“Good morning, Mr Hummel.”

“Good lord, Mercedes. How many times have I said that that is a horrible way to wake a man?”

“Sorry, Mr Hummel, you know I don’t do it on purpose.”

“Don’t I? I’m rather sure your sole function here is to attempt to blind us by ripping open the curtains when we’re still asleep.”

Laughter. “Oh, Mr Hummel, you’ve seen through my disguise. I should give up my nurses uniform, and turn it in for something much more sinister.”

“I could design something for you, you know? I’ll try keep the spandex to a minimum, but a cape is a must.”

“Sounds good to me. Just try not to make me look too scandalous, I’m an evil overlord, not a saucy seductress.”

“There’s no reason you can’t be both, my dear.”

Mercedes bustles around the room, helping Kurt sit up in his bed, laying his medication on his side table and filling a jug with fresh water. She is just about to open his cupboard when Kurt glares at her.

“Mercedes, I know you’re not planning on touching my clothes.”

“I-I just thought… I thought I could help you pick out an outfit?”

“Mercedes, darling, that’s very kind of you, but you know the rules.”

The young nurse smiles. “Yes, Mr Hummel,” she frowns slightly as she starts reciting. “No being ‘too cheerful’ in the morning, let you know immediately if Mr Anderson wakes up, calls from your children are more important than soap operas, and ‘Touch that wardrobe, lose that hand’.”

“Excellent,” a heartbeat of time passes. “How is he today?”

“… Same as yesterday, I’m afraid. He’s on his way to breakfast now. You can go see him if you like.”

“Perfect,” Kurt throws his bedcovers aside and, slowly, starts trying to stand up. His long legs are still strong, but they’re stiff with age. Mornings are not his best time anymore.

Mercedes helps him stand and he stretches, joints creaking slightly. Once he’s up and about, moving gets much easier, so Mercedes soon leaves, bustling out with a soft murmur of luck. Kurt smiles at her back as she leaves, pulling the door closed behind her. He likes her the most of all the nurses at Caldridge Nursing Home, she always has a moment to spare for him and his… situation.

Slowly, carefully, Kurt goes through the motions of getting ready for another day. He picks out a crisp white shirt and slim fitting jeans. They’re not quite as slim as they used to be, but he relented to his age a couple of years ago and gave up attempting to shimmy into skin-tight pants when his hips starting popping ominously. He carefully styles his hair, now silvery white, with practised hands reaching for his mousse and comb. Lastly, he picks out a bowtie. He can’t quite decide which one to go with, but then his eyes land on a faded blue one, dark navy and sprinkled with stars. His fingers ghost over it gently before picking it up. He quickly pops his collar and fastens the bowtie, trying to stop the slight tremble in his fingers. Today will be a good day, he decides.

Getting ready to leave his room, he downs his medicine, a strange assortment of pills in a little paper cup, and steps into his shoes. They are hideous slip-on things, but boots that lace-up to his knees are simply not an option anymore. He’s almost out the door when he remembers his notebook. It’s lying by his bed, where he put it last night after reading it all day yesterday. He retrieves it and exits his room.

In the hall his fellow residents shuffle around carefully, their bodies also resentful at having to move so early in the day.

“Morning, Kurt!”

“Good morning, Artie. How’s the hip today?”

A bowed little man with large glasses smiles up at Kurt from his wheelchair.

“Acting up, as usual. I doubt I’ll ever stand again at this rate.”

“That’s the spirit,” Kurt replies.

“Where are you headed? Tina and Mike are going to try and teach me to use the internet today. Would you like to join us?”

Kurt smiles a little at the mental image of his three, very senior friends trying to navigate the internet. It still confuses him sometimes too, even after his daughter, Lizzy, tried so patiently to explain the Google to him.

“Artie, I don’t know what you three could possibly want to do on a computer.”

Artie lowers his voice conspiratorially. “They say there are free nude-y pictures to be found on the internet, Kurt. Can you believe it?”

“Oh, my god!” Kurt laughs. “You are turning into a perverted old man!”

“Well, we can’t all be perfect gentlemen, like you.”

