It's the last Wednesday afternoon of Kurt's junior year, and he's standing in the Lima Bean parking lot next to Blaine's car. Blaine leans upon the open driver's side door, smiling at Kurt over it. Of course, Kurt's smiling back, putting off the inevitable, 'drive safely' and 'see you later' (His lips still refuse to utter the words, 'good bye' and he hopes, with Blaine, they always will). So he keeps smiling, widely enough and hard enough to feel it ache in his cheeks.

"Do you have much homework?" Blaine asks him. He's stalling too. They already talked about homework over their coffees and shared apple spice muffin.

Kurt shrugs and, instead of answering the question, tilts his head and says, "I wish I could kiss you right now."

That makes Blaine blush and grin and glance down in such an unabashedly pleased way, it makes Kurt also wish he had a better repertoire of flirtation strategies with his boyfriend. Now that they are boyfriends, the way Blaine responds to Kurt's attention is exhilarating and gratifying and, still, a little bit surreal.

"Me too," says Blaine. When he looks back up, the early evening sun is warm in his eyes, enriching their whiskey brown to amber. Kurt wishes they could go home together, but they can't on a weeknight. It's almost summer though.

Kurt hitches his bag on his shoulder, twists his torso to try to break the reluctance of his feet to move away, because he does need to get going. "Call me when you get home?" he asks.

"I will," Blaine says. And then he adds so easily, the ease of it makes Kurt a little dizzy: "I love you."

"I love you, too," Kurt says, and the lightness in his head becomes a lightness in his heart when he finally makes himself turn toward his own car. He still feels Blaine's physical presence drag at him, but if he focuses on the anticipation of the next time they'll meet, it's easier to go.

"See you tomorrow!" Blaine calls after him.

Kurt looks back over his shoulder. "Same time, same place," he promises. One of the best things about having a boyfriend is knowing there's going to be a next time. He doesn't have to live on scraps or put his heart back in its box. It's taking him a while to get used to it.

#

The road back has Kurt driving into the setting sun. It's hot on his face and chest, and it glares in his eyes. He flips down the shade, but the bloated orange sun has already sunk below it. He keeps his eyes on the road and dials the AC on full. The cold blast on his skin is welcome enough, but it doesn't cool him much beyond that.

Soon, he's driving, feeling too hot and too cold all at once. The contrast makes him queasy, so when his phone bleeps a text notification, Kurt gratefully pulls off the road to read it, wonders what thought's interrupted Blaine's drive today. It's usually something sweet: a message to tell Kurt he had fun this afternoon, or how much he liked Kurt's scarf today, or how he misses him already. Kurt smiles and wakes his phone.

But it's not from Blaine, it's from Finn. Kurt rolls down the window and reaches for the bottle of water tucked between the seats. It's been there all day, so it's gone warm and vaguely plastic tasting. He drinks it anyway, and it helps settle his stomach.

Apparently Finn wants him to stop by the garage on his way home: he has a surprise for Kurt. Kurt texts back an "Okay," caps the water, and returns to the road. Tries to imagine what manner of surprise Finn may have for him. Last time it was the collusion with Blaine and the Warblers to perform a farewell for him at McKinley. Kurt doubts it'll be anything like that. A late birthday present perhaps.

#

It's dusk by the time Kurt gets to the garage. He drives around to park in the back where Finn has the exterior floodlights turned on. Clouds of summer bugs swarm in the wide beams of light. Kurt flaps one hand at his neck when he hears the high pitched hum of a mosquito. "This couldn't have waited 'til tomorrow?" Kurt calls out as he ducks under one of the half-raised bay doors.

Finn stands next to the (presumed) surprise. It's rusting through a hideous mural of psychedelic daisies. "On my god, Finn, please tell me you didn't buy me that old hippie plumber's van."

"What? Oh, no, it's not a van." Finn grins. "It's a camper! A vintage 1975 Volkswagen Westfalia." Finn gestures in grandiose asymmetry: the world's most awkward spokesmodel. "It has a pop top!"

Kurt shoos a mosquito from his arm and eyes the technicolor bomb. "I know you feel bad for forgetting my birthday but this is really not—"

"Dude," Finn interrupts. "No, it's not for you. Me and Puck went halves on it. We're gonna do a road trip this summer."

"Okay, so you texted me because...?"

"Well, the motor's good and all, but the body needs work, and the inside is kind of trashed, so I figured if Puck helped me with the bodywork, maybe you could help me with the interior, 'cause you know, you're really good at decorating and design stuff."

Kurt blinks at Finn. "You're actually asking me to decorate a space? For you?"

"I thought it would be fun?" Finn says with a wince of nervousness. "And I know you'd do an awesome job."

"That's..." Kurt trails off as he loses his breath. He's well over his crush on Finn, so far over it that it's absurd to have a sudden weird flutter in his gut. "A really big project." Kurt finishes. "I already have plans for my summer."

"We've got plenty of time," Finn says. "Please at least think about it? I can always help you with some of your stuff, too."

"I... I will. I'll think about it, Finn," Kurt says.