The first time Blaine walks into – or actually, is partially carried into – the nurse's office at Camp Whitewater, hed cut his left thumb and forefinger.

“Oh my God!” Rachel, one of the counselors-in-training, says with a hand over her mouth when she sees the white Camp Whitewater t-shirt wrapped around his hand soaked through with blood. “What happened? Did he take his fingers off?” Her face turns green when she asks.

“No,” Wes, the boy limping Blaine in with an arm thrown over his left shoulder, grunts as he helps his friend onto the exam table, “he cut them whipping the ends of a rope.”

Rachel watches in horror as Wes starts to unwrap the t-shirt, and her green face turns white.

“No, don't do that. I don't think you're supposed to…Kurt!” she yells, backing away. “Kurt! You need to come out here quick!”

“Yeah, yeah,” a voice from another area of the nurse's office calls out. “I'm coming, I'm coming.” There's a sound of water running from a faucet, then paper towels being pulled out of a dispenser, and footsteps coming toward the inner door. “You know, Rachel, if you're going to volunteer in the nurse's office, you should really get over your thing about blood.”

The boy who walks through the door stops short at the sight of Blaine. Blaine, trying to avoid looking at his own hand (because he has a thing about blood, too) glances up when he hears the voice and stares with a ridiculous doe-eyed expression at the counselor (or counselor-in-training, as the C.I.T. button on his shirt indicates) who walks in. Blaine knows this boy – or recognizes him, at least. He attends McKinley High School, the same as Blaine. In fact, he's head cheerleader. Blaine had seem him in the parking lot as the buses to Camp Whitewater were loading, but Blaine was sure Kurt was there to see off one of his many friends…or a boyfriend.

That could still be the case. A boy like Kurt has to have a boyfriend. Maybe the lucky guy's around somewhere – some big, buff, muscular jock, rescuing other campers in the lake or tearing apart tree stumps with his bare hands.

Boyfriend or no, if Blaine had known that Kurt Hummel was volunteering in the nurse's office, he would have hurt himself days ago.

But there they are together now, gazing at each other from across a semi-crowded room like the star-crossed lovers in a Bogart and Bergman movie. Just when Blaine is convinced the two of them are sharing a moment, Kurt rushes in, prismatic blue eyes fixed solely on Blaine's hand.

“Okay,” he says with a detached yet genuine smile, pulling on a pair of latex gloves from a box on the table, “let's get a look at this.” He takes over – takes charge, really – holding tight to Blaine's wrist and unwrapping the shirt the rest of the way.

“Ow, ow, ow, ow!” Blaine mutters, anticipating the incredible stinging pain that he's sure will follow the uncovering of his wound, especially if there will eventually be antiseptics involved. Memories of too many times scraping his knees after falling off his bike and his mother chasing after him with a bottle of Bactine make him shudder.

“Shush, you big baby,” Kurt teases with a chuckle. “I've barely even touched it.”

Kurt tosses Blaine's unsalvageable t-shirt into the wastebasket.

“We'll get you a new one, hmm?” he comments, clearing away more blood with a sterile gauze to get a better look at the cut.

“Yeah,” Blaine agrees, transfixed, not at all concerned about his discarded shirt. “A-ha…okay…”

Rachel makes a gagging sound, not because of the blood, but at Kurt's obviously smitten patient. Kurt rolls his eyes dramatically and Blaine giggles, looking a lot less nauseous since his attention is focused away from his injured fingers and squarely on Kurt's face – on his brilliant blue eyes and his smooth pale skin, surprisingly freckle-free considering the incessant, nearly inescapable sun.

“How does it look?” Rachel asks, peeking over Kurt's shoulder but not looking right at the wounds.

“Is it going to need stitches?” Wes asks. “Because we kind of need his fingers.”

Kurt looks up from his work and raises an eyebrow at Blaine, the curl of his lips accusing in a highly suggestive way.

