The days at home were long and mundane. Blaine spent his time going to the record store or hanging out with Quinn at the park as there was still some summer sun left in the sky. However Blaine mostly felt cold and restless.

One of the days that Blaine had gone to the record store, the owner was thrilled to see him returned home. The man immediately started listing off all the records the store had received since Blaine’s sudden disappearance. He ended up leaving the record store with more albums than he had intended to.

Blaine began bringing his guitar to his meetings in the park with Quinn. He started to realize that he had a hard time talking with her, he felt like he no longer knew how to be around her. Or anyone really. His guitar served as an escape route when the talks awkwardly died out and they had nothing to do but look around.

Quinn wasn’t intruding his private sphere anymore, but he couldn’t help feeling that she was still trying to flirt with him, which he found uncomfortable. He didn’t want to hurt her again, so he pretended that he hadn’t noticed.

He only played melodies with no lyrics so no singing was involved; he didn’t feel like singing these days.

He had become certain that he had heard his mom cry that day he got home. He had been back for quite some time now and he had realized that her crying wasn’t all that unusual.

She often excused herself to ‘go lie down’ in the middle of the day, that’s normally when he would hear her cry in the bedroom.

Blaine didn’t mention anything, but he couldn’t stop himself from looking at her through sad eyes. To him she seemed increasingly more fragile - like she could break any second. It scared him.

He wanted to ask her why she was crying, tell her that she didn’t have to cry, tell her that he was there for her - but that would mean that he had to tell her that he had heard her.

*

“My father is coming home tomorrow,” Blaine told Quinn one day.

The sun was hidden behind a group of clouds and for the first time in months he was wearing a long sleeved shirt. He shook his head a little, feeling his wild curls twirl in the slight breeze.

“Are you gonna tell him about Kurt?” she inquired, seeming like she already knew the answer, yet fearing that she might not have it right.

“What would I tell him about Kurt? There’s nothing to tell,” Blaine retorted, mad at himself for the pressure he allowed to grow in his chest from the sound of Kurt’s name.

Since he got home he had forced himself to push the thought of Kurt away each time he presented himself in his mind. Only that had been a harder task than he had hoped for. Kurt had a way of sneaking up on his thoughts when he least expected it. When he was in the record store, when he was eating, when he was walking down the street, or simply when he was playing his guitar.

The nights were the worst though. He would lie in the dark and see images of Kurt smiling at him, or dancing around on the ceiling. There was the sound of Kurt’s laughter like bells and his silk voice talking about the universe and the beauty of being.

“That’s not true, and you know it. There is much more between you and Kurt than you are willing to admit to anyone - least of all yourself -” she stated as she butted a cigarette in the grass making Blaine flinch - what would Kurt have said if he saw her do that? Would he have thundered at her for punishing the nature for no reason?

“I still haven’t told my parents yet,” Quinn went on, pulling him out of his train of thoughts. It was like she had been waiting for Blaine to bring up the subject of parents.

They had been back in Lima for more than a week and she hadn’t been grounded or sent away, so he suspected as much. He wished that she had though, because he knew that it meant that she hadn’t decided what to do about it yet.

“I… I heard that some guy in town could take care of it. Discretely. I have some money saved up. The money was actually meant for college, but if I don’t do this there will be no college anyway.”

“You can’t do that. That’s dangerous. Do you know how they do it? Hot knitting needles, that’s how. Do you really want that for your body?” Blaine spat out in horror.

He knew that it didn’t concern him, but he also knew that it was extremely dangerous. He had read articles in the paper about young girls seeking a quick way out of unwanted pregnancy and ended up sick and infected - some of them nearly dying of it. He couldn’t just sit back and let her do that.

“I don’t have a choice,” Quinn argued, and Blaine was terrified that she’d rather put herself through that risk than tell her parents so they could help her. He had no way of helping her himself, so there was nothing he could do.

“I’m seeing him in a week,” she said, her voice cold and shaking, Blaine didn’t doubt for a second that she was trying to avoid tears.

“You do have a choice. But if that’s your decision, well then… I can’t argue with you. I just wish it wasn’t,” Blaine said defeated, seeing a tint of guilt flashing through her eyes.

