Summers are indifferent to the trials of young love. Armed with warnings and doubts, Kurt and Blaine gave a remarkable portrayal of two boys travelling down a very long road with no regard for the consequences.

“They fell in love, didn’t they?” Mr Anderson’s eyes twinkled, bursting with enthusiasm.

“Yes, they did. Not that either would ever admit it to the other.”

It was an improbable friendship. Blaine was getting ready to conquer the world; everything he needed laid out perfectly at his feet. Kurt was from a small town, his family one of simply means, simple needs and simple dreams. But for the next two weeks, they were inseparable.

Blaine had shown up at Kurt’s work shortly before closing time, the day after they’d watched Lil Abner. Kurt had been frantically shoving sewing materials away when the front door tinkled as it opened, indicating a customer. He’d sworn lightly under his breath, irritated that a customer would keep him busy, when he could be leaving and tracking Blaine down, but stepping out into the main shop, he eyes met smiling brown ones.

“Hi,” Blaine said lightly.

“Hey,” Kurt replied. He knew he should get rid of the ridiculously large grin that was spreading across his face, but he couldn’t. Blaine was there.

“I was, um, I was wondering if you were busy?” Blaine said, his eyes anxiously searching Kurt’s face for something. “I mean, I know you’re at work, so of course you’d be busy, but I could always come back later, so I thought—“

“No, no, that’s not necessary,” Kurt interrupted talking a little too quickly. “I was just finishing up for the day, actually.”

“Oh,” Blaine smiled, dropping his hands that had been twisting at the cap he was holding in front of his body.

“Yeah.” Smile. “Um, I’ll just grab my jacket and then we can go do something?”

July 19th, 1941

Leaving Lima behind, Kurt cycled down a dirt road, weaving around the larger rocks. It was lined with old trees, sheltering the path with their wide reach and dotting the road with small drops of light. Beyond the trees , row after row of waist high wheat, fat and golden under the July sun, sped past.

Blaine pulled up beside Kurt. Apparently he liked to cycle standing up, his arms locked over the steering wheel, legs pumping.

“This is so much better than the backstreets of Lima,” he said.

“I don’t know, I think there’s something to be said for dumpsters and graffiti,” Kurt called back.

They made their way to the edge of the county, playing “Cow!” along the way. Blaine was horrible at the game, never spotting the cows in time, and grumbling whenever Kurt beat him to it. He tried cycling in front of Kurt for a while, his head swivelling in every direction as he searched for the slow moving, obvious animals, but when Kurt turned down a side road, not bothering to let Blaine know, Blaine speed several hundred yards down the wrong path before he realised he was alone. Backpedalling, he decided to stick to following behind Kurt, mumbling something about ‘cheating’ when the older boy triumphantly yelled “Cow!”

Kurt couldn’t keep a stupid grin off his face. He loved the way that the wind rushed through his hair, sweeping it back as he sped down the road. It felt like he was flying, safe and free, his pulse racing in time with his excitement. His excitement caused simply by being with Blaine.

July 22th, 1941

A warm Saturday found him and Blaine, along with Finn, Rachel, Puck and Quinn, down at the river.  The river widened just upstream from Lima as it meandered around the town, and thus the flow was slow and steady, perfect for lazy summer days. A gnarled old tree clung desperately to the riverbank, where the water was calmest, and years ago somebody had dared to climb it, attaching a rope to one of its twisting limbs. It was this rope that was currently clutched tightly in Kurt’s nervous hands.

“The water doesn’t look sanitary,” he stalled.

“Kurt, get in the water,” Finn said.

“What if there are snakes?”

“Just get in the water,” Puck yelled from his perch on a large boulder, Quinn wrapped in his arms.

“I could just watch you guys—“

“Kurt, it’s a million degrees. Get in the water,” Blaine said.

“Uugh, okay,” Kurt gripped the rope with determination, bracing his legs to jump. He bit his bottom lip and then faltered.

“I can’t—“

“Oh, my god, and you call me a drama queen!” Rachel called out. She was sprawled on a large towel, letting the sun dry the drops of water on her olive skin. Her hair was bundled up on top of her head, and she laughed at him from behind large sunglasses, which she’d pulled low on her nose.

“I don’t like to get wet, Rachel. You know that! I’m basically a glorified cat!” Kurt snapped, tugging self-consciously on the rope.

“Except, even cats realise that when they are about to melt from the heat, they should find some way to cool down,” Blaine argued. “Now get in the water!”

“Alright, alright!” Kurt yelled, but he barely moved.

