A/N: This was requested by the lovely Klainebowsandklainicorns. I hope it meets your requirements! Blaine has just come out to his parents about his sexuality, and after being kicked out, moves in with Kurt. But it's not all klainebows. :) My tumblr is struckbylightningbowties. I do take story requests, so contact my tumblr or PM me if you'd like me to do so :) Check out my other story: Cotton Fluff Ambitions. Thanks.

T for homophobia and language.

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee. Working on it.

Blaine flinched harshly as another antique champagne glass hit the floor, shattering into dozens of glittering shards. He turned away, swallowing hard and shoving his trembling hands into his lap.

Edward Anderson ran his fingers through his greasy, grey-streaked dark hair. His sunken brown eyes were bloodshot, and flickered with the furious fire of rage. He rounded on his son, pacing back and forth on the glass-covered ground as if his fury was so overpowering, he couldn't bare to stand still.

"You're lying," he snarled, more to himself than Blaine. "That's it. You're lying."

Blaine looked up, blinking hard in order to extinguish the tears threatening to fall. "I-I'm not lying!" he cried. "I'm gay."

"You foolish demon," Edward hissed, leaning so close to Blaine that he could smell the rank alcohol on his tongue. "Sent here to ruin our lives with you worthless, hellish ways."

"Edward!" shouted Blaine's mother from her haven beside the fridge, far away from the glinting, ruptured champagne glasses. Her ebony curls were pinned back in their usual, flawless bun while her emotionless green eyes were rimmed with oozing mascara. Charlotte looked more worried about the broken glasses than her son.

Edward threw open the cabinet doors and began ruthlessly searching for another fragile thing to break. "And now-" he spat the words with every door tossed back "you tell me with your filthy fucking mouth that you have a goddamn boyfriend?"

"Kurt," Blaine whispered, a frail, uncertain sound amidst the ruckus. "His name's Kurt."

Edward paused, chest heaving underneath his rumpled blue dress shirt. "What did you say?"

Blaine met his father's gaze. "My b-boyfriend's name is Kurt."

Edward scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Blainey's got himself a wittle boyfriend!" he imitated in a high-pitched replica of Blaine's voice, the murderous glare darkening with every word. "How wonderful! You stupid ass! Fucking queers don't get boyfriends. Relationships, love, that's reserved for the straight people of the world, not faggots."

Blaine exhaled sharply. "I'm not a queer or a faggot, I'm a person! Just because I don't like women the way I 'should' doesn't mean I'm any less of a man than you!"

Edward raised his hand above Blaine, and brought it down, cracking against his cheek. Blaine, astounded, looked up at his father.

"Get out." Edward pointed to the door. "You have five fucking minutes to get your queer shit out of my house and get the hell out of my life."

Blaine stumbled to his feet, the adrenalin of pure shock and hurt pumped through his veins. He started towards the door, before thinking better of it. "I'm still Blaine, your son. And even though you don't approve of my lifestyle, I'm proud."

Blaine barely had enough time to scamper up into his room, grab his school bag and a suitcase. He stuffed as many changes of clothes he could fit, with the necessary toiletries.

At last, he stood in front of his mirror. Stickers from his childhood bordered the glass of the mirror; sparkling butterflies, grinning bunnies, gold stars, and in the top corner was an aging photograph.

The Anderson family, looking as crisp and picture-perfect as ever, stood in front of McKinley High. Edward rested a firm hand on Cooper's shoulder, and the other around his wife's waist. He stood tall and demeaning, like the king lion above his kingdom. Charlotte wore a lavender silk gown, and her hair flowed in corkscrew curls around her heart-shaped face. Her thin lips were pressed in a tight smile, and her arms were wrapped around a young Blaine. Cooper was wearing the traditional blue McKinley High graduation dress, smiling broadly as the camera, waving his diploma at the photographer.

The younger version of Blaine was clad in his Sunday best, looking up at his big brother as if he were the best thing on the planet.

Blaine hesitated a moment, then snatched the photograph and jammed it into his pocket along with his cell phone.

Another crash sounded from the kitchen as Blaine headed towards the front door. "Edward!" shrieked Charlotte. "Please!"

"He's a faggot, Char." He sounded calmer.

