The battle ended as abruptly as it had begun, with Karofsky's troops forced by direct government orders to end all attacks and retreat to the nearest Canadian border. They were escorted by neutral international troops. The ceasefire and settlements were finalized a few months later, but I'm not there to see that happen.

I resigned my post as army captain the day of that final battle. I couldn't stay any longer. I couldn't ask for a pardon after the information my dear friend Wesley inevitably shared with our Commander in Chief. I certainly couldn't ask for the same for Kurt, who would come under even harsher punishment for being, as Wes put it, the "instigator of this affair." As far as the government was concerned, our good deeds meant very little under these conditions.

Therefore, we had two choices. One: the President, lenient after the high of his small political victory, would kill us both, telling no one of our excursions. We would be listed with those who died in battle, heroically memorialized as mere statistics in the books and movies that would surely be made of this tale. Two: we would be exiled to the far reaches of the continent. Friends, family members, fellow troops, all would know us as traitors to the values that this fine country so thoroughly embodies.

I remember looking at Kurt when we were given this ultimatum. It was bittersweet, but we knew the decision we had to make. Our families would be disgraced, our friends would cringe at the memories of our company, but we would be together.

Now, as I live in exile, I can finally say that I am contented.

"Blaine?" Kurt enters the den of our small cottage. I'm not at the liberty to say exactly where we are now, but I will say that our current location is cold. Very, very cold.

"Yeah?" I watch as Kurt puts another log in the fireplace and pokes the kindling beneath it.

"Are you happy?"

He asks me that every day. Every day for the past year I have awakened, started a fire in my den, and waited for Kurt to enter and ask me that exact question. My answer is, and always will be, the same. I get up and hold him tightly, planting a kiss against his wind-chapped lips. "With you here? Of course."

Yes, I can always wish that things were different. I wish our story had moved my fellow citizens to embrace a new path of understanding. I wish that my father's name could be remembered with dignity. I wish that Kurt could see his father again, even if it was only one last time.

My life, however, is not a fairytale. Not everyone gets happy endings. Then again, not all endings are tragic. Some people just get endings. And if my ending is here with the man I love, being asked every morning until the day I die if I'm happy, then that will always be good enough for me.

Why? Because I'm one of the guys who got to go home. I get to go home every time I wake up beside him, every time I kiss him, every time we touch, and every time I end the day with him.

Kurt is my home.