“Oh, um, no! Not like that! I mean,” Blaine stumbles, almost losing his ability to speak to an explosion of nerve-riddled giggles. “We're starting a band, and I play the piano…and the guitar…and the violin…”

“Aaah, I'm impressed,” Kurt says, tossing out the soiled gauze. “A man with talented fingers.” Blaine's jaw drops. Wes and Rachel start chuckling, but Kurt, the eminent professional, continues on. “It's only a nick. Can I get four butterfly bandages, please?” Kurt holds out a hand for Rachel to give him the bandages, snapping his fingers because she's stopped paying any attention.

“But look at all the blood,” Blaine says. He swallows hard, still flummoxed by Kurt's ‘talented fingers' compliment.

“Fingers tend to bleed a lot,” Kurt explains, pinching Blaine's skin and affixing the bandage.

“Are you sure we shouldn't get the nurse in here?” Wes asks.

“She's busy waiting for an ambulance with another camper who broke his leg this morning,” Rachel says, dismissive even though she's caught between laughing at Blaine's evident crush and losing her lunch. “Besides, Kurt's as good as any nurse.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Rachel says with overwhelming pride. “He's super smart. He's going to graduate high school early and go pre-med, aren't you?”

“That's the plan,” Kurt says, slightly bashful. “There.” Kurt finishes wrapping over the butterfly bandages with waterproof tape. “That should keep them clean and dry while they heal.” He reaches into his first aid kit and pulls out two small packets, the word Tylenol printed in red letters on their white surfaces. “They might start to throb in an hour or so, so take these, and come back if you need more.”

Kurt takes Blaine's uninjured right arm and helps him down from the table.

“Yes,” Blaine says, clutching the packets of pills as if they are sacred and irreplaceable gifts. “I'll be back…if I need more.”

“And Blaine?” Kurt says before Blaine and Wes reach the front door.

“Yes?”

“Be careful with those talented fingers.”

Wes chuckles, catching Blaine before his knees buckle.

All through dinner, Blaine keeps an eye out for Kurt, sitting apart from the campers with the other C.I.T.s, to see if there actually is some less-than-worthy boyfriend hanging all over him, but Blaine doesn't see one. No boyfriend makes an appearance at the campfire after dinner, either. Not that that matters. Blaine would never have the guts to walk up to super smart, gorgeous, head cheerleader and McKinley royalty Kurt Hummel and say word one, especially when he's surrounded by his friends. Blaine ends the night early, not even waiting around for the singalong – usually his favorite part. He lies in his bunk in his empty cabin with his last packet of Tylenol firmly grasped in his uninjured hand, thinking of some way to get Kurt's attention without outright walking up to him and asking him out.

Blaine wishes he could - he wishes to God he could - but the thought terrifies him. He hasn't been out long, and previous attempts at asking boys out…well, they didn't go over so well.

Besides, it could be a long summer if he asks Kurt out and Kurt shoots him down.

Blaine sneezes, and without thinking he reaches up to block it with his bandaged hand. His fingers curl reflexively, and a sharp stab of pain echoes throughout.

“Ouch!” Blaine hisses, but it reminds him that he should take the last of his Tylenol before he goes to bed.

The Tylenol that Kurt gave him.

Blaine smiles, remembering their brief encounter – how attentive Kurt was, how concerned, how caring.

Someday Kurt will make an amazing doctor. Blaine wonders if he's planning on becoming a G.P., or a pediatrician. Blaine should ask him.

Maybe tomorrow Blaine can go get more Tylenol and talk to him then.

Or…

He smiles wider, suddenly getting an inspired idea.

The following afternoon, Blaine is led into the nurse's office by a different friend, his left eye nearly swollen shut.

Kurt, restocking the first aid kits, sees him walk in and gasps. “What happened?”

“I ran into a tree branch,” Blaine mumbles, the swelling in his eye spreading to his cheek.

