Kurt had always been a fan of the dramatic. He always assumed that when he buried his father, not that it was something he actually thought about, the sun would be hidden behind thick grey clouds and the streets would be slick with rain. There would be a large gathering of people huddled and sobbing around a rectangular hole in the ground as they lowered the casket in the ground. A somber atmosphere for the day he put the most important person in his life to rest.

But there was none of that.

The day Kurt buried his father, it was cool and the sun was shining like it was just an ordinary Wednesday in October. Kurt imagined that for everyone but himself, it was. Everyone else was going about their day while Kurt had been shaken awake that morning by the Berrys, in Rachel's bed, and had silently and obediently gotten dressed in an all-black ensemble before driving with the Berrys to the church were they walked silently up the aisle and sat down in the first pew. Kurt felt like a robot. Walking through a fog, unsure of where he was, and doing exactly what he was told. The other pews held a sea of semi-familiar faces. People from around the neighborhood, the mechanics from his dad's shop and a couple of buddies he used to go to high school with that still lived in the area. But that was it. There was not a single member of his family there because there was not a single member of his family left. His mom had died in a car accident six years before, and now his father, the most important person in his life, was gone too. And he was left with no one.

No one, except Rachel. It was Rachel who kept a firm grip on his hand the entire time the priest was speaking. Rachel, who held him close when he'd fallen apart the night before. Rachel, his best friend, and her amazing dads who had taken him in when his father was rushed to the hospital. They'd been with him ever since, and for the last eight years, if Kurt thought about it. He and Rachel always bragged how they were the luckiest kids in the world; they each got three amazing dads.

After watching them lower the casket that held his father into the ground, Kurt followed silently as the Berrys hosted a luncheon for everyone who had attended the service. Kurt just sat quietly on the Berry's couch, watching the people around him. He had no idea what was going to happen to him once the day was over. Would they (whoever they were) let him live with the Berrys? They told him that if it was an option they wouldn't hesitate to take it. It would be what Burt would want them to do. And his was practically like a son anyway. What were the options otherwise? Foster care? There were another four years until he was old enough to have control over his own life so if they told him he had to do something, he had to do it.

Kurt was lost in his thoughts when he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder. Pulling himself from his thoughts, Kurt looked up to see the hand belonged to Hiram Berry who was smiling down at him, standing next to a man who looked vaguely familiar. The man next to Hiram was tall with brown hair that, if you asked Kurt, was too long as it sat in a shaggy mess on top of his head. Kurt guessed the man was probably in his mid-thirties because the last time Kurt had seen his him he had been about five and the older male had just graduated from college (about two years later than he should have).

"Kurt," Hiram said, "someone is here to see you."

Kurt looked up at the other man and noticed that he looked absolutely terrified. His eyes were wide and his skin looked about the same color as Kurt's, only a little more green. Kurt could see Uncle Tim's entire body quivering underneath his black three-piece suit.

"Hi Kurt," the man said his voice small and unsure, "You don't remember me do you?"

Kurt shook his head, "No, I do. You're my dad's brother. Uncle Tim."

"Yeah," Uncle Tim said nodding, his voice strained.

"Kurt, you're going to be living with your Uncle Tim from now on. He's just bought a house in Lima so that you can stay here and go to school with Rachel and your other friends."

The words thrust Kurt out of the fog he'd been in with full force, making his alert and absolutely terrified.

"But I thought I was going to stay with you?" Kurt said looking bewildered at Hiram.

"You're still welcome here anytime, Kurt. But as your only living relative, your Uncle Tim has agreed to be your guardian," Hiram said, "It would have been what your father would have wanted. You should be with family."

'No,' Kurt thought, 'this is not what Dad would've wanted.'

Kurt decided not to mention that Kurt had absolutely no familial feelings towards his uncle who, from what Kurt had been told and could remember, was the exact opposite of his father. Burt liked sports and cars and Tim liked money and girls. Kurt remembered a time when his dad actually told him that Uncle Tim was a playboy who had no desire to have a family; that Kurt should strive to be the exact opposite of his father's brother. .

But someone had contacted him after Burt's death and here he was in the Berry's living room, his legal guardian. Whatever that meant. Kurt just nodded because he wasn't sure what else he could do.

Living with Uncle Tim was awkward at first. Kurt and Uncle Tim were virtual strangers and it was clear that Uncle Tim had no idea how to raise a fourteen year old boy. In the beginning Kurt got gifts because it's Thursday, Uncle Tim not knowing how to support other than a monetary sense.

