Kurt groaned, setting his hairspray and brush back down on his counter. He had slept wrong on his bed that night and had a major case of bed-head; his hair simply did not want to cooperate on such an important day. Instead of fruitlessly battling with his locks, he decided to look through his closet once more to make sure that he was satisfied with his outfit. Blaine would be there in twenty minutes to pick him up and bring them to the mystery location of their anniversary date, in which they'd also exchange Christmas gifts.

Blaine had pulled him aside before Kurt's lunch period on Monday, breathlessly asking him if that Saturday was okay for the date. This caught Kurt by surprise, as usually Blaine was more eloquent when asking Kurt out, but he said yes regardless. His heart couldn't help but beat a little faster in his chest as Blaine grinned stupidly at him, an elated glint in his eyes before he turned to sprint down the hall to Calculus so he wouldn't be late. Rachel, who had witnessed the entire exchange, squealed and hit him on the arm in hysteria so many times that it stayed red until the end of the period. Later at Cheerios practice Blaine explained that he had been worrying about it all morning and decided to just wing it once he saw Kurt walking down the hall. Kurt found it kind of adorable that Blaine still got a little nervous with these sorts of things, although it would also be nice if they were completely comfortable with each other. That was still yet to come.

Regardless, there was plenty of time for all of that. The "I love yous", talking on the phone until they fell asleep, falling asleep after—

The doorbell rang, causing Kurt to jump and hit his hip against the corner of his dresser. "Ow, ow, ow," he grumbled as he sprayed on some last-minute cologne and sprinted towards the door. Before opening it, he quickly glanced into the nearby mirror to straighten his tie and make one last futile attempt to flatten his hair. He smoothed his button-down shirt and put his hand on the doorknob after taking a deep breath.

"...wow, Kurt," Blaine stood before him, his figure clothed in a black coat as it was freezing cold outside. His eyes were bright in the darkening sky as he stared at Kurt, who stood in the doorway feeling a bit sheepish. They stood in silence for a beat, just looking at each other, until Kurt remembered his manners and cleared his throat.

"You want to come in?" He queried, and Blaine nodded, his teeth chattering. Kurt closed the door behind him as he stepped into the house. "Here," he strode back over to Blaine, who was awkwardly standing by the couch, unsure of what to do with himself. His hands fell towards the front of Blaine's jacket and began to unzip it slowly, an intimate air finally surfacing. Blaine, however, grabbed both of his wrists and lowered them so they were resting on his hips, and kissed him lightly.

"What was that for?" Kurt asked after they broke away, his hands still at Blaine's slim waist. The night had barely begun, and this was the tone he was going to set?

Kurt had put a lot of thought into how the date might transpire. He'd gotten his dad and Carole out of the house for at least a few hours so they wouldn't bother him while he was getting ready or for when Blaine arrived, but they would be returning before the night ended. Kurt didn't know whether Blaine's parents were home or not, though. Blaine had not given much information about this date, or his...expectations...for afterwards.

Yes, he and Blaine had done many things, things Kurt never thought he'd do for years and years. Their hormones got the better of them sometimes and they could not help themselves, but Kurt wouldn't have it any other way. He enjoyed being able to share those experiences with Blaine. However, he wasn't sure if he was ready for "It" yet. Penetration: the word had such a heavy meaning. To Kurt, it was not the most comfortable of terms. Was that the way Blaine wanted to end the night?

"You do know that you're beautiful, right? I couldn't possibly stand to think that you don't feel the same way about yourself that I do," Blaine said softly, looking him full in the face as he took both of Kurt's wrists in his grasp and thumbed soothing circles around his pulse point. "I really just..."

The phone rang, interrupting Blaine's thought. Kurt laughed nervously and picked up, rolling his eyes when the caller ID notified him that it was his father.

"Hello?"

"Hey, kid, just making sure you're doing all right." He said, a surreptitious tone to his voice.

"Dad, I'm fifteen years old. I'm fine. Now get to the point because I know what's coming." There was a blatant significance behind the call—

"Has Blaine arrived yet?" He queried in an overly-casual way. Ofcoursehe called about Blaine. Kurt glanced at the boy, who had started wandering around the room to give Kurt privacy.

"Yes, Dad, of course he has; you know Blaine is very prompt," he answered in exasperation, "would you like to speak with him?" He added sardonically.

"Yes, if he's available." Burt said gruffly, and Kurt cursed under his breath away from the receiver. He had a feeling that his father was going to hold an entire interrogation with him and cause them to be late for their date.

"Hold on," he said into the phone. "Blaine?" He called, and Blaine spun around from the stash of books he was looking at. "My dad wants to talk to you," he said ominously, and Blaine waved his hand like it wasn't a big deal. "Good luck," he muttered as he handed Blaine the phone, but he simply smiled at him. Once he put the phone to his ear, however, his expression turned serious.

"Hello, Mr. Hummel, how are you? Mhm. Good...a bit nervous, actually, but good...yes, sir...yes, sir...no, sir...yes, of course..." Kurt, who had been watching Blaine throughout the conversation, noticed that his face immediately turned an obnoxious shade of scarlet, and could only guess what his dad was asking him. "No, no, no, sir, that won't be, erm, necessary, I wasn't—we weren't—yes, sir," he sputtered, and Kurt buried his head in his hands, making a resolve to speak to his father when he next saw him. "Yes,Le Bleu Chat...yes, sir..eleven thirty sounds fine. Thank you. Sorry, no can do, sir. You too; goodbye." He hung up the phone and handed it to Kurt, who was staring up at him, waiting to find out what questions his father had pummeled him with.

"Well?" Kurt asked, and Blaine broke out into a small fit of nervous laughter.

"Your dad might as well be a private investigator, minus the whole title as he kept telling me to stop calling him 'sir'...he asked me how I was feeling, if I was okay, if you seemed okay, if the reservation or whatever it is was set, whether I'd get you back by your curfew, what—where we're going, and he reconfirmed what time you need to be back by." Kurt gave him a look indicating that he knew Blaine was avoiding something, and his cheeks turned pink. "He, um, wanted to know if I...if I had any, y'know,otherplans for tonight, and if I was—if I was properly equipped, so to speak."