“What do you care? It’s not like I mean anything to you,” she snapped at him, biting her cheek, clearly regretting how harsh she was with him.

“Have you called Puck and told him what you’re doing?” Blaine thought that this piece of the puzzle was of extreme significance - it was his baby too.

“No. I… he’s just gonna get angry with me, and it’s not his choice. This is my body.” She looked away, and he knew that she was afraid to look him in the eyes.

“Quinn, it’s his baby too. He deserves to know -” Blaine objected.

“This is not a baby!” She almost screamed and jumped to her feet. She marched over the lawn and disappeared behind a tree. Blaine instinctively knew that she wasn’t coming back.

Then I guess I’ll have to call him, he muttered before he grabbed his guitar and made his way back home.

*

Blaine looked absentmindedly down in the toast on the plate in front of him. He didn’t feel like eating anything, but he knew that he should. His head felt tired and heavy, which he didn’t understand since he was sleeping a lot more now that he had an actual bed to sleep in.

His mom joined him in the kitchen, letting her fingers run through his curls before she sat down next to him, a cup of tea in her hands, purple rings showing under the tired skin at her eyes.

“Your dad is going to make you get rid of those long curls when he get home tonight, you know that, baby,” she said sadly. His mom liked his curls. She always looked sourly at his father whenever he told him to cut them off, and she would take time to appreciate them as long as he could get away with letting them grow out.

“I know. It’s lame. It shouldn’t matter to him what my hair looks like -” he responded in a dry tone. Lately the bare thought of his father pissed him off - how could he just leave his mom when she was feeling like this?

But to him the army always had first priority. Blaine should have got used to that. “It’s about being loyal to your country,” his father always said - but Blaine saw it as an excuse for being a power-hungry douche.

“You know how he is,” she said in an overbearing way, Blaine wanting to scream at her that it wasn’t okay for him to be like that.

“Will I meet your new friend Kurt?” she implored, taking him completely off guard. He hadn’t mentioned Kurt since his first day home, and she hadn’t asked. For all he knew she could have completely forgotten about his existence - something Blaine was starting to wish he could do.

“He’s… he’s still in Washington. I don’t think I’ll see him again. He’ll probably stay there,” Blaine explained to her, struggling to make it sound casual, as if it didn’t matter. Because it didn’t - it didn’t matter to him where Kurt was, or if he ever saw him again.

At least that’s what he constantly kept telling himself.

“I’m sorry, honey. I hope you’ll see him again some day soon,” she crooned and let a hand caress his cheek before she left the kitchen, leaving Blaine confounded.

“It doesn’t matter. I’ll make new friends. It’s not a big deal,” Blaine yelled after her, not sure who he was trying to convince more.

*

When Blaine came down for breakfast the next morning he could immediately feel the changed atmosphere in the house. It was like a pressuring on his chest, a cloud over his head and tension flexing his muscles.

His father was home.

He almost regretted coming downstairs and considered going back to his room, but he also knew that this would only cause trouble for him, and possibly his mom, later.

“What did I tell you about that mop of hair, son?” His dad didn’t even look at him over his newspaper as Blaine entered the kitchen. Blaine ignored him and went for the refrigerator to get some juice, hoping that he could get through the morning in peace so he could escape to the record store.

I should have known better.

“If that isn’t gone by dinner, you know what’s gonna happen,” his father said firmly as he turned a page.

Blaine clasped his lips together to a thin line to keep his temperament in check, but he knew how hard it was going to be, so he closed his eyes and slowly started counting to ten, to get a hold of his building anger.

“I have arranged for you to get transferred to a new school by the end of October,” he continued on casually, hitting Blaine like a hammer in the chest.

“You have what?” Blaine spat out, forgetting everything about keeping his anger in control.

“You didn’t think I would let your little runaway-act go unnoticed, did you?” His father’s voice kept cold and firm - demanding, as always.

When Blaine had got older, around 12 years old, he started suspecting that his father couldn’t separate his job and personal life - like he couldn’t see the difference between the military and the real world.

