2001.

He feels hollow, like his everything has been sucked out of him, he feels like a shell that's had its insides scraped out and plastered over the walls. He feels numb and useless and he never wants to get out of bed again, he never wants to think or feel or do anything ever again. He just lies there, chasing lifeless memories in circles through his brain and not even flinching at the new stab of pain that comes with each one. The phantom taste of cinnamon cookies on his tongue, the snapshots of snow angels and the numb, icy, forgotten feeling of long fingers entwined with his. He hears a melodic laugh and the soft murmur of Christmas songs reverberating around the silent room. It seems strange to think that he could get up and walk across the landing to his parent's room and not find her there. It seems strange to think that he could scour the house and not find her anywhere. It seems strange to think that he will never see her again. He can't quite comprehend it, it's like teaching quantum physics to a two year old or explaining fashion to his father, none of it seems real and that hurts him even more, because he is the one constantly telling himself his mother Is dead, it isn't doctors or psychologists or family members. It's all him, and that is like a stab in the back, it's a betrayal he can't recover from and it's the angry acceptance of the truth with the bittersweet promise of agony.

 He hates himself for it.

He misses his mum, he misses her with the simplicity of which you would miss breathing when you hold your breath and the longing for which you would miss pain if you never felt it again. He misses her like the proverbial deaf man misses music and he misses her like the very real dead man misses living, and yet he doesn't think he would miss living, he isn't living, not properly. He's stuck in this rut of a half-life, clinging to the fringes of life and falling treacherously fast. It isn't living, what he's doing, it's functioning. It's getting by so quickly he barely notices a day has passed, it's drifting in and out of his father's presence like they are both very small fish in a very endless ocean, it's waking up each day and having to remember that she is dead again. Sometimes it hits him instantly, he wakes up with the thought that he doesn't have a mother anymore; he will never have a mother. Other times he's halfway down the stairs before it hits him, he's on the way to the kitchen to greet her before he realises that never in his life will he do that again.

The Christmas holidays have come far too quickly, submerging him like the relentless tides of a bitter ocean. He didn't want them to come, because at school he can avoid it, he can forget it, he can concentrate on the boys who call him a girl and the girls who won't let him sit with them and he can forget that Christmas is their time. It's their thing, it's what they do, Christmas shopping and snowball fights and her famous cookies, he doesn't want any of it. He doesn't want anything. He just wants to be asleep again. Sleeping is kind of like dying, temporarily, you can shut off and forget the world and the stress and you can pretend you don't exist at all, and then if you wait long enough, the universe begins to pretend too.

Only the problem with sleeping is you always have to wake up, and it's always ten times worse when you've pretended that you won't.

The room is dark and it's hollow and everything reminds him of her, where she sat, where she did his hair, where she sang, where she held him in bed when he had a nightmare. The room is completely dark but he can still see it. He can still see her. He longs for the days when he forgets what she looks like and he's terrified for the day that it will hurt him, because he can't outrun it forever.

He should get up, but he can't seem to find a reason to, there's no school, he certainly doesn't have any friends to see, the first day of the holidays is always spent going to get a tree but he doesn't even want that. He doesn't want a tree and he doesn't want decorations and he doesn't want presents. All he wants is his Mum.

He's been good, that's what you have to do right? Be a good person and good things will happen to you, be a good boy and Santa will bring you presents. Well he doesn't believe in Santa and he doesn't believe in God and he doesn't believe that good things ever happen because he is a good person and she was a good person, she was a wonderful person and bad things have happened to them and he just doesn't understand why. He doesn't want to be here anymore.

For once in his life the Christmas lights haven't brought a cascade of joy, they don't promise love and happiness and everything that he holds close to him. This thing, that had once been as precious to him as the grasp of his mother's fingers has become something dark and sinister and so palpably unsettling it makes him crave for the hot sticky summers that he usually spends inside- waiting for them to end. It festers in his sorrow, feeding off this new found loathing and growing more intent to destroy him every second. That's what hurts him the most, that even his happy memories are tainted, that something that can usually make him forget everything that's ever bothered him has now become the thing that bothers him most.

‘Are you planning on getting up today kiddo.' He didn't even feel his father's presence enter the room. He doesn't feel anything.

‘No' he snaps, it comes out harsher than he wants or even knew he was capable of, but he doesn't care enough to apologise.

‘Do you not want to come pick out a tree?'

‘No I don't want one.'

