Blaine notices it three days after he gets home. It’s one of the few instances his parents have left him unattended since he left the security of the hospital. It’s not much really. Just a small K right on his hip bone, just to the side of where his abs turn into a V. But it’s something. Something compared to the nothing that’s left in his room. No pictures. No letters. Nothing that even gives a hint as to his past friends. And he’s begun to question whether he had any at all. But this K has to mean something. Because someone doesn’t just get a random K tattooed on an intimate place does he? No, Blaine concludes, one does not.

At dinner he brings it up, between mouth fulls of roast and mash potatoes. “Mom,” Blaine asks as he swallows a particularly large bite. She looks up from her salad, “Yes, honey?” Blaine frowns a little, “Do you...was I....do you know about any tattoos I may have gotten?” Dianne frowns at her son, “No, why, did you find one?” Blaine was confused, surely he would have had to have parental permission, “Um, yeah. It’s a ‘K’ but I don’t remember getting it.” Dianne shares a worried look with her husband before answering his question, “Oh honey, that was probably for your grandpa.” Blaine gets the feeling that she’s not being entirely truthful, “You mean Grandpa Ken?” John laughs, “Yes, that’s the one! I’m sure Kendra probably thought it’d be funny to give you a tattoo.” Blaine nodded, Kendra, his cousin, he knew was a tattoo artist in Columbus. “Oh, you’re probably right. But I do have one more question.”

Blaine tried to miss the uneasy look that passed between his parents, he really, truly did. “What’s that honey,” his mom said with a forced smile. Blaine sighed, “I know you said I wasn’t dating anyone at the time of the accident, but was there anyone at all...in the past couple of months?” Blaine sighs inwardly at that, at the fact that the entire past year is a blur to him. Not even a blur really, more like completely blanked out, except for brief things where he can’t really remember anything except extreme feelings of happiness. His mother clears her throat but his father answers, “No son, you never brought anyone home to meet us, or ever spoke to us about anyone.” Blaine doesn’t miss the fact that they skirt around using the any pronoun implying someone of the male gender, because even after everything, they still despise that he’s gay. Okay so despise is probably too strong a word, but they aren’t exactly in love with it either.

***

At nine, Blaine excuses himself from the family room and heads upstairs, muttering about getting an early start in the morning. Something about wanting to work out of the library. Mentioning some coffee shop. Anything really that will make it sound like he’s not moping around the house. He yanks on some sweatpants that he knows aren’t his because they’re far too long but they’re Dalton issue so he knows they aren’t his father’s, and he’s worn them to bed every night since he got home. He curls up under the covers on his side, curling his knees up, but something about the action feels incomplete. He’s noticed that alot lately. Some of the most normal things will seem like they’re missing something. When he curls up like this, he feels the urge to throw his arm around something. No not just something, someone. Or in the mornings he’d start to pick up his phone to text someone, but he didn’t know who. It was like he did it out of habit. The one time he’d been out driving, Blaine had this empty sensation in his right hand, like he was supposed to be holding something, well something that wasn’t the steering wheel. 

Blaine laid on his side, feigning sleep long enough for his parents to make his way to bed and when he could hear his father’s snores, he flipped onto his back, staring openly at the ceiling. His fingers absently found his tattoo, began to slowly stroke it. There was something tugging at the back of his mind about it. The look his mother shared with his father before claiming it was for his grandpa. The fact that he’d never even met his grandpa until he died when Blaine was eight. The too tight smile his mother had answered with. Blaine desperately wanted to brush it off. Wanted to act like he was imagining things, because really, if he couldn’t trust his parents, then who could he trust? 

All he had were vague memories of the boys at Dalton, most of whom had already off and graduated. And just to add to that, he didn’t have any of their numbers. No way to get a hold of them. It seemed strange to him that he could have attended two and a half years of school there yet not have one of their phone numbers, but there was no alternative. Unless said the voice in the back of his head, unless they’re hiding something. Blaine immediately pushed that thought from his mind. His parents were hiding nothing, it had just been a rough transition for him, after being asleep for so long, so be back with them. 

