(Twenty-one days before)

Blaine Anderson stepped off the bus, gripping the handle of his roller suitcase tight and giving it a sharp tug, dislodging a stuck wheel just before the doors snapped close. Sighing, the boy slid his sunglasses up his nose, the sun slanting uninterrupted across his face. Surveying the area, he could honestly say there wasn't much about Lima that he had missed all that much. He pushed the strap of his satchel a bit further up his shoulder, taking a seat on the too warm bench and hoping his father would arrive sooner rather than later.

He guessed it wouldn't be good to hold his standards too high – his father wasn't one to the name of an impeccable track record. Bored, Blaine checked his watch a few times balefully, watching a few stragglers walk by. A homeless man took refuge across the street, curling up underneath a broken lamp post and he stifled the urge to walk across the street and hand him the twenty in his pocket in case his father drove by and missed him altogether. A boy with tattoos spider webbing along his arms pressed a cigarette between his teeth, taking a deep drag. Few cars trickled along the desolate road and it dampened the hope inside him that this visit might be different than the last. Maybe Cooper would let him hitch a ride down to California with him, if he was lucky.

"Hey," A soft voice drew him out of his daydreams of the open road spanning out ahead of him. The first thing he saw looking up was a pair of irritated, but God, vibrant blue eyes staring down at him. He was tall and slender, with lithe muscles running across exposed forearms and a restrained scowl curving his lips. Blaine stared for a moment, stunned, before long fingers were snapping at him. "Didn't you hear me? Could you move your stuff?"

He nodded urgently, scrambling to pull his suitcase to his chest and push his mother's old duffle underneath the stone bench.

"Thanks." His new companion said sourly, crossing his arms and leaning back against the concrete building Blaine suspected was the former home of a crystal meth lab.

"Yeah," He cleared his throat, breath catching on the word. He hovered around the idea of introducing himself, but thought better of it as the boy wrestled an iPhone out of his incredibly tight jeans, eyebrows furrowing as he tapped out a message angrily. Blaine studied his jaw line with fascination, trailing his eyes down his shoulders, which were straining against the white button down.

"Hello?" His eyes snapped to the other boy's face before realizing he was on the phone.

"Yes, I know it's you, Rachel. No—The phone erased all my contacts," He paused. "Me and Sebastian are fine, thanks, we just got into a fight. It's stupid. Whatever. Oh, like you can talk! What?" The brunet listened for a moment, nodding the slightest bit. Blaine tried to avert his gaze, looking down at his watch again, debating whether or not to call his mom and tell her he got here alright.

"So, are you new here?"

It took him a moment to realize the guy was talking to him.

"Excuse me?"

Bright eyes were watching him intently, the phone having returned to his pocket in the gaps of his inner musings. "Are you new to Lima?"

"Uh, no." Feeling increasingly underwhelming, he attempted to speak again and clarify, "I'm only around for the summer."

He contemplated that for a moment, eyes darting across his face. Blaine resisted the urge to run his hand over his hair self-consciously. "I'm Kurt. Kurt Hummel."

Kurt didn't hold out a hand and neither did he.

"Blaine." He replied.

"Well, Blaine, I don't know why you would chose here to visit." Kurt told him bluntly, turning away.

I don't either. He thought to himself, but didn't say it. They sat in an awkward silence, Blaine fidgeting with the edges of his bowtie. Kurt, though, was seemingly comfortable with this sort of lack of conversation, sitting unbothered. A car rounded the corner and for a second, Blaine thought it might be his father, but the vehicle was too nice. He watched in awe as the Porsche rolled to a stop at the edge of the curb and Kurt stood, hitching his own bag over his shoulder.

"I meant what I said about coming here, but I hope you enjoy it anyway." Without another word, he turned and Blaine watched the line of his back disappear into the car and then down the road.

"Kurt." The dark haired boy turned the word over in his mouth. "Kurt Hummel."

It sent a tingling sensation down his tongue, as though a wish had just caught and collected in his mouth like a raindrop.

He sighed, setting his bag back down beside him, before catching the flash of scarlet. He pulled at the corner of the small box, one he recognized from Kurt's bag pocket. Blaine ran his fingers over the ridges of the matchbox, elaborately decorated. All at once, he could feel his summer charge itself with the manifestation of something he didn't even know he'd wanted to pursue.

*

When his Dad pulled up, an hour late, they didn't say anything really, besides the usual, silted 'Hello's and 'Where's Cooper's. His father was caught in whatever he was caught in, hands streaked with grease and his hair unruly. Blaine lost himself in the small droplets of rain pitter-pattering against the windshield, taking comfort in the way they felt like a warm caress when he stepped out of the car again. The jeep was as beat up as he remembered it being, when he used to sit in the back as a little kid, small fingers finding giggles in the holes in carved out of the upholstery.