“Get in the water, Kurt!” Quinn and Puck egged him on.

“Just jump,” Blaine smiled up at him.

Kurt scrunched his eyes shut, and jumped. The rope dug painfully into his fingers, but he didn’t care. He was flying, swooping down over the water and then—he let go. The water enveloped him, cooling him immediately. Kicking himself to the surface, he spluttered a little as he broke through, shaking his hair out of his face. He heard Puck and Finn cheering.

“Welcome,” Blaine said, paddling over to him.

“I’m still not convinced that I won’t get cholera and die,” Kurt said.

“Well, it’s too late now,” Blaine grinned evilly before flinging a handful of water directly into Kurt’s face.

“Oh, you did not just do that,” Kurt warned, wiping water out of his eyes.

“I saw it with my own eyes, man. Anderson just declared war!” Puck said, diving into the water to get in on the action.

Several minutes later, laughing and coughing up most of the river, Kurt and Blaine dragged themselves out of the water. Kurt grabbed his towel and started spreading it out, safely in the shade of a cluster of trees. Blaine was busy towelling his hair, much like a dog shaking out his fur.

Rachel had returned to the river shortly after the water fight, and currently she and Quinn were shrieking as Finn and Puck teased them with small splashes of water.

Getting ready to settle onto the towel, Kurt looked up at Blaine just in time to see the younger boy pull his towel off his head. Kurt couldn’t help it, he laughed.

“Oh, my god,” he wheezed between waves of mirth, pointing at Blaine’s head. “Is that what you’ve been taming with all that gel?”

Blaine’s hair stuck up in all directions. Kurt had known it was curly, but at the moment, it resembled a small poodle. It bobbed slightly in the wind and reminded Kurt an awful lot of cotton candy.

“Hey,” Blaine said, frowning. “Don’t be mean. Not everyone can have perfectly cooperative hair.” He ran his fingers over it, as if trying to calm it down. It just bounced back into place, refusing to be tamed. “I don’t know why I’m friends with you,” he pouted, spreading his towel out near Kurt’s.

“Nobody else took pity on you?” Kurt asked, grinning. Blaine just rolled his eyes.

Kurt sat up and tugged at the soaking t-shirt that he had worn in the water, in an attempt to keep the relentless summer sun off his delicate skin. He peeled it off, wringing it between his hands, before dropping it onto the corner of the towel. He lay down, on his back, before looking at Blaine again.

Blaine was staring at him. His mouth had dropped open, his lips forming a small ‘o’ and his eyes were bugging slightly out of his head. His gaze dragged over Kurt, drinking in the newly revealed flawless, pale skin. Kurt felt a flush creep up his neck, and spread down over his chest, but before he could say anything, Blaine coughed slightly and tore his eyes away, looking out over the river instead.

Kurt blushed and rolled over onto his stomach, inspecting his nails. From the corner of his eye he could see Blaine staring intently at their laughing friends, clenching and unclenching his fists. Kurt looked too and saw Quinn climbing up onto the boulder again. Her long legs were beautifully on display, even in her modest swimsuit.

Generally Kurt managed to like Quinn; she was nice enough, if a little bit self-involved. But right now, he wished she simply wasn’t there. He frowned.

“So…” he ventured after a few minutes, “Um, do you still want me to teach you to drive tomorrow?”

“Yes,” Blaine answered immediately. “Uh, yeah. Yes. That’d be great. My dad keeps saying he’d teach me, but...” his voice trailed off.

“He’s a busy man, from what I’ve heard,” Kurt said gently.

“Sure,” Blaine muttered.

“Hey,” Kurt said, reaching to touch Blaine on the shoulder (his really broad shoulder, covered with tight golden skin and ohmygod there are the tingles again, what the hell??). “This way we can spend more time together. I sure hope my company isn’t all that bad.”

“Kurt,” Blaine breathed, looking at Kurt with shining eyes, “There’s nothing bad about you.”

Kurt flushed, retrieving his hand before it died from excitement. “Not even when I tease you?”

“Not even when you’re a giant pain in the ass, after a particularly long day slaving away for Mr Philips.”

“Masochist.”

“Drama queen.”

“Poodle.”

“High-maintenance.”

“Goober.”

“Goober?”

“Yes, you’re a goober.”

“How exactly am I a goober?”

“It’s that innocent, charming thing that you do, coupled with those earnest eyes and good intentions. Goober.”

“…”

“…”

“…Charming, huh?”

“Shut up.”

July 24th, 1941

Blaine was a terrible driver.

