Kurt and Blaine are not cuddling. No, really. It doesn't matter that Burt walked in and gave a side eye to the fact that they tucked under the same afghan on the sofa because this is just a post-Regionals Netflix session, which has been a tradition since their Dalton days. The competition performances always exhaust Blaine, so that's why his head is on Kurt's shoulder. And, well, Kurt has missed holding hands during movies because Rachel and Santana both complain that he squeezes too hard when he gets excited. This is just two friends sitting comfortably, watching a movie. Absolutely no cuddling, no sir.
"There's no way anyone with curly hair looks that good first thing in the morning," Blaine grumbles, watching the movie's male lead roll out of bed with perfect hair.
Kurt smiles a little because it may have happened a hundred times before, but he still thinks it's cute that Blaine gets so irrational when it comes to hair. He offers the other boy a reassuring hand squeeze and, without really thinking, says, "Your hair always looks amazing when you just woke up."
Kurt feels Blaine reach into his sweatshirt pocket like he about to pull out his cell phone and call for an escape. Blaine has made it obvious that he wants them back together and while Kurt wants that too, he not sure if that's the best place for him right now. Instead, he's in the place where he puts his foot in his mouth and then feels awful because after having his best friend be his boyfriend for so long, it hard to figure out what will be weird. Suddenly, their physical closeness seems obscene, and Kurt pulls away so he can stand, babbling some excuse about being thirsty and asking if Blaine wants anything from the kitchen. The other boy jumps from the couch, claiming that he's going to make them both homemade cocoa because Kurt always burns it.
"I'm offended by that allegation," Kurt says, perching on one of the kitchen counters. It's a comfortable distance, not close enough to be intimate but also not far away enough to seem cold. As Blaine pulls out a saucepan, Kurt continues, "You do know that I cook for three people now, right? That includes cocoa."
"The instant mix doesn't count," Blaine replies, fond exasperation creeping into his voice already because they've argued about this in the past.
They debate whether the ease of Swiss Miss outweighs the chalky aftertaste for awhile, which transitions to Kurt griping about how the girls never do chores around the house, and Blaine ranting about how Shuester has been treating glee club. When he pulls the pan off the stove to give it one last stir, Blaine nods vaguely in the direction of the fridge and Kurt hops down from the counter to get the mugs. He grabs a random one for himself but stretches to the top shelf for the one that he had painted for a school project years ago. It has flowers, a tree, and the word dad on it with the first D written backward. It's Blaine's favorite mug, which Kurt knows because not only is Blaine the type of person to have a favorite mug at someone else's house, he's the type to tell you about it. Something warm spreads in Kurt's chest and he reminds himself of the word platonic.
Blaine's rummaging around in the fridge now, because even though he can make cocoa from scratch, he always burns himself trying to pour it. So, it's Kurt who carefully tips the pan over the sink, thinking about how he remembered all these little things about Blaine and how easily they've fallen back into the same patterns of moving around and working with each other. As much as he adores Rachel and has learned to love Santana, whenever he's in New York, Kurt aches for Blaine and the easy, wonderful friendship they had.
"Whipped cream?"
Kurt barely turns around to answer before Blaine spritzes a dollop of it on Kurt's nose, smiling devilishly. Squawking in protest, Kurt wipes his face with his sleeve and rushes towards Blaine, who squirts whip cream into his mouth until his cheeks puff up like a chipmunk. As they race around the kitchen table, Kurt can't help but laugh because he feels sixteen and easy again. He manages to get the upper hand, grabbing Blaine around the waist to keep him from running any further, and he's shrieking because Blaine threatens to spray whipped cream in his hair. Something clatters to the floor and Kurt, afraid that it's his phone, hurries under the table to get it and-
And it's not his phone at all. Kurt stands back up with a small, velvet box in his hand and all the color drains from Blaine's face. As Kurt's face starts to burn and his stomach churns violently, he wishes his acting professor was here right now because the nerves don't show at all in his voice when he asks, "Blaine, what is this?"
Blaine takes a deep breath, eyes sliding shut and arms crossing over his chest. He holds himself by the elbows as if letting go means falling apart, the can of whipped cream still in his hand. Even from a few feet away, Kurt can hear the other boy exhale before, voice shaking, he says, "Go ahead and open it."
