READ ME: I am so, so, sososososo sorry about getting this chapter out so late! I've been tremendously busy finishing up the third quarter of my sophomore year, and writing Klainage has sort of escaped me T.T. But I got this out, which is the good thing.

Thank you to all of my loyal readers and reviewers! It's kind of cliche to say, but without you guys, there is LITERALLY no story. Wrapping this story up in two, three more chapters is going to be absolutely miserable because I'm gonna hate saying good-bye to the cast of "Welcome to the Bright Lights".

We're less than 20 reviews till we hit 150! LET'S DO IT, FRIENDS! Reviews take five seconds to do and make the author brilliantly happy.

Thanks to BeRightThere for editing and coming up with some plot points. You're my fellow Klaine whore. 3 3 3

WELCOME TO THE BRIGHT LIGHTS CH.10: "CRUISING"

David drummed his knuckles against the podium impatiently, tiredly watching Thad as he dug around a worn leather briefcase, shuffling files and papers around before grabbing a pile sectioned off with a navy paper clip.

Thad straightened up, brushing the invisible lint from the front of his sweater and shaking out the sheaf of paper calmly. He passed it to David, who rolled his eyes, took it, and shuffled to the center of the ballroom we had gathered at.

"Warblers!" David said, tone of voice switching instinctively to 'lead Warbler' mode. "It's the evening before Nationals. In order to make sure that we come...prepared tomorrow, Wes, Thad, and I have prepared an itinerary for everyone to receive and follow."

"On pain of death," Wes added half-heartedly, idly fiddling with the buttons on his wool cardigan.

David swatted Wes' shoulder, frown adorning his face, and continued. "Included on the itinerary is a list of everything you will need to bring to the stage tomorrow. For example, your blazers and tie—oh my God, please do not forget to bring your uniform, boys!"

"Your shoes need to be polished, too," Mr. Goolsby added flatly, adjusting his glasses so that they sat better on the bridge of his nose. "I want them so shiny I can see my reflection in them, you hear?"

Kurt chuckled next to me, nudged at my chest coyly with the back of his hand. "Help me shine my shoes later?" he whispered playfully.

I nodded, a smile slowly appearing on my face. "Only if you help me, too—my Oxfords are in a state of tragic disrepair."

"Thomas!" Thad barked, tapping at the pile of paper in David's hands. "Pass these out!"

The tiny redheaded freshman bowed his head and scurried forward, obediently taking the papers from David. He began timidly passing them out. I peered over at Randy's copy—the page was thick parchment, emblazoned with the crimson Dalton Academy logo.

"The epitome of class," Kurt said, examining his itinerary dryly.

Randy frowned, folding the paper up and tucking it into his front pocket. "Do we really need to wake up at four in the morning?"

"Yeah, isn't that a little bit too early to be living? The competition doesn't even start until eleven." Matt asked, evidently sharing the same concern as Randy.

Wes scoffed, his expression going even sourer. "Don't be stupid, Matt. And you, Randy. Stop being so lazy."

I shot an alarmed look at David, making a motion that suggested pounding a gavel against something. Had he not given Wes the new gavel yet?

David shook his head rapidly, mouthing the words, "Haven't given it to him yet."

"Wes is going insane without his gavel," Nick remarked loudly, leaning against one of the marble tables with the flower vases on them. Matt flicked him on the shoulder calmly and rested his forearm on Nick's shoulder.

Kurt cleared his throat pointedly, looking from Warbler to Warbler. "Are we done here?"

David shrugged. "It depends if everyone knows what's going on."

"Case in point, Warblers," Thad declared loudly, fanning himself with the leftover itineraries. "You will meet in the lobby no later than four o'clock tomorrow morning, dressed to the immaculate Dalton standard and armed with your choral books and a change of clothes. The bus leaves at four-fifteen. We wait for no one!"

Randy's thick eyebrows furrowed in deep. "We can't perform if we're missing a Warbler, though."

Thad looked ready to throw one of the flower vases at Randy. "Warblers," he hissed, eyes narrowing into tiny slits, "We wait for no one."

