"Kurt, stop. I've got it," she says, snatching the dishtowel from his hands.

"But I want to help," he protests.

Jim is sitting at the breakfast nook, shuffling a deck of cards. He leans back in his chair and says, "You are not evenly matched, young man."

From his perch on one of the stools at the kitchen island, Blaine leans over to grab another cookie. He shakes his head at Kurt and smiles.

"Okay, okay," Kurt relents. "But would you at least let me make breakfast sometime this week? Or... something?"

"Sure, thing. We like change, don't we Jim?" Ruth teases.

"Only on Fridays," Jim replies.

"Why only on Fridays?" Kurt asks.

"Friday is the day for sin," Jim says, still shuffling cards.

Kurt is instantly on guard, wondering if Blaine forgot to mention that he was forcing him to spend a week with Bible-thumpers who, at best, disapproved of their "chosen" lifestyle.

"Be quiet, Jim! You're going to scare this poor boy right off the island, and then Blaine will be sad for the rest of his days," Ruth says.

"What? I do my best sinning on Fridays. Seems like as good a day as any for a change in routine," Jim says. He looks up then, smiles at Kurt, and then starts dealing two sets of cards.

"If by sinning you mean watching old Frasier re-runs until you pass out on the couch with your pants unbuttoned, then I guess you're the biggest sinner of all," Ruth says, turning to Kurt. "He's teasing you. Ignore him."

Blaine smiles at Kurt with a mouth full of cookie, but still says nothing. He looks back and forth between the three of them, eyes happy and bright, enjoying the show. He looks so expectant, so excited to have all three of them in the same room together, Kurt feels like he's meeting Blaine's parents—his real parents. They're nothing like the Andersons, who are steeped in pomp and entitlement. With their easy, soft, unconditional acceptance, Ruth and Jim are everything the Anderson's are not, and everything Blaine needs.

"Why don't you take Kurt out on the lake like you promised, then?" Jim asks.

"Do you still want to go?" Blaine asks.

"Yes. Absolutely."

"Take the pontoon. You can take one of the speedboats out tomorrow, if you want to ski, or whatever. But keep it calm tonight," Jim says.

Blaine nods, hops off the stool and kisses Ruth on the cheek. "Thanks for the best dinner ever," he says.

Kurt follows, going in for a hug, which Ruth accepts without pause. "Thank you for having me this week. You're making me feel very welcome, and I appreciate it."

"Well you're the first boy Blaine has ever brought home, so it is most definitely no trouble at all," Ruth says. She turns back to her dishes, and after they say goodnight to Jim, Kurt follows Blaine down to the boathouse.

They walk quietly back down the path they followed in reverse earlier, the lantern in Blaine's hand their only source of light. When they reach the dock, Blaine motions for Kurt to get on first, but Kurt shakes his head. "Would it be easier if I untied the rope from the thing—?"

"The cleat."

"The cleat. Should I untie and help you push off?"

"Well, sure, but you've never done it before—"

"I watched you do it, and I have at least six inches on you in the leg department, so I think I'm good," Kurt says.

"Not six."

Kurt unties the line and tosses it in the boat, and then pushes the boat out a bit. Blaine starts the motor and says, "Jump on."

Blaine takes it easy, standing at the wheel as he looks over the left side of the boat to make sure they clear the dock. After a few minutes he sits down, picks up speed and soon they're humming along across the dark water, a million stars overhead. There are a few other boats on the lake, most of them on their way back home, but none that come close enough to exchange pleasantries.

Kurt watches Blaine. Here he's more relaxed, easy, and yet still the same person who picked him up that morning before dawn, bright and cheery and bouncing off the walls. He wonders how this place can have such a calming affect on him. Is it the lake? The island? The people? And, how did he not know about this before? They've only spent every possible waking moment together since Kurt transferred to Dalton.

"Ruth referred to this place as 'home' when she talked about you inviting boys here," Kurt says suddenly, as if he'd been sharing his thoughts with Blaine all along.

"Huh?"

"She said you've never brought any boys 'home' before. Do you consider the island to be your home?"

Blaine doesn't answer immediately, and for a few minutes, it's just the sound of the motor and their wake cutting through night-quiet water. After he kills the motor he turns to face Kurt and says, "I guess I do, in a way. It's the only place I feel completely myself." He looks like he wants to add something, but presses his lips together instead.

"You never talk about it," Kurt says.

"Well, I used to come here for most of the summer, and now I only come for the big family stuff," Blaine says.

"That reunion you went to last July?"

"Yeah. It's really more of an annual business meeting with, you know, kids and hamburgers ands stuff," Blaine says.

"Oh. I just... you seem so fond of Ruth and Jim, and you've never mentioned them," Kurt prods.

"To explain why they mean so much to me means I have to explain why my parents don't," Blaine says. "And you know I don't like talking about them."

Kurt nods and Blaine swivels on his chair, leans back a bit, arms crossed; he looks up at the night sky. He's somber now, no trace of the carefree boy who kissed Ruth not twenty minutes ago.

