Kurt spent their dinner date distracted. Blaine tried not to bring it up, to ruin the mood they'd been so keen on having during their dates, but it was impossible. Kurt barely spoke, ate only three bites, and spent the rest of the meal shoving his steak from one side of his plate to the other. After twenty minutes, wherein Blaine finished his chicken salad and both of their slices of cheesecake, he spoke.

"There's nothing we can force him to do." Kurt looked over at him. "I mean, not without him being willing."

"I– I know that," Kurt said. He sat his fork down and gave his plate a glum look. "I wish he was ready to talk. There's almost no time left and–"

"He's gotten somewhere though," Blaine reminded him. Their waitress arrived with a to-go box and the check. "Thanks," he said, then waited for her to get out of ear-shot. "It's not ideal, but it's better, right? For you, I mean. You're the reason I'm here, not him."

"Isn't he, though?" Kurt argued. He stabbed his steak and shoved it into the to-go box. "If he hadn't been such an awful bully for so long I wouldn't have needed you to come back. There still might have been teasing, but nothing like what he and the other jocks have done."

As their waitress returned for the bill, Blaine frowned across the table at Kurt. It was one way to think about the entire scenario, but part of him still couldn't bring himself to help Dave Karofsky any further. What good would force do–what good had it ever done? Kurt might be ready to forgive him for all the years of taunting and bruises, but Blaine couldn't fathom it. How could you let something like that go? Being shoved and ridiculed and mocked and harmed for who you were, wasn't something to just let go of, not when it always ended with–

The prongs of his fork bit into his hand. Blaine shut his eyes and swallowed. He was doing it again. The same way he always kept coming back to that–to himself–but it wasn't the same and this wasn't his life. He needed to move on from that already. There were nine weeks left and he'd gotten nowhere.

"Blaine?" Kurt's hand covered his and squeezed. "Are you okay? You look pale."

"Hmm? I'm–" Blaine stared at their hands, the fork handle poking out from their tangled fingers. It was probably for the best that he couldn't stay, there'd always be something between their lives. "I don't know."

The waitress returned with the check. Kurt signed the receipt and they compiled their loose dollars for a good tip. On the way out, Kurt pressed their sides together and tilted his head onto Blaine's shoulder. "I love you," he murmured. He pecked Blaine on the cheek and then giggled. "I think you need a shave, too, dear. Your cheek just stabbed my lips sixty times."

"What?" Blaine frowned and rubbed his cheek. Stubble. Thicker and coarser than anything Kurt had started growing since March. "I don't– I've never shaved before. I've never needed to."

They piled into Kurt's Navigator and started for home. Blaine rubbed his cheeks and jaw and chin vigorously as Kurt thundered along, but it was no use. The hair–because it was hair– wasn't coming off. It wasn't left over clippings from his haircut last weekend or some weird, flat porcupine stuck on his face. For the first time ever, he had facial hair.

"This shouldn't be happening," Blaine muttered as they pulled to a stop behind Burt's truck. "Just like my shirts keep not fitting and that stupid flu and now I'm growing a beard!"

Kurt unbuckled them and gave Blaine's cheek a little scratch. "I don't think it's reached beard level quite yet. If it grows like your curls, it won't be long though. What?"

Blaine glowered at him and started examining his chin in the fold-down mirror. "How? Is anything about this mission ever going to make sense?"

"Does life ever make sense?" Kurt countered. He closed the mirror and raised the visor. "Movie and a shaving party. Dad'll be thrilled."

They were back in the car twenty minutes later with an excited Burt in tow. Blaine had never seen a man more thrilled by the prospect of facial hair, especially when it wasn't his own. Burt sped them towards the convenience store, and hustled them both inside to show them "their new duds". For all the fits Kurt had thrown the last time they'd been here, he was all smiles now. Blaine shuffled along miserably and rubbed his cheeks, hoping it would magically stop growing. If anything, it felt thicker and he hated it.

