“What do you love the most?” Blaine asks, smiling as he takes Kurt's hand. They gaze together over the water, the sun only starting to rise. The sky sings the moment light peeks out above the horizon, painting the still ocean a fantastic autumn gold.

Well, the sunrise used to sing for Kurt. He used to hear music when the peony petal rays of sun touched the sky. It split into symphonies, diffused by the clouds, turning them an ardent white, brilliant and bright before they burned away. But not anymore. But it's not all a sad loss. Sitting on the shore with Blaine, he hears a new music at sunrise. It's the music of his own heart beating, a single, stalwart instrument resounding in his chest. It's a bittersweet tune, it won't last forever, but Kurt likes it so much better.

Because that music comes with Blaine, and his heart singing the same exact tune.

“Oh, that's easy,” Kurt says with a teasing grin tickling his lips. “I love cheesecake. And I love the feeling of satin on my skin, especially when it comes with an Alexander McQueen label sewn into the seam. I love the smell of wood smoke, and the sunlight on my face. And cursing.” Kurt chuckles. “I love fucking cursing.” Kurt turns his face from the light to look at Blaine, whose gaze has fallen as well as his smile. He's biting his lower lip and staring at the sand, composing intricate patterns in the cold crust of salt with his finger, drawing hearts and connecting stars on the outskirts. “Except, all of those things could be gone tomorrow, and I wouldn't care an inch because the only thing in this world I really, truly love is you. You, Blaine Anderson. You and only you.”

Blaine's smile slowly rises back to his lips and Kurt loves it, how quickly he can make that smile return. It's the only magic Kurt possesses, but he could cast that spell every minute of every day and never tire of it.

“And…what do you miss the most?” Blaine asks, gaze returning to Kurt's eyes, reluctantly, afraid that the things Kurt misses might outweigh the things he loves.

“I miss…” Kurt chews on the question, even though the answer is simple. He mulls it over because he knows what Blaine will think the second he says it. But it's not in Kurt's nature to lie, especially not to Blaine. “My wings,” Kurt sighs, dropping his head back on his shoulders and staring up at the sky. “I miss my wings. I miss the freedom they gave me, flying through the air, soaring, being invisible to the world because no one sees angels anymore.”

“No one?” Blaine asks, a trifle smug.

Kurt smirks at Blaine's human arrogance, his conceit. Kurt loves it. It might be considered a sin, Blaine's occasional pride, but the thought that Kurt's sweet, adorable, kindhearted Blaine could be a sinner…Kurt loves that, too.

“Well, almost no one,” Kurt chuckles, letting go of Blaine's hand to throw his arm around his shoulders and hold him close. “I think you're expecting some sort of medal or something.”

“No,” Blaine says. “Although…a medal might be nice. You know how much I love a good accessory.”

“Stick to bowties,” Kurt says, giving Blaine a squeeze. “It's the classic.”

Blaine snuggles into Kurt's side, resting his head against Kurt's shoulder where he can feel Kurt's cheek against his forehead. Kurt feels Blaine's heavy sigh, and he knows a big question is coming.

“Do you miss…living in Grace?” Blaine asks. He never has before, and Kurt never talks about it. But it has to be something Kurt thinks about. How could he not?

Kurt snaps his head suddenly, pushing Blaine a little away to look into his eyes.

“No,” Kurt says, using a slight whisper, as if he's afraid someone will overhear, “because I don't know for certain that it's not there, and neither do you. Nobody does so don't talk about it.” Kurt finishes with a locking gesture over his lips.

Blaine nods, and Kurt pulls him back into his one-arm embrace. Blaine slips a hand under Kurt's shirt to run his fingers across Kurt's shoulder blades, touching the spots where his wings once were, where they connected, where nothing remains but a sort of memorial tattoo that Kurt shows to no one.

No one but Blaine.

“Would you…”

“Take it all back if I could?” Kurt finishes.

“You know, it's kind of frustrating how you keep doing that,” Blaine says.

“I thought people in love were supposed to finish one another's sentences,” Kurt remarks, kissing Blaine lightly on the forehead.

“Yes,” Blaine agrees, “but you do it all the time.”

“That's because you're predictable.”

“Nice,” Blaine answers.

“And you ask it all the damn time,” Kurt says, giggling over his ability to use the word damn as an adjective.

“Well, it's still kind of a difficult thing to believe,” Blaine says. “I mean, I've dated five men in my life, and I could barely get two of them to hold the door open for me. But you…you fell for me. Literally, fell for me.”

“Yup,” Kurt says, trying on pride for himself. “And I'd do it again.”

“Would you really?” Blaine asks, still a bit in awe.

A year to the day later and very much in awe.

“Every day,” Kurt says. “Falling hurt, Blaine. It hurt like hell. But knowing I had you to help me to my feet again, it was the best feeling in the world.”

“And to think,” Blaine says, dropping his eyes bashfully, his face warming from Kurt's words despite the persistent chill in the air, “the only thing I had to offer you at the time was cheesecake.”

“Hey, don't knock cheesecake.” Kurt turns to face Blaine, putting his back to the blessed sun and the magnificent ocean so he can kiss his husband full on the lips. “I love it only a little less than I love you.”