Kurt settles into it; he knows this side of Blaine. This brooding boy is all hard edges and locked doors, but Kurt doesn't find him difficult, or annoying, or less amazing. To him, this boy is beautiful in every way. He can be patient, wait for Blaine to shake off the memories with which he may never make peace, uncoil from the anger that he's getting better at managing, and smile. Smile. It may take a few minutes, but the smile will come. It always does.

Kurt listens to the water lapping against the side of the boat, and for the tenth time that day, wonders why Blaine really asked him to come to Wisconsin. He's been acting strange ever since the Warbler graduation party, extra jumpy, and clingy. Kurt doesn't mind. It's nice, actually, to be on the receiving end of Blaine Anderson's undivided attention. But Kurt is practiced at not reading too much into Blaine's moods, or actions; his hugs, his sideways glances, his midnight texts; the winks, shoulder bumps, the too-close cuddles.

His love for Blaine is just a part of him now, like waking up early every day without an alarm; like the tiny, pear-shaped birthmark under his right ear; like his middle name. And because he is so accustomed to this love, he knows all too well that no matter how much he wants it to be so, no matter how inappropriate and confusing Blaine is in his attentions, no matter how frustratingly possessive Blaine gets, no matter how tightly he holds Kurt's hand at exactly the right time, Blaine does not return his feelings.

Once upon a time Kurt hoped, wished, dreamed that Blaine would love him back that way. But now that they are about to be college students, adults, the fact that Blaine still hasn't come to his senses yet is somewhat of a relief.

Kurt is excited about stepping into the life of a college freshman, single. He'll be free to come into his own without the pressure of "staying together," something Rachel has been fretting over for months. She cried so hard through the entire McKinley graduation she couldn't even sing her obnoxious solo. (The first, and likely, last time she ever gave up a chance to shine.) Watching her fall apart as she tried to make two dreams happen at once was enough motivation for Kurt to need to make things happen with Blaine on ice.

Well, except for that little backslide at the Warbler graduation party. He did everything but strip and sit in Blaine's lap, but he was drunk. Very drunk. And Blaine looked so delicious, and the girls seemed so certain it would result in the two of them making out, at the very least, and he had recently come to appreciate the merits of hot amateur "boyfriend" porn. He was feeling sexy, and confident, and grown up. It was the perfect storm, really. How could he not show Blaine everything he was missing?

Kurt looks at Blaine's face now, hard lines softening, and smiles.

Whatever this is, whatever we have, it will have to be enough. He cares about me. He would probably do anything for me. But he's not in love with me. We're on the verge of everything, all at once, and that's all he can do. He can't see his own heart through the haze of all of this possibility. And really, what's so wrong with that? I want to see things, do things, feel things I've never experienced before. I want a big life. I want tomorrow to be today. Most of all, I want to stop wanting and start being. And then maybe later... maybe.

Kurt is holding on to maybe. Until then, he is going to have a damn good time with this boy he loves.

In the distance there is laughter, voices, the din of music. The sounds skid across the lake and nudge him, like a message from the future. It sounds like summer, and possibility, and friendship, and he's so damn happy to be with Blaine in this moment he could burst right out of his skin.

"I'm really glad... no, I'm honored that you chose to show me this place," Kurt says. "But why did you bring me here?"

"You're my best friend," Blaine says. He looks at Kurt, his gaze intense and searching. "Everything is about to change and I wanted you to know... I wanted—"

"Yes?"

"I just... wanted you here."

Kurt smiles and says, "So this is like some sort of last hurrah, bonding vacation?"

"Something like that, yeah."

"And will this vacation include water skiing?" Kurt teases.

"If you want," Blaine replies. "Do you think you can get up?"

"Sorry?" Kurt asks, blushing.

"On skis. Can you get up on skis?"

"Oh, I'm not sure. I've never tried," Kurt replies.

"It's pretty hard. You'll fall down a lot, but if you keep at it, you'll probably get it," Blaine says.

Kurt looks out across the water, black and tinged by moonlight and says, "I am nothing if not persistent."

The next three days are filled with silly, lazy, unencumbered fun. They wake up whenever, find each other, groggy, and then make their way to the kitchen. They offer sleep-sweet greetings to Ruth and Jim, and then down two pots of coffee over omelets, gossip and local weather reports, like they've lived here their entire lives. They go for walks, and swim, and read voraciously, and in between it all, take naps.

They sing together every day; sometimes in otherwise quiet moments, nestled up against each other on one bed or another; sometimes at the piano in the rec room, playing Ruth's favorites as Jim waltzes or two-steps her across the barn wood floors. They make fires in the stone fireplace and stay up late talking about bucket lists, and duets, and sepia-toned memories they've never before shared with each other.

They mix drinks from a bottle of rum Jim leaves outside Blaine's door one morning, douse themselves in citronella bug repellant and get tipsy in the Adirondack chairs, waiting for the Northern Lights.

Over breakfast the following morning, when Kurt mentions they hoped to see the ghostly, fantastical light show, Jim says it's too early in the season. Ruth doesn't look up from her frying pan when she says, "It's the end of the goddamn world, Jim. If we can get to 70 degrees in February we can get the Northern Lights in June."

