"Kurt! Kurt, wait for me!"

The unmistakable voice of Rachel Berry echoed in the Heathrow terminal, and the boy several yards ahead of her let out a slightly annoyed sigh as he waited on his friend. Kurt Hummel had dreamt of this moment for so long – the moment he finally arrived in Europe – and now he had to share it with Rachel.

Damn you Mercedes, I swear on McQueen I'll never forgive you for this.

Kurt had spent every spare moment of the past two years planning for his pre-college European summer extravaganza, a trip he knew he wanted even more than the designer clothes he had to forgo to save up money for the vacation. Well, most of the designer clothes, he thought with a smile. Some pieces were just too fabulously tempting to pass up. He had spent more grime-covered hours than he cared to remember in his father's garage to earn enough for the trip, and it hadn't taken much convincing for his best friend Mercedes to agree to join him. His dad was another story. Burt Hummel wasn't exactly thrilled about the idea of his son traveling alone, but Kurt had planned this too well and for too long to blow it with an ill-timed tantrum. He knew his father, and he had faith the man would eventually realize for himself that Kurt was already 18, had worked hard to earn his own money for the trip, and was heading to New York for college in 3 months anyway.

But when he finally agreed to the trip, Burt had two stipulations that even Kurt couldn't argue his way out of. One: Kurt traveled with a friend. No problem! Europe, get ready for Kurt and 'Cedes!, he thought. Two: Kurt and Mercedes find a travel group with responsible adult supervision. "If I'm not going to be there, there's for damn sure going to be somebody making sure you two don't get kidnapped and sold to a third world country," Burt had said with a determined look. Even though he figured his father was overreacting, Kurt knew he hadn't inherited his stubborn streak from his mother's side of the family. So after another week or two of intense travel website research, Kurt stumbled upon "We've Got Your Back-packing," a "fun-filled 2-week exploration of Britain, Italy, and France for the young and young at heart."

Seriously? We've Got Your Back-packing? Kurt thought, rolling his eyes. He had to admit that, despite being able to claim the least cool name in existence, the website's pictures looked amazing. They also advertised a 29-year-old group leader with vast travel experience. There you go Dad. The fee was all-inclusive, including train and air-fare, and it fell in Kurt's budget with room to spare. Ooookay, he thought as he clicked onto the reservation page, here we go!

The next month had flown by, and the anticipation of his two glorious weeks in Europe had left Kurt so excited that graduation barely even registered. He spent most of the ceremony ignoring Principal Figgins' speech and calculating exactly how many hours, minutes, and seconds there were until his and Mercedes' flight left the following week. Goodbye hugs were passed around to all his friends from glee, though Kurt saved the biggest for Mercedes. "Five days!" he whispered excitedly as they embraced.

"Boy, I know, I'm already packed! I had to borrow my mom's overnight bag for Grandma's tonight, cause my suitcases are already full of all the hot clothes I'm gonna be strutting around Europe in," Mercedes joked. She and her parents were having a family celebration two hours away at her grandmother's house, and Mercedes had spent the last week complaining about all the parties she was going to miss. "I'll call you when I get home tomorrow and we can practice our sexy picture poses for the trip."

When Mercedes' picture popped up on his cell while Kurt was sorting his wardrobe the next day, he flipped it open with an excited, "Hey 'Cedes!"

"What do you mean, you BROKE YOUR ANKLE?" Kurt wailed over the phone two minutes later. "How the hell does somebody break their ankle visiting their grandmother?"

"I'm sorry! She's got these crazy ass slippery stairs and I was half asleep and I really needed a glass of water cause my throat was dry from all the cheering at gradu—"

"But what about our TRIP? I can't go by myself, Dad won't let me!" Kurt interrupted her, too distraught to worry about his friend.

"I know, boo, I called the travel group and they can't refund anyway," she said unhappily. "But they said that somebody else could take my place in the reservation with you if I let them know right away… it was last minute, Kurt, I was desperate… I had to ask somebody I knew would say yes!"

"Mercedes. Please. Tell me it wasn't…"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Rachel's chattering didn't cease for the entire 9-hour flight from Columbus, Ohio to London. Even through the earphones from his in-flight movie, Kurt still wasn't able to completely block out the voice going nonstop next to him.

"…lucky I already had a passport from when my dads took me to perform for the poor in Honduras … can't wait to brag to Finn about all the cute European guys that are probably going to be hitting on me ... hope we make it to a West End musical while we're in London… that flight attendant just called me 'love,' his accent was soooo cute…"

When they finally reached their destination, Kurt hurried to retrieve his bags full of what he deemed "Europe-worthy" attire, while Rachel struggled with her suitcase and carry-on Rainbow Brite pillow. God, could we look any more like tourists? Granted, they were about to meet up with an entire group that would probably scream it from miles away, but Kurt wanted to maintain the illusion of being the suave international traveler as long as possible.

"Ok, this says we're supposed to meet up with this Thomas guy at the pub across from our hotel," Rachel stated matter-of-factly after she pulled a sheet of paper from her fanny pack.

"Yes, Rachel, I got the same arrival email you did, but thanks so much for the information," Kurt muttered sarcastically. Thomas, their group leader, had given them very specific details on where to go from the airport, with every step broken down into easy-to-follow tasks. It had taken Kurt about three seconds of skimming the email to decide that Thomas either assumed he and Rachel were mentally handicapped, or (more likely) the man had been contacted repeatedly by a worried and slightly overbearing Burt.

