Blaine isn't always like this. He's usually pretty good at pushing aside old, useless memories and letting them rot in their graves. For years, as the quintessential TV star playboy, the absence of his mother and father from his life has been easily forgotten. But now, with Kurt by his side, and his new adopted family, Blaine sees only what he's missing, and none of what he has.

His mom and dad. There's a place waiting for them, of course, if they ever want to come back and be a part of his new life, but with a sad sigh he realizes that's never going to happen.

Moving on hasn't always been easy, but at the very least, it was easily forgettable. Why did it seem so difficult now?

“Hey, love.” Kurt hands Blaine a cookie, carefully wrapped in a green napkin, and sits beside him on the floor. “You know, there's a perfectly good sofa right there in front of the tree in you needed a place to sit.”

“I know,” Blaine says, putting down his treat without even glancing at it. “I just needed to think.”

Kurt nods his head, knowingly, biting his lip as he looks at their little family spread around the living room. Four kids. Four beautiful, unexpected kids. He couldn't really think of a better gift. He would rather have Finn and Rachel with them to enjoy the holiday season. It had always been their favorite time of year.

Christmas is always a bittersweet time for Kurt, thinking about all the people he's loved…and lost.

But it's hard to dwell on that kind of pain when there is so much joy in the house.

“Did you call them?' Kurt asks, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible given the circumstances.

“No, I…I sent them a card. You know, the one we had made with everyone's picture on it?”

Kurt smiles immediately, remembering the picture they had taken for their Christmas card, and the pandemonium that had ensued.

Kurt loops his arm with Blaine's and snuggles close.

“I'm so sorry that after all this time your parents are still such asses.”

Blaine couldn't help chuckling.

“Yeah,” Blaine says, looking down at Kurt's arm linked with his, the perfect circle they made. “That's a good way to put it.”

“But, you know, you've been sitting here in the corner for close to an hour, and I'm afraid that if I don't pull you away from here, you'll stay here all day.”

“I know,” Blaine agrees, “I know. I don't quite get why it bothers me so much.”

“Because they're your parents,” Kurt says simply. “They're supposed to love you unconditionally. And when they don't, and they turn their backs on you, it's almost like they've died…”

The words catch in Kurt's throat, and he has to stop and hold Blaine close.

“That's what it feels like exactly,” Blaine says. He shrugs. “I feel like I'm grieving.”

“I get it,” Kurt says. “And grief is a useful emotion. But you can't surrender to it. If you give into it too long, it will just consume you. Grief is an emotion that takes and takes and gives almost nothing back.”

“So, what should I do?” Blaine says sadly.

Kurt kisses him on the cheek.

“I think you should read your cookie,” Kurt says cryptically. He gives Blaine a pat on the leg, then stands and walks back to the group of sated kids, involved in their various games and toys, or in the case of little Elphaba, asleep under the tree with a new stuffed dog wrapped in her chubby little toddler arms.

Blaine picks up the forgotten cookie wrapped in its little green napkin and unwraps it delicately, expecting to see one of Kurt's carefully decorated masterpieces that are too pretty to eat. What he sees lying on the napkin is something far more beautiful.

On the perfectly round sugar cookie is a message just for him, printed in purple gel.

‘I love you.'

The words are by no means written perfectly, and in fact, are terribly misspelled. But none of that matters. He knows who made it. Little Eva, the first of their adopted clan to truly accept Blaine as a member of the family.

This family.

His family.

As he smiles down at the lopsided words, he feels a pair of eyes watching him. He looks up to see a familiar face framed by a head of dark curls staring at him. The brown eyes light up as the little girl smiles, waving madly.

He knows he's not going to get away with sitting in the corner and letting grief consume him any longer, so he gets up from his seat on the floor and walks over to the sofa so he can share his special Christmas cookie with his best girl.