Forward:

A timely post. Will you look at that? Who'da thunk?

This chapter... I didn't nitpick as much. Mostly because it was sticky and I just want to move past it. Some of it I had a blast writing, other parts I was pulling my hair out trying to slog through. I decided to cut it short (at least, a bit shorter than the last chapter) because I want to move on and the stopping point seemed as good as any.

Oddly enough, Life (the big factor in everything) has given me two things right now: two weeks off (no guarantees of extra chapters, mind you) and a terribly depressing let down in my career (nothing major, just a position I wanted, thought I was a shoe in for, but was given to one of the laziest people I know - see, laziness pays off, folks) that ironically helps me get into Kurt's brain for this fic. That said, there's a tidbit of Kurt here. We're working towards more, just wait. Kurt's my favorite, why I wrote this from Blaine's perspective... the muse doesn't explain, it just tells me to go forth and do.

Oh and before I forget: thank you, thank you, thank you all you lovely people who are reading, commenting/reviewing, following, and otherwise being so supportive! You have no idea how bolstering and happy-making your words and deeds truly are!

Anyway, on with the fic.

As always: comments/reviews desired, constructive criticism appreciated, offerings of dark chocolate happily accepted, and haters, for the love of kittens, hate somewhere else.

"The odd thing about this form of communication is that you're more likely to talk about nothing than something. But I just want to say that all this nothing has meant more to me than so many somethings." - Kathleen Kelly, You've Got Mail

Chapter 3: You've Got Mail

Sometimes I look at the world around me and wonder 'why'?

There are so many 'whys'. Too many to even begin to list them.

I try not to be the kind of person who sits around and feels sorry for themselves, but everyone deserves a pity party once in a while. Like it says in The Crow, "It can't rain all the time." It just happens to rain a lot for me lately.

I'm trying to get past it, but it's hard.

'Try', that's another three letter word that plagues me. I try and I try and I try. Yoda's wrong, there's a lot of try. Doing is succeeding and people don't always succeed. I'm not saying I'm failing, but I'm not succeeding yet either.

There's this boy. He's trying, too. Only thing is, I think he's succeeding. Maybe not in everything, but he seems to be moving ahead while I'm stuck here trying to even begin.

He's trying with me, too.

Maybe we can try together.

~o0o~

Kurt dithered over his decision, nearly crumpling the paper in his nervous fingers. Why was this so hard? It was such a simple thing, yet it caused his heart to race and sweat to prickle across his skin. It left his breathing uneven and ragged.

Pacing toward the door, he almost turned back, almost stopped himself. With a quick, deep breath he lunged forward, slapping the sheet against the thick wood and bolted for his own room. He didn't look back to see if it had stayed in place or fluttered helplessly to the floor.

He couldn't.

~o0o~

'I'm sorry I screamed at you' the note read in an untidy scrawl. The heavy black ink was pressed deep into the fibers, indenting the sheet as if the writer wished his words to be driven home emphatically. It had been left unsigned, but there was no doubt who had left the memo taped to Blaine's door.

He took a moment to gaze at it – the raggedly torn edge, the slight crumpling, the bit of fuzz clinging to the tape. If the writing had been assertive, the note itself spoke of hesitance – hastily ripped free from whatever bound it, worried and fiddled with before finally finding its way to Blaine's door. Two stories, one otherwise unremarkable piece of paper.

Shaking his head, Blaine smiled and made his way inside. He was probably reading too much into it, seeing things for what he thought they should be instead of what they were. Kurt had probably just written out the note in a hurry and rough-handedly stuck it up before Blaine returned.

Only, he couldn't fathom the boy he'd watched meticulously place each belonging into a well cared for Marc Jacobs satchel doing anything in such a slapdash manner. There was purposeful intent there and Blaine was happy to have it directed at him.

Heaving a sigh, Blaine stuck the note to his pinboard and tossed his bag on the bed. Eventually he would have to retrieve it and begin his homework, but right now his brain was too full to even consider it.

After he'd given his presentation, the rest of the boys' orals had closely resembled a blur. When Kurt's turn had come, the boy had gotten up and promptly handed his essay over to Ms. Chase before retaking his seat. A smattering of whispers had risen around the room, but died quickly under the teacher's wrathful eye.