‘We have to have a tree.' They're supposed to pretend that everything is okay, that they'll get a tree and have an idyllic Christmas and live happily ever after. But Kurt's sick of playing pretend.

‘I DON'T WANT ONE! I can't- I don't- it was her thing, she would decorate the tree and it had to be perfect and sometimes she'd let me help and you wouldn't be allowed so you'd just dance to the radio but you'd try to help and she's slap your hands away and I'd laugh and the tree's her thing and it's never going to be her thing again so I don't want one, I don't want anything because if I can't do this with her then I'm not doing it without her. I don't want to- I don't- I don't.' Kurt breaks down for what must be the third time that week, he'd thought he was getting over it, crying less and having fewer panic attacks but that was clearly all an illusion.

‘Hey hey Kurt it's okay, if you don't want a tree we won't have a tree. Come here.' Burt sits down on the end of Kurt's bed and opens his arms but Kurt's just shakes his head, he hates to be touched when he's crying, he needs to calm down himself before other people can comfort him. He shies away, closing in on himself like an animal in danger, shrinking until he can pretend that he doesn't have a body at all.

‘Can you please just leave? I don't want to do this- I don't want to do any of this.

‘Okay.'

He hides under the covers, avoiding the pained gaze of his father's eyes and burying himself in this new found horror. Perhaps if there's no tree, no food, no reminder of what he's living then he'll manage, maybe he'll survive if he just pretends.

This time even Cooper doesn't come to Blaine's school play. He hadn't expected him to, Cooper's far too busy making arrangements for next year; he's going off to be an actor in California. But it still hurts, when Blaine looks out into the sea of parents and siblings and grandparents all clapping and cheering and waving their cameras around and he knows no one is there for him. And then again when Jack Bennett- who he doesn't even like- gives him a ride home and his parents keep going on and on about how amazing everyone was and how proud they are of Jack, it still hurts.

They drop him off at his house and Blaine thanks Jack's parents, because even if he didn't want to be with them he's not going to forget his manners, and they smile and tell him to say hello to his parents and wait until he's inside before they drive off.

He makes his way quietly through the house, planning on hiding out in his room until his parent's dinner party is over, he's going to avoid them and listen to music or play with his toys or maybe he'll just pretend that he's okay.

And Blaine knows he shouldn't be as devastated as he is, he's a good boy, a polite boy, a boy who's thankful for what he has, because other kids don't have food or clothes or parents, other kids have it worse than him and he's standing alone in a hallway holding back tears because his parents wouldn't come to a school play.

They have jobs, they have lives, they have obligations, this dinner party could make someone important, do something important, which in the long run will be very good. But Blaine doesn't care about his father's work or his mother's new chicken recipe or his brother's new life, he cares about the fact that every other child out there had at least one person clapping for them, cheering for them, supporting them, and he was alone.

He wipes at his eyes, Andersons don't cry, he reminds himself.

‘Blaine! Is that you?' Blaine sighs, wiping again quickly at his eyes and checking to make sure that all his clothes are straight and clean, he walks into the dining room with a smile plastered on his face and his hands clasped before him. He gives a polite nod towards Mr and Mrs Walker who smile affectionately at him. ‘How did your play go?' His Mother beams at him, her face a little flushed from the wine and the fire and her eyes fond and caring as they meet his.                              

‘It was fine.'

‘And Jack's parents were okay getting you home?'

‘Yes, they say hello.'

‘I shall have to have them round for dinner soon.' Blaine hums in agreement. ‘Are you okay honey.' His mother stretches a perfectly manicured hand out to rest on his forehead. She swats at the curls hanging low there ‘we'll have to get your hair cut soon.' She muses absentmindedly as she brushes Blaine's hair from his face.

‘I'm just tired.' He lies, forcing a smile upon his face once more.

‘Okay well go upstairs then but don't disturb your brother.' He nods once more and turns to leave the room, letting out a quiet ‘goodnight everyone' as he leaves.

He lingers outside the door to the dining room a little longer than he should, his head leaning back against the hardwood doorframe, as he strains to hear the conversation from inside.

‘Lovely boy you've got there.'

‘He's very quiet isn't he?'

‘Oh yeah, barely says a word that one, he's always locked away playing his damn music, not like Cooper.'

‘How is Cooper?'

‘Oh he's wonderful, I'm going to get him an internship at the firm this summer, before he goes off to college.'

‘ooh yes where's he going to college.'

