For some time afterward, The Book sat open at that same photograph as Blaine told stories from his childhood, all of which Kurt had heard before but enjoyed nonetheless. He didn't realize just how long they had been sitting out on the porch—over an hour—until his stomach growled.

“How long did they say they'd be?” Kurt asked, taking a small sip of his wine and resting the base of the glass on his shoulder.

“Should be any time now. I ordered while you were in the bathroom after the New Years' picture,” Blaine said, leaning back in his seat and stretching out his legs. “I got you the Moo Goo Gai Pan with white rice.”

Absently walking his fingers up and down the back of Blaine's hand, Kurt smiled at how his husband had always made a point of memorizing his orders, ever since he'd called attention to it at The Lima Bean so many years earlier. His stomach gave another loud rumble and, as if on cue, the gate buzzer rang inside the house. Blaine rose from his seat, grabbing his wallet and jogging down the path. Kurt went inside to grab some plates and a pillow for Blaine's back—he'd been having some trouble recently, but at Kurt's insistence had seen a chiropractor and was almost back to his old self. Kurt offered up a prayer of thanks to whatever was or wasn't there; he'd been one more failed love-making attempt away from making the damn appointment himself.

Settling himself outside again, Kurt couldn't help but smile as Blaine jogged back up the steps of the porch. He was still like a fountain of energy, even at forty-nine years old. Age hadn't slowed him down at all; he was still Hurricane Blaine, as Kurt had affectionately nicknamed him the year that there actually had been a Hurricane Blaine. And, Kurt mused as his eyes raked over him appreciatively, he's still sexy as all get-out.

“What are you thinking about?” Blaine asked, handing him a set of chopsticks.

“Nothing, really,” Kurt answered, removing two cartons from the brown paper bag and inhaling the mouth-watering smell of sweet and sour sauce. “Just about how you still make me feel like a teenager, sometimes.”

“Good to know I've still got it,” Blaine replied, with a wink and a quirk of his eyebrows, hungrily digging into his chow mein. Kurt speared a piece of chicken and raised it to his mouth before flipping the page. “I thought we were taking a break.”

“I figured maybe we could just look at these next few,” Kurt answered, hand covering his mouth as he chewed thoughtfully. “We've been talking about the rest, but the next few pages... They all happened at the same time. It felt like minutes between each one. I wouldn't know where to begin or where to finish.”

Blaine smiled at him affectionately. “Me neither,” he said, almost inhaling another mouthful of noodles. “It was a good time, though. Wasn't it?”

“The best,” Kurt answered fondly. “It was the beginning of the rest of our lives.”

Commencement. Yankee Stadium. Kurt could hardly believe they were finally, finally here. And although that particular shade of purple clashed with his skin tone and the cut made him feel like a sack of potatoes, it was the only moment in his entire life he couldn't bring himself to care about such a heinous crime against fashion. Because today, his boyfriend—the person he was most proud of in the whole world—was giving the undergraduate commencement address.

Kurt's phone vibrated in his pocket.

Blaine: Oh god, Kurt, it sucks. It sucks so bad.

Kurt: I've heard you run it a hundred times already and it gets me every time. It's beautiful, Blaine – COURAGE.

He pictured Blaine standing backstage, shaking in his robes, his cap settled at an angle on his head with the tassel swaying in his right peripheral. He would be bouncing on the balls of his feet; breathing in through the nose and out through the mouth; thumbing along the edge of his prompt cards until he got a paper cut.

Kurt had thoroughly enjoyed the ceremony so far. It was conducted like the opening ceremony of the Olympics, and the commencement address was going to be given by none other than the legend that was Whoopi Goldberg, an NYU alumnus. He couldn't keep the grin from his face whenever he turned around in his seat to see his father, Carole and Finn (who had graduated from Ohio State the week earlier) sitting with Fiona and Cooper. She looked drawn into herself, but brighter while she talked with Carole, who was probably telling her the story of how Kurt had played matchmaker back in high school. Finn was seated next to Cooper, sporting a large purple foam finger, and from the way he kept wildly gesticulating, Kurt thought they were probably discussing sports of some kind.

And then there was Burt; sitting between the two pairs, and beaming back at him whenever he turned around.

You won, he mouthed, and it was all Kurt could do to tear his eyes away and back to the stage, where Blaine was being announced.

As the undergraduate speaker, Blaine was first. Kurt saw this as a positive sign; like Rachel had said at the New Directions' very first Sectionals competition, going first meant everyone else had to measure up. He slowly walked onto the stage, looking for the first time in his life like he didn't know he was meant to be there. Blaine stepped up onto the podium, and cleared his throat.

