Chapter Nine

Sometimes, and only sometimes, life threw Finn a pleasant surprise. On this occasion, the surprise came in the form of Tina Cohen-Chang. With her whirling mane of humbug hair, she was akin to a superhero as she grabbed Finn's hand and steered him towards the locker room, explaining she'd given Mike 'vocal practice' after school and couldn't help but hear the commotion. That was gross, yet serendipitous, so Finn wasn't about to complain as Tina thrust a pale pink towel in his dripping hands and instructed him to go and shower. She was even kind enough to write down Mike's locker combination, explaining to Finn that Mike's gym kit was likely to be a little tight, but preferable to smelling like Da Mario's, at the very least.

"It wasn't Quinn, by the way," she'd said, kindly, and he wondered whether she really was a vampire or something, because how else could she have read his mind like that? "She coaches baby gymnastics on a Monday evening. Come on. If you're quick, Mike can give you a ride. He's cooking for me tonight, so we'll swing by the store, if that's okay?"

Perfect Mike Chang, Finn thought. God, his abs. I bet his abs are plastic, but then he pressed that thought down. He'd found it hard enough to think that way about Kurt, and he really didn't need to be mentally undressing Mike in front of his meek, but not mild, girlfriend.

"Thanks," he replied. "I'll be five minutes, max, and Mom and Burt are out so I was gonna pick up some food anyway." He paused. "You're kinda badass, Tina. No wonder Mike's wrapped around your finger."

"I know," she replied, with a sly smile. "I am."

A warm shower, and he felt better already, but still couldn't help but cringe as he walked out to Mike's car. Mike's spare gym kit didn't leave much to the imagination, and he felt the ridges of the shorts cut into his thighs, but it was clean at least, and he didn't have to walk home smelling like oregano, so it could have been a lot worse.

000

"So," Finn said, glancing warily at the acres of pre-packaged microwave meals. "What should I cook for Kurt?"

Tina placed her finger to her bottom lip, considering both the options she'd probably go for, and the times she'd seen Finn burn things in Home Ec. "Get some pre-cooked chicken breast, a bag of arugula, walnuts, balsamic dressing, and some goat cheese. Tasty, but chicken salad's a winner, and no need to call out the fire department if you try to use the stove, yes?"

"God, she's awesome, isn't she?" Mike said, Finn shuddering as he noticed the jar of nutella and marshmallows in Mike's basket. They had to be making s'mores for an indoor bonfire or something, because Finn didn't want to contemplate what else they might be doing on their date night.

"Totally," Finn said, and he had to admit a salad sounded delicious, even if he would be raiding the pantry with frantic hunger afterwards. He smiled fondly at Tina, who was making sweeping ninja motions in front of her face. "You're like, Asian Rogue or something."

"I'm both awesome, and perceptive," she replied. "Kurt's always bitched to me he has to cook for himself when you play house, though, so this does seem a little out of character. Do you have a date, Finn?"

Finn felt his cheeks warm up, probably resembling the color of that infernal sauce he'd been assailed with earlier.

"Okay," he said, sighing. "Yeah. I do."

As Tina rubbed her hands happily, Mike extended his for a high five. "Cool, is she someone we know? One of the Cheerios?"

Tina frowned, her tiny nose crinkling with faint disgust. "Sugar? Oh, no. Suddenly my frappe isn't agreeing with me..."

"No!" Finn stared into his basket. "It's, uh... someone, uh, new."

Tina smiled knowingly, the fluorescent light from the store hitting the dimples in her cheeks. "Oh, someone new?"

"Tina, leave him alone."

"Sorry," she replied, with a flick of her hair. "I'm dying to know, but Kurt always tells us the juicy details. Always."

Frowning, Finn stared back at the chiller cabinet. "I don't see any arugular here... is it, like, in the freezer cabinet?"

Mike grabbed his arm and steered him towards the vegetable aisle. Finn realized there was no way he was ready for his... thing, whatever it was, with Kurt, to be pushed into the public domain. He needed to change the subject, and fast. Wait. Change the subject? That was what they did in Algebra, wasn't it? Suddenly, he had an idea.

"Hey," he said, giving Mike his best puppy-dog look. "You're great at math, right? Kurt said he was gonna get Blaine to tutor me in that and US History, but Blaine..."

