I'm thoroughly miffed that I didn't/don't have time to do all the Klaine-week stuff properly, but this is all you're getting :)
Ever since you were tiny, tagging along after your mother in the grocery store because the little seat in the trolley was the perfect size for that bag of apples, so you'll just have to walk, and there was this beautiful boy who looked so fragile and small, but so happy, perched up there in his mother's arms while she juggled a basket and a box of fruit. His blue-grey eyes sparkled with delight as his mother whispered something in his ear, and you felt tears prick at the corners of your own as your mother scolded you for dragging your feet.
Ever since you were just a kid, kicking a ball around in the dirt next to the playground in the park, and you were watching that pretty boy who was swinging all by himself and wandering whether you should go over there and ask him to play with you, because he looked lonely and sad, and you bet he has a pretty smile. But then some bigger boys pushed him off the swing, and you were all ready to go charging over there in all your seven-year-old fury, but your dad stopped you, spitting out a filthy word. You didn't know what it meant at the time, but it must have been something bad, because he said the pretty boy deserved what he got, but that couldn't be right, could it?
Ever since you were fourteen and your dad told you he'd rather they'd killed you and your mom just hid behind him, nodding, and your one friend had moved across the state, so you decided to run away, go and stay with him, but you must've gotten on the wrong bus. You never found out where it was that you'd ended up – all you knew was that you had a broken arm and two ribs, a backpack full of clothes, and you were just so tired of it all. You never knew what exactly you would've done had you not seen that boy, with the knee length sweater and leggings, get pushed over into a puddle by a bunch of other boys and, oh, the look on his face! He didn't react to their jeering, though – just stood up and brushed himself off with so much dignity that you wanted to applaud. The bus ride back to Westerville was a sodden one, but you spent it playing that moment over in your head, both silently thanking and admiring that boy.
Ever since you were sixteen and Cooper had gone off to college, so it was just you and your parents left. You were so glad that he'd managed to persuade them to send you here to Dalton, because otherwise you'd be stuck at home with that ever-present feeling of being unwelcome and unloved, and invisible. It was better at Dalton – you could sing – but there were no proud faces in the audience, smiling up at you, no family to come and congratulate you at the end. But then there was a hand on your shoulder, a flash of blue-grey eyes and an embarrassed smile. Then there it was – that proud, enraptured face in the crowd, with eyes only for you. Then there was coffee, and a slight squeeze of the hand, because, god, he was so brave. You left him your number, you know, just in case.
Ever since those flirty little duets and memorising his coffee order and, hang on, was it non-fat or de-caf? But it can't be any more than that, because he can't be ready for it yet, not yet, not so soon after what he's been through. So you just watched him heal and grow and fell in love with him a little bit more each time he smiled. And then it was blackbird singing in the dead of night that really made you see that oh, there he is – you've been looking for him forever.
Sorry about the lame ending… thoughts?