The hall’s full of white bodies. Kurt leans over the railing at the top of the steps, satchel slipping from his shoulder to the crook of his elbow. He squints at the two fencers in the centre, trying to spot the initials embroidered on the back of their padded jackets.

One of them hops to the side to avoid a jab with their opponent’s sword and Kurt spots the initials ‘B.A’ in black on the back of his coat. A small smile settles on his face and he drops his bag to the floor so he can lean properly on the railing.

Blaine’s moves are lithe but aggressive; he doesn’t rush blindly into an attack, biding his time for the perfect opportunity. But when he does attack, it’s all hard, vicious strokes that force his opponent to back up quickly, but not quickly enough. Blaine catches his opponents on the chest with a quick jab, the referee calls times and the match ends.

Blaine salutes his opponent, who mirrors the action, sticks his sword under his arm and holds his hand out for his opponent to shake. His opponent flips him the bird and claps him on the shoulder. They walk over to the benches lining the side of the room together, arms slung around each others shoulders. Blaine tosses the foil into his open bag on the floor and removes his helmet, shaking his hair out. It’s not been gelled today and it hangs in tight curls around his jaw and stick to his temples, damp with sweat.

Kurt shoulders his bag and walks down towards him, trying to sneak up on him. Unfortunately, Blaine’s trained reflexes spot him when he’s about halfway down and his face break into a grin. Kurt’s heart swells and he trots down the last few steps to meet him.

“Hi,” He whispers breathlessly, dropping his satchel on the floor next to Blaine’s bag.

“Hi yourself,” Blaine replies, pressing a kiss to his cheek and splaying his still-gloved hands across Kurt’s hips. “Have you been watching?”

Kurt nods, casually looping his arms around Blaine’s neck and fiddling with the zip at the top of the jacket. “I’ve never seen fencing before; never even heard of it, actually.”

Blaine laughs, eyebrows scrunching together. “And, did you like it?” He asks evenly, slipping his hands into the back pockets of Kurt’s jeans.

He’s pleasantly surprised when Kurt kisses him suddenly, hands withdrawing to cradle Blaine’s jaw. They’re both breathless when Kurt pulls away, smoothing the damp curls off of Blaine’s forehead.

“It was beautiful… you-you were beautiful.” he whispers against Blaine’s lips. “Every cut, every parry, every lunge.” He looks up at Blaine with such emotion in his eyes that Blaine’s heart flutters at the intensity of it. “I have never seen something look so beautiful; it was like art.”

Blaine doesn’t know what to say in response to that; he honestly hadn’t expected Kurt to even like fencing. Once again, Kurt Hummel had surprised him. Once again, he falls even further in love with him.

While they’re both content to stand there, wrapped around each other for the rest of forever, Jeff’s catcalls and the coach’s subtle coughs meant they reluctantly pulled away from each other. Blaine picks up his helmet again and is just about to put it on again when Kurt snatches it off him and puts it on himself.

Blaine opens his mouth to protest but Kurt takes it off just as quickly as he put it on. “I kissed the inside of your helmet,” He whispers, blushing, as he hands it back to Blaine who stands transfixed for a second until his coach’s exasperated voice calls him out of his reverie.

As he takes his place in front of his opponent, Blaine’s gaze is drawn to Kurt sitting primly on the bench in front of him. Their relationship is nothing remarkable; just two people in love and yet Blaine can’t remember ever being so happy.