Known for two months as '1940s!AU', I finally managed to finish it. Title from Dust Bowl Dance by Mumford and Sons. Mistakes are my own and totally intentional, obviously, I'm testing your grammar skills. Ahem.

Okay, let's get a few things straight because my insecurities want me to talk about them:

1) I am not a historian; I didn't research this as much as I could have. This takes place in the 1940s, let's say roughly 1943-ish. The dialogues might be slightly too modern for the era but I relied heavily on the Online Etymology Dictionary to try and make sure the words used, at least, were contemporary to the setting.

2) Since it covers religion pretty heavily, I feel the need to specify that no, this isn't purely my opinion and yes, I am aware that it's not necessarily as extreme as I depicted it. Also, Wikipedia told me I'm allowed to use 'convent' even though it's a school for boys so don't hit me. One last thing: my search history is now permanently weird and if Google is tracking me, it's probably confused as hell by my search queries.

3) I multi-ship Rachel. This isn't much of a disclaimer as it is an observation. I regret nothing.

4) There's not much smut for a glee_kink_meme fill but ah, yeah, I have no excuse for this except they had too many feels I had to deal with.

5) The pacing, it is odd. I tried fixing it, I really did. That didn't work too well.

Maybe kissing the milk boy behind the general store was a bad idea.

Alright. It was a terrible idea. The worst Blaine has ever had, if he's honest; bad enough to convince his father to send him to a Catholic school-cum-convent. Blaine is not completely stupid – yet, he's stupid enough to kiss boys in broad daylight – and he knows what people say about Our Lady of Martyrs School For Boys. He knows what kinds of boys are sent there and what happens to them. He's heard the men in his family whisper about it enough as he was growing up, heard the snickers and the comments about how his father should put him on the list before it's too late.

Apparently, it's too late now.

The silence in the car on the way to the institution weighs down on Blaine but it's nothing new. Ever since they were caught by the baker's daughter, Blaine's father hasn't said a word to him. It was his mother who told him where they were sending him, his mother who helped him pack and his mother, again, whom he felt he was letting down in all of this.

The scenery changes around them until the forest has completely taken over. It's almost an hour before they reach the small village where Our Lady of Martyrs is located. It's a tiny, desolate village, the kind that actually has to change the sign telling how many inhabitants they have when someone dies: 1,042 people as they drive by it and Blaine suspects that's counting the boys in the school. Underneath it, smaller, another figure tells them how many of their men were sent to fight abroad. Blaine wonders if their number was withdrawn from the total count of inhabitants and thinks that if it hasn't, no matter how many of them manage to survive and come back in one piece, the village is bound to see its population dwindling down to naught very soon.

The school is located right next to the church, which is small and made of white wood. Blaine can almost smell the heady scent of incense that certainly is embedded in the wood of the walls. The school itself is an austere building made of sharp angles and steep gables. It looks like an orphanage or a mental institution; in all honesty, it's probably a bit of both. The boys sent there are better off forgotten by their parents and they certainly need fixing. A shiver runs down his spine as he looks at the windows; as a cloud passes in front of the sun, they look like tens of glassy eyes casting looks around without actually seeing anything.

The church and school both face the central place of the village, where a plain fountain has been placed to lighten up the gloomy atmosphere of what surrounds it. Its single jet of water only makes everything look more miserable and soulless.

"Isn't this a lovely little town!" his mother exclaims from the front seat, turning around to smile at Blaine. "You're going to have a good time here, sweetheart, I can tell. Who knows what mischief you and your classmates will get up to in those streets!"

Next to her, Blaine's father huffs and clears his throat. Well of course, he doesn't want Blaine to get into any sort of mischief with boys and he needed to remind everyone, just in case they were starting to enjoy themselves too much. This isn't a time for rejoicing, as he makes a point to remind his wife.

Blaine's father stops the car in the small courtyard of the school and Blaine gets out, clutching his small suitcase tightly with both hands. His parents start towards the school and Blaine follows them. If the weather outside is hot and stifling like an early September day is wont to be, the inside of the school feels like the inside of a oven. They are ushered down a long corridor with bare white walls by a man Blaine dislikes at first sight. The reality of his situation is starting to dawn on him and he feels his throat tighten with the urge to cry. Blaine's mother's heels click against the hardwood floor and he focuses on the sound to ground himself and try to control how his head is spinning. He won't give his father the satisfaction to cry in front of him.

He doesn't pay much attention to the meeting with Father James, which earns him a slap behind the head from his father.

"As I was saying," the religious man says in a calm, measured voice once he has Blaine's attention. "Mr. Anderson will receive an excellent education here, beyond academia. Our institution's main goal is to instill good values in our students and to ensure they grow up to be hard-working, well-respected men. Obviously, your son has to understand that in order to achieve this, there will be rules he has to follow closely lest punishments will be administered, starting now. It is customary for our institution to forbid students who come in for a situation similar to Blaine's to join extracurricular activities, such as choir or reading groups. Understood?"

Blaine nods stiffly, his eyes going from the man's serene face to the crucifix hanging on the wall behind him. He swallows thickly, the knot in his throat now painful.

"Now, Brother Benjamin will show Mr. Anderson to his dormitory. He will be given twenty minutes to unpack and then will be escorted to his classroom, where he will join his classmates. A schedule and his textbooks have already been placed in his room. He is expected to follow his classmates' lead to know which behaviour to adopt at all times. We will finish filling the paperwork in the meantime. I recommend you say your goodbyes, now."

The goodbyes are brief, to say the least, and before Blaine knows it, he's walking into a classroom filled with boys wearing the same uniform than he changed into before leaving his dorm room. Scratchy gray trousers made of wool, a white dress shirt, a navy blazer and a matching tie. He is told to sit at one of the empty desks and to try to keep up by a severe Brother with a wheezing voice.

Blaine catches the boy sitting to his left glancing at him a few times and he risks a smile the next time he does. Their eyes meet and Blaine's stomach swoops at the sight of the boy's almost impossibly blue eyes. The boy nods at him and then turns back to the blackboard. Blaine lets his eyes linger on him and the more he takes in his profile, the worse he feels. This is exactly why he's been sent here and within an hour, he's already gushing over another boy. It's obvious he deserves everything he'll be put through.

He tries to catch him after the class ends but the boy runs off as soon as the bell rings. Blaine follows the crowd of boys as they walk down the hallway in silence and waits for all of them to sit down before going to the only empty desk.

