“Ku-urt,” Blaine calls with a singsong lilt. “I just got the munchkin to bed. I thought maybe we could…” He stops when he finds Kurt, who had been cleaning up shredded wrapping paper and discarded bows, sitting on the sofa, organizing their son's new toys. “Hey. I thought those were Tracy's Christmas presents. I think you've played with those Shopkins longer than he did.”

“To be fair, kids his age have notoriously short attention spans,” Kurt comments, attention fixed on the toys he's busily rearranging, each a miniaturized household object rendered with exquisite detail, beaming at him with anime eyes and adorable expressions of glee. “And I can't help it. I love things that are cute and compact.” Kurt stands, leaving a row of teeny cleaning products and teeny appliances next to a teeny shopping basket. “It's probably one of the reasons why I love you so much.”

“Because I'm a few inches shorter than you,” Blaine says, rolling up on to the balls of his feet till he and Kurt are the same height.

Kurt kisses his husband on the forehead.

“Yes, darling,” he says, patting Blaine patronizingly on the shoulder. “Let's go with that.”

Blaine's smile shifts to a frown in less than a second.

“Now, Kurt,” Blaine says, following Kurt to their bedroom, “that's…that's not funny. Kurt? Kurt, come on, you said it was a good size…”