I scurry after Kurt and Father, catching up at the bottom of the staircase. Pulling him to a stop, I turn Kurt so that he’s facing me. Clutching him by the shoulders, I look him in the eyes.

            “Kurt, you don’t have to do this,” I stress.

            He takes ahold of my face, stroking my cheeks with his thumbs. “Yes, I do,” he says. “He can’t keep treating you, treating me, like shit. You’re his son for fuck’s sake and he needs to understand that he’s hurting you.” Then he leans down and kisses me on the forehead. “Come with me if you’d like.” He pulls out of my grasp and continues after Father toward his study.

            Sighing in frustration at his stubbornness, I walk into the study and find Father already sitting behind his desk, fingers steepled in front of his face with a critical stare.

            “Well,” he demands, “what was it you wanted to say to me exactly?”

            Kurt stays standing with his hands on his hips, in his “bitch please” stance – so I know he really means business. “We already had this talk when I first got here Mr. Anderson; you’re a homophobic, judgmental prick – and that is the opposite of what Blaine needs. You have to stop insulting him just because he doesn’t enjoy the ‘right’ things,” he uses air quotes. “Just because he loves fashion and musicals doesn’t make him any different than you. He’s still human.”

            From the look on Father’s face I can tell he’s going to become fed up with Kurt soon enough. He already had a talk similar to this with Cooper, Rachel, and Quinn years ago, and look where that got me. I tell Kurt exactly that, speaking softly into his ear so Father won’t hear.

            Grabbing my hand, Kurt says at normal volume, “I’m glad someone else has tried to stand up for you before now Blaine, but I think maybe he needs to hear this from an outsider.” He turns back to Father. “Mr. Anderson, your sons are two of the best men I’ve ever met, especially Blaine – and I can’t for the life of me understand how that can be. Most likely it’s all the work of your wife.

“But Blaine has the biggest heart and the largest ambition; he could go anywhere with his talent – whether he continues to go into fashion, or he decides to go back to music (which I really think he ought to do).” He steps forward and leans his hands on the edge of the desk so that his eyes are level with Father’s.

            “What you need to understand here is that he has worked all his life to please you. All he’s ever wanted is your love and acceptance. Why won’t you give it to him? He deserves it and more. Please sir (I can’t believe I’m saying please to you of all people), please just see what a great son you have here and give him what he wants.”

            Sitting silent for a few moments, Father just stares at Kurt as if he can’t decide what to say. When he finally spoke it was in that lone tone of voice he uses when he’s particularly angry with someone. “What right do you have to tell me what to do when it comes to my family? What right do you have to tell me what my own son is like? I know what he’s like, I raised him for eighteen years. And you know what that is?” A rhetorical question, but I could tell Kurt was itching to give an actually answer. “He’s an ungrateful little bastard. I send him to one of the best private schools in the state, pay for his silly little music lessons, hoping he would grow out of it soon enough. And what do I get in return? He decides to go into fashion of all things, adding to the disgrace Cooper brought to this family by becoming a godforsaken ‘actor’.

            “So you want me to give him love and acceptance? What for? He hasn’t done anything to deserve it as far as I’m considered. So you can keep your faggot little nose out of my business –“

            I can’t stand it anymore. “FATHER!” I exclaim, forcing myself to keep still, forcing myself not to rush forward and, and I don’t even know. “You do not get to use that word in front of Kurt, in front of me, let alone use it to refer to either of us.”

            Standing up behind his big fancy desk, Father points a finger at me. “You do not get to use that tone of voice with me young –“

            “I wasn’t done speaking, Father,” I interrupt.

“What is so wrong about being creative, about loving the arts? What is so wrong about wanting to do something that the rest of the Anderson clan hasn’t already done and made a name in?” I demand. Of course he doesn’t answer. “But if Coop and I disgrace us so much, why keep us a part of the family? Mother forced you, didn’t she? She has been my and Cooper’s saving grace for years, when the only time you could deal with us was when we were doing your bidding. Honestly, I have no fucking idea how we’ve all dealt with you all these years, especially Mother.

“But I am sick and fucking tired of putting up with your shit. And there is absolutely no fucking way I am letting you pull this same shit with Kurt. You have no right to judge him. You have no idea what he’s like, how great of a man he is because you haven’t even tried to get to know him! But what else is there to expect? You never tried to get to know me or Coop, or Rachel, your niece, or Quinn, who’s been the best friend anyone could ask for.

“I am done with you,” I say before grabbing Kurt’s hand and leading him out.

He squeezes my hand as we walk. “I am so proud of you,” he whispers, kissing the shell of my ear. “I know how hard that must have been.”

“Actually it was quite cathartic to finally get that off my chest,” I sort of laugh, feeling sort of lighter.

We stand outside the door to Father’s study, not wanting to barge in but wanting to hear what’s going on. When Blaine starts speaking, when he says all those things… I feel a proud big brother moment there. He finally stood up for himself, finally said all that had been eating away at him. But when I turn to Mother, I see tears shining in her eyes.

“Mother…” I whisper, reaching out to her.

She shakes her head at me, her jaw clenched and resolve shining in her eyes.

“I am done with you,” we hear Blaine say with finality before he storms out, Kurt’s hand clutched in his own. The two of them don’t seem to notice us standing right outside the door as they walk by.

As soon as they’re gone Mother storms in before I can stop her.

“Get out of my house,” she says, arms crossed over her chest.

Father at least has the dignity to look shocked and hurt. “Patricia! What – This is my house! Why are you kicking me out?!”

Mother looks up at the ceiling, throwing her hands up in frustration. “Blaine is right, I don’t know how I’ve put up with you all these years,” she says. “But I do know that I am done with you treating my boys like this.” She directs her gaze back at him, anger and disgust shining there. “So pack you shit and get out of my house.”