Kurt practically lives in his swimsuit until nightfall, something he hasn't done since he was seven and spent every single day of summer at the Lima Community Pool with his mom, swimming and reading and sucking down ice pops. Blaine seems over the moon about Kurt's newfound casual boy self, and takes full advantage. He eagerly coaxes Kurt into rope swing challenges (winner = Blaine), diving challenges (winner = Kurt) and later, when the sun winds down and the mosquitos come out, croquet challenges on the front lawn (winner = Ruth).

On the fourth day, Jim takes Blaine and Kurt out in the speedboat, determined to get Kurt up on skis. Blaine goes first and is up on his second try, the memory of summers past forever etched into his muscles. Once he's up, Blaine waves at them, and Jim raises his hand and spins his arm in a wide circle. He then turns to Kurt and says, "Let me know when he wipes out."

Watching Blaine bounce along behind them, then find his groove, sliding over to one side of the wake, and then to the other, Kurt's breath catches and he has to stop himself from shouting, "God, he's gorgeous" in Jim's ear. Blaine stays up through four wide turns and only falls when Jim starts to double back. When they come up beside him, skis bobbing in the water, hair wet and plastered to his head, Kurt feels his heart pinch a little. Blaine is so happy here, out of uniform, out of time.

"Your turn!" Blaine shouts when they get close enough.

Jim cuts the motor and Blaine uses the rope to pull himself closer to the boat. He takes off his skis and hands them to Jim. Blaine stays in the water while Kurt slips into a black life vest, and lets Jim adjust the skis to his feet. He plops into the water, a bit nervous, but excited just the same. Before he can say as much, Blaine is right up beside him, pulling a bit on the vest at the waist, guiding him out behind the boat. He grabs the rope and pulls the handle to them.

He's right behind Kurt, his own vest pressed up against Kurt's back, when he launches into his instructions. "Let the top half of the skis bob up out of the water. Yeah, just like that. Take this handle and hold it between the two skis. Don't grip too hard right now, just feel it in your hands."

Blaine moves closer, wraps his arms around Kurt from behind and fiddles with the front of Kurt's vest. "Just want to make sure you're safe."

Kurt can feel Blaine's breath behind his ear, the water from his hair dripping down on to Kurt's shoulder, his cold, wet skin as his strong arms brush against his own. It feels like more—more intense, more full of intent than he's felt from Blaine in a long time, as if Blaine is actually flirting with him.

He noticed it on the first full day on the island, the way Blaine would blush a little too pink when caught staring a little too long at Kurt's calves, his toes, his chest, his neck. Once, when Blaine was sitting on Kurt's bed while he rifled through his toiletry bag, Kurt looked up in time to catch Blaine's reflection in the mirror: he was staring shamelessly at Kurt's ass. Something was definitely up with Blaine, but Kurt wasn't going there. No way. Every time he guessed Blaine wanted something more than this crazy intense, unbelievably awesome, joined-at-the-hip friendship, he ended up being proven wrong.

"Lift your knees, and pull them into your chest," Blaine says. It's only when Kurt is in this position that he realizes what it would mean if he were say, not in the water but on a bed, on his back. He hopes Blaine won't notice that he's blushing from head to toe, or, will at least chalk it up to Kurt's pale skin reacting to cold lake water.

"Wait for the rope to straighten out, and then keep your butt in the water until you feel ready to lift your legs. Don't use your arms to pull up, though, or you'll fall. Once you're up, keep your knees bent," Blaine explains. "When you see Jim get close to the turn, move over to the opposite side and lean into it. And if you need to stop, just let go of the rope."

Blaine backs away from Kurt and swims to the boat. Kurt forces himself not to groan at the sight of Blaine's arms as he pulls himself onto the edge of the boat—those veins are going to kill him. Instead, he concentrates on remembering Blaine's instructions, determined to pull this off without embarrassing himself in front of Blaine, Jim, and every other boater out on the lake today.

The pull of the rope is a shock at first, but Kurt gives himself over to it, careful to keep his knees bent as he lifts himself up out of the water on the first try. He's almost all the way up when he hears Blaine screaming from the boat. He can't make out what he's saying, but he can see Blaine and Jim laughing and smiling, so he must be doing something right.

After a few minutes he leans to the left and crosses the wake. Blaine jumps up and down in the boat.

Kurt loves the rush; it's like flying. He can feel the speed of the boat in every muscle in his body.

He crosses back over and to the other side when Jim approaches the turn and manages to stay upright. He wishes they were on the Mississippi River so he could just stay upright all day, his friend cheering him on, the whir of the motor and the sound of the wake wrapping him up in this eternal moment, where he is just here, just Kurt.

When he loses track of his body, he stands a bit too tall, and falls forward, letting go of the rope. He lets the water take him, as his vest slowly pulls him back up to the surface. There, waiting in the water for the boat to double back, he feels completely at peace. This is something he never imagined he would do, but he did it. This is a place he never imagined he would ever be but he's here. And this is when he realizes, no matter how unrequited this love is, this relationship has shaped him, made him better, helped him become someone he really likes, someone that could be loved by a boy, by a man by someone amazing... even if it turns out that that boy, that man, isn't Blaine.