Kurt buried his face in his hands. "I might kill him, I really might," he groaned into his palms, but Blaine placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"It's okay, Kurt. He's looking out for you, think of it that way. And I hope—I hope you didn't think I had any, well, any expectations for tonight..."

"No, no," Kurt lied, "I hope you, erm, you didn't think that I thought you wanted to..." His voice trailed off. "Whatever. What are we doing, anyway?"

Blaine grinned and grabbed Kurt's hand. "A lot. Go get your coat, and we're going to go to our first location."

"It sounds like we're visiting a crime scene or something," Kurt joked as he did as he was instructed. He felt around the closet for Blaine's present, and sure enough it was exactly where he left it, tucked away in the back corner. A nervous twisting began to contort his insides:what if Blaine doesn't like it? Wait, did I take the price tags off?!

"You're taking an awfully long time in the closet over there, Kurt," Blaine commented, his car keys jingling in his hand.

"I wouldn't be talking if I were you!" Kurt spun around, keeping the bag behind his back as he approached Blaine.

At first Blaine seemed to be perplexed by Kurt's statement, but then his look of confusion turned into a knowing smirk as he realized the irony of his observation. "Did you know that you're the most annoying person I know?" Kurt grinned obnoxiously in response, and Blaine shook his head. "What is most irritating, however," he stepped closer to Kurt, "is that you are quite obviously hiding something behind your back."

"Perhaps," Kurt answered vaguely, gripping the bag a bit tighter: it crinkled, and Blaine smiled. "Okay, whatever; it's not like you weren't going to find out anyway," he thrust the bag in front of him, and Blaine's face softened.

"Oh, Kurt—you really didn't have to—" he answered, obviously flustered, but Kurt interrupted his sputterings.

"You planned this entire date—for both our anniversary and Christmas, mind you—and you didn't expect anything in return?"

"Spending time with you is more than enough," he answered, twiddling the handles. Kurt opened his mouth to produce a response but found he could not make one. "All right; let's go to the car, as we've got a bit of a drive ahead of us."

Blaine was right: they chatted and sang along with the radio for over half an hour. They were halfway through Perfect by P!nk when Blaine parked the car in the lot next to a large building that Kurt recognized but couldn't remember what exactly it was. He got out of the car; Blaine soon joined him and took his hand as they walked across the dimly-lit pavement. Once they reached the doors to the entrance, Kurt knew where they were.

"We're going ice skating?"

"What, do you have a problem with that?" Blaine asked. They got on line to buy tickets: Blaine let go of Kurt's hand to pull some money out of his pocket.

"No, no...it's been a long time since I last went ice skating. I think Rachel and I came here for her tenth birthday—yeah, that's it; I remember she got really pissed that she wasn't as good as me at it. You know how she gets when she's outshined," he intoned, and Blaine laughed knowingly. "So yeah, while I was better than Rachel, that doesn't mean I'm going to be stellar."

"You're in luck, because I'm actually decent at ice skating, if I do say so myself," Blaine returned pompously, and flashed his teeth at Kurt, who rolled his eyes.

"Just like everything else, right? Perfect Blaine, captain of the Cheerios, Glee club soloist, math whiz, excelling in everything he partakes in..."

"And I have the best taste in annoying boyfriends," Blaine retorted, turning to peck Kurt's temple.

Someone coughed noisily behind them. Kurt hoped they didn't cough on him, since he had important tests coming up and didn't want to get sick, not to mention that Coach didn't care if a Cheerio was puking her guts out: she would show up with a bucket to watch in quarantine, as she couldn't risk getting the others sick.

"Crap, I should have brought gloves because it's going to be cold in there," Kurt thought aloud as they moved up in line, nearing the booth.

"There's no way that you would know to bring gloves. As far as you knew, I could've taken you to a bath house or something."

The person behind them coughed more loudly than before.

Kurt raised his eyebrow. "Interesting choice for a date..."

"You know I wouldn't do that, babe," Blaine winked and grabbed his hand, rubbing his thumb tenderly over his fingers, "right?"

"I never know with you. You're like...you know how meteorologists are usually wrong when they predict the weather? That's us."

"I think we take turns in playing the role of weatherman and weather. Although you tend to be very calm with clear skies and a bit of wind, while I'm just a mess of torrential rain and thunder and lightning."

"I think you're playing the part of the wrong meteorologist right now," Kurt smiled and gently squeezed Blaine's fingers; he squeezed back. "I guess it's okay because meteorologists get a ton of money from being wrong every day."

"What, am I wrong by being your boyfriend?" He teased, putting emphasis on the last word that still seemed to send thrills down his spine. They were interrupted, however, by another short-lived coughing fit behind them.

Blaine turned around, and Kurt followed suit. "Excuse me, ma'am, do you need a cough drop?" The woman, who appeared to be in her forties with three young children trailing behind her, narrowed her eyes.

"Truthfully, you're the ones who are sick. Please don't subject my children to...to this." The woman was stout and was wearing rather gaudy makeup, fly-always framing her oblong face. She narrowed her eyes at the two of them, paying no mind to her two kids who were weaving in and out of the line as if people were slaloms. Just as Blaine opened his mouth to speak (Kurt was too shocked and hurt), the youngest boy sped past them and tripped over his two feet, falling flat on his face. Kurt let go of Blaine's hand and rushed towards the boy, who immediately began to cry.

"Hey, hey, deep breaths, okay? You're okay," Kurt said quietly as he knelt next to the boy, trying to console him. He wasn't sure as to why he was doing this; it was just a gut reaction.

The boy's rapid sobs soon slowed until his breath was just shaky. He finally lifted his head from the ground and looked at Kurt: large brown eyes—identical to his mother's—stared back at him, tears streaming down his pink cheeks. He couldn't be more than five years old.

"Can you tell me where it hurts?" Kurt queried; he sniffled and gestured to his right arm. Kurt looked at the sleeved limb. From what he could tell, there weren't any major injuries—a sprain at the very most. However, Kurt knew how potent pain was at such an age, and reached out to grab the boy's good hand.

