic the Dalton uniform as much as he could see from the website. He didn't have a navy blazer with red piping, but he did have a black leather one that would have to do. He didn't know how stringent Dalton's dress code was, but if anyone asked, he could say he was a new student and he hadn't bought his uniform yet.
Blaine pulled his white dress shirt on over his undershirt, hiding years of faded scarring on his arms and torso. He was so tanned that it was barely noticeable now, but he would always know. He buttoned up the shirt carefully. If this was his last performance, the last time anyone was going to see him, he was going to look perfect. Pants, tie, blazer, shoes. Blaine checked his hair in the mirror, not a strand out of place.
Kurt shut the door of his navigator and locked it, tucking the keys in his pocket. Dalton's main building loomed up ahead, resting on a hill so that the front entrance wasn't on the first floor. It was a beautiful campus, he thought as he pushed open the front door. It looked more like a college than a high school. He wandered down a hallway, noticing that all the students who were just getting out of class were all rushing in the same direction. Kurt let himself be hustled along with the crowd, wondering where everyone was headed.
Blaine checked his pocket watch as he left his dorm room and locked it. He had just enough time to make it to the senior commons before the performance started and made his way towards the central staircase.
The hallway opened up into a grand marble staircase, with a large, decorative skylight that reminded him of Titanic gleaming overhead. Everyone rushed down the staircase around him as he descended slowly, pulling off his obviously out of place sunglasses.
Blaine checked his pocket watch again as he descended the stairwell rapidly. There was something wrong with his pocket watch. It was ticking erratically and Blaine had the feeling it was going to die soon.
Kurt had to figure out what was going on. It wasn't noon yet, so this couldn't be the lunch run. Where was everyone headed? He would have to ask someone. He looked to see who was also coming down the stairs and his eyes landed on a dark haired boy absorbed in his pocket watch.
Blaine watched as the tired little hand of his grandfather's pocket watch stopped ticking for good, just as an angelic voice touched his ear.
"Excuse Me?"
Kurt stuttered over his question as he saw the gorgeous face of the boy he'd stopped.
Blaine turned around to see one of the most beautiful boys he'd ever seen in his entire life.
Here goes nothing.
"Can I ask you a question? I'm new here."
Here goes nothing.
"My name's Blaine."
"Kurt."
Later that night, Kurt's hand didn't tremble as he put the pills back in their rightful spot- the trash, and burned the letters in the fireplace.
Later that night, Blaine smiled softly as he fed his letters to the common room fireplace. The razor was in the dumpster where Blaine would never be able to go after it.
He'd found hope.
He'd found hope.