V

~ Madison Square Garden ~

Kurt slowly sat himself down on his softly quilted bed and stared open-mouthed out his window, bursts of sunshine rippling off the brick walls of the neighboring buildings. It was beautiful how nature could look so effortless, calm and peaceful, a stark contrast to his hectic day. His eyes were still seeing spots, his legs were weak as toothpicks and his poor inexperienced little feet felt as though they were going to fall off at any second. He'd never once been put through such harsh paces in his life, not even when he'd run away from his high school tormentors. He supposed he had to blame it on the velocity of life when it came to New York. There was no time for procrastinating, or any hanging around. Life didn't wait, and neither did Carmen.

After the red-headed girl had further blinded him with photos as well as photographed them all as a group with his 'stunning' face in the middle, she had sneaked them out of the theater's stage door and smuggled him into the bustling heart of the city. Their first point of call had been a small photography studio situated several blocks away where an apparent long-time friend and fellow aspiring photographer operated. Her name was Belle or 'Baby-Boo' as Carmen liked to nickname her and she was lovely. Not only did the woman emit such a radiating presence that was hard to ignore but she managed to calm Kurt down from his bewildered high with a mixture of flattering compliments and gentle strokes to the back of his neck.

The pale boy had found himself entranced with the photographer and had had no problem posing for her in front of the white background, the spell that had been cast by Baby-Boo controlling him like a dream-stricken puppet, his wide smile beauteous and bright. With the final snap and flash of the camera, the three-minute session was over, a session which hadn't lasted nearly long enough in Kurt's eyes. Handing over a list of addresses of several modelling agencies within the city, Belle had wished them good luck, gifting Kurt with a parting kiss on the cheek for luck. It was a sign of friendly affection enough to whisk Kurt away from the studio with nothing but light shoulders and a care free head. It was a form of relaxation like no other that was however broken when thoughts of getting fired for skiving off work came to mind.

He was glad Carmen was by his side. Her determination and persistence to get him booked before the sun set on the horizon was enough to further drive the duo on their quest, and as soon as the clock had struck six, it had all paid off. Everything had been done. Hyperventilation was in order and a sleep worth a thousand nights was very much the last task on Kurt's to-do list. The brunet had been dragged to approximately ten modelling agencies in a space of several hours with the journeys to each establishment laying down its own set of obstacles in the form of catching departing subway trains, surviving road raged taxi cabs and generally staying alive in a world where a car's horn was the last sound one heard before dying.

It's going to take forever to get used to this, he had thought as he had exited the final agency that day, his hand going up to flatten his dry, windswept hair as it protruded upwards in a series of embarrassing angles. Looks like my hair is going to face the biggest brunt of it all. In total, seven of the ten agencies he had approached had expressed interest in him whilst the remaining three had rejected him due to his 'immature looks and wrong image'. Whether that was because he didn't have any facial hair, sport cheek bones sharp enough to slice bread with or have the muscle tone and tanned skin that so many Calvin Klein models had, he didn't know, but had not taken offense. Seven offers was already quite an achievement already and he didn't want life to think he was ungrateful or greedy. He was very pleased with himself.

By the time he'd returned to his apartment, where the rooms weren't covered head to toe in model resumes and white and black wasn't the dominant color scheme for decoration, his body had immediately collapsed onto the floor. Carmen had fed him mugs upon mugs of herbal tea infused with Earl Grey along with sumptuous chocolate and mint biscuits that had melted on his tongue, and even though earlier that afternoon lunch had been glossed over with a mere sandwich, sleep was what he craved, just sleep.

Since Carmen knew considerably more about photography and the modelling industry as a whole, she proceeded to advise him with a rundown of each company, ranging from Ford Models all the way to Next Management. She'd listed every pro and con of each so that by the time she'd left, a final decision was to have been made by Kurt, but the boy couldn't have cared less. Sleep was what he needed. Sleep...

But he couldn't sleep. His mind was too riddled with life-changing questions that had to be answered urgently. Was he really going to do this? Did this mean that his work experience was over? Was the prospect of entering the world of modelling going to steer him further away from Broadway stardom? Kurt had asked himself all of these questions repeatedly over the course of the night, each roll and toss of his restless body bringing about more anxiety, more worry. It was unnecessary and he should have been able to solve them all on his own but in the end, it was useless. With a push of a button, his father was on the phone to him. Texting was out of the question. His update was too long, the matter too important and he wasn't about to lose his fingers as well as his feet to self-induced torture.

