Once they had landed Kurt all but ran off the plane, nearly forgetting his carry on in his haste. Blaine felt terrible; the pale teen was miserable the entire flight and no amount of magazines or games could distract him from the fact that he was in a giant metal bird that was flying precisely way too damn high off the ground.

Once they were safely waiting in baggage claim, Kurt had locked himself in a family bathroom for ten minutes before emerging looking calm and collected.

"Better?" Blaine asked softly.

Kurt nodded and gave him a wide smile. "Much. Sorry about the flight. I'm the worst worry wart."

The olive skinned boy just shrugged and nudged Kurt with his shoulder. "No problem."

Conversation was cut short when the conveyor belts groaned to life and paraded mismatched luggage by the weary passengers. As luck would have it, their luggage was one of the last to emerge from the black flaps.

Carole had gone outside and flagged them a shuttle and forty-five minutes later they were bumping down a dirt road, Fleur Grange in full view. It was lit by the glaring morning sun and Blaine was instantly enchanted. "Wow," he said, awed.

"I know," Kurt replied, leaning close so he wouldn't disturb his sleeping family. "My mom inherited it from her parents when they wanted to move someplace a little smaller. I love it here." His eyes grew sad. "But, after a while, staying hurt too much."

The shuttle came to a stop and Kurt shook his family awake. As his father settled the bill the rest of them unloaded their luggage and carried it onto the porch. Kurt dug around in his carry on and produced a tarnished keychain with a single key dangling from the hoop.

He unlocked the door and smiled as he pushed it open. "Welcome to Fleur Grange."

The all shuffled inside tiredly and took in their surroundings. Blaine heard Kurt sigh quietly and he reached over to trail his fingers over the slim boy's wrist.

Burt shouldered his way inside and looked around, a bittersweet smile on his face. "Kurt, why don't you show Blaine to his room while I take care of Finn? Pretty sure we could all use some rest."

Kurt nodded and kissed his father and Carole on the cheek before gesturing for Blaine to follow him up the stairs. They carried their luggage across the hardwood floors and up the staircase.

Light flooded through the windows, a few stray dust mites illuminated and floating in the air. Kurt led him down the hall and pushed open and door. "Sorry if it's a bit musty," he apologized. "My grandparents were by during the week to air the place out and make sure everything was working, but still."

He walked into the room and paused in the center. "You have your own bathroom," he explained, pointing at the door. "There are more blankets and towels and stuff in the closet. And I would suggest keeping the curtains drawn during the day; otherwise it'll be sweltering in here."

"Should I set an alarm?" he asked.

Kurt shook his head. "I'm only going to go lie down for a few minutes, maybe take a shower. I'll wake you in a few hours."

Blaine nodded in thanks and placed his suitcase on the trunk at the end of the bed, rummaging for something to wear.

Kurt shut the door as he left and made his way to his own room at the end of the hall. He'd always loved his room and the balcony that overlooked the stables. He stood in the middle of the room and breathed in the familiar scent of flowers and mothballs.

He smiled. His grandmother was of the opinion that mothballs could take care of any household problem, from bugs to dust. He decided to leave unpacking for later, only taking out a change of clothes and his toiletries.

Kurt turned the water on as hot as he could stand and rinsed the stale airplane feeling from his skin. He dressed sluggishly and made his way to his old bed. The wooden canopy frame was draped in light blue hangings and a floral comforter to match.

On his pillow sat a note in his grandmother's familiar, looping scrawl. While he and his father needed to get away, his grandparents had stayed and all but preserved the Grange the way his mother had left it before she gotten sick.

He unfolded the parchment and perched on the side of his bed as he read the note.

Dearest Kurt,

I'm so glad that you've come back for a visit! Granddaddy and I have missed you so much, my little boy. I just wanted to let you know that I washed all the linens for you and your friend.

I expect you to come for lunch and to bring that boy you keep talking about, otherwise I shall be very put out. We'll see you for dinner on Sunday; I'm making all your favorites!