“Okay, one more time,” Kurt repeated in a tone of forced calm. “Keep the clutch all the way in, when you turn the car on. And for god sake’s keep your foot on the break.”

“Okay,” Blaine slowly turned the key in the ignition. Luckily Finn’s truck was a monster and Kurt was fairly certain it could handle all the torture that Blaine was putting it through.

“Now put the truck into gear.” There was a terrible scraping sound. “Is the clutch all the way in?”

“Oh, right,” Blaine’s voice was tight with anxiety. They’d been at this for about an hour and he was still nervous.

“Right, now, ease off the brake, we’re on a flat road, the truck won’t go anywhere.”

“Okay.”

“Good. Now here comes the tricky part. Remember, you’re going to slowly let up the clutch and just as slowly feed the engine gas. Don’t give it too much gas until you feel the clutch catch, cause otherwise you’ll just be wasting it.”

Blaine huffed out a sigh before gripping the steering wheel with unnecessary force. He had a look of deep concentration on his face and Kurt tried really hard not to laugh.

Slowly, the seconds ticked by and the truck stayed still, simply purring with life.

“Um, Blaine?” Kurt asked.

“Hmm?”

“We aren’t moving.”

“You said slowly, Kurt.”

“Yes, but eventually you’ll have to reach the point where the truck actually going forward.”

“Will you yell at me again if I do it wrong?”

“I don’t yell, Blaine.”

“Yes, you do. I was there. It was scary.”

“Blaine. Drive the truck or I will start yelling.”

There was a lot more yelling before Blaine finally, haltingly, got the truck moving along.

July 25th, 1941

Blaine hummed as he cycled down the road. He was brimming with excitement, even if it was rather late at night. He’d realised the time when he’d rushed out of the house, but he simply couldn’t wait. He had to show Kurt.

Kurt. In all his 18 years of life, Blaine had never imagined to meet someone like Kurt. His heart sped up as he thought of his new friend. Kurt was so different from anybody else, with his snappy comebacks and his cynical view of the world that clashed so wonderfully with his sense of freedom. To Blaine, Kurt was the single most interesting boy in all of Ohio. Maybe even in all of America, he thought, weaving through the streets of Lima. Kurt fascinated him, even after they’d spent all of their free time together in the last few days. Also, more importantly, or maybe more worryingly, Kurt made Blaine feel like he could conquer the world. Before he had been content to simply dream his dreams after going to all of his lessons. Of course he was suave with the ladies and perfect with his manners, everything a perfect young man should be, but around Kurt, he felt like going to New York and turning those fragile dreams he was secretly dreaming into reality.

If Blaine was honest with himself (which had only really started that night after the movies, when Kurt had challenged Blaine to think and embrace that honesty) Blaine could admit that he didn’t want to become a business man like his father. He loved music too much.

But more than just realising his own dream, Kurt had woken up something else in Blaine; something that demanded to be felt, no matter how desperately he shoved it aside. Sometimes it scared Blaine, that he didn’t feel the need to chase any of the beautiful, eligible girls his family set him up with. His friends in school had done very little else with their free time, but to Blaine, wasn’t a priority.

He had tried never to think about why he was so different, and generally it had worked. But suddenly with Kurt around, Blaine started understanding the desire to touch. He’d never been held close, or kissed, fingers had never brushed softly over his hair, nor had he ever reached out to straighten a crooked tie, or felt tingles from simply rubbing a small circle on the back of an impossibly soft hand. And when Kurt had taken his shirt off after swimming, it took all of Blaine’s self-control not to reach out and feel. To feel not just Kurt’s skin (although, that skin now haunted his dreams, and flitted through his mind when he found release, tangled in his bed sheets, flushed with exhilaration and guilt), but to feel everything. It was like he was suddenly awake, like he’d found something he was looking for. He wanted to feel every emotion he had read about in books. The emotions that drove people to rooftop declarations and nights spent crying in anguish. The emotions that demanded to be felt and shared through books, plays, poetry, music, art, and dance. He wanted to know about the desire to completely love another, to share and give, taking in return all that was to offer. Instead he had sat back, dropping his eyes, face burning with shame. Why did he feel this way about Kurt? Why not Quinn?

But turning the corner and seeing a small house come into view, a porch visible behind overgrown bushes, Blaine simply didn’t care. He was going to see Kurt. He jumped from his bicycle, leaving it to fall against a tree, and tugged at the guitar strapped to his shoulders.  Walking toward the house, he heard a voice.

The loving day, the mounting sun, the friend I am happy with,

The arm of my friend hanging idly over my shoulder,

Kurt was sitting on the porch, reading from a book propped up in his lap, his long legs folded underneath him.

