Welp, another fic I started over the summer and finally got around to finishing! It wasn't quite right originally, and my lovely beta cheerleader Meghan saved it.

(And I totally shouldn't be posting this now because it's ungodly late and I have a mountain of homework to finish but I just really had to get this up here.)

It's got a little bit of everything in it...widdle!Kurt, sad!Kurt, snappy!Kurt, tickled!Kurt, in love!Kurt, happy!Kurt. All in good fun.

Sadly, I don't own Glee or Kurt or any other characters. If I did we'd probably have a very different show with real continuity.

"Uh…mommy?" A small voice called out as the owner peeked around the door to a beautifully yet simply decorated bedroom. The little boy looked around at the pale blue comforter, the plush white carpet, the antique mahogany furniture. He loved how pristine and fancy and royal everything looked in his parents' room, even with his dad's Buckeyes banner on one wall. It was a special place. He spotted his mother at her vanity on the left wall, brushing her chestnut hair as it tumbled in waves down her back.

She looked up at the sound of her son's voice and smiled at him over her shoulder. "Yes, Kurt?" She placed the hairbrush beside her perfume and spun gracefully on her seat, the hem of her simple ankle-length maroon dress fluttering with the movement.

The small boy stepped inside and looked down at his feet as he squished a small fuzz-ball into the carpet with one tiny sock-clad foot, unsure of whether he should ask what was on his mind. She surveyed the five-year-old, noting his lavender polo, black pinstripe shorts, clip-on charcoal bowtie and navy argyle socks. My little boy really knows how to dress, she thought fondly, waiting for him to speak.

A minute passed without a sound, and her smile fell in concern. Softly, she asked, "What is it sweetie?"

He turned his eyes to her, clear blue looking up through dark lashes, and clasped his hands shyly behind his back.

"Will you…do my hair, mommy? Pretty please?" He blinked twice, eyes shining and brow puckered in the most adorable way possible. How could a mother say no to such a sweet request?

Well, Elizabeth surely couldn't deny him.

"Of course, darling," she cooed as she opened her arms. His eyes lit up as he beamed at her before bounded across the room to her side. She lifted her small son onto her lap and spun back to the mirror, kissing his cheek. Immediately he lifted her hairbrush and held it up to her, the most adorable cheeky grin on his faintly freckled face.

She returned the smile, kissed his nose, and replaced the brush on the vanity. His blue eyes widened and shined with confusion, making her giggle. "I got you your own brush, sweetie," she whispered and pointed to the small center drawer. His mouth formed a small ring as he excitedly reached inside, discovering a beautiful round brush, sky blue with an olive green woven design on the back.

"It matches yours! But boy colors!" He bounced on her lap.

"Yes it does, my darling! Now, pass me that clear bottle, please?"

He did as she asked, and she squeezed a small amount of the serum into her slender hand. It smoothed flyaways and made his hair shine, showing off a faint tinge of red in the sunlight streaming through the window. He smiled in awe as he watched her hands work through the mirror, arranging his hair just perfectly with a little flair.

His mommy had the most comfy lap, gave the best hugs, and did his hair perfectly every time. In that moment, he decided that only she could do his hair – until she taught him how to get it perfect.

When she finished she kissed his cheek and nudged him off her lap, saying she had to finish getting dressed. Kurt skipped off to his room for his shoes, excited to face the first day of kindergarten.

Kurt sat in the armchair in the living room, eyes red and swollen but finally (and sort of painfully) dry. Tear tracks stained his splotchy cheeks, interweaving, shining in the light overhead. His gaze was trained on his shiny black shoes as he tapped his toes together. Throughout the day various relatives and friends and strangers came and said things, sometimes trying to make him feel better, but nothing ever helped.

Oh, sweetheart, I'm so sorry–

Your mom was such a wonderful lady–

The world has lost a truly special woman–

She was one of the nicest people–

It's going to be okay–

You must be so sad you lost your mom–

They all kissed his cheeks and squeezed his shoulders and pulled him into awkward hugs and tugged his little suit. But the worst was when they ruffled his hair, pat his head, pushed back his bangs. They all did it wrong. They messed it up, even daddy, after he tried so hard to make it nice like mommy taught him.

Mommy. He just wanted his mommy. But she was gone. She left him behind with daddy. He loved daddy but daddy didn't know how to do his hair or sing him songs or bake with him or have tea parties. Daddy was sad and Kurt was sad and no one knew what to do.

He looked around the room again, his dad just inside the kitchen talking to friends from the shop, the smallest of smiles on his lips and tears in his eyes. Before Burt could catch his gaze Kurt hung his head and stared at his shoes again. His hair flopped over his forehead as yet another tear rolled down his cheeks.

Hair. That was it. He could do it. He could figure out how to make it perfect and dress nice the way mommy loved so he could sort of pretend she was still there, and show that he would always remember her and love her.

Kurt decided that day, at the tender age of eight after just losing half his world, that he would always take care of his appearance, put unique importance on his clothes, because his mother always had. She always cared. He would look nice because it was special to the bond he had with her.

And no one would touch his hair. That was just for mommy. Forever.

"Don't go near my hair," Kurt snapped as he swatted away Mercedes' outstretched hand as she went to swipe his bangs back. He didn't even look up from the text he was sending Blaine, one hand coming up to do the job himself as he hit send.

"Okay babe, sheesh. What's with you and your hair?" The question was casual, not really expecting an answer (because really she did know not to go near his hair), mumbled as she pulled out her own buzzing phone. "Oh, damn, it's my mom. I've gotta run, babe. I'll see you at school." She stood quickly, blew him a kiss, and bolted out of the Lima Bean, leaving Kurt deep in thought and biting his lip. Without really thinking about it he adjusted the cuffs of his Dalton blazer.

