When Kurt was very young, he loved dancing. He'd loved it so much, he asked to be signed up for classes. Finding out he was the only boy enrolled left him feeling relieved in ways he couldn't explain in the moment. Then he learned that girls could be as cruel to him as the boys always were, that throwing punches isn't always physical, and his place in the world is underfoot.

Lima destroyed Kurt Hummel before he even had the chance to figure himself out.

Sometimes he thinks he'd like to dance again, but his unpracticed limbs don't know where to begin. In daydreams, his shoulders shimmy and his feet glide across the floor because the song in his head is begging for moves.

There are versions of him that survived his childhood without so many scars, but they exist only in theory. In the hopes he has for himself that he lacks the courage to pursue. Simple things like dancing alone in an empty apartment. But for twenty years, he's acquiesced to the naysayers. Undoing their damage could unravel him until the strings are all pulled and he's lying in a heap on the ground with no guarantee he can be rebuilt.

That's the fear that keeps him from calling his lifestyle rock bottom, from tearing down the wall of bricks fencing him in and laying a new foundation. He's put himself out there too much and come back twisted and deformed, and it's taken two years in solitude just to recognize all the broken bits. Kurt's in love, he's working again, he's given up extraneous distractions and honed in on creating art that matters to him, on giving little kids as many reasons as he can to not become bitter and resigned as adults. Kurt is happy like he hasn't been so fully in years, but all the leftover scars and haunting memories haven't budged from their sturdy footholds. Everything good will always be tainted by droughts of happiness he's experienced prior.

He's never found a proper way to explain that to his father, who has always looked so lost in trying to understand Kurt. Burt Hummel is a good man, patient and kind and so much stronger than Kurt can ever hope to be. He loves Kurt; he comes by every Friday to carry on a tradition they've held since Kurt's mother died, one that was only interrupted by Kurt's time in New York and the months of hell after he crawled home. Burt has dug into all the research available on agoraphobia, on anxiety, depression, panic attacks, on every sign and symptom of all adjacent disorders, but Kurt knows the locks have never fully clicked into place. Burt wears guilt like a second skin and Kurt doesn't know how to take that pain away, how to lighten his load and assure his father it's nothing he's done that's made Kurt this way.

On Christmas Eve, Burt comes over early. He's spending the weekend in Columbus, staying in a hotel to give Kurt space though Kurt promised it was fine if he didn't. Inside, he's glad for the chance to unwind with nights alone.

Kurt makes breakfast and it's a quiet morning before the Puckermans join them. Beth and Quinn help Kurt in the kitchen while Puck and Burt plant themselves in front of the television. 

“Where's Blaine?” Beth asks, going to town with a potato masher. And that's how it starts. Quinn turns to Kurt, interest piqued and arms crossed, asking, “Who is Blaine?”

From there, Beth takes over, spilling every secret she had no idea was secret at all.

Quinn has visited enough to occasionally overhear Blaine jamming to whatever music he needs to let out, but Kurt never tells her about him; he agrees with her when she says he sounds like a hottie, but then they move on to new topics. Puck always shows up at random, playing with his nerves by throwing off whatever daily plans Kurt makes for himself; he's heard Blaine play and they've apparently run into one another outside and in the hall, but Puck's not much for talking about boys and Kurt isn't either. They care about Kurt and that's wonderful, but Kurt detests being treated like their second child.

It was bad enough when Beth let slip Kurt's love affair with rooftops and nighttime air. It was nothing less than a fiasco when the news spread to Burt which then led to a horribly upsetting phone call, during which Kurt had to listen to hope fade fast from his father's voice as Kurt told him, “No. No, I'm not ready to leave yet. I'm just… I don't know, really, but I'm – I'm not ready, Dad. I'm sorry.”

This feels so much worse. Kurt is so much farther up the hill this time that if he goes tumbling down, he's not getting back up. Standing under the weight of other's expectations is nearly impossible when sitting upright feels like an Olympic event. They can't know about Blaine. Blaine is private, his and only his because Kurt can handle getting his heart broken if no one else is around to watch it happen. Too many expectations lead to too many disappointments and Kurt would absolutely not survive the pity he'd be victim to when Blaine inevitably realizes that he can do leagues better than him.

Doing what he does best, Kurt panics. Everything he does to combat the attack only makes it worse, and he can't breathe with the sudden appearance of his father's hand on his shoulder. Shaking limbs tremble harder with every uneasy inhale. Looking up, he finds them all in the room staring at him. Broken wings flash in his mind. This is the poking and prodding Kurt fears. His heartbeat is the only thing he can focus on and it's too fast. He thinks Quinn is responsible when Burt draws away, that she's given the order to give Kurt space, and he's grateful but he can't stay here in this room with the staring and the pity and the bad thoughts crowding in from every corner of his mind. He runs.

No one comes looking right away.