There was an exchange of nervous, frightened murmurs throughout the congregation of Warblers that stood in front of the obviously displeased Thad. Thomas Pierson and his other mousy freshmen friends looked ready to pee themselves; Jeff Simon, on the other hand, was slouching and standing away from most of the crowd, looking alarmed. Randy was crossing himself multiple times, muttering the Sign of the Cross to himself in rapid Latin. Matt's brilliant blue eyes were shut, murmuring several stanzas of traditional Chinese inspirational poetry to himself.

Of all the Warblers, only Kurt remained relatively relaxed, waiting a minute or so until the frightened clamor wore off until he clasped his hands together firmly, laughing pleasantly, and exclaiming, "Well, would you look at the time? Ten o'clock already. I'd say it's time we wind down and hit the sack, wouldn't you?"

Nick snorted, rolling his eyes good-naturedly. "More midnight makeout sessions?"

Kurt winked. "All the time, baby."

"I sincerely hope you're kidding," Mr. Goolsby and Jeff said at the same time, exchanging a nervous look.

"He is," I lied smoothly, twisting my hand into Kurt's behind our backs, where no one could see them. Kurt looked down at his shoes, slight pink spots appearing on his cheeks.

Wes slammed his fist onto the marble table next to him and winced. "Meeting adjourned!"

David gave Wes' bruised hand a worried look before turning on his heels and jogging up toward Kurt and I.

"Why the hell haven't you given him the new gavel yet?" I demanded, pointing towards Wes, who was having his hand iced by Ricardo. Ricardo had miraculously entered the ballroom with a bucket of ice from the dispenser upstairs, and Wes had gratefully plunged his entire hand into it.

"Look, man. I know that it's hurting him, but I want it to be a surprise."

"Then when are you going to give it to him?"

"The green room?" Kurt suggested curiously.

David nodded. "Actually, yes. I was planning on giving it to him in the green room right before we go onstage. You know, so he'd be so excited that he'd perform even better."

Kurt sniffed pompously. "That's admittedly very bro-mantic of you, David."

"I agree," came the voice of Ricardo, who was sauntering towards us with the empty ice bucket in tow.

"Ricardo! I need to talk to you," I told him.

Kurt looked like someone had just plunged ice down his throat. "Yes, he does," he said, his lips pressed together as tightly as puzzle pieces. "Don't you have something to tell Blaine, Ricardo?"

A flash of unease passed across Ricardo's face briefly before disappearing, being replaced with an expression of total nonchalance. "Hm?"

Kurt raised one arched eyebrow at Ricardo, breathing out a swift sigh before turning away from him.

I squeezed his arm, feeling the warmth of his skin through the thin cotton of his shirt. "You okay, Kurt?"

"I'm fine," Kurt said shakily, his eyes failing to meet mine. Despite his obvious distress, Kurt's grip on my shoulder tightened, crawling down my arm until it reached my wrist. He clasped onto my hand tightly. I gave his hand a comforting squeeze, letting his head tilt and lean back into my chest.

David gaped at me, his gaze flickering between Kurt and I.

"Are you two—?"

Ricardo brushed his hand against the stubble on his chin, nodding his head and saying, "I think so."

"Because Mr. Goolsby and Jeff can't—"

"Kurt and Blaine know," Ricardo replied serenely, ignoring the dirty looks Kurt and I were shooting at him.

Kurt scoffed. "We can answer for ourselves, thanks. Things aren't always as they seem, are they, Ricardo?"

I turned to him, forehead wrinkling in confusion. "What?"

Ricardo looked up, slouching in his stance. "Never mind him."

David looked about ready to explode do to the influx of new information he had just received. "Okay then..." he muttered, directing his gaze towards the toes of his Adidas sneakers. "Well, I'm happy for you two, man."

Kurt shot David a slight ghost of a smile and Ricardo's mouth widened into a huge, toothy grin.

"Thanks?" I answered weakly, the sentence twisting and turning about on my tongue and coming out sounding like a question.

Kurt's face was blank and empty as we trudged across the lobby to the elevators.

Knock. Knock-knock. Knock-knock-knock-knock—

"What?" I near-hollered at the hotel room door, clamping a fluffy pillow over my ears and rolling over in my sheets, stopping when I felt myself ramming up against Kurt's back. He was curled up in the sheets, cat-like, with a bolster pillow clutched tightly to his chest and his hair spilling and tumbling out across the pillow case. In his sleep, Kurt wore a small smirk, as if his dreams were vaguely hilarious...

