A/N: Hello lovelies. Here's a short little Klaine piece that may require tissues, or so I've been told. Also, just so you know, I've moved all of my stuff onto my LiveJournal, and there's some fic on there that I can't publish on FFnet as per their rules and guidelines, if you catch my drift. My username there is weathersings. As always, feedback is appreciated.


Sometimes after a really long day, where Kurt gets home before Blaine, he'll make a pot of tea and put in an old Disney movie, and he sits on the couch and waits for Blaine to walk in the door, knowing he'll be exhausted after a full day of classes. Kurt understands. That first year is always tough; it was hard for him especially, being away from his family and having to learn to rely only on himself and Rachel. But now he's the person that Blaine relies on when the stress becomes too much or the homework is overwhelming and the rehearsals run too late. He's the one Blaine comes home to, the one whose shoulder Blaine rests his head on as they sip green tea and cuddle on the couch as The Little Mermaid plays in the background. And Kurt finally understands what it is to be someone's other half. They'll get through the next few years of college together and then take on the larger world of auditions and performing and no sleep and way too much coffee, but they'll have one another. And Kurt knows that he wouldn't have it any other way.

Eventually, Blaine will set his mug down on the table and settle down under Kurt's arm, curled into his chest. Kurt lets him snooze for awhile, feeling the warmth of his sleep-soft breathing against his chest, gently carding his fingers through the curls at the base of Blaine's neck. He will wait until Blaine's arms around his waist go slack, will wait until Blaine's mouth falls open just slightly, before he eases his arms under Blaine's body and carefully carries him into their bedroom. To their bed. If anyone had told sixteen year old Kurt Hummel that someday he would crave the warmth of his partner as he crawled under the covers, he would have laughed at them. No thanks, he would say. I enjoy my personal space too much to share it with someone else. And yet, here he is, his body curved around Blaine's like a barrier to protect him from the world, the heat of Blaine's skin seeping into him through their pajamas, and it's perfect. He rubs his nose gently into the back of Blaine's hair and sighs contentedly. You are my morning, noon, and night. He could get used to this for the rest of his life, he thinks as he falls asleep listening to the rhythm of their mingled breaths.

And it's at that point in Kurt's life that waking up next to someone with his hair tousled from sleep and his breath less than fresh isn't such a big deal. Blaine's the same way, after all, his curls sticking up in random waves and patterns all around his head, his eyelids sticky from sleep. Blaine hasn't woken up yet, and Kurt likes these mornings best. They had separated at some point during the night, and Blaine is sprawled across his half of the bed with his arms reached up under the pillow, one leg bent at the knee. Kurt reaches out to gently rub a thumb along the line of Blaine's jaw, feeling the morning stubble there and feeling the sheer and utter intimacy of the moment seep into him through his fingertip. It seeps under his skin and into his very bones, into the fibers of his heartbeat. Waking up this way every morning for the rest of his life wouldn't be that bad at all, he thinks. And in that moment he knows something. He knows that someday he will get down on one knee and offer up himself to this young man laying next to him. He will offer him the promise of forever, encased in a thin band of white gold. He knows that someday, their forever will just be them. But not yet. For now, he is content to deal with a life of too much and too little and figure out just how to balance it out to make it enough.

In an hour or so, once Blaine has roused himself from sleep, he will get out of bed and make them both breakfast. That's how it goes, like sheet music on a page to conduct their little symphony: Kurt makes dinner and Blaine makes breakfast. They sit across from each other at the small table, the least expensive thing they could find at Ikea that wouldn't fall apart once a plate was set on it. Blaine sips his coffee and devours his eggs, and Kurt drinks orange juice as he eats his cereal. Kurt sets his spoon down and a soft silence follows as he meets Blaine's eyes. And his thoughts run away with him again, like the image of the hazel-eyed little girl running through the ghost of their future. He dreams of princess dresses and hair bows and pancakes shaped like hearts on Sunday mornings, and raising her with the man sitting across from him. But then again, maybe a little boy wouldn't be so bad. One with his Daddy's curls and infectious laugh. No, that wouldn't be so bad at all.

Kurt clears the tiny table, dropping the dirty dishes and cups into the sink and dropping a quick kiss onto the top of Blaine's head as he passes behind him on his way to the couch. Blaine follows, and they sit together, holding hands, fingers rubbing gently at lines and knuckles and old scars. Blaine turns to face Kurt, bringing one leg up to rest on the couch, bent against himself. Kurt leans forward and presses a kiss to Blaine's still bare kneecap, and runs tender fingers down his thigh before leaning forward to kiss him properly, lips meeting lips and molding to one another like they had done countless times before. Like they would do every morning from here on out. And Kurt understands. This is what it feels like to come home.