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“Here, open it now!” Kurt said thrusting an envelope into Blaine’s hands.
“It’s not Christmas yet.”
“I know but the present will have to be cashed in soon so I want you to have time to prepare yourself.”
Blaine raised his eyebrows but accepted it. Kurt bounced up and down on his toes while he opened up the letter.
“Oh! You got me tickets to an Ana Bleatche reading,” Blaine said staring at the tickets as if he couldn’t quite believe his eyes.
“I did! I thought we could make a night of it. Get dressed up, have dinner at that Turkish place on 5th and then go to the show.”
“…That sounds great.”
“What’s wrong?”
Blaine raised his head, looking confused. “Who’s Ana Bleatche?”
Kurt was stumped. “She’s that Welsh poet! You don’t have to lie to me I know you’re a fan. I saw her name on my internet history a while ago and knew it must have been you who Googled her. So I bought us tickets when I saw she was coming to New York. You know I want to nurture all your interests.”
Blaine still looked confused. “…When was this?”
“It was weeks ago. The morning after we went to Dennis the stagehand’s leaving party.”
“OH.” Blaine flushed.
“Do you remember now?”
Blaine remembered. They’d had a huge fight that night, fuelled by alcohol and exhaustion and unresolved inadequacy issues. Blaine remembered storming into the bedroom as soon as they’d gotten home and grabbing the nearest laptop. He’d been pretty out of it but his intentions had been clear.
Oh god. It had been a long time since Blaine had experienced any kind of shame with Kurt. “Um Kurt. That was the night we fought because I hadn’t cleaned the shower the way you like.”
“That’s not what we were fighti – ”
“I know! But I was drunk and you’d said something about how I didn’t care about appearance or hygiene and it had kind of struck a chord with me.”
Kurt crossed his arms, clearly just as confused as Blaine had been moments before. “What does this have to – ?”
“When we came home I may have grabbed your laptop by accident and tried to Google something. You know my attention to spelling and grammar is the first thing to go when I’m drunk.” Kurt nodded. “So I may have mistakenly typed that name in.
“What were you trying to look up, Blaine?”
He mumbled it under his breath.
“What was that?”
A slightly louder mumble.
“….OH.”
An hour and a half later the issue was resolved. They were lying sweaty and panting in a pile on the living room carpet.
“I hope that puts rest to that,” Kurt said, pushing himself up on shaky arms to look down at his husband.
Blaine moaned in agreement and rolled over onto his back, stretching luxuriously on top of the shag, which would now need to be dry-cleaned thoroughly. “I don’t know Kurt. It might take a little more convincing.” He smiled cheekily at the ceiling. “Plus I thought you wanted to nurture all my interests.”
Kurt whacked him. “No getting greedy now. I expect you to return the favour soon. And in terms of you getting the ‘Ana Bleatche’? I don't want you to think you need to change yourself for me. Plus,” he smirked, “you know I love you with a little colour.”