"Have you thought about it?" Finn asks Kurt late Thursday evening. Kurt looks up from his notebook and sets down his phone; his text reply to Blaine is only half-typed and thoroughly mangled by auto-correct. He's been doggedly fighting with his phone to send flirty texts to Blaine in French (he's convinced himself it counts as study). It's been fun making Blaine translate them. The more idiomatic the better. "Did you just call me a cabbage?" was Blaine's last reply.

Finn hovers in the open door to his bedroom holding a plate in one hand, a glass in the other. "I made you a grilled cheese," Finn says. "With tomatoes, right? And orange juice."

"You put orange juice on the sandwich?"

"What?"

Kurt smiles and stretches his arms over his head until he feels his upper back loosen. Even with the diversion of texting Blaine, his brain's going numb studying vocabulary for his French final. Finn's timing's not bad. "I hope you realize your attempts at persuasion are not very subtle."

"Yeah, well, I thought you might need a pick me up. If you're pulling an all-nighter."

"D'accord," Kurt says, drops an arm out to the side in welcome: "Entrez-vous."

"Cool," Finn says and comes in. He sets the juice on the corner of Kurt's desk and hands him the plate. Then he goes to sit on the edge of Kurt's bed.
"Merci," Kurt says and turns sideways in his chair.

"De nada," says Finn. They share a grin. It's becoming a thing between them, sort of, these multi-lingual conversational tidbits: Kurt using pieces of French Finn may recognize, while Finn reciprocates with Spanish. Kurt's not sure they're teaching each other much, but it's increasingly, weirdly comfortable. Like having Finn casually sitting on his bed.

"I have been thinking about it," Kurt says. He picks up half the sandwich. The processed cheese oozes orange between the bread, and a slice of tomato squeezes out. Kurt pushes it back in and sucks the grease off his finger. "Helping you with the van." He's not a fan of processed cheese, always makes his own grilled cheese with an aged white cheddar. This is the first time Finn's made him food more complex than opening a bag of chips. Ulterior motive or not, it's a nice gesture.

"Camper," says Finn.

"Camper, fine," Kurt says. "There's not much camper left inside though. It's going to require carpentry, too, not just..." Kurt flutters his fingertips to indicate the easy, surface stuff. "... paint and soft furnishings." He takes a bite of the sandwich. The cheese is, predictably, like milky tasting melted plastic.

Finn watches Kurt chew. "Can you do it?" he asks.

"Of course I can, I took shop," Kurt says around the gooey cheese stubbornly coating his tongue. He swallows and reaches for the glass of juice. He doesn't add that it was only because it was mandatory in Middle School, and he hated the band saw and only got a C plus. He can do this project if he chooses to. "But, I guess, I want to know what sort of things you and Puck have in mind for it. I can't do a faithful restoration on your budget. It's going to have to be something new."

"Just, you know, something cool."

"Right," Kurt says, tries to imagine what constitutes 'cool' for Puck and Finn: imagines black velvet walls, a big screen TV, and pin ups of bikini models. "Can you at least give me a list of the features you want?"

"Does that mean you'll do it?"

"I'm still thinking. I need information to make my decision."

"Okay," Finn says and stands. "I'll talk to Puck."

"All right," Kurt says; he turns back to his open notebook. "Let me know, okay?"

"Sure," Finn says. "Buena suerte with the studying." Finn moves to leave.

Kurt picks up his phone, says to Finn, "Thanks for the study break."

He doesn't return to his French books immediately, but instead types a new text to Blaine: "Given the context of camper interiors, the intersection of Finn and Puck's aesthetic taste, what do you think 'cool' means?"

#

The final school bell of the year rings on Friday, and the classrooms and hallways of McKinley High erupt into jubilant chaos. Kurt lets himself be dragged toward the exit to the parking lot between Mercedes and Tina.

"Celebratory mall run?" Mercedes asks.

"Hell, yes," says Tina. "This summer needs to get started. Preferably with new shoes."

"I can't," says Kurt. The words surprise him as they come off his tongue. After school mall excursions with Tina and Mercedes are a celebratory mainstay, have been since early his sophomore year. Something he missed while at Dalton. But today he can't. He doesn't even want to, which is strange, because he would expect to feel at least a little bit conflicted. He doesn't.

Mercedes and Tina stop and look at him.

He can't even fake conflicted, cannot stop the grin overtaking his face. "I have a date with Blaine. I have to get ready and I haven't decided what to wear yet."

