Kurt's fingers traced the outline of the hearts in the next photograph, having had no words of his own for their wedding pictures. The memory of that day still left him momentarily speechless every time he thought of it, even after twenty-five years of that same yet impossibly growing love and devotion, through the good times and the bad.

"Married by thirty," Blaine quipped.

"Legally," Kurt sing-songed, taking himself back to one not-so-extraordinary first day back at McKinley after a summer spent trading kisses and touches, everything still new and a little tentative. "That was the happiest day of my life."

"Mine, too," Blaine agreed, before wiggling his eyebrows. "Apart from the honeymoon."

"And the twins being born."

"The day we got your results from the last—" Blaine began, a tight and wistful smile on his lips.

"Someone's skipping ahead again," Kurt interrupted, briefly squeezing his husband's hand before turning his attention back to the photograph of four inter-linked hearts on a window, cutting through a fog of exhalation onto the glass. "How long do you think these lasted?"

"Forever, of course," Blaine said matter-of-factly, and though Kurt knew Blaine would have caught his intended meaning, his answer wasn't any less true.

*

Monday 3 July 2023

“Blaine.”

“Mmh.”

“Blaine.”

“Sleeping.”

“Blaine, wake the fuck up right now.”

“Jesus. Okay, I'm awake. What is it?”

“The cat.”

“The cat?”

“He has another bauble.”

“Ugh. It's July. Where the hell does he keep finding them?”

“I don't know. But it's driving me crazy.”

“We need to get away and blow off some steam. What do you say?”

“Yes. Yes, but right now, I have to be up in two hours. Can you please just—“

“I'm on it. Go back to sleep, babe.”

*

Saturday 8 July 2023

Enjoying the heat beating down upon his skin juxtaposed with the cool breeze playing through his fingers, Kurt turned to his husband and smiled, the scent of salty sea air getting stronger. Lightly, they held hands over the center console as Kurt drove; touching just for the sake of touching. They needed this, having spent so little time together as of late. Kurt was working all hours, at the office and at home—Vivienne was retiring at the end of August, and Kurt was of course the natural choice to replace her. The label would be continuing under the banner of her name, but she had told him he was free to re-brand it in whatever way he saw fit.

“Versailles?” Blaine had attempted during their most recent brainstorming session.

“Too much like Versace,” Kurt had replied wearily, pinching the space between his eyes for the tenth time in as many minutes.

“How about your last name? Your ranges have always been under your own name. I've spent years wearing clothes by Kurt Hummel.”

“Hummel-Anderson,” Kurt reminded him, “but it's a little too middle-America for worldwide consumption.”

“And Valentino could be middle-Italy,” Blaine pointed out. Kurt had rolled his eyes skyward before giving Blaine a look.

“Valentino was born in Voghera; definitely not middle-Italy. There's no such thing as middle-Italy.”

“How about just 'Kurt'?”

“Kurt Geiger.”

“Well... how about something that's not already a name? I mean... you're always saying that your clothes tell a story, so what about something like 'libretto'?”

“Libretto,” Kurt had repeated, trying it on for size, rolling it around in his mouth to see how it tasted. “I... I think I love it.”

As for Blaine, when he wasn't being ushered from interview to photo shoot to gig to meet-and-greet, he was writing songs for his third album like something possessed, having only a few months until he'd be doing a six-week run at the Abbey Road Studios in London (something else to top off the giant pile of blessings making both their heads spin). Between all of that, they'd had hardly any time to themselves in months, aside from a couple of scattered Sunday afternoons.

Yes. They needed this.

It wasn't long before Kurt was pulling up in the parking lot of the Montauk Yacht Club Resort and Marina, and the next few minutes were spent in a flurry of suitcases, checking in, and being shown to their waterfront bungalow. Once inside, Blaine fell face-first onto the large bed, flicking on the air-conditioning and turning his head to watch Kurt glance appreciatively around the room.

“Did I do good?” he asked wryly.

“You did,” Kurt told him, lingering by the window, fingertips resting lightly on the sill.

“Go on,” Blaine said at Kurt's questioning glance.

