Kurt flip-flops between gratitude and utter frustration at the timing of this whole thing. On one hand, they are so busy, he can't stop to think and over-analyze and second guess and generally ruin the thing – the one thing – he's been aching for since—

The truth is, ever since he laid eyes on this boy at their very first rehearsal. Sure, he was hard on him and impatient with him and fighting and tugging and pulling away from the feelings that washed through him every time Blaine looked at him. Every time Blaine stood up to him. Every time Blaine made him smile and laugh and every time Blaine played. Oh, when that boy played. It hurt and it soothed all at once and that tension. That I-don't-know-how-to-feel of it all slopped around in his head and in his heart. He'd flash the pain from Doc but before that feeling could ever completely seat itself, he'd see Blaine. Really see him, and even when he kept fighting it, this boy – this earnest, talented, beautiful boy – would slice through it all and help him see the world in a bright, shining new way.

And now this boy is his. And he is this boy's. And they are so freaking busy unloading and finalizing their uniforms by fixing hats and plumes and sashes and gloves. They're polishing horns again and again and again, thinking that maybe this wipe-through will get that blasted scratch out of the bell that's been there since Sophomore year. They're warming up and oiling valves and greasing slides and bending and squatting and lunging and shoving a disgusting bologna sandwich in their mouths so they don't pass out mid-show. They're working, prepping, standing still so the band moms can polish their shoes and snap the hems of their pants to a crisp point.

So much to do to make things perfect for this huge, monstrous, important competition. It's important because it's here. It's Ohio Stadium. It's an invitational – they were invited to be a part of this event in this legendary stadium in front of this legendary band. In front of thousands of band parents from all over Ohio – and of course their own. And while it won't matter in the grand scheme of their lives – no head hunters are here from colleges, no scholarships are being offered for glorious trumpet duets – it matters to the memories they'll carry with them. To the moment.

And this moment without all the hype of Ohio Stadium is pretty fucking glorious all on its own. "How're the nerves?"

"At bay. You?" Kurt can't help but glance around when Blaine's hand slips around his waist. It's not that he wants to hide, but he doesn't know how his band mates will respond. His directors. Will anyone even care? Will anyone even notice? Oh, he hopes they notice. He wants the world to know.

"I feel better than I ever have."

"Band, Atten-HUT!"

"HUT!"

They snap to attention in-place and Kurt is grateful for the forced focus. Because without it right now, he'd steal this boy in between the lot of parked busses and take that first kiss as his own. Maybe his second and third.

Because everyone knows, trumpet players make the world's best kissers.

With a quick hand squeeze they have to part to line-up to march to warm-up. After warm-up, it's time to line-up for the final time and march to the stadium. With game faces on, it's all forward focus and steady even breathing, quick mental checks of fingerings and last-minute changes in the visual portion of the show, side-eyes to their squads to make sure everyone is not only in perfect alignment, but has their wits about them, their focus sure and true and—

"Holy fucking shit." Kurt takes in such a huge swallow of air, he wonders if he's going to turn himself inside out. He's been to this stadium before for games. His dad usually gets at least one ticket per season from a customer and he's gone a few times – not because he enjoys football, but to see the marching band. The band is as much of the experience of Ohio State football as the team. And for kids like Kurt, for kids like the 150 lined up here inside the stadium now, waiting at the south home stand corner while the previous band finishes their show, it's more than the football team. Always more.

The stadium is an icon in and of itself, originally shaped as a horseshoe, hence the name The Shoe. Now, to get more people in on football Saturdays, they've closed up the opened end of the stadium, fitting in over 100,000 people every Saturday. Today, there are only 2-3000, but it's still the biggest crowd they've ever played for. The bright red Block O shines from the 50-yard-line – an invitation to get out there, do your school proud and take home, if not trophies, amazing, thrilling stories of this day.

The band is lined up single-file against a fence and Blaine has maneuvered himself next to Kurt reaching down inconspicuously for his hand. "It's massive."

"It's so much more overwhelming down here than in the stands."

"You okay?"

"I can't fucking wait to get out there. Oh my god, Blaine..."

"We're going to kill this."

"We're at Ohio Stadium."

"Okay, people, remember. This is a college football field." Jonesy is walking up and down the length of the band, Beaman going in the opposite direction to cover everyone with their final words. "This is not a high school stadium. When you throw it to the box, you throw it further. When you give verbal commands, you have to give them louder. When you think you've given your all, you give another 50%. It's wider than high school fields. What hash marks do we hit here?"

"Taped."

"Do we even see the chalked hash marks?"

"No ma'am!"

"What hash marks?"

"Taped."

"How often?"

"Every time."

"Excellent." Jonesy looks out to the field and the previous band heads towards the ramp to exit the field. "Now go kick some ass."

