Kurt has the french doors wide open, letting light and morning sounds into their dining/family room. He is leaning against the door jamb, sipping strong coffee and watching his husband hide 224 Easter eggs in the backyard. They're both running on less than four hours of sleep, but Blaine is as bouncy as ever. The way he darts around, hiding eggs on low tree branches, under bushes and in thick patches of grass, he could be mistaken for the Easter Bunny himself.

"I can't believe we forgot to dye the eggs," Blaine says, just loud enough for Kurt to hear him, but not loud enough to wake their too-close neighbors on the other side of the garden wall.

He's been saying that for the past 24 hours, ever since he found the PAAS dye kits at the bottom of the bag of candy they bought to fill the kids' easter baskets. He'd said it when he came home from the grocery store, eggs in tow. He'd said it when he stared dumbstruck at the six pots of boiling water on their industrial grade stove. And he'd said it when they'd finally fallen into bed, fingers stained deep indigo, Easter grass green and orange-yellow.

He'd said it again about an hour ago after the alarm went off, reminding them that after all that, they still had to hide the eggs. He'd pushed Kurt's sleep shirt up and sighed, pressing his face into Kurt's flat belly. He'd nuzzled and nipped, and just before they gave themselves over to that familiar want, he groaned and said, "I can't believe we forgot to dye the goddamn eggs."

"Let it go, honey. Just keep at it. You know she'll be up any minute," Kurt says now, smiling fondly at this scruffy-faced, curly-headed, scowling man he's loved so long.

"You could help me," Blaine says, half irritated and half excited at the prospect of hiding Easter eggs with his husband.

"I will. I'm thinking."

"About what?"

"Where to hide her Easter basket this year," Kurt replies.

It's only the third year they've gone to any trouble to celebrate Easter with Annabelle; they didn't bother with it when she was a toddler and content to suck on her fingers and rip pages out of books. This year, they decided to go all out and host an Easter Egg Hunt in their backyard for Annabelle and a bunch of her friends from kindergarten, as well as their friends' kids, and a few neighbor kids. All told, they have 17 kids, plus parents and nannies (ugh), and the occasional publicist (double ugh).

Their publicist was almost uninvited when she begged them to let her pitch the the party to O Magazine or Real Simple. "Marta, no. It's a private party for Annabelle and our friends. No coverage," Blaine had said before she could finish her spiel. "Besides, Cora will be here with her kids, and William with his kids. They don't want to have to hire hair and makeup just to hang with us on a Sunday afternoon. No press."

Kurt understands her motivation. She's intent on Blaine riding the wave of his recent Oscar win, and it's her job to keep the buzz alive. Sometimes Blaine's obvious disdain for the press makes her job difficult -- but this rejection is more about his desire for some semblance of normalcy in their far-from-normal lives.

"The bathtub?" Blaine asks, breaking into Kurt's thoughts.

"Hmm? Oh. Yes, that's good. I'll just go hide it and then come and help you," Kurt says, pushing off the door jamb with his hip.

He walks softly down the hallway, stopping to check that Annabelle is still asleep. She has the duvet on the floor, and one arm dangling almost to the floor, so Kurt knows she'll be up within the hour. He fights the urge to cover her back up again and tiptoes toward their walk-in closet, where he's hidden her Easter basket behind the hamper. It's handmade, made from woven pink and yellow fabric, and Kurt smiles when he remembers picking it out for her when she was barely six months old.

After he hides the Easter basket in the guest bathroom, Kurt takes two more gulps of coffee and then steps barefoot onto the grass. Blaine is placing eggs in flower pots, humming something that sounds a little like "You're My Best Friend" by Queen. Kurt reaches into the bucket, takes out a few eggs and looks for hiding places Blaine might have missed. He notices he has one of Annabelle's eggs, dyed purple with the misspelled word, "Dady" in wax crayon. He walks it over to Blaine, holds it out for him in the palm of his hand. Blaine looks at the egg, then up at Kurt; finally, a smile. He slips the egg in the pocket of his pajama pants.

Kurt laughs and says, "You can't keep that forever, Blaine. It's a real egg." He kisses Kurt in response, a quick peck on the mouth.

Kurt grabs a few more eggs and works alongside Blaine, who is singing in between hums now, the California sun waking up his brain. "Ooh, you make me live," Blaine sings quietly. "Whatever this world can give to me, it's you, you're all I see."

Kurt places a few eggs high up in the trees (he'll let Annabelle hunt on his shoulders), and sings along. "I've been with you such a long time... I really love you, oh, you're my best friend."

***

Cora Bentley, Blaine's co-star in the little indie film that could, wins the bet by playing The Price is Right lowballing trick, going for "one second." Maggie, Kurt and Blaine's long suffering assistant, clocks the hunt at 3:56, and since no one else bet under five minutes, Cora wins.

"I can't believe they picked up more than 200 eggs in under five minutes," Maggie says.

"They're speedy little monsters," Cora says, pinning the egg-shaped "Winner" badge to her blouse. "Except when they have to pick up after themselves, or catch the bus, or take a bath, or..."

