The next morning Kurt was awoken by the smell of cornbread and coffee. He sniffed the air carefully before shooting out of bed. Unless Carole had suddenly mastered the fine art of Southern cooking, it could only mean his grandmother was here and she was making breakfast.

He glanced at the clock as he ran his fingers through his hair before bounding off to the bathroom to take care of his morning ablutions.

Teeth brushed and hair combed, he stepped into a pair of slippers and toddled down the hall, still not quite awake, to knock on Blaine's door.

He cracked open the door and peered inside, giggling at Blaine's bed head and sleepy pout. "Get up, sleepy. My grandma's making breakfast."

He left the door open in hopes the smell would rouse the slumbering Warbler and flitted downstairs. He tip toed to the kitchen and, sure enough, there was his grandmother.

Her grey hair was still styled in her customary loose French twist, her bangs winging over her eyes. Her makeup was light she was wearing skirt that matched the blue of the cornflowers in her blouse.

"Gran," he breathed, smile lighting up his face like a kid on Christmas.

She beamed and him and beckoned him forward, spatula still in hand, for a bone crushing hug. Hilary Abel was many things, but a weakling she was not. The years had been kind to her, because of genes and an active life, and Kurt only hoped he aged half as well as she had.

"Kurt," she whispered into his messy hair. "I've missed you so."

Kurt nodded, suddenly finding himself choking back tears. He hadn't realized how much he missed her until he'd laid eyes on her and now his chest ached from it. "I promise I'll never stay away that long again," he vowed.

She gripped him tighter for a moment before pulling back and tapping him on the tip of his upturned nose. "See that you don't," she reprimanded gently.

She pushed him towards the table just as Blaine trudged into the kitchen, looking bleary eyed and confused as to why Kurt had woken him before nine in the morning even though the fair boy had already explained.

He caught sight of his grandmother and went stock still, eyes widening like a deer caught in the headlights of a truck on a country road. His hands flew to his hair to pat it into submission and Kurt could practically feel the silent panic Blaine was having.

"Gran," he said, intervening before Blaine's anxiety could become too great. "This is Blaine Anderson."

He looked at her significantly. Don't you say "So this is the boy I've heard all about" or any variation thereof, he thought desperately. Thankfully, Hilary Abel was a tactful woman. Meddling had its place, and it wasn't at the breakfast table.

No, lunch was much more suited to meddling, don't you think?

Blaine seemed to remember his manners and he inclined his head respectfully. "It's nice to meet you ma'am."

She clucked her tongue and snapped a hand towel at him. "Such nice manners, but call me Hilary or Gran, sweetheart. No need to stand on formality in this house."

The curly haired boy relaxed and gave her a real smile, turning to Kurt happily.

"Sit down, you two," she bid. "Breakfast will be ready in just a second."

There was already a pot of coffee and kettle of tea sitting on the table and Kurt poured them each coffee, adding cream and sugar to both.

Hilary walked over to the table with a plate in each hand, a hearty breakfast on each. Kurt licked his lips as he noticed all his favorites, including cornbread. He grabbed a piece and slathered on a thick layer of butter and strawberry preserves.

It crumbled in his mouth and he almost moaned aloud. Don't be a creep, he chastised himself, hoping Blaine hadn't noticed.

Unfortunately, he had. "Do you need a moment alone with the cornbread, Kurt?"

Instead of dignifying that with a response he handed the smug teen a piece of yellowed heaven and looked at him expectantly. Blaine rolled his eyes and followed Kurt's example, spreading a thick layer of butter and fruit spread on top.

He changed his tune as soon as he bit into his grandmother's blue ribbon cornbread. "Oh my god," he whispered. "This is amazing."

"Do you need a moment alone?" he teased, throwing his words back in his face.

"Yes," Blaine replied simply, nearly making Kurt snort in his coffee.

The teens giggled and Hilary smiled contentedly at the stove, shamelessly eavesdropping. It was her experience that tongues will wag while stomachs are full, which might be the real reason cooking was such a pivotal part of Southern culture. Gossip was like currency and it was most likely to be discovered over a hot meal.

She brought her own plate over to the table, confident her son-in-law and Co. would sleep until noon. "What are you boys up to today?" she asked.

Kurt hurriedly swallowed around his mouthful of eggs and turned to his grandmother. "Whatever you need," he replied easily. "I know you're going to be cooking dinner all day."

She laughed, her voice high and chiming. "I won't hear it," she said. "I don't want to see you boys until it's time for dinner."