But still the thought lingered in the back of his mind, unable to let it go completely. He just had this feeling, that it was more than just a tattoo for a grandfather he’d never known. He didn’t remember much about his self for the past eighteen months, given that three and a half of them were in a coma, the rest wiped out from a brutal beating, but he had the feeling that twelve-months-ago-Blaine would not have gotten the tattoo for his grandfather. A lover maybe, but not his long dead, never known, grandfather. With a resigned sigh, Blaine promised himself he’d do a little snooping in the morning and turned over, wishing for sleep.

***

Sleep never came, but at eight o’clock, Blaine heard the final slam of the door preceded by the tell tale clicking of heels signaling the exit of his mother and he rose. Blaine tripped down the stairs, focusing on making it the kitchen and trying to remember where his mother kept the coffee. After many closed and opened cabinets, Blaine finally stumbled upon a package of pre-ground Starbucks vanilla whatever. It wasn’t ideal, but as Blaine wasn’t seeing much in the sleep department for his future, he needed the caffeine. Blaine stood in silence waiting for the coffee to brew, then drank it straight from the pot as soon as a cup full was produced. 

Blaine sank down into one of the kitchen chairs as he thought over his game plan. Ideally he wanted to find out more about his tattoo. He was supposed to start his course work this week, but he knew as long as this thing ate away at him, he’d never get any of it done. The thing about now, was that he just didn’t have anywhere to start. What should he look for? Hell, where should he look was more like it. He’d come home from the hospital to see his room completely bare.

Okay well, not bare. There were covers on the bed and the desk had a chair and some pencils thrown on it. There was some ridiculous abstract painting hanging on the wall that obviously had something to do with his mother’s tastes and not his own. But there was nothing personal about the space. No pictures of classmates. No ribbons for this or that. No evidence that anyone really lived in the room. His mom had explained that away with ‘well you were always boarding at Dalton’ and other what nots. But it still seemed odd to Blaine. 

Blaine ran a hand through his curls. Think Anderson, think. Where would your mom keep something? Anything. Pictures. Forms. Birth Certificate. SOMETHING. Blaine shot out of his chair as the answer occurred to him. He was bounding down the stairs to his basement with a renewed energy. He shuffled around, picking at the labeled boxes that were piled high around the walls of their unfinished basement. Each one had a sticker with something written on it in block letter sharpie ‘2011 Tax Returns’ or ‘Baby Clothes 2t-3t’ or ‘Veggie Tales Donate to Church’. Blaine spent several minutes scanning each of the labels. He gradually found an order to the chaos though, and was closer to the object of his focus. All the taxes or audit related things were in the first five columns. After that it was photos of any kind. Three columns later was a stack of boxes full of things to be donated. Then there was a pile of things related to Blaine, ‘Blaine’s Vaccination Records’ or ‘Blaine’s School Report Cards’ or ‘Blaine’s Medical Records’. However, much to his disappointment, not one of them said ‘Blaine’s Stuff That Will Explain The Tattoo He Has On His Lower Abdomen.’ Blaine sighed audibly, he hadn’t really expected the search to reveal much, but he had hoped. 

He strolled along the last few rows of boxes, some of them reading ‘Baby Toys. To: Goodwill’ There was a group of things labeled as Cooper’s things. Blaine desperately wished Cooper would come home. Maybe Coop didn’t have the answers Blaine was looking for, but at least he was someone safe for Blaine to talk to. Blaine gave a frustrated kick at the air, about to head back upstairs in defeat when something caught his eye. It was just a piece of white behind a curtain to another section of the basement, but the curtain was caught on it. Sparking his interest, Blaine tugged the curtain back, expecting just another pile of boxes. In fact, it was another pile of boxes. But it was not something that Blaine had been expecting. Each box was labeled with ‘Blaine’s Room’. 