By the time his father comes bearing hot chocolate, a jacket, and a sketchbook, Kurt has long recovered from everything but the sting of embarrassment.

“Thanks.”

“Anytime, kiddo.”

Kurt sips from the mug and watches the steam rise and swirl, then disappear. “I'm sorry.”

“For what?” Burt looks at him curiously.

“For that – back there. I just, um… I got a little overwhelmed.”

Burt doesn't push, though he lifts an eyebrow and smirks at “overwhelmed.”

They sit in silence, winter darkening the sky though it's somewhat early in the day. Kurt wishes, not for the first time nor that last, that he could wire himself correctly, find the button to push and make it all okay just to take the stress off of his father. The man never stops worrying about Kurt and it has repercussions on him and on Kurt. On their relationship. 

“Aren't you going to ask me about Blaine?”

Burt scratches at his head. “Do you wanna talk about Blaine?”

Kurt flips through the sketchbook Burt tossed beside him, seeing if it's one he pulled from the coffee table. It is. And it is filled with recreations of memories, of smiles Kurt closed his eyes to remember so he could transfer them to the page and hold onto them longer. He passes the pad to his father, opened to Blaine laughing, eyes crinkled and chin in the air. Kurt can practically hear the sound as he hands it over. “That's Blaine.”

Burt looks the image over. Lifting the page's corner, he asks, “May I?” Kurt nods and bites his lip. Burt's pride is evident enough in the tiniest shakes of his head, like he just can't believe his son is so talented. Four-year-old Kurt is beaming somewhere inside; Kurt knows Burt still has terrible artwork from the hands of a child hanging in his office. Work from a time when Kurt was unabashed, happy to share himself with the world and unconcerned with what that world would think of him. Even though Burt can't understand exactly how Kurt operates, he's never been anything but supportive.

“He's – Blaine, he's, um…” Kurt clears his throat. “Well, he's my neighbor, for one thing. I really, really like him, Dad. And I'm – I'm trying to believe that he, uh, that he…” Deep breath. “I think he really likes me too.” He's shaking with the admission. “He's really sweet. You'd like him.”

“He's got you to vouch for him. I like the kid already.”

Kurt's lip splits from the cold and the biting. He sucks his lip into his mouth, considering what else to say, what else to reveal. “He kissed me,” he finally says, not sure why, but he hasn't had anyone to tell. Hasn't had anyone to kiss in a long time.

“Sounds like you're happy.”

“I am, I think.”

“So what happened earlier?”

Kurt tenses. “I didn't want anyone to know.”

“That you're happy?”

Kurt's kneejerk reaction is to shake his head, but then he stops to consider it. “I wasn't trying to block you out.”

“Yeah, you kinda were. Which is okay. You've gotta look out for you first. Blaine makes you happy? Then that's all I need to know.” He hands Kurt back his sketchbook.

“I don't, um… I don't know how long it'll last or anything, if… Well, I don't know if he wants to put up with my crazy forever, but he does make me happy.”

“Kurt, you're not crazy.”

Kurt scoffs. “What's normal about this?”

“Not being ‘normal' doesn't make you crazy by default.”

“Can we just go inside?” Kurt gathers himself and his things. He's leaving regardless.

Burt sighs. “Sure. C'mon, it's freezing out here.”

The spotlight has never been kind to Kurt, so he's thankful Beth is content bearing that burden. Her mouth runs a mile a minute, and no one mentions his meltdown. Puck cast glances in his direction every so often, Quinn is careful to be overly joyful, and his father stays close by until he heads off to his hotel, but Kurt's night goes on to be otherwise uneventful.

Quietly, he considers what it would be like if Blaine hadn't gone away. If he'd asked Blaine to join them and Blaine accepted. All of his doubts about the two of them, and about himself, fade for tonight. Blaine seems the type to get on well with everyone, which is frightening in its own way because every other important person in Kurt's life is seated at his kitchen table, but now that they all know, he wants Blaine to meet them. He wants them to know Blaine and love him, and have people to talk to about Blaine.

Maybe he and Blaine won't last, won't even become something worth lasting. But he's been prepared for heartbreak his whole life, so maybe he can take it when it comes. Maybe it's worth trying. Maybe Kurt's worth loving.

A text comes in at midnight from Blaine, wishing him Merry Christmas. The phone chimes again, a second message reading, “I miss you.” The messages silence every voice in his mind assuring him his newfound assuredness will be gone by morning.

Some other Kurt is jumping on his mattress, dancing around and flailing because the boy he likes is texting him at all, never mind saying “I miss you,” but Kurt just buries his face in his pillow and fights back his smile. Halfway across the world, Blaine is thinking of Kurt, and Kurt has no clue how to respond. Maybe he'll call Quinn and ask in the morning. Right now, he'll let Blaine think he's sleeping so he doesn't mess it all up, so he can hold onto the bliss.