Disclaimer: Me no own Glee.

"This is impossible." Blaine groaned and dropped his head to his desk. He was happy Kurt couldn't see the expression on his face as the countertenor began rubbing his back encouragingly.

"It's not impossible, you just have writer's block." Kurt sat down next to his friend, snatching a red pen off the desk and crossing out Blaine's latest poem. "You write songs all the time. Poetry shouldn't be this hard for you."

"It shouldn't, but it is!" Blaine crumpled the paper and threw it in the garbage. His dorm room was littered with wads of notebook paper, each deemed unacceptable for his English assignment. "Songs rhyme. Mrs. Holden said it can't rhyme." He scrunched up his face and said in a screeching voice, "'You aren't a fifth grader, Mr. Anderson! Learn to broaden your horizons!'"

Kurt sighed. Blaine was being quite the pessimist. "You just need to try writing something other than your project, then go back to it later. Write some practice poetry!"

"Fine. What do I write about?"

Kurt laughed. "You don't need me to tell you that. Just write about something that you have a passion for. Something important." He gave Blaine a pat on the back and grabbed his bag, heading to the door. "I'll come back and check in on you before I go to bed. And I swear to Gucci, if I see even one rhyme I will have a fit!"

"Great. Thanks." Blaine opened up to a clean page in his notebook.

"You'll be thanking me for real when you've finished that project." Kurt smiled and closed the door, heading back to his room. He loved helping Blaine, but he had his own pile of homework to complete.

Kurt yawned, glancing at his watch. It was just past eleven, and he hoped Blaine would still be awake. The brunette could see a beam of light shining from under his friend's door, but there was no answer when he knocked. "Blaine?" The door was unlocked, and Kurt crept in quietly. Blaine's head was resting on his folded arms. He snored ever so often, deep in sleep. Kurt smirked and picked up the papers stacked on Blaine's desk. Shuffling through, Kurt saw poems about Dalton, singing, a few about Blaine's family, courage, and... whoa.

At the top of the page, written in a neat scroll, was Kurt's name. He let out a small gasp and hid the poem as Blaine began to stir. "Kurt? Is that you?" The older boy rubbed his eyes.

"Yeah, it's me," he said, shoving the poem into the waistband of his pajama bottoms. "Why don't you go to bed? We'll talk in the morning." Blaine nodded sleepily and got up. He took off his jacket and dress shirt, throwing them on the couch before collapsing into bed. Kurt quickly left and ran to his dorm.

It took all of his willpower not to read the sheet of paper before reaching his room. When he finally made it back, Kurt flew to his bed and scanned the poem with hungry eyes.

Kurt

I stop and
Listen to you sing
Out, your clear
Voice louder than
Everyone else as
You sing to me and
Only me, lifting
Up my spirit

The sharp cry of Blaine's alarm clock woke him up the next morning. He slammed the snooze button and rolled out of bed, walking past a piece of notebook paper taped to the wall. Confused, Blaine plucked it down and took notice of the neat red ink in the corner of the page.

Blaine-
Congrats! You didn't rhyme once!
-Kurt
P.S.- I love you too.

A/N- If you didn't quite understand the poem, here's a hint: The left side is very important.