Kurt leaned forward, exhaling breath onto the window in a foggy cloud, before drawing two perfect, inter-linked hearts with his index finger. The first time he'd done it, on their honeymoon, he'd told Blaine the story of how his mother had done the exact same thing on her wedding night, she and Burt falling asleep with moonlight picking out the smears on the glass. Satisfied, he straightened and backed up towards the bed before flopping down next to Blaine, fingers absently playing with the hem of his t-shirt. “Hi.”

“Hey, you,” Blaine replied, and Kurt shifted so that he was the little spoon. “I've missed you. I've missed this.”

“Me too,” Kurt breathed in relief. “I'm sorry I've been so wrapped up in work lately. I've been neglecting you.”

“It's just as much me,” Blaine said, slipping his arm underneath Kurt's neck and around his shoulders, squeezing tightly. “But let's not think about all that now. This weekend is about us. No work.”

“Would you play me some of your new songs?”

“Maybe later.” Blaine moved closer, brushed his lips across the nape of Kurt's slender neck before reaffirming, “I've missed this.”

“We do this every night,” Kurt replied, his voice light.

“I mean—“

“I know. I just tell myself we do this every night. Makes me miss you a little less when you're only in the next room.”

“We're both here now,” he whispered, and they fell back into one another like it had been no time at all.

*

“I wasn't expecting that,” Kurt said as they neared the restaurant, shoes beating out a loud rhythm against the wooden decking. Blaine shot him a congenial smile.

“I was happy enough just to make out with you. It's not my fault I'm so irresistible.”

“Modest, too,” Kurt bantered, and it was so easy to forget that they'd barely had time to talk, to really be with each other in months.

“Modesty's overrated,” Blaine replied quietly, like it was a secret he shouldn't be sharing, and wrapped his arm around Kurt's waist. “You know, I forget sometimes how much you can wear me out.”

As they reached the restaurant, he held open the door and ushered Kurt inside with a hand at the small of his back. They kept a running tally; Blaine's turn, then Kurt's, and so on—an unspoken rule to which neither of them had ever needed to draw attention. It was easy between them; it always had been. It was when they began to drift that they stumbled; their worlds had foundations in one another.

“Where did you learn that thing you did?” Kurt asked as they waited at the service podium in the lobby. “Have you been reading that book again? Or talking to Jeff? I can't really decide which would be worse, to be honest.”

“I don't know what you're talking about. I just have natural skill and aptitude,” Blaine said, though the tips of his ears flushed pink, and Kurt had to bite the inside of his cheek to stifle a laugh. Nearly five years of marriage, and Blaine could still throw him for a loop.

“Welcome to Inlet!” a bright voice said, and they turned to see a petite brunette in a navy blue t-shirt and black skinny jeans striding toward them. “Table for two?”

At Kurt's answering nod, she gathered two menus from the podium. “If you'll follow me,” she said graciously, and lead them upstairs to the spacious dining room, the back of her shirt emblazoned with the motto, 'respect the ocean, harvest the bounty, feed the people'.

The waitress—whose name tag read 'Annelise'—seated them at a table by one of the floor-to-ceiling windows, and Kurt watched his husband take a moment to absorb the truly breathtaking sunset over the harbor. The sky was a swirling mass of pinks and oranges that sparkled on the ripples of undulating water as the tide slipped lazily toward the shore. It was suddenly so clear why the locals affectionately referred to the place as 'The End'; if the location itself hadn't already proven it, the spectacular vista in front of him certainly did.

“Beautiful, isn't it? It's impossible to get used to,” Annelise intoned gently, removing a pad of paper and a pen from her back pocket. “Can I take your drink orders?”

“French Martini for me, please,” Kurt answered her, having only given the drinks menu a cursory glance. She scribbled quickly, before tapping the pen against her pad and looking at Blaine questioningly.

“I think I'll go with the Sunset Cosmo,” he said finally, waving his hand toward the window, “it's got me in the mood.”

Annelise laughed, making a note of the order. “I'll be right back.”

Kurt leaned back into his seat and hooked one of his feet around Blaine's as they both looked over their menus in a silence so comfortable, so familiar, that he was startled when Blaine suddenly shot up in his chair and grabbed his hand.

“They have a Blackbird Roll,” he exclaimed, the words coming out in a rush. “Kurt, they have a Blackbird Roll! How perfect is that?”

