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He had it all planned out.
An operation, really. That involved bribing Sam and keeping Kurt out of the house all day.
He called it The Most Romantic Valentine’s Day That Kurt Anderson-Hummel Has Ever Seen.
Or M.R.V.D.K.A.H.E.S for short.
Roses?
Two dozen for Kurt, another dozen to spread around the bed.
Check.
Kurt’s favourite chocolates? Check again.
Dinner?
Blaine picked up all the ingredients as soon as Kurt left.
One more check.
Ten week old golden retriever puppy?
Check check and check again.
She’s an angel - tiny and soft and so, so fluffy, fur so light it nearly looks platinum. She’s got her paws pressed to the window, peeking over the edge to peer outside as they drive, tail wagging excitedly.
He had to bribe Sam to keep her at his place for a week, and he nearly had to bribe Sam again just to get her back -
Kurt wants one, Blaine knows this. Last month when they watched Marley & Me Kurt cried for hours - and then spent another two hours staring at dog pictures on the internet.
Being the most romantic husband in the whole word?
Check.
She looks like a Satine; angelic and graceful as she trails around the house, sniffing every other thing before growing bored and moving on.
Her collar is pink with tiny hearts running around it, matching Blaine’s bowtie that he selected just for today, and all she’s missing is a ribbon.
He loops it through her collar, tying it neatly behind her neck, smiling down at her as she sits impatiently, tiny tail thumping against the ground.
“Kurt is going to fall in love with you,” he breathes happily, laughing when she covers the back of his hand in puppy kisses.
He gets to work on the rest of the operation, making their bed, fluffing the pillows and spreading rose petals across the covers, tries his best to lay them out in the shape of a heart, and places Kurt’s box of chocolates in the middle. Then he prepares dinner, cutting up vegetables and leaving the sauce to simmer on the stove, the chicken in the oven.
His heart beats oddly, in a way it never has. And he thinks it’s funny that years of knowing him, years of loving him, and just thinking about him makes his pulse go a little crazy and makes his heart pump in a different way, every single time -
But he hasn’t gotten a single Valentine’s Day right, not yet. But today that’ll change.
It’s when he’s about to get a head start on making dessert that he realizes there’s an absence in soft footsteps.
He checks under the kitchen table, checks by the door where he left her puppy bed.
“Satine!” he calls out, whistling as he paces the first floor of the house. “Satine, come here, girl! Kurt will be home soon!”
No sign of her downstairs, Blaine ventures upstairs, trying to calm the nerves sparking to life in his stomach, because there’s no way he lost their dog, no possible way -
Nerves explode, stomach dropping a whole foot -
There are rose petals, rose stems, in the hallway, and he definitely didn’t put them there.
Blaine dashes down the hall, pushes the half-open door back and jumps into their bedroom, frantically switching his head back and forth.
“Satine - ?”
He takes it all in; petals are scattered everywhere. The two dozen bouquet of roses has been torn to bits, looking more like a bundle of weeds now, and their blanket has been yanked off their bed and pulled to the side.
Dread builds and builds and grows so high that when it crashes, it’s a tidal wave.
“Satine!” he whines, yells, shouts -
Above his crashing pulse, he hears - growling. Quiet and low, somewhere in the room, and Blaine speeds around the bed to find Satine, laying on the floor with her face buried in -
“Satine! No!”
Blaine throws himself forward, knocking the box of chocolates as far away as possible, and quickly moves to pick the puppy up. He searches her mouth, dread and panic and fear now a toxic cocktail, swishing in his gut, but thankfully he finds nothing.
He peers over at the box, sees that none have been touched, so maybe they’re still good -
They’re covered in dog drool. Of course. Of course -
“Satine - those were for Kurt! Now he doesn’t have roses or chocolates or - oh dear god -” he shrieks, holding the puppy away from himself. “What’s that smell - ?”
She’s wet. And now he’s wet.
And now they’re both covered in pee.
“Oh my god - okay, okay, bath time - oh god.”
Nose wrinkling, puppy tucked under one arm, Blaine starts to run the bath, adjusts the temperature before putting her in.
He’s soaked from his shoulders to his wrists, all over his stomach and down to his pants, soap and water and puppy pee -
Satine scratches at the edge of the tub, whining pitifully and looking up at Blaine with the saddest of wide eyes, but she’s splashing water and not staying still and his stomach has mostly settled, now he just feels an annoying, digging pain behind his eyes.
Sam said she was an angel, he doesn’t understand where that angel went -
Then a distinct scent hits him, far different than anything Satine has done.
