"Dude," Finn had not-so-eloquently announced as soon as Kurt walked through the front door with his father. The tall jock waited excitedly by the entrance as the slender brunette stomped inside with a light dusting of snow scattered on his shoulders from the typical December weather. "Guess what my final grade in calculus was for the first semester. Just guess."

Kurt's scowl did not suggest that he was in the mood to play along with his stepbrother's games. "It's nice to see you, too, Finn," He deadpanned as he removed his black Prada jacket. "I hope your math grade wasn't as atrocious as your apparent greeting skills."

Finn's dejected face didn't seem to faze Kurt as he released a heavy sigh and fell onto the living room couch with unintentional theatrics. Burt followed his son inside, lugging behind him one of Kurt's multiple suitcases that he had retrieved from the trunk of his car. "Don't mind him, Finn," Burt rolled his eyes at Kurt. "He's been like this the whole car ride home from the airport."

"I'm just exhausted, dad," Kurt griped, pinching the bridge of his nose to calm his oncoming migraine. Coming home for winter break had seemed like a relaxing event at first, but as Kurt's internship work began to pile up, the countertenor quickly began to realize that Christmas at the Hummel-Hudson abode might not be as painless as he anticipated. Kurt was already pulling multiple all-nighters at the apartment to balance his schoolwork and his internship duties—much to Blaine's concern. The dark haired boy would always insist that Kurt go to bed before midnight to make sure he received a good eight hours of sleep, but the slender brunette would simply wave him off, explaining that he simply had to finish his essay or design research paper.

Staying up until the ungodly hours of the morning was not something that bode over well with Kurt Hummel (the late nights did absolutely nothing to help his complexion). However, it seemed wholeheartedly necessary considering the amount of work he was expected to complete every evening.

"Snap out of it, kiddo," Burt gave a light punch to his son's shoulder, offering a small smile. "It's Christmas Eve and your family's happy to see you, alright?"

Kurt nodded slowly. "I know. I'm happy to be home, but it's just—"

"This internship," Burt grumbled knowingly. Kurt narrowed his eyes at his father's resentful tone. The burly man took a seat beside his son on the couch, a telltale sign of one of his infamous lectures. "Look, Kurt, I'm real proud of you and all, but if this magazine thing is taking too much out of you…"

"Dad, stop right there," Kurt interjected, eyes wide and snapping to attention. "An internship at Vogue is not something you turn down. It's something you willingly cut off a limb to even be considered for!"

Burt's unconvinced glare sent Kurt into a slight panic.

"I'm not quitting my internship, dad," Kurt tried again—this time more bluntly. "I got it, I love it, and I'm staying. Yes, the work is a bit demanding, but I'm staying."

Another uncertain grumble left Burt's mouth, but it was soon followed by a defeated sigh. "As long as you think you can handle it…and as long as you take care of yourself, you got that?"

"I'm fine, dad," Kurt mumbled for what seemed like the umpteenth time since he walked through the door.

"And stop with the attitude—it's almost Christmas, for cryin' out loud!"

"Okay, dad," growled Kurt, dangerously close to reaching his tolerance's boiling point.

Carole came hurrying into the living room at that moment with a welcoming smile and a tray full of homemade Christmas cookies. Finn followed his mother out of the kitchen with a handful of said cookies. The tall jock leaned against the doorframe that separated the two rooms, chewing noisily on a miniature gingerbread man.

"Oh, hun, we're so glad to have you back!" She cooed, hastily placing the cookies on the coffee table and reaching her arms out for a hug. Kurt managed a lopsided grin and stood to reciprocate the embrace.

"Glad to be home, Carole," Kurt replied as his stepmother squeezed him tight. "I've missed you guys."

Finn was already on his second cookie by the time he spoke up. "Where's Blaine? Isn't he, like, the honorary family member or something?"

Kurt shot a look at his stepbrother. "He's at home, Finn, with his own family—it's Christmas Eve."

Kurt knew better than anyone how much Blaine was dreading going home to his parents for winter break. Blaine had to be practically dragged through the airport by Rachel and Kurt just to make sure he actually got onto the plane. Reluctantly, the trio parted ways once they arrived at the terminal in Ohio and Kurt watched as his boyfriend's terrified expression disappeared amongst the crowd.

"Now if you'll all excuse me," Kurt gave each of his family members a pointed glance. "I'm going to unpack my things."

