Kurt was sure he'd never seen a more beautiful day in his life, and thought it likely that he never would. He stood by the window of the luxurious hotel room, gazing down over the park in which he and Blaine would soon be wed, and, just as he felt he could not be more content, he felt his Blaine wrap his arms around his shoulders, and whisper into his ear,

"Good morning, love." Kurt smiled and leaned into Blaine's neck before turning to kiss him, his hands tenderly grasping his face. The two kissed deeply and almost lost themselves right there in the sunlight, until Blaine pulled away to smile widely and say "I love saying good morning like this. Can I get you anything? How do you feel today?" Blaine's expression turned to slight concern, as it always did these days. Kurt didn't mind. He'd known since the day he was diagnosed with a terminal brain tumor, one year ago, that Blaine would feel the pain as deeply as he would. Looking into Blaine's beautiful face, Kurt replied,

"I feel wonderful this morning, because I have you. And that's all I need." Blaine's eyes filled with tears as he beheld his soon-to-be husband, his smooth, pale skin, his silky chestnut colored hair that he wore gelled high but which lay adorably messy atop his head in the morning. He looked into Kurt's eyes and saw the purple shadows that circled them, the result of months of sleepless nights in which he would lay awake, or toss and turn because of the steadily worsening headaches that had sent him to the hospital in the first place. Kurt's good days meant that he could work through his headache, as he continued to attend classes at NYADA and work part-time under Isabelle Wright at Vogue. His bad days were almost unbearable; as the his brain tumor grew in malignancy, his headaches became more frequent and vicious, and, at their worst, a single headache could leave Kurt blinded, dizzy, nauseated to the extreme, at times ready to tear out his own eyeballs if only to distract from the knife being repeatedly stabbed into his frontal lobe… He had access to all kinds of pain killers, of course, but they would often leave him loopy and not as present as he wanted to be, knowing he had only a finite amount of time left with those he loved.

In the year since his diagnosis Kurt had gradually let all of his friends and acquaintances know about his situation, and was thankful that now, though he only had even less time to live, that he had finally finished the portion of his life that had had to be spent informing his loved ones of his impending death. Kurt had assumed that after telling his dad the bad news everyone else would seem like a piece of cake, but he'd been wrong about that. His father was distraught, of course, and had spent hours after the initial shock insisting that Kurt go over every single medical detail with him until he was sure that nothing could be done. After this point, Burt had turned his attention to the emotional wellbeing of his son and refused to be comforted when it was Kurt who was in pain. Kurt would later reflect regularly on what a rock his father had been to him, not only through this ordeal, but throughout his entire life. Carole and Finn had, of course, followed suit and looked out for Kurt as much as they could, traveling more often than was really necessary from Lima to New York with Burt to make sure they appreciated any time left they were given.

Kurt's friends were all struggling, without the years of emotional maturity and previous experiences of loss to give them Burt's sensible stoicism. Though Kurt loved Rachel, Santana, Mercedes, Sam and all of his other friends back at McKinley High, he had found himself exhausted and overwhelmed after each meeting with his old pals. Rachel at least, had Finn to temper her emotional neediness, and still, she had yet to look at Kurt without tearing up, to the point where Kurt heard himself say sharply one morning, "Honestly, Rachel, I just offered you some orange juice, there simply cannot be anything to cry about." Santana had made a proud stab at being her old self when Kurt told her his news, snapping, "Look, Lady Hummel, just because you've got a Louboutin sized tumor in your perfectly coiffed skull doesn't mean I can miss my 4pm dance class, so if you wanna wax poetic over the fact that you now have less time to design suits made out of Elton John's gift-wrapping room, count me out." Santana had said all this while shoving on a jacket and gathering her purse, but when she turned to face the door she crumpled and burst into tears with her hand on the doorknob. Mercedes had been immediately sensitive, of course, as had Sam, but they had both needed Kurt's shoulder to cry on while he patted their backs, almost bored of the repetitiveness with which this event had taken place since he had been diagnosed.

"What are you thinking about, babe?" Blaine's voice tickled softly into his soon-to-be-husband's ear. Kurt cut off his recollections of his friends' reactions and behavior towards his illness and focused on the love of his life who still stood with his arms wrapped around his shoulders, gazing out on the trees as they cast long shadows over the grass. Kurt made his voice light and sing-song, not having to force it for the first time in months.

"I'm just thinking about us. Today is just for us."