Blaine himself had been disappointed. He had wanted to hear Kurt speak, to hear what he had to say, to learn something about the mysterious 'Dalton Ghost' – even if it was something silly and trivial like a desire for people to understand fashion's place in society and how if they grokked that then they would ban Crocs for good. Anything really. Instead though, he had to resign himself to another time.

Glancing at the note again, Blaine thought that maybe that time wasn't so far off.

~o0o~

"And then he just handed the paper over to Ms. Chase and that was it," Jeff was grousing when Blaine entered the dining hall later that evening. "How does he get away with things like that? If I'd tried it, she would have had the ruler out so fast my head would be lying at my feet before you could say 'uncle'."

"Did you ever consider that speaking in front of the class might be traumatic for him?" Wes asked, prodding a green bean that had rolled too close to his roasted potatoes.

"Of course it's traumatic! It's supposed to be, it's an oral report!" The volume rose with each word until Jeff was almost shouting his discontent. "I mean, Banksy almost puked, but you didn't see Ms. Chase letting him just hand over his paper and go back to his seat. No siree, Bob!"

"I'm sure there was a good reason," Nick put in, ever the kinder of the two. It wasn't that Jeff was unkind, really, he just tended forget that the same rules didn't apply to everyone, that exceptions were made at Dalton for a reason.

"Whatever those reasons may be," Wes interjected. "It's none of your business. And I'd kindly remind you to remember that."

"But- Ow!"

Blaine almost snorted as Nick resorted once more to kicking Jeff under the table. Really, those two – if Jeff continued, he was sure to end up with black and blue shins for the rest of their association.

"I swear, Nicky, you kick me one more time and I'm going to do something nasty to you in your sleep, mark my words," Jeff threatened with a huff, crossing his arms over his chest and glowering unhappily at his best friend.

"And I'm sure he'll enjoy it," Wes chimed in with one of his cunning smirks. "Does he enjoy being spanked? Or were you thinking of covering him in whipped cream?"

Nick blushed hotly, pink rising along his neck and ears, while Jeff looked almost apoplectic. He sputtered, fighting to find words to express his indignation. Blaine could almost see the rage pouring off of him.

"That is none of your-" Jeff froze then deflated. "Business," he finished flatly. He toyed with the peas on his plate, frowning at them as if they were the trouble. "You sneaky son of a... I really hate you sometimes, Wesley," he muttered bitterly.

"Only sometimes?" Wes chuckled, obviously counting a win. "I'm glad you understand now. Whatever it is you two get up to, it is none of my business; just as whatever reasons Kurt has for his exemptions, are none of yours."

"Yeah, I know," Jeff acquiesced.

Blaine couldn't help but notice that neither boy denied such activities might occur.

~o0o~

The remainder of dinner was taken in silence and soon enough the boys parted ways.

"Wes, could I speak with you a minute?" Blaine requested as they came to Wes' door. As a prefect, the older boy's room was stationed near the entrance to the hall – a gatekeeper of sorts for the residents within. When Wes indicated they step inside, Blaine shook his head. "I've something to show you. It's in my room."

They quickly made their way down the hall, Blaine glancing across and down at 22B before ushering Wes inside.

"I found this taped to my door this afternoon," he said, taking the ragged note down and handing it to Wes. Blaine's body was thrumming with an odd energy. Even if it was nothing more than an apology, it was communication. Voluntary communication.

Wes' dark eyes lit with shock, gleaming with inner intensity. "Kurt?" he asked, nearly crushing the note before Blaine snatched it back and smoothed it out.

"Well, no one else has yelled at me recently," he shrugged watching Wes' mouth work to find words. If he'd been certain before that Kurt refused even non-verbal communication with his peers, it was more than confirmed by the prefect's reaction.

"This is," Wes croaked out, eyes agog. A brilliant smile wound its way across his face as he continued. "amazing. Seriously, amazing."

Blaine grinned. "How articulate of you, Mr. Montgomery," he commented, earning himself a smack on the shoulder for his smart mouth. "Anyway, I'm not really sure what happens next. I don't want to scare him off, but I also don't want to communicate with him."

