"Please?" Kurt pouted. "I promise it'll be amazing. It'll be so, so much fun and really wonderful and I promise you won't regret it."

Blaine started twiddling his fingers nervously. "I don't know…"

"I'll never ask you for anything ever again in my entire life," Kurt swore.

Shaking his head, Blaine pulled Kurt up by the shirt from where he'd been resting on Blaine's chest for a kiss. Kurt squirmed until he could reach Blaine and then sighed into the kiss, sounding very content.

"Kurt," Blaine informed his boyfriend's lips, "You're a terrible liar."

Kurt groaned and buried his face in Blaine's neck. "I know," he whined, giggling as Blaine tickled the side of his stomach.

"It's not that I don't want to," Blaine clarified. He was rubbing circles into Kurt's skin where his shirt had ridden up. "I just don't think that it's something that's exactly…encouraged."

"Scrnnns mmmfh I harfhhh nemms," Kurt mumbled half into Blaine's throat and half into his pillow.

Blaine turned over so that he was mirroring the way Kurt was pressed into the pillow. "You wanna run that by me again?" he teased.

"I said, 'Screw society. I have needs.'" Kurt rested his cheek against Blaine's shoulders, tapping his fingers one by one on Blaine's lower lip almost absentmindedly. "Please?" he begged once more.

Blaine groaned and covered his face with his hands. "You are making this really hard for me."

"Good, that means you're close to cracking," Kurt said eagerly, beginning to bounce up and down with excitement. "If I added a cherry on top of this please while simultaneously making it pretty, would you go?" He batted his eyelashes.

God, he knew what those stupid, long eyelashes could do to Blaine.

"No?" Damn, he'd meant for it to come out more determined, but instead it came out as a question.

"What can I do to convince you?" Kurt said, raising an eyebrow. He straddled Blaine in a flash, pressing his hips down onto Blaine's very unsubtly. "Does this help?"

"I still say no," Blaine managed to choke out just before Kurt closed the gap between them.

"Mmm, do you?" Kurt doubted as he kissed Blaine softly.

He could feel Kurt's fingers curling against his shirt, catching the fabric between his knuckles. Then there were his toes strategically placed above the heel of Blaine's foot, pressing into the sensitive stretch between heel and calf. Blaine was carefully cataloguing into his memory the way Kurt was pressed against him, the perfect distribution of his weight.

But above all, he paid special attention to Kurt's lips, which were currently encompassing his own. To this day it still amazed him that Kurt wasn't tired of kissing him. Honestly, he was sure they'd kissed about a million times by now, give or take a few. It was difficult to imagine that there had been a time when Blaine could count the number of kisses they'd shared on his hands. There had been a time when he walked away thinking, "That was our fifth kiss," and so on and so forth.

Now this kiss didn't have a number. It was just another kiss, one in a montage of many; and yet not. This kiss was still wholly its own; a stand-out amidst others. How could he possibly compare this kiss to another kiss when right this second, Kurt's tongue was running along the curve of his lower lip? When he pulled back just so when things were getting heated only to press even closer when he returned his lips to Blaine's – a total turn on? How could he not be fully involved in this moment when Kurt's hands were slipping beneath his shirt and tracing his back and his sides, careful to dip along the segments he knew were the most susceptible to his touch?

Oh there was no doubt that Kurt Hummel was the master of the kiss, administering it carefully and slowly, to Blaine's liking. Blaine made sure to hum his appreciation as he felt Kurt's hand coming to rest on his neck, his fingers trailing across the pressure points with a feather-light touch. He opened his mouth a little wider, parting his lips and his teeth to let Kurt's tongue slide against his, suddenly a little more urgent than before.

Then it was like they were having a whole new conversation. What was the question Blaine had been trying to answer? He'd already forgotten because of how Kurt was wrapped around him. Well, who cares, he liked this conversation much better; the only exchange being the light smack of their parting lips, the only answers being a hand here, a thrust of the hips there, a desperate grab accompanied by a giggle with just a hint of lust. The discourse pertained of their sharp intakes of breath, switching off from one person to the next as they retaliated with deeper kisses and calculated tongue placement.

"Hmm?" Kurt asked as he pulled away just enough to pull Blaine out of the moment.

Blaine couldn't remember what they'd been discussing before and, damn, it was hard to concentrate and try to remember when Kurt's lips were right there. And they looked so soft, and kissable, a little red from where Blaine's teeth had unconsciously come into play, but that was fixed easily enough… Oh, right, the question.

"No?" Blaine asked. "I mean yes, I still say…no?"

His last "no" came out a little breathy and definitely an octave higher as Kurt lowered his head and started kissing Blaine's neck very…erm, suggestively.

Blaine tried to keep his face blank and his body still, honestly he did. But when Kurt started nibbling on the column of his throat, he lost it. He bit down on his lip and fought against it, but he couldn't control his fingers threading into Kurt's hair, holding him closer as he licked up and up and up, along his jawline and forging a path to his ear. Nor could he control the way he flexed his feet or pressed his hips closer to Kurt's. His breathing was starting to get borderline shameful on the loudness scale which made forming words, much less protests, difficult to do.

"N - " he began as Kurt switched sides and, oh God, that felt amazing. His eyelids closed as he hooked a leg around Kurt's hip as Kurt simultaneously started sucking on his earlobe, humming low in his throat as he did so. "Y-Yes…"

"What was that?" Kurt asked triumphantly. "Was that a yes?"

"N-No," Blaine said, his eyes flying open as he regained his concentration. He put a good five inches between himself and Kurt's mouth – a wide enough berth to allow some sense to come to him. "I mean…It was a yes, but not for the reasons you…thought it was a yes."

Yes, clearly his deft argumentation abilities were coming back to him now.

"No, you said yes," Kurt insisted, a huge grin on his face. "You said yes to my proposal."

"Kurt, I…" Blaine began. He rubbed his neck where Kurt had been kissing him, hoping some circulation would make the lingering tingling sensation go away. "I don't even know what we were talking about," he confessed.

That just made Kurt smile even wider. "That was the point," he said.

"Well, refresh my memory."

"Gladly," Kurt purred, leaning down to resume his dirty work.

Blaine could hardly protest because Kurt had him pinned down. He had slipped his fingers inbetween Blaine's and was flat out straddling him. No escape – not this time.

Kurt used his teeth to unbutton the topmost button of Blaine's polo, exposing a bit more skin which he immediately covered with his lips. When Kurt began to speak between kisses, Blaine could feel his lips blossoming across his chest with every word, his breath warming the skin with every delectable syllable.

"I was asking you," he said, "To agree to join me - " Teeth sinking into skin, oh. "Well, the rest of the glee clubbers as well, but mostly me." Licking his Adam's apple. "Only me - " He let his breath trail across Blaine's sensitive skin. "Just me, in fact – for Senior Ditch Day. And I promise – no, I swear on all that is holy. And by that I mean my entire closet – that it'll be the most fun you've ever had…" He began sucking Blaine's neck lightly, causing him to shudder. "Save what happens in this bed," he clarified.

Blaine had managed to slip his hands out of Kurt's, but the only thing he could do at this point was clutch Kurt to him and hope his fingernails would leave tiny, angry little half-moon shapes in Kurt's back to let him know how much this affected him. Well, for lack of a better word.

"Kurt," he managed to gasp. "I can't…c-can't think when you're doing…that."

"Mmmm," Kurt murmured, moving to brush his lips against Blaine's. "That's the idea."

"I still say no," Blaine blurted out. "You should…go ahead without me…" Kurt's hands were travelling to more dangerous territory now, blatantly ignoring him. "I shouldn't skip school with Finals a month away anyways."

"Always responsible," Kurt mocked. "I'm going to make you one final offer," he said with a smirk.

"Fine," Blaine accepted. "What is your final offer?"

Kurt was lifting up Blaine's shirt and pressing small, wet kisses across the lower stretch of his stomach. His hands practically yanked open the snap of Blaine's jeans, almost ripping the button off and then he was shoving any and all fabric out of his way.

"This," he said as he lowered his head.

Then Blaine didn't do much talking after that.

"I said no," Blaine snapped.

Kurt's eyebrows shot way up. "Whoa, sorry for asking you to do something fun with me," he apologized sarcastically. "I know it's been a rough week for you but you don't have to get all snippety with me. I was just trying to make you feel better."

Blaine sighed and ran his hands through his hair, dragging his fingers forward and unhinging his perfectly smoothed hair until it was as ruffled and insane as he must've been feeling. He let out what can only be described as a low growl of frustration. Honestly, he growled – like an animal.

"I'm sorry," he said softly from where he sat on the couch. "That was rude and I didn't mean it. I've just been so stressed what with Coop here and all that. Like suddenly my parents want to talk and have family dinners and bonding time, but it's all about Cooper and what he's been doing, which other commercial actors has he met. Has he dated the T-mobile girl yet? Does he have an in with the All-State guy? It's such bullshit," he complained. "It's been…tough, to say the least. And you're right – I shouldn't be taking it out on you."

Kurt gave him a sad smile and a tiny nod. "I know it probably sucks to have the successful actor that is Cooper Anderson living under your roof again for a week. And then you can't even escape him at school because he's always there," he went on to say as if just realizing it. "Look, I get it. Which is why I'm saying ditch McKinley High, ditch Airhead Anderson, and come with us to Six Flags tomorrow."

"I can't," Blaine told him.

"You weren't so sure after I gave you my final offer last week," Kurt said with a smirk.

"What was said and done then cannot be held in any way against me," Blaine sniffed.

Kurt continued smirking from where he was perched on the Anderson's marble island in their kitchen, adjacent to the living room. "I could convince you again if you'd like."

