Archive of Our Own ^beta

Mr. Hummel,

It is with great delight that we invite you to attend Dalton Academy of Music. You have been the recipient of one of our prestigious scholarships based on your academic performance and talent demonstrated on the stage. We hope you will accept our invitation, and we look forward to making your acquaintance upon your arrival at our fine school of learning. Should you wish to sojourn to us, classes begin precisely at sunrise on the first day of autumn.

Sincerely,

Roderick B. Meeks

Headmaster

↠↠↠

Kurt blinked down at the page in front of him. It had been merely three weeks since his father’s passing, only a fortnight since they’d laid him to rest in the ground, and now he was to receive good news? He couldn’t decide how he felt about that, doing his best to quell the wellspring of joy that sought to burst forth from his chest. He’d thought it a lost cause when he’d queried the Dalton Academy of Music about how to become a scholarship recipient, but his father had encouraged him.

“Kurt, my son, you’ve only one life to live, and it seems I’m not much longer for this world. Follow your dreams without fear or concern. The future is bright for you, young man.”

So, merely to please his father, Kurt had done as he’d requested, penning a note to inquire about the process. He’d not expected to hear back from them and especially not so favorably. To put it lightly, he was nonplussed.

“How many morns until the beginning of autumn?” he mused, trying to consider what day it was. Had it been only last week that the local farmers had begun to harvest their crops and ready them in sheaves for their barns? If so, that meant autumn was merely a few days away, and Kurt had no time to waste. He needed to make a decision and quickly.

“To go or stay? To go or stay?” he muttered as he paced, hands clasped behind his back, his coattails fluttering against his stockings. “If I stay, what have I to stay for? My father’s estate belongs to me now. With Sugar and Sam here to mind the place, I needn’t remain for that, however. My mother, bless her soul, is resting beside my father, and I’ve no other family for miles and miles. My classes here have ended, and I’m spending my days idle and passive, waiting for something to sound like a good idea. Although I’m far from finished grieving for my father, I can take him with me in my heart wherever I travel, and especially to Dalton. He made certain to tell me how proud he’d be if I was granted entry into that prestigious school.” He paced a bit more, contemplating. Only one answer seemed to stand out in his mind. “Have I talked myself into going now? It would seem I have, and just in time as well. There’s nary a second more to lose.”

Deciding to act before he could change his mind, Kurt began to scurry about the house, collecting the few items he wished to carry with him to Dalton along with his finest clothes in preparation to board the stagecoach the following day. It was a two-day journey to Dalton Academy of Music, and while he wanted to pack lightly, he knew it would be many months before he’d be in any position to travel back home.

Then, he gathered Sugar and Sam to tell them the good news. “I’ve been accepted,” he said proudly, standing before them with his letter in hand, “to Dalton Academy of Music in Westerville. Studies begin at sunrise on the first day of autumn, and if I’m to make it there in time, I must leave tomorrow. Would you…” He swallowed, surprised at how difficult it was for him to articulate his thoughts. “Would both of you be so kind as to look after this estate in my father’s honor? I would be much obliged if you’d continue to care for the place as you always have, making the bushes and trees prim and proper and keeping the guest quarters and entertainment areas sparkling clean. Upon my return, I will use what I have to pay you both a sizable sum in thanks for your dedication and hard work to my family and my home. It would mean a great deal to me if you could assist me in my absence.”

“That’s not necessary, sir,” Sam answered, bowing his head. “Your father was like my own father, and I’d be delighted to care for the house in your stead.”

“As would I,” Sugar agreed. “You won’t owe us a penny extra.”

“You’re both too kind,” Kurt said, his heart full of joy and love for both of them. “Thank you.” He went first to pull Sugar into a hug then Sam. “I wish the world held more individuals as great as you.”

Both of them beamed at him before heading home for the day, and Kurt prepared himself for bed. His head was full of big dreams and ideas of what the future might be like.

He’d always dreamed of being a musician, a singer, performing on the finest stages and for the most prestigious of people. And while he’d had a few such experiences as a supporting actor in minor local shows and as a flautist in local bands, he had yet to be the star he so fastidiously dreamed to be. And his heart swelled with the thought of how many people’s lives he could touch with the right amount of training and the right exposure, which he could gain from Dalton Academy. Anyone who was anyone began their journey into thespian life there.

Stopping to stand beside the open window, Kurt took a deep breath, reveling in the last of the warm summer air. “Father, I’m going. Tomorrow, I begin a new reality, destined to live the life you wished I could partake of. It’s at my fingertips, and I shan’t let it slip through.” Then, he blew a kiss out the window in the direction of the cemetery and his parents before climbing into bed and breathing out a contented sigh. Tomorrow would begin a new adventure.

↠↠↠

The two days of travel were difficult for Kurt. The stagecoach ride was bumpy, and the daylight hours were long. The sunrises and sunsets seemed to loop in an endless, monotonous chain with only his thoughts to pass the time. So, Kurt let himself ruminate as he was prone to do. He let himself imagine a stage, empty except for him and a circle of spotlight shining in the center. He imagined himself stepping into the circle, spreading his arms out wide, and inviting those who were listening to engage with his voice. He imagined himself a virtuoso, receiving the praise of all those who came to hear him sing. He dreamed it all in beguiling detail, and yet he was frightened. What if he didn’t sing the way they wanted him to? What if no one came to hear him? What if he missed being home, missed Sugar and Sam too much? What if he couldn’t bear the thought of being away from his father’s grave even now, having only given himself a few short weeks to grieve? All these thoughts and more swirled through his head like a cacophony of sounds too jumbled and phantasmagoric to understand and separate.

Even still, somehow, before he knew it, they had arrived at Dalton Academy of Music, and the stagecoach driver was unloading his baggage from the rear of the carriage and setting it on the dusty ground in front of the magnificent building. The school was large, much larger than Kurt had pictured it in his head, and it seemed to tower over him in gargantuan proportions, making him feel as though he’d been dwarfed on his way over. His only consistent comparison was that of the stagecoach driver, who had remained just a few inches smaller than him.

“Best of luck to you, son,” the stagecoach driver said as he tipped his hat in Kurt’s direction before climbing back onto the hard wooden seat. “I hope your time spent here fulfills your every dream.” Then, he clicked to the horses and rode away.

Kurt allowed himself another moment to stare at the grandiose place, taking in the tall, picturesque windows, the sloped roof, the beautiful brick—lined up in a delicate and perfect horizontal pattern. He could feel his heart thundering in his chest, wondering if this was the moment his life was about to change. Then, he collected his two bags from the ground, straightened his back, squared his shoulders, and walked toward the front door, setting down one bag to use the knocker that he found there.

A moment later, the door opened, and a gentleman with short blonde hair and a round face peered around the door. “May I inquire as to who you are?” he asked. His hand on the edge of the door revealed a ruffled lace sleeve that made Kurt nearly giddy. Dalton Academy of Music was not a place where even those who were employed there dared dress themselves with baubles to show their importance. Instead, they prided themselves on being at the height of fashion, and Kurt longed to be counted among them. Fashion sense flowed through his blood like water in a rushing river.