By the time this other lesson ends, he realises none of the boys have said a single word since he arrived. His mind then goes to those friaries which made vows of silence and he wonders if that's what he was put in, and what he's supposed to do if he can't even talk, let alone sing, and the knot in his throat is back.

"Can I help you?" a Brother asks him and Blaine realises he's standing in the middle of the dormitories floor without moving.

"Hum—yes—er. What am I supposed to do? I don't—I'm new here."

The Brother smiles at him and Blaine relaxes. He's allowed to talk, if only some of the time.

"You are to put your books in your room and proceeds to the refectory. It's lunch time. You are advised to sit with your classmates. Hurry up or you won't get anything to eat before dinner."

Blaine nods and swiftly goes to his room to throw his books on his bed before walking out again. He spots a few boys he remembers seeing in his classes and follows them down the narrow hallways and steep staircases.

They enter a large room with high ceilings filled with tables seating about five boys each. Blaine looks around nervously and sees that none of them have food, no plates even, and figures they'll have someone walking around serving them. With that in mind, Blaine makes his way to a table with only one person sitting at it. He breathes a sigh of relief when he sees the boy from his first lesson.

"Is this seat taken?" Blaine asks, trying to hide his nerves as he points to the chair in front of the boy. The boy looks at him with curious eyes and shakes his head. Blaine sits down and gives him a small smile, which the boy returns. "I'm Blaine Anderson. I'm new here."

"I figured. You better keep your voice down," he says in a whisper and Blaine realises the only conversations around him are carried in hushed voices. "Kurt Hummel," he adds, extending his hand over the table to shake Blaine's.

His skin is soft and so pale the contrast with his own is startling, and—no. Blaine stiffens as he lets go of Kurt's hand and he glances at the large crucifix hanging behind the main table, which is placed perpendicularly to the others, and where many Brothers and Father James are seated. These thoughts are wrong. This is what landed him there in the first place. He can't go and fall for another boy, even if he's breathtakingly beautiful. Blaine should not even notice that.

When he looks back at Kurt, the boy has his head bowed down and a blush on his face. Feeling Blaine's eyes on him, he looks up and frowns.

"You're here for the same reason than I, I assume."

Blaine holds his eyes and nods slowly. "I think it's safe to say I am."

Kurt's frown intensifies. "Then you have to stop looking at me this way, Blaine. You shouldn't even have talked to me. This is wrong," he whispers animatedly, leaning slightly forward as he emphasises 'wrong.' "We are wrong, Blaine, so very wrong. We are wretched creatures if we give in to those sinful instincts. The only thing that awaits us is the fires of Hell if we dare let those thoughts fill our minds. We—you will have to go to confession. Tonight. I know what you are thinking and I won't let you contaminate me again with those wicked—I won't let you."

Blaine watches as Kurt finishes his spiel by crossing himself and muttering a prayer under his breath. Blaine lets out a shaky breath and clears his throat, averting his eyes when Kurt looks up.

"You mean not all of us here are—that?" Blaine risks asking.

Kurt glares at him. "Obviously not. What would the odds be? No, you have your delinquents, your street urchins, your orphans—all sorts of very lovely boys. God have mercy on us all," Kurt says darkly and there's so much self-loathing in his voice that Blaine winces. "Some of us are even more than just one of those. You still have parents?"

Blaine nods and is stopped from returning the question when a boy in a wheelchair nears them. Kurt moves a chair away so he can get closer to the table and once he's in place, he flashes a large smile to Blaine. His eyes look huge behind his thick glasses and Blaine smiles back, already liking him.

"New kid?" the boy asks Kurt, who only nods stiffly and busies himself scratching a dark spot on the tabletop with the nail of his thumb. "I'm Artie Abrams."

Blaine shakes his hand. "Blaine Anderson."

"I see you met our very own ray of sunshine, Kurt Hummel," Artie teases, smirking when Kurt huffs. "Don't mind him. He's a righteous pain in the—"

"Artie!" Kurt hisses.

"Alright, alright, don't have a hissy fit. Kurt's our favourite pillar-biter, he is," Artie replies, still smirking.

"How dare you!" Kurt snaps, his face glowing with anger and embarrassment. "Do you know what awaits liars? You should—"

"Mr. Hummel, I must ask you to keep your voice down," a Brother asks as he walks between the tables. "Your meals are about to be served and you wouldn't want to be asked to leave the refectory without eating, would you?"

"Sorry, Brother Joseph," Kurt whispers sheepishly.

Artie looks at Blaine in a way that says 'you've seen nothing yet' and Blaine shrugs in an equivocal way. He doesn't want to get on either boy's wrong side yet so he prefers to stay neutral.

"Anyway, what brings you among us?" Artie asks lightly before quietly cheering when boys who don't look more than twelve enter the room pushing carts covered in plates of food.

Blaine looks at them in confusion, wondering what they did to get sent to kitchen chores. Artie follows his puzzled gaze and lets out a joyless laugh.

"Orphans," Artie explains. "They have no parents to pay for their stay here so they work instead. Like Kurt and I, except we're not in the kitchen. I help with the laundry, Kurt with sewing."

"You're orphans?" Blaine asks the both of them though his eyes remain on Kurt.

"He is, I'm not," Artie says. "Why am I working, then? Easy. What's the use of a cripple on a farm, I ask you. When I lost the use of my legs, I became a burden to my family. All I could do what sit around the house and read books. A waste of food, I tell you, and with food so hard to come by, they registered me here as an orphan so I would get a good education without costing them a dime." Artie shrugs as he finishes his explanation but the look on his face says he doesn't feel as lightly about the matter as he pretends to. "It's supposed to be a secret but everyone knows. I'm not the only one. They don't really mind, the Brothers, as long as I work for free."

"You should be grateful for what your parents and this institution offer you, Artie, instead of complaining about your situation," Kurt says coldly before sweetly thanking the young boy giving him his plate.

"Alas, gratefulness is but the expectation of further favours, my dear Kurt, and I refuse to be indebted to anyone. By complaining, I ensure that no one gives me more than what I worked for, that way I know I owed everything I get."

Blaine nods in agreement when Artie glances at him and then looks down at his plate as the entire refectory says grace. The food looks decent but he doesn't expect it to taste very good. The first bite confirms his prediction. It tastes bland and dull, and there's no salt or pepper to be seen on the table so Blaine resigns himself to endure the meal.

"What about you, Kurt? What happened to your parents?" Blaine asks to fill the silence.

"They're dead," Kurt answers primly without looking at Blaine.

