Kurt woke in the morning to the shrill sound of his cell phone. Blindly, still half-asleep, he reached out for it. It was only when he knocked over a lamp instead of reaching his bedside table that he realized he wasn’t at home, and the events of the last few days flooded back to him.

“Blaine!” he hissed, still half-asleep and fumbling. “Blaine, my phone! Where is it!” There was a murmur from the lump of covers beside him, but otherwise Blaine stayed asleep. Kurt cursed and attempted to get untangled from the bedsheets. He only succeeded in nearly rolling off the bed. “Blaine!”

“Your manpurse,” Blaine muttered, voice heavy with sleep.

Kurt blinked, trying to see in the darkness of the room. “Where--”

“The chair,” Blaine murmured.

Kurt grinned with triumph when he caught sight of it and lunged, falling off the bed in the process. He wrestled with his bag for a moment before he managed to get his phone out, hurriedly answering.

“Hello?” he asked, trying to whisper. Blaine was still trying to sleep, after all.

“Kurt!”

“Rachel?” Kurt asked, blinking blearily. “Rachel, what is it?”

“Kurt I don’t think I can do Rolling Stone. I know it will widen my already huge fan base, but it’s so degrading and have you seen what they do to the women they put on the cover? I will not parade my goods around like a prostitute, Kurt!”

Kurt sighed heavily. “Rachel, sweetheart, I’ll make sure that they don’t do anything like that with you--”

“Kurt!” Blaine hissed, sitting up. Kurt was momentarily distracted by how good Blaine looked rumpled by sleep. “Can you take that outside?”

“Sorry,” Kurt whispered. He grabbed a robe from the door and hurried outside. The hallway was quiet - he guessed everyone else was asleep. 

“Kurt, it’s just not worth the loss of pride I’ll experience--”

“Arf?”

“Oh my God!” Kurt half-screamed, jumping in the air. The tiny yellow dog in front of him tilted its head and barked again, more loudly. 

“Kurt?! What is it, are you getting murdered?! Oh no! I’ll call the police for you, tell me where you are--”

“Rachel!” Kurt said, finally able to calm his rapidly beating heart. “No, it’s fine, I was just startled by a dog.”

“Oh, good. I would hate for you to get murdered, Kurt, you’re the only one who can make me more famous than I already am.”

Kurt rolled his eyes, smiling a little. In Rachel-speak, that was quite the compliment. He looked down at the yellow dog, taking in the poof of its fur and its overlarge feet. A puppy then, if Kurt knew anything about dogs (which, honestly, he didn’t). Kurt hadn’t seen him yesterday, but maybe the Andersons had kept him out of the way because of the party . . . .

Kurt knelt down and held out a hand. The puppy sniffed at it curiously then licked the tip, tail wagging.

“Kurt, are you still there?”

“Yes, Rachel, I’m here,” Kurt stood back up. The puppy yipped at him, pawing at Kurt’s legs. “I understand that you’re reluctant to do Rolling Stone, but I promise it will do nothing but help you. Don’t you trust me?”

There was silence at the other line. Finally, Rachel sighed. “Alright,” she said. “We’ll do it. But I swear, Kurt, if they flash one skimpy outfit at me, I’ll leave and I won’t look back.”

Kurt smiled and made a mental note to talk to Rolling Stone to make sure the photoshoot was as tasteful as possible. 

“Understood,” he said. The puppy’s barks were getting louder. Kurt winced, looking up and wondering if anyone in the house was awake yet. “Rachel, I’ve got to let you go. We’ll talk soon, alright?”

“Kurt--”

“Goodbye.” He hung up and sighed, slipping his phone into one of the pockets on the robe. He looked down at the puppy who, at the very least, had stopped barking. “What am I going to do with you, hm?”

There was a laugh from behind him. Kurt turned to see Blaine standing down the hall, hair sleep-mussed and eyes bleary. Kurt very purposely avoided looking at Blaine’s bare chest. 

