Eyes open and alert, Blaine watched the walls as they began to emerge from the shadows, the earliest slips of morning light creeping through the window blinds. He had been awake for hours and needed to move.

He extricated himself from Kurts arms, like an intricate game of Twister, and eased himself out of bed.

He froze for a moment when he heard Kurts breathing hitch, but it evened out moments later. Kurt was exhausted, and sleeping soundly, oblivious to the movement in the room.

Convinced that Kurt was soundly back to sleep, Blaine slipped on a pair of jeans and an old Cornell t-shirt, pulled his phone from the nightstand charger and tiptoed down the stairs. He crept into the kitchen, reaching quietly for some ground coffee and brewed a pot.

He let his eyes glaze over a bit, watching the drip, his mind drifting to no place in particular. Once he could fill a mug, he carried it on to the veranda, where he curled into a rocker, hands wrapped around the steaming mug, a cantata playing softly from a Bluetooth speaker.

He hovered his face over the coffees steam, staring out on the hills and the hint of a sun about to rise. He looked at the nearby vines that Kurt had decorated for the holidays before he left for New York. He had set a timer to let the lights run for six hours, but in his absence, Blaine had surprised himself by resetting them to run from dusk to dawn.

Cradling the coffee mug, he waited for the lights to shut off, watching the dawn spill soft pink shadows across the valley, across the oaks and trellised vines, diffused by the fading remnants of evening fog.

The veranda was Blaines spot for quiet and peace, where he would go to sit, reflect and drink whatever felt right for the particular moment, and watch the sky transition from bright blue to deep indigo and back again.

And today was no different. If he was to be honest with himself, it was his escape.

God, what are you doing, Anderson? You missed him. Hes in your bed. He loves you.

Blaine sipped his coffee and shut his eyes, soaking in the lighter-than-air trill of the soprano.

He wants more. Why wont you give it?

In the distance, coyotes howled as they ended their evening pursuits.

Ive given him more than Ive given anyone.

A floorboard creaked behind him.

A hand caressed his shoulder, folding down across his chest. A breath dusted his cheek, lips to ear.

"Arent you cold out here?"

"The coffees hot."

"Your cups empty."

Kurt stood behind the chair and wrapped an arm around Blaines shoulder, sharing the blanket he had pulled around himself.

"Opera?"

"Handel," Blaine said.

"I dont think Ive ever heard you listen to opera before."

"It happens."

Kurt tipped his head against Blaines, touching their temples.

"Come back to bed," he whispered.

"I didnt want to wake you," Blaine said.

"Im awake. Come back to bed. Theres no work to do today, no reason to be up watching the sunrise by yourself."

"Its a pretty sunrise."

Kurt looked up, and took in the open tableau that seemed to be the object of Blaines attention.

"A solid eight," he said. "Come back to bed. Im freezing. Pajama pants and a quilt just arent going to cut it out here."

"You want breakfast?"

"I want my husband to come back to bed and keep me warm."

"Breakfast in bed?"

"Okay, maybe I could be convinced."

Kurt nuzzled at his cheek, grinning.

"Kurt?"

"Hmm?"

"Would it be okay if we just took a day off today?" Blaine asked.

"I thought we were doing that."

Blaine set his coffee cup down and turned, directing his attention fully on Kurt. He reached for the hand splayed across his upper chest, wrapping it in his own.

"I mean a day off - from everything. No work. No big decisions. No complications. Just... can we take a day?"

Blaine knew he sometimes had a difficult time conveying emotion. He knew that. He wasnt one to wear emotions on his sleeve.  So he compensated by concentrating on his words, trying to connect with Kurt through the weary tone of his voice and the focused eye contact the fact that he was, indeed, serious about a day of nothing.

Kurt nodded. "Of course. Of course we can," he said, giving their entwined hands a squeeze.

Blaine stood, and reached to shut down the speaker and the phone before reaching for Kurts hand.

"No," Kurt said. "Bring it along."

They climbed the stairs and peeled off layers and curled in to each other, face to face. They stayed that way for close to an hour, occasionally reaching up to bruh a wisp of hair away from a face, or to caress a particularly pronounced line of muscle.

Mostly, however, they were silent, absorbing the sounds of the soft flute and effortless soprano.

"What is this?" he finally asked.

