[note] I haven't been writing very much lately, and I'm not sure why. It sort of sucks on my part, I guess I just have writer's block and little motivation. Anyway, this is the fic I wrote for the Klaine Secret Santa exchange. I thought I'd give it to you guys too as a late Holiday gift. Enjoy!

[trigger warning] child abuse.

Secrets

Blaine has an abusive father… Kurt finds out.

Blaine knows it was bound to happen again eventually, but he can't help but wonder if he hadn't talked about Kurt so much, or gotten even better grades on his midterms, or just been a better son in general, if he could've put it off for just a little bit longer.

He sits at his desk, the hidden stash of makeup laid over the tabletop. With only a compact mirror to see his reflection in, he is attempting to mask the purple bruise blossoming around his right eye.

He's become a master at this. He can remember far too many nights when his his father stumbled through the threshold, with breath stinking of hard liquor. He can remember his father making his way up the stairs and into his teenage boy's room. He can remember the sting of the slaps, the punches. The pain of the words he would utter through a slur.

Homo.

Fag.

Disgusting.

Not my son.

He can remember the time he was punched so hard he coughed up blood. He can remember the time he was pushed into a glass cabinet so hard that he needed stitches, stitches that he never got.

He can remember a little too much for a boy of his age.

I can't do any better than this, Blaine thinks to himself as he examines his face in the mirror. Only a tinge of the bruise is still visible under the heavy layer of makeup. It will have to do. And if anyone asks, he can say he accidentally banged himself on the door of a cupboard in the kitchen while trying to get cereal this morning.

Hopefully nobody will ask, because Blaine knows in the back of his mind that people will see through that excuse. He's not a clumsy person. And someone's going to find out eventually.

With a glance at the clock, Blaine grabs his briefcase and hopes for the best.

Blaine gets to school early. McKinley's hallways are still relatively empty at this time of morning. Most students won't start arriving for another twenty minutes or so. He hangs his coat up in his locker, adjusts his bowtie in the small mirror inside. Blaine takes his American History textbook off of the top shelf, but winces when pain shoots from his shoulder down his arm.

There's a buzzing in his pocket and the first few familiar notes of Teenage Dream sound out. They seem to fill the emptiness, but…

Kurt.

What is he going to do about Kurt? Kurt can't know. Because if Kurt knows, he'll surely think so much differently of him and that can't be. Kurt'll look down on him for it. And if Blaine's father knows, that'll certainly be the end of it all.

He'll have to stay away from him as long as he can. But how to avoid Kurt? You can't just avoid your boyfriend.

Blaine bites his lip and lets his phone ring until it goes to voicemail. If Kurt asks, he can say that he didn't hear it ring.

After removing everything he needs for his morning classes, Blaine shuts the locker gingerly, being careful not to move his arm too much.

Before heading to the History classroom, Blaine stops in the bathroom. The makeup still looks fine, but Blaine has a compulsive need to fix it again. With one last brush of powder, he hopes it will last through his first few classes before study hall, and he prays to a God he doesn't believe in that Kurt won't notice.

History drags on and on. Blaine's pretty sure he's done the Civil War about twenty times in school and he sure as hell doesn't need to do it again.

When the bell rings to signal the end of first period, Blaine stands and quickly shoves his textbook into his bag. He'll have to get out and moving before Kurt has a chance to find him.

That doesn't turn out to be so easy. His History folder falls out of his hand and the contents spill all over the floor.

"Dammit," he mutters under his breath, and scrambles to pick up all of his worksheets.

When he looks up, he sees the exact thing he really, really didn't want to.

"Hey," Kurt says quietly. "Are you okay? You didn't pick up your phone. And I couldn't find you anywhere this morning."

"S-sorry," Blaine stutters, standing up straight and flinching as pain shoots through his shoulder. "My phone was on vibrate, I must've forgotten to check it before first period. I was talking to Monsieur Clark about the French homework. I didn't really get it."