“His name’s Pavarotti,” Blaine said, coming closer. “We used to have another dog, but he died a year ago, so my mom got this little guy.” Blaine ducked down and scooped Pavarotti up, bopping him on the nose. “I’ve seen him in pictures.”

“Dog person?” Kurt asked wryly, watching as Blaine scratched Pavarotti behind the ears. Blaine grinned at him.

“Yeah. Let me guess - cat person?”

“They don’t shed as much,” Kurt said, rolling his eyes. “Or have as many accidents on expensive suits.”

Blaine laughed. “Guess that means a puppy is out the question for our new home, honey?”

Kurt tensed, but forced a smile onto his face. “Over my dead body, sweetheart.” He tugged his robe more closely around his body. “I don’t suppose you could show me where to get coffee in this house, hm?”

Still carrying Pavarotti, Blaine led him down a maze of hallways until they ended up in a very familiar kitchen. Kurt waited for Blaine to start getting the coffee ready, but he just kept cuddling with Pavarotti. Kurt rolled his eyes and stalked off to the cupboards, searching them until he managed to find the Anderson’s surprisingly large stash of coffee. The coffee maker was another surprise - not horribly fancy, but definitely an upgrade from the average. Being rich had its perks, Kurt supposed.

When he was finished with the coffee, he turned to see Blaine slumped at the kitchen table, Pavarotti sitting by his head.

“Pavarotti!” Kurt snapped. Pavarotti jumped, whirling around furiously, only to trip over his too-big paws and fall. Kurt tsked and moved over to the table, gingerly picking him up around the belly to set him on the ground. “You do not sit on the table.”

“See?” Blaine asked, voice muffled from where his face was pressed into his arm. “You’d be a great dog owner.”

“Blaine?” Alice came around the corner, dressed in a robe. “Oh! You two are up early . . . .”

“I had a call to take from work,” Kurt said, going back to the coffee. 

“And I didn’t want my sweetie pie to be lonely,” Blaine mumbled into his arm. Kurt rolled his eyes.

“No, no, I’m glad you’re up already!” Alice said, taking a seat next to Blaine. “Gammy and I were just about to wake you with some breakfast in bed before we headed off to town.”

Blaine glanced over at Kurt, his face full of a silent I told you so. “That would’ve been lovely,” Kurt choked out. Alice beamed at him. 

“So we’ll leave in, say, twenty minutes or so?” she asked. “I made the appointment for ten, so we have plenty of time.”

“That sounds fine,” Kurt assured her, though he was already mentally planning on to downsize his moisturizing regime into twenty minutes instead of the usual forty.

Blaine’s look said he knew exactly what Kurt was thinking. “How about we make it forty instead,” Blaine said, winking at Kurt. Kurt found that a little disconcerting.

-

“Did I have any childhood pets?” Blaine asked, staring at Kurt expectantly over the book. Kurt rubbed moisturizer into his cheeks, considering the question.

“You had that dog,” he said. “The one before Pavarotti.”

“Lucretia,” Blaine said. At Kurt’s look, he added, “She was a girl!”

“Lucretia,” Kurt said, testing out the name. “Any other pets I should know about?”

“One very unfortunate goldfish,” Blaine said. “He died after about a day, so I don’t think he’s that important.”

“What was his name?” Kurt asked, mouth twitching a little.

Blaine paused, then said, all dignity, “Flounder.” Kurt laughed before he could stop himself. “It’s a very respectable name for a fish!”

“I’m sure,” Kurt assured him, still smiling. “Come on, another question.”

Blaine glanced down at the book. “How many relationships have I had?”

Kurt frowned. “None?” he asked. “At least, not while working for me.”

“Never had the time,” Blaine agreed. “I’ve just had one, actually. We met here.”

Kurt paused, tense for reasons he couldn’t quite name. “Oh?” he asked. “What was his name?”

“Sebastian,” Blaine said, smiling softly. Kurt scowled. “We were together for a year.”