‘Well nothing's set in stone yet. We like to keep our options open.' Blaine pushes himself away from the door and the wall and the people, all but running up the stairs- although he wouldn't run because you should never run inside- and throwing himself into his bedroom. He wonders how much of a shock his parents are going to get when they realise Cooper isn't joking about California and acting and running away from them forever. He wonders if they'll bother to come to his plays then, if they'll rely on him to pick up where his father will inevitably leave off. He could be a lawyer if he wanted, couldn't he?

Kurt creeps into the living room, the hollowness in his chest still consuming his entire body and the permanent lump in his throat still stuck there, it's already Christmas Eve, he doesn't remember how the holidays passed so quickly and he doesn't really remember what he did but none of it seems to matter anyway. His Dad is alone, sat on the empty couch in the empty living room in the empty house, there are no decorations, like he promised; there are barely even any lights.

‘Hey.' His dad's voice is rough and low and tainted in a gravelly kind of sadness. It's dark, the curtains are shut and the lights are switched all the way down so only a half glow remains to illuminate the lifeless TV and the dark silhouette of his Father. Kurt doesn't say anything, he barely speaks at all anymore, he just walks towards his Dad, deliberately keeping his eyes away from where the Christmas tree isn't and where her pictures still smile at him. He wordlessly climbs onto the couch, sitting next to his Dad but not touching him.

‘I thought... I thought maybe we could watch it's a wonderful life.' His words get stuck in his throat, sticky and suffocating and unsettling, his lips are dry and his tongue feels too heavy in his mouth and his entire throat clenches in desperation as he tries to speak. ‘It's Christmas Eve.' And he leaves it at that, because his dad will understand and he doesn't want to speak anymore. Speaking makes him real, it breaks the thick, heavy silence that has settled around them, it shatters his heart in his ears and it reminds him of the music they used to play. It makes him hear and it makes him feel and it makes him think. It proves that he's still alive and he doesn't like it.

‘Of Course.' His Dad gives him a curt nod, not making eye contact, and moves to put the film on. When he comes back he sits a little closer to Kurt, they're still not touching but they can feel the heat radiating from each other, they lean into it a little.

This was her favourite movie, she used to wait all year just so she could watch it on Christmas Eve, it had started when she was a little girl, not much younger than Kurt, and her parents showed it to her for the first time. It had instantly become her favourite film, she watched it five times in the weeks leading up to that Christmas, and then as time had gone on she'd coerced Burt and eventually Kurt into watching it with her until it was as much a tradition for them as turkey for thanksgiving. She'd believed it would be something she'd do every year, for decades to come. Kurt would come home from College to watch it with them each year and eventually he'd bring a girl back from whichever extravagant city they were living in, and in time their children too. It had started off just her and Burt, she'd spent the entirety of that first Christmas Eve together thinking about children and grandchildren and a whole family to fill up their tiny living room. It seems than none of the things she'd thought had turned out to be true. And now it has ended up just Kurt and Burt instead.

Kurt doesn't last five minutes before he starts crying, to his surprise his Dad is too. It's scary, his Dad never cries, he'd barely cried at the funeral or at the hospital or that first night they spent alone together, or maybe Kurt just hadn't noticed, but now, now he's crying. Sobbing actually, shaking violently with the weight of keeping himself together, not letting the wails escape his lips and futilely trying to wipe away the tears that just keep streaming. It scares Kurt, a little, but it comforts him too, at least he knows he's not alone.

They're about half way through before Burt pulls Kurt into his side, and Kurt listens to the rest of the movie with his face buried in his Dad's shirt, his hands fisted into the material and his eyes stinging from where they've been rubbed raw. Both of them are a little more under control, crying silently and hopelessly instead of the desperate sobs that had wracked them before. They hold each other and they cry and neither of them mentions the fact that they are crying, they pretend that it isn't happening, that their world isn't crashing and burning around them and that they aren't breaking down in the midst of it.

They hold each other and they cry and they pretend to be strong, because nobody pushes the Hummels around, not even death.

Christmas is good, Cooper's in a mood all morning and his Dad makes him wait until seven to get up but it's good. They all sit around under the tree and he gets to open his presents first because he's the youngest and he has the most, and his Mum makes them all breakfast and it's good. It's not movie good or excessively good, it's just good. It's nice and it's familiar and for once his Dad doesn't answer any business calls in the middle of dinner and Cooper perks up a bit by the time lunch rolls around and it's just good. It's real and it's nice and nothing wonderful happens, the food isn't spectacular and there's no overwhelming sense of love and joy and pride to call these people his family, but that doesn't mean he doesn't enjoy it.

