Kurt stared blankly at the screen. “Oh my god,” Blaine whispered. “Oh…oh my god.”
The entire living room had gone silent. Finn still had a potato chip halfway to his mouth and his new Game Informer drooped from his hands. Carole’s book had long ago been discarded. Burt had his hand on Kurt’s shoulder so tight his knuckles had whitened.
“Oh my god,” Kurt said in a small, breathless voice. “Blaine…oh my god.”
“We can get married,” Blaine marveled. “When we’re older…and we just decide that we…and then we can…we can just do it.”
“With permission,” Burt said, eyes still riveted to the screen.
“With permission,” Blaine hastily added.
Kurt covered his mouth with his shaking hand. “Oh my god, I’m allowed to get married,” he whispered. “I can…I can get married.”
He buried his face in his hands and dropped his head to Blaine’s shoulder. Blaine gripped him tightly, his damp cheek pressed against Kurt’s, and in between soft featherlight kisses he whispered foolish little things in his ear, tiny breaths of promises of everything that could someday actually happen.