Blaine is still screaming when the boat comes up beside him. "Kurt! Kurt! You are so amazing! You got up on your first fucking try, Kurt!"

"Hey now," Jim says calmly.

"Sorry, Jim."

Jim laughs and Blaine jumps into the water, vest long discarded, and swims to help Kurt make his way back to the boat. He takes Kurt's skis off for him, hands them to Jim, and then climbs back into the boat. When Kurt tries to pull himself up, his arms are like two long sacks of Jello, and he can't pull up even one inch.

"Blaine—"

"Oh, right. You get used to it after a few times out, but the first time knocks you out," Blaine says, reaching down to grab hold of Kurt's hand. "Give me both hands, and I'll pull you up."

Kurt lets Blaine yank him into the boat, his body flush with Kurt's as he staggers to keep them both upright. Kurt's legs wobble and his back aches; he can't bring himself to move off of Blaine, who now has him wrapped up in a very wet hug. "I'm so proud of you. That was seriously awesome!"

"You boys want to go again?" Jim asks.

"I will, yeah," Blaine says, guiding Kurt to a seat. He helps Kurt take off his vest, and then wraps a towel around his shoulders.

"Thanks," Kurt says. Blaine nods, puts on his vest and then slips back into the water, readying himself for his turn.

"You sure you never skied before?" Jim asks.

"I'm sure," Kurt says. "Thanks for taking me out."

"You lit Blaine up like the freakin' 4th of July, kid. I'll take you anywhere if you can keep that up."

Kurt smiles at Jim, and then settles into the towel. He won't read too much into what Jim said. Or Ruth's winks. Or Blaine's flirting. He'll ignore the butterflies in this stomach and the wish in his heart, and get on with things. He's really good at fresh starts, at mastering new things, hard things, things other people can't do. He may even get it right on the first try.

On the fifth day, Kurt wakes up from a nap feeling disoriented, still sore from the day before. He wanders around the main house looking for Blaine. He hears voices, and follows the sound until he realizes they're coming from the sleeping porch. He's about to say, "There you are," when the conversation stops him cold.

"It's one thing to lie to me, Blaine Anderson. It's another thing entirely to lie to yourself," Ruth says. Her voice is stern, but loving, so Kurt knows Blaine isn't in trouble. They're having a heart-to-heart and Kurt should go, should leave them to it, but his feet won't move from their spot.

"But we are just friends," Blaine says. "He's my best friend."

"I see the way you two look at each other," Ruth says. "That's love. Don't tell me it isn't."

"I do love him. But we're just friends. He's my best friend, and I love him. That's all. You can trust us—"

Kurt can't listen to anymore. He backs up quietly, and then turns toward the front door. He knows it's true, has always known it to be true, and yet hearing it come out of Blaine's mouth yet again, here, in this magical place, cuts right through his heart and leaves him breathless.

Blaine says they're just friends, but then why does it always feel like so much more?

He follows the path that leads to Ruth and Jim's cabin, and when he reaches it he keeps walking, weaving through outbuildings and woodpiles, until he reaches a pole shed on the far end of the island. He pokes around, looking at snow blowers, tillers, old boats up on blocks and even a motorcycle. His Dad would love this place. He'd tinker in here for hours and then get Jim to take him out on the lake (with a secret stash of Wisconsin's finest beer).

Kurt sits in an old riding lawnmower and tries to remember the flying feeling, the sense of calm and accomplishment that left him determined to push past longing and this confounding "does he/doesn't he" mind fuck once and for all. It was only yesterday, and here is again, caught up in the drama, the wondering. How is he supposed to get through the summer, college, life, with this nagging feeling always at the center of everything?

He gives up waiting for answers among the motor oil and rusty parts, and walks back to the main house, stopping to pick a few lupins for Ruth on his way. When he finds her, she's pulling broiled whitefish from the oven. He puts the flowers in a vase he finds on one of the counters, and sits down at the breakfast nook to watch her.

"I'm not even going to ask if you need help," Kurt says, chin in hand.

"You learn quick," Ruth says, throwing a smile at him over her shoulder.

"Would you let me make you breakfast tomorrow? Please?" Kurt asks.

"You are set on that, aren't you? Okay, then. What are you making?"

"Do we have apples?"

"A few."

"I'll make cinnamon apple pancakes, and whatever meat you want. Some eggs, maybe. Sound good?"

"That a family recipe?" she asks.

"My mom's, yeah. Also called "special occasion pancakes" by my Dad, and Finn," Kurt says.

"Your brother, right?"

"Yes. But only for the past couple of years," Kurt says. He explains the Hudson-Hummel family unit as Ruth folds the whitefish into other ingredients in a large bowl. She nods, asks little clarifying questions, smiles.

Jim and Blaine wander in just as Kurt is helping Ruth set the table, Blaine's face screwed up in annoyance and Jim's flushed, like they've been fighting.

"You agree with him?" Jim asks Ruth without so much as a hello.

"I do. He's a man now, Jim. Besides—"

"So what the hell are we supposed to do for two nights?" Jim asks in a huff.

