Letter 5: December 25th

If only night could hold you where I can see you my love

Then let me never ever wake again

(Evanescence – Before the Dawn)

Kurt slipped into the house as quietly as humanly possible. Midnight had passed a good quarter ago, and he was sure Blaine was already asleep. For the first time in his life, Kurt thought he hated his job. The New Year's charity show he was preparing was taking every second he had, tearing him apart from his husband even on Christmas Eve, when he had promised to come home early.

Taking a couple of steps into the hall and unbuttoning his woolen coat that he had designed for himself, he noticed a flickering orange light on the opposite wall of the open living room.

And then, the sounds of piano started streaming out. Familiar sounds of a familiar song.

And before he knew it, the coat was thrown aside, and he began singing, just to be joined in by Blaine's voice.

Their voices merged as perfectly as that one cold evening back in Dalton.

Blaine turned his head to sent his husband a smile with the next 'Baby, it's cold outside', and Kurt leaned to kiss his forehead between his lines, and encircled his shoulders with his arms.

It could be freezing outside, but Kurt's insides were melting, heated up by Blaine's loving presence. And it ceased to matter that he was late, or that he had barely slept in the last couple of weeks. Blaine was there, and he wasn't mad at him. And they were singing that silly song that held a special place in their hearts because of that one night so long ago. Their first duet.

Blaine's fingers struck the final notes, and he turned to Kurt, grasping his hands in his own.

'Merry Christmas, honey.'

'Merry Christmas.'

And soon enough all their clothes fell to the floor, and they fell into each other's arms, kissing fiercely, as if they had never tasted the other before. And it was true of every time they made love. They never got tired or bored with one another.

And that night, when Kurt had fallen asleep contentedly on the sofa, wrapped only in a blanket Blaine had pulled over them to keep them warm, Blaine resisted sleep to stop for a moment and take in the miracle that was his husband.

He studied the gentle features of his face, the upturned nose and the rosy cheeks, the light curves of the torso, the delicate hands. The hair that got utterly disheveled in the heat of passion, and was now sweaty and stuck to Kurt's forehead.

Blaine felt as if the love he felt towards this godlike creature lying by his side was almost causing his heart to explode. He traced his fingers down Kurt's sternum over his exposed skin, very lightly, careful not to wake him, feeling the peaceful, rhythmic beating of his heart, so unlike the rapid drumming noise filling his own chest and ears.

I'm so happy I could die, he thought.

***

The first thing that broke through the heavy haze of Kurt's sleep the next day, was the faint light of a winter morning and the beginning notes ofDeck the Halls being played on the grand piano. A groan escaped his mouth, as he stretched on the sofa, almost letting the blanket slip to the floor. He snatched it to wrap it around himself, as Blaine sent him a smile, never breaking the song.

Kurt propped himself on his elbow, watching his half-naked husband play. It was a wonderful view; how even the tiniest muscles on his back could be spotted, while his hands danced over the keyboard, how his curls hung over his forehead, how every upward twitch of his mouth released a myriad of sparkles in his eyes.

The song ended with a peal of laughter from the performer, who jumped up from the bench to give a deep bow, before giving his husband a good morning kiss.

'We've got a tree to decorate,' he murmured a few millimeters from Kurt's lips.

'You could've done it without me.'

'No, I couldn't. It wouldn't have been the same without you.'

Kurt gave Blaine a peck on the lips.

'Well, it's not like I'm some Christmas decoration.'

'Oh, not some Christmas decoration. You're my favourite Christmas decoration.'

***

Kurt wished he could fall asleep again. Getting up at seven a.m. on Christmas morning wasn't pleasant in the slightest, when there was no one lying next to him. So after twenty minutes of unsuccessful attempts at sleep, he lifted his eyelids unwillingly. The subdued light creeping into his bedroom reminded him of Christmas two years ago, when they spent the entire Christmas morning decorating the tree and making out.

But now there was just emptiness. No tree, no decorations, no Blaine. Kurt stroked the sheets, where his husband used to be, where he should have been.

And then he remembered. There was something. The letter.

He had left it on the windowsill, and now he leaped out of bed in that direction, longing for this message from his husband, no matter what it was.

He ripped the envelope open.

Darling, darling Kurt,

Merry Christmas, honey!

I know it's probably not the merriest of Christmases, but well, I want you to be happy. You know that, right? I've always wanted nothing but your happiness.

And if you still haven't decorated the tree, go do it now! I know, it's not going to be as fun as it used to be. (Remember the Christmas last year? That is, two years ago for you now. That was the best Christmas morning of my life. Including the one when I was seven and my parents got me a puppy.)

I bet you're going to Finn and Rachel's for Christmas dinner. Then remember not to be late, and I'm sorry I can't help you wrap the presents. And wear something nice! Maybe that scarf I gave you this year? (Last year, that is.)

I love you,

Blaine.