Disclaimer: I don't own Glee. I don't know why anyone would think that I do.
Summary: When Kurt is feeling down, Blaine takes it upon himself to put together a week-end that he hopes will make him happy again.
Note: Again, still easing back into fic writing. If it's not the most precise, I apologize. This story will probably be no more than four or five chapters. I hope you will stick with me until the end, and please leave honest feedback. You won't offend me!
It was finally snowing. Winter in Ohio had been severely lacking in snow this year, and Kurt couldn't say that it hadn't upset him. He loved the snow. He loved the thick sweaters and boots he got to wear, the way the bright white on the ground reflected his pale features. He loved the way he could watch his breath curl as it left his lips, marking every single word and making them that much more meaningful. So when he'd risen from his sleep at midnight for a glass of water and spotted the flurry through his dorm window, he'd been positively elated. It almost made all of the craziness and confliction in his life disappear; it almost made his world perfect.
Until, of course, he'd made up a mug of instant coffee and settled into one of the window seats in the common room, and reality had set in once more. He was still the new kid. He was still hours away from his father, his friends. He was still lonely and underappreciated and buried under a mountain of a thousand other stresses. Kurt had never been prone to depression, but lately, it had been settling over him like an itchy wool blanket, and he just couldn't seem to shake it. "I know you're lonely," Rachel had once told him, "But you're not alone."
Yeah? He thought bitterly as he ran a finger around the rim of his mug, What can you say now, Rachel? Now I'm two for two.
"Kurt?" He jerked, startled, and a few drops of coffee hopped the lip of the mug and splattered on his pale green sweater; for once, he couldn't even bring himself to care.
It took a moment for his eyes to adjust in the dark, "Blaine?" Sure enough, his friend - possibly the only true one he had at Dalton - took a step forward, brow furrowed in confusion and concern. He tugged on the belt of his sleep robe, tightening it, and ran a hand through his already-messy hair as he drew closer.
"What are you doing up?" He asked when he was just a few inches away, "If Keith catches you out of bed, he could write you up."
Kurt shrugged, looking out the window once more, "Just thinking." For the first time since they'd met, he didn't really care to have Blaine around. He didn't want to have to sit there and pretend that everything was okay, and he was perfectly happy. He wasn't. But he couldn't tell Blaine that either; he'd taken him under his wing - looked out for him when no one else would - and telling him that it appeared to be for naught would just make him feel disappointed in himself. There was no need for that.
Blaine sighed and sat down in the little bit of space left on the seat, just centimeters away from Kurt's feet. "Kurt," he said quietly, resting a hand on the other boy's knee - this seemed to be a habit for him: subtle touching that he did so easily, but set all of Kurt's nerves ablaze. "I know we haven't been friends long, and I'm not presumptuous enough to think that I know everything about you, but I do know when you're not telling me something."
Kurt glanced at him, light eyes flicking to his dark ones, then back to the falling snow. "You know," he said answered, slightly off-topic, resting his head against the glass and letting the chill spread through his face, "Ever since I was little, my dad and I have had this tradition. We try to make an igloo every time it snows. It's not practical," he laughed dryly, rolling his eyes, "But we've been doing it for as long as I can remember."
"You're homesick," Blaine said, more as a statement than a question.
"Among other things."
"Such as…?" The older boy said leadingly, eyebrows raised.
Kurt sighed and shook his head, swinging his legs over the seat and standing up. "I don't really want to get into it right now, Blaine; I'm sorry." Holding his mug between tightly folded hands, he started for the door, "I'll see you at breakfast. Goodnight." He didn't look back. He knew that, if he did, he'd see Blaine staring at him with those soulful, genuine eyes, and he'd break. He couldn't do that. He couldn't just crumble every time he was around his white knight and expect him to bear the weight of both their problems.
Once he was safely back in his dorm, sneaking quietly past his roommate and sitting down on the edge of his mattress, he noticed his phone flashing red from it's place on his nightstand. Curious, he illuminated the screen to find he had a missed text, from just a minute before.
Don't make any plans for this week-end. -Blaine.
As he hit the reply button and began typing a response, a second text popped up.
Don't ask questions. Just trust me.
"Are you going to tell me what you're scheming?" Kurt demanded as he watched Blaine dart back and forth between his closet and the suitcase that lay open on his bed. It had been two days since their exchange in the commons, and the older boy still hadn't let on as to what the week-end plan was. But now that it was Friday and classes were over, he was insisting that they both pack for two nights away.
"No," Blaine said simply, shaking his head as he carefully tucked away a heavy sweater. "Now, go pack; I want to be out of here within the hour."
Kurt gave him a leveling gaze, "It takes me more than an hour to pack."
