Blaine would never dream of wishing Kurt anything less than perfect happiness and a man who loved him as much as he deserves to be loved.

So it's not that.

And he's not jealous (much - he's over that - mostly).

It's just Harry is...kind of...

"I'll just get us some tea," Harry says, like the mind reader Blaine really hopes he isn't, leaving him and Kurt alone on the couch.

"He really is English, isn't he?" is what Blaine ends up asking.

Kurt raises his eyebrows, like Blaine is adorable and ridiculous, and Blaine feels only slightly guilty for basking in it. "Did the accent tip you off?" Kurt asks.

"You can fake an accent," Blaine says. "But you can't fake that kind of need for tea in every awkward moment."

"Is this an awkward moment?" Kurt asks, and by that, they both understand what Kurt's actually asking him is whether Blaine's going to make it an awkward moment. They've had a few of those since the wedding, but nothing they can't all survive.

Blaine shrugs and settles on: "How awkward can a moment be when there's tea on the horizon?"

"Not very," Harry says like a man who knows what he's talking about. "Wasn't sure what you took in your tea," he says by way of explanation of the tray, and pauses. "Actually, d'you even drink tea?" It hasn't come up yet.

"He drinks tea," Kurt assures his husband, and then glances at Blaine with his lips tightening in the suppressed smile he gets when he's trying not to flaunt their in-jokes. "Under protest."

"Nonsense," Blaine says, even though it's true. He'd rather be drinking coffee, but he was raised with better manners than that. "Just lemon, thanks," he says, and doesn't make any comments to the effect that Harry seems to be the fastest maker of tea Blaine has encountered in his entire life. He's pretty sure water doesn't actually boil that fast.

"It was already on the hob," Harry says in that creepy 'Hi, I'm reading your mind' way.

Blaine deliberately thinks about Kurt. Naked. Fucking him silly in the choir room after a late Saturday night practice in high school.

Harry doesn't even look up from pouring Kurt's tea.

But the room is a little too hot now, and Blaine's unusually breathless. He concedes the possibility that there must have been a less stimulating way to test Harry's potential mind-reading powers. He clears his throat and takes a cautious sip of tea.

And now Kurt's looking at him with raised eyebrows, but Blaine's never doubted Kurt's mind-reading abilities, so that's okay. "How's Draco?" Kurt asks, with his usual impeccable timing, and Blaine hates him a little.

He's not Kurt is how Draco is. And neither one of them is thinking long term, but..."Sarcastic, fashionable, oddly sexually repressed, and emotionally incomprehensible as ever."

Blaine has a type.

"Sounds like him," Harry agrees comfortably, and Blaine has a disconcerting moment of realizing he and Harry appear to have the same type.

"Where is he anyway?" Kurt asks. "I thought he was coming with you."

It's a good question, and Blaine recalls Draco telling him, but the rest is fuzzy. "I - huh. Sorry, I guess I wasn't paying attention when he said. He's meeting us at dinner."

Harry gives him another one of those funny looks, and Blaine reminds himself firmly that Harry cannot read minds.

"Where are we going to dinner anyway?" Blaine asks.

"Malfoy," Harry says as soon as Draco answers the phone.

He should have known. Well, actually, he did know. "Hello, Potter. To what do I owe the honor?"

"Are you obliviating Blaine?" Potter's never been one to take the circuitous route.

"Of course not, Potter," Draco says. "That would be illegal. And immoral. And wrong."

"So, are you obliviating Blaine?" Potter asks, because he is just that infuriating, and it's things like this that are bound to make any possibility of a lasting relationship between them highly unlikely.

"No," Draco says with the offended forcefulness of a man who wouldn't dream of obliviating his boyfriend. "What do you take me for?"

"Using a charm then," Harry says comfortably.

"No!"

"Cursed object?"

He is, in fact, using an object under something which may or may not be termed a curse. But it's not as if it's doing Blaine any harm. Can it really be called a cursed object if it's not hurting anyone? "Define 'cursed'," Draco says.

Harry sighs. "Malfoy..."

"Don't start, Potter," Draco says, and winces when it comes out more snippy than he intended. "You lost your right to meddle in the affairs of dragons when you married your childhood sweetheart."

"Did you honestly just say 'meddle in the affairs of dragons' in reference to yourself?"

Now that Harry points it out, Draco wishes he hadn't. He chooses to pretend he didn't. "It's for his own good. I can't very well tell him I'm off to the Wizarding Embassy every morning, can I?" He privately suspects Harry thinks he actually could tell Blaine that. It's an old argument, though, and apparently, neither one of them feels like rehashing it.

"What on earth does he think you do?" Harry asks.

"Some kind of cultural attache position," Draco says, though he's foggy on the details himself. It is a cursed object, after all, and they tend not to come with instructions. "You do realize you'll have to obliviate Hummel when it all goes pear shaped for the two of you, I hope?" he asks instead. It inevitably will go pear shaped.

"I don't plan to obliviate anyone," Harry says after a moment's hesitation.

"Leaving it to me to do it for you again, I suppose," Draco says, possibly unfairly. It was only the once.

"It was only once, Malfoy," Harry says. "Once."

"Ingrate." Draco sniffs, because winding Harry up never gets old.

"I still don't understand it," Harry says.

"You'll have to define 'it'," Draco says, never one to commit to an answer before he's heard the question.

"What you see in Blaine."

"Fantastic arse, decent conversationalist, not half bad on the eyes. Terrible dancer, but you can't have everything." And Draco will never admit it out loud, but Blaine's impromptu serenades turn him on more than he would have expected.

"He's a Muggle."

Draco gasps. "Harry Potter! Are you suggesting I should discriminate against Muggles?"

Harry snorts on the other end of the phone and dissolves into helpless giggles.

"Pillock," Draco says.