Like -
Burning.
Something is burning.
Blaine’s eyes widen at the exact moment the smoke detector goes off, loud high-pitched beeping sounding throughout the house, replacing his heartbeat completely.
Grabbing a towel off the shower rod, he pulls Satine out of the tub and throws it around her, keeps her tucked close as he runs back down the hall, completely forgetting about the rose stems and stepping right on them, yelping out in pain but not having a second to stop because Satine is barking and the smoke detector is blaring -
Sliding into the kitchen, Blaine watches in horror as his sauce boils over, bursting out onto the stove.
He pulls at his hair with one hand, soaking wet puppy in the other, and tries his hardest not to cry.
Putting Satine down, he flicks off all the switches, grabs the pot and throws it in the sink and starts to run the cold water, but the detector won’t shut up and he can’t figure out why -
The chicken. The goddamn chicken -
Blaine hastily slides on oven mitts, pulling the chicken out of the oven and slamming it down on the stove, fanning at the smoke.
When the detector cuts out, when the heat from the oven isn’t blaring in his face and Satine has stopped yipping, Blaine finally breathes. And breathes. And breathes -
Satine has stopped yipping.
Whipping around, Blaine threads both hands through his hair now, scanning the kitchen for her.
Water is everywhere, everywhere, and Satine speeds back into the room, soaking wet towel being dragged behind her, leaving trails wherever she goes.
“Satine!” Blaine yells, for what must be the thousandth time all day.
His eyes dart to the clock above the table, timer in his heart ticking down, about to explode, and Kurt could be home at any second now -
He starts to chase Satine, reaching for the towel, and when he grabs it and tries to reach for her - the front door opens, and the tiny puppy takes off like a rocket to investigate the noise, leaving Blaine behind on the kitchen floor.
He drops down, glares hard at the wet tiles and keeps his breathing from raging into fire.
“What’s this?” Kurt shouts from the living room, Satine whining and yipping. “Oh, hello there!”
Defeat aches in his every bone, and Blaine forces himself into a standing position before trudging his way into the living room to greet Kurt.
“Hi,” he grumbles, staring at the floor, mouth snarled to one side.
At least Kurt looks stunning - but when does he not - ?
“Blaine,” Kurt says, excitedly, bundling Satine up in his arms. “Who’s dog is this?”
Swallowing hard, he raises his chin and meets Kurt’s eyes, tries to smile, and mumbles, “Um. Ours. Happy Valentine’s Day.”
Kurt’s eyes expand, mouth falling open, and he switches his gaze from Blaine to the puppy.
“Oh my god - Blaine -” Kurt melts, stars glittering blue in his eyes. “Does she have a name?”
Satine is wriggling in Kurt’s grasp, fighting to get closer to his face, licking at his nose, and Kurt nuzzles her back.
Blaine reaches forward and pets at her ears, thinks, and says, “Well, I was going with Satine. But now I think Crash Bandicoot is a lot more fitting.”
Kurt laughs - and anything would be worth it if Kurt just always laughed like that - and kisses the puppy on the head, cuddling her even closer.
“Hi there, Crash,” he says quietly, staring at her in awe, then looking back up at Blaine. “Oh - you’re both all - wet.”
Shoulders and spine dropping, Blaine sighs, “Yeah, haven’t been having much luck here.”
Kurt jerks his head up again, alert flaring across his face, nose scrunching and eyes squinting.
“Was something burning?”
“That would be your dinner.”
“Oh.” Then his face softens, smile sad but somehow shining, and he says, softly, “Blaine.”
Blaine wants to crumble, defeat in his bones claiming victory and chipping away at everything holding him up, and his lip wobbles as he cries, “I had it all planned out, Kurt! And then she - she ruined - I think we have to take her back. Look at the place, it’s a disaster.”
One of Kurt’s eyebrow lifts, head tilting to the side, and he laughs out breathily, shaking his head.
“Blaine, this is nothing,” he says, readjusting Crash in his arms. “What are you going to do when we have actual kids? Take them back?”
He burns red, all the way across his cheeks. “I - I guess not.”
Crash makes a noise, squirms around, so Kurt holds her up, out, and Blaine takes her and keeps her close, wet fur and all.
“I love her. I love you. Thank you.”
He’s leaning forward for the kiss before he even realizes, Crash caught between them as he presses his lips against Kurt’s -
And his blood courses with love, and Kurt courses with happiness.
The checklist has been burned, the operation a bust -
But still a success.