"Obviously… How?"

"Very tactful," Artie mutters with a smirk.

"I do not wish to talk about it with a complete stranger, Blaine Anderson," Kurt replies before sticking his nose up – Blaine would not have believed someone Kurt's age would do something as childish if he hadn't seen it himself – and ignoring both Artie and Blaine for the rest of the meal.

The afternoon goes by before Blaine knows it and the three lessons leave way to—well, Blaine doesn't know what he's supposed to do, now. He's sitting on his bed, his dorm room door opened just like everyone else's, and staring at the wall. He didn't get homework and he doesn't know if he's allowed to wander around the school. He doesn't even know if he's allowed to leave his room to go to the bathroom without asking for permission.

He gets his answer when Artie wheels himself in his room, a stack of sheets on his knees.

"I knew you'd be confused about what you're supposed to do. Here's the list of work we're supposed to do at night. We had to copy it down at the beginning of the year, so I figured you wouldn't have a copy. We're expected to hand in the entire week worth of exercises on Friday so I imagine you have to do the same, even though it's Wednesday."

Artie starts wheeling himself backwards out of the room but stops abruptly. "If you have any questions, I'm four doors to the right of yours. I'm working in the laundry room after dinner until nine, but otherwise I'm always there." He starts again and stops. "And Kurt wanted me to tell you that confession is in the village church from seven to nine. He said you needed to go."

Blaine lets out a shaky breath and thanks Artie. He's dying to know more about Kurt but doesn't dare ask yet. Artie's allegiance to Kurt is certainly strong and pushing too much might make him go to Kurt and tell all about Blaine being nosey, which would cause Kurt to have another fit.

Besides, showing too much interest in Kurt is very wrong and exactly why he will be first in line at confession tonight.

To busy himself until then, Blaine starts copying down the lengthy list of work he's expected to do every week. He now knows what he will do to fill his free time. It's obvious they intentionally make sure he doesn't get any. Hopefully he won't have any time left to think about what he's not supposed to think about.

Kurt is nowhere to be found at dinner and Artie explains that Kurt often does that. "He starves himself when he thinks he acted wrong. He got angry at me during lunch so he's punishing himself." Artie half-shrugs and gives Blaine a sad smile. "This kid is messed up. I don't know what happened to him before he came here but he's—passionate, and not necessarily in a good way."

Blaine nods but doesn't push for more information. The less he thinks about Kurt as anything more than a classmate, the better he will be.

He leaves for the church as soon as he's done eating. The church is empty when he enters and he takes his time to look around. It's far from the one in Westerville, with its elaborately carved Way of the Cross and statuesque organ. This one as very simplistic wooden carvings and the pulpit is simply a book-holder in the middle of a raised platform.

Noises coming from behind his back make Blaine turn around in time to see Kurt leave the confessional. Their eyes meet and Kurt inhales sharply before hurrying out of the building, crossing himself as he goes. Blaine swallows and looks around before walking towards the confessional.

Blaine stops in front of it, suddenly frozen. He feels nauseous and like his stomach has turned to lead. In that instant, he knows he can't go in and confess. Before anyone catches him there, Blaine hurries out of the church and stops in the central place, heaving like he ran a marathon. Staggering, he sits on the ledge of the fountain and takes his head in his hands to try and steady himself.

"You didn't do it." Blaine's head snaps up to see Kurt sitting a few feet away from him.

"No," Blaine mutters, looking down again.

Kurt huffs and the rustling of fabric tells Blaine he scooted closer. "Coward," Kurt sneers.

"Yeah, I am," Blaine says with a sigh.

"I go every day," Kurt tells him haughtily. Blaine looks up and sees he's staring off in the distance.

"You can't possibly commit mortal sins every day, Kurt."

Kurt huffs. "Don't be silly. I confess venial sins as well."

"Like getting angry at Artie?"

"Exactly."

"He had it coming," Blaine notes.

"It doesn't change a thing," Kurt replies. Their eyes meet and Kurt quickly turns his gaze away.

Blaine hums but drops the subject. His nausea is receding and his head has stopped spinning. "What happened to your parents, Kurt?" he asks.

Kurt shakes his head but smiles. "How did you get here, Blaine?" he asks back and his tone has an amused tint to it that Blaine is surprised to hear from the boy. It's unexpected and makes Blaine feel terrible because he likes it way too much.

Blaine smirks at him. "I was caught kissing the milk boy behind the general store."

Kurt gasps and pales. "You acted on it?" he hisses, his eyes darting around in sheer panic. "You are—thinking it is bad enough but acting on it is boldly defying everything! How—and you look so calm about it, too! How can you—don't you even feel guilty about it?"

"Kurt, calm down," Blaine says hurriedly.

"How do you expect me to calm down when you are even more wretched than I thought?" His voice has gone shrill. "And you won't even confess! Next thing we know, you'll tell me you enjoyed it?" Kurt is once more red in the face and his eyes are wide with panic.

"Hey, hey, you need to breathe, Kurt, or you'll work yourself into fits." Blaine reaches forward to rub his back but Kurt flinches.

"Don't touch me, you heathen."

"Give me time." "It's my first day, here. I—I know what I did was bad, I'm aware of that. But confessing would be—I'm not ready to face the consequences, yet. Yes, I'm a coward. I need time." Blaine shakes his head. "I don't know what I'm doing."

"Obviously," Kurt deadpans.

"I need guidance."

"Still stating the obvious, I see." Kurt looks up to the sky, which is darkening by the minute, and gets up. "I better go back inside."

"What happened to your parents, Kurt?" Blaine asks again, tentatively teasing.

"Confess and maybe I'll tell you," Kurt shouts back over his shoulder as he walks quickly towards the entrance of the school.

Blaine bites his lip hard when he catches himself thinking that he really likes that odd kid.

A month later, Blaine is still unable to confess. Whenever he gets near the confessional, he starts feeling physically sick and has to run outside, finding himself breathing in the crisp October air like he spent hours underwater. Despite the many sermons he heard telling him in barely veiled words that his very being is wrong, he still can't face the punishment that unavoidably awaits him the day he decides to step inside the confessional.

His internal struggle is nothing compared to Kurt's, though. If Blaine is torn between his cowardice and his conscience telling him he ought to be absolved of the horrible things he's done, Kurt seems to be caught between hating and befriending Blaine and it makes Blaine think that perhaps, the boy doesn't truly hate him.

