When Kurt awoke the next morning he kept his eyes closed for a minute, hoping against hope that when he opened them he'd see Blaine next to him. He tentatively reached out to Blaine's side of the bed but felt nothing but cool sheets. His eyes snapped open.

Still in Lima.

Sighing, he reached for his phone (so old, so lame) and read the display: 9:10 am—Sat, Sep 19. Well, that was different. More than two weeks had passed since “yesterday,” when he came home and fell asleep exhausted after a day of school, New Direction auditions, and bullying. Clearly, this time travel thing was messed up.

He looked over at his wooden valet and saw a green button down with a white collar, a black bow tie, black pants, and white shoes. White shoes after Labor Day. He didn't know why that was funny, but he giggled. Oddly, slung across the saddle on the back of the valet was a short trench coat which seemed too warm for September. He looked out the window, but the morning was bright and there wasn't a cloud in sight.

Kurt shrugged.  

He had no idea what the outfit meant or what he was supposed to do today. It was so important that he get everything right, but that was going to be difficult if today was going to be a regular, mundane Saturday. He could make any number of small mistakes, and, like how the air from a butterfly's wings could create a tsunami in Asia, he didn't want to make a small misstep and metaphorically wipe out Tokyo, Godzilla style.

Tokyo, of course, being a metaphor for his relationship with Blaine.  

Oh, God, he was cracking up.

He was startled and nearly dropped the phone when it buzzed in his hand. It was his sophomore year best friend, Mercedes.

Where are you? You were supposed to be here ten minutes ago.

He could barely remember how to text with just a number pad, but he managed to send back: On my way.

He still had no clue about the day's plans, but, clearly, he was already late, so he skipped the shower and hurriedly brushed his teeth and washed his face, slathering on a thin layer of sunscreen. Then he threw on the clothes hung on the valet, smiling at how baggy the pants were but also nearly swooning because they were so comfortable and it almost felt obscene how much his boys could bounce around in all that space. The trench coat seemed ridiculously unnecessary, but he grabbed it and threw it in the backseat of the Navigator as he sped off toward Mercedes' house.

Thirty minutes later, he understood the purpose of the trench coat: car wash. Apparently, New Directions was raising money to hire some big name choreographer so that the team had a chance of beating Vocal Adrenaline at sectionals. Kurt was a little stunned to realize that he had no memory of this at all. He remembered Jesse St. James doing some contract work, but that was much later.

He puffed out a frustrated breath. This was not going well.  How could he make sure that everything happened exactly like last time when he couldnt remember last time?  

As he polished the Navigator to a gleam, his eyes kept traveling to Finn, who was washing another car with Rachel not far away. Occasionally Quinn would flit by in her cheerleading outfit and whisper something in Finn's ear, which reminded Kurt with a jolt that Finn was with Quinn, not Rachel. At the same time, Kurt saw Finn looking at and talking to Rachel, and he was reminded of how perfect those two were together (despite—or perhaps because of—all the drama) and how much Rachel needed Finn to keep her grounded, because otherwise, she was ridiculously stupid at times. Kurt had tried to talk sense to her more than once when she went all Elphaba in New York, but Finn just had a way of bringing out Rachel's truly beautiful side. Without him, she was just brittle. And shrill. And annoying.

She was Kurt's best friend in "real" time, as he thought of it, but she still broke his heart with her stupid choices.  She needed Finn, maybe as much as Kurt needed Blaine.  Kurts heart ached both for Rachel and for himself.  

The whole day finally fell into place as Kurt and Mercedes were finishing the Navigator, and Mercedes asked, “What time are you picking me up tonight for the Sound of Music sing-along?”

Kurt had no idea, so he asked, “When do you think we should leave?”

Instead of answering, Mercedes answered the question with her own question, “Listen, Kurt, this is like the third time we've gone out. Can we just make it official?” and, holy shit, Kurt finally knew what day today was.

He reviewed it rapidly in his mind: Mercedes thought they were dating, so Kurt told her he loved Rachel for reasons he could no longer remember. Mercedes threw a rock through the window of his Navigator, and then Kurt came out to her. Today is the day that Kurt finally told someone out loud that he was gay. Or, wait, was that today? Kurt couldn't remember. He did remember that today was the trigger, and it seemed like such a huge thing at the time, but, now, it didn't seem like a big deal at all.

Mercedes put her hands on her hips and said, louder and much more aggressively, “Kurt, I asked you a question.”

“I'm gay,” Kurt blurted out, and then he quickly covered his mouth while he gasped. Oh, God. That was not what he meant to say. He had screwed it up. He had screwed it up big time. Now there would be no misunderstanding, no rock, no…whatever the Hell else happened. What if he never saw Blaine again?

“I-I-I I've gotta go,” he stammered, then he jumped in the Navigator and tore off.

He didn't know where he was going until he reached the city limits, then he realized he was headed to Westerville. He had to see Blaine. He wouldn't talk to him, but he had to see for himself that he hadn't just wiped him out of existence with his thoughtlessness.

As he sped down the highway, he thought about his great love. He hadn't seen Blaine for two days (or seventeen, or never—who could figure out all this time twisting?), and it seemed like a lifetime. His body ached to hold him, to kiss him, to see him smile, to hear him laugh. He bit his lip, but the tears streamed down his face anyway.

As he neared Dalton Academy, he saw a group of boys playing a pick-up game of soccer on one of the perfectly manicured playing fields. Kurt slowed his SUV when he spotted Blaine among them, his legs gorgeous in red shorts. Kurt pulled the Navigator to the side of the road and stepped out of the vehicle to get a closer look. It was a bit of a distance, but he could still spot Blaine unmistakably. Sweat had worked his hair loose from its ubiquitous coating of gel, and Blaine's t-shirt was glued enticingly to his chest as he ran along the field.

When the play came to a standstill for reasons that sport-impaired Kurt couldn't begin to fathom, Blaine suddenly looked up and saw Kurt. They both froze during a pause where it seemed as though the world stopped. Then Blaine smiled quizzically and began walking toward him, as he naturally would anyone who he thought needed assistance.

In a panic, Kurt ran back to his vehicle, jumped in the driver's seat, and tore away from Dalton as fast as he could.