“Kurt! Oh my goodness! Kurt, come see! It works!!”

Kurt peeled himself away from his tablet, completely immersed in cost calculations for the next collection on his docket. While he’d saved the work for home to avoid the incessant interruptions at the office, this interruption was a welcome one. It came with no demands. No expectations. Just pure six-year-old joy.

He got to Adrian’s room and cracked the door open, not wanting to let in too much light to ruin the effect of what had caused the shouts of glee bouncing through their apartment. “Does it? Is it clear?”

“It’s clear. Come in quick!” Kurt slipped in and shut the door behind him, laughing as Adrian took a flying leap onto his bed in the dark room, a black silhouette shooting through the air. “Come with me. It looks best here.”

Kurt crawled onto Adrian’s oh my goodness it’s so BIG brand new bed and snuggled in close, looking up to the ceiling with a pleased gasp. “Ade! It looks great! Almost real!”

“I know! You said it would and it does. Wait ‘til Daddy sees this.”

This was a specially painted ceiling just for Adrian. For his new bedroom. For his sixth birthday. For being an awesome stargazer and mostly for being Adrian. Kurt had found it online during his two and a half months alone in New York, what was now called The Longest Two And a Half Months in the Life of Kurt Hummel, Blaine Anderson’s Fantastically Gorgeous Husband.

This ceiling treatment was one of the few things he found online that was of any worth during their separation. Kurt's online shopping had gotten so out-of-hand that Blaine had begun teasing him about turning into a 2024 version of the old ladies who would stay up all night to watch shopping channels, puffing away on their five pack-a-day minimum. “You’re going to fill our apartment with CRapodimonte figurines and candle sticks aren’t you? There won’t even be room for my toothbrush.”

“Yes. That’s exactly what’s going to happen. Because I have that much bad taste in interior design, Blaine. Look, this ceiling treatment is amazing. It’s done with luminescent paint and the stars they paint are small – like you’d really see in the sky. Not those big tacky glow-in-the-dark stick-ons you see everywhere.”

“He’s five. He can’t have tacky glow-in-the-dark stick-ons?”

“Not as long as I’m paying rent, no.”

“Oh, rude.”

They’d also taken to Skyping nightly, if at all possible, and this particular conversation was running a little later than usual – they were getting punchy. “Pft, quit whining, seriously. Have you looked at the link I sent you? He will flip his shit. During the day, it looks like a normal ceiling and it sort of charges. Then at night – and I got those room darkening shades, so it’ll be perfect – the ceiling lights up like the night sky. It’s not so light he won’t be able to sleep, but he’ll have the stars over him every night.”

“You’re impossible.”

“If by impossible you mean brilliant, then yes.”

“Will the landlord let us do this?”

Which he obviously did because it was now three weeks later and The Longest Two And a Half Months in the Life of Kurt Hummel, Blaine Anderson’s Fantastically Gorgeous Husband was officially over and Adrian’s ceiling was a lovely replica of the night sky. There were bright stars and faded stars and it even flickered if the air conditioning caught the corner of his shades allowing a little light into the room. It was perfect.

“So, we have-ta pick out Mommy’s and Lizzie’s and Burt’s.”

“Of course – you find them. You have a better eye for that than I do.”

Adrian scoped out the ceiling, deciding on a trio of stars close to the opposing wall on their left. “Here, give me your hand.” Adrian lifted their hands and closed one eye aiming their pointed fingers at just the right ones. “There. See ‘em?”

“I do. I think those are the right ones, Ade.”

“Me too.” Adrian sighed, contented and, dare he say, sleepy. He slipped his hand in Kurt’s bringing them close to his face to see in the darkened room. “I like your wedding rings, Kurt. They look just like Mommy’s, but…better.”

“Know what I like about them?”

“What?”

“That the gold and diamonds from hers helped make these, so hers is still here.”

“That’s why the diamonds shine so bright.”

“Yep. Just like the stars.”

“Yeah…”

They rested there together on Adrian’s oh my goodness it’s so BIG bed for a long while, Kurt beginning to wonder if Adrian had drifted off to sleep. But then, “Kurt? How much longer ‘til you’ll really be my daddy?”