"It's me," came Jeff's voice from the other side of the door, sounding slightly muffled because of the pillow I had pressed up against my ear.

"Ugh," Kurt groaned into his pillow tiredly. "Don't let him in."

I rubbed soothing circles into his back, hauling myself out of bed and jamming my feet into the sheepskin slippers I had set up at its foot, smiling to myself as I recalled the events of last night: we had stumbled into the hotel room, tired and confused because of Ricardo's weird behavior, changed into pajamas, and pushed our two beds together to form one massive superbed comparable to...to Pangaea, or something.

But even with all of that room on the newly constructed bed, Kurt had somehow ended up with his back pressed up against mine, and I found my arms curling around his waist, pulling the warmth of his body closer to mine. Which, you can imagine, helped incredibly with the nerves for tomorrow's performance: we were probably the only Warblers who had gotten a full night's rest.

"I heard that!" Jeff shouted defiantly, banging on the door one more time for emphasis.

I trudged to the door and pulled it open with a little bit more force than necessary. "What do you want?"

"Okay, so firstly," Jeff said, flicking his bright blond bangs out of his eyes, "you guys needed to get up anyway, we need to be downstairs in thirty minutes."

"We know!" Kurt moaned from the bed, pulling the comforter over his head.

"And secondly, you guys have an extra blazer?"

I scratched the back of my neck, frowning when my pinkie got caught in one of the tight curls of my hair. "What size?" I tried to squint the sleepiness out of my eyes. It didn't work.

Jeff shrugged. "Whatever size Randy is. He's lost his blazer."

Kurt sat up in bed instantly, ripping his aloe eye mask off of his face to reveal bright eyes as wide as saucers.

Please don't let Jeff see the bed, please don't let Jeff see the bed...

Thankfully, Jeff didn't seem to notice that we had slept in the same bed. In fact, he seemed more concerned with demanding from us our extra Dalton Academy blazers.

"Randy lost his blazer?" Kurt shrilled, gesticulating madly and slamming his eye mask onto the beside table. "He lost it on the day of Nationals? Seriously?" Kurt pushed himself off of the bed, walking up to the door and leaning against the wall while rubbing at his eyes sleepily.

Jeff nodded solemnly, picking at his fingernails idly. "You know Randy. He hates the damn blazers. He loves the sweater vests, though."

"Only those aren't allowed," Randy was saying as he sauntered into the room, his collared shirt unbuttoned and his belt and tie hanging from around his neck. "And I can't find my blazer."

Kurt jabbed at Randy's forearm. "Can I...be honest?"

Jeff and I glanced up at each other. I tried to ignore the obvious dislike he had in his gaze—it didn't work.

Without preamble, Kurt brought a hand up to his chin and sniffed. "You're an idiot, Randy. I cannot believe that you're missing a blazer—"

"What's all of this about missing a blazer?" Wes questioned, having just appeared in the doorframe right next to Jeff. He had a bottle of hair gel tucked in the crook of his right arm and was dragging a thin, bristled brush through his hair with the left.

Kurt and I both cradled our foreheads tiredly. "Is our room suddenly this giant meeting place for the Warblers or something?" I asked exasperatedly. "We just want to shower and get ready for this afternoon—"

"We're attracted to your room because of all the gay pheromones," Nick said with a wide grin, pushing past Wes and Jeff. He proceeded to peer into the actual bedroom. "Nice bed, guys."

"Shut up," Kurt grumbled before stifling a large yawn.

Wes looked about ready to throttle a small baby, shoving the hairbrush into Jeff's hand (Jeff was poked by one of the bristles and was about to let out a particularly rude curse word when he got a load of Wes' disapproving facial expression and decided it wasn't particularly wise) and shrieking, "What the hell is this about a missing blazer?"

Kurt ignored him, swaying from side to side. "Aaaand David and Thad are going to arrive in this hotel room in five...four...three...two..."

"Jesus Christ, would you pipe down, Wes?" Thad demanded, jogging down the hallway while simultaneously attempting to buckle his belt around his waist. "Why aren't Kurt and Blaine ready yet?"

"Because we're too busy talking to you guys," I said curtly, motioning to the entire host of Warblers who had clumped around Kurt and I's tiny hotel room.