The slender brunette struggled to drag his substantial suitcase up the stairs—much to his family's amusement—and finally arrived at his bedroom after much grunting and writhing down the hall. What was once a meticulously organized and decorated room was now simply a sparse space with little belongings to line up across the shelves. Kurt hated seeing his own bedroom in such a pitiful state even though it wasn't his primary living space anymore. New York was his new home—his small, dingy, and poorly adorned apartment was home.

The slender brunette sat on his bed and looked around the room that didn't feel like his anymore. Is this what it's like to grow up, Kurt wondered. His room used to be his safe haven—a place he could go to be alone or feel comfortable. Now it felt as if he were staying in some stranger's room with nothing but a suitcase. If this is what growing up is like, Kurt thought to himself, then it's nothing like he imagined. Where was the glamour? Where was the success? Kurt missed the days when being with his family was easy—when his biggest concern was simply which outfit to wear or how to avoid being slushied in the hallways of McKinley. His mind was now flooded with concerns about paying the bills, meeting deadlines, and acing his semester finals. Honestly, Kurt didn't feel like himself.

He began aimlessly watching snowflakes drifting past his bedroom window just as his cell phone began buzzing in his pocket. He glanced at the caller ID before bursting into a fit of grins. Enthusiastically, he answered—as if all of his troubles were temporarily gone. As if his old self had suddenly made a comeback.

"Mercedes!" He sang happily into the phone, slightly relieved to hear someone familiar. "Are you home?"

"I've been home, sweetie," His best friend laughed through the receiver. Kurt continued to smile at the mere sound of her voice. "I'm calling to see if you are."

"Just got home," Kurt said, leaning back against his headboard. "And, I must say, I'm not particularly feeling the holiday spirit."

Mercedes sounded a bit worried. "Why not?"

Kurt's smile suddenly turned rueful even though his friend had no way of knowing. "There's… a lot on my mind."

"Is it that crazy internship you told me about?" Mercedes scoffed sassily. "I know it's Vogue and everything, but it sounds like it's causing you a lot more trouble than it's worth."

"Mercedes, please," Kurt laughed a bit dryly. "You sound like my father."

"Well, what's going on, boo?"

Kurt paused. The truth was that his internship combined with school was usually the main source of his stress, but something else was plaguing his mind—making it intensely difficult to focus on anything else.

"It's Blaine," Kurt finally admitted after an uncomfortable pause.

Mercedes gasped through the phone, voice harsh and agitated. "Do I need to speak with the boy?"

"No, no, nothing like that. He's—" Another uncomfortable pause. "He's dropping out of NYU."

"Excuse me?" Mercedes shrilled. "Oh, hell to the no—"

"It's completely justified," Kurt explained quickly. "He's unhappy with Pre-Med and wants to pursue a music career instead. He only went to school in the first place to make his parents happy—which, truthfully, is just like him."

"I still think that boy is crazy," Mercedes stated plainly. "But he's also crazy talented so I guess I'm cool with that. But what's the problem?"

Kurt released a long sigh and stared out his bedroom window that was lined in snow. "He's telling his parents tomorrow."

"Oh," The word sounded elongated and sympathetic. "Damn."

"Precisely,"

"He's a tough guy—he can handle his parents," Mercedes encouraged. "Besides, from what I've heard, they won't even care what he does."

Kurt cringed doubtfully. "I hope so."

"Listen, I gotta go. My mom's starting dinner," Mercedes declared a bit distractedly. "Keep it together, alright? And merry Christmas, boo!"

"Thank you, Mercedes," Kurt mumbled. "You, too."

The two hung up and Kurt stared dismally at his phone. A text from Blaine popped up on his screen as if on cue.

More than anything, Kurt wanted to jump in his car and drive all the way to Westerville in the snow just to wrap his comforting arms around his petrified boyfriend. He wanted to tell Blaine that everything would be okay and that, no matter what, he had him. However, Kurt settled for pouting and sent him back a simple text that read, "Courage", hoping it would suffice.

Loud thumping noises bounding down the hallway outside of Kurt's bedroom door woke him up the following morning. The brunette rolled his cerulean eyes before he slid out of bed and bore the chilly winter morning. The noise was undoubtedly Finn who, like a child, still harbored an unnatural excitement for Christmas morning. The hulking jock was probably bounding down the stairs to gaze reverently at the presents that Burt and Carole had stacked neatly under the tree. Kurt pulled his gray Alexander McQueen knit sweater over his head before dutifully heading downstairs.

"Merry Christmas, bro!" A beaming Finn greeted exuberantly as Kurt slowly trudged down the staircase with exaggerated disinterest.

