“And why are you not able to spend time with your boyfriend on a weekday after school, Blaine?” Kurt asks, bemusedly, by phone after Blaine's and the rest of the guys' rehearsal. They'd never played music together before and sung, and Blaine's guitar-playing is rusty, left-handedness aside. “You know I have to leave in two days, don't you?” 

Sam, Jake and Ryder talk and laugh on stage, doing their best to mimic the Beatles' body language; that soon devolves into the three of them butchering British accents, cackling with laughter. Blaine presses the phone to his ear. “I do! I know, I just really need to study for this exam, and then we can meet right after that!” He tries to focus on anything but the guilty knot forming in the pit of his stomach. He does have an exam, he willstudy, it's not exactly a lie—and he knows Kurt will appreciate the details Blaine's attending to. Provided Kurt doesn't get impatient with him first. 

“You're a senior and practically done with school, Blaine. You can blow it off,” Kurt says, laughing. 

Blaine smiles. “I seem to recall one occasion where someone didn't want to blow off glee club practice, and if I recall correctly, his boyfriend was pretty clearly—and freely—offering himself to him.”

“Mmm,” says Kurt fondly. “Well, I guess we'll have to get used to schedule conflicts, won't we? You and I will both be busy with classes and extra-curriculars and work—I mean, Rachel and I barely see each other at NYADA some days, and if she gets Fanny Brice it's going to be actually insane around here.” After a pause he adds, “But honestly, it will just be so great to be able to see you everyday. For good. For real.”

“Yeah,” agrees Blaine, still wondering about Kurt's first comment for a moment, at what anything is going to look like on the other side of graduation, for him. He doesn't tell Kurt about the status of his NYADA application, that he hasn't heard anything yet. He pushes any college thoughts aside as quickly as they come, because time is running out. And there's choreography with Sebastian and a stop at the mall and checking in with Sam and Tina . . . He sighs. “Thanks, Kurt, for understanding,” he says to end the call. “I'll guess I'll see you later tonight!”

And then, he remembers to breathe.

Soon after he's in the backseat of Sam's car, with Sam at the wheel and Tina sitting passenger-side, his two best friends deep in conversation, reviewing the agenda for the proposal pre-rehearsal they're on their way to. For just a moment Blaine feels kind of silly, like he's being chauffeured, like he's being transported in a litter similar to those he read about in history class, his friends balancing the weight of the poles on their shoulders as they make their way through town. Definitely silly, he thinks, but at the same time he's acutely aware that his friends make him feel good about himself. Maybe, sometimes, he does feel like a king. 

The session itself goes smoothly with the help of Sam and Tina. Sam keeps the mood around Vocal Adrenaline light with his impressions, while Tina whips the Haverbrook kids back to focus when they need it, an interpreter signing furiously beside her, leaving Blaine to work with the Warblers' choreography—at least enough so that Sebastian can take over the lead. It's pretty remarkable, really, how easily it comes together, once all the teams are there. And seeing his own glee club in the mural-lined hallway practicing together, here at Dalton, makes his heart swell. Even if they don't all agree with what he's doing, he feels their support, so much so that he's soon blinking tears away.

By dinnertime Blaine, Sam and Tina are back in the car, and as is often the case, the beep from Blaine's phone alerts him to his mother's text, the words Running late! almost expected with the way his parents have been so busy lately. But he's busy too, and planning to spend time with Kurt later anyway. He does want to talk to them, though, especially about what he's orchestrating at Dalton. He will talk to them. He plans to.

He just needs something to wear first.  

Just a quick stop at the mall, Blaine thinks, looking out the back seat window, and he imagines the happiness he's going to feel at crossing off Something to Wear in his planner.

Some three hours later, Blaine's frustration is written all over the pile of discarded suits and slacks, cardigans and ties. Sam and Tina prove less helpful here—in fact there's quite a bit more arguing as Blaine walks in and out of dressing rooms. Sam is enthusiastic about everything Blaine tries on, while Tina tugs at every jacket, not satisfied with the fit. Knowing that he's got to finish this soon or risk missing a date with Kurt just adds to the stress. 

The trouble is, Blaine had thought picking out a proposal outfit would be easy. Unlike prom, Blaine doesn't have to worry about coordinating with Kurt, and there are no flowers involved, at least not any they'll actually wear. 

Once he had begun really searching, though, Blaine had found himself quickly overwhelmed. Just what does one wear for an event like this? What kind of outfit would be special, but not too formal next to Kurt, who would be on his way to the airport that morning? What kind of outfit would be romantic or symbolic enough for all that Blaine wants to say? 

