Six days is not a lot of time when trying to squeeze in love where it doesn't belong. The days are filled with selfies and sex and refusals to succumb to sadness. This is it, their last hoorah. Love is at the table, but it's overplayed its hand. Sure, the future's a wild card, but it's been lost in the shuffle of compensating for all the missed instances of unencumbered intimacy.

Blaine takes Puck's place in packing up the final pieces Kurt plans to take with him when he goes. The process runs slower than it had with Puck, with distractions abound springing up out of lust.

Kurt muses that perhaps the hand of his forgiveness is forced by the constraint of time. Kurt even tolerates Rachel for extended periods of time, offers her invites to Quinn's with added threats of drowning her in the pool should her tongue run ahead of her mind.

The beginning of the end is upon them like a volcano set to erupt and send them flying. Blaine clings somehow tighter as the days pass, though they've been glued at the hip. Kurt lets him, likes it more than he lets on.

After their quasi-reunion at Dalton, the impasse and compromises, Kurt and Blaine seized the keys to Cooper's car and drove off together. They went for ice cream, wagging their tails for a little nibble on the bone that's been taunting them all summer. The shop is not too far from Dalton, on a farm that smells of cows and grass and open air, and Kurt felt the change, the shift that's occurred between them. They sat on the roof of Cooper's car, blazers discarded somewhere in the backseat, quiet and marveling at the starry sky. Couples, families, and groups of friends all milled around them, just as caught up in the spirit of summer that enlivens and lift cares away on the breeze.

“I love you,” Blaine reminded him, starting a trend of saying the words as often as possible before the chance is gone, combusting with the pressure of prior abstinence.

“I love you, too.” The confession loosened the last thread caught on Kurt's heart. He feels boundless, now. Free. Free to love Blaine and not ache at the imperfection of crossing desire and practice. 

The Andersons join the Hummels for dinner on Kurt's last night. Cooper and Finn are placed at opposite ends of tables pushed together to make room for them all. Rachel joins them, a sparkle in her eye at the mention of New York – she'll be there, too, Kurt recalls the information he blocked. Blaine pinches his side, mouths “be nice.” It's a big city, if their paths cross, Kurt's sure he can find an alley to duck into. Blaine pinches him again, reading Kurt's mind.

The last memories Kurt holds of Blaine are flashes of the gasping boy beneath him, the elated giggles when they stay up talking through their exhaustion, the ring he fashions from gum wrappers to mark the occasion and promise friendship, the wavering smile when Kurt walks him home before dawn, the teary goodbye and the crushing hug that has to end sometime.

:: ::

Burt drives the rental truck all the way to New York. Kurt's things are piled in the back, books and clothes and music and trinkets – some his, some not. He left Blaine a present sitting on his dresser, a shiny model of the car on his arm, put together and painted by his own hand. He's stolen one from Blaine, called it a trade. It's fair, seeing as he knows Blaine has poached pieces of his wardrobe while he was meant to be packing.

Santana is waiting for him to arrive, already moved in to the apartment he'll share with her, Puck, and Quinn. It seems like a disaster waiting to happen, the four of them trapped in a quartered one-bedroom. They'll make an adventure of navigating the landmines.

“How you holding up, kiddo?”

Kurt turns away from the window, looks at his father and smiles. “Good. I'm – good.”

“Sounds convincing.”

“I've been waiting for this for so long, it's just… I don't know. It doesn't feel real yet.”

“You scared?”

“Terrified.”

“New York is gonna be a breeze, Kurt. It's full of people like you. People who aren't afraid to be different. Look at all the crap life's thrown your way, and you're still standing.”

“Don't be surprised if I whack you with a crutch when we get out of this van.”

“Have you called the physical therapist your doctor recommended, yet?”

“Yes, dad. Everything's in order. I've got my phone, my wallet, the keys Santana sent, the interview set up for that internship with Isabelle Wright.” He perks up in his seat. “I've got all my cards – ID, social security, insurance, emergency credit card –”

“Which is for…?”

“Emergencies.”

“Right. Which do not include…?”

“Tattoos.”

“Right again.”

Kurt rolls his eyes, turns back to the blurring highway.

“Kid, you'll be fine. I'm a phone call away if you ever need me. Which you won't.”

“I always need you, dad.”

Burt lets out a short bark of laughter. “That bullshit smells nice.”

Kurt clunks his head against the glass. “You're insufferable.”

“Good thing Lima's so far away, huh.”

“Not too far.”

Kurt falls asleep to Burt humming along to whatever classic rock station comes in clear as they pass through counties and cross state lines. When he wakes up, it's getting dark again and he's missed the crossover into New York. They're sitting in traffic, the only thing delaying him from reaching his new home. He feels the excitement building within him, drumming an erratic beat through his veins.

Looking around, Kurt sees the variety of styles and skins that people wear. His father is right, differences are what bind this city together; Kurt will be invisible here in the way he's never been.

Breathing in the musty, rank fragrance of downtown coming through his open window, he feels a surge of power and gratification. Feels young and wild. Feels free.