It only gets worse with time. Blaine finds himself teasing or being downright flirty with Kurt more and more and surprisingly, Kurt is receptive, sometimes, and will give Blaine covert smiles and light brushes of his hand on his arms or hands that he pairs with furtive glances, even as he tells Blaine to leave him alone. Then, the next day, he'll act aloof and cold like they don't even know each other. It's slowly driving Blaine insane.

On the days Kurt is nice to him, though, they can spend hours walking around town or on the school grounds, discussing without ever running out of topics. Sometimes, when the mood is right, they even end up almost flirting and those are Blaine's favourite days. These are days when Kurt lets their hands brush, laughs louder and smiles wider. Blaine is terrified of the things Kurt's eyes and smiles do and say to him on those days.

"Kurt tells me you still haven't confessed," Artie says as they walk through the village.

It's a cold yet sunny Saturday afternoon in late October and they've just walked out of a funeral ceremony for soldiers who died recently. Five empty coffins for five boys barely older than Blaine, killed in Poland, or Germany, or France; Blaine has lost count. It's the third ceremony he attends since he arrived.

"I haven't, no," Blaine replies lightly, hoping Artie won't push further.

"It's really upsetting him that you don't. I have half a mind to stop going just to bother him but even I do it at least once a month."

"What's wrong with him, anyway?" Blaine asks, more sharply than he intended.

"What do you mean?"

"One minute he's friendly and the next he's ignoring me."

Artie purses his lips and looks away from Blaine. "The Puckermans used to live there," he says, pointing a house to their right.

"Who?" Blaine doesn't even try to hide his annoyance at Artie's intentional avoidance.

"The Puckermans. Noah, their son, he used to deliver food from the grocers when I worked in the kitchen a few years ago. They had to flee last year."

"What happened?" Blaine asks but he already knows the answer. It's making his stomach knot.

"They were Jewish," Artie says in a low voice. "People tolerated them before, but you know how it is. In a small town like this, with a convent on the grounds, religion is everything. That's what's wrong with Kurt."

Blaine squints at Artie. "I'm not sure I'm following."

"Well, you better try to understand. Kurt is worrying himself sick over you." With that, Artie quickly wheels himself away from Blaine and back to school.

Later that night, Blaine spends ten minutes pacing his room before he makes up his mind, cursing himself for acting like such a fool for something as banal as talking to Kurt, his friend. Grabbing the bundle of clothes he'd made earlier that evening, he leaves his room and walks down the hall towards Kurt's. Knocking lightly on the doorframe, he peaks his head inside hesitantly.

"Hey, Kurt, are you busy?"

Kurt looks up from his schoolwork with a start and frowns when he sees Blaine. "Yes."

It's a bad day and Blaine's face falls. He shouldn't expect much when Kurt is in that sort of mood.

"Oh, well," Blaine steps inside the room anyway, earning himself a heavy sigh from Kurt. "I was wondering if you could repair some of my things? Most of my socks have holes in them now and there's a tear in one of my shirts. I know that's your job here, so I figured I'd ask."

Kurt rolls his eyes but pushes his chair away from his desk and gets up to cross the small room. He pulls Blaine's clothes out of his hands and makes sure to not meet his eyes. "Come back in an hour, I should be done."

"Do you mind if I stay?"

Kurt sighs and rolls his eyes before sitting down again and putting his textbooks away, replacing them with Blaine's clothes. He opens one of the drawers and takes out needles and thread. Blaine watches in silence for a moment as Kurt nimbly starts sewing his socks.

"It's really warm in your room, do you mind if I open the window a bit?" Blaine asks after several minutes in silence.

"If you want to kill me, you are free to do so," Kurt snaps.

"What do you mean?"

"My mother died of tuberculosis. It's only a matter of time before I have it, too. So, sure, if you want me to get consumption, go on and open the damn window."

Blaine's eyes widen at the same time than Kurt's back tenses. "Kurt Hummel, did you just curse?" Blaine drawls, a smirk on his lips.

Dropping his needle and Blaine's sock, Kurt crosses himself before putting his hands together and muttering a prayer under his breath. Then, turning towards Blaine, he sniffles. Blaine feels his stomach knot up when he sees Kurt's eyes glistening with unshed tears.

"You are a foul person, Blaine Anderson. I don't know what I did to you so that you would find amusement in my misery. You have caused me nothing but trouble since you arrived and I wish you would—" Kurt stops talking and shakes his head, pressing his lips together until they disappear. "I have to—I'll be right back."

He gets up and leaves his room. Blaine follows right after him instinctively, almost running down the hallway to keep up with Kurt's long strides. Kurt ignores him until he enters what looks like a storage room. The door closes heavily behind them and Kurt lets out a frustrated groan.

"Why can't you leave me alone?" he snaps, stalking through the aisles formed by the shelves, Blaine on his heels. "What have I done for you to harass me like you do?"

"Kurt, if you want us to talk, you'll have to stop running away from me. Let me at least apologise. My conduct has been despicable." Blaine winces at his own words. He sounds like his father.

"I'm not running away from you, I need white thread to fix your clothes and didn't have any in my room."

"You know what I mean."

Kurt's shoulders slump and he stops at once. Blaine catches up with him and goes to stand in front of him. Kurt keeps his head bowed down and Blaine doesn't try to meet his gaze. He hates forcing himself on Kurt that way but he needs answers.

"Every time you talk to me, I have to confess," Kurt says quietly. "I was doing so well. I thought I was cured, but then you had to come and—" Kurt shakes his head and his voice breaks into a sob. "You have no idea what I go through whenever I confess that."

"And you expect me to go and suffer through the same things than you do?" Blaine chuckles dryly.

"You're living a lie! As long as you don't confess, you'll be treated as any other student in this school while I remain a pariah. It isn't fair that you get the privileges of being just another normal student while I endure the whispers from my classmates and the chastising from the clergy!"

"And this is why we can't be friends?"

"This is why I shouldn't even talk to you, Blaine," Kurt says coldly. He raises his chin in defiance after grabbing what he came for. "It was great, but I think we ought to stop this acquaintance."

Kurt tries to walk around Blaine but he blocks his way, their bodies inches from each other. Their eyes meet and they hold still as seconds pass. Something warm churns in Blaine's stomach. His breath picks up and his heart starts thumping in his ears as they continue to gaze into each other's eyes. Kurt is as flustered as Blaine, he can feel his warm breath against his lips and knows Kurt can feel his, but when Blaine almost involuntarily leans forward, Kurt dashes out of the room.