Nodding, Tina patted his arm gently. "Blaine has the tact and diplomacy of a five year-old," she said, without even trying to look apologetic. "We went shopping with him once, and it was like a private taping of Project Runway hosted by Barney the Dinosaur and Simon Cowell's overly-vocal lovechild."

"I'd love to, Finn!" Mike's smile was bordering on crazy, and so animated Finn backed away in shock. "Why didn't you ask me before? Tutoring football players is the kind of wholesome extra curricular my Dad lives for!"

"It won't put you out? I'm pretty bad, so bad they think I have, like, math dyslexia, but you were so kind and explained things so well when you gave me dance lessons last year."

"Nah," Mike replied. "I'm good at managing my time, and I managed to get Strando a B-. I think I can handle a bit of Hudson."

Finn blushed at the thought of Mike handling him. Crap. Maybe Kurt wasn't his only exception?

"But there's nothing in it for you, is there? Unless..." Finn paused, beaming at them both. "Wait! Tina, you've been after a solo since, like, Freshman year, haven't you?"

"But I'm no Rachel," she said, downcast.

"Well, no," Finn replied. "You're not. But that doesn't mean you shouldn't ever sing. I'm gonna chat to Mr. Schue tomorrow."

Mike shook his head. "She won't -"

Yet, suddenly, Finn was almost knocked off his feet as a tornado of Tina hit his chest, all but willing him to lift her up in the air and swing her around like a carousel horse.

"You'd do that for me? Really?"

"Of course!" Finn placed his hands around her waist, gently, then patted her on the shoulder. "Look, you two go do..." He didn't exactly want to think about what they did on their dates. "Whatever you need to do. I have to get going but I'll talk to Mr. Schue tomorrow, okay? I should have stood up for you in the choir room the other day, and before, and I didn't. It's the least I can do for you. I got this."

Tina's eyes were dreamy and Finn couldn't help but smile; she must have had a million song ideas swarming around her head.

"Etta James? What do you think, Mike?"

"Didn't Etta James sing that Baby I Don't Care song Rachel uploaded to YouTube a while back?"

Mike smiled, wryly. "That was Wendy James, Finn."

"Oh! Joni Mitchell! How about River or, or, Both Sides Now?"

Yeah, Tina was clearly getting carried away. Finn had to put a stop to that or Mike would be stuck in the store until midnight while she discussed potential Sectionals songs.

"Emergency call to Kurt tonight, huh, dear?" Mike slung an arm around her shoulders happily.

Finn thumbed the packs of salad leaves carefully, and selected the least brownish yellow packet before placing it in his basket. "Yeah, you do that, Tina. Kurt's been asking Mr. Schue for you to sing for ages, but... well, you know, he doesn't always listen to Kurt."

"Thank you, Finn," she said. "So, so much. Rachel will probably throw me under a bus if this actually happens, but, yeah. You can be kind of cool sometimes, even if we don't, uh, tell you that..."

"Damn right," Mike replied. "We're all a little sick of Blaine taking charge, and he doesn't seem to get what our glee club is about. We'll have Puck on our side, for sure. And Kurt. Oh, and that Irish kid. Rachel's been enemy number one ever since she dumped you, you know."

Great. Rory. Finn had more than a few suspicions about that foreign exchange kid's intentions. Yes, Rory had made it clear to him that his one goal in life was to lose his virginity to Brittany, but then Kurt had said similar things during that crazy week two years ago when he'd raided Burt's closet for plaid, and Finn knew how that had turned out. Crap. It was flattering at first, having someone who looked up to him with bright blue eyes, but Rory's intensity was freaking him out in a way Kurt's never did, and that was something else he'd have to address tomorrow.

"We're kind of a messed up family," Tina said, as she waved goodbye. "But you know what? I don't think we'd have it any other way."

Finn smiled brightly, returning her wave. "Yeah, me neither. I owe you guys, like, a million. See you tomorrow!"

Whistling to himself, he completed his shopping and left the store with a literal spring in his step. Aside from the uncomfortable rub and chafe of Mike Chang's too tight gym shorts against his inner thighs, things were looking up already.

000

Still whistling, because November Rain was ridiculously long after all, Finn tore through the door with his shopping bags in his arms, feeling the weight of the day drain from his shoulders as he dumped them on the kitchen floor.

"Kurt?" He said. "Where are you? I got us dinner!"