He got a rush of immense satisfaction to see the blush creep across Blaine's face until he was forced to bury it in his hands.

"Keep your mouth away from me, Hummel," Blaine commanded from behind his fingers. "And Coop's going to be home any minute now. We wouldn't want him to have material to blackmail me with on top of everything, would we?"

Kurt just crossed his legs and shrugged. "He could join in."

"Kurt."

"Just thinking out loud," Kurt said nonchalantly. "Don't mind me."

"I thought I was your favorite Anderson," Blaine pouted from the couch.

"No, you are," Kurt told him. "It's just that the two of you have amazing…genes." He giggled to himself at the possible pun.

Blaine checked his watch. "I'm calling it. 3:36pm – Kurt Hummel, fallen victim to the ever-popular Cooper Anderson."

"Do I detect a little jealousy?" Kurt asked.

"Oh you detect a lot of jealousy," Blaine grumbled. "Stupid, perfect brother…" His choice of words that followed were less than gentlemanly.

"So again I say," Kurt began as he slunk up behind the couch. He let his fingers travel down Blaine's body, whispering directly in his ear, "Ditch."

"I really can't," Blaine groaned. Well, he started groaning, but it kind of transitioned into a hum of approval as Kurt's hands travelled, well, south of the equator and as he started nibbling on Blaine's ear. "Kurt, I can't – even if I wanted to."

"Mmmm why not?" Kurt asked, letting his hands roam as he leaned over the back of the couch.

"Because Coop wants to take me shopping after school tomorrow," Blaine explained. He sure as heck didn't seem too thrilled about the idea, but there it was. "He keeps asking me if I have regular access to your closet - "

"In my defense, if I dressed you, you would be wearing much more sophisticated clothes," Kurt interjected.

" – and then after that there's this dumb dinner at my grandparents' house. And I mean, like everyone is going to be there. Aunts, uncles, cousins – the whole nine yards. Everyone who's missed out on the amazing wit of Cooper Anderson for the past few years." He crossed his arms, his muscles tensing abruptly under Kurt's touch. "Suddenly everyone wants to get together and act like a family so they can get a glance into the fabulous industry that is Hollywood."

Kurt scrunched up his face thoughtfully for a moment then returned to kissing Blaine's neck. He brought his hands to Blaine's shoulders and started massaging them gently, feeling every tense nerve beneath his fingertips. He felt Blaine starting to relax, even if it was marginally.

"So don't go," he said. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to."

"No, I have to," Blaine said, shifting out of Kurt's reach. "I can't just bail on a family event – how will that make me look?"

"Like someone who's got better things to do than to worship at Cooper's feet and listen to stories he's probably told you ten times over since he's been home."

"Yeah, but - "

"No buts," Kurt said decidedly. "Unless it's your butt and it's bare and on this couch within the next two minutes."

Blaine stuck out his lower lip, but Kurt could tell even from behind that he was struggling to keep his face looking pouty. But he broke and giggled. "So demanding," he observed.

"I just know what I want," Kurt sniffed.

Blaine turned around to face him better. "And what is that?" he asked, looking pointedly at Kurt's lips.

"I want you to shut up and tell me you're going to tag along with me tomorrow," Kurt said, leaning further over the back of the couch.

"I'll make you a deal," Blaine compromised. "I'll do one of those things."

"Please be the latter, please be the latter," Kurt teased, crossing his fingers and squeezing his eyes shut for good measure.

"Nope," Blaine said with a smile.

He hooked his arm around Kurt's neck and pulled him down for a nice, long kiss. Kurt stumbled forward, but he caught himself on the soft cushions adorning the sofa. Blaine's arm was delicious and pulling him closer, his fingers teasing the edge of Kurt's hairline where it met his skin; dancing along the area between flesh and mane.

Kurt let his teeth find Blaine's lower lip, taking it into his mouth as his fingers hastily undid the pesky bowtie covering Blaine's neck. He knew how far a well-calculated touch could go, and damn he was starting to lose any and all possible strategic movements. He was teetering on that fuzzy borderline between consciousness and just flat out feeling.

There were times when he was conscious of what he was doing – of what was being done to him. He'd grab Blaine in a way he knew was a turn on, or he'd be brave enough to try something new. Sometimes all he could think about was being in control and what he would do next. But it was not without feeling. Blaine had this way of getting under his skin with every touch, every single breath.

So of course he was always feeling Blaine – beneath him, next to him, encompassing him. But there was a point – and it always came – when his mind was just wiped clean. When it was all he could do to just feel and let things happen; to just hang on as he rode the waves that were just…Blaine. It was that moment when he let his instincts completely take over.

He'd clutch Blaine a little bit closer, kiss him a little deeper; he'd feel something pass between them – something he couldn't put a name to, but he was cognizant of it. Like when he connected in this way with Blaine – without words or questions or even consciousness – he was touching a secret part of him; a part that he'd been the only one privileged enough to find. That maybe no one else but him would ever discover again. It was in that moment that he felt like he belonged to Blaine; every single, solitary inch of him. He was Blaine's and Blaine was his. Completely, undoubtedly, and simply. They were each other's.

Now was one of those moments. He could feel himself practically turning into mush in Blaine's arms. Turning liquid beneath his fingertips; the phantom touches that would burn all day long, then long into the night. He broke away to take deep breaths of air as Blaine honed in on his upper lip, sucking and nipping at it, even as Kurt tried to breathe.

Kurt grinned as he pulled away an inch - just an inch - causing Blaine's mouth to close around thin air. Blaine laughed and grabbed Kurt's collar, trying to compensate for the loss. They teased each other for a while – pulling out of reach at just the last second, wrestling around trying to gain the upper hand – until it was too much for the both of them and they just collided in a frenzy to touch again; to feel one another again.

Maybe that's why Kurt liked pulling that move; because when their lips met again, it was with renewed enthusiasm and the delicious taste of absolute desperation. As if those few seconds they were apart sent Blaine reeling into this abstract state of need and all he wanted was Kurt; like a thirsty man finding water in a desert. A necessity – a staple for survival.

And may Kurt just say: it felt nice to be needed.

Things were started to get heated. Heated as in fingers fumbling for buttons and loud noises and groans emitting from constantly moving lips. Fingers leaving red imprints, all sense of self-respect and preservation just gone.

They didn't even hear the door slam.

Then it was too late and someone was clearing their throat from the doorway of the hallway leading from the foyer to the living room.

Kurt didn't gasp, he didn't jump, he just froze. He stopped what he was sure looked like he was defiling Blaine and just took a step back from the couch. He made no move to smooth his clothes, creased with telltale wrinkles, or fix his hair – which he could feel was sticking out at odd angles. All he could do was at least try to look ashamed of himself.

Blaine, on the other hand, nearly fell off the couch. He looked guilty enough for the both of them, scrambling to right himself and cover up his neck where Kurt had probably left a few marks. But, come on, it wasn't his fault that Blaine's neck tasted so good. Okay, definitely not a good thing to think of when another Anderson was in the room.

Cooper nodded to himself, looking as if he were fighting back laughter. He was wearing what appeared to be his perpetually present leather jacket paired with the world's most smug grin with a side of pompous confidence.

"So," he said, breaking the awkward silence. "When you say studying, baby brother, you mean…studying."

Blaine was rubbing his own neck. "I don't…really know what you're talking about, Coop. We weren't doing anything." Kurt knew Cooper couldn't be blind to the way Blaine's bowtie was precariously dangling from the end of his collar.

Cooper scoffed. "Okay, if I hadn't come in, you'd be consummating on the couch right now." He tilted his head to the side and shook his head at Blaine. "And you know how much Mom and Dad paid for that couch. It'd be a shame to ruin it with your…well, you know, Andershrimp."

"Please stop – stop calling me that," Blaine muttered.

If Cooper heard him, he ignored him. Maybe he was a good actor after all.

"Kurt, that was a really interesting thing you were doing with your hands - "

"Okay," Blaine interrupted loudly, clapping his hands together. "That's enough of that."

"What?" Cooper asked, his eyes wide with practiced innocence. "You said you were doing nothing, so if it was nothing then surely we can discuss it. Right, Kurt?"

"Umm…I - "

"Enough, Coop," Blaine said, standing up. His bowtie fell to the ground. All three pairs of eyes followed it's awkward descent. "We were kissing, okay?"

This amused the eldest Anderson to no end. He actually had to clamp a hand over his mouth to stifle his laughter.

"There. Are you happy, you big five-year old? I said it."

"So you guys are really like…a thing," Cooper confirmed, gesturing between the two of them. "Like a smoochy thing."

"We're serious," Blaine replied stiffly. "If that's what you mean."

"Ugh, serious," Cooper groaned as he moved from the doorway into the kitchen. "I hate that word – it's no fun."

He grabbed an apple off a platter sitting on the table. He took a bite out of it and observed them as he chewed. Kurt could tell some wheels were turning in his perfect head.

"It just came to me," Coop announced, setting down his apple. "You should invite Kurt along tomorrow night, Blainey."

"Oh, I don't want to impose - " Kurt began just as Blaine said, "Kurt's going to be sick tomorrow."

Kurt glanced over at Blaine as if to say what the hell kind of lie was that. He understood Blaine was trying to cover for Kurt's absence because of Senior Ditch Day and all that, but honestly. That wasn't going to fool anyone.

"Huh," Cooper said, raising his eyebrows. "Do you often schedule your illnesses ahead of time, Kurt?" he asked, taking another deliberate bite of his apple."

"Oh, I must be coming down with something," Kurt fibbed. He coughed for authenticity, but it sounded flimsy even to his own ears.

"Here's some advice," Cooper said, pointing his hand that held the apple in Kurt's direction. "Don't take up acting, kid. You're terrible."