Kurt smiled and shook his head, perusing his own menu and squeezing his husband's hand. This was a side of Blaine that was reserved only for him. At work, he was passionate yet professional. With friends, he managed somehow to fit whichever mold was expected or natural; he slipped from dapper Dalton alumnus to slightly grittier McKinley graduate to witty and easy-going boxing buddy with practiced ease, but this Blaine—this personification of pure, undiluted, child-like glee was the one side of himself to which only Kurt was privy.

When Annelise returned, he ordered the Blackbird Roll.

*

“I mean, how perfect is this? We're drunk right now and we're on Gin Beach,” Blaine said happily, his words running underneath and between one another. Neither of them had eaten much at dinner, having succeeded in sweet-talking Annelise into persuading the chef to prepare them some lobster sandwiches to take away with them (they'd tipped very well).

“Correction,” Kurt murmured, staggering slightly as Blaine leaned on him in order to stay upright, “we're a little drunk.”

“We're a lot drunk,” Blaine argued, shaking his head before breaking into a fit of giggles when he almost lost his balance. Kurt dug his heels into the impossibly soft, velveteen sand.

“Okay, here's good,” he said, and set down the bag containing the sandwiches and bottled water. Gently, he nudged Blaine aside, and spread out one of the blankets he'd brought along. He tugged on Blaine's hand, and as they laid back to stretch out, Kurt was struck by the sheer number of stars he could see. It was peaceful; there were no houses or businesses nearby, and the only sounds were waves gently lapping along the shore. The sky was wide open, expansive, instead of boxed and framed by skyscrapers.

When he was settled with his head resting on his husband's shoulder, Blaine's fingers idly running through his hair, he pointed up. “Look, there's the Andromeda galaxy. Did you know that it contains about four hundred million stars?”

“Nerd,” Blaine whispered playfully, pressing a kiss into his hair. “Makes me feel small.”

“Well, if we're going to play that game...” Kurt trailed off, his fingers creeping along the collar of Blaine's shirt.

“We're not,” Blaine said firmly, but there was humor and warmth there. “Can we stay here forever? Just the two of us, always?”

Kurt paused, then. There was something that had been tugging at the back of his mind for the past few months. Sitting up, he dropped his hands into his lap, looking out over the water cresting in the light of the half-moon. Slowly, Blaine raised himself into a sitting position, his hand feather-light at the small of Kurt's back.

“Kurt?”

“Does it have to be just the two of us?” he asked, carefully.

“It's not like there's anyone else, right?” Blaine replied, his tone light. He looked at Kurt, then back out at the ocean. A long moment passed, and then Kurt could practically see the ducks lining up in a row as Blaine turned back towards him, his gaze fixed and entirely sober.

“Imagine... Imagine coming up here with our kids. Someday,” were the whispered words of an idea that Kurt was finally ready to realize after months of feeling that something. It pulled and twisted at a place deep in his gut whenever he saw couples pushing prams containing tiny bundles of new, perfect life. It made him smile at the sight of kids running around Central Park, leap-frogging over one another and playing hopscotch across invisible grids on the grass. It was what had brought undeniable tears to his eyes when he had held his niece for the first time, her tiny fingers wrapped around his thumb and her nose the same shape as Finn's. There wasn't some huge, gaping hole in their lives... Just something missing.

“Someday? I mean, is that... Is that an abstract 'someday' or an actual 'someday'?” Blaine began, continuing before Kurt had a chance to formulate his response. “You know that I've always wanted kids. Especially with you. But we've always been so... content with just each other.”

Kurt took Blaine's hand between his own, licking his lips and taking a deep, bracing breath. “I want a family with you,” he said. “You're right; for a long time we've been content just us. And that hasn't changed, but lately I feel like I've been seeing kids everywhere, and it got me thinking that maybe we're ready to start talking about it.”

“You're not... Worried about how much our lives would change?” Blaine asked, turning his hand to grip Kurt's tightly, like he was trying to take hold of a dream that was threatening to slip away if he didn't grasp it firmly enough.

“Terrified, actually,” he admitted, ducking his head a little before returning Blaine's affectionate smile. “When I look back on all the adventures we've had and everything we've done together, that's just us. Young, and in love.”

