Blaine woke up alone, brought out of a deep sleep by the faint sound of scraping right outside the bedroom window. Blaine squinted, trying to find a glimpse of his beautiful dom anywhere in the room. The orchid colored walls made the room seem darker. It was almost impossible to see anything but silhouettes and shapes.

“Kurt?” Blaine's hoarse voice whispered into the dark. “Kurt? Are you there?”

No sound at all but the crackle of the baby monitor in the corner, and the mid-summer breeze furling and unfurling the sheer curtains.

Another scraping sound, like a kitten scratching down the wooden boards of the patio outside. The sound, combined with the overwhelming dark, made everything that much more surreal. Blaine's squinty eyes turned to the clock on the table by the bed. The red numbers read 3:30 A.M.

“Ugh!” Blaine groaned. In three hours he'd have to go pick-up Burt and Carole at the airport.

Suddenly, everything clicked into place.

As if emphasizing the point, another prolonged scrape sounded from right underneath the window.

“Kurt,” Blaine groaned a little louder. “Again with the height of the lilies?”

Kurt's face slowly emerged from beneath the windowsill as Blaine got up out of bed. Blaine couldn't help but snicker when he saw his stylish dom, his gorgeous boyfriend, face smeared with dirt where he had brushed his hair from his face over and over again. Kurt's expression, sheepish and repentant, also looked innocent and almost childlike. Blaine had only ever seen it once – when they had driven the kids to see their grandparents for the first time in years.

“Kurt…” Blaine approached the window, peeking out to look at the gorgeous white flowers glowing in the moonlight. Kurt's Burberry pajama pants, however, were most likely ruined. “I'm sure your dad will appreciate all the effort your dad is putting in to make the house beautiful, but he's coming here to see you and the kids, not the flowers.”

Kurt pouted slightly.

“The flowers aren't for my dad,” Kurt retorted, “they're for Carole. And they're callas, Blaine! Do you know what that means?”

“No, Kurt,” Blaine said with a smile and a shake of his head, “I can honestly say I have no idea what that means.”

“It means,” Kurt sneered, “that placement is key. If the bulbs stay wet, they'll rot. If they get too much sun, they'll burn. I was stupid this afternoon, planting them too low, and in afternoon sun? Why didn't I just light them on fire? No, under the sills is perfect…the soil gets plenty of air, and there's a slight rise, they're not too close to the house, and…”

Kurt's eyes burned into Blaine's honey-gold gaze as his sub began to laugh.

Kurt didn't even need to ask.

“Kurt, this isn't about the height of lilies, is it?” Blaine reached out a hand and swiped some dirt from Kurt's forehead, rolling it through its fingers, feeling the smooth, silky texture. He couldn't help but notice how cute Kurt looked with some dirt on his face.

Kurt sighed.

“You know, I'm a perfectionist…” Kurt looked down at his feet, kicking at the dirt right beneath his toes. “But, I've been failing for so long, with my life, with these kids. My father's only known me as a failure. I'm sort of nervous about him seeing me as a success.”

Blaine furrowed his brow. He could kind of see where Kurt was coming from, but it was hard for Blaine to ever think of Kurt as a failure.

“And this house,” Kurt continued, “I want it to seem like a home. My dad gave me a home…and now…I need this to be one.”

Blaine's eyes narrowed as he considered Kurt's words. He put up a finger, turning away from the window and running to the closet. He reached up for an old, worn shoe box on the shelf above the clothes. He pulled it down and carried it over to the window.

Kurt looked at the box, his eyes wide.

“Is that…”

“Yeah…” Blaine shrugged self-consciously. “It's the box my parents sent me when they wrote me out of their lives. The one with all the letters and…well, I keep all sorts of things in here now…”

Blaine rummaged through the box and pulled out an old film canister.

“Including this.”

He handed it to Kurt. Kurt popped the lid carefully and looked inside. He raised an eyebrow, looking at the contents suspiciously. He lifted the canister to his nose and sniffed it.

“It's dirt,” Kurt said conclusively.

“Yup,” Blaine said, taking the container back. “My mom gave it to me. You see, when she left the Philippines as a little girl, she left her family, her home, everything. She didn't even have a suitcase. The only thing she took with her was this. Back when she still loved me…she gave it to me. She told me that as long as I had it, I would never forget where home was…where my family came from…”

Without a second thought, Blaine overturned the canister and emptied into the lilies underneath the sill.

“Blaine!” Kurt squealed, louder than he intended. “What are you…”

“Now, this is home.” Blaine put the canister back in the box, and the box on the floor.

“But, Blaine…”

“But nothing, Kurt.” Blaine took Kurt's hands in his, aware that Kurt's filthy hands shed dirt whenever Blaine touched them. “This house is not a home because that dirt's here, or because the lilies are under the windowsill, or because there's a roof over our heads. This house is a home because you're here, and the kids are here, and because it's filled room to room with love. And you…” Blaine put a dirt stained finger beneath Kurt's chin, lifting his downcast eyes to stare into his “…are not a failure. You never were. It doesn't matter if we were living in a broken down trailer, or this house, or a box by the river…love makes a house a home. And this dirt…it's just the ground beneath our feet.”

Kurt smiled, leaning forward through the window to kiss his boyfriend softly, giggling as grains of soil dislodged from his hair and fell, tickling his nose.

“How about we go take a shower,” Blaine suggested, standing back a bit so Kurt could scoot in through the open window, “and you can get me a little dirty.”