"Cooper," Blaine hissed. "Way to be an asshole."

"Hush, Anderdwarf." Blaine swore under his breath. "We all know the only thing Kurt's got is Anderson Fever. And apparently it's contagious."

"What?" Blaine narrowed his eyes and spluttered, confounded. "Coop, that would imply that I'm interested in myself - "

"Shh, just let it happen," Cooper told him, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.

"He always does this when he thinks he'd made a good come back," Blaine explained.

"I require a moment of silence for your dignity," Cooper demanded. He lolled his head to both sides and flexed his fingers. His knuckles cracked, then he did what Kurt could only describe as spirit fingers. "Moving on." He turned to Kurt again. "If you've made a miraculous recovery around six thirty tomorrow evening, you should come meet the Anderson Clan."

"Umm…I don't think - "

"Blaine doesn't mind – do you, Munchkin?" Cooper crossed over to the living room and grabbed his brother by the shoulders, giving him a shake. "Come on, Half Pint. Kurt's an important part of your life. Don't you want to introduce him to the fam?"

"Of course I do - "

"Good, it's settled then," he decided. "Kurt?"

Kurt was set to decline again – honestly he was. His mouth hung open and his tongue pressed against the roof of his mouth, starting to formulate the "n" in "no". He looked to Blaine, who wasn't shaking his head, wasn't staring at him with wide eyes, wasn't giving him and nonverbal sign that he shouldn't say yes. He was just waiting for Kurt's answer the same way Cooper was: expectantly.

He had to admit that this was a big step, being introduced to the family. Of course there'd been the formalities of Mr. and Mrs. Anderson and then Cooper when he'd shown up in the halls of McKinley (and hadn't seemed to leave since) Monday afternoon. But this wasn't just Blaine's immediate family, it was his extended family. The people he gathered with on birthdays and holidays, who always wanted to know about every aspect of his life.

The ones who'd undoubtedly pinched his cheeks and fussed over his clothes when he was a kid. Who retold stories about all his embarrassing moments and probably asked him year after year, "Do you have a special someone?" until he most likely wanted to punch something. These were the people who wanted to know Blaine's interests, who no doubt pitted their own children against him and probably came up short to the Lead Warbler, top of his class, dapper specimen he'd grown up to be. There were secrets in those relatives and now he would have the chance to meet them.

And it was like Cooper had said, right? He and Blaine considered themselves a forever kind of deal, so he should be introduced, shouldn't he? He could put on that old Hummel charm and play the part of the perfect boyfriend. Hell, it'd probably reassure them at the very least that Blaine wasn't an asexual who was going to grow old and become a creepy bird man. He could swing coming home from Six Flags a little early.

"Why not?" he agreed with a shrug. "I'll be there."

"That's the spirit, eh, Teeny Bopper?" he asked Blaine, slapping his back so hard he had to hold onto the arm of the couch for support.

"Stop calling me names," Blaine pleaded.

"Nonsense. They're titles."

Blaine just bit his lip and hung his head, saying nothing for a moment. Then he seemed to remember Kurt and what he'd just agreed to.

"You don't have to do anything you don't want to," Blaine assured him with a small smile. "I won't get mad at you."

"Oh, I'm sure you've delivered that line countless times, Tyke, in many a…heated situation, hmm?"

"Can you ever just let anything go?" Blaine grumbled.

"I might forget all about this little sofa run-in," Cooper said, straightening a stray pillow thoughtfully. Then he moved Blaine's open collar and tisked when he saw the soft bruise of a too-hard kiss. "Oh, Anderson Number 2," he reprimanded, shaking his head in shame.

"Of all the names - " Cooper raised an eyebrow. "Titles…Out of all of them, that is the worst."

"Anderson Number 2," Cooper repeated louder. He slung an arm around Blaine's shoulders, pulling him close in an intimidating sort of way. "I'll forgive and forget your teenage fornication - "

"We were kissing!"

"And I won't let it slip to Mom and Dad, say, over dinner tonight."

"Coop - "

"If…"

"If?" Blaine prompted.

"If you'll stay after school with me tomorrow and help me pitch my acting seminar to the theater department."

"Is there a department at McKinley you haven't…educated yet?" Blaine asked warily.

"I'm still holding out for History," Cooper said with a determined look in his eye. "If it's the last thing I do…"

"What do you need my help for? As you so generously pointed out, I'm not an internationally beloved spokesman for the internet's fastest growing credit score website. You are."

"And don't you forget it," Cooper told him, poking his chest. "No, but I was thinking that you and I could be like an act. Yeah!" he exclaimed when he saw Blaine's puzzled face. "That whole Duran Duran thing we did the other day was a hit! I mean, I was really fantastic – flawless, actually. And this would give you another chance to get it right – because I still stand by the critique I gave you when I told you you were a little off." He gave Blaine his best sympathetic look. "The theater kids will love that. Drama geeks eat that shit up."

"They're people, Coop. I don't think they'd appreciate being called drama geeks."

"Yeah, whatever," Cooper waved him off. "So will you help me out? We could do like a scene together – but you'll have to listen to my direction this time – and then we could do our musical number, really spark some interest. And I figured I could end it with a bang: this soliloquy I've been working on for a while. It's all about the universal human experience of hair. What do you think?"

Cooper's eyes were wide with excitement and pure zeal for what Kurt was sure he thought was a splendid idea. He could also see that Blaine really wanted to say no. But that wasn't the kind of person Blaine was. Come to him for help and he was sure to say yes, if not because of the sheer kindness in his heart.

"Teenage fornication," Cooper sing-songed, practically crushing Blaine to his chest.

"Fine," Blaine said quickly. "I'll do it. Then you'll take me shopping for the dinner thing-y - "

"I'm referring to it from this moment on as the Cooper Gala," the older brother informed him.

"And then you'll drop it," Blaine finished.

"I saw nothing," Cooper swore.

"Deal," Blaine agreed.

"Coop," Blaine said the next day after the borderline disastrous acting seminar, "If you had told me that you were going to try and dress me like YOU then I never would've agreed to go shopping."

"You need a new look, Ewok," Cooper admonished. "Haven't you realized that leather really suits you?"

Blaine shed the skintight leather jacket and handed it back to his brother. "No offense, Coop, but I really don't want to look like a mini-me tonight."

"Hate to break it to you, brother, but you couldn't look like me if you tried." He ruffled Blaine's hair until he pushed him away.

"Just do me a favor and don't start your own make-over show, okay?"

Cooper stopped in the middle of the store, looking as if he was seeing the light. "Now there's an idea…"

"Coop," Blaine warned. He walked up to his brother and snapped his fingers in front of Cooper's face. He didn't so much as blink. "Earth to Cooper, Earth to Cooper."

"Sorry," his brother apologized. "When inspiration strikes, it's just impossible to shake." He shuddered to make his point. "It's the curse of being a true artist."

"Sure it is," Blaine agreed, going back to browsing the racks.

"Look, we just have to get you something that says 'Hey, Aunt Sandra, I'm not five years old anymore'."

"Mmhmm," Blaine vaguely consented. "But at the same time says 'I'm not a manwhore, gigolo, or a douchebag.'"

"Yeah, well," Cooper sighed as he went through yet another rack of dark jackets. "When you find these magical talking clothes, let me know."

"You were the one who said it needed to say something!"

"Yes, because when you choke – which you will – you'll need your outfit to say what you can't."

Blaine crossed his arms. "You're uncouth," he said before walking a few feet away.

"Stay away from the bowties!" Cooper commanded.

Blaine made a "nnnn" sound and waved his brother off. "They're on sale."

"Booger, if you so much as touch that bowtie - "

"That's not my name and I never called myself that!"

"I swear to you, Blaine - "

Oh god, this was serious. Cooper used his actual name and was pointing.

"I'm going to touch the bowtie - "

"I swear to you - "

"In 3…"

" – if you - "

"2…"

" – even think about it - "

"1!"

Cooper let out a war cry and leapt for Blaine. "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

They landed in a heap on the floor of the store, wrestling around with the bowtie. A few people gasped and turned in their direction, but no doubt lost sight of them once they'd fallen between the racks.

Cooper pinned Blaine down and sat on his back, ripping the accessory from his fingers.

"You're crushing me!" Blaine complained.

"No…bowties…" Cooper panted.

Blaine was clutching Kurt's hand like it was a lifeline. He had to be hurting him, but Kurt said nothing, only looked over to give him a reassuring smile.

"Hey, it's going to be fine," he told Blaine softly.

"It's just like…not this established thing, my sexuality. Like there's not a discussion board on it," Blaine explained suddenly, struggling for words. "I mean, I'm not saying that they're going to bring out the pitchforks and torches, but I can't…guarantee anything."

"Don't worry about me," Kurt said, patting their clasped hands. "I can handle my share of unpleasant situations."

"What are you fretting for, Squirt?" Cooper asked from the driver's seat. "Tonight's going to be all about moi."

"Modest, isn't he?" Kurt teased.

"If you've got it, flaunt it," Cooper defended himself.

Kurt turned back to Blaine. "They'll be fighting over who gets to adopt me by dessert," he said confidently. "I promise."

"You're the best," Blaine told him.

"Hey," Cooper interjected from the front seat. "No kissy face in the car."

"And it's not just that. I haven't seen my Dad's side of the family since like Easter of last year, so I always get a little antsy. I'm not always like this, I swear," Blaine explained. "But it's been a while so it's like I have to make this effort to be extra calm and collected…"

"Clearly it's working," Coop commented as he turned onto the right street.

Blaine scowled in his brother's general direction. "Just remember, if you want to leave, we can," he told Kurt. "Just say the word and we'll - "

"Walk home?" Cooper supplied for him.

