Blaine Anderson is far from perfect. He cannot claim to be flawless, but he does pride himself on his composure. Blaine is well-educated and refined; he doesn't procrastinate on his homework and he is the epitome of a gentleman (never going into public without every hair styled and gelled into place), but he is no more proper than any other boy who attends Dalton Academy.

But Blaine's composure is unique. In the face of a quaking Wes, a hysterical David, and a whining, pessimistic Thad before a Warblers performance, Blaine remains calm. He is the team leader, the one who remains rigidly and dependably stoic. He brings the Warblers into battle; he woos both females and males alike (though he has a preference for the latter). Competitions and homework and classes fail to faze him; he is an unwavering, resolute constant lighthouse in a sea of change.

At least that's what he is trying to tell himself as he sits, perched nervously on the edge of the couch, wringing his hands.

Pull yourself together Blaine, he tells himself repeatedly, until the words become a mantra in his mind. He attempts to restore some of his own self-confidence because what the hell is his problem?

Blaine Anderson does not get nervous. He is not plagued by the normal characteristics and fears and self-doubts of other hormonal teenagers his age because he is better than them, damn it.

But it's Kurt, and Blaine's been unnerved by the elfin, almost porcelain-like boy since they met. And now Blaine is hear to take Kurt on a date that could lead to a kiss and maybe more...

Blaine gulps as his mind strays. He loosens the thin, black tie around his collared, cream colored button-up shirt and runs a finger around his neck. Did it suddenly just get very hot in here?

There's a noise at the edge of the living room and Blaine looks up, his heart racing as he prepares to set his gaze on the vision that is Kurt Hummel...

His heart plummets more drastically than he'd like to admit when it's not Kurt, but Finn.

Blaine doesn't know Kurt's stepbrother very well. Besides the time Blaine shamelessly embarrassed himself at the Rachel Berry Extravaganza (okay, this was a major case in point of Blaine's lack of composure), his contact with Finn has been minimal.

Finn is intimidating. His hefty frame fills up the entire doorway as he towers over Blaine—his shoulders are broad and his chest is wide and his arms are muscular. In spite of the perpetual, rather clueless look on his face, Finn's brown eyes harden as he takes in said nervous Blaine, sitting on the edge of the couch cushion as though he's afraid he'll sully it due to his contact and Finn will "rip him a new one" (as Puck would say) as a punishment.

In two bounds, Finn settles comfortably into the armchair across from Blaine, a rather interested look on his face (interested is better than threatening, Blaine tries to comfort himself and to bolster his faltering self-confidence).

"So you and Kurt, huh?" Finn asks, punctuating the silence with his voice. Blaine tries to convince himself that the guarded tone is just his paranoia and not actual reality but he fails miserably.

"Yes," Blaine replies, trying to eliminate the butterfly migration in his stomach. "I'm taking him out to sushi. There's this place in Lima—Tsunagi—that is to die for. Their dragon rolls and rainbow rolls are divine."

"Hmm," Finn says, weighing Blaine's answer in his mind thoughtfully. (Blaine secretly wonders if Finn is trying to define the word "divine" or perhaps even the word "sushi.")

Silence.

And then—

"So are you and Kurt just friends or something more?" Finn's voice is suspicious. Oh shit.

Blaine can hardly believe his ears. He was prepared to have the talk with Burt, but Finn? Honestly? Can't he get a break?

In spite of his annoyance that is overshadowed by fear and anxiety accented by a thudding heart stampeding in his ribcage, Blaine pauses carefully and decides it's probably best to answer.

"Look, Finn," he says hesitantly, his voice cracking slightly and aching onto a higher note (damn it), "I really like Kurt. He," Blaine pauses to search for the right words, "means a lot to me. He's a good, pure-hearted, soulful person and I'll treat him right, Finn, I promise."

Finn just looks, perhaps searching for any sign of deceit in Blaine's promise. Then he visibly relaxes, his shoulders dropping, his furrowed, slightly confused forehead smoothing out and his eyebrows moving back to their original location from being knitted at the center of Finn's face.

"You're good for him," Finn says finally, placing his hands on his own knees thoughtfully. "Kurt's been through a lot as you probably have heard, Blaine."

Blaine nods, his eyes still wide. Finn may be at ease, but Blaine is far from being composed.

"But don't screw it up," comes Finn's warning, threatening voice, "or else Puck and I will beat the living bright lights," (living daylights, Blaine thinks wearily), "out of you."

Blaine nods fearfully. Because he understands that though he has made his own promise, this is Finn's promise.

Finn's face then splits into a wide grin, completely absent of the overprotective brother, mean bully face.

"Cool," he states, standing up and thwacking Blaine in a supposedly friendly way on the back. Blaine restrains himself from opening his mouth and yelping in pain.

"Oh, there you are," comes a high-pitched, delicate voice and Blaine looks up and holy crap.

Blaine's mouth drops as he takes in Kurt, with his perfectly coifed hair and his bright, shimmering eyes, and his crisped, pressed, sinfully tight jeans and ruffled blouse.

"Ngh," Blaine manages, his voice strained. "Kurt, you look," he throws a worried glance at Finn (who looks bored and has turned on the television to watch a football game), searching for an appropriate word, "great."

