“Hello, honey! I’m ho-me,” Blaine sings, depositing his cloth shopping bag on the kitchen table and taking off his jacket.

“In here,” Kurt calls, sounding noticeably more melancholy than he was before Blaine left.  

Blaine pulls open the privacy curtain and finds Kurt where he left him - on their bed. But now he’s wearing his day clothes instead of his pajamas. He’s lying on his stomach, arms dangling over the edge, fiddling with his phone. Blaine climbs on the bed beside him and gives him a kiss on the cheek, which Kurt glumly returns, and Blaine frowns at Kurt’s shift in attitude. When Blaine left to go to the market, Kurt was in excellent spirits, singing Bruno Mars as he made his way to the bathroom to brush his teeth. But now he seems so sullen.

Blaine glances at Kurt’s phone and wonders if it has something to do with what Kurt’s reading. Blaine can’t tell what it is from this angle, but he wouldn’t be surprised. Every time Blaine’s logged on to his Twitter or Facebook account in the last three months, all he’s seen is post after post about a beloved celebrity dying, or another heinous addition to their current PEOTUS’s administration. It’s enough to make Blaine eschew mainstream news and get his current events from Variety. He doesn’t know what’s going to happen once that despicable man gets sworn into office, but the evidence they’ve seen so far suggests nothing good. It makes him very protective of the ring on his left ring finger. He feels helpless even thinking about it.

The best he can do now is to try and keep things upbeat for Kurt until they know for sure.

“Why so down?” he asks, resting his head on Kurt’s shoulder.  

“This year sucks.”

“I don’t disagree, but in its defense, it’s only been this year for about twelve hours.”

“I know,” Kurt grumps, dropping his chin to the comforter and deflating into the mattress, “but what have I accomplished in those twelve hours?”

“Well, it’s Sunday, so that means you’ve washed your face, made yourself breakfast, done some yoga, and have probably caught up on most of the shows you’ve DVR’d since October.”

“That’s what I mean! What contribution have I made to the betterment of society? I’ve done nothing that I put on my resolutions list! In fact, I’m already breaking resolutions!”

“Like what?”

“Well, I’m obviously predictable. That was number eighteen – be less predictable.”

“Don’t you think you’re being a little hard on yourself? The year is still young. Barely out of its infancy.”

“But we’ve seen into its future, Blaine. With everything bad carrying over from last year, we already know this year is going to be rough. The least I could have done was hit the ground running.”

Blaine sighs sympathetically. If he had known that a few short hours would result in an existential crisis, he would never have gone out for kiwis. “Can I see what’s on your list?”

Kurt side-eyes Blaine, contemplating. He worked really hard on his list. It’s not exactly what one would call personal, even though a few items on it might be considered ridiculous. But Blaine is his husband. He’s seen him at his best and at his worst. Just two days ago, Blaine watched Kurt laugh so hard that pesto shot out his nose, and yet, two hours later, they had sex.

They have no secrets.

“Please,” Blaine mouths, making that adorable pleading face with those puppy dog eyes that Kurt is sure could end world wars.

He hopes so. They might need Blaine to do just that in a few months.

“Alright. But don’t judge me.” Kurt hands over his phone. He doesn’t watch Blaine scroll through it, staring at his hands instead just in case Blaine starts making faces from judging him silently.

Blaine nods at the first handful of entries. “I see you wrote hydrate more. That’s a good one. Sing more. I can always stand hearing more of your gorgeous voice. Exercise more?” Blaine chuckles. “I don’t see how. You have an exercise bike under your ass more than you have me. I’m beginning to get jealous.”

“I figured I could rollerblade to school instead of taking the subway. And we can totally fool around more,” Kurt adds in a mumble. “You know, because that’s exercise, too.”

“Awww! How cute! Pet more kittens. I totally support that. Plan more surprises? Interesting. Like what?”

“I can’t tell you,” Kurt grumbles, turning over onto his back, “or it won’t be a surprise.”

“Faust?” Blaine’s brow crinkles. “What does that mean? Read Faust? Watch the movie Faust? Listen to the Faust Symphony?”

“I haven’t decided yet. I wanted to add something that sounded vaguely academic. That’s the first thing that came to mind.”

Blaine eyes widen as he scrolls past a laundry list of civically minded resolutions – donate to the ACLU, donate to Planned Parenthood, donate to The Trevor Project, donate to the Born This Way Foundation – the sheer number of them making Blaine’s heart skip beats in his chest. He scrolls and scrolls, but they go on and on. Blaine and Kurt had watched the votes get counted on Election Day. And they both held each other and cried quietly when Trump won. In the days following, they signed petitions and held out hope that the Electoral College would do the right thing and vote against him. But they didn’t. After everything seemed final, conversation about it died, and Blaine had assumed that they were both mourning silently, waiting to see what would happen, how bad bad would get.

Somehow, Blaine missed something.

Beyond all of those, Blaine catches one item in particular that seeds a sly grin on his face. “Hmm, okay. This one’s my favorite by far.”

“Which one?”

“More neck kisses and relaxed thoughts?” Blaine sets the phone aside, and crawls carefully over Kurt’s body. “I think we should get that one started right now … you know, to help with your efforts.”

“I was wondering how long it would take you to get to that one,” Kurt says, wrapping his arms around his husband, his hands settling on Blaine’s back above the swell of his hips in that spot so perfect it seems made just for Kurt to rest his palms there.

“Too long. I think you should have put that one in the top five,” Blaine says, kissing around the curves of Kurt’s mouth.

“Since it’s the easiest to accomplish?”

“Nu-uh. Since it’s one of the most important.”

“More important than defeating Trump, becoming leader of the free world, and spreading world peace in the most fabulous way possible?”

Blaine quirks a brow. “Which one was that?”

“Number 63.”

Blaine looks into Kurt’s face, his husband’s stormy blue eyes filled with teasing and love … but more so with worry. A worry that won’t be easy to soothe away. Blaine would do anything and everything to calm those worries for him, but a lot of them are too big for one person to fix. So he’ll work on the little things. It’s a beautiful, sunny, winter afternoon, and if they’re going to set the proper tone for a year that’s already been counted out, then they should start here, in their own private paradise. Not New York City, or their loft, but in one another’s arms.

“For now,” Blaine says with a brush of his lips across Kurt’s mouth, “yes. Way more important.”