"It won't start," Rachel told him.

With a sigh, Kurt walked over to her and peer inside. "Did you touch it?'

"Maybe?"

"Rachel," Kurt groaned.

"What? I'm an independent woman, Kurt Hummel."

"And yet..." He gestured to the non-working vehicle.

"Can you help me?" she asked in a small voice.

"Fine," Kurt sighed.

He slipped off his satchel and handed it to her. Rachel took it and set it in the front seat of the car. Kurt's sweater followed, as well as his dress shirt, leaving him in his undershirt. There was no way he was risking getting grease all over his new McQueen shirt. Luckily, he was wearing a pair of older jeans that day, so if they got grease covered he'd survive.

Kurt set about undoing the damage that Rachel had done to her engine all while silently wishing he could throttle her.

"There," he said, attaching the last wire. "Start it up!"

She hopped in the front seat and turned the key over, cheering and clapping when the engine came to life.

"You're the best," Rachel crowed, launching herself at Kurt and hugging him. Kurt looked up, the sound of repeated clicking finally catching his attention.

He groaned.

The paparazzi had gotten the entire thing on film.

*

OH GOD. HE'S WEARING A TANK TOP.

I SWEAR I SAW ABDOMEN WHEN HE TOOK HIS SHIRT OFF.

SOMEONE HELP ME. I CAN'T. I NO LONGER CAN.

SLDKFJASDLKFJAS;DLFJASDLFJASLAERIAWEOLNKSDLKNAS #cries

HOW IS HE SO PERFECFT? HE EVEN FIXES CARS.

I WONDER IF HE REVS BLAINE'S ENGINE? #yes, yes I did go there

WELP.

FUCKER. HE HAS TO KNOW HOW GORGEOUS HE IS.

Can Kurt come fix my car? *dreamy sigh*