"Thank you," Kurt replies, clearly unaware of the tension between his stepbrother and his new boyfriend. "Thanks for keeping Blaine company, Finn, while I was getting ready. Who would have known that my iron would act up tonight of all nights?"

"It's okay," Blaine says hurriedly, standing up. He straightens his tie quickly and takes Kurt by the hand. "I'll... I-uh," he blanches as he glances at Finn, "I'll bring him back by eleven."

"Ten," says Finn, not glancing up from where he's watching the television. Blaine wonders where the defensive, overprotective big brother has gone, but he's so relieved that he's going to live that he doesn't say anything.

"Ten," Blaine promises, leading Kurt out the door. "Bye, Finn."

The door slams.

Still holding Kurt by the hand, Blaine runs, practically dragging Kurt, to his car. Blaine opens the passenger seat for Kurt (always a gentleman), before running around to the driver's side (at record speed).

"Blaine?" Kurt says carefully, "is everything alright?"

"Fine, fine," Blaine replies, but his voice is rushed and strained. He shoves his keys into the ignition and backs out of the Hummel-Hudson driveway.

"Sweetheart," Kurt tries again, placing a hand on Blaine's, "are you sure?"

"Yes." Blaine's voice is almost a whine, and Kurt decides to drop it.

It's only when they're a safe distance away from the Hummel-Hudson house that Blaine parks at the side of the road, stops the car completely, and gazes adoringly at Kurt. His eyes rake over Kurt's hair, his eyes, his skin, those glorious lips—drinking it all in as though he's starved, and with a moan, he launches himself at Kurt.

"Blaine!" Kurt protests, pushing back his boyfriend, who has mussed up his beautifully curved hair. "What has gotten into you?"

Blaine jumps back as though he's been electrically shocked.

"Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God," he cries repeatedly, shoving his head shamefully into his hands, "oh my God, please don't tell him. You just look so enchanting and oh my God he's going to kill me."

"Blaine, you're being ludicrous," Kurt says, immediately racked up by thoughts of another (possibly abusive) boyfriend Blaine might have. "Who is going to kill you?"

"Finn's going to kill me," Blaine looks at Kurt, his eyes wide and petrified. "Finn is going to kill me. Please don't tell him."

"What are you talking about?" Kurt asks, now slightly irritated.

"Finn," Blaine moans guiltily, like he's a prisoner on the run, "Finn said he would beat the crap out of me if I ever hurt you."

"Oh," Kurt says lightly, processing the newly divulged information. His eyes light up slightly and he flushes slightly pink. "Oh Blaine, don't be ridiculous," he says, slipping his hand into Blaine's, "Finn's just being protective of me. It's actually rather endearing, when you think about it."

"I'm going to die tomorrow," Blaine wails, now in fetal position in the driver's seat, rocking back and forth like a mental patient. "Puck and Finn are going to cut me into little pieces. My parents are going to get my body parts shipped to them in little brown paper packages and they'll have to have a doctor assemble my parts back together so they have a full body to bury and I'll look like Frankenstein at my funeral."

Kurt tries hard not to laugh, but a snicker and a snort emerge anyway, and these small noises escalate into full-blown guffaws. He laughs as Blaine looks on at him, both sourly (that his boyfriend finds his fear and terror amusing) and horrified (because if this were to actually happen, would Kurt be laughing at his funeral?).

"It's not funny!" Blaine howls. (At this point, he's accepted that he's not composed at all. He's not composed, he's not a gentleman—what the hell is Kurt doing with someone like him—he might as well forget about his college plans and just sign up for freaking clown school because apparently all he can do is make people laugh).

"Blaine, it's okay," Kurt says, finally gaining some composure. He looks seriously at Blaine. "Finn is not going to kill you because I am not going tolet him. I love you too much for that."

Silence.

"Do you promise?" Blaine's quivering, disbelieving voice. He looks at Kurt pathetically with large, pleading eyes framed by thick, dark lashes.

"I promise," Kurt assures his boyfriend resolutely.

Pause.

"Pinky promise?" Blaine wheedles, holding up a pinky finger.

Kurt rolls his eyes, but consents.

"Pinky promise," he links his own pinky finger with Blaine's. "You're not going anywhere, especially a casket."

Blaine sits silently, processing the third promise of the day.

"Do you really love me?" comes the quiet, more serious question, searching desperately for an answer.

"Yes, I do," Kurt replies, his eyes softening.

"I love you too," Blaine says automatically, his voice radiating honesty. "Can we make out now?"

"Yes, we can make out now," Kurt whimpers, as he brings his hand up to meet Blaine's cheek and pulls his boyfriend in for a passionate kiss.

Blaine closes his eyes as he deepens the contact.

"I'm lucky to have him," Kurt murmurs, as his lips collide heatedly with Blaine's. "Finn, I mean."

Blaine contemplates this in his head. Yes, Finn may be intimidating and scary and makes Blaine want to pee in his pants, but Kurt's right. Finn cares about Kurt, perhaps (almost) every bit as much as Blaine cares about Kurt. Blaine pauses in between kisses, only to mutter, "Yeah, you really are."