Chapter 9

The alarm clock went off at 7, waking the boys. Blaine reached to his right to put an end to its incessant buzzing, having completely forgotten about Kurt lying next to him. He managed not to crush his friend, which was miraculous considering his half-awake state.

'Sorry,' he muttered, rubbing his eyes.

He remembered their bedtime talk from last night. Despite the difficulty and dread that accompanied the decision, he was now quite persuaded to do something about the Thanksgiving situation. Talking to his parents was never easy, even when he wasn't telling them they were complete failures in the raising-their-own-son department. But if he didn't try, he would never know whether they were even willing to listen.

After all, they'd already had the toughest of conversations fifteen months earlier, when he blurted out in a heat of rage over that damned car engine that he was gay. Nothing could beat the mortification of that and the ensuing fury on his father's part. His mother had seemed to ignore the situation whatsoever, which only made things worse.

'Blaine?,' Kurt asked, still lying in bed and watching him as he made his way to the bathroom.

'Hm?'

'Could you- Could you give me your phone number?' It crossed his mind that, save for the fact they were both dressed, the scene could look very dubious to a bystander. 'I wish we could be in touch when you're at school and I'm stuck here… Or rather in Cooper's room.'

'Sure,' said Blaine, frowning. 'I didn't even think you had a phone. Didn't you, like, pawn it off or something? For food or whatever?'

Kurt chuckled. 'I wasn't that desperate.' He paused, losing his humour. 'I just switched it off and didn't use it at all lately. I didn't want my dad to find me.'

Without speaking, Blaine wrote down his number on a piece of paper and passed it to Kurt.

'Thanks,' Kurt said. 'I'll text you, so you can have mine. And I'll go downstairs and set the coffee machine.'

Blaine smiled at him gratefully in response.

***

Kurt locked himself up in Cooper's room as soon as he heard the car pulling up in the driveway. He slumped back onto the bed, preparing himself for another boring afternoon.

Having nothing to do, he listened in on the sounds in the house; doors opening and closing, footsteps, casual remarks being exchanged, more footsteps, the clatter of dishes and cups, and cupboards, water running in the bathroom, flushing. It was astonishing how well he could deduce what the Andersons were doing by simply listening.

After an hour the sounds ceased, as the Andersons went to bed to have a nap before the thirty six hours shift they were both starting in the evening. Kurt was beginning to wonder, whether there was anything Mr and Mrs Anderson did separately. It seemed that only their relationship with Blaine was suffering; their marriage was clearly working without a hitch.

Kurt was lying on his back, his eyes glued to the ceiling. He wished he could get out of the room, but he wouldn't risk getting uncovered by either of the Andersons. But then he remembered. Blaine's phone number.

Your parents are *seriously* boring. K x, he typed and sent the message half a minute later.

He didn't have to wait long for a response.

I know. Hope you won't die of boredom before I get back! - - - Blaine

I'll try not to.

***

Blaine was sitting in his advanced Geography class, when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He was glad to see Kurt's name on the screen, and also to know that he wasn't the only one bored out of his mind.

If you're so bored maybe pop downstairs and cook some dinner. I'd love to see them come down and see food that magically appeared in the oven, he typed in response to Kurt's second text.

***

Kurt let out a bark of laughter, before slapping a hand over his lips to muffle it. He took a moment to listen if there were no sounds coming from the master bedroom, before going back to his phone to answer Blaine.

I don't think your parents would be as huge fans of my cooking as you are if they found me in their kitchen. It'd be hard to convince them I'm a house-elf.

The phone buzzed again before Kurt managed to put it down.

Right, you're much prettier than Dobby!

This time, Kurt buried his face in his pillow not to alarm the Andersons, as he burst into a fit of giggles.

His day became much better with that one sentence.

***

Blaine's step became much brisker on his way back home and he was beginning to notice it. Even though he was planning to touch upon the question of Thanksgiving and wasn't going to see Kurt until his parents had left for the hospital, he still wanted to get back home, like he hadn't since he was a little boy.

The Warbler practice took longer than usually that day and Blaine arrived home only half past five. His parents were already downstairs eating their ready-made dinners and talking about their patients at the hospital over newspapers and cell phones. Blaine rolled his eyes, when he heard them from the hall.

