Work Text:
When Blaine walks in, he’s in the middle of chopping an onion. It’s already a strangely vulnerable moment, but there’s something special about seeing his husband (oh, how he’s never going to get tired of that word) walk through the door. His heart skips a beat as Blaine shakes the last droplets of rain from a closed umbrella, then props it against the doorway of their studio. It’s not the action itself, but seeing that wide smile that spreads across his face and exposes half his teeth. There’s joy in seeing Blaine again, even when it’s been a few hours, or when Kurt’s crying over a stupid onion.
“Tough day?” Blaine asks, a flirtatious note in his voice, though it’s more like a key signature. Kurt knows it too well, each version of Blaine is just an exciting world of musical possibility to him.
“What does it look like I’m doing?”
Kurt swivels round on one of his heels, and pretends to brandish the knife until Blaine takes his first step forward. Even for a joke, he doesn’t want to recreate a scene from the Cell Block Tango. So he slips the knife behind his back and safely pushes it onto the countertop, moments before being kissed on the cheek - his favorite greeting.
“Hmm… you could freeze something with those lips,”
It’s a silly observation, one he makes as they pull away, so Kurt reaches a hand up and strokes Blaine’s cheek. Then he speaks again, sort of in a whisper.
“I liked it,”
Blaine’s face lights up, and Kurt smiles at his joy. Simple, sweet pleasures like this make every day special, because it’s Blaine. Because God, Blaine is his and he’s Blaine’s and they’re married and squished into a shoebox together.
“Hey, move over, I’ll help,” Blaine says, gently nudging him over.
While setting up the saucepan, Blaine hums a gentle tune, and Kurt gets a little distracted by it as he washes a small handful of mushrooms. He doesn’t recognise it, which isn’t uncommon anymore, but always interesting.
“Is that new?”
“Oh! Yeah… Something I’m working on. It’s about… um…”
Blaine’s weirdness says it all, and they catch each other's eyes, so in sync that it’s funny. Kurt laughs. Blaine beams, then reaches for the onions to throw them onto the oil he’s heating.
“Can’t wait to hear it,”
“I can’t wait to play it for you. It’s ab-”
“Shush,” Kurt hisses at him, playful more than anything else.
Blaine fries onions until Kurt’s ready to fry his mushrooms. They’re ‘his’, of course, because Blaine pulls a face at the sight of them. It’s the same old routine, the same song that most people would hear as an argument intended with the most affection.
“You know I’ll just pick those out,”
“Not if I do it for you first,”
“What if you just… didn’t use mushrooms? Wouldn’t that be crazy?”
Kurt rolls his eyes and prods the saucepan with their wooden spoon.
“Half the fun’s in picking them out for you,” He beams, a devilish twitch across his lips.
He knows Blaine doesn’t like them, and Blaine knows that he does . Something as simple as a mushroom in Bolognese divides them, but they’ve worked out solutions, perfected it. He doesn’t use too many, cuts big slices so they’re apparent in the sauce, and won't try to make Blaine eat something he doesn’t like.
Together, they finish the dish. Blaine starts breaking spaghetti into a pot and gets it boiling. Kurt adds the minced beef, stirs it and smiles. These days, his face hurts from how much he genuinely just beams about things. This little life they lead is so small and beautiful, despite being constantly busy in a big city. They’re free of hangups and still ironing out seams, but none of it matters.
Shit.
Autonomously frying minced beef, Kurt watches Blaine without intending to. His gaze is just… magnetically drawn to him. Blaine straightens his posture, nods his head a little as he hums, practically leans over the pot so that Kurt needs to step aside. But as Kurt moves, Blaine looks up from their pasta and directly at his husband. He’s noticed Blaine’s eyes have a habit of moving so slightly. There’s something so magnetic about those eyes, examining their target with the exquisite attention to detail that makes them sparkle. Blaine wants to see every inch of Kurt’s face, while Kurt is mystified by how gorgeous he looks when he does this. Blaine’s done it a million times, Blaine’s looked at him in a million ways, but still finds ways of rendering him breathless.
Kurt’s crying again, but he’s not afraid anymore.
Blaine wears a tease of a grin, obscured slightly by an instinctive tilt downwards.
“It’s that onion again, right?”
One soft finger catches a tear, traces a path into Kurt’s hair, and he’s kissed with such tenderness. They breathe together, connect through touch and savour the moment just as much as they’ll savour any meal. All the smells and sounds of the kitchen - the chill of the rain and the size of their apartment - fades into nothing, just for a second.
And then it’s back to life. Back to cooking. Back to sustenance.
“That one definitely wasn’t because of the onion,”