Curious, Blaine lifted the lid of the top box. He was rewarded with dozens of polaroids of himself and several smiling faces that he didn’t recognize. He picked up the box and sat down on the floor next to it. He picked up the top most photo of him and a black girl who it was clear, even through a picture, had lots of attitude. Her arms was slung around Blaine’s shoulder and they were pointing and laughing at something out of the shot. Blaine grabbed another photo, it was of an asian boy and girl dancing around Blaine. The next photo Blaine saw was of him and a very short girl, with a large nose that Blaine thought was distinctly jewish. Blaine started plucking out photo after photo. He started to sort them into piles. 

He had them separated by the people who were in the photos, and the biggest stack was one of him and another boy. The earliest one (he could tell because the boy’s face was slightly rounder, and his own was less stubbly) was of him and the boy making stupid faces at the camera. There was one of him and the boy laughing next to the African-American girl in what was clearly a football stadium. One was of him and the boy in the Dalton Uniform, clearly backstage somewhere, only this time their hands were linked. And after that, in every single one they were linked somehow. One where they twisted their ankles together. One had them linked by their arms. One was of them kissing, where clearly they had no idea they were being photographed. One was of them holding hands at a restaurant. Another was of him pulling the boy along by his tie as they shimmied their shoulders. Blaine could only draw one conclusion. This boy, whoever he was. Had been Blaine’s boyfriend. Blaine picked up one that had the date scrawled on the back, it was dated just a couple of days before the attack. In the photo he and the boy had their arms around each other while Blaine pressed a sloppy kiss to the boy’s cheek, and in the background he could see a balding man frowning. The man’s cheek bones matched the boy’s, and for some reason, Blaine assumed the man was the boy’s father.

With renewed conviction, Blaine jumped up and began tearing through the boxes. Searching. Searching for more pictures. For some sort of correspondence. For a name. For anything that would lead him closer to this boy. He found nothing. He slumped against the boxes. They were filled with pictures. With old journals. But none of them held anything that held anything helpful. Wait, he thought, they did hold something helpful. They proved they were lying. His parents had outright said that he had no friends, no boyfriends that they knew about. But one of the photos was of him and the boy in his living room, so they had to have known. And those boxes didn’t just pack themselves. Blaine pondered calling his mom. Pondered demanding out right why she had lied. Pondered demanding to know who the boy was. But he knew in his heart it was worthless. Any mention of this would only bring them to ask what he was snooping for. They’d immediately dismiss any of his accusations. Blaine’s heart began to sink. His mom was out. His dad was out. He didn’t know the names of the people in the pictures. He had no one he could ask now. He started to call Cooper, he was the only person he knew that would have answers and not questions, and he hadn’t been home in two years. He’d called once since Blaine had woken up, and that had been a short phone call. Cooper wouldn’t know anything.

Blaine’s hand absently found the tattoo again. He started tracing the K over and over, falling into a bit of a trance, until it finally dawned on him. Kendra! Kendra would know! Next to his brother, Kendra was the closest familial relationship he had. If she gave him the tattoo, and he was positive she had, she would have to know why. Or at the very least who the boy in the picture was. Blaine began to fumble for his phone until he remembered that he didn’t know Kendra’s number. He briefly considered looking it up in the phone book, but his impatience prevailed and he decided to call his mom and ask instead. It rang once before his mother answered frantically, “Blaine?! Blaine, are you alright!? Are you okay?! Do you need me to come home?! I can be there in five minutes.” Blaine sighed, he should have thought about this, “No--Mom. I’m fine. I’m great. Chill. I just was calling to ask if you had Kendra’s number.” He could almost hear his mother frown, “Blaine, you about gave me a heart attack.” Blaine rolled his eyes, “Sorry. I just needed to see if you knew Kendra’s number.” He could hear her eyes narrow, “Why do you need it?” Fuck. Why hadn’t he thought about that? Of course she would want to know why, and he couldn’t very well say, ‘Because I think you’re lying to me about the tattoo and I need the truth.’ Blaine quickly scrolled through his list of options, “Um, I just wanted to call her and see what she could do about this tattoo. I know I probably did it as something symbolic for grandpa, but you know how it looks to future employers if you have a tattoo...” Blaine prayed to whoever that that was an acceptable answer, and thankfully it was, “Oh, why yes dear, do you have a pen?” Blaine scrambled for a pen and five minutes later he was dialing his cousin.

