“How about this one?” Blaine asks, pulling their SUV to the curb. Before it even stops rolling, his husband and daughter have their palms and noses pressed to the windows, ooh’ing and aah’ing at the exquisitely decorated house across the street.

“Oh … my … gosh!” Tracy gasps, tugging on her father’s collar to make sure that he’s looking out the window at the three-floor house lit from foundation to roof with strings and strings of multi-color twinkle lights; the front yard festooned with animatronic elves rushing in circular frenzy, balancing stacks of half-wrapped presents in their mitten-clad hands; wire-frame reindeer poised as if leaping into flight; penguins ice skating; pandas in Santa hats throwing snowballs at one another; and Tracy’s absolute favorite – candy cane lights. “Not because they do anything,” she explained at the beginning of the night, “but because they just look so delicious!”

“Ooo, ooo, ooo! Papa! Daddy! This one! This one’s my favorite!” she declares, bouncing in the back seat with hot cocoa fueled excitement.

“You’ve said that about the last seven houses!” Kurt chuckles.

“Well, that’s because they’re all my favorite!”

Tracy struggles between words to hide a yawn, knowing what it’ll mean if her dads see. But Kurt does see, and he taps Blaine on the shoulder in wordless remark.

“Okay Tracy, warrior princess,” Blaine says, “just a few more houses, then we’re gonna pack it in.”

“No!” Tracy whines, another yawn escaping her lips. “There’s a whole bunch more we haven’t seen yet!”

“We can see them tomorrow night, love,” Kurt says. “It’s after midnight.”

“But … but I’m not sleepy,” Tracy insists, looping her arms around the neck of her Cozy Cow pillow pet and squeezing it tight.

“Sure you’re not.” Blaine grins at Tracy through the rear view mirror. The little girl, partially lost behind the bulky body of her stuffed cow, fights with all her might to keep one eye open, cocking an eyebrow high in the hopes that it will raise her eyelid with it. Blaine turns down the next street, creeping behind other cars prowling the neighborhood looking at the elaborately decorated houses. The houses get larger and brighter as they approach the end of the cul de sac, each owner trying to outdo their neighbor by covering every inch of their property until there isn’t a speck of empty space left. One homeowner even has their walkway and driveway filled with the largest collection of Santas Kurt has ever seen.

He wonders how they leave their house.

“Wow,” Kurt says in lieu of his exhausted daughter. “That’s just … amazing.”

“Yeah,” Blaine agrees. “But you know which one I like the best?”

“Which one?” Kurt shifts in his seat to face him. His husband has been remarkably stoic for the majority of the drive, not betraying a preference for one house over another, so Kurt can’t begin to guess.

“Why don’t I show you?”

“O-kay, Mr. Mysterious,” Kurt teases, curling up in his seat beneath the blanket of Blaine’s cashmere coat. Blaine turns up the heater. He drives slowly, following the line of cars around. Before they make it out of the gated community, both Tracy and Kurt fall asleep, snoring softly. Kurt had started dreaming of last Christmas, when his father and Carole came to visit, bringing with them the loudest, most obnoxious present Tracy got that year, when a hand on his knee shakes him awake.

“We’re here,” Blaine whispers.

Kurt sits up, his body heavy with sleep and the heat in the vehicle, his eyes sticky as he blinks them open. He pulls himself awake as quickly as he can, curious to see which of the twenty-two houses they saw on that night’s tour was his husband’s favorite. But when he sees the house they’ve pulled up to, Kurt’s brow wrinkles.

“Blaine” - Kurt eyes his husband suspiciously - “that’s our house.”

“A-ha,” Blaine agrees, a smug-ish grin on his lips, his eyes glued to their quaint abode – a rather humble house considering Blaine and Kurt’s combined fiscal worth. But they had decided when they got married, knowing for certain that they’d want a child someday, to buy the nicest house in the safest, non-gated suburban neighborhood they could find, and live as close to normal lives as they could.

“But” – Kurt looks from his husband’s glimmering eyes to their home – “we haven’t even decorated yet.”

“I know.” Blaine shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. This is the one I like the best.”

“You know, I’ve seen pictures of you celebrating Christmas as a kid,” Kurt says. “Your parents went all out - lights on everything, garland on the walls, poinsettias, tinsel. You even had, what was it, three Christmas trees?”

“Yeah, and it was fun,” Blaine admits. “Even though my dad traveled a lot and Cooper was … well, Cooper, I had a pretty great childhood. I wish my father could have been a little more accepting, but …” Kurt’s hand on Blaine’s shoulder brings wistful hazel eyes back from the past, gazing into Kurt’s sympathetic face. “I wouldn’t trade it for anything. I swear. Still, this is better. It doesn’t need to be lit to the rooftops, or have a dozen Christmas trees in it. I’ll always love our house best. And do you want to know why?”

“Why?”

Blaine smiles at his husband. “Because it has you in it. And Tracy.”

Kurt watches his husband’s expression change, becoming more sentimental than he’s seen from Blaine in a while. Kurt loves these quiet moments when it’s just the two of them, and his husband has an opportunity to be vulnerable in a way that’s difficult with a four-year-old around.

“You know” - Kurt leans to his left to get closer to his husband - “sometimes you can be a big, corny dork.”

“Yeah, well” - Blaine grabs Kurt’s arm and pulls him in for a kiss - “I’m your big corny dork.”