"We're going up to the Cities. We're going to stay at the Sofitel and go to the Mall of America and see three movies in one day. On Saturday we'll visit my poor spinster sister and her many dogs in St. Paul, and then you and I are going to go out for dinner and dancing at Nye's Polonaise Room. You are going to wear a tie, and tell me I'm beautiful and kiss me on the mouth until I can't remember my maiden name. The rest is up to you. Okay?"

The room is silent, everyone shocked and waiting for Jim's reply. He looks at her, eyebrows raised, and then simply says, "Okay."

Blaine exhales, and Kurt stifles a giggle. He really is in love with this woman. He wants to be her pen pal and teach her how to wear pastels. He wants to work in her garden for hours and sit at her feet at night until he falls asleep listening to one of her perfect stories. Most of all, he wants Blaine to have her with him, whenever and wherever he needs her.

"You boys stay out of the liquor cabinet, and don't burn the place down," Jim says, still grumbling.

"What's happening?" Kurt whispers into Blaine's ear.

"They're letting us stay here, without them. They're leaving in the morning," Blaine explains.

"Oh. Why?" Kurt asks.

"Uh... well, Ruth just wants a few nights off the rock, and since we're here, she thought—"

"Right. Of course," Kurt interrupts.

All through dinner, all he can think about is Blaine... being alone with Blaine... on an island. He answers questions and nods politely, but his mind is fixated on all of the things they could get up to, alone. He thinks he catches Ruth winking at Blaine as she pours the lemonade, but he's not sure.

Later that night, Kurt can't sleep. His muscles ache and his arms still shake when he tries to lift or hold anything heavier than a pillow, which means he can't very well read, not the way he usually does. And then there's Blaine, who has left him as rattled as he was at sixteen, doodling their names in his sketchbook, looking for clues in every look, every word, every touch. He'd been so sure he could move on from this debilitating hope, start fresh, see himself through the eyes of others. But Blaine is up to something, and whatever it is, is driving him crazy.

When his stomach growls he gives up, throws off the covers and tiptoes past Blaine's room. He wanders into the sprawling kitchen, now dark except for a soft light over the phone nook, and makes a beeline for the fridge. There's leftover whitefish salad, and half of Ruth's blueberry pie from yesterday. He takes out both dishes, grabs a pop, sets everything on the kitchen island, and then plops down on the nearest stool, doing his best to ignore his sore thighs.

Dipping his fork into the salad, he realizes it hadn't bothered him when, earlier on the sleeping porch, Blaine didn't correct Ruth. It wasn't that he denied they were boyfriends; it was that he used that awful phrase: "We're just friends." Just. How could friendship, especially a friendship as all consuming and life-defining as theirs, be just anything? And anyway, hadn't he been acting like a boyfriend all freaking week? The shoulder bumping, and the quilt cuddling and the footsie playing? God. Blaine had to be the king, the absolute king of mixed signals.

Kurt sighs, opens his drink and proceeds to spill half the can all over his silk pajama top. "Fuck! Of course," Kurt exclaims into the empty kitchen.

He peels off his top and immediately runs water over the wet spots, and then drapes the top over a different stool. He'll throw it in the laundry on his way back to his room, if he doesn't get lost trying to find it.

Focused solely on the pie now, Kurt stands at the kitchen island, whispering curses in between bites.

Why did I agree to come here, anyway? What on earth made me think this would be anything less than pure, mind-fucking torture? I'd smack him, if I thought he knew what he was doing, if this week, if our entire thing, was even the slightest bit intentional.

"Are you seriously eating pie... in your... pajamas?"

It's a good thing Kurt is standing up, or he surely would have fallen off the stool at the sound of Blaine's voice. He looks up, mouthful of pie, and smiles a sheepish, blue-tinged smile. Blaine, wearing boxers and a Dalton T-shirt, is rumpled and sleepy and so, so gorgeous.

Kurt swallows and says, "I was hungry. And I couldn't sleep."

It isn't until Blaine blushes that Kurt realizes he's shirtless, and Blaine is staring at his chest. It shouldn't be a big deal; they'd practically lived in their swimsuits all week. But there's something different about this, something so intimate and dangerous about standing in a kitchen wearing nothing but silk pajama bottoms... in the middle of the night... with the boy he loves.

Blaine locks eyes with Kurt, walks over to him—close, too close—looks down at the remains of the pie and says, "Bite?"

Kurt sucks in a breath and steps back. He stares at Blaine for a moment, who is now staring at Kurt's lips. He's hot all over, down to his toes, and he's breathing so hard he can actually hear it. This could be it, the moment he's been dreaming of for years, the moment he's imagined hundreds of times, the moment that changes everything.

He waits.
He searches Blaine's eyes.
He waits.
He licks his lips.
He waits.

And then he sees himself, waiting, always waiting, and he feels sick. Kurt shakes his head to clear it, slides the pie a few inches closer to Blaine and says, "It's all yours."

He's on the move then, but doesn't turn back to look at Blaine when he reaches the door of the kitchen. He keeps going, trying to hang on to his conviction as he feels the pull of Blaine, this invisible thread trying to yank him back and pull him close.