“I’m Kurt Hummel,” he said, extending his arm to shake the other man’s hand. “I received correspondence from the headmaster here that I was accepted into this fine school and that classes begin on the first day of autumn at sunrise. I know I’m a day or two early; I simply couldn’t bear to be late.”

“Indeed, you are early, and Headmaster prefers his students to be punctual. He always says, ‘Early is on time, and on time is late.’ Had you shown up even a few moments post sunrise on the first day of autumn, you’d never have been admitted,” the gentleman told him with a soft chuckle. “Oh, and do forgive my manners, please. My name is Trent. Would you mind terribly showing me your letter from Headmaster? It’s not that I don’t trust you. It’s just that a lot of hopefuls come knocking on our doors, zealously attempting to gain access to all this school has to offer when, in fact, they have not been invited.”

“Oh, certainly,” Kurt said. “If I may have one moment, please. I’ve packed it in my bag, and I’m afraid I must search for it.”

“Please take your time,” Trent said with a wave of his hand. “I certainly hope you are telling the truth and that you’ll be attending with us. You seem so kind, and I immediately like you, something that I can’t always say for the other students that come pounding on the door. So many of them feel entitled to walking in and acting as though they own the place because they’ve been invited. Honestly, though, if they were wise, they’d know that they were not invited here to learn how to be supercilious. Rather, they are here to learn how to humble themselves to the music. Headmaster makes sure that all our students are taught that lesson. And if they cannot learn it, they’re turned out immediately.”

Kurt had to admit that he felt a bit on edge about that declaration. It wasn’t that he was coming to Dalton with the intention of owning the place or proving that he was better than anyone else to walk through the doors. He wasn’t sure, though, what humbling himself to the music meant, and he didn’t know how he felt about the possibility of finding out. Trent sure is a chatty one, he thought to himself as he hunted through his bag. Perhaps he’ll prove to be the ally I want here. It sounds like the competition can be rather cutthroat.

Finally, he found the letter, and he rose from his crouching position, passing the letter to Trent. “Here it is. I apologize for the delay. I must have packed it at the bottom of my bag for very safe keeping.”

“I assure you, you’re quite alright. I don’t mind waiting for someone to find an authentic letter—especially one that I helped to write. If you’d like to pick up everything you brought with you, you may come in. I’ll show you to your quarters and explain how Headmaster keeps our school in tip-top shape.” Trent swung the door open further, allowing Kurt to enter with his two bags, and he swept an arm inward. “Welcome to Dalton Academy of Music.”

Kurt was sure his eyes must be as wide as dinner plates as he looked around the room. Everything he saw was exquisite. There were beautiful, long, wooden hallways that led off in both directions. Just in front of him was a beautiful grand spiral staircase with a gorgeous, dropdown chandelier hanging just beside it. The spiral staircase wound to the floor directly beneath the dome, and Kurt could see impressive metalwork and what looked like frosted glass decorating the ceiling in the dome. There was a long runner of red and cream fabric running down one hallway, and on either side of the grand spiral staircase were rooms that, while he could see the doorways, he could not see inside to know what lay beyond.

“I hope you’ll enjoy your time here,” Trent was telling him, already taking off for the room on the right. “Before I show you to your quarters, I’ll introduce you to our venerable Headmaster and see if he has any directives for you. I’m sure he’ll be delighted to meet you. You’re one of those students he already believes will have a brilliant and bright future. After reading your letter, I immediately remembered the conversations we had surrounding your enrollment.”

Following closely behind, Kurt tried not to look too shocked to see the inside of Headmaster Roderick B. Meeks office. There were large, cushioned chairs and a huge, glossy wooden desk. Bookshelves from floor to ceiling were lined with hundreds of volumes, each one with a leather cover and delicate writing on the spine.

“Headmaster, I’d like you to meet our newest student, Kurt Hummel. He’s only just arrived, and I’ve yet to take him to his quarters. I thought you’d like to make his acquaintance first, however.”

“Ah… Mr. Hummel…” Headmaster Meeks—a middle-aged man with hair that was swept in a neat side-part on his head—rose, holding out a hand to him. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I hope you’re doing well following your father’s passing.” There were little smile lines at the corners of his eyes as he shook Kurt’s hand.

Kurt frowned. “I’m doing as well as can be expected, I suppose,” he admitted. “If I may, sir, how do you know about that? I don’t believe we’ve ever had the pleasure of being in one another’s company.”

“So, your father never told you? He is the reason I’ve seen you perform, the reason a scholarship opportunity was extended to you. At least, I believe him to be. His was a letter that showed up on my desk one day, and it piqued my interest. He detailed your unequivocal talents—both with your voice and your flute—and your appearance with a company at a local theater, so I went out to listen to you when you performed in A Glance at New York . You were spectacular, positively astounding, and I knew right then and there that I wanted you to attend this school if you were interested. So, I was thrilled to get your letter of application a month or two later. There was no question in my mind that you deserved it. You have a power in your voice, young man, that is, by my assumption, unmatched by almost any. And I intend to teach you how to use it.”

“Thank you, sir,” Kurt said, already feeling overwhelmed from the praise he’d received. “That means a great deal to me. Again, thank you.”

“Of course.” Headmaster Meeks smiled at him warmly, accentuating the smile lines beside his eyes. “Now, I’d love to continue our conversation and become better acquainted. However, I’ve got quite a stack of work piling up on me, and I prefer to complete as many of my duties as I can before allowing myself to linger with my pleasantries. I hope you understand,” he said, regaining his seat. “Rest assured that I am leaving you in incredibly capable hands. Trent is the best man I’ve ever met, positively stupendous. He knows how to treat my students right, and I could not ask for a better assistant.”

“Oh, you flatter me, Headmaster,” Trent said, bowing his head, his cheeks blushing. “I’ll just give him a quick tour and show him to his quarters.”

“Excellent. I shall see you at dinner tonight, Mr. Hummel.”

Trent led him back out of Headmaster’s office, stopping in the foyer. He pointed down the hallway to their left. “If you take that hallway, it will lead you to the dining hall. Beyond that, there are a few classrooms used only for special events, and beyond that is the auditorium and the performance halls. We always give the year one students a tour of those areas on their first day, so you’ll find out more about them later. If you go that way,” he pointed toward the hallway on their right, “you’ll find first the professor’s offices. They hold conference hours during the school year, and you’re always welcome to come by their offices to ask questions or to seek help with an assignment. Beyond the professor’s offices are the classrooms where you’ll do your instructed learning. Past those are the practice rooms where one-on-one lessons are often held.”

“Are there groups that perform regularly?” Kurt asked. “Special choirs and things like that? Musical or theater programs?”