Much love,

Gran

P.S. For the love of Pete, stop talking in that dratted accent!

Kurt laughed. It irked his grandmother to no end that he'd tried to get rid of his accent. His father was originally from Ohio, so he had no accent to speak of but he'd taken after his grandparents and mother and picked up a syrup-thick southern drawl that his grandmother thought was "double cute." He'd learned it just meant he was going to get double the beating.

He peeled back the blankets and placed the note on his nightstand. The fair teen lay down and stared at the ceiling, looking for patterns like he did when he was younger. Something about this place just made him feel better, purer.

You'd think that a boy like him would be ridiculed in the south, but he'd never been more harassed until he'd moved to Ohio. He hated to say it, but down here, his last named garnered quite a bit of respect. Well, his mother's last name.

The Abel's had been in Savannah since it had been nothing more than a hole in the road. Since then, they had created quite the legacy for its members; owning vast tracts of land and many of the businesses in town and beyond.

Here, people may have whispered about his "flamboyancy" or "oddness" but that was all they did; whisper. Kids in Ohio did much more than whisper and he had the bruises to prove it.

More than once his father had contemplated moving back here, but Kurt convinced him to stay. Away from his name and heritage, he'd managed to create the first real friend's he'd ever had, one's not concerned with any kind of social cachet or politics attached to it.

He sighed and reached for his phone, setting it for an hour and half from then, giving him enough time to go downstairs and rustle up something for breakfast (lunch) before everyone else woke up.

He had mixed feelings about returning to the Grange. He missed this place more than he cared to admit; the quietness, the slower pace, they way things just seemed brighter.

But he also missed his mother. After she had passed he and his father had moved to Ohio within three months. He could already feel long-suppressed memories creeping into his subconscious and only hoped that when he finally did crack, he'd be alone. The last thing he wanted was for Blaine to see him crying into a jar of his mother's preserves.

He rolled over and cuddled down into the soft cotton of his sheets. He pressed his cheek into the cream fabric and breathed in the familiar smells until he fell asleep.

Kurt's phone rang and yanked him from his peaceful slumber. He slapped a hand to the offending bit of technology and turned it off.

He sat up and scrubbed at his eyes with the palm of his hands, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He stood reluctantly and straightened his clothing before making his way downstairs.

The wooden floor creaked familiarly under his feet and he smiled nostalgically, purposefully stepping on the extra creaky step, just because he could.

He wandered into the kitchen and noticed that everything was where they left it. Though sad, it made making breakfast easier.

He set the coffee pot to brew and grabbed his mother's cast iron skillet that she'd gotten as a Christmas gift the year he was born. He set it on the gas stove and went to the fridge.

He smiled when he saw it filled to bursting. His grandmother clearly took it upon herself to make sure her one and only grandbaby was well fed.

He grabbed the makings for one hell of a meal and got to cooking. He grabbed his mother's apron, complete with little pigs all over it, and rolled up his sleeves.

Between the coffee brewing and the bacon and sausage sizzling, he didn't need to wake anyone up. They all trailed into the kitchen, slowly but surely, Blaine the first among the living dead.

He shuffled into the kitchen, bleary eyed and only able to speak in grunts. Kurt smiled and pressed him into a chair before setting a mug of steaming hot coffee in front of him. He honestly had no idea how Blaine managed to pass his first classes off the day; the boy was dead to the world until noon.

The curly haired boy hummed happily and sipped the strong brew gratefully. Kurt chuckled to himself as he stirred and fried, plating a hearty dish and setting it in front of his friend.

Moments later Finn lumbered into the kitchen, scenting the air like a blood hound. "Hungry?" Kurt asked unnecessarily.

"Yeah," he croaked, sitting next to Blaine.

Kurt placed an equally laden plate in front of his stepbrother and smiled. Here, back in Grange kitchen, he was in his element.

