The apartment was perfect. Well, as perfect as a flat with dingy carpet and a mystery stain in the ceiling could be. Kurt glanced at the clock—Blaine wasn't due home for at least another two hours or so, but he couldn't help himself. He dimmed the lights and lit the candles (all of the same uniform, neutral scent thank-you-very-much). Sappy, overdone, and completely cliché. Blaine would adore it. Then again, if Kurt had scrapped the entire romantic dinner plan and just gone out and bought those Valentine-themed Pillsbury cookies that came pre-made, Blaine would probably be just as touched by the gesture—he loved any and all Valentine's Day-themed events and activities, and his mood was particularly bright when he had left for work that morning. Kurt had not minded being roused with hot kisses down the back of his neck and callused fingers slipping down his pants at five that morning, nor did he mind Blaine sliding into the shower behind him. He didn't even care that he had to redo his hair and change his outfit when Blaine dragged him back into the shower fully dressed. He'd kissed him goodbye in the hallway in a way that probably wasn't decent for public viewing, grabbed his ass, winked, and disappeared down the stairs singing Your Song.

Kurt pulled a rose from the bunch to run his fingers over the delicate little pedals. He smiled. Blaine had been right at Christmas time of course. Things had begun looking up for them. Kurt had scored a role in a musical—he had only two lines, but that was fine by him—and Blaine was due for a promotion and a raise sometime very soon. The roses really still couldn't be afforded—nor could the bottle of champagne or most of the things he'd purchased to make dinner—but they had practically begged to be brought home and arranged in the middle of the kitchen table, so Kurt had given in to his sentimental side and purchased them. Sitting there, arranged neatly in their little crystal vase, they made the whole room actually look presentable and their sweet perfume was so much lovelier than the artificial scent of the pink Yankee candle that claimed to smell of the fresh cut blooms. Blaine had taken to lighting those stupid candles constantly—he had turned creating bizarre scent combinations into somewhat of a hobby; he was particularly proud of the Honeydew Melon and Grandfather's Leather Chair duo he had lit the previous night. Kurt had spent hours with the windows open and teeth chattering that morning to try and get rid of the scent. He shook his head to himself recalling Blaine giggling like a child over those stupid candles and replaced the flower with the rest. He rearranged a few of the stems until they were to his liking. Yes, they were worth it. Blaine was worth it. Kurt jumped when he heard a key turning in the door. They hadn't asked the super to come up and fix anything as far as he knew…

"What are you doing home so early?" Kurt jumped up from the chair when Blaine walked into the room.

Blaine looked around; startled. He took in the candles, his eyes scanning over their little flames; he studied the flowers quietly; finally, he looked at Kurt.

"I had planned on having dinner on the table when you got home," Kurt blushed; shrugged, "Well, anyway; Happy Valentine's Day."

"This… this is all for me?" Blaine looked around again.

"No," Kurt made his way toward Blaine with a smile, "It's for my other amazing, wonderful, talented, sexy, perfect boyfriend."

Blaine didn't smile. He was still looking around in a daze.

Kurt startled a little when he slipped his hands under Blaine's suit jacket, "You're freezing!"

"I walked home." Blaine murmured; he was looking at the roses again.

"You have a bus pass, you know," Kurt rubbed his hands up and down Blaine's sides. He smiled when Blaine finally met his gaze, "When it's ten below it's a decent idea to put that thing to good use."

Blaine searched his eyes for a moment; he dropped his forehead to Kurt's shoulder; he was crying, "Oh, Kurt."

Blaine did not cry—he preferred to be sullen and irritable when he was upset—but there he was, weeping on Kurt's shoulder. Alarmed, Kurt pulled his hands out from under Blaine's jacket and wrapped him in a tight hug, "Blaine, what? What is it?"

Blaine seemed to remember, too, that he was not one for tears. He sniffled, turned his cheek into Kurt's shoulder and used the back of a hand to scrub at his cheeks, he was silent for a long moment before he finally spoke, quietly, "They gave me a case today. My very own."

Kurt kept rubbing circles on his back, but now he was confused, "Isn't that the promotion we were waiting for?"

Blaine nodded against Kurt's shirt, "Big raise to go with it, too."

"So we're tragically distraught because…" Kurt frowned. This made no sense at all—maybe all those late nights and fine print reading had finally made Blaine crack.

"The case, it…" Blaine pulled out of Kurt's embrace to wipe more fully at the tears he hadn't already forced away; he took a shaky breath, his eyes on one of the candles behind Kurt's shoulder, "I was supposed to defend a guy who beat up his sister after she came out to him."

"Oh, Blaine." Kurt touched a hand to Blaine's arm, "Don't they know you're—"

Blaine shrugged, "I don't know; I thought they did—your picture's on my desk and I talk about us to the paralegals. Doesn't really matter now whether they do or not… I quit."

"You…what?" Kurt shook his head; he was confused again.

Blaine finally met his eyes, "I couldn't do it. I… It just sort of hit me on the walk home I guess… I'm so sorry, Kurt."

"Sorry?" Kurt echoed. Sorry for what?

Blaine looked like he might cry again; he tipped his head back, blinking to keep the tears at bay before looking at Kurt again, "That raise… it could have meant a new apartment for us Kurt; a place with constant hot water where we don't need four deadbolts. And now we're out a paycheck completely. I should have at least consulted you first or just stuck it out or—"

"Blaine, shut up." Kurt pressed a hand over his mouth.

Blaine remained silent when Kurt dropped his hand down, but he stared at him guiltily.

"And to think this Valentine's Day I actually thought you'd be an iota less clueless than you were when we were in high school," Kurt smiled and shook his head.

"Kurt, I—"

"Did I say I was finished?" Kurt quirked an eyebrow.

Blaine clamped his mouth shut.