But one day things changed like a shift in the wind. It was sudden but it wasn't all at once. It started with the introduction to the rule that Kurt wasn't allowed to have friends, meaning Rachel, over. It didn't bother Kurt at first until the first bad day happened. When Kurt came into the house after an afternoon at the Berry's there was something different about the house; like the air carried something different within its invisible particles. Uncle Tim came into the room shouting about curfews and things not being clean. And as most teenagers did, Kurt lashed out, delivering sharp tongued responses to Uncle Tim until there a sting spread across Kurt's left cheek. Even after Uncle Tim's hand connected with Kurt's face, Kurt could feel where the forceful collision of force and flesh met his face. It was sure to be red for a while.

After that he disappeared into his room for the rest of the night and by morning everything seemed to be back how it was. But two weeks later Kurt walked in after school already angry because Karofsky had slushied him at school that day and no matter how hard he tried, he hadn't been able to rinse all the syrup from his hair. He wanted to shower and get some sketching done before bed. But when he walked through the front door, Uncle Tim pounced on him like he'd been waiting all day just for Kurt to come through the door.

Uncle Tim started shouting at Kurt, accusing him of taking the watch Kurt's grandfather had given him. Kurt had never even seen the watch, but stayed quiet as Uncle Tim became more irrational, shouting about dishes in the sink and when Kurt's eyes flickered towards the sink, he noticed the line of empty beer bottles on the counter next to the stove. As Uncle Tim moved closer to Kurt, Kurt could smell the retched stench of the alcohol on Uncle Tim's breath. He wanted to vomit. How long had Uncle Tim been home? How much had he had to drink?

The next thing Kurt comprehended was that two very strong arms were on his shoulders and he was being pushed backwards, his back crashing into the banister. Kurt bit back the pain and the words he wanted to throw at Uncle Tim. Especially when Uncle Tim's fist hit Kurt right beneath his right eye. In the morning it would be swollen shut, a hideous combination of purple and blue hues. Suddenly Kurt was a punching bag for whatever anger Uncle Tim had let fester. Kurt did his best to protect himself, shielding his face with his arms once Uncle Tim moved to lower parts of his body. And then the blows stopped. Kurt moved his arms away from his face slowly and through the eye he could still see out of noticed that Uncle Tim was no longer in the room and a second later his bedroom door slammed shut.

That was the two weeks Kurt stayed home sick with mono. It was the first thing he could think of that would keep Rachel away (to protect her voice) and give him enough time to let most of the swelling go down.

Going back to school, Kurt tried to pretend like everything was okay. He tried to pretend that he never left his room while Uncle Tim was home. He tried to pretend that hadn't gotten the shit beaten out of him by the person who was in charge of providing for him and had spent the last two weeks nursing various injuries. He couldn't pretend he wasn't absolutely terrified. But he didn't say anything and when Rachel noticed one of the bruises on his arm, Kurt came up with a plan: Parsons, New York, and not a single thing that could keep him tied to Lima. He pushed away Rachel, left Glee club and became focused on one thing.

Keeping himself alive.

The first thing Kurt noticed when Blaine arrived at his locker Monday morning was that Blaine seemed frustrated. He turned the dial on his locker like it had personally offended him and the rest of his body seemed tense. Normally, Blaine was too chipper for Kurt's liking, so seeing Blaine clearly bothered was very off putting to Kurt.

"What's wrong?" Kurt questioned before he could really think about it. He'd spent too much time over the weekend trying to figure out how he would act around Blaine. He'd ultimately decided that since they were meeting after school twice a week to work on their project for English, there really was no point of trying to ignore him anymore.

Blaine let out an exaggerated sigh and turned to look at Kurt, "We might need to rearrange our schedule for this project after this week."

"And why is that?"

"Because this morning I was greeted by Rachel with this," Blaine said lifting a piece of pink paper so that it was eye level to Kurt who could smell the perfume coming from the page that he knew Rachel added the moment it came out of the printer, "It's our rehearsal schedule from now until Regionals. Nationals actually, but we have to get that far first."

"That's Rachel," Kurt said pushing away the feeling of longing for his former best friend, and the feelings of jealousy he had towards Blaine for getting to spend time with Rachel. But he suddenly felt nothing but guilt because he had no one to blame for that except himself.

"So we're going to have to move to either Tuesday or Wednesday next week," Blaine said, "Because next Monday I have dance rehearsal until 'to be announced…'.

"That sounds absolutely horrible," Kurt said pitying Blaine and the rest of New Directions then turning back to his locker ready to sit through another boring Calculus lecture when the uneasy feeling that he was being watched washed over him. He turned his head slightly to see Blaine's hazel eyes watching him curiously.

"What?" Kurt asked frantically touching his face "Is there something on my face?"

"What—No" Blaine said laughing, "Y-You asked me what was wrong."