Blaine doesn't sleep well that night. He tosses and turns without being able to fall asleep for hours and when he finally does, it's to wake up soon after when thoughts of Kurt occupy his dreams; he's kissing him feverishly, their flushed skins pressed together as they cling to each other and make noises he can still hear ringing in his ears after he wakes up.

With horror, he realises he's hard in his pajamas and he lies motionless for long minutes, willing it to go away as angry tears fill his eyes. It isn't the first time it happens to him but never before had it been so clearly caused by thoughts of a boy.

Kurt is right. They are wrong. They are so very wrong and he needs to be cured. He has no other choice. First thing tomorrow, he'll go confess and endure whatever he deserves to go through. No more thoughtless flirting and teasing with Kurt.

With that resolution in mind, he slips his hand inside his pants, letting the images from his dream fill his mind once more as he bites his lips to stifle the sobs and moans that threaten to escape.

Kurt is in trouble. He hasn't been this much in trouble since the first time he realised he did not only like Finn Hudson as a friend.

Except, this time, instead of being a tall guy who would too soon turn into his brother, it's a short boy who follows him around like a puppy. And he looks like a puppy, too, and seriously, how is Kurt supposed to hate a puppy?

Kurt can't get him out of his head. He occupies his thoughts night and day – oh and the nights are when it's really bad because Kurt's imagination is his worst enemy. It's become so bad that he stopped confessing: at that point, they'd probably excommunicate him. That's how filthy his mind has become.

Say, for example, they're in English class. They'll be allowed time to read a chapter of whatever they are reading right now – it might be A Tale of Two Cities but Kurt really hasn't been paying attention in the past weeks and for all he knows, it's War and Peace– and he'll find himself covertly looking at Blaine the whole time. He'll watch the way he rubs the corner of the pages with his thumb as he reads, he'll follow the curve of his neck longingly, he'll marvel at the length of his eyelashes, the shape of his nose, the broadness of his shoulders and how they stretch the fabric of his blazer and before he knows it, he will be squirming uncomfortably in his seat and cursing himself under his breath.

So, obviously, he's mean. He has to keep Blaine away lest he does something they will both bitterly regret, and it usually works until Blaine says something that can be interpreted as flirtatious and Kurt melts, gives in, and flirt right back.

Yet, his fit in the storage room the week before seems to have calmed Blaine and Kurt hates that he misses the attention. He misses their conversations and how easy it was to talk to Blaine and he misses that he had someone who understood his life.

But it's for the best, right? No more interactions with Blaine means no need to monitor everything he says and does.

Maybe if he repeats it often enough, he'll believe it but, so far, it's not working.

Trying to push thoughts of Blaine and everything that's wrong about the friendship he longs for away, Kurt enters the shower room and groans in frustration when he hears a few showerheads. He hates showering when he's not alone but curfew is in twenty minutes and he hates doing it in the morning even more than he dislikes the tension his presence causes.

Quickly stripping off his clothes, he wraps a towel around his waist and picks up his shampoo and soap before heading for the showerhead he always picks: the farthest away from the door, next to the back wall, so he can face the corner and pretend he's alone if he's not.

He's almost there when he notices Blaine. It takes him so much by surprise that he lets out a yelp he barely manages to stifle. Not letting his eyes linger on Blaine's back – definitely not, no, of course not, he is not looking – Kurt hurries away and focuses on washing himself. With a metallic squeak, a boy shuts the water and Kurt chances a glance over his shoulder. With him gone, he's alone with Blaine.

It doesn't take long before his eyes drift towards Blaine. He's two showerheads away from him and hasn't noticed Kurt or if he has, he's playing innocent really well. Kurt follows the curve of his back with his eyes and his breath quickens as he looks at Blaine's round, naked ass. He continues to look down and takes in the muscular thighs with a shaky sigh. Kurt closes his eyes and wills himself to look away before curiosity gets the best of him and he oversteps too many of his own boundaries.

"Kurt?"

Kurt falters and steadies himself against the wall before opening his eyes. He needs to calm down, he's too nervous for something as banal as showering near Blaine. "Blaine?" he asks innocently.

"Look at me, Kurt," Blaine says hesitantly.

"Blaine, don't be silly," Kurt snaps. "This is not the place."

"I know it's wrong," Blaine groans and the sound goes straight to Kurt's groin. "I confessed, you know."

"Do we really have to discuss this here?" Kurt asks in a small voice.

"I just—I know what you said, and I respect that, but we have to talk. I need it."

"I certainly won't talk to you when we're both naked! And to be honest, there is nothing to talk about, Blaine. We—we are in the same situation, I offered you guidance, you followed it, that's it! There's nothing else to be done! You do whatever it is you have to do to absolve yourself of sins and avoid them in the future, and I do the same. Each to his own."

Kurt wonders if Blaine can tell how little he believes in his words or the effect his voice has on him.

"Look me in the eyes and tell me there's nothing more to talk about." Blaine's voice sounds too close and Kurt risks opening his eyes. He's standing a foot away from Kurt.

Kurt finally meets Blaine's eyes and he gulps at the fire he sees burning in them. He has to know. There's no way he doesn't know the effect he has on Kurt; it's near impossible that his rapid heartbeat can't be heard echoing around the room and if Blaine doesn't notice the way Kurt can't seem to tear his eyes away from him, he's probably blind. Having Blaine so close after a week of complete deprivation – and yes, it does feel like an addiction, which is very saddening, Kurt is fully aware of it – seems to set something in motion in his head and before he knows it, he's nodding.

"Come to my room after curfew. Don't get caught." His voice comes out breathy and low.

Blushing at both his words and voice's betrayal, Kurt turns the water off, grabs his things and stalks out of the room. He only notices he hasn't even washed after he's put on his pajamas and thrown himself on his bed to groan into his pillow. It's too late, now, and he'll have to do it in the morning.

Half an hour passes before his dorm room opens and closes quickly. He hasn't moved from his prostrated position on his bed. He feels the mattress shifting and pulls his legs to his chest so Blaine can sit down.

"Kurt," he whispers and Kurt hums in acknowledgement. "I never meant for any of this to happen."

"Me neither."

"What do they do when you confess this?"

Kurt huffs. "What did they do?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Me neither."

Blaine is quiet for a while and Kurt risks a glance at him. He's sitting with his back against the wall and he's staring at the ceiling. Kurt shifts to continue looking at Blaine. The moonlight is barely lighting him up but Kurt doesn't need much light anymore to guess Blaine's features, he knows them by heart already.

