“Kurt, while I can’t deny a young Harrison Ford’s appeal, when I suggested roleplay, I didn’t have Indiana Jones in mind.”

Kurt looks up from the box he’s searching through to raise his eyebrow at Blaine and even though he’s trying to look annoyed, Blaine can see his cheeks are pink, something that always happens when Blaine makes even a slight reference to their eventual sex life. “I thought you didn’t mind helping me try to find clothes to give Sam.”

“I don’t. It’s just—you have a lot of boxes of clothes.”

Kurt would like to tell Blaine he’s exaggerating. He really would, but it would be a lie. There’s no denying it now that they’ve spend the past two hours in the Hummel-Hudsons’ basement, sifting through boxes of clothes Kurt’s not wearing anymore.

“It’s not all clothes I don’t wear anymore, by the way,” is all Kurt replies. “Some of them, I just never got around to unpacking after the move, and then with Dalton and the uniforms, I didn’t feel the need. But now I realise that most of them are way out.”

“So they’re all clothes you’re not wearing anymore,” Blaine finishes. “You know, you could open your own thrift store.”

“No one but me wants to wear most of those clothes, sadly.”

“I’d wear them.”

“Oh, honey. You’re way too short for that,” Kurt coos, his voice going higher and a smirk twisting his lips.

Blaine grabs a pair of argyle socks and throws them at Kurt’s head, hitting him square in the middle of the forehead. Kurt mock gasps before glaring and using balled up white gloves in retaliation. He misses Blaine’s head by a foot.

“Ah!” Blaine says loudly, pointing at Kurt. “You missed!”

“If you could stop stating the obvious and retrieved those gloves, that’d be a lot more constructive. Those were in the pile of things I’m giving Sam.”

“There’s no way he’s wearing those, just saying,” Blaine says as he crawls deeper under the basement staircase, among the boxes, to try to find the gloves.

“Why is that?” he faintly hears Kurt say. Between the noise made by the washing machine running a cycle of Kurt’s shirts and the mountain of clothes standing in front of him, his voice comes to Blaine muffled the farther he gets away from him.

“Do you really see Sam wearing white leather gloves? I’m pretty sure this goes in the category of things only you would wear.”

“People don’t know what they’re missing out on.” Kurt sighs and Blaine hears him tearing the tape off another box.

Focusing on his task, Blaine continues crawling on his knees, trying to fit in between the many boxes to find the damned gloves. Once he finally spots them, he stubs his elbow on the corner of something very hard in his hurry to reach them.

“Ouch!” he cries out, cradling his elbow and sitting back on his heels. “Ow, ow, ow I hit my funny bone, ugh.”

Kurt awes and chuckles. “Do you want me to kiss it better?”

Blaine grins. “Yeah,” he replies and replaces his grin with a pout as soon as Kurt starts crawling on his knees towards him. Blaine pushes his elbow up towards Kurt and smiles when he softly presses his lips to it, staring up at him through his eyelashes all the while and damn, Blaine’s hyperactive imagination is picturing another situation in which Kurt would be staring up at him with his lips on his skin and—

“Better?”

“Yes, thank you.” Blaine pecks Kurt’s lips quickly before leaning forward and retrieving the gloves, hiding his flustered face from view.

He’s about to follow Kurt back when he sees what he hit his arm against. It’s an old turntable, one that clearly wasn’t made to look vintage but actually is. Letting his eyes travel down, Blaine sees it’s resting on an amplifier that’s just as old and then sees two large wooden speaker boxes. His eyes widen and his lips part slightly.

“Oh my god, Kurt,” he breathes out, his eyes leaving the treasure he found to look at his boyfriend. “You didn’t tell me you had a turntable.”

“It’s Carole’s, I think,” Kurt answers with a shrug. “I doubt it works.”

“Are you kidding me? Those things are totally sturdy. It could survive anything.”

“Even almost two decades in a dank basement? Come on, we have to finish this before my dad sees the mess and has another fit over how irresponsibly I spend my money.”

“No, wait, I’m serious. This is awesome. Can we take it out and try it?” Blaine puts on his best pleading face and pouts.

Kurt’s mouth twitches and then he sighs. “When we’re done with the clothes.”

