It's a quarter after one, I'm all alone and I need you now.

And I said I wouldn't call but I'm a little drunk and I need you now.

And I don't know how I can do without.

I just need you now.

            She stood there watching him almost carefully, a little smile pulled across her face that was so much like his own as she wrung her fingers in the exact same way he did when he was nervous. This couldn't be happening. He was finally starting to get his life back together and she was ruining it.

            “W-what are you doing here?” He wanted to stab himself for stuttering; he wanted to cut out his tongue and pull out his hair and shoot himself in the foot because this wasn't fair.

            “I came to see you. I missed you.” She took a step forward and oh God, he was going to throw up. He took one back and her face fell. He couldn't deal with this. She left him, she just walked out and left him all by himself and now she was coming back just assuming he was going to welcome her with open arms.

            “You shouldn't be here. You're the one who left me behind; you don't get to just show up unannounced and expect me to be happy about it.” He took another step.

            She made a face, probably the same face that he made when he was confused. “It wasn't unannounced. I called you and you never answered, I left flowers three times a week apologizing.”

            Everything slowly settled into place; the flowers, the unknown and persistent number. This wasn't happening.

            Sometimes he waited for her to come back. He would sit on the very bottom step of the staircase and just watch the door, expecting her to throw it open and reappear with her suitcase and a broad smile and scoop him up into her arms. She never came.

            His father would come home and start yelling, calling him names that Blaine didn't even understand and sending him up to his room after he started crying, calling him a ‘stupid fucking baby'.

            So Blaine would sit on his bed and cuddle with the stuffed llama his mom got him from the fair that one year that, if he tried hard enough, smelled just a little bit like her. Tomorrow he would try again, like always. 

            “I've missed you so much, you're so handsome now. You're not my cute little baby anymore.” It was too much, too much, too much. Blaine stumbled back, one hand grasping the partition that separated the door from the kitchen. Christian was behind him, one hand squeezing his shoulder as he steadied Blaine with another on his waist. She was just coming into his house; just walking in as if he had welcomed her. He hadn't.

            She looked almost the same as she did when he was seven, if a little more worn. Her skin was still the exact same shade, her black curly hair fell around her face and shoulders the same way he remembered it. Her shoulders were a little more slumped and there were more creases in her face and there was a stubborn streak of grey that just didn't want to disappear from her hair and she might have even been a little thinner but she looked the same.

            “Is that your boyfriend?” Kylie gave him that stupid hopeful smile as her eyes flickered between the two of them. Blaine opened his mouth—

            “I think you should leave.” And they weren't his words, they were Christian's. When Blaine glanced up, his roommate was watching the woman in the doorway warily, gaze raking over her body critically as his fingers tightened on Blaine.

            Kylie frowned, eyebrows scrunching together in a perfect mirror of himself. “I'm his mother and you, boyfriend or not, don't get to kick me out.”

            “Please get out of our house.” Christian slipped away from him and Blaine wanted to cry out for him to come back because he didn't think he could stand by himself right now. But his friend just nudged him back carefully until his knees hit the edge of a barstool before turning back around and striding toward the door.

            “No.”

            Blaine didn't even remember passing out.

            Kurt was watching him from the other side of the blanket, eyes roaming over Blaine's face and body as he drank in his slumped posture. “What's wrong with you?” It was a quip, that was for sure, but there was something about the softness in his face and the set of his mouth that reminded Blaine that he was being sincere.

            “Just thinking about my mom. Sometimes I wonder if she'll come back, if I even want her to come back.” Blaine stared at his lap, fingers picking at the edge of their cliché checkered picnic blanket in a way he knew Kurt was going to chastise him for.

            But Kurt's eyes just softened, a small, understanding smile twitching the corner of his mouth. He reached over the space between them, grasping Blaine's hand that was fiddling with the cloth and pulling it into his lap where he started to work his fingers over Blaine's palm. “Sometimes I think about that, too. I think about what my life might have been like if she hadn't died and it would probably be a lot different,” he paused, eyes rising to meet Blaine's. “I don't know if I ever would have met you. She would have told me to be strong and helped me get through everything and I bet I never would have made that trip to Dalton. I don't ever wish that she were gone, I just think about how much I might lose if she weren't.” Kurt was just so open, so sincere and vulnerable that Blaine wanted to cry.

            What might his life have been like if his mother stayed? Would he have met Kurt? It was because of her leaving that he made his goals to protect people and make sure they were safe. Would he have tried that with Kurt? Blaine made a face down at their little lunch; probably not.

            “Blaine?” There was something cold on his forehead and he was definitely lying down. Someone kept saying his name and he couldn't place the voice. It rattled through his head, bounced around between his ears and the name sat right on the tip of his tongue but he still couldn't taste it.

            A warm hand was anchored on his hip and Blaine's eyes fluttered open. Christian was sitting beside him on what must have been the kitchen floor, fingers petting weakly against his shirt as the other hand held a washcloth over his forehead.

            “What happened?” He sounded like shit; his voice cracked awkwardly and the sound of it in his own mind made a headache he didn't know he had, throb.

            “You passed out. I sat you on the bar stool and you literally fell off of it and whacked your head. You mother freaked out and tried to rush in and I actually had to threaten to call the police before she left. She said she'd come back.” Right, his mom.

            Blaine slumped against the island. It was 1:05am, Christian was asleep, his mother never came back although he didn't doubt that she would; she was annoyingly persistent, and his neck hurt too much to be able to lie down comfortably.

            He felt like he was missing something, like there was something he was supposed to do and he forgot but it was just sitting right there waiting for him. Blaine slid off the stool, making his way to the fridge and fishing out one of the beer bottles. If he was going to wallow in his own self-pity, he was going to make the most of it.

            “Heyyyy, Kurt. Hey. It's Blaine, wow my name sounds funny. Did you know it sounded funny? Your name doesn't sound funny, it's just like... Kurt. Whatever, anyways, I just wanted to tell you how amazing you are and I'm not drunk at all just a little tiny bit tipsy, probably, I don't know.

            “You're just the best; you're so strong all the time and you look after people and you look after me even if I'm kind of always an asshole. My mom showed up today and I don't know what she wants from me. She looks almost the same as when she left and I just don't know what she wants.

            “I wish you were here; you're so smart and you'd know what to do. You always know what to do. I looooooooooove you, Kurt. I love you soo much and I just want to tell you that all the time.”