Close your eyes … give me your hand, darling … Do you feel my heart beating? … Do you understand? … Do you feel the same? Am I only dreaming? Is this burning an …

Kurt cringes as they nail the words eternal flame with gusto, their tequila-soaked voices modulating to pitches that animals would flee from. They were such a nice, normal couple when Kurt picked them up at the beginning of the night. The two passengers crooning in the back seat of Kurt’s Prius, who had introduced themselves as TinaandBlaine (as if they were a Country-Folk singing duo), are now sloppy drunk and belting out maudlin 80s hits. They’re also slightly all over each other. Kurt can’t figure out if that’s drunken first date all over each other or just touchy-feely friends all over each other.

Especially since Kurt had thought that Blaine was flirting with him on the way to the bar.

They repeat the chorus again, sustaining the final note on the word flame longer than necessary, and it turns into a competition. Tina strains to hold it longer than Blaine and fails, laughing and coughing till tears come out of her eyes, which causes Blaine to snort, struggling to breathe.

Kurt rolls his eyes. It’s like he’s chauffeuring the ghosts of high school show choir after parties past. Lightweights would get sloshed on wine coolers and monopolize the karaoke machine. Kurt contends that he has a ten percent hearing loss in his left ear from the amount of times some wannabe diva drank enough to think they could actually pull off ‘Let It Go’.

Regardless, TinaandBlaine’s Power Ballad Hour isn’t the most obnoxious thing that Kurt’s been subjected to. Thus is the life of an Uber driver. It isn’t as glamorous as Tumblr makes it out to be. God, he hopes one of them doesn’t vomit in his car. He so doesn’t need that right now. It’ll take their entire fare coming and going just to get the smell out.

Right before they get the chance to launch into their next number and destroy yet another song that Kurt once held dear, he pulls up to the curb outside the brownstone walkup where he originally picked them up. He puts the car into park but doesn’t kill the engine.

“Alrighty, folks,” Kurt says to the giddy, giggling twosome, “here’s your stop.” Now go. Kurt can’t help it if he’s a little bitter. It’s been a while since he’s been groped in the back of a Prius … or just gone out for a drink with a friend.

He wouldn’t mind doing one – or both – with Blaine. Aside from the public drunkenness and the off-key singing, he seems like a nice guy, fun to hang out with obviously, and the touchy-feely aside (which Kurt wouldn’t actually classify as groping, technically – just a lot of hugging and holding) he seems like a gentleman.

“Are you … are you going to spend the night?” Tina asks, looking up at Blaine with hopeful, moony-eyes.

“I’m really sorry, Tina,” Blaine replies. “I wish I could, but I can’t. I have an early day tomorrow … today.”

“Party pooper,” Tina pouts. “But I understand.”

Kurt watches Blaine reach past Tina to open her door while she snuggles into his chest, but it sticks a third of the way. Kurt’s Prius can be temperamental. He’s about to mention it when Tina says, “Walk me to the door, Blainey?” and kicks the car door the rest of the way open. Kurt bites his lip to stop from saying anything. He doesn’t need a bad Yelp review. Besides, she’s drunk. She doesn’t know better. To be honest, he’s not as fond of this boxy Prius as he was of his Lincoln Navigator, which he had to leave behind when he left Ohio, but this car has been his surrogate baby, and it’s a source of extra income. If there’s any damage, he’s going to have to send her a bill. (He’s thinking of sending her one anyway for that high note she butchered seconds ago. Kurt can hit that note in his sleep.)

“Sure, I will.” Blaine turns to Kurt, eyes shifting left and right like he’s seeing two of him. “Would you mind waiting? I need a ride to NYU.”

“As long as you’re paying,” Kurt says, more snappish than usual.

“Of course, handsome.” Blaine winks, then practically falls out of the car with Tina cackling on the sidewalk.

Kurt’s radio hasn’t worked right since he bought the car, so he beats out a rhythm on his steering wheel while he waits for Blaine to return, trying to find a song that will counteract ‘Eternal Flame’, snuff it out before it becomes an ear worm. Kurt doesn’t watch what he assumes is a long and puke-worthy goodnight kiss, though there’s too much giggling going on for it to be in any way passionate. Still, they’re taking forever.

Kurt hopes that they lose his number. He doesn’t want to be invited to the wedding and have to tell the story of how they fell in love in the back of his car.

“Now, you … you have to … call me in the morning,” Blaine slurs.

“No, no, no, you call me in the morning,” Tina volleys.

“Well, I can’t call you if you call me first.”

Kurt pulls a nauseated face. “How does that make any sense?” he mutters to himself. Drunk logic, he figures.

“Okay, okay, I’ll call you,” Tina promises.

More muttering follows, more giggling, and Kurt slams his head repeatedly on his head rest.

“Come on, Blaine,” Kurt grouses. “She promised she’d call, now let’s go!”

As if he somehow heard him, Blaine stumbles back to the car and, after a brief struggle with the door, gets in.

“Bye-bye, Blainey-days!” Tina yells from the window. “Bye-bye, uh, Kevin … Ken … uh … Uber driver!”

“Bye, Tina.” Blaine sticks his head out the window and blows her a dramatically over-the-top kiss while Kurt opts for a dignified wave. They pull away from the curb, Blaine waving with both hands out Kurt’s rear windshield down most of the block. As soon as they’re out of sight of Tina’s window, Blaine suddenly changes. He sits back in his seat, goofy smile gone, and no more singing.

“I’m sorry about that,” he says in a calm, sober voice. “I know we must have been annoying, but …” Puzzled, Kurt peeks at Blaine through his rear view mirror and sees him examining Tina’s footprint on the door panel. Blaine takes out a napkin from his pocket (or is that a handkerchief? An honest to God cloth handkerchief?) and wipes at it till the dirt and the mark disappear. “There. I don’t think she tore your upholstery, but if she did, please send me the bill.”

