~Thirteen Years Later~

"Do you see your new world, Archer?" The invisible man whispered away from where he could see his moving lips. The dark image that he was staring at shook a little, and suddenly, it lightened as the man clomped up the stairs, his heavy footsteps echoing through a pair of sensitive ears, which were so unused to the noises of this strange place. A dark hand crossed in front of him, and he briefly lost sight of it before he was tilted up, giving him a shadowy view of what seemed to be this mans hand, large and muscular, with a wrist and knuckles that were powdered in coarse hair. The hand returned to where it had been before as the man stepped into a patch of lightness, his long feet sinking into what looked like white carpet, but was still a little fuzzy to a pair of recently opened eyes. "Its wonderful, isnt it? This is the living room. Our family comes together in here... but no one is here right now because its still too early, little one. Do you see the sky out there?"

His entire being tipped backwards as he was shown the startlingly bright colors of the sky, which was lit up by the golden rays of the sun. "Maybe Ill teach you about the sky one day... when I take you up there after I build you a castle in the clouds." The speakers hand slid across his line of sight once more, blocking the blinding flashes that pierced through the clear glass. He lowered it to the thing that he was mumbling to, which was revealed to be a small baby as the limited point-of-view turned to it. The baby was gorgeous, if not a little pudgy around his round cheeks and chin, but with the deepest blue of eyes and the darkest red of lips. Freckles splattered his soft skin, a few of them smothered by a dimpled hand that was set on his jaw as he sucked on the tip of his thumb. "Poor baby... dont nibble on your fingers. Youll make your pearly teeth crooked." The man chided, tenderly using his own hand to draw the babys fingers from his slobbery mouth.

Blinking at the pop that sounded off of his smacking lips, the baby turned his wide eyed gaze up to the man who was holding him, studying him with an inquisitive expression. The man, finding amusement in that, quietly chuckled, pulling the bundle of blankets that the baby was wrapped up in closer to his chest. "Are you bitter with me now? Lets go to the kitchen and see if I can get a bottle prepared so you can suck on that." The squirming baby was raised to the mans shoulder, emptying the pathway that he had to look at what he was certain was the kitchen door, which used to be white, but had since been repainted brown.

The man headed toward the kitchen, taking the baby with him, and he pushed open the door, giving just enough space for him to see the figure that was propped against the counter. He smiled at the younger version of who had to be his père, no more than twenty years old, with a curvy, full body that had recently started to slim at the thighs and waist. His père wore nothing more than an old tee shirt that had obviously once belonged to his daddy, but had been turned into a nightgown that was now smeared in patches of flour and drops of milk. His coiffed hair was a mess, scrubbed from his sleep and brushed through with white fingers. The man who was holding the baby walked over to the messy boy at the stove, and he briefly came into view as he leaned in to peck a kiss to his cheek. "And here is my beautiful fiancé."

Amused, his père giggled at that, scooping raw batter onto a skillet. "Certainly not right now, crazy man. I think you are just flattering your way into getting an extra pancake." After he patted the goo into a small circle, he whirled around and made a kissy face at the baby, who could be heard gurgling with delight at the attention he was getting. "Good morning, Archer! Blaine, youre just in time. I just pulled the babies bottles out of the microwave. Would you please feed them while I finish up with our pancakes?"

"Uh huh." The man grunted, setting aside the thing that he was looking through. It clattered onto the counter, shaking once more as it readjusted. Seconds before it went black, he saw the back of the man who had been holding the first baby, his tight muscles pressing against his thin shirt as he bent to scoop up another baby, who had been idly rocking inside of a carrier. He got a mere glimpse of a choppy lock of brown hair, and then he couldnt see it anymore because it was gone, replaced by a black screen that was encased within a TV that softly hummed as it rewound the film that had been playing.

Torn between frowning because the tape was over, or smiling because hed been able to see it at all, Archer pushed himself to the edge of the couch, grabbing for the remote so he could click the TV off. Before he cupped his hand around it, a noise behind him made him throw it up with alarm. "Archer... what are you doing up?"

Whipping around, Archer stared over the back of the couch, his chin nearly brushing the top of it because of how far his jaw had dropped. When he had climbed out of bed nearly an hour ago because of his inability to sleep, he hadnt realized anyone else had risen with him, but there stood his daddy, leaning in the doorway of the kitchen with a mug in his hand. It was nearly the early hours of the morning, and his daddy was never the type to get out of bed and try to function on a lack of sleep in the middle of the night, so he wondered if he was having the same problem with hitting his cheek against the right spot on the pillow, but still not being able to drift off to the feeling of comfortable cotton against his face. Even exhausted, with bags under his eyes and creases at the corners of his lips, his daddy was still a very demanding man with his appearance. At thirty five years old, his daddy still had the body he did when he was only twenty five, with muscular arms and broad shoulders, and a stomach that had very defined ridges. His skin was the dark brown of his Filipino heritage, a trait that was also made example of in his coffee brown curls and golden eyes. Besides the slight bump between his almond eyes, his daddy had a very straight nose that pointed to a pair of full lips.

