Blaine had always been an optimist.

When he was five, he wanted nothing more than a pet. He had begged his mother incessantly for the little golden retriever puppy sitting in the window near his childhood home, a small apartment in the Upper East Side of New York City. She had, much to Blaine’s dismay, met his requests with a resounding ‘no’ time and time again. Blaine had dropped it politely. He was a good boy, and he knew that there would be more golden retriever puppies out there. Maybe one day, he would talk his mama into the idea, but for today, he was content being patient and living with his dream.

Unfortunately, the puppy situation never planned out the way Blaine had wanted.

When he was ten years old, his parents announced that they would be moving to Ohio. His father’s job had outsourced him to the Midwest with very short notice, and although Blaine was very surprised and a little scared, he handled it with the most grace any child could muster. He hugged his friends good-bye without tears and packed away his last box with a light heart, deciding that this was a new opportunity in his life and not a tragedy. He would miss the magic of a New York evening and the thousands of nameless faces he saw every day, but he knew that Ohio wouldn’t be all bad. A new school and new friends could be fun, and besides, his parents definitely knew what was best for him.

And it turns out that Ohio was exactly where Blaine needed to be.

A few years later, when he made the quiet confirmation to himself that he was gay, he looked in the mirror and decided he’d be better off honest with himself than conform to what was considered ‘normal’. He knew it wouldn’t be easy. First and foremost, his father wouldn’t approve in any shape or form, and that scared him more than anything in the world. Blaine valued Mr. Anderson’s acceptance more than anything at his delicate age of fifteen. The world revolved around his strong, talented father. So he adapted. Blaine carried himself the same way, with the same wide smile, the same joy for life in his step, the same strong and confident voice, and went through with his life-because absolutely nothing had changed.

And then there was Kurt. Kurt had always been a little more of a pessimist, and Blaine was more than happy to handle that. Blaine was always there to comfort when they had first met, and that hadn’t changed when, about a year later, Blaine walked through the McKinley’s choir room doors. Kurt had always said he was realistic, and maybe that made him Blaine’s other half, head seemingly always in the clouds. It worked though, the two of them, and there wasn’t a doubt in Blaine’s mind that he was in love. He fell in love so quickly, a possible flaw in his character, but Kurt never shoved him away, never discouraged what was between him, but rather the opposite.

Blaine couldn’t give you a definite list of all the things he loved about Kurt. It was constantly growing, expanding, changing. He love how he spoke with such confidence, how he carried himself, and how beautifully he seemed to unfold whenever he was with Blaine. He poured insecurities that he’d never admit otherwise to him in the private moments they shared; revealing fears, wants, dreams. Sometimes it was all Blaine could manage to just sit in the presence of Kurt’s glow and feel like the luckiest teenager on the planet.

Kurt had always kissed Blaine like it was the last time. Ever since they’d shared their first kiss, a quiet exchange of love and admiration all those months ago in the quiet Dalton study, Kurt’s kisses had been the drug that kept Blaine going. Kurt poured everything he had into those kisses, and Blaine knew it-could feel all the emotion radiating from his lips to the tips of his toes. Quiet on the contrary, however, Kurt touched Blaine like he was made of porcelain. Blaine found it simply adorable. The constant chastity in the way Kurt moved his body against Blaine’s drove him insane. Kurt was a treasure, a delicate lock that had to be persuaded open. He was valuable, something to work for, and Blaine took all the pleasure in doing just that.

Months passed at McKinley, Kurt’s senior year slipping through Blaine’s fingers faster than he was comfortable with. It was all going by in such an incredible blur; the clasped hands in the hallway, indulgent romantic duets in glee club, stolen kisses, more bonding, trusting, feeling, experimenting. Touches became more urgent when the two were alone, kisses more desperate. It was an afternoon after glee practice when the discussion opened up, the two breathless and flushed on Blaine’s bed. There had always been the slight tug-of-war between what was too little and what was too much when they had their alone time, but the topic of sex and virginity and commitment had never been addressed. Not until now, Kurt’s blue eyes wide, looking up into Blaine’s with that need that made his legs weak every time he thought of it. “You’ve got to stop now, or I’m…” he had choked out, hands stopping Blaine from moving any further.

Blaine lost his virginity to Kurt on a rainy Sunday afternoon in November. An out of town state football tournament had left the Hudson-Hummel house empty, and Kurt decided that this was it, this was right. It was as perfect as a first time could get: the awkwardness, the pain, the embarrassment gone quicker than Blaine had expected. It was the closest Blaine had ever felt to another person in that time in his life, skin glowing against pale, beautiful skin in the dim candlelight of Kurt’s room.

