This morning is a slow one for most. All of us freshmen are now just a little scared of Wes. But, he doesnt seem to be holding it over us. I, however, am not all too concerned by it. My thoughts are too wrapped up in Blaine—who hes talking to, what hes eating and wearing and doing—nothing else really matters anymore. Thats why, when Wes asks for anyone going horseback riding to line up, I find myself right there behind Blaine.
See, the problem with this is that I hate horses. So, to be here, in a stable full of them, is not exactly ideal.
“Alright guys,” Wes opts for no megaphone today. Its partly because its not a big turn up and partly because we were warned to not spook the horses. “In a minute, but not yet, you can all go pick a horse out. But, before we do that, our friend Rusty is going to talk to us about how to ride.”
Rusty is an old man with sunspot covered, tan skin that just makes him look like burnt toast. Blaine is young with the tan of a surfer God or something. I think its clear who I paid more attention to. He's just standing there with his face drawn up in focus. Absentmindedly, he brings a hand up to pushes back his hair. His muscles straining against his skin is enough to make my mouth run dry. “If you remember that, everything will be fine.” Rusty's southern drawl concluded, bringing me back to reality. Remember what? “Now, if y'all follow me, we can get you boys somethin' to ride.”
Forever the designated caboose, Blaine was assigned the last horse in the stable. So, naturally, I pick the second to last. Its a tall, strong looking brown horse. It should be noted that he also looks very angry.
Rusty appears by my side, ready to assist in mounting the horse. “You sure youre up for Bevo? He can be pretty stubborn. We usually only let experienced riders out with him.”
I nod, not wanting to be placed away from Blaine. “Yes sir, I can handle him.” The horse stamps a hoof and huffs at me, knowing I definitely cant.
“Alright, cowboy, lets get you on up here.” Its an awkward dance for me as I try to get on top of the horse. One that Im sure contradicts my previous claim. But, if anyone noticed, they didnt say anything. Blaine only gives me an excited thumbs up as Rusty moves down the line to help him.

As we bump along the trail, Rusty at the front gives us a boring story about the trail and its history and how some people in some war or something used it to transport some information. Instead of listening, I again let my mind wander. In my fantasy, the very possibility occurs in which I loose control of Bevo. The less likely case is that Blaine comes riding up behind me, swinging me onto his horse with him. From there wed ride off into the sunset, my arms secure around his waist. I dont know what sunsets we would ride into at 10:30 in the morning, but wed find one or paint our own.
Eventually Rusty runs out of tails to tell us. Thats when the hooves of Blaine's horse quicken until hes beside me. “Youre really good at this, Kurt.”
“Oh, thank you.” Its really just staying on a straight trail. I havent done much. We trod along silently, Blaine is focused straight ahead, unaware that my gaze is on him. I am unaware of the tree branch we are approaching until it has thudded against the side of my head. Blaine turned to me, a chuckle held in.
“Alright. Youre kinda good at this.” Blaine laughs and I laugh too, because the light is playing off his eyes just right that they still twinkle when he scrunches them in a smile.
“Youre not too bad yourself.” I try to rise to his level, his high flirtatious level.
“Nah, Butterscotch and I just have a special bond. We go way back.” Blaine looks to his horse, running his hand along its mane. “The two of us have been riding this trail together since my freshman year.” Blaine beginnings to tell me about he and Butterscotch's adventures while the group in front of us all turn right. I try to follow, but thats when Bevo's stubbornness kicks in. “Kurt, I—I think we,”
“Im trying.” I tell Blaine, tugging on the reigns. Even if I was to succeed, its too late now. Blaine and Butterscotch and Bevo and I have passed the turn, headed now down an alternate route. A very narrow and rocky alternate route.
“Im guessing youve never done this before.” I shake my head as panic starts to set in. “Its alright, Kurt. I can get us back.”

Blaine could not get us back. He has, however, found us a clearing and managed to finally get Bevo to stop gallivanting. We have to hold onto the reigns of our horses as we sit. But, at least its a break from the butt-busting ride here. With all of that considered, I cant distract from the fact that we are lost in the woods in the middle of summer. And its so humid, it feels like my insides are boiling.
“Are we going to die out here?” I ask.
Either Blaine is really good at faking calm or he is really confident in miracles. “No, we wont die—not on my watch. When they get back to the stables and realize we didnt, Wes will send someone to find us.”
“And how long will that take?” He only shrugs. “So, what do we do now?”