"Listen, son, if you think you can do this, do it. You already know how to pretty much stand in front of the camera without looking stupid. It's a rare gift," began Burt, as he tried to tone down his surprise at the sudden shift in Kurt's plans. Kurt as a model? Talk about living the dream and in the land of opportunity no less. It was, indeed, a life-changing choice as Kurt had dramatically labelled it but it was ultimately up to his son to make the final call. This was his life. It was time he began living it. "You may not have tons of professional experience but you're in New York just for that, aren't you?"

"Are you saying I should do it?" Kurt asked as his eyebrows shot up his forehead. Modelling wasn't a route he'd considered. In fact, it was one that had never come to mind what with its strict entrance policy and him having looks close to a vagabond back home. Like everything else he'd taken on, he'd have to study the way the professional models posed if he was going to become serious about this line of work. Everything had to be accounted for and Kurt supposed that another round of brain-cramming knowledge sessions was well on its way. "You don't mind if I stray away from Broadway for a while?"

"Look..." his father began, clearing his voice as if in preparation for a detailed explanation. Burt had always known his son had inherited his mother's beauty, it was plain to see. He just hadn't ever stated it. Now, however, he wished he had. He knew the looks Kurt received, a mixture of teasing cruelty that only covered deep-rooted jealousy. Everyone who had ever known Kurt had turned on him in the form of green-eyed monsters full to the brim with envy, and all because of his angelic looks. "If you get regular work from the agency and if you enjoy yourself while doing it, then I say suspend your work experience and focus on the modelling. Plus, I hear it pays well."

"I won't get paid thousands now, dad, not for quite a while… if at all. I'm still a novice here," smiled Kurt as he began to giggle at the smirking tone in his father's voice. He knew Burt was going to support him whatever he chose to do. It was the kind of liberty he had been afforded ever since he was young and the deal had been that as long as he was happy and content, a supportive figure would always be behind him. Well, just as long as he wasn't killing anyone. "But you do make a good point. Okay, I'll give it a shot and see how it goes. Who knows, I could soon be the model on the front cover of the next magazine you read. Goodnight, dad."

.

Glee

.

Wednesday morning greeted a refreshed pale boy as he slid out of bed with a smile on his face, only to lose his balance and fall to the floor, his body planking on the carpet with a noisy thud. Kurt moaned in pain. He strived to be as light on his feet as possible in whatever he did, especially nowadays seeing as he did have a neighbor living several meters beneath him in the apartment below, but his head now weighed as much as a bowling ball. It had thrown him off completely, which made it all the more urgent to master morning elegance as soon as possible. He didn't want the first thing he said good morning to was the carpet, considering he trod on it all day long.

Today he was about to agree to a whole new career path and it was exciting. Admittedly, he hadn't given the topic days of thought but he'd slept on it. That is what was always advised by most. Originally he never thought he'd go down a path that didn't entail a stage and a spotlight. It was too alien to think about. The Phantom of the Opera, The Lion King, Cats, Les Misérables and Wicked were musicals he'd grown up and flourished on. They'd been his sole friends when he'd had none, as sad as that tragically sounded, and although his best friend Mercedes Jones would always have his deepest friendship, the chants from the stage would always remain dear to him.

However, life had a sneaky way of surprising those who expected it least. The transition from the stage to runway wasn't as great as it could have been. It was nothing to fret long about. After all, he was pleased with the newfound decision he'd made. It showed great courage, tasting a flavor of the kind of world New York was famous for and as the list of the modelling agencies fluttered in his hand, a phone landing in his other, his finger scrolled down the names and numbers of the various agencies until his chosen selection came before him. This was it. Let the fun begin.

"Hello, my name is Kurt Hummel. I visited your offices yesterday in regards to a modelling application. In fact, I was offered a place on your books on the day but I was unable to give an answer. However, I'm calling now to confirm my place, if the offer still stands."

"Please hold," the female voice replied, the line going silent as Kurt began to bite his lip anxiously. He really disliked it when people said those two words. It was like they were purposefully trying to tear one's nerves apart just by not being there on the phone, and it only caused him to pace around his room continuously, circling a particular spot so many times that he swore he didn't even have to look down to know that he'd worn a giant circle in his bedroom carpet. "Mr. Hummel? Thank you for accepting our offer, though you will need to fill out a few forms before your place is secured here at Elite Models... please hold."

