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Three Impossible Things

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There are three high school fantasies that Kurt Hummel wrote off long ago as impossibilities.

The first was winning something – anything – and he’d given up on that from basically the moment he set foot on McKinley’s campus as a freshman, because everyone knew that only the Cheerios were allowed to win anything at McKinley, and even if someone else managed to achieve the impossible, he probably wouldn’t be a part of it, given… well.

And then New Directions managed to win Sectionals, and suddenly he felt a strange warmth in his chest under his immaculately brushed cashmere double-breasted blazer whenever he set foot in the glee room – pride. In his school.

So that impossibility was pushed to the wayside, but it wasn’t as if the other two were magically going to happen, because even if he had managed to acquire some modicum of love for a small part of the McKinley Hellhole, his love didn’t make the place any less located in Lima, Ohio.

And in Lima, Ohio, guys weren’t exactly lining up around his house to ask him on dates. Dating, he’d always figured, would have to wait until college, when he would get as far away from this wretched pit of ignorance as he could.

And then, suddenly, he was running down a hall, hand in hand with a beautiful dark-eyed boy, watching him laugh with Kurt, like they were in on a secret. And miracle of miracles, next he was singing to Kurt, eyes full of promise, and a moth later Blaine leaned over and kissed him as they were parked outside McKinley, soft and sweet and so perfect that if Kurt believed in God he would think his prayers had been answered.

“Courage,” Blaine whispered against his lips, and then he gently nudged Kurt out the car door, because it was time for him to go back.

If anyone said anything to Kurt that afternoon, good or bad, all Kurt heard was Blaine’s voice repeating in his head like a heartbeat.

So impossibility number two became delightfully real, and Kurt couldn’t even think of impossibility number three, because what could be more perfect than Blaine smiling down at him like he was the best kind of present? How could anything get better than Blaine’s mouth in his, Blaine’s hands tracing shapes into his skin? Kurt let himself be caught up in all of Blaine’s possibilities and forget about the last big impossible thing.

Except.

It was almost midnight – and Kurt had pretty much flipped his shit when his dad had set a curfew as a condition of letting him date Blaine – and they were in the back of Kurt’s SUV, stretched out against each other, engaging in what, in Kurt’s opinion, was the finest of all high school traditions: the post-movie backseat makeout session. Blaine’s hands were under his sweater, trailing over his spine, and Blaine bit at Kurt’s ear in a ways that made him twist up against Blaine; anything to make him keep going, anything as long as he didn’t stop.

But no, Blaine pulled back. “hey,” he said, grinning wider at Kurt’s moan of why-the-hell-did-you-stop. “I just had a thought.”

“Unless it was ‘I really should take off my shirt right now’ then I’m finding it difficult to give it my full attention,” Kurt said into Blaine’s – oh, God, so well-muscled shoulder.

Blaine laughed. “Dalton has a winter formal in a coupl weeks, right before we let out for Christmas.”

“I hope it’s less tacky than McKinley’s,” Kurt said. “I swear to God, it’s like these people bulk-bought fake snow in 1992 and are determined to use it before it expires.”

“Fake snow expires?” Blaine said dubiously.

“Doubtful, but do you really think any of my classmates are bright enough to figure that out?”

“Well,” Blaine said, “I can’t promise we won’t have a little fake snow, but someone spikes the punch every year, and I know for a fact that the DJ’s song list does emphatically not suck. And there may be a surprise performance by your second-favorite school singing group.”

“Oh my God, Vocal Adrenaline is performing at your winter formal?” Kurt shrieked with mock-excitement.

“Shut up,” Blaine said, laughing, and bit him lightly on the neck, licking his way up to Kurt’s mouth as Kurt shuddered with please-need-you-now.

“So you’ll come?” Blaine asked against his lips, punctuating the question with a slow kiss.

“Come where?” Kurt asked, gasping for breath. He pulled back – his iPhone alarm was blaring a two-minute warning.

“To the winter formal with me,” Blaine said. He picked up Kurt’s hand, pressed it against his mouth. “I want to see you in a tux. Dance with you. Maybe sneak off and see if we can find a practice room that Wes and David haven’t claimed.”

He looked so beautiful, Kurt thought, and his heart caught in his throat. Impossibly beautiful, in the ambient light of the streetlamp, asking Kurt to a dance like it wasn’t anything.

A one-minute warning from his iPhone blared into the heavy silence of the SUV, and Kurt realized he was still staring at Blaine, jaw slightly dropped.

He shut his mouth, and then opened it again, floundering. Impossible. “I…”

Kurt’s dad appeared on their front porch, arms folded over his chest, trying to look intimidating. Thirty seconds.

“Seriously?” Kurt asked.

Blaine’s smile was like every cheesy cliché simile Kurt could think of. Oh, God, love was making him stupid. “Seriously.”

“What time will you pick me up?”

“I’ll call you tomorrow to discuss details,” Blaine said, reaching around Kurt to unlatch the door. “Your dad is about to glare at me to death, so we better go.” Blain kissed his cheek, and - oh, okay, Kurt was blushing, yeah.

“Good night, Mr. Hummel!” Blaine said, waving as he walked back to his own car.

“I’ll call you!” Kurt shouted, not caring about the neighbors, and Blaine turned around and grinned, waving again.

“Cutting it close,” Kurt’s dad said, frowning, as Kurt walked up the porch steps.

“Worth it,” Kurt said. “Dad, I just need to let you know I’m going to be spending a portion of my next-season clothing budget in the next few days. I don’t want your heart to stop or anything when you see the charge.”

Kurt’s dad frowned even deeper. “What is it this time?”

“I’m going to need a new tux for Dalton’s winter formal,” Kurt said, failing completely at staying calm. He grinned, probably like a crazy person, and totally didn’t’ care. “Blaine asked me to with him.”

Kurt’s dad sighed, and then, because Kurt’s dad was the best, reached in his wallet and pulled out his platinum card. “This kid really makes you happy, doesn’t he?”

“Dad…” Kurt started, trying to find a way to explain it, and failing. “Yeah,” he said in the end. “Yeah.”

“Don’t think I’m extending your curfew more than an hour,” Kurt’s dad grumbled, and handed over his credit card.

In the end, Kurt talked him into 2:00 AM.

Which is how, on December 18, 2010, Kurt Hummel found himself dancing, arms around his boyfriend, in the twinkling lights of Dalton Academy’s ballroom.

Impossible. Real.