The Anderson dining room was silent except for Blaine’s wheezy, half-muffled sobs, and Kurt could hear his own blood rushing in his ears. He realised he was rocking gently back and forth, but when he stopped, Blaine whined and burrowed further into his chest, so he continued, trying his best to soothe the boy in his arms. After a while, Blaine’s sobs subsided and he pulled back to look at Kurt with red, watery eyes.
“You’re… you’re still here.” It was almost a question.
“Well, yes. Should I not… Do you want me to go?”
“No!”
Blaine’s arms wrapped so tightly around his waist that it was actually a little painful, but Kurt did not – could not – mind. Blaine looked so utterly wrecked and Kurt just wanted to make everything okay again, so he rocked Blaine some more, stroked up and down his back and dropped a kiss on the top of his head. Eventually, Blaine’s grip loosened and he looked back up at Kurt. His voice croaked when he spoke.
“Thank you. For… for staying. After that. I wouldn’t have blamed you for taking off and never speaking to me again.”
“Oh, Blaine.”
“No, I mean… It’s just that very few people stick around after they find out about my dad.”
“They… really? People have…”
“…cut me off, yeah.”
“Because they found out about your dad?”
“Yeah.”
Blaine let out a humourless chuckle and buried his face in Kurt’s chest again. Kurt knew he was getting tears and snot all over the front of his shirt and he had never cared less in his life. He twined his fingers in Blaine’s hair where it curled at the back and resumed his gentle rocking.
“Forget about them, Blaine. People who do that are not worth keeping anyway.”
“I know, but… b-but it still hurts. My best friend…”
“Your best friend did this?”
For an answer, Blaine squeezed him tighter and nodded a little.
“We’d known each other as long as I can remember and then, one day when we were fourteen, and Martin had come over to hang out and dad was home, something happened that triggered him. He had a fit, threw a vase and broke down. After I explained it all to Martin, he just looked at me like I was a completely different person. Like I was a stranger. Then he said he didn’t want to hang around the psychopathic murderer’s kid and left. He never talked to me again. I think he told somebody at school, because that’s when the bullying started. I can’t be sure, though.”
Kurt could feel himself shaking a little, anger at this unknown boy boiling in his veins. He took a couple of deep, steadying breaths, focusing on Blaine, his beating heart and the warm, shuddering exhale against his shoulder and neck. Blaine gave a hearty sniffle.
“I’m so, so glad you’re still here.”
“Oh, you’re not getting rid of me so easily.”
They stayed like that for a while. Blaine eventually calmed down and, though Kurt was still shaken by what had happened, the feeling that a giant iron fist was clenching around his heart and lungs with every breath he took, lessened. Blaine looked up at him, eyes red and raw from crying.
“I want you to know what really happened. I want to tell you about my dad.”
Kurt nodded and Blaine went on.
“I want you to know why he’s like that. But I don’t want to do it here, not while my dad’s here.”
“That’s alright. We can go to the Lima Bean.”
“But they’ll be closed by now.”
“I know. We’ll stay in the car. It isn’t something you’d want to talk about in an overcrowded coffee shop, anyway.”

So they went to the Lima Bean. They spent more than an hour in the parking lot in Blaine’s car, curled up with Blaine talking and Kurt listening and nodding. Blaine told him how, early in the afternoon, his father had been on his way home from a fancy business dinner. How he had had too much to drink and not enough sense to call a taxi. How, just by the mall, he had run a red light and crashed into another car that had just pulled out of the parking lot. How the other car had crumpled and the driver had been rushed to hospital. And how she had not survived, but had died on the operating table.
“They told him later that she had a family. A husband and a little boy around my age. He saw the husband when he had to go to court. Said he didn’t even cry. He just kept looking at him with these empty, angry eyes and my dad just wanted to scream.”
Kurt shuddered.
He could not forget the look on Mr Anderson’s face right before he had fled the room. It had been a strange mixture of fear and anguish, as if Kurt was the embodiment of every single nightmare that had ever haunted him. It left Kurt with a horrible feeling of guilt and he tightened his arms around Blaine in an attempt to shield himself from it. It did not work.
“My dad’s never touched a drop of alcohol since. He’s perfectly normal most of the time. In the beginning he would get these episodes all the time, but he got better. Now it happens maybe once or twice a year. I just don’t understand why it had to happen today of all days. I didn’t want him to freak you out.”
“I’m not freaked out.”
“I know, but… you just… you mean so much to me, Colin. I hate that you had to see him like that. That he had to scream about the woman he killed the very first time you met. And I’m afraid it’ll change the way you see me.”
“Blaine. It was an accident. Your father is not a murderer. It was an accident. And you are not your father. You don’t share his guilt and you certainly don’t have to worry about losing me over this. You’re just… you. And that’s all that matters to me.”

