He remembers the evening Blaine gave it to him, just a few weeks ago, all shy eyes and nervous fingers. Kurt had made his way to Blaine’s after work, only to find Blaine not at home. He’d double-checked Blaine’s work and class schedule on his phone, just to be sure he hadn’t screwed up and it was actually one of those rare nights that Blaine had a late seminar or shift. But it wasn’t. Blaine should have been home, not that Kurt was worried about his safety or anything.

“You’re not home,” Kurt said when Blaine answered the phone. “Are you?”

“No...” Blaine’s voice was confused, and Kurt could just picture his furrowed brow as the wheels turned. “Oh god you’re there, aren’t you? I’m so sorry. Shit, Kurt.”

Kurt could hear the rustling of papers and fabric and he was fairly certain Blaine was shoving notes and books into his bag and throwing his jacket on.

“It’s fine, really.” Kurt had turned from the front door of Blaine’s building and looked down the snow-covered sidewalk. A few early Christmas decorations glowed merrily in the distance, heralding the upcoming holiday. The steadily falling snow had already ruined the neighborhood’s efforts to shovel it out of the way. It would take him a good half hour, probably more if he was perfectly honest, to walk home in his heavy boots, avoiding the icy patches along the way. But it would probably take longer to wait for a bus that might not even come. “I can just head home and-”

“No! Don’t.” The forcefulness of Blaine’s voice, the pleading tone, rocked Kurt back. He heard the distant echo of a door clanging shut over the phone. “I mean. Can you - will you wait? For me? I’m on the way. I’ll be, fuck, I don’t know. Twenty minutes? I’m just at the school. Fuck, I should have sent you a text, I just lost track of the time and-”

“Blaine, stop,” Kurt cut Blaine off. “It’s fine, really. And of course I’ll wait.” Kurt had started walking in the direction of one of the cafes they often had brunch at on the weekends when Blaine wasn’t working the early shift. Blaine liked to fill in the crossword puzzle while he savored his coffee (Kurt had quickly memorized just how much cream Blaine took and how much cinnamon he liked sprinkled across the top), and Kurt just enjoyed watching Blaine chew on the end of his pen, forehead scrunched adorably in concentration. Kurt helped with the clues he could - he knew more about geography, but Blaine was a master of history - but mostly he just stole the leftover bites of Blaine’s toast and sipped from his cup. The taste of coffee and spice was so familiar from Blaine’s lips.

“And you never know, maybe I’ll meet some charming, ridiculously handsome waiter at that place we like and-”

“Kurt,” there was a playful warning in Blaine’s voice, just a shade shy of a low growl, and it sent a shiver through Kurt that had nothing at all to do with the cold.

“Hurry home, dear, just don’t slip and fall and break your talent, ok?”

Kurt remembers how adorably mussed Blaine had been when he’d finally made it home, cheeks bright red and lips almost blue from the cold. His hair was wet from the snow, because he hadn’t remembered to bring a hat, and dripping icy water down his neck and under his collar. He’d mumbled another apology against Kurt’s lips when they’d gotten inside the door before dashing off to his bedroom, shedding his sodden jacket and boots along the way.

He’d come back a moment later, with something clutched tightly in his fist.

“I don’t,” Blaine had started, then paused, and took a deep breath. Kurt could see him trembling and he seemed to be looking for the right words, or any words at all. “I don’t know what the rules are for this kind of thing, the guidelines. I - this is new for me. This whole thing. I know it’s only been a few months, which isn’t really that long at all, but I feel - I don’t care how long it’s been. You should have this, I want you to have this.”

Blaine had stuck his hand out, and resting there on his palm was a shiny key. “Kurt.”

Kurt’s heart had skipped a beat. Blaine said his name a hundred different ways, with a thousand different inflections, but he always held it on his tongue a heartbeat too long, as though he couldn’t bear to let it go.

Kurt remembers how his mouth went dry and his blood seemed to roar in his ears, the whole world narrowing to the shiny silver key in Blaine’s hand and the look in his eyes. In that moment, Blaine’s eyes were a deep hazel and huge on his face, so nervous, and yet heartbreakingly hopeful. Kurt had been the one to ask for his name, his number. Kurt had been the one to muster up his courage and ask Blaine out on their first date, so unsure of what Blaine would say but unable to let the chance pass him by. But there Blaine was, standing in his living room and still dripping water all over his floor, offering him that with an open heart, offering him almost everything.