His family often told him that he looked a lot like his daddy did when he was a teenager, that he had the same shape to his eyes, a very similar arch to his brow, an identical plumpness to his mouth. Archer was sixteen years old now, and hed stopped growing when he got to the age of twelve, when he reached a height of only three inches over five feet. He was noticeably chubby, with a wide butt and thighs, and a lack of definition in his stomach or arms. His face was very round, framed by dark curls that swung down from a widows peak, and outlined by highly arched brows that hung just above a pair of big, blue eyes. In the center of his face was a tiny nose that pointed up at the tip, and below that was a pair of thin, red lips that were sealed over slightly crooked teeth. And while his daddys freckles had mostly faded away by the time he reached adulthood, Archers had only multiplied, creating long constellations across his cheeks and nose, and all down his jaw and neck, vanishing into the collar of his shirt, where they spread across the expanse of his chest, then around to his back, and down his arms, straight to the tips of his fingers.

Remembering that he hadnt said anything for a few moments when his daddy chuckled lowly, Archer opened his mouth to plead that he would go to bed straightaway, but his daddy stopped him with his rumbling voice, which he didnt raise very loudly because there were people snoozing above their heads. "You were watching those old, family videos again, werent you?"

Archer nodded his head, feeling guilty that hed stayed up so many times doing this that his daddy knew exactly what was happening when he caught him in the act. "Yes. Daddy, sometimes I get lonely at night in my room. I know I shouldnt remember him... but I do. And it feels off... sleeping by myself. I just... like to come down here and see him. He was my best friend. Part of me feels like hes still there when I see him in these movies... I wonder what he would be like now." Smiling up at his daddy as he padded closer to him, he held his arms up, feeling his strong arms wrap around him and squeeze him tightly to his hard chest. There was no place that Archer felt safer than in his daddys arms. "Daddy, how old were you in that video?"

His daddy rolled one shoulder, going around the side of the couch and lowering onto the arm of it. "I was nineteen. You werent even two weeks old when I took that video. You and Hunter hadnt even started making sounds yet. You were so tiny." A smirk suddenly yanked at the corners of his mouth, and he bumped Archer with his shoulder. "Well... you still are."

Archer laughed with his daddy, letting his head fall to his shoulder, where it was held in place by his large hand, which cupped his cheek and smoothed the worry lines away, "You know, I dont always watch videos with Hunter in them. Ive seen videos from your wedding day... of you and Père exchanging your vows. And Ive seen a video of Mémé singing. She was so beautiful, Daddy.Père looks a lot like her."

"I know." His daddy breathed through his teeth, turning his face into Archers heavy curls. A large hand came to the back of his head, stubby nails scratching his scalp. "Sometimes I wish that you had known her, sweetheart... but sometimes I feel that you already do. Your père took everything after his mom. And you take a lot after him."

Glancing over his shoulder at his daddys wide chest, Archer reached up for his thick neck, feeling his veins pulsing under the surface of his skin. His daddy lowered his chin, trapping his hand to his warm skin, and he pressed a kiss to Archers knuckles. Leaning over, Archer fell against his daddys side, peacefully closing his eyes when his arm pulled him closer. "But I take a lot after you, too, Daddy." One eye peeled open when his daddy kissed the lobe of his ear, making a pop echo through the shell of it, and he turned his chin up to the scratchy underneath of his daddys jaw. He watched the soft spot under his chin move as he swallowed. "What are you doing up, anyway? Could you not sleep, either?"

His daddy grinned at that question, his arms tightening around Archers body, "I could sleep just soundly. Its your père who seems to think that he wont get a wink of sleep until I buy him a mattress fit for a queen. And I cant sleep unless he does... so I got up to get him a glass of warm milk. You know how it always makes him doze off." Looking down at the steaming drink, he shook it inside of the glass, making the white splash the inner walls. "I should take this up to him before it gets too cool." Slipping his arm out from behind Archers back, he returned it to his lap, where Archer wrapped his fingers around it so he could hold onto his daddy. "Get some sleep soon, okay, baby? You have your piano lesson early in the morning."

When his daddy scooted toward the edge of the couch, Archer squeezed his arm, holding him in place, "Daddy, could I come upstairs with you... and sleep with you and Père? Just for tonight? Please, Daddy? I promise that Ill close my eyes as soon as I climb into bed." His daddy chuckled, nodding his head a few times, and he tugged Archer up from the couch. Glad that his daddy had such a soft spot for him, Archer flung his arms around him, nearly making him spill the drink. "Thank you, Daddy! Im just far too lonely by myself."

"Maybe your père will complain to you about the pea under the mattress now." His daddy teased, hooking his arm around Archers waist and nudging him toward the stairs. His weary eyes flicked over to Archers wrinkled face, and he laughed as if he had read Archers mind. "You dont want to wake up early for your lesson, do you?"

Archer scrunched up his nose, shaking his head, "No, Daddy. I dont like playing the piano. My favorite lessons are with Père... when he teaches me all of the dances that he learned on Broadway."