"Do you really think we'll go to Hell for what we are?" Kurt is about to answer when Blaine talks again. "I know you talk like a Bible fanatic but I have a feeling you really aren't. Well, either a feeling or a really strong wish. And it makes me sad to think about what they must have done to turn you into one."

"You have the luxury to look normal," Kurt begins softly. "I don't have that chance. I'm a poor orphaned boy who looks and sounds like a girl. I'm an easy target."

Blaine inhales sharply and shifts closer to Kurt. "Did they—"

"No," Kurt says strongly. "No, they haven't. But I'd rather be safe than sorry."

"For the record, I think you're handsome. But, ah—" Blaine clears his throat and scratches the back of his neck, looking away from Kurt. "Do you really think we'll go to Hell?"

"Do you?"

"No."

Blaine answers so strongly that Kurt lifts himself on an elbow to look at him. "No?"

Blaine shakes his head. "I know what they say. I listen to their sermons and what everyone says but I—I don't see why the fact that I happened to fall for someone I shouldn't like makes me a bad person and why because of this, no matter what I'll do for the rest of my life, I'm damned."

"You fell for me?" Kurt hears himself whisper and he puts his hand over his mouth immediately.

Blaine chuckles and clears his throat again. "Did I say that out loud?"

"You did," Kurt breathes out, blushing.

Blaine chuckles nervously again. Kurt pushes himself up into a sitting position, his back against the headboard. He starts mindlessly scratching his nails against the cotton of his pants and worrying his lip between his teeth as he feels Blaine's eyes on him. Somewhere in the distance, Kurt hears a clock ticking, the steady rhythm almost lost under the sound of Blaine's breath.

"I think you're handsome, too," Kurt says quietly, bashfully. "And I don't really hate you, not really."

"I know. It was really obvious." Blaine almost sounds smug, then, so Kurt extends a leg to kick his thigh. "Hey! Don't hit me! You know it was."

"Well, you didn't make it hard to hide with all your flirting and your smiles."

"So we were flirting."

Kurt doesn't answer right away. In that instant, he's terrified. It's scarier than hearing his father tell him Mommy won't be coming home tonight because she's sick, and then won't come back home ever again. It's scarier than being pulled out of class to be told his father was found dead after a heart attack. It's scarier than sitting at his parents' funerals, scarier than confessing to a cold-voiced priest that he's homosexual. It's trusting that Blaine won't let him down and won't run away.

Kurt breathes in shakily. "I really hope we were."

Silence stretches between them, pulling at Kurt's nerves and making him regret his honesty.

"Can I kiss you?" Blaine's voice is steady despite how he's wringing his hands nervously in his lap.

"Yes." Kurt gulps and bites his lip while frowning, fully aware that this is the point of no return.

For a moment, Kurt thinks Blaine hasn't heard him but then he's moving forward and putting his hand on Kurt's cheek as he kneels before him. Kurt can feel his panting breath on his face and he shivers.

"Are you sure?" Blaine whispers.

Kurt nods stiffly before closing the gap between their lips. He sighs sharply through his nose and reaches up to cling to Blaine's arms as the other boy presses his lips more firmly against his. Kurt kisses him back, the slide of lips dizzying and intoxicating until he can't breathe anymore and has to pull away.

He falls back against the wall and closes his eyes before touching his lips with the tip of his fingers. "I can't believe—" he begins but his voice breaks.

Blaine shifts so he can hold Kurt's head between his hands and kisses him again. Kurt kisses him back and pulls him closer. Kurt lets out a whimper when he feels Blaine's tongue against his lips and he parts them, gripping Blaine's sides when he licks into his mouth before sucking briefly on his bottom lip.

He tries the same on Blaine and it causes him to pull away with a gasp.

"What are we doing?" Blaine asks nervously, moving away from Kurt with wide eyes. "Seriously. What are we thinking? That we'll be fine? You—you know better than me what they're capable of and we're—we're kissing on your bed. In your dorm room. Inside a Catholic school, where I've been sent exactly because I kissed a boy," Blaine whispers animatedly while gesticulating wildly. Kurt had hoped his mind would have taken a bit longer to catch up with his actions.

"I don't know what to tell you. I don't know what to think. I'm panicking, too. But—I know we can't confess this. They'd keep us apart if they knew," Kurt replies, moving away from Blaine and curling up against the headboard of his bed once more.

"Wouldn't that be better?"

Kurt leans forward and kisses the corner of Blaine's lips. "Do you really mean this? Because we can stay away from each other, but if theykeep us away, God knows what horrifying ways they'll find."

"You're saying we can't repeat this?"

Kurt bites his tongue so he doesn't speak his mind. Blaine is right. "We shouldn't, no. It's too dangerous. And it's wrong," he adds automatically but without conviction.

Blaine surprises Kurt by kissing him again. "So very wrong," he mutters against his lips before kissing them again.

"Yes," Kurt breathes out, his eyes closing and his hands tangling in Blaine's hair. "So wrong."

This time Blaine doesn't hesitate to slip his tongue in Kurt's mouth, making him arch his back and whimper. Blaine moves his lips to his jaw, where he starts kissing down to his neck. Kurt wraps his arms tightly around Blaine's shoulders and moves his head to expose more of his neck, which Blaine immediately covers with kisses.

Kurt opens his eyes briefly and his eyes fall on the crucifix hanging over his bed. Tensing up but not pushing Blaine away, he moves his gaze to try to focus on something that won't bring up guilt, only to focus on his rosary. He gasps and pushes Blaine away hurriedly.

"Stop, stop," he hisses, pushing until Blaine unwraps his arms from around him and moves back. "Go. Leave my room. Now."

"But Kurt—"

"I shouldn't have let you in. This is wrong. We can't do this. Go before we get caught!"

Kurt gets off his bed and starts pushing Blaine towards the door until he collides with it. Kurt holds him against it and kisses him again, pulling away as soon as Blaine tries to kiss him back.

"Out!" he finally hisses and nearly slams the door when Blaine is out. Kurt leans his forehead against it and finally lets his mind take over, panic and fright washing over him like a tide.

Blaine can't say he's slept in the past week. He's haunted by the memories of that night in Kurt's room whenever he closes his eyes. He's on the edge and even Artie noticed that something is up. He gave up asking what's wrong when Blaine snapped at him to mind his own business two days earlier.