"I love you, Blaine, and I trust you," Kurt took both of Blaine's hands in his, "You didn't need to consult me—you knew what you were doing, and you have more integrity in one pinkie than those bastards have in their entire bodies. You don't need them."

"I'll have to start all over as an intern, Kurt, it'll be even less money than we're living off now." Blaine said quietly.

"Excuse me, but who just gave me the all we need is love speech a couple months ago?" Kurt squeezed Blaine's hands, "Besides, any firm would be lucky to have you. Hopelessly clueless, yes. But you're also the most kind-hearted, driven, charismatic, amazing person I know; people will kill to have Blaine Anderson in their corner. Actually, they probably killed someone and then in the aftermath want you in their corner, but you see my point."

Blaine smiled a little, "You're wonderful; you know that?"

"I know," Kurt kissed Blaine gently, "Don't fret about this anymore. It's done; you're home before nine for once, and it's Valentine's Day. Lets be happy- I know what will cheer you up!"

"What's that?" Blaine let Kurt shove him down into a chair.

Kurt stood on tiptoe to pull the bag down from the top shelf of the hall closet. He hadn't bothered wrapping it—Blaine would know what it was whether or not he hid it in pretty colored paper; he gave him the same thing every year. When he dropped the shopping bag down on the table, Blaine actually laughed. Kurt folded his arms, "Well, are you going to open it or not?"

Blaine obliged him, dropping the plastic Gap bag on the floor and shaking out the army green shirt; he twisted around to grin at Kurt, "I actually like this one."

"Well I thought it might as well be functional." Kurt plucked the bag from the floor and bunched it until it fit neatly in his palm. He had given Blaine a shirt from the Gap for Valentine's Day every year since that fateful day in Ohio back in their Dalton Days. Usually he picked the tackiest one he could find—odd shades of peach with awkward sleeve lengths, plain t-shirts in colors he knew Blaine despised with the Gap logo printed in bold letters across the front; he'd even bought him a women's shirt one year. But, as thin of a line as they were walking that year with their finances, he had opted for something that could be allowed to see the light of day rather than just the inside of their bedroom on lazy Sunday mornings when Blaine felt like making Kurt laugh.

Blaine rubbed a thumb over the cuff of the sleeve, his gaze still on Kurt. He was smiling in that funny way. Kurt had first noticed that smile back when they were seniors in high school. A quiet, thoughtful little thing he'd catch when they were studying for finals; when they were sitting out at the old tree by Pavarotti's grave. He had seen more and more of it over the years, but he still had no idea what it meant. He'd asked of course—on multiple occasions—but Blaine would only shake his head, still smiling, mumble a quick 'nothing' and change the subject. He didn't feel like asking about it today; he liked it and that was all that really mattered.

"Why don't you go change and I'll finish up with dinner, hmm?" Kurt returned the smile.

Blaine seemed to shake himself from some sort of daydream, "Yeah, sure."

Kurt hurried to the pots on the stove; he wasn't really sure if he could have potentially ruined something with his longer-than-anticipated hiatus from the kitchen. He was relieved to find everything in perfect condition. He dropped the lid back down on the saucepan and turned his attention to the refrigerator. Dinner wouldn't be ready for a little while longer, but they could at least drink while they waited. He pulled out the champagne bottle and two glasses. When he returned to the main room, he found that Blaine had not moved from his place at the table.

"I thought you were going to go change." Kurt raised an eyebrow at him as he put the bottle and glasses down on the tabletop.

"I got caught up thinking." Blaine smiled at him. There it was again; the look: the way he tilted his head, that funny little smile; those eyes that said so much but told Kurt nothing.

Kurt couldn't help blushing beneath that look as he sat down in the chair beside Blaine. He decided to fend off his sudden bashfulness by busying himself with pouring them champagne; he pulled the bottle off the table and sighed, "I forgot the corkscrew."

Blaine was watching him as he got to his feet, "Marry me."

Kurt froze—half-sitting, half-standing. He stared at Blaine with wide, uncomprehending eyes. He misheard him. He had to have, "Excuse me?"

"I've wanted to ask you since—I mean I've always meant to; I tried telling you at Christmas, but—shit, let me start over," Blaine got down on his knees beside Kurt's chair, "I have imagined a million ways I want to live out my life, Kurt. Sometimes, I see us staying in the city—amazing condo, going out to shows, flashy jobs, glamorous parties; all that. Sometimes I see us moving into a house out in the suburbs— big yard, blue shutters, a dog; a baby nursery… I've imagined us traveling, I've imagined moving out West; I've even pictured us going back to Ohio. I've dreamed all sorts of different things, but then I realize: I don't care. I don't care where I end up or when I do it or how any of it ever plays out. There is only one thing never changes in all those dreams and one thing I want. You."

Kurt couldn't speak; couldn't breathe. He realized he had dropped fully back down into his chair at some point, but he couldn't remember when.

"I don't have a ring to give you; I don't even have a job so that I can afford a ring, and I know you deserve one. You deserve a lot of things, but all I can offer you is all I have: love," Blaine slipped both of his hands into Kurt's, "I will love you for every single moment of every single day, and I will stay with you in the best and worst of times for as long as you'll let me. So, please… Kurt Hummel, will you marry me?"

Kurt slipped down out of his chair to his knees; his voice came out in a whisper, "Yes."

Blaine stared at him; caught somewhere between nervous and hopeful, "Yes?"

Kurt laughed and said it louder, "Yes!"

Blaine wrapped his arms around him, not bothering to wipe the tears away this time. They remained that way for a long time— content to stay locked in one another's arms.

"I love you, I love you, I love you." Kurt murmured, turning his face to kiss Blaine's neck; his jaw; his cheek; his mouth, "Today and everyday."