“All of that exists here,” Trent told him with a smile. “You’ll find, Mr. Hummel, that at a prestigious establishment such as ours, there are not many desires of the heart beyond our fingertips. I do not wish to speak without decorum, of course. We have our limits, though Headmaster and the rest of the faculty here at Dalton strive to give our students everything they could ever dream.”

“Sounds like heaven,” Kurt whispered.

“We like to think so,” Trent said with a chuckle. “Now, you’ll get a tour of the classrooms and professor’s offices on your first day as well. Today, we go upstairs. All student housing for year one and year two students is there. Follow me, please.”

Slowly, Kurt and Trent climbed the massive spiral staircase, and Kurt did his best to not gasp in delight at the brilliant views he could see from up there. Everything looked gorgeous, more magical and light the closer they ascended to the dome above them. Finally, when they crested the stairs, they were met with another long hallway that stretched out on either side. Another red and cream carpet lay down the center of this hallway as well. There was a much shorter hallway with only one door down it directly across from the staircase.

“As I said, this is where all the year one and year two students live. Most of these rooms are empty as many of our year two students will not return until tomorrow. However, that doesn’t mean that you can’t be here along with a few of our other eager year one students that have already arrived. If you’ll just follow me this way,” Trent said, beginning to walk down the left hallway, “I can show you which room will be yours.”

“Who lives there?” Kurt asked, nodding toward the short hallway with the singular door.

“Uh… Oh.” The question visibly made Trent stutter, and even his footfalls surceased for a moment before continuing; he was trying to pretend as though nothing had happened. “No-no one special.”

“So, any student can stay there then?”

“No. I-I’m afraid not.”

“Then what is it for?” Kurt didn’t mean to press the issue or pry into something that Trent seemingly had no desire to discuss, yet as soon as he’d noticed the door, he’d felt a strong urge to go there, to open it, to peek inside. He felt a calling in his heart that he needed to answer, and he was trying desperately to understand what it meant.

Trent sighed, stopping in his tracks and twirling to face Kurt. “I’ll just tell you before you hear all the stories from the year twos, threes, and fours. That room is…private. It belongs to the Angel of Music, and it is strictly —and I do mean strictly and unequivocally —off limits to any and all students. Headmaster has been forced to remove students from the school for breaking that rule, and I’m sure he would not hesitate to do so again should the need arise, even if it requires losing someone so inimitable and talented as you.”

“Who is the Angel of Music?” Kurt asked softly, glancing behind them in the direction of the door.

“At the present moment, no one knows for sure. He may be a ghost, perhaps not even real. Whatever the case, stay out of that room. In fact, stay away from that hallway altogether. You needn’t even approach the wall.”

“The wall?”

“At the end of the hall. It doesn’t concern you,” Trent said with finality, turning around and continuing to stride down the hallway as if nothing were the matter, as if he wasn’t in the least bit rattled.

He stopped in front of door 206 and unlocked it, shoving it open to let Kurt inside with his bags. “This is your room. You’ll find your own key inside the top drawer of the desk. Please remember to lock this room each time you leave. This is your private quarters, and we ask that you do not invite anyone over. We want each student to have a place of sanctuary. If you would like to get to know other students, have an evening chat as you become good friends with someone, or perhaps even host a soiree, we have many student lounge areas on the main level that are perfect for that, including our expansive library. We hope that you’ll find everything to your liking. If you discover that you are missing anything or need further accommodations, please let me know. We do our best to make our students feel like our school is their second home. As well, I’m to let you know that your room will be cleaned once a week, the bedding stripped from your bed and washed twice a month. Do you have any questions?”

Slowly, Kurt shook his head. That had been a lot of information to take in, and he felt he needed a few moments alone to absorb everything, especially since his heart rate was not yet back to normal after seeing the door at the end of the short hallway. “No, sir. Thank you.”

“Excellent. I’ll leave you to unpack your things and get settled, perhaps rest a bit after your long journey. We have dinner promptly at six. I look forward to seeing you in the dining hall.” Then Trent turned on his heel and left.

Kurt glanced around his room before taking a few more steps inside and letting the door close softly behind him. He didn’t know what to think of this room. It wasn’t that it was particularly large or overly fancy, and he thought that was at least part of what was drawing him to it. He felt at home there immediately, and that made his coming to Dalton seem that much more written in the stars. If his father’s letter, one that he’d never read, hadn’t been enough of a sign, this room certainly was.

He made his way over to the chest of drawers along the far wall and carefully unpacked the few outfits he’d brought with him, careful to lay his trousers into the drawer so as not to get them wrinkled, folding his dress shirts neatly so as not to crease them too much, and placing his long johns and stockings in a discreet third drawer should he have any visitors. He hoped he wouldn’t; he planned to follow Trent’s orders to a tee, yet he supposed that there was always the possibility of unseen circumstances arising.

After he was unpacked, having laid his sheet music and his flute out neatly on his desk along with the quill that he’d taken from his father’s writing desk at home and the few personal items he’d brought with him, he stashed his journal in the small table beside the bed and lay down on the mattress, surprised by how comfortable it was. He’d assumed he’d have a cot, so a full feather bed was surprising, as were the feather pillows lying at the head of it.

Gazing up at the ceiling in his room, Kurt thought about his father. And the more he thought about his father, the more he missed him. So, he did what he’d decided was the best alternative to talking to the man himself: he spoke aloud as if, from his place in another realm, his father would be able to hear him.

“Hello, Father,” he whispered, his voice barely making any sound. “I miss you terribly, yet I know that you’d be proud of me. I’ve made it. I’ve come to Dalton Academy of Music, and in just a day, I shall begin my studies to become one of the top musicians and entertainers in the world. I don’t know how you managed to get me in here or how you came to even know whom to contact here, but I’m glad you did. Headmaster came to see me perform, and he loved me, apparently. For whatever you’ve done and whatever you’ll continue to do in the future, thank you, Father. Thank you.”

↠↠↠ 

The following day and the first week of classes went very well for Kurt. He was introduced to his professors, and he was delighted that all of them seemed nice. He was also introduced to all his fellow year one students, and they all seemed pleasant, though none of them really seemed like the type he’d be more than acquaintances with. They were all much the same, hoping that they could be the top of their class and prove to the world that they were one of the best musicians. Normally, Kurt would say that he agreed with them; that, at least on the surface, seemed to be his dream, too. Where the similarities ended, however, was the root of their desire. So many of them wanted fame and fortune and power, though that was still hard to come by with nothing besides a few musical notes up one’s sleeve. However, Kurt wasn’t after the fame or the power, though he had to admit he’d dreamed of being the star on more than a few occasions. He was simply chasing the music. He wanted nothing more than to share his love and the joy of music with other people; whether or not it brought him fame was inconsequential.