"Handel, Apollo e Dafne," Blaine said. "Too much for you?"

"No, its beautiful," Kurt said. "So its like the Bernini?"

"Mmmhmm, the same story as the statue. Apollo has just vanquished Python and is a bit arrogant. He claims that not even Cupids arrow can defeat him - hes wrong, of course - and then he sees Dafne."

"Uh oh."

"Yes," Blaine said, absent-mindedly skating his fingers up Kurts arm. "Shes beautiful, and not receptive, and Apollo is determined to have her. But Dafne will have none of it. She pleads for freedom from Apollos advances, and is turned into a laurel tree. He waters the tree with his tears, and crowns champions with crowns made of the laurels leaves."

"And the Olympics were born?" Kurt said, planting a playful kiss on Blaines nose.

"Something like that," he said.

"Hmm. Hell of a way to ditch a date."

Blaine sighed, and let his face drop slightly, as if deep in thought.

"I think the moral of the story is more along the lines that you cant force love," he said.

Kurt cupped Blaines cheek with his hand. He traced Blaines hairline with his fingertips, the touch and the movement bringing Blaine back to the moment, back to the bed.

"Drifting off somewhere?" Kurt asked.

Blaine smiled, just slightly, but said nothing.

"Come back to me. Or at least let me come along with you."

"Just listening to the music."

"Id never seen opera in your playlists," Kurt said. "And I kind of had you down as a blues man."

"Do you like it?"

"Its beautiful. I dont understand a word of it, but its beautiful," Kurt said.

"Doesnt matter. Go to the opera, and they project an English translation over the stage. We should go sometime. San Franciscos a decent opera town."

Kurts hand drifted down Blaines neck, along his shoulder, drawing soft patterns on his skin.

"This is a side of you Ive never seen before. Who is this opera fan Ive married?"

Blaine leaned in to Kurts touch, ghosting a light kiss to his lips.

"Same guy Ive always been, just with an expanded playlist."

"Oh, I dont know about that," Kurt said. "Opera isnt Top 40. You dont just flip on the radio and say, ‘Oh, I think Ill sing along to a little Wagner today."

"Ugh. Not Wagner..."

"Whatever," Kurt said, beginning to press. "Where did you develop this appreciation for divas that arent wearing six-inch platforms?"

"They could be..." Blaine said.

"Come on. Whats up with the opera?"

"I thought you liked it."

"I do, but I just wanted to know..."

"Fine, fine." Blaine rolled on to his back, pulling and arm behind his head and settling into the pillows. "My mother loves opera. Her mother loved opera. I heard a lot of opera growing up. Some of it stuck, I guess."

Kurt smiled - a victory smile. "Now that wasnt so hard, was it?"

"Why do I get a feeling this isnt about Handel?" Blaine said, feigning annoyance.

"Im always pleasantly surprised when my husband reveals something new about himself."

"Oh please - are we really going there?"

"Blaine Anderson, man of mystery..."

"Hummel-Anderson."

"...or Anderson-Hummel."

"Whatever."

"My point being, that my husband dos not always go to great lengths to fill in the blanks, and Im delighted when he does - even if its something as seemingly trivial as his ever-surprising taste in music," Kurt said.

Blaine sat up in bed, no longer amused. He reached over to the phone and shut off the music. Kurt had finally pushed that button one too many times.

"And, weve gone there. I thought we were taking a day off. No pressure, no big decisions, no big questions. But here we go again. I dont get it. I dont see what the big deal is. I realize I dont talk about my parents much. I dont have the best relationship with them. You know that. Ive told you that, countless times. And now apparently, Coopers told you that, too. What else do you need to know, other than its something Id rather not talk about?"

Kurts eyes narrowed that the sudden change in tone, and he matched it, syllable for caustic syllable.

"You just dont get it, do you? Its one thing to keep the world at arms length. Its another to do that to the person youre married to."

"You cant force these things, Kurt."

"Or what? Youll turn into a laurel tree?"

Blaine threw back the cover and sat up on the edge of the bed. He grabbed his jeans and a shirt, put them on quickly and silently and walked to the door. He paused at the threshold, his back to Kurt.

"I, um... I need to step out for a while."

He left before Kurt could say anything, before Kurt had seen that in his haste to grab his car keys, he had left his phone behind.

****