Blaine stands off to the side, hidden in the shadows of an alcove that was once an old horse stall, and watches a solemn Kurt – himself alone in the far corner of the barn, dressed in a plain black tux, surrounded by the glow of hundreds of twinkling white Christmas lights. He crosses his arms stiffly across his chest as he eyes borrowed, rickety metal chairs fill with their friends and family. Kurt doesn't seem to notice Blaine staring from across the room. Blaine smiles in Kurt's direction, trying to catch his fiancé's eye, but Kurt's expression is empty, his jaw set, his eyes fixated on the people filling the seats. Blaine has never liked this blank expression on Kurt. It's the expression Kurt wears when he's just barely maintaining – a mask to hide the mixture of volatile emotions simmering beneath his skin.

Kurt isn't happy and Blaine knows it.

Blaine takes a breath, takes a chance, and crosses the room, keeping to the walls to avoid well-wishers coming up to congratulate him. He clears the distance without being noticed and walks up behind Kurt, his head bowed, hands folded in front of him.

He doesn't have the courage to wrap his arms around Kurt yet.

Blaine clears his throat and waits a moment for Kurt to turn around - to notice him and smile, to hug him and share in the excitement of this event - but Kurt stands still, staring off into the crowd.

“Your dad's here,” Blaine says, choosing this as his jumping point into a polite conversation.

“Yup,” Kurt answers, the word clipped - short and sharp.

“And Mr. Schue, too,” Blaine continues. “It looks like he and Ms. Pillsbury brought the baby.”

He pauses, hoping that Kurt will correct him, but he only makes an affirmative noise.

“A-ha.”

Blaine sighs.

“You're not happy, are you?” Blaine asks, pointing out the obvious.

“No,” Kurt says, shaking his head. “Honestly, I'm not.”

“Kurt…” Blaine starts, pleading with the back of his fiancé's head, but Kurt puts a hand up, stopping Blaine short from making another apology.

“If you say you're sorry one more time, Blaine, I swear I'm going to throw all your hair gel in the East River,” Kurt snaps, addressing Blaine but refusing to look at him.

Blaine bites his tongue. Sorry is all he really had to work with. He's not sure what else to say.

“Look,” Kurt says, tilting his head up to the ceiling, to gaze at the light above his head that washed away the dark, water damaged wood of the vaulted beams, “this isn't the wedding I dreamed about.”

“I know…”

“We aren't at the Central Park Boathouse where I had hoped we'd have our wedding,” Kurt says, resuming, heedless of Blaine's interruption. “We're not wearing the tuxes I have been designing since we first met at Dalton…”

“You designed wedding tuxes for us when we first met?” Blaine asks, cutting in with a small, hopeful smile on his face. Kurt turns swiftly on his heel, finally facing Blaine, not letting his heart be swayed by how meek and remorseful he looks.

“Shut up,” Kurt says sternly, blue-green eyes flashing a severe warning against any further interruptions.

“Shutting up,” Blaine answers, casting his eyes back to the dusty floor, looking appropriately apologetic but still with the tiniest ghost of a smile lingering on his lips.

Kurt sighs, looking over his fiancé, handsomely dressed in a matching plain black tux, hair only lightly gelled since he didn't happen to have any on him when the two of them eloped and then ended up here, in this run down barn, piggy backing off of Brittany and Santana's wedding (a generosity that Kurt would need to find a way to repay big time, and if Kurt hates anything, it's being in debt to Santana).

“But,” Kurt says, softening a little, “regardless of the fact that this isn't the picture perfect wedding of my dreams, it's going to be perfect…”

Blaine's eyes lift again, the white lights from above glittering in his hazel eyes, catching the flecks of cinnamon and gold that make his eyes glow.

“Really?' Blaine asks.

“Really,” Kurt says, smiling a twinge, and only because Blaine's growing smile is infectious. “Because my friends are here, and you're here…in the end, that's all I really need.”

“So, the wedding is going to be perfect because…”

“Because it's you and me,” Kurt says, taking Blaine's hand in his, the way they were meant to be, and pulling his fiancé into his arms, “the way I always hoped.”

“Does that mean you forgive me?” Blaine asks, playfully tugging on Kurt's hand.

“I forgive you,” Kurt says, rolling his eyes.

Blaine bites his lower lip, moving closer in Kurt's arms.

“Does that mean you'll give me one more kiss before we say I do?”

“Now you're pushing it,” Kurt says, but he's already slowly leaning in.

“I'll make this up to you,” Blaine promises in soft whispers that flutter against Kurt's lips.

“You bet your ass you will,” Kurt says, kissing his fiancé one last time before they officially become husbands.