"Here, I'm going to teach you something that will help the pain go away, 'kay? It's something I learned from my mommy years ago," the boy nodded, and Kurt searched through his memory and recalled his mother's kind face looking over him, rubbing her hands around his kneecap where a large scrape from a building block had formed. "Okay, I'm going to need you to concentrate really hard on where it hurts. Think about it a lot, and try to make the pain go away. I can help by waving it away, see?" His hand circled the boy's arm: he felt a bit stupid, but it seemed to be working, because the boy wasn't crying anymore and was actually examining his arm with an incredulous look on his face. "Lastly, I'll rub it to make sure that it's really okay. Is that all right?" He nodded, and Kurt did so for two seconds, because the mother finally realized it was her child that fell and was being helped by the dreaded gay kid.

"Thanks, mister," he said as his mother pulled him away. Kurt hoped that she wasn't the type to think that homosexuality was a highly contagious disease that spread through touch.

He got up on his feet and walked towards Blaine; they were next in line. The woman and her children were nowhere to be seen. Blaine was staring at his, a soft emotion in his visage that Kurt could not discern. "What?" He asked, and Blaine snapped out of his trance with a second's delay.

"Nothing, nothing, just thinking...I've never seen that side to you before." He said, looking down in his hands where he was holding a few bills.

"What do you mean?"

"You...with kids. That was...it's just...I'm not good with them, or whatever. I don't have the experience, or whatever, and I'm not sure if I want them, since I'm sure I'd mess them up."

"You're young; you have plenty of time to think about this stuff. Anyway—" Kurt could not continue, as the cashier cut him off by calling for the next customer. He and Blaine stepped to the counter, where Blaine paid for their entrance and rented ice skates for the two of them. He looked at Blaine as the man returned with their skates: clearly the time for the conversation had passed. He was somewhat glad about that, since he was about to say "I'm sure our kids will love you," which would have been extremely embarrassing. Maybe he hoped it was a little bit true—it was scary how easily he could imagine it. Kurt shook his head to himself and turned from the counter with Blaine, trying to erase the thoughts from his head...at least temporarily.

They walked into the arena where a considerable amount of people were skating. Uneasiness settled in Kurt's stomach:what if I fall in front of all of these people? Multiple times? In front of Blaine?

"Hey, you okay?" Blaine asked as they sat down near the entrance to put their ice skates on.

Kurt shoved his foot into one of them. "Just a little nervous is all," he grunted as he got the other one in.

"Kurt, come on. It's not that hard; trust me."

"I do, of course I do."

Blaine extended his arm, offering Kurt his hand. He was already on his feet. Kurt took it, and Blaine pulled him up without so much of a wobble. They shuffled to the door of the rink; Blaine entered first. He held onto the side as Kurt tentatively followed him in. He slipped a little, but Blaine pulled him to the side to steady himself.

"You okay?" Blaine queried, searching Kurt's eyes.

"Yeah, I'm okay," Kurt breathed out, looking down at his skates. "Are you?"

"Never better," Blaine's lips curled into one of the happiest smiles Kurt had seen in a while. "All right, we're going to move now. First we'll go slowly so you can get a feel for it; then we can take it a little faster. I don't expect it to take much time, since you're a fast learner." Blaine winked, and Kurt lifted his arm to slap him. He wavered; Blaine caught his wrist. "That's not what I meant by 'move now.' Here," he slid his skates, and they were off.

"Where are we going next?" Kurt asked as they continued down a long road. Blaine's fingers drummed on the steering wheel along with the song that was currently playing on the radio. They'd been driving for about ten minutes: Kurt's stomach started to stubbornly grumble since they left the ice rink, which had actually turned out to be a lot of fun (sans the one time Kurt fell, the two times Blaine fell, and the time they both fell together).

"I know you're hungry, and I am too...ah, yes, here we are," he said as he turned right onto some unforeseen street. They continued down for several hundred feet until Blaine again turned right into a lot for a restaurant on the outskirts of a town that was known for being the home for the wealthy in the area.

"I figured we should go to a French restaurant since you're so good at the language." Blaine noted as he parked.

"Blaine..." Kurt started, but then waved his hand, signaling that he didn't want to continue.

"What? Tell me. Do you not want to go here?" Blaine turned towards him looking slightly downcast.

"No..." Kurt blushed. "It's just that...I've heard about this place and it's so...expensive."

Blaine laughed. "Remember that you're dating Rich Kid Anderson, Kurt. Besides, I know someone that works here so I get a nice discount. C'mon, let's go." He ended warmly, and opened the door. They both got out and were whisked towards the quaint building by a frigid breeze; Blaine wrapped an arm around Kurt's waist as they speed-walked.

Once they got inside, a jovial voice greeted them.

"Blainey! Hallo! How eez your fameelee doing? Cooper? I miss you!" The maître D' attacked Blaine, her lengthy blonde hair splayed across both of their shoulders as she covered him with affectionate kisses. She was tall and slender from what Kurt could make out (since it was so dark inside). Kurt was surprised when jealousy twanged in his chest at the sight.

"Yes, yes, Amalie, I'm good; we're all doing well," Blaine said, pulling away from her. She cupped his face in her hands.

"You have gotten so much oldzer! Sacre bleu! You are making me feel old."

"You are not much older than I am! Anyway, you don't look a day over twenty, so don't worry. If you don't mind, Amalie, can you show us to our seats?" Blaine took Kurt's hand; his heart swelled.

"Ah yes! Zee boyfriend! Let me see," she then stood in front of Kurt, staring at him critically. Kurt stared back, but perhaps without the same intensity: her bright blue eyes pierced through the darkness, set apart above a cute nose and thin lips pressed together in concentration. Kurt wasn't about to become straight, but this girl was stunning. He wondered how Blaine knew her.

"You have chosen well,mon ami." She stated at last, and smiled at Kurt. He grinned back, glad that he passed whatever test he had been unknowingly put through. "Yes, yes, your table; I will take you there. Come, follow me." She led them through a maze of tables.

