“You seem like a really great guy.” The sentence played on repeat in Kurt’s head throughout the drive home, nagging him. The problem was that it was a very vague thing to say. It could mean a lot of things or nothing at all. For all Kurt knew, Blaine was just an open, friendly guy. And, a voice in the back of his head added, an incredibly gorgeous one, too, but Kurt ignored that for the time being. He could just be the type of person to dole out hugs and claps on the shoulder as well as light-hearted flattery. It did not have to mean anything. After all, Kurt had just showered the guy with books, some of them quite heavy and all of them covered in dust, so Blaine had probably been happy to see the back of him. But then again, he had seemed genuinely concerned about Kurt and what kind of person worried about somebody’s feelings when that somebody had just fallen on top of them and left them as battered and bruised as an overripe banana? Surely that went beyond the boundaries of cheerful friendliness?
Then there was the fact that Blaine was also unsettlingly handsome with his caramel-coloured eyes, his curly black hair and his crooked grin. Guys like that were never nice to him, and they certainly never told him he was a great guy. No, Kurt did not know what to make of it all.

Furthermore, there was something about the name Michael Blaine Anderson. It was like a long-forgotten itch he could not wait to scratch now that he had suddenly felt it again. The name seemed familiar, somehow, even though he was sure he had never seen Blaine before in his life. He did not know what had possessed him to give a fake name, but maybe it had to do with the strange sense of foreboding he felt when Blaine had introduced himself. Still, it seemed a ridiculous thing to do, in hindsight, and if Kurt had thought for a second that he would ever meet Blaine again, he would want to correct it. As it was, Kurt was certain they would never speak again, and he therefore resolved to try and put the matter from his mind.

When he opened the front door, he was met with the smell of Carole’s cooking and his stomach gave a loud rumble. He had not realised how long he had been at the bookshop, but a quick look at the big clock above the sink told him he had been gone too long to pass it off as an overlong glee session. For some reason, he did not want to tell his father about Blaine, and he was certainly not going to tell him why he had gone to the bookshop in the first place. Although Burt had been following his diet strictly, despite protesting a fair bit, Kurt was not fooled. His father was better, but his heart was still weak. Any unnecessary stress that he could spare him would help his father’s heart get better, so Kurt had kept his mouth firmly shut about the bullying, and would continue to do so.
“Hey kiddo,” it sounded from the living room.
“Hi dad.”
“You’re home late. Dinner’s almost ready.”
“Yeah. I uh… I went to the mall. I need some new shoes but I couldn’t find any I liked.” Kurt toed off his shoes and went in to join his father on the couch where he was watching television, not really interested in the baseball match playing.
“Kurt, you have about a hundred pairs already. I’m sure you’ll be fine.”
“Sixteen is not a hundred!” Kurt crossed his arms indignantly. “And I’ll have you know it’s hard being as fabulous as me on an every-day basis.”
Burt chuckled.
Kurt watched the match absently. For some reason, he thought he had heard his father say the name Michael Blaine Anderson. He had been absolutely certain. Now, he was not so sure, but maybe he should ask his father about it. If nothing else, he could get it off his mind.
“Dad?”
“Hm?” Burt tore his eyes off the TV.
“I was just wondering… While I was at the mall, I suddenly remembered something. Well, actually, it was more of a sense of d�j� vu.”
His father grunted to show he was still listening, even though his eyes had returned to the match.
“I came across this name, Blaine, and my mind sort of came up with something more. I don’t know why, but it seems familiar, somehow. I can’t figure it out, so I thought I’d ask you.”
Grunt.
“Does the name Michael Blaine Anderson mean anything to you?”
Silence. Kurt looked up to see his father looking at him intently.
“Yes. I’ve… heard that name before.”
“And?” Kurt was eager now. “Who is he?”
“He’s… Remember your mum’s accident? Well, Michael Blaine Anderson was the name of the other driver.”
Kurt felt his stomach drop. Burt continued, not looking at him.
“He was drunk and he didn’t see her – or just didn’t react in time, I suppose, and that was it.”
Kurt swallowed with difficulty. He had never really heard his father talk about the accident much. He would much rather talk about Kurt’s mother, and Kurt had hardly been one to protest.
“Do you know anything else about him? What he looked like or how old he was? What his job was?”
“Why do you want to know?”
Kurt shrugged.
“I’m just curious. I mean, we haven’t really talked about this much before.”
Burt looked a little uncomfortable.
“I guess we haven’t. Well, as far as I remember, he was about my age, or maybe a little older, with dark hair. Curly, I think. I don’t remember what his job was, or maybe he never said while I was there. His wife was there, too. And I think he has a son, but I’m not sure. There was a little boy there who looked a lot like him, anyway.”
Kurt was positive his heart was going to beat its way out of his chest. This seemed like a crazy coincidence, if it was even a coincidence at all.
“Do you know what happened to him? I mean… did he go to prison?”
Burt shrugged again.
“He didn’t. He had a good lawyer and it was an accident. He got a heavy fine and they took his driver’s licence. That’s it. He wrecked his car of course, but nothing happened to him. Walked away without a scratch.”
There was a bitter note in Burt’s voice that he could not entirely hide, and Kurt felt his throat clench up with a dull ache. He knew it still pained his father sometimes. With Carole and Finn they were happy again, a family again, but they did still miss his mother. He decided that Burt did not need to know about the boy in the bookshop. After all, it was highly unlikely that they would ever meet again. He changed the subject.

