The blinking red lights seared Blaine's retinas. The image - 3:06 AM - made Blaine groan at the irony that was his life.

Not too long ago, it was Kurt who was the last one to bed, working on drafts after drafts of a manuscript that he had tirelessly pushed into publishers' mailboxes in between scoping theatres for 'Now Auditioning' lists. But after becoming published, Kurt had quit the theatre circuit, choosing instead to start book tours. Since his days were relatively free, Kurt was able to set up a normal writing schedule and sleep at a decent time.

Gone were the days of Blaine patiently waiting for Kurt to shut his laptop before sleeping. Now it was he who was up into the small hours of the night, longing for his mattress but staying on the couch. He had tried working with Kurt in bed but the fluffy mattress always pulled him into a deep slumber. The couch was the opposite. With a helpful coffee table in front of it, the couch was more of a chair-and-a-half and ruthless to the back. It was the one place in the apartment where Blaine could not sleep. Kurt had found him sleeping in the kitchen more than once, propped up against the refrigerator, an empty mug dangling from his fingertips, the coffee in the pot untouched and cool.

It had been this way ever since Blaine had been transferred from the elementary school he had taught at to a high school in the same district. Having taken a degree in English, he was comfortable with the high school english curriculum. Less so with the high school english students.

When Blaine walked into his classroom for the first time, he greeted the juniors enthusiastically and immediately opened a round-table discussion to get to know each other. As soon as the students found out he was Kurt Anderson-Hummel's husband, they eagerly pestered him about his home life, and his husband's particulars. Blaine didn't mind, whatever got them engaged in class.

He marked the final paper as an A, and threw his pen down victoriously. With a sigh and a stretch, he padded towards his bedroom where he knew Kurt would be asleep.

The room was dark. The only part of Kurt that he could see was his closed eyes and above, lit by moonlight. The rest was buried under blanket under blanket under blanket. Blaine avoided the creaky floorboards as he made his way to his side of the bed. He leaned over Kurt, shaking him gently. "I'm going to take off the extra blankets now, okay?"

Kurt just smacked his lips and muttered unintelligible sounds before turning over and stretching his arms out, waiting for Blaine. Blaine removed the two top blankets before sliding underneath, gathering Kurt in his arms as Kurt's circled around him. "Good night love," Blaine whispered, pressing his lips to Kurt's hair

"...'ve you."

**

When Blaine awoke, the sun was invading the dark behind his eyelids. He gingerly opened his eyes, and turned his head. 6:15 AM. Well, it wouldn't be the first time he'd had less than four hours of sleep.

He looked back to see Kurt's eyes fluttering open and shut as he gripped Blaine's bicep to pull himself closer. "Mmm, morning."

"Morning, love," Blaine replied, craning his head to meet Kurt's upturned face for a kiss.

"What time did you come to bed last night?"

"Late," Blaine said, "or well, early, I guess, technically. But I needed to mark those papers, the kids were getting antsy."

"Maybe you should stop waiting for the last minute when you have to grade something."

"Blasphemy."

Kurt rolled them so that Blaine was on his back, Kurt stretched out across him. "It's only blasphemous if you believe in the God of Procrastination."

"I am the God of Procrastination."

Kurt rolled his eyes. "It's your fault for assigning so many essays."

"Normally, I'd agree," Blaine conceded, who on more than one occasion had admitted that he was too lazy to develop multiple choice questions. "But I think these kids like written assignments."

"What kind of self-respecting kid likes writing papers?"

"Well," Blaine ran a hand down Kurt's back, "actually I think they want me to show them to you."

Kurt pushed himself up on his hands, grinning with his head tilted curiously. "Really?"

"Yeah. The talent of some of these kids is astounding. There's this one in particular..."

His husband folded his arms on Blaine's chest, leaning down to rest on top of them. "Yes?"

"Well, I assign these papers with the option of a creative piece with a statement of intent. And this boy, he writes beautiful sonnets to a Fair Youth, like Shakespeare, you know?" Kurt nodded, waiting for Blaine to continue. "And if you actually look at the lines, I can't help but think that he's writing to you."

"No way," Kurt laughed.

"I don't know, he keeps talking about long fingers caressing pens and pithy expressions about turning phrases."

"That's adorable," Kurt smiled sweetly. Maybe it was a bad idea to have Kurt do a guest lecture last month. "How come you don't write me any poetry Blaine?" Kurt whined in jest, poking him in the side.

"I could," Blaine said, resting a hand against Kurt's cheek. He rolled them again, so that Kurt was on his back, Blaine leaning over him on his side. He pitched his voice lower, whispering softly in to Kurt's ear. "Ay me -- for I know not the colour of my lover's eyes. They change as the minute flies. When he is angry, they are tempestuous and gray. When he smiles, they are blue, clear as day. They are light and silver, filled with tears and when he glares, oh -"

"Alright, alright!" Kurt laughed, pushing Blaine off of him. "Let's not forget who the writer is in this relationship."

They rolled back together and Blaine asks, "why do you sleep with so many blankets all of a sudden anyway?"

"It's cold," Kurt replied, running a hand down Blaine's arm.

"Kurt, are you kidding? It's like a sauna in here."

"No, I mean... It's cold without you."

"Aw, Kurt!" Blaine squeezed Kurt to his chest, pressing obnoxious and loud kisses all over his face.

"Okay, Blaine, okay!" Kurt said, giggled, rolling away.

"I love you Kurt."

Kurt leaned over to lightly brush their lips together once. "I love you too. Now get up before you're late."

Blaine rolls away and off the bed, making his way toward the door. "By the way," Kurt called as he passed over the threshold. "You can give that boy my number if you want."

"Over my cold dead body!" He hears Kurt laughing loudly through the door