Lord, make me an instrument of thy peace. Where there is hatred, let me sow love.

-Francis of Assisi

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

Kurt glares at Blaine in annoyance before turning his attention to the window in order to watch the passing scenery. Half an hour ago, Blaine had called and told Kurt to make sure he was dressed warmly because he was on his way to pick him up. He hadn’t said anything beyond that. Kurt had no idea what this was about and he had absolutely no idea where they were going.

All he knows is that they just left the town of Lima and he was completely at Blaine’s mercy.

“Just trust me,” Blaine says softly and those are the last words spoken between either of them for the rest of the drive.

Twenty minutes later, it’s after five pm and Blaine parks the car in front of an old, wooden fence. Just beyond the fence, the grass is high, probably about as tall as Blaine but he can see the golden yellow of Ohio’s autumn wildflowers woven into the landscape.

“Come on,” Blaine says as he turns off the car.

Kurt looks around in confusion but he follows Blaine’s lead and climbs out of the car. The fall air chills him but the sun is warm on his face. Blaine pulls a couple of blankets and a book out of the back seat and smiles when Kurt lifts an eyebrow, questioning the presence of the items. Instead of answering, he walks over and hops the low fence, immersing himself in the tall grass.

“It’s okay,” Blaine tells him. “The place is huge. No one will know we’re here.”

“This is technically trespassing,” Kurt says as he climbs over the fence as well.

“Live a little,” Blaine says with a wink.

Tugging his jacket tighter around his frame, Kurt gestures toward the vast field of grass and flowers. “Lead the way.”

Blaine grins and Kurt follows as they make their way deeper into the grassy jungle. It smells like fall, like cinnamon sticks and burning leaves mixed with the sweet scent of Goldenrods. Slightly less annoyed, as Kurt walks behind Blaine he slips his hands out to the side, letting the tall, thin blades of grass brush against his fingertips. The sunbeam on his face and the slow, repetitive sound of the grass swaying in the wind causes him to smile. Kurt has never been to the ocean but he imagines that it must seem just as peaceful.

“Here,” Blaine finally says. “This is perfect.”

Still unsure why they’re here, he watches Blaine spread out one of the blankets onto the ground, crushing a small area of grass in his wake. But now, it’s like they have their own little niche and Blaine tugs him down to sit on top of the blanket. The grass looks like it goes on for miles from his place on the ground and the smell of earth and autumn is denser here.

“Can you tell me what we’re doing here now?” Kurt asks.

“This past week you’ve seemed kind of tense,” Blaine explains. “Like…you’re distant and sad for some reason. And I know those guys shoving you into your locker every day can’t be helping.”

Kurt looks down into his lap, focusing on his fingers. Yeah. He has been a little distant lately. It was silly of him to think Blaine might not notice.

But every time he looks at Blaine his heart begins to race and his palms sweat a little bit and he can’t think of the right thing to say and Blaine’s smile makes him want to burst into tears because Kurt knows that Blaine doesn’t feel the same for him.

“I’m sorry,” Kurt whispers.

“Don’t be sorry,” Blaine says. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

“…You didn’t bring me out here so I could explain myself to God or something, did you?” Kurt asks.

“No,” Blaine says with the slightest, most adorable laugh that Kurt has ever heard. “I know you don’t believe in God. I brought you out here so I could read to you.”

“…From the Bible?”

Blaine shakes his head and grins. “No. Not from the Bible.”

“Then what?”

Pulling out the book he had brought from under the second blanket, Blaine shows him the cover.

“The Secret Garden?” Kurt asks, though the title is perfectly clear.

“I love this book,” Blaine says, opening the book to chapter one. “I used to read it all the time when I was a kid.”

“Am I supposed to like, take home some lesson? Is there going to be a quiz?”

“Not at all,” Blaine says. “It’s just a story, just something you can listen to instead of thinking about whatever’s been bothering you. And it’s quite peaceful out here, don’t you think?”

Kurt lies on his back, eyes staring up at his friend. “Yeah. It is.”

Blaine smiles and begins to read. “When Mary Lennox was sent to Misselthwaite Manor to live with her uncle everybody said she was the most disagreeable-looking child ever seen. It was true, too. She had a little thin face and a little thin body, thin light hair and a sour expression. Her hair was yellow…”

As he continues to read, Kurt has to wonder if Blaine took diction lessons as a child. He wonders more, however, why Blaine would do something like this for him. It’s such a simple thing, reading to somebody. Kurt hasn’t been read to since his mother had died. She used to read to him from her Jane Austen novels. Kurt never really understood what was happening or why Mr. Darcy suddenly fell in love with Elizabeth Bennett, but the words were pretty and he could easily fall asleep to the sound of his mother’s voice.