There was a small table for two tucked in the corner near the kitchen; Amalie gestured for them to sit down. Before Kurt could take his seat, Blaine had pulled the chair back for him. Kurt blushed as he sat down and felt a gentle pair of lips brush his temple. Blaine sat down across from him and grinned.

"Here are zee menus. Your waiter will be here zoon to get you drinks. Remember Blaine, no alcohol!"

"Of course, mademoiselle," Blaine returned and winked at her. She laughed and left them to tend to an elderly couple that had just entered.

Amalie was right: their waiter Damien, who was obviously not French but still gave the impression that he was a high end waiter (Kurt almost wished he was twenty one so he could order some sort of fancy alcoholic drink; he felt childish getting water), came right after Amalie left. While they waited for their drinks, Kurt decided to investigate the Amalie situation.

"So, the maître D'. How do you know each other?"

Blaine shifted in his seat. "Family friend. We've known each other for ages. She's the owner's daughter. Amalie is also a very talented singer; she taught me when I was quite young." Blaine buried his face in his menu. "Eurgh,foie gras. It's so...slippery. Do you want any appetizers? I recommend the calamari."

Kurt was not sure why Blaine was so quick to change the subject, but he did not contest. Perhaps he'll explain when he's ready or whatever—I don't want to screw tonight up, since it has been relatively drama-free.

Kurt went with the least expensive dish on the menu—it was not entirely to alleviate the cost, but so he could flaunt his French to Blaine a bit. Blaine constantly leaned over to ask Kurt how to say something; while he was flattered, Kurt reminded him that he was only really in his first year of French.

"The language of love, they call it." Blaine commented after Kurt helped him for the third time.

"Technically Spanish and Italian are also 'languages of love,' since they're romantic languages as well. I believe you're thinking of Paris, the city of love."

"We should visit France one day," Blaine replied wistfully.

"I would love to go there with you," Kurt immediately replied, and ducked his head behind his menu, his cheeks flaring.I said the words. The three words. Well, not exactly, but they're in the sentence, in the right order, oh God...

"Your drinks," the waiter conveniently returned with Kurt's water and Blaine's frivolous Coke. "Are you ready to order?"

They ordered their food, and their waiter left them to talk once again. Kurt was amazed at the fact that they simply could not run out of things to talk about. Sometimes while he was complaining about classes, the Cheerios, working in his dad's shop, and a myriad of other things, and would find Blaine juststaring. He would pause, breathe, and ask Blaine a question, anything to take the attention from him. Kurt had the unnerving feeling that Blaine looked at him like that more often than he realized. It was a strange thing, to know that someone could give him such...affectionateeyes.

Regardless, Kurt decided to at least attempt to ignore them as they waited for their food, opting to take the open hand on the table instead.

"I just want to say that tonight was just...wow," Kurt said, and shoveled another forkful of cheesecake into his mouth before he said something stupid. Blaine raised an angular eyebrow.

"'Wow?' That's the best you can do? I worked pretty hard for this, you know. Planning a date for such a great guy is not that easy."

"So tell me about this guy. You really think he's worth it?" Kurt queried smugly; Blaine's eyes lit up. He finished his crepe and smiled.

"Oh yes. He is the—he's amazing. I'm so, so lucky to have him. I'd be even luckier to have a bite of that cheesecake, though; it looks so delicious." Blaine trained his hazel gaze on the remaining half of the cake Kurt was devouring. Rather than following his instinct to shove the rest of the slice into his mouth, he eased a fair-sized mouthful onto his fork and directed it towards Blaine, who opened his mouth expectantly. Kurt rolled his eyes and gently guided it in, watching Blaine's lips close around the food and metal. After swallowing Blaine removed his mouth, a satisfied look on his face. "Damn, that is good. No wonder why you were wantonly moaning while you were eating that slice of heaven."

Kurt blushed. "Was I really?" He asked self-consciously.

"Perhaps a little." Blaine grinned and flagged down the waiter for the check. "Don't worry, you were quiet. I was the only one who could hear you."

Kurt sighed in relief as their waiter came with the check. Blaine looked at it, whispered something to him, and handed him a couple of bills. He left, and Blaine watched Kurt finish his cheesecake.

"Ready?" He asked, getting up from his chair to help Kurt out of his.

"We're leaving already?" Kurt asked, taking Blaine's hand and standing up. His boyfriend helped him put on his coat.

"Yep; I don't want to be late to our final location!"

It was only a mere five minutes from the restaurant. Blaine pulled into an empty lot off of some long, hidden road: in front of them stood a vast, blank screen. He parked among the few other cars that sat on the grass, the front facing the great white square.

Kurt raised an eyebrow. "A drive-in movie? Isn't that typically a summer thing?"

"They're playing a Christmas movie,Love Actually. What, you want to leave?"

"No, no, no, of course not! This is incredibly...wow, I didn't even know they stilldidthings like this!"

"Thankfully, they do. So we have about ten minutes before it starts, you want to open your anniversary gift now?" Blaine asked, bending over to pull something out from under his seat.

Kurt groaned. "God damn it, Blaine, you treated me to a perfect, romantic night, and you still got me something. I hate you."

"No, you don't," Blaine laughed, and shoved a wrapped box into his hands. "Go on, open it."

"Wait, no, you first!" Kurt insisted, and grabbed his gift bag from the floor. He held it out: Blaine took it.

"Okay, okay." He dug into the copious amounts of multicolored tissue paper Kurt had stuck inside to uncover...

"Aha! Of course, how did you know?!" Blaine took out two bow ties from the bag, holding them up to his neck. "Ilovethem, thank you!" He threw his arms up as if to hug Kurt, but Kurt shook his head.

"There's one more thing in there," he said. Blaine reached in once more and pulled out a little black box. "Open," Kurt said quickly, his heart twisting at the sight of Blaine with such a box that looked like...wow, I didn't realize it looked so much likethat.

Blaine obeyed, and found sitting inside two bowtie cufflinks.

