They stopped at the market, and by the time Santana and Rachel got home, Kurt and Blaine had vegetarian lasagna and apple pie baking in the oven. "It's a metaphor, Kurt," Blaine had said, holding up the bag of Granny Smith apples. "Because we're as American as..."

"... apple pie," Kurt finished, smirking.

"See? We even finish each other's sentences."

"You're such a dork." Kurt pushed Blaine playfully, and then they were making out again.

They couldn't keep their hands off each other, even when the other two returned home. Knowing smiles, eye contact from across the room, little touches whenever they came near each other. They were just too happy to keep straight faces.

Santana dropped her fork down on her plate halfway through dinner. "Your cute smiles and PDA are bizarrely over the top. That is, like, senior year Finchel level of inappropriate. Sorry, Rach. But what is going on here? Are you two back together?"

"No," Blaine said at the same time as Kurt said "yes." They looked at each other, and then Blaine blushed and looked down at his hands folded in his lap. "Yes," he said, and Kurt quickly followed that with, "sort of."

"Oh, good grief," Santana said, rolling her eyes. "Would you two just get married already and spare us all the stupid games?"

"Yes," Kurt said. "Yes, we're officially dating again."

Blaine looked up. "Really? Because you said..."

"I figure it's about time to face reality," Kurt said, wiggling his eyebrows at Blaine. "We're pretty much together at this point, don't you think?"

"Yes," Blaine said slowly. "Yes, I think we are."

"Good then!" Kurt grabbed one of Blaine's hands out of his lap and held it, clasped, on top of the dinner table. He turned to Santana. "We're dating."

"And the heavens rejoiced," she said sarcastically. She picked up her fork again and held it poised over her lasagna. "Don't think you can move in here just because you're 'officially' fucking Kurt again," she said, looking pointedly at Blaine. "This place is too crowded already. And there are not enough walls."

"I'm still planning to get my own apartment," Blaine said. "My parents are paying for it anyway."

"Good," Santana said. "Maybe Lady Hummel can move in with you, give us all some room to breathe around here."

"Be nice or you can't have any pie," Kurt said to her, but he glanced over at Blaine. The thought hadn't crossed his mind—there had hardly been time—but why shouldn't he live with his husband after he moved to New York in the fall?

"I wouldn't go rushing into something like that," Rachel warned.

"Yes you would," Santana said.

Rachel glared at her. "And I have learned from my prior ill-considered actions. Living together is a big deal. You don't know that it's going to work out. You really never know about people, Kurt. Sometimes they randomly turn out to be prostitutes."

"If you're suggesting that Blaine is a prostitute, I'm never going to speak to you again, Rachel Berry."

"No, no, I'm just saying, for example," she said quickly, holding her hands up in an apologetic gesture. "The point is, you don't want to do anything rash."

"Blaine and I have been together for years," Kurt said. "We had a little break-up, but we're back together now and everything is going to be fine. We can live together if we want to. Right?" He turned to look at a rather shell-shocked Blaine.

"Excellent, then it's settled," Santana said. "I'm taking over your room, Hummel. And don't think you're going to get it back if things don't work out and you have to come crawling back. You can sleep on the goddamn couch."

"What ... just happened here?" Blaine asked.

Rachel scooted her chair back and stood up. "Pie, anyone?" she asked cheerfully.