Why did he have a problem with anyone touching his hair – at least anyone other than his expert stylist every six weeks? He'd had this rule in place for years now; his hair was always flawlessly coiffed, never to be touched by stray hands (okay, maybe his dad was occasionally an exception), sub-par product, or hideous headwear. That was his personal space. He didn't really mind physical contact, per say – handshakes, hugs, a kiss to the cheek on occasion were all fine, but…his hair was not to be touched. Everyone knew that.

Kurt idly wondered if that would ever change. It wasn't likely.

"Blaine, stop!" Kurt giggled and tried to squirm backwards on the bed to escape the wiggling fingers pinching his waist.

Blaine just followed and straddled Kurt's hips to continue his attack, laughing and grinning almost maniacally. If Kurt could breathe he would be concerned about his boyfriend's expression. But he just thrashed and fell onto the pillows behind him. He was trapped and couldn't breathe and –

"B-Bl-ah-aiii!" He just squealed, words now impossible.

He tried to get in a counterattack – reaching for Blaine's waist or arms or anything, really – but Blaine just held his wrists up against the headboard and pinched Kurt's waist.

Proving he wasn't entirely ruthless, Blaine stopped as Kurt's face became an even shade of pink and the squealing gave way to breathless gasps. He slowly lowered the hand holding Kurt's wrists to release them, offering a sweet smile as means of apology. Kurt dropped his arms limply onto the mattress and gulped down all the air he could, trying to refill his lungs and get his racing heartbeat to settle. His hair flopped from its previous perfect coif and spread around his head on the pillow, a few pieces hanging onto his forehead.

Blaine slowly, gently brushed the hair back and smoothed it a little before cupping Kurt's cheek.

Breathing raggedly and finally managing to think somewhat clearly, Kurt just sort of stared up at his boyfriend. Not only was his hair unbelievably mussed and not presentable, but Blaine had tried to fix it. Without Kurt swatting him away, without glaring, nothing. And Kurt found that he didn't care in the slightest.

Come to think of it, he'd stopped caring – and actually started loving – when Blaine ran his fingers through Kurt's hair when they kissed, or when Kurt sucked him off, or even when they just lounged around watching television. He loved when Blaine tangled his fingers in the soft strands at the nape of his neck, when Blaine brushed back his bangs as he worked on a sketch.

But really, it was only Blaine. Because Blaine was his better half, his rock, his world. Because Blaine's touch felt right, no matter where it landed.

And it just so happens that it felt right when Blaine touched his hair.

Kurt gave Blaine a sappy adoring smile and brought one hand to cup Blaine's where he was still gently stroking Kurt's hair, and intertwined their fingers.

Blaine noticed the sudden shift in his boyfriend's demeanor and tilted his head. "What?"

Kurt sighed happily, making Blaine grin. "I guess I just really love you."

"Well, that's good, because I really love you too." Blaine stroked his thumb across Kurt's soft cheek, then furrowed his brow. "Wait, you guess?"

Kurt chuckled and squeezed Blaine's hand momentarily. "Well, first, you just attacked me and tickled me until I couldn't breathe, and I still want to stay close to you and not hit you."

"Please don't hit me." Blaine let out a laugh and Kurt rolled his eyes, still grinning.

"Second," his voice lowered, a bit more somber, "not only are you the second person I've allowed to touch my hair on a regular basis, but I also love when you do."

Blaine's brow furrowed again, this time more in thought than confusion, trying to think of times he'd noticed it himself. After a moment one corner of his mouth turned up in that small, sort of sappy smile reminiscent of a puppy with wide shining eyes. "Really?"

Kurt just bit his lip and nodded.

At Kurt's expression, Blaine grew wary. "Can I…can I ask who the first is?" His voice was soft, nervous.

Hesitating a moment, Kurt licked his lips and swallowed - his throat was suddenly dry. He had no reason to be worried, really. Blaine knew about his mom, knew that there were some things in Kurt's closet and desk kept safely hidden away that reminded him of her, knew that there were more memories kept close to his heart. Slowly he was opening up to Blaine, sharing stories, explaining some of his reasoning for certain things in his life.

Kurt's eyes darted to the bottom drawer of his desk, where they both knew a small photo album rested in a cloth bag. "My mom," he whispered, pressing his lips together tightly as his eyes watered.

Blaine just watched Kurt for a moment, stroking his cheek again. Then he bent his head, Kurt moving his lips just in time for their mouths to meet in a sweet kiss full of all the things they didn't really have the words to say.

"I just…I love you, Kurt. Thank you."

"For what?"

"For letting me in, for making me comfortable by being comfortable, for being mine."

Kurt blushed faintly. "I love you too."

Blaine bent to kiss him again, curling his fingers in Kurt's hair.

Kurt smiled.

Kurt took a seat at their favorite table near the windows on the right of their coffee shop; they loved watching the people hustling through this little corner of New York. Two paper cups sat before him – a nonfat mocha for himself and medium drip for Blaine, just like they'd always ordered – along with two almond biscotti and he set the latest issue of Vogue beside them.

Before he'd even had the chance to flip it open, Blaine came through the door with a little tinkle of the bells overhead. He said hello to the baristas and spotted Kurt in his usual seat, his face lighting up as Kurt's did the same. Blaine made a beeline for his fiancé, and Kurt tilted his head up just as Blaine reached him for their lips to meet in a sweet kiss; the action was so simple, so frequently practiced that way over the past six years, but still sent a tingle down to their toes. Blaine pulled back and locked eyes with Kurt a moment, then brushed back a stray piece of hair off his forehead before taking his own seat.

Kurt just grinned and sipped his coffee.