"I figured you'd need them for the wedding. I need a date for it, you know," Kurt said as Blaine stared at them. His head then snapped up.

"Yes, yes, absolutely! Thank you, oh my God, these are...I—I'm at a loss for words,wow!" He then collapsed on top of Kurt, hugging him tightly. "Now your turn." He stated firmly as they broke apart.

Kurt glared at him one last time, but cracked under his warm gaze. He tentatively tore at the silvery wrapping paper, wondering whatever could be inside. Under the paper was a gift box for clothing: he removed the top and gasped.

"You didnot," Kurt said, pulling out a cashmere sweater he had been eyeing for the past three weeks in the mall.

"You can thank Rachel for helping me out with that," Blaine commented; Kurt made a mental note to try to express his eternal gratitude in some way to her later. "There's more," he noted quietly after Kurt continued to admire the lovely sweater.

"Oh, sorry," Kurt replied quickly, and reached in to pull out a book. Not just any book...

He opened it to find a blown-up picture of himself singing on the stage—Kurt recognized it as a picture Mercedes had taken one day at Glee club. Underneath it was the caption "Reasons Why Kurt Hummel Is Truly Amazing" with little stars worthy of Rachel Berry.

"You—you scrapbook?" He queried before he turned the page. He couldn't bring himself to. A burning sensation tingled at the bridge of his nose as he stared at the picture.

Blaine shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. "Sometimes, yeah; it's a little hobby of mine that I picked up last year. Keep looking," he said—nervously?

The next page was titled, "Because he can sing." There was a collage of pictures of Kurt singing in Glee, as well as little microphones and Playbills and Broadway. "Because he is smart"... "Because he is helpful" ... "Because he is athletic"...

"I wanted to put in 'Because he is so damn sexy,' but if your dad saw that I don't think he'd like it too much," Blaine commented as Kurt continued to flip through the pages in disbelief. His favorite one was "Because he is brave": Blaine had cut out letters from the headings of some magazines to spell outCourage.

He spent a long time looking at the page "Because he helped me," as it was the only one that had pictures of the two of them. A tear rolled down his cheek and onto the blank page across from it.

"I left a few blanks in there if we ever have to add anything more in, because I'm sure we'll need to," Blaine said. "Hey, you're crying," he finally noticed, bringing his finger to Kurt's face to wipe another tear away. Kurt looked up at him.

"I...Blaine, that is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me." It was the complete and utter truth. Kurt stared at the pages before him filled with not what made him "amazing," but whatBlainethought made him amazing.

There was one thing missing, though: Kurt opened his mouth to say it, but then a bright light flickered outside.

"The movie is starting; yes!" Blaine rested his head on Kurt's shoulder and stared out of the windshield. "You all right?" He asked with a concerned tone as he felt Kurt shudder slightly underneath him.

"Yeah, yeah," Kurt replied softly, leaning his head on top of Blaine's, his curls tickling his skin.

I was about to tell him I love him.

"What a great way to end the night," Blaine exclaimed as he parked in front of Kurt's house. Tiny snowflakes flurried around the car: Christmas truly was upon them.

"You don't have to get out of the car; it's way too cold outside and—"

"Shhh," Blaine silenced him and opened the door. "I can't let you out alone, can I?" He strode over to the other side of the car and helped Kurt out. "I've got to kiss you on the doorstep, remember?"

Kurt smiled shyly as Blaine cupped his cheek with a gloved hand, the wool lightly scratching his skin. "I remember."God, that feels like it was eons ago.

The hand dropped to meet Kurt's empty one (he was holding Blaine's gifts in the other) waiting by his waist; it almost felt unnatural to not have Blaine's hand in his. Their palms met like magnets of opposite poles, their fingers intertwining like threads being sewn together. Together they walked in front of the front door of the house. Kurt looked up at Blaine and pushed a stray curl from his forehead that had somehow escaped the tenacious hold of his hair gel.

"Thank you...I'll be thanking you for the rest of my life, tonight was...I just can't find the words to describe it. Probably—probably the best of my life."

Blaine sighed audibly, wrapping his hands around Kurt's waist and pulling them close together. "Thank you for making these past few months the best of my life." Kurt could not help but pull him in tighter; he swore that he could feel Blaine's heartbeat thumping against him even under so many layers. He was sure Blaine could feel his. "Now, can you do me one last favor?"

"Anything," Kurt responded breathily, amazed at how quickly he reacted.

"Tomorrow...hold my hand. In the hallways...when we're together. Please."

"Of course, Blaine." Kurt kissed Blaine's cheek slowly and broke away, watching the Christmas lights above them dance in his eyes.

"Okay," he returned giddily. "Well, good night, Kurt."

"Good night." Kurt turned to open the door, but was quickly spun around and drawn into a pair of divine lips. A particular heat flooded from Blaine's mouth to his, like all of the words unspoken were being enunciated through action. It took all of his strength not to fall over when they separated.

Kurt tried to say "good night" once more but found that his vocal chords could not function; instead he sent Blaine the best grin he could muster and entered his house, leaning against the door once he closed it. Kurt shut his eyes, trying to recall and replay as much of the night as he could.

"He's a good kid, that Blaine Anderson," Kurt jumped out of his reverie and opened his eyes to find Burt staring out of the window next to him. "He's good to you. He's good for you."

"I know. I just hope I'm good enough for him."

"Kurt, you don't have to worry about that. Being 'good enough' will never be an issue for you."

"Thanks, Dad."

"Always remember that I was the original member of the Kurt Hummel fan club, kid. Well, your mother too. We're both looking out for you."

"Ready?" Blaine extended his arm, his hands reaching out towards him.

Breathe in, breathe out."Ready." He interlaced his fingers with Blaine's; he could almost feel his pulse drumming in his clammy palm. When he looked up at Blaine, however, he was welcomed with an encouraging smile. Kurt felt safe.

With their hands clasped together, Kurt and Blaine made their way down the lengthy stretch of the hallway. A giddy feeling ballooned in his chest:I'm doing this. I'm actually doing this. I'm holding hands in the hallway with Blaine, who wants to do this with me as well.