There was a long, pregnant pause. The hush that had settled over the crowd was broken by the occasional ripple, and the longer it dragged on, the more restless they grew. Kurt sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees with worry creasing his brow. Blaine's terrified face stretched countless feet on the huge screens dotted around the stadium, and Kurt closed his eyes.

Courage, Blaine. Just like you told me. Courage.

“You're waiting for a train,” Blaine began, and Kurt's relief engulfed him. “A train that will take you far away. You know where you hope this train will take you, but you can't be sure. Yet it doesn't matter. Why? Because we'll be together.

“My name is Blaine Anderson, and as of today, I am no longer a student of Steinhardt School of Culture, Education and Human Development. Today, I'm graduating with a degree in Music Technology. I would like to take a moment to thank my incredible professors, my wonderful boyfriend, and our two amazing families, without whom I would not be standing here today.”

Blaine took a deep breath, and Kurt could tell he was beginning to feel more confident. The stage was his home, and he was remembering that.

“Martin Luther King,” he continued, voice growing stronger, “changed the world with four words. 'I have a dream'. Walt Disney once said, 'all our dreams come true, if we have the courage to pursue them'. The Oscar-winning movie Inception taught us that, most importantly of all, we can be the architect of our own dreams.

“Every single person who is graduating today came to NYU with dreams. Dreams of a better life, of what they want to be, of where they want to end up. Dreams of professions, and careers, and loves, and lives. I was asked to come here today and give an inspirational speech, so what I'm going to do is tell you one simple thing. I'm going to tell you to never give up. Never let go of your dreams, even if you find that you grow out of them and have to find new ones. Never stop dreaming; never stop reaching. Just because we're graduating, just because this era of our lives is ending, doesn't mean that it should take our dreams along with it.

“I'm going to ask you all to take a look at where you are, now. Where you were three, five, even ten years ago. How your dreams have changed. Ten years ago I was watching videos of Sting on YouTube and dreaming of singing on stage just like him. Five years ago, I was meeting the love of my life and dreaming of white picket fences. Three years ago, I was walking into the studio for the first time and knowing that I was finally exactly where I was supposed to be in my life. People change, dreams change and the one constant is that right now, we have nothing to lose, except those dreams.

“Every single one of you is as complex and beautiful as all the stars in the universe. Every single one of us is destined to go there. So go after your dreams, no matter how absurd. Knock on doors until your knuckles bleed. Write letters until you can't see because your eyes water from yawning too much. Make calls until you want to never again hear a ringing telephone. Sing like no one's listening, dance like no one's watching, walk like no one's holding you back. Be honest with yourself, be kind to yourself and most importantly, listen to yourself. Trust yourself. And if you do all of that, maybe one day we'll all meet again.”

Blaine took a moment, cocked his head to the side and looked directly into the nearest camera. Kurt stills. “Beers on me,” he finished, and the stadium erupted.

The work of the last few days was finally complete. The wallpaper was stripped and each room was painted back to neutral colors. Kurt's chic wall hangings were packed away with Blaine's canvas prints and that ridiculous yet endearing scribble collage he'd made while drunk. The furniture was in the moving truck, which was currently en route to their new apartment on West 91st Street.

Their tiny, freezing, fifth-floor apartment was no longer home.

Kurt stood in the doorway of the empty bedroom with his arms crossed, staring at the space their bed had occupied. After a few minutes, he turned to leave and pulled the door closed behind him. Slowly, he paced throughout the apartment, retracing steps he had taken a thousand times. His fingers brushed along the uneven living room walls, the pock-marked counters in the kitchen, the wavering outline of the open front door. He felt like he was really seeing the place for the first time. It was kind of a dump, but his lingering affection seemed, incredibly conveniently, to have forgotten about that.

“Hey,” said Blaine, sounding exhausted as he re-entered the apartment. Kurt was facing away, and he felt strong arms wrap around him from behind, pulling him close.

“Hey,” Kurt sighed, rubbing Blaine's hands as they tightened around his waist. “It's real, isn't it?”

“Yeah, it is,” Blaine said, voice muffled against Kurt's shoulder.

“We don't live here anymore,” he whispered shakily. “I know how many times I said I hated this apartment and how much I complained about it, but...”

“But it was our first home together,” Blaine finished for him. Kurt nodded silently, before turning around and burying his face in the crook of Blaine's shoulder, fingers curling underneath the neck of his shirt. Blaine hugged him tighter for a few moments, then pulled back, thumbing away tears and pressing their foreheads together. “You almost ready?”

Kurt inhaled sharply and spun on his heel for one last look. “Not quite. We don't have to be out of here until five,” he said in a low voice, glancing sidelong at the kitchen island before raking his eyes up and down Blaine's body. “For old times' sake?”

