Kurt Hummel felt higher than cloud nine. His breath was shaken, his heart racing, his eyes wide, and adrenaline high. He felt as if everyone was shouting in his ear, although they might have been just whispering. His world blurred around him. Almost hazy through his eyes. Everyone backstage was giggling; high, not on drugs, but success. He thought Quinn was jumping on him, though he was probably wrong. There were too many bodies in the crowd to be identified accurately in his current state.

He was rooted to the spot but his coach grabbed his shoulder and with a harsh tug he was pulled back to what was happening.

His coach grabbed his shoulder. He was rooted to the spot. With a harsh tug, he was pulled back to what was happening. He had won. They had won. Tonight he could celebrate. Now? He needed to get out of the costume. Thick and sticky it clung to his body uncomfortably. His hair was moist. It stuck to his forehead. The amount of sweat on him would cause mountains on his face if he did not use his skin care regime soon. He needed cleanser. Stat.

Getting to the room was a challenge. He had to destroy half the divas. Metaphorically of course*. They were too busy running about like nutcases. Women. He would never understand them. The last he saw of Quinn was her running towards her new boy toy. (A man with a name like chuck or something… He couldn't care less.) She had done her part in the grand scheme of things. Falling onto his dressing room chair with a worn out puff, he melted into the regal red fabric. He could stay here for hours.

He opened up his tired eyes to stare into the mirror. He was pasty. A true mess. Reaching for the towel on his vanity he began to dap it along his face. Erasing the effects of his last act. The feel of cold water was good along his skin. He only wished he could have enjoyed it. Hearing two knocks at the door he glared at himself in the mirror. His coach knew not to mess with him in the aftermath. His happiness replaced with aching bones that longed only for rest.

"Come in."

He yelled in a vicious tone. Whoever entered his room now was about to be torn to shreds. Watching through his reflection, he stared at the man who walked in. A judging moment was spared. From what he could see, this man was a curly haired hipster with little care for hygiene. A photographer too. Just what he needed. The man opened his mouth only to stumble. Great. He was articulate as well.

"Hello. My name is Blaine Anderson-"

He was interrupted by the sharp retort that left Kurt's lips.

"And?"

He shuffled. Clutching the camera Kurt had yet to see. It was vintage. Obviously. An ancient thing that he would be surprised worked at all. He wondered if the switch at the top of the camera was even able to move. It was probably a poser novelty. A sign of initiation in his little clan of oxford boys.

"And I was wondering if…"

"If?"

"I-I-I could take you out to dinner?"

"No."

The man's face fell, the hopeful glimpse in his eye dying. That was the end of that. Sparing him one last look, Kurt turned his body back to look into the mirror. His fingers grabbing his skincare tightly as he began to apply it. A cold look sent back when he realized the man had yet to leave.

"Well? What are you waiting for?"

—-

Blaine Anderson knew he had to meet Kurt Hummel from the moment his eyes met that figure. He was stunning. In a moment of bravery, he completely forgot of his attire let alone how much of a wreck he appeared. He was off racing behind the scenes to meet the man of his dreams. Looking the worst he ever had. Stupidity is not usually realized at the time. Blaine did not think of how his hair was curled nor how the stubble on his cheek was harsh and plentiful. The only thought was Kurt. Kurt who could be straight for all he knew.

However, if this author told you that he was thinking correctly at the time she would be wrong. People always seem to do the stupidest things at the beginning of a love story. This was the stupidest thing Blaine Anderson had ever done. Especially in front of a man whose attire was of first priority.

He rammed past reporters and sailed past coaches. He was on a mission. The door with the man's name painted in gold print. Brilliant. Bold in a hallway of full of people, he thanked his lucky stars that he had a backstage pass; being a photographer and all. Standing outside the door, he took a moment to calm himself. Afraid of ramming into the door with a fever neither his arm nor the skater would appreciate.

There was one problem he hadn't thought of unfortunately and it wasn't his clothes. That problem was that on the way of to getting from A to B he hadn't thought of what to say. Typical of him if you knew him. He had no speech prepared of undying love at first sight. That was his downfall. In the end he was no Romeo of Capulet. He was just a boy fumbling at the door of another young man he knew a connection could be shared with.

Sometimes in life you can meet someone. Someone who is far more special than many other someones. This person when you first set eyes on them is bright. Vibrant in a sea of people who are probably all worth your time. The human race have been trying to figure out this connection for years. Some have said it is the ideals of soul mates. Scientists blame it on chemicals. At times your dreams can be shattered when you speak to that someone. His were. It was only because of his fierce determination that eventually he would be able to piece that dream back together.

He had been turned down. Any rational man would take that as full stop no. Blaine wasn't rational. He never had been. Not when it came to love. Well, the beginning symptoms of it. He wasn't going to give up that easily. As Kurt would soon find out. He got the job he wanted. Wes had ended up liking his pictures. If they happened to feature mainly only a chestnut brunette, he didn't say anything. He had too many things to worry about than a stupid crush one of his photographers had. When Blaine begged to be put in the sports section? He gave it to him. The kid was good. He wouldn't deny an opportunity for great shots. He just learnt to ignore the almost crazy look Blaine would get when ice skating was involved.

Kurt was unable to neither ignore nor avoid Blaine. Seeing him became a regular occurrence to his distaste. After every win, he would be there, his persistence unfaltering. He banged on his door until Kurt would open. He grinned at him with that stupid, puppy dog eyes and smile. He used cheesy pick-up lines he was sure had been googled. He bought him roses, lilies, daisies, tulips, any flower imaginable. He was the definition of an annoying git. He just would never realize it. No matter how nasty Kurt put it. Weeks of this became months.

Before he knew it, he had known Blaine for over half a year and though he would never admit it, he had developed a fondness for him. He did look nice when he bothered to get dressed. Not that he would ever tell that dapper motherfucker that his charms were working full force. He would never hear the end of it. His usual visits would become regular stalking. No, Blaine knowing that Kurt actually liked him was not an option. He could live with left over flowers and stolen glances disguised as glares. He didn't have to risk his heart in this mess.