Blaine cheers and then hurries back to the box he was digging through. While he was working slowly before, he is now quickly sorting clothes and Kurt doesn’t miss the change.

“If I’d known that ancient technology made you so enthusiastic, I would have let you look at my dad’s cellphone before we started working, you know.”

“Shut up,” Blaine replies. “You don’t understand.”

Kurt shrugs and goes back to work.

An hour and a half later, Blaine knots the last bag shut and lets out a long sigh before slumping on the couch. “So many clothes,” he moans.

Kurt chuckles and sits next to him, leaning into his side and resting his head on Blaine’s shoulder. “Thank you for helping me.”

“Sam’s a good guy. It’s the least I could do. Now I’m exhausted, though.” Blaine lets his weight fall against Kurt until the other boy chuckles and wraps his arms around Blaine’s shoulders.

“Too exhausted for the turntable?”

Blaine’s eyes open and he grins. “Can I really take it out?”

“I doubt Carole will mind. She nearly threw it out when we moved.”

Blaine jumps to his feet and heads back to the mountains of boxes the Hummel-Hudsons never unpacked. It takes him a few minutes to clear a path but once he’s done, he hurriedly moves the heavy objects to the coffee table. Kurt watches him the entire time, not moving to help, even when he sees Blaine struggling with the speakers.

Once he’s done, he collapses back on the couch and wipes his sweaty forehead. He leans into Kurt while he catches his breath, studying what’s in front of him.

“Not to burst your bubble or anything, but there’s no way this is still functional,” Kurt comments. He’s playing with the few curls that broke free from Blaine’s gel and are now hanging on his forehead and Blaine closes his eyes for a moment to better enjoy the feeling.

“Not after I’m done with it, it won’t.”

“It won’t be functional…?” Kurt says and Blaine can see the face he’s making in his head without having to open his eyes: he’s squinting and biting back a smirk.

“It won’t not be functional.”

“Double negative? Really?”

Blaine hums and leans up to kiss Kurt quickly, smiling when Kurt chases his lips to prolong the moment. “Did you ever notice the sound system in my living room?” When Kurt shakes his head, Blaine continues. “If you had, you’d have seen that most people would call my dad – quote – batshit crazy – unquote.”

“And?”

“This is the only thing we have in common,” Blaine finishes in a mutter. He sinks to his knees between the couch and the table and wipes the plastic cover of the turntable. His hand leaves a trail in the dust covering it and he sighs. “My poor girl, people haven’t been treating you very well, have they?”

“Are you talking to it?”

“Shut up,” Blaine mutters.

Kurt joins him on the floor and draws a heart in the dust before bumping his shoulder against Blaine’s. “So, want to see if it works?”

“Can I?” Blaine says and he groans when his voice sounds stupidly hopeful.

“Of course you can. My dad and Carole kept their old records, they’re somewhere around here.”

Blaine grins and then starts working, studying bits and parts Kurt cannot put a name on. He’s making desperate noises and muttering things that sound like ‘barbaric’ and ‘disheartening’ and this is Kurt’s cue to leave him alone.

“Everything alright down there?” Burt asks him when he enters the kitchen. Kurt feels like his father is studying his appearance as he watches him cross the kitchen, as if he expected Kurt to wear his shirt inside out or Blaine’s pants.

“Yeah. We’re done with the clothes and now Blaine is having a conversation with Carole’s old turntable. I decided to let them have their moment together.”

“That old thing?” Carole says, sitting next to Burt at the counter. She takes a sip of the cup of tea she’s clutching and smiles when she catches Kurt’s eyes on it. “There’s more in the tea pot on the oven, honey.”

Kurt crosses the kitchen and reaches in the cupboard for two cups. “Yeah. He hit his elbow against it when we were looking through boxes and now it’s like he wants to marry it. I would be jealous if it weren’t a thirty years old piece of musical equipment,” Kurt deadpans as he fills the cups and prepares one to his taste and one to Blaine’s.

“It was Christopher’s,” Carole says quietly without looking up from her magazine. “It was his pride and joy. I used to joke and say I could forget about having children as long as this thing was working.” She pauses and puts her hand on Burt’s arm. “I packed it up so Finn wouldn’t break it. Tell Blaine if he makes it work again, I’ll talk Burt out of trying to scare him.”