The corners of his lips flipped up, and when they parted, his voice softened because they had gotten up to the top floor, where his uncle was snoozing, and his père was trying to snooze. "Why dont we take the morning off from your piano lesson? We can spend most of the day watching these old movies that you love so much... but I expect you to be on point with your dance lessons tomorrow afternoon. That means no bargaining with your père that youll make him dessert if you can get out of your lesson. Ill ask your père if you pointed your toes."

Archer laughed that time, looping his arms around his shoulders, because that was as high as he could reach without stretching onto his toes as he walked. "I promise that Ill be good for my dance lesson." As his daddy reached down for the doorknob to his bedroom, Archer raised up so he could press a kiss to his cheek. "I love you, Daddy."

"I think you love how much I spoil you more than you love me." His daddy joked, turning toward him and enveloping him in his arms. "I love you, too, pretty boy." He opened the door to his bedroom, leading Archer inside, where his père was curled up on the bed, idly plumping his pillows. Archer hurried over to his père, who he instantly felt like he was having a childish sleepover with as he bounced onto the bed, making his père squeal with giggles as their arms flew around each other. His père, with the youthful personality that he had when he was in his early twenties, was more like Archers best friend than his parent, someone he could go to when he had a secret to tell, and someone who would cry with him when he needed to cry. Nothing felt better than hugging his père, who he loved with all of his heart and more.

His daddy, who was standing by the bedside table as he set the cup of milk down, glowered at both of them, "No giggling, both of you. Neither of you might be sleepy, but Im exhausted. I have to be around both of you all day... you wear me out."

His père wrinkled his nose, turning toward Archer and pressing his lips to his ear, even though he didnt try to whisper what he was saying, "Hes such an old man, isnt he, Archer?" Archer giggled with his père, giving his daddy an innocent look when he rolled his eyes at them. "Im a young thirty five."

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, his daddy grabbed the collar of his shirt, pulling it away from his neck. He laid back on the pillows, chuckling when the other two rolled closer to him and plunked their heads to his chest. "If I hear even one whisper, both of you are getting kicked out."

Laughing, his père boosted himself back up, smirking down at his husband, who grinned up at him. "You can have your lumpy mattress all to yourself! It will be cold by morning." He reached over for a pillow, dragging it onto his husbands amused face. "You take the fun out of sleepovers, Blaine!"

His daddy pushed the pillow away, taking hold of his husbands shoulders and yanking him down to himself so he could kiss his pink lips. "Kurt, weve had sleepovers every night for the past fifteen years. Youve always fallen asleep before we could get to the lady chats or painting each others nails... Now you want to have fun?"

His père nodded as if it should have all made sense, making Archer chuckle under his breath. Shaking his head, his daddy pulled his husband down to his chest once more, tucking him under his chin, where he happily nuzzled like a cat that was marking its territory. There was nothing more entertaining to Archer than watching his parents be together like this. Over the past fifteen years, they had stayed absolutely the same, except that they somehow fell more in love with each other with every passing day, while others couples eventually wearied of putting up the smiling façades. His parents were both of docile temperaments, and hed never seen one become cross with the other. Instead, they were flirtatiously teasing with one another, to the point that his pèrewould stamp his foot as his daddy stole hunks of food from his plate, or his daddy would toss a book to the floor and sweep his père off his feet when he unknowingly dawdled too close to him for him to resist. They bickered with each other about passing the salt over the breakfast table, and, at the dinner table, they spoke of how their days were.

Sometimes, early in the morning, when the sun had just reached its peak, his daddy would hold his hand out for his père, inviting him to stroll the gardens with him as he tended to the flowers. His père would often come back in with a bouquet of flowers clutched to his chest, which was vibrating from his quick breath and his rapid heart, obviously because his daddy had become distracted from caring for the flowers with the notion of presenting the prettiest ones to his husband, gifts that he received very well. On special occasions, his daddy took his père out into the city, either for long days of shopping in the smallest boutique stores to the largest malls, or to dinner and then to a theatre to see a live performance. These were the nights when his parents arrived home late in the evening, both of them laughing and hugging each other, unable to let go, and then went off to their bedroom, closing the door behind them and not appearing until sometime during the afternoon of the next day, hair rumpled and faces flushed. But Archer, being a simplistic person, especially loved it when his daddy walked through the door, a special treat in his hands, which was sometimes a piece of jewelry, or a stuffed animal, or a box of chocolates. Archers favorite part was when he first showed this new thing to his husband, whose eyes always lit up like diamonds, and then squeezed tightly shut as he flung his arms around his broad shoulders, more interested in his husband, who had been so kind to think of buying him this new present, than he was in the actual thing hed been given.

Archer could only long for a love like that which his parents shared, and had spent long nights gazing up at the ceiling, imagining the color of the eyes which he might gaze adoringly into one day, as his parents did to each other. If someone could make him smile as much as his parents did each other, then he would be eternally happy. The eyes that he always saw, the slightly narrowed, somewhat cynical, but sparkling eyes that appeared inside of his wishful head, were brown, but not just any brown. They were the brown of the sand at an ocean, just after it had been washed over by the shore, freed after it was pulled into the water, where it could move around, but was still kept safe by the endless blue, which held onto it tightly. But, outside of the water, just inches away from it, close enough that it could touch, but not be pulled in, was stuck, just motionless brown.