He does love them and his is happy and yes he is proud to be an Anderson. So he sits and he eats and he speaks when he's spoken to. His Dad promises him that when it gets a bit warmer they can go out on the new bike he got, his uncle gives him extra chocolates even when he's full, and Cooper even lets him curl up next to him as they watch old Christmas movies as a family.

It's good.

It's not wonderful and he doesn't wish it could be Christmas every day and it's not like he has one of those moments at the end of movies where he looks around at all his family and he smiles quietly to himself and thinks about how grateful he is for them. But it's still good.

It's five o'clock when Kurt wakes up, his room is cold and dark and imposing. He feels very small, curled up in the centre of his bed. He doesn't even feel excited, well maybe he does a little bit, but he hadn't told his dad what he wanted for Christmas, he didn't want anything, and he knows that there will be no music and no extravagant meal and no cuddling in front of the fire all evening. All of that is gone, locked in a memory he's too afraid to remember. So he isn't excited, because it may be Christmas, but he doesn't have anything to be excited for.

His stocking isn't hung up at the end of the bed, he'd refused to even get it down out of the cupboard, so it's not like he has anything to get up for, but even so it's like his body knows it's Christmas, he's wide awake, there's no chance of getting back to sleep now, and his fingertips tingle with excitement even though logically he knows he should still be sad.

He doesn't want to get up, his bed's warm and the world's cold and he doesn't want to face his first Christmas without her, but even so he knows his Dad will be awake, he feels that he owes him this much, to act like he isn't dead inside just for one day. Just for Christmas.

Sure enough when he tiptoes into his Dad's room with his blanket wrapped tightly around him, he's already awake. Burt smiles at him groggily, pulling the covers back and gesturing for Kurt to join him.

‘Merry Christmas.' Kurt just smiles sadly in response, it isn't very merry at all. He crawls into the big king size bed, far too big for one man and a little boy, and huddles under the covers, this room always was the coldest in the house. ‘Not want to get up yet?' Again Kurt doesn't speak, he just shakes his head and wraps his arms around his Dad's torso. They lie in silence for what feels like hours, their bodies moulding to fit together and neither one of them daring to articulate their thoughts out loud. They don't want to speak and ruin the moment, or think about her and ruin the entire day. Christmas was her favourite time of year, she was usually awake before Kurt on Christmas morning, and she always went a little overboard with presents. This year Kurt and Burt didn't even know where to begin getting presents for one another. Kurt couldn't go out to buy his Dad a present by himself anyway, and no one else was going to take him, and he'd refused to tell his Dad what he wanted so it's not like he's getting any either.

‘Shall we go downstairs?' Kurt nods silently, making no attempt to move at all. Burt sits them both up anyway, extricating himself from Kurt's tight grip he pulls them both out of bed. The walk down stairs is slow and drawn out and painful, it's like a man walking to the gallows, you never want to stop and yet you can't wait for it to end. Kurt bites back tears the entire time, truth be told so does Burt but he'd never let Kurt see that, they're both trying to be strong for each other.

Kurt walks into the living room first, his Dad has gone to get them both some orange juice, and stops dead, there's no tree and no decorations and no lights but gathered up on the corner of the couch is a small pile of presents. They're badly wrapped, bits of paper sticking up at odd angles and bows that just seem to have turned into masses of knots hold them all together, but for the first time in what must be months Kurt finds himself smiling.

‘You gonna open ‘em?' Burt stands behind Kurt, his hands resting self-consciously on is son's shoulders, gripping a little tighter than necessary in the hope that holding him close will tell him what he's thinking.

‘I didn't want any.'

‘Don't open them then.' Burt's face falls, his hands squeeze at Kurt's shoulders, he knows this is hard for him, but even so he's still a little hurt.

‘no no  I just meant- thank you.' Kurt turns to hug his Dad, tears well in his eyes but for the first time in months he manages to blink them away. They hold each other, arms clinging too tightly and bodies breathing together raggedly. ‘Thank you.' He whispers against his Dad's stomach.

‘Go open them.' They both smile, and for a few moments everything is okay again. ‘Now there aren't many because quite frankly you are one of the fussiest children I know and your Mum's so much better-‘ Burt catches himself mid-sentence, his words jolting to a stop as his mind catches up with them. ‘I'm a bit useless at presents.' They both smile and pretend it didn't happen.

‘I don't care.' Kurt smiles again, he doesn't really care what he has anymore, he realised that other things are more important. And maybe now this is the first step to stop pretending and start living again.