"It's certainly a delicate balance," Wes agreed thoughtfully. An idea must have occurred to him, for Wes jerked back eyes locking on Blaine's. "You could write back. It doesn't have to be much, but maybe if you got him talking this way..."

"Almost like You've Got Mail," Blaine beamed, latching on to the idea. "Only, hopefully without the animosity."

Wes gave a scowl. "And without the Meg Ryan. And not just because you're both male," he muttered. "Besides, I think Kurt is more the Judy Garland type."

Blaine blinked. "This isn't some 'friend of Dorothy' joke, is it?" he accused.

"What? No!" Wes rushed to assure. "Haven't you seen anything made before the 1990s? God, Blaine. You've Got Mail is a modern version of Parfumerie – don't ask me to try an pronounce the original Hungarian title – which has been made into movies and musicals over and again since the late '30s! Garland played the Meg Ryan character in the 1949 adaptation called In The Good Old Summertime."

"Oh." The blush that colored Blaine's cheeks was hot, but not overly prominent with his olive tan skin. He should have known better than to assume Wes, a Dalton man through and through, would make such an off-color implication. "Sorry."

Wes waved him off. "Anyway, there's that version. And then the one with Jimmy Stewart and Margaret Sullavan. It's a storyline that's been done to death, but the point is they communicated through letters, notes, even email."

"They fell in love with each other in the end," Blaine pointed out.

"Yes well," Wes shrugged. "That aside."

~o0o~

The first note Blaine wrote was simple, much like Kurt's own.

I'm sorry I freaked you out.

He taped it to Kurt's door before breakfast, marveling at how the crisp white shown brightly against the dark wood contrasted nicely with the elegantly penned words.

Blaine had always been proud of his penmanship, practicing for endless hours to perfect each loop and curve. Teachers had praised his technique and the ease with which they could read his work. He wondered what Kurt would think about it. Would he even be bothered to?

Raising his hand to knock, Blaine paused. He looked at the note. No, that wouldn't do. It was too simple, too short and limited. He wanted Kurt to respond, to be enticed into conversation. An apology wasn't enough.

Snatching the note back, Blaine added to it.

I'm sorry I freaked you out.

Please forgive me?

Blaine smiled. Yes. That was just enough, to apologize and to invite Kurt to write back.

~o0o~

Saturday mornings at Dalton, Blaine learned, were so relaxed that it wasn't uncommon to discover a boy or two wandering around the halls in nothing more than their undershorts. Usually they were rounded up quickly and bustled back to their rooms to find some manner of clothing decent for public consumption, but not always. Occasionally they managed to drift all the way down to the dining hall, which is how Blaine discovered Jeff's penchant for superhero briefs.

"Jeffrey Sterling!" Wes shrieked, slamming his tray down on the table. "Go put some clothes on immediately! You don't come to your mother's table in your knickers, you do not come to the dining hall in them!"

"Wha?" Jeff blinked before looking down. There was a moment when his skin began to pink, flushing to a dark scarlet before turning disturbingly pale with a quickness. Without a word he fled the room.

Silence reigned for a tense second before the boys around them burst out laughing, large raucous guffaws and tittering snickers.

Wes scowled at the room, pinning the boys under his gaze. "That's quite enough," he told them firmly, making eye contact with the other prefects in the room. Their laughter died away under the withering scowl and the boys returned to breaking their fast, eyes steadfastly focused on their meals.

Maybe it was the way his eyes narrowed, dark and intense, that made Wes so intimidating when he wanted to be. He certainly had a way with cowing a crowd of teenage boys.

Brushing down the front of his slacks, Wes seated himself and started in on his own breakfast.

"It's a good thing you're not out for world domination," Blaine quipped, pealing an orange and shoving a section into his mouth. "You'd be a terrifying dictator."

"I like to think I'd be a benevolent one," Wes scoffed, buttering his toast. He took a bite and smiled wickedly. "So, did you leave our ghost a note?" he asked after swallowing.

Blaine nodded. "Yeah. A simple one, just to open the lines of communication."