“Will do,” Kurt says, ignoring his father’s disgruntled protest. Kurt takes a tray from the top of the fridge and lays the two cups on it, along with a bowl of strawberries he found in the fridge, before carefully crossing the room again and going down the stairs. He finds Finn sitting where he was minutes ago, watching what Blaine is doing with intent. “I brought you tea.”

“I don’t like tea,” Finn says.

“Not you, dummy. Blaine.” Kurt rolls his eyes and Blaine chuckles, taking the cup Kurt is handing him and thanking him. “How’s it going?” Kurt sits on the couch next to his step-brother and pops a strawberry in his mouth, not missing the way Blaine stares at his mouth the whole time.

“Not good. It looks like someone ripped the wires out. Most of the connections are toast.”

“It was my dad’s, you know,” Finn comments, studying a strawberry like he wonders if it’s going to poison him if he eats it.

“Your mom told me, yes.” Kurt bites his lip when he puts the pieces together and realises it’s quite possible the wires were ripped out of it, just like some of his own mother’s belongings were handled roughly by his grieving father. “Carole says if you can make it work, she’ll make sure my dad stops trying to chase you away.”

“I don’t think anything can stop Papa Hummel from terrifying me any chance he gets.” Blaine fakes a shudder.

Half an hour later, Kurt yawns loudly and glances at Finn, who looks just as bored. Blaine has his head halfway buried in one of the speaker boxes, his arm bent at an awkward angle to hold a flashlight inside.

“Oh my god, who the hell put that together? It looks like they smashed the crossover into place. I mean, I have to admire the ingenuity, I personally wouldn’t have used blue tack in lieu of soldering, but this really isn’t time-proof.”

“Is he always like that?” Finn asks, lolling his head to the side against the back of the couch to look at Kurt.

“Like what?”

“Like he thinks he’s so good.”

“Condescending? It’s on and off. Usually it depends on what he had for lunch.”

“I can hear you, FYI,” Blaine comments, his voice muffled.

Kurt smirks at Finn and rolls his eyes. They both jump when Blaine suddenly straightens up, wiping his hands on his pants after letting the flashlight fall to the carpeted floor with a dull clunk. “I’ll need supplies. I’ll be right back,” Blaine says quickly and runs upstairs.

“Bye Blaine, it was nice seeing you!” Kurt calls after him, his eyebrow quirked. Blaine doesn’t come back. "Can you help me with something?" he asks Finn a few minutes later.

"Depends."

"You see those bags? I need to put them in my car."

"You mean I have to move?" Finn says in a long-suffering moan, sinking lower on the couch. "Fine," he adds, sighing for show. "But you make me a batch of your brownies, it's been ages and I have a chocolate craving."

Kurt figures it's a fair enough deal and they both get up, each grabbing one of the heavy bags and slowly dragging them upstairs.

"What the hell's in there?" Finn asks, his breath short.

Kurt stops and bites his lip. He needs to lie and quickly. "Just—clothes I'm giving to charity. It was about time I sorted through my boxes."

Finn hums and nods before starting to move towards the front door again.

Kurt and Finn are just done hauling the bags of clothing in Kurt’s Navigator’s trunk when Blaine’s car pulls into their driveway. He waves at them and then goes back inside, a canvas back clutched in his hand.

“Your boyfriend is weird, man,” Finn comments as they hear the front door slamming shut. Kurt bites back his smile. “Why are you smiling?”

“It’s the first time you call him my boyfriend,” Kurt answers, feeling stupid.

It’s Finn’s turn to roll his eyes and Kurt is about to playfully hit him on the arm when Finn reaches over and ruffles Kurt’s hair. The playful hit turns into a real one and Finn yelps. Calling him a wimp, Kurt goes back inside and downstairs, where he finds Blaine manipulating something that looks potentially dangerous.

“What’s that?”

“Soldering iron. I’m doing damage control, really.”

“You know how to solder?” Kurt asks incredulously as he sits on the edge of the couch.

“Last time I tried I set something on fire,” Blaine answers dismissively, his eyes fixed on what he’s doing; coating tiny wires with some sort of metal. His brows are furrowed in concentration and there’s a look of determination on his face that makes him look years younger.

