Their days together were easy. They had transitioned from being awkward acquaintances to friends in only a few weeks and Kurt was overjoyed to have a friend his own age.

Sometimes Bianca would come with him but she was usually at the hotel as summer was their busy season.

The town was invaded by tour groups from all over the world, and the hotel was fully booked every night of the week. Blaine told him that the busy season lasted until early September and that it made up for the rest of the year.

Montelunato was hot. Beyond hot. Sweltering. If Kurt had thought that New York summers were bad, Italian summers were worse because his old house didn’t have air conditioning and installing it would cost a fortune. He had started to think he was the only person affected by it.

One afternoon, he had to take a break from painting what would be his workroom to go get something to drink. Blaine continued painting the room the pale blue Kurt had selected with the long paint roller so he could reach the high ceilings. Kurt returned, two glasses of water in hand, to the sight of Blaine shirtless and his arms over his head so the roller would reach the top of the wall. He froze watching the muscles of Blaine’s tanned back contract as he worked.

He wasn’t blind. He knew from the moment he saw him that Blaine was probably in very good shape. But nothing could have prepared Kurt for how beautiful Blaine was as he worked. His eyes drifted from his back to his shoulders to his arms and then back to his back. Blaine’s waist was impossibly tiny in comparison to his shoulders. Kurt’s gaze was moving further down his body when Blaine stepped back and turned to dip the roller in the paint tray.

“Um... thirsty?” he asked awkwardly, holding out one of the glasses to Blaine.

“Thanks,” he said, setting the roller in the tray and crossing to him. Kurt thought he might pass out when he saw the faint sheen of sweat on Blaine’s arms and chest. Blaine took the glass and chugged the water, seemingly oblivious to Kurt’s stare. “It’s a hot one today, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, Mamma wanted me to tell you that Nonno’s seventy-fifth birthday is next week and we’re having a party for him. They’d both love it if you were there.” Blaine set his glass on a window sill and bent to pick the roller up again. Kurt quickly drank his water and retrieved his own brush and cup of paint to continue edging around the plaster trim work.

“Of course I’ll be there!” He kneeled on the floor, dipping his brush in the paint. “Your family has been so good to me since I moved here, it’s the least I can do.” Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Blaine get back to the wall he was working on, the muscles in his back contracting with each stroke.

That night, after Blaine had gone home, Kurt unpacked a few boxes of knickknacks and pictures he had been neglecting. He sat in his front room, unwrapping the frames and trinkets he had once treasured. A framed photo last New Years Ever gave him pause. They had gone out with Rachel and Quinn like always. Rachel had done shots all night and Quinn sipped on champagne like the old Hollywood starlet she should have been. They danced closely, holding each other and kissing. He stared at the four of them. Kurt was sandwiched between him and Quinn. They looked so happy. At least, he thought they were happy. Oh, the difference that only six months makes. Rachel and Quinn were going to be moms. Kurt was living in Italy. And him-- well, he had no idea what was going on with him and he honestly did his best not to think of him. He wrapped the frame back up and set it aside. He wasn’t ready to deal with those feelings yet.