It was just after 7 a.m. when Blaine led Kurt out through the double doors of the gymnasium and down the sloping, grass-covered hill to the stretch of road that lay before the starting line. Hundreds of runners had already ditched their sweatshirts and bags and were spread out around the area; a sprawling mass of color and noise and movement. A number of people were stretching and rubbing their icy limbs, which Kurt could understand, and several others were warming up by sprinting back and forth on a strip of grass near the opposite sidewalk, which he could not—what would possess anyone to run any farther than the excruciatingly long race itself was, frankly, a form of insanity that was utterly beyond him.

As were the choices in apparel visible in the sea of athletes—Kurt had thought that the too-tight, neon spandex he'd seen in the gym was bad, but that was before he'd noticed the plethora of shiny, sleeveless ponchos that he recognized a moment later as garbage bags.

Blaine mercifully interrupted Kurt's fascinated-cum-disturbed staring with a light squeeze on his shoulder. "We're meeting as a group by the tree," he explained, leaning close to Kurt in order to be heard over the crowd and nodding toward a giant oak tree twenty feet in front of them. "Stand next to me?"

His breath was warm on Kurt's rapidly cooling skin, and Kurt nodded more eagerly in response, perhaps, than the question warranted. Blaine didn't seem to notice, smiling appreciatively in return and hoisting his balloon-covered stick in the air as they made their way over to the designated meeting spot.

Kurt had originally thought that the balloons—pink and orange—had been chosen to match Blaine's outfit, but apparently they were serving a purpose beyond color coordination. By the time he and Kurt reached the tree, Blaine's balloons had been spotted by five other runners in the 4:30 pace group—two older men who were clearly friends, and three middle-aged women wearing feather boas and dressed in an assortment of pinks, obviously representing a breast cancer charity. They were followed over the next few minutes by an additional half-dozen runners of varying ages and clothing choices, nearly all of them looking as nervous and excited as Kurt felt. He looked around at the assembled group as Blaine counted heads.

Kurt was the only one who was running alone.

Beside him, Blaine greeted the crowd gathered around them, his shoulder brushing up against Kurt's. "I think we're nearly all here," he announced with a charismatic smile, looking around the ring of people as if there was nothing more fun and exciting than addressing a group of strangers at the crack of dawn.

Kurt smiled.

Almost alone.

"All right then, let's get started so that we have plenty of time to line up for the start," Blaine continued in the same frighteningly perky tone. "My name is Blaine, and as you may have noticed,"—he jostled the balloons a bit with a smile—"I'll be leading the 4:30 pace group this morning. Is everyone here in the right spot?"

He paused, looking around, and Kurt followed suit. Most of the group was nodding or smiling, and a few last-minute stragglers were joining the fringes of the original circle, various shades of relief on their faces at having found the right spot.

Blaine went on. "Is anyone here a first time marathoner?" he wanted to know, glancing briefly at Kurt before looking expectantly around at the group again. Kurt ruefully raised his hand along with the majority of the others, including the trio of pink women, a married couple that were around his dad's age, and a short, slim pair of girls that couldn't have been more than a few months out of high school, if that.

They looked particularly taken with Blaine, Kurt noticed, and he felt a slight flare of annoyance that he quickly shoved aside.

Blaine was beaming at them all. "Great!" he praised, animated. "Congratulations, and welcome to the club. It's always good to run with a group for support your first time out, and you're in good hands today, I promise. This is my third year as a pace leader on this course; I led the 5:00 group my first year, and this one my second. One of the original organizers of the race is a friend of the family, though, so I've been running this marathon ever since its inaugural year."

He cleared his throat meaningfully. "Unofficially, of course," he added, voice mockingly stern. "Because this is an 18-and-over event, and we are very strict about checking IDs here, particularly at the post-race party." He winked cheerfully at the pink women, and they giggled helplessly. The teenage girls, too, were still watching Blaine admiringly, and Kurt felt his stomach sink at the idea that maybe he'd been reading the situation all wrong, maybe Blaine hadn't been flirting with him earlier in the gym, maybe he was just a nice, straight guy that flirted with everyone and Kurt was grasping for something that wasn't really there, yet again…

And that was when Blaine slid his hand into Kurt's, lacing their fingers together.

"Those of you with watches,"—he held up their intertwined hands, showing off the sports watch strapped to Kurt's wrist that Finn had cleaned and lent him for the occasion, a new hole punched in its band—"are looking for a speed of 10:14 per mile. If that sounds a few seconds faster than what your pace calculator online told you, that's because it is: there are eight aid stations on this course, and we've built in enough time to slow down and grab some water or Gatorade at half of them, in order to help minimize collisions."

He lowered Kurt's hand, briefly ghosting his thumb over Kurt's palm before letting go.