Kurt feels something tighten inside his chest as he watches Blaine work. It's bubbling up in his ribcage, threatening to choke him. The three words he doesn't dare say yet are there, right there, on the tip of his tongue but he can't say them, can't risk it just yet. To keep them from spilling out, he leans forward and presses a kiss to Blaine's temple, who looks up and grins.

Kurt sinks to the floor and scrambles on his knees until he can sit down on his heels next to Blaine. “What are you doing exactly?”

“I’m not sure. I’m just reproducing what I saw my father do. I mean,” he pauses and makes a silly face. “He’s not a very good teacher so he never actually explained it in details, but I know this is what I need to do to make it work.”

“Anything I can do to help?”

“Unscrew the speakers out of this other one for me? Screwdriver’s over there. You know how?” Kurt stares at Blaine until he looks up and then he winces. “That was mean, wasn’t it? I’m so sorry, honey.”

Kurt rolls his eyes. “You’re lucky you’re gorgeous. And yes, I know how to unscrew screws. My dad’s a mechanics. I literally grew up with power tools in my hands.”

Blaine is quiet for a second. “That’s what she said,” he whispers before bursting out laughing.

“Oh my god, are you for real?” Kurt moans and pushes his shoulder. He bites hard on the inside of his cheeks to keep from laughing.

“Careful! Hot metal-melting thing in my hand! Fire hazard!” Blaine calls, moving the soldering iron around wildly.

Their laughter brings Finn down and with his help - not that Blaine lets him do anything technical, but he comes in handy when there are heavy things to move around - half an hour later Blaine is plugging the turntable and amplifier in the wall, grinning from ear to ear.

"What now?" Finn asks from his spot on the floor, where he's eating his way through an entire box of cookies, spilling crumbs all over himself and the carpet.

"Well," Blaine says, reaching down to grab two cookies and handing one to Kurt, who's perched on the couch. "We need records."

"Is that a code for 'Finn you have more heavy stuff to move around'?" Finn asks warily, squinting.

Blaine gives him his best grin, the one that reduces Kurt's knees to jelly, and Finn rolls his eyes. "Please?"

“You know where they are, right? You helped my dad move them there in the first place, Finn,” Kurt adds.

"No wonder you get two get along so well," he mutters before getting up. "That doesn't mean you can make out when I'm there!" he then cries out when Blaine and Kurt smile at each other and exchange a kiss. He walks away from them, muttering 'there’s a time and a place, dudes, seriously' under his breath.

Blaine joins Kurt on the couch while they wait and takes his hand. Kurt smiles and leans into him.

"I used to defend you, you know." Kurt turns his head and meets Blaine's puzzled eyes. "When my friends called you a hipster."

"I'm not a hipster," Blaine replies in a huff.

"Oh, honey, have you seen you?" When Blaine frowns, Kurt continues. "I mean, the turned-up cuffs of your jeans could have been interpreted as a questionable take on current fashion, and the cardigans as a wink to nerd chic, but the fact that I fear you might break up with me to marry a turntable kind of killed all of your hopes to ever save yourself the horror of being called a hipster. Sorry."

"He has a point," Finn comments, a smirk on his face, moving the last of four milk crates near the coffee table.

"Hush, you," Blaine snaps, crossing his arms over his chest. "I'm not a hipster! You guys don't understand—"

"Obviously," Kurt cuts him, smirking, too, at how defensive Blaine suddenly is.

"—it's not because vintage is cool, okay? Most of the time vintage is a synonym for overpriced or broken. But this is different. It's the entire experience of listening to music on a turntable. It's—you don't just double-click on a title or put in a CD. There are steps and you need to be careful and even when you've done all of this, it's not really satisfying because the sound kind of sucks, but it's—it's. You'll see."

Kurt raises his eyebrows and bites back a smile. Finn is staring blankly at Blaine, not sure if he's allowed to laugh and when he meets Kurt’s eyes, he mouths ‘an experience’ with a disbelieving look etched on his face.

Blaine gets off the couch and kneels in front of one of the crates, swiftly looking through the records. Kurt is about to make fun of him for talking to himself and being way too intense, but then Blaine lets out a small 'a-ha!' and pulls a record out. Finn peers over his shoulder and bursts out laughing.

"Supertramp?!"