Part of Kurt doesn't want to; that part of him would rather pass the box back to Blaine, take his cocoa, and forget the whole thing ever happened. He's pretty confident that he knows what waits for him inside the small box. Except. Except Kurt lost faith in his ability to know exactly what goes on in Blaine Anderson's head this past October, so an even bigger part of him needs to know what exactly he holding in his hand if only to disprove two years' worth of daydreaming and TiVo'd episodes of Four Weddings.
So, before another agonizing second can pass, Kurt opens the box and, yeah, that definitely a ring waiting for him. He looks only long enough to wonder is that silver or white gold, then snaps it shut again. His throat tightens and his chest aches like he's not getting enough air into his lungs and Kurt honestly thinks he might be suffocating. Blaine takes an unsure step forward, like he wants to help but isn't sure what's the right protocol in this situation. He freezes like that, a foot away and looking close to tears as he clutches a can of whipped cream like a lifeline, saying, "It's not an engagement ring."
All the air seems to rush back to Kurt's body then, allowing him to suck in a breath before shooting a look that he hopes seems fierce. "Blaine Devon Anderson, if this isn't an engagement ring then what is it?"
"A promise ring," Blaine replies, quietly.
Kurt shuts his eyes, trying to fight the deja vu. When he opens them again, Blaine still looks as if he wants to cry, but now he's farther away than before. It makes Kurt's stomach drop because he still hates the thought of upsetting Blaine. He counts out three deep breaths and, like he's reading a script of his own memory, asks, "But what are you promising?"
He does even get an answer before Blaine's face crumples and the whipped cream clatters to the floor, echoing loudly in the otherwise peaceful quiet of the kitchen. He looks like a little kid in a body too big for him and, not for the first time since graduation, Kurt feels so grown up compared to Blaine. Taking another steadying breath, Kurt puts the box in his pocket and wraps his arms around the other boy. Blaine tries to shrug him off at first, but quickly gives up and buries his face in Kurt's chest. No actual crying occurs, but Blaine's shoulders still shake and his breath comes in short gasps. Kurt has been in this place before, so he knows not to talk. Instead, he runs a hand down Blaine's back and hums soothingly.
When Blaine pulls back, there are splotches of color all over his face and some stubborn tears clinging to his eyelashes. Still, Blaine Anderson is utterly and unfairly beautiful. With the utmost tenderness, Kurt presses a kiss to the crown of the other boy's head. If need be, the gentleness of the act could excuse it as platonic, even if Kurt doesn't mean it that way. Who could mean it like that when Blaine Anderson stares at you with his stupid brown eyes like you hung the moon? Forcing a smile, Kurt settles his hand between Blaine's shoulder blades and asks, "Are you okay?"
Voice quiet but earnest, Blaine totally ignores the question he was just asked and says, "It's a promise for the future."
"Blaine, that what an engagement ring is," Kurt replies, struggling to keep his voice light.
"No, an engagement ring is a promise for a wedding, but that's not what this is about." Blaine can probably see the hurt on his face because he reaches up to touch Kurt's cheek before continuing, "I want us to get married and I really wanted to propose to you the other day. But."
"But?" Kurt prompts, feeling his pulse quicken.
"But I don't want to tell our grandchildren that the first time I proposed, you said 'no'."
Kurt doesn't know what to say to that, mostly because he doesn't know what he would say to an actual proposal. Blaine must take this silence as a sign, so he continues, "A promise for the future is different because it doesn't mean that we have to get married or anything. It just means that we'll be in each other's lives because I'm not interested in a future without some form of Kurt Hummel in it."
Kurt's heart clenches tightly, but that isn't an indicator of pain exactly. Burying his nose in Blaine's hair, he breathes in that stupid raspberry hair gel for the first time in what seems like forever. He turns over the past few months in his head, then the last two years, and, finally, says, "Okay."
He can feel Blaine stiffen and then relax in his arms, letting out a little whoop of joy. Kurt's hands migrate in order to rest at Blaine's waist, nodding along with everything the other boy promises. (They don't have to rush things, but they do need to talk about it and set boundaries and-)
"Blaine," Kurt says, feeling tension he did know existed melt out of his shoulders. The other boy looks guilty and, to assuage that, Kurt leans in and asks, "Can I kiss you right now?"
The cocoa cools rapidly on the counter. Less than an hour ago, Kurt tried to convince his father the of the changing definition of the word platonic. None of that matters now, because now Blaine's smile still makes Kurt's stomach flip a little as the other boy leans in a little closer and whispers, "Okay."