"I know you don't like to," Kurt says with a smile, "but you know you can always come to me if you need help with your French."

"Yeah," Blaine says, giving a slight smile himself.

"Come on," Kurt says, bumping Blaine's shoulder with his own and cocking his head towards the door. "Let's go."

Blaine hopes Kurt didn't hear his sharp intake of breath.

They have second and third period together. So far, Blaine doesn't think that Kurt really suspects anything, except that he just had an upsetting night yesterday and he isn't really emotionally up to par today.

But right after third period, it happens.

And Kurt is completely and absolutely right about one thing.

Being slushied is like being bitch-slapped by a goddamn iceberg.

It's freezing cold and it's wet and it's dripping down his face and there are chunks of it in his hair and of the thoughts that flash through Blaine's mind, the most prominent seem to be "ow, it really stings," and "thank god it's not grape" because Blaine just really hates grape everything."

"Welcome to Loserville," the hockey players yell at him before they turn and walk away from the two boys, back down the hall from where they came.

"Oh my god," Kurt murmurs under his breath. "Idiots."

After lifting his hand to his face and wiping some of the sticky cold slush away from his eyes, Blaine turns his head to survey the damage. Surprisingly enough, the hockey players have really good aim. Not a spot of slushie is on Kurt, it only covers him.

"Hey," Kurt says, turning to him. "Let's get you cleaned up."

Blaine bites his lip at the thought.

"No, it's fine. I-"

Dammit.

"Blaine," Kurt says, his voice getting quieter and deeper like it always does when he's super serious, "I'm not leaving you until you're cleaned up, and I'm going to help you do it."

"But-"

"No buts, Blaine."

"You can't, though," Blaine tells him, biting back tears.

"I don't see why you're so vehement about it, Blaine. I don't care that I'm missing class, I'm coming to help you get the damn slushie off your face."

Kurt takes Blaine's arm and pulls him towards the nearest bathroom.

By the time they reach the sinks and the mirrors, a few tears have made their way down Blaine's cheeks.

"I'm so sorry, honey," Kurt tells him. His voice is softer, gentler than it was a few moments ago.

Blaine can't help but let his heart melt a little bit at his boyfriend's words.

Kurt eventually digs a handkerchief out of one of his pockets and wets it in the restroom sink. He begins to gently wipe Blaine's face, and just as expected, the fabric takes not only the slushie away with it, but the makeup as well.

He's going to see it. He's going to see it and he's going to be shocked and… just… fuck.

"Blaine, what…" Kurt says, his voice quickly turning to low growl. "What the hell is this?" As inappropriate as it is at the moment, Blaine can't help but think that damn that's sexy.

Blaine stands and looks into Kurt's eyes. His facial expression is pained as pained can be, and his amber eyes hold a storm of emotions- sadness and anger and love, all wrapped into one.

"Kurt, I-" he begins, and his whole story comes pouring out.

"…and you know how I said I had a bad night last night? I… well… my dad…"

"Your father did this to you?" Kurt asks, shaking his head.

Blaine nods in response, letting his shoulders droop and staring, embarrassed, at the black and white tiled floor.

"Look at me," Kurt says. He takes his hands and lifts Blaine's chin up so they're looking right into each others' eyes. "I don't know what the fuck is wrong with him, but you deserve better. We're going to do something about this, you hear me? You shouldn't have this happening to you, and there's no reason you should have to face it alone. You understand me?"

Blaine nods, biting back tears again.

But when the dam breaks, choked sobs wracking Blaine's body, Kurt's there to hold him. To let Blaine melt into his chest, and to wrap his arms around the frail boy's body and just hold him tight.

Eventually Blaine's done crying, because there's nothing left to cry, and he's left clutching Kurt like he's the one thing he has left to hold on to.

"I love you," he whispers.

"I love you too," Kurt replies, lips ghosting over Blaine's forehead. "I love you too."