Standing there, mouth gaping, Father turns to me as if he expects me to stand up for him. I raise a skeptical brow. “Really?” I say. “Listen to the woman and get out before I have to stop her from gouging out your eyes.”

Pushing back his chair and walking around the desk, Father leaves with a dazed expression.

There’s silence for a few moments as I let Mother calm down, until I can’t help myself any longer.

“You know your Southern accent really comes out when you’re angry?” I point out, trying to lighten the mood.

It works. With a small giggle and an affectionate – at least I hope it’s affectionate – roll of the eyes, Mother shoves me lightly. “Oh Cooper… Let’s go see if your brother’s okay.”

Sitting on the edge of the bed, I watch Blaine pace around the room, muttering to himself and occasionally running his hands through his hair.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” I ask once again, still worried. When there’s still no answer I continue. “It’s okay to be upset you know; you did just basically freeze out your father.”

Blaine laughs, continuing to pace. “Of course I’m all right, why wouldn’t I be all right?”

I get off the bed and stand in his path so that he has to stop in front of me, and I take ahold of his shoulders and look down into his eyes. “Because you’ve been pacing around your bedroom for nearly ten minutes now, muttering to yourself and running your hands through your hair. You’re starting to make me worry.”

He sighs and leans his forehead up against mine. “I’m sorry,” he mutters, closing his eyes. “I didn’t mean to make you worry.”

I keep my own eyes open so I can continue to watch Blaine’s face. “I – Is there anything I can do?”

Blindly, Blaine reaches around until he finds my hands so he can grasp them tightly. “I’m just worried about what Mother will say once she finds out,” he admits quietly.

“She will say that she is very proud of you,” Patricia says just as I was opening my mouth to say something, “and that she is very sorry for not doing something sooner herself.”

Spinning out of my grasp, Blaine flings himself into his mother’s arms, muttering into her shoulder. “Oh Mama, I’m sorry I’ve caused so much trouble.”

“Mama? You haven’t called me that since you were four years old!” Patricia laughed, rubbing his back soothingly. “And you’ve caused no trouble at all, darling. It’s your father that caused all the trouble, and we won’t be having to deal with him until he gets his act together.”

Pulling back, Blaine blinks down at her. “What do you mean?”

Taking a deep, shaky breath, Patricia says with a quavering smile, “I kicked Walter out. He’s not hurting my boys, or their loved ones, any longer. Not under my roof.”

“Oh Mother, you didn’t have to –“

“Yes I did, I should have a long time ago actually,” she interrupts.

Cooper peeks around the door. “You should have seen her bro, she was fierce! Hot Southern rage!” he says. I get the feeling he’s always been the diplomat, trying to cheer up not just his little brother, but his mother as well. All things considered, I think Blaine had a very good family here – sans his father.

Patricia rolled her eyes in a motherly fashion at her eldest son. “Cooper, I swear you just might be the death of me.”

The rest of the day is surprisingly good. Father leaves seemingly without protest, no doubt moving into the most expensive hotel in the city – which still isn’t saying too much because it’s only just Westerville. Rachel and Quinn come over and the six of us spend our time in the family room, the girls curled up together on one of the couches, Kurt and I sitting as close together as possible without being in each other’s laps. Mother and Cooper sitting in the matching armchairs. We all take turns telling embarrassing stories about each other, Kurt laughing the whole time, nose adorably crinkled.

Eventually we get him to open up a little bit about his childhood spent in France. He tells us about his childhood best friend Mercedes, whom he tragically had a falling out with; he doesn’t say what it was about, but we figured he would tell us in his own time.

After coming back from dinner reservations Mother made it’s rather late so everyone goes their separate ways, Mother and Coop to their bedrooms, Rachel and Quinn back to their hotel room, leaving Kurt and me in the foyer.

“So,” Kurt begins, somehow looking at me coyly through his eyelashes even though he’s taller than me, “did you have any plans for the evening?”

I pretend to ponder. “Hmm… Well, there was this dashing lad I was eyeing at the restaurant this evening, and I’m pretty sure he was returning the favor, so I thought I’d -”

“‘Dashing lad’? Really Blaine?” he interrupts. “You already give off an old man vibe with the bow ties and cardigans – you’re really gonna add to it by talking like an Oxford scholar?”

Stepping into his space, I grab onto his hips and lean forward so that my lips are brushing the shell of his ear, and whisper, “You love the bow ties and cardigans.”

With a shiver Kurt pulls back, eyes half-lidded. “Maybe,” he whispers in return, eyes moving back and forth, searching my own. “Would you like to find out just how much?”

Instead of answering – because I’m not sure how coherent I would be in this moment – I lurch forward and kiss him hard enough to bruise, eliciting a gasp that turns into a delicious little moan. Somehow we make it up the stairs like this, lips firmly attached, tongues searching, teeth nibbling, without tripping or stumbling too much – a major feat that I must remember to compliment Kurt on later, considering how much of a klutz he can apparently be, judging by the stories he told us. Once we get to my room I kick the door closed, and next thing I know I’m being spun around quickly and willingly pushed back onto the bed, Kurt trailing after me with his lips as I scoot back to rest against the pillows.

We make slow work of our clothes, taking our time to explore each other’s bodies – Kurt making sure to pay particular attention to my tattoo and I his adorable freckles, spattered perfecting across his face, down his arms and legs, and on his abdomen – drawing out enticing moans and mewls. Finally, finally, after a slight hesitation to make sure we’re both ready and to decide who was taking which role, we get to the best part.

And oh was it glorious, and far better than the fantasies my mind had conjured in my sleep the past few days.