Kurt arrived at home straight into his father’s tight embrace; right where he belonged. He had missed his father and his friends from Lima, particularly Rachel and Mercedes. The thought of Blaine alone in his apartment worried him for some reason and he wished that he could tell someone, his father specifically, that the black haired boy was staying just down the small hall from him. But he knew he couldn’t because the Dean specifically told him not to say anything about Blaine being back at Dalton, even people who had no affiliation with the school. Instead, he kept his mouth shut about Blaine and smiled during Carole’s embrace, which was much tighter than his father’s for some reason. Kurt dropped his suitcase to the floor with a smile and began to feel back at home.
�� � � � � � � � � � � � -
Blaine combed his fingers through his hair and fiddled with Kurt's towel, because everything here wasn't his, it was Kurt's. He threw the towel on the floor and slid on his boxers, noting that the clothes he brought with him were the same that he had before he left Dalton the first time. He definitely did not want to wear them. Blaine looked at his suitcases forlornly lying on the floor; he felt if he kept them packed it would mean that he would leave soon. He rubbed the back of his neck and reasoned that he couldn’t go anywhere else. He wondered how long Kurt to get back from his parent’s, he also longed to know about him than just his name and the fact that he designed the whole apartment himself. He pegged this desire as loneliness.
�� � � � � � � � � � � -
He squeezed the bridge of his nose gingerly and yawned. He was always the last to fall asleep whenever he went to Rachel's. Starting his Navigator and putting it in gear he drove away from her house. The silence slowly consumed him, allowing his mind to wander towards Blaine and why he was here. This exact question had burrowed deep into his mind and had been occupying most of his mind the whole weekend. His eyes haunted him the most, the deep purple circles underneath his hazel eyes couldn't seem to leave. Various scenes of him and Blaine together flashed through his head. In one instance, Kurt was asking him why he was here and Blaine told him it was all a misunderstanding. For his own sake he hoped that all it was is misunderstanding, a honk sounded behind him and he jumped, startled and punched the thinner pedal down to the floor.
"Hi honey!" Carole said, her voice coming from the kitchen. Kurt smiled meekly and plunked down in a barstool. "Long night at Rachel's?" She asked with a smile.
"Of course. You know Rachel." Kurt said, vaguely. Carole laughed and nodded after sliding a plate of fresh sliced fruit. "Thank you."
"You're welcome honey, anytime! Now, you're leaving in an hour to go to Dalton right?"
"Right." Kurt replied, eating the sliced strawberry first.
"Well, your father's at the shop. He said he loved you and that he'll see you again in a week." Carole said with another smile. Kurt popped a blueberry in his mouth and said he loved his father in return. He quickly stood up, pushed the plate away, and went to shower and begin his daily skin routine.
�� � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � �-
He wandered out into the main room, looking for an interest unattainable in the small bedroom. As he glanced around, his attention was caught by a familiar object nestled into the corner. He slowly took a step forward, glancing around anxiously as though he were a child about to steal from the cookie jar. After a few cautious steps, he reached his destination – the beautiful mahogany Steinway. He tentatively reached out his hand and lightly stoked his fingers over the keys. As the tips of his fingers grazed ever so gently over the white tabs, he was assaulted with a memory so strong it nearly knocked him on the floor. Hard as he tried to block it out, blinking and rubbing his temples, the memory continued to crash over him in rather large waves. He was taken back three years, in an elaborate hall, decorated to the max with lavish pieces of fine art. �The mahogany Steinway under his hands a dear friend. The entire hall was filled with the sounds of the random tinkling of notes. The memory was short, and to anyone else, insignificant, but to him, it meant the world; a world he’d lost. Before any more memories could attack, he turned and all but ran back to his room.