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Two Hundred Letters I Will Never Send

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After the eighth piece of crumpled paper narrowly misses his head before hitting the floor, David turns around in his swivel chair with a frustrated sigh.

"Blaine, enough! What are you doing?"

No response.

"Blaine?"

Blaine lets out a frustrated groan before squashing yet another piece of loose-leaf between his fists. This time, David catches it as Blaine tosses it over his shoulder. He opens it warily, only to see one line written in Blaine's neat cursive.

Dear Kurt,

He gently places a hand on Blaine's shoulder, and Blaine jumps up in surprise. He pulls his ear buds out and places them on his desk.

David holds up the letter questioningly.

"What's up, man?"

Blaine's eyes are wide and unfocused, and he runs a hand through the curls that are slowly losing fighting their way loose from his hair gel's strong hold.

"I'm writing a letter."

"Yeah, I gathered as much. Care to tell me why you're writing a letter to Kurt, and why our carpet is slowly disappearing under crumpled balls of paper?"

Blaine shifts his gaze to the floor confusedly, as if he hadn't realized where all those balls of paper would land when he threw them.

"Blaine?"

"What? Oh, right. Kurt. I'm writing him a letter," he says, scrambling around his desk for another clean sheet of paper.

"Because you've finally realized you're in love with him?"

"Ye – wait, how did you know?" Blaine looks up, startled.

"Blaine, come on, we all know. And we were getting kind of fed up with all the sexual tension, to be honest. We were planning an intervention for the next Warblers meeting."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously. I'm pretty sure you're the last one to realize that you have a huge crush on Kurt. And from what I can guess," David continues, gesturing at the paper littering the floor, "you've decided to tell him how you feel in a letter?"

Blaine nods his head.

David starts gathering up the crumpled pieces of paper, reading them aloud as he goes.

"Kurt…To Kurt…Hey, Kurt…Hi Kurt!...Hey!...Salutations!...Greetings!...My Dearest Kurt…wow, it took you nine tries just to think of Dear Kurt?

Blaine buries his head in his hands.

"It needs to be perfect," he mumbles into his desk.

"You hold tight. I'm going to get Wes."

 

***


By the time David gets back to his room with Wes in tow, there are about fifty more crumpled balls of loose-leaf on the floor, and Blaine's hair style is verging on afro after having run his hands through it so many times.

Wes and David try not to show their amusement as they wade through the papers surrounding Blaine's computer chair. Blaine, ear buds securely in place, barely registers the fact that David and Wes are reading fragments of the letters out loud, each trying to control their laughter.

"This letter is to inform you…" Wes begins.

"I am writing to tell you that…" David continues.

"I like love like you..."

"You have no idea how much I want to kiss you..."

"I want to fuck you into my mattress…"

"No way!" David exclaims. "He would never say that!"

Wes scoots over to show him the page. David lets out a low whistle.

"Looks like our Blaine-y boy is getting desperate."

Blaine slams his fists down on the desk, startling the two boys.

"I've got it. This is the one! Dear Kurt, I am writing to inquire about your feelings for me. I am sending this letter today and will be anxiously awaiting its return with your answer. But don't rush Ku – "

David reaches his hand over to cover Blaine's mouth.

"I'm gonna stop you right there. First of all, I thought we told you to stop watching A Very Potter Musical."

"Actually, that's from the sequel," Wes chimes in.

"Not helping, Wes. Second of all, ending your letter with 'Do you like me? Check yes or no.' is so elementary school. Are you seven or seventeen, Blaine?"

"Seventeen," Blaine mutters sheepishly.

"Exactly," David continues. "You're seventeen. You're practically an adult. So man up and stop trying to tell him how you feel in a letter. Writing is not your forte. I know. I edit all of your history papers."

"What do I do, then, if you're so full of ideas?"

"You could always tell him to his face," Wes says simply.

Blaine's face lights up in awe, as if he never even considered Wes' idea as a possibility.

Just then, his iTunes playlist, still on shuffle, starts playing "Candles" and suddenly Blaine knows exactly what he's going to do.

He's half-way out the door before he turns back, remembering the mess of papers he's left strewn all over the floor.

"Go!" Wes insists. "We'll take care of it."

"Says who? This is my room, not yours, and I don't want to – umph," David says, as Wes elbows him in the side. "Fine, fine go. We'll clean up your mess."

"Wait!" Wes shouts as Blaine turns to leave.

"What?"

"Dude…your hair…" Wes tries not to laugh.

Blaine quickly runs some gel through his hair and straightens his tie in the mirror before attempting to leave again.

"Wait! I don't know where – "

"Senior lounge. Now, go!"

"Thanks!" Blaine shouts over his shoulder, already gearing up for the confession he's about to make.

 

***


He's been grinning since he left the lounge and nothing will ever wipe this smile off his face.

Not even the ton of torn up paper that greets him when he opens his dorm room door.

"Wha – " he splutters, as the tiny pieces of paper fall from the ceiling.

"Congratulations!" come Wes and David's voices through the confetti haze.

"How do you know it worked?" Blaine asks, brushing paper off his shoulders.

"As if it wasn't going to work," David scoffs. "By the way," he adds, as he and Wes step out into the hallway, "you're cleaning up the confetti."

He grins at Blaine as he and Wes exit the room.

But even picking up miniscule pieces of paper off his carpet cannot wipe the grin from Blaine's face, because he just kissed Kurt Hummel.