"I'm aware it lacks power-house rock anthems to satisfy you, Finn, but anyway your taste in music sucks, so shut up," Blaine snaps. Kurt snorts and extends his hand to high-five Blaine. "Just a warning: there's a 80% chance it will suck. I need to adjust a bunch of things," Blaine warns as he slowly slips the record from out of the paper envelope. “The needle’s in a terrible state but I managed to straighten it a little. You’ll have to buy a new one, eventually.”

Kurt only nods. He has to admit that Blaine’s enthusiasm is rubbing off on him and he’s eager to see if it will work. Finn, too, looks suddenly enthralled and they all wait in silence as Blaine finishes preparing the table and then carefully positions the needle on the record.

It doesn’t take more than ten seconds of the opening bars of harmonica before Burt and Carole appear at the bottom of the stairs, matching grins on their faces. They join Kurt and Finn on the couch and Blaine is positively beaming.

“Wait, it sounds weird, don’t you think?” Burt comments after a while, frowning and crossing the room to crouch next to Blaine.

Blaine hums and nods, looking seriously at the amplifier. That’s when something Kurt never thought he’d see happens: his father and Blaine start discussing like two old friends, fiddling with buttons and listening intently before adjusting other things.

“I think this is the first real conversation they have without either of them looking uneasy or petrified with fear,” Kurt says in a awed whisper.

“I never thought I’d live to see this day,” Carole replies and when Kurt glances at her, she’s smiling. “Your dad likes him, you know.”

“I know. I guess—” he pauses and looks fondly at Blaine and his father, quietly arguing. Burt slaps Blaine’s hand away from the amplifier, which causes Blaine to huff and do the same in retaliation. “Dad has a hard time letting someone else—” Kurt hesitates. “Someone else care that much for me. He feels his job is being stolen.”

“It’s not easier for me with Finn’s girlfriends.”

Kurt nods and squeezes her hand briefly.

“Kid, I don’t care if you’re dating my son, you have to stop talking right now and listen to me. I know how this works. I was alive when it was popular and I’m saying we need more treble,” Burt says sharply, making everyone jump.

“Yes, sir,” Blaine mumbles, red to his hairline. He sits on his heels and looks down.

“Dad, are you intimidating my boyfriend again?” Kurt says to be heard over the music, which his father had been putting increasingly higher, as if to test the speakers. “Remember what I told you about doing it?”

“What am I supposed to do, then, if I can’t make him look like he’s about to throw up all over the carpet? It’s my job.” With that, he raises his hand and makes the movement to ruffle Blaine’s hair but stops mid-way, eyeing it suspiciously. “You need to lay off the hair products, kid, or you’ll melt your brains right out of your ears.”

“That’s enough, Dad,” Kurt warns. “You don’t want to scare him out of the house.”

“If I manage to scare him out of your bed, I’ll be happy.”

“Dad!” Kurt yelps and he’s pretty sure he heard Blaine let out a whimper of fear.

“You can start breathing again. It’s all jokes. You’re okay, Blaine.” Burt grins at him and then turns the volume knob roughly, making them all jump. “D’you hear that?” Burt yells over the music. “That’s music! Not the crap you kids listen to these days!”

Kurt gives his father a tight smile, his fingers in his ears to try to muffle the loud music. He’s glad he did it when Burt starts singing along - or rather, scream - the lyrics.

“Maybe I'm mistaken expecting you to fight, or maybe I'm just crazy, I don't know wrong from right!”

Finn lets out a pained groan when Carole joins in on the singing. They keep this up until the song ends and then, finally, Burt lowers the volume, a large smile on his face. Finn, Kurt and Blaine’s respite doesn’t last long because Burt and Carole start singing on the next song, laughing like they’re teenagers all over again.

They keep this up until the first side is over. Kurt lets out a breath of relief when the room falls silent, the only sound the crackle of the needle looping in an empty groove of the record. Carole breaks it by sighing loudly.

“Time to be a grown-up again, Burt. Let’s go make dinner, we have to feed our three teenage boys.” She gets up and pats the turntable as she walks past it. “Blaine, honey, thank you for fixing it.”

Blaine freezes when Carole bends down to kiss his forehead. “Don’t mention it,” he mumbles, waving his hand dismissively.

