Kurt holds Blaine tightly to his chest, arms wrapped around his shaking husband.
Tries to be here in the moment, for Blaine. Tries to be anywhere else but here, for himself.
He strokes a hand over Blaine's curls, cradles the back of his head and kisses the top of his hair, murmurs into the sweet smell of raspberry and honey and Blaine that he's here, that it will be okay.
Both feel like lies, but Blaine needs to hear them, so he says them.
He feels his husband nod against his chest. Hears the sniffles as he tries to compose himself then pulls out of Kurt's embrace.
Kurt lets his arms fall away, wraps them around himself, feels a little untethered without Blaine's warm weight against him.
They look down at the grave before them, her name etched in the stone.
"I think I'm ready to go," Blaine says, looking back at Kurt, eyes red and puffy, face flushed.
Kurt was ready to go before they arrived. Kurt never wants to leave.
"Okay," he says, taking Blaine's hand as they make their way back toward their car.
"We should stop at that ice cream place on the way home," Blaine suggests, manages a sad smile. "It's a birthday tradition. She'd be upset if we didn't."
"Yeah," Kurt says, tries to offer a smile of his own in return. "She would."