Kurt loved Sundays. He wasn't sure if it was because it was about the only day he and Blaine had off together (because student loans definitely didn't pay themselves off, as much as he may wish) or because Sunday was officially a "No Rachel" day, as set forth by their "How to Happily Co-exist in New York" guidelines, (He loved the girl but he seriously could not handle her everyday, he's not sure how Quinn handles it.) but either way, Sundays were his favorite.

He loved waking up late, no alarm, no haste, just a sweet steadytransitionfrom unconsciousness to suddenly being aware. The sun streamed through the blinds strong and much too bright on his face.

Kurt turned from the edge of the too big bed and scooched closer to his boyfriend, snuggling close and burying his face into his neck.

A warm arm hugged him closer. "Mm, g'mornin'."

"Morning." Where Blaine's voice was always scratchy and just barely deeper when he first woke, Kurt's was higher and so much breathier than normal. He couldn't help smiling at the difference.

Blaine pulled him closer, his muttered words getting lost in Kurt's hair.

Kurt shifts, resting on his elbow to see over Blaine to the nightstand. "It's just past 10:30. Do you want some breakfast?"

When Blaine doesn't answer Kurt looks back down at him. Blaine is blinking slow and heavy up at him and Kurt isn't sure if he's trying to wake up or if the sun is just bothering him to much. He moves to get up, to pull the curtains closed and maybe to make them something to eat, when Blaine shakes his head and pulls him into a kiss, sweet and slow and much like the Sundays Kurt loves so much.

Kurt still isn't sure what makes them so special, how lazy and easy and wonderful they are, but he knows that Sundays are his favorite.

Because Sundays are, and always will be, theirs.