"Oh, for God's sake," Kurt muttered, rolling his eyes as he prevented himself from walking over to the nearest wall and repeatedly banging a Kurt-shaped hole in the plaster. It was very tempting and he would have done it if his spirits hadn't soared with joy. As soon as the receptionist had uttered those crucial words of confirmation, Kurt's smile had never ceased to widen. He'd punched the air in happiness, high-fiving it repetitively and it didn't matter that he was still in his pajamas and it didn't matter that he hadn't made his bed or aired his room. He was a model. "Hello? Is anyone there? Hel-"

"I apologize for having kept you waiting, Mr. Hummel. I have your forms with me now. What we would usually do is mail them over to you for completion and then you'd send them back, or you would come down to the office to fill them out here," explained the receptionist in a rather matter of fact tone. Kurt didn't care, though. He'd already stopped acting like the hyperactive fool and had proceeded to sit on his bed and nod emphatically to everything that was being said. "However, I have just been informed that you are needed down here anyway, so I guess that takes care of that. Will you able to be with us within the next hour? If not I'm sure we can arrange-"

"Yes, I can make it. I'll be with you shortly. Thanks again," Kurt replied as he placed the phone down. With a quick running of the tap and a draping of an outfit on smooth skin, Kurt picked up his bag and descended his apartment's stairs, fully presentable and fully ready to head out into the city. It took him less than twenty minutes to reach the Elite headquarters on 5th Avenue from his place, home to the city's fifth most photographed building, the Apple Store, but only because the traffic was cooperative and the streets were bare of crowds. This meant that, by the time he'd rounded the corner to his destination, he was well within time as well as exhausted. Sprinting was a form of travel he'd have to work on.

It turned out, much to Kurt's unabashed surprise, that a strong list of clients had already viewed his portfolio with keen interest. Head-hunters for Marc Jacobs, Paul Smith and Burberry had all bookmarked him for future projects ranging from standard print ads to actual fashion shows and Kurt was half tempted to whip out his phone, snap a picture of his schedule and send the exciting news to both Carmen and Belle. He could imagine smiles erupting on both their faces, with an 'I knew it' expression on Carmen's knowing face. However, as he further inspected the dates for these appointments, he made a shocking discovery. One of the most famous and celebrated runway shows in the entire fashion world was on his list, clear as daylight: The Salvatore Spectacle.

Kurt's fingers shuddered, causing the paper to waver slightly. The Salvatore Spectacle was famous for its outlandishly intricately designed runways, classically provocative outfits and the huge number of celebrities on the invite list. It was a combination of self-assured strutting for models and voyeuristic pleasures for men and women - the unconventionality becoming mainstream entertainment. With a $15 million budget increasing every year and attracting a whopping five million viewers each time, it was a big deal and Kurt was having a difficult time comprehending his upcoming involvement. He was nowhere near as tall as the typical male model should be, what with his height reaching only a measly five foot ten. The minimum height required was at least six foot, so why was he involved and why was the date for this thing looking way too close for comfort. Tomorrow?! Shit!

"Excuse me, there's been a printing mistake on my schedule," Kurt began desperately as he glanced back at the pretty receptionist, whose robotic sounding voice he'd heard earlier on the phone didn't at all correspond with the wholesome almost housewife looking woman sitting before him. He supposed it was the job. Speaking to people for hours on end was something Kurt assumed to be enough to completely wipe out any enthusiasm from one's voice. He wondered whether Martha back at the Monarch Theater suffered similarly. "I've been cast in this show tomorrow night but I've only just accepted your offer today. Surely there's got to be some kind of training program I have to take part in before I do runway?"

"Really? Oh no, Mr. Hummel, there is no printing mistake. We can't afford them. Otherwise we'd have models running around like headless chickens," the receptionist laughed as Kurt threw her a small smile in return. He knew it was bad of him but he was hoping for some kind of error to have occurred. He wasn't prepared for something of this magnitude. It just wasn't feasible. Talk about being thrown in the deep end. "Though I understand your confusion," she continued. "I, too, thought it strange and believe me, I double-checked, a lot. You're new here and no novice model has ever been booked so soon and for so many. I mean, only the most experienced and highest-rated faces are cast in The Salvatore Spectacle, so be grateful. You are one lucky son of a bitch."

