“Oops!” Tracy and Blaine recite in unison, then father and daughter giggle like giddy thieves. But Kurt, standing outside the partially open door, rolls his eyes. “Still,” they continue along with a third voice in the background, “Nigel’s party was worth the hassle, even if we were a little bit late.”

Blaine and Tracy applaud with gusto, as if they just watched Ian McKellen perform Macbeth. Or as if they haven’t seen this stupid video on Blaine’s laptop about one-hundred and thirty-six times. (As according to Blaine’s YouTube viewing history, and Kurt can’t even say with any certainty that Blaine watched it all those times with Tracy.)

“I don’t think I’ve ever danced with an elephant wearing a tutu,” Tom Hardy confesses to his sleepy target audience … and Blaine. “Or have I …?”

Tracy snickers, but Blaine laughs a little too loud, and an unamused Kurt decides that this must end.

“Hey, guys,” he says, sauntering into Tracy’s room like he hasn’t been standing outside this whole time.

“Hey, Daddy!” Tracy bounces onto her knees in bed, reaching out with grabby hands to hug her father.

“Hey, Kurt,” Blaine says, but with his eyes half-glued to the screen, watching the last few seconds of Tom wishing everyone a good night, so Kurt feels no guilt whatsoever for ignoring him.

“Time for bed, Trace.” Kurt tucks the girl underneath her comforter and kisses her forehead.

“Aw! Just one more video?” Tracy pleads, even though she yawns three times during that short sentence.

“Yeah,” Blaine pleads with her. “Just one more?”

“Nope,” Kurt says with a bit of snap. “It’s already past your bedtime. Both of you.”

“Better do what he says. It sounds like Daddy might be a little grumpy tonight,” Blaine whispers.

“Maybe you could do something to cheer him up,” Tracy suggests.

“Maybe,” Blaine agrees.

“I doubt it,” Kurt grumbles. He turns on Tracy’s nightlight, then blows her one last kiss before he and Blaine, cradling his laptop to his chest like a sacred relic, leave her bedroom.

“So,” Kurt says in a lowered voice, leading the way down the hall towards the stairs, “you watched that video again, did you?”

Blaine chuckles to himself at his husband’s irked tone. “I don’t see what you’re so upset about. CBeebies Bedtime Stories is a very popular kids’ show. We’ve watched other videos in the series,” Blaine says in his defense. “We’ve listened to Simon Pegg read “Chickens Can’t See in the Dark”, and we’ve watched David Tennant read “The Christmas Bear”, and James McAvoy read “The Dinosaur that Pooped a Planet” …”

“Yeah, but according to your history, after each one you watch Tom Hardy read “You Must Bring a Hat”,” Kurt points out, starting down the stairs.

“I can’t help it if it’s Tracy’s favorite story.”

Kurt rolls his eyes at that blatant exaggeration. “You know, it’s kind of creepy the way you’ve included our daughter in this Tom Hardy fetish of yours.” Kurt hurries down the last few steps and heads straight for his studio - not necessarily to outpace his husband, but being able to stay a step ahead is helping his mood.

“It’s not a fetish. As a fellow actor, I appreciate his work.”

Kurt stops at the door, turning to face him. “And as the man who once proclaimed that Tom Hardy might end up being your second husband?”

“Well” – Blaine smiles subconsciously, his cheeks turning bright pink – “I also appreciate his dreamy accent and his stunning eyes.”

“A-ha. Well, then.” Kurt walks into his studio and shuts the door in his husband’s face. Blaine sighs, nose to wood. He tries the door, but it’s locked.

“Kurt,” he says, jiggling the knob, “don’t be like this.”

“I’m not being like anything,” Kurt answers. “I have to return a call. I just want a little privacy.”

“Oh really?” Blaine says, not buying it one bit.

“Yes.”

“And who are you calling? Isabelle? Your Dad?”

Kurt doesn’t answer, but Blaine can hear Kurt inside his studio, dialing a number with his phone on speaker. After two rings, the call picks up. A man’s voice says, “Hello?”

“Hello, Taylor?”

“Yes?”

“Hi! This is Kurt. Kurt Hummel? I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to get back to you.”

“Kurt?” The man sounds tired, like Kurt may have woken him from calling it an early night. But suddenly he says, “Oh, Kurt!” bright and cheerful, as if this one phone call has made his day. “Yes! I’ve been waiting to hear from you!”

“Did I wake you?”

“Don’t worry about it. Not a problem. Thank you for returning my call.”

“Taylor?” Blaine mutters. “Who’s Taylor?” Blaine puts his ear to the door, raising an eyebrow at the familiar-ish voice. He wishes he wasn’t listening through the door. He can almost place it.

“I just want to start out by telling you … this is a little embarrassing … it’s been a dream of mine to work with you.”

“Same here. After I saw your last winter line, I have to say, I was smitten.” Taylor laughs. It sounds shy … and flirty. “I asked my agent then and there what I had to do to get my hands on one of your suits.”

“Did you really?” Kurt giggles. It also sounds flirty.

“Yeah. It’s no secret that I think you’re extremely talented.”

“Thank you. That’s very kind. I loved you in the Twilight series, by the way.”

“Ugh. You saw that, huh?” Another flirty laugh.

“I want you to know that I was Team Jacob all the way.”

“Team Jacob?” Blaine repeats in confusion. “What the … oh you’ve gotta be kidding me …”

“So, can I see you tomorrow?” Taylor asks, the question sounding more suggestive than it should, in Blaine’s opinion, if he’s just asking for a consult on a suit.

“Yes, sir. Anytime you want. I am open and available.”

Blaine knocks to remind Kurt that his husband is standing outside his door. “Kurt …?”

“You know, I know this is going to sound like a weird question, but I’ve always wondered … how do you feel about lilacs?”

“That’s not a weird question at all. I love lilacs.”

“Kurt …?” Blaine knocks louder.

“Wonderful! Because there’s a lovely secluded meadow right by my studio. I know it’s a little unconventional, but the weather’s been so nice lately. We can meet there, go for a stroll, look over some sketches …”

“That sounds incredible. Count me in.”

Blaine combines knocking with jiggling the knob again, ready to take the door off the hinges if he has to. “Kurt, that’s not … that’s not funny …”