This was such a cute idea. :)

Kurt only admitted it under duress, but he knew that at sixty years old (or nearly sixty, in Blaine's case), he and Blaine were more likely to be called 'silver foxes' than 'teenage heartthrobs' by the media. It didn't help that he had started plucking more and more gray hairs from his temples every evening as he and Blaine did their skincare routines, which were now more important than ever if they wanted to battle potentially unflattering wrinkles.

(Blaine, on the other hand, was pulling off the salt-and-pepper look like he'd invented it, the bastard.)

There were other signs of their advancing age, too, some easier to hide than others: Kurt had started wearing reading glasses whenever he was confronted with small text, picking a slim black pair that would hopefully make him look distinguished should the paps ever catch him wearing them, while Blaine was still vigorously denying that he would need a hearing aid soon, amount of concerts he'd either been to or headlined be damned - people just needed to speak up!

Kurt could handle all of these little annoyances that came with getting older. Hair dye, anti-aging cream, and glasses were all easy enough to buy and use. What he couldn't handle, though, was a less superficial sign of aging that Blaine was starting to display.

I'll keep an eye on it, Kurt thought one morning as he was getting dressed. See if I can find a pattern or something. If I do, I'll call the doctor and drag Blaine there if it kills me.

"Ready to go?" Kurt asked, pushing himself out of the little booth he and Blaine were sharing at their favorite neighborhood cafe. "God, lunch was good today."

"Lunch is good here every day," Blaine said, scooting forward and reaching out a hand.

Kurt latched on and helped pull his husband up from his seat, a sinking feeling in his chest. These booths were just plushy enough to be comfy - nowhere near full enough that Blaine should need help standing up from one, especially at not-even-sixty.

"Feeling okay?" Kurt said airily, hoping his anxiety wasn't apparent - he'd only freak Blaine out if he sounded nervous. He kept Blaine's hand in his as they headed out the door, absentmindedly swinging their arms back and forth.

"Yeah, of course. Maybe a little overfull from eating, but that'll work itself out," Blaine replied, looking confused.

Kurt leaned in and kissed his temple. "Keep it that way."

"I'll do my best," Blaine said, still a bit bemused but smiling that heart-stopping smile up at Kurt anyways.

Kurt could only hope he'd get to see that smile for a long time yet.

The trend only continued over the next few days. Blaine reached for Kurt's hand almost every time he had to stand after sitting - at restaurants, at friends' places, as they left theaters and taxi cabs. He never groaned or winced whenever he got up, though, easing Kurt's fears a little - after all, if Blaine was in serious pain, he'd have to show it somehow, right?

Even with that minor comfort, Kurt couldn't help but fret as Blaine continued to cling to his hand like it was a life preserver.

"Have you noticed anything weird about him, Rach?" he asked one day when they were out for coffee. "You've been staging that musical production of The Notebook with him - though I still think neither of you is old enough to play Noah or Allie yet, by the way - but that's beside the point. You'd tell me if you saw him stiffening up or moving slowly or anything like that, wouldn't you?"

"You know I would, Kurt," Rachel said, squeezing his hand where it rested on the table. "But honestly, he's as spry as he's always been at rehearsals. Hell, the other day he started jitterbugging around the stage with me when our younger counterparts were rehearsing a number. Are you sure you're not just blowing things out of proportion?"

"Yes!...Mostly," Kurt said, pursing his lips. "But you know I've never been a hypochondriac."

"We all go a little nuts in our old age, babe. Maybe you're going to become the kind of person who swears their cold is actually Ebola," Rachel teased.

The squawk she let out when Kurt stole her last biscotti in revenge helped to soothe his injured pride.

"Blaine. We need to talk," Kurt said that evening, almost the second Blaine got home.

"Okaaaay," Blaine said, warily sitting next to Kurt on the couch. "Why are you giving me the break-up speech?"

"Wh - no, Blaine, I'm not giving you the break-up speech," Kurt said, realizing he'd phrased his earlier statement badly. "We've been married for forty years, you know you're stuck with me forever at this point. I needed to ask you something about your health."

"First of all, I'm not stuck with you forever," Blaine said, leaning in to kiss Kurt gently. "But to address your other question: I feel fine, baby, I told you this last week."

"No backaches? No stiffness? No - I dunno - shooting pains down your legs?" Kurt prodded, drumming his fingers anxiously against his thighs.

"None of the above. Why are you so worried, Kurt?" Blaine asked, eyebrows scrunching in concern.

"You keep using me for support!" Kurt burst out, nearly blowing Blaine back with the force of his words. "Every time you stand up, you grab onto my hand like you won't be able to move otherwise. I can't tell if it's arthritis or Parkinson's or some other unknown and terrible disease, but I can tell I'm going even grayer with worry about it!"

"Kurt," Blaine said, taking both of Kurt's hands in his own. "Breathe, honey. I promise I'm not dying of some mysterious illness or suddenly losing all mobility. I just - wanted an excuse to hold your hand more often."

"You what?" Kurt said, wondering if he was going to need hearing aids soon, too.

"We stopped holding hands a while ago for some reason, and I miss it," Blaine said, blushing. "I mean, I know essentially everyone on the planet knows we're in love, but I still like proving it sometimes, I guess. Plus, you've remained incredibly hot over the years, so I need to make sure no one gets any funny ideas." He punctuated that sentence with a wink, making Kurt laugh.

"I don't think anyone's about to steal me away from you, B," he said, squeezing Blaine's hands. "We haven't had any weird, threatening letters in like fifteen years, remember?"

"You never know," Blaine said, laughing along with Kurt.

"But seriously, you couldn't just tell me you wanted to hold hands more often?" Kurt asked, going back to Blaine's original point. "We've gotten pretty good at this communication thing, Blaine, I'm sure you could've found the words somehow. A reprise of 'I Want to Hold Your Hand,' maybe?"

"I didn't wanna make it weird!" Blaine defended. "How am I supposed to say 'hey, sweetheart, I feel like we don't hold hands enough' without sounding foolish?"

"By remembering that I am your husband who loves you even if you're a bit weird sometimes," Kurt said, winking. "I generally even think it's a cute kind of weird."

"I'll keep it in mind," Blaine said, winking back. "But I thought this way was more subtle."

"Yes, until it nearly gave me a heart attack at sixty," Kurt retorted, mostly kidding. "I'm already at risk because of my dad, sweetie, don't make it worse!"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Blaine said gently, scooting closer and wrapping an arm around Kurt's shoulders. "No more accidental health scares, I promise."

"That's all I ask," Kurt replied.

"So demanding," Blaine teased, earning him a smack to the chest. "Hey!"

"You deserved it after this week," Kurt said, but he was already leaning over to kiss Blaine in apology, feeling like every touch was even sweeter than usual now that he knew it was unlikely to be their last.