"Thank you... for that. I'll be on my way now," Kurt replied as the receptionist gave him a knowing look before collecting the forms he had completed earlier and filing them all in some sort of well-organized pile on the desk. However, the boy had winced at her poor choice of words when images of his mother who had passed away some time ago came flying back to him in a series of scattered memories. He really wished people weren't so crude when it came to conversation. Just one slip of the tongue was enough to unknowingly hurt others. "Goodbye."

Swiftly stepping out into the street, the office door closing behind him, Kurt continued to examine his paper. Everything seemed to be in order. A Thursday nine o'clock to three o'clock rehearsal time slot had been printed next to the date of the actual show, but as his eyes continued traveling further right, he stopped dead in his tracks. The address of the spectacle was at Madison Square Garden, the largest arena in New York City. It could seat thousands, accommodate just about anything and was one of the many multi-purpose arenas owned by the Puckerman family. Strange, thought Kurt as he narrowed his eyes, the spectacle has never been hosted there. Why now?

Clearly this autumn wasn't just sweeping up the pumpkin and papaya whip shaded leafs into the air, but everything else too. Kurt had to wonder how many more changes would be made until another ton weight hit him heavier than all the others. The Puckermans owned the Garden which meant a Puckerman was going to attend The Salvatore Spectacle, and Kurt knew exactly which one. He was going to be strutting along a glittering runway decorated with exquisite props and colorings, wearing God knows what in front of the city's infamous seducer and heir to the most successful conglomerate in the world, whose bedroom was busier than Bloomingdale's on a Saturday. Just the thought was enough to make Kurt's knees buckle and as he waved over a taxi, hopped in and headed home, the image of Noah Puckerman's magnetic hazel eyes haunted his return.

.

Glee

.

The setting and the rising of the golden sun was the single blur that flashed past Kurt's taxi window in the next few hours and as he threw cash at the driver before pelting towards the entrance of the Madison Square Garden, he cursed his delectably warm bed. Oversleeping was something he'd managed to conquer back when he was thirteen, since nothing good came with being caught sneaking into your junior high school class undetected, but now that it had returned full force, he was in heaps of trouble. Running fifteen minutes late for an important runway rehearsal and in New York of all places was almost considered criminal. It was literally be there or be square. Not a good start.

No sooner had he stepped through the arena's front doors than he had found himself in the actual center where the sports courts had been stripped and replaced with a raised, outthrust catwalk undergoing management by many construction crew members. Lighting rigs were being set up, sound systems tested and absolutely everyone had a task at hand, all except for Kurt. The boy was taking in his surroundings like a curious kitten entering its new home, except this little kitten wasn't wearing a headset with a microphone suspended close to its mouth, neither was it shouting orders that echoed for minutes on end, as if they were in a large icicle structure with sound-reflecting panelling made entirely out of snowflakes.

As Kurt observed the vast space, feeling increasingly lost and overwhelmed by everything happening around him, he noticed all the models scattered across the pit of the arena. Every single one of them had been in the midst of listening to a talk from a woman at the front, who he assumed was the director before, one by one, every single of their exotic faces turned to him with unimpressed looks. Flushing with embarrassment as he noticed even the crew had halted their activities to stare him down, Kurt remained motionless under all their harsh gazes. Whispering, laughter and even more whispering now filled the room but when compared to the previous sounds of banging and clanging metal, it was worse.

Ever so slowly and racked with trepidation and fear, Kurt began weaving his way through the crowd of beautiful creatures. It was nerve-wracking to say the least but with each step he took, a glowering face would lighten into a gleaming grin and with another step he took, a hand would remove his outdoor garments and hang it up neatly nearby, so that by the time he had finally reached the director's position at the far end, all he was in was his jeans, polo top, and of course, a charming aura that he exuded with an apologetic smile. Pacing around him, eying him with a critical eye and repetitively hitting a folded a piece of paper against her hand, the director growled before speaking.

"You're late," she announced harshly as Kurt winced at the sheer coldness in the blunt accusation. "But you're just in time for the surprise."

Blinking in confusion, Kurt's eyes were once again drawn to the catwalk where a large burlesque-like sign of The Salvatore Spectacle was illuminated, its Hollywood vanity bulbs encircling the letters glowing alive as the whole thing was raised to highlight the magnificent proscenium arch. Everything, in terms of décor, was further turning into a scene from a Victoria's Secret show. The Americana imagery mixed in with a large influence of Golden Age Hollywood was rendering the whole thing as a vintage and glamorous farcical show but, of course, with obvious class.