Kurt had the number of days memorized. His excitement for the drop of that gavel was seconded only to the excitement that lead up to the day he and Blaine became Mister and Mister. “Get your calendar, buddy. Have you been marking the days?”

“Yep!” Adrian hopped off the bed and flipped on his light. “Goodbye stars…” They watched the ceiling fade a little, not quite disappearing yet, as Kurt’s memory flooded back to the days of asking his dad where his calendar was.

This kind of calendar counting, and all that had preceded it – the count to Kurt’s move, the count to their wedding day, the count to the closing of Blaine’s house and their subsequent move to the Big City, the count to Adrian’s birthday and now, the count until they became a real, legal, signed-sealed-and-delivered family – was so much more pleasant.

It would have made his dad so incredibly proud and Kurt was filled with the glow of it.

“Okay, today’s Monday June 10th right? And, we go to the wedding place on Tuesday June 25th, so…” Adrian started counting but when he ended at 15, he huffed. “Oh my goodness. That’s too many days away.”

“Yeah, but look at all the days you’ve been counting.” Kurt flipped the calendar back one, two, three months as Ade’s eyes got bigger, realizing how many days he had been counting. “Oh my goodness! I guess 15 isn’t so bad!”

“Nope. Soon, sweetie.”

“So, I’ve been thinking…what am I supposed to call you?”

“You can still call me Kurt, if you want…”

“I don’t want. You’ll be my daddy. But, Daddy will be confusing.”

“It will. Hrm…I got called a lot of names in school, but we probably shouldn’t go with those.”

"What names did they call you in school?"

"Don't worry about it…they're ugly and I don't ever want to hear you say them anyway."

"Oh." Adrian's frown at someone saying ugly things to his almost-daddy Kurt turned into an ornery grin and he giggled at himself. “I could call you Boogerhead.”

Kurt sat up and gaped, his eyes dancing. “Oh is that how this is going to go? Okay, well…I think you should call me Stinky Butt instead.”

“Oooh, that’s a good one. ‘Cept you always smell yummy. How about oh! Grandma A calls me Sugar Britches. You could be that.”

Kurt immediately imagined a drag queen, reeling that thought in before his laughter turned entirely too inappropriate. “That’s your name from Grandma though. Okay, I have it. I had a friend in college call me Kurtsie Pie.”

Adrian laughed so hard he almost fell off the bed. Kurt grabbed his ankle just in time, turning the whole event into a tickle fest, each of them calling each other any ridiculous playground name they could come up with. They hit a creative wall when Adrian came up with Poop Butt Fart Turd. Adrian wiggled out from under Kurt’s tickly fingers and flipped the light off, their giggles dying down as they snuggled in to watch the stars become visible again.

“How do you say daddy in French?”

“Papa.”

“Papa. I like that one.” They rested silently together, Kurt hearing the faint whisper of Adrian rolling the word around in his mouth, warming at his sweet intensity. “Can I call you Papa?”

Kurt took in a deep shuddering breath, sighing it out as he pulled Adrian in close. He kissed his forehead, never tiring of the tickle under his nose of Ade’s soft loopy curls. “I think that would be lovely.”

“Papa. Daddy and Papa. It feels good to say.” And then, “Can I call you Papa now? Or do I have to wait?”

“If you want to call me Papa now, that’s what I’ll answer to.”

“Good. Papa. But if you make me eat lima beans or something, I’m calling you Booger Head.”

“Deal. Lima beans are gross.”

***

After getting Adrian tucked in, Kurt settled onto the couch, taking a look out the wall-to-wall windows of their corner living room, a virtual wrap-around theater to New York City’s skyline. He’d been back in the city three months already and remained amazed that they scored this apartment, 33rd of 37 floors right on the edge of Chelsea, central to everything they loved. Their apartments towered over surrounding buildings giving them a view was hard to beat, overlooking so many of his favorite parts of the city. And as he had told Blaine on their first trip, at night, New York was at her best. This night was especially clear and beautiful – early summer tranquility.