"Yeah," Kurt said elongating his vowels like it was nothing. But he knew why Blaine was commenting. He knew that Friday morning Kurt had been nothing but hostile towards Blaine and now he was being civil, friendly even. But he needed to make a point so Blaine wasn't expecting something different, "Don't read too deep into it Blaine. There isn't anything there."

"I'm going to make me your friend if it's the last thing I do Kurt Hummel."

"When you say it like that it sounds absolutely petrifying."

Blaine went to tease that, given the chance, being friends with Blaine would be the best thing he'd ever done, but he never got the chance. He was interrupted by the arrival of both Karofsky and Azimio. The two football players just stood there, silently watching, both Kurt and Blaine while flashing superior grins.

"Can we help you gentleman?" Blaine said noticing Kurt's eyes widen with fear at Blaine's brazen act. Apparently no one every stood up to those two.

"Yeah, you can," Azimio said, "You can stop being so gay."

Blaine smacked his lips together, "Not something either of us decided so I'm not sure we just stop. Sorry," Blaine said ending with a broad smile. Kurt just watched astonished by Blaine's smug demeanor.

"Listen here," Karofsky interjected, "I don't know who you think you are talking to us like that. And if my memory serves me correctly Zee, this is the second time this here fairy boy has mouthed off to us. Do I need to introduce him to the Fury?"

Karofsky raised his fist and took a step towards Blaine. Blaine didn't flinch and Karofsky's fist never made contact with any flesh. Blaine just laughed, loud, and in a way that Kurt had never seen anyone react to Karofsky, or when they were about to get punched in the face.

"Do it," Blaine uttered.

"Blaine!" Kurt said worried.

"No, Kurt," Blaine said without taking his eyes away from Karofsky, "If these guys have a problem with us having a simple conversation and feel the need to hit me for it, by all means let them."

Blaine's eyes were locked with Karofsky's, the bigger boy still posed to strike. Kurt's heart was beating rapidly in his chest, fearful that Karofsky would result to actually hitting Blaine simply because Blaine egged him on, provoking the football player to using his fists. In all the years that Karofsky had bullied him, he'd never once hit Kurt with his fist. Sure he'd been pushed into more lockers than he could count, but he'd never been stricken by the force of what Karofsky called 'The Fury'.

The warning bell rang and after a moment, Karofsky stepped back and lowered his fist.

"You got luck this time, homo," Karofsky spit and a moment later he and Azimio were gone.

"Are you insane?" Kurt questioned, practically screaming.

"What?" Blaine said.

"He was going to hit you," Kurt said, "and you practically begged him to."

"He wasn't going to hit me."

"You don't know that."

"Then he would have hit me," Blaine said shrugging, "I've dealt with worse."

"You've just painted a large bull's-eye your back, Blaine. He's not going to leave you alone," Kurt said, "God, I'm sorry."

"For what?" Blaine questioned.

"They only targeted you because you were talking to me. I seem to be their favorite."

"You honestly believe that, Kurt?"

It was Kurt's turn to shrug.

"They would have harassed me whether I was talking to you or not. But don't worry about me, I can handle it."

The final bell rang and both Kurt and Blaine were going to be late to class.

"I'll meet you at The Lima Bean right after school?" Blaine asked as he began his trek, backwards, down the almost empty hallway.

Kurt nodded and watched as Blaine turned and walked quickly down the hallway, before Kurt did the same.

"We need to talk about the witches."

"Is the bullying bad?" Blaine asked ignoring Kurt's attempt to get them to focus on their Macbeth project, "Like, I've seen some things but is that it? Is that as bad as it gets?"

"Blaine, if you're worried about what they'll do to you—"

"It's not that," Blaine said, "I'm just curious."

Kurt eyed Blaine suspiciously but sighed in resignation, "That's…most of it. I used to get thrown in the dumpster a couple of times a week, but they seem to have moved on from that. But there are always the slushies."

"Slushies?"

"Slushies. Gigantic cups full of frigid sugary slush that gets thrown right at your face," Kurt explained, "I'm actually surprised I haven't gotten a facial yet. Great…now I've just jinxed myself. I'll have to make sure I've got my extra clothes tomorrow. You should start bringing them too."

"Noted."

They're quiet for a little while, both of them focusing on the list of topics that they needed to cover for their report. Blaine would occasionally flip through his copy of Macbeth looking for something to quote in their paper, but otherwise, it was silent.

"When did it start for you?" Kurt asked startling Blaine from whatever train of thought he was having, "The bullying, I mean."

"Uh," Blaine contemplated, "ten? It was right after my tenth birthday. Right around the time I realized I was …different."

"Wow," Kurt said surprised.

"You?"

"Six?"

"Six!" Blaine said like it was the most absurd thing anyone had ever said.