"Prat," Harry answers, so fondly it makes Draco's chest ache. He presses a hand to it as if that could make it stop.

It makes him honest. "He's not you," Draco admits quietly. "But I can't have you, can I?"

"Draco..." That's all Harry says, and Draco doesn't want to finish that sentence in his mind. There are too many ways it could go terribly wrong.

"I do like him," Draco says instead. "Genuinely. And he likes me. And neither of us is under any illusion we're each other's first choices."

"You should tell him it's only for a year," Harry says, and that's new. Harry admitting it.

"I will not," Draco says instead. "You started this mess, and you are the only one who will be explaining it and dealing with the aftermath. I wash my hands of it."

"I miss you," Harry admits, and Draco wishes he wouldn't.

"Behave yourself, Potter," Draco says, and hangs up on him. And then, to nobody in particular: "You're a married man."

"I'm a married man," Kurt says.

"How the hell did that happen?" Blaine asks, carding his fingers through Kurt's hair. It's completely platonic (even if it has the potential not to be), and there's nothing wrong with it.

And it feels nice. "Sometimes, I don't know, myself," Kurt says, because he can't say, 'Um, apparently, when you fall in love with a child wizard and promise to marry him some day, it's not the easiest promise to break.' He knows he can't; he's tried. And it freaks him out a little more each time, so he tries not to go there. "It seemed like a good idea at the time."

He doesn't want Blaine to ask if it's still a good idea.

"Do you love him?" Blaine asks.

Kurt's relieved. It's a much easier question to answer. "I do. It's hard not to." Like it's hard not to love Blaine, and honestly, what is his life? "Weren't we watching Project Runway?"

"It ended about twenty minutes ago," Blaine says.

What?

"You looked too comfortable to wake you up."

"Tell me you DVRed it," Kurt says, because he will not be held responsible for any consequences if Blaine didn't.

Blaine sets the remote on his chest with a grin. "Of course I did."

Kurt closes his hand over it and returns Blaine's smile. "I love you, Blaine Anderson."

"Careful," Blaine says, "you're a married man."

Kurt snorts and bursts into laughter. "Oh my god, how did we become these people?"

"Who? These people from one of those ridiculous sitcoms where everyone changes partners every three episodes?" Blaine asks. "Personally, I blame glee club."

Kurt has to admit the idea has some merit. And he finds himself moderately horrified by it. "This changes now," he says with absolute seriousness.

Blaine laughs. "I hardly think flirting with your one serious ex-boyfriend is going to put you in Finn territory."

"I'd rather not chance it," Kurt says, well aware of his hypocrisy in cuddling closer. Blaine is, and will always be, comfort. "Now back up to the part where Tim told them to swap projects."

"I thought you were awake for that part."

"I was," Kurt says. "I want to see the broken look on Maximilian's face again."

"Never let it be said Kurt Hummel holds a grudge."

"My design, Blaine. He used one of my designs in his Project Runway audition tape. I have every right to hold a grudge." Kurt lifts his chin and rewinds the show. "Did he get eliminated tonight?"

"Almost," Blaine says.

"Have the judges gone blind? Look at it, Blaine. It's held together with tape. Tape."

"It gets better." Blaine twists around on the couch to face him with a smug look. "Tim's coming in again after the next commercial to tell them all they have to do their models' hair and make-up, too. All by themselves."

"No!"

"Yes!"

"Oh my god. Tell me he's humiliated."

"Utterly and completely - Heidi emasculates him," Blaine promises. Kurt punches him in the shoulder. "Ow!"

"You let me sleep through that?"

"I DVRed it," Blaine points out, wounded. "You love me for that."

Kurt sighs and settles in, pushing play on the remote. Because he really does love Blaine for that, and for so much more. "I do," he admits. "Now shh. Tim is about to crush his spirit."

It's been a long time since Harry's believed in keeping quiet to keep the peace. He's more or less certain he's the only one who's going to broach this subject. So he does. And, all right, he does after rolling over to wrap himself around Kurt, but a man deserves a little comfort when he's saying, "This isn't working, is it?"

Kurt settles his arms around him and nestles his cheek in his hair. "It is right now," he says after a tactful moment. Harry appreciates the tact, and has to actually agree that, right now, this is nice. "Not everyone gets to marry their childhood sweetheart."

"I think most childhood sweethearts are a bit older," Harry says. "And stay in touch more."

"It's my understanding you were fighting for the survival of the entire world," Kurt says, apparently much more comfortable in the idea than a Muggle ought to be. "As excuses go," he says, "it's valid."

"I could be making it all up to hide what an utter bastard I am," Harry feels the need to point out.

Kurt raises his eyebrows.

As skepticism goes, it's far less cutting than Snape and less sarcastic than Draco. Harry's a connoisseur of skeptical looks and sarcastic asides. Or maybe just a verbal masochist. "Fine. I'm not. I saved the bloody world before my eighteenth birthday. It wasn't just a pick up line."

"That's my baby," Kurt says, a little breathlessly. Harry's not exactly going to say it makes saving the world worth it because, well, the entire world. But he can't deny it's nice.

Draco doesn't get breathless when Harry talks about saving the world.

It occurs to Harry that thinking about Draco while he's in bed with, well, his husband isn't exactly tactful. He licks his lips and glances at Kurt, who's looking back at him with an expression Harry can't quite read.

He entertains the brief (incredibly paranoid) thought that Kurt might actually be able to read minds.

Kurt passes a hand from Harry's ribs down to his hip. "I always suspected saving the world was the ultimate workout," he says with the exact awkward coyness Harry's pretty sure he could fall completely in love with. If, well, they say you can't choose love.

"Wouldn't recommend it," Harry says, but doesn't stop him either.

They are married for another eight months, after all.

Might as well make the best of it, right?