"I have a skin care routine that needs tending to," Kurt said boredly, "so I'll just be in the bathroom getting ready. And no, I don't have an extra blazer that will fit Randy."

David exchanged a confused look with Thad. "Why would you need an extra blazer?"

Kurt turned on his heel and yanked the bathroom door open, slamming it shut behind him.

With a nervous chuckle, I scratched at the back of my neck and replied, "Randy's apparently lost his."

"Don't bother looking so surprised," Nick added, brushing the toes of his black patent leather shoes against the carpet. "Randy's always missing his jacket."

"Watch it!" Randy cautioned.

"This is bullshit, man!" David cried. "Randy can't just perform without a jacket—"

I silenced him with my hand. "Calm down. Worst case scenario, we all just perform without the jackets—"

Wes blew a raspberry. "Don't be an idiot, we can't just go up there without the blazers, we'll look like stupid businessmen or something."

"And that's wrong because...?"

"Because it's not Warbler tradition!" Wes' hand flew to his face, massaging his temples firmly.

"Can we please take this out of my hotel room?" I complained, shooing Nick and Randy out the door. Nick swiftly stuck his middle finger up at me, but thankfully stepped out of the room. Jeff shuffled out, too. He was soon followed by Wes and David, whose blazer-clad arms were linked around each other's. I watched their retreating backs warily, hearing the sounds of David's sanguine whistling fade slowly as he continued down the hall. I was relieved when the noises dissipated completely and were replaced by the sound of Kurt creaking the bathroom door open, wearing only a terry cloth bathrobe and a gray toothbrush poking out of his mouth.

"Are they gone?" Kurt asked through a mouthful of Colgate.

I turned to him, cocking a quizzical eyebrow.

Kurt's eyes widened and became the size of dinner plates, and he promptly sprinted back into the the bathroom unceremoniously. I could vaguely perceive the sounds of Kurt spitting out the toothpaste into the sink, and then the unmistakable noise of the sink running.

"It's just toothpaste...!" I exclaimed weakly when he came out of the bathroom, an obviously angry look on his face and red spots appearing high on his cheekbones.

"Nothing," Kurt grumbled, yanking the closet door open and pulling out an Alexander McQueen garment bag labeled "DALTON UNIFORM: PERFORMANCE". "Toothpaste's awkward. Nothing big there. Go shower."

I dragged a hand through my hair. "I just showered last night," I told him defensively, sniffing at my t-shirt just in case. I still smelled normal—as normal as I could get, really, since I always wore cologne regardless of the time of day.

Kurt rolled his eyes at me as he undid the robe and pulled it off, revealing an undershirt and bright red boxers (who's overly Dalton-enthusiastic now, Hummel?). And admittedly, yes, it was ridiculously distracting, since Kurt was having trouble finding his gray slacks in the mess of his luggage. He was pressed flush against it, leaning forward, digging through its contents.

Shaking my head, I extracted my own garment bag from the closet and grabbed a bottle of hair gel from the bathroom counter.

Ice cold blood ran down my spine—I felt a pair of warm lips pressing up against the back of my neck and arms wrapping up around my waist.

"Kurt," I warned, placing both of my hands over his.

His breath was comforting against my skin and I watched in wonderment as his fingers reached for my hair gel from my grip. "Size of a dime, Blaine."

"My hair's too crazy without the gel, Kurt," I reminded him, pointing to my scalp. "It doesn't conform to the dress code."

"I don't care..." Kurt mumbled, his mouth pressed firmly against my collarbone. "But..."

"But what?"

Kurt grumbled right against my skin, the vibrations traveling up and down. "This is going to sound ridiculously stupid, but...I'm sort of nervous for today."

I spun him around to face me.

"Totally natural, Kurt."

"Not for me, though. I've never felt this nervous, since, I don't know..."

"Hm?"

"Two nights ago, actually," Kurt admitted softly, lacing his fingers through mine.

"When you kissed me?" I asked quietly, tilting my head up so I could look him straight in the eye.

"Yes."

"And how did that turn out?"

Kurt chuckled to himself. "Pretty damn well, if I do say so myself," he told me proudly. "Now get into your blazer before Wes impales you with his gavel...or lack thereof."