Blaine laughs and bumps her with his shoulder to get her to shut up. Kurt loves Cora, but she's really Blaine's girl. They had bonded over their kids on set -- his one, her three, all under the age of six -- and remained friends long after because of their kids. And their husbands. They were both successful actors married to successful actors, which meant they had a lot to talk about.

"I'm going to go get Anna and set up for the craft thing," Blaine says, kissing first Kurt, and then Cora, on the cheek. They both watch as her boys tear into their Easter baskets, smaller versions of Annabelle's that they assembled as party favors.

"I think Miles just inhaled a Peep," Kurt says.

"Yeah, well, he's still stuffing more into his mouth, so I think he's fine," Cora replies with the nonchalance of a mother of three. Lou, her People's-Sexiest-Man-Alive-two-years-running husband whacks Miles on the back and takes the Peeps away from him. "I'm telling you now, Kurt Hummel, if you have more sweets for them after this, I am kidnapping Maggie to put them to bed. There isn't enough Valium on the planet to get me through three greedy monsters hyped up on your overindulgent, drugstore candy."

"First they're speedy monsters, now they're greedy monsters," Kurt says, wrapping his arm around her waist. "Are you sleep deprived?"

"Is the sky the color of smog?"

"You need a drink. Let's make vodka tonics and sit under the willow tree," Kurt says. He's happy to have her to himself for a little while; she knows them both so well, there's no pretense. And after last night's egg-dying extravaganza, he needs easy friendship. And vodka.

"Done and done." Cora follows Kurt into their spacious, newly remodeled kitchen, and then back out again all the way to the willow. They sit in the grass, back up against the tree, and toast to little girls and boys with big New York dreams who end up living in California instead.

They watch Blaine and Maggie try to corral 17 children into glitter painting miniature clay flower pots, laughing in between sips. He loves this moment: the backyard, the noise, their friends, his man. It's not how he imagined his life when they tucked away lists and Manhattan apartment listings into their archival "wish box," making room on Blaine's bed to make out before a double with Rachel and Finn. Still, they had had New York, and New York had given them this, a place in the sun, work; their careers and their marriage already the stuff of legends.

"Did you hear back about the pilot?" Kurt asks Cora, and they spend the next half hour talking shop, and summer vacation plans, and Blaine's birthday, during which time several other guests join them under the tree to watch their own children gorge on candy and smear paint on each other. Kurt wonders if the kids will make it to lunch before melting down completely.

"Thank you for keeping the party simple," Cora says. "I'm so sick of the goddamn jumpy tents and farm animals. The last kids party I went to, they had a life-size doll house, complete with actors in costume, little individual birthday cakes for every child, and the party favor was a three-day pass to Disney. Barf."

"I may be fabulous, but I'm still from Ohio. I just can't go there. Annabelle leads a privileged life as it is. And I really don't care what you people think about me, anyway," Kurt teases.

When a gaggle of boys start pummeling each other over a chocolate bunny, everyone under the tree starts to get up, but stops when they see Blaine intervene. He has them separated and listening attentively in no time. He's whispering something to them, crouched down on one knee, and they're smiling.

One of Annabelle's classmate's parents, the one with the red reading glasses and smart shoes, taps Kurt on the knee and says, "That bit about you two being together since you were kids. Is that truth or backstory?"

Kurt smiles at his husband, now holding Annabelle's hand as they direct all of the children to sit in a circle on the ground. "Truth. I was 16 when we met. 'He's all I need to get by,' as the song says."

"I met Lou at the library," Cora says, her eyes seeking him out in the crowd. "No really. I sat down at his table to study, and it took me an hour to realize he was the most gorgeous man I've ever seen."

"Why an hour?" Kurt asks.

"He was surrounded by books about coal mining, up to his eyebrows," she replies. Kurt and a few others giggle, remembering Lou's role as a reluctant miner in Canary Wars. "I couldn't see his face."

"My lovely daughter has agreed to sing a song with me," Blaine says, loud enough for all of the guests to hear. "We've only practiced the song 24 times, so be gentle."

Blaine and Annabelle start in on "You Belong to Me," with Lou backing them up on the ukelele. Like Blaine, he is all smiles and charisma, strumming along like he was born to do it. The entire party is instantly charmed, settling into the smooth, lazy notes, giant smiles on their faces. For people who spend their lives making movies, fully aware of the wizard behind the curtain, they all seem perfectly mesmerized by the magic of the day. When they sing, "Although (although) we're apart, you're part of my heart, and tonight you belong to me," Kurt's heart fills, literally fills up with sweet, sweet love at the sight of them.

They are perfectly in sync, throwing in a few little moves Kurt recognizes from his "Let it Snow" duet with Blaine, senior year. He's not sure this song is entirely appropriate, but he's used to that from Blaine, and no one seems to mind.

Cora nudges him with her knee. "Look at our husbands," she says. "Dorks."

"So much," he agrees, waving to Annabelle who is beaming with pride.

Blaine looks at Kurt and winks when he sings the last line: "But tonight, you belong to me, just to little old me." Kurt raises one eyebrow and then leans into Cora and says, "We're so damn lucky to be married to those dorks."