“Dude,” says Sam, finally acknowledging that they've made no progress. “It's way past dinner. Let's eat. It'll clear your head.”

“No, Sam,” says Blaine. “We've really got to get this done—”

Tina sighs. “Sam's right. We're all starving. Come on,” she says, grabbing Blaine by the hand. “Food. Now.”

Soon they're all munching on egg rolls and fried rice, and Blaine has to admit he does feel better. “Have you heard anything from the art school you applied to?” he asks Sam encouragingly, partly to get his mind off clothing.

Sam slurps his Coke, which gets a raised eyebrow from Blaine. “No, not yet,” he says softly. “You two?” he asks, glancing first at Blaine, then Tina.

“No,” Tina and Blaine both admit, but then Tina quickly adds, “Well, except for my safety school.” Blaine notices her lack of enthusiasm about it.

Tina rests her chin on one hand. “It's going to be hard not seeing you guys all the time.” 

“But we'll still be together,” says Blaine. “No matter where we end up. Right?” He looks at his friends, who seem pretty lacking in conviction.

“It will be different, though,” says Tina. “Besides,” she adds, “you're getting married.”

“So what?” asks Blaine. “Assuming Kurt says yes.” 

“Oh please,” says Tina. “Like he'll refuse you.” 

“He has before,” Blaine replies quietly. He keeps scraping rice across his food tray, gathering it up, but he's stopped eating.

“Dude,” says Sam, grasping Blaine's shoulder and shaking it a little. “Tina's just saying it will be different—we'll be partying and dating people and stuff, and you guys will be like, worrying about whose turn it is to do the laundry, and fighting over who gets more closet space, and working extra jobs to pay for all your clothes . . .”

“What?” says Blaine, confused. “Why couldn't Kurt and I go to the party too?” 

“Well, you could, but then who would babysit your kids?”

“What kids, Sam?” Blaine asks, trying not to appear ruffled, because . . . kids. He likes kids, he's thought fleetingly about teaching them, and someday, far into the future, actually having children of his own. Just not immediately or anything.

Suddenly Tina's looking right at him, completely serious and still, clutching her fork. “I would carry your child,” she says slowly. “You know that, right? Blainey Days?” 

“I don't—” starts Blaine. I just need a suit, he thinks, trying to focus.

“Would you carry mine, too?” asks Sam, eyebrows wiggling.

Tina flicks a pea at Sam's face. 

“Guys,” says Blaine. “It's not like Kurt and I are going to get married right away. At least I don't think . . .”

“But what if Kurt's like, ‘Dude, let's go to Vegas!'”

Blaine sighs. “For one, Sam, I doubt Kurt would say that, and two, Nevada allows civil unions but not marriage.” He rubs his temples with his hand. “Honestly? I think we'd both enjoy just being engaged for a while.” Because that's what people getting married get to do. What's the rush? he thinks. Besides, right now there are too many unknowns: the status of his college applications, and what states will be next to allow marriage equality. It'smarriage that he wants—with Kurt. That's all he does know.

Which brings him back to the task at hand. “Guys,” he says, his voice pitched a little higher than usual. “Please. Just help me get this done?” A quick glance at Tina and Sam tells Blaine that they really hear him, and without another word they clear the table and walk briskly toward the next store.

It's with a certain kind of desperation that Blaine finally spots it, and he grabs it off the rack partly because it cheers him up so much—in fact it reminds him of the other day, of flowers and sunshine and laughter, of singing in the courtyard and Kurt surprising him, and he suddenly feels lighter, like he's accomplished something. 

“That's—really bright,” says Sam, as Blaine walks out of the Nordstrom's dressing room in a head-to-toe gold suit. Sam looks hesitant for a second, as he stands appraising Blaine, his weight shifting from one leg to the other. Then something shifts in his gaze, like he's decided something, and he adds, “Dude, it's perfect—you're like Wolverine. If, you know, Wolverine was into fancy suits.”

Blaine laughs, then turns to Tina. “What do you think of this one?” he asks, exhausted from trying on so many suits. He's waiting for her response, but he doesn't need it. He already knows this is it. Maybe it had been the feel of the flannel, sort of warm and comforting, or the color that simply made him smile the second he noticed it. It felt special, and that was enough.

Tina nods, smiling and says, “I can tell your mind's already made up, Boo. It's perfect. Now buy it so we can all go home?”

He looks down at his watch. Heart sinking at seeing the time, he buys the suit that in two days will make or break him.