“Quick! Get him on the table!” Kurt commands, leaving his task and hurrying over.

Of course, Blaine hadn't walked into a tree branch. He offered his friend Jeff his desserts for the next two weeks if Jeff would hit him in the face as hard as he could. Jeff didn't want to do it, not even for all of Blaine's desserts, which became the next offer when Jeff refused. Jeff finally gave in when Blaine begged, looking up at Jeff with sad puppy-dog eyes. But at the last minute, Jeff accidentally closed his eyes and clocked Blaine harder than he'd expected. It did the trick, though Blaine realized after-the-fact that making himself grossly unattractive might prove counterproductive for his intended purposes.

Kurt peers intently at the bruise on Blaine's face, hissing sympathetically at the painful-looking injury.

“Such a shame,” Kurt says, standing up and heading for his open first aid kit. “You have such pretty eyes.”

Blaine bites his lip hard to keep from giggling, but moans in agony when he discovers the punch also split his lip. Kurt walks back over with gauze and antiseptic, and a cold pack for the swelling. He leans in to examine the bruise more closely, and makes a concerned humming noise.

“What?” Blaine asks, both in his glory and slightly anxious. He feels guilty for tricking Kurt like this, but he's more worried about Kurt's reaction if he catches on.

“Oh, nothing,” Kurt says, forgoing the antiseptic and breaking open the cold pack, slamming it against the table to activate it. “Strange that there are no scratches.”

“Hmm?” Blaine suddenly feels ice cold and the pack isn't even against his skin yet. “Wh-what do you mean?”

“Well, if you ran into a tree branch, there should be some scratches.” Kurt shakes the cold pack, wraps it in a paper towel, and sets it on Blaine's face. “This looks like someone punched you in the face.”

Blaine's unswollen eye shifts to look at the boy standing beside him - not Jeff, but Jeff's boyfriend Nick – who is in on the whole charade. At the same time, Nick's gaze shifts to stare at Blaine. He shakes his head, begging Blaine silently not to give his boyfriend up now that he might be caught, especially since this was Blaine's asinine plan that Jeff wanted no part in.

“Uh…no,” Blaine says quickly, “no one punched me. Like I said, I walked into a tree.”

Kurt lifts Blaine's hand in his, the touch unexpected and gentle, filling Blaine with conflicting reactions of, “Yes!” and “Oh, shit! I'm in trouble!” Kurt rests Blaine's hand on the ice pack, holding it to his face, then stands up straight with his hands on his hips.

“Blaine,” Kurt says calmly, “if another camper is bullying you…”

“No!” Blaine interjects. “No one is bullying me, I swear.”

Kurt bites his lip, his gaze soft but entirely unswayed.

“I promise,” Blaine mumbles, smiling though the crack in his lip smarts like crazy. “I'm not being bullied. I have loads of friends…”

“Loads,” Nick emphasizes. “We're all in the same cabin, and we all look out for each other.”

Kurt knows Blaine has a rather large group of friends. He remembers how Wes fawned over Blaine yesterday, and he saw a gaggle of boys circled around Blaine at the campfire. Kurt had found himself peeking more times than he'd admit, trying to figure out which handsome, attentive boy could be Blaine's boyfriend.

Infuriatingly, Rachel had noticed Kurt peeking, too, and ribbed him the whole night for it. Kurt would be surprised if every camper from here to Columbus didn't know.

“That's a relief,” Kurt says with a sigh, convinced by the addition of Nick's enthusiasm. “Because if someone was bullying you, I would hope that you'd come tell me.”

“Oh, he's not being bullied,” Nick reassures Kurt, thankful that his boyfriend seems to be in the clear, “he's just an idiot.”

Kurt barks out a laugh as Blaine hastily agrees, covering his tracks.

“Yup, I'm an idiot,” he rambles. “That's me.”