'Hi,' he grumbled, entering the kitchen.

His father nodded over the newspaper he was flipping through.

'Oh, hello, Blaine,' his mother said, sending him a smile. 'How's school?' It was the only question she ever asked him about his life.

'Fine. As always.'

He was pouring himself a glass of orange juice, trying to gather courage, when his cell phone buzzed in his pocket. He fished it out within two seconds.

I thought you got kidnapped by aliens!

In spite of the tension he was feeling all over his body, a chuckle escaped his mouth.

'What is it, sweetie?,' his mom asked.

Blaine bit his lip. Busted.

'Um, just a friend.' He took a nervous sip from his glass. One more steadying breath. Showtime. 'Mom?'

She looked up from her plate.

'Yes?'

'Are you two working on Thursday?,' he asked, his voice on the edge of trembling.

She swallowed her mouthful and washed it down with coffee before speaking.

'Yes, why are you asking? Do you have something this Thursday?,' she asked, entirely unaware of what he was getting at. Mr Anderson wasn't even listening.

Blaine's jaw dropped.

'Um- Thursday is Thanksgiving, Mom,' he stuttered.

Mrs Anderson picked up her cell phone from the counter and flicked it to the calendar.

'Oh, right.' She looked back up at her son. 'Sorry, sweetie, we're working this year.'

Blaine nodded, trying to swallow the huge lump rising in his throat and fight back the incoming tears. He started for the door, but changed his mind midway.

'This year and last year, and two years ago at Christmas,' he said bitterly. 'You're always working.'

He turned around to face his parents, both staring at him with open mouths. For once he caught their attention.

'We have to sustain this family, if you happened to forget about that,' his father finally spoke.

Blaine snorted.

'Right. Of course you do. But you don't have to work on all the holidays! You want to,' he spat out.

'And who would provide for your brother? You know what it's like for a struggling actor in LA. And what about your private school? We have to pay for that, too!' Mr Anderson's face was becoming redder and redder by the second.

'I don't need that fucking private school,' he said icily, and then added in a small voice, 'I just want a normal Thanksgiving. Is it too much to ask for?'

***

The house was quiet again, save for Kurt playing the grand piano, now that he was finally freed from Cooper's room. Blaine was lying on the couch, rubbing his temples. The song broke half-finished.

'Why are you sulking?,' Kurt said. 'It's not like they said "There's no way in hell we're having a Thanksgiving dinner with our own son".'

Blaine groaned, shifting to his side and lifting his eyes at Kurt.

'I know. They said they'll try, it's a good thing, I know, we've been through that.'

'Exactly.' Kurt got up from the bench and perched at the sofa's armrest. 'At least you did something. You tried, now it's their turn.'

They smiled faintly at each other.

'At least you're not a coward like me,' mumbled Kurt, before sneaking upstairs.

***

Half an hour later the splash of water in Cooper's bathroom ceased. Blaine decided to wait a while longer. When he finally heard the rustle of bare feet and overlong sweats on the carpeted floor, he got up from the floor in the upstairs hallway.

He knocked on the door.

'Kurt?'

'You don't have to knock, it's your house,' came the muffled answer from inside.

Blaine walked in, his step wary.

'You're not a coward,' he said.

Kurt raised an eyebrow at him.

'Seriously? Do I have to remind you I ran away from home, because I was too fucking scared to come out to my father?' He was clearly upset; he threw the sheets aside angrily and jumped into bed. 'You don't have to try and comfort me. I know I'm pathetic.'

Blaine held himself back for a second, hesitant. He'd never really had a friend before, he didn't know what the boundaries were.

But then he walked up to Kurt and leaned forwards to catch him in a massive hug.

'You are not pathetic,' he said into Kurt's neck, accentuating every single word.

A sniffle somewhere near his ear made him back out a little. A single tear was rolling down Kurt's cheek.

'Thanks, Blaine.' He attempted to smile a little. 'Um- do you want to… sleep here tonight?'

Blaine couldn't help but grin widely.

'Yeah. It would feel kinda… lonely there now,' he muttered, his smile fading.

Kurt nodded, moving to the other side of the bed to make room for Blaine.

'And nobody likes that feeling,' he summed up.