I cleared my throat, dutifully unzipping the garment bag and tugging out the Dalton jacket. "Duly noted, Mr. Hummel."

April 20, 2011, 7:00 A.M., Aboard the Warblers' bus, New York City

Dear Journal,

This can't be happening. The bus cannot be stuck in traffic. This is all just one of those freaky dreams, and I'm going to wake up from it in five minutes like Holden Caulfield in Catcher in the Rye. Only I won't be insane, and I won't be in a mental institution. And I'll be gay, unlike Holden, with a somewhat-kind of boyfriend, and I'll have Wes' hands locked perpetually around my neck in an unspoken threat...

Hi, this is Blaine. I just found out that my boyfriend keeps a secret journal on his iPhone

Me again. Hi.

I'm never letting aforementioned somewhat-kind of boyfriend near my iPhone again, because he just found out about the journal...

...and he can't read what I've written about him. No. Just, no.

This is still Blaine, hi

I'll continue this once Blaine stops being so handsy.

—Kurt

"We're doomed," Thad cried melodramatically, standing straight up in his bus seat and leaning his forehead against the window pane.

"Can't you get through the traffic faster?" David demanded the mustachioed bus driver, who was resting his elbows against the steering wheel, playing Angry Birds on his Blackberry. He seemed to be ignoring the barrage of car honks and yells coming from the streets of New York. "We've been on the road for an hour already!"

"Sorry, kid," the bus driver grunted, jamming his thumbs on the keys of his phone. "Oh, damn, I nearly hit it, shitty Angry Birds..."

"And this is why we take the subway around New York," Kurt whispered under his breath, shooting a disparaging look in the direction of Mr. Goolsby, who was sitting in the shotgun seat, passed out asleep. "It's also why we don't hire amateur chaperones and coordinators when we compete out of state."

Randy shrugged, sticking out like a sore thumb in his tomato red sweater vest without a blazer. "It was either Goolsby or Weiland."

The Warblers shared a collective shudder. Weiland was famous for being overly cruel and bitter, personally victimizing each and every Dalton student. She had yelled, rejected, and humiliated her way to school-wide notoriety; despite this, rumors had emerged that she could actually sing. Regardless, Goolsby's laidback attitude and let-it-be outlook on life earned him the role as Glee club moderator, even though real power technically rested in the hands of the Council: Wes, Thad, and David.

"Hey, guys," I said peaceably, resting my palms on Kurt's knees. "At least we're all together, right?"

Nick snorted. "You mean, at least you're sitting next to Kurt."

I whipped my head around to face Nick, but caught Jeff's steely glance instead. He was watching me intently, and after about ten seconds of that, his gaze dropped to where Kurt and I were touching each other at the knees.

"Not at all!" I said, voice shooting up an entire octave.

"Please, you're not fooling us," Matt said dryly from his seat next to Nick. "I've seen geometric proofs less legitimate than you two."

Nick elbowed him harshly in the ribs. "What?"

"Math joke," Matt explained offhandedly.

"Are you two doing the deed in the Hyatt or what? It's my dad's hotel, I can and will install wire taps and hidden cameras to catch you two," Nick amended.

"Shut up, Nick, we don't need any more conspiratorial sex jokes from you, man," David called from the front of the bus, carefully checking off names on his clipboard. "Wes, why is an attendance sheet necessary? Everyone's here, you know..."

Jeff coughed loudly, pulling his feet out and placing them on the aisleway. "I, for one, would like to know."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "Know what?"

His elbow moved, and I could see that he had a Snack Pack chocolate pudding cup in his right hand and a plastic spork in his left. Thad swept by his seat and snatched the pudding—Jeff looked mollified, then shrugged and pulled out a tin of Sour Cream and Onion Pringles from his backpack.

Kurt shot him a judgemental look. "Carbs," he hissed under his breath.

"I'd like to know what's going on between you two," Jeff reiterated stiffly.

"Uh, Jeff? Everyone can hear you, man," David said weakly, gesturing to the Warblers around us who had ceased their conversations in favor of listening to the big Kurt-and-Blaine reveal.

Jeff popped a Pringle into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. The entire bus had gone completely silent, and I could hear him crunching on it. "It shouldn't matter if everyone can hear, David. Because they're going to find out eventually."