Eventually his father and Carole came stumbling into the room to eat their breakfast, Kurt finally sitting down and eating a much smaller portion, having picked while he was cooking.

Everyone finished eating and Burt cleared his throat to get their attention. "Alright, you boys pretty much have the run of the place. Stay out of the attic though. You're grandfather called to tell me that the last rainy season really did a number on the roof in that area." He took a sip of coffee and continued. "We have dinner with Kurt's grandparents tomorrow, but other than that, have fun."

The teens smiled, Finn and Blaine eager to explore and Kurt ready to reacquaint himself with his childhood home.

The fair boy stood and reached to clear the table. Carole protested and muscled him back into his seat, claiming it was the least she could do.

Kurt smiled and watched as Finn shuffled back to his room. He bit his lip and smiled. The tall boy would mostly likely sleep until tomorrow morning. Seriously, the teen was like a hibernating bear.

Burt stood up and kissed Kurt on the head, making his way over to the sink to dry while Carole washed. The slim teen turned to Blaine and smiled lightly. "Did you have a nice nap?"

He nodded. "Yeah, it's so quiet here."

Kurt smiled. It really was. "Do you want to take a walk, have a look around?"

"Yes," he replied enthusiastically, pushing back from the table.

Kurt followed suit, telling his father where they were going and leading Blaine to the door. They slipped on their shoes and walked outside. The heat rose from the ground oppressively and bugs hummed incessantly in the trees.

Kurt loved it.

He rolled up his already short sleeves and wiggled his toes in his flips flops. He took in Blaine's attire; jeans, t-shirt, sneakers. He shook his head and chuckled.

"What?" Blaine questioned.

"I hope you brought shorts." He replied. "You're going to sizzle up like fatback bacon in a pan."

Blaine looked slightly puzzled by the metaphor but nodded anyway. "I did. I brought some jeans in case it was cool at night. Just kinda put them on by habit."

"Well, wear shorts tomorrow. Trust me."

The shorter boy laughed. "Noted."

Blaine followed Kurt on the mulched path decorated with countless flowers and plants. The path wound around the house and across the entirety of the property. As they rounded the house Kurt pointed towards a barn further back on their property.

"Those are the stables," he explained. "I don't know if you like riding, but we have some amazing horses."

The olive skinned boy peered into the distance, a small smile on his face. "I haven't been riding in forever," he confided.

They ambled towards the stables and Kurt directed him around the side, pointing to a small coop. "We have chickens," he said jovially.

The delicate boy carefully opened the wire fence and slipped inside while Blaine leaned against the outside. He took a handful of seed from a covered bucket nailed well above the birds reach and clicked his tongue.

The hens came strutting towards him and he tossed the seed in a wide arch. They clucked furiously and pecked at the ground. Kurt giggled and rubbed at a ginger colored fowl near his feet.

He looked to his friend with a self-conscious expression on his face. "Is it weird that I love chickens?"

Blaine laughed loudly and the birds darted away from his area of the fence. "No," he replied. "It's adorable."

Like everything else about you, he thought.

Kurt made his way back to the entrance and slipped through, nudging a wayward bird back with his foot. He closed the gate tightly and watched the birds roam the pen.

"When I was seven years old," he explained. "All I wanted for my birthday was a pair of chickens. Chicks, to be precise."

"Aww," Blaine cooed at him. "Did you already have some?"

"No, I'm the reason we do," he said with a laugh. "My dad pretends to hate them but I know he loves the fresh eggs."

The shorter teen wanted to ask if they ate the birds once they stopped laying eggs but feared it was a sensitive subject. Instead, he settled for asking about their care. "Who takes care of them when you're gone?"

He squinted his eyes and pointed to the far end of the field. Blaine followed his finger and saw a lone figure with sun-bleached hair mending a fence.

"That's Cole Nash," he stated. "He minds the place while we're gone. On the other side of the house there's guest quarters and he stays there. He's…"

Blaine looked at his normally eloquent friend struggling for words. "What is it?"