“And when you look forward?” The question was almost inaudible, but there.

“I can see us, sharing that love,” Kurt answered, his voice strong and absolutely clear in what he wanted. “The thought of sharing you used to scare me, but it—it doesn't, anymore. It hasn't for a while. It's something that I want. I want us to have a family. I want a miracle that's ours; some little curly head that I can tuck up in bed and kiss goodnight—“

“No, no way,” Blaine interrupted, and for a terrible moment Kurt felt like the ocean itself was closing over his head and stealing all vestiges of breath from his lungs. “No, they have to have your hair. Mine's impossible, you know that. Would you really want to inflict that on some poor, defenseless little kid? Can't you imagine the tantrums when it comes to brushing their hair?”

Kurt could feel every cell in his body simultaneously reaching a place of absolute rest and repose. “Fine,” he conceded, “but they have to have your smile.”

“Your eyes,” Blaine whispered, cupping Kurt's face at the temple and thumbing across his eyelid, disturbing the gathering moisture.

“Can't believe you claimed that one,” Kurt muttered through a smile. “Your kindness.”

“Your fashion sense.”

“Your adorable dorkiness.”

“Your heart,” Blaine whispered, leaning forward and dropping his hand to feel the racing in Kurt's chest.

“Your soul,” Kurt answered, closing his eyes and the distance between them, sealing their unspoken promise with a kiss. It was new, and heavy with a future that was unplanned, unsought, yet a future that had somehow always been there waiting to be discovered. Kurt breathed his essence into Blaine and took Blaine's back for himself; sunset cosmopolitan mingled with a first glance on a staircase, blood oranges and triple sec and the vows he thought of every day.

“They,” Blaine murmured, his voice low. “Is that 'they' as in we don't know what we want, or because we want more than one?”

“Two.”

“One of each?”

Kurt nodded wordlessly, and there was a beat of silence that was broken by Blaine's stomach growling loudly. Blaine closed his eyes and inhaled through his teeth before glancing sheepishly at Kurt. “Hungry?” his husband asked.

“One cup of clam chowder, Kurt. One cup,” Blaine practically whined in response, and Kurt laughed as he dragged the soft cool-bag closer. They'd brought it with them partly for this reason (”You can't go to Montauk and not have lobster sandwiches on the beach, Blaine!”), and partly because there was no way Kurt could foresee a happy ending to the awful stop-and-go traffic into the Hamptons without access to a plentiful supply of cold water (for him) and Diet Coke (for Blaine).

“What kind of parents do you think we'll be?” Kurt asked, handing over one of the sandwiches. Blaine took a small bite and chewed thoughtfully.

“Good ones, I hope. I wanna be a cool dad. Like Phil Dunphy,” he said with a slight nod to himself, and Kurt couldn't help but smile.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

After taking a bite of his own sandwich and holding back a groan as the taste of heaven wrapped in toasted sesame seeds washed over his tongue, he said, “wait. Does that make me Claire?”

“Well, you do make a lot of lists.”

“Blaine.”

“I'm just saying.”

*

Kurt cast one last glance around the room to make sure they hadn't forgotten anything, and his eyes fell upon the smudged hearts upon the window, caught in the midday sunlight. Smiling, he crossed the room and breathed over the glass. He retraced the two hearts he'd drawn the previous day, before adding two smaller interlinked hearts underneath. Blaine's arms slipped around his waist and they stood still for a second, both seeing doors swinging open before them.

“We should buy a place out here. Somewhere to bring the kids on weekends.”

“That's a good idea. Especially if you keep winning awards left and right. We're running out of room,” Kurt joked, settling back. “Maybe we could look when we get home.”

“How about somewhere in Southampton, maybe?”

“Maybe.”

“Dad?” Blaine asked, and the pregnancy of the question gave Kurt shivers.

“I think I'd prefer Papa. But we'll see,” he answered, turning in the circle of Blaine's arms. “What about you?”

“'Dad' sounds good to me. Really good.”

Before leaving the room, Kurt rummaged through the outer pocket of Blaine's dark holdall and took the camera over to the window. He adjusted his position until he was standing at just the right angle, and—click!—the four hearts signifying their family-to-be were immortalized.

Yes. They had definitely needed this.