He'd been quite pleased when he’d heard Headmaster’s lecture on surrendering to the music. He’d simply impressed on them the need to find what the song they were to perform was trying to tell them and to let that meaning seep into their delivery of the song. “Do not try to force your observations or intentions onto the music. Submit, instead, and let the music guide you.” Kurt had to say that he completely and unequivocally agreed.

It was on the ninth day of living at Dalton Academy of Music that Kurt first heard his name being called from the short hallway across from the stairs. At first, he couldn’t believe his ears. He paused at the top of the stairs, glancing around him, sure that one of the other year one students was playing a trick on him. When he heard his name called again, though, there was simply no mistaking the direction the voice was coming from.

“Kurt. Kurt Hummel.”

“Who-who’s there?” Kurt called back just as softly, afraid someone else was going to come down the hallway, hear him speaking to no one, and think him crazy.

“Come closer,” the voice beckoned. “Approach the wall at the end of the hall.”

“Why? Why should I? Who are you?”

“Kurt. Kurt Hummel.”

“Who are you?” he cried again, feeling that unmistakable pull in his chest building. He couldn’t explain it, didn’t understand why every time he walked past the short hallway, every time he looked in that direction, every time he even thought about it, he felt as though his body and mind were trying to persuade him to go closer, trying to convince him to go down the hallway, open the door, and look inside.

“Come closer. Approach the wall at the end of the hall.”

“Why?”

“Kurt. Kurt Hummel.”

Fed up with not getting any answers, Kurt dashed across the wooden floor and into the short hallway, stopping short just before the wall. His body screamed at him to turn to the door, to try the handle, yet he didn’t dare. The voice hadn’t told him to enter the room. It had merely instructed him to approach the wall at the end of the hall. “Now what?” He folded his hands behind his back, hoping to give off some sense of decorum despite how rapidly his heart was beating against his ribs.

“Would you like to learn how to sing? How to truly sing?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve been listening to you. I’ve heard you open your throat and make sounds that could rival those of even the most delicate songbird; you’re quite talented. Yet I can teach you what it means to truly sing.”

Despite no one being there to see him, Kurt could feel his cheeks flush pink with embarrassment. “I’m not that good,” he replied. “So many here are better than I can ever be.”

“So many here are after the wrong thing,” the voice told him. “Their avarice is offensive and appalling, yet I do not sense an ounce of that in you. Once you accept that you are a part of an elite group of voices which desires to share story through song and music, the better off you’ll be. There are few like you who take to the stage to share with the world, not to take something from it. And with my help, you can learn to be one of the best voices in this school.”

“I am not supercilious, here for fame or fortune or power,” Kurt said quietly. He felt this was important for the voice to hear. “I’m not here to make a name for myself. I don’t want to be the best. I just want to be good enough to share music with the world. It can be…” He’d not shared this with anyone so far, yet the words threatened to spill out of his mouth like too much water overflowing the top of a bucket. “It can be so healing, music. I just want to heal the world.”

“Then you deserve to be the best. You have pure and true intentions. I can tell you are unfeigned.”

“How? Who are you?”

“I already told you how; I’ve heard you sing. Many have wondered as to my name, yet few are graced with the knowledge. For now, you may call me the Angel of Music. Do you want my help? Or don’t you?”

“I-I do,” Kurt hurried. Though there was still not a bone in his body that desired to be the best musician at Dalton, his soul itself seemed to be crying out for every moment he could spend with this voice, this…man…beyond the wall. “I just want to know more about you. I want to see you. Why are you behind this wall?”

“That’s none of your concern. All you need to know is that you must come here every day directly after you finish your noon meal. All the other students will continue to dine, and you and I will have a moment of silence and solitude to focus our hearts and minds on the task at hand: teaching you to be the best musical storyteller this school has yet to see. Do you play an instrument?”

“The flute.”

“Bring it with you here each day. Should anyone question your purpose here, tell them you enjoy the acoustics for your instrument. That should keep them from your tail and prevent them from telling Headmaster on you.”

“What did I—Thank you,” Kurt said softly.

“You may ask.”

“What did I do to deserve to be given this special treatment?”

“You were you.”

Angel’s answer caught him off-guard yet filled him with ardor. “When did you—”

“I’m sorry. I must go. I’ll see you tomorrow after you dine.”

“Where are you going?” There was no answer. “Angel of Music? Are you there?” No answer.

With a furrowed brow, Kurt stepped away from the wall and back out into the main hallway, his head swimming with thoughts and wonders. There were far too many to process right then, and he wanted nothing more than to go back to his room, lie down, and try to sort them through in order to clear his head. At just that moment, however, Nick—another year one student who Kurt liked better than almost anyone else—stepped out of his room.

“Were you on your way anywhere?” Nick asked, giving him a curious look and a cautious smile. “Or would you like to go down to a practice room with me? There’s a new song that I’d like to try out, and I think the acoustics in the practice room will be perfect.”

Deciding that perhaps a distraction would do him good for a while, Kurt shook his head. “I’ve nowhere to go,” he answered. “I’d love to come with you. Is there any special reason you’re learning a new song?”

“There’s someone here I’d truly like to serenade.”

↠↠↠

The next day, promptly after finishing his food, Kurt made his way up the stairs and to his room, grabbing his flute before coming back to the little hallway and stepping tentatively up to the wall. His palms were sweaty, and his fingers shook like his voice as he said, “Angel of Music, are you there?”

There was silence from behind the wall, and Kurt’s brow furrowed in confusion. Had someone been playing a trick on him the day before? Had he only imagined that there was someone there?

He tried again. “Angel of Music? Are you there?”

After a beat of silence, in which Kurt was sure he wasn’t going to hear from him at all, there came the sound of a throat being cleared. “I’m here,” the voice said. “I’m sorry to have missed your first question.”

“Don’t let it trouble you,” Kurt replied, relief flooding him. “Wha-what would you like me to do?”

“Well, in order to instruct you on the truest way to sing from your heart, I must get to know you. Only the most engaging singers can tap into their innermost pains, dreams, and desires, and without knowing those things about you, I cannot help you.”

“So, you… You want to get to know me?” At the mention of that, Kurt felt as though his body was being heated by a roaring fire. It was as if he stood upon the hearth of everything he’d ever wanted, yet he didn’t understand how this could be. He’d only just met the Angel the day before—and really, “met” was a strong word, wasn’t it? Still, his heart felt a calling to get to know this voice, this Angel hiding behind the wall at the end of the hall. He wanted to know everything about him, wanted to understand who he was, wanted to… The realization overwhelmed him for a moment. He wanted to wrap the Angel up in his arms, he wanted to kiss him, he wanted to feel his heart beating against his own as their bodies leaned into each other, desperate for attention and love from one another. He wanted all these things without ever having seen the Angel’s face or gazing upon his body, a body he knew, without a doubt, he had; Trent had spoken of ghosts and figments of imagination, yet Kurt had never believed in all that. He knew that Angel had to be real. So, how could he want so much with someone unseen and only heard?