"I was obviously different at an early age," Kurt mentioned.

"That had to be hard."

"I managed alright," Kurt told Blaine, "But then I met Rachel and we were kind of a team. They made fun of her for having two dads and always correcting their horrible grammar, and I was too much like a girl."

"It bet it was great to have Rachel."

"I'm sure she told you both of my parents are dead," Kurt quickly said suddenly.

Blaine sat back in his seat, his eyes wide, "Oh, wow. No, she didn't. I'm sorry to hear that, Kurt."

"Oh," was all that managed to escape Kurt's lips. Kurt had fully believed that Rachel had given Blaine some kind of biographical explanation to Kurt and that Blaine now had a few assumptions about Kurt.

"Rachel and I haven't really talked about you," Blaine said knowing that wasn't entirely true. Though most of their discussions were about Rachel's side of her former friendship with Kurt, "I know that you and her used to be best friends; and now you're not."

"Oh."

"Why is that by the way?" Blaine said smiling gleefully. As if his smile would distract Kurt from the question at hand.

"No. Nope." Kurt said, "That is not a question that locker buddies –slash–English partners ask."

'So you're finally agreeing to it?"

"I don't really have a choice. But questions like that don't qualify for our…partnership."

"Ah," Blaine said, "Got it."

They went back to the comfortable quiet that had enveloped them before. Well, Kurt wasn't really concentrating on his work, but what would happen when he got home, almost three hours later than he should have. He left his window open a crack just in case he decided it was best to try to climb inside that way, but there was no telling whether or not Uncle Tim had gotten into his room already, and what the state of it might be when he realized that Kurt wasn't inside. But his thoughts of fear regarding Uncle Tim are replaced by something that makes him freeze, but for a completely different reason. Kurt didn't look up at Blaine but he was almost certain that it was Blaine's foot that was tapping beneath the table, brushing against the side of Kurt's leg. Kurt wasn't even sure Blaine realized what he was doing until Kurt's foot moved towards Blaine's knocking into boot into Blaine's loafers and he felt Blaine stop his rhythmic tapping. Kurt kept his eyes focused on the book in front of him, but he could tell that Blaine wasn't looking at him either. He was glad. Because it meant he had time to try and hide the blush that had crept up his cheeks and he was sure that any words that came out of his mouth at the moment was going to be nothing more than gibberish.

These feelings were new, but Kurt knew what he thought they were. The flutter in his chest, the blushing at slightest touches; those were the signs of a crush. But Kurt Hummel did not have a crush. No, he was simply confusing the feelings of (regrettably) friendship he was feeling towards Blaine for something different. He was introduced to the first other openly gay boy he'd probably ever meet in Lima and as soon as Blaine went away, so would the feelings. But there was still another half an hour before Kurt would be leaving The Lima Bean and his desire for Blaine's absentminded foot tapping again his ankle to return was becoming overwhelming.

This was going to be a problem.

Kurt was absolutely shocked when he walked through the front door of Uncle Tim's after his study session with Blaine, to find Uncle Tim, sitting in front of the TV looking a little bit more put together than he had been since he lost his job. At first, Kurt just stood in the doorway, watching Uncle Tim who was intensely focused on the football game. When the older man didn't even acknowledge Kurt's presence, he hurried into the kitchen, moving as carefully and quietly as possible as if not to burst whatever bubble had kept Uncle Tim from noticing him. He made a quick sandwich for himself and then after grabbing a couple bottles of water from the fridge, he hurried to his bedroom.

Kurt spent some time doing his other homework before changing into pajamas and climbing into bed with his sketch pad. It wasn't until he was almost done with his sketch that he realized that what he'd drawn was actually a sketch of the outfit that Blaine had worn to school that day. It had only been a pair of grey slacks with a plaid v-neck sweater. Kurt sighed and put his sketchbook down frustrated. He wished he had someone to talk to about Blaine, about Rachel, about everything. He wished his dad was there to tell him that everything would be alright. But Kurt knew that if his dad were still around, everything would be alright. He would have Rachel and he could talk to her about how absolutely adorable Blaine was and maybe he could be more open to forming something more with him. If he'd just open himself up, he could have a manageable life in Lima. But there were eight months left until he turned eighteen. Eight months until he had to escape from everything.

He lay down on top of his comforter, too tired to seek the warmth and support that it could give him. He glanced at the picture next to his bed. The one of his mom and dad the day of their wedding. They're smiling and Kurt thought for a moment, just a moment, that that could be him someday. He fell asleep dreaming of the future, surprised when a boy with beautiful hazel eyes made a cameo.

When he woke up, Kurt realized that keeping his distance from Blaine was going to be harder than he'd imagined.