"…wait in the car," Blaine said defiantly. "And make kissy faces."

Kurt laughed. "Sounds like a plan. But I'll be fine."

Then Blaine was fine for a little while – honestly he was – just holding Kurt's hand as they walked up to the front door (Cooper bearing the bottle of wine he'd insisted on bringing, along with a signed photo of his face). Kurt straightened out Blaine's tie and dusted off his jacket. Yeah, he'd relented and let Coop buy him a jacket, but it was one of those cool layered ones with a hood and sleeve cuffs a lighter color. Graciously, it wasn't leather, but it did make him look good.

That paired with the simple tie, shirt, dark jeans, and not-quite dress shoes, and he actually looked his age for once; maybe a little older. He'd been tempted to wear his glasses, but Cooper took a swat at his head when he'd tried earlier.

Truthfully, he was a little more distracted by Kurt's outfit – because he looked so good. He was wearing a dark blue, long sleeved button down, under a sports jacket. And his tie wasn't a tie, it was more like string draped around his neck and clasped together at the front of his collar with a pendant. Blaine kind of secretly wishes they were alone so he could tell Kurt just how much he appreciated the ensemble…

He'd remained calm when all the introductions were made – mostly because all his relatives paid about two seconds of attention to him and his mysterious guest before letting out cries of excitement and running to go touch Cooper's face ("Hey, be careful with the merchandise, folks.")

Cooper kept calling Kurt Blaine's "special friend" out of some misplaced desire to go to hell, or whatever, which made Kurt have to pipe up and correct, "boyfriend" every few minutes. But there was this little private smile that crept across Kurt's face every time said it and it was like Cooper knew there was this tiny satisfaction within the word, so he kept setting it up.

All the greetings were made in the high-ceilinged foyer and once all the hands and been shaken and hugs exchanged, the entire Anderson Clan (plus one Hummel) herded over to the kitchen.

Blaine's grandparents (aka Gramps and Grams Anderson) weren't by any means wealthy, but they had a nice, big single story house. The kitchen wasn't anything fancy, but it had that feeling of memories encased in every inch of it. Glancing over at Kurt, he looked very relaxed – kind of like how Blaine felt in the Hummel household.

A small group of people had already congregated around Cooper as he acted out he commercial for their entertainment pleasure – complete with staging and behind the scenes director's notes. Blaine hadn't realized that he'd been picking at his fingernails until he felt Kurt's fingertips slipping between the spaces of his.

"Relax," Kurt told him. "You're reminding me of me when we were about to perform our duet at Regionals."

"That bad?" Blaine asked.

"You said I was adorable," Kurt teased, narrowing his eyes. "I'll remember that."

"No, no, it was adorable. You are adorable."

"Save it for later, Anderson," Kurt said with a wink. "I'm on good behavior tonight."

Blaine just shook his head, repressing a grin. It still amazed him how Kurt could make him forget his anxieties and take his mind to other places with a few words.

Cooper must've been done with his re-enactments for the moment, because he beckoned them over. Which basically translated to they couldn't decline.

"Stop whispering sweet nothings to one another," Coop said. "Come over here and sell your boyfriend to the fam."

"Well, in other news, Cooper couldn't possibly get any more embarrassing," Blaine announced to the few relatives lingering nearby. This was met by easy laughter. A majority of the guests were setting the table, doing last minute cleaning, or worrying over the food.

"I feel like I'm doing a presentation in school," Kurt joked. "Or like Blaine's auctioning me off or something."

More laughter. Kurt smiled, noticeably more reassured. Blaine lingered behind him, watching as Kurt tested the waters with his wry humor.

It wasn't a big event, by all means. Not even everyone was there and accounted for, but there were enough people to make the house seem busy and alive. And to Kurt, these were all new faces. But Blaine took a back seat (if you could call the arm of the couch that) and watched him work his magic.

He complimented Blaine's Aunt Lilah on her green broach, asking where she got it and at such a reasonable price. Then there was Uncle Peter, the college professor of the family, whom Kurt asked about college applications and transfer rates. He kept the conversation away from himself for the most part, which wasn't easy to do when most people were inquiring after his life story.

Unlike Cooper who had pulled a small group of cousins around himself and was speaking excitedly. "Well, where do I begin? I've been pointing naturally since I was one…"

They'd only been chatting for a few minutes when Blaine's mom, who'd been in the kitchen fussing over the food, ordered everyone into the formal living room. When she'd told him that "a few people were meeting at Grandma and Grandpa's", he didn't think she'd meant this. But this was family, and getting to see each other in the middle of the school year was a rarity.

There was this old, long table draped in a white tablecloth in the "formal dining room." It wasn't an actual room; just a space off to the side near the kitchen (because his grandparents were just two people and their kitchen table was just a small square which could never hope to seat more than four). This table had been here for as long as Blaine could remember.

Everyone crowded around the oblong piece of furniture, puling up chairs of all sorts where needed until they were a mish mash of seats. Blaine was oh so conveniently seated with Kurt towards the middle of the table on the piano bench, compliments of Cooper.

"Thanks, Coop," Blaine teased as he took his spot on the bench.

Cooper winked at him. "Just looking out, little bro."

"I bet the child prodigy that is now Blaine Anderson used to sit on this bench every Sunday afternoon after church and played Fur Elise for his grandparents," Kurt teased.

"Wow," Blaine said, putting on his best shocked face.

Coincidentally, Blaine had just been thinking about the same thing. His parents had put him in piano lessons when he was very young. He'd always wanted to play the piano, because there was an oak upright in their living room since the day he was born and he'd always been poking at the keys, trying to learn songs by ear. Playing the piano was something he loved to do – for himself.

But every time they went over to Blaine's grandparent's house for a visit, Blaine's mom would insist that he play a song for his grandparents because "they'd love to hear it, dear." The thing was that Blaine was very shy as a child (and looking back, maybe little exercises like this were what built up his confidence) and he'd always kick his feet and mutter about how he didn't want to. But his parents would hear nothing of it. So he'd climb onto the piano bench – this piano bench – and play a song. Even when he messed up horribly, he'd still get a standing ovation every time. The memory brought a small smile to his face.

"Am I spot on?" Kurt asked.

"No. It's just that, for you, that was a lot of judgments in one sentence."

Kurt shook his head and shoved Blaine's arm playfully. Cooper had taken the folding chair on Kurt's side and leaned in to whisper, "Hands where I can see 'em, boys."

"Oh, Cooper, stop harassing your little brother and Kurt," Uncle Noah joked. "You're supposed to be telling us what you've been doing out in Hollywood…"

And thus, before the food had even been served, Cooper was launching into his autobiography; everyone present hanging on to his every word as he described the big, scary state of California – of LA and Hollywood and how it was supposedly sprinkled with famous people every two feet. If you knew where to go, that is. He talked about all the commercials he'd been offered, though he decided to stick with the campaign. Or so he claimed.

Once the table had been properly set and the food all laid out as best as it could be (everyone was already bumping elbows as it was), and everyone was sitting, Blaine's grandma cleared her throat, bringing instant silence.

"Why did everyone stop talking?" Kurt whispered. "Is she going to give a speech? Please tell me she's not going to give a speech."

"No, she's going to say Grace," Blaine whispered back.

"Oh no."

"What?"

"Don't hosts usually pass that honor onto - "

"Kurt," the elderly woman addressed him properly for the first time. She'd mostly been in the kitchen up until this point. "Would you like to say Grace?"

"Um, sure," Kurt replied, his eyes wide. "Uh…Grace?"

This was met with a few titters here and there, Blaine had to bite back his own laugh.

"Well, I don't mean to be…disrespectful," Kurt told her, starting to flounder a bit. "But I don't really…"

"Kurt's not really religious, Grams," Blaine cut in. "Maybe you could do it instead?"

This was met with silence. Blaine had anticipated, of course, that some of his family was old fashioned, but this quiet was plainly laced with shock and judgment. Especially from the elderly people, for whom not going to church was just not acceptable – it wasn't done. He almost laughed at some of the looks on their faces, as if he'd brought in a heathen.

Blaine could tell Kurt was a little embarrassed as he fidgeted and twisted the corners of the napkin unfolded in his lap. He said nothing more, but just nodded as if to say, "Yeah…"

It was Cooper who came to Kurt's defense.

"You know what?" he piped up. "I've been away so long and I haven't said Grace in a while. Could I do it, Nana?"

"That'd be lovely, Cooper," their mom said with a friendly smile. Blaine could tell she was trying to be a good co-host and move things along accordingly.

Blaine rubbed Kurt's back before taking his hand. Kurt looked surprised, as if he'd forgotten his presence, but then he smiled and interlocked their fingers.

"I guess this is a legitimate excuse to hold your hand in front of everyone," he joked lightly.

"Don't forget me," Cooper said from his other side, grabbing Kurt's right hand. "Sweet, sweet Baby Jesus," he began.

"Why Baby Jesus?" Kurt asked out of the side of his mouth as everyone else closed their eyes and bowed their heads.

Blaine shrugged. "Beats me," he answered.

"Than you for blessing us with this food and this family. I'm grateful that we're all fortunate enough to gather here tonight and may you keep us all safe on our journeys home. On a personal note, thank you for granting me these good looks, this hairline, and my immense talent…"

"Cooper."

"So, Kurt," one of Blaine's aunts prompted him. "Blaine's never told us how you met."

He felt himself blushing almost immediately. It's not a story he's accustomed to telling, because it's so personal. Rarely does he like to admit that that was the day his life was saved. Even to his closest friends, he hadn't hashed out all the gritty details. Just that there was a good looking boy in a blazer who sang a Katy Perry song and gave him some advice over coffee. But suddenly everyone wanted to know.