"All right, so you've got razors now," Burt was saying. "And this shaving gel," he scooped a green canister off the shelf, "is my personal favorite. Smells like peppermint and it has aloe in it. Better for your skin than a lot of these."

"Peppermint?" Blaine echoed as Kurt looked over the label. He could forgive this nonsense if he got to smell like peppermint.

"Yeah, most of these just have that sort of musky smell to them," Burt said with a grimace. "That's what aftershave is for, but we'll save that for next y– later."

"Later, right."

Burt paid for the supplies and tried to sneak in a box of condoms. The lady at the register was friendly enough, but she asked too many questions about Burt's "sons". None of them bothered to correct her. Once they were home, and Kurt and Burt were busy arguing about the box of condoms Burt had insisted were for him and Carole when he'd bought them but were being forced into Kurt's hand now, Blaine looked the razor over.

It was sharp and shiny and purple at the handle. Back when he was a kid, his father had used an actual blade or gone to a barbershop. He guessed that was pretty old-fashioned now.

"Kurt, just take them, tuck them away, or whatever," Burt said loudly. He forced the box back into his son's hands.

"You said you were buying them for you and Carole, Dad! We don't need them!"

"But just to be safe–"

"Ugh!"

Kurt flung the box onto the table and grabbed his razor and canister. "Enough about condoms that we don't even need," he growled. "Teach us shaving."

The three of them piled into the main floor bathroom together and Burt started walking them through what to do. He lathered their cheeks up and then his own scruffy chin and walked them through it. Blaine grimaced the entire time, and when the doorbell rang, he darted out to let Carole and Finn in. Finn could take his place at the sink. He wouldn't need to know this for much longer anyway.

But it wasn't Carole or Finn or even Sam or Mercedes. Dave Karofsky blinked at him in the glow of the porch light.

"Um, do you have the wrong house? Or do you not know the proper etiquette for egging?"

The boy only stared at him, or more importantly, his jaw lathered in shaving cream. Oops.

"Blaine? Who is it?"

Kurt's clicking boots clomped towards the door and then he was peering over his shoulder, face half-smooth, half foamy. "Dave. Hi."

"You two shave?"

Blaine clenched his jaw at the question, the surprise, like the fact that they were two young men in a relationship meant they somehow weren't men at all.

"We, uh, we're just starting," Kurt said uncertainly. He cleared his throat and one of his hands settled on Blaine's hip, his thumb brushing slowly against the patch of skin between his shirt and jeans. It's okay the touch said. But it wasn't. Not with Karofsky standing in the doorway of Kurt's home. How did he even know where Kurt lived? "Is there a reason you're here?"

"I was, well, in the neighborhood," Dave offered. He glanced back at the street and then towards the house closest to Kurt's. Both where empty, but for how long, none of them could be sure. It was a huge risk for him to come over here to see Kurt for... what?

"So you just... stopped by to, um, say hi," Kurt said slowly. His hand tightened on Blaine's hip as Blaine's hand gripped the edge of the door harder. If he lunged at them, he'd get a door to the face.

"I, well–Finn's said where you live, since he's here so much, and," Dave took a deep breath and looked down at the soggy doormat. "Can we talk? A- about... about, um."

Kurt glanced behind them, where Burt's footsteps were drawing closer. "Guys, what's the hold up? You don't wanna leave that shaving cream on all night and it won't taste good if you're sneaking off for a make out."

"Dad, it's–"

Blaine gulped and took a step away from the door as Burt peered around his other shoulder. Burt knew who Dave Karofsky was, knew his face and his history and his taunts and bullying against Kurt. For a moment, he almost felt sorry for the other guy. If he was honest he might always feel bad for Dave. But not more than he had for Kurt at the other end of the brutality.

"What do you want?" Burt almost snarled. Kurt let go of Blaine's hip and took one of Burt's thick arms in his hands. Seven months ago, he couldn't quite get his hands all the way around them, but either Burt's arms had shrunk or Kurt had grown. He gave Burt's arm a hard tug as he tried to move onto the porch. Dave back-pedaled down the steps. It was the first time Blaine had ever seen him look scared, really scared of something besides himself.