It's late when Blaine gets home. Dinner's on the counter, and his parents are already in bed. The mall trip had taken longer than expected, and there's just no going out to spend time with Kurt tonight. Blaine shuffles upstairs, hangs the suit in the back of his closet, changes into his pajamas, and flops atop the bed. He's beat. 

He's got one more day to pull it all together. 

Reaching for the pillow, he pulls it over his head, hoping it might help quiet his racing mind, which is reviewing what clothes he needs to bring to school tomorrow for Tina's cheer-up number, or what parts of Kurt's proposal the groups will need to focus on at the final Dalton rehearsal. 

As his body starts to quiet itself Blaine's mind lingers on Kurt. He's hardly had time to process that just two days ago, they became boyfriends again. In his drowsy state images flutter in sparks of color and heat: trumpets in the courtyard, white feather plumes, Kurt's spring camouflage. The way they'd twirled on tabletops made of wire mesh, dancing and kissing practically on air. And later, in Blaine's room, back on solid ground, the way their hands grasped quickly for each other as they sought release after time apart. No trumpets, just a slam of Blaine's door as they'd entered the room. No dancing on air, just a thud as they'd fallen to the floor in a tangle of discarded jeans and briefs. Blaine smiles into his pillow at how they'd laughed riotously afterwards, as Kurt had joked their courtyard song was much, much longer than their lovemaking, while Blaine giggled at their lying on the floor in nothing but their shirts. 

The phone chirping shocks Blaine awake. He'd meant to call Kurt, but must have nodded off instead. He tosses the pillow he'd been sleeping under and lurches for his phone. 

“You're not coming over, are you?” says Kurt, stifling a yawn. “What happened?”

Blaine's heart is racing madly as he explains, “Remember that number I told you about, the one we're doing for Tina? It's tomorrow, and we had to rehearse, and then I sort of ended up at the mall with Sam and Tina and—”

“It's fine, Blaine, really. We'll figure something out before I have to leave, okay? I would like to spend a least a little time with my boyfriend, you know.”

“I know,” Blaine starts. “I just don't want you to think . . .”

“That you're too busy for me?” Kurt supplies. Blaine listens very carefully, but there's no edge to his boyfriend's voice.

“No, no, not at all, I just. I want things to be perfect again, and I—”

“Ok, but, Blaine. Maybe let's not think about us that way anymore? I mean, trying to make everything perfect—or assuming everything was—didn't really get us anywhere last time, right?”

“I know,” says Blaine quietly. He's sitting cross-legged now on the bed, running his finger along the system of creases formed by his crumpled bed linens.

“It's really okay. Blaine? Let's plan on tomorrow. It's the last night we'll have for a while.”

“I really love you,” Blaine says. 

“And I really love you back. Now go to bed,” Kurt says. “Make some room for me in your busy schedule,” he adds, and Blaine can hear the smile. He places his phone on his nightstand and digs through his bag for his planner. He'll at least review the to do list for the morning. Maybe there issomething he can cut out, or something he can delegate, just to make sure he gets to spend time with Kurt tomorrow night.

His phone chimes an interruption, and Blaine realizes he's forgotten about Cooper. Wasn't there something he wanted before, back when he was sitting in the headmaster's office at Dalton? He reaches for the phone.

Squirt!

It's 1 in the morning, Cooper.

Oops :p

Wait. 

Why are YOU up?

...

Blaine? You schedule everything. What could possibly be going on that makes you miss your bedtime?

Unless . . . is Kurt over there?

STOP.

...

Look, I'm planning something, and it's complicated.

Your plans? Complicated? NEVER.

Funny >:(  Let me finish this so I can go to bed, okay?

...

If by “finish this” you mean whatever you're doing with Kurt . . . 

STOP. RIGHT. THERE.

Not until you tell me what you're planning.

Why did you even text, Coop?

Huh?

It's late. What do you want?

I did a thing.

And?

A Big Thing, Blaine.

Well? Tell me!

No.

Why not?

...

Oh. You really won't tell me until I tell you, is that what this is?

If only you could see me pointing at you. 

...

Ok, but you can't tell Mom or Dad.

Dramatic. I like it.

Do you swear?

I mean it, Coop.

The phone actually rings this time, and Blaine rests his head back on his pillow as he takes the call. “Do you swear?” he asks his brother without preamble. 

Suddenly Cooper sounds actually serious. “I do,” he says. 

“Okay,” says Blaine, but the words don't come. Why is he hesitating? “Well, I just—” 

“Go on,” prods his brother.