Kurt was pacing his room. After Blaine had told him about the accident, they had stayed cuddled up in the back seat of the car for a while. Then, cuddling had turned into kissing, which had turned into something more, at which point they had separated, blushing furiously and panting like they had just run a marathon. Then, Blaine had offered to drive Kurt home and had kept shooting him furtive glances all the way there, making Kurt blush yet again. He had pulled him back, just when Kurt was about to get out of the car, for a goodnight kiss that lasted so long that Kurt wanted to learn how to breathe through his ears. Now, back in his room, Kurt could still feel a slight tingle in his lips and he was a little apprehensive about going downstairs because one look in the mirror told him, quite clearly, that his father was going to pull him aside for a talk if he saw him like that. He had already changed into his pyjamas, but had been forced to drape his largest scarf, a maroon horror that had been a gift from Carole, around his neck to hide the line of hickeys stretching all the way up to just under his jaw. It looked absolutely ridiculous with his purple pyjamas. Not exactly the inconspicuous look he was going for. The thing was; he was going to have to brave the trip. He had left his phone in his coat pocket and he had no actual alarm clock. If he wanted to get up in time for school, he definitely needed his phone.
He opened his door and peeked out to make sure the corridor was empty before tiptoeing down the stairs and skipping the step that creaked. He made it all the way out in the hall, fished his phone out of his pocket and was almost at the foot of the stairs when a voice stopped him.
“Kurt! I didn’t hear you come in. Did you have a nice time tonight?”
As Kurt turned around to face her, Carole’s eyes widened. A knowing smile spread across her face.
“Wow. Clearly, you had a great time. Mystery boy got a little carried away, did he?”
Kurt felt his ears burn, but Carole laughed and patted him on the hair.
“Don’t worry. You’re not in trouble.” She looked thoughtful for a moment, then added:
“But you should probably try to avoid your father. I think he’d pop a blood vessel.”
“Yeah. I was just going to – “
“Oh, by the way, Finn was looking for you earlier. Something about a history assignment?”
“Oh, right.”
“He’s in his room. Oh, and could you tell him that next time he tries to get out of doing the dishes with an excuse about homework, I’m going to show Rachel his baby pictures. I know he’s playing video games. Those things aren’t exactly quiet.”
Kurt grinned and nodded.

A short detour to the kitchen later, Kurt was standing by the door to Finn’s room where, sure enough, a muffled series of crashes, yells and screeching of car brakes crept out under the door. He knocked once, and then again because there was no answer the first time. There was the sound of someone shuffling around the room and then the video game was silenced before the door opened to reveal Finn wearing an expression too innocent to be believable. His face relaxed when he saw Kurt, who raised an eyebrow at him, unimpressed.
“Carole knows you’re playing video games, Finn, she’s not stupid. She said to tell you that if you lie about homework to get out of chores again, she’s going to show Rachel your baby pictures.”
Finn’s mouth fell open in horror.
“Even the naked ones?”
“Especially the naked ones.”
Finn whimpered. Then his gaze fell on Kurt’s neck and his eyes narrowed. Kurt’s hands flew up to check his scarf, but it was too late.
“What’s… Is that a hickey on your neck?”
“Don’t be silly, Finn. Who could possibly have given me a hickey?”
“I dunno. For all I know, you could have some secret lover that none of us knows about.”
“Really, Finn? And in Backwards, Ohio, of all places?” But he could not quite get the tone of voice right, and the corners of his mouth twitched treacherously. Finn’s eyes widened.
“You DO? Oh my God! My little brother has a secret lover!”
“Shut up, Finn! Shut your mouth now!”
“But you have a secret looooover! What’s wrong, bromie? Don’t want people to know about lover boy?”
“Finn, I’m warning you…”
But Finn was not paying attention. He had frozen in the middle of his clumsy rain dance around Kurt, suddenly frowning.
“Waaait. Does Burt know about this? Because I’m not sure he’d be down with some random dude getting frisky with his son.”
“Finn!”
“I’m just saying it as it is! What if secret lover boy is just with you for the… stuff?”
“The stuff?”
“Yeah. The not-just-kissing-stuff.”
Kurt huffed.
“Okay, first of all, he’s not a lover, he’s my boyfriend and yes, dad knows about him. Carole, too. Second, he’s incredibly sweet and nothing like what you’re suggesting so there’s no need to turn into the Finncredible Hulk to defend my honour, understand?”
Finn nodded, mollified.
“And third, if you ever tell anybody, I will tell Carole and Rachel about your browser history AND your secret stash!“
Finn gasped.
“You know about my secret stash?”
“Yes. And I never want to happen across it again. I mean why would anybody even bend that way in the first –“
“Okay! It’s a deal! I won’t say a thing if you won’t.”
“Good. Then let’s never speak of this again. Agreed?”
“Agreed.”
“Good.”
Kurt turned to leave.
“Hey, Kurt?”
“Yeah?”
“He really makes you happy?”
Kurt could not help the smile that bloomed across his face.
“Yeah. He really does.”
“Good. I’m happy for you.”
“Thanks, Finn.”
“Just hang a sock on the doorknob or something so I don’t walk in on –“
“Finn!”