"He wants to talk," Blaine cut in as Kurt struggled against his dad's bulk. "About things that shouldn't be talked about out here." He caught Dave's eyes in the porch light and slowly, uncertainly nodded at him. "It's okay, Burt. Kurt and I can handle it."

"I am not letting that–"

"Dad!" Kurt scolded. The crack in his son's voice seemed to finally make Burt pause. "Please, he just wants to talk to us, okay? We'll be fine. You can sit in the living room while we're in the kitchen. He just... let us help."

Burt stopped pulling them. He looked from Kurt's set face to Blaine's steady gaze and, after a moment, he nodded. But before he stepped away from the hallway he aimed his finger at Dave on the porch. "You try anything, so much as pinch one of them in my house, and you're dead."

As Burt stalked away to the living room, Blaine and Kurt stepped aside for Dave to come in. It took him a few moments to make it up the steps and as he passed through the doorway Blaine heard him swallow. He didn't blame him. If Burt had ever said anything like that to him, he'd be six blocks away and still running.

"Do you want something to drink?" Kurt offered as they passed the living room entrance and shuffled through the opening to the kitchen. Blaine looked at the opening between the two rooms as Kurt opened the refrigerator. Burt was in his chair, shaving cream still fluffy on one cheek with the television on, but his eyes glaring into the kitchen.

"Just some water, please."

"Blaine?"

"I'm fine," Blaine answered as he sat down at the table with Dave. He wasn't. He really wanted some cherry-pomegranate juice that Kurt had discovered a few weeks ago, but he couldn't be distracted with Karofsky right here. Kurt sat down with them, passed Dave his glass of water, set his own bottle of root beer in front of his chair, and forced a cup of juice into Blaine's fist. "Thanks."

"What do you want to talk about?" Kurt asked as he sat down beside Blaine.

Instead of answering, Dave swallowed half his glass of water and breathed deeply. "Good water."

Blaine snorted before he could stop himself. If he wasn't going to talk then this was pointless. "Seriously?"

"I–look, I'm– I don't know–I'm s-sorry," Dave stammered quietly. He rested his elbows on the table and gripped his hair in his fists. "I didn't know how to– and my parents won't ever–I'm just sorry."

"We know," Kurt told him. "I know. I think each of us reacted differently to realizing that we're all gay." He paused and Blaine waited for Dave to leap up and start spewing bullshit at them about how wrong Kurt's words were, but he didn't. His shoulders slumped and he met their eyes. "We get how you're feeling, well, a lot of it. So whatever advice or information you're here for–"

"I just wanted to apologize and," he shook his head and stood up. "I'm going to talk to my parents about transferring next year. The football team at McKinley's bad enough that my dad'll go for it. I can't–if I tell them now, they'll think I'm diseased or send me away. I don't know. They aren't like your dad."

"Mine weren't either," Blaine said. "They were... my brother's the only one who accepted me. My parents, my grandparents, none of them wanted anything to do with it. Just don't keep it a secret from yourself, okay? Even if you keep it a secret from them and friends here, don't lie to yourself about it anymore."

"I don't think I can," Dave admitted. He adjusted his backpack and backed away towards the front hall. "Thanks for... for everything. Both of you have been kinder than I've deserved this year."

Blaine took Kurt's hand as Dave thumped away down the hall. The door opened and closed before Burt appeared.

"You two all right?"

"Yeah," Kurt mumbled. He dropped his head onto Blaine's shoulder as Burt sat down. "He's going to transfer next year, and he's... accepted himself? Not enough to come out or anything, but he's acknowledging it."

"That's good," Burt said. He squeezed both of their shoulders and kissed Kurt's head. "You two go finish shaving. And wipe your shirt off, Blaine. Someone forget he had shaving cream on."

"I– oh my god!"

Blaine swiped a bit of shaving cream off his shoulder and dabbed it on Kurt's nose. "Just for that, you get to shave my face for me."