Watching with awe, Kurt joined his fellow models in raising his head in unison as the sign was lifted higher and higher, their necks craning and backs bending as it eventually fixed itself into place. It was a spectacle… and it was beautiful. The brunet closed his eyes. He relaxed himself as applause rang out, he relaxed himself as each model approached him, their hands ghosting over his long neck, pale arms and slim waist, examining every inch of him like a welcoming committee, ridding him of anything Lima had latched onto, saying hello in their own special way, their own language. He wanted to say hello back, but he couldn't. He was too entranced in the feeling of their elegant fingers stroking his skin like a prayer until with an ear-banging stomp of the director's foot, Kurt opened his eyes.

Lowering his head, Kurt felt as though he had been thoroughly cleansed as well as thrown forwards through time. He was now standing at the start of the catwalk, all the models, contrary to their previous proximity, now standing on the far sides of the stage, their laughter and gossiping muffled behind their hands. It was the only thing to be seen before a spotlight landed on him, and just as he was about to descend the walkway, his legs loosening from their invisible chains, a model stepped in front of him. Then another one, then another one until three models were now strutting down the catwalk, posing like professionals and showing him exactly how it was done. Kurt had spent the whole of last night watching video after video of previous Salvatore Spectacle shows from the past twenty-four years but nothing could match a live performance. The upcoming celebrations of the show's 25th anniversary were going to rock worlds.

He'd studied how models had cast their magic of allure, maintained their distant, seductive demeanors and kept their crowns as every fantasy monarchy by practicing many of their trademark moves to the pleasure of his bathroom mirror. He'd selected the expressions which did and didn't suit him, he'd experimented with lighting to determine which set of angles best complimented his face and, finally, he'd practiced walking in a straight line, keeping his eyes fixed on a point ahead and swiveling around on the balls of his feet to walk back up the runway.

Thankfully, though, it was a set of tasks that didn't pose a problem. Kurt, ever since he was little, had always been complimented for his good posture and sense of direction. His interest in dance from an early age had laid the seeds for such an admired feature to grow and now that he was here, rehearsing in front of many, he was allowing that very seed to blossom into an image of floating beauty.

However, changes were in store for not only him, but for all the other models. Walking and posing had been deemed not enough for the anniversary celebrations because now, along with the traditional features of a runway show had come the major update: dance.

As soon as the word had escaped the director's mouth, nervous, frightened glances had been exchanged. Every model's worried face was now a stark contrast to their usual stony masks, which fascinated Kurt. Being asked to dance as well as strut and pose in outfits that left no room for disagreement was very hard to do, even for experienced dancers. How on earth were any of these beautiful people going to survive when the closest move they could pull off on the dance floor was either head banging or hip gyrating? It was alright for Kurt, however. His history with movement including years of studying dance routines from artists' music videos by replaying them over and over on YouTube had him covered but for the rest? They had all been set up to fail.

Inna, the Romanian dance artist, had been invited to sing a playlist of her singles for the actual show. He heard that she had been sent to a secluded practice room somewhere in the arena to rehearse her vocals and choreography where the threat of being hounded by crazed fans screaming for autographs was very minimal. Even if Kurt had wanted to find her he wouldn't have been able to. The Garden was a concrete maze of passageways and corridors that led to nowhere and anywhere, and he'd sooner stay put than get lost. It was a pity, really. He'd always been a fan of Inna's discography ever since he had ventured away from the American sound onto the European charts, and to think he'd be seeing her live tonight. Oh, it was exciting!

"She had to let the servants go. My maid knows the cook."

"You know everyone."

"I'd rather not. Asia over there looks disgusting. She shouldn't even be strutting down this catwalk. I mean, she's just ghastly. She should just crawl back into her hidey-hole or whatever Godforsaken sink pit she's come from."

"The one thing I've learned about girls from the gutter is that they know their jewels. No way are those diamonds she's wearing fake, but who wears studded stones to a rehearsal apart from whores? Speaking of which, if I didn't know any better, I would have thought she was fresh out of the brothel. Oh, my goodness!"

"She's looking over here, look away!"

"Now the tart's staring at me, isn't it awful? Then again, she's not the only loose person around here."

"I don't know who you're referring to."

"Anyway, have you seen the director recently? I think she looks very out of sorts."

