As it happens, Santana does not live in Lima Heights Adjacent. Either that, or she does live in a place called Lima Heights Adjacent, and it isn’t quite the “wrong side of the tracks” that she had previously described it to be. The wrong side of the tracks doesn’t tend to hold sprawling expanses of green lawn and blue swimming pool like Santana’s does.

Santana and Brittany are both perched on the edge of the pool, bare feet knocking together and foreheads touching, still stubbornly tiptoeing on the line between friends-and-more, that same line they had always tiptoed around. Lauren’s beating Puck in a race swimming laps across the pool, Tina and Mike are tucked in a corner devouring each other’s mouths, and Kurt’s lazing about on an umbrella-ed chaise watching Blaine partake in what is becoming a heated water fight with Finn. He watches fondly, head tipped to the side and faint smile revealing itself at the corners of his lips. He loves seeing Blaine interact so naturally with Finn, he loves seeing them be friends. He also loves seeing a shirtless, wet Blaine, but that’s an entirely different, less heartfelt and more suggestive story. Blaine pelts Finn with one final blast of water, lets out a roar of a laugh, and pushes himself out of the pool on his forearms, running to where Kurt is sprawled out on his chaise.

“Room for one more?” Blaine asks hopefully, poking his head underneath the umbrella.

“You’re all wet…” Kurt wrinkles his eyebrows.

“I’m sure you’ll live.” Blaine replies, clambering into the chair really only meant for one.

He cuddles up next to Kurt, curls himself around his body. Kurt scoots down and burrows his nose in Blaine’s neck, breathing in his scent of sun-dried chlorine. It’s strangely comforting. Blaine’s arms reach out to thread around Kurt’s waist and he buries his face in Kurt’s hair. Kurt elicits a long, satisfied hum, relaxing into Blaine’s body. He likes being this close to Blaine- where he can see every pore on Blaine’s skin, every faint hair, every jagged little scar or fading birthmark. The very feeling of closeness is still different, still thrilling, and all he wants to do is just touch. Kurt runs a hand slowly over Blaine’s shoulder, his fingers sliding up and curling over the curve. He rubs his hand up and down his arm, pausing for a second at the bicep (and it still blows his mind that he’s allowed, even encouraged, to touch another boy’s bicep). Now Blaine’s the one to contentedly hum, rubbing circles on Kurt’s lower back.

“Come swim…” Blaine whines, pressing kisses to the top of Kurt’s head. Kurt shifts his head to look up at Blaine.

“I’m so sorry, you must be mistaking me for the other, willing-to-get-his-hair-wet Kurt Hummel.” Kurt says calmly, finding it difficult to snap at Blaine when he was moving those fingers in the way he was.

“You don’t even have to get your hair wet! I’ll form a protective perimeter around it if you’ll just come in the pool.”

“Really?” Kurt breaks into a grin, laying his head on Blaine’s shoulder.

“Really.”

“Fine.” Kurt says, admitting defeat and taking Blaine’s hand as the two of them and Kurt’s hair-perimeter make their way to the pool. Kurt reluctantly peels his shirt off (and tries to ignore Blaine’s eager eyes) and dips his foot in, wincing at the cold.

“Very close, very good. Now like, get your shin in there or something.” Blaine persuades, already chin-deep in the pool. Puck creeps up behind Kurt as quietly as he could with the loud slapping sounds of his horrible Adidas sport sandals and makes a motion to push Kurt in. Blaine shoots daggers at Puck with his eyes, wide and threatening and very clearly conveying do NOT push him in the damn pool, Puckerman, and Kurt whips his head around to survey the scene. Puck shakes his head disapprovingly.

“That was going to be fuckin’ epic, man!” Puck bellows.

“You’re a jackass.”Kurt mutters, lowering himself to sit down on the pool ledge.

“I prefer badass.” says Puck as he cracks open his fourth wine cooler.

“Noah, it is 2:30 in the afternoon.” Kurt scolds with a disgusted grimace in Puck’s direction.

“Never too early, bro. Never. Too. Early. I see no kosher Manischewitz anywhere, so this is the next best thing.” Puck shrugs and takes a gulp.

“Not sure if I believe that’s actually your drink of choice…” Blaine murmurs to no one in particular. Kurt smirks and lets Blaine take both of his hands. Blaine gently tugs on them, coaxing Kurt in the pool. And Kurt lets him.

“Hold the phone. You’re not protesting.” Blaine says incredulously as Kurt allows Blaine to pull him fully in the pool. Kurt just shrugs, smiles, and drapes his arms around Blaine’s neck. Cold beads of chlorinated water cling to Kurt’s arms and then drip down Blaine’s back. Pool water is an unfamiliar thing to Kurt (he tended to stay away after a particularly traumatic grade school experience involving a suspiciously yellow-tinged public pool), but he likes it. A lot of things are unfamiliar- Blaine’s arms around his waist, which still feel deliciously new even when they aren’t that new at all, his lips trailing, barely touching, along Kurt’s jawline, murmurs of “I love you”. But he likes them all, however foreign.

