To this day when I hear that song, I see you standing there on that lawn
Discount shades, store bought tan, flip-flops and cut off jeans
Somewhere between that setting sun, I'm On Fire and Born To Run
You looked at me and I was done, we were just getting started

I was singing to you, you were singing to me
I was so alive, never been more free
Fired up my daddy's lighter and we sang oh
Stayed there 'til they forced us out
We took the long way to your house
And I can still hear the sound
Of you saying, "Don't go"

Kurt and Blaine are being tossed against barriers, sitting--not standing--stage side at a Pink concert. The music was loud, and it would probably cause them hearing damage for years to come. They’d been standing for hours, practically the whole day. But it didn’t matter, they were having the times of their lives. Their hands clutched each other in the glow of the on stage pyrotechnics and they sang along to every song, waving their phones in the air in time to the beat. When ‘Perfect’ came on, they turned away from the stage completely, singing just for one another, just so the other would know how wonderfully imperfect they truly were.

They were the very last ones out of the arena, being herded out by security guards anxious to call it  night. They stumbled their way to Kurt’s Navigator, laughing themselves silly and clutching each other like their lives depended on it. At Blaine’s doorstep, Blaine clung to Kurt desperately, whispering goodbye over and over again, only to clutch him closer as he tried to make his way back to the car. It was reaching one in the morning, and Kurt laughed, taking the hand Blaine had clutching his arm, kissing it, and saying, “Love you babe. See you tomorrow.” And making a run for his car, Blaine crying out, “Don’t go!” Kurt opened the driver’s door and turned to Blaine yelling, “I’ll be back,” for all the world to hear.

When I think about you
I think about 17
I think about my old Jeep
I think about the stars in the sky
Funny how a melody sounds like a memory
Like a soundtrack to a July Saturday night
Springsteen

Blaine and Kurt spent Kurt’s seventeenth birthday, trucking around all the back roads of Lima, windows rolled down---despite Kurt’s protests of ‘Blaine my hair!---along with the sunroof open all the way. They drove all day, until well past the rising of the moon, at which point Kurt pulled over in a grassy meadow. He pulled Blaine out of the car and they laid on the grass, watching the stars, pointing out make believe constellations. Blaine was tucked into Kurt’s chest, singing softly, every P!nk lyric he could fathom, whispering them into Kurt’s skin. Making it the soundtrack of their summer.

I bumped in to you by happenstance
You probably wouldn't even know who I am
But if I whispered your name, I bet there'd still be a spark
Back when I was gasoline and this old tattoo had brand new ink
And we didn't care what your mom would think 'bout your name on my arm

Parked out in the hammock in Blaine’s backyard they traced each other’s tattoos with giggles. It had been a truly stupid thing to do, irresponsible, crazy even. But they were crazy in love, and what, pray tell, is the harm in a simple B on Kurt’s hip, and a K on Blaine’s? Nothing they saw really. Never mind trying to point out that in a couple years they might not be together, that was a thought they’d no sooner hear than if you tried to tell them Patti LuPone’s new book wasn’t perfect.

Baby is it spring or is it summer
The guitar sound or the beat of the drummer
You hear sometimes late at night on your radio
Even though you're a million miles away
When you hear Born In The USA
Do you relive those glory days from so long ago

Kurt tapped his foot as he waited for Rachel in the Starbuck’s closest to their apartment. It took him a minute to catch what he was tapping his foot to, but when he recognized it he smiled. Thinking of all the times he and Blaine had sung this in the car. Thinking of the time they’d sat in the bed of Burt’s pick up truck while Finn drove, singing it as loudly as they could for everyone to heard. Thinking of the time they’d sung it to Santana in class, how she’d claimed to hate it, but later came up and hug attacked them by Kurt’s car. Thinking of all the times Kurt had fallen asleep with Blaine whispering, “You are perfect, to me.” Into his neck.

It had been so long since Kurt had seen Blaine, let alone been with him. They’d ended it peacefully, on good terms, being friends for quite awhile, but when Blaine had made the move out to LA after college to pursue a career in on-screen acting, they hadn’t kept it up like they’d promised to. The thought made Kurt sad, especially when he thought about that gum wrapper ring he still wore on a chain around his neck some days. Just as a reminder that someone thought he was perfect. His only wish was that Blaine remembered that Kurt thought he was perfect too.

Funny how a melody sounds like a memory
Like a soundtrack to a July Saturday night
Springsteen, Springsteen, oh, Springsteen

A movement in his immediate peripheral vision snapped Kurt out of his reverie and he looked up. Into a pair of hazel eyes that he hadn’t seen in forever. And Blaine was standing there, pulling Kurt out of his chair and into a hug. Kurt smiled and wrapped his arms around Blaine, squeezing him, “Blaine! What’re you doing here?!” Blaine chuckled, “It’s funny isn’t it, how a melody sounds like a memory?” Kurt pulled back with a raised eyebrow, and Blaine shook his head, “I...I was in my trailer, running lines for this part Cooper got me...and I had my iPod was playing...and our song came on,” Blaine rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, “The next thing I know I’m on the landing strip of JFK dialing Rachel’s number to track you down.” Kurt smiled and hugged Blaine again, burrowing his face into Blaine’s neck, “Mm...perfect to me.” Blaine smiled, “I can’t believe I left.”
“I can’t believe I let you go.”
“It was stupid.”
“We were stupid.”
“Apart. We were stupid, apart. Together we’re...”
“Perfect.”