"Her husband has been causing a lot of problems lately, spending far too much time with the male models."

"Ha, too much, but it is true she looks very dour, always tragic. Hey, that new boy is very pretty, isn't he?"

"A new life, unfortunately. When you think about it, he's such a poor boy. He's so young, so... I think he should go back to wherever he came from."

"Do I look like him? Don't you think so?"

"A long time ago."

"Oh, you exaggerate. He has blue eyes like me."

"I heard he comes from Ohio. They're not exactly the warmest of people but I suppose he's rather sweet... for a country boy."

"I think he's delightful, he looks like a little piece of cake."

"It'll be interesting to see how long he lasts."

Kurt had been about to descend the stage when two female models had appeared out of nowhere behind him, the tops of their faces obscured by the shadow of a ceiling rig. He'd wanted to put a face to whoever was saying such scathing remarks but he didn't dare look around, lest the good light they were shining him in fizzled out to reveal harsh black smoke.

However, this was only a taste of the endless gossip and banter everyone seemed to engage in when the director's eyes weren't fixated on them. Bitching after bitching, talking and talking, it just wouldn't stop like an endless stream of bitterness that seemed to flow like a cascade into the already tense air of the arena.

Eventually breaking his losing patience, Kurt looked around to face two women standing behind him, their eyes gazing down at him as though he were their leashed dog. He didn't know what to say and the thought of saying nothing really did cross his mind as they sniggered before prancing off down the catwalk.

It all left Kurt a little flustered and frustrated that he hadn't confronted them. If this is what people talked about to each other, then one could wave goodbye to friendships, if they weren't already extinct by this point. Zoning out stray sounds of whispering whilst learning the dance routines was in the end the only thing to keep him sane but even that was more strenuous than necessary with everyone critiquing his every move.

That's why he was so glad that, by five o'clock that afternoon, he'd been allowed to leave with strict instructions to return by six for the seven o'clock show. As every other model clustered together into the night air like cold penguins rubbing themselves against each other for warmth, Kurt exited the arena alone. He was looking over the piece of paper detailing which specific acts and outfits he would be wearing when a freezing gust of evening breeze hurtled towards him out of nowhere and snatched the paper out from his shivering grasp.

There it traveled up into the night sky like a lost soul and Kurt was tempted to jump and retrieve it, save it from a certain fate of endless wondering when in the distance loomed the Puckerman building. Beautifully lit, its shard-like shape looked as though it was prepared to pierce the clouds above, an arrow to the heavens, the earth's silver glistening dagger. It really did boast the best of modern architecture. To Kurt, the sight amazed him yet horrified him immensely and with one final stomach-churning lurch, he dashed into the awaiting taxi, determined not to fall victim to his nerves.

However, he didn't feel safe until he'd landed on his bed, with nothing but the beating of his own heart and the ceiling for company. Apart from planning on resting his incredibly worn out feet with no frivolous trips to the kitchen, rest room or even his iPhone to check his inbox, Kurt fell victim to his own thoughts. They were thoughts so dense that they shrouded his mind in complete blindness, causing him to become blissfully unaware of the rain of water from the shower head to the spray of his favorite cologne. Yes, thinking about Noah Puckerman was a distraction to end all distractions, but not in the sense one would think. Kurt was not like that.

I wonder if he'll appear as Noah or someone else, thought Kurt as his denim jacket floated down onto his shoulders as he locked the front door behind him. I wonder if the characters on that runway will be the only ones in the Garden tonight.

Little did Kurt Hummel know that what he was thinking was one of the greatest issues in a certain man's life, a topic of conversation that would later change his life forever but, of course, a second thought wasn't given. Kurt's preoccupation with reaching his first show in time and before his nerves shook him out of his skin, was the main thing to focus on. After all, the combination of the street's air filling his head with intoxicating aromas of the cool September evening and the sound of strutting steps on the catwalk only indicated one thing:

Show Time…

~ PLEASE REVIEW ~

(But if you wish to criticize, may it be constructive. I'm not going to learn from my mistakes and improve if you vent.)

Author's Note: I don't suggest researching the Salvatore Spectacle because it's merely a fictional fashion show that I created for the story.

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to the characters from Glee since I don't own the show. I'm not earning money from this and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. I mean only to please whoever stumbles upon my Love Story.

~ STAY TUNED FOR MORE BY FOLLOWING/FAVORITING ~