Chapter 8

Kurt was lying sprawled over Cooper's bed with a book borrowed from the Andersons' vast library, when the sound of car doors being shut reached his ears. Blaine had told him his parents would be coming home around noon, but still the distant noise startled him.

He jumped off the bed, closed the door and turned the key in its lock, then hurried to the tiny window in the adjoining bathroom.

With his face almost glued flat to the glass, he peered out on the driveway.

Next to a gleaming black SUV, Blaine's mother was standing with a suitcase in her hand, waiting for her husband to join her. They looked exactly the same as in the pictures Kurt had seen on the living room mantelpiece, only without the photograph smiles.

The Andersons entered the house, causing a bustle downstairs. Kurt ran back to the room to eavesdrop at the door.

'What is it?,' Mr Anderson said in a deep voice.

'What time does Irina come to clean?,' his wife asked.

'Three I think. Why?'

'It's just so clean in here, like she'd already been here,' said Mrs Anderson.

Her husband chuckled.

'Maybe Blaine finally started doing something around here. Though I'd rather he was doing more appropriate things.'

Kurt bit his lip, feeling anger starting to boil within him. He was already quite sure he wouldn't like Mr Anderson, and they hadn't even met.

He sighed quietly and slopped back onto the bed. It was going to be a long, lonely afternoon.

***

The front door slammed shut, waking Kurt up. He realized he fell asleep over his book and drooled all over the pillow he had propped himself on. Wiping his lips, he ran back to the bathroom window. It was almost completely dark outside, save for the lamp over the porch, dispersing the darkness within a few meters around it.

Mr and Mrs Anderson were getting into the car, no doubt heading for the hospital.

Kurt glanced at his watch; it was almost five, meaning that Blaine would come home any minute. Kurt's heart skipped a beat. He was really starting to miss Blaine.

When the humming of the car engine died in the distance, Kurt decided it was safe for him to go downstairs. He walked carefully with his hand on the wall, without switching the light on. What if the Andersons went back for some reason and saw the light? They'd call the police, taking him for a burglar and he would end up at a police station, and then they'd sent him back to Lima, if not straight to juvie.

At the kitchen table Kurt found a note, written in a flourishy handwriting, telling Blaine to heat up the dinner they left him in the oven and that they wouldn't be home until late tomorrow morning. The note was signed Mom, as Kurt deciphered in the scarce street lamp light shining in through the window.

He opened the oven door to see what Blaine's dinner was and giggled, seeing half a roasting pan of mac-n-cheese. He had a feeling Blaine would prefer the one they had two nights earlier, rather than the one prepared by his mother.

Before long, footsteps echoed in the street and a key turned in the front door lock. Blaine threw his satchel and coat aside, surprised at the quiet filling the house.

'Kurt?,' he called uncertainly.

'I'm in here,' Kurt answered from the kitchen.

Blaine headed into the kitchen, flicking the light on on his way.

'Why are you sitting here in the dark?,' he asked, eyeing Kurt with confusion.

'I didn't want anyone to think I'm a burglar.' He shrugged.

'I don't think any burglar switches the light on,' he chuckled. 'They have flashlights.'

Kurt rolled his eyes.

'I don't know, never been into the whole breaking and entering gig.'

'I sure as hell hope so.'

Blaine read the note his mother left on the counter, grimacing slightly. He hadn't seen his parents since they left on Wednesday. He wouldn't have seen them then either if not for the fact they had to leave for their flight the same time as he was leaving for school. But apparently, his parents didn't seem bothered by this, as long as their consciences were clear about getting him food and a roof over his head. Not to mention the private school education.

Barely exchanging a word, they heated up their dinner and proceeded into the dining room with their plates.

'Okay, your mac-n-cheese was so much better,' Blaine stated, just like Kurt had expected.

Kurt suppressed a smile.

'It's not bad, don't exaggerate.'

Blaine snorted.

'My mom isn't much of a cook and I know it full well, you don't have to be polite.'

Surprised by Blaine's harsh tone, Kurt froze with a mouth full of half-chewed macaroni. Something was clearly bothering his friend.

