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“This is very fancy of us,” Kurt says, sitting across from Mike, in an emerald green leather booth, wearing an outfit he took more than an hour to pick out. And Mike looks every bit as well put together.
There’s a votive on the table. A real restaurant, with a menu and a waiter. Not one of the walk-up places near campus. School has been busy beyond their limitations, and so yeah… While they went to Kurt's after rehearsal on Sunday and repeated the frottage they enjoyed in the dance room—this time very naked, they haven’t seen each other since, or had a chance to get into a real discussion about what any of this means, especially for Mike. But they’ve been texting constantly whenever they can.
“Very. I… I’ve been looking forward to it.”
Kurt’s heart flutters, and he notices the way the candle flickers in Mike’s dark brown eyes. “Me, too.”
They make the usual small talk while ordering, and sipping their mocktails until the appetizer arrives, and Mike reaches across the table to take a piece of the bruschetta, when the back of his hand glides briefly against Kurt’s wrist, maybe only half accidentally, and the contact sends a racing shiver skating beneath Kurt’s skin.
“You still react,” Mike says, almost in awe.
Kurt looks up, finding his gaze. “To what?”
“...To me touching you...”
“Oh!” Kurt blushes just barely there rose, the directness of it could have embarrassed him if Mike had said it carelessly, but there is no arrogance in the observation, just curiosity. “You say that like it’s surprising?”
“I guess, maybe it is?” He admits, his fingers absently turning his water glass. “I know I kinda already said this on Sunday, but I… I touch people constantly when I choreograph, you know, adjustments, posture corrections, partnering. It’s never… I think… Sometimes people react to me and vice versa, but I…” He hesitates, searching for the words. “It’s never lived in my body for so long afterward, the way I… react to you, too.”
And now their ankles are tangled and legs pressing against each other under the table, both moving at the same time. The sheer vulnerability in the confession settles into Kurt’s chest. Damn, there’s something intimate about hearing Mike articulate his uncertainty in his certainty.
“I…” Kurt doesn’t have a clue what to say except, “I like that you feel that way… about… me. I want…you to. I want to try… This…?”
“Me, too,” Mike says, but they don’t talk more about what that means right here in this busy place and meander into safer topics, making each other laugh, or things about school including how Kurt got top marks on his performance, his teacher applauding him for making it work under the circumstances and extra credit for his ingenuity. And later, Kurt tears up when Mike tells him he almost didn’t get to go to school for the arts and dance…because... his family’s expectations. In little increments, they learn more about each other, and never stop touching in small ways.
When they leave the restaurant two hours later, the city is luminous with fallen rain that had the decency to pour while they were eating. The pavement gleams, reflecting signs and passing traffic in broken ribbons of color.
Without rushing, they walk, talking about what their schedules look like for the next week.
And then everything changes.
It happens at the crosswalk, they’re waiting for the light to change when Mike reaches for his hand. Kurt looks down at their joined fingers, startled and overjoyed. The gesture seemed so natural and unhesitating that he almost can’t believe it’s real, his heart is stampeding against his chest. Mike’s hand in his is comfortingly warm, his grip is firm in a way that sends a tingle up Kurt’s spine. And all around them, strangers move through the city without realizing the significance or what’s happening in his world. He lets the feeling settle into his skin before he glances at Mike, squeezes his hand once, and says, “You don’t have to for my sake… If you’re not ready.”
“Ready?” Mike pivots toward him, his brows furrowed.
“This.” Kurt lifts their joined hands slightly. “Be public about it.”
“Oh…” The light changes, but neither of them moves.
Kurt watches as conflicting emotions pass across Mike’s features, not shame exactly or even fear, but the complicated awareness of someone standing on the threshold of a new understanding of himself, and Kurt gently tugs him to an alcove under an awning at the building behind them.
“I’ve been thinking about that all week,” Mike admits at last. “About whether I was supposed to feel panicked by it. By us. About… little things like holding your hand where people can see us.” He huffs an embarrassed, yet honest laugh under his breath. “And… God, every time I imagined not taking your hand or worse letting it go… I hated the idea.”
“Mike…” But he says nothing else, understanding instinctively that Mike just needs a few seconds to find the words to keep talking.
Mike looks down briefly at their intertwined fingers before finding Kurt’s eyes again, continuing. “I don’t know exactly what label belongs to me? Maybe bisexual fits me, or maybe it doesn’t. I’m still…” His breath snags on a rough inhale, then he tries again. “I think I’m still working out the choreography of who I am in my own head, I guess.”
“And that’s okay, Mike.” Kurt tries to give him a tender, assuring smile. “It takes time.”
“Thank you. Kurt… I do know I want this,” he says, squeezing his hand. “I want you… To know all the parts of you. For us to try and be… an ‘us.’ That part is… so clear to me.”
“Oh, honey…” A tension he hadn’t fully realized was there loosens inside Kurt’s being at those words, and he nods, kissing Mike’s cheek. “That’s more than enough for now.”
Mike studies him for a long moment, mesmerized by the city lights reflecting in Kurt’s blue-green eyes. “You’re pretty amazing at making complex things feel survivable.”
Kurt’s breath catches as he smiles, “I’m not sure it’s me, so much as I think difficult things usually become less frightening once you’re able to say them out loud.”
“Maybe…” The look Mike gives at that is almost unbearably affectionate. He steps even closer, his free hand rises, his fingertips lingering briefly against his jaw, rubbing his thumb across Kurt’s cheek.
The movement steals Kurt's breath more effectively than any of their heated rehearsal ever did.
Mike leans in, “Can I—”
“Yes, yes,” Kurt replies against his lips. The kiss blossoms between their mouths with exquisite slowness, it’s vanilla bean ice cream from their shared dessert, and the aroma of rain and tangled hope with a soft moan combining between them. Before they can forget where they are and slightly breathless, they pull apart, resting their foreheads together, enjoying for a moment longer the small pocket of stillness surrounding them.
“I’d like to take you out again,” Mike says.
He notices how Mike’s voice seeps in that thoughtful honesty Kurt is beginning to feel is uniquely Mike's. He smiles, “I was hoping you’d say that. But…I’m not ready for tonight to end, are you?”
Mike laughs once, kissing Kurt’s cheek. “I was hoping you’d say that.”