(A/N): Hello again! The idea for this fic came to me during Dalton: Witnessed, but I wanted to finish that before I started on a new story.

This would have been posted a lot earlier if I wasn't still so scared of my writing being horrible. I have the first 4 chapters written already—they sort of get everything set up. At least you'll (most likely) get regular updates! (I was thinking every Thursday? Maybe?)

This story is definitely AU. Burt is not the loving, accepting father that we all know him as. And our Kurt is not quite the same either. *More info in bottom A/N.

Also: The story will be rated T for now, until some later chapter walks in and I feel the need to change it.

(A/N): Update: Greetings from the future. Sorry about the two and a half year hiatus. The previously mentioned fear of failure remains, and other shit happened and this fic kind of fell to the wayside. But while I don't want to abandon this, reading it definitely makes me cringe at parts. So if you guys are getting notified a bunch, I'm going through and editing, both to re-familiarize myself with the story and to fix any glaring mistakes or general horribleness. Hopefully it'll both improve and be completed. Thanks to anyone who has stuck around. I've had the next chapter over half way done for years, so if people are still interested, I can begin working on it again.

Disclaimer: Nope. I still don't own Glee…

In the Absence of Color

Chapter One: Prologue

-:-Kurt-:-

"Kurt, hand me that plastic container."

I sighed. I'm tired of doing little menial tasks like these. I was just as capable, if not more, than my father at repairing these cars. Besides, I was just itching to get my hands on the vintage that had just rolled in. But Burt would never let me touch it. It was such a shame.

"Kurt," Burt persisted, shooting me a look over his shoulder. I shook myself, trying to focus as I turned to the rack. I wouldn't be doing myself any favors if I screwed around now.

"Which one?" I asked, my eyes scanning the rows upon rows of uniform plastic containers.

"The red one."

I bit the inside of my cheek to hold back my words, my eyes falling shut. He was really going to do this to me? With a deep breath, I opened my eyes and searched harder, the exercise feeling utterly futile. I glanced down at my shirt. I thought I remember this shirt as being red. Comparing it with the color of the cans, I grabbed the one I felt was closest and hoped for the best.

I stepped cautiously towards Burt, extending the can out in front of me. I held my breath.

"I said the red one." Burt huffed and glared at me before turning away and muttering under his breath.

I frowned at the offending can before gingerly setting it back on the shelf. If I complained now, things would just get worse later.

I tried to get more information surreptitiously. "What does it say on it?"

He wasn't going to bite. "It's the only red one on the shelf, Kurt."

Okay, that's something. What single can stood out from the rest? That one. This time I was sure I got it right.

"Kurt, that's purple."

I sighed. It was going to be a long day.

I called Mercedes for some much needed girl time, in a bad mood after spending my afternoon in the garage.

She arrived within minutes. "Bad day?" she questioned as she pulled me into a hug.

I smirked and shrugged my shoulders. "It took me 20 minutes to find the red can."

She smiled sadly. "C'mon, let's go coordinate your outfits for this week." Mercedes tugged me down the staircase, metaphorically screeching to a halt in front of my admittedly impressive closet.

We spent the next while digging through the clothes, muttering things like "No, I was talking about the other green one!", "Is this that maroon one you mentioned earlier?", and "Kurt! This shade of blue will look amazing with your eyes!"

Mercedes dragged me in front of the mirror, modeling the shirt in front of me and smiled appreciatively. "I have a good eye."

She was right. At least from what I could see, it also went with my skin tone. Props to Mercedes.

"Oh, what would I do without you?" I cried, clutching her arm dramatically.

"Be fashionably inept."

Mercedes left not too long after, taking with her the easy air of lightheartedness that had been a welcome distraction. I flopped down onto my bed, staring up at the ceiling, looking around my room—doing anything to maintain a steady stream of idle, meaningless thought in my head.

I studied my walls, my closet, my floor, my desk. Grey, black, white.

That's all I saw. And all I've ever seen.

You know how people always muse about how they would explain a color to an alien? Well, consider me an alien by all means.

I, Kurt Elizabeth Hummel, am seventeen years old, but I could not tell you the difference between blue and green, yellow and white, red and purple.

Really though, people put too much stock into colors. What is their purpose, really? They're nothing but a mask, a shield. Hiding the hate, the emotions, the secrets that lie beneath everything in this world.

So in the absence of color, what is there for one to see?

(A/N): Hope you liked it! Here's some extra background information that may be helpful, especially in later chapters.

Kurt is colorblind, and his specific type is extremely rare: Cerebral Achromatopsia. To dumb it down a bit, there's nothing wrong with his eyes (the rods and cones) but the signals aren't getting processed or even reaching the brain. Also, it's not hereditary.

Some symptoms of this type of colorblindness:

-Inability to differentiate colors

-Severe light sensitivity

-Long-sightedness

-Involuntary eye movements

So this and the next chapters are sort of setting up the basis for this story.

Hope you enjoy. Until next time!

~DFTBA and Best Wishes!