Another feeling struck him like a boulder.

"Watch where you're going, faggots!" He heard as they stumbled into the lockers. Blaine, being on the outside, crumpled against the metal with a painful-sounding thump. He continued to grip onto Kurt's hand as he fell to the ground.

"If you're goin' t'do that gross shit then get the fuck out," another voice called out: Kurt looked up to see Karfosky, Azimio, and some other football players looking down at them maliciously, each of them shouting disgusting remarks with twisted smiles on their faces. Powered by the intense rage and mortification surging throughout his body in persistent waves, Kurt jumped to his feet, pulling Blaine up as well. He glared at them for what seemed like ages: no one said a word.

"C'mon, Kurt," Blaine murmured into his ear, but he didn't move. He opened his mouth to say something, but was tugged away. Blaine pushed through the crowd huddled around them: freedom, free at last from those homophobic jerks. They walked at a speedy pace; Blaine's fingers crushed his as they made their way down the hallway. Kurt heard him mumbling under his breath, spewing a few curses and "Kurts" here and there. From what Kurt could tell, Blaine was angry at him for trying to stand up for them.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" Kurt spat as Blaine led him out of the front doors of the school, now gripping his elbow painfully hard. "They're just asshats; why are you taking it out on me?"

"Just...shut up until we get in the car, okay?" Blaine growled, thrusting him forward into the parking lot. They hurried along until Kurt remembered something.

"But Blaine, we have Cheerios practice! Why are we going into the car?"

"So we can forget everything that just happened and remember what we have," he whispered into Kurt's ear as he unlocked his car and forced Kurt into the backseat. After joining him inside, Blaine locked the door behind him and immediately began kissing Kurt's neck. Blaine was right: the pain languidly ebbed away at his slightest touched. It diminished significantly, but could not be completely forgotten. The anger, however, was still there.

"We have fifteen minutes, and then we'll go to practice. If we're late I can say we went to guidance because those fuckers were bothering us again. Well, this is our own form of therapy, as the administration isn't going to do shit about Karofsky and his cronies."

"They can't touch us or what we have," Kurt said, staring up into the inferno burning behind Blaine's eyes. They flared at Kurt's touching words.

"No, they can't, and they never will. No one can touch what we have, only we can. They're not even worthy of coming near what we have." His hands raked across Kurt's covered chest, furiously tearing at his layers. Kurt didn't know what Blaine was going to do with him, and frankly he didn't care: he wanted Blaine to provide a distraction from his infuriation. A strange mix of anger and arousal pumped through his veins as Blaine finally ripped off his shirt, revealing his bare skin underneath. Blaine didn't stop there, however: he reached down and started to undo his Kurt's pants, fumbling with the button as he was trying to do it so rapidly. He cursed a few times until he finally got them undone.

"It's only been a few minutes and you're already so hard," Blaine hissed, his fingernails digging into Kurt's naked shoulder. He then backed up against the window behind him and examined the sight before him: a panting, nearly-nude Kurt sprawled across the seat, his underwear tight and his jeans stuck at his ankles, imploring him to continue. Blaine then looped his fingers through the sides of his underwear, looking up at Kurt for consent. He nodded, unable to say a word.

Soon enough the underwear was off as well as his jeans, and Blaine began to kiss him again with a hunger that couldn't seem to be fulfilled. The polyester of the seats was a strange sensation against Kurt's nakedness, but he didn't care. The only feeling that mattered was the conflagration spreading throughout his veins, sparked by Blaine's fervent touches across his hair, his face, his chest...

Blaine's hands finally walked down his body, tracing the faint lines of his abdomen. He spoke in between lavish kisses.

"I'll make you forget everything. All of this shit can disappear. We'll be okay, we'll be okay," Blaine panted into his ear as he continued to ravish Kurt's skin with his hands and lips. "Just you and me, we're against this god-damn world--"

"Hurry up, we don't have much time," Kurt urged, meaning both that they were dangerously close to being late to practice, and that he was going to come if Blaine didn't stop whispering these words of...devotion...

Blaine's hands stopped where they were, his burning touch welding into his taut stomach as he glanced down at Kurt, his pupils large and fiery.

"Fuck it," he said after a moment's contemplation, and pressed his hands against Kurt's inner thighs, pushing them a bit wider as he forced Kurt back a bit. He watched with wide eyes as Blaine positioned himself on the seat in a way that could not possibly be comfortable, his head hovering around his torso. Without any notice, he sunk his mouth down on Kurt's cock.

Kurt moaned loudly, his fingers digging into the cushion around him. They continued to search around as Blaine worked furiously, desperate for Kurt to come soon. And God was Kurt close. He could feel the bruises forming on his hip ones underneath Blaine's fingertips, twin nickel-sized black-and-blues that would stay tattooed onto his skin for a long time, reminding him of this event. Eventually his hands flew around until they were grabbing at his scalp, twisting around his smothered hair and freeing his curls as he hands gripped him tightly, feeling as if they were the only stable parts of his body, the only limbs that weren't quaking with the suspense of the oncoming release. Blaine only moaned and gasped around his cock as Kurt lightly pulled on his hair, letting him know it was going to be over for him very, very soon if he didn't stop. Yet Blaine kept sucking around him, eliciting wan moans from Kurt as he rocked against his touch, the car shaking ever so slightly. Kurt didn't know who may have passed by the car and suspected the happenings occurring inside of it, and frankly he didn't care. Let them think what they wanted.

"Blaine," he warned loudly just as Blaine took him in even deeper than before; his voice trailed into a keening whine, his body begging for a release he wouldn't allow for Blaine's sake. "Blaine!" He tried again with more urgency, his voice cracking. The wet heat was gone and replaced by cool, open air. His dick was begging to be touched again, but instead Blaine crawled up and kissed Kurt slowly but thoroughly on the lips. He tasted a familiar bitterness on his tongue, and realized as Blaine broke away, his lips swollen and cheeks flushed, that Blaine was letting him taste himself. He finally came as their lips touched again, gasping Blaine's name.