“It’s a blessing and a curse.”

“So, are you joining us?”

“Not today, Artie. I have a good feeling about today.”

“You say that every day.”

“And yet, I am still unfailingly optimistic.”

Artie sighs dramatically. “Guess one of us needs to be. This place will make us loopy before long, otherwise.”

“Assuming you weren’t already loopy when you got here… Like poor Brittany.” Kurt smiles fondly and looks over his shoulder. “Good morning, Brittany!” he calls out.

“Kurt. My pillow fell in the pool,” a wispy old woman replies. She’s standing by the window wearing a very concerned expression alongside a bright pink, full-length, florally night-gown. “Disaster.”

“That surely would be disastrous, darling… if we had a swimming pool,” Kurt replies gently. “Well, I’ll see you around, Artie. I have to get down to breakfast.”

“See you, man,” Artie replies, slowly wheeling himself towards the Cohen-Chang-Chang’s rooms.

The Caldridge Nursing Home used to be a grand old house, which got converted to its current use. The rooms for residents who could still help themselves, are on the third floor. There is a nursing station at the top of the stairs that leads down to the second floor. Kurt blows a kiss to the nurse on duty, which earns him a fond eye-rolling, and starts his descent. The second floor is for patients who needed 24 hour care and it has two doctors’ offices. It is much busier than the third floor, as nurses bustle about, getting everybody ready for a new day. The ground floor is Kurt’s destination. It hold the kitchens, dining room, library, entertainment room, sun room and visitors’ room. It is a lovely summers’ day and all the windows are thrown wide open in an attempt to coax the non-existent breeze into the house. A soft, thick carpet muffles Kurt’s steps as he wanders to the dining room, his hand trailing over the dark wooden panelling of the walls.

Stopping outside the dining room, he takes a deep, steadying breath and enters.

Most of the tables are occupied, but Kurt spots him immediately. The nurses had dressed him in his favourite red pants today. Kurt knows they stop just above ankles and Kurt hopes the nurses picked out ridiculously clashing socks. His shirt is checkered, red and blue and a soft navy cardigan hugs his shoulders. His salt and pepper curls are carefully gelled back today. He sits by himself at a table facing the lake. Swans swim slowly across the quiet surface of the water. Kurt doesn’t know if he actually sees the swans or if he is just staring.

A nurse spots Kurt after a moment and gathers up a tray. She walks over to Kurt, where he stands frozen by the door, and touches him softly on the shoulder.

“It’s a good day,” she says gently.

Kurt breathes sharply through his nose, the breath he didn’t realise he was holding, suddenly eager to leave his body.

“I hope so,” Kurt replies. He steels his resolve and follows the nurse to the table by the window.

“Mr Anderson? This is K- um, this is Eli.” Kurt almost has a heart attack at the nurses near slip-up. This really doesn’t work if he uses his first name right off the bat. “He’s going to have breakfast with you, doesn’t that sound nice?”

“Oh, hello,” bright golden eyes look up at Kurt. They are unsure, but there is a smile to them as well. “I was just watching the swans. Do you like swans, Eli?”

Kurt breathes out a sigh of relief. “I love swans, actually. Definitely my favourite birds.” He sits down next to Mr Anderson, so that he can look out the window as well. “Thank you for the tray, darling,” he says to the nurse.

“Good luck,” she replies and retreats.

Kurt places his book on the table and picks up his knife and fork.

“Scrambled egg whites again? I swear they think I’m going to drop any second.” Kurt smiles and looks at Mr Anderson. “Although, if my history of heart problems is anything to go by, I probably am.”

“Oh, no. Are you sick?” Mr Anderson looks at him with concern in his eyes.

“No sicker than anyone else here,” Kurt replies.

There are a couple of moments of silence as Kurt eats his breakfast. Luckily the doctors have allowed him to have coffee in his diet, or he isn’t sure if he would be able to even function in the mornings anymore. Golden eyes remain on Kurt for a bit, but slowly they return to their inspection of the lake.

“Do you like swans?” Kurt asks after a pause.

“I… I don’t know.” Mr Anderson says. “I think so.”

