“Isabelle told me about this place Vogue uses to prep vintage ensembles for storage,” Kurt says, hanging up his wedding tux and gently tugging the seams in hopes of straightening out the wrinkles. Curse the luggage handlers at JFK for manhandling his suit bag! Kurt should have taken Carole's suggestion and had her package and ship the thing over professionally, but he wanted to have it with him. He didn't want to be apart from a single memento of that amazing day – his tux, his boutonniere, his ring, his husband…

Now that they're back together in the loft in New York City, Kurt feels complete.

He hopes that Blaine's tux fared better than his. He's still waiting for Blaine to unpack it so he can hang them side by side.

“But then you wouldn't be able to wear it again,” Blaine comments, taking his clothes out of his suitcase and laying them on the bed.

“I thought about that,” Kurt says, walking to his dresser. He opens the bottom drawer and fishes out his handheld steamer, debating if he wants to try using a $50 Conair steamer on a thousand dollar tux. It takes him exactly five seconds to return the steamer to its drawer. “But it seems, I don't know, tacky, I guess? I mean, if it was a plain black Armani tux, I might agree, but this one - this one's so unique, so special. It would be like seeing someone wear their wedding dress to dinner.” Kurt narrows his gaze at the camo print embossed tuxedo and tilts his head. “I'm still giving it some thought, actually.”

Kurt hears a zip lowering, then an unexpected odor of stale smoke hits the air. He glances over his shoulder where his husband is unzipping a white suit bag, the inside of which looks stained with a grey film, almost like ash. Kurt stands by silently, indefinable jitters gripping his insides as Blaine uncovers the singed remains of a jacket.

Not just a jacket, Kurt realizes with a heavy swallow, but a Dalton blazer.

Blaine's Dalton blazer - the blue polyester-blend charred, the piping seared, and the vibrant red embroidered D of the signature patch scorched, the patch itself melted into the fabric beneath it.

“But…there was nothing left after the fire,” Kurt says, coming up behind Blaine and reaching out to lightly touch a sleeve. A scale of burnt material flakes off and falls; Kurt recoils, afraid of destroying it further.

“Yeah, well, apparently the display case the Warblers kept this in was like a humidor,” Blaine replies with a chuckle both ironic and sad.

Kurt stares at the blazer with a strange reverence.

“When did you…”

Kurt's voice shakes and then trails away as his fingers hover over the collar, traveling down the lapel, stopping over the buttons, now only indistinguishable lumps of featureless metal.

“I went back to say good-bye,” Blaine admits with a hint of guilt for not mentioning it earlier, “to get one more look before we came back to New York. That's when I found this.”

Blaine lays the blazer down on top of the suit bag so as not to stain Kurt's comforter and spreads it out carefully. Kurt takes a step forward and Blaine watches him, his brow drawing in at the middle at Kurt's unusual reaction.

“Kurt…” Blaine reaches out a hand and puts it on Kurt's shoulder, squeezing gently. “Why are you so upset?”

“I just…I guess it didn't hit me until I saw this…Dalton's gone…” Kurt takes a breath. “The place where we first met…the place where we had our first kiss…the place where you proposed to me…it's gone…”

Kurt's knees wobble and he sits on the edge of the bed, as if awareness of that fact has turned into a heavy weight, pressing him down.

“We talked about this,” Blaine says quietly, sitting beside him, putting a comforting arm around him. “I know we have a lot of history there, you and I, but I don't understand. You didn't seem this upset about it when we found out.”

Kurt wasn't upset about it at the time – well, not as upset as Blaine. Kurt had his own feelings about the disaster at Dalton, but to Blaine, the academy was almost a second home, his second family. Kurt compartmentalized his feelings and stowed them away so he could give Blaine the undivided support that he deserved during that trying time.

When Kurt drove Blaine out to Westerville to see the wreckage of the school for himself, it was surrounded in yellow police tape. Fire crews milled about still smoking bricks and police officers were taking statements. Kurt pulled up to the curb but they stayed inside his Navigator.

Staring out the window through the particulate-filled haze, Blaine had gone completely pale, his whole body shaking. Kurt didn't think that Blaine had the strength to leave the vehicle, but there was no reason to. There was nothing to see. Every inch of the once stately Dalton Academy had been reduced to rubble.

Somewhere amid that devastation was the ghost of an insecure boy meeting the love of his life for the first time.

But it was easy for Kurt to put that behind him because they were on their way home to New York, to start their married life together, to finally (Kurt thought) remove themselves from the pain of the past.

Kurt didn't know a part of that past would hitch a ride with them.

Seeing the ruined blazer lying on the bed, smelling the acrid smoke, watching the ash swirl up and blow away with the breeze from the open window, was like watching Dalton burn.

Blaine looks at the blazer, and then back at his husband, tears shimmering in his distant blue eyes - tears he could attribute to the smell, and if Kurt did use that as an excuse, Blaine would let him.

“Besides, I didn't think you'd be upset about the blazer,” Blaine jokes. “I mean, you hated it, right?”

“No…I mean, yes, but…” Kurt clears his throat, recalling what it felt like to see Blaine wear his blazer, how Blaine's confidence, his take-charge attitude, his overwhelming sense of self could transform this style-inept, conservative uniform into an indestructible armor…an armor that Blaine wore well. “It's like…when Finn wore his letterman's jacket and I would see him walk down the halls at school, it felt like Superman had arrived.” Kurt extends a hand over the Dalton patch and traces the letter, collecting soot on his index finger, wondering if there is any way that this damage can be repaired. Kurt could probably find a way to order Blaine a brand new blazer. Realistically, it would probably be way less expensive.

But Kurt doesn't want Blaine to have a brand new one. He wants Blaine to have this one.

Dalton may be gone, but Blaine could still have this.

So could Kurt.

“When I first saw you at the foot of that Dalton staircase, wearing this blazer, it was like…Prince Charming had arrived.”

“You never told me that,” Blaine says, taking Kurt's hand in his and wiping the ash off his fingertip.

“That's because it's stupid,” Kurt says with a self-depreciating laugh and a sniffle, pulling his hand from Blaine's grasp and dusting his hands together. “It's just…silly romantic nonsense.”

Blaine puts a finger beneath Kurt's chin and pulls his gaze toward him.

“It's not silly,” Blaine says, leaning in close, capturing Kurt's trembling lips for a kiss. It's not a long kiss or a deep kiss, and it feels odd for Blaine to be comforting Kurt over this, but he's glad that he gets to. He's glad that the lips Kurt kisses when he's sad or happy or scared are his.

He's thankful that no matter how strong Kurt becomes – and he gets stronger every day – that Blaine is lucky enough to be there for the moments when he's not.

Now if Blaine can just bring Kurt's smile back.

“So, I was right,” Blaine says smugly, resting their foreheads together. “You love the blazer.”

“No,” Kurt answers, shaking his head, laughing through what's left of his tears, “the blazer is hideous.” He sighs and catches Blaine's eyes, managing to match Blaine's nostalgic smile. “But I'll forever be in love with the boy who wore it.”