"If you're not ready in an hour, you're just going to have to go naked all week-end, because you're coming whether you like it or not." After this outburst, both boys stopped for a moment and stared at each other. Kurt was sure his cheeks were turning an even darker red than usual, and Blaine looked as though he was waiting for the floor to open up and swallow him whole.
"I totally heard that," Wes called in sing-song as he passed by the opened door, "And it was di-ii-irty."
Blaine rolled his eyes and turned back to his closet, pushing aside a couple of uniform shirts, trying to distract himself. "You should really go pack," he said over his shoulder. This time, Kurt obeyed, standing wordlessly and letting himself out. He was only half-attentive as he opened the door to his own room and started plucking carefully coordinated outfits from hangers and folding them into the Louis Vuitton rolling suitcase that had cost him six months of allowance and a great deal of pride, which he'd lost when he got down on his knees and literally begged his father to make up the deficit. He barely made the one hour mark, but when Blaine knocked on his door just after five-thirty, he was situating one last stocking cap into the bag and zipping it shut.
"Ready?" The dark-haired boy inquired, arms crossed and leaning against the doorframe. He'd changed into a pair of jeans and a form-fitting, black sweater under a gray wool coat, and Kurt found that he couldn't keep his eyes off of him. In the time they'd known each other, the only time he'd seen Blaine out of uniform was at night, when they were all getting ready for bed, and even then, he usually had his robe on. This was, to say the least, a pleasant surprise.
"Um" Kurt mumbled, blinking a few times in an attempt to regain control of himself, "Yeah, sure." He started to reach for his bag, but Blaine beat him to it, placing it on the floor and popping out the handle. He rolled it out to the hallway with a little smirk, gesturing toward the stairs. Kurt ducked his head, trying to keep another blush from staining his cheeks, and shrugged into his coat as they headed for the front door. "Oh!" He said suddenly, stopping halfway down the staircase, "Did you sign us out for the week-end?"
The older boy nodded, "I told Keith yesterday morning."
Kurt's eyes narrowed, "Does he know where we're going?"
"And I don't?"
Blaine touched his hand to his heart in mock-offense, "Kurt, don't you trust me at all?"
There was a beat of silence, and then the quiet reply, "Yeah, I do."
"Good," he said with a soft smile, and they continued walking. Once Kurt's bag was tucked next to his in the back of his Fusion, both boys slid into the car and Blaine started the engine, hooked up his iPod, and put his foot down on the gas pedal.
They didn't speak. They just sat comfortably, listening to music and watching the road. Kurt thought about asking questions - trying to figure out where they were going - but he knew it wouldn't do him any good. Blaine could be stubborn, when he wanted to be. They were one in the same, in that sense. So instead, he leaned back against the headrest and stared out the window, once again losing himself in his thoughts, his troubles, his loneliness. He should have been thrilled to have a mystery week-end away with this boy he was almost positive he was in love with, but all he felt was helpless.
"Hey," Blaine said after almost half an hour of driving, "Do me a favor?" Kurt blinked heavily and turned his head to look at the other boy questioningly. Blaine glanced at him, "Get out of your head."
"What do you mean?"
He leaned forward to turn the volume down and said, "I mean, I can tell you're thinking about something - something you won't talk about - and I hate seeing you this depressed. It's so not like you."
Kurt turned back toward the window, "Well, I'm sorry I'm not living up to your expectations."
"Stop that," Blaine commanded sternly, "That's not what I meant at all. I just-" he stopped short, shaking his head, "Nevermind. We're almost there, and I don't want us to start the week-end pissed off at each other."
Kurt just shrugged and moved his attention away from his friend completely, occupying himself by watching the trees as they raced by, the way snow clung to their branches as it continued to fall all around. He got so caught up in watching the way it drifted to the ground, piling higher, that he hardly noticed when the car slowed and then came to a complete stop outside of a familiar strip-mall. One minute, he was memorizing snowflakes, and the next, his door was being wrenched open and a strong set of arms were pulling him out of the car and into a tight hug.
"What the-" he let out a startled cry before inhaling deeply, and he came to recognize that familiar smell of car oil and aftershave. "D-Dad?"
Burt pulled away, holding his son at arm's length and smiling so hard that his lips almost touched his ears, "Hey, son."
Kurt was very still for a long moment, mouth opened and eyes wide. Then they began filling with tears that he was determined not to shed, and he threw himself back into his father's arms. "Dad," he said loudly, hugging him with all his might, "Oh my god, I've missed you."
"Missed you, too, kid," Burt said sincerely, once again pulling away and nodding toward the building, "C'mon. Carole and Finn are waiting inside; Friday night dinner." He gave his son's shoulder a little squeeze before heading back inside, and Kurt finally had the presence of mind to take in his surroundings. They were at Breadstix. Which meant they were in…Lima? Wow, he thought, I'm really inattentive.