"Oh, yes," Blaine's mom seconded as she diced up her meat into little squares. "I'm sure it's a great story."

"Actually it's kind of…strange," Kurt admitted, shooting a glance at Blaine who was either giggling or choking into his napkin – he wasn't sure which. "It probably wouldn't interest anyone."

This was met by a chorus of protests. Oh, I'm sure it's not that bad's and Tell the story, Kurt's. He put up his hands and shook his head. "I'm sure Blaine's told you himself, being as modest as he is."

Blaine's mom looked thoughtful. "No, actually. I don't think he's mentioned it. Just that you were a potential Dalton student and he talked to you for a while."

"The rest, as they say, is history," Blaine's dad joked, smiling at his wife.

The two of them were friendly enough to Kurt, but they never really talked. He was always welcome at their house, but they never had any of those sitcom moments where Kurt would sit in the kitchen and talk to them about all his problems. But this was a good chance to connect with them, right? It was a pretty good story, he thought to himself; one worthy of being told to his grandchildren someday. But then again, it was personal.

"Let me guess," Cooper offered.

" – Oh, Cooper's great at the guessing game," Blaine's grandfather said from his end of the table.

"So were you at Dalton for a tour of the campus and Blaine just annoyingly turned up and started showing you around? Then you found out he was at the top of his class and totally into you because he asked for your number before you left, right?"

Blaine and Kurt exchanged looks and started laughing. They couldn't help it – that was the worst guess that could've ever been guessed in the realm of guessing.

"What, am I right?" Cooper insisted. "I'm right, aren't I?"

"Yes," Kurt replied solemnly.

"Yes?"

"No," Blaine answered this time. "No, Coop. You weren't even remotely close."

"Okay, so set the record straight," Cooper insisted, jabbing Kurt's right arm with his fork.

Kurt wasn't used to feeling shy, but now the only sounds were of spoons and forks scraping plates as everyone lent him their ears.

"I could start telling it," Blaine offered.

Kurt smiled, but shook his head. "No, I'll start. If you have something to add, just jump in."

Cooper sat back in his chair and crossed his arm. "This is going to be good."

"Okay, I was sort of…spying," Kurt admitted, speaking in a rush.

"I.E. read: stalking," Cooper muttered. It was Kurt's turn to jab in him in the arm with cutlery.

"It had been a difficult week at school, to say the least," he continued. "But, I mean, when isn't it? School sucks." This was met with laughter and he continued, feeling more assured. "It was a battle of the sexes in my show choir – some lesson for the week. The guys were all having a meeting and I was suggesting ideas for our performance, but some thought it was too…gay." He almost stopped talking altogether there, but Cooper gave him a nod and he went on. "I mean, they never explicitly said it, but it was all over their faces. So they told me to go spy on the Warblers – get a leg up on the competition and make myself useful." He laughed to himself.

Blaine picked it up, not missing a beat. "So earlier that day the Warblers had decided to put on an impromptu performance in the Senior Commons, so it was a big day. We'd spread the word all around campus and everyone was going to be there. I'd actually forgotten my tie in my dorm room after my last class, so I had run back and gotten it. Actually, I thought I was going to be late. Could you imagine? I was singing lead and I was going to be late."

Kurt had never heard that part of the story, so he'd stopped eating focused on Blaine. "Really?"

"Yeah. So I was practically running to make it on time and then all of a sudden this guy calls out to me…"

"Let me guess: it was Kurt," Cooper interjected.

Blaine rolled his eyes. "Yes, Cooper," he answered, drawing out his name in a condescending tone. "That's a fantastic observation."

"I didn't know what I was doing," Kurt admitted with a laugh. "I'd just put on a black jacket and a red tie and hoped I'd blend in. But being the idiot I am, I didn't realize that Dalton's uniform was navy blue and they had all this wacky piping and stripes…I wasn't hard to miss."

"So there he was," Blaine went on. "This kid I'd never seen before in my life wearing a black leather jacket and claiming he was new here. I knew he was lying from the first glance."

"No you didn't," Kurt argued.

"Oh, I did," Blaine countered. "So I introduced myself, being the gentleman my parents brought me up to be."

"Then I asked him where the heck all these guys were headed to. I'm telling you they were all swarming in the same direction. I almost got trampled on. Then I wouldn't be here to tell you fine folks the tale."

"And I told him how the Warblers were doing a performance, which would kind of shut the school down for a while. He lit up when I mentioned the Warblers, so I knew what he was there for." Kurt still grumbled his denial, but Blaine ignored him. "So I told him I had a shortcut," Blaine informed the table with a wink. "I didn't really have a shortcut," he whispered comically.

"But I followed him down this hallway anyways," Kurt continued, omitting the part about how Blaine took his hand. In fact, he took his hand now, under the table. "And he led me in a huge circle until we got to what I could only assume was the Senior Commons."

"Blainey, you dog," Cooper commented, reaching around Kurt's back and swatting Blaine's head.

"What can I say? I've got moves," Blaine answered with a shrug.

"Then, before I know it, this guy just…walks away from me, smirking as he does."

"I did not smirk," Blaine defended himself.

Kurt scoffed. "Oh there was definite smirk-age. Then he just starts singing…"

"I didn't just start singing," Blaine interjected. "The others starting singing before me and I just merely…joined in. And you guys should've seen the look on his face – he was so impressed with me."

"I honestly hadn't caught on," Kurt informed his audience. "For a moment I was just thinking 'What's going on? What's that guy doing?' - "

"Winning you heart – Anderson style," Cooper supplied.

"And then I realized that he must've seen right through me," Kurt said. "It was pretty childish."

"Afterwards, Wes, David, and I – you guys remember Wes and David – took Kurt out to get coffee. That's when he told me he was having…trouble in school."

"Also what a terrible spy I was," Kurt added, kicking Blaine's leg lightly. "Because of my dazzling wit, Blaine wanted me to come to Dalton right away," he teased.

"I did not," Blaine replied indignantly. "I explicitly stated that bullies had driven me away from my old school and it was something I really regretted."

Kurt's eye's flickered to Blaine's parents' face, something like guilt encroaching on their features. He realized that this might've been the first time Blaine had ever admitted that out loud. Blaine didn't seem bothered at all, it being an established fact in his life for so long, but a few others looked down at their plates.

"So he told me to refuse to be the victim," Kurt said, nodding his head. "Well, I guess you all knew how that worked out – I ended up transferring to Dalton for a while."

"But you went back," Blaine pointed out.

Kurt smiled. And you came with me, he thought, not saying the words aloud. "And that's basically it," he said, remembering that they were telling a story. "He gave me his number in case I needed anymore help. He probably thought I'd never use it…"

"Trust me, he was desperately hoping you'd use it," Cooper interjected.

"Cooper," Blaine hissed.

"What? It was endearing."

"And yeah," Kurt cut in, sensing a sibling brawl coming on. "That's it really."

Blaine's mom sighed. "That was a nice story, dear."

"No," Cooper corrected her, turning to give Kurt a small smile, "It was a beginning."

Later that night when Blaine was dropping Kurt off, he put the car into park and killed the engine.

"So that was only slightly awkward, right?" he asked.

Kurt laughed. "Yeah, it wasn't as bad as I thought it'd be."

"First time's always the most difficult," Blaine promised. "Maybe you could come over for the next major holiday."

"Sure, how's the fourth of July sound?" Kurt teased.

"I always loved some good fireworks."

"Is that so?" Kurt asked, settling back in his seat.

He reached over and pulled Blaine by the tie until they were both pretty much in the passenger seat.

Blaine's hands were braced against the back of Kurt's seat as he was kissed. Kurt put his hands under Blaine's jacket, but over his shirt and just held him there as Blaine moved a hand to cup his cheek.

This went on for a few minutes until they realized that a car was entirely too small of a space to be very thorough. As Blaine kissed Kurt's neck, he lowered himself back into the driver's seat.

"Thanks," he said, in a broken voice.

Kurt giggled. "For what? For kissing you?"

"No," Blaine said, pushing Kurt's leg. "For being a good sport."

"Well thanks for inviting me," Kurt countered, leaning over the gear shift for another kiss.

He was granted yet another round of slow, soft lips brushing over his and fingers running through his hair. But Blaine was ever the gentleman, and pressed one last, lingering kiss to Kurt's mouth with a gentle, "Goodnight."

And as Kurt walked from the car to the door, he took his phone out and happily crossed yet another item from his list with pride:

#34 Be introduced as "The Boyfriend"

April 14th, 2012

"I have a surprise for you," Kurt greeted Blaine at his locker a few days later.

"Good morning to you too, Kurt," Blaine replied, pulling out his History textbook. "I'm great, by the way. How are you? Isn't today just great? Fucking resplendent." He slammed his locked door shut, causing Kurt to start.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

Blaine shrugged, leaning a shoulder against the panel of lockers. "Could be better."

"Is it the Cooper thing?"

"Yes," Blaine groaned. "He's killing me at home."

"Well, I doubt that since you seem to still be breathing," Kurt joked. But Blaine didn't even crack a smile. "Okay, I think it's time for an little KHI: Kurt Hummel Intervention."

Blaine laughed, not in a humorous way, but in exasperation – each intake of breath almost sounding like an insult. "No," he started protesting before Kurt could even get to the best part. "Not today. Please, Kurt."

"You didn't even let me finish," Kurt pouted.

He smiled a bit at that, but was still shaking his head. After a moment, he sighed. "Okay. Go on."

"Promise not to argue until I'm done," Kurt requested, raising his eyebrows in anticipation of a tantrum.