“Oh?” Kurt asked, attempting nonchalance. “Why break up after all that time?”

Blaine tensed suddenly. “I left for New York,” he said quietly. “I didn’t think I could handle long distance, so Seb and I broke it off.”

“I . . . see,” Kurt said, tense with the realization that Blaine and Sebastian hadn’t had a falling out - they’d broken up because of the distance, not because of lack of feelings. “Does Sebastian still live around here?”

“What?” Blaine asked, distracted. “Oh, yeah. His dad’s the town lawyer, pretty much. They’re the second richest family here.”

“How wonderful for Sebastian,” Kurt said, more spitefully than he’d originally planned. Blaine’s eyebrow rose.

“Kurt, are you--”

“Blaine!” Alice called from downstairs. “Kurt! Are you two ready?!”

“Coming!” Blaine said, standing and holding a hand out to Kurt. “Ready for this?” he asked, tension dropping off of him as if it had never existed.

Kurt took it in his own. “As I’ll ever be.”

-

Alice, Kurt soon discovered, was a fashion monster.

Kurt liked fashion. He always had, though it was funner now that he was able to spend money on clothes without much worry. He could spend hours in shops, picking out outfits. But Alice’s intense focus and drive made his love for fashion look like mild indifference. 

Sitka only really had one boutique, owned by Tina, the Anderson family’s tailor. She was younger than Kurt had expected, and dressed extravagantly herself. Even though she was nothing like Mercedes, who was bossy and loud and motherly, Kurt quite liked her - he found they shared a similar sense of dry humor. 

However, as much as he liked Tina, he found that combining her with Alice made for a deadly duo of fashion demons. 

He and Blaine had been split up and sent off to separate rooms to put together their suits - “For tradition!” Alice had exclaimed brightly. Tina had, apparently, finished with Blaine a half-hour ago. Kurt envied him.

“I think pale blue for the tie, don’t you?” Alice asked, examining Kurt critically.

“Blue would help bring out his eyes,” Tina agreed. “Or maybe some sort of grey-blue. You really do have extraordinary eyes,” she told Kurt brightly. Before he could thank her, she turned back to Alice. “Do you think a bowtie?”

“Blaine’s doing one already,” Alice said. “Would it be too much to have both the grooms in bowties?”

Tina laughed. “I think it would work,” she said. “Maybe we could even theme it, if we decided to do gray for Kurt. Make gray silver instead, give Blaine a nice gold one . . . .”

Alice hummed. “Maybe,” she said reluctantly. “Kurt, honey, did you want a white or black suit?”

Kurt jumped. “White?” he asked.

“You would look lovely in white,” Tina assured him. 

Kurt considered it. “As long as it’s not too tacky,” he said, imagining the white suits he’d seen at his high school Prom with a shiver of disgust.

“You’ll be the height of elegance,” Tina said, grinning. “A white suit, a very light silver bowtie . . . maybe a grey or silver vest underneath too, hm? We’ll see. Alright, let’s put it together and see what we’ve got, shall we?”

Kurt resigned himself to yet another hour of being poked and prodded.

-

He was finally released an hour and a half later, with a stern order to go and have some fun with Blaine before heading home to prepare for Gammy’s party. Gammy and Alice, it seemed, still had party plans to make and had decided to stay in town for a bit longer. 

Kurt wandered over to Sitka’s only bar, where he’d been told Blaine had gone. The parking lot was mostly empty, odd for a Saturday afternoon, but Kurt figured most people just walked to it, since Sitka was so small. Hesitantly, he made his way inside.

Kurt didn’t like most bars - too noisy. But this one was quiet enough, even if the smell of smoke and alcohol still hung in the air. It was fuller than he’d anticipated, almost every table occupied. There was some kind of game playing on the TVs in the corners. 

