Starbucks is no Lima Bean, Kurt is loath to admit, but he hasn't quite found the right kitschy New York coffee shop that's within walking distance to NYADA and the apartment he's sharing with Rachel, Finn and Blaine. He keeps intending to explore on the weekends but Blaine always seems to have different plans.

They're seated at a table now; Kurt's sipping a skinny mocha latte and staring in abject horror at the calorie-laden iced concoction topped with a mound of whipped cream and drizzled with chocolate sauce monstrosity his boyfriend has ordered.

"You're going to be a diabetic by the time you're 30, Blaine Anderson." The words leave his lips before he can stop them, and his eyes widen in surprise.

Blaine stops slurping on his drink (thank whatever deity's listening, Kurt can't help but think) and gives Kurt that (sometimes) endearing look of complete and total obliviousness that tells Kurt his boyfriend doesn't have a clue what he's talking about. "I am not."

There's just a teeny hint of defensiveness in Blaine's tone, and Kurt reaches out to pat Blaine's hand, which is resting palm downward on the table between them. "Oh, honey. It's okay. You like sweets, and that's great...in moderation."

Blaine scoffs, a tiny affronted noise escaping his lips, and he frowns, his brow furrowing. "I am the king of moderation, Kurt Hummel."

Kurt arches his eyebrow, his head tilting ever so slightly into that infamous expression Blaine (and everyone else, really) has dubbed the 'bitch, please" look. "The last five times we've come in here, you've gotten the sweetest, most fattening drink you could possibly order -- and doubled the whipped cream."

Blaine's expression is shifting now, the corners of his mouth downturning, and Kurt realizes too late that his boyfriend is pouting. Oh god, those hazel-green eyes, how are they capable of looking so wounded? Kurt stammers out a quick apology, his fingers curling around Blaine's hand and squeezing.

"I'm just concerned about your health, Blaine," he says in a soft, shy voice. "I intend to have you in my life for a very, very long time."

Blaine perks up at that, his eyes seeming to glitter as a smile spreads across his face. "Really?"

Kurt can't help but roll his eyes and chuckle. "Yes, Blaine. As if your gum wrapper ring doesn't have a place of honor on my nightstand."

Just like that, Blaine's grin widens and he turns his hand over so their palms are pressed together. His fingers curl around Kurt's hand, which is lifted up off the table; Kurt's heart flutters as Blaine's lips brush against his knuckles, and he's sure that he has a dopey grin on his face but he can't be bothered to care.

"I love you, Kurt Hummel-Anderson," Blaine breathes against Kurt's skin, and god, does Kurt love the sound of that hyphened name.

"I love you too, Blaine Anderson-Hummel." He feels just as breathless as the first time they exchanged I love yous in a coffee shop, and his chest feels overstuffed, his heart thu-thumping a steady resonance of love. He hopes he never stops feeling that way.