Kurt tried not to gloat at the teenage girls' obvious disappointed expressions.

Smirking was so unbecoming, after all.

Blaine continued his obviously rehearsed spiel, making eye contact with everyone in turn as he explained that they should feel free to stop for water even when he didn't, and that ending up in front of or behind him was fine ("But notright in front of me, or we'll end up in a cornfield somewhere," he joked sheepishly, making everyone laugh) and that although he couldn't stop if anyone got sick or injured during the race, he was connected via radio to the first aid stations, and could call for a medic if it became necessary.

Kurt only half-listened, paying attention instead to the way Blaine was practically vibrating in place with cold and excitement, and to the light pink blush on his otherwise tanned cheeks. The way he leaned forward almost unconsciously when he was making a point, not even missing a beat when the theme from Rocky suddenly came blaring out of the enormous speakers set up on either side of the balloon arch marking the starting line. The automatic-yet-weirdly-natural way he had of seeking out eye contact with everyone who was listening, making each person in the group feel included.

He may have been imagining it, but Kurt was sure that Blaine was looking at him a little more often than at any of the others.

Somehow, despite all of the just-shy-of-blatant staring that Kurt was doing, Blaine nearly managed to take him by surprise when he reached for Kurt's hand a second time.

"…happens to me and I feel I can't lead you effectively anymore," Blaine was saying, "I'll call on the radio for one of our two backup pacers, and I'll be counting on those of you with experience, and the five or six of you wearing watches"—he held up Kurt's wrist again, and Kurt bit back a smile as he gamely showed off Finn's watch—"to keep the whole group more or less on pace until Sam or Santana meets up with you on the course. It's a last resort, but the one time we've had to make a mid-race pacer switch, the transition took less than a mile and the group finished on time. So you guys should be fine."

Lowering their joined hands, Blaine twisted Kurt's wrist painlessly, checking the time on Finn's watch. "We should get in place for the start," he decided, giving Kurt's hand a squeeze in thanks before letting him have it back. "Any questions?"


Blaine stuck close to Kurt as they moved as a group toward the temporary fencing that was separating the runners from the spectators, his yardstick once again held high in the air over their heads. "So," he asked with a suddenly shy smile, ducking his head as he led Kurt and the others around a shallow ditch near the sidewalk. "How did I do?"

Kurt bit his lip, pretending to think about it while enjoying Blaine's continued attention. "All right, I guess," he admitted, trying to maintain a straight face. "You might want to cheer up a little next time, though; people might think that you don't want to be here or something."

Blaine loud, delighted laughter garnered them several surprised looks, and Kurt felt his cheeks warming pleasantly.

It wasn't until he had stepped around the partition and into the throng of runners that his stomach started to drop unhappily; a gut-twisting, panicky dread that he had always associated with terrible auditions and heavy-lidded dumpsters. "Oh, crap," he muttered breathlessly, gazing at the sea of people around him.

Blaine, who had stepped away briefly to make sure that the whole group was still together, was at his side instantly. "What's wrong?" he wanted to know, watching Kurt's face with big, concerned, Disney Prince eyes.

Kurt couldn't help but smile—Blaine was really too ridiculously cute. "Nothing, I'm fine," he promised, glancing around to make sure that nobody else from his group was eavesdropping (they weren't). "It's just…I think I just realized that I have to run a marathon in a few minutes, and it hit me all at once. Silly, right? It's not as if I didn't know what I was doing when I got up this morning."

Blaine's warm hand, which Kurt had missed with a weird, barely perceptible sense of loss since the last time that Blaine had let go of him, gripped Kurt's shoulder gently. "It's not silly," Blaine disagreed earnestly, quirking his lips in a reassuring smile. "This is a huge thing that you're doing, and it's perfectly understandable to have some last-minute nerves. And I can pretty much guarantee you that half of the people in our group are talking to the other half about how freaked out they are right now," he added conspiratorially, indicating the others with a slight tilt of his head.

Kurt sighed, aware that Blaine was probably right but not especially comforted by it. "Were you freaked out before your first marathon?" he asked, realizing as he spoke that he actually really wanted to know the answer.

Blaine scoffed self-deprecatingly. "I was too young and stupid to know what I was getting myself into," he told Kurt wryly, cheeks flushing in that unfairly attractive way that seemed to be directly connected to Kurt's heart rate. "Obviously it worked out, since I'm still running, but I had a tendency to throw myself into things wholeheartedly without thinking about them when I was in high school."

He bit his lip, and Kurt raised an eyebrow. "I'm not sure I'm following you," he deadpanned mildly. "Could you be a little more cryptic?"