“Th-thank you,” Kurt stutters in disbelief.

“It’s the least I can do. You’ve been so accommodating.”

“You’re … you’re not drunk?”

“No.” Blaine chuckles. “I think I pulled it off convincingly enough though. She was pretty wasted. I don’t think she noticed.”

“You did good. You should go into acting.”

Blaine’s face brightens. “I am an actor … sort of. At least, I’m studying to be one.”

“Hey, you had me convinced, and I’m usually pretty good at telling the difference,” Kurt says. “It’s the tequila smell that clinched it.”

“I pulled a Coyote Ugly.” Blaine smiles, but it’s small. “Tequila with an empty beer bottle chaser.”

“That’s very clever, but … why pretend to be drunk, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“She needed to get drunk,” Blaine explains, “and she didn’t want to get drunk alone, so I volunteered. But she’s kind of an irresponsible drunk. I needed to keep an eye on her. Didn’t want her to go off and do something stupid like screw some guy in a bathroom. I mean, I’m all for comfort fucking, but I didn’t want her doing something she’d regret.”

Kurt knows he shouldn’t ask, it’s not his place to pry, but seeing as the first question on his mind was Why isn’t she just comfort fucking you then? he felt this one was more socially acceptable. “Comfort … I hope no one, you know, passed away or anything.”

“No, nothing like that.” Blaine sighs, staring at his hands, toying with his handkerchief. “She just found out that her high school boyfriend’s getting married.”

“Ah,” Kurt says. Been there, done that.

“He was her first love, they lost their virginity together, that sort of thing. She helped him get into college and they broke up when he left high school. Mutual decision, but they remained friends. She had asked him to marry her at one point a few years later and he turned her down. He’s a dancer with the Joffrey and he didn’t think that it was a good time for him. Apparently, now it is.”

“Well that sucks,” Kurt says, heading for the freeway.

“Yeah, it does. Unfortunately, ever since they broke up, she hasn’t made the greatest decisions when it comes to men.” Kurt glances into the rear view. Blaine, still focused on his handkerchief, folds it into a square, but a different small smile dimples Blaine’s cheeks. “She, uh, also has a tendency to fall for gay guys, which is how we became besties in the first place.”

“I see.” Kurt wonders if that was Blaine’s way of dropping a hint. He decides to play it like it was. “Small world. My best friend from high school and I got together for the same reason.”

Blaine’s small smile becomes a bigger one instantaneously. “I see. It is a small world.”

“Yup.” Kurt feels himself blushing, in danger of smiling so hard that his cheeks hurt. “So, actor, huh? Have you been in anything I’ve seen?”

“Not unless you’re slummin’ it watching the student productions at NYU,” Blaine reveals reluctantly. “I was in a short lived student produced play called Hats.”

“Hats?” Kurt sputters in an attempt not to laugh. “Is that an ironic title, or does it speak for itself?”

Blaine sits up to talk closer. When he’s done, he doesn’t sit back again. “It speaks for itself.”

“Ouch.” Kurt side-eyes Blaine, noting his new closeness, his cheek resting on the shoulder of the passenger seat, eyes fixed on Kurt, a smooth smile on his lips, such a departure from the man Kurt thought was slobbering over Tina a few minutes before. “Of course, I played Officer Krupke in West Side Story once, so I’m not sure I can judge.”

“Really? Where?” Blaine seems honestly intrigued. Probably trying to picture Kurt in the role, Kurt surmises. Even Kurt thought that it was an interesting casting decision at the time, especially since he had auditioned for the role of Tony.

“My senior year of high school. Right now I’m attending NYADA as a musical theater major, but I haven’t been in any productions yet.”

“NYADA?” Blaine nods solemnly. “I’m impressed. I applied there, but they wouldn’t take me.”

“Don’t feel bad. I had to kill someone to get my spot.”

“Oh. Then you definitely deserve it.” Blaine’s eyes dart away from Kurt’s face, smile fading as they drive past a sign announcing his exit. “I guess mine’s next.” He sighs.

“Yeah,” Kurt says just as miserably, changing lanes to prepare. “I guess so.

“You know, I had hoped that Tina would pass out on the way home,” Blaine confesses, “so you and I could talk a little.”

“That would have been nice.” Kurt knows that he could just give Blaine his number, ask Blaine for his, but this is relaxing, driving down the highway, getting to know one another. It reminds Kurt of when he first got his license. He looked for any excuse to go for a drive with his friends. There’s something to be said about occupying the same space as someone else, especially in a car. Cruising and road trips – that feeling of going somewhere and nowhere, the only real destination the journey they’re sharing. Kurt’s all for twelve hour phone conversations, getting to know someone that way, but this … he doesn’t know why. This is just better. “Well, lucky for us …” Kurt pauses as he drives past the off-ramp and continues down the highway “… I just missed your exit. We’re going to have to circle back, possibly take the long way …” Kurt shoots Blaine a quick glance “… if you don’t have any objections, that is. I heard you say something about an early morning.”

Blaine smirks, catching on to the fact that Kurt must now realize that was an excuse. Blaine hadn’t wanted to lead Tina on. They’d talked about this before. Blaine is gay, 100%, and that wasn’t going to change anytime soon. Still, when Tina feels vulnerable, she still tries. He didn’t want to be one more thing she’d regret if she came on to him and he turned her down.

He cozies closer to the seat in front of him. Kurt considers pulling over so Blaine can move up front. “None at all,” Blaine says. “Take the longest route you need.”