He's having the worst day ever. Somehow he missed his alarm in the morning and ended up late, running through the busy New York streets. He managed to spill coffee on his white (of course!) shirt and had to scramble for something to wear (working in a fashion magazine did have its advantages). He was late for an important meeting with the editor, which didn't put him in a very good light. Most of his ideas were rejected without a second glance and he was left feeling frustrated through the rest of the day. His assistant, though well intentioned and quite smart, is also very slow sometimes, and he ended up shouting at her (which only made him feel terrible, despite apologizing right after). He worked all day, but still felt like he didn't accomplish anything. He is in a sour mood and can't seem to snap out of it.
Finally closing time comes and he gives up, packing his things and leaving the building and wondering if maybe some marathon of his favorite TV show will cheer him up. Dark clouds fill the sky and he just prays he'll have time to get home before the rain starts. No such luck. Before even leaving the station he can see the people rushing in with wet coats and closing their umbrellas. He mentally groans, bracing himself for the cold rain.
Downpour. It is a downpour, heavy cold drops falling quickly and drenching him within seconds. The streets are partially flooded and he feels like crying when he thinks about the Italian shoes his wearing. He walks quickly, trying to cover the four blocks to his apartment building as fast as possible. Not that it makes much of a difference, he's already soaking wet, his slacks clinging to his slender legs and his shoes squishing with every step he takes. His hair is falling on his eyes and the cold seems to reach right to his bones.
At last he arrives, shaking himself like a dog as soon as he steps inside. He climbs the stairs leaving puddles behind him, suddenly feeling very tired. He opens the door and steps inside, thankful for the heat that immediately envelops him, and toes off his shoes. They're drenched and pretty much ruined, but he has no energy left to even care about it. He hangs his coat and leaves his briefcase on the coffee table. The bedroom door opens and he hears his boyfriend's footsteps on the hallway.
Dave appears on the doorway, a look of pity when he sees Kurt.
"Oh, babe, I'm so sorry!" He's fresh out of the shower, wearing light-gray sweatpants and a simple black long-sleeved cotton T-shirt. He rushes to Kurt's side, kissing his lips briefly.
"Why don't you take a warm shower while I heat dinner?" It's an obvious idea, but it sounds like the most brilliant thing he's ever heard and he nods, heading into the bathroom. It's still steamy there and he strips out of his wet clothes, leaving them on the floor to be dealt with later. The warm water caresses his skin and relaxes him and he feels a lot better when he steps out of it. He puts on yoga pants and a long red sweater (which it's actually David's, but he steals it every so often). A delicious scent finds his nostrils and he feels like those cartoon characters being carried towards food through the smell. He finds Dave in their kitchen, taking a vegetarian lasagna out of the oven. He serves it with some red wine and garlic bread. He eats with gusto, venting to Dave about his shitty day between mouthfuls and hearing the sympathetic words his boyfriend offers him. Dave then tells him about his day at the agency and how he had left earlier for a meeting and been lucky enough to get home before the rain started.
They clear the dishes and take their glasses of wine to the leaving room, snuggling on the couch under a warm blanket. Dave turns on the TV and lets him choose a romantic comedy for them to watch. He laughs many times, his stress dissipating, and he can feel Dave chuckle sometimes. Halfway through the movie he looks at his boyfriend to find him asleep, breathing steadily. He smiles, kissing the tip of his nose, and settles back to watch the rest of the movie.
It doesn't matter anymore how terrible his day was, when he's all warm and cozy in David's arms, everything looks brighter. He's like his own personal sun.