“Well, okay,” Kurt says, taking Blaine's arm the way he had the day before and helping him off the table. “I'll take your word for it. But if you need anything…”

Blaine looks at Kurt dreamily through his one working eye. “You'll be the first to know.”

“And could you do me a favor?” Kurt asks as he watches Nick take over the duty of leading Blaine to the door.

“Yes?” Blaine asks, clinging on to Nick tight. The action makes Kurt wince, thinking he may have gotten his answer to the boyfriend question.

“If you're going to hurt yourself again, try to give your left side a break?”

Blaine chuckles. “Will do.”

The next afternoon, Blaine limps into the nurse's office. Kurt and Rachel, talking and laughing, don't notice him right away, but when they do, they stop and turn in unison.

“Oh my God! Blaine!” Kurt exclaims, rushing over to put an arm around Blaine's waist and help him to the table. He looks down Blaine's body and notices him favoring his right ankle. “You know, when I said give your left side a break, I was only joking.”

Blaine sighs at the touch of Kurt's arm around him, relaxing against Kurt even as he's blushing red from being scolded. All in all, this is turning out better than he had imagined.

“I tripped on the hike this morning,” Blaine explains. He doesn't feel as guilty as he did yesterday because, to be fair, this time it is the truth. “Ranger Dave sent me right here.”

“It's probably because of that swollen eye, you can't walk straight,” Kurt kids, hoisting Blaine onto the table. He grabs another ice pack from the first aid kit and smacks it hard against the table. Kurt looks back at Blaine's black-eye, better than the day before. Blaine can open it a sliver, and Kurt sees both of his hazel eyes.

Beautifully soulful hazel eyes.

“I guess you're right,” Blaine says, not noticing Kurt's stare.

Kurt lifts Blaine's legs and swings them onto the table, then helps Blaine lie back, grabbing a pillow from a drawer and positioning it underneath Blaine's head. Kurt lays the ice pack over Blaine's right ankle. “Now, you're going to want to keep this elevated,” Kurt says, returning to the head of the table. He looks down into Blaine's smiling and oddly contented face, brushing dark curls away from his forehead. “I'll get you some Tylenol, and once you can put a little weight on it, I'll walk you back to your cabin.”

“Oh, could you?” Blaine says. “That would be really nice of you.”

Kurt smiles down at Blaine, seemingly unable to keep from running his fingers through Blaine's curls while off in the corner of the office an amused Rachel gets the Tylenol and a cup of water.

“Kurt! Kurt!”

The sound of frantic footsteps clamoring up the stairs takes Kurt's attention away from Blaine's eyes, and Blaine pouts.

“Nurse Place told me to come get you!” a camper Blaine can't see says from outside the screen door. “There was an accident down at the archery range!”

“Oh my!” Kurt leaves Blaine's side to grab a red backpack propped up against the wall. “The one out by that huge patch of poison ivy?”

“No,” the camper says. “Down by the other end.”

“I'm on it!” Kurt says, stopping back by the table and putting a hand over Blaine's. “I'm sorry, Blaine. I have to go. I'll send someone to help you to your bunk.”

Blaine frowns, sitting up and watching Kurt race out the office door. Rachel, following behind but not as urgently, hands Blaine his cup of water and packet of Tylenol. She doesn't say a word, just smiles knowingly, then leaves the office. The screen door slams shut and the two C.I.T.s leave Blaine alone.

A portion of Kurt's conversation with the other camper strikes a chord in his brain.

Poison ivy?

The following day, Blaine lurks outside the nurse's office until he sees Rachel leave to get lunch, then he makes his move.

Kurt shakes his head when he sees Blaine, cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk's, toddling into the nurse's office, covered in head to toe poison ivy.

“Blaine, we have to stop meeting like this.”

Blaine drops his head, trying to look sorry.

“I know,” he says. But that's highly unlikely.

Blaine makes his way to the exam table while Kurt pulls on a pair of gloves.

“Is that…poison ivy?” Kurt asks aghast. He looks Blaine over, every inch of his exposed skin red and irritated.