“I'm going to . . . ask Kurt to marry me.” The silence that follows stretches out longer than is comfortable. “Coop?”

“You're doing what now?” 

Blaine sighs. “I should've made you swear not to judge me, either.” 

“I'm not judging,” says Cooper.

“I can hear you!” says Blaine. “I can hear the way you're staring at me!”

“Wow. You're good,” is his brother's response. “And I'm assuming Mom and Dad don't know about this plan of yours yet?”

“In my defense, they've been busy,” Blaine says, but he knows that he could've told them by now. He should've told them by now. But then he adds, “Maybe I just don't want to hear their objections.”

“Why would they object?” asks Cooper. “You know, aside from the fact that you're still in high school.”

“Thanks,” says Blaine, sarcastically. “You're making me feel so much better already.”

“Good,” says Cooper, with no trace of irony, which somehow doesn't surprise Blaine at all. “Now let me tell you my announcement. You are currently speaking to the new face of Aflac Insurance. Just signed tonight! The Twittersphere is exploding, Squirt!”

“Wait. Seriously, Coop? That's actually a huge company. That's—wow!” enthuses Blaine, who can't stay angry with his brother after that. “But what about the duck?”

“The duck?”

“Yeah, you know. The duck that quacks, ‘Aflac! Aflac!' in all the commercials? You're the new duck?”

“Hmm,” mutters his brother, seemingly to himself. “They didn't say anything about a co-star . . .”

“You should ask about the duck,” offers Blaine. “And I really do have to go now. Thanks, you know, for listening to me,” he says to Cooper, but he can tell his brother's on his laptop already, that the wheels are turning, if the quacking he hears faintly in the background is any indication.

Looks like both Anderson brothers have things to do yet tonight. 

He clicks his pen.

The next morning, Blaine awakens in a panic with the realization that he's completely forgotten to call Mr. Hummel. 

You know, he thinks, rubbing his eyes at daybreak, the person who you need to bring Kurt to this huge thing you're planning, the person who will think what you're planning is a bad idea, or who—worse—won't even tell you it's a bad idea?

He goes to see Mr. Hummel at the shop before school. It will make him late, but honestly, he doesn't care. As he walks inside the scent of motor oil hits him, and he watches as one of the mechanics raises a car up onto the lift to expose the chassis. Dusting his jacket off with his hands, it occurs to Blaine that all of his proposal planning is making him literally walk through his past. The clink of metal on metal reminds him, in fact, of another time he walked into the shop to talk to Mr. Hummel, and how, despite having what he'd thought were good intentions, he'd crossed a line with Kurt's dad that day. He'd done what he thought was best, just as he's doing right now, he figures.

Mr. Hummel walks out of the shop's office and spots Blaine. He nods in Blaine's direction and smiles. 

“Hi, Mr. Hummel.” Blaine starts to wave, then feels foolish as he puts his hand into his pocket. Why's he so nervous?

“Anderson,” Kurt's dad says, pointing at him, before pointing back at himself and adding, “Burt,” which gets a chuckle out of Blaine. 

Heard you and Kurt were back together,” continues Kurt's dad. “He's happy; I'm happy.”

“I am, too. You have no idea.” Blaine's free hand wanders absentmindedly over a tray of car parts. Once he realizes, he pulls his hand away, rubbing the fingers together to get off the grime. 

“I think I might,” Mr. Hummel laughs, handing over a cloth for Blaine's hands. Then he pauses for a long while, and Blaine feels like he's being studied. 

Blaine doesn't break eye contact for a second.

“You're gonna ask him, aren't you?” asks Mr. Hummel, finally.

“I was kind of hoping,” Blaine replies, letting out a breath he'd been holding while under scrutiny, “that you'd be willing to help get Kurt to a special thing I'm planning? But yeah. I'm definitely asking.”

Mr. Hummel nods again and grows quiet. “It's funny,” he muses, eyebrows raised. “Feels like every time you meet me here, that you're pulling my son away from me.”

Blaine's heart sinks at that, but Kurt's dad is quick to grasp Blaine's shoulder and add, “It's not a complaint, son. I'm just a parent watching my kid grow up, that's all. It all happens so fast,” he explains. “You'll see someday when you have kids of your own.”

All Blaine can do is nod. 

“Okay,” Mr. Hummel says. “So, what do your parents think about all this, if you don't mind my asking?”

“Um—” Blaine can't hide his surprise at the question.

Mr. Hummel glances at Blaine more curiously now. “You haven't told them what you're planning?”