Kurt fell back against the door behind him as he came down from his high, breathing in and out. The window was cold against his warm, damp skin, its harsh plastic reminding him of where he was and what their task at hand was. Suddenly Kurt came crashing down to earth as he looked at the time.

"We're going to be late!" They only had two minutes to get to the locker room, change, and go to practice.

"Fuck fuck fuck," Blaine threw Kurt's clothes at him, cursing as he helped him get his underwear and pants back on while Kurt threw his shirt haphazardly over his head. He didn't even bother with his socks: Kurt slipped on his shoes and burst out of the car, knowing that he looked like a mess and smelled of sex. I'll spray on cologne in the locker room, he resolved as Blaine locked the car: together they sprinted back into the school.

After many twists and turns they finally made it to the locker room, the sounds of the beginning of practice in the gym next door urging them on. Kurt could hear Blaine panting on the other side of the room. They opened their lockers and began to pull on their practice clothes; a million excuses ran through Kurt's head in the meantime. I went for extra help. A teacher started to talk to me while in the hallway. Short family affair--very brief. Just needed ten...twenty minutes to get some milk, ha ha...

"Let's go," Blaine appeared next to Kurt, who was currently struggling with a shoe. He slipped it on and ran out of the room, not even bothering to re-lock his locker.

The door shut loudly behind them as they entered the gym; the girls, who were gathered in the middle of the room like a flock of ruby cardinals, all turned to stare. Coach Sylvester was perched in her usual seat, though she did not turn to watch them join the others.

"Settle down!" She shouted into the megaphone; the Cheerios' whisperings died down immediately. "Santana, how many minutes has it been since practice started?"

"Five minutes, Coach," she answered, blatantly suppressing anger in her tone.

"And Quinn, what did I say about what we'd do once Gay One and Gay Two showed up?"

"Two sprints for every minute they were late, with running the full length of the room and back being one sprint," she replied morosely.

"That's right, girls, ten sprints because whatever our friends here were doing was more important than getting to practice on time. Surely you all can afford to do some extra running, as whatever they had to do beforehand won't extend to after practice. You barely have lives outside of cheer, I would hope, or you think you do with your partying and whatnot. But let me tell you, ladies, you are all lousy excuses of feeble lives. So get on that line at that end of the gym. Shoulder to shoulder, go!" They scrambled to the designated area; Kurt shot Blaine a sad glance as he walked away from him, knowing that it would be better for them to be separated. The girls (and Kurt and Blaine) stood where they were told, staring as their coach twiddled a small plastic whistle while she approached them. As she neared Kurt and his half, she sniffed.

"Someone smells like...inappropriate behavior," Coach said as she weaved in between the Cheerios standing in their positions. As she got closer to Kurt he realized that he'd forgotten something: the cologne. Not only had he shown up late with Blaine, looking a bit disheveled, but he forgot the cologne that may have saved him. Coach had a very good nose: it was said that one year she could smell an ounce of weed tucked away in a Cheerio's bra. "Eugh, why would you perform such a vile act before being in the same room as me?"

"Because you've never done it yourself, have you?" A voice Kurt recognize all too well answered. Coach Sylvester's head snapped in its direction; Blaine was looking up at the ceiling, acting as if nothing had happened. Kurt buried his face in his hands.

Coach stared stonily at him, suppressed rage etched in her countenance. There was a long, painful silence until she finally spoke.

"Quinn, see me after practice," she said quietly, a sinister tone to her voice as she continued to stare at Blaine, who finally looked back at her in shock.

Kurt didn't have much time to dwell on this dilemma, as Coach subsequently blew her whistle. He sprinted along with the rest of the girls, hoping that he'd be able to function after the excessive fitness he catalyzed.

The Friday before winter break the Cheerios were all being carted on a bus headed to an away basketball game. Kurt and Blaine sat in the back, keeping to themselves while the girls chatted and gossiped with each other; Kurt was lying on his back with his head resting on Blaine's stomach. Blaine played with his hair while he talked.

"Can you believe how quickly time has passed? It's almost the new year."

"It's been a painfully slow week with all of my exams, but overall it seems like my freshman year is zooming by. Wow, it's going to be Christmas next week."

"Great observation, babe," Blaine bent down and pecked his forehead affectionately while Kurt narrowed his eyes at him. "Ugh, Christmas is going to be a repeat of Thanksgiving, but worse..." His voice trailed off; he began to pay special attention to a strand of Kurt's chestnut hair.

"What does that mean?"

"My brother is coming home," Blaine said plainly.

"You're saying it like it's a bad thing! What, is he coming home from college?" This was the first time Kurt ever heard that Blaine had a brother.

"No. And...well, it's a--it's a--"

"Can I meet him? How long is he staying for?"

"Since when have you wanted to meet my family?" Blaine returned. He wasn't being accusatory, but seemed rather intrigued.

Kurt pursed his lips. "I mean, you know my family pretty well; I think it's time that I met yours. By now I think I can handle it."

"I don't know, Kurt. My brother is...hm. We'll see," he replied, "although I did want to go out with you on Christmas Eve."

"If we're going to church then I refuse," Kurt interjected immediately. Blaine knew he didn't believe in God, so that would be a silly idea for what, a date?

"No, no, not that. I was thinking of driving you around to look at Christmas lights. There's this one street by Breadstix that just goes all out: it's incredible and cute."

Kurt pursed his lips. "I think I might be available. I have so many men requesting me to stay with them for Christmas Eve."

"Who?" Blaine looked worried.

"My dad, doofus. He might want me to stay home and celebrate with the family, the usual."

Blaine's face fell slightly. "Okay, well, ask him and let me know."

"Of course."

(6:34)Oh god do you think we can get it off or that the Facebook staff can do something about it?? This is so bad poor Kurt

(6:35)???

(6:38)crap crap cRAP I didn't mean to text you just ignore that text...I would advise that you stay away from social media for a while...

(6:41)that ellipsis and text before imply that there's a reason involving me that is not good. Tell me right now Rachel Berry or I will tell Finn about that one time last year.

(6:43)fine.

(6:45)I can't say it--go on Facebook.

