A/N: Hello all! This is my very first fanfiction (though not my first time writing), so any constructive criticism is highly appreciated. A lot of this story is based on what I see floating around tumblr, but ultimately all the ideas are originally my own. With that being said, on with the show!

Disclaimer: I don't own Glee. If I did it'd be called Klaine and would consist of Kurt and Blaine being fluffy and NC-17-esque. It's for the best, really.

"Testing... is this thing on?"

"It's on, Blaine."

"How do you know?"

"That's what the red light means. One of these days I won't be able to walk down the street without having a camera on me and it's important to know when they're on or not, honestly-"

"Rachel. Shut up. And stop pointing the camera at you, this is my video. Now you just sit there and let me talk, and no commentary please."

"Fine. But I hope you know, I'm not happy about it. As an artist I'm used to being repressed, and to think that my very own brother-"

"Shut up Rachel. Okay, where do I sit?"

"..."

"You can talk you know. I was talking about your tendency to interrupt while I'm in the middle of making deeply moving speeches."

"..."

"Rachel?"

"..."

"I can see you rolling your eyes at me, you know. I'm wearing my glasses."

"..."

"For crying out—I'm sorry. Now do your job as my director and tell me where my bowtie is going to look less blinding."

Sigh. "Over there. Right on the stool. I'm so happy I convinced them to paint this wall blue – works with your bowtie too. Okay now just shift a little bit to the left... perfect. Now, remind me why we're doing this?"

"Because I'm in love with Kurt Hummel, and it's about time he realize it."

"You are the most adorable-"

"Ahem."

"Right. Sorry. Rolling."

Clears throat. "Hi. I'm Blaine Anderson. Tomorrow is graduation day for the most important person in my life. For some odd reason, he's convinced himself that 'graduating' is enough of a reason for us to no longer be together." Well, Kurt Elizabeth Hummel, you are wrong, and if publicly announcing it to the entire school won't convince you, I don't know what will. So here it is. Ten reasons why you're graduating shouldn't change anything between us. And you know, now that I think about it, every single one of those reasons are conveniently conveyed by Katy Perry's number one hit Teenage Dream."

"Blaine, you could seriously not sound any more hokey right now, and this is coming from me."

"I'm officially ignoring you now Rachel. Moving on. Reason number one..."

You think I'm pretty, without any makeup on.

Evenings were extremely important for Kurt Hummel.

Mornings, granted, were fairly important too. He didn't just wake up and roll out of bed looking fabulous. There was an incredible amount of work that went into each outfit, colour coordination and planning and God forbid he where the same outfit twice a week. There was the day cream and the foundation and the powder and sometimes concealer – especially around flu season when he was more prone to breakouts (though he only really said that to make Mercedes feel better about the occasional zit – Kurt Hummel never had breakouts). There was the hairstyle and the hairspray to go with the hairstyle and the accessories and the occasional bowtie to finish it off. It was a very involved process that had started when he was old enough to pick out his own clothes, though back then he'd relied on his esteemed advisory board (Business Woman Barbie, the Red and Blue Power Rangers, and Mr. Potato Head) for guidance. Occasionally he still looked to the drawer where the Red and Blue Power Rangers still lived, hidden in the corner with last spring's sweater vests, but their budding romance that had erupted when Kurt had turned seven had distracted them from their ability to distinguish between Navy Blue and Persian Blue, which was when Kurt made the executive decision to retire them from their day job and settle them down in a comfortable one bedroom suite at the bottom of his drawer. Years later and Kurt still didn't have the heart to move them.

But despite the importance of mornings, evenings would always be more important. Because between making sure Burt Hummel had more than bacon with a side of bacon for breakfast, packing his bags for school, and actually doing the aforementioned prep work, there was hardly any time for him to pick and choose the outfits, hairstyles, accessories and all. And the day cream simply had no effect without his nightly skin care routine. Maybe mornings were when the magic happened, but evenings were the fairy godmother to Kurt's impeccable style. Otherwise, he might as well go to school wearing a pumpkin.

So whenever his evening was interrupted by unforeseen circumstances (in this case, being locked in a janitor's closet until eight o'clock at night), it was usually fairly apparent the next morning. Because as much as Kurt valued his appearance, his father's health and his school work came first. All in all, he had a very legitimate reason for entering McKinley High looking like he'd just been attacked by a velociraptor. He'd actually entertained the idea of using that as a legitimate excuse, but not everyone could be trusted to be as stupid as Hudson and Karofsky and the rest of those Neanderthals on the football team.

"Kurt? What the hell happened to you?" Mercedes Jones was just slamming her locker shut as the boy opened his own, not meeting her eye.

"Oh the usual. English, then History, then Janitorial Products 101... do you know that they've got a can of lead paint still hidden in the back? And it looked like it'd been used recently."

"Kurt." The girl's eyes narrowed, her tone indicating that she was seeing right through his sarcasm. "Your hair... and your..." she gestured down from his face to his shoes.

"You just gestured to all of me, Mercedes," Kurt said through pursed lips.

"You look like you let your dad choose your clothes. Blindfolded. Does this have something to do about why you didn't call me last night?" Black and sassy, even Mercedes had a motherly tone. It was usually welcome, but at the moment it was also sounding a lot like her pity tone, which Kurt hated with a passion.

"I just got busy last night, alright?" he said, already regretting how harsh he came off before turning around to face her. "What song did you end up choosing for your glee audition?"