He heard Blaine's door open behind him, and turned as the other boy climbed out of the car. "I thought it might be nice," he said, flipping his keys over in his gloved hand, "If you could have a week-end with your family. I know you haven't been home since you started at Dalton, so…" He shrugged, "Maybe you and your dad could build your igloo."
Kurt just stared at him, stunned. This was, quite possibly, the nicest thing a friend had ever done for him. "Yeah," he said slowly, hardly able to process his thoughts, let alone put them into words, "Yeah, we can."
"We should go inside," Blaine told him, nodding toward the restaurant. "I'm sure your family is eager to spend some time with you."
The younger boy nodded excitedly and rushed inside, slowing down just enough for his counterpart to catch up. They immediately located Burt, Carole, and Finn sitting around a circular table and went to join them, shedding their coats and taking two empty chairs next to one another. "Carole," Kurt greeted, beaming as he hugged his stepmother on his other side. "Finn," he added with a nod to her son.
"Good to see you, Kurt," Finn said with a smile, and he actually sounded sincere. Sure, maybe they weren't best friends, but they were - as far as either of them were concerned - brothers. That meant something.
"How's school, honey?" Carole asked, reaching out to touch his cheek, "I feel like we barely even get to talk to you anymore."
Blaine noticed the way Kurt's back stiffened slightly, and the almost unnoticeable tightness to his voice when he said, "School's great. Really great. But let's not talk about school," he said with a wave of his hand, looking her up and down, "I absolutely love this outfit!"
"You should," she laughed, tugging at the belted red silk blouse, which fell flatteringly over her black dress pants, "You sent it to me for Christmas."
"Yeah, and thanks for the gloves and scarf," Finn piped, then twitched his lips to the side, "I mean, I'm kind of afraid to wear them anywhere because they're white and really expensive looking and I'm pretty sure I'd ruin them, but they're really cool."
Burt look a sip of his water and sighed, "The best present would have been having my boy home for the holidays. But," he continued quickly when his son opened his mouth to protest, "I understand why you couldn't be there, and the Mellencamp collection was a good second-choice."
Kurt laughed, unable to stop smiling, and then glanced at Blaine, who was watching this exchange with a polite smile. "Oh!" He mentally slapped himself, shaking his head, "I'm sorry; you guys haven't officially met yet. Blaine, my dad, Burt, stepmother, Carole, and stepbrother, Finn. Guys, this is Blaine Anderson."
"Of course," Carole said, reaching across the table to shake his hand, "We've heard a lot about you, sweetheart." The older boy gave a sidelong glance to his friend, who blushed and busied himself with one of the breadsticks from the table's basket.
As Burt shook the boy's hand, he said with a nod, "Hey, thanks for the call, Blaine; I don't know when we would have seen Kurt again if you hadn't dragged him out here."
"I assure you that Kurt's been wanting to visit," Blaine said with certainty, "Classes can just get a little overwhelming sometimes, especially when you're new. Not a whole lot of downtime." He sighed lightly, "I haven't seen my parents since summer vacation."
"That's awful," Carole sympathized, frowning. Then she added, "Well, at least you and Kurt can keep each other company when you can't be home." She shot her stepson a little wink, and he blushed again. She really had this mom-thing down; complete with good-natured humiliation.
"Absolutely," he said, trying not to laugh at the mortified expression on his friend's face.
Burt looked back and forth between the two boys, smothering his suspicions and changing the subject. "So, Blaine, we were thinking of going a double feature at the movie theatre after dinner; you're free to tag along if you want."
He glanced at his watch, nodding, "I'd love to. I have to make a stop first - I have to check in at the hotel before eight or I'll lose my reservation - but after that-"
"Oh, no-no-no," Carole objected, already shaking her head, "You're a teenage boy; as a mother, I can't let you stay in a hotel room by yourself. We have a perfectly comfortable pull-out couch at home."
"It's all right, Mrs. Hummel; my parents know where I'm staying and they're fine with it."
"I'm not fine with it," the mother insisted, still shaking her head. "I don't think it's safe, or smart. You'll stay with us, and that's that."
Blaine glanced at Finn, who was shaking his head in a best-not-to-argue-with-her way, and then back to Carole with an agreeable grin. "Well, as long as it's not an inconvenience, I'd love to stay with you." Kurt just wanted to be invisible; this was painfully embarrassing already, and they still had the rest of the week-end to suffer through. But it didn't seem to phase Blaine. He just smiled and folded his hands under his chin, leaning toward Burt, "So, Mr. Hummel, Kurt tells me you're a big sports fan. What do you think about the upcoming Ohio/Missouri game?"
By the way the older man's face lit up, this topic was his idea of heaven. Well, at least that was a start.