Blaine pretended to think about it for a minute. He always enjoyed making Kurt wait and this was no exception. He waited a good minute, just tapping his chin and pondering.

"I promise," he said at last.

"We're going to take the day off - "

"But - "

"Shh, you promised," Kurt reminded him.

Blaine opened his mouth, already formulating his next defense, but Kurt was quicker than he was and pressed his fingers over his boyfriend's lips.

"Blaine," he warned.

The shorter boy's shoulders sagged and he gave up. "Mmmfph," he agreed.

"Brilliant," Kurt said, not removing his hand. "Now, you and I are going to go home, mysteriously sick, and I have a little…project for us to do."

"Am I free to speak now?" Blaine asked around Kurt's fingertips.

"You may," he replied, feeling rather pleased with himself.

Blaine took Kurt's hand in his own – the one that had been keeping him silent. "Kurt," he began. "Not today. I'm begging you. I'll go on scavenger hunts, go on shopping sprees, and jump out of planes any other day you'd ask me to. But not today, please."

"I would never ask you to jump out of a plane," Kurt pointed out.

"No."

"Why not?"

"I have a bunch of homework due, for starters. I have a presentation to give in English on 'Of Mice and Men'. Which, I mean, was a decent read but it wasn't like mind-blowing, so it'll be five minutes of torture both on my part and the class's part…"

"Give Tina your homework. She'll make sure it gets where it needs to go. And presentations always spill over to the next day anyways."

"But my last name is Anderson - "

"So you'll tell your teacher you caught the one-day flu. I'll even forge a doctor's note if you like. 'To whom it may concern, Blaine needs a goddamn break. Signed, Doctor Chicken-Scratch.'"

"Kurt, no."

"It'll be fun though," he insisted. "With the Hummel Seal of Satisfaction Guarantee."

"I'm not really in the greatest of moods," Blaine maintained. "I'm sorry, but you can't afford to miss another day of school this week anyways."

Kurt rolled his eyes. "Blaine, honestly, you're such a worry wart. You're going to give yourself wrinkles is what you're going to do." Blaine just scowled at him. "I'm taken care of," Kurt told him. "All my classes are reviewing for Finals anyways, and Rachel swore on her NYADA audition that she'd take notes in the classes we share."

"I just…I don't think I'm up to it," Blaine went on, pressing the edge of his forehead against his locker as if he had a sudden headache and the metal was supposed to be soothing him. "I had that dumb fight with Coop and he's been harassing me at home and following me to school. I was kind of looking forward to the dull, methodical ease of just sitting in a desk and doing nothing."

"If you're using school as your vacation time, something is seriously wrong…"

"Yeah, I just want everyone to leave me alone!" Blaine snapped. Kurt's face must've shown some amount of hurt because he quickly took a step closer. "I'm sorry," he apologized immediately. "I'm not mad at you, I swear. It's just this whole week, you know?"

"Trust me," Kurt said, clutching Blaine's hand to his chest. "You want to do this with me."

"Why?" Blaine asked, his curiosity peaked despite his short temper.

Kurt shrugged. "You only gave me the idea yourself."

"I did?" Blaine's face scrunched up in confusion. "When?"

"You leave your list everywhere – or have you forgotten?"

"Hey, I am organized - "

"You left this one tacked on my bathroom mirror. Probably during the course of late night inspiration, no doubt."

"No I didn't - "

"Finn found it and I had to say that it was for a homework assignment. He bought it."

"I honestly don't remember that," Blaine insisted.

"No, well I wouldn't expect you to," Kurt teased. "So just forget Cooper, forget glee club, and forget school. Just for today."

"You seem hell-bent on getting me to ditch school this week," Blaine said, seeming to soften at Kurt's words. "It seems I won't be able to resume my responsibilities until I give in."

"That's the spirit."

"And my parents thought I'd be a bad influence on you," he mused.

"They did?"

"No. Hello, have you met me?"

"Oh, so now he has jokes," Kurt taunted, pulling Blaine by the hand. "Blaine, you don't look so well." He clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "We'll have to get you home right away."

"Now that you mention it, I do feel a little funny," Blaine agreed, playing along. He touched his hand to his forehead. "I might be coming down with a fever."

"Well we can't have that," Kurt said, starting to mock-fuss over him. "We'll have to take you home right away."

"I only hope I won't inconvenience too many people with my absence," Blaine added as they strode towards the parking lot.

"Oh, I'm sure you'll be sorely missed."

"What are we doing here?" he asked Kurt, starting to feel a little gypped out here.

"This is where the magic happens," he heard Kurt call out from the closet. "I told you we were going to go to my house."

"Yeah but I thought that was just an extension of the 'sick day' metaphor," Blaine replied, sitting sullenly on the end of Kurt's bed. "I swear, if this project is to clean your room, I will leave right now."

"It's not," Kurt promised. "I'm only in here to change."

"What, the long-tailed, checkered jacket and suspenders with gold clasps weren't casual enough for you?

"Ha ha HA," Kurt replied hollowly. "No, actually. They were not. Okay, don't make fun of my outfit," he announced before re-entering the room.

He was wearing something…normal. Yet not. Blaine felt he had slipped into an alternate reality. Kurt was wearing a rare outfit – all white, of course, because some aspect of it needed to be fashionable - an unbuttoned short sleeve shirt with an undershirt beneath it and white shorts, cut off just above the knee.

"You look…great," Blaine said a bit breathlessly. "But what's the occasion?"

"Nnnn," Kurt shook his head, making noises of disapproval. "No hints until you change."

Blaine laughed, figuring Kurt was just trying to be funny. He pulled up short when he wasn't joined in his amusement.

"This isn't my house," he pointed out stupidly. "Where am I supposed to find a change of clothes?"

"In your drawer," Kurt replied. The implied duh was left unsaid.

"I-I have a…drawer?" Blaine choked out.

"Don't get all emotional on me," Kurt told him, striding over to the dresser. "I just thought it'd come in handy, so I've been sort of swiping a few articles of clothing from your room every time we go to your house." The confession came out rushed and only slightly embarrassed.

"Shit, that was you?" Blaine was still a bit in shock. "This morning I ripped into Coop because I was sure he was stealing my socks again."

"Nope, it was just me," Kurt said, looking rather entertained. "Word to the wise, though," he added as Blaine looked into the drawer, "Pick something you won't miss, because chances are there will be unwashable stains."

"Unwashable stains?" Blaine repeated dubiously. "You expect me to believe that you're wearing an all white get-up in preparation for unwashable stains?"

"Well, I, unlike you, am fashionable - "

"Oh, thanks."

" – And I have every intention of rewearing these clothes, stains and all. It'll be a homemade, authentic fashion statement."

Blaine felt himself narrowing his eyes. "Curiouser and curiouser," he mumbled to himself. "Fine, I'll blindly trust you - since I don't seem to have any other choice."

He searched for his oldest clothes out of the surprisingly well-stocked drawer. And, wow, had he really not noticed all these articles of clothing going missing? He really did need a vacation.

In the end, he swapped his school clothes for an old, green and white striped tank top (practically see through with age) under his gray sweater – the one he intended on replacing anyways – unzipped with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He donned his oldest pair of sweats that he rolled up to his ankles. He left his feet bare, seeing as how he didn't want to ruin a perfectly good pair of socks.

"Am I decent now?" he asked, holding his arms out for inspection as Kurt circled him.

"Much better," the other boy approved. "Now it's time to get dirty."

"Oh, God," Blaine groaned.

But Kurt had already grabbed his hand and was leading him downstairs…into a completely empty room with blank, white walls. Something plastic crinkled underfoot as they entered, and Blaine realized the wood floor had been tarped.

His suspicions were confirmed when he spotted buckets upon buckets of open paint. Then, oh whoa, the scent hit him like a ton of bricks. There was no question what was happening here.

"Kurt?" Blaine asked delicately. "I don't mean to be forward, but what the hell is going on here?" Well, he figured he should still ask – come on.

"Isn't it obvious?" Kurt replied, clapping his hands together.

"Uh huh," Blaine said, feeling a little detached. "And you say you got this idea from me?"

"Yep," Kurt answered, beaming. "Read it." He took out a neon-pink post-it from his back pocket.

Oh yeah, that was definitely in Blaine's own handwriting. He might've even remembered glimpses of the night he'd written it, scrawling it out in the dark. But had he really stuck it on Kurt's bathroom mirror? That, he couldn't remember.

"Okay," he yielded. "I admit that I wrote this. But are we really qualified to be doing this? Your parents will hate me. They paid for this house and therefore this room."

"Just because they're both not here doesn't mean I don't have permission," Kurt told him with a light shove. "Where do you think the paint came from?"

That was a good point, Blaine decided. There were dozens of quarts and pints, of every color and every shade. It was just a huge rainbow of paint, waiting to be used.

"Okay, where did it come from then?"

Kurt crossed his arms, looking smug. "My dad has an in at the hardware store. All I had to do was show up and pick up the goods."

"The goods?" Blaine repeated, trying to hold back a snort.

"Yes, the goods," Kurt said, not hesitating to stick his tongue out at Blaine like a child.

"I doubt Carole would let us defile her walls," Blaine argued, still in denial that this was in any way socially acceptable.

"Oh, no, she insisted." Kurt lit up at Blaine's disbelief, which seemed to be growing by the minute. "You see, she loves to collect contemporary art and she's bought a few pieces, but has no where to display them."

"I see," Blaine mumbled. "So this would be her…"

"Art slash guest room," Kurt finished for him, holding out his hands in the shape of a frame. "She's going to paint three of the walls red, and has graciously asked us to provide the fourth wall – the accent wall."

"Oooooh," Blaine cheered, doing poorly executed jazz hands as he did. "She does know that we are high school boys with zero art experience, right?"

