Summary: “Wedding.” Santana says, knocking back the rest of the her Bloody Mary. “Your theme is getting fucking married.”
The bakery on 81st they both love (the one they make a point to stop at when they run Central Park, so that the trip home is usually accompanied by cupcakes or strawberry tarts or these insane cherry danishes that Blaine continuously tries to replicate but can never get quite right) announces they’re going out of business. Shelly, the middle-aged former Chemistry teacher turned baker, tells them she’s moving to Georgia with her wife.
“But you were going to make our wedding cake.” Kurt bemoans, snickerdoodle still halfway to his lips, its trajectory paused in disbelief. Chocolate with Bavarian cream and raspberry coulis. It wasn’t an easy decision what with Blaine being unnaturally attached to the idea of red velvet but Kurt had talked him down from that ledge thank goodness.
It was a battle too hard won for either of them to let a pesky little thing like the fact that they aren’t officially engaged stop them from ordering the three tier chocolate masterpiece of their dreams.
And it’s funny really, they laugh about what they’re going to do with that much cake in a month and a half.
“We should throw a party!” Blaine says excitedly, later that night, toothbrush dangling out of his mouth and Kurt pauses mid-moisturizing to warn him about spitting on the mirror, “Though it is a cake worth celebrating.” Blaine bobs his head at Kurt’s reflection.
The cake feeds a projected 150 people, which they’ll never fit in their apartment, not even if they pull every space-making trick in the book. “And, no offence to our place, it really does deserve a much more grandiose backdrop.” Kurt says, to the airy wave of Blaine’s hand. Of course it does.
With less than a month before their (still unthemed) party they don’t really expect to find much when they start looking for possible venues. Which is why when the Foundry actually calls Blaine back—months after what he and Kurt had both agreed was a million-to-one long shot in hell decision to put their names down on the list—to tell him there was a cancellation and asks if they’re still interested there’s no way Blaine can say no. The Foundry has been on Kurt’s list of preapproved dream locations for ages, and the way his whole face lights up with a smile when Blaine tells him over dinner that night is all Blaine needs to know he might the right call.
They’re discussing party details over Sunday brunch with Rachel and Santana, who always scoffs at invitations and shows up anyway, when they realize both girls have gone quiet and are staring at them with different degrees of incredulity and judgment dawning on their faces.
“What?” Kurt asks, sipping on his strawberry mimosa.
“Are the rose petals too much?” Blaine asks worriedly. He doesn’t think they can get a refund on those. They were on sale.
Rachel’s mouth opens and clothes a few times. “Are you—seriously?”
“What?” Kurt asks again, a little more defensive. He’s not about to have Rachel Berry critique his party planning skills.
"Wedding.” Santana says, knocking back the rest of her Bloody Mary, “Your theme is getting fucking married. Christ.” She flicks her fingers over her shoulder towards the nearest waiter. “And I’m gonna be needin’ another one of these.”
And Kurt’s about to remind Santana that this is why she hasn’t been allowed to contribute at party planning sessions since 2013. She’s never been able to take it seriously: Lingerie. Black out or get out. No pants. Sex zombie (Kurt still doesn’t even know what that one entails; he’d covered his ears for most of her explanation).
Blaine’s hand slips over his, presses them both against Kurt’s thigh beneath the table. Kurt’s tongue curls against the backs of his teeth. Except that’s exactly what they’ve been doing.
They’ve been planning their lives together for so long—have planned enough dream weddings to fill a lifetime or two—it’s not like you can blame them for not noticing. Blaine looks at him, eyebrows raised and mouth crooked with amusement, and Kurt smiles at him. “We’re getting married.”
Blaine’s face splits open with a smile so wide his eyes disappear completely, “Okay.” He kisses Kurt’s cheek and then his mouth, the hand that isn’t gripping Kurt’s warm against Kurt’s jaw. Santana makes barfing noises and Rachel manages a faint “Yay” like she’s still processing what’s taken place.
When they get home Blaine goes to the hallway closest and Kurt dives under their bed and they meet in the living room holding out boxes.
“I found it when I was hiding your birthday present—”
“I found it when I was switching out my winter wardrobe—”
Neither of them asks the question. The answer’s kind of obvious anyway.