“Uhm...Anastasia...I.Q…..the movie about the Doors…” Blaine snaps his fingers, trying to think. “There was a really big one she was in and its so obvious. Oh...what was it…” I hold the band-aid up to my forehead, waiting for more clues from him. Using the supplies in Blaine's first aid fanny pack, weve orchestrated a game of Heads Up. “Uh...Top Gun. Thats not it but,”
“Is it Meg Ryan?” He nods. “When Harry Met Sally, Blaine. How could you forget that, but not the Doors?”
He laughs, “because…God, Kurt, just give me another band-aid.” I toss one to him, hitting him in the chest. He presses it to his sweaty forehead, both of us grinning and grimacing simultaneously when it sticks. My eyes scan the word, trying to ignore his hazel eyes and the way theyre watching me.
“Why, of all things, did you include this?” Blaine touches a hand to the word, curious to read it. “No, no. You still have to guess it.” I reprimand. “Ok, lets see.” It takes me a second to remember what it is. Breadstix used to consider them their special dish. Aside from the stale breadsticks, of course. “Its like a stringy pasta.”
“Spaghetti?”
“No, Blaine. Did you put spaghetti in here, too?” I shuffle through the band-aids to see how many more pastas were listed.
“Okay, stringy pasta...” He prompts.
“Yeah, with like the white cheese.”
“Oh, fettuccine Alfredo?” He tosses the band-aid back to me. “Of course.”
“Of course.” I mock him.
“This is gonna sound silly but Ive always wanted to name my kids that.” There is a distinct blush in his cheeks when he looks up at me. Clearly, all of those times I imagined him blushing, its never been like this. “Like Alfredo and then-”
“Little Fetta. I get it; thats really cute.” Blaine smiles at me. It is quite possibly the most bashful Ive ever seen him. His cheeks are rosey and eyes bright, trusting. I smile back.
“For you, sir.” He hands me a band-aid, quickly changing beats. “Okay, she is the new Berlin Wall…”

“I mean, I hate scary movies.” Blaine confesses, lying on his back. “But that movie—its just mind blowing!”
I giggle at his excitement. “Because they are the ghosts.”
“Theyre the ghosts! Like what the fuck, man!” He bolts to upright. Remembering where we are, he checks that the horses weren't spooked by his sudden jolt. “All this time, its like shit, their house is haunted. They should move. But, then theyre actually the ones haunting the house. God, what a roller coaster.”

“Vogue.” I state.
He whistles low. “That was quick.”
“What can I say, Blaine Anderson.” A coy grin overtakes my face. “I know what I want.”

“Its getting really hot. Do you mind if I take my shirt off?”
Absolutely not. In fact, Id love nothing more. Maybe you could even take my shirt off, too. That would be nice. “No.”

“We drove to Cali and got drunk on the beach. Got a hotel and built a fort out of sheets.” That's when I realize I'll do anything to keep Blaine singing. Especially this song like this to me. It's half assed and weak, because of the fact that we are being baked alive, and he keeps forgetting the words. But, I don't mind as I happily supply him with them.
“I finally found you, my missing puzzle piece.”
“Im complete. Lets go all the way tonight, no regrets…”

“I dont even remember what water tastes like anymore.” He croaks, clearly one for histrionics.
I see him there, pouty and slick with sweat. While I'm only just beginning to perspire, he's so damp it's starting to weigh his hair down. “Blaine, Im sorry. But, I dont even think its been an hour yet.”

“Take a moment to appreciate that.” He's back on his back and back to that film. “Like, they were the ghosts!”
“I know; its exciting.” I humor him, head lolled back against a tree and eyes closed. The weight of my arm feels unbearable from holding Bevo's reigns for God knows how long.
I feel him eyeing me through his dusty lashes. “Kurt, you dont sound excited.”
One of my eyes creaks open just to patronize him. “I am. Im very excited.”
“Youre going to have to be more convincing than that.” Propping himself up on one elbow, he anticipates my performed excitement.
“Blaine, I am so excited! Its all so very exciting! They were the ghosts; its crazy! Maybe we are all ghosts!”
“Well, now youre just mocking me.” He pouts.

Blaine uses his discarded shirt to wipe his face of sweat. “Im just glad we are going swimming today.”
“If we live long enough for it.” I mourn.
His abs flex wonderfully as he pulls himself up to be eye to eye with me. “Kurt, you are incredibly morbid.”