"No, I might've forgotten to tell her that," Kurt replied sarcastically. "Of course she knows."

"And she knows we can't exactly offer her a mural or anything?"

"No!" Kurt exclaimed. "That's the fun part. We can do whatever want."

"And it's okay?"

"It's okay."

"But aren't you forgetting something?" Blaine asked.

Kurt looked around, perplexed. "What?"

"Paint brushes."

Kurt looked relieved, then he laughed as if that were the silliest thing Blaine had ever said to him. "We're not using paint brushes."

"But you said we could do whatever we wanted."

"Yes."

"Well what if what I wanted to do required the use of a paint brush?" he teased.

"Blaine, we artists - " (he said it like ar-teests) " – do not use paint brushes. They inhibit the creative process. We must be new – fresh."

"Contemporary?" Blaine supplied with a smile.

Kurt grinned back. "Exactly."

"Then what are we waiting for?"

Blaine couldn't remember the last time he had this much fun. He wasn't thinking about anything at all – not even creation itself. It was madness. There was paint in his hair and his clothes and on the accent wall – or whatever Kurt had called it – and he was at peace.

Tired as hell, but at peace.

They'd started off sitting in the middle of the floor, pretending to be artists struck by a vision. They measure the space by squinting, shutting their opposite eyes, and tilting their thumbs sideways.

"I'm feeling a romantic era, renaissance inspired piece emerging from the depths," Blaine told Kurt. "How about you?"

"I don't know," Kurt mused. "I keep getting a humanistic, Goth kind of vibe. Mixed with a little mannerism impressionistic flair."

"Yes," Blaine replied. "Now that you mention it, I see exactly what you mean."

Then they'd gotten up and started looking around all the colors. There was quite an array of choices: bold reds, brazen blues, rich purples, soft greens, plain grays, bright yellows, loud pinks, and every other color inbetween.

Blaine didn't stop to think, didn't ask for permission, didn't hesitate. He just bent down and dipped a finger into a teal mixture and smeared it across the wall in a low arc.

If one has never colored outside the lines, then there's no way to describe this feeling of absolute freedom; where the page is everything and everything is the page. Or should he say, wall. In a world where paint, one of the most permanent forces, is almost repulsed – don't get it on your clothes, don't spill any on the floor, don't dirty any where else – and constricted only to the final product after all the ideas have been mapped out, brain stormed and approved, it is a relief to just smear something with no real purpose.

Akin to a child using their crayons and markers to draw on the walls. Only no angry parent would come storming in with a bottle of cleaner and erase your masterpiece, yelling all the while. No, this was here to say and there was no one to tell him no. And it was literally at his fingertips – and it was sweet.

The liquid was cool on his fingertips and he let the excess drip onto the tarped floor as he stood back to admire his solitary smear of paint.

What a fine smear it was – and it was his.

He could see the indentation of his fingers and the tendrils of paint dripping down the wall. He could see where the edges of his fingertips ended and the surplus paint created miniscule hills to the valley of his touch. His smudge was crying, he thought to himself, small tears of iridescence.

That was when he really saw the blank canvas in front of him. He had foot after foot of wall to cover and he was just getting started. He didn't even know how it was going to turn out – it could possibly be the most hideous wall in all of a America for all he knew – but at the end of the day it would be his.

"Art," Kurt mused, appearing beside him.

Blaine nodded, feeling a little overwhelmed. "Art," he agreed.

Kurt pressed something soft into Blaine's hand: a sponge. "What do you say we pretend this wall is Cooper's very attractive head and we throw things at it."

Blaine laughed and turned his sponge over in his hand. "Let's do it."

It was the weirdest, best thing he'd ever done. Kurt put on some classical music – with sweeping violins and tinkling pianos – that seemed the stark opposite of their actions as they began throwing sponges.

First, they dropped one sponge in every bucket – no small task. Then they exchanged looks, like two cowboys about to draw their guns in a shoot out; fingers twitching towards their holsters (or, in this case, cans of paint).

"Go!" shouted Kurt. And they went.

It wasn't a race or anything, but they were making a game out of it. There were no established rules, but it seemed like whoever got the least amount of paint on them was winning. But Blaine couldn't be sure because it soon became a war zone of flying sponges – them vs. the wall.

He scooped up a sponge seeped in purple and hurled it towards the huge white expanse. It stuck with a splat, seeming to explode with color. Branches of purple flung out from beyond the sponge, creating an collection of asymmetrical splatters as the sponge itself left behind a cool, inverted rectangle shape from the way Blaine had folded it upon itself. His hands were already a mess, but that didn't stop him.

Kurt emerged from behind him and made to throw an orange sponge at his face, but Blaine ducked just in time and it whizzed harmlessly over his head. Well, mostly harmlessly, because its entrails flew behind it and he could feel the cool, heavy drops landing somewhere in his hair. But it was around that point that he realized he didn't care.

He ran across the room and took a sponge soaked in yellow and ran back to the wall where he adorned the white with a golden zig zag. Then he stuck the sponge to the wall and watched it slowly, slide down – dark at first, but then lighter and lighter until it ran out of substance before finally hitting the floor with a soft squishing noise.

He put it back in its rightful bucket and looked down at his hands, slick with paint – purple and yellow and a bunch of other hues – and he rubbed his palms together, forming a color that had no real name. Then he pressed his hands to the wall and dragged downward, purposefully spacing his fingers equidistantly. The result almost looked like someone had been dragged away against their will.

Kurt got up from the tarp where he'd been finger-painting patterns and went to grab a sponge swollen in burgundy. He hurtled it at the wall, causing it to land a few mere inches from Blaine's head.

Blaine picked up the sponge and squeezed the surplus color onto his hands. If someone had walked in right then and there, they might have believed it to be blood spilling out a fresh wound. He flicked it in Kurt's direction, feeling satisfied when it left a few splatters on his skin and sleeve.

Kurt growled, as frightening as a kitten, and glared at him. "You will live to regret that," he promised from across the room. "Keep your guard up, because when you least expect it…"

Blaine just ignored him and went back to target practice, careful to avoid the patterns Kurt had etched out. He tossed one sponge after another, sometimes grabbing up to five at a time and just letting them land where they pleased. It wasn't his conscious doing anymore – he wasn't choosing out colors, deciding placement, or trying to even create anything – it was just happening and he was merely witnessing it.

Colors mixed and swirled, spattered and scattered, ran and trickled. Sponges clung to the wall like suction cups, slowly inching their way to the ground where they'd end with a crunch against the tarp.

Then the wall was sobbing, great big tears of brown and pink and white and orange. Droplets trailed down his canvas and he stood by and watched, much like one would watch the droplets spread across a car window while speeding along a highway. Which direction would they go? Never straight down.

They crawled diagonally and side to side, shrinking and expanding as they blazed their own unique trails. Intersecting with other streams of color, joining forces into one communal droplet, then splitting into two again, emerging completely new colors. Oranges married yellows, peaches divorced blues, greens avoided purples, and reds were civil with browns that transformed into umbers.

When the wall was more or less covered with tears and splotches of paint, they washed their hands and waited. They sat on a clean area of tarp and ate sandwiches, drank juice, and made fun of the stains already present on their clothing. Blaine rested his head in Kurt's lap as they quietly observed their first "coat", if it could be called that.

There was no need for words; there was the silent command and reverence of craftsmanship in the room - such as one would find in a museum or a church with marble parapets and stone demons. The wall said everything and nothing. It was loud enough to smother the silence and capture the attention.

Blaine frowned at the wall, his canvas, thinking about his next move. Would he be like Kurt and try to draw a concrete pattern here and there or would he continue to let it create itself? He thought the latter, having no real artistic motivation but to get his hands dirty.

And that was fine – so maybe he wasn't a Van Gogh, but hey, at least he'd get to keep both his ears.

They waited another hour, considering the wall and all its potential out of respect. Blaine made sure to walk up to it and check that it was dry to the touch. The paint was potent, but no longer wet.

He took a strange sense of satisfaction from the congealed paint blobs that never quite made it to the floor.

Like melted stems of water that froze into ice at the last second; tears that had dried before rolling off the face, or a sentence never finished – just open ended and begging for conclusion, resolution, absolution with no hope of ever achieving it. Like a story that ended in a question; forever plaguing the mind of the reader. So were these droplets - incomplete art dried before it had the chance to speak. Or so it would seem.

He ran his fingers over the uneven grooves, as a blind man would touch the face of a stranger: just feeling and memorizing the sensation.

"It looks great so far," Kurt commented, smearing a glob of navy blue paint on the wall as he did. He manipulated the shape with his fingers. "What is your vision, Mr. Anderson?"

"Soft-spoken, yet obvious," Blaine answered in jest. "See that red there? That symbolizes my tortured youth – a childhood lost. Oh, and that yellow triangle over there?" He pointed. "That indicates my future: the arrow directing me to my path. Can't you infer anything from art?"

Kurt nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, yes I can. It's all so clear to me now. And that blob of pink represents Pepto Bismol, if I'm not mistaken."

"No, you are not mistaken," Blaine answered solemnly.

More nodding. "Quite. And that strange blossom of purple – does that not signify your breath after you've had a few drinks? See how it reaches out to the world and changes into red fire-breath."

"You have a sharp eye."

"I'm trained in the ways of fine art," Kurt replied. He dipped his fingertips in five different colors and flicked them across a patch of gray. "Can't you tell by my unsurpassed skill?"

"The student has become the teacher," he agreed.

Blaine dipped his knuckles in black and pressed them one by one onto the wall. Then he dipped the knuckles on his other hand in white and created an echo of the other marks.