But why did Blaine go through all the trouble to find such a beautiful place? Why did he bring Kurt here, to this lovely, autumn meadow? Why read to him between golden flowers amidst the sway of the dry grass on a Saturday evening? Why here? Why alone?

Kurt’s eyes fall shut as Blaine’s voice harmonizes with the wind. Eventually, the sounds drown out his doubts and his questions and Kurt simply listens to the story of small, disagreeable Mary Lennox and her journey to Misselthwaite Manor.

An hour and a half later, Blaine’s voice grows tired and he lies down next to Kurt, tugging the second blanket up over their bodies. The sun is setting and crickets begin to chirp all around them.

“That one looks like a fish,” Blaine says, pointing at the sky to one particular cloud.

Kurt smiles to himself and points to another cloud. “That one looks like a sunflower.”

“That one looks like a peacock.”

“That’s really elaborate,” Kurt states.

“It does, though. Look there,” Blaine says, scooting closer to Kurt so that Kurt can follow Blaine’s line of sight directly up his arm to the cloud in question. “See? The feathers and the feet?”

“I guess it does,” Kurt concedes. He points to another cloud. “That one looks like a candle.”

“That one looks like old Mrs. Thomas, the ancient math teacher,” Blaine says.

At that, the two boys dissolve into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. They clutch their sides, giggling like a pair of five year olds and Kurt’s pretty sure he hasn’t laughed this hard in years and it’s ridiculous because it’s so simple, looking for things in clouds.

But as Kurt props himself up onto his elbow and looks down at Blaine’s face, he thinks that maybe that’s why Blaine’s here in the first place. Maybe he’s here to show Kurt of all the simple joys in life, like reading and cloud shapes and sweet, innocent laughter.

Could this be Heaven? Here, between tall grass and golden flowers on a dying autumn day? Here, tucked under a blanket with a book and a boy whose heart is the size of the world?

If this is Heaven, Kurt thinks that God just might exist.

And maybe he granted Kurt’s wish.

So when he looks down at Blaine, with his eyes so full of light and laughter, he cannot stop himself.

He leans down, face hovering over Blaine’s. His friend’s eyes empty themselves of laughter and stare back in curiosity. Kurt closes the last bit of space between their faces and presses his lips to Blaine’s. The kiss is chaste, gentle, and sweet and Kurt can feel how warm Blaine’s body is below him. Time stops. There is no sound, there is no breeze, there are no crickets. There’s only Blaine and his warmth and his smooth, perfect lips.

When Kurt finally pulls away, he stares down at Blaine. His friend stares back, lips slightly parted, cheeks blushed pink, but his eyes are no longer filled with light or curiosity.

Instead, his eyelids are spread wide and Kurt thinks he sees fear.

“You – you kissed me,” Blaine breathes, not even moving an inch as he speaks.

Dread claws its way into Kurt’s throat and his hands begin to shake. He sits up so quickly that he nearly falls over again. His head is dizzy and the scent of Goldenrods and autumn makes him want to throw up. He stares down at the blanket.

“I’m so sorry,” Kurt says, voice broken and tongue heavy in his mouth.

“But I’m – I’m a boy,” Blaine says.

Blaine sounds so young, so naïve and confused. Kurt feels ill. He stands, throwing the blanket off his body, eyes searching the landscape wildly until he can spot the car far in the distance. He takes off in a sprint, battling the tall grass and shoving aside wildflowers as he goes. Completely ignoring Blaine’s shouts at his back, he continues to run and almost falls in his haste to clamber over the low, wooden fence they had jumped earlier. The doors to the car are locked.

It doesn’t matter. Blaine will have to drive him home anyway.

Kurt hurries around to the back of the car where he drops to the ground. The dirt is probably going to ruin his pants but he doesn’t care at this point.

Blaine is so innocent, Kurt thinks for about the millionth time since meeting the boy. And Kurt knows Blaine’s stance on homosexuality, even if they had never had an explicit conversation about the issue. His precious book speaks well enough on that topic with its few and far between phrases that are actually trapped in a time that has nothing to do with today, with them, with how Kurt feels. He had no right to do that to Blaine, to take that moment from him when Kurt knows well enough that Blaine is going to think he’s sick.

That Blaine is going to think he’s an abomination.