"Well, hello there," Kurt said, tiptoeing up to kiss him chastely on the cheek. "How was your day, sweetie?"

Finn felt awfully domestic all of a sudden, until he took in Kurt's clothing. It took only a second for his throat to dry, crisp, like the icy leaves outside, because Kurt was wearing his old Cheerios pants and a loose shirt which hit just below his waist. His pants clung to him like a second skin, and... Kurt must have known he could have stopped traffic in those. Must have done, because Finn, and probably anyone in the tri-country area, could see everything.

"My day sucked," Finn said, beginning to put his groceries away. "I got sauced."

Kurt raised his eyebrow. "Sauced? Is that some new pick-up line the girls are using on you, or..."

Finn shook his head, weariness creeping back through his bones. "No. Actually sauced. With pasta sauce, I -"

Kurt walked behind him and placed his head on Finn's shoulder. "Don't think about that now."

"So. How was your day? Did Blaine -"

Bending down to pick up a shopping bag, Kurt peered inside it, a curious look on his face. "He'll be fine, Finn." He paused, his mouth curling up in a smirk. "Arugula and goat cheese? Really?"

"Shut up!" Finn said, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. "I thought it would be nice to make dinner for us, and Mom even said we could use that leftover wine in the fridge, and there's no hob involved, I swear! It's all self-assemblage!"

Kurt squeezed his shoulder. "That's lovely, it really is, but isn't there something else you'd like to do first?" His voice rumbled, purring almost, low in his throat. Finn gulped; Kurt had never sounded like that before, and it sent every ounce of blood in his body straight towards his groin.

"Um, homework? Isn't that what I should be doing?"

"Oh, really?" said Kurt, his normal tone back with a vengeance. "Well. Don't mind me, then."

But Finn did, and dropped his drink on the floor with a thud, because Kurt was stretching in front of him, a small, milky slither of stomach winking at him, his pants low, showing the hard curve of his hipbone, and Finn was only human, had to do it, and grabbed a handful of Kurt's shirt, pressing him against the kitchen wall, Kurt's mouth an 'o' of surprise.

"You expect me," Finn gasped, sliding his thigh between Kurt's legs, "to come in, and find you wearing this, and talk to me like that, and then go and do my homework?" Kurt's gasp spurred him on and Finn pressed a line of open-mouthed kisses across his smooth neck. "I don't think homework was what you had in mind, huh?"

"No," Kurt replied, softly, and the moment his water-chilled lips slid against Finn's, Finn felt his brain wipe itself clean of coherent thought because Kurt was groaning against his mouth, and twisting his hands in his hair, kissing him frantic, messy, hard and wet, clutching his back desperately.

"Upstairs, Finn," he said, through broken pants. "Now."

It felt like hours had passed as they tangled together, tripping over each other's feet, kissing on each step because they didn't want to let go, and couldn't let go, a torturous stretch of time until they collapsed onto Kurt's bed, the frame groaning under their combined weight. Finn reminded himself to breathe through his nose, steady, in and out, in and out, as his trembling fingertips fumbled with the hem of Kurt's shirt.

Kurt reached up to stroke Finn's hair, his eyes open and honest and so full of trust. "Are you okay?"

Nodding, Finn slumped back against the headboard. "Yeah. I guess, I'm..." He stretched, curling his toes, and scrunched his hands in his hair, needing something, anything to do with his nervous hands. "This is just new to me, that's all."

"It's okay, Finn." Kurt's cheeks were blush-red as he coughed lightly. "It's okay. We can just make out if you want to."

"No!" he said, louder than intended, his heart hammering so hard he swore Kurt could feel it beat against his own chest. "That's, that's great, but I want..."

Kurt was so kind, so gentle, so sympathetic while Finn was being such a fumbling idiot.

"Would you feel more comfortable if we got under the covers?"

Finn nodded and slid between the sheets. He couldn't help but gasp as he watched Kurt remove his shirt, his rosy pink nipples hardening in the cool air before he slid under the covers, his chest radiating so much heat, a delicious contrast to the cotton sheets which felt like a cool glass of milk against his skin.

"I want... I..."