'What is it?,' he asked warily.

Blaine looked up with astonishment. He couldn't recall anyone ever picking up on his bad mood. His chest warmed up from within, and it wasn't because of the anger boiling in him. It was the feeling of a person who knows they are cared about.

'Nothing.' He paused for a few seconds. Words came spilling out of his mouth without him even realizing it. 'I haven't seen my parents in five days, and probably won't see them for the next five. I don't even know if they remember it's Thanksgiving this Thursday. I could bet they're gonna be working that night, as always. So all I'm going to get for my holiday dinner is either leftovers or takeout.' He took a deep breath, trying to stop the flood of emotions he was pouring out on Kurt. 'Sorry. I'm just…'

'Angry,' Kurt finished the sentence for him. 'I get it.'

Blaine stared into Kurt's eyes that radiated empathy and kindness. He wasn't annoyed for being forced to act as Blaine's personal therapist. After all, he had wished all his life to have someone to listen to him like that.

Silence pervaded for a few more minutes and the boys went back to chewing their dinner.

'Blaine?,' Kurt started finally. 'Have you ever told your parents all that?'

'No,' he said, his eyes fixed on the table.

Kurt nodded. 'So maybe you should?' Blaine's head snapped up. 'I know, they're barely even here, but… It's not like they're never here, right? Maybe you should tell them you want a Thanksgiving dinner with a turkey and all that crap?'

'To be honest, I just want a family Thanksgiving,' he muttered only as loud as Kurt could hear.

Blaine's eyes began to wander to the sides, as if he was embarrassed by this confession.

'Then you should tell them that,' Kurt said, getting up from the table and disappearing in the kitchen.

***

Blaine's thoughts were circling Kurt's words all evening; every time he was about to really consider his suggestion, he pushed the idea as far back into his mind as he could. But still, it relentlessly came back, forcing him to finally give up, when the homework was done and he lied down in his bed, with the lights still on. He wouldn't be able to fall asleep anyway.

There was one thing that he couldn't deny: he indeed had never told his parents how much their constant absence pained him. Another point that was one hundred percent true, however, was that he couldn't – simply couldn't – talk to his parents. Sometimes he felt like he didn't even really know them. And neither did they know him.

His thoughts were interrupted by a light tapping on his door. He sighed, welcoming the distraction with relief.

'Come on in.'

Kurt stuck his head in the door, his expression cautious.

'You're not, like, trying to sleep or something?,' he asked.

'Not yet.'

With a nod of acknowledgement, Kurt walked in and stopped at Blaine's desk, picking up a pen to occupy his hands and mind.

'I'm sorry if I overstepped earlier,' he said at last, turning his face to Blaine, who shrugged into his pillow.

'It's fine.'

Saying that, Blaine lifted the right edge of his duvet and motioned at Kurt to lie down next to him. With a mixture of wariness and awkwardness, Kurt slipped under the covers next to Blaine. He settled on his left side, tucking his hands under his cheek. Blaine shifted to face him, mirroring his position.

'You know, you were kinda right,' said Blaine reluctantly. 'I never told them that and they're too fucking blind to see they've been neglecting me for the last sixteen years.'

'I might've been right, but I should take my own medicine,' sighed Kurt in response. 'I haven't really talked to my dad since my mom died. If I ever really talked to him. I can't recall anything of the sort.'

'Sometimes it's just too hard to do what we should do.'

Silence fell, and Kurt turned onto his back, feeling stupid to be staring at Blaine when they weren't talking.

Blaine did not take his eyes off Kurt, studying his profile and one flushed cheek. He decided it was a pleasant sight to fall asleep and wake up in the morning next to.

'Can I sleep with you tonight?,' Kurt asked, as if he was reading Blaine's mind. At first he didn't realize his question sounded ambiguous. 'I mean, can I stay here?,' he corrected himself, his cheeks turning from rosy to scarlet.

'Sure.'

Blaine leaned out of bed to switch off the bedside lamp.

'Goodnight, Blaine,' said Kurt quietly. 'And thanks.'

'You're welcome. 'Night.'

They exchanged one more smile, barely able to see each other in the darkness.