Just as he refocused on his book, Blaine stepped in from work, dressed in an unseen-before-now station uniform. His hair was rumpled and his eyes were tired, but he was still, just as the first day they met, the most beautiful man Kurt had ever laid his eyes on. He carried a shiny new garment bag, heavy with what was most likely his dress uniform, his hat strapped to the hanger. It was all becoming real; Blaine was a New York City Firefighter.

“Hey, Gorgeous. You have new duds.”

“I do.” Blaine hung up the bag and toed off his shoes, coming to slot into the couch behind Kurt, stealing a soft kiss as they settled. “Sorry I’m late. We got to talking…”

“Mmm…You went on a run. I thought this was just a meet and greet.”

Blaine chuckled into Kurt’s neck. “I forget I leave a sensory trail. I rode along, yes.”

“And went inside, I take it?” Kurt took a deep breath, his initial distaste for the sweet home fire smell now one of his most favorite scents. For so many, it triggered tragedy and despair, but for Kurt, it was home, comfort, security. Blaine.

“Actually, went up. High rise, 31st floor.”

“That’s a lot of hose to carry.”

“We canned it. No hose this time.”

“Well, that’s not exciting. I can can a fire.”

“Yes, but can you can-can when you can a fire? Because that, my sexy man, is part of my entrance test. Of which I’ll pass with flying colors.”

“You are such an idiot." Kurt chuckled and tugged on Blaine's shirt. “Show me your shirt. Where’d they assign you?” He craned his neck back to read as Blaine flexed ridiculously. “Engine 54. The Pride of Midtown. OH! Baby! I was sure they’d ship you up to the Bronx.”

“I was too. I’m up on 48th & 8th – or I’m sorry fawty eight ‘n eight. Apparently, I don’t speak correctly.”

Kurt laughed at his affected New York accent and curled back in to snuggle. “My poor baby – are they making fun of you already?”

“Oh hell yes. I’m going to get ribbed for a long damned time. Between not being a New Yorker and coming here following a man? Jesus. I might as well have written the script for them.”

“You can take it.”

“I can. I know we all have each other's backs. You know what I realized when we were out, though?”

“What’s that?”

“I’m really going to miss that stupid red vest…and the man in it.”

“You’re married to the man in it.”

"Yes, dear. I just didn’t realize how much I looked forward to seeing you on the scene. This group even wears that gawd-awful neon yellow-green instead of red, so…”

“I could have Dot send me one and wear it for some weird role playing fun. Hey baby, come whip out your hose and put out my fire.”

“Oh, let's not do that. Besides, now I can finally tell you; it really never matched your skin tone.”

“Rude.”

“Must not have been too bad…it got you a couple hot dates.”

“That it did.” Kurt stood and stretched, mocking embarrassment when his robe slipped open, quickly shirring it shut with the sash, until Blaine snatched it open again and got his hand lightly smacked.

“Awww…”

“Later. I want to show you something.” Kurt took Blaine’s hands and lead him towards Adrian’s room laughing when Blaine pointed out that their room was the other direction. “We’ll get there – this first. We had visitors today. Adrian’s very upset he couldn’t stay up to show you himself.”

Kurt quietly opened the door, pushing Blaine in as he slid in behind, closing the door quietly. Blaine gasped at the sight before him, whispering in hushed tones as to not wake the lord of the space. “Oh my god – did he completely freak out?”

“Pretty much…isn’t it great?”

“I owe you an apology. I really, really thought this might be your first hair brained idea.”

“Hah. I will prove to you that fatherhood can be done without hair brained ideas.”

“We shall see…it’s not even official yet, so don’t go getting all cocky on me.”

Blaine spent a few moments soaking in a sleeping Adrian as Kurt closed up the apartment, meeting in their bedroom where another wrap-around view awaited them. Blaine had only been there for a couple of weeks, but this time of day was his favorite, watching Kurt night after night, gracefully maneuvering his way through his routine, the lights glowing and disappearing with his every move; he was radiant. The city was radiant. They truly were meant to be together, Kurt and this city.