God, he felt about two inches tall. He bet his life that Blaine was never this incompetent, and here he was, demanding that the blankets come up to his chin like some sort of Victorian heroine, unable to articulate what he wanted, what he needed, like the loser he was. Squeezing his eyes shut, he slid his palms down to his shorts, feeling how wet they were at the front, confirmation of just how ridiculously turned on he was. Palming himself, he hissed as the rough fabric brushed against his erection, and took a deep breath before tossing them on the floor.

What did he want?

He'd asked Rachel to suck him off, once, though hadn't used that exact phrase because he would have been kicked out of bed for that, but it had lasted for a total of twelve seconds before she'd burst into tears, complained about irreversible vocal chord damage, and tiptoed downstairs to fetch herself a cup of throat coat tea. When she came back, fully-clothed, of course, her Dad and Daddy had pounded on the door, asking her if their mommellah needed a cup of water, and, yeah. The experience hadn't been one he'd wanted to repeat in a hurry.

No. He wasn't going to think about Rachel, not when Kurt's sure, soft hands were trailing down his shaking body. Yeah, he knew what he wanted, and pleasant wouldn't even begin to describe it.

"Kurt. I'd love your hands on me," he said, exhaling.

Kurt's stare was curious, but not apprehensive, and Finn was relieved he didn't reply hands on you where, or but my hands are already on you, or any sarcastic variations of that, because he could quite have easily said something akin to that, quite have easily made him feel even smaller, but instead he merely smiled, his teeth glinting, bright like diamonds.

Finn gripped Kurt's shoulders tightly. "Kiss me, then," he said, feeling oddly assertive, and he half expected Kurt to hit him with a throw pillow for that and so before Kurt could say anything else, Finn rolled him over, pinning down his thin wrists, kissing the squeak of surprise away from his throat, Kurt shuddering each time Finn ground his leg against his hardness, rolling his eyes back in his head, biting his lip, the vein in his neck pulsing as he clenched his teeth.

"God, you feel amazing," Kurt said, licking a stripe up Finn's neck, slow and gentle in contrast to the roughness of his hand which was squeezing Finn's cock. "You're so hard for me, so big..."

Shuddering, Finn felt like he was being catapulted between Kurt's gentle, soft voice and his hard, warm body in the most delicious manner. Where the hell had Kurt learned to talk like that? Certainly not in any of those hand-holding Broadway musicals he watched. Finn made a mental note to sneak into Kurt's room and investigate his browser history at the next available opportunity; he could certainly learn some... things from that.

"Is that good?" Kurt said, his other hand rubbing rough circles against the crown of Finn's hairline.

"Uh-huh."

"Yeah," Kurt said, with a lazy nod. "Yes," he said, against Finn's lips, his quick kiss turning deeper, urgent, his tongue flickering against the roof of Finn's mouth like a wet flame.

Finn groaned as Kurt's thumb swiped over the head of his cock. "Fuck," he said, his words tangling hopelessly in the air. "God, stop, I need... need to touch you."

Kurt merely gripped him harder, and then broke away.

"This isn't about me, right now."

The look in Kurt's eyes was slightly tentative, yet brilliant, and so intense, as he locked his bright eyes on Finn's and rummaged under his pillow.

"Kurt?" Finn frowned, feeling colder all of a sudden. "What are you doing?"

"Trust me," he replied, his breath warm against Finn's ear as he extracted a pale blue bottle from under his pillow, squirting a generous amount into the palm of his hand.

"You're not gonna, uh, put it in me, right? I don't think I can -"

Kurt chuckled gently. "No! I just... it makes it smoother, when I'm doing this on my own, and I thought you might..."

Finn glanced at the bottle. Kurt had used this on himself? And, judging by the fact the bottle was at least half empty (or, he supposed, half-full if you considered it) Kurt had used it on himself a lot.

As Kurt slicked his palms, Finn tentatively peered under the comforter, trying not to cringe at the sight of his own body, naked, and not exactly pleasing to his own eyes.

"Come on, Finn." Kurt's face was nothing but gentle as he reached down, beneath his sheets, which Finn supposed cost more money than every single item in his own wardrobe. "You feel so good in my hand, so good, but... can I see you? Please?"

Kurt was all smooth, and delicate, and he just felt like this big, lumbering moose in comparison. Why would Kurt want to see that? He nodded and pushed the sheets away from his body, groaning as Kurt's eyes glanced over his body, fire and urgency and hunger in every single part of his expression. Kurt clearly did want to see it, and he'd just have to push his self-esteem issues aside for once.