Kurt frowned, scanning crowd for Blaine. He had to look over it twice before he spotted Blaine’s gel-shell of hair (he made a mental note to instruct Blaine to leave off the gel after they got married - Kurt couldn’t be seen with someone who treated his hair so abhorrently). Kurt immediately started towards him, only to pause when he saw that Blaine was talking with someone - a very tall, good-looking someone. 

Kurt started forward again, fixed on the stranger, who had the kind of elegant good looks Kurt associated with models or movie stars. By the time he reached them, they were both laughing at some joke. Blaine’s back was turned to him, but when Kurt cleared his throat, he turned on his heel as if he’d just heard a gunshot. Kurt resisted the urge to smirk - he had Blaine well-trained.

“Blaine,” he said quietly, coming up to his side and meeting the stranger’s eyes. “Who’s this?”

“Um,” Blaine said, eyes wide and anxious. “Kurt, this is Sebastian. Sebastian, this is my . . . fiance, Kurt Hummel.”

“Fiance, huh?” Sebastian asked, voice low and silky. He held out a hand. “You don’t look like someone my Blaine would go for.”

Kurt very politely ignored Sebastian’s hand. Instead he took Blaine’s elbow, tucking it into his. “I guess I’m just lucky,” he said, an edge to his voice.

Sebastian’s eyebrows rose and his hand dropped back to his side. “Really, Blaine, he’s pretty out there,” he said to Blaine, though his eyes stayed fixed on Kurt. “I didn’t think you went for someone with such a gay face, Blaine.”

Kurt could see the challenge there. “This is your ex, sweetheart?” he asked, before Blaine could say anything. “You didn’t mention how much he looked like a meerkat.” Kurt smiled, all teeth. “Or the horse teeth.”

Sebastian’s eyebrow rose further.

“Um,” Blaine said, eyes huge. “I think we’d better go now. Sebastian, it was, uh, nice to see you. Come on, Kurt.”

Kurt glared at Sebastian, but allowed Blaine to tug him out of the bar. Once outside, Blaine rounded on him, eyes blazing.

“What the hell was that?”

Kurt blinked, taken aback. “He was an asshole,” he snapped. “I’m sorry, did you expect me to roll over and take it?”

Blaine waved his hands. “Well, no, but--”

“But what, Blaine?” Kurt asked, voice lowering dangerously. “Couldn’t stand to see me take a go at your ex-beau?”

Blaine growled. “Kurt, Sebastian is my friend,” he said. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t insult my friends!”

“Maybe I won’t when your friends don’t sit there and say I’m too flamboyant for you!” Kurt protested.

Blaine paused. His anger dropped away a little. “He wasn’t saying that,” he muttered.

Kurt rolled his eyes. “Yes, he was,” he said, still sharp. “You think I don’t know? Out there is the code people use when they’re talking about flamboyant gay men.” Kurt’s chin tilted upwards. “Trust me, I’ve heard it used on me before.”

Blaine sighed heavily. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Sebastian’s a little . . . .”

“Out there?” Kurt suggested, snide. Blaine snorted a laugh.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “He’s a bit of an asshole. Kind of like you.”

Kurt glared at him. “I am nothing like that Craigslist-surfing lowlife,” he spat. 

A pause. “Craigslist-surfing?” Blaine asked, nonplussed.

“You can smell it on him,” Kurt assured him. Blaine laughed again and Kurt found himself relaxing. 

“No more getting into cat fights with my friends,” Blaine told him. “Sebastian’s going to be at our ceremony, you know.”

Kurt made a face. “Does he have to be?”

“My mom will probably invite him, even if I don’t,” Blaine said, shrugging. “He was a part of our family for a while.”

Kurt’s stomach tightened. “Of course,” he murmured. “Your mom and Gammy are staying here for a while to finish things up for the party. They said we should head back without them.”

Blaine blinked. “Ah, of course,” he said. “Shall we go then?”

“Yes,” Kurt said, following Blaine as they left the parking lot, trying to ignore the sinking sensation in his chest.