In one smooth movement, Blaine closed the front door and picked Kurt up, hooking his legs around his waist. He sat Kurt down gently on the edge, kissing him slowly and deeply. His hand was moving down the front of Kurt's shirt in a meandering trail, and as his fingers disappeared beneath the hemline Kurt thought, thank everything I hold sacred that the new place has an island just like this one. Except instead of Formica, it's granite. And the drawers don't stick. And there's a—SHUT UP, KURT.

Kurt detested Florida. The humidity did unspeakable things to his hair, he was sweating from every last pore, and there seemed to be a legion of mosquitoes with a personal vendetta against him. Blaine, on the other hand. His hair looked perfect as always, any sign of perspiration was offset by his incredible tan, and he didn't have a single bite marring his skin. If he were anyone else, Kurt could easily have hated him.

They'd just returned from a seven-night cruise on the Disney Fantasy, a trip Blaine had been saving for since his first year of NYU. To begin with, Kurt had thought the idea was impossibly twee, falling far below his personal level of sophistication. Of course he loved Disney movies and had a few favorite songs to sing in the shower, but a cruise?

The more time that passed, the more concentrated Blaine's unadulterated excitement became and the more pictures he attached to the refrigerator with smiley face magnets. By the beginning of their second year, the fridge practically had its own wallpaper. Eventually, the pictures caught Kurt's interest fully and he began to take in the comfortable-looking staterooms, the ornately designed and themed restaurants, the... wait, is that a spa?

Interest piqued, Kurt had finally caved and visited the website (under cover of darkness, of course). He was impressed, and felt a sudden rush of love for his boyfriend who was saving his every spare cent for something so cute, so fun, so romantic. Kurt had been the one to open the envelope containing the tickets, which had arrived addressed to them both, and was thankful that no one had witnessed the way he had bounced up and down on the spot.

Practically shaking with excitement, Blaine had taken his hand and pulled him aboard the ship, and Kurt was thankful for the air conditioning that swept away every last trace of the thick Florida heat.

The week had passed by in a blur of Disney movies in the theater (singing along with all of the kids like they were born-again five-year-olds), enjoying the cuisine at the plethora of on-board eateries, and wrapping up against the sun for the Port Adventures in Mexico and the Cayman Islands. Kurt had never felt so free; there was no pressure to spend all day without so much as a hair out of place, and he was constantly surrounded by music, memories of childhood, and unimpeded joy.

Blaine hadn't let a single moment of the week pass without humming or singing, and it was a common occurrence for Kurt to return to his side from the bathroom or a walk around the deck and find him surrounded by kids; more often than not dancing around and singing along as he gave impromptu renditions of songs from The Little Mermaid or Aladdin. Once, Kurt had come back from the snack bar in time to see a little girl of about seven or eight bounding out of the Kids' Club room, arms flung out and pigtails flying. Blaine had swept her up in his arms and spun her around, before setting her back down and asking what songs she wanted to sing. Kurt leaned against the deck railing, grinning widely when Blaine hoisted the girl high to sit on his shoulders, and felt an unfamiliar pang. Of... longing? No, that wasn't right—he'd felt that often enough in the past.

It was, he realized, a pang of anticipation. Anticipation of the day when he and Blaine might start a family. At that moment, he was more sure than ever that Blaine would make an amazing father.

*

Their last night came around far too quickly for Blaine's liking, but nonetheless he was looking forward to it, and he smiled as he thought back over the past week. Kurt was so relaxed, more alive than Blaine had ever seen him.

“Now, are you absolutely sure you don't want to tell me what my surprise is?” Kurt asked mischievously, hopping up onto the counter in front of Blaine and fastening the top button of his crisp black shirt. Kurt was wearing a pale lavender dress shirt underneath a heather-gray vest with dark slacks, and as usual he looked effortlessly stunning.

Blaine had booked the Gusteau room at Remy, the Ratatouille-inspired adults only restaurant, and as he threaded a skinny, cream-colored tie underneath his collar, he smiled at the memory of once telling Kurt that he wasn't very good at romance. That young, bewildered and oblivious boy was a thing of the past; Blaine had learned from the best.

Blaine shook his head with a grin. Kurt knotted his tie for him, fingertips lingering just at the end. “Nope,” he answered simply, allowing himself to be pulled forward by the tie for a sweet, almost chaste kiss. “Okay. Maybe.”

“No, no, you can't! You'll ruin it!” Kurt exclaimed, and Blaine looked at him pointedly. Kurt dropped his hands, his face a picture of mock-defeat. “Why do you know me so well?”