“Not like Walt Disney or something?”
“Dont get me wrong, I am a huge Disney kid.” Blaine explains. “But, Disney was an animator, not a cartoonist.”
“Keith Haring was a graffiti artist.” Is my retort.
“I know, but he just—he speaks to me, Kurt.”
I'm not trying to question his life choices, just better understand him. So, I ask. “Then why didnt you do graffiti?”
“Uhm, I went to a Catholic prep school.” He says it like it's so obvious. Like I knew he was a preppy. Like we've know each other for forever.

“Kurt, always shave at the start of summer.”
“I like your beard.” I venture a hand out to touch it, just lightly. Blaine surprises me by angling into the touch, grinning.
“Too bad, because I think its melting off.”

“Chandler or Joey?”
“Chandler.” I would've picked Rachel. But, I can see itr13;Blaine as a young Bing.
“Pancakes or waffles?”
“Waffles, duh.” My mind lapses, the way it does every time he says what I'm thinking, because I love waffles, too. And doesn't that count for something?
“Puppies or kittens?”
“Ah, come on, Kurt, thats just cruel.”

The sound of hooves pounding against the terrain was both a sweet relief, from the sweltering heat and exhaustion and hunger and dehydration, and a rude interruption. Blaine and I were bonding out there. Now, we are back in the dining hall, doomed to go our separate ways. We are forced apart by the peering eyes, heads craned around to peer at our sweaty forms or the cross expression of Wes, the concern of David. We are no longer Kurt and Blaine lost in the woods together. We are a spectacle.
“Are you okay?” Trent inquires once I am seated with my much needed meal. Theres only ten minutes left of lunch. I will make the most of it. “We all heard what happened.”
First, I shake my head ‘no,' playing up the situation. But, I glance to Blaine to confirm he isnt paying attention. “Oh god, I am so okay.” I giggle, losing interest in my food.
“Did something happen in there?” Sebastian leans closely, whispering, “you know, like happen?”
Again, I giggle. Im not typically a big giggler. But, Blaine might be converting me into one. “No. Well, something happened—a lot of things happened. But nothing ‘happened.'” This time its a sigh, as opposed to a giggle. “Its was wonderful. You guys shouldve been there. Actually you shouldnt have been, because it wouldve been less wonderful that way.”
“Ouch.” My friends state, as if they would actually want to get lost in the burning hot woods.
“Its just that, like, we bonded. So much. He kept coming up with little games for us to play and he took his shirt off and we talked about our lives and interests and what got us into what we do. He told me what he wants to name his children.”
Sebastian cringes, “okay, thats a little odd.”
“Oh, shush, mr. Cant commit, wont commit. I think its sweet.”
I beam at Trent. “It was; it was so sweet. He kept blushing and saying my name. God, I love the way he says my name, like—”
“Kurt,”
“Like that?” Bas asks.
“Blaine, do you want me—need me? Uhm, whats up?”
“Uhhum,” He chuckles, no doubt catching my blunder. “Wes wants you to know that he is requiring both of us to shower before the cabin mural making. So, Ill probably have Jeff in charge of getting it started and we can just show up late. Finally get ourselves cleaned up.”
I nod a little too much, like a bobble head let wild. “Im really good at that.”
“At...showering?”
“I, uh-uhm,” I nod, realizing too late that he might misconstrue that as some innuendo. However, once I start shaking my head, I consider how he might interpret that as Im really unclean.
“Ill just assume you meant mural making.”
Thank god, a save. Wide-eyed, I nod. “I did.”
Blaine nods back. “Excellent.” Then hes gone, back to sit with the cool kids.
Sebastian cant contain his comments, as I try not to watch Blaine leave. “Youre going to shower together? Oh, this is too much. Do you still have that condom?”
“What condom?” Trent asks.
“The one hes saving for Blaine.”
“The one you threw at me to save for Blaine.”
Trent waves a finger between us. “Sinners, both of you.”