“I think so, too,” Kurt smiles. “Aah, it’s such a beautiful day. And nothing makes a beautiful day better than coffee, in my opinion.”

“Do you like coffee?” Mr Anderson’s voice is soft and curious.

“Do I like coffee? Coffee is the drink of the gods. It takes normal men and turns them into fighters and lovers. With coffee in his veins, there’s nothing a man can’t do.”

Mr Anderson laughs at that. It’s the most beautiful sound Kurt has ever heard. It is soft and almost childlike, but it’s honest and real. “I’ll take that as a yes,” Mr Anderson says.

“How about we enjoy this beautiful day together? I wanted to read my book today… I could read it to you?” Kurt asks slowly.

“Oh, um…” Mr Anderson suddenly seems nervous. “I don’t… I don’t know.”

“Oh, come on,” Kurt coaxes gently, “It’s a really good book.”

“Well, um-“

“Go on, honey,” a nurse supplies from behind them. She stoops to pick up Kurt’s empty tray. “You’ll like him. He’s very funny.”

“Oh… Okay.”

“Perfect!” Kurt claps his hands together. “Let’s go.”

“Go? Go where?” Mr Anderson askes him, still nervous.

“To enjoy this lovely day, of course!” Kurt says. “We can go read in the sun room. It’ll be great.” Kurt picks up his book and slowly stands up, allowing his legs a moment to groan in protest. He then leans down and clasps Mr Anderson by the elbow, steadying him as he rises to his feet as well.

“I don’t know where the sun room is,” Mr Anderson admits.

“It’s a good thing you have me to show you, then, isn’t it?” Kurt says breaking out his winning smile. Mr Anderson returns it slowly and Kurt takes that as permission to leave his hand on Mr Anderson’s arm. He tightens his grip a little and leads them towards the door. On the far side of the room, he catches Mercedes’ eye and smiles at her. Good luck, she mouths at him as they leave.

“Luckily it’s not far,” Kurt says, strolling leisurely down the hall. “I don’t know about you, but my legs just aren’t what they used to be. It feels like every day here they decided, a little more, to be old man legs.”

“But you are an old man,” Mr Anderson says with a smile.

“Hmpf, I suppose,” Kurt pouts. “I’m not sure when that happened.”

“Probably sometime between being young and having your heart broken.”

“What?” Kurt stops moving. He stares at Mr Anderson with sudden intensity in his eyes.

“Um… I don’t know. I-I think I heard that somewhere.” Mr Anderson is nervous again. Kurt knows that asking him something so directly is a bad idea, so he shoves the sudden blossom of hope in his chest back down and starts walking again.

“I think I’ve heard that somewhere, too,” he says instead, keeping his tone light.

They reach the sun room. It has large French doors, too many potted plants and ridiculously ugly, impossibly comfortable couches. Kurt is amazed that anything covered in paisley could be so comfortable, but he ignores the offensive fabric and directs Mr Anderson onto one end of a two-seater.

Mr Anderson sits and looks at Kurt curiously. He chews on the inside of his lip for a moment and Kurt can feel a question building.

“What is it?” he asks gently.

“Have you… have you ever had your heart broken?” Mr Anderson’s tone is apologetic as if he can barely believe he’s asking such a personal question.

Kurt’s eyes lock onto Mr Anderson’s. He tries to see something there, anything, but as the silence lengthens, his hope wavers. He quickly tears his eyes away before they can fill with tears.

“Every day,” he says, examining the notebook clutched in his hands. The cover has gone soft with use and the pages are bent and dog eared. It’s all he can do to clasp it tightly and not let his composure break. He needs to get a grip.

Instead, a strong hand finds his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” Mr Anderson says. “That’s horrible.”

“It could be worse,” Kurt replies after a moment. His voice is slightly unsteady, so he clears his throat before looking up.

“How about that story?” he asks, lifting his notebook. “Shall I get started?”

“Yes, please. I’m excited to hear it,” Mr Anderson says.

“Oh, you’ve probably heard one like it before,” Kurt mumbles and opens the book. It falls open easily and he starts to read.