Arms and hands of love, lips of love, phallic thumb of love, breasts

Of love, bellies press’d and glued together with love,

Earth of chaste love, life that is only life after love,

The body of my love… the body of the man,

An older man, who could only be Kurt’s father, sat across from Kurt. He wasn’t what Blaine had expected at all. Kurt was so well put together and perfectly groomed, that Blaine had expected his father to be the same. Instead, he was wearing a flannel shirt, with overalls covered in grease, an old baseball cap on his head. He was staring off into the distance, rocking gently in his chair as he listened to Kurt read.

The young man that wakes deep at night, the hot hand seeking to

Repress that which would master him,

The mystic amorous night, the strange half-welcome pangs, visions, sweats,

The pulse pounding through palms and trembling encircling fingers,

The young man all color’d, red, ashamed, angry—

“Kurt, I don’t mean to interrupt, but we have a young man hovering awkwardly in the driveway,” Kurt’s father said suddenly. “Come here, son. We don’t look kindly on lurking in this family.”

Blaine stepped into the light, finally catching Kurt’s eye. “Good evening,” he said. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. What were you reading? It was beautiful.”

Kurt opened his mouth to answer, but his father cut him off.

“Do you like poetry? Kurt’s mother liked to read it to me before she passed. Maybe she thought she could make a gentleman out of me. Horrible idea. When she died, Kurt took over,” he smiled at Blaine, but Blaine got the feeling he was being sized up. “Now, I’m a Tennyson man, myself, but Kurt likes Whitman,” he added, rolling his eyes.

“Dad, we’ve been over this. Tennyson is too flowery. But Whitman–”

“Are you going to introduce me to the awkwardly smiling boy, Kurt?” Kurt’s father interrupted.

“Oh, right. Dad, this is Blaine Anderson, Blaine, this is my father, Burt Hummel.”

“It’s very nice to meet you, Mr Hummel,” Blaine said, holding out his hand.

“Mr Hummel? Jeez, kid, what am I? Old? Call me Burt,” Burt said, accepting Blaine’s hand.

“I’m sorry to drop by so late, I just… I wanted to show Kurt something,” Blaine’s voice trailed off, looking hopefully at Kurt.

“What is it?” Kurt asked, his face lighting up.

“My parent’s got me an early birthday present,” Blaine smiled, pulling the guitar from his back. “I’m not any good yet, but I’ll start lessons when we get home.”

“Blaine, that’s amazing!” Kurt smiled hugely. Blaine had spent hours telling Kurt about his love for music.

“Kurt also says you play the piano,” Burt said, looking Blaine up and down. “We got an old stand-up inside. You should play it for us sometime.”

“Oh, I couldn’t intrude like that,” Blaine quickly asserted.

“Nonsense. Come on in, I’ll make some pancakes. Would you like some pancakes?” Burt stood up, opening the front door, gesturing to Blaine to follow him inside.

“I’d love some,” Blaine said, tilting his head at Kurt.

Kurt shrugged as if to say “I don’t know either,” bringing up at rear and asking, “Dad, you do know it’s almost ten o’clock at night, right?”

“Yes, and? This is America, land of the free, home of the brave. I can eat pancakes any damn time I want.”

The Hummel-Hudson house was small, but cosy. They found Finn lounging on a couch, reading a comic book. He leapt to his feet enthusiastically when Burt mentioned pancakes, leading the way into the kitchen. Kurt’s step-mom, Carol, was already in there, wiping down the surfaces. She was small and soft and Blaine thought she looked perfect for hugging. She rolled her eyes when she learned of the sudden plan for pancakes, but started opening cupboards immediately, tutting at Burt when he tried to help, and scooting them all over to the tiny kitchen table.

Soon, the smell of frying batter and syrup filled the kitchen, as laughter echoed around the room. Blaine sat back, enjoying the easy manner in which this family teased each other, wishing his own was even slightly as relaxed. His mother never allowed cooking outside of meal times, even if she was never the one preparing the meals. And yet, but here he was, eating a food traditionally reserved for breakfast at 11 o’clock at night, laughing at Finn as he tried unsuccessfully to wipe honey from his fingers, spreading the stickiness even further.

Blaine caught Kurt’s eye. Kurt had put up a good face when Burt had launched into embarrassing childhood stories, Blaine cough-laughing into his napkin. Now however, the glint as their eyes met was not from laughter, but something much stronger.