"HUAH!"

They make their way to the side-line and just as at every football game before, every competition before, Blaine looks to Kurt with a big grin, his horn in place for attention, his eyes shining with anticipation. "Meet you at the Block O?"

Kurt sucks in air as if it's his lifeblood and lets out a small whimper in excitement. "Meet you at the Block O."

"McKinley High School. You may begin your pre-placement and/or warm-up."

~~~**~~~

It's bigger.

It's louder.

It's like being inside of a massive space ship when you're used to a one-seated space capsule. Their sound travels as though their music was made for air. Their turns pop, their arcs flow, their steps snap with precision – all 150 musicians finally arrived at the same place at the same time for the same mission.

And Kurt is filled with it all. He can hardly breathe, yet his lungs are always ready, full with exactly what he needs to hit the next phrase. He can't think straight, yet his memory is fine-tuned to every maneuver, every visual, every stop and turn and kick and bow. And as the last bars of Bicycle wind down and he reaches under his horn for the hidden bicycle bell, he steps into place on the front edge of the Block O.

The music stops for two beats and all he can hear is his own breathing. And maybe, if he allows his imagination to tell him it's real, he can hear his dad from the stands, "Come on, Buddy. Knock 'em dead."

So, that's what he does. His sound soars through the stadium and it almost, almost catches him off guard. He can hear his own echo bounce back seconds after he plays and it's – well, dammit, it's gorgeous. He sounds gorgeous.

He focuses on Artie's steady beat and remembers the evening with Blaine. Let it go, Kiki. Be free with the phrasing. Sing the song. Lead the song.

The band joins him for the chorus and he feels like he can breathe again, if only a little. A heat forms on his left and he knows Blaine is on his way and then with a gentle bump to his shoulder, he is there. On the Block O. He can't look. Can't smile. Can't acknowledge. He has to keep playing, trusting, believing that everything they've worked for this season, all the fights and the misunderstandings and posturing and thunderstorm cuddling and toe-nail painting has come to this moment.

And it's glorious. Perfect. Kurt leads – melodic, lyric, flowing. Blaine follows – harmonic, dancing, crisp. The band accompanies – choral, rich, supporting.

They press together, shoulder to shoulder as the song soars higher and higher, the band joining in with the second chorus and it builds and builds. Kurt pulls back to prep for the final run to the top and with a lean back, supported by Blaine in music, in body, in mind and in spirit, they nail the ending, the wailing notes soaring over the crowd in the three-tiered stadium as the audience stands and cheers.

Kurt has never felt more perfect, more full, more right in his life.

They cut-off with Artie's cue and take a slow bow as the interlude between songs continues behind them. Blaine hooks his hand through Kurt's and though they've never done that before, though he knows Jonesy will probably birth a small farm animal about it afterwards, Kurt takes Blaine's hand confidently, lifts it and they take another bow. It makes the move to the next chart all the more desperate, but with the adrenaline coursing through them, it's not a problem.

Santana and Mike carry on with their duet and before Kurt can fully catch his breath, they're on the move again with the speed of Don't Stop Me Now. And then to the closer with Somebody to Love and it's big and it's brassy and it's bold and the company front is absolute perfection, lifting the crowd off their feet, band evenly spread 20-yard-line to 20-yard-line, horns to the box, sound beyond the box. The final note sounds, the percussion winds it down and—

"HUAH!!!!"

With just a few deep, life-catching breaths, they take it all in, game faces melting into grins as the crowd thanks them with their raucous applause. And four snare taps later, they're turning and heading to the ramp – or The Ramp – to exit the stadium, a soft, steady "hup, hup, hup" keeping their steps in precise rhythm.

As they near the tunnel, Kurt tunes his attention to the announcer, listing their credits as they leave the field.

"...directed by Janis C. Jones, Percussion instructor Kate Beaman, Guard advisor Sue Sylvester. The show you heard was entitled The Queen's Reign and was led by field commander, Artie Abrams. Songs included Fat Bottomed Girls, Breakthrough, Bicycle, The Show Must Go On featuring Kurt Hummel and Blaine Anderson, Don't Stop Me Now featuring Santana Lopez and Mike Chang, Somebody to Love featuring Brittany S. Pierce. Continue your applause and appreciation for McKinley Marching Titans from Lima, Ohio!!"

Kurt Hummel and Blaine Anderson.

It echoes in Kurt's ears again and again as they disappear row by row into the bowels of the stadium and out into the cool fall sunshine to cheer and collapse. To hug and celebrate. And as Finn picks him up and spins him around almost plowing Kurt into the number 5 bass drum, he spots him. Smiling. Beaming. Looking all over for someone.

For him.

"Put me down, you oaf!" Kurt laughs and bats at Finn's shoulder, taking off as soon as his feet hit the ground, gripping his trumpet tightly as he goes. And with a hefty "Oof!" he's in Blaine's arms and his feet are off the ground again and he lands and then Blaine's feet are off the ground and it's everything – everything they worked for right here.

"We did it!"

"We did it. Thank you, Mayn—Blaine." He reaches up and brushes his fingers along Blaine's jaw – breathless that he can do this now, that Blaine's eyes close at his touch and the sweetest smile curls at his lips, crinkles the skin at the sides of his eyes. "Blaine..." He can touch now, and ogle – without shame. "Thank you so much."

"What are you thanking me for? We did it together."

"That means I couldn't have done it without you."

"Yes, you could have. You would have. I'm just glad you didn't have to."

Kurt's eyes dash to Blaine's lips and he licks his own, his heart pounding against the rhythm of the band performing inside the stadium.

"Alright, band! Instruments properly stored! Plumes in the box! Hats in your own hat box."

Kurt glares at nothing in particular and leans in to whisper in Blaine's ear. "I think I have a new nickname for Beaman."

"What's that?"

"Cockblock."

Blaine snerks and lowers his head trying to hide his laughter, but his shaking shoulders and desperate grasp of Kurt's uniform sleeve are dead giveaways.

"Half-dress with State hoodies – except for Hummel, Anderson, Lopez, Chang, Pierce, Abrams. Full uniforms to accept awards tonight."

Kurt chuckles with him, catching his breath when their eyes meet again and Blaine's are darker. Mischievous – in a way he's never seen before. "The timing's not right anyway."

Kurt quirks an eyebrow and cocks his head. "No?"

"No." He winks and turns to listen to Jonesy, who's taken over when Finn practically tackles Beaman for a hug, ending the conversation. Not, however, ending Kurt's racing mind.

"You have three minutes to line up." Jonesy takes a breath and looks over the band – her band. Kurt's not entirely sure her feet are touching the ground either – she's adorably high in the moment. "And band?" She looks them over and if there is a way to literally beam, she's doing it. Glowing, shining pride radiating from her every pore. "You've made me so proud."