“That’s bullshit. I didn’t do anything wrong. I’m 17 and I was on my summer break,” Blaine bellowed shocked. How hadn’t he seen this coming?

“It was you who just deserted mom here alone, even though you know she’s sick. I got back as soon as I knew how sick she is, you just screwed her over -”

Blaine had stopped in the middle of his stream of words by a fist punched to his eye, making him almost lose balance as stars danced before his eyes. It wasn’t the first time, and he knew it wouldn’t be the last time his father hit him, still he was taken completely off guard, and felt a rush of anger run through his body, as he let a palm up to support against the wall.

“Your mother isn’t sick. She’s just a little hysterical - if you don’t get yourself together you’ll end up being just as much of a sissy as she is,” his father stated with disgust painted all over his face.

Blaine got a grip of his legs and left the kitchen in rushed steps. All the way up the stairs he could hear his father yell after him, but he didn’t care. He slammed the door to his room behind him before he fell down on his bed.

He laid there a little, not sure what to do next.

“You can’t let the rage take you over. Go outside and scream your lungs out, sit down and meditate, play some music and sing your voice rasp,” Kurt’s voice sounded through his head.

Yeah, that seemed like just the thing he would advice him to do.

He reached down in his pocket and found his wallet. He pulled out the little note, and looked at Kurt’s neat, artistic letters, making a warmth run through his veins.

For a brief second he imagined himself curl up to a ball, protected by Kurt’s arms, but he hurried to shake off the thought - such a thought didn’t belong in his head.

He got to his feet and grabbed his guitar before he stormed out the door and ran down the stairs. He hurried out the door before his father could hear him.

He hurried down the street without knowing where he was going, but after having walked for a good 15 minutes he found himself in town facing the record store.

He started going through all of the boxes with records, looking if there were any he was missing in his collection, trying to calm down his head - trying to forget what had just happened.

He spent the rest of the day in the store. Playing his guitar for the customers, singing songs they wished for, doing music quizzes with the owner, and Benjamin who was sweeping the floors.

On his way home he dropped by Quinn’s house. He knocked on the door and waited politely, a little nervous by the thought of her father opening the door. He knew that her father was a strict man, and he was afraid that if she had told them he would very likely be guessed to be the guilty.

Her father wasn’t the one to open the door though. Who knew the Fabray’s had a maid?

“What are you doing here?” Quinn asked anxious as she came to the door and grabbed his arm to lead him down the porch, heading for the sidewalk outside the lawn.

“I just wanted to hear how everything was going. You left pretty abruptly yesterday, and I just wanted to apologize if I crossed a line,” Blaine said confused, not really sure why she was acting like this, but seeing her expression soften in front of him.

“It’s okay. I’m sorry. I’m just confused and frustrated - and it’s not your fault, so I shouldn’t take it out on you. Look… I can’t talk right now. Meet you tomorrow?” she asked, looking genuinely sorry for her behavior.

Blaine agreed and left as he saw her close the door to her house.

He headed home, and decided to just go to bed as soon as he was there. That would be the only way to avoid any conflicts, and he didn’t want to put his mom through any more stress than she already was under.

He passed a payphone on the way from Quinn’s house. He passed it, but after a few feet he returned and dialed the number for the commune that he had saved on Puck’s note.

“Hello -” a soft, but surprised, voice sounded at the other end of the receiver, a noise of voices and music and singing in the background.

Blaine panicked and hung up. A knot tied up in his stomach, and nausea threatened in the back of his throat. His head started spinning, and his legs felt heavy as he stared at the phone in front of him.

He didn’t know what he had expected, but not this.

Why did Kurt have to be the one to answer the phone?

The way home felt unrealistically long for what he was used to, but he managed to creep up the stairs without being noticed by his father.

His mom was crying again. He stopped in the hall, debating whether or not he should go in to see her, but he didn’t - he proceeded down the aisle to his own room at the end, where he crawled under his covers, not even bothering to take off his clothes.

He couldn’t fall asleep. He twisted and turned in the bed, and couldn’t find just the right way to lie, and he felt empty and full at the same time.