Nick blew a raspberry. "We all know what going on between them, Jeff, stop being such a tool—"

"I'm not being a tool, Nick! I'm just..."

Matt interrupted him. "Curious. Jeff's just curious."

There were a few moments of thought punctuated by the loud snores of Mr. Goolsby.

Kurt wrung his hands, his jaw going tight and his gaze growing steely. "Excuse me, if I may?"

"You may," Thad replied, licking a dollop of chocolate pudding right out of the cup. Jeff was watching, looking absolutely horrified.

"Gross, man," David whispered to Wes, who was applying spray-on Neosporin to the cuts he had on his hands from banging them on everything. You know, since he didn't have his gavel.

Of course you know.

There was a squeaking noise as Kurt stood up in his seat, folding his hands over his stomach and assuming an at least vaguely confident position.

"As you may know, I've recently grown very close to Junior Member Blaine Anderson," Kurt began, his soft voice somehow managing to travel all the way to the back of the bus. A few freshman had moved up closer to where we sat and had their earphones off, sitting coiled in their laps. They were listening to Kurt's words intently. "A-and...I'd like to think that he's recently gotten very close to me as well."

I winked at him and grinned.

"And, as you are all painfully aware...Blaine and I are both gay. Out and proud. Homosexual. However you want to voice it...that's what we are."

Nick wolf-whistled unceremoniously. "Get some!"

"Shut up, Nick," Kurt said, not even deigning to look at him. "I'm talking. Anyway, everyone's been asking about what we are..."

"And what you're going to be," Matt reminded him, drumming his fingers against his knee.

"And I'd just like to say, before all else...well, I'm a huge supporter of romance. I've gone to my room with countless romance novels and pints of Ben & Jerry's. I've gone through lame romantic comedies like Chances Are more times than I can count. I secretly enjoyed Valentine's Day, even if it did win a Razzie. I don't want anything else, really, other than a few rounds of good old-fashioned love and, simply put, adoration..."

Nick opened his mouth to say something, but was quickly silenced by Jeff, who shoved a bread roll into his mouth.

"Coming from McKinley, I never thought I'd ever get that. Love. At all. Never."

"Kurt," I murmured. "Don't make too big a spectacle out of this—"

"I will make a damn spectacle out of this, Blaine!"

"What are you trying to say?" Jeff asked, biting into another Pringle and brushing the crumbs off of his blazer.

"What I'm trying to say is that I love Blaine. And I'm here. Right here. For as long as he wants me to be."

My jaw went slack and I ignored the chorus of "aww"s coming from the group of freshmen nearer to the back of the bus, and Wes and David and Thad giving each other triple high-fives, and Matt, who was ignoring the hubbub and stoically highlighting and annotating a passage of a book written in traditional Chinese. I ignored Randy, who was looking unexpectedly appreciative, despite his plans of becoming a priest in the Catholic Church, and Nick, who was smirking as he pounded the keys of his cell phone, probably texting one of his Dalton friends back home. And most of all, I ignored Jeff, who looked resigned as he popped the cap back onto the Pringles and slid the can back into his backpack with as much dignity as he could muster.

Because Kurt loved me. He wasn't joking around, or being flirtatious, or being playful. He had been serious and his gaze had been intense.

A timid pat on my shoulder brought me back to earth and out of my contemplations.

"Blaine?" Kurt questioned. "Are you still with me?"

"Still with you," I breathed, reaching out and taking his hand.

Kurt smiled warmly. "Thanks."

There was commotion as Wes staggered to the very front of the bus, ramming his Physics textbook against one of the poles that were standing throughout the bus. "Warblers! The traffic's freeing up. We'll be out of this street in no time."

"Yay," Matt muttered under his breath sarcastically, flipping a page in his book.

"We'll be late, but we'll still have some time before we have to go onstage," David added.

Thad shot up from his seat. "How much longer till we get to the arena?"

David checked his watch. "Oh, thirty minutes or so. We'll have to find some way to pass the time until then, I guess. Sorry about that, man."

Thomas Pierson's red hair stuck out from the back of the bus. "Can we sing something?" he inquired, naive boredom dripping from his voice.

Wes looked like Tom had just smacked him in the face with a particularly heavy brick while Kurt hummed a chuckle to himself, looking mildly amused. "So typical," Kurt whispered right into my ear. I laughed and pressed a brief kiss to his jawline—his surprised reaction only helped to better my mood.