"Nuhuh, boy. Since you didn't call me last night you get to be surprised along with everyone else. All I'm saying is that it's going to be fabulous." The glee sign-up had gone up on the bulletin just this Monday. Mercedes, Kurt, and at times Rachel, who'd been singing into hairbrushes since their monthly sleepovers had started in middle school, had taken the sign up sheet as a welcome escape from the idiocy that High School was proving to be. Sophomore year was no friend to those who were a little on the rounder side, openly gay as a dolphin, or wore sweaters with sheep knitted on the front.

"Guess I deserve that," he said easily, knowing better than to fall into the trap of being guilted by girl. "Rachel's still going with-"

"On My Own. Melodramatic and over the top, suits her just perfectly, don't you think?"

"Be nice, Mercedes, we're the only friends she's got," Kurt said, finally shutting his locker and slinging the strap of his book bag over his shoulder, finally looking the girl in the eye, letting out a sigh. "See you at lunch?"

"Always." With that, the girl sauntered off down the hall, Kurt regretfully turning his back and making his way down the opposite direction to Spanish, bracing himself as he turned the corner for the oncoming impact of 300 pounds of complete stupidity slamming into him.

He wasn't disappointed.

"See you in class, fag."

Blaine Anderson had been at McKinley High for exactly four days and fifty two minutes, and apart from being tripped six times (he was still convinced that at least four of them had to have been accidents) things were going pretty smoothly. The shopping trip he'd taken with Rachel prior to the school year had supplied him with enough bowties to last him an entire two weeks. The hair gel had been surprisingly efficient in maintaining the bedazzled hobbit-like head of hair. (He was already a freshman and had yet to hit that promised growth spurt, and frankly, he really didn't need there to be anything else hobbit-like about him).

Honestly, now that he thought about it, he was pretty sure that everything Rachel had said about McKinley had to have been a lie. Yes, Ohio in general wasn't exactly the most receptive towards young dancing homosexuals (even if the dancing was fabulous), and yes, he'd seen and heard enough of Kurt Hummel around the house during those highly-anticipated sleepover-days to know that gay bullying wasn't a thing of the past, but so far people had been surprisingly friendly. A boy who introduced himself as Jacob had already asked if he had a facebook (yes), a burly football player had asked what his favourite slushy flavour was (raspberry), and one of the cheerleaders had spent a good five minutes yesterday asking if hair gel was part of Blaine's natural hair colour.

Confusing? Yes. But kind? Also yes. Freshman year was looking like it would be smooth sailing from here to –

Fag.

The word made Blaine stop in his tracks, rounding the corner only to find an almost completely deserted hallways, only to find a laughing football player sauntering off to class, and Kurt Hummel, huddled on the floor, back against the locker, covered in what was mistakenly an ice cold blueberry slushie.

Oh.

Making his way over to his sister's best friend, Blaine stood just close enough so that his presence would be known, his mouth agape, unable to find the words.

"The worst part is that I can't even cover my face with my hands. Gets it in the eyes. Blueberry stings."

The quip was unmistakably Kurt-like. He'd heard enough of the sass during those sleepovers. "Wear that reindeer sweater to school one more time Rachel and I will make you one to wear with your hair. And it'll probably look better too." But there was something oddly resigned about him now huddled on the floor, covered in blue goop. "You look surprised," he said, finally giving the boy a look. "Didn't Rachel warn you? McKinley's no place for an oddball who can't tough it out." He swallowed. "Makes me wonder what I'm doing here."

The shift in tone was enough to shake Blaine from his reverie. Reaching a hand out to Kurt, he gripped the boy's hand tightly, pulling him up to stand, offering him a meek smile that Kurt could only just barely return.

"I'll have to start keep a change of clothes in my locker or something," he said, looking down at the blue stain splattered on his shirt. "Guess it's a good thing I look like an absolute trainwreck already."

"No you don't," Blaine said instantly. "You look beautiful."

As soon as he said it, he wished he hadn't. Kurt was Rachel's best friend. Her very sassy, surprisingly intolerant of idiocy, best friend in the entire world of best friends, and damn him why did he always have to go and make things so bloody awkward – granted it didn't tie for the time when he'd kissed Jeremiah on the cheek because he had pudding on it back in fifth grade but it still came pretty damn close.

Looking up, a hurried apology already on his lips, Blaine was shocked to find tears in Kurt's eyes.

After all, the boy had just been pushed into a locker, covered in something sticky and blue, and called – well, Blaine couldn't even think the word without visibly cringing. And yet being called beautiful was the thing that had brought about tears.

"I like your bowtie," he said after a while, reaching out to straighten the bright yellow fabric at his neck.

"Thanks. Rachel said yellow-"

"Oh God, never listen to Rachel when it comes to fashion. Ever. Haven't you lived with her long enough to know that?"

A small chuckle. Blaine ducked his head, looking down at his feet, his wide glasses sliding down to the end of his nose.

"I should probably... get to class."

"Yeah... I'm going to go rock a gym shirt for the rest of the day, see if I can salvage at least part of my hair."

Blaine could only nod, watching as Kurt walked past him and around the corner towards the locker room. It was probably a good thing. He'd been about to tell him that there was nothing that needed salvaging, that the boy was truly the prettiest human being Blaine Anderson had ever set his eyes on, and it wasn't like Blaine needed more reasons to embarrass himself in front of Rachel's – incredibly attractive – best friend.

A/N: Reviews are like cookies - you can never have enough. ;) Cheers lovelies!