Blaine lifted his head up off the pillow and strained his tired eyes to look at the clock on the nightstand. Even the soft red light of the digital numbers was painful to look at in the dark room. 6:58 PM. He groaned in frustration just before the bedroom door cracked open, light from the hall framing the flawless silhouette of Kurt's face, poking through the doorway.

"You awake, honey?" the gentle voice drifted toward him from across the room. Blaine mumbled affirmatively, and Kurt invited himself in, pulling the door closed. "I'm gonna turn on the light," he warned. Blaine squeezed his eyes shut, but the glow from the lamp on the nightstand still made his head throb painfully. When Blaine finally looked over at Kurt, he couldn't fight the small smile that pulled up at the corner of his lips.

"Chicken soup?" he asked, raising an amused eyebrow at the cliché, "Really?"

"Nope," Kurt replied, setting the tray down nearby, "It's stew. Last time you had chicken soup when you were sick, it made you feel worse. And I know you like beef stew."

Of course Kurt would remember that chicken soup and Blaine's stomach didn't get along. He remembered the smallest things—one of the many reasons Blaine felt constantly blessed to have him in his life, even after all these years. "Is it the good kind out of the can? My favorite?"

"Your favorite," Kurt confirmed. He helped Blaine sit up, propping him up against the headboard with a few pillows before sitting down himself, spoon in hand. "Open up," he grinned. Blaine rolled his eyes. They both knew that he was perfectly capable of feeding himself, but he opened his mouth anyway, accepting Kurt's assistance as he emptied the bowl, only stopping to sneeze or cough a few times in the process.

Kurt set the empty bowl and spoon back on the tray, handing Blaine a glass of water and two pills. "Are you feeling any better?" he asked, pressing a hand to Blaine's warm forehead after he'd drained the glass.

"I don't know. Maybe a little," he sighed, "I just hate that I'm not down at the theater. The show started at seven, and people are counting on me to perform. I feel like I'm letting everyone down."

"Blaine, you're sick. Everyone knows you wouldn't miss a show unless it was absolutely necessary." Kurt told him gently, brushing a stray curl behind his ear.

"But I haven't missed a single performance since I started getting roles a few years ago."

"And I'm sure your understudy will do a fine job tonight. Don't worry about it, honey. Just try to get some rest, okay?" Blaine nodded. Kurt stood up, reaching to grab the hem of his t-shirt before pulling it over his head and tossing it to the floor, sweatpants following shortly after.

"Not that I don't appreciate looking upon your godlike beauty in various states of undress," Blaine grinned, "but what are you doing?"

"I thought I'd turn in early tonight," Kurt replied simply, reaching over to turn the light out, "and you need some cuddling to get your mind off Broadway." He carefully navigated the dark room, moving around to the other side of the bed before pulling up the covers and sliding onto the mattress. Blaine sneezed again.

"I don't want to get you sick, babe. You should go."

"I'll be fine," Kurt assured him, "Now slide your little Broadway star ass over here and let me hold you." Blaine chuckled; smiling into the dark as he pushed his pillow closer and settled into the warm, awaiting arms, back pressing against Kurt's pale chest. He sighed into the silky fabric of his pillowcase. Kurt rubbed gentle circles against his abdomen as if he could massage the stomachache away. Blaine reached down to tangle their left hands together, running a fingertip across Kurt's silver wedding band.

Kurt hummed happily, smiling against Blaine's skin between gentle kisses to his neck. He hadn't really been planning to go to bed this early (Kurt wasn't sure if he'd even turned off the TV in the living room), but he didn't think he could stand leaving Blaine alone for another minute knowing he was sick and sad about missing his performance. Kurt knew how important his husband's work was to him. Blaine was just as passionate about his time on stage as Kurt was about the time he spent designing. He loved the energy and escape it provided, and though he would deny it, Kurt knew Blaine loved the attention of his constantly growing fanbase. He loved walking out the stage door night after night to sign the Playbills of starry-eyed audience members who complimented him or professed their love and undying support of his career. Kurt had known from the moment they'd met in high school that he'd been born to perform.

Blaine's breathing gradually slowed and deepened, his grip on Kurt's hand falling slack. "Kurt?" The soft whisper took him by surprise. He would've sworn that Blaine had fallen asleep.

"Mhmm?"

"I love you."

Kurt held him closer, feeling overwhelmingly blessed. "I love you, too." Blaine relaxed against his husband's chest, deciding that this was a much better place to be tonight than under the hot lights of a stage, even if he had to deal with being sick. Not even his love of performing could hold a candle to the love he felt for this man. Kurt was his everything. He always would be.