For the first time in eighteen years—not counting sleepovers and field trips—the house was utterly silent, and Kurt Anderson-Hummel could barely stand it. Listless and achingly alone, he wandered the Southampton villa from room to room, straightening a picture frame or brushing away an imaginary speck of dust. Ultimately, it was an unnecessary endeavor as everything was in perfect order as always, and Kurt knew it was a symptom of the empty nest syndrome that had settled over his shoulders like a lead weight (despite his repeated protestations to his concerned husband that he was perfectly fine). He found himself at a loose end, utterly and entirely bereft of someone to cook for or talk to or even just sit with in comfortable, companionable silence. He couldn't even bring himself to take a shopping trip into Manhattan—and for Kurt, that was rarer than a blue moon.

Eventually, Kurt made the decision to further wallow in his misery by pulling out the old photo albums and spend the afternoon listening to some classic Gaga while getting lost down memory lane. After a short visit to the library, Kurt was making his way out to the front porch, arms laden with black leather books. Careful not to let his eyes linger too long on the empty seat to his right—Blaine would be home for dinner, for goodness' sake—he took a seat in his rocking chair. Cranking up the volume on the latest incarnation of iPod, a small smile played about his lips as the opening bars of Bad Romance took him back to the days of Glee club, and he turned the first page of the album simply titled “Audrey and Oliver”.

Blaine hardly slowed down as he passed through the gates, probably littering the lawn with gravel, but he couldn't bring himself to care as he swung the car around and killed the engine. As he approached, through the white wooden railings he could see Kurt curled up on the porch swing, an open book splayed across his chest. Taking the steps two at a time, he absorbed the sight of books piled around Kurt's rocking chair, and a smaller stack next to where Kurt now lay on the cushioned swing at the opposite end of the porch. Bending to pick up one of the books from next to Kurt, he briefly flicked through the first few pages—worst fears confirmed: Kurt had brought out the photo albums. Kneeling, he gently lifted the open book from Kurt's chest and set it down, twining his fingers through Kurt's and brushing a kiss across his lips.

Kurt stirred in his sleep, holding tighter onto Blaine's hand.

“Hey, baby,” Blaine whispered into his ear, “time for dinner.”

Kurt's eyes opened, and Blaine could see that he'd been crying. “They're really gone, aren't they?” he asked sadly.

“Yeah, baby, they are,” Blaine answered, his thumb tracing patterns on Kurt's palm as he took a seat on the edge of the swing. “But they'll be home for Thanksgiving, and you're back to work on Monday. You'll hardly know it, I promise.”

Kurt sighed, shifting himself into a sitting position before letting his head come to rest on Blaine's shoulder. “If you'd asked me last week about the things I was looking forward to, I would have said 'I'm looking forward to the day those damn kids leave for college and I can finally get some peace and quiet'. Now that it's real...”

“I know, sweetheart,” Blaine soothed, wrapping his arms around him. “I know. I feel it, too. The house seems huge without them running around, fighting, slamming doors, leaving mess in the kitchen after one of their 'experiments'...”

Kurt barked a laugh. “You know, they get that from you.”

“What?”

“The culinary experiments,” Kurt replied, his breath ghosting across Blaine's neck. Even after all these years, it still sent tingles racing down his spine. “Remember the birthday cake?”

“Hey now, to be fair that was more of a culinary mishap than experiment. I had the recipe and everything,” Blaine said, recalling the time he'd attempted to make a birthday cake for Kurt. “There wasn't really that much mess. And you seemed to enjoy licking batter off me.”

“It was the most effective method of cleaning you off,” Kurt agreed, and Blaine could see the humor dancing in his eyes before his shaky smile dropped and he let out another heavy sigh.

“Hey,” Blaine said, turning to face him, “what do you say we put away the photo albums, order in, and break out the real gold?”

Kurt shook his head. “Baby, please don't take this the wrong way, but I just don't know if I'm in the mood—“

Blaine laughed, leaning forward to touch his forehead to Kurt's. “Not to say that I'm not disappointed, but that wasn't exactly what I had in mind.”