Kurt smiled. "Simple."

"…What?"

The slim boy laughed. "I was trying to be nice. To be blunt, the boy, bless his heart, is as dumb as a box of rocks."

"Oh," Blaine said. "Is he, um, handicapped or…?"

Kurt chuckled ruefully. "My granddaddy says he's the reason cousins shouldn't marry even though no one in his family is of that particular persuasion. My grandmother plays gin with his mother and since we left he's one of the only people we'd trust with the place."

They fell into a comfortable silence, Blaine looking everywhere. There were so many trees. Ohio wasn't exactly a metropolis but it felt worlds away for Savannah, Georgia.

Eventually they came upon a small lake, complete with tiny dock and metal boat resting above the water. "Are there fish?" Blaine asked?

Kurt nodded. "But if you want to go you'll have to show me. That was one of the things I could never get in to. And maybe take my dad."

The shorter boy laughed and nodded his head. "It's a deal."

The teens wandered the property until the sun started to hang low in the sky. Kurt and Blaine tromped through the knee-high grass and back towards the house, stomach's rumbling loudly.

They stomped their feet on the porch mat and slipped their shoes off in the entryway. They house was filled with the smell of pork roast and baked apples and Kurt found his mouth watering.

He'd swear on his mother's grave that something about this kitchen, this stove, made everything they cooked one thousand times more appetizing.

After a quick stop in the hall bathroom to wash up, the little group took their places around the table. They are voraciously, laughing and talking about plans for the week.

After dinner, Kurt offered to wash up and Blaine volunteers to help. Finn and Burt retreat into the living room to watch whatever game is in season while Carole curled up on the porch swing with a sketchpad.

The two teens brought all the dishes to the sink and store the leftovers. "This place is amazing," Blaine says.

Kurt nods in agreement and scrubbed the cast iron pan with vigor. "What do you want to do tomorrow?"

Blaine shrugged. "I don't know. Your dad said we have to be here for dinner, so nothing that will take too long."

"Wanna go into town?"

The darker boy smiled. "Sure."

Kurt returned the expression and flicked his wet fingers at him, pushing away from the sink. "All done. I don't know about you," he began, pausing at the stairs. "But I'm tired. Travelling really tuckers me out."

"Me too. That nap wasn't nearly enough."

They boys agreed to watch a movie on Kurt's room after washing off the day's grime from their tired bodies.

Blaine retreated to his bathroom and proceeded to have a small breakdown. He'd remembered to pack his emergency gel, but he'd forgotten the regular bottle, leaving his curly hair susceptible to the Georgia humidity.

Visions of Chia Pets danced in his head and he shivered. Kurt was always telling him the he should use less gel but he was a creature of habit and his gel bottle would have to be pried of out his cold, dead fingers.

He'd have to try to covertly pick some up when they went into town tomorrow, otherwise he was going to be wearing a hat for the duration of the trip. He'd didn't care what Kurt said, his curly hair was blight on this earth and needed to be concealed.

For now, however, he'd have to go au naturale. He showered quickly, not having the energy to stand for his usual marathon affair, and dressed in his pajamas from earlier before padding down the hallway to Kurt's room and knocking on the partially closed door.

He heard call "Come in!", but it sounded muffled.

Blaine slipped into the room and softly shut the door behind him. The light was on in the walk-in closet so the shorter teen wandered towards it. "Are you decent?" he asked lightly.

He heard Kurt's chuckle in amusement. "Yes, I'm decent."

Blaine poked his head into to room and begged to differ. Kurt was absolutely indecent. His feelings for the delicate teen were really becoming inconvenient.

The pale boy was wearing a blue and white striped shirt that made Blaine think of the navy, especially because it had a boat neck. The opening hung off the curve of one delicate shoulder and made the opposite side of his shirt ride up to bare an inch of perfect pale skin on his abdomen.