He wiped his hands on the stained, wet cloth to rid them of the black when he was hit by the overwhelming urge to just throw handfuls of paint.

"May I?" he asked Kurt, who was still doing some fancy finger work.

"Did Monet ask for permission before he painted his water lilies? Did Michaelangelo doubt the Sistine Chapel?"

"I see you only answer with rhetorical questions."

"Do I?"

Blaine immersed a hand in a sea foam green paint bucket. He wiggled his fingers around in the liquid, loving the feeling of color running between the crevices of his hand. He lifted it out and before it could all drip away, he catapulted it.

It was really something to see about forty percent of the paint catch while the other sixty ricocheted and dropped to the floor. Now this was the kind of experimentation he could get behind.

He ran to another bucket and did the same thing, only making sure this time for his paint to splatter upwards. Then he took big blobs of paint on the tips of his fingers and pressed them on various points so that they could bleed as they pleased. Quickly, he moved onto the next stretch of wall and took another handful of paint, not even caring how awfully he was mixing and remixing the colors with one another, and hurled it with all his might.

And it landed on the wall – well some of it. The other half was on Kurt's back and hair.

Kurt gasped and choked out something between a laugh and a sob. He stood up, grabbed the nearest bucket and armed himself with his own glob of paint.

Then all hell broke loose.

They were flinging paint at each other, chasing their opponent around the room. Some paint got on the wall, leaving interesting splash patterns, but most of it got on a) the floor or b) themselves.

Blaine reached out as Kurt was reloading and swiped a paint-covered thumb across his cheek.

"That's my face!" Kurt cried pointlessly, laughing in disbelief.

"I know!" Blaine answered.

Kurt grabbed Blaine's exposed arm, smearing him in lavender. His fingertips were warm, but the paint was shockingly cool and gelid. There was a hand-shaped print left of his arm.

Then Blaine got a wicked idea.

He grabbed Kurt and kissed him. Honestly, this was no chaste peck – he was kissing him senseless. Using his mouth to stir Kurt into a tizzy, the way only he knew how. And, sure enough, all plans of revenge fled Kurt's mind; Blaine could feel it.

That's why he grabbed the front of Kurt's shirt with both of his hands and pulled him closer. Then Kurt gasped into his open mouth because he realized: Blaine's hands were still wet with fresh paint.

Then it was a different kind of battle – the kind with no defeat or end.

Blaine pushed Kurt down onto the tarp – still fraught with undried paint if their feet were any indication. Kurt was giggling as he dipped his thumb in a nearby pail of silver and dabbed it on Blaine's forehead.

Blaine sat on Kurt's stomach and spotted a bucket of magenta. He swiped both hands across the surface and held them up for Kurt to see.

"No!" Kurt squealed. "No, Blaine! NO!"

Blaine cupped Kurt's face in his hand and kissed him. It wasn't much of a kiss because they were still both shaking with laughter and that was just making their lips do interesting things.

He pulled back and admired his handiwork. He kind of liked it in a strange way – the purple fingertips arching up over Kurt's cheeks, ending just below his ears and inches below his eyes. Because those were his hands and they molded that way every time he touched Kurt like this – only he could see it now.

Kurt moved to wipe the paint smudges away, but Blaine caught his hand.

"No, don't," he pleaded.

Kurt's eyebrows shot up. "Am I your new canvas?" he teased.

"Try it," Blaine told him, sitting back on his heels.

He didn't have to be bid twice; Kurt skimmed a palm over the nearest bucket of sunset orange and grabbed Blaine by the chin for a kiss.

The slide of cool, wet paint was a slight shock upon first contact, but then it clung to his skin and warmed up. It felt like rain, chilled and damp. Only rain dried or ran off the skin; it got absorbed in the clothing and then disappeared. But this did not.

Kurt pulled back, chuckling at his work. "Yes, I can see the appeal."

And that's how they found themselves practically rolling in paint, dipping their hands in new colors and then just resuming their normal paths like clutching another closely or running hands down the back of each other's shirts; grabbing clothes and skin and leaving multicolored marks that didn't just fluster and vanish, but remained.

Then when their clothes were both artfully stained enough, they just moved on to the skin beneath. They shed their clothes and sat cross-legged in front of one another and touched.

Blaine dipped his fingers in light blue as Kurt leaned in to kiss him, then pressed his hand to Kurt's shoulder, pulling him closer. His hand moved downward across the span of Kurt's chest and Blaine felt him draw in a quick breath from the temperature change.

He felt a slippery hand tracing his stomach as his lips moved down Kurt's neck, careful to avoid any colored patches. Kurt's fingernails digging into his skin were muted by the slick paint, but they dug in all the same as Blaine's tongue dragged across his throat.

Kurt hands skirted down Blaine's back and grabbed his ass through his sweats. Blaine was laughing because now he would have to hand prints on his butt every time he wore these sweats again – and he intended to.

Blaine hadn't realized that he had crawled right into Kurt's lap, his legs crossed behind the other boy's back. But he saw that he was when he pulled back, still giggling. They were an absolute mess. Various colored handprints everywhere. Blaine tried to trace each pattern with his eyes, trying to remember what he'd been doing when he made that mark or what he was feeling. Each print had its own story.

He could only imagine how he looked – face, chest, stomach, legs, and back all covered in paint. And still he drew on Kurt. He would kiss each patch of bare skin before painting tiny words or pictures over them. He drew a pink heart over the center of Kurt's chest and wrote "Without his love, I can do nothing" along his side.

It must've tickled, but Kurt held still.

Then he leaned forward and kissed Blaine, pressing their chests together so that any undried paint would merge and mix and stick onto both of them. But Blaine wasn't really thinking about that because Kurt's mouth was on his and he had his arms around his back and Kurt's fingers were in his hair, probably making a great big mess - but what did that matter?

Kurt leaned back and laughed as he tried to fix Blaine's hair. "I'm sorry, I really messed it up," he said between laughs. "You have so much paint in your hair."

"It's okay. I don't care," Blaine told him, fingering the splatters of color on Kurt's cheek. "Really."

"But - "

Blaine caught Kurt's protest with a kiss. "I don't care."

An hour later they had put their horribly stained clothes back on and were cleaning up some of the mess.

Well, Blaine was cleaning up. Kurt was sitting on the floor in the corner of the room, painting something with his fingertips along the baseboard. Blaine had to come up behind him and sit down just to see what it was: a skyline. He was using rough blacks and murky grays to trace lobsided buildings and hunched sky scrapers with his bare fingers. Then he dipped his hands in water, wiped them, and blanketed them in blue.

He used his palms to act as sponges to dab out a small segment of sky for his tiny city - New York, Blaine presumed with a smile - until the dark and light blues alike created a deep evening feeling.

Blaine washed his own hands and soaked all ten of his fingertips in yellow. Then he created the stars; starts as bright and beautiful as Kurt. He knelt down and let his fingers walk across the blue, giving the bleak sky the light it so craved.

"Now Dad and Carole will have their own tiny piece of New York," Kurt explained, admiring their handiwork.

The rest of the wall was already dry for the most part and covered well, but this little piece at least would remain untouched.

Carole came home a grand total of ten minutes later, coming into the room to see their completed masterpiece.

"Boys, it looks fantastic!" she exclaimed, ignoring them altogether. "It's wonder - Kurt," she gasped, going up to him and seeing the paint marks he couldn't cover up - such as the fingertips on his face and nose and neck. "What happened to you two? Blaine, honey, your hair looks like it's been through a war."

She moved over to him and tisked, trying to comb through the painted tangles with her fingers to no avail. "You're going to have a hard time washing that out, dear."

"It was worth it," he told her with a smile.

Kurt walked over and put his arm around Blaine's shoulder, to which Blaine graciously obliged with an arm around his waist. "So what do you think, Carole?" he asked. "Think you'll be hiring Blaine to paint my room after I leave?"

"Why would you want to paint your room if you're leaving?" Blaine asked stupidly.

"Oh I wouldn't worry about that just yet," Carole said before exiting the room. "I have to go unload the groceries. You're welcome to stay for dinner, Blaine."

"I'll be right there," Kurt told her. "Oh, no reason," he said to Blaine, answering his question. "It's just like, I don't intend on coming back except for holidays and maybe here and there around the summer. So it won't be my room anymore." He shrugged. "They can do what they want with it."

"Oh..." was all Blaine could think to say.

"But we make a pretty good team, you and I, don't we?" Kurt thought to himself.

"Yeah," Blaine agreed. "We do."

"Come on," Kurt said, grabbing Blaine's hand. "Let's go help Carole."

Blaine let himself be tugged along, but all of a sudden he felt numb and the happiness and relaxation that afternoon had brought him was draining right out of him. Because suddenly he thought something he'd never thought of before:

I could lose him.

A/N: I know it's been a long time, but trust me when I tell you that since my spring break ended - say, oh, in the beginning of March - all of my professors' missions in life are to make my life a living hell. Finals are only a few mere weeks away so I'm swamped with work! But I hope that my absence has been forgiven with this here 17K+ chapter hehe. Who says I don't deliver?

So as you can see, in the canon-sense, I'm a few weeks behind. I didn't even expect to include Cooper in BID, but he was there and it was a great addition, I felt! For me, BID is kind of a fill-in-the-holes, refer to canon plots type of story that I have very many romantic liberties in. But after Dance With Somebody (still sobbing inside) I think it'd be only right for the next chapter of BID to be an interlude with the missing scenes and backstory from that episode. I've already got it in the works and I feel like after I write it, I will be able to carry on with my care-free, romantic story I have going on here.

Also, I am a big, big ball of cheese, alright.

So I hope you liked it, it was really fun to write! Until next time, whenever that may be!

Review and leave me thoughts, my loves (: