By Sunday night, Kurt felt no better. He had spent most of the day with Blaine, first at the exhibition, where Blaine’s badly contained enthusiasm and not-quite-whispered comments had earned them a number of annoyed glares from the curator who was trying to give a tour to a group of Japanese tourists. Kurt had had to drag Blaine off to the opposite end of the gallery and kiss him into submission. Then, they had spent far too much money in the museum shop, with Kurt unable to tear himself away from the prints and posters while Blaine sighed into his shoulder after having been told no when he wanted to buy Kurt a rather hideous t-shirt as a souvenir. After the museum, they had spent a couple of hours in the park, making a snowman. Blaine had insisted on certain additions to it, all in the name of anatomical correctness, and had laughed himself silly at Kurt’s reaction. Darkness had fallen and they had been chilled to the bone, so Kurt had suggested coffee and maybe dinner later. It had been perfect, really, and Kurt could still feel a slight tingle on his lips from all the kissing. Now he was lying on his bed, the faint noises from the TV in the living room creeping through the crack under his door, but doing nothing to distract him from his thoughts. Because it had been a perfect day, with a perfect boy, but somehow all Kurt could think about was Rachel’s face when he had told her about Blaine’s father. She had fixed him with a look that said, quite plainly, that what he was doing was wrong. Despite Mercedes’ look of sympathy, he could not get Rachel’s voice out of his head. He knew she had a point. Keeping Blaine in the dark, lying to him, was wrong and it felt horrible. It was even worse, now, because he was lying to his father, too. No matter how many excuses he made for himself, it kept coming back to him. He was lying to Blaine, the sweet boy who had held him and comforted him when he was scared, and who wore his heart on his sleeves and trusted Kurt not to break it. He was lying to his father who supported him and who had been his only family for so long. And it felt horrible.

He was completely immersed in his thoughts, the guilt twisting in his gut, when he caught sight of something out of the corner of his eye. The darkness pressed against his window, but the faint light of the streetlight below was enough to make out the silhouette of a person moving around. At first, he thought it might be his father or Finn taking out the garbage, but the figure made no move to go back inside, opting instead to hover in the shadows by the bins, moving around in a strange, creeping manner as if whoever it was did not want to be seen. Kurt clambered off the bed and went to peer out through the blinds. The figure was now completely invisible from the ground floor, sheltered by a row of tall bushes, but Kurt could still just make it out. There was something oddly familiar about the gait, but Kurt could not remember where he might have seen it before. He did not know how long he spent staring down, trying to see the figure clearly, but eventually his mind started to wander, his eyes no longer really seeing. He was back to thinking about Blaine and the inevitable dinner where he would meet Blaine’s father, when he was suddenly interrupted by Finn who burst in, sending the door flying open and hitting the wall with a resounding crash. Kurt flinched and made to turn around, but before he could move, he saw that the figure on the ground was not lurking behind the bushes anymore. Instead, the person was clearly silhouetted against the sidewalk, their face in shadow, but leaving no doubt. Whoever it was, was staring right up at Kurt.

Kurt turned around to look at Finn, who was trying to look as small as possible, while surreptitiously moving a little to the right, a sheepish look on his face.
“What, Finn? What’s so important that you can’t knock or just open the door like a normal person?”
Finn dug his foot into the carpet and wiped his nose on his sleeve.
“Um. Sorry about that. I was just… wondering. You normally bring me warm milk right about now and I was wondering if this time I could maybe have cinnamon in it? Oh, and mum says there’s some leftover cheesecake in the fridge if you want any. It’s that weird low fat stuff you like.”
“You really like the milk that much?
“Uh. Yeah. But also, I saw on TV it’s supposed to be good if you’re sick, and I think I’m getting a cold. I was hanging out with some of the guys from football and we had a snowball fight. But me, Mike and Sam totally killed Puck’s team! It was so awesome! Only now my nose is running and my head hurts.”
Kurt sighed.
“Yeah, that’s probably a cold. Come on, then. Let’s get you some warm milk.”
Finn bounded out the door and down the stairs, but Kurt did not follow him immediately. Instead, he took one last look out the window. The mysterious figure was nowhere to be seen. He turned back and let out a gasp of outrage.
“Finn, you bumbling dinosaur! You left a dent in my wall with your obnoxious door-slamming! Finn Hudson, get back here!”

School next day was a miserable affair. Kurt was still angry with Finn for making a dent in his wall and then expecting him to still make him warm milk, and Finn, not sensing that Kurt wanted to be left alone to seethe, kept following him around like a scolded Labrador, sniffling and talking over Kurt’s stony silences. Finn’s constant company was even more annoying because it meant that Puck took to following him around as well and the two of them had nearly driven Kurt mad by the time the bell rang, signalling lunch break. Finn and Puck both had colds after their adventure in the snow and Kurt could practically feel the germs creeping up on him whenever either of them opened their mouth to say something. The one positive thing about it was that he did not have to worry about being slushied or pushed into lockers. He was not really sure that having what were basically loud, crude and infectious bodyguards was really worth the trouble, but he was pleased nonetheless, especially when he had to go to the library and was assaulted by unpleasant memories of what had happened there, only that past Friday.
He managed to shake them off during the break, claiming that he had to go to the bathroom and fixing Finn with a death-glare when he had bounded to his feet, ready to follow. Luckily, Puck had intervened, saying that going to the bathroom together was a girl thing, and Kurt might be gay, but that was stretching it. Kurt gave him a grateful smile and left as fast as he could without actually breaking into a run. He found the first bathroom, locked himself in a stall and took deep, calming breaths. It was only Monday and he already found himself thinking longingly of the weekend when he would not have to deal with the constant presence of the football and hockey players, the annoyance that was the Finn-Puck combination, and the ever-present fear that Karofsky was going to find him and do something to him. He had finally calmed down and unlocked the door to the stall, when a sniffle and the sound of someone blowing their nose broke the silence. Apparently, Puck and Finn were not the only ones affected by the cold weather. Kurt opened the door to the stall and froze.
Over by the sinks and mirrors was Karofsky.
He was facing the wall, his back to Kurt, but in the mirrors Kurt could see his face very clearly. He was crying. Tears were streaming down his face silently as he wiped at them again and again, his face the very picture of frustration and anger. He blew his nose into a paper tissue and sniffed again. At that precise moment, Kurt’s phone went off with a ding, signalling an incoming text. Karofsky’s eyes flew up and fixed on Kurt in the mirror and Kurt felt his very spine turn to ice. For one long second they stood like that, staring at each other. Then Kurt’s legs finally unfroze and he spun around and hurtled out the door, vowing to find Finn and Puck and stay with them the rest of the day.
He spotted them in the cafeteria, chatting with Sam and Mercedes, and went over and plonked down next to Finn. He tried to smile, but something was off and Mercedes was not fooled.
“What’s wrong, Kurt? You look a little pale.”
“Mercedes, Kurt always looks pale. It’s his look. Vampire chic or something.”
Mercedes gave Finn an unimpressed look.
“Finn, look at him. Something’s wrong. What is it, Kurt?”
Kurt opened his mouth to answer, but before he could say anything, his body shook with a tremendous sneeze. Mercedes cooed in sympathy.
“Oh, you’re sick too? Poor baby. Remember to drink lots of tea and stuff with honey in it; it’s good for your throat. We need your voice, Kurt, or Rachel’s going to try to nab your solos and I cannot deal with that girl taking over any more of glee than she already has.”
Kurt sneezed again. Great. Just what he needed.

It was almost three weeks later, when the wave of colds that had swept McKinley had finally died out, that Kurt found himself ringing the doorbell at the Anderson home for his promised, and somewhat dreaded, family dinner. Mrs Anderson had been very enthusiastic about the idea and Blaine had chuckled good-naturedly and agreed. Kurt had been ridiculously thankful for the short reprieve he had been given due to Mr Anderson’s business trip, but, now that he was back, Kurt had no more excuses. He stood clutching a bottle of wine, a gift to Blaine’s parents, sweating a little and trying his best to prepare himself mentally. He knew Blaine’s parents were bound to ask about his family and it would look odd if he seemed unsure or fumbling in his answers, so he had prepared and rehearsed his back story in the car on the way there. By the time he had reached Blaine’s house, he was confident he could say it in his sleep.
The door finally opened to reveal a smiling Blaine. Before Kurt could react, Blaine had engulfed him in a hug. They swayed a little on the spot and Blaine planted a smacking kiss right on Kurt’s mouth before finally letting go. Kurt blinked.
“Wow. Er. Hello to you too.”
Blaine had the good grace to blush. He looked a little nervous and there was so much gel in his hair, it looked wet.
“Hey. I just… really wanted to do that. You look fantastic and I just… I’m a little nervous.”
“You’re nervous? Shouldn’t I be the one shaking in my socks right now? Which I am, by the way.”
“Nono, it’s just that I’ve never brought anyone home to meet my parents before. And I’m nervous because I don’t know how to do that. I mean, you’ve met my mum, but that was different. This is… formal, sort of. And I want it to go well because you’re you, and you’re so wonderful and I want them to see that and…”
“Blaine, you’re not really helping with my nerves, either. If I’m the first boyfriend you’ve ever brought home, that puts quite a lot of pressure on me, doesn’t it?”
Blaine shuffled his feet anxiously and Kurt felt oddly comforted. It was nice to know he was not the only one nervous about this.
“Shall we just agree to be nervous together and go do this thing?”
And he held out his hand. Blaine beamed at him and took it, pulling him inside.

The evening started out well enough. Mrs Anderson was charmed that Kurt had brought a gift and generally delighted to see him. She fussed over him and when he offered to help her cook dinner, she planted a wet kiss on his cheek, the highest she could reach, and shooed him out of the kitchen and into the living room. Mr Anderson was a pleasant-looking man, barely taller than his son, and with the same curls, even if his were rather grey. He shook Kurt’s hand in a sort of polite but distracted way and then excused himself at the sound of a mobile phone ringing. At that point, Blaine sidled up to Kurt and snaked an arm around his waist.
“Sorry about that. He’s been waiting for this business phone call all day, and when he’s like that he can’t really concentrate on anything else. It’ll be better when he comes back. We could have introduced you as Elizabeth and he probably wouldn’t have noticed. It’s not you or anything. He just gets distracted like that and you have to wait for him to sort it out. But he’s going to love you, I’m sure. Mum already does.”
Kurt leaned into him and sighed. Then he spotted something.
“Oh, my. That’s. Is that? It is, isn’t it?”
“What?”
“Baby pictures!”
“Baby… No! Colin, stop! It’s nothing! Don’t look!”
But it was too late. The mantelpiece at the far end of the dining room was filled with pictures. The wall behind had a fair few too, and from what Kurt see, they were all of Blaine. He wiggled out of Blaine’s grasp and practically skipped over to have a closer look. A multitude of different-aged Blaines smiled back at him, from the tiny, fat baby on a white sheepskin pelt, to the toothy grin of a gangly teenager with an unruly mop of curls sitting on top of his head like some bizarre animal in a bonding exercise. Kurt could not help it; he started giggling. Blaine gave him a wounded look, but Kurt only laughed harder.
“Oh, Blaine, you were precious!”
“No fair, Colin. I bet your baby pictures are just as embarrassing.”
“Please. You wish you were as adorable a baby as I was. At least I didn’t pose in the nude. Such an exhibitionist at such an early age. Tsk tsk.”
At that point, Mrs Anderson called out from the kitchen that dinner was ready and they rushed to help set the table.
Mr Anderson arrived just as Mrs Anderson was fetching the napkins and he looked notably more relaxed than he had before. Over pilaf rice with spicy chicken, Mr and Mrs Anderson asked about Kurt’s family, where he went to school, what his plans for the future were and what he did in his spare time. He told them as much as he dared and tried to make up for being vague in places by adding details to other things. So Blaine’s parents did not know that Carole Hudson was not his real mother, or that his father was a mechanic, but they ended up knowing quite a lot about what it was like living with a dinosaur for a brother, singing in the glee club and Kurt’s dreams about going to New York after high school. Kurt felt himself beginning to relax. The hardest questions were over, for now, and he could just enjoy himself and the inevitable light banter with Blaine over the baby pictures.
They were in the middle of dessert when it went wrong. Kurt had been teasing Blaine and Blaine had poked him in the side, making him squeal and jump. He had not been the only one. Mr Anderson had jumped so violently at his squeal that he had dropped his spoon and overturned his cup of coffee, staining the tablecloth a light brown. The table fell completely silent, as if waiting for something, and in the silence, Mr Anderson’s laboured breathing was suddenly very loud. His words, though whispered out almost like a hiss, were clearly audible.
“That was her! Her voice! And look at him! Her face, too! He’s her! I can’t…”
And he stood up abruptly, staggered a little as if drunk, and bolted from the room. His thunderous footsteps trailed down the hall and then there was an almighty crash and the sound of something shattering.
Kurt felt as if he had been doused in ice water. Mrs Anderson’s face deflated like a balloon with a puncture and Blaine looked close to tears. Mrs Anderson cleared her throat.
“Well. He did look a little strung-out, but I didn’t… I just didn’t think…”
She turned to Kurt, who was fighting the instinct to run from the house as fast as he could.
“I’m so sorry, dear. It’s nothing to do with you, I promise. He’s not normally like this, either, but sometimes it just gets bad, I suppose. I think I’d better go talk to him, but Blaine can show you out, right?”
Blaine nodded mutely. Mrs Anderson stood up, a nervous smile on her face. It was almost more like a grimace.
“I really am so very sorry, Colin, sweetheart. It was lovely having you here, really, and you’re always welcome, of course. I don’t know why that had to happen tonight. Blaine will explain it to you, won’t you, dear?”
“Yes, mum.”
“Okay. Well. I’d better go. Calm him down.”
And she hugged Kurt and kissed him on the cheek before scurrying out of the room. There was a moment of awkward silence, but then a sniffing sound made Kurt look up. Blaine was still sitting in his chair, but he was clutching his spoon so hard his knuckles had turned white and he was blinking furiously, his jaw working as if he was trying to grind his teeth to dust.
“I hate it when he does that. I hate it, I hate it, I hate it!”
“Blaine…”
Kurt felt completely helpless. Blaine was angry and crying and there was nothing he could do about it. He tugged Blaine out of his chair and wrapped his arms around him. Blaine buried his face in his shoulder, sniffling.
“Do you know why he does it? Because that’s the worst part. He doesn’t have some complicated, psychological diagnosis or disease. You know why he’s like that?”
“Blaine. Shh.”
“It’s because he killed someone.”