An hour later he's still hungry, nowhere near sleep, and so horny he wants to cry.

Fucking Blaine and his fucking clueless, reckless ways. Doesn't he know he's messing with my heart?

He thinks Blaine is asleep, having closed the door to his room at least half an hour ago. Kurt listens, his ear practically plastered to the wall, and wonders two things: Does that thing they do in movies with the empty glass actually work? And, how thick are these walls, anyway? He can be quiet. Or he can try to be quiet. For sure he can be fast.

He kneels on the bed quickly pulls his pajama pants down to his thighs. There's no time for gentle-but-firm warm-up strokes over cotton; Kurt is all business. When he sits back against the headboard, the bed squeaks, and he stops, listens, listens some more, and then bangs his head against the wood. Blaine will hear him for sure in this bed. Kurt groans in frustration, considers the cold, hardwood floors, the equally noisy rocking chair, the embroidered bench, and decides against all of them.

It shouldn't be a big deal, he thinks, his fingers stroking, twisting, holding, pressing. He caught Blaine jerking off in the Dalton showers one night after they went to the midnight showing of The Rocky Horror Picture Show, so who cares if Blaine hears him? Rocky in his gold shorts, my ass. He knew Blaine was thinking about him in his tight jeans; he'd been staring at his thighs all night, thinking Kurt had no idea.

Kurt stifles a moan as his hands speeds up, remembering Blaine's fast jerks, the grunts, the tiny whimpers as he rounded the corner to the showers. He was drawn to Blaine that night, pulled by the same thread that wrapped around his ankles earlier and almost, almost got him to run back to the kitchen and crush Blaine's cluelessness with a soul-quaking kiss.

That night at Dalton he knew he should walk away, but his body moved forward anyway, feet sliding across the slippery tile, quiet as a mouse. The sight of Blaine's hand on his dick, eyes rolled back, chest heaving, will forever be burned on Kurt's brain, and he uses it now as he rushes to finish. There are locks on the doors; he can't get caught.

He tries to keep quiet, but then he thinks, maybe he should hear him. Maybe he should be extra loud, let Blaine hear him moan as his orgasm builds, make Blaine hear him scream when he comes. Maybe then Blaine would put them both out of their misery, shuffle over to Kurt's room in just his boxers, his chest still dark and warm from the sun, push open the door and—

He's spills into his hand, constricting his throat to hold back all sounds of joy, release, happiness. He locks it up, swallows it, pushes it down to the base of his spine and leaves it there.

It's not the first time. And it won't be the last.

The following morning Kurt wakes up to the sound of Blaine singing "Ice Cream" by New Young Pony Club, in the shower. He groans, puts a pillow over his head to drown out the sound, and tries to ignore the fact that he's still hard. Or, hard again. Whatever.

He needs to go home, get back to his girls, and his clothes, and his plans for the future. He thinks about how he might convince Blaine to leave early, or catch a ride with Ruth and Jim if Blaine doesn't want to leave. Would his Dad pick him up in Minneapolis? Could he take a bus?

He makes the pancakes instead.

Blaine practically has an orgasm over them at the table, and Kurt has to make extra when Jim inhales eight pancakes in one sitting. Ruth asks for the recipe and Kurt beams as he writes it out on one of her yellow, lined recipe cards.

Before they leave, Jim and Ruth hug and kiss Blaine like he's going off to war. Jim slaps Kurt on the back and Ruth hugs him too tightly, for too long. She says, "When you come back here, I'll be old, but I'll still feed you."

They're off down the path to the boathouse before Kurt can ask her what she meant by that.

All day Blaine seems nervous about something, so Kurt keeps his distance. He takes an extra long nap, finds a new book in the library, folds his laundry. They play cards after lunch, and then Blaine takes him out to his favorite rock, perched at the edge of the lake bank. They talk about the Warblers, their failed relationships and the nice girls. They talk about the New Directions, where everyone plans to go in the fall and how they'll all find time to get together. It's not stilted, but throughout the entire conversation Kurt feels like they're talking around something else, avoiding whatever it is this week has really been about.

Blaine heats up the meal Ruth left for them, something she calls "boiled dinner": meat, potatoes, carrots and onions all in one pot. Boiled. When Blaine breaks out the rum, Kurt grabs for it like it holds the keys to the universe, and soon the tension—and the dinner—goes down easy as pie.

It's dark when they walk out to the dock, drinks in hand. Kurt wants to reach for Blaine's hand, and ordinarily he would. But now he's so unsure about what all of this means, and what reaching for Blaine's hand could mean, so he keeps his hands in his lap and stares out at the water.

"We should swim," Blaine says suddenly.

He takes off his shirt and then stands up. His hands are at the buttons of his shorts when Kurt says, "Wait, what? Are you going in naked?"

"Why not? Skinny dipping is a rite of passage, Kurt. You can't come to the lake and not go skinny dipping."

"Well, I could. It's not, like, the law."