On the third ring, a melodic voice answered, “Hello, Kendra’s Ink Shop, how may we help you today?” Blaine grinned as several past Christmases with her by a piano ran through his mind, “Kendra, hey, it’s me, Blaine.” Kendra squealed so loud into the phone it made Blaine hold it away from his ear, “Blaine! Oh thank God! How are you doing? Do you feel alright? God it’s so good to hear from you! Jeez, I thought for a second there we were gonna lose you. Shit, Blaine, it’s great to hear from you.” Blaine smiled, “Yeah, it’s great talking to you too. Listen, I have a favor to ask.” Twelve minutes later, Kendra and he had made plans to meet halfway between Columbus and Westerville the next day for lunch.

***

Blaine sighed as he relaxed into the front seat of his car and turned up the radio. He’d lied to his mom about driving there. Even though his doctor had cleared him for it, she still loathed the idea and had insisted that Kendra come pick him up. He felt kind of guilty about lying to her, but he missed being alone with his thoughts the way he was when he drove, it was one of his favorite things. Two hours later, he arrived at a small coffee shop and pulled up next to a tiny white sedan where his cousin was just hopping out. He got out of the car and she immediately tackled him in a bear hug, “Blaine!” He chuckled and hugged her back, “Hey Ken-doll!” She laughed out loud as she released him, “I thought we agreed no name calling in public.” Blaine rolled his eyes as he held the door open for her. She walked up to the cash register, and stood in line, “So whatchya been up to?” He smiled politely, “Oh not much. They let me out of the hospital last week so I’ve been just killing time.” She nodded, “So they cleared you all up for everything?” Blaine nodded in return as the barista too his order, “Yeah, as soon as the physical therapist was done with me, they signed me off as long as I promised to call with any problems.” 

They both sat down at a small table, “So any luck in the memory department,” Kendra asked kindly. Blaine frowned, “Um, actually that’s kind of why I’m here.” She smiled and thanked the person who brought them their sandwiches before turning to Blaine, “What’s up?” Blaine looked uncertain, “Well my parents...they’ve been really nice about answering my questions, trying to help me fill in the gaps. But...but I get the feeling they’re leaving stuff out.” Kendra frowned and was about to say something when Blaine interrupted her, “Kendra, did you give me a tattoo?” Kendra smiled fondly, “You found that did you?” Blaine nodded, “I was hoping maybe you could tell me a little bit about it.” Kendra shrugged as she tore off a bite of her sandwich, “There’s not much to tell. You and Kurt were pretty adamant that I not let it spill to your parents, but that didn’t matter to me. Speaking of which, how’s Kurtsie? Haven’t seen him in a while.” Blaine frowned, “Who’s Kurt?” 

Kendra looked really alarmed and she muttered, mostly to herself, “Jeez Blainey...what did they do to you...” Blaine cleared his throat and dug around in his coat pocket, “Is this...is this Kurt?” Blaine held up the photo of him and the boy where Blaine was sound asleep on the boy’s chest while the boy smiled at the camera happily. From the angle it looked as if the boy was taking the picture. Kendra nodded, “The one and only.” Blaine looked at the picture in his hands, and asked quietly, “Kendra...can you...can you tell me...who Kurt is...or was?” Kendra smiled kindly, “You two were joined at the hip. You started dating halfway through your junior year. It was kind of a When Harry Met Sally-esque thing. You two were really good friends before you finally got your head out of your ass and started dating him. And after that there wasn’t a day where you two weren’t together. Even when you fought, you’d make up before the day was out. Never go to bed angry and all that jazz. But...but where is he? Are you telling me he hasn’t been to see you?”