It took a moment, but the corners of Kurt's mouth began to lift. “You mean...” he trailed off hopefully.

“I think the situation calls for it, don't you?” Blaine said, standing and offering a hand to Kurt. “Anyway, I'm sure we have a few new additions to make.”

“Alright,” Kurt agreed, reluctantly leaving the comfort of the swing. “But I'll cook, people from the Hamptons don't 'order in'.”

“Then I guess it's a good thing we're from Ohio,” Blaine mused playfully. “You're in no fit state to be cooking, and I've been jonesing for Chinese all day. Just this once?”

Kurt resisted the urge to give his husband a withering look—he never could resist those puppy eyes. The fact that he was suddenly craving Chinese like no other was completely irrelevant. “Okay, but on your hips be it,” he replied as he began to gather up the books, Blaine following suit.

Once the photo albums were back in the library—where, Blaine was determined, they would stay until the kids started bringing home significant others—and the food was ordered, Blaine poured out two glasses of wine and took a seat on the porch, waiting for Kurt to return with The Book.

The Book wasn't something that surfaced all that often, owing in part to the reason for its creation, but mainly for the fact that it was so very special to them both. It was something private, something that not even the kids had seen, and was reserved for times when ice cream and vintage Chateauneuf-du-Pape just wouldn't suffice.

Somewhere towards the end of the year of their separation, with Kurt at college in New York and Blaine finishing his senior year in Ohio, the going had gotten rough—to say the least. They had fought almost every time they spoke, sick of being apart and taking out their frustration on one another. Though neither of them would admit it, they had both thought about ending things on more than one occasion. But one day, a package arrived for Blaine in the form of The Book. It was a simple leather-bound scrapbook, all of the pages blank except for the first. With shaking hands, Blaine had turned the cover, and out fell a letter.

Dear Blaine,

I can't stand how much we've been fighting lately. It's tearing us both apart to be away from one another, I know, but we're taking it out on each other and we just can't keep doing that. We're both stressed out with school work and missing each other and waiting, but baby, it's not much longer now.

Soon, I'll be home. I'll be there for your graduation (I know I said I couldn't make it; it was meant to be a surprise but I think we both need to share something to look forward to right now), home for the summer and then... Then you'll be here with me and we can wake up together every morning, go to sleep together every night, eat together, watch TV together, sing together, shower together, make love together... All of it will be just the two of us. Us against the world. Not against each other like we have been. And it's going to be the best time of our lives, I promise you.

Just look at the first page of this book. Look at that picture of us, how contented and happy we were. Baby, I know we've had it rough, but in a couple of short months—between everything we've got going on, they'll fly by!—we'll be together again, for good.

Let's not fight anymore, okay?

I love you.

xoxo
Kurt

Blaine had followed Kurt's instructions and turned to the first page of the book. In the center of the page, on a background of sheet music for 'Candles' was Blaine's favorite picture of the two of them. It had been taken at Kurt's graduation, unbeknownst to them both until Finn had presented Kurt with a framed copy as his going-away gift. They were standing still, foreheads pressed together, fingers entwined at their sides. They were smiling with their eyes closed, calm in the midst of the madness around them. Kurt had decorated the page around the picture, including ticket stubs from the first movie they saw as an official couple, a wristband from the Six Flags at which Blaine had been performing over the previous summer, and a note at the bottom in silver ink, which read:

“This is the first of many memories I want us to look back on when we're old and gray (but still impeccably fashionable).”

Blaine had chuckled, not ashamed to be blinking back a few tears as he felt himself falling in love all over again.

“Hey, where are you?”

Kurt's hand slipped into his, and Blaine realized he had been lost in thought. “I'm here,” he said, leaning in and claiming Kurt's mouth with a lingering kiss. “Just thinking about when you first sent me The Book.”

“Well, Mr Anderson-Hummel, there's much more than that to come, so get comfortable,” Kurt said, smiling. The Book sat open in his lap at the very page Blaine had been thinking about, and he passed Kurt his glass of wine before putting an arm around his shoulders and settling in for the evening.