“It's my job to,” Blaine answered simply, taking Kurt's hand as he jumped down from the counter. “Ready?”

Kurt: Why aren't you home yet, what's taking you so long?

Blaine: I'm almost there, I swear. Did they finally arrive?

Kurt: Yes. Both of them. If you're not back in the next thirty seconds, I'm going to—

The door swung open with a bang, and Kurt's head snapped up. From his vantage point against the back of the couch, he could see the wild look in his boyfriend's eyes. Blaine quickly dropped his bag to the floor, shrugged out of his coat and practically ran down the hallway to stand next to Kurt, who held two thin and unassuming white envelopes.

“Let's... let's be sitting down for this,” Blaine said quietly. Kurt nodded, letting himself be led around to the front of the couch and dropping heavily into his seat.

“How do you wanna do this?” Kurt asked, and after a moment's pause for thought, Blaine took the envelope addressed to Kurt.

“Let's open each other's letters,” he said, finally. “I can't open mine.”

Kurt nodded again, turning Blaine's envelope over in his hands. “On three.”

“One...”

“Two...”

“Three,” they said in unison, and tore into the letters, frantically unfolding contents and scanning text.

It was Kurt who looked up first, tears shining in his eyes. For once, Blaine was at a loss as to whether that was a good or a bad thing.

“Just tell me,” he whispered, bracing himself.

“Dear Mr Anderson,” Kurt read, “we at Disney Cruise Line are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted for a position on our exciting team of Cruise Staff.”

Blaine's entire being lit up, and Kurt grasped his hand tightly as he continued.

“Your initial six month contract will begin on February 1st 2017, and you are asked to report promptly to Cruise Terminal 8, Port Canaveral, at 8am to begin your training. You will require... Blaine, you did it,” Kurt exclaimed, gripping his hand ever tighter. “You did it.”

Blaine felt like his grin would split his face in two if he smiled any wider. “Okay, okay, before I get completely stupid-happy, you need to hear your letter,” he said breathlessly.

“Blaine, I don't care. Right now, this is your moment,” Kurt said, placing Blaine's letter on the coffee table and pulling him close. “I am so proud of you.”

They shared quick, smiling kisses. “Are you sure this is okay?” Blaine asked. “I know we've talked it over a thousand times, but... It's still six months, Kurt.”

Kurt took a deep breath, and placed his hand over his chest. “Blaine, I know in my heart that we will survive this. It's going to ache, but it's an ache that we know well. You deserve this, and here,” he said, picking up the letter again for emphasis, “is someone telling you the exact same thing.”

“But the timing... I'm going to miss Valentine's day. Not to mention your birthday.” Blaine dropped his head into his hands, second-guessing himself for the umpteenth time.

“I know, but...” Kurt trailed off. “You do know how many of those we're going to have together, right?”

Blaine met his eyes, chin propped in his hand with his elbow on his knee.

“I'm counting on you being around for a long time, Blaine Warbler,” Kurt continued, taking his hand. Blaine smiled at the old nickname; Kurt seldom used it anymore. “This is much more important.”

“Thank you,” Blaine whispered, capturing Kurt's mouth in a kiss. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too.”

Blaine stole a self-indulgent moment to bask in his achievement, before taking up Kurt's letter and looking him straight in the eye.

“Dear Mr. Hummel,” he read, “we are writing to you to thank you for your interest in the position of Personal Assistant.”

Kurt's shoulders sagged visibly, eyes never leaving Blaine's. “Well, there's a rejection if ever I heard one,” he said, miserably. Blaine simply shook his head, still smiling.

“We are delighted to inform you that you have been successful.”

Kurt's eyes went wide. He swallowed hard, and was silent. That couldn't be right. Too many good things had already come to pass this summer. Blaine was just telling him what he wanted to hear, softening the blow of a failure in light of his own achievement. It wasn't until Blaine was pushing the letter under his nose and he was seeing the words for himself that he dared even to hope.

We are delighted to inform you that you have been successful.

“I...” Kurt trailed off hoarsely, licking his lips. “I got the job?”

“Yeah, baby. You got the job,” Blaine whispered, cupping Kurt's chin and crushing their lips together in a kiss full of pride and love.

Kurt breathed harshly around the lump in his throat when Blaine pulled away.

“Kurt Hummel, P.A. to Stephanie Beaumont,” Blaine murmured, and Kurt let out a sound that was somewhere between a sob and a laugh. “Editor-in-Chief of Vogue magazine.”

“We're really on our way,” Kurt said. “Aren't we?”

Blaine wrapped his arms around Kurt's shoulders and breathed him in. “Never forget.”