Kurt looked at Blaine as he turned off the ignition. He leaned over and kissed him swiftly and Blaine instinctively wrapped a hand around the back of his neck. Kurt couldn't believe how brave Blaine was. He pulled away to consider him and found not a shred of doubt in his eyes. Blaine was scared. But he was going to do this. His conviction was amazing.

"You sure?"Kurt asked softly.

"Yep." Blaine replied, and with that, he opened the car door and jumped out. Kurt hurried to catch up with him. Blaine was waiting for him on the step, hand outstretched. He smiled at Kurt and took his hand in his own.

"Ready?" He took a deep breath.

And he turned the handle.

"Mum?" Blaine called. He sounded confident, but he still held Kurt's hand in a vice-like grip. Kurt gave it a quick squeeze and rubbed Blaine's arm.

Kurt took in Blaine's house as they walked. It was nice. Blaine's parents were successful enough to send Blaine to Dalton, so Kurt hadn't been expecting anything middle-class. But Kurt could tell just by looking around, how well lived in the house was. It was clean and beautiful, but it was a home too, and to Kurt, that made it both more comforting, and scarier. That this looked like a family home meant Kurt could see himself being comfortable here. He could easily picture himself and Blaine sprawled on the lounge room floor on a weekend. But now he found it scary because he couldn't tell that this place was where Blaine lived. He had expected to see a family portrait, or maybe a photograph of a dark, curly-haired toddler chasing a puppy. For all the ways the house felt lived in, Kurt couldn't tell Blaine lived here at all.

The two boys wandered through to the kitchen looking for Blaine's mother. Kurt was glad Blaine had decided to start with her. He didn't know whether he could be civil to Mr Anderson whether he was nice to Blaine or not. Kurt noticed a suitcase in the lounge room. It looked out of place, like someone had just arrived, or was just leaving. Kurt didn't give it much thought, except to appreciate the pattern.

Blaine's mother wasn't in the kitchen.

"Weird," Blaine muttered, distracted. "She's usually right here. Oh hang on," he picked up an envelope with his name scrawled on it from the kitchen bench. "Maybe they've gone out."

Blaine opened the envelope and began to read.

He dropped Kurt's hand like it had burnt him. Kurt looked at him, worried. Blaine's face was crumpling up as he tried to read the note. His hand was shaking so badly he couldn't hold it still.

"Blaine?" Kurt asked frantically, "What's happened?"

Blaine didn't answer him, so Kurt put his arms around his shoulders and hugged his back tight to him, while craning his neck to read over his shoulder. The writing was hurried and untidy. Kurt guessed it was Blaine's father's handwriting because of the block letters. But the dead giveaway was the content.

He managed to catch a few sentences – "saw you and some faggot practically fucking in a car this afternoon", "how dare you act out your perverted disgustingness in public", "never want to see your sick, faggoty face ever again", "No son of mine" – before Blaine grabbed a pair of scissors from the drawer and began cutting the note into tiny, tiny pieces. He just kept cutting, erratically, and Kurt was sure he couldn't see what he was doing through tears.

Kurt didn't know what to do. What to say? He felt like this was his fault. He'd never seen Blaine lose control like this. Kurt merely ran his hands soothingly over Blaine's back.

"Blaine?" Kurt started softly, "We'll make this okay, alright?" Kurt kissed Blaine in between his shoulder blades, feeling Blaine's breath come in pants. Kurt could feel Blaine's heart beating erratically. Kurt couldn't even imagine what must be going through his boyfriend's head right now.

"My. Dad." Cut, cut, "He saw us, Kurt!" Cut, cut, cut, "He told me to get out," Cut, cut, cut, cut, "He can't stand having a faggot for a son anymore!" Cut, cut, cut.

"Fuck!" Blaine exploded. Kurt wasn't surprised to hear him curse this time. It seemed pretty deserved, really. But then he realised that Blaine had thrown the scissors to the ground and was clutching a finger with his fist.

"Blaine?" Kurt spun him around so he could see what he had done, "Honey, are you bleeding?" Kurt could see a trickle of blood escaping the fist Blaine had made around his finger. "Come on, honey, sit down for me," Kurt ushered him into a chair and took his hands in his own. "Blaine, let me look. Please?" Kurt pulled gently at his hand and Blaine surrendered it to him. Kurt couldn't look at his eyes right now. They were huge and brown and seriously threatening to overflow. Kurt felt like if Blaine started crying right now, his heart might break. So he couldn't look at him. Instead he focused on Blaine's finger.

The cut wasn't deep, but it was long, and was bleeding a fair bit. Kurt got a glass of water and made Blaine swirl the tip of his finger in it, to try to see how deep the cut actually was.

Kurt opened the cupboard under the sink and was relieved to find a first aid kit there. He fished out a roll of tape and retrieved the scissors from the floor where Blaine had flung them. They were broken, but Kurt managed to hold them together long enough to cut the tape for Blaine's finger.

Blaine watched Kurt mending the cut with almost no emotion. He was numb and he seemed unable to talk. Every so often, Kurt would press a kiss against Blaine's wrist as he taped up the finger. Kurt could feel Blaine's eyes on him, but he had no idea what to say. Would Blaine be angry that his dad had seen Kurt kissing him? Blaine had been enthusiastic to the cause, but Kurt had initiated it. Kurt's kisses to Blaine's wrist were a pleading reminder; I love you.

"I love you, too," Blaine whispered so quietly Kurt wasn't even sure he had said it. Kurt actually ignored it, thinking he was imagining things until Blaine kept talking. "I should have told you this afternoon. Hell, Kurt, I should have told you months ago. I'm sorry I'm such a mess. I know you didn't sign up for this when you agreed to go out with me. You thought you were getting this strong, confident person, but the truth is I think I'm the most fucked up fag I know." Blaine laughed hollowly.

Kurt took Blaine's face in his hands. The chair Blaine was sitting on was more like a stool so he only had to bend a little to press his forehead to Blaine's.

"Don't," Kurt said fiercely, "Don't call yourself that."

Blaine raised his hands to pull Kurt's face towards him. Lips searching hungrily, Blaine stretched towards Kurt like he was the sun. Their lips met, and this was such a different kiss than they had ever shared before. The hunger was different and the sweetness had changed. It was like oxygen. Kurt was Blaine's lifeline, and Blaine was Kurt's, and in that moment, neither of them was thinking. No conscious thoughts; just survival instinct, pure and simple. Kurt held tightly to Blaine's waist as he trailed kisses down his throat. Blaine's stubble was stinging Kurt's lips, but nothing in the world could make him stop kissing Blaine.

"FAGGOTS!"

Except maybe that.