A car door slams outside, and Kurt jumps. He isn't expecting Blaine to be home this early. He's sat on the floor of their sitting room, his special childhood memory box open on the floor, and his most precious memories spilled around him. He moves to start gathering them up, but it's too late. He hears the front door slam.
"Hey baby," a voice says from behind him, and he turns to see a very soggy Blaine stood there, water dripping from his curls. His brow scrunches in confusion, and his nose screws up. Blaine crouches beside him. "What's this?"
Kurt looks at the floor in embarrassment. "Just…stuff," he says vaguely. "Also, you're getting water all over the carpet."
Blaine laughs. "It'll dry," he says, but he shrugs off his sodden coat anyway. "Better?"
Kurt nods, and Blaine sits next to him, crossing his legs so he's sitting just like Kurt. "Am I allowed to look at this just stuff?"
Kurt shakes his head. "I'll show you," he replies, picking up a moth eaten pale blue rag.
"What is that? Blaine asks, wrinkling his nose a little.
Kurt scowls. "It's Blankin," he responds defensively. "I've had this since I was a baby."
Blaine holds out his hand, and Kurt slowly deposits his precious blanket – if the tiny rag could be called a blanket – into his outstretched hand. Blaine peers at it, holding it in his hands gently, before giving it back to Kurt.
"Aww, you cutie," he grins, earning himself a nudge in the side. Chuckling, he gestures to a small pile of slightly ratty pictures with a sparkly pink hair bobble around them. "Can I see those?"
Kurt picks them up and takes the hair bobble off, putting it down gently in front of him. "The hair bobble belonged to my mom," he explains. "The pictures are all of her."
The first picture shows a very pretty woman. She's in a hospital bed, clutching a tiny baby in a blue blanket in her arms. Blaine gives Kurt a questioning look, and Kurt nods, before flipping to the second picture. It shows a slim woman with glasz eyes and auburn hair. Blaine is stunned by how much she looks like Kurt. Her hands are holding the handles of a pushchair, which has a tiny boy sat inside. His little body is slumped sideways, and his eyes are closed. Blaine makes a tiny noise that sounds suspiciously like 'Aww,' and Kurt bumps his shoulder gently with his own. The next few pictures show the woman alone; laughing, stood in front of a half red, half white wall, covered in white paint; clutching a picnic basket in a sunny field, a huge smile on her face and sunglasses perched on her nose; sat at a piano, concentration etched into her features and her tongue sticking out sideways. The final picture shows the woman and a small boy wearing a bow tie. She is sat in the grass in a cherry print dress, her legs splayed out sideways, and he is curled in between them, thumb in his mouth. She is looking down at him adoringly, stroking his soft brown hair with a delicate hand, and his little face, complete with gentle freckles smattered across his porcelain skin, wears a smile and contented expression. The photos end there, and Blaine looks to Kurt.
"I'd just turned eight when that was taken," Kurt says so softly Blaine can barely hear him. "She died a few months later."
Blaine sighs, slipping an arm around Kurt's waist as Kurt leans into his chest. "I'm sorry baby."
Kurt smiles a little. "It's okay. I would have liked you to meet her though."
Blaine strokes Kurt's hair gently, and Kurt bites back a sob. The only other person he allowed to touch his precious hair was his mother. He suddenly has a thought, and pulls back from Blaine's embrace to look him in the eyes.
"Would you like to…maybe…come to her grave with me?" he asks unsurely, biting his lip.
Blaine smiles, and takes Kurt's chin gently in his hand, tilting his head so Kurt is looking him in the eye again. "I would love to," he says, and kisses Kurt softly. And Kurt knows, that even though Blaine is not his mother, he means just as much to him as his mother ever will.