“I—”

“Look, son. I don't mean to pry. I'm sure you have your reasons. They'd probably like to know at some point that their son is making a huge decision, don't you think?” 

“Of course,” Blaine says. “I've been meaning to tell them. Honestly.” 

Mr. Hummel looks like he's studying Blaine again before he finally smiles and says, “Kurt's flight leaves tomorrow, and I'm assuming you know that. I can come up with some accounting for why we need to leave so early for the airport. Is that kind of what you're thinking?”

“Yes, sir. And I do mean to tell my parents. It's not like I don't tell them things, really.” He glances away from Mr. Hummel for a moment, back at the car suspended in the air. “I just know what I want to do, what I need to do, and I'll accept whatever answer Kurt gives, I just—”

“It's okay, kid. Like I said, I don't mean to pry.”

“I know,” says Blaine. “And thanks—for everything.”

Mr. Hummel pulls him into a hug, then, and Blaine stays there for a moment, letting the whir and clatter of machinery build the momentum inside him to finally finish what he's set out to do. 

The day is a bit of a blur after that. Tina loves the song. And getting to pick a prom date. Then it's off to the rehearsal, which is short. They quickly run through the number, because there are so many people involved and all of them have busy lives, and Blaine is thankful again for the help he gets from Sam, Tina, and Sebastian. Besides, he wants time with Kurt—they won't be together again for a while after tonight. Unless he lands a NYADA audition. Afterwards, it's home to press the suit and lay out his clothes before dinner.

With his parents.

Where he plans to tell them everything.

Except it doesn't happen. His parents come home in a flurry, and they've invited a couple for dinner—old friends they ran into at the grocery the other day, who they haven't seen in years. Blaine's mother gives her son a hug and kiss and asks about his day, but the moment isn't right, and all he can do is talk about “I Saw Her Standing There,” and Tina, and then both his parents are reminiscing about the Beatles, and once again there's no time.

And then there's talk about Cooper, and the duck who is, in fact, the co-star, and Blaine has to explain to his parents about what it means to film with CGI, which Cooper apparently can't stop talking about, and his father keeps watching an Aflac commercial on the phone while muttering, “I thought that duck was real,” while Blaine keeps telling him, “Well, it is and it isn't.”

Blaine's pretty sure he hates that duck.

At Kurt's that night, Blaine's full of energy. “Tell me about New York,” he says. It's funny, how thinking about it has started to occupy more space in his mind, enough so that he can understand Kurt more from back when he was a senior, back when he'd accused his boyfriend of obsessing over it. Now Blaine is obsessing, too.

“What else haven't I told you already? Or haven't you seen—you've been there, you know.” They're lying together on Kurt's bed, side by side, Blaine looking up at the ceiling, Kurt on his side, where he's carding his fingers through Blaine's hair. 

“Yeah, but—” starts Blaine. He turns to look at Kurt and adds, “I don't live there, not yet. Tell me something I don't know already?”

“Okay,” Kurt says, hands still in Blaine's hair. “Well, let's see. No surprise that Rachel sings in the shower, but so does Santana. Um, we have three favorite pizza places that deliver, and typically our mid-week grocery shopping is all about restocking our ice cream supply, and sometimes I sneak into the auditorium Carmen uses for her classes so I can belt out a few tunes. Are we done talking now?” Kurt asks before he pulls Blaine toward him for a kiss.

Kurt doesn't pull as much as Blaine scoots forward to meet him.

Even so, they have a hard time simply relaxing. Kurt seems nervous, and Blaine already is tense, so their kissing is unfocused and clumsy, and their noses bump more often than usual. It's so difficult for Blaine to push his thoughts aside, his lists of things to be done, and focus on the task at hand. Task? he finds himself thinking guiltily. 

“Blaine?” asks Kurt suddenly. “Can you quiet down a little?”

“Huh?”

“Whatever you're thinking about. It's . . . loud.” Kurt pushes Blaine away from him and cradles his face for a moment to study him before turning him face down onto the bed. “Here, let me help. That, uh, test you were studying for must really be bothering you.” Blaine lets Kurt knead his shoulders and back, and it's exactly what he needs with all the stress he's been under this week. He relaxes into it. He lets himself drift under the warmth of Kurt's hands, and everything is suddenly simple again.

Kurt knows him.

Blaine turns so he's lying on his back again. He looks up at Kurt, everything else forgotten now, knowing that there's nothing he wouldn't do for this man, not one thing, and then they're both in this moment, together, just like they used to be before, and their hands know each others' bodies again, the shape and curve and scent of skin, and it's the same and altogether different, and it feels like the future.