“Are you still there?” the Angel was asking, and Kurt quickly came back to reality, hoping no one had walked past him and seen him staring, as if in a trace, at the corner of the hall where the flooring met the wall.

“I’m here,” he whispered. “I’m sorry to have been so distant. I was caught up in my musings.”

“Tell me about them?”

And Kurt wanted to. He wanted to share his clairvoyance, tell him how much he longed for him, how he felt like there was a desire stirring so deeply inside him that, if he didn’t heed it, might try to tear its way out of his body just to get to the Angel. However, he didn’t dare, so he made up a story which, if he really thought about it, was nearly as true as what had actually been on his mind.

“I was thinking about my father.”

“You miss him terribly, don’t you?” the Angel asked. “I’ve heard you share a few times now that he passed not long before you arrived.”

“More than I can express. Most specifically, I was thinking about the night before I came here. I looked out my bedroom window at the stars, wondering if—wherever he’d gone—he, too, could see them. And then I blew him a kiss.”

“And what did your heart desire with that kiss?”

“It… It…”

“It’s alright.” The Angel’s voice was breathy and soft as he spoke. “You can trust me, Kurt. You can tell me anything. I’m right here.”

“I wanted him to know that his dreams and wishes for my life were coming true. Coming here to Dalton was…the culmination of his effulgent impact on my life. It was his dream for me to follow my dream here, and I know that he’d be proud of me. Looking down at me, he’d be glad to see that I’ve come here to be the man and entertainer he knew I could be.”

“And that is why I’ve chosen you,” Angel said.

“What do you mean?”

“Did you think that I assist each of Dalton’s students to be better singers? No. I’ve chosen only you.”

“I am honored, Sir. Thank you.”

“Please don’t call me that. There is no need to be so formal here.”

“Then what shall I call you?”

There was a long pause, and Kurt feared that the Angel of Music had found his question too bold, turned tail, and left him there, looking like a fool.

Finally, there was an answer. “Call me Angel.”

“Alright. I shall. Thank you, Angel, for taking me under your wing and guiding me with your tutelage.”

“’tis all my pleasure. Now, sing something for me, so that I may hear where we’ve yet to work.”

So, Kurt opened his mouth and let a tune flow from his lips that he was not sure was entirely inappropriate yet captured a feeling he hoped would sate the burning desire in his chest to tell Angel how he felt.

“Open thy lattice, love

Listen to me!

The cool balmy breeze is abroad on the sea!

The moon like a queen,

Roams her realms of blue,

And the stars keep their vigils in heaven for you

Ere morn’s gushing light tips the bills with its ray

Away o’er the waters

Away and away!

Then open thy lattice, love

Listen to me!

While the moon’s in the sky and the breeze on the sea!

Open thy lattice, love

Listen to me!

In the voyage of life,

Love our pilot will be!

He will sit at the helm wherever we rove,

And steer by the load-star he kindled above

His shell for a shallop will cut the bright spray,

Or skim like a bird o’er the waters away;

Then open thy lattice, love

Listen to me!

While the moon’s in the sky and the breeze on the sea!”

When he was finished, Kurt took a deep breath. That had not been the best performance he’d ever given. However, it had been all he could do when his nerves were skyrocketing at the prospect of singing in front of an Angel, who made his heart beat at a higher palpitation rate than normal, nevermind the lyrical content of the song and what it could mean between the two of them.

“I see…”

“What does that mean?” Kurt asked, his voice catching in his throat. “What does that mean, ‘I see…’? Did you hate my—” He cut off when he heard footsteps approaching, picking up his flute and beginning to play a waltz he’d learned many years before. The notes came out in fluttery excellence, and he swayed in time to the music, the tails of his brocade coat, embroidered with gossamer strands, blowing out behind him. He’d known it was overkill to wear that coat that day, but he'd wanted to look his best for Angel.

“You, there. Mr. Hummel. Whatever do you think you’re doing?” Trent asked him in a sharp voice. “Didn’t I tell you to stay out of that hall? Or do you wish to make me look like a buffoon?”

“Oh, I’m so sorry. Do forgive me,” Kurt said, putting down his flute and taking a few steps toward him. “I didn’t mean to disobey the rules. It’s just that the acoustics are so lovely here. I feel as though I’m surrounded by sound, and I rather love it. I’m given an opportunity to really feel the pieces I am playing.”

Trent gave him a soft smile at that. “Well, I did give you strict orders to stay out of there, though if you’re only listening to the acoustics, I suppose it’s acceptable to have broken the rules for your learning. I won’t report you to Headmaster this time.”

“Thank you, sir,” Kurt said, chagrinned that he’d been caught ignoring a direct order. “I appreciate that more than I can say.”

“See to it that, as soon as you’re done with your playing, you leave that hall straight away.”

“Of course, sir,” Kurt said, bowing once before resuming his flute playing. When he was sure that Trent had gone, he stepped a bit closer to the wall and whispered, “I believe he’s gone.”

“You’re very quick-witted. And obviously well-liked. Well done.”

“Thank you, Angel.”

“Come back tomorrow, Kurt,” the Angel said a moment later. “I’m afraid we’ve run out of time for today.”

“Oh, couldn’t you stay for a bit longer? I feel as though I’ve barely gotten to speak with you at all.”

“I’m afraid not. I’ll be back tomorrow. Good day.”

Sighing deeply, Kurt pressed his forehead against the wall for a moment, whispering to himself. “Who are you, Angel?” he asked the plaster, hoping he’d hear something—anything—in response. There was silence, however. “Who are you and why do you make my heart feel as though it’s going to beat out of my chest? At the mere mention of you leaving me, I feel as though my soul is going to fly away and alight with yours somewhere deep beyond that wall. I don’t understand what happened to me, yet I know that I long to be with you more than I dread to be apart from you.”

Little did he know, on the other side of the wall, the Angel of Music was also pressing his head against the cool surface, whispering. “If only you knew how much I adore you, how much I long to show you the man that I am beyond these confines. Out there, I am unable to be who I am without fear, and in here, at least, I am safe. I am free to be whoever I dare to be. I wish that I could be who I am with you. My heart calls for you. My body longs for you. My soul begs to be near you. I stand here and send all my wishes and joys and hopes for your happiness through this wall that conceals my face, my life from you. I can only hope that you find what you need in someone beyond this feeble man that I am, so unworthy of someone as spectacular and wonderful as you.”

↠↠↠

For the next few weeks, their noontime visits went on much in the same fashion. Kurt would hurry to snarf down his food and come flying up the stairs to his room in order to grab his flute and race to the hallway. He would spend a few minutes explaining something about himself to Angel, relating a tale from his past or something that he’d done that day in one of his music classes. Then, he would sing for Angel, doing his best to put into practice the things that he was asked to try. If anyone came by, he was quick to pick up his flute and pull out any song in his arsenal, happy to entertain others in order to keep Angel a secret. His secret. Only his secret.