Kurt had rested his hand over Blaine’s, pressing the key between their palms, warming it despite Blaine’s still-cold fingers. Blaine’s smile had been tremulous, fragile. He’d surged into Blaine’s arms then, clutching the key tightly and finding Blaine’s mouth, so much warmer than the rest of him. He tasted stale espresso and a thousand new mornings. Kurt almost didn’t need the spluttering of the radiator coming to life, not with the way Blaine’s hands were finally heated as they pushed under his layers and found his skin.

Kurt smiles at the memory, still fresh and infinitely precious to him, as he closes the door behind him.

Blaine doesn’t really live very far from him, not as far as he could, but Kurt tries not to think about what might have happened to his life if Blaine lived in the Bronx, or further. He tries not to think about Blaine working at a different Starbucks and the two of them never meeting. Kurt believes in things like hard work and perseverance, but when he wakes in the morning, snuggled under the thick blankets of Blaine’s bed with Blaine’s head resting on the pillow next to his, Kurt believes in fate too.

Kurt finds that he’s spending more and more of his evenings curled up in the corner of Blaine’s couch, or seated on the surprisingly comfortable rug in front of it with Blaine stretched out behind him, scratching away at sheet music or doing his assigned reading. It’s secure and homey and so fucking domestic that Kurt’s heart feels about three and a half sizes too big for his chest. It almost hurts, the way Kurt knows that if he tips his head back against the cushion Blaine will drop a quick kiss on his forehead, brush his hair back, run his fingers along the shell of Kurt’s ear, and smile down at him with that achingly fond grin that brings dimples to his cheeks.

His own place is where all of his stuff is - his clothes, his books, most of the work he tends to bring with him because he’s still trying to keep two steps ahead of anything. Fairly new and unexpected relationship or no, he’s not going to fall behind, or even give the appearance that something else has taken so much of his attention these days, even if it has. Even if some mornings he wants nothing more than to throw Blaine’s phone at the wall and wrap him back up in his arms, keeping him all to himself for a day. The tourists and caffeine-deprived businesspeople of Times Square can go without their beloved barista for a day.

Besides, it’s just so easy to hop onto the N train instead of the 1 and make his way down the tree-lined streets of Blaine’s surprisingly quaint little neighborhood to his front door. And Blaine seems to relish his increased presence, if the delight in his eyes every time the front door opens and the new stash of chocolate in the snack cupboard is anything to go by.

Kurt drops his bag onto the chair next to the door, on top of Blaine’s, and toes his wet boots off, hanging them on the drying rack he brought from his own place.

He’s about to call out to Blaine when he hears his voice, low and stressed, from the living room.

Blaine is pacing frantically around the small space, one hand holding the phone up to his ear while his other arm is wrapped tightly around his middle, fingers clutching deep into his sweater. His hair is a riotous mess, as though he’d been running his hands through it constantly. He looks nervous, almost scared. Kurt’s heart leaps into his throat.

Something happened.

“It sounds, it sounds wonderful, sir,” Blaine says and he stops pacing, and stares at a framed photo of him and his brother as kids that hangs on the wall. Kurt takes a step forward and the creak of the floor catches Blaine’s attention.

“I – yes, sir.” Blaine’s eyes find his from across the room, wide and panicked. Kurt cocks his head inquiringly but Blaine just swallows. “Burt. Yes, Burt. I would be honored to be there.”

He’s talking to my dad, Kurt thinks, and a shiver works its way through him. My dad, he must have…oh god.

Blaine hangs up and drops the phone onto the couch. “Kurt.” His voice is rough and thick, as though he’s holding back tears.

“That was my dad.”

Blaine nods, and Kurt can see his throat working. “Yeah. He, uh, he,” Blaine folds his arms around his chest and makes himself small in the way he does when he’s particularly uncomfortable. “He invited me over for Christmas.”