"Merry Christmas, Finn," Kurt replied monotonously. The countertenor took a seat beside his stepbrother on the couch that was now shaking from Finn's anticipation. "You seem positively… giddy."

Finn stared unbelievably at Kurt as if he had yet to grasp the significance. "It's Christmas, man! Time for presents!"

"Unless my memory fails me, weren't you the one who gave that touching speech about 'the true meaning of Christmas' in Glee club last year?" Kurt raised an eyebrow to accompany his biting tone. He knew he was acting quite callous toward his defenseless stepbrother, but the stress was still continuing to chip away at his good spirits—and, anyways, Kurt had always been prone to inexplicable diva-fits. "I thought Christmas was about joy and forgiveness, remember?"

"Well…it is," Finn defended poorly. His eyebrows furrowed, a sure sign of confusion. After a quick moment of pondering, Finn's expression lifted into one of pure excitement once again. "But just wait until you open my present, dude. You're really hard to shop for. Like…harder than a girl. But I think you're gonna like it!"

The adorably hopeful expression on Finn's face elicited a sigh from a reluctant Kurt. The slender brunette couldn't help but chuckle at his stepbrother's valiant efforts to be sentimental—he was just so clueless. "I'm sure I will, Finn."

"Merry Christmas, boys!" Carole called out as she entered the living room in her night robe, Burt in tow. The large man was already dressed in his usual attire of worn-out carpenter jeans, plaid shirt with a Carhartt vest, and a baseball cap. Kurt was practically immune to his father's lack of fashion knowledge by now—the sight of such a hideous ensemble barely fazed him after all these years. "Anyone want some breakfast or—"

"Mom!" Finn interjected, jumping up from the couch with devastation. His hands flailed wildly toward the stack of presents waiting for them. "Presents!"

Kurt rolled his eyes, but Carole laughed as she made her way to the Christmas tree. "Okay, okay. Presents first, I guess."

Burt took a seat in his favorite recliner as Carole and Finn began organizing presents by the appropriate recipient. His eyes met with his son's and he cocked a brow in a silent question. Clearly, Burt had picked up on his son's scowl and crossed arms—it was a simple feat, but did not negate his ability to read his son like an open book. Kurt simply shrugged in response just as Finn tossed a small box in his lap.

"Open it, dude," Finn instructed with an uncontained grin. "It's from me!"

Kurt looked down at the poorly wrapped gift in his lap. The wrapping paper had cartoon Santa heads and candy canes on it. The edges were haphazardly taped down in all directions and a gift tag was placed on top that read—in Finn's nearly illegible scrawl—"To Kurt, from Finn". It was quite obvious that Finn's wrapping skills left a lot to be desired, but the goofy grin plastered on his face suggested that Finn was very proud of his handiwork. With a soft smile, Kurt began tearing at the package, which came apart with ease. Finn watched with anticipation as Kurt removed the paper and began opening the brown box that was now revealed. The lid came off and Kurt's eyes widened at the same time Finn prompted, "Well? What do you think?"

Inside the box were two bars of floral scented soap, causing a rush of roses and lavender to waft past Kurt's nostrils. Carole and Burt had temporarily halted their gift exchange to shoot Kurt matching glances from behind Finn's back that were intending to mean, 'please, for the love of God, don't say anything to hurt your stepbrother's feelings'. Kurt gauged these glances and then turned his attention back to his present. "Is this some sort of unnecessarily ironic and completely unjustified jab at my personal hygiene?"

"It's the perfect present!" Finn exclaimed, oblivious to Kurt's comment. "I know you're really into things being clean and everything…plus I know how much you like things that smell like flowers. So it's perfect!"

Kurt blinked.

"Do you like it, bro?"

"Finn…" Kurt looked down at the soap, over at his parents' pleading gazes, and, finally, up at his stepbrother's buoyant expression. An uncertain smile crept onto Kurt's face. "…it's perfect. Thank you."

Finn pumped his fist into the air in a personal celebration as Carole and Burt released breaths of relief. Suddenly, Kurt's unpredictable sour mood took a turn toward the positive side. His face lit up promptly as he placed Finn's gift on the floor, remembering his own little piece of holiday spirit.

"Now, if you'll all take a moment to cease your marveling at Finn's spectacular display of brotherly affection," Kurt straightened up as Finn beamed. "I have my own Christmas gifts to give to all of you."

Burt and Carole shared a quick look. "You didn't have to get us anything, Kurt…"

"No, no, it's my pleasure," Kurt waved them off. "Seeing as I am now in a position to acquire Vogue-worthy articles of clothing at my disposal, I thought I would graciously impart my knowledge of fashion to this entire family."

