Blaine and Kurt had been nearly a week into their visit before his mother called, bemoaning the fact that she had seen precious little of Blaine since he'd moved to New York to be with his "companion" and requesting (demanding) that the two of them join the Andersons at Aremid that night for dinner. After informing Blaine that the reservations were at seven o'clock sharp she simply hung up, not once inquiring how he or Kurt were or asking how he was adjusting to life in New York.

Blaine had spent the entire day on edge, fighting back the irritation and anxiety that arose whenever he thought of the impending dinner. Kurt had tried his best to settle him down, but had learned long ago that when it came to the Anderson's it was best to let Blaine process in his own time and simply be there to pick up the pieces when the inevitable crash occurred.

Blaine could feel the tension as soon as he entered the restaurant, and he hated that the combination of nerves and nausea that tied his stomach up in knots was his usual state of being for Anderson family dinners. He saw his parents and older brother seated at one of the best tables in the house, their voices carrying just loud enough for him to overhear what they were saying.

"I simply made an observation, Imelda," Stephen Anderson, Blaine's father, sighed, "There's no need for you to act as if I've attacked you."

"Perhaps there wouldn't be a need for me to act as if I'm being attacked if I weren't in fact, being attacked," Imelda, Blaine mother replied before draining her wine glass and pouring herself another.

"No wonder Blaine is so…dramatic. He came by it honestly."

"Don't insult Blaine," Julian, Blaine's older brother snapped, coming as close to glaring at his father as was acceptable.

Stephen's tight lipped smile did little to hide his displeasure at the reprimand. He looked at his oldest son, raising an eyebrow and replied in a cool, clipped tone, "I was not insulting your brother, Julian nor was I addressing you."

"My apologies father, your patronizing tone and condescending body language must have confused me."

Imelda gave an almost imperceptible smirk and then laid a gentle hand on top of her eldest son's, patting it slightly. "Julian dear, don't disrespect your father." The in public remained unsaid but all three knew it was implied.

Joseph Anderson opened his mouth and another politely worded emotional jab was thrown at his son who responded in kind while Imelda nursed her wine glass and feigned distress at the obvious contempt her eldest son held his father in.

Blaine hadn't heard Kurt approach and didn't realize his boyfriend was standing right beside him until he felt Kurt take his hand in his.

"I-", Blaine's throat closed up. He wasn't sure what to say. Over the years he had perfected making excuses for his family whenever anyone got close enough to pick up on the brutal animosity that existed beneath the thin veneer of civility. Kurt had heard them all, even recited a few of them the one and only time their attempt to blend both families for a holiday meal had ended in disaster, but Blaine just couldn't force the words out. He didn't want to.

"They haven't seen us yet," Kurt whispered.

Blaine shook his head. "They're expecting me and-"

"Do you want to go over there?" Kurt interrupted. "Because if you want to go over there, then that's what we'll do. We'll go over there and sit down and order and we'll-"

"No," Blaine whispered. "I've been standing here for almost ten minutes trying to convince myself to put one foot in front of the other and just go say hi and I…I can't. I just, I can't deal with them, at least not tonight. I don't even know why, but-"

"Carol made pot roast," Kurt said, bringing their joined hands to his lips to brush a gentle kiss over Blaine's knuckles. "If we hurry we'll make it before Finn eats it all. We'll call your parents from home and tell them you weren't feeling well."

Blaine gave Kurt's hand a grateful squeeze and they slowly turned and exited the restaurant. He knew eventually he'd have to face the Anderson's but at that moment there was no place he'd rather be than back in Lima, eating Carol's pot roast and surrounded by his family.

Out of the corner of his eye, Julian saw his little brother and his boyfriend make their great escape. The edges of his mouth lifted up ever so slightly and he took a celebratory drink of his wine, happy that at least one of them had managed to escape the belly of the beast.