Blaine laughed. "I know, I'm sorry," he apologized with an embarrassed grin. "I'd give you some examples of what I mean, but I'm kind of trying to impress you enough that you don't change your mind about having coffee with me later, and any tales of me accidentally getting people fired from The Gap or making friends with a teenage male stripper might work against me in that endeavor."

Kurt was listening with no small amount of amusement, and it was his turn to turn lightly pink at Blaine's admission. "Sounds like a story or two for another time," he remarked breathlessly, batting his eyelashes (and noticing with gratification how the simple gesture made Blaine inhale sharply). "Or, we're about to spend around 4 ½ hours together; maybe I can needle it out of you by the finish line. I can be very persuasive."

Blaine's eyes crinkled as he smiled. "I don't doubt it," he agreed, his eyes dropping momentarily to Kurt's mouth. "But my embarrassing stories—that you won't be hearing today, by the way—aside, all I meant to say is that you seem much more together and practical than I was at fifteen, and that I think you'll be great out there.

"Don't worry, though," he added, smiling at Kurt's disappointed pout, "I promise to keep you otherwise entertained." He glanced around furtively before leaning in toward Kurt, eyes shining flirtatiously. "Play your cards right, and I might even let you pick the music."

Kurt shifted his weight onto his back leg, wrapping an arm around his waist. "No headphones allowed on the course, I seem to recall someone saying earlier," he reminded Blaine archly, smiling just enough to assure Blaine that he was only teasing. "Unless…if you've been controlling the music coming out of the speakers this whole time"—Kurt nodded toward the oversized sound system by the starting line, which was blasting Pump Up the Jam far louder than was appropriate or necessary—"then I don't think we can be friends anymore. At least, not until you reconsider some of your life choices."

Blaine's smile slowly grew wider. "Not a late '80s fan, then? I can work around that," he replied, mimicking Kurt's posture seemingly without noticing. "My nickname back in New York is 'The Human Jukebox'; I'm sure I can findsomething you like."

Kurt stared. "You're a singer?" he demanded, his voice hitching slightly midsentence.

Blaine nodded enthusiastically. "Mostly just karaoke and student productions this semester," he explained, "but I was in an a cappella group last year, and I used to sing lead vocals in my high school's show choir. And at theme parks during school vacations, but I'll deny it if you tell anyone."

Kurt had stopped listening at 'show choir'. "How are you even real?" he mused out loud, not even bothering to keep the note of appreciation out of his voice.

Blaine blinked, letting out a small, sheepish laugh and letting his gaze fall to the ground. "Well, I-I, uh…" he stammered, sounding both flattered speechless and embarrassed by Kurt's praise, and he raised his hand to rub the back of his neck.

The early morning sunbeams glinted off of the face of his watch.

His watch. Kurt rolled his eyes, marveling at his own obliviousness. "Of courseyou're wearing a Garmin," he scoffed, more to himself than to Blaine, whose eyes had snapped back up to Kurt's face at the exclamation. "You'd have to have one, in order to keep track of the pace. But—"

He paused. "Then, why did you need me to stand next to you earlier?" he asked, slightly puzzled. "You could have just used your own watch, if you needed a prop."

This time, it was Blaine's turn to huff disbelievingly. When Kurt continued to stare questioningly, however, his gaze grew soft. "If I'd used my own, I wouldn't have had an excuse to hold your hand," he pointed out gently, meeting Kurt's eyes tentatively. "Which was totally forward and an abuse of my position, I agree, but—"

"Blaine," Kurt cut him off, smiling, not entirely certain if Blaine's self-tirade was in earnest or not. "It's—I didn't mind. I liked it, actually."

Blaine's expression went from clouded to hopeful so quickly that Kurt would have laughed at him under any other circumstances. "Yeah?" he asked quietly, stepping a little closer to Kurt in order to let a group of people squeeze by behind him.

He didn't step back when they were gone, and Kurt swallowed. "Yeah," he confirmed. "I mean, once I got past the sweaty palms—dripping, Blaine, honestly—and you cutting off all of the circulation to my fingers, I suppose it wasn't too bad…"

Blaine was laughing even before Kurt had finished. "Is that how it's going to be, then?" he wanted to know, gazing at Kurt with a mixture of exasperation and amusement. "I swear, Kurt, you—"

Whatever he was going to swear, however, was cut off abruptly as the music pouring out of the speakers was mercifully turned off, replaced by the muffled scuffling of a microphone being turned on and passed over.

"Welcome, runners, to this year's annual Central Ohio Marathon!" a deep voice announced a moment later. The crowd around them went wild, clapping and cheering and whistling, and Kurt swallowed harshly, suddenly tense and uneasy all over again. The race was about to begin.

Without looking, Kurt reached for Blaine's hand.

Blaine squeezed back soothingly.