Mercedes raises an eyebrow. Tina narrows her eyes and says. "Kurt, today is our thing, it's like a tradition. You don't see me ditching you guys to hang out with Mike."

"But it's not our usual after school stuff. It's a date. Maybe our first proper one." Kurt doesn't like to count Prom; for all the ways it ultimately went right, there was too much that went wrong for him to want to count it. "He's planned something—a surprise. He's coming to pick me up and—"

"Let me guess, Breadstix and a movie?" Mercedes says. "You two have been going on that 'date' practically since the day you met."

"Maybe? I don't know. It's just different now. Please tell me you understand."

Mercedes rolls her eyes and Tina shakes her head, but Kurt can tell they're both almost smiling.

"You never learn, do you, boo? Bros before hos," Mercedes says facetiously.

"Wouldn't this be more like hos before bros? Technically?" Kurt says.

"Wait. Who's calling whom a ho?" Tina says, clearly joking, but Kurt makes not answering his opportunity to leave.

#

The doorbell rings at six-thirty, just as Kurt's putting the finishing touches on his hair, coaxing it a little higher off his forehead with his brush and giving it all a final spray to set the style. Kurt hears the murmur of Blaine's and his Dad's voices and laughter. They sound easy, friendly; and Kurt slowly lets out the breath he's been holding. It's new for his Dad too, Kurt having a boyfriend. But his Dad likes Blaine, despite their terrible first meeting.

Kurt looks at himself in the mirror. His hands seek every bit of accidental asymmetry and inadvertent rumple in his layers. He's wearing a distressed white linen shirt and a new tangerine colored cardigan to celebrate the start of his summer. His jeans are a saturated dark wash to coordinate with the shibori indigo neckerchief knotted at his throat. Its pattern resembles zebra stripes or feathers.

He fiddles with the tails of the knot and stops there, keeps it simple. Blaine had said the dress code was casual. Kurt resists adding a brooch or a sweep of sheer lip gloss. They'll have more dates to dress for; he can hold some flourishes in reserve. He wonders what Blaine's wearing as he bends to lace up his shoes (olive green suede oxfords). He's still not got a strong sense of Blaine's personal style. Still sees him in his Dalton uniform more often than not.

When Kurt comes into the lounge downstairs, he finds his Dad and Blaine sitting, chatting. Blaine stands. He looks amazing in well-tailored gray trousers and boat shoes. His ankles are bare. He wears a navy blue racing jacket over a red and white striped henley. It's like a retro deconstruction of his Dalton uniform. His Dad looks on with a smile as Blaine offers Kurt a bouquet of tulips. They look like flames, deep orange with yellow edging the petals. "You look nice," Blaine says, and Kurt catches a glimpse of something more than warmth in Blaine's gaze.

"So do you," Kurt replies, thrilled and pleasantly bemused and eager to find where the evening takes them.

#

They drive east, toward Westerville, and the sun sets behind them. Kurt chews his lip and doesn't ask where they're going, since it's clearly not the Lima mall and Breadstix. Blaine's a little quiet, attending to the road. Nervous maybe. It's novel being a passenger in Blaine's car as it grows dark: the soft orange glow of the instrument panel, the scent of Blaine's cologne bright and strong in the confined space, the freshly shaved line of his jaw illuminated by the headlights of oncoming traffic. Kurt wonders what Blaine has planned. Wonders if this is what going on a date feels like. The quiet expands between them, swollen with anticipation.

Eventually Blaine speaks. "You want to put some music on?" he asks. "My iPod's there."

"Oh, sure," Kurt says, and reaches for where it's tucked next to the hand brake. He plugs it in to the stereo and dials through Blaine's playlists until he finds the one with most of the songs they like to sing together.

Singing in the car is a thing they've been doing since the first time they drove anywhere together, but in this context—wondering and unsure what's ahead for the evening—it's a bizarre juxtaposition. Kurt can't quell the flutter in his belly as their voices rise and fall around the engine thrum. The snug new fit of Kurt's cardigan across his shoulders is new; the synthetic velour upholstery soft-prickling his restless fingertips is familiar.

#

They end up at a dated but tidy strip mall, pulling into a parking space in front of an illuminated orange and green plastic sign proclaiming the venue's name: Mama's Wok.

"Well, it's not Breadstix," Kurt says. The wide windows reveal a bright, stark interior dominated by a broad backlit menu board.