The drive to school the next morning was awkward. Kurt could tell that Finn was still thinking about their conversation the night before. The threat of the incriminating browser history was enough to keep him quiet, but Kurt still felt like Finn was pointing a gigantic spotlight at him. He was relieved to get out of the car and practically sprinted inside, ignoring Finn’s shouts about keys and football practices. He was in such a hurry that he almost bumped into somebody. A large, letterman-clad somebody standing just by the entrance. Karofsky was laughing with his friends, but his eyes widened when Kurt let out an involuntary little squeak and made a last-minute turn to avoid him. Luckily for Kurt, Mercedes chose that moment to appear at the end of the hall, calling out to him and waving a brand new phone in the air. He rushed over to her, plastering on a smile and only half-listening when she told him about finally getting a replacement for her old phone.
“And then my mum dropped it on the floor and the screen just went blank, and when I tried jiggling the battery the way that usually works, it just sort of lit up and then went out again and I couldn’t get it to work again.”
“Mmhmm.” Kurt nodded absently, watching over his shoulder as a group of hockey players passed them. Karofsky was nowhere to be seen.
“… and my dad said he’d get me this one since I’ve been talking about it for ages, and I could just kiss my mum. Honestly, I could just have let her borrow it ages ago and saved myself the grief.”
Kurt blinked at her, trying to remember what she had been telling him before she realised that he had not really been paying attention. He was a little too late, however, because she fixed him with a searching stare, one of her eyebrows raised.
“Kurt? Are you there?”
“Yeah, yeah. Just a little tired.”
“You’ve been acting jumpy lately. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah, I’m f –“
“Kurt! I’m not blind. Tell me what’s wrong.”
Kurt sighed, but Mercedes was persistent.
“It’s Karofsky, isn’t it?”
Kurt nodded, defeated.
“He’s worse, now. It’s like he’s lurking around every corner. He’s not even doing anything, really, besides glaring, but it still makes me jump and my skin crawl. I’m so tired of it. I can’t look over my shoulder without flinching.”
“I wonder why he’s singled you out like that. I mean, sure, the other jocks and idiots give you a bit of grief, but it’s nothing more than what they do to the rest of us. With Karofsky, it’s almost as if he’s latched on to you. He passed me in the corridor yesterday with a slushie in his hand and he didn’t throw it at me! And the way he looks at you sometimes.”
Dread settled in Kurt’s stomach. Mercedes was getting uncomfortably close to the truth. He excused himself and nearly ran to the nearest bathroom, flung the door open, grateful that there was nobody else in there, and locked himself in a stall. He busied himself looking through his bag for his timetable, trying to will himself to calm down, but his hands were shaking so badly that he dropped his pencil case, spilling the contents on the floor. He had only just finished putting them back when there was the sound of a door opening and somebody walking in. Heavy footsteps thumped across the floor, coming to a stop right outside his stall. Kurt held his breath and peered out at the sliver of floor he could see under the door. A pair of big, dirty trainers was standing right on the other side of the stall, and as Kurt was watching, a big hand swooped down, reaching for something that Kurt could not see. Apparently, the person outside found what they were looking for, because there was the little huff of someone standing up again and then a satisfied hum. Whoever it was locked themselves in the stall next to Kurt’s and Kurt, who was feeling jumpy still, kept quiet, dropping the lid of the toilet silently to sit on it with his legs pulled up so as not to be visible from the neighbouring stall. He put his hands over his ears and waited until the sound of a toilet flushing told him it was safe to remove them and then waited for the other person to leave. Just as it seemed like he was free, a very shrill, tinny version of “Eye of the tiger” started playing and was then cut off by a voice.
“’Sup.” Then a silence. “Oh, yeah. I have him in third period. Huh? Yeah, no problem. Yup. No, that’s fine. Oh, and if you see Hummel, could you… Exactly. Great. See you.”
Then, finally, the thumping footsteps disappeared out the door, and Kurt heaved a sigh of relief. Then realisation hit him. He knew that voice. He had heard it hissing threats and shouting abuse so many times, but most alarmingly, he had heard it frustrated, earnest and angry in a silent library. It took a couple of minutes of forced steady breathing before Kurt was ready to leave his stall and face his first period math class. He shared that class with both Karofsky and a big, beefy hockey player who was particularly fond of throwing food, but he could not skip it, much as he would like. They had a test and Kurt had no excuse not to show up.
He picked up his bag, swung it over his shoulder and marched out of the bathroom and down the hall with his head held high. Mr Krasnik passed around the test forms, told them to settle down, and, after a particularly vehement threat about what he was going to do if someone’s phone went off, told them to turn the paper and start. Kurt was looking through his pencil case and then his bag for his favourite pencil when something caught his eye. Karofsky was staring at his test, twirling something in his fingers. It caught the light at certain angles, reflecting in the smooth surface. When his fingers stilled, Kurt finally recognised the elegant mechanical pencil in rosewood with details in gold-tinted metal. He recognised his own name, delicately engraved in a beautiful slanting font. It was his favourite pencil that his father had given him just a couple of days after he had finally come out to him.