"Good."

"What's good?" Nick asked, dropping into a seat. His hair was ruffled and damp, clinging to his forehead in messy wisps. Fresh out out of the shower, then, and probably had no clue that his friend and roommate had stumbled down to the dining hall in his unmentionables.

For a moment, Blaine considered deflecting – a throwaway comment about kittens and rainbows or bringing up Jeff's near-naked adventures – but decided against it. Nick was his friend and while this 'quest', such as it was, was his own he figured there was no harm sharing.

Still, there was no harm in teasing. "I'm attempting a séance," Blaine said blandly. "Wes and I were just discussing the preparations I've made. I've made contact and I'm hoping my offerings are accepted and lines of communication have been opened."

Nick stared at him. "What the hell are you on about?" he asked finally, looking certain that Blaine had gone completely mad.

Wes and Blaine shared a look then broke into helpless laughter. "The Ghost!" Wes chortled, "Blaine has managed, by some act of charm and honesty, to find a way to communicate with the Ghost. Well, actually, he managed to get Kurt to communicate with him."

"What? How?" Nick sputtered.

Blaine's smile was chagrinned as he reached back to rub at his neck. "Uh, well, he apparently felt bad about yelling at me the other day. He left an apology note on my door."

"This is big!" the boy declared, looking back and forth between them. "Seriously? Oh my God!"

"What are you 'Oh my God'-ing?" Jeff asked as he rejoined them – fortunately fully clothed this time. "Did someone win the lottery? Was it Blainey? It couldn't have been Wes; he's too uptight to gamble."

"While this is all rather amusing," Wes said drolly, scanning the room and noticing they'd garnered the attention of a fair few on-lookers. "I suggest we take this somewhere more private. I don't relish the idea of loose lips knowing more than they should, if you take my meaning."

"But I haven't had breakfast yet!" Jeff protested.

"And whose fault is that?"

~o0o~

In the interest of avoid having to deal with a hungry – and thereby whiney – Jeff, the boys snagged a few portables to take back with them. Unanimously deciding on Wes' room, they lugged their spoils – including rounds of coffee and a carafe for refills – back to the dorms.

"I'm going to state this first and foremost," Wes declared once the door was shut and locked. He glanced at Jeff and Nick, but included Blaine in his gaze as well. "This goes no further than the four of us. I do not want to hear even a whisper of this outside of this group, you got me?"

The three boys nodded, Jeff going so far as to cross his heart and zip his lips to show his sincerity. Blaine knew Wes was deadly serious. Gossip at Dalton could be construed as harassment and with the school's zero-tolerance policy it could spell expulsion for the gossiper. It wasn't only for Kurt's benefit that they keep quite, it was also for their own.

"I hate gossip, but I'm apparently a meddlesome old woman at heart," Wes sighed. "Jeff, Nick, you both know of my concern for Kurt. How he seems to drift further and further away each day. Dalton is supposed to be a safe-haven, a place to heal and grow. I've been trying all year to find a way to draw him out, to show him that he doesn't have to be afraid of us, but so far my efforts have been for naught."

Nick made a sympathetic noise, but held his tongue. Jeff was not so reserved.

"I never understood why," he pouted. "We've been nothing but nice to him since he got here."

"Sometimes it's not that easy," said Wes with a frown. "I may not know his story, but I've been watching him. It's obvious that things before Dalton were... unpleasant to say the least. None of us –" he indicated the three of them. "– excepting Blaine, have come here out of a need to feel safe, to be protected. We can't connect with him. We can't empathize."

"But Blaine can," Nick put in, catching on with what Wes was saying.

"But Blaine can," Wes confirmed. "I asked him that first evening to help me. To help Kurt."

"So that scene in English class, it wasn't just some random blow up," Jeff said mildly. "That was you, trying to what? Talk to Kurt?"

Blaine cringed. It had been an awful moment, watching Kurt cower from him – pale and afraid, then so full of anger Blaine thought he might combust. "Sort of."

"It was a misstep." Wes' mouth twisted in a bitter frown.

"One hell of a 'misstep'."

"Jeffrey."

