The sound of his husband and daughter laughing and talking, filled Blaine's ears as he walked in the door. He dropped his keys in the bowl (plastic now, ceramic and glass were too breakable, especially with a 6 year-old running around.), hung up his jacket and scarf, set down his bag, and stepped down the hall and into the kitchen.

    His senses were met with the smell of ginger, flour, and and way too much sugar, and then with the sight of Kurt and their daughter, Elizabeth, surrounded by used baking equipment, and open ingredients, decorating holiday cookies.

    “Honey, why don't you use a spatula?” Kurt suggested, in fact, brandishing a small pink rubber spatula.

“No daddy, I wanna use th-the...pointy frosting thingys!” Elizabeth proclaimed.

She was using a  child-sized pastry bag Kurt had made out of parchment paper and tape, and one of the tips he usually reserved for writing on cakes. She was using a decorating technique that was rather like a play-doh machine, squeezing the bag in the middle and moving it so the string of cornflower blue icing, was somewhat evenly distributed over the snowflake cookie.

“Icing tips, Lizzie.” Kurt corrected her.

“Well I see what my two favorite people did while I was out working tirelessly.” Blaine joked, announcing his presence. Kurt and Elizabeth both looked up. Kurt and their daughter looked up, both breaking into grins. Kurt had smudge of flour, or powdered sugar on one cheek, and somehow a bit had managed to get sprinkled in his otherwise impeccable hair. Lizzie though, had white powder on both cheeks and on her nose, as well as one her clothes and little apron, she'd also gotten frosting in her light brown hair.

    “Blaine! what are you doing home? I wasn't expecting you for a few more hours.” Kurt said, as Lizzie started a quiet dialogue between two gingerbread people.

“Well, Lizzie has two weeks off for the holidays, and you took off time from your work, I figured I'd do the same.” Blaine said, embracing Kurt, flour and all.

“I came home,” said the shorter man, placing a light kiss to his husband's forehead. “I'm right where I belong.”