One day, however, when there was a lull in their conversation, their lesson going longer than usual since Angel had not yet professed his need to leave, Kurt worked up the courage to ask him something that had been on his mind for what felt like forever. “Angel? May I ask you something?”

“Always.”

“It’s a personal question.”

“You may ask. I may not answer you, yet you may always ask me anything you wish.”

“Why can’t I see you?”

“I never show my face to anyone. You know that. You’ve asked me before.”

“Yes, but… Why? I want—I want to know you. I want…to touch your skin, look into your eyes.”

“If you knew who I was, you’d never want to so much as think about me, let alone touch me or look into my eyes.”

“Why do you think that?” The very accusation made his heart feel like it was bleeding.

“Because I’m not… If you knew more about me, you’d know you don’t want me.”

“I-I…” The words stuck in Kurt’s throat. He was shocked and appalled that Angel would dare to think such a thing about himself. I love you. I already love you, he thought to himself.

“There’s no point in trying to change my mind. I know who and what I am, and I know what the world would believe about me, what they do think of me. Trust me, you’re better off never seeing who I am.”

Frustration mounting, Kurt decided to push his luck, pointing toward the door he was forbidden from opening. “What lies beyond the door?” he asked.

“What door?”

“You know precisely what I’m asking you about.”

His comments and change of attitude seemed to throw Angel for a loop, surprised by the conflagration of anger in Kurt’s voice. He sputtered for a moment behind the wall, unable to formulate a word or sentence. Finally, he got out, “Nothing.”

“You won’t mind if I open the door then.”

“You can’t. It’s locked.”

“It’s not. I saw the handle turning after our lesson yesterday. I know I can open it.”

For a moment, there was a heat that neither Angel nor Kurt could have accurately described. It was a strange mix between anger and frustration, palpable want and desire that was raging like an inferno, piercing the wall like a fiery dart. It flowed through both of them, and they both knew where it was heading, what the culmination was about to be.

Finally, Angel mumbled out, “You wouldn’t dare.”

“I would. And I will. Now. I must know you, Angel. There is something in me that will not let me rest until I see your face.” Kurt closed the distance between himself and the door with two strides of his long legs, the tails of his coat flapping against the backs of his legs. He turned the handle of the door, and it spun easily in his palm.

“Please don’t. You won’t like what you see there. You’ll stop visiting me.”

“I could never. I’ll want you just as much,” Kurt whispered. “I need to do this.” The fire of anger had dissipated, leaving behind it all the need and desire and confusion he’d been feeling for weeks. “I have to know who you are. I need you.”

“I’m warning you; you won’t like what you find.”

“You might think that I will not. And yet, perhaps I will. There’s only one way to know.” And with that, he pushed open the door, his mouth immediately falling open at the scene that lay before him.

The room beyond the door was prodigious, the walls painted in an eclectic mix of color. Deep, dark black scribbles and words scratched over the paint first drew his eye, and he found that there were several patches like them all over the walls. It seemed that, at one point, a rainbow mural had been painted there, yet pieces of the wall had been missed, and in others, the color had faded over time.

As quickly as he had opened the door, Kurt let it slam shut again, his heart beating so quickly in his chest. “Angel, that was… What was… Are you—”

“That was a breach of trust,” came the snarl. “Didn’t like what you saw, did you? I told you to stay out of there, yet you directly defied me. I thought that I was beginning to foster some positive change in you, yet clearly, you’d prefer to invade someone’s privacy than respect boundaries. It’s clear to me that as much as you claim to search for the heart of music, as much as you claim to want to tell the story, you have never learned to respect anyone else’s story. Perhaps that’s meant to be your downfall after all. Goodbye, Kurt.”

“Angel, wait! You misunderstand. I loved it! I loved everything I saw! I simply did not understand it, yet I want to. Did you… Are you the artist? That was beautiful! Please, explain it to me. Let me inside your mind. That room is a vestige.”

There was no answer.

“Angel?”

Silence again.

“Angel!”

When his cry was met, yet again, with silence, Kurt pressed his back against the wall, sliding down until his bottom found the floor, and he cried into his knees, his arms wrapped securely around his bent legs, his flute forgotten on the floor. He didn’t care if anyone walked by, he didn’t care if anyone asked him what was wrong, and he certainly didn’t care what in the world anyone thought about him being on the floor like that. All that mattered was the pain ripping through his chest at the realization of what he’d done, how he’d just isolated the only thing he’d had going for him since he arrived at Dalton. Angel had been the highlight of his every day, and now he’d pushed him away in his need to know the person his heart was calling for, his inability to control his heart’s ambitions.

And the truth was that that knowledge only made Angel’s leaving more painful and hard to deal with. What he’d just witnessed was a truth about the man behind the wall—because Kurt knew unequivocally now that Angel was, in fact, a living, breathing man—that he couldn’t comprehend without Angel’s help.

On the other side of the wall, Angel was having a particularly hard time as well. He sunk to his knees, pressing his forehead against the cool, rough texture as he had before. “You have no idea how badly I wish to tell you who I am, to show you all that I can be. I just know that it would break my heart, though, to see you walk away, to discard me like so much trash as others have done before you. You would never be able to handle the me that I am if I cannot be the version of me that everyone wishes that I could be.”

↠↠↠

For almost a week, the lessons didn’t happen. Kurt still, like clockwork, went to the wall during his lunch, hoping with all his heart that Angel would be there and talk to him. Every day, his heart broke a bit more as he stood there, waiting for a response.

“Angel?”

Silence.

“Angel, are you there?”

No answer.

“Please talk to me, Angel. I want to apologize. I took it too far. I know that it’s no excuse, and yet I could not control the inferno within me. Please let me know you’re there, that you’re listening so I can tell you everything I need to say.”

Still nothing there.

Each night, following a noontime disappointment, Kurt would go to his room, look out his window, and talk to his father. “I wish that I could ask for your advice. You never led me down the wrong path, and you were always so wise; I could use wisdom right now. I know that I was wrong, that I pressed my luck. How do I bring him back to me, Father? How do I get him to listen to me explain?” The conversations, though soothing, helped little to break him from his disconsolation.

On the seventh day, Kurt didn’t have the energy to stand beside the wall. So, he slumped to the ground beside it, his back pressed against the cold plaster, combating the heat in his body that he always felt when he entered the short hallway. He cradled his flute in his arms, considering playing it so that he could at least spend some time near Angel, even if he wouldn’t speak to him. Somehow, he could sense that he was around. He decided to try talking to him once, not even slightly convinced that it would work.

“Angel, are you there?”

There was no answer.

So, in response, Kurt put his flute to his lips and began to play. He didn’t have the best breath support sitting there on the floor, his knees pulled to his chest, and he didn’t care. There was a song in his heart, a melody that he wasn’t sure he knew, yet he played it as if he were the most practiced musician in the whole school, the song memorized and learned like the intricate lines on the back of his hand. He played until he felt he had no more breath in his body, putting everything he had into the song, letting every emotion he felt about Angel and his disappearance leak into the song until he felt as though he might collapse. It was then that he played the last note feather-softly, letting it dance away on the otherwise silent air of Dalton Academy of Music. It had been his soliloquy.

