A/N: So I read this really awesome fic (Unexpected, by Coldwind14. Read it!) that was about Kurt and Rachel. I just had to try it! It's a challenging couple, I know, but now I really love the pairing. What should the the shipping name be? Kurchel?
The writing style is modeled after the style in The Book Thief, by Markus Zusak, which I really liked. So I tried.
Disclaimer: I do not own Glee. I wish I did, though.
Chapter One
Dear Kurt,
I know you don't like me. In fact, I suspect you hate me. I really don't want to admit this, but it really makes me sad that we aren't friends. I know you have Mercedes, Tina, and Artie, but I think that's not enough friends. I know that sounds odd, coming from the school's resident freak, but I have to say that.
I was thinking maybe we could become friends. It won't improve your popularity, but I really, really need a friend. Could you please not deny me this one thing, unlike everything else?
I crumpled the half-finished letter and threw it halfheartedly at my trashcan, missing. How come, when I spoke, all the words came out perfectly, but when I wrote, the elocution I had disappeared completely?
How could I put the words on paper that I thought so often in my mind?
Then it hit me.
I'd sing my feelings to him.
One problem.
The song?
There were none I could think of to tell a gay man that I liked (like, like-like type of like) him.
Especially when I was supposedly in love with his love.
I swiveled around in my swivel chair, staring at the many pictures of me, my friends, and my dads sprinkled all over the room. There was my favorite—the one with me in my jeans and t-shirt and my arm slung over Kurt's shoulders. We were both grinning, ecstatic about winning Regionals the year before, against Vocal Adrenaline. It was the one that made me smile. In the background, you could see in big red letters William McKinley High School.
Seeing those four words worsened my already foul mood, making my smile slide off my face land somewhere near my feet. WMHS was the bane of my existence, what with all the slushy facials, getting thrown in the dumpster, and crazy love triangles.
In sixth grade, my friend and I had shared some triangle shaped crackers.
"Wow, Rachel!" my friend had exclaimed upon seeing the crackers. "These crackers are triangular!" She took a bite and added, crumbs spilling out of her mouth, eyes widening, "And these are herb flavored!"
We had sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, munching on the delicious crackers. Brittany, my friend, had said, "These are like love triangles. Maybe all the love triangles in the world need magical herb triangles to solve their problems."
The "magical herb triangles" had become my favorite food.
My comfort food.
Others had chocolate ice-cream.
I had my crackers.
I wrenched open my door and clomped down the stairs. I jogged into the kitchen, where my dads were. They looked up from the New York Times they had been poring over.
"Hey, sweetie," my one father, Jacques—he was from France—greeted. "What's up?"
I shrugged, not bothering to say anything. I reached up on tiptoes to grab the herb triangles. Jacques and Albert understood immediately—their little princess was feeling bad and wasn't to be disturbed.
I began to climb the stairs, more slowly than coming down.
I opened the box.
I looked in.
Six left.
"Dad?" I called softly, panicking quietly. "Are there any more crackers left besides the six here?"
Albert replied just as softly. "Sorry, darling, we're out. Your father and I were going to go to the store tonight. Would you like us to pick up some?"
"Could you hurry and go to the store and get my crackers?" I was worried; how was I to comfort myself with six—five, one popped into my mouth.
"Sure, sweetie," he replied.
I could hear the clanking of keys, the thump of footsteps, the slam of the door as my fathers left.
I walked up the rest of the stairs and into my room. I flopped onto my bed.
I liked Kurt.
Kurt liked Finn.
Finn liked me.
I didn't like this love triangle. That thought made me reach for the herb triangles. Maybe, just maybe, they would help me with this love triangle.
What about Brittany?
It had been years since we'd spoken; she wouldn't help.
Brittany was a Cheerio.
One of Quinn's best friends.
One of my tormentors.
She wasn't the worst, but it's the thought that counts.
But, still.
She was a Cheerio.
She was one of the enemies.
I couldn't ask an enemy for help.
Plus, Brittany was an airhead; an idiot.
It wasn't worth a chance.
She'd just rat to Quinn the second I left.
I hated to say that about Brittany, my ex-best friend, but it was true.
I had to worry about the problem at hand, not old battles.
Kurt.
I played over all the good moments that we'd shared.
The diva-off; he'd been able to hit that note with ease. He'd let me win.
That moment was my favorite.
I smiled up at the ceiling, letting my eyes droop lower and lower. Within moments I fell asleep.
***
I awoke with a jolt, shivering in the dark. I glanced at my alarm clock—two thirty-six in a.m.
I had school the next day. Hurriedly, I changed into my pajamas and hopped under the covers and tried to sleep.
Kurt.
He was all I could think about.
His girlish voice, awesome fashion sense, pretty blue eyes were all so attractive. How could all the girls—and boys, too—not find him attractive?
Maybe I was just an exception. Maybe it was just that he had been not the nicest, to say in the least, after the baby drama. Maybe I just wanted to know why he seemed to hate me.
Maybe I was in love.
The feeling in my stomach was a lot stronger than when I thought of Finn, my mind more frazzled, my thoughts more immovable.
I closed my eyes. I needed my beauty sleep—Kurt would be doing that this instant—and I had to use the most effective method.
I counted gold stars as they shot across a dark night sky.
I swore I could feel an arm wrapped around me, smelling distinctly of hair products and that flowery Kurt smell.
Please review! Constructive criticism is greatly appreciated, and I would love what people think of this! Also, what would the shipping name be?