When the merciless teasing had died down and Burt and Carol had gone to bed, Kurt walked Blaine back to his bike. Finn, who had consumed eight pancakes before the bottomless pit that was his stomach was finally sated, made it all the way back to the living room before collapsing on the couch.

“It was good seeing you tonight, man,” he said, his voice muffled by the fact that he had fallen face first onto the couch and looked like he wouldn’t be able to move for a while.

“And you, Finn,” Blaine replied. “Remember about the lunch at my family’s house on Thursday afternoon. Rachel is, of course, more than welcome.”

“Sure, sure. See you then.” The tall man sighed heavily, mumbling something else that was completely lost in the pillows.

Blaine grinned at the uncoordinated oaf falling asleep on the couch and turned back to Kurt.

“Thank you again for the pancakes,” he said.

“Any time,” Kurt replied. He was holding Blaine’s new guitar. “You better learn to play this quickly. I want a song before you leave.”

“You don’t know what you’re asking for, Hummel,” Blaine said. Kurt reached for the front door and the two boys stepped out onto the porch, the golden glow from the porch light only illuminating a small patch.

“Honestly, Blaine, I don’t think I could ever forget your singing voice,” Kurt’s face turned bright red as the compliment left him. It filled Blaine with that same bubble of light that the porch light created.

“It was that bad, huh?” he teased. He didn’t want to leave. The light enveloped him and Kurt, separating them with definite boundaries from the rest of the world. This pool of light, this moment, it was safe. Maybe it was that feeling of fleeting shelter that caused Blaine to step forward, closing the space between him and Kurt.

“Kurt—,” he started. He had no idea what he wanted to say, all he knew was that he wanted to be closer to this wonderful boy.

“I—I’m glad you came over,” Kurt’s voice was slightly higher than usual and breathless, Blaine saw his eyes snap towards Blaine’s mouth just once, but it was over so quickly that he might have imagined it. Wished it, more likely.

“Me too,” Blaine whispered. He reached out and took his guitar from Kurt’s hands. His fingers brushed softly over Kurt’s, but Kurt didn’t pull them away. Instead they stood there in their little pool of protective light, staring at each other as the seconds sped by, until time ceased to have meaning. There were only blue eyes and brown ones, warm fingers and racing hearts.

It was Kurt who finally broke the silence.

“I hope you get home safely,” he said quietly, returning his hands to his sides.

“See you tomorrow?” Blaine didn’t for it to come out as a question, but he was so eager to see Kurt again, that he couldn’t help it.

“You have a horrible memory,” Kurt smiled, scooting him down the stairs. ”I’ll be seeing you.”

“I’ll be seeing you,” Blaine echoed.

He climbed onto his bike, and rode off into the night.

“I feel like we should break for tea or something,” Kurt says, closing the notebook.

“Why?” Mr Anderson had slowly shifted towards Kurt while Kurt had been reading, angling himself towards the other man, rather than sitting with his arms folded, like he had been.

“It’s just a good pause for our story, in case you were hungry or something,” Kurt says, shrugging as if he hadn’t really considered it.

“No, no, I’m fine. I could stay here for hours,” Mr Anderson says quickly.

Kurt tries very hard not to let his joy at those simple words flash across his face, but he knows he’s failing when he feels his lips twitch into a smile.

“Are you enjoying the story?” he asks.

“Very much,” Mr Anderson replies. “I want this to end happily, but I just can’t see how. They have everything stacked against them, and they haven’t even kissed yet.”

“It’s not so bad, though,” Kurt argues. “They spent those two weeks being the best friends boys can be. They shared summer days and whispered secrets, and there are still a few days left before Blaine has to leave Lima.”

“I know,” Blaine pouts, “I just want them to be happy.”

“What kind of story would it be if they were perfectly happy right from the start?”

“A boring one?”

“Exactly. There needs to be some drama.”

“So you’re saying that they will be perfectly happy eventually?”

“…”

“Eli?”

“… If you’ll excuse me, Mr Anderson, I just need the bathroom,” Kurt says hurriedly. Unfortunately, there is nothing quick about his getaway as he has to haul himself out of the chair and give his knees and back a moment to make their annoyance known.

Mr Anderson just says, “Oh,” softly and watches Kurt, Eli, leave, a small frown creasing the skin between his ridiculously bushy eyebrows.

As the door to the sunroom closes behind him, Kurt gasps and grabs a side table for support. A few tears threaten to slide down his face, so he closes his eyes and takes a steadying breath. Pull yourself together, Kurt, he says sternly to himself. Blaine needs you to be strong, if you’re ever going to see each other again.