On New Year’s Day, Kurt rang Blaine’s doorbell, falling into his arms when he was welcomed inside. Blaine was positive he’d never been that afraid in his life than he was in those few moments, seeing his love so distraught, tears streaming down his perfect face. It took a few moments for Kurt to calm down, to catch his breath and his train of thought. He had been so positivelyterrified.When he told Blaine, all he could do was hold Kurt, dumfounded and overwhelmed. Of all the things he expected to hear, that was the last of them all. They cried together that day, huddled together in Blaine’s bed, wishing they would just disappear under the sheets. Kurt spoke in whispers and Blaine couldn’t stop crying. There were decisions to be made, plans to acquire, a life to decide on. They couldn’t speak of the tough details of their future yet. They spoke like they were being heard, said ‘I love you’ too many times, clung to each other like they were dying. Kurt felt like he could be.

Adoption was the only option Kurt would have, other than keeping the baby. Hell, he wanted so badly to keep the baby, so willing to throw all his dreams of the stage and the city in favor of their baby. It’s not an option though. They didn’t have the money, the maturity, the bravery. Standing against Blaine’s father who wanted their child dead almost as much as he wanted Blaine sent back to the city as soon as possible- adoption was the only safe way out. Kurt watches his body change and Blaine loves every moment of it. Kurt stops talking as much, and Blaine understands, holds his hand and signs the paperwork, kisses his cheek when they lie together, feeling sick and helpless after everything is said and done.

Everything hurts, everything is too hard. When Blaine moves into the Hummel house after his father finally kicks him out. When they get the first ultrasound scan and can count toes and fingers. When Kurt develops morning sickness, hunched helplessly over the toilet. When he breaks down in the middle of the night, clinging to his father like a child and wishing that it would all go away. When all Kurt wants to do is sleep and dream about their baby, dream about how much he knew its daddies would love it if they got the chance to watch it grow. He talks to Blaine about keeping it, about defying Blaine’s father even further, and it seems like the child inside Kurt has filled the open spot that pessimism had torn through his heart.

He knows what he has to do, though. They know what they need to do. They knew inside their heart of hearts that they couldn’t handle a child, and that the couple who they had negotiated a closed adoption with needed their child more than they did. Closed is the only way that Kurt can handle it, he doesn’t want to watch what he gave up grow and flourish like he knew their child would.

Blaine’s always been an optimist. He’s an optimist when Kurt goes into labor, when the toughest decision he’s made is close to seeing its way through and there’s that stupid tug in the bottom of his stomach that says “Maybe this will be okay. Maybe we can do this. Maybe you’ll make a little family for yourself and live happily ever after.” That little feeling, that little hope, travels through the next thirteen hours. He sits in a chair beside Kurt’s bed and holds his hand, breathing with him through every contraction, listening to the doctor’s every word, holding Kurt when the pain makes him groan and cry with the worst feeling of hopelessness he’s ever felt in his life.

He’s optimistic when he sits behind Kurt in the hospital bed, holding him up and trying to be the strength Kurt obviously doesn’t have. The doctors tell him to push and Kurt’s body hitches forward, and Blaine watches like a deer in the headlights as his child comes into the world. He wants to throw up, to cry, to scream, to pass out, to explode. He holds Kurt through every push, lets him fall back against his body when each of the ten seconds are up, and then she’s there, bloody and pissed off and unbelievable, and Blaine wants to kill himself.

Kurt gets to hold her a few seconds later, once she’s clean and screaming in his arms, and he cries, loud, unreserved sobs as he sees his little girl’s face for the first time. It destroys Blaine. She’s beautiful. Simply beautiful.

And she isn’t theirs. Blaine will never rock her to sleep at night, will never hold her when she’s sick or sad or that first time that she falls on her bike. Blaine will never be the one who stays up late with a bottle and this sweet little miracle that he helped create. He’ll never get to sing to her, no lullabies that he sang to Kurt’s stomach when he was asleep, none of the wordless melodies he hummed when he cradled his boyfriend in his arms, dreaming about her. The optimistic side of him reminds him that they’ll have time for this, for babies and happiness, when they’re older; when they’re stable and married and ready. And he knows it, knows it, knows it. He isn’t ready. The foolish side of him cries because he wishes he was.

She looks like Kurt, has his sharp features and when they open, it’s Kurt’s blue eyes looking up at the new world. But she has Blaine’s dark hair. They don’t want to let go when the nurse holds out her hands with a sympathetic look on her face. But they do. It hurts, hurts more than any number of hours in labor ever did, and Kurt falls back against Blaine, the sobs shaking his body uncontrollably. It’s indescribably awful. The doctors go about their business, cleaning up the war zone between Kurt’s legs, and Blaine wants to tear down the hall and take her back, to scream that they’ve changed their mind and she’s theirs.

But he doesn’t. He just holds Kurt tight and promises, through the sobs in his own voice-

“Someday, someday, Kurt. We’ll have a baby, we’ll keep her forever and watch her grow up and we’ll cry because we’re so happy-God, Kurt, we’ll be so happy.”

He means it. He means it so much. Blaine swears he’ll give Kurt a million babies when they are ready. Someday.

This ain’t a miracle