After a short taxi ride and hotel check-in, Kurt and Rachel made their way across the street to meet their traveling companions at Gilliam's Pub. Kurt would have preferred to freshen up more once they finally got in their room, but they were already running late – Rachel kept stopping every five seconds to point out something else "so British" about the décor in the lobby. He barely had time to run a comb through his light brown hair, give it a quick spray, and change into some fresh clothes: a pair of black skinny jeans with knee-high Doc Martins, a gray collared shirt, and black vest.

As they entered the pub, Kurt saw what looked to be several locals already gathered around tables or playing darts in the corner. Rachel grabbed his hand and dragged him through the crowd to a table with a sign for "We've Got Your Back-packing." A good-looking man in his late twenties sat there, feet propped up on the table and flipping through a London travel guide. Kurt took in his casual attire, longish dark hair, and tan, slightly-weathered looking skin and figured this had to be Thomas.

"Hey guys!" Thomas said cheerfully once he spotted them. "You must be Kurt and Rachel!" Kurt was somewhat surprised to hear the man sounded American as well, but he nodded and had just started to respond when he was interrupted by a loud giggle from Rachel. "H-h-how did you guess that?" she said through giggles, staring at Thomas with obvious interest. Oh my god, really Rachel?

Thomas smiled indulgently before responding. "Well, most of our group is a little older this time except for the two of you, so it wasn't too hard to figure out. We've got a couple on their honeymoon, three women in their 50s, and a husband and wife with their 13-year-old son who, I've been told, is not exactly pumped about the trip. Oh, and my little brother is tagging along to keep the kid company."

Great, Kurt thought through gritted teeth as he watched Rachel try her best to flirt with Thomas, I'm stuck with two kids, a couple of boring adults, and Rachel. So much for my fabulous European adventure. He excused himself from Thomas and an oblivious Rachel to walk over to the bar, squeezing his way through the crowd to get the bartender's attention. Kurt might not have had much experience with alcohol in high school, but he didn't see any reason not to take advantage of Europe's legal drinking age – especially since he was apparently stuck spending his vacation with the most tedious group of people in creation. Playing it safe, he ordered a vodka and diet coke.

"So. You're telling me you came all the way to England, and you're not even going to order a pint?"

Kurt swiveled around, startled by the sudden voice in his ear, and felt his breath catch in his throat. A boy stood behind him with a slightly cocky grin, his gorgeous hazel eyes gleaming mischievously even in the dim lights of the pub. He looked to be around Kurt's age, though slightly shorter, and he had dark, unruly hair that curled around his beautiful face. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Kurt knew he was lingering just a little too long on the boy's perfect nose, strong jaw, full smiling lips… but it was still several seconds before he realized those lips were actually moving. Oops.

"W-what? What did you say?"

The boy smirked, and Kurt flushed slightly. "I said, it's pretty obvious you're not from around here… why not try a real British lager while you have the chance? Wouldn't hurt you to branch out a little."

Kurt felt his temper flare in surprise. He knew his accent was a dead giveaway, but still... What the hell is his problem? Suddenly the beautiful boy and his obnoxious tone struck Kurt as kind of infuriating. Fixing him with a look that could kill, Kurt huffed, "Excuse me –"

"Blaine."

"Blaine. Excuse me, Blaine, but what I order is really none of your business. And for your information, I could live right around the corner. I could come to this pub every day, watch rugby games, hold the record for best darts score…" Kurt trailed off as Blaine started chuckling. "What's so funny?"

"You. Playing darts, in that outfit. Generally you have to be able to maneuver a little bit to play the game, and you… " Blaine let his eyes wander down to Kurt's tight black jeans… "you look like you might have trouble with that."

Seriously? Is this jerk actually hitting on me? Kurt couldn't see any other reason why the boy would be staring so intently at his ass, but he was too riled up to wonder for long. "Oh, and I suppose you're some kind of expert?"

Blaine laughed genuinely for the first time. "No. Unlike you –"

"Kurt."

"Kurt. Unlike you, Kurt, I have lived in London for a while and, also unlike you, I do occasionally come here to drink and play darts. But I also probably hold the pub record for worst score," he said ruefully. "I play with enthusiasm, but I can never quite hold the shaft right, know what I mean?" Blaine winked at Kurt.

Okay, he's definitely hitting on me, Kurt thought, his eyes narrowing. The boy was attractive, sure, but he also appeared to be something of an asshole. Time to go. "Right, well see you around, Blaine."

Kurt slowly backed away from the bar, attempting to make his way through the crowd without spilling his drink, when he felt a hand softly graze his thigh. Kurt's head shot up, and he heard Blaine's low voice whisper in his ear, "I hope so." He froze for the briefest of moments, then continued walking.

"Kurt, where have you been?" Rachel exclaimed when he took his place at the table. "Everyone else is already here!"

"Hey everybody," Thomas said, calling attention to the group that had gathered at the table in Kurt's absence, "This is Kurt Hummel. Kurt, this is Kathleen and Bill, newlyweds," pointing to a friendly-looking couple in their late twenties, "Charlotte, Sophie, and Evelyn, from Savannah," he said with a grin as three older women waved daintily, "and Gary, Paula, and their son Travis," he said finally, gesturing to a trio at the far end of the table. "So we've all met, and we should probably start going over our plans for tomorr—"

"Hey Tom, sorry I'm late - I got caught up with a little something."

Well, SHIT.

Kurt tried to duck his head, but he saw a pair of familiar hazel eyes register surprise, then pleasure as they landed on him.

"Alright I guess everybody's here now, finally," Thomas said smiling fondly at the boy who had just joined their table, then turning back to the group. "Guys, this is the last of our party – my brother, Blaine."