When it had been Finn, part of the allure was the fact that he'd finally be able to be a normal teenager. He'd be able to go to Prom with someone, hold hands with someone, kiss someone—it wasn't so much about the who, it was more about the what.
When it had been Sam, it was even more about the what. For a brief moment, Kurt could see himself with a pretty football player on his arm. He could see himself wearing Sam's letterman jacket and going on dates to Breadstix.
Not the who, the what.
Even in the beginning with Blaine, it was about the what. He wanted to sing a duet with Blaine, wanted to hold hands with Blaine, wanted to kiss Blaine—the appeal of finally having someone was all Kurt could focus on.
Sometime after Valentine's day, that changed.
It was no longer the appeal of kissing Blaine, but of kissing Blaine. He no longer wanted those teenage experiences—he wanted Blaine. He wanted Blaine's laugh and Blaine's smile and Blaine's lips. He wanted everything that came with Blaine, and that included his obliviousness, his occasionally condescending attitude, his inability to process the fact that some people might not like him. His tendency to jump on furniture.
Blaine smiled at him from across the table at the Lima Bean, and Kurt's heart skipped a beat—not because there was a boy smiling at him like that, but because there was Blaine smiling at him like that (and he was so unbearably handsome).
"I don't really know where to go from here," Blaine admitted, and his voice cracked. Kurt's heart swelled because Blaine had never sounded less composed, and that was because of Kurt.
It all still felt a little surreal.
An hour ago, he and Blaine had been kissing (for the first time) in the Dalton common room, over a dead bird's casket. Blaine had tugged him into the car and driven them both to the Lima Bean, and Kurt had spent his time in the passenger's seat admiring the way Blaine blushed all the way down to his collar (even his ears were red, which was painfully adorable).
Blaine had insisted on paying, and he'd blushed an adorable shade of pink when their fingers brushed as he handed Kurt his coffee.
He'd made Blaine blush.
Now they were sitting across from each other, in silence, and Kurt was certain that he had the world's goofiest grin spread across his face.
This—Blaine's speech, the kiss—explained everything about the past few days.
Four days ago, Kurt had sung Blackbird to the Warblers.
After he'd finished, he'd sat down beside Blaine, and Blaine had stayed strangely silent for the rest of the practice. Kurt had glanced at him warily once or twice—had he gone too far with his jabs?—but Blaine's face had remained in the same strangely open, strangely vulnerable expression. Kurt hadn't been able to place the look on his face.
He'd jumped when Kurt touched his arm after practice and asked if Blaine wanted to go to the Lima Bean, as was their usual tradition. His voice had been shaky when he'd answered in the affirmative.
This, Kurt realized now, was because Blaine had just had an epiphany. About Kurt.
His grin grew even sillier.
They'd spent longer in the Lima Bean than usual that afternoon. For the first time since Valentine's day, Blaine had paid for both of their coffees. For once, Kurt hadn't read anything into it.
Kurt had worried the entire time that there was something on his face (or worse, that he'd been too obvious again with his affections and Blaine was uncomfortable) because Blaine kept looking at him (Blaine kept looking at him). Quick little looks, and in between his eyes would drop to his coffee and a blush would spread high across his cheekbones. It was, honest-to-god, the cutest thing Kurt had ever seen. He'd clear his throat every once in a while like he wanted to say something, but then he'd catch Kurt's eye and shake his head, closing his mouth.
It was odd, yes, but Blaine was odd. Kurt was used to that.
He'd done most of the talking. Blaine had listened intently, his eyes doing that strange flickering thing, and nodded or made noises of agreement whenever the story called for it.
Blaine was normally the one to keep track of when they had to leave so they could both make it home in time for homework and dinner, but he hadn't. They'd stayed an extra hour and a half at their table until Kurt had finally said (reluctantly) that both of them really needed to go home.
Blaine walked him to his car, which was something he'd never done before. Normally, he waved cheerfully at Kurt as he climbed into his own car, calling that he'd see him the next morning.
"Are you okay?" Kurt asked him, reaching out to press his palm to Blaine's forehead. "You're acting stranger than normal."
Blaine jumped at his touch, staring wide-eyed at him, then turned away and walked to his car as quickly as was possible.
Kurt had shrugged it off, ignoring the slight sting behind his eyes, and gone home for dinner.
Two days ago, Blaine had knocked him off his feet.
No, that wasn't the right phrase, because he had surprised Kurt, but not shocked him.
Blaine had said he wanted to do the duet with Kurt.
Blaine wanted to duet with Kurt.
This time, Kurt hadn't let hope rise up in his chest. He'd taken it for what it was—a duet, because he was talented (both he and Blaine knew it) and because his and Blaine's voices meshed even better than Rachel and Blaine's had.
That was all it was. An appreciation of Kurt's talent.
Afterwards, Kurt had hugged Blaine tightly out of appreciation. When they pulled away, Blaine was oddly flushed, and he'd avoided looking in Kurt's eyes.
Kurt had shrugged that off, too.
Today, he'd been decorating Pavarotti's casket when Blaine had walked into the room and told him that he had the perfect song for their number. Kurt had asked him—expecting nothing, wanting everything—why Blaine had chosen him as his duet partner.
(Blaine had chosen him!)
Blaine had opened his mouth, and turned Kurt upside down.
Then he'd leaned forward, and knocked the breath out of Kurt.
And that brought them back to the present, where it was Blaine sitting across from Kurt in the Lima Bean, clutching his hand like a lifeline—not just a boy, but the boy.
"Kurt?" Blaine said, hesitantly.
Kurt squeezed his hand. "Where do you want to go from here, Blaine?"
Blaine took a deep breath. "I'd totally understand if I've taken too long and you changed your mind, but Kurt—I want to date you. Exclusively."
Kurt had to bite at the inside of his cheeks to reign in his crazy grin. "Blaine Warbler, are you saying you want to be my boyfriend?"
Blaine's eyes searched his hopefully. "Yes. I really, really like you, Kurt."
Kurt's heart was pounding, his head spinning in the there-is-no-way-this-is-real sort of way. When he looked back up, Blaine's gaze was so warm and soft that his breath actually caught.
Blaine's eyes made him honest. "I'd really like that," he murmured, and Blaine's fingers tightened around his.
"Good," he breathed, and Kurt's breath hitched because he recognized that look on Blaine's face. He'd seen it before, just as Blaine leaned in to kiss him, then and every time afterwards.
"You're amazing," he blurted, and promptly flushed bright red. He felt a little like hiding his face.
Blaine's smile grew, and his eyes became even more—well, if Kurt hadn't known any better, he would've called the look lovestruck. "So are you," he replied tenderly. "I'm just sorry I couldn't see that sooner."
Kurt ducked his head, experiencing how-is-this-my-life moment.
"Kurt?" Blaine asked, and his voice was almost... shy. "I really want to kiss you again."
Kurt's stomach jolted. "What?" he squeaked, then cleared his throat. "Like, now?"
"Yes. Is that okay?"
"Yes," Kurt said, quickly. "Just not here, maybe?"
"Do you want to leave, then?" Blaine said, his voice hopeful and his expression reminiscent of an eager puppy.
"Please," Kurt said, and Blaine had their cups in the trash in the blink of an eye. He was standing in front of Kurt, offering his hand, as Kurt blinked again.
Kurt's heart thumped unsteadily. He glanced around, but nobody was looking.
It was no longer that Blaine was offering his hand to Kurt. It was that Blaine was offering his hand to Kurt.
He took it.