The days leading up to Christmas pass by slow and lazy in a lingering trace of tiny white lights and blown glass ornaments. Kurt has Bing Crosby’s Christmas Classics on a loop and everything just feels perennially perfect. Blaine’s been at the Hummel-Hudson’s for two straight days—so everything’s a little bit more perfect.

The two of them have spent the majority of the past few days wrapped up in the same blanket on the couch in the living room, so they can smell the Christmas tree and have the quickest access to everything that comes out of the kitchen. Tangled tightly, too-indulged, they fall into unintentional naps, probably too often, and wake up sleepy and smiling.

“We should probably get out of the house.” Kurt whispers to Blaine, tucked underneath Kurt’s chin.

“Snow.” Blaine murmurs into Kurt’s chest.

“All the better. Get up, lazybones.”

“Nooo. I like your bones.” Blaine says, voice still muffled by Kurt’s shirt.

“You don’t make any sense. You’re clearly going stir-crazy. Now get up.” Blaine detaches himself from Kurt’s chest and ten minutes and six additional layers later, they’re out the door with two cups of Carole’s hot cocoa in gloved hands.

In June, Kurt had whispered how good summer was to Blaine; it turned his skin a little browned and his hair a little wild. But winter—winter’s so good to Kurt. It does to Kurt what everyone wants winter to do to them. His cheeks flush bright pink against milky paleness; his lips turn a touch redder. Kurt’s wrapped in a thick scarf and some kind of complexly gorgeous coat, enveloped in leather gloves and fluid cashmere. He looks exquisite—mature and poised, closely-carved and fiercely beautiful. Blaine tucks his own hand into Kurt’s coat pocket and grabs Kurt’s. It takes Kurt off-guard but he squeezes Blaine’s hand and smiles. They keep walking until they get to the creek near Kurt’s house, frozen-over with icy spikes hanging from the trees above.

“Sit down.” Kurt says, almost a whisper.

“My ass is gonna get all snowy.” Blaine furrows his eyebrows, pouts a little. Kurt kicks around the snow and clears a spot.

“There. Now it’ll only get muddy.” Kurt laughs and gestures to the spot.

“Oh, much better.” Blaine drawls sarcastically. “But only if you sit on my lap.” His eyes light up and he sits down, dragging Kurt’s hand down to pull him onto his lap.

“That was the intention.” Kurt says, turning so he faces Blaine. He wraps his arms around Blaine’s neck and hooks his chin over his shoulder.

Blaine likes this slow, perfect move through the seasons with Kurt, learning how different the weather, the holidays can be when you’re with another person. Spring was brilliant and bright, when everything was so new and so much fun and the weather was always nice and the boy was always there. Summer was wonderful, with those too-sweaty afternoons and that first day they got each other’s shirts off. Fall was hectic but happy, with the transfer and the musical, and there were lots of long nights spent together quietly hunched over doing homework, and it reminded Blaine of those first few dreamlike weeks at Dalton when Kurt transferred. There would be flickers of smiles when they looked up from their books, and there could be kisses now, too. But winter—winter is everything beautiful. Kurt’s beautiful and the snow’s beautiful and the look of Kurt’s lips when the snow falls on them is pretty damn beautiful.

“Didn’t realize how cold it was…it’s really cold…” Kurt whispers, breath ghosting over Blaine’s ear.

“I know.” Blaine says, bringing his hands up to cup Kurt’s face and pressing their lips together.

“’s better.” Kurt says against Blaine’s mouth.

For a while, they stay twined together — Kurt’s face burrowed into Blaine’s neck, Blaine’s arms wrapped around Kurt’s waist, keeping each other warm and safe and loved. Sometimes Blaine still couldn’t believe that he had someone who loved him, loved every inch of him down to his very bones. For so long, he had been trying to be someone better—for his parents, for his teachers, for his peers. He’s never felt good enough. But this boy makes him feel good enough—the best, even. He wondered for a moment if they were special. Girls in the school hallways with their tongues down a guy’s throat, squealing as they wrapped themselves around football players at Friday night games—they didn’t have what he and Kurt did. And maybe he was putting him and Kurt on a pedestal, seeing them as better. But it was love. Kurt makes Blaine a better person, he makes Blaine feel worth it, he makes Blaine smile every day—and it’s all that which makes Blaine feel like he could marry Kurt one day.

The thought’s scary as hell. But he’s so sure of it.

“I’ll miss you on Christmas.” Kurt says, his finger trailing luminous lines down a tendon on Blaine’s neck.

“I’ll miss you too…so, so much. But it’s only a few days. I’ll come over the minute the Christmas insanity subsides.” Blaine replies, resting his forehead on Kurt’s.

“You better.” Kurt smiles big at Blaine. “Let’s get back. I’m treacherously close to frostbite, I think.” Kurt stands up, holding his hand out for Blaine to take. Holding Kurt’s hand, folding his fingers into his own, is still as sweet as it was the first time.

* * *
Tucked behind the Christmas tree is a strange place to be, but it smells wondrous and wintry and warm—and they need to warm up. They’re under the same blanket again, knees knocking and fingers weaving. Kurt gives him quick pecks on the lips whenever Carole’s turned away on the couch, and Blaine is just relishing in these moments at the Hummel-Hudson’s before he has to go back home. Most of the time, this feels more like home—right now, more than ever. Settling his head on Kurt’s shoulder, Blaine lets his mind drift again, drift to a Christmas years and years ahead. Years and years ahead, and he’s still with Kurt—they have a home of their own, there’s a wedding band on Blaine’s ring finger, maybe a daughter on his knee. The impossibility of it all disappeared a while ago. Then Kurt kisses the top of his head and he’s back to being seventeen, seventeen and in love and dreaming. But, he realizes, the step back to reality is the same kind of wonderful as the dream.