Easter and the boys' break from school flew by for Burt. Between Carole's parents, his own parents, and Kurt's aunt Catherine all coming to town this year, he didn't have a moment to spare. There was tons of talk about their wedding in the fall, where they'd live since Carole and Burt both had their own houses, and, of course, Kurt's adorable boyfriend. Catherine took an immediate liking to him from the moment Blaine appeared in the doorway. It was hard not to like him in his rainbow plaid jacket, bunny bow tie, and with a beautiful bouquet of tulips for Kurt. Half of Kurt's room was now covered in vases of flowers from Blaine and Burt was starting to suspect something was up. No boy should buy that many flowers. He was either in trouble or trying to win Kurt over.

After school started back, Burt thought he'd figured it out. Prom. It was all Kurt talked about from the Monday after break. His outfit, his hair, his shoes, Blaine's tie that should complement the pattern of his something or other. Burt couldn't keep up with any of the babble, try as he might, and he suspected Blaine's flowers, which were still pouring in on a weekly basis were connected with prom. But the one thing he'd always dreaded happening to Kurt on prom seemed the most unlikely. Sex was, surprisingly, the last thing he was worried about between them now. They'd talked, they loved each other, and that was where his involvement ended. The rest was up to their own choices.

"Dad, can you help me with something?"

Burt paused the television and glanced at Kurt's open door. For the first time in weeks, Blaine hadn't come home with him. Instead, Kurt had thundered down the stairs the moment he'd gotten home to do something Burt could only guess at. Probably more prom decorations or his outfit or even something Glee related.

"Coming."

There were several outfits set out on Kurt's bed, another four or five draped over his desk, and a suitcase half packed at the foot of the bed. Glee Club's trip to Nationals on Thursday. How could he have forgotten? Blaine must be at his place packing, too. For the first time ever, the boys were going to New York City. It wasn't how Burt had hoped to start May–a quiet house just didn't feel right anymore–but he was proud of the three of them for finally getting so far.

"You've been to New York, right?" Kurt asked as he bopped towards Burt and lugged him towards the bed. "What's the weather usually like in May? Which scarf will look best against the buildings?"

"Uh, me and your mom went up for Christmas and New Year's," Burt said as he looked the outfits over. If he was brutally honest, they'd spent most of that trip in their room between a blizzard and their anniversary. He'd save that story for when Kurt turned thirty. Now probably wasn't the best time. Kurt held one outfit up then switched it out for the second, then third. "You going to start accessorizing to buildings now? That purple shirt's nice. It new?"

He looked around the room as Kurt held the purple shirt up to himself and looked it over in the mirror on the wall. Flowers. Everywhere. It was insane Kurt wasn't sneezing constantly. Even someone with no allergies couldn't handle this many bouquets. Roses, tulips, daisies, lilies in reds, whites, yellows, and purples.

"He must have a hefty wallet to turn your room into a flower shop," Burt remarked as Kurt carefully set the outfit in his open suitcase. "There a, uh, occasion I'm missing?"

Kurt paused as he patted the shirt down in his suitcase and set the empty hanger on his bed. "He's... it's sweet."

"It stops being sweet after three dozen," Burt said. He scooped up a vase of tulips and brushed his fingertips along the pedals. "They're beautiful. Your mom would have loved seeing this."

"What? A boy who buys me flowers?"

"Seeing how happy you are with that boy buying you flowers." Burt sighed and set the vase back down. "You gonna spill or not?"

"He's–I think it's... compensation? Him trying to, like, not feel guilty about leaving by trying to, I dunno, fit it all in now," Kurt mused. Burt looked around at the vases. Six across the top of Kurt's desk, two each on his night-stands, another four on the dresser. "One for every Valentine's Day he'll miss, I guess."

Burt nodded. It made sense in an awful sort of way. Thinking about Blaine leaving hadn't been easy six months ago. But now, a few days away from May it put a wrench in his throat and gut. In two months his son's heart would be shattered all over the universe; it would take forever to re-collect it all. He might never manage it. Even Burt hadn't completely found himself again after Elizabeth had died. Instead, that time with her became a part of himself.