Finn, Carole, and Burt shared puzzled glances.

"Which is why, without further ado, I introduce to you, my family," Kurt pranced toward the back of the Christmas tree to retrieve a large shopping bag and pulled out the contents with grandeur. "…these!"

Three silk Gucci scarves were draped over Kurt's arm as he presented them to his stunned family members. He sashayed toward his stepmother, his father, and then Finn, handing them each a flowing piece of fabric with a proud grin. Carole stroked hers with sincere appreciation, admiring the remarkable quality. "Thank you so much, hun. These must've been a hassle trying to get a hold of…"

Kurt shook his head. "Quite the opposite, actually. As a Vogue intern, I have access to all of their unwanted and outdated pieces. I bring home outfits on a daily basis for myself, Blaine, and Rachel…even though that silly girl still insists on wearing her hideous reindeer sweaters…"

He closed his mouth as soon as he realized that he had brought up the sensitive subject of Rachel Berry in the presence of Finn. Luckily, his stepbrother was too preoccupied with attempting to wrap his new scarf around his neck—a feat that even Kurt was surprised Finn was unable to master.

"Dude…" Finn mumbled as the fabric managed to get caught around his wrists. "Couldn't you have at least gotten me one that's less…frilly?"

"It's called fringe, Finn," Kurt corrected bitingly. "And there's going to be an entire article about it in next month's Vogue issue so consider yourself fashion-forward."

Burt simply stared at his scarf that lay lifeless in his giant hand with squinted, perplexed eyes. "Uh… I appreciate the gesture, kiddo, but I haven't used a scarf since my Boy Scout days."

Kurt was about to spout a lengthy diatribe on the importance of expanding one's personal wardrobe when Finn had jumped up from the couch to grab another present from under the tree, completely forgetting about the Gucci scarf he had left carelessly by his feet. The fabric tangled around his ankles and sent the tall jock flying across the floor until his face made contact with the carpet in a resounding thud.

Kurt closed his cerulean eyes and heaved a sigh. It was certainly good to be home.

"You're going to ruin everything you've worked so hard for!" Mr. Anderson shouted, face turning scarlet with rage. The dark haired man was now standing from his chair at the table, looming over his son threateningly.

"But I don't want it!" Blaine yelled back with equal force. "Don't you get it? I'm unhappy in school. It's not what I want."

Mr. Anderson placed a hand to his forehead in disbelief. "You move in with those kids and all of a sudden you're willing to throw away your education? What is wrong with you, Blaine?"

"You'd know what's wrong with me if you actually paid attention to me for once!" Blaine accused, feeling his throat become raw from raising his voice. "I'm miserable and you choose not to notice!"

"You aren't miserable, Blaine, you're confused," Mr. Anderson pushed. He glared down at his son, eyes meeting with scorching intensity. "You don't know what's best for you because you're too young to know what you want at all."

Blaine's blood began to boil inside him. "Of course I know what I want! It just isn't what you want! You can't handle the fact that I'm different from you, dad."

Mr. Anderson brought his voice dangerously low. "Being different won't make you successful, Blaine."

"I don't care about success!" Blaine spat out, throwing his arms into the air. "Don't you just want me to be happy?"

There was silence. Only the sound of Blaine's irregular breathing could be heard.

"You'll end up on the street," Mr. Anderson threatened his son—tactfully avoiding Blaine's question. "Don't expect your mother and I to send you money just so you can play that damn guitar of yours all day long. I don't understand what's gotten into you—"

"I'm finally standing up to you, dad, that's what," Blaine forced out, keeping his gaze stony and solid. "All I've ever wanted is for you to notice me—to be proud of me for a change…but if that means I have to sacrifice my happiness and what I want—and who I am—then it's not even worth it…you'll never accept me unless I completely change who I am, isn't that right?"

Mr. Anderson paused for only a brief moment. His expression never changed. "Your mother and I don't want this life for you, Blaine, because it isn't practical—it isn't safe."

"It's not about my safety!" Blaine cried out, leaping out of his seat. "It's never been about my safety! You just don't want me to be a disappointment—because God forbid I do anything that might tarnish your precious reputation! You said the same thing to me when I told you I'm gay—"

Mr. Anderson winced, but Blaine ignored it.