“Finn,” she continues. “We could use your help.” She gives her son a meaningful glance until he gets up and leaves after her and Burt.

“I think you’ve been adopted by my parents,” Kurt says, joining Blaine on the floor and taking his hand.

Blaine looks at their entwined hands for a moment before glancing up. “I’m still scared of your dad, though.”

Kurt laughs and nods. “As you should.”

“There’s this record I’ve seen earlier,” Blaine says, walking on his knees to the nearest milk crate. “Get up and close your eyes.”

Kurt sends his boyfriend a questioning glance but obliges, waiting as Blaine hurriedly changes the records. “Can I open my eyes?”

“Yes,” Blaine says from closer than Kurt had expected and when he opens his eyes, Blaine is standing a few feet from him, smiling.

A soft jazz rhythm starts and Kurt’s face breaks into a grin. Fly Me To The Moon has always been his parents’ favourite song and he remembers his mother singing it to him when he was younger.

“May I have this dance?” Blaine asks politely, extending his hand forward.

“Yes, you may,” Kurt replies, his cheeks aching from how much he’s smiling.

As Blaine takes his hand and presses his own to the small of Kurt’s back, Kurt’s mind fills with prom and slow-dancing and how much he wishes Blaine will agree to go with him when he gathers the courage to ask.

“Another reason I love turntables,” Blaine whispers in his ear, sending a chill down Kurt’s spine when Blaine’s lips brush his earlobe. “Is that it sounds old-timey. It makes me feel like I’m living in Sinatra’s era and I find it totally romantic. This is what I imagine nostalgia to sound like.”

Kurt can’t disagree, not when he’s pressed against Blaine and swaying with him while he murmurs some of the lyrics in his ear.

“Dalton’s poisoned your mind,” Kurt whispers.

“Maybe,” Blaine whispers back. He spins Kurt before pulling him closer again, holding him tightly. “But you see? I’m not a hipster. I’m dapper. The difference is important.”

“If you say so. I guess I can live with a dapper boyfriend, yeah.”

Blaine hums and presses a kiss to Kurt’s cheek.

“Fill my heart with song
Let me sing for ever more
You are all I long for
All I worship and adore
In other words, please be true
In other words, in other words
I love... you.”

Kurt closes his eyes tightly and wraps Blaine in a hug, clinging to him so his knees won’t give in. Blaine returns it and nuzzles Kurt’s neck, making him shiver.

“So, do you understand why I love turntables?”

“I think I can see the appeal, yes,” Kurt whispers. “I’m mostly happy that I found what makes you tick, though.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” Kurt says, taking a step back and dragging his hands down Blaine’s arms to hold his hands. “We know we have a lot of interests in common.” Blaine nods. “And we both know I love fashion obsessively, while you, um.”

“I dress like an old man, yes, go on,” Blaine completes with a smile.

“Yes, exactly. And music’s that for you. I enjoy listening to it and singing but you—you love it with all your soul. I’d never seen you this excited before.”

“That’s because you didn’t see me after we first kissed and you agreed to be my boyfriend,” Blaine says sheepishly.

Kurt grins and leans down to kiss Blaine. “My point is, I love that I found what makes you vibrate with enthusiasm.”

“There’s something else that would make me vibrate, you know,” Blaine says in what he probably thinks is a sultry voice, letting go of Kurt’s hands to grip his hips.

“Don’t you dare finish that thought. Let’s not ruin the moment with your ill-timed libido, alright? It’s not very dapper to want to deflower one’s boyfriend.”

“I really hope you kids are joking,” Burt’s voice booms from the staircase.

Blaine’s eyes widen and he jumps away from Kurt, nearly tripping over the coffee table in his hurry to get away. Burt walks past them and heads for the laundry room. They hear the freezer open and then close and Burt crosses the room again, a bag of frozen vegetables in his hands.

“Dinner’s ready in twenty minutes. I will send Finn to check on you two every five minutes and I want to hear voices at all times.”

“Dad,” Kurt groans, staring at the ground. “We were only joking.”

“Yeah well this record was playing when you were conceived, so it’s in your genes to—”

“Dad!” Turning to Blaine, Kurt glares at him. “I will make you pay for the therapy I’ll need to rid myself of the images.”