5th December, 2007

***

“Hey, Blaine?”

His twelve-year-old gaze was raised to meet the eyes of Carly Schofield, one of his better friends. Carly was nice enough, but the only reason he ever really talked to her was because her brother was Ricky Schofield, and Ricky was quite the charmer, and half the time Blaine couldn’t stop thinking about his eyes, or his hands, or the way his mouth would taste, how his tongue would press firmly, insistently on his, and-

“Blaine?”

He snapped out of his daze, put on his most charming smile, and attempted to control his imagination as he chattered with Carly.

They grew into a rhythm, with one laughing and humming at the appropriate places while the other simply let their words flow. After a few minutes, Carly paused, and cleared her throat, suddenly looking nerve-wrackingly scared as her eyes flew from Blaine’s to the ground. Blaine noticed, and looked down as well. It wasn’t an awkward silence at all; it was intense, charged atmosphere, crowded with an almost electric feel.

“I like you, Blaine-“

And then Carly was suddenly on her feet, pacing, her hands wringing around each other as she spoke in a light, shaky tone.

“I-I really like you, Blaine, I mean it.”

Blaine had simply frozen, his eyes glued to the ground in as a mortifying vision ruthlessly paraded through his mind. Carly’s words had barely registered.

“S-so…I-was-wondering-if-maybe-you-wanted-to-go-out-sometime?”

The words were said quieter, faster, like she’d been suffocating underneath them and finally got a chance to push them out and breathe. She’d stopped pacing, bringing her hands into a closed fist just below her navel.

The shorter boy stood still for quite a while before realizing he was supposed to reply.

It wasn’t that Carly wasn’t pretty, or that she acted dumb, or that she wasn’t funny enough; Blaine even had to take a moment to really consider why he was saying no, I won’t because if his heart wasn’t already unwillingly taken, along with his body and mind, then there wasn’t a logical reason to refuse.

But she was a she, and Blaine hadn’t ever really thought about a she in that way, especially since he had Ricky to think about. And so, unthinkingly, he had told her no, and left her standing awkwardly in the classroom as he hurried out, trying to push away any semblance of confusion from the barrier he had created around himself.

The first person he’d told had been his sister, over the phone, after crying into a pillow for what seemed like an endless stretch, and clutching at threads of truth he conjured up, trying and failing to convince himself that it’s just a phase, you’ll get over this and you should’ve been nicer, go apologize and an dull thread pulsating through him, you shouldn’t be doing this, you shouldn’t feel like this, it’s disgusting.

The last day of school, Ricky had confronted him, wanting to know why he refused his sister. He’d made her cry, apparently, which made him feel terrible, but it quickly passed. That day, Blaine Anderson made the biggest mistake of his life; he lost his wits, and tried to kiss Ricky. Within the hour the entire school knew, and by lunch break, he’d been greeted at his locker with a shiny, new word coated on in red, ultimately sealing what he now thought he would be for the rest of his life.

Freak.

***

Five Years Later
 

Blaine Anderson hated family vacations.

It wasn’t because of the cheesy souvenirs, or the terrible, god-awful food that got served at the hotels the Andersons stayed at; it was the fact that they had to look picture-perfect to the eyes of an outsider, that he had to lie and smile and remain positive in order to survive.

But every day of Blaine’s life was just another form of acting, in the eyes of strangers or not.

His father was a subtle, reticent kind of man; if there was something out of order, it was to be dealt with aptly, be pushed away from the light. William Anderson had a knack for making everything rose-tinted, so the world viewing him wouldn’t need a fake lens to see perfection. There couldn’t be a crack in a wall, or a failing grade, or god forbid, a difficult child. Everything that was perfect shined, and everything else-anything that was different, even special-was left to fade in the shadows.

And Blaine had always been very, very different.

***

Apart from the occasional squealing of a mop, or the firm clunk of a chef’s knife, the house was almost unbearably quiet.

After the ruckus of the evening’s dinner service, most of the visitors to Lakeside’s Winter Caverns had gone to explore the snowy, natural, and terribly cold terrains of the mountainside-with a tour guide, of course.

Kurt had fallen in love with the place on one of Burt’s many endeavours to help Kurt adjust to being outside, perhaps, to make him happier after his mother died; either way, it worked. At the ripe young age of ten, Kurt had not chased after the birds, or pelted his father with snowballs (not from lack of trying on Burt’s behalf). He had, instead, fallen in love with the hospitality side. There was certain elegance to the way the waiters and chefs worked, each order coming with a smile and a compliment to the customer.  Working like that, Kurt had decided, is just another form of acting. 

The hotel service was just as entertaining; Kurt would ask politely, then take his place behind a large wooden desk for hours on end, filing away records and swiping cards with the help of the receptionist. The maids were just as nice; he loved the little personal touches they put into their work. If the towels were arranged in a spiral-like shape, and there were three different types of shampoo hanging from the bar, then Ella had been in said room at least twice.

Stacey always lifted up Kurt to the very top shelf, and let him arrange the spare sheets from the boring squares they were stacked into as she left a light scent of peppermint and lavender around the room. To some it may have been overbearingly strong, but to the pair of them, it was perfect.

So a few days after, when Burt realized his son wasn’t so interested in the more popular parts of Lakeside, he made plans to leave. Kurt was understandably upset, but they had agreed to come back the summer after.

And so, almost eight years later, Kurt had grown on the staff of Lakeside enough to receive a summer job; they all agreed he should be paid for what he was doing, and he had-albeit reluctantly-accepted.

The routine was simple; reception for an hour or two, wait and smile for lunch break, and chatter with Stacey and Fiona until five o’clock - Ella had quit a few years after, after one of her closer friends was diagnosed with lung cancer.

At five-thirty, the building would be almost empty, the guests having either retreated to their hotel rooms, or gone to play in the snow until curfew. The staff usually bustled around, making themselves busy, and Kurt snuck back to his room to enjoy an afternoon of peace.

Before Ella had left, she’d made sure Kurt always had somewhere to go; it was at the back of the hotel, down a few flights of stairs, where they stored spare sheets, blankets and pillows on one side, and some new appliances on the other. It was spacious, and warm, and once Kurt had rearranged a little, he even found a small fireplace attached to the wall.

It was wonderful. It was home to him for the next three months, all over again. And right now, it was five-thirty.