Kurt began to pull the bed down as Blaine changed into something more comfortable, less smoke-scented. “So. He decided to call me Papa.”

“Oh?”

"Yeah. I said it was okay." Kurt sat on the edge of the bed fiddling with his robe's sash, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth. "Can I do this, Blaine? Can I be a Papa?"

Blaine snapped the waistband of his lounge pants and went to Kurt, brushing his thumb across his cheekbone meeting Kurt's nervous eyes with what he hoped were assurances beyond what his words would offer. "You've been his papa since the first night you watched him."

"Oh, I have not. I had no idea what I was doing."

"We've covered this. It goes with the territory." Kurt sighed and stood to busy himself, but Blaine took hold of his wrist and pulled him in for a tender kiss. "Listen to me. You healed him, Kurt. You took his frayed little heart and stitched it together again. Do you know he never gave me bedtime grief after that night? He wasn't afraid of his dreams anymore."

"Until he fell into a fried egg."

"Oh, and when he turned into a yellow Play-Doh starfish."

They chuckled at the memory of that night, Adrian scared out of his mind, no one able to laugh it away like they could with the fried egg dream. They never figured out what the dream was about or what in his waking life had scared him so that it would come out in his sleep, but it had effected Adrian. Enough so that every time they made Play Doh – and that was quite frequently because Adrian needed a full arsenal of colors – yellow was not allowed. Even if it was to make something yellow like the center of a flower, or a banana, or Spongebob. Bananas can be green too, Kurt.

Of course they could.

Kurt went to the window to breathe again, his life and expectations inside the apartment feeling more overwhelming than the chaos of the city below. Not that he didn’t welcome it because he did more than anything, but it was overwhelming nonetheless. “Sometimes it feels like too much. There's so much love here. So much good. I just worry I can't keep up."

"Your dad believed you could."

"Are you going to finally tell me what you two talked about?"

"Maybe…"

"Please tell me. I want to hold onto every word he ever said."

So Blaine told him. About Lizzie resting in him. About how he shines best when he's caring for others. About the world missing that most precious part of him, but how Blaine saw it from the start. And about that truth being the only thing Burt was concerned about – that Blaine got his son. That he believed in him. In the best of him.

"He said you have an angel inside of you, that you're an angel in a man’s body."

"But, I don’t believe in angels, Blaine."

"I believe in you. My angel…" Blaine brushed Kurt's cheek with the back of his knuckles and kissed the corner of his mouth, even as Kurt rolled his eyes at his ridiculousness. "..in a Vuitton overcoat strutting through New York City..." He slid his fingers through the lustrous silk of his sash, releasing its loose hold around Kurt's waist. "My angel…in a red vest, caring for someone having the worst day of their life." With a gentle nudge, Blaine slipped the robe off of Kurt's pale shoulders, the whoosh of the dropping fabric the only sound in the room. "My angel…in nothing at all…just for me."

"Blaine…" Kurt stepped into Blaine's arms, sliding his hands up his bare back as they swayed to music only they could hear, Blaine planting soft kisses up the curve of his neck.

"What do you believe in, Kurt?"

"Us. You and me. That this is how it's supposed to be. All three of us."

“We're all pretty good for each other, aren’t we?”

“We really are.”

Kurt kissed the tip of Blaine's nose, taking his left hand, strong, dry, and calloused – so wonderfully familiar. They brought their palms up, illuminated by the city lights, resting there, the metal of their wedding rings clicking softly together as they intertwined their fingers. Kurt looked at the ring on his hand, still amazed at what a perfect representation it was of their intertwined lives – three diamonds, a lifetime of trios.

Kurt, Lizzie and Burt.

Blaine, Maggie and Adrian.

And now the newest trio being watched and loved by the trio in the stars. “So, do you think this city’s big enough for the three of us?”

“I don’t know.” Blaine curled their hands between them, kissing Kurt’s fingers on the way in, silent promises made with each press of his lips. “But I know I can’t wait to find out.”