"Dude, no," Jeff said with a lazy yawn.

"Jeff!" Wes snapped, hitting the pole with his textbook again. "We've got to warm up, anyway."

"Fine," Jeff countered, crossing his arms over his chest.

"David, 'Killer Queen' on three."

David rapped his hand against the side of his seat in time with the opening beats of the song, and Randy immediately shot out of his sleepy stupor in order to start his rhythmically perfect beatboxing. Matt's voice soon melded into the harmony, followed by Tom and Kurt's slightly higher-pitched voices soaring above everyone else. I joined in last, backing up David as he began to sing:

"She keeps Moet et Chandon

In a pretty cabinet

"Let them eat cake," she says

Just like Marie Antoinette

A built-in remedy

For Khrushchev and Kennedy

At anytime an invitation

You can't decline..."

A chorus of "ooh"s rippled throughout the bus; the bus driver slammed his hand on the car horn in perfect time with the song. Kurt valiantly took the next part of the song with more confidence than I'd ever seen in his voice.

"Caviar and cigarettes

Well versed in etiquette

Extraordinarily nice...

She's a Killer Queen

Gunpowder, Gelatine

Dynamite with a laser beam

Guaranteed to blow your mind

Anytime...

Recommended at the price

Insatiable in appetite

Wanna try?"

When he finished, Kurt wiggled his eyebrows at me as if to say, "Well, Blaine, it's your turn."

"To avoid complications

She never kept the same address

In conversation

She spoke just like a baroness

Met a man from China

Went down to Asia Minor

Then again incidentally

If you're that way inclined..."

At this point, my face was dangerously near Kurt's and we were practically singing the song to each other, even thought it technically wasn't romantic at all. David was already beginning to dance along with the song, and Matt had dropped his book in favor of performing a few loose flips down the aisleway once the bus hit a stop light. A few confused drivers outside the windows were looking at us like we were crazy.

Obviously, we didn't care.

I tapped Kurt's nose playfully as we all vocalized the next part of the song in perfect harmony. His eyes scrunched up a little bit in laughter and he squeezed my shoulder, taking his voice out of the song for a moment in order to release a pent-up laugh.

"Drop of a hat she's as willing as

Playful as a pussy cat

Then momentarily out of action

Temporarily out of gas

To absolutely drive you wild, wild

She's out to get you..."

The bus driver had officially gone off the deep end and was singing along with us in a surprisingly deep, melodious voice.

"Recommended at the price

Insatiable in appetite

Wanna try?

You wanna try..."

Why is it, dear Blaine, my subconscious asked me cattily, That everyone you meet knows how to sing?

I wouldn't have it any other way, I replied mentally, reveling in the heat of Kurt's palm against mine and the harmonies reverberating against the walls.

April 20, 2011, 8:00 A.M., Carnegie Hall, New York City.

Dear Journal,

I'm absolutely stressed out. I've squeezed Blaine's hand so many times and so hard that I'm pretty sure he's going to need to get it amputated. He's pressed comforting little pecks to my temple and jawline so much that I'm sure my face has gone completely red. And we're going onstage in three hours. In Carnegie Hall. In New York City. For show choir Nationals.

That's fucking huge, sir.

And Randy's lost his jacket, Wes has lost his gavel, and Jeff's entered a state of depression. He's currently relearning all of the dance steps with Matt and Nick.

Back in New Directions, it took us less than a week to prepare for big things like this.

Next year, with Blaine off in college and Dalton Academy miserably void of all of my friends...

...is it worth living a life so prepared and organized, with perfect itineraries and perfect uniforms...?

But it's Blaine I'm talking about here.

And Blaine just happens to be the perfect boyfriend.

—Kurt

A/N: Guys. GUYS. "BLACKBIRD", "MISERY", "CANDLES", "RAISE YOUR GLASS". ARGH. ARGH. SO AMAZING. What did y'all think?

Oh, and I'm going to surreptitiously slip in a "Please review! We're almost at 150!" :D :D :D :D :D *gets shot down violently*

NEXT CHAPTER: The Warblers compete. Here there be Kurt's ballad, gavel drama, Ricardo drama, Randy's Missing Blazer drama, etc., etc.