Finally, he heard the most breath-taking sound he’d ever heard from behind him.

“You play so beautifully,” came a voice that had haunted his dreams for almost a week.

“Angel…” Kurt breathed. “You’re here! You came back to me!”

“I couldn’t stay away from you, Kurt. You move me, and listening to you play that melancholy melody just now… That was the moment for me a-about you. I knew then that I had to come back to you and listen, truly listen, to what you were saying, what you were telling me with your heart.”

“And what did you hear?”

“My ears have not been deaf to your whispered apologies the past few days, and there was a familiar note of sadness and apology in your song as well.”

“Yes! Yes! I’m so, so sorry for what I did. Opening your door, that was an invasion of your privacy, and I should never have done that, especially after you asked me not to. I would understand if you never forgave me, yet I needed you to know. I wanted you to be sure that I was sorry, even if you chose to never forgive me.”

“I could not live with myself if I never forgave you, Kurt. Of course, you’re forgiven. Because there was something else in your song, another emotional note that leads me to believe you had a very good reason for opening my door as you did.”

“What? What did you hear?”

“I heard…” Angel swallowed hard, so loudly that Kurt could hear it through the wall. “I heard love, Kurt. And I’ve never heard that emotional note in any other song before, at least not as clearly and as for me as I heard it today. Is… Just tell me, rip the bandage off quickly and bare the wound so it may bleed. Is it real?”

“It’s completely real. I have felt this connection to you, this draw for so long. Since the first day that Trent walked me past here and forbade me from entering this hallway, I felt drawn to you, to your door, to what lay beyond, even before I knew that you were beyond the wall.”

“You-you’ve felt it, too? That’s more than I’ve ever dared to dream, Kurt. I-I-“

“I love you,” Kurt pronounced, feeling as though the moment were slipping away with Angel’s inability to believe what he was telling him. “I don’t understand the pull, the fire in my belly at the sound of your voice or when I call you ‘Angel,’ yet I know that I never want it to end. I want it to grow and build and expand until it consumes me entirely. I want nothing more than to…to…”

“Are you saying that you dream of being with me?” Angel interrupted. “Speak clearly, please.”

“Yes. Yes, of course, I dream of being with you. I ache with want for it, for you. I-I know that if you just came beyond the wall, the need I’ve felt for you would be deeply fulfilled in a way that nothing else could ever fulfill these feelings burning within me. Except for one thing. Except for…a kiss.”

“Kurt, I—”

“Please, Angel.”

There was silence from beyond the wall, and Kurt was suddenly gripped by fear. Had Angel left him again? Had he pushed him too far? Had he said too much about what he was feeling? Was Angel gone again? For good?

He hung his head, burying his face in his hands as he began to weep, sure that he messed up too much to ever rectify the situation. He was so lost in his misery that he didn’t hear the sound of the door handle opening or the soft close of it behind a figure as it crouched down in front of him. He didn’t know anyone was there until a hand rested on his shoulder, startling him.

“Angel!” Kurt recognized him immediately as he looked into the kind, honey-hazel eyes in front of him. He was exactly as he’d imagined him: olive skin that was warm, the heat absorbing through his shirt, curly hair that lay in a wild mess all over his head and around his face, and a cute, compact, huggable body. He was everything he’d ever dreamed, and without even thinking about it, he launched himself forward, wrapping his arms around Angel’s neck. “You came out,” he whispered. “You came out from behind the wall.”

“I came out for you. You were… You are in love with me. You-you said—And I trusted… I…” He couldn’t finish speaking as tears came into his eyes, so he simply stopped, pressing a kiss to the skin of Kurt’s neck. “I came out for you,” he repeated softly. “Because I’m in love with you, too.”

“Thank you. Thank you. I do love you. I love you so much, more than words can describe or emotions can say. I love you.”

The two of them sat on the floor for a while, lost in each other’s embrace. They weren’t aware that they had an audience until someone cleared their throat from in front of them, and they both snapped their heads up to see who it was. They found Trent, hands on his hips, looking at both of them with a look that told Kurt immediately that he was incredibly displeased with him. That look, however, vanished the moment he laid eyes on Angel’s face. “Oh. Oh… I, uh, I… Um, I’m so… I’m so…” And then he scurried away without ever completing a sentence.

“Come,” Angel offered, holding out a hand to Kurt. “Let’s talk in my room, away from prying eyes and ears.”

Kurt nodded, taking his hand, and the first time that their bare skin touched was like sparks igniting from metal in the forge. As their fingertips brushed against palms, they felt something new forming inside them, as if a large blacksmith hammer were beating out a shape in their souls as their hearts pounded in their chests.

Following Angel into his room was a magical experience. This time, it felt different, much different than opening the door without his permission. Now, he was being led in, shown the space as if it were the sacred thing that it was, not something he wasn’t supposed to see.

Angel, once the door was shut behind them, let go of Kurt’s hand and moved to stand in the middle of the room, spreading his arms out on either side of himself and twirling in a small circle. “This is me,” he said softly. “This is the entire mess of a person that I am.”

“I-I don’t understand,” Kurt said, letting his eyes roam over the images he’d already seen, letting himself absorb—really absorb—the words scribbled in such harsh contrast to the beautiful splotches and swirls of color behind them. “Why do you think this is such a mess? I think it’s gorgeous.”

Angel’s cheeks blushed pink. “You think this is beautiful? How? It’s a sloppy…”

“No. I don’t think so. Can you explain why you feel that way?”

“I guess I have to start from the beginning.” Angel sighed, finding a spot against one of the walls to sit, patting the floor beside him for Kurt to sit down as well. “My grandfather Dalton started Dalton Academy of Music. He was prolific for his time, and he loved making music. It ran through his blood, and he enjoyed fostering the love of music in anyone he could. So, he started this school, spending years of his life collecting the funds to make it as wonderful as it could be. My father, of course, tried to follow in his footsteps, and while he was studying here, he met a woman and fell in love with her. Neither of them were particularly gifted; my grandfather simply didn’t have many rules for getting in at the time. If someone loved music, they were admitted, and he did his best to foster their love however it manifested in them. Anyway, she and my father had a wonderful life. I was born shortly before they left here to begin their careers, and while I was growing up, I lived on the stage, performing and singing. And I loved it. I loved every moment of it. I spent all my hours practicing and hoping to be the best that I could be. I didn’t understand at the time that I was paying all my parents’ bills.