"Come on. It will be awesome," Blaine urges, very close to begging. He slips off his shorts, and Kurt could swear he sees Blaine gulp when he pulls down his boxers. And there he is, Blaine Fucking Gorgeous Anderson. Naked, naked, naked. Blaine smiles at Kurt and then dives off the front of the dock, shouting as he comes up.

"Is it cold?" Kurt asks, not really caring.

"Just a bit. You'll get used to it. Come on!"

Kurt feels ridiculous sitting on the dock watching Blaine swim. He doesn't want to be that person, the one who never wants to do anything dangerous, or interesting, or... naked. So without a second thought he strips out of his clothes and dives in after Blaine.

The water is really cold, actually, and he has to fight the urge to get out immediately. It's only when he turns around to see Blaine treading water just a couple of feet away that he realizes, in light of every little weirdness and infuriatingly hot moment they've had on this trip so far, swimming naked, at night, miles from adult supervision is not a good idea.

Either that, or it's the best idea of all. Ever.

They don't really swim. They talk, mostly, treading water around each other, splashing occasionally. And they laugh. Blaine's smile is contagious and beautiful, and soon Kurt doesn't feel cold at all.

"Holy shit. Kurt. Look!"

Kurt turns in the direction Blaine is pointing and gasps. Bright green and pink light licks across the sky, moving, vibrating, like music. "It's just starting," Blaine says. "I can't believe we're skinny dipping under the Northern Lights."

"Ruth was right," Kurt says.

"She usually is."

They stare at the sky for what seems like hours, mesmerized by the light as it expands, contorts, as new colors—lavender, purple, gold—skate across the green. Kurt has never seen anything so beautiful in person. Legs tired, he swims to the dock so he can hold on to the edge and stare longer. Blaine follows and for a few moments they are quiet, the odd "look at that!" and "over there!" breaking the silence.

When Kurt turns to tell Blaine how special he feels, how happy he is, Blaine is already looking at him. The light from the sky reflects in Blaine's eyes, and Kurt tries to stay steady as Blaine moves in closer.

"This feels like a beginning," Blaine says.

"Or an ending," Kurt replies.

"Maybe... both?"

"That's, I mean... that's what growing up is, right?" Kurt offers.

"I don't feel ready yet," Blaine admits.

"Ready for what?"

"College. Everything."

"Of course you're ready. You don't have to know everything, Blaine. Nobody expects a freshman to have his shit together."

"I'll miss you in the fall. I... I'm glad we did this."

"Me too," Kurt replies.

"Do you ever... there's so much unfinished—" Blaine starts. He's floundering, and Kurt wants to reach over and calm him with his touch, kiss his shoulder and wrap him up until he settles down enough to tell him what he wants to hear. Finally.

He sees the desire in Blaine's eyes and he wants to drown in it, roll around in it, let it fill him up and make things right. He's sure now—Blaine wants him. He wants to touch him in all the best places, break him apart and put him back together again. He wants Kurt. Blaine will kiss him, and profess his undying love, and they'll have the best summer of their lives letting their bodies make good on silent promises until—

"We could, you know, be each other's first," Blaine blurts out.

"What?"

"Together.... um... I want—"

"Like sex? You're talking about sex?"

"Well, yes, but not—"

Suddenly it's all crystal fucking clear. All of this teasing, and touching, and flirting, and breathing heavy, and messing with Kurt's head—it's all because Blaine wants to lose his fucking virginity before college. Hell, it's probably the reason he invited Kurt to Wisconsin in the first place.

Blaine wants him, but he doesn't want him. Not really. Not for love. Not for real.

Kurt doesn't try to hide the hurt on his face, doesn't stop to give Blaine an answer, doesn't say anything to calm Blaine's nerves. He simply places both hands on the dock, pulls himself out of the water, picks up his clothes and walks away.

He can feel that thread dragging behind him. That thread, that tiny thread that sometimes playfully wrapped around his finger as a reminder of his love for Blaine, that thread that stretched across the hallway, in between their dorm rooms; that thread that looped around Kurt's waist and pulled him close to Blaine in private moments. That thread is pulled tight now as he walks up the path, naked. It's taut when he reaches the end of the path, but Kurt keeps going. He fights the urge to run back to the dock and take whatever Blaine will give him. Somewhere between the front lawn and the front door, Kurt feels the thread snap. He expects to feel relieved, free, somehow lighter.

The only word for how he feels is bereft.

He climbs into bed, naked, still wet, and cries himself to sleep. He'll have to save this friendship somehow. He'll have to say the right thing tomorrow, and try to believe it, and hope that they can get back to something good. But for now, all he can do is cry.

Kurt wakes up late, stays in his room too long, and when he finally shows up in the kitchen, Blaine is already gone. There's half a pot of coffee, still hot, and a note.

I'm sorry about last night. Please let me explain. Meet me at the fire pit at 7 for s'mores. -B

It's hours before Kurt realizes he's alone on the island. He notices one of the canoes missing, and later uses Jim's binoculars and spots Blaine up the shoreline.

They'll leave early in the morning, so he decides to get everything ready. He packs. He cleans the kitchen. He writes Ruth and Jim a note of thanks, walks over to their cabin and leaves it in the space between their screen door and their front door. He throws Blaine's wet laundry into the dryer. He returns the book he didn't finish to the library. He waits.