"No," Blaine says, smiles self-consciously as he keys off the ignition and the car falls silent. "I, um, I know this might not be what you expected, but the food is really good. Like, really good."

"Okay..." Kurt says, tries to keep the skepticism from his voice. He likes Chinese food, but this place looks a bit... divey. He'd been thinking they'd be going somewhere romantic, with candles and tablecloths and violin music. This is not really that.

"At least it used to be," Blaine continues. "I haven't been in a while. My brother used to bring me when I was younger."

Kurt blinks and looks at Blaine. "Brother? Did I know you have a brother?"

"Oh, I don't think so? I don't talk about him much. He's in California, we're not that close anymore. He left home when I was eight."

"So how do you know this place is still good?"

Blaine looks at Kurt for a few breaths. "Do you want to go somewhere else? We can. There's a Red Lobster up the road, and, um, a Pizza Hut, I think."

"No, no, this is fine. I'll trust you and your memory." Kurt smiles and pops open his door.

#

Inside, they sit in a booth with cracked Crayola sea green vinyl and gold flecked Formica table tops. The fluorescent lighting doesn't flatter his skin tone, Kurt knows. But the place is fastidiously clean, and the smells from the kitchen are good: ginger and garlic and sesame—no trace of rancid grease or acrid smoking oil.

"May I ask you something?" Kurt says as he pulls his chopsticks from their paper sleeve. They've ordered already. Steamed dumplings and hot and sour soup to start, and then two main dishes to share. Blaine says they should have time to get ice cream for dessert before the movie (the title of which Blaine has yet to reveal, for it is also a surprise).

"Yeah, sure."

"Okay, so this boyfriends thing is still pretty new to me."

Blaine smiles. "Me too."

"Lately, I've been feeling kind of weird? I don't mean bad weird, but, hmm..."

"Hmm?"

"Like something's decompressing—like I'm decompressing. Does that make sense?"

"Because of me? Or... us?"

"I don't know," Kurt says, sighs. "Maybe it's just the end of the school year."

"It has been eventful, huh?"

"Well, yeah. Look, at the start of the year there was me and my Dad. That was it, really. I had some friends, but no one really close, you know? So when my Dad got sick— And that was a big mess of awful." Kurt says, "Let me tell you, even the friends who're fine with me being gay, weren't necessarily okay with me being an atheist."

"Did I know you were an atheist?" Blaine asks, smiling. Teasing, really, because they have talked religion (or lack of) before. Those were among the early, stay up talking 'til three AM phone conversations. Blaine's agnostic; Kurt—affectionately—tries not to judge his lack of commitment.

Kurt smiles. "Before I met you? I don't really recognize that version of myself any more. I do remember feeling so lonely and frustrated and hopeless, but now?"

"Now you don't."

"Now I don't." Kurt says and reaches one hand to the middle of the table, palm turned up. Blaine slides his hand into Kurt's. "It's not just you. I have Carole and Finn now, too. And Rachel. But you? You're extra special."

"Am I?" Blaine's smile broadens to a grin, and he squeezes Kurt's hand. The question in Blaine's eyes is bigger than his words. Kurt doesn't know how to read it yet, wonders what it means, how he's meant to answer. It makes him giddy nervous, pleasantly so, anticipating more this strange decompressing of himself with Blaine.

"Yes," says Kurt. The waitress is bringing a tray their way, so Kurt retrieves his hand and drops his napkin to his lap.

The dumplings are incredible, aromatic and savory and so fresh. Kurt nearly burns his mouth in his enthusiasm. Blaine winces sympathetically.

"So tell me," Blaine says, one too-hot dumpling dangling from his chopsticks, dripping sauce.

"Mmm?" Kurt prompts around the edge of the dumpling he's nibbling gingerly.

"How am I..." Blaine leans forward, his eyes dark even in the bright light, his smile inviting. "...extra special to you?"

"Oh," Kurt says, reaches for his glass of Sprite and swallows a mouthful of lemony cold carbonation. That wasn't a rhetorical question after all. "Well," Kurt starts. "There's your many good qualities, which I doubt you need me to list—"

"You can if you want to."

Kurt snorts a laugh. "We'd be here all night, honey. And I might have to call in Wes for backup once I'd lost my voice."

"Oh, I'm 'honey' now?"