"I'm just saying, it could have gone a lot smoother." He turned accusing eyes on Blaine, showing him for the first time that silliness and callous comments were not all of what made up Jeffrey Sterling. "What was it you even said to him to make him flip out so completely? I've had classes with him since he started here and I've never seen him wig out on someone like that. And then he yelled at you! I mean, you had to have said something seriously wrong to get that kind of reaction from a boy who doesn't like to talk."

Nick stopped his rant with a gentle hand on his forearm. "That's enough, Jeff," he said softly. "It's not Blaine's fault, not fully. He didn't know his words would trigger that kind of response. You were so flippant about it before, what's gotten into you?"

Dropping his eyes, Jeff shrugged a shoulder weakly. Truthfully, he hadn't a clue why he was going off the rails like he was. It was like a switch had been thrown and all he could do was seethe. "I guess I'm just jealous. I've tried to talk to Kurt and he just looks right through me. Then Blaine comes along and suddenly..."

Blaine's tongue felt thick in his mouth. If this was how Jeff felt about the incident in English, how would he feel when he learned of the note?

A sick, twisty feeling churned in his gut, squirming under his skin like eels. It reminded him of how he felt after coming out: the black curl of hurt and shame as people he'd been friends with – some for as long as he could remember – left him, abandoned him because he was something they couldn't understand, couldn't accept.

He'd just met these people. He didn't want to lose them so soon. Not over this.

"I'm sorry, I-"

"Blaine, this is Jeff's problem. Not yours," Nick soothed. "Jeffrey, you need to get over yourself. You're freaking Blaine out. Are you happy?"

Jeff frowned, turning to look at Blaine – pale and worried, wringing his hands as if gripping them together would help him hold on. "Oh, God, I'm sorry, Blaine. I didn't mean to- God, I'm such a selfish prick. You're only trying to help and here I am being a dick because you got a reaction – and not a good one mind you – out of Kurt. Fuck."

It was a testament to the state of things that Wes didn't comment on Jeff's language. Instead he shook his head. "Can we return to the matter at hand?" he sighed eventually, clearly distressed with the direction the conversation had turned.

"Yeah, shit, I'm sorry, guys."

"It's fine, let's just... move on," Wes suggested, determined to take back the reigns. "Despite the obvious failure of Blaine's first attempt, some good may have come of it. Kurt left a note, apologizing for yelling-"

"Screaming."

"-at him. I'm not entirely sure what prompted this communique, but-"

"My report," Blaine muttered in surprise, ignoring Wes' irritation at the constant interruption. "Do you think...?"

"It's possible," Wes agreed. "Yes, it's quite possible."

Nick looked confused. "What report?"

"Nothing-"

"Oh!" Jeff exclaimed, eyes bright with sudden understanding. "Oh, Blainey! You put yourself out there for him! You told us all your sad tale so he could know he wasn't alone!"

Blaine shifted uncomfortably as the other boy gushed, brown eyes bright with the glistening hint of tears. The complete turn around from his earlier ire was dazzling and confusing – another thing about Jeff that Blaine was coming to learn: quick to anger, quicker to forget.

If it wasn't for that fact, Blaine likely wouldn't have felt so befuddled by the unrestrained way in which Jeff regaled the event. Telling his story wasn't something he was ashamed of. No, he'd promised himself no more hiding – even if being open had gotten him into trouble before, he wasn't going to run. Dalton was a safe place, a place where he could practice being himself before having to face the terrors of the real world. So open he was going to be – even if he had to suffer Jeff's quavering limpid eyes; and his apparent clinginess for no sooner had Jeff finished his effusive commentary did he try and wrap himself around Blaine like an octopus.

Fortunate for Blaine, however, Jeff had significantly less appendages with which to smother him. "Jeff, please let go," Blaine hissed, pushing at the gangly limbs. "Crushing me, here."

"Oops!" Jeff giggled. He let go with a suddenness that send Blaine falling backwards onto Wes' bed.

"If you are quite finished," Wes shushed sternly. "Nick, I suggest you reign in your boyfriend before he does damage to our potential Warbler. Jeff, sit down and calm down. Blaine..."