"Are you sure?" Blaine asked sincerely. It wasn't in his nature to let someone toil away while he was off enjoying himself.

She nodded. "Absolutely. Besides, it'll give me the opportunity to get to know Carole and that new brother of yours."

"Alright," Kurt said, knowing that to be true.

He had been a little apprehensive to come here with his new family, afraid it might make his grandparents uneasy to have a strange woman in the house where their daughter used to live.

He hoped his fears were unfounded, but he wouldn't know until his family, new and old, had mingled. "I think we're going to go into town then," he explained. "Was there anything you needed us to bring back?"

She shook her head and motioned for them to eat their breakfasts before it got cold. She placed a restraining hand on his arm as he moved to bring his plate to the sink. "I'll do it," she said. "Let these old bones get their exercise."

Kurt tksed and placed a hand on his cocked hip. "Gran," he said, accent thick as molasses. .

She smiled, pleased as punch to hear her grandchild's natural inflection. She kept smiling sweetly and he just rolled his eyes before bussing her on the cheek and trotting upstairs, Blaine hot on his heels.

She smirked to herself and gathered the breakfast dishes. Those two were ready to nest like robins in the spring. They would find their way together all on their own, and sooner rather than later, if her intuition was anything to go by.

As the boys neared Blaine's room Kurt reminded him to dress coolly and disappeared into his own. He pulled on a pair of cutoff jean shorts, coming to his knees. On top he wore a light yellow t shirt and a flowing white button down over it.

He left the white shirt unbuttoned and slipped on his flip flops, toes wiggling happily. In Ohio he was all about fashion, but he felt like he was worlds away from the harsh reality of Lima and didn't want to wear his cumbersome armor.

He checked his hair in the mirror and quickly spritzed on some hairspray before making his way back to Blaine's. He knocked on the door and the other boy answered the door, a startled look on his face.

"How in the world are you ready before me?"

Kurt laughed at Blaine's incredulous face and shrugged. "I'm not stressing over the fact that I forgot my hair gel?" he asked innocently. The shorter boy cursed under his breath while Kurt laughed uproariously.

"How could you tell?" Blaine demanded.

Kurt stopped laughing and leaned against the doorframe. "You came down to breakfast to meet my grandmother without your hair done, Blaine."

He sighed. "Valid point," he conceded.

"Finish getting ready and meet me outside," Kurt said, halfway out he door. "I'm going to go warm up the truck."

Blaine released a breath as the boy disappeared out of sight. The image of Kurt driving a truck was almost too much. It was so adorable hot that Blaine had to think gross thoughts to cool his ardor.

He sat on the floor and pulled on his red tennis shoes, tying them tightly. He levered himself off the floor and grabbed his wallet and phone before jogging downstairs, hearing a truck idling in the driveway.

Blaine was surprised when he walked outside and saw and old, faded green and white truck waiting for him out front. It had rounded fenders and wheel wells like the old Ford's and he instantly loved it. This truck had character, unlike Kurt's massive Navigator or his Mini Cooper back in Ohio.

He hopped off the steps and climbed into the passenger side, buckling his seat belt. "Where did this come from?" he asked curiously.

Kurt laughed, happy and carefree, and pulled down the long drive. "It was my dad's first car, if you can believe it."

At Blaine's surprised expression, he continued. "He loves this thing; it's his baby. You know, other than me," he said slyly. "Whenever he had time, or was really stressed out, he'd work on it. He drove here with this truck, all the way from Ohio."

Kurt's face sobered slightly and he ran his hands over the restored steering wheel soothingly. "It got a lot of attention when my mom got sick. When he wasn't with her, he was under the hood, showing me how to check the water and replace a battery."

The cab was silent as Kurt neared the main road. The delicate boy brightened and leaned back in the seat. "But hey," he said brightly. "If we ever get stuck on the side of the road, I can change a tire faster than you can blink."

The drive into town went by quickly even though Fleur Grange was well beyond the city limits. The boys talked about silly and embarrassing stories from their childhoods, making them laugh until their eyes watered and their sides hurt.

Blaine gasped in air greedily, stepping out of the cab red faced and without a clue as to where they were. He looked around and noticed they were in some kid of town square, complete with ancient fountain in the middle.

Giant oak trees surrounded the area, their sprawling branches creating one massive canopy that went as far as the eyes could see. The dappled sunlight made patterns on his skin and he grinned, looking at Kurt curiously.

"So, what's on the agenda?" he asked.

Kurt shrugged. "Nothing," he declared. "I figured we'd just walk around, go wherever our interest takes us. There are stores, restaurants, a tiny movie theatre, anything you can think of."

