Dear K---
I'm writing to you from just outside San Antonio, Texas. About all I can say is it's hot and dusty and I miss you more than I can possibly tell you.
Flight training looks like it will be interesting, if the text books they've given us are any indication. The physical tests we went through the other day – right after the bus dropped us off from the train station – were not as difficult as I'd feared. I passed them easily – far easier than several of the guys.
My room is small – four bunk beds, a desk and a chair. My roommates are Jim – a Texas boy, Charlie – from Maine and “Cooter” – from Louisiana. They are all friendly. Charlie and I got the short straw (and, oh god, I sincerely hope you've just raised your eyebrow and are about to make a joke about my height, because that how I'm imagining you and oh god you're beautiful) – so he and I are on the top bunks. There is sand and dust everywhere.
The barracks are cinder block – unattractive and depressing, but at least they hold the cool longer. By the time it was light-outs last night, it was swelteringly hot and I couldn't sleep, which probably accounts for my dark mood right now.
I'm sorry, sweetheart, for writing to you while I'm feeling blue. I'm tired from the train trip, tired from the tests and the exams. I promise, everything's fine. I'll get a good night's rest tonight (because I can hear in my head that that's what you're saying I need) and dream of you and tomorrow, it'll be better.
I hope this letter reaches you in one piece – rumor has it the censors here can be a little overzealous at times.
I love you, darling, so very very much. I'm here, I'm fine, everything's going to be alright. This time is going to fly by – pun intended. I'm here, doing important work that will help make the world a better place. Everything's going to be okay.
All my love, always,
your B.

Kurt snatched the letter up, recognizing Blaine's bold handwriting underneath the unfamiliar stamps. He started to rip the envelope, then not wanting to tear the letter inside on it's filmy paper, calmed himself and went in search of the letter opener – a miniature brass sword that Blaine always pretended was a broadsword whenever he opened the mail.
The letter did not, in fact, reach him in one piece. The censors had excised whatever words followed “just outside of”. Kurt was amazed even mail coming from a training camp had been subjected to censoring – but supposed even training camp information could be vital to the enemy.
He felt a slight chill, as he knew Blaine had put that in the letter on purpose – they'd have to be careful what they wrote to each other. Revealing the exact nature of their relationship would be very dangerous – both for him and for Blaine. He supposed that's why the letter was addressed to K, instead of Kurt. He'd have to remember that when he wrote.
He sat at the desk in the living room, reached for his regular monogrammed stationary, then put it back. He decided he'd go out and buy some less masculine stationery – not feminine, mind you, because he was not going to pretend to be a girl – he was not. He was a man, who was in love with a man, and he wasn't going to pretend he wasn't. But, if he could supply just a little fuzziness, a little ambiguity – well, then. His copper-plate penmanship was flawlessly correct – his father had told him as a young boy his handwriting looked like his mother's, and Kurt had made the conscious effort to cultivate it.
His new stationery purchased, he sat himself again at the desk, and stared the snapshot of Blaine laughing on the beach last summer tucked into the frame of a more formal studio portrait from his college graduation.

My darling B---
I'm writing to you from the desk in our apartment. It's cool and dark here. It's been raining since you left. I think the sun misses competing with your smiles.
The censors did take out your location – I got the message, and I understand that someone other than you will be reading these letters – but it doesn't really matter where you are. All I know is you're not Here.
Rachel and Ginger send their love. They've been coming over every day, with the most pathetic excuses – oh, I thought I left my hairbrush here, oh, can I borrow that book? I know they're checking up on me, which I secretly appreciate and am outwardly annoyed at – but I know you'd want to know that I'm not alone.
Work is going well. I'm going piece together a quilt for our bed. Ginger wants me to teach her how to knit, but I'm honestly afraid. I hope you're laughing at the picture in your head of Ginger absolutely tangled head-to-toe in a skein of yarn, wailing while sitting on the floor and then bursting into that loud, obnoxious and entirely wonderful laugh of hers. You know as well as I do that's exactly how it's going to go.
Tell me more about school – if you can. What are your roommates like?
I'm glad you're well – I'm happy to hear things look interesting to you. Don't forget to drink your water; dehydration is a dangerous thing. Plus, it always makes you cranky.
I love you, B, I love you I love you I love you
yours always,
Me

He spritzed the sheets of light blue paper with a bottle of Rachel's perfume she'd left at their apartment. He knew Blaine would recognize it, knew it'd make him chuckle. He carefully copied out the address for the envelope and placed it on the hall table near the door. He'd mail it after lunch.

************

A brief letter arrived for Kurt the next week. He could almost hear what Blaine was really saying.