Kurt’s stomach flips, swoops, and leaps into his throat. Blaine. In his father’s home. For Christmas. With him. Kurt takes a step towards Blaine, who is pale and trembling just a little.

“And you said yes.” He can’t keep the wonder and anticipation out of his voice. Christmas with Blaine.

A tentative smile twitches at the corner of Blaine’s mouth, but his shoulders are still set tense, his body is still curved in protectively. “I said yes,” he says with a slight, self-conscious shrug. “I – I hope that’s ok. We haven’t really discussed…holidays.”

Kurt swallows against the sudden rush of awkwardness. He spent Thanksgiving alone in his little studio with a carton of take out and the Twilight Zone marathon on TV. It was one of their first and only communication mishaps, with Blaine assuming that Kurt had family plans. He didn’t.

Blaine spent it with his brother, who somehow just happened to be in town for the holiday. Cooper said he was there for ‘a business meeting, nothing big,’ but Blaine knew Cooper flew in just for him. He’s done the same thing everything Thanksgiving and Christmas since Blaine moved to New York. Blaine had called at the end of the night, when a traditional Thanksgiving meal would have been over, only to discover that there hadn’t been a meal at all, that Kurt hadn’t gone home for Thanksgiving, even if he wanted to. He didn’t have all the money in the world either.

“It’s more than ok,” Kurt breathes. His blood is singing through his veins just at the thought of it, at the thought of eggnog and a crackling fire and Christmas carols.

His dad has been yelling at him to bring Blaine over to the house for weeks, since Thanksgiving when Kurt called him and mentioned that he didn’t know what Blaine was doing for the holidays, that no, Blaine wasn’t with him then. Burt gives the invite as if he were just down the block and not a plane ticket away. Kurt’s been meaning to bring Christmas up to Blaine, to ask him, but he hasn’t found the right time or opportunity. Or maybe the courage.

Christmas is important to Kurt. For as long as he can remember, it’s been just the two of them – him and his dad. They have their traditions: the decorations for the tree; the cinnamon waffles for brunch; the stockings that Kurt made when he was ten and just really learning how to cut fabric and sew. Those things are sacred and precious to him, and for the longest time Kurt couldn’t imagine anyone else ever intruding upon them.

But now Kurt thinks about Blaine becoming a part of that, becoming a piece of their traditions, becoming a member of their family. There’s a tableau forming in his mind, of him and his father, and Blaine, and a Christmas tree aglow with twinkling lights while snow, soft and wonderful, falls outside.

Kurt smiles, and he feels safe and warm right down to his soul. He crosses the room and pulls Blaine into a hug, sliding his arms around those tense shoulders. He feels the relieved huff of Blaine’s breath against his neck as Blaine’s arms circle his waist, strong and sure.

“Of course it’s ok,” Kurt presses his nose to Blaine’s temple, inhales the sweet scent of his hair. “It’s more than ok.”

“Oh, good.” Blaine tightens his hold on Kurt. “It’s – it’s big, you know? It’s important.”

The first date, the key, meeting the parents – they’re all steps towards an eventuality. It doesn’t scare Kurt, but it takes his breath away.

“Is it, I mean, can you, er,” Kurt doesn’t know how to ask how Blaine can afford the airfare. Kurt’s dad is paying for his flight. It’s his Christmas gift, the same one he’s gotten the past four years, even though Kurt is beginning to have extra money for just these sorts of things. His job is tough and exhausting, but at least it pays well.

Kurt can feel Blaine’s smile against his neck. “Yeah, I can. It’s - my brother, he lets me use his frequent flyer miles. He has more than enough of them.” Kurt doesn’t need Blaine to say that his brother doesn’t “let” him so much as “forces” him. Kurt doesn’t think he’ll ever truly understand the complicated relationship between Blaine and his brother. He thinks he might have plenty of time to try figuring it out though.

“So you’re coming over for Christmas, meeting my dad.”

“I am.”

Kurt slides a hand up Blaine’s back and tangles his fingers in Blaine’s hair. He can feel the thump of Blaine’s heart – just a touch too fast – against his own chest. He’s ready for this.

I love you, he thinks, but doesn’t say.