His shorts were exactly that; short. They barely reached the middle of his thighs and the grey color only enhanced Kurt's natural paleness in way that made Blaine want to lick every inch of the creamy skin.

Blaine had no idea how he was supposed to last a week in the company of what could only be described as a siren and not make a complete fool of himself. He only hoped that when he did, Kurt would find it in his heart to forgive him and let them just be friends.

Meanwhile, Kurt was busy having his own freak out. Blaine's hair was still damp from his shower but wonderfully curly, hanging around his ears in tight, springy waves. He successfully repressed a dreamy sigh and turned to finish organizing the shoes he'd knocked over while he was reaching for a portrait of his mother he'd hidden away.

Looking at her all the time just made him sad so he'd tucked away a few treasured favors that he could seek out when it took him a moment longer to picture her beloved face.

Blaine's knocking startled him, and in his haste to stash the picture he'd knocked over the shoes on one of the low lying shelves, his limbs shaky as Blaine approached. Luckily, the lingering sadness kept his more tender feelings for the tanned boy at bay.

Kurt had decided to be bold on this trip and reveal his feelings for the other boy. This was the place he loved most in the world with all the people he loved most in the world. If he didn't have the confidence to do it here, he never would.

However, just in case, he would wait until the end of the week, so that if his declaration went poorly they weren't forced to avoid each other, regardless of how big their estate might be.

Taking a deep breath he plastered a smile on his face and turned to the shorter teen. "Ready to watch a movie?"

Blaine nodded. "What did you have in mind?"

Kurt slipped past him and out of the closet, gesturing for Blaine to follow. He walked over to an old set of drawers. It was waist high and the white paint had begun to fade and crack, turning slightly yellow. Kurt loved it.

He pulled the drawers, each opened more than the last, and gestured extravagantly, putting Vanna White to shame. "Take your pick, Warbler."

Blaine laughed and stepped closer, looking at all the movies. "I'm impressed," he said. "I think you have every movie I could ever want."

He finally settled on Big Fish and pulled it out of the drawer. "I feel like this is appropriate."

Kurt looked at it and laughed. He took the case and walked to the flat screen and popped the DVD in the side, fiddling with the remote.

As he navigated to the menu, Blaine sat down on an old Victorian style clawed foot couch. "This is awesome," he remarked, rubbing his hands along the velvety upholstery.

Kurt glanced back and grinned happily. "It was my grandparents," he explained. "They were going to get rid of it and go for something simpler, but I was in love with it and couldn't imagine it in the trash so I begged for it. So, now I have my own sitting room."

"The color is so pretty," Blaine mused, admiring the soft yellow hue against Kurt's skin.

"Lemon chiffon," the fashionable boy replied smartly.

Before the dark haired boy could respond Kurt had pressed play and was sinking into the space beside him. Blaine allowed himself a moment to gaze at the boy like a love struck idiot before prying his eyes away and focusing on the movie, lest he be caught.

They watched as Ed Bloom wooed Sandra before a heart wrenching ending. Blaine felt like an insensitive jerk as soon as he remembered the fate of the main character but it appeared that Kurt was no more affected by the tear-jerking ending than he would have been away from his childhood home.

The movie ended and Kurt couldn't stop the massive, jaw-cracking yawn from escaping. Blaine chuckled quietly and stood up.

"I'll let you go to bed," he said softly. "I know you've barely slept in two days. See you in the morning."

Kurt waved sleepily and dragged himself to his canopy bed than suddenly seemed so far away. Blaine shut the door behind him and tip toed to his room through the darkened hallway.

The fair teen crawled into bed, mashing the pillow into a comfortable shape. The house was quiet and Kurt smiled as he heard the sounds crickets and frogs outside. Most people would find the noise a nuisance but Kurt found it comforting.

He stretched out like a cat and slipped a pillow between his thighs, sighing in contentment. Kurt felt his body all but sink into the mattress and he drifted off to sleep, his dreams memories of years long since passed.