A/N: Written for the Klaine Advent 2017 Day 1 prompt "attachment".
"Hey, baby! (oof!) I'm sorry (umph!) I'm so late!" Kurt grunts as he forces his key into the frozen keyhole and then wrenches it right, doing his best not to snap the thing off in the lock. "I couldn't (urgh!) get a taxi (nngh!) to save my life! But that's Christmas time in the city! (He sings that part.) But God! Does it feel good to get home … finally!"
Kurt shoves aside their sliding loft door, the heavy steel rolling to a stop with a loud clunk. Once he steps in, he immediately puts down his bag to peel his frozen coat off his body. He has to give it credit - it did a wonderful job of keeping him warm and dry outdoors, but with the heat inside their loft warming his skin, it feels like he's wearing a blanket of ice.
Blaine hasn't come over to greet him, but he calls from across the room: "That … that sounds … like a nightmare … hun." He sounds harried, and a little distracted, as if he's rushing to clean the living room now that Kurt is home. But why? Kurt wonders. It wasn't that messy when he left for work nine hours ago. And Blaine's been at school for most of that time.
What on earth could he have done in the few hours he's been home that would change that?
Kurt looks up, searching the room for his husband. He's not difficult to find, sitting on the floor in front of their sofa … and surrounded by the largest mound of cat toys he's ever seen in one place that isn't a pet store. Their eyes meet – Blaine's wide with fear and surprise, Kurt's crinkled around the corners with exhaustion. A dozen comments buzz just behind his lips, but in the end, all he can do is sigh his husband's name. "Blaine ..."
"Kurt" - Blaine gathers the fluffy creature navigating his crisscrossed legs into his arms and holds it to his chest - "I know what you're going to say …"
"Blaine, honey ..." Regardless of whether or not Blaine knows, he doesn't seem to remember, so Kurt repeats bullet points from their conversation weeks ago. "We agreed that when we started fostering cats that we wouldn't form an attachment to any one animal. We're not a permanent placement home. We're a revolving door, like the foster care counselor said. That way we can help as many animals as possible."
"I know that," Blaine says, trying to sound confident, but sounding hurt instead. "I'm not getting attached."
Kurt's eyes sweep the floor, skimming over the toys that Blaine couldn't hide fast enough, peeking out from behind him, as if the local PetCo stopped by their place and vomited on their throw rug.
"Kittens need toys, Kurt," Blaine says, shoving a few felt mice behind him and out of sight. "They need … they need to play, and be stimulated. The same as children. Everybody knows that."
Kurt crosses his arms, preparing for the argument to come. "You knitted him a sweater."
"That was a necessity," Blaine explains, cooing to the mewling kitten cupped in his hands. "He's an exceptionally small kitten. I didn't want him getting cold."
"You traveled halfway across town, took three trains and a bus, to buy him special, boutique-brand kitten food."
"Well, Kurt, he's at a critical stage in his little kitty development. He's just been weaned, but he's not ready for adult food yet. The food I bought has the proper balance of vitamins and minerals to support his growing bones."
"The food you bought was $32 for a teeny, tiny bag!"
"You can't put a price on good nutrition, Kurt!"
"Apparently you can! It's $32!"
"It's worth it!"
"And how do you know that, Blaine? He's only been eating it for two days!"
"I read it online," Blaine admits, clearing his throat self-consciously, "in the Modern Cat newsletter. They recommended that specific brand of food for newly weaned kitties."
Kurt raises an eyebrow at his husband. "There's a newsletter called Modern Cat?"
"Yes, there is," Blaine says, holding the now crying kitten up to his cheek to comfort him.
"And … you subscribed?"
"Maybe …"
"Blaine …" Kurt closes his eyes, pinches the bridge of his nose, and counts backwards from ten, deliberating quietly over what he should do. He could remind his husband of the agreement they made one another, how they both promised that they would foster over the winter on a temporary basis – temporary basis - seeing as the local shelters had become overloaded by an influx of animals displaced by the latest string of violent hurricanes. Kurt and Blaine couldn't bear the thought of animals, who were once happy family pets, being put down because the shelters were too crowded to care for them. They couldn't give much in the way of money, and they didn't have the time or space to devote to a dog. A cat seemed like the best option – clean, independent, and wouldn't need to be taken outside in the frigid cold to do its business at one in the morning.
Their decision to foster had been nonchalant. Kurt never dreamed that Blaine would take to their very first boarder as much as he has. Kurt isn't necessarily opposed to owning a cat. It's just not something he's ever thought about.
But he's thinking about it now, and one slit-eyed peek at his husband, gazing up at him with worried eyes, holding that kitten as if he'd protect it against the world, makes Kurt's mind up.
He can't do it. He can't be the bad guy.
He can't break Blaine's heart.
If his husband wants a cat, there's no reason in the world why he shouldn't have one.
Kurt had actually considered getting him one for Christmas. He'd thought a more mature cat might be a better fit for them considering their lifestyles. He figured, like himself, Blaine might appreciate an animal who was warm and affectionate, but who might not require as much coddling or attention as a kitten.
Obviously, he was mistaken.
"Alright, Blaine," Kurt says, arms raised in defeat and surrender. "You win. Let's call the rescue and adopt your kitten."
"Really?" Blaine says, holding the purring thing so close to his cheek that they may have fused together at some point. "You … you mean it?"
"Yes, I mean it," Kurt says, fishing his cell phone out of the pocket of his pants and pulling up the number. "Though we seriously need to reconsider whether or not we should continue as foster parents."
"Aw! Why?"
"Because we can't afford you falling in love with every animal we take in! Not if you're going to feed them food that costs $32 a bag!"