"Yes you are," Kurt says primly, stifling his grin, and then Blaine's doing this thing he does, when he's got Kurt's focus upon him, it's like his eyes are—

Every simile or metaphor Kurt can think of sounds like the most hackneyed sort of sentimental poetry, but now he understands all those comparisons to stars and galaxies and the universe when looking into a beloved's eyes. The way Blaine looks at him makes Kurt feel lost and safe at the same time. Warm and excited and happy and right on the verge of something enormous and new and wonderfully terrifying. Maybe that's what it is, Kurt thinks. "It's the way you love me, I guess. That's how."

Blaine's mouth is full of dumpling, but he raises his eyebrows and nods an unspoken 'go on'.

So Kurt tries. "It's like I'm always aware of you now, or that feeling I have of you. I don't mean just stuff like daydreaming about the next time we see each other. It's more like there's this warmth or safety. Even when I'm lying in bed thinking about you, and I can feel the distance between us, it's like..." Kurt trails off, reaches for another dumpling. He's not sure how to explain the shape of Blaine's love, the way it nestles against his own heart.

"You lie in bed and think of me?" Blaine's voice is lower. Kurt looks up and finds Blaine's smile has turned the tiniest bit more flirtatious.

"Oh!" Kurt says, too loudly as he understands what Blaine's thought he's meant. He quiets himself to a more private volume. "I don't mean... like. Oh, god, Blaine. No, I don't mean it like that. I don't think about you and—" Kurt can't finish the sentence, can't even punctuate his meaning with a gesture. Instead he drops his dumpling to his plate and then his face into his hands. He can feel his skin burning, inside and out.

"Hey." Blaine says affectionately, and his fingers wrap around one of Kurt's wrists and tug. "It's okay."

"I really don't—" Kurt doesn't budge.

He hears Blaine chuckle. "It's okay if you do."

"But I don't." (Except he has. Sometimes he replays the kisses they've shared while he touches himself. Kurt hopes there's enough of a technicality there between 'do' and 'has done' not to make him a liar.)

"All right, then. But it would be okay with me if you did."

Kurt is not going to ask Blaine if he does. Kurt's not sure what he would do with the information. Spontaneously combust most likely.

"Kurt, hey,' Blaine says, sounding a little concerned now. "Are you okay?"

Kurt nods and drops his hands. It still feels like there's a fire beneath his cheeks. "Yeah, I just..."

"Yeah," Blaine says. "I know, and I wasn't assuming anything. I'm sorry. I was just playing."

"Okay, that's fine. I'm just..." Kurt shrugs and picks up his chopsticks. The waitress brings their soup.

Blaine still seems amused, but not at Kurt's expense. "It's fine, Kurt, really. I mean, I like the thought that you lie in bed awake and think of me. Because you're right. The way you love me? I feel different now, too. Like I'm brand new but everything around me is exactly the same, so it's weird. I feel like it should be obvious to everyone, but they're all just the same too.

"That's why I wanted to go to a different restaurant with you tonight. So we'd have something new right along with us," Blaine says.

All the candles and violins in the state couldn't be more romantic. "I really like that," Kurt says.

"Good," Blaine says, "because I really like you."

#

On the drive back to Kurt's house, Kurt tips his head back against the headrest and looks at Blaine's profile. His lips are relaxed, his eyes intent on the road. Behind his ear, his hair curls. "I really liked the movie," Kurt says.

"Oh, I'm glad! I wasn't sure if was your thing, but, I hoped you would. Like it."

"You sold it right," Kurt says. "At its heart, it was a tragic romance between Erik and Charles. Beautiful, but tragic, and not what I expected from a comic book movie." It's not a film Kurt would have chosen for himself, but he's glad Blaine's showing him new things. He's been in his cocoon of familiar and routine for so long, breaking free is exciting.

Ahead the traffic light turns yellow. Blaine slows and stops. They're approaching Lima's suburbs. There are streetlights now, gilding the cars in ochre light. Blaine turns to Kurt, drops one hand from the wheel to find Kurt's. "I knew you'd get it." He smiles. Kurt smiles back, and they stay like that, Kurt running his thumb over Blaine's knuckles, looking at each other with soft gazes until the light turns green.

Before he lets go to take the wheel again, Blaine takes Kurt's hand and rests it on his thigh. Kurt returns Blaine's questioning look with a shaky smile and keeps his hand where Blaine's placed it. Kurt spreads and relaxes his fingers, and his fingertips slide over the warm twill of Blaine's trousers. He can feel the flex of Blaine's quads under his palm as the car accelerates, and it's hard to breathe. Kurt wonders how Blaine's going to kiss him goodnight.