The shower is hard, but not in the way Bas assumes it is. I managed to make it back to the cabin before Blaine. So, as I was slipping in, he had yet to arrive. Then, by the time my shower had finished he was already inside his own. But, just the thought that Blaine is in the same room as me, just some tile and a plastic curtain between us, naked. Stark naked and soapy. Its made me drop my own soap and get shampoo in my eyes. Now Ive gone and dropped my comb, attempting to style my damp hair in the bathroom mirror. I glare at it on the grimy floor, debating whether to retrieve it or not. With a sigh, I bend down to retrieve it only for it to be placed back in my toiletries bag. I can finish my hair with my fingers and a brush; itll be fine.
What isnt fine is Blaine's shower squeaking off. And then his hand reaching out of the curtain, grabbing around for his towel. And then his boxers—navy blue with white bowties. My breath hitches when he drops them. I can almost hear his sigh before I see his hand slowly lower and begin to grope the floor until he finds them. Then they, too, retreat behind the curtain, followed by his shorts and shirt. Moments later, I have to pretend not to notice him stepping out of the shower. I have to ignore the drip marks his soaked hair leaves on his shirt. Or the way the bathroom is now filled with the aroma of musk and raspberries, much like he always is.


After mural making, Blaine gabs to me the whole walk to the pool. He says he's so excited to be in water and how cool it'll be and how good it'll feel after our little adventure this morning. The word ‘oasis' is thrown around a few times.
Yet, it's hard to ignore how little Blaine actually swims. When we get there, it's just usr13;just the boys. We all take our swim tests and Wes checks us off once we prove we can tread water. And Blaine is wonderful. He swims near me and he ignores when Wes tells him to stop talking to me as we tread the water. And it's so hard to not notice how strong his back is as he tears into the water. It's hard to not notice Sebastian's comment in regards to Blaine tearing into my ass. It's hard to not notice Blaine finding it hard to not notice me once Cal points it out.
Then the girls come. It's like a hurricane of long hair and bright bikinis and giggles. Suddenly it's a hormonal overload. And Blaine seems to take the grunt of the load. A girl with short blonde hair and bone structure that could cut a diamond leads the herd. She has a megaphone much like Wes's and is followed by two of her own Davids. One is a fellow blondie who looks overly lost and far too happy to be here. The other is latina, with a scowl that warns all who try to cross her. Like a magnet, Blaine is sucked to the first of the three. I say sucked because she's like a swirling pit of doom. My doom.
“Maybe theyre related?” Trent offers as Blaine tries to steal her clipboard to distract from her assessment of the girls' swimming.
“Do they look related?” Bas contradicts.
“One of them could be adopted.”
“No one adopts pretty blonde girls because no one gives up pretty blonde girls.” I snap, listening to her screaming laughter as Blaine lifts her to throw her into the pool.
“They could be step siblings, like you and Finn.” Bas offers. I'm about to consider the idea when the girl grabs Blaine's face and pulls his lips to hers. It's one of those perfect kisses where their bodies just find each other and pull close. The kind I wish I could have with Blaine. Then there's a flash of tongue and my blood runs cold.
“Oh. I hope not.” Trent confesses.
“Yeah, I really doubt theyre related.” Bas agrees.

At dinner I find out her name. It's Quinn Fabray. Alfie and Marty and Cal, who, much to Bas's chagrin, have deemed themselves as captain of what they call the ‘Klaine Ship', sit with us to eat. They fill us in on what they've scooped out from older campers. Apparently she's a senior interior designer and leader of the girl's camp. Marty claims to have made out with a girl from her cabin who told him she's a former head cheerleader and super nice and talks about her boyfriend all of the time. Alfie and Cal have concurring evidence that the two have been together for a half a year. Apparently they met while volunteering at some Valentine's Day singles' mixer on campus. I eat the knowledge up, bemoaning just about all of Marty's claims. Sure, I was also once a cheerleader, but never close to being the pyramid topping head. Nor have I ever come close to looking like that. She looks so...classic and not at all like Blaine. Yet, somehow, they mold perfectly. His rugged hipster seems to compliment her glossy cut. Of course she's nice, which makes crushing on her boyfriend that much harder. Plus, she talks about him all the time. Who could blame her? I mean if I had him, I'd never stop talking about him. I already don't. And maybe I should start making plans to attend the next singles' mixer.

“Okay, campers, welcome to our second campfire!” Wes announces. We've all once again seated ourselves on the circle of logs, a fire burning in the center. I presume tonights campfire will be much like the last. But, I wont be paying any attention to it. Its like I have tunnel vision. Everywhere I look, everytime I think, its just Blaine. Blaine. Blaine. Blaine. And I want to think that its not healthy, because a part of me understands that. But, it won't stop coming back. Blaine. Blaine. Blaine. And Blaine sits with his legs crossed. And Blaine scrunches his eyes and his nose when he laughs. And Blaine fiddles with his hands a lot. And Blaine rubs his beard when hes thinking. And Blaine has winked at me twice now. And Blaine is straight. And this isnt healthy.