"God, you're gorgeous," Kurt said, gripping him hard, and slick, his other hand digging into Finn's thigh with so much force he suspected it would bruise.

Finn reached down and placed his hand over Kurt's. "Harder," he said. "Harder, please, that's..."

"Push your knees up to your chest, Finn."

Bossy Kurt was hot, and Finn complied, on autopilot, as Kurt's hand gripped him, sure and certain, slick and tight, and all of a sudden his finger was there, as his hand continued to work him, twisting and turning and wringing him inside out, and he barely had time to open his mouth to protest before Kurt's finger was inside him, hooking deep in some sort of weird rubbing motion, pressing once, twice, and it was all too much, he was just so close, and he groaned so hard he felt his chest vibrate as he twitched around and against Kurt's hands, flopping back onto the bed with a happy sigh, bedsheets pooled around his waist, his stomach wet, and messy, his eyes glazed over.

Christ. He must have looked absurd. Thank God Burt hadn't acquiesced and allowed Kurt to have those weird mirrored ceilings. For some reason, he felt like laughing, and so he did. He didn't think he'd ever be able to stop.

"Ugh. I need to get cleaned up," he said, his throat hoarse, accepting the tissue Kurt passed towards him.

Kurt pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead. "Really, now? You appear to be obsessed with showers lately. Are Bath and Body Works funding you through college now or something?" he paused, fingering the damp strands of hair curled up against Finn's forehead. "And next time, can we just skip the covers? Every... inch of you is gorgeous, Finn"

"Nah. Shower, dude. You need to clean up, too. You have a little..." feeling bold, he swiped a finger to Kurt's cheek, tasted himself, humming happily under his breath. How he'd even got that on Kurt's cheek, he wasn't quite sure, but then he couldn't remember a time when he'd come quite so fiercely and it wasn't exactly a bad thing.

Kurt was utterly speechless, still panting under his breath. Standing up on shaky, coltish legs, Finn merely glanced over his shoulder and shot Kurt a wink. The look on Kurt's face indicated he wasn't going to turn him down this time.

Walking to the bathroom, Finn turned on the taps and stepped under the spray of the shower, warm water cascading over his skin, and it was only a moment before Kurt's slender naked form was pressed coldly against his side, and Finn didn't even miss a beat before he slid to the floor, the tub cold and hard beneath his knees. He took a deep breath. Looked up. It was...kind of staring him in the face. He looked up further, Kurt's eyes glassy and wet, tendrils of water dripping down his smooth chest, the dark line of hair trailing down from his navel collecting moisture, and Finn couldn't help but press his lips against the head of Kurt's cock, tasting him.

God. He was beautiful.

"Are you okay? You don't have to..."

Don't freak out now, Finn's brain helpfully reminded him. He'd made out with Kurt in a closet at school. He'd had Kurt's finger in his ass. He'd made elaborate plans to cook Kurt his best, albeit misguided attempt at a romantic dinner. It was okay. It had to be, and Kurt had certainly enjoyed making him feel good.

"Yeah, Kurt. Yeah, I want to," he said, more for his own benefit, and took a deep breath. "I really, really want to."

It wasn't too weird. Kind of salty, heavy against his tongue, and it made his mouth ache a little, but the noises Kurt made, those squeaky, echoing breathy moans were enough to make his cock twitch again.

He gripped Kurt's hipbones roughly as Kurt came, his thighs trembling, and swallowed everything with a groan, standing up on aching feet, letting the warm spray of water soothe his sore knees and kissed Kurt, exploring his skin, exploring everything he could, and every single one of his fingers were wrinkled and sore by the time the shower began to run cold. Stepping out onto the bathmat, Finn passed Kurt a soft towel and pressed a kiss to his shoulder before they walked back into the bedroom and collapsed back on the bed in an inelegant, damp, sated heap.

000

"Crap," Finn said.

"Crap?" Kurt rubbed his eyes, and then glanced at the clock on his nightstand. "Oh, crap. It's half past nine!"

"It's your fault. You're the cuddler," Finn said, with a grumble.

"Me? You're the one wrapped up like a human pretzel." Kurt paused. "Hey. No apologies are necessary, but we should probably get dressed, hm?"

Pulling away, Finn stood up, not feeling nearly as self-conscious after their extended shower together. "Hey, why don't I rent us a room after Sectionals next week? Mom can't change her shift, and we could encourage them to have a date night, and..."