“I think so.” Blaine coughs, the white lie sticking inside his throat.

Kurt grabs a pair of scissors from his kit and carefully cuts the t-shirt from Blaine's skin, attempting not to aggravate the rash.

“Well, that's two shirts I owe you,” Kurt jokes. Blaine whimpers, that comment shooting straight to areas that are already extremely uncomfortable. Kurt tsks when he sees the extent of the damage. “God, it looks like you took off your clothes and rolled in it.”

Blaine chuckles.

“That would be stupid,” he remarks nervously. But effective. At least he had the good sense to keep his shorts on.

Kurt opens a bottle of calamine lotion and squeezes a drop onto a sterile cotton ball. He starts dabbing at the rash, working at it an inch at a time, going back over areas that are more affected than others. Within minutes, he sighs in frustration.

“You'd better make yourself comfortable,” Kurt says. “You're going to be here the rest of the afternoon.”

“Okay,” Blaine answers softly. Kurt peeks up when he hears a break in Blaine's voice and can't help noticing the small smile curling his lips. Kurt dabs at the rash thoughtfully, moving up Blaine's neck and starting on his cheeks, the smile on Blaine's face noticeably wider.

“Blaine,” Kurt says, reaching for a fresh cotton ball and coating it in pink lotion, “I have to ask you a question, and I'm hoping that you'll answer me honestly.”

Blaine's smile slips a little. He folds his hands, fidgeting his fingers. “Y-yes?” he asks, sounding as innocent as possible.

“Are you hurting yourself on purpose to come here and see me?” Kurt asks, chuckling at how absurd it sounds out loud. “Because if you are, I'm flattered, but I'm afraid you're going to do some real damage, and I don't want to see you get seriously injured.”

Blaine's jaw tightens. He doesn't know what to say. Realistically, he should know. He's never been able to lie convincingly, can't pull off a prank to save his life. Considering how smart Kurt is, he should have known Kurt would figure him out eventually. In retrospect, Blaine should have been better about spacing his injuries out and maybe making them less traumatic – a paper cut here, a bee sting there. Regardless, he should have had some kind of excuse prepared in case, but he doesn't.

He doesn't because he shouldn't be lying to Kurt. He should just tell him the truth.

He should have had the courage to tell Kurt that he liked him in the first place.

“I….maybe.” Blaine sighs. “Yes. Yes, I am. Kind of dumb, huh?” he admits, grabbing hard to the edge of the exam table, waiting for Kurt to chew him out. Hearing Kurt say it, it sounds terribly immature. What was he, twelve? Why didn't he just send Kurt a letter that said, “Will you go out with me?” with two boxes for him to check off – one for yes and one for no.

“I think…” Kurt crooks a gloved finger beneath Blaine's chin and lifts his face, “it's sweet. Misguided, but sweet.” Kurt dabs lotion on Blaine's chin. “So why don't we do this…if you promise to stop hurting yourself, as soon as your rash clears up, we can go do something.”

Kurt smiles as he feels Blaine's eyes go wide – as wide as he can get them with one black eye underneath an inch of poison ivy.

“You mean…like a date?”

“Yes,” Kurt says, “exactly like a date.”

“A date…” Blaine repeats, so overwhelmed that he almost doesn't answer. “Yes! Absolutely I will,” he says, bouncing in his seat, a little from excitement, a little in an attempt to scratch the rash on his thighs. “But…”

“But…” Kurt says sternly, unsure what objection Blaine might have to not injuring himself.

“You know…” Blaine's cheeks pink beneath the rash and the calamine lotion, “I am kind of a klutz. I promise not to do anything on purpose, but if I come in here with another twisted ankle or a sunburn or something…”

Kurt leans in a little and winks, close enough for Blaine to feel Kurt's breath on his skin but not close enough to risk spreading the rash.

“I won't hold it against you.”