Letter 16: June 16th

Should I lock the last open door
My ghosts are gaining on me

(Evanescence – All That I'm Living For)

The cab left Kurt at the sidewalk by his house with two enormous suitcases seated next to him. He looked up at the building, relishing the feeling of being home. Finally. He always enjoyed fashion weeks, but this time he couldn't wait to get out of Milan. Going there alone was simply no fun at all.

He somehow managed to persuade Blaine not to pick him up from the airport. After a week's absence, he was more comfortable saying hello to his husband in the privacy of his own home, especially considering that he didn't foresee much talking being involved.

Kurt picked up his suitcases and started up the front steps to the door.

When he pushed the door open, an unexpected smell reached his nostrils; someone was apparently cooking. Astonished, he left the suitcases by the threshold and directed his footsteps into the kitchen.

'Honey, I'm home,' he called in a sing-song voice on the way.

A smiling Blaine ran out, wiping his hands on the apron he was wearing.

'Hi!' He kissed Kurt on the lips. 'You're going to have to wait for dinner a little bit longer.' He smiled apologetically at a dumbstruck Kurt.

That was not exactly the welcome he was expecting.

'Blaine, are you cooking?,' he asked.

'Yeah, I'm making roast veal, just like you taught me,' Blaine replied, turning around and walking back to the kitchen.

Kurt shook his head in disbelief, but followed his husband. The smell was, indeed, very pleasant. And so was the gesture. But he simply expected something else.

He walked up to Blaine, who was busy chopping up vegetables and throwing them into a salad bowl. Kurt put his chin on Blaine's shoulder.

'Hm?,' Blaine muttered.

'Nothing,' said Kurt, putting his lips to Blaine's neck.

Blaine rolled his eyes, trying to slip away from Kurt's grasp.

'Hey! Let's be civilized tonight.' He turned around to face Kurt. 'First dinner, then… other pleasures.' He pecked Kurt on the lips and went back to his vegetables.

Kurt was standing in front of his house, suitcases stacked next to him on the sidewalk, reminding him of a similar moment three years earlier.

This time, however, nobody was waiting on the other side of the door, meticulously preparing a fancy dish for dinner, or sprinkling rose petals and lighting up candles in the bedroom, like then. There was no romantic dinner or passionate night to follow. This time is was just an empty, quiet building.

But for the first time since October, Kurt was coming home fully aware there was no one to come home to. As painful as it was for him, Kurt was thankful for that feeling. Because in a strange way it made him feel as if his life wasn't over after all; a great part of it, a wonderful love story was being slowly moved into the box labeled past. He wasn't saying goodbye to it, he could never do it. He simply felt a little closer to being able to say that he had put himself more or less back together.

Kurt gathered his luggage from the sidewalk and went to the front door. Just like then, but so unlike then. He inhaled deeply, before unlocking the door.

The quiet, for the first time in months, didn't feel like a void sucking in all the surrounding happiness. It was simply peacefulness. The silence of a house that was left empty for a week, the only sound the distant humming of the refrigerator.

Leaving his bags in the middle of the hall, Kurt slouched into one of the living room sofas. His eyes fell on the grand piano in front of him. And he smiled.

Darling, darling Kurt,

You're probably somewhere in between Paris and Milan right now. Busy with the fashion weeks and all that, as always.

I was just thinking about that time, when you had to go to Milan on your own, because I got held up by work. We were already married for almost seven years, and that was the first time I ever cooked you dinner. I feel slightly ashamed of that. (Although I've always been the one to do the laundry, so let's call it even.)

Anyway, I really enjoyed that reunion. Especially the second part. And I know you enjoyed that, too. It might have not been a dewy meadow of lilacs, but that was the best I could manage in the middle of New York City. And we didn't set anything on fire, despite your great fears! Though, you have to admit, that was indeed a very hot night.

I wish I could cook you a welcome home dinner this year. And serve you the same dessert as last time.

And I hope you smile, when you think of me. I'd hate to think you have a sad face when you do.

I love you,

Blaine.