By 3:00 he's tired of the house so he walks out to Blaine's spot to sit on the rock and wait some more. The lake eases him into a quiet calm, and by the time his legs are stiff and need to be uncrossed, he feels better. He can't fault Blaine for trying; lord knows he himself is horny as hell and not above stupid schemes to just get on with it already. In his silent preparations for their departure, in his solitude, he has already forgiven Blaine. How could he not? His best friend, his touchstone, his heart.

He has forgiven him, but he won't go back. The roller coaster ride has come to an end, and he's getting off. He's cried himself to sleep over this boy for the last time.

It's after 7:00 by the time Kurt gets back to the house and makes his way down to the fire pit. Blaine is slumped in his chair, poking at the fire with a stick. He hears Kurt before he sees him and sits up taller.

"I thought you weren't coming," Blaine says, eyes focused on the fire.

"I'm pretty sure if I don't have s'mores by the fire on this trip, we're doing something wrong," Kurt says. His voice is soft. He's coaxing Blaine back, willing him to see that he's okay, that they're still okay.

Kurt sits back in the other chair and tries to push the disappointment down from his heart, through his body, down to his toes and into the cool grass. He can almost hear Blaine's internal refrain, punishing himself. Kurt knows that Blaine won't let go of it until he's ready, but Kurt is patient; he can wait Blaine out.

They are quiet for so long, when Blaine finally does speak, Kurt is startled and shifts up in his chair. "Have I... have I ruined everything?" Blaine asks, afraid to look Kurt in the eyes.

"Hardly," Kurt says, trying to sound casual, when he really wants to cry.

Don't cry. Don't you dare cry.

"Are we still... us?"

"Of course. Nothing's changed," Kurt says, knowing it's a lie. It's unsettling, how good he's getting at keeping his true feelings from Blaine. The truth is everything has changed. Whatever unspoken thing there is between them, it's not enough. He knows that now. Blaine is sexually frustrated, and maybe just a little nervous about losing their friendship. But that's all there is.

We may have chemistry, and want, but I'm not the love of Blaine's life. I have to learn how to be okay with that. I have to learn how to love someone else, even just a little bit, so I have a chance at happiness without him.

"I think we both need to find boyfriends," Kurt says, reaching down for the bag of marshmallows.

"Yeah?"

"Absolutely."

"In Ohio?"

"Well, it's only two months until college. There'll be lots of boys to play with," Kurt teases.

"Right. Lots of boys."

Kurt roasts two marshmallows, one for him, and one for Blaine, and then hands Blaine the stick to fix his own s'more. When Blaine looks at him finally his eyes are wet, fearful, and a little sad. Kurt raises one eyebrow in question.

Blaine smiles and says, "Smoke."

They try to get back to some semblance of normality, of ease, but it doesn't come. Kurt is half asleep when Blaine tells him to go to bed, that he'll take care of the fire.

Kurt wakes up in the middle of the night afraid, as if he had a bad dream but can't remember what it was about. He wraps himself up in the extra quilt at the foot of his bed and knocks on Blaine's door. When he doesn't answer, Kurt opens the door to find the room empty, Blaine's bed unmade.

Kurt shuffles out to the living room. No Blaine. He looks in the kitchen, the rec room, the dining hall, the library. Still no Blaine. Just when he's about to expand his search outside, Kurt notices the door to the sleeping porch is ajar. When he pulls the door wide he is greeted with the sight of Blaine, curled up on the bed. His eyes are closed, but somehow Kurt knows he's not sleeping.

Blaine doesn't open his eyes, but he does reach out his hand and say, "Come lay down with me."

Kurt crawls into the bed, scooches up, and wiggles in close to Blaine, who wraps his arms around Kurt, the quilt between them.

"Look up," Blaine says, and when Kurt does so, he sees a sliver of the Northern Lights, putting on another show.

"Blaine—"

"I can't promise I won't ever do idiot things, Kurt. But I can promise that I will never hurt you on purpose. I can promise that I will make this up to you—"

"All is forgiven. Really. Can we just forget it ever happened?"

"Can you do that?" Blaine asks.

"Well, I want to stay friends with you, so I figure I have to forget it," Kurt says. He hopes Blaine understands how as much he wants to remain friends, as much as he needs him, he also wants to know what it's like to love someone who loves him back. And to do that, to stay friends and move on, he needs to forget. At least for now.

"I'm not sure it will be so easy for me," Blaine says in a voice that makes Kurt wish he could see his face.

"Well then remember it, and file it away for my wedding. You can embarrass me by telling the story in front of my handsome husband and all of our friends," Kurt says. He laughs, but it feels empty, and he knows he's trying too hard. He wonders if Blaine can tell.

Blaine sighs, squeezes Kurt through the quilt and says, "Stay with me here. Just for tonight?"

"Of course," Kurt says.

Through the windows of the porch, Kurt watches the lights dance across the sky. He wonders if Blaine has fallen asleep, or if he's watching, too. He takes a chance and says, "I'll never forget this. I'll never forget you."