(6:46)just know that I'm here for you.

With that last encouraging text, Kurt sat his laptop down on his bed and opened it, wondering what on earth whatever Rachel was worrying about could be. It was, in some way, related to him: perhaps someone said that his dad wasn't very good at changing the oil or whatever. From what Kurt could tell, it was probably worse than that.

He pulled up Facebook; the first thing he saw was a picture of Brittany with her obese cat. Of course, he thought (smugly), as she thought so many people liked it because of her cat, when really it was just a bunch of guys encouraging her to take more because she was rather scantily clad ("Lord Tubbington doesn't like taking selfies with clothes" was her explanation when Santana confronted her about it). He then saw something pop up on his screen: a notification that someone mentioned him in a comment. He clicked on it and was directed to a status.

"Some people just can't keep their hands to themselves," Quinn had written. It seemed cryptic enough, but as Kurt scrolled through the comments, it became apparent that she'd sent a video around. Not just any video.

"Didn't know that Anderson wasn't just an attention whore," someone said.

"Ugh...just ugh." Another replied.

"Can't believe that happened at our school on more than one occasion." "Let alone in the gym on the mats!" "Can't they just keep it to themselves?"

There were about twenty comments on the status: Rachel's one-word response ("Kurt") was lost in a sea of derogatory replies. Only one person tried to stick up for the two, saying that they were sure plenty of people had had sex on that mat or in the gym; why is it suddenly an issue now? She was immediately shot down by others who had much more support in their adamant stance against them.

Kurt tried to suck in a deep breath but found that he couldn't. He couldn't breathe. The room suddenly seemed to be a lot smaller than before, a tiny cage that imprisoned him with this scathing hate over a stupid, stupid website. His lungs ballooned and deflated rapidly; he couldn't think, he couldn't see, he couldn't breathe.

"Hello?" Kurt looked down at his hand. In it he found his cell phone with Blaine's number shining on the screen. When did I call Blaine?he thought, but did not dwell on the question. All he needed was right by his ear.

"Kurt, Kurt, are you okay?" Kurt realized that he still hadn't said anything. He took in as deep of a gulp of air as he could muster and shook his head. Realizing that Blaine couldn't see him, he sighed a breathy "no," tears threatening to escape his shut eyes. He couldn't see, he didn't want to see, he couldn't breathe, he didn't want to breathe.

"Please, Kurt, tell me what's wrong," Blaine's voice was fuzzy, but Kurt could still hear the desperation in his voice. He took a few shallow breaths and tried to speak, but his voice seemed to dissipate once it reached the back of his throat. He choked back a frustrated sob:why can't I just talk? Why can't I tell him that the whole school saw us fooling around and that it really shouldn't be that big of a deal but it fucking is and I reallyneedyou right now?!

"That's it, I'm coming over. I'll be there in five to ten. Just try to breathe, okay, honey? I—I'm going to hang up now."

Kurt whispered "okay" back and set down the phone. He tasted the salty tang of tears on his lips, he could hear the blood coursing through his head, his hands trembling in his lap. It seemed that he was stuck in that cross-legged position on his bed, the laptop open in front of him projecting pixelated hate and humiliation at him and Blaine.

The worst part was that ninety percent of the comments were directed at Blaine, not Kurt—that's what seemed to hurt the most.

The seconds ticked away like days as Kurt uncrossed his legs and curled up into a ball on his bed. Time lost its weight. He counted his breaths,in out in out,just breathe, okay? Just breathe, okay? Just breathe, okay?The mantra repeated in his head like the tattoo of a drum.

Kurt barely heard the frantic knocking on the front door, his father asking "Blaine, hey! What's—oh God, what's wrong?", Blaine replying with only one word, Blaine's footsteps growing louder and louder as they reached Kurt's bedroom—

"Oh, Kurt, baby,no," Blaine moaned as he beheld Kurt's tiny figure on the bed, shaking ever so slightly like a leaf in the breeze. "Kurt, look at me. Please. Look. At. Me." He held Kurt's face in his hands and turned it so they were looking into each other's eyes. "You're okay. You areokay. Relax. Oh, fuck, you're so far from okay; I am so bad at this, I'm so sorry. Let's just get this out of the way—" he grabbed the laptop and was about to put it on the floor when he stopped. His eyes widened inexplicably in realization, his mouth barely moving as he read the hate displayed on the screen. Kurt watched in horror as he stopped for a split second, still as a statue, and then raised his hand slightly as if to hit the laptop. After a moment's contemplation, Blaine lowered his hand and pressed the power button. The screen turned black; he placed the device on the floor next to his bed.

"You know what, Kurt?" He began, his voice thin. "Fuck them. Fuck them, fuck them, fuck them. They don't matter. They don'tunderstand. These people don't know what we have. It is purer, kinder, better than anything they will ever have, not just with another person but with themselves. Who gives a shit what they think, okay? All that matters is that I'm here with you right now, all right? Here, sweetheart," Blaine said soothingly, peeling Kurt's covers back. When Kurt didn't move, Blaine leaned over and scooped Kurt into his arms, placing him in his bed. He tucked the sheets around Kurt's small form and climbed over him, crawling into the bed as well.

"The world isn't so bad when you're under a few layers of blankets, now is it?" Blaine gave a feeble laugh in a lame attempt to cheer Kurt up: Kurt gave him a weak smile. "If you wanna talk about it, we can talk about it; if you wanna cry, you can cry—I'll wipe your tears. If you wanna sleep, we can sleep; I'm here indefinitely."

"I'm just—so tired," Kurt said, an unexpected wave of sleepiness weighing his eyelids. He blinked languidly, trying to behold Blaine's glowing form beside him.

"All right, honey, I'm here." He scooted closer to Kurt, who leaned his head against his chest, feeling it rise and fall.

Kurt opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. He blinked once, twice, and black took hold...

Time was of no matter anymore. His eyes fluttered open, a heavy feeling weighing down his tired limbs. He looked and the boy staring back at him amiably. God, he would never get tired of that look.

"Hey."

"...hi."

"I love you."