~~~**~~~

They settle into their seats for the Ohio State band's portion of the show and Kurt has to bite back a grin . He sees Blaine like this every Friday. Every competition, but it never stops being adorable. They're in full uniform, minus hats until the awards ceremony, so Blaine's all tucked and pressed and proper – perfectly lovely. The twist is his hair – his curls are tamed down with probably no fewer than 10 billion bobby pins. And he's so high from the performance, from the atmosphere, there isn't an ounce of self-consciousness about how silly he looks. Which makes it even more appealing.

He loops his arm in Blaine's grabbing his hand. "Have you ever sat this close to the field before?"

"No. Dad's season tickets are B-deck – they get a box."

"We're up to C-deck. Not that it matters here."

"Not to see, but to hear – to watch the way they talk to each other when they march will be—"

Blaine's sentence is cut short when Santana smacks them both on the shoulder and shoves a pointed finger between them, aiming at the ramp. The percussion section silently makes their way into the stadium, high steps, wide sweeping arms of the snare drummers marking time. The crowd begins to come alive and once both rows are in place, the announcer calls, "Ladies and gentlemen. The Pride of the Buckeyes. The Ohio State University Marching Band!"

And while there had been murmurings before, the crowd of only a few thousand is on their feet as the familiar cadence begins. The band, dressed in all black, save for the white cross sashes and red berets attached at their shoulders, march out in crisp precision, horn snaps popping every turn as they layer into a perfect block of 192 members. With a sharp three-step motion, horns are up and the Buckeye Battle Cry begins as the drum major struts out between the members, marching in place waiting for his cue at the front of the band.

His cue? A back bend all the way down until the tip of his plume touches the astro-turf. He's up, his baton points forward and they're off.

This band is different than all the bands performing today. They march in a military style. High steps, exact 8-to-5 marching. Horns are always directed the same way the marchers are moving – no flanks, no backwards marching. It's the marching from the days of war and it's beautiful in its precision.

As the band gets to the end zone and turns, Blaine squeezes Kurt's hand and leans in. "One day – we're going to be out there."

"Next season. We're gonna make it." As they talk and dream and grin and clap, the band maneuvers itself to the opposite sideline and everyone who is a Buckeye fan knows what's next. If they weren't on their feet already, the entire crowd is now.

"And now, the most memorable tradition in college band history. The Incomparable Script Ohio!"

Kurt takes a deep breath as Le'Regiment begins. Every kid in Ohio who has family that loves OSU football knows this song. Has probably marched around his or her living room with a toy instrument or baton on Saturday afternoons writing a script O-H-I-O as they go, their poor fathers and uncles and mothers and siblings having to peek around their constantly moving form. And Kurt and Blaine are no exception.