He hasn't confessed since that night and that, too, is gnawing away at his mind. Kurt probably hasn't, either, because he still looks alright. They haven't talked since. In fact, Kurt barely acknowledges him.

It's not the other way around, as much as Blaine wishes he could get the boy out of his mind. Maybe he found it hard to focus his attention on something else than Kurt before, but now it's like he can't think of anything else.

It's dinner time a week exactly after their terrible mistake when Kurt talks to him. Well, he talks to both Artie and Blaine, but Blaine counts this as a victory.

Kurt walks oddly slowly as he enters the refectory and that detail alone worries Blaine. He's watched Kurt's every move enough to know his demeanour and this is uncharacteristic of him. He winces as he sits down and keeps his back ramrod straight instead of leaning against the back of his chair.

"Hey, Kurt!" Artie greets him lightly.

"Hi," Kurt answers tightly before swallowing. From up close, his eyes look bloodshot.

"Are you alright?" Blaine asks cautiously.

Kurt purses his lips and shakes his head. Tears begin pooling in his eyes and Blaine has a hard time not reaching for Kurt's hand.

"Did you know they still use flogging nowadays?" Kurt chokes out before letting out a self-deprecating laugh and wiping his eyes angrily. "Because I found out firsthand."

Artie whistles. "Whatever you did, Kurt, I never imagined you'd have the guts to do anything to earn a punishment like this. I'm almost impressed."

"Shut up, Artie," Blaine snaps before he can help it.

"Yeah, you know what? You two are boring lately. Whatever is going on, you better sort it out. Tell me when you have, because I need a break, alright?" With that, Artie rolls away from them and joins some of their classmates at another table.

"You confessed it?" Blaine breathes out.

"What choice did I have?" Kurt hisses.

"Did you—"

"No, I didn't give them your name, Blaine, but they probably know anyway. They're not idiots. They know about your—your issues, and they know we're friends."

"I don't want to get flogged," Blaine whines, more to himself than to Kurt.

"Unless you confess, they have nothing against you but assumptions. You're safe."

They stop talking as they are handed their meals and Kurt seems resolute to stay mute.

"When did they do it?" Blaine finally asks when he can't stand the silence anymore.

"Just now. My shirt is surely ruined."

"Let me take care of your wounds."

"What? No!" Kurt snaps. "Don't you think you've done enough, already? Look, just leave me alone, okay? You've caused me enough problems. Please."

Kurt pushes his peas around his plate with his fork for a second or two before roughly pushing his plate away and leaving the refectory. Blaine stares after him, numb with confusion and shock.

He stares at Kurt from a distance in the following days. The other boy seems decided to never talk to Blaine again, which he can live with. Maybe.

"You fought with Kurt, didn't you?" Artie asks in a hushed voice as they're walking back from Mass one very cold Sunday morning.

"What makes you say this?" Blaine asks lightly, frowning in mock-confusion at him.

"Only my legs are crippled, Blaine. Don't think I'm an idiot," Artie snaps.

Blaine sighs and looks around. They're standing in the central place, the village slowly leaving the church around them and going back to their Sunday leisure activities. He catches sight of Kurt, who tightens his scarf around his neck and hurries back towards the school. When he looks back at Artie, he sees he followed Blaine's gaze and is now frowning.

"You could say that. We didn't exactly fight, but it's clear he doesn't want anything to do with me."

Artie squints at Blaine with a pensive look for a while and Blaine shifts uncomfortably under his gaze. "Are you—wait. No. You can't be, can you?"

"I'm what?" Blaine asks sharply.

Artie leans forward and Blaine bends down to listen. "Are you like Kurt? You know—that?" he whispers.

Blaine's eyes widen and he jerks backwards. "What makes you think that?"

"You never told me why you were here. Why would parents send a nice, clever, and well-behaved boy like you in a place like this if there wasn't something that needs fixing in him, you tell me."

Blaine groans and sighs. He takes hold of the handles of Artie's chair and pushes him through the village until he finds a quiet corner. Once there, he leans against the wall of the building behind which they hid and rubs his hands over his face.

"Okay, so, what if I am like Kurt?"

When Blaine looks at Artie, he's grinning. "Well, he likes you. You either turned him down, don't see it, or—" he studies Blaine's face, who blushes under the scrutinising gaze. "Or you—no. I can't believe it. You guys—"

"We kissed," Blaine mumbles, agonising with a mix of shame and embarrassment under Artie's gaze.

"I knew it! I can't believe you didn't tell me! You have to share those things with me, I'm your friend!"

"This isn't an exciting detail of my life, Artie, for Christ's sake, it's a traumatising one!"

"Yes, of course, because Hummel is ugly and it's a hardship kissing him."

"But it's wrong!" Blaine whines, and to hell with maturity because this is the first time he voices this with someone who doesn't compulsively crosses himself.

"Look, you and Kurt, sometimes I think you're too impressionable. You let those sermons and all that completely dictate your behaviour like it's God sent." Blaine stares down at Artie, who shrugs. "Yeah, it is. Fine. But look how miserable it makes you."

"But it's what we're supposed to do."

"I was raised on a farm, Blaine. I almost lost my mother because she gave birth to too many kids, and then we were constantly starved because we had too many mouths to feed. Yet, having kids is what my parents were supposed to do. I had to nurse some of my siblings and later see them die because of what my parents were supposed to do. So don't go and tell me that everything we're taught is right. Sometimes, you have to listen to what feels right for you, as a person, despite the rest."

"My father probably disowned me," Blaine points out, clinging to anything that could prove Artie wrong. "How is that right for me?"

"Unless you want to be him, you don't need him."

Blaine slips against the wall until he's crouching on the ground, his face hidden in his hands. "I can't do that. I can't let him down. He expects me to be cured."

"Jesus, it's like talking to Kurt all over again," Artie groans in frustration, rolling back and forth.

"Don't swear."

"Yeah, I can see why you get along with him. Seriously, Blaine. The only person you're letting down right now is yourself. He obviously doesn't care about you if he sent you here."

"But it's wrong—"

"You'll tell me you gave a damn about religion before being sent here? I heard you muttering the wrong prayers at Mass on your first days. Can you honestly say that what you're thinking when you kiss Kurt is how wrong it is?"

Blaine shrugs and looks up at Artie. "What should I do?"

"Endure through the rest of the school year, graduate, and live to kiss lots of boys." Artie starts leaving the backstreet and heading towards the school. "Ah, and by-the-bye, Kurt's an atheist," he calls over his shoulder before disappearing around a corner.

