Blaine walks up to Mike, arms laden with potential choices. He gracefully deposits them on the nearest bench and plucks one from the top of the pile, holding it up to his mouth with shining, eager eyes. “How’s this? I think it’s my favorite.”

“Um. Too porn star.” Mike’s never been shopping with anyone but Tina or his mom before, and they both value honesty. Blaine seems like he does too, but Mike also never wants to be responsible for the kicked corgi look Blaine had earlier, with Finn’s solo fake-out. He shrugs apologetically to offset his words.

Blaine adjusts his mustache in the mirror, making sure his bowtie also lies parallel. “Your point?”

He ponders his backup options, which range in size from cartoon villian to large rodent, and Mike clears his throat. “So. Have you given any thought to what I um, asked you about earlier?”

A pause, as Blaine gently sets down the model labeled Sir Pimps-a-Lot. His eyes are wary. “Look, I don’t know if I’m the right person for the job...”

“But you totally are! I kind of don’t know anyone else who’d do this for me, except maybe Kurt, but I figured I could ask you first. Hes kind of scary sometimes.”

“Yeah, he is.” Blaine’s eyes grow dreamy, and Mike coughs again. “Okay. I’ll do it. But we’ve got to be quick, okay? Kurt’s coming over in an hour, and Tina’s picking you up from my house too, right? I don’t think Kurt will ever forgive me if he finds out you picked me over him.”

Mike blushes. “They don’t have to know about it, do they?”

“I won’t tell if you won’t tell.” Blaine’s eyes are dark and serious around his slight, reassuring smile, and Mike nods, affirming. “Okay.”

-

They don’t speak much on the drive back to Blaine’s house. It’s a comfortable silence though, one that makes Mike feel...safe. He wouldn’t be able to do this with any of the other guys he knows. It’s pretty awesome that, now that he has Blaine -- Blaine with his gentle, earnest smile; Blaine who would never turn down an opportunity to help out a friend -- he has someone to talk to, someone who he can trust to help and not judge.

For a long time, he’d mostly kept his own secrets. And then there was Tina, who’s the absolute best girlfriend ever. But sometimes he needs something else, something she can’t really give him. She tries, bless her, but well, Blaine understands.

Blaine opens his bedroom door and leads him in. “You sit over there,” he announces, pointing to the bed and reaching out to tap Mike’s nose with a playfulness that almost hurts, god. He thinks about life before Tina, life before glee, where the closest thing to physical affection he’d ever experienced was a slap on the ass after a particularly well-played football game.

“So. How do we start this?” Mike tries to make his voice casual. He sort of succeeds.

“Take off your shirt, for starters.”

Blaine doesn’t see the way Mike’s eyes widen, since he’s busy rummaging through his drawers. “Just like that?”

With his back still turned, Blaine chuckles. “Don’t be shy. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”

-

Forty-five minutes later, they still aren’t finished. The pile of discarded clothing at the foot of the bed grows higher and higher.

“Look, I’ve let you try on every cardigan I own,” Blaine sighs. He scrubs the back of his head with his fingers, and -- whoa, Mike’s never actually seen Blaine’s hair move before -- sits down next to Mike. “What more do you want?”

“I don’t know!” Mike flops back against Blaine’s sheets. The fabric warms to his bare skin.

“I can’t help you if you don’t know what you want, Mike.” Blaine’s face has gone serious and open again, but right now Mike just wants to strangle him with that stupid bowtie hes wearing.

“Okay, I know, but see -- I just, really want tonight to go well. Its the first time I’m meeting Tina’s great-grandparents, and I can’t just show up looking like I normally do.” Mike sits up again, ruefully half-smiling at Blaine. “It’s special. And you always look so great in your -- ” Mike waves his hand up and down the general line of Blaine’s body, “ -- outfits, and old people love you.” He flops backwards again, turning his face away from Blaine’s gratified, beaming smile to mumble into a pillow. “You should be Tina’s boyfriend tonight.”

“She’s great, but I’m afraid I’m pretty taken.” Mike doesn’t even need to lift his head to picture the dopey grin on Blaine’s face.

He can’t bring himself to get up, so he clutches the pillow tighter and groans. “I’m never going to be good enough for Tina’s family,” he tells Blaine’s pillow.

“Hey. Hey. Don’t talk like that.” A warm, slightly-calloused hand soothes over Mike’s back with a comforting gentleness, and Mike relaxes into the touch. “I know you want to impress her family, and look perfect, and be the perfect boyfriend to everyone important in Tina’s life, but -- “ Blaine seems to swallow around a lump, “ -- you can’t be perfect to everybody. And,” he gives a small huff that isn’t quite a laugh, “as long as you’re perfect for each other? Nothing else matters.”

Mike loosens his hold on the pillow, craning his head over his shoulder to really look at Blaine. “Thanks, Blaine.” He closes his eyes for a moment, melting a little into Blaine’s hand, the hand that hasn’t stopped rubbing wide circles into his back. “You know, Kurt’s a lucky guy too, right?”

Blaine smile is brighter than ever, like it’s just what he’d been dying to hear all day. “Yeah? Thanks, Mike. Thank you.” The unoccupied hand curls into a fist, and Mike bumps it with his own.

A shutter clicks. “Hey boys,” Tina’s voice calls from the doorway.

Blaine’s hand stops moving, and they both turn toward her -- and Kurt, who leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms and cocking one eyebrow like he’s expecting something. “Oh no,” Kurt says dryly. “Don’t stop on my account.”

“Um,” Blaine starts, “this is totally not what it looks like.”

“You mean you’re not mauling my boyfriend on your 600 thread count sheets?” Tina asks. “What a shame.” She walks over to Mike, giving him a hand that he kisses before she tugs him up. “Come on. We’re going to be late for dinner. Are you guys done ‘stache shopping? Or do you need a minute to finish your half-naked backrubs?”

Mike spares a glance towards the mountain of rejected cardigans and dress shirts, and shoots Blaine a small smile -- one he hopes says thank you.

“I’m coming,” he says, shrugging on the shirt and vest he’d worn that day, linking their hands again. “I’m ready.”