"Of course!" Kurt smiled happily. "There's a brilliant French restaurant nearby. Bla-" he managed to stop himself in time. "I read a review of it. Perhaps I can make reservations if you pay for the room? Don't even think about wearing those, though." Kurt gestured to Finn's favorite pair of Converse, the faded white pair he'd not seen in months which sat sadly in the corner next to Kurt's music stand, and how the hell had those ended up in Kurt's room, anyway?

"Dude," he said. "After all that food, you're gonna be burping me."

"You are just too sexy for words," Kurt said, with a shake of his head. "It's a date"

"A date?" Finn chuckled. He kissed Kurt's forehead, and then his cheek. "Wow. Yeah. I guess it is. You know, I... really like this, uh, this thing we have. Um, are we boyfriends, now?"

"I suppose so. But it feels like..."

"Comfortable, yeah. The same as before, only now I can do all the things I've been wanting to do."

Kurt nodded. "Do we really need a label, then? Can't we just be, well. Us?"

Reaching for his palm and squeezing tightly, Finn sighed. "I suppose we can. At least for the time being. I can't... we can't keep secrets forever, but maybe... maybe it wouldn't be so bad, Kurt. If they did know. I don't like to keep things from the people I care about. Maybe we could tell -"

A shrill noise pierced the air, and Kurt fumbled on the bedside table and glanced at his phone with a groan. "Tina. Hm. This had better be important."

"Oh? I wonder what she wants?" Finn said, trying to conceal the mirth in his voice. "Find out, then meet me downstairs. I'm fixing dinner for us."

Glancing down at himself, he briefly wondered whether Kurt would protest if he fixed dinner wearing nothing but an apron, but he shook his head. He might not need a heat source, but he'd need a knife, and his Mom might well return earlier than expected and even Burt wouldn't have bought that he was dense enough to have thought The Naked Chef was literal.

000

After dressing, Finn bounded downstairs. Making a salad wasn't much harder than assembling a sandwich, and contrary to Kurt's opinion, Finn wasn't completely inept at food preparation, providing he didn't have to use the grill, or anything that required a great deal of concentration or coordination. One of the few perks he had of a mother who worked swing shift when he was younger, he supposed. Tasting his salad dressing and adding the finishing touches, he smiled at Kurt's expression as he placed the plates down on the cleanly set table.

"This looks delicious, Finn. You, you made this? Is this..." Kurt gave his glass of wine a happy sniff. "Oh my, is this a Chenin Blanc?"

Finn nodded, not wanting to give away that he had no idea what kind of wine it was. "Just a little something I put together," he said, with a smile. "Call it a Hudson original."

"You really are full of surprises," Kurt said, returning his smile, the candlelight illuminating his face softly, as they ate their dinner in comfortable silence, Kurt stroking his calves with his foot from under the table.

"To us," Kurt said, and Finn couldn't help but smile at how happy he looked. That smile of Kurt's was infectious. "And to the rest of our Senior Year not sucking like a toothless canary."

"Yeah," Finn replied, taking a sip of his drink, which was sort of sour and weird-tasting, but Kurt didn't seem to mind, so it couldn't have been that bad. "So what did Tina want?"

"Just my help for Sectionals," he said, tapping the rim of his glass with his index finger. "And I have the perfect song for her to sing. The judges are going to love it."

"Oh! Tell me!" said Finn, excited, and happy, feeling about ten years old, but he couldn't care, and he couldn't wait for next week. They'd been close. Close close. And they'd gone back to bantering, and talking, and being them without a moment's pause. No crying, no regrets, just them. He was absolutely right when he said he'd never met a girl like Kurt the other week; he'd never meet another boy like Kurt, either, or anyone that he could just be himself around, without fearing he'd be laughed at. He could just be.

Was that what love was, then?

He couldn't think about that right now, though, couldn't think about sitting with Kurt on some cheesy grassy knoll and watching the stars come out, because they had to get ready for Sectionals, and think about their future, and he had his Mom's Christmas present to buy, and there were so many other mundane, yet important and scary things Senior year was bringing. Still. He smiled, and reached for Kurt's hand. So, maybe he was in love. Just a little bit. Just enough that his heart clenched tightly, and it felt like the stars were right there in the dining room.