Blaine's eyes widen and he starts after Artie, his shoes slipping on the snow and causing him to skid as he stops next to him. "What?"

"He never told me or anyone, but it's obvious, isn't it?" Artie says with a smirk that Blaine almost misses in his haste to go try and find Kurt.

He opens the doors roughly, wincing when the noise reverberates through the building. He has no idea where to find Kurt so he heads towards his dorm room, where he's probably spending his Sunday reading.

He's so caught up in his thoughts that he almost trips over Kurt. The boy is scrubbing the hardwood floor on all fours and he pushes his hair out of his eyes with his wrist before looking up at Blaine.

"You are ruining my work," he snaps, eyeing the trail of water Blaine's shoes left on the floor.

"And why exactly are you scrubbing the floor?"

"I'm taking on more chores. Because of—you know. I'm punishing myself by ruining my hands," Kurt says haughtily and resumes working.

Blaine looks at Kurt for a moment, at the way the muscles of his back stretch the starched fabric of his uniform shirt and he licks his lips reflexively. Kurt's head is bent down and the nape of his neck glows white in the sunlight pouring from the tall windows of the hallway. Blaine sees Kurt's hands shaking before he realises Kurt is looking at him again.

"What do you want?" Kurt asks in a strained voice.

"To talk to you."

"You know what can happen when we talk." Nevertheless, Kurt drops the brush back in the bucket of water and gets up, wiping his hands on his pants. "Where do you want to go?"

"Follow me."

Blaine doesn't stop walking until he reaches the storage room where he followed Kurt weeks ago. He opens the door and waits until Kurt is inside before stepping in, closing the door and pressing his back against it.

Kurt is standing a short distance from him, avoiding his eyes. "It's like you're not even trying to get over me. Don't think I can't see you staring."

"Maybe I don't want to," Blaine replies with bravado, holding Kurt's eyes when he glares at him.

"Do you want to see my back? It's healing quite slowly. You need a reminder of what happens to boys like us?"

Kurt starts pacing back and forth, disappearing in the shadows and reappearing, the pale sunlight breaking through the dusty windows making his face look ghostly. He's twisting his hands nervously and worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, a deep crease on his forehead.

"I talked to Artie," Blaine says casually to fill the silence.

"Great. This is breaking news. You talked to a friend. Can I go now?" Kurt deadpans, stopping at last and shoving his hands in the pockets of his slacks.

"He said something—surprising about you."

"What would that be?" Kurt asks primly, his chin raised.

"He said you're an atheist."

Kurt lets out a joyless laugh. "And you believed him? My poor naïve Blaine."

"Why wouldn't I? I hear you ramble on and on about how wrong we are, but I hear the same words every Sunday morning. Have you ever been honest with me, Kurt, or was everything always a lie?"

Kurt opens his mouth and closes it. His countenance falls at once and he sighs, leaning heavily against a shelf. "It's your fault."

"What?" Blaine snaps. "How is that my fault? Why is it always my fault? It takes two to kiss."

"Why did you insist to be my friend, Blaine? I've been nothing but mean to you ever since we met."

"Not always. Sometimes, you gave me glimpses of the real Kurt."

"Yes, and it was a brilliant idea," Kurt sneers. "It's all a game for you, isn't it? Charm a boy, get him to kiss you, and then act like you are a victim in all of it? Is that how it works with you? Because maybe that guy in your hometown didn't suffer any consequences for it, but I will. Hell, I already have!"

Kurt pushes past Blaine and goes towards the door.

"Wait!"

Kurt shakes his head and lets his shoulders fall, his arms wrapping protectively around himself. "What do you want from me?"

"I don't know, Kurt. All I know is that when I'm with you, I don't feel wrong, or disgusting. I've been honest with you. I was hoping you would do the same."

"What do you want me to say?" Kurt shouts, making the two of them jump. "Yes! I'm living a lie!" he continues, lowering his voice. "I don't know that I'm an atheist, Blaine, but I'm not sure I believe in any of this. Why do you think Artie calls me a pillar-biter? I pretend like I believe to strive through this hell but as soon as I'm out? You can bet I'm never stepping inside a church again."

Blaine blinks a few times in shock. "But—you're so intense with religion and how wrong we are. I know you said it was easier to pretend but you are beyond pretending, Kurt. This is almost obsessive."

"I've convinced myself I believe in all of it. Or I don't know. That maybe if I follow their rules I might be cured."

"So you're the coward. Not me."

"You call it cowardice, I call it survival instinct." Kurt glances up briefly. "I disgust you, don't I?"

Blaine swallows and squares his jaw. "You've never been more interesting to me."

Kurt laughs nervously. "What about you?"

"What about me?"

"You panicked in my room, the other night. Where do you stand, now?"

Blaine shrugs. "I don't know, but I know that you make it feel like we don't need fixing and that's good enough for me."

Blaine sees it on Kurt's face the moment he lets go of whatever restraints he'd forced around his mind. He pushes himself off the door to take a tentative step forward. "Well, that's good," Kurt whispers, walking closer until Blaine is caught between the door and Kurt's body.

"What are you doing?" Blaine asks with a smirk.

"I don't know. I'm following my instincts for a change." Kurt presses his forehead against Blaine's and breathes out. "This could have very grave consequences."

"Not if no one finds out," Blaine replies in a breath. He wraps his arms around Kurt's neck and inches his chin forward until their lips touch. Kurt kisses him back, his hands going up to rest on Blaine's hips.

"What are you suggesting?" Kurt asks against his lips, stroking Blaine's hipbones with his thumbs.

"I don't know. Any ideas?"

"All I know is that I'm tired of fighting. For once, I want to get what I want."

"I don't see why you shouldn't, then," Blaine says before kissing Kurt again, humming when Kurt wraps his arms around his waist.

They kiss until Blaine's jaw becomes sore and he feels his neck cramp up from the angle. He pulls away and laughs when Kurt breathes out loudly.

"What?" Kurt asks softly.

"You're adorable, that's all."

Kurt smiles and it goes all the way to his eyes. "So are you," he says in a breathy voice before kissing the tip of Blaine's nose. "But I've got to go, now. Those floors won't scrub themselves." Kurt takes a step back but Blaine keeps his arms around him. "Blaine," he scolds playfully.

"Come to my room tonight?"

Kurt studies his face for a moment before smiling. "Okay."

They kiss one more time and Kurt lingers against Blaine until he pushes him away with a laugh. "Go! I'll see you tonight."