Wes' tirade stuttered to a halt with a heavy sigh. "Let's just get back to the topic at hand, shall we?"

"But we were-"

"Without the weepy commentary, Mr. Sterling."

~o0o~

After filling Nick in on the happenings in English class and coming to the conclusion that, unless Kurt responded to Blaine's own entreaty, there wasn't more they could do for the time being. Declaring the 'meeting' over, Wes evicted them from his room so he could study.

"Study, sure," Jeff drawled, giggling into Nick's shoulder as the three drifted down the hall toward their own rooms. "He's gonna call up Stephanie, see if she wants to get coffee or something."

"It must be hard having a girlfriend and never seeing her," Nick said quietly.

"Are you two really boyfriends?" Blaine blurted out, eyes wide with shock at his own audacity.

The three of them had stopped in the middle of the hall. Sunlight streamed in through the windows, bright beams in the otherwise dark corridor, casting shadows in sharp relief on the plains of the boys' faces. Blaine stood stock still, holding his breath and hoping he hadn't tread where he shouldn't; but he was curious. Wes was forever on them, teasingly commenting on their relationship, hinting at more or merely implying it – Blaine wasn't sure which.

"I mean, it's cool if you are or aren't, that is, I was just- I'm sorry, it's not my place, forget I asked," he babbled, feeling more the fool with each word that left his mouth.

Jeff's giggle silenced Blaine quicker than his own embarrassment and he stared. "Oh, god, Blainey, that was hilarious!" he wailed while Nick blushed furiously. "The look on your face!"

A soft 'oof' replaced the giggles as Nick recovered from his blush enough to jab Jeff in the ribs with his elbow. "Be nice," he tutted. Looking more collected now, Nick smiled. "Yes, Blaine, we're together. Jeff's really a lot sweeter than he looks."

"Hey!" Jeff protested. "Now who needs to be nice?"

"I'm sorry we didn't say anything before," Nick continued, ignoring Jeff's pouting. "We weren't trying to hide it. We just..."

"We're us." Jeff's words claimed so much with so little. They were Jeff and Nick, and Nick and Jeff. They existed with each other – an entity made of two people. Being boyfriends didn't change the fact that they were friends, and instead was just another aspect of them.

"Niff," Blaine supplied, grinning from ear to ear. It was silly, but he understood it. They didn't have to declare themselves to him – or to anyone else for that matter – and they might not even think about defining themselves outside of who they were: together.

Jeff grinned back. "Exactly."

~o0o~

There was a wobbly feeling in Blaine's stomach again, only this time it was fueled by nervous excitement.

When the three evicted boys had parted ways, he had been thinking about what it must be like to have the kind of relationship the two boys shared. He thought about his day dreams of meeting his own someone, of being so close that being without them was like missing a limb. Two people, connected – individuals in their own right, but so much more when they were together.

Blaine was so lost in the thought that he didn't notice the note until he motion of opening his door sent the sheet fluttering in his face.

"Oh, hello there," he breathed, reaching up to catch the page between careful fingertips.

There's nothing to forgive.

Frowning, Blaine considered the words before sighing. No opening there. Dead end. He was about to drop the note onto his desk in defeat when an idea occurred to him.

Before he could even consider his actions, his pen was gliding across a loose sheet, the words taking shape and form and meaning. Just as quickly, he rushed to deliver it, following this new tradition and hoping it would be found.

With a smile on his face and hope in his heart, he turned and left.

Afterword:

For the record, Wes doesn't like Meg Ryan because I don't. But Kurt does claim her part in When Harry Met Sally so... it really fit quite nicely.

You've Got Mail (Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks, 1998), The Shop Around the Corner (Jimmy Stewart and Margaret Sullavan, 1940), and In the Good Old Summertime (Judy Garland and Van Johnson, 1949) are all based on the play Illatszertár (called Parfumerie in English) by Miklós László. There is also a Hanrick/Bock Broadway musical based on it, entitled She Loves Me. /end nerd blurb

The quote from The Crow, obviously doesn't belong to me. Neither does the one from You've Got Mail. (And while we're at it: I own nothing from Glee.)