"Movie theatre," Blaine asked, peering around the square for signs of such an establishment.

Kurt laughed and pointed to the far corner. "It's tiny; only three baby screens and one of them is always playing Gone with the Wind. If you want something bigger we'll actually have to drive into the city."

Blaine chuckled and followed Kurt as he ambled along. Throughout the day they got ice cream and ate at the fountain, watching the birds and people out running errands. They had lunch at a tiny Cajun restaurant that had no name, only a picture of a crawfish wearing a chef hat, where Blaine tried the tiny crustacean for the first time.

They received a few sideways glances from folks around town and maybe a whisper or two, but Kurt's reputation preceded him. It had been a few years since he had been in town but the Abel's grandson was still easily recognizable.

One or two of his former (female) classmates approached him only to disappear once they realized neither he nor Blaine were interested in the fairer sex.

They peered into the tiny Starlight Theatre where Gone with the Wind was, indeed, playing, along with the latest action movie and some romantic comedy that even Blaine didn't want to see. Kurt pulled the other boy into the tiniest bookstore he'd ever seen, reminding him of Disney's Beauty and the Beast.

He bought a book on Southern cooking for his mother and one about the history of Savannah for his father as souvenirs. By the time they needed to head home to be ready for dinner the two teens were exhausted.

They made plans to return one day to the little theatre to watch their number one movie once Kurt had learned he'd never seen it. The real selling point was when Blaine learned they had peach flavored popcorn. He was a food buff and loved trying new things, even if he scoffed at them first.

The dark haired boy groaned inwardly. He was going to gain, like, ten pounds on this trip, he could just feel it. He vowed to go to the gym the moment they had touched back down in Ohio, but was determined to enjoy himself to the fullest while he was here.

They clambered back into the sturdy truck and puttered their way back to the Grange to clean up before going to his grandparent's for dinner.

"So, what should I wear?" he asked, wanting to make the right impression. The "I'm polite and I'd really like to date your grandson/son and one day adopt adorable babies to raise in this awesome place" impression.

Or maybe that was coming on too strong?

Before Blaine could contemplate their hypothetical life together, Kurt responded. "There's no dress code," he said, eyes on the road. "Maybe jeans and a plain shirt? And bring a sweater; my grandparents like to keep the house cold," he cautioned.

Blaine nodded and began mentally planning what outfit he would wear. He couldn't help but feel as though there was some sort of bizarre personality swap taking place. Here he was stressing about the perfect outfit while fashion was the furthest thing from Kurt's mind.

They were finally bumping down Kurt's dirt drive, he and Blaine singing to Lady Antebellum on the radio. The slid out of the cab and made their way upstairs, finding Burt and Finn in the living room, watching some game on TV.

He looked at the clock and saw that it was six and they were expected at his grandparent's at seven. He scoffed in exasperation and stomped into the room. He panted his hands on his hips and glared at his father until he could feel his angry eyes boring into his forehead.

He looked up into Kurt's unamused face and blanched. He glanced around and looked at the clock, noticing that there was, in fact, only one hour until dinner and at least two hours of this game left.

He silently turned off the TV and Finn looked over at his stepfather, disgruntled. The tall boy swiftly had a similar revelation and slowly made his way to his room, eyes on the floor.

Behind him, Blaine was stifling hysterical cackles. It was so funny how someone so delicate in stature could be so damn intimidating.

The fair boy whirled on him, Blaine's choked laughter abruptly fading. "And you," Kurt said. "Upstairs. We have a dinner to get to." His stern tone was tempered by the teasing smile on his face.

Blaine saluted General Hummel and marched up the steps, Kurt's clear laughter ringing out behind him. The dark haired boy slipped into his room and stripped his clothes off quickly, hopping in the shower to wash off the pollen and sweat from their day in town.

Down the hall, Kurt was doing the same. He finished quickly and toweled off, not wanting to linger. His hair was an unruly mess since he hadn't really done anything with it in two days and it was going to take a little more effort than usual.

He pulled on a pair of skinny jeans and a light green shirt before sitting at his old oak vanity. He swiftly went through his moisturizing routine, his familiarity making his hands quick.

He then grabbed and comb and forced his hair into submission, spraying his bangs within an inch of their lives. He turned his face this way and that and smiled, pleased with his work.

He grabbed a white cardigan as he left the room and almost ran into Blaine. The shorter teen was devastatingly handsome in his cuffed jeans and red shirt. He cleared his throat and tucked his hair behind his ear, suddenly feeling bashful.