Dear K--
It was so lovely to receive your letter and get a whiff of home. I know you know how I miss that scent. I know Rachel's driving you nuts, and the smell of her perfume is probably already setting your teeth on edge, but she's trying to take care of you now that I can't. Please let her.
My roommates are swell. I have only chatted with them briefly and am keeping them at arms length, for now, but, so far, have discovered nothing upsetting about them. School is incredibly interesting; I'm really happy I chose the Air Forces. You know how I've always dreamed of being able to fly and Kurt, it's incredible beautiful wonderful and nearly everything I ever thought it would be, even if it's in a loud metal tube instead of with bird's wings. The work is tough, but they've already taken us up on our first few flights. I cried the first time I piloted the plane and realized I was flying – FLYING, Kurt. It was freedom and joy and the only thing that could convince me to land again was the thought of you.
I promise, I am staying hydrated. They're feeding us quite well, though there's no midnight snack like I usually bring back to bed and eat off your stomach and you pretend to yell at me for getting crumbs all over you but then you don't complain at all when I lick them up. We get our first weekend liberty this weekend, and Jim says he's going to take us to an incredible barbecue place. I hope it's everything he says it is and not a whorehouse as well, because oh god Kurt, that's going to be awkward. Stop laughing, you bastard, it's not going to be funny. It's going to be downright awkward.
The physical training has been fine – not too difficult for me, particularly the upper body strength testing which you know I aced because I lift weights because I know what the sight of my chest does to you, and I very much like that response.
I'll write you again as soon as I can. We have our first exams coming up and I'm determined to ace them all.
I love you, darling. Be well. I hope you're going out and having fun with The Girls please let them take you out and make you smile. I can't bear the thought of you not smiling.
All my love, always
B.
*********
The weeks stretched out into months and went by, slowly for Kurt, incredibly fast for Blaine. They wrote each other almost every day – well, Kurt wrote every day, Blaine wrote when he could. Kurt saved every letter – when he was feeling particularly lonely after reading through them, he'd press them to his face and could swear he could smell Blaine.
*********
Dear K –
This is it. We graduate tomorrow. Our “pinning ceremony”, where we get our Wings, is tomorrow night and then we're home bound. I can't believe I'm done. I can't believe I'm coming home. To you. Oh, darling, I can't believe I'll see you soon – am I dreaming?
They won't give us any information on when we'll actually arrive in the city – troop trains being what they are, I suspect they don't even know. I have a wild hope that I'll beat this letter back to you, but most likely, it'll be a few more days. I swear, I'll be home as soon as I can.
I know you probably would like to meet me at the station, but as I don't know when I'll be there, we'll have to figure something else out. I kind of like the idea of just showing up at home. Don't wait for me – god, please don't sit in the apartment waiting for me. Just leave my key under the mat, if you have to go out, and I'll let myself in.
I'll see you soon, my love. I cannot wait to hold you and kiss your face and hear you tell me everything you've been up to while I've been gone. I love you.
All my love, always
B.
PS. Wouldn't that be something? If you went out to buy milk one morning, and came home and there I was, already asleep on the couch?
********
In fact, that's almost how it happened. The day Kurt received the letter, he refused to leave the apartment, just in case. After 3 days, Ginger came and dragged him out shopping.
“You need groceries, Hummel. Blaine's got the appetite of a teenage wildebeest. You're going to need food – a lot of food, for when he comes home. Because we all know that once he gets home, you two are not going to be leaving again for quite some time.” She nudged him with her elbow. He glared at her.
They returned a short time later, laden with paper bags full of groceries, playfully arguing and laughing. Kurt's pulse began to race when he realized the deadbolt was no longer locked. A smile burst on his face as he pushed the door open and saw a dusty rucksack sitting just to the side in the foyer. Ginger awkwardly grabbed the bags he'd been carrying before he could drop them, as he raced down the hall.
There was Blaine, his bare feet propped up on the coffee table, grinning delightedly. Apparently, he'd been home long enough to shower – he was sitting on the couch with nothing on but a towel around his waist. His curls were still dripping slightly.
Kurt hurled himself at him. Blaine caught him and was knocked back against the couch with a muffled “ooof.” Kurt stretched out on top of him. Neither of them could stop smiling enough to kiss each other properly, or stop kissing enough to to smile at each other. Instead, they peppered each other's faces, lips, necks with a million tiny kisses – giggling like schoolboys and then laughing at how much they were giggling.
Kurt vaguely thought he heard Ginger putting things away in the kitchen. Blaine vaguely knew when she walked into the living room and set something down, completely unphased by their exuberant kissing. He felt her hand on his hair, heard her whisper “I'm so happy you're home, honey.” Then she slipped away.
Just before their kissing turned serious – just before Blaine's towel became superfluous and Kurt ripped his clothes from his body – they parted long enough to realize Ginger had brought in a dinner tray, set with plates of cheese and crackers, a bit of bread, some pickles, two glasses and a bottle of wine. She'd written a card “Nurse Ginger reminds you that neglecting to eat is not only be hazardous to your health, but can have worrying sexual side effects as well.”
They laughed heartily and proceeded to feed each other. Diligently.