"It's such a– how are you holding up?" Burt said instead.

Kurt shrugged a little and sat down beside the two discarded outfits. "I'm okay, I think. I keep trying to imagine what this summer's going to be like, you know? But all I can see is him and me at the pool or him going to the lake with us and getting sunburned and learning to boogey board." Kurt plucked at one of the shirts for a moment. "How much did it hurt? When mom..."

Burt sighed and sat down beside him. Kurt didn't even scold him for sitting on his neatly pressed clothes. "A lot. I'm not gonna lie to you. Me and your mom, we had some good years together. I still catch myself getting excited to tell her when you do something she'd have laughed about. The ache," he rubbed a fist over his chest, "it never really goes away. It changes after a while. Everyone always says it hurts less, but I think all that changes is that the space around your heart goes numb. It can't handle how much it hurts to lose someone, so it cuts you off from that pain."

Beside him, Kurt swallowed and looked at the vases on his night-stand.

"But it does get better," Burt continued after a moment. "It never goes away, but you don't think about them as much. Eventually, you smile when you do. Then some day, if you're lucky, you find someone you can love again. What was numbed starts feeling in a different way again."

"Carole," Kurt whispered. He sniffled and wiped his eyes. "I'm glad you have her, Dad. She's so wonderful and seeing you smile again, after so long... I've missed it."

I'm going to miss yours more. Burt cleared his throat and eased Kurt into a tight, one arm hug. "We're gonna get through this. Together, just like last time, okay?"

Kurt sniffled again and hugged him so hard Burt's breath caught. "You make it sound like he's already gone."

Burt only held him tighter as he looked around at the vases of flowers again. He wasn't gone yet, Blaine was still here, but he, like Burt, was already preparing for the inevitable. As much as he talked this wasn't like last time. Nothing about this was like losing Elizabeth. With Elizabeth there'd been a beginning, years of middle, and then months at the end. For Kurt and Blaine, they'd started when the months were already counting down to goodbye.

"You're always going to have part of him with you," Burt murmured against Kurt's hair. "Nobody can ever take what you carry in your heart."

"Wh- what if I want them, too?"

Burt froze as Kurt leaned out of his embrace and wiped his eyes. "What do you mean?"

Kurt hiccupped and shook his head. "It's stupid, but I keep wishing..."

When Kurt trailed off and reached for the box of tissues between the flower vases, Burt had to think before he got it. He wished he hadn't. Kurt wished someone–maybe Blaine–would take his feelings and love away when June seventeenth finally arrived. Being saved from the heartache, the reminders, the echoing loss of something neither of them had yet to fully realize. Those were what Kurt wanted and Burt couldn't blame him for that. In the months before Elizabeth had died, he'd often wanted for the same thing. Some sort of relief from the desperate ache carving him hollow. But now, he'd never trade a moment for that mindless void.

"I know," Burt said. "When your mom... I did, too. And Carole. But these moments, these memories you're making together, nothing can ever replace that, even happy emptiness. If you lose the pain, you lose the love and the greatness its brought to your heart. Maybe it would be easier, but you'd never know everything you do now."

"Maybe." Kurt blew his nose and stood up. "So purple is a good New York color?"

Burt watched him shuffle off to his closet and return with a dozen shades of purple in shirts, pants, vests. A year ago he probably would have left Kurt to it, but instead he pulled out the desk chair and let Kurt parade the outfits out, until his suitcases were full and a lumpy pile was on his bed. Soon enough those suitcases would be packed up and they wouldn't come back. At least, Burt hoped they wouldn't. Kurt's life was already beyond him and Lima and McKinley. Everything for Kurt was bigger and brighter and, he hoped, happier. But as Kurt picked up a call from Blaine and started giggling and gushing over scarves, Burt knew his son would never be as happy without Blaine. After June, he might never be happy again and that scared the hell out of him.