"Well, dad, now I'm telling you that I don't want to go to college. I don't want to be a doctor. I just want to make music because it's what I love. And it's your responsibility as my parent to support me regardless of what I choose to do in life." Blaine didn't even notice his voice become more vulnerable and weak as tears built up in the corner of his hazel eyes. He paused and stared into his father's unforgiving eyes, secretly praying that they would look at him with comfort and love for once—anything but the usual shame and disgust. "Please, dad, just…tell me it's okay."

But Mr. Anderson did not give in. Here was his only son, standing before him as broken and pitiful as ever before—practically begging for his approval—and he barely batted a lash. He cleared his throat and spoke again with stern dissatisfaction. "You're making a mistake, Blaine."

Desperately, Blaine's eyes shot to his mother who stood uncomfortably by the kitchen counter, silent for all this time. The thin, attractive lady kept a good distance from her husband and son as they battled heatedly, clasping her hands together and holding them against her chest. Her dark eyebrows were pulled together as she watched Blaine acknowledge her. His eyes were still pleading. He wanted her to protect him—stand up for him—love him for once. Mrs. Anderson took one look at her husband's compassionless gaze and shriveled away. Her eyes cast downward as she bit her lip uncertainly, responding to her son's plea with a simple yet definitive headshake.

Blaine urged his tears to cease as they began to fill his eyes. He refused to let his parents see him cry. Blaine's voice came out wavering and strangled as he spoke again. "The only mistake I ever made was wasting my energy on trying to impress you when, clearly, there's nothing I can do to change your mind."

Blaine turned on his heel and walked out the front door, slamming it shut behind him with frustrated force. It was then that he allowed the tears to spill over. They poured down his cheeks like a faucet, stinging his skin as the frigid, winter air blew across his face. He stood on the front porch for a while—his body racking with sobs—before he headed for his car that was parked in the driveway. He needed to leave—he couldn't stay here. Blaine's eyes studied the unmoving front door as he started the engine even though he knew his parents wouldn't come running after him like he hoped they would. Instead, Blaine took in a shaky breath and pulled out onto the snow-covered road, heading toward the one place where he always felt safe.

It was nearly midnight when Kurt noticed a light flashing past his curtained bedroom window. It passed by for only a moment, but lasted long enough for Kurt to notice it streak by him as he sat awake in bed. Curious, the slender brunette got out of bed and moved toward the window when he heard a car door slam shut from outside. Kurt moved the curtain back and peered through the dark night and falling snowflakes that had now intensified since the morning. Unless he was mistaken, Kurt could have sworn that was Blaine's navy Chevy parked in his driveway…and that small figure looked a lot like Blaine himself climbing out of the car.

Kurt's eyes widened as realization dawned on him. As quietly and quickly as possible, Kurt charged out of his room and down the stairs. Breathing heavily, he swung the front door open viciously only to find Blaine standing on his doorstep. The poor thing had no jacket and was shivering violently as snow began to collect on his shoulders and the top of his head. His posture was clearly defeated, his eyes were red and damp, and his cheeks were tear stained. If Kurt didn't know any better, he would have sworn that Blaine had been crying.

"Kurt," Blaine muttered, strangled and helpless. "I'm sorry for coming by so late…I didn't know where else to go…"

In a forceful, fluid motion, Kurt grabbed his boyfriend's wrist and dragged him inside from the cold. The Hummel-Hudson house was warm and comfortable as Blaine stepped inside, but the warmth was strengthened when Kurt wrapped his arms around Blaine's body. Their embrace was long and impassioned, neither one daring to let go of the other. Kurt could feel Blaine's figure pulsing against him and he wasn't sure if it was from his shivers or sobs.

"Don't be ridiculous," Kurt cooed into the dark haired boy's ear. "You're always welcome here—with me."

The sobs were evident now as Blaine buried his face into Kurt's shoulder, clinging to him with frantic vigor. "I told them—" Blaine murmured through tears. "I told them everything."

Kurt didn't need further explanation. Blaine's impromptu visit in the middle of the night and his uncontrollable sobs were enough indication that the conversation had not gone over well. Kurt couldn't remember the last time he saw Blaine so undone…

"They don't care about me," Blaine continued to babble into Kurt's shoulder. "I just want them to look at me like their son—not like some…disappointment."

Kurt rubbed Blaine's back soothingly, feeling a lump in his throat begin to form and tears begin to sting the corners of his own eyes. Someone as innately good as Blaine didn't deserve this. He deserved a loving family that saw him for the remarkably respectable boy that he truly was. Only, Kurt couldn't say this to Blaine for fear of releasing tears of his own. Instead, he settled for tightening their embrace and closing his eyes as he whispered into Blaine's ear, "It's okay…you're safe now."