A/N: This is possibly my first multi-chaptered fic. The future depends on you, the readers. If this first chapter goes over well, I'll continue it. This first chapter is told by the season 2 boyfriend, Sam, who is obviously talking about Kurt (I had to explain that for this chapter is told mostly in pronouns for effect). See you at the bottom!

I stroll down the hallway, secretly watching him strut in the opposite direction, chin held high. Any newcomer would think he's the principal's son or something by the way he walks down the halls like he owns them. Of course, this person couldn't have met the principal or have watched my "teammates" throw him mercilessly into the dumpster. Even though he's forced to endure those tortures, he still walks the same; confidence radiating from his impeccable posture as he slightly swings his hips as he walks. I lean against a locker, head following his retreating figure as I dig my hands into the pockets of my American Eagle hoodie. I don't flaunt my letterman jacket proudly and shove it in people's faces like the rest of the team; I'm different from them.

Two of my letterman jacket clad teammates shove him into a wall of drab lockers, reminding me of a red cardinal with a broken wing against a grayscale winter landscape. So what if I'm poetic, it's not like I talk that way and make those thoughts known to the world. His books fall, scattering across the floor as an annoyed, frustrated look dominates his angelic features. People snicker and kick the resident "flamer's" belongings, somehow finding it amusing. I take the perfect opportunity to be a knight in shining armor to my damsel in distress and run to pick up the farthest-kicked books. As I pass, I give the football players' signature death-glare to the book-kickers because there is only one kicker, my kicker; and I want to prove to him that I am different.

Most of the students just walk around me, blind to my actions. The ones who do notice, however, confront me with looks of confusion since they've never seen someone like me, a jock, helping "the queer" pick up his books, or anyone else try to help for that matter. Why should a simple act of courtesy confuse anyone? Whatever happened to good old-fashioned manners? I just don't understand society sometimes. I guess I'm just different.

I take the last of the books scattered around me, dusting them off and checking for damage. I stand and turn to find his face unimpressed. He lets out an exasperated sigh as if he expects me to continue the abuse, so his eyes widen to sea-green saucers when I hold the books out to him, smiling a half-smile and making my brown eyes look as innocent as possible. He blinks repeatedly, expecting to wake up, before hesitantly stepping forward to take the books in his own hands.

His hand brushes against mine for a brief moment as we make the exchange and I feel one of those completely cliché, sappy sparks that nearly makes me fall over, heart still. After the pause, though, it picks up to a rate faster than a wild stallion (ugh, there I go with the poetry again). Of course he doesn't feel it, he only has eyes for Finn Hudson, a jock so similar to me yet lacking in comparison in the intelligence department. Sometimes, I just want to shake him awake, to snap him out of his dream of running through the fairytale meadows with a boy who can't reciprocate his feelings because it must hurt so effing much. See, I don't want to see him hurt like some of my "friends"; I'm different.

He looks at the books and back up at me, sea-green irises sparkling and lets a timid "Thanks" escape his lips in his beautifully distinct voice. He smiles crookedly, one dimple being exposed on his rosy cheek, and walks away. He doesn't see me admire his thick, lustrous, chestnut hair bouncing, the hair I'd like nothing more than to knot my fingers through. He doesn't see my eyes follow every sashaying motion of his as he picks up to his usual strut. He doesn't see my pathetic, lovesick expression as he walks away from one of the only boys in this town that can ever reciprocate the feelings he doesn't have for me. He can't feel the ache of my shattering heart as he is probably feeling the same way longing for Finn. You see, I'm gay. I'm a gay football player and I am madly in love with Kurt Hummel, and that is something very different from the rest of the jocks.

Should I continue this, or should it be left as a one-shot? Comments/Critiques/Reviews are love! 3