"You look nice," he said simply.

Blaine beamed. "Thank you." He winked and swiped at an invisible speck of dust on Kurt's shoulder. "You're not bad yourself."

Kurt giggled and blushed like a schoolgirl and he mentally slapped himself. Behavior like this was sure to give away his feelings before he was ready and he just, well, wasn't ready for that yet.

He exhaled slowly and made his way down the stairs, his family nowhere to be found. He sighed in exasperation and looked at the clock. It was just past 6:30 and his grandparent's lived about fifteen minutes away.

"Dad!" he called. "Blaine and I are going over! Meet you there."

He gestured for the other boy to follow him outside and they got into the truck. "He'll be at least ten minutes late," Kurt confided. "Dinner really isn't until 7:30. My grandmother just said it was earlier than it was so he'd be on time for once. My mom was the same way; we were always rushing everywhere."

Blaine laughed. "My parents are the opposite. We always get everywhere like, twenty minutes early and end up just sitting there—waiting."

Kurt shook his head in amusement and turned down the long road that led to his grandparent's estate. The sky was a riot of colors, endless shades of orange and pink and yellow. The warm glow matched the warmth in the air, the sultry heat blowing through the cab of the truck.

Kurt chuckled under his breath. Why did he do his hair again?

They pulled up to his grandparent's home and smiled at the familiar sight. The original blue-grey paint had been bleached by the sun until it was a pale cadet grey. The windows were trimmed in white and the porch wrapped around the entire house.

The darkening sky made the night life come alive, all manner of bugs and birds buzzing and chirping around them. Blaine walked next to him and nudged him with a gentle elbow. "Glad to be home?"

Kurt smiled and nodded slowly, thoughtfully. "Yeah," he said finally. "I really am."

Dinner went off without a hitch. His grandmother fell in love with Blaine's dapper charm and his grandfather was impressed with his knowledge of sports, leaving him to swoon over the other boy in peace.

They went home, full and content and arms laden with leftovers, and everyone slowly trailed to bed, leaving Kurt and Blaine to themselves. Kurt coaxed Blaine back out onto the porch into the balmy Georgia heat for a glass of iced tea.

They sat on the porch swing and idly rocked back and forth. Blaine wasn't surprised by how noisy the night was, but by how little it bothered him.

"So," Kurt said suddenly. "What do you think?"

"About what?"

The slender boy smiled and looked at Blaine fondly, gesturing around him extravagantly. "My humble abode," he said grandiosely, winking to show he was kidding.

The tanned boy chuckled. "It's amazing, seriously. I can see why you miss it so much."

Kurt nodded in agreement and sipped his tea. "What do you want to do tomorrow?"

"I dunno," Blaine said, completely unhelpful. "What do you want to do?"

Kurt scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Do you want to go horseback riding?"

"Sure, but I hope you don't expect me to be great at it. The last time I was on a horse I think I brought shame to my family."

The fair teen smiled reassuringly. "That's okay. We'll take it easy. You can ride Cupid; he's quite the sweetheart, in case you couldn't tell."

"Awesome," he said, beaming in excitement.

Kurt shifted, curling his legs underneath him to face Blaine better. "I'll take us up to this place I know that has a bunch of wild berry bushes. My mom used to take me all the time and I'd come home stained from head to toe."

"That's adorable," Blaine replied, imagining a younger Kurt dyed purple and red from the berries he'd gobbled up. "Are you sure they're safe, though?"

He nodded. "Positive. I've been eating them for years."

"Alright," Blaine conceded. "But if I get sick…"

"I promise I'll take care of you," Kurt cooed exaggeratedly.

Blaine scoffed and pretended to ignore the other boy until a jaw-cracking yawn overtook him. "Wow," he said. "Guess I must be tired."

Kurt found himself yawning as well. "Stop that," he chided. "It's contagious."

Blaine chuckled and carefully stood from the rocking bench. He held his hand out to pull Kurt from his resting place. "Let's go; you know you're just as tired as I am."

He nodded reluctantly and allowed himself to be pulled up. They made a quick stop in the kitchen to dispose of their glasses before trudging up the steps, legs slightly achy from their busy afternoon.

"Night," Kurt said, gently patting Blaine on the shoulder as he walked past. "Wear jeans tomorrow; the saddle will chafe if you don't."

"Got it. G'night!"

Kurt teetered down the hall, feeling a pleasant wooziness settle deep in his consciousness. Being home, with his favorite people in the world, was an intoxicating combination. He already knew he was going to cry when they left, he just hoped that it was only going to be from what he left behind.