Thursday passed in a bit of a blur. Karofsky seemed keen to avoid him, for which Kurt was very grateful. He got through the day without being slushied and was only pushed into the lockers twice. The second time was a complete accident, too; the result of Finn being late for class and displaying his usual clumsiness as he sprinted to make it to Spanish on time. His bellowed apologies followed him as he tore down the corridor. Normally, it would not have counted, in Kurt’s book, as a locker shove, but unfortunately he hit his back on the sharp edge of the lock and it dug into an already existing bruise, sending a spike of pain down his spine and causing him to gasp out involuntarily. He made a mental note to have a talk with Finn about being more careful and not letting his height and lack of coordination affect the non-dinosaur students.

By the time glee practice came around, he had a perfectly put together, bitingly sarcastic little speech prepared, which he was unfortunately forced to abandon when Finn and Puck entered the room, their faces covered in marker pen, guffawing and trying to catch random glee members and draw on them. Quite apart from his sad realisation that Finn would probably only understand about a fifth of it, he also preferred to stay out of the way of any stray markers. He spent too much time and energy on keeping his skin healthy for a couple of idiots to ruin it all just because they were unsupervised and bored for a few minutes.
He deliberately took the seat furthest away from them and smiled when Mercedes sat down beside him. Something must have showed on his face, however, because she fixed him with a piercing look and asked him what was wrong.
He really did not want to tell her about Karofsky’s strange behaviour, so he said the first thing that came to mind.
“I was just thinking. I met this guy yesterday.”
Mercedes’ eyes widened and she smirked at him. Kurt felt himself blush a little.
“Nonono, not like that!”
Mercedes’ smile grew wider.
“Seriously! He just came into the bookshop and I accidentally fell on him and showered him with poetry – quite literally.”
“You fell on him.”
“Yeah.”
“And you showered him with poetry?”
“The entire top shelf of it, actually. I never knew poetry books could be so heavy.”
Mercedes sniggered. Kurt poked her in the side.
“This is no laughing matter! It was horrible! And it was even worse because he was absolutely gorgeous! Stop laughing!”
He got no response except for more half-stifled giggles.
“Anyway, the thing is, I think I know him. Or, well, his dad, really.”
Mercedes had managed to stop laughing, but she was still smiling.
“Oh?”
“Yeah. I think… I think his dad is the guy who killed my mum.”
The smile slid off Mercedes’ face. She looked like she did not know what to say.
“I mean, I can’t be absolutely sure, but from the looks of it, it’s him.”
“Oh Kurt.” Mercedes made a cooing sound.
“It’s okay, really. I mean, I probably won’t see the guy ever again and even if I do, it’s not like he’s to blame for what his father did. If it was his father at all.”
“O…kay?” Mercedes still looked uncertain.
“It’s just a strange feeling, that’s all. I don’t usually think about it much, to be honest.”
Mercedes looked like she was going to say something, but at that moment, Mr Schuester walked in and told them all to settle down. In the bustle that followed – Finn and Puck very reluctantly let go of a disgruntled Artie, now resembling a human doodle – Kurt leaned over to whisper in Mercedes’ ear.
“And besides, he was really nice, you know?”