Cooper wrapped him in a hug the moment he crossed the threshold of the old house, smelling like a pocket full of coins and maple syrup and home.

"How are you little bro?"

He grinned whole heartedly. "Good. You?"

His brother flapped his hands at him. "You know I'll go on and on about my self, at least get something in about you before the summer really starts."

On one hand, Blaine was desperate to tell him about Kurt and pester him on the subject matter, but not in his father's house. He motioned for Cooper to follow him into his old bedroom. It reeked of women's perfume and bad laundry. The thought of his father bringing one of his conquests into this place made his head spin and his brother frowned, seemingly reading his mind.

"What's on your mind?"

He sat, suddenly tired, running his hands over his Grandmother's old quilt. "Do you know Kurt Hummel?"

Cooper let out a laugh, loud and full, filling the corners of the room. "Everyone knows Kurt, little bro. He's kind of got a reputation for being insanely fun, emphasis on insane."

Blaine frowned, pondering that. "So—"

"He also has a boyfriend who is stupidly reckless and very protective, so don't even think about it." His brother said, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against the wall.

He fell back against the bed, sighing up at the ceiling as Cooper is called down to the kitchen. "I wasn't."

*

Dinner was tenser than usual, his father staring angrily at the bowl of microwave peas the entire time.

Uncomfortable, Blaine excused himself hesitantly, repressing a smile when Cooper waves him away easily, capturing their Dad in a trivial conversation. He'd always been better at dealing with him, between the two brothers.

Exhausted, he climbed up the stairs back to his room, sliding the window sill up and sticking his legs out carefully the way he used to. He shimmied himself up onto the roof, treading gently over the loose shingles. The Martins still lived beside them, he noticed distantly, swinging his legs over the side of the roof. He could hear a glass shatter even from here and frowns, looking out over the city in the distance, cars like fireflies. Suddenly homesick, Blaine pulled the box of matches from his capri pocket, sliding the cover forward and exposing the matches lined orderly in a row. Feeling spontaneous, the boy lit one, letting it flicker and dance in the wind before dropping it off the side of the house and watching it sparkle until it hit the grass.

Kurt Hummel.

Blaine took a deep breath.

This summer would be different.

*

(Twenty days before)

Strangely, the next time Blaine saw Kurt, it was at the crappy QuickMart two streets down that Mr. Rogers owned. The QuickMart was, while incredibly decrepit, one of his favorite parts of the town, with it's walls lined haphazardly with books of all eras, plants stuck into odd holders laid precariously over boxes of silverware and cooking tins. Fruits lay in large, open wooden crates lined with ice and there were shelves full of strange items, like golf clubs and butterfly nets. The old man waved at him from behind a stack of soup cans and he returned the gesture, but distantly, having already spotted Kurt behind a pail of red and white tulips.

"Have someone special in mind?" He asked suddenly, breaking the boy from his reverie.

"Blaine," Kurt nodded, playing with the stem of one of the incredibly delicate flowers. "And doesn't everyone have someone special in mind when looking at flowers?"

"Not me." Blaine said, wiping his hands across his pants nervously. His fingers caught on the matchbox in his pocket and he shoved it farther down. It felt selfish to keep it, and he promised himself he would give it back after all had been said and done. The other boy's gaze flicked up to his, a smirk curling his lips up.

"That's surprising. You're so fifties dreamboat, I'd figure every Neanderthal in this cow town would fall to their knees and form a line of worship."

He was sure his heart about stopped at the compliment, crawling up his throat as heat rose to his cheeks. Kurt laughed, tugging a red tulip from the pot and handing it to him. "I'll see you around, Anderson."

He didn't have time to wonder how Kurt knew his last name.

*

"Someone's happy," Cooper called as he practically skipped into the house, tulip heavy in his grip. He grinned, shrugging, dropping the plastic grocery bag on the floor.

"Very happy." His brother corrected himself, trailing him up the stairs that creaked and moaned when pressed against too hard. He leaned his temple against the door to his room, making sure his father wasn't inside before entering.

"It was just a good day, Coop." Blaine replied, dropping the flower on his desk.

"Is that a red tulip?" His brother's voice was suddenly suspicious. Blaine's eyebrows drew together.

"Uh... Yeah. Why?"

"I swear to God, B..." He shook his head. "Kurt only gives those to the boys he likes." He said it slowly, as though explaining something to a toddler.

"Kurt likes me?" He could practically feel himself perking up. Cooper cast him a worried look.

"Let's hope not. For all of our sakes."

Blaine didn't want to know what he meant by that.

*