To see this spectacle live. This close. With all of their friends, and now with each other, is something Kurt hopes he never forgets. He's not sure if he has ever felt this completely happy before.

They clap and watch as the huge scripted letter "O" is formed on the field, the lone sousaphone player stuck in between a trumpet player and a baritone player, already poised for his special honor – the "dotting-of-the-i." The band follows the drum major around as he "writes" the word, the curl of the capital-O, the loop of the cursive "h," and then a pause to allow a few members up the staff of the letter "i." Once the small "o" begins, the crowd starts to build in their excitement because they know. They know, that the climactic moment is near.

"There he is – here we go!" The drum major pauses and waits for his sousaphone player to come around the bottom edge of the "o" and nods, escorting him to his special position. The "dot" of the letter "i." With a dramatic swing of his baton, he points to the exact spot to which the sousaphone steps and the crowd cheers. He lifts his hat with bright red plume and bows with the full of his instrument swooping across his body and back up again. He swings his right leg wide and high and spins, bowing to the home stands in the same fashion.

Why it's so exciting is anyone's guess. But, these kids grew up watching. Dreaming. Wanting to be a part of it. If you asked many of them why they joined band back in 5th grade, many would point to these moments. Kurt knows it used to be Puck's dream, so he turns back to find him and throws a hand up for a high five. "Still want it, Puckerman?"

"I want it – not so sure they want me."

"Never know until you try."

"And now, under the direction of Jonathan Waters, please rise and sing as the sound of the campus chimes introduces The Ohio State University Alma Mater, Carmen Ohio."

Kurt leans into Blaine who wraps an arm around Kurt – it is chilly fall day after all and multi-layered gloves and wool uniforms only go so far to protect from the breeze. Besides, it all feels so nice. He has a boy to snuggle with in the stands now.

He has a boy to snuggle with in the stands.

The brass band plays as chimes, and goose bumps run up and down Kurt's arms and legs. The melody is simple and quite collegiate. But, whenever he hears the chimes, the next memory belongs to his mom. She told him she sang it to him as a baby and he remembers singing it with her as she'd bathe him, or as they'd bake or do dishes. It's a song, like so many others in this tradition, that permeates so many memories of all of these students.

"You know the words?" Blaine's cheeks are apple-red with the cool air and his eyes dance with excitement in the moment. Kurt leans in more and plants a kiss on top of Blaine's bobby-pinned head – too adorable to resist.

"I've known 'em my whole life."

And so, they sing.

How firm thy friendship, Oh-hi-o!

The marching band continues with a half-time show and Kurt can't focus anymore. The warmth of Blaine next to him, their whispered commentary filling the space between them, all starting and stopping with blushing smiles and hand squeezes – as if neither of them can believe the fight against all of their pent-up feelings is finally over. As if they can't get over the thrill of being in this stadium for such an intimate performance – compared to normal football Saturdays. As if being surrounded by their friends, neighbored by their families, the memory of their own performance isn't enough to make the day more perfect than they could ever dream.

But, it's all pooled together. Into this one day. This one moment. And Kurt is filled with the joy of it all – to the point that he fears he can't soak in one more thing.

The half-time show comes to a close and the crowd is on their feet again, Jonesy's hand raised to hold their attention. She directs the leaders to get back down to the sideline to line up for awards and Kurt hopes Blaine is listening because he's – he's saturated.

Blaine stands first and tugs on his hand and Kurt stumbles out of the risers to follow, giggling as he goes, Blaine almost bouncing with excitement. When they finally land on the track and grab their hats, they stop and look around, finding everyone else to line up and march to their positions. Kurt wants to look back and find his dad. Find Carole. See if Blaine's dad is there. But, he can't – it's game time.

Blaine stands in front him and reaches up to adjust Kurt's chin strap, smiling as big as the joy he feels inside of himself. He grasps Blaine's wrist and holds his hand to his heart. "I feel like it's going to pump right out of my body."

"I know." Blaine moves their hands to his chest. "Me, too. Do you—do you even care if we win anything?"

"No." Kurt breathes out a laugh and shakes his head. "No. After all that work. I don't—I don't even care."

"Yeah. I feel like I've already won."

"Titan Squad. Forward...MARCH!" Blaine slips into position and they snap forward, following Artie's gentle, "hup, hup, hup" rhythm and enter the field again. When they snap into position with the other bands, McKinley at the 45-yard-line, they execute their synchronized, choreographed salute to the crowd and Kurt sneaks a peek up, seeing his dad up on his feet, OSU baseball hat spinning in his hand overhead. Blaine – his boyfriend­ – is to his left, Santana to his right. His band sits anxiously awaiting rows ahead and The Ohio State Marching Band on the field behind him.

He most definitely has already won.