19 - Margaret

They're living together for a month. Blaine is laying on the couch with his legs up, his eyes almost closing, and Kurt keeps looking at him from the table with a cute smile on his face.

“Go to bed”, Kurt says, softly, but Blaine just shrugs.

“Wanna be with you”, he answers around a yawn. Kurt blushes, because he is still not used to living with Blaine, and dealing with things like yawns and kisses on the cheek before they have to study.

“You'll still be with me, B”, he says, standing up. He makes his way to Blaine and kneels before him, his hands tenderly carressing his boyfriend's face. “C'mon, I'll be right here”

“Mhmm, come to bed with me”, he smiles, and Kurt pecks his lips before helping Blaine to stand up. They walk sleeply to the bedroom, feeling as tired as they should after so many auditions and tests.

Blaine lays down, but Kurt takes his time to take off his pants, his glasses, his coat. When he's wearing nothing but boxers, he lays next to Blaine and they cuddle.

But now, of course, Blaine's mind is racing, and he keeps thinking of a million things, and sighs.

“Whatever happened to Margaret?”, he asks, yawning, wishing his brain would shut up so he can cuddle and sleep with his gorgeous boyfriend.

“You're asking me? You're her owner”, Kurt says, puzzled. “I've seen her around, though, after you moved”

“Yeah...”, he yawns, “I was looking for her the other day, and I couldn't find her. I miss her”

Kurt kisses his head. “Of course you do”

Blaine rests his cheek on Kurt's chest. “Will you help look tomorrow?”

Kurt laughs softly, and the laughter vibrates through Blaine's body. “Of course”

**

When Kurt wakes up, it's already past seven and he's so tired he wishes he could stay in bed forever. There's a nice smell of toast in the air and his stomach feels empty, but he can't seem to find the strength to stand up.

He waits for a few minutes, listening to Blaine humming and moving around the house, and his heart beats a little bit faster, the way it always does when he thinks this is my reality.

Blaine walks into the bedroom with a breakfast tray filled with toast, butter, his delicious coffee and, sitting beautifully on the tray, is Margaret Thatcher, that little dog Kurt kind of stole last year, and he feels so happy he could cry.

“It's funny”, he says, over a piece of toast, “how these little things end up meaning so much, right?”

“Yeah”, Blaine says, absentmindedly, because there are a lot of thoughts of Kurt running through his head. He smiles. “Of course”