“One day, while we were in a large city between performances, I went for a walk. I liked to go out and be among the people; I found them inspiring, and I would use what I saw in my performances. And while I was walking, I found a street artist. She was sitting behind her easel, painting the most beautiful picture of the sunrise over the city, and I fell in love. I spent all day talking to her, asking her questions about her work, her paints, her techniques, and anything I could think of. I wanted to do what she did, somehow combining art and music, and I was so sucked up into it that I missed my performance that night. My parents were, understandably, upset with me, demanding to know where I had gone and what I was doing, why I’d made them cancel the show. When I explained to them what I had seen and learned and what I wanted to do, in their anger, they forbade me from doing anything related to art. They were caught up in their love of money and relative fame that my being on the stage and singing songs could bring to them, and they believed that I should follow only their desires for me.

“So, for the next few years, I tried to. I tried to forget about the art that I’d seen and focus on the music alone. Yet, I couldn’t forget completely; her art had changed my life, and I wanted to do the same for other people. So, I began to sneak away as often as I could, under the guise of anything I could think of, to practice my art. And for a while it worked. It satiated the need in my body to make art and help people. However, I couldn’t hide it forever, and when my parents found out about me, they sent me to Dalton to rededicate my life to music.

“Thankfully for me, my grandfather was still here, playing Headmaster, and he understood my need. He respected the arts in all their forms, and he gave me this room and built me these walls to decorate as I saw fit, letting me be whomever I wanted to be as long as I didn’t miss my classes. When he passed away, however, my father came back to run this school and discovered what I had done. He tried to break me of it, and in response, I disappeared into the tunnels of the school. I disappeared into the caverns my grandfather had given me, and I never came back out.

“Eventually, my father missed the stage too much to stay here. He took a few of the more fame-hungry students here and left to try to find luck on the stage, and he hired Headmaster Rodrick to run the place, Trent by his side. They have done their best to respect my wishes of never being bothered, and in the time alone I’ve had, I’ve worked on this room. It’s all just a bunch of scribbles, though. I was never properly taught…” He sighed. “My desire for privacy, though, was why they forbade you to go into this hallway. It was against my wishes. However, I knew you were special, Kurt.”

Finally, Angel paused, turning from where he’d been staring across the room at another wall to look into Kurt’s eyes, grabbing his hands in both of his. Kurt opened his mouth to say something, and Angel beat him to it. “My tunnels go into the common room, and I saw your first performance on your second day of school. I knew you were different, that you could accept me if I just opened my heart. Yet I was so terrified. That connection I felt with you was like no other connection I’d ever experienced in my life, and while I knew that, I’d also tried before to connect with other students, and they’d always believed that I was wasting my time. And because of our connection, I knew I couldn’t bear to have you reject me, to believe me a better talent than you and to want nothing to do with me in the search for your own fame. I couldn’t let you see who I was and then tell me I was wrong to be myself. That’s why I tried to get you to understand the story in the music, to live to tell that story, not to be noticed. And you tried and succeeded . Still, I kept you at arms-length until you just wouldn’t let me anymore. You see me…”

“I see you, and I love every part of you,” Kurt whispered. “Looking around in here, I can see the parts of you that have been hidden for so long, and I embrace it all. I think it’s beautiful, and I want you to explore that. I want you to help people with your art, no matter its form, because I believe in you. I believe it can help people. And I don’t care if you are an amazing talent, better than me or not. I support you, not what you can do to support me.”

There was a long pause, and Kurt wasn’t sure what to say. He’d laid out his heart, and he could see the wheels turning in Angel’s head, yet he wasn’t speaking at all. Just as Kurt was about to rescue him, Angel spoke.

“You’re not going to comment or inquire about what happened?”

“What on Earth are you talking about?”

Angel turned a quarter turn, showing his right cheek to Kurt. “My scar…” he breathed. “You’re not going to ask about it?”

Kurt sucked in a breath, reaching out a hand to trace it gently. He half-expected Angel to shy away from the touch. Instead, he leaned into it, seemingly seeking comfort. “I didn’t even notice…” Kurt whispered. “I was…just so happy to finally see you, to finally meet you face to face that it didn’t even register with me to be concerned about it. It’s a part of you, and I’m already in love with every part of you. Even this scar.”

A choked sob escaped Angel’s lips, and he collapsed into Kurt’s arms, wanting to soak up his love. After a few moments of cathartic crying, he sat up a bit, wiping at his eyes. “How are you real?” Angel asked. “How are you the only person on this earth who believes in me? Who doesn’t see only the ugly parts of me?”

“Do you believe in soulmates, Angel?”

“I-I don’t know. I’ve never really thought about it. I’ve been caught up in sadness and pain for years.”

“I understand completely. I, however, believe in soulmates. I believe that there is a person out there for everyone, and I think we’re the people made specifically for each other. I think we were meant to find one another, to feel this fiery connection blazing between us. I’ve never felt this with anyone else, and I never want to feel it with anyone else. Just you." He paused, gazing lovingly at Angel. "Do you want to tell me how you got it?" he finally asked, his hand still pressed against Angel’s cheek, no longer touching the scar but caressing along his jaw.

"I often had to hide from my father whenever beseeching him to accept me as I was, both the art and music that I loved, took a turn for the worst. One afternoon, I was in a hurry to hide again, and in trying to get behind one of the walls,” he pointed toward the back of the room, “I took the corner too short. It was no one’s fault. Just my own, really; I knew that it was dangerous inside the caverns of the school, yet I wasn’t very careful. An unsecured nail sliced into my cheek, and I didn’t stop running until I was sure I was well hidden… I had no idea how bad it was at the time. It wasn’t long after that my father gathered his performers and left. I could have come out after that, left the caverns. However, I was too afraid of what everyone would say, what they would think of how I looked." He began to sniffle again.

This time, Kurt leaned over and let his lips press lightly against the scar, the feeling almost like a ghost against Angel’s skin. "This changes nothing," he breathed. "I still want to be with you. All of you. And I…” He paused, not sure if he should say what he was thinking.

“What is it?” Angel pressed.

“I think my father may have known somehow; I think he may have helped to lead me here, helped me to find you. No matter what, though, it doesn’t matter. Angel, I love you.”

“Do you… Do you mean that? You’re sure? Despite this?” He was hearing the words coming from Kurt’s mouth, and he still couldn’t believe them.

“I’m completely sure. And to show you how sure I am, I think that you should make your grand debut. I-I’d like to be on your arm. If you’ll have me?”

“I-I don’t know. What will everyone say?”

“I don’t care what they say. I love you. I’ll be by your side the entire time. I promise I won’t leave you.”

“Do you swear?”

“I swear.”

Kurt leaned in and pressed a kiss to Angel’s lips that felt to both of them as though it was the only thing that mattered in the whole world, the only thing that would keep them living, even if they lost air to breathe and water to drink. After pulling away, breathless, Kurt rose to his feet and held out a hand to him. “Come on, Angel.”

“It’s Blaine. Blaine Dalton Anderson,” Angel replied, taking his hand, rising to his feet, and following him out the door once more, this time to show the world who he was and who he was meant to be: Kurt Hummel’s Angel, his Angel of Music.