The pleasant pressure of Blaine’s chin coming to rest on Kurt’s shoulder startles Kurt out of his brief reverie.

“See? It’s nice in here.” Blaine whispers against the pale plane of skin.

“Yeah. It’s nice.” Kurt says, right into Blaine’s ear. Blaine presses fragile kisses along a shoulder that turns into a collarbone that turns into the hollow dip of a throat.

“Boys!” trills a voice that is unmistakably Rachel. Kurt whips his head up to shoot her an irritable glare. Yes, she’s one of his closest friends, but the girl doesn’t have much tact.

“Care for a cupcake? They’re made from scratch!” Rachel thrusts out a blindingly pink platter filled with cupcakes.

“Ooh, I’d love one!” Blaine exclaims, scooping one up.

“No thank you, Rachel.” Kurt says with a false smile, one that properly communicates, “It’s perfectly alright that you interrupted my boyfriend kissing me. No, it’s not as if I’ve been waiting for this for seventeen years, please do intercede and offer us some of your misshapen lumps of lard and sugar.” Maybe he was being harsh, but he doesn’t really give a shit.

“I’ll force one down his throat.” says Blaine with a wink, taking another from the tray and giving Rachel a winning smile.
“Do enjoy!” chirps Rachel, marching her and her tray over to a secluded corner where Sam and Mercedes are holding hands, looking very much at peace with not having Rachel offer them cupcakes.

The cupcake is decorated with a large sun made out of yellow icing. Frosted in the middle in loops of near perfect calligraphy is “New Directions Reunion Summer 2011”. A tiny star made out of gold fondant is pressed into the frosting.

“Why is there a star on the sun?” Blaine wrinkles his eyebrows, bewildered.

“Gold stars are kind of her thing.” Kurt replies automatically, repeating the phrase he’d heard so often it had almost lost its meaning.

“Hmm. Well anyways, try it!” Blaine holds the cupcake up to Kurt’s face.

“If I do, it’s going to go straight to my ass, and I really don’t think you would like that anymore than I would.” Kurt raises an eyebrow and turns his face away from the cupcake.

“I’d still like your ass.” Blaine bites his lip and holds in a laugh. Kurt blushes, bowing his head and smirking.

“Please try it.” Blaine pleads.

“No.”

“Please.”

“No.” And with that, Blaine swipes his finger in the yellow icing and wipes a dot of it on Kurt’s nose.

“You bitch.” Kurt’s eyes widen and he wipes a retaliatory mark of frosting on Blaine’s nose.

“Will you eat it now?” Blaine asks, pointing to his own nose. Kurt laughs a little too loudly, because did Blaine really think Kurt would lick frosting off of Blaine’s nose? Really, Blaine, really?

“Have I ever been known to eat anything off your face?”

“There’s a first for everything?” Blaine questions hopefully. Smiling softly, Kurt leans in, nips at Blaine’s nose, and kisses him, modest and quick, on the lips.

“Let’s get out of here.” Kurt whispers into Blaine’s ear, hugging him closer.

---
They aren’t “getting out of here” in the way that would involve Blaine having his way with Kurt, or vice versa, but just “getting out of here” in the way that involves them standing in line at the Lima Bean instead of marinating in Santana’s pool and quickly turning into prunes, albeit well-dressed, handsome ones.

“One medium dr-“ Kurt says before Blaine cuts him off.

“It’s 97 degrees outside, I don’t think I’m feeling up for a scalding hot coffee. Shall we go iced today?” Blaine suggests with a raised eyebrow.

“Wise.”

So Kurt orders two iced mochas and sits down with Blaine at their usual table. Their hair is chlorine-mussed and Blaine has freckles revealing themselves on his shoulders and Kurt’s a little flushed from the sun and Blaine is smiling kind of stupidly and Kurt is responding with an equally stupid smile and they just kind of sit there like that for a minute, each boy just memorizing the other. Kurt inches his hand across the table- the same table where Blaine had sat him down something like six months ago for their first coffee date-that-wasn’t-a-date and made Kurt smitten and smiling and stricken. He curls his fingers around Blaine’s, and he doesn’t really give a damn who sees or what they have to say. He just quietly traces the slopes of Blaine’s knuckles up and down and marvels at the press of Blaine’s eyelashes underneath his eye when he blinks hard, bites his lip, and smiles widely at the touch. And Kurt wants so badly for every touch, every trace of his knuckles, to have this much effect on Blaine (he has a feeling it might).