Klaine Advent 02

Broadway

Kurt enters the apartment with a sigh, wishing for nothing more than to change into more comfortable clothes (after an eighteen hour day he's allowed to crave sweat pants) and curl up with an extraordinarily fluffy blanket.

Preferably with his husband.

He's alone though, evidenced by the silent apartment, dark save for the light above the stove.  He drops his bag by the sofa, leaving off the lights as he crosses to the bedroom – he grabbed a soft pretzel on break earlier, and he's tired enough to count that as dinner. He'd certainly eaten it late enough.

Twenty minutes later he's cursing the poor heating in the apartment as he steps out of the steam-filled bathroom and into his chilled bedroom. He hurries to his bed, burrowing under the blankets, with two piled on top of the comforter and another wrapped like a cape around his shoulders.

He leans back against the pillows and turns on his tablet, skipping his email and instead opening the book he's been meaning to read for the past month. Four pages in he hears the door creak open and the soft tread of Blaine's footsteps.

“Kurt?”

“In the bedroom,” he calls, dropping his tablet beside him and stretching to turn on the light on Blaine's end table; the soft light from his own too dim to be beneficial on the opposite side of the bed.

“Hey,” Blaine looks as tired as he feels, and Kurt feels a surge of protectiveness as Blaine sighs and musters one last swell of energy to push off the doorframe and cross to the bed, sitting on the edge to toe off his shoes. “There a reason you're huddled up and sitting in the dark?”

Kurt shakes his head. “Not really, just tired.” He sighs as Blaine continues to get ready for bed, taking a moment to appreciate Blaine's brief state of shirtlessness before he pulls on a worn NYU sweatshirt. “Rehearsal was a bitch today.”

“Isn't it always?” Blaine's voice holds a hint of teasing, though exhaustion colors it more, and he crawls in beside Kurt moments later, moving until he's leaning against him, the blanket-cape now covering two.

Thinking of his wish earlier, Kurt wonders if Blaine really can read his mind.

“It is,” Kurt answers Blaine's question. “It even took away our Christmas.” Kurt sighs, reaching for Blaine's hand, “Who knew Broadway was so cruel?”

“We're still having Christmas, Kurt,” Blaine nods to the little tree barely visible through the doorway, “our first with just us. And,” Blaine tightens his hold and Kurt drops his head to rest on Blaine's shoulder, “technically we're having two Christmases.”

Kurt huffs a laugh. “New Years is Christmas now?”

“Sure,” Blaine shrugs and Kurt lets his head rise with the movement, “that's when we're celebrating with family, and that's what's important, right?”

“It is,” Kurt hears the annoyance in his voice, hopes Blaine's awake enough to realize it's not directed to him. “It's important and we don't get it because Broadway is demanding its Chorus Member 4 and Townsperson 6.”

“We're paying our dues, Kurt.”

Kurt gestures out to their apartment. “You mean we weren't already by being starving artists?”

“Kurt.”

“I know, I just –” Kurt sighs, turning his face into Blaine's shoulder. “This is the first Christmas I won't spend with my dad.”

“Oh, Kurt,” Blaine moves, pulling Kurt into a hug. “I'm sorry.”

“Don't,” Kurt drops a kiss to Blaine's cheek, “I'm glad we made it, well, we're getting there. And we're both here. I just…” Kurt pauses before leaning back and meeting Blaine's gaze. “Broadway sucks.”

“Broadway sucks,” Blaine agrees with a laugh, “I won't tell Rachel.”

Kurt hums in agreement. “It'll be our secret.” He's finally warm, caught between the blankets and Blaine, and he takes a moment to relish the feeling. “So, two Christmases?”

Blaine nods. “It's our recompense” he murmurs against Kurt's hair, “since Broadway sucks.”

Kurt dissolves into laughter.