Blaine bit his lip hard and opened the front door, embraced by the chilly night wind. "Shit! Look what you've done!" Charlotte snapped.

For half a second, Blaine thought maybe his mother was coming after him. For half a second, Blaine thought maybe she would hold him and lace her fingers through his hair and comfort him. For half a second, Blaine yearned for his mother.

"You've broken all the china, you damn fool," she finished coldly.

Blaine closed the door without looking back.

Can you come pick me up? -B

Kurt read the text message with confusion, and glanced at his nightstand alarm clock. The green digital numbers read 11:06.

Is everything okay? xoxo K

It took less than a minute before Blaine texted back. Kurt gingerly put down his Audrey Hepburn Biography and glanced at his phone.

No.

Kurt bulleted out of bed and slipped on his robe. He raced down the hallway to his father's room, where he and Carole were snuggled closely among the beige sheets. He scribbled a note, tacked it to their bedroom door, and retrieved his car keys from their bedside table.

He plugged them into the ignition and sped down the driveway. Frantically, with one hand, Kurt dialed his boyfriend's number. There was no answer, only Blaine's cheery voicemail: "Hello! It's Blaine. Unfortunately, I can't be at the phone right now. Please leave a message after the tone!"

Kurt swore sourly and pressed the pedal harder. Dull streetlamps illuminated the silent roads, throwing vacant park benches and towering pines into a golden light. He counted down the minutes until he reached Blaine's street.

He looked frantically at every cookie-cutter house's lawn, searching for the familiar form of his lover. Kurt stopped at the final house on the avenue: the Andersons' snow white two-story with the dark brown trim. Kurt recalled a summer afternoon when he had come by to pick up Blaine.

Charlotte was working in the garden under the broiling sun, swiping a handkerchief across her forehead and sitting back on her knees, panting. She wore a lacy white apron, and a pink blouse beneath. Her cheeks were flushed, and stray curls poked out from beneath her bandana.

Kurt had parked his car and strode up to join her. Charlotte smiled. For all she had known, Blaine and Kurt were best friends. "Hi there, Kurt. Blaine's inside, just call for him," she said.

"Thanks," Kurt replied, poking the dampened soil with the toe of his shoe. "What are you planting?"

"Flowers; daisies, pansies, roses, bluebells…Edward likes the yard to have a bit of color," she remarked.

Kurt nodded. "Those will be pretty. I've got a bit of a green thumb myself, so if you ever need any help, I'm at your service."

"Thank you, dear," Charlotte said.

"Honey?" Edward called from the front step. Kurt had never liked Mr. Anderson. He was harsh, and futile, prejudicial. He didn't like one thing out of line in his family. Edward looked up over his newspaper, his hard gaze settling on Kurt. "Hello, Kurt."

"Good afternoon, sir," Kurt answered politely.

"Here for Blaine?"

"Yes, sir."

"Go on inside, then."

Kurt blinked back to the current predicament. He wondered where Mr. and Mrs. Anderson were now, and if they had anything to do with what was wrong with Blaine.

Suddenly, the passenger seat door opened and Blaine hefted his backpack and suitcase inside. "Oh, good god!" Kurt cried. "Blaine, what happened?"

Blaine buckled up without a word. "Can we please just g-get out of here?"

Kurt put the vehicle in reverse and peeled out of the Andersons' street. "Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

Blaine cupped his head in his hands. "Please just drive," he murmured.

Kurt kept glancing worriedly at his boyfriend as they drove away from the Andersons'. Kurt planned on returning to his house, where he and Blaine could have a private discussion, but upon seeing one, stray, glimmering tear slip from the tip of Blaine's nose, he pulled over immediately.

He turned the car off. "Blaine…"

Blaine sniffled, looking up at Kurt through glassy, pink-rimmed eyes. There was a moment of icy silence. Kurt could hear a cricket chirp in the distance, a muffled honk of a car horn, a cat meowing. Stars twinkled above.

"My dad kicked me out," Blaine whispered unexpectedly.

"What?"

"He found out I was gay…I told him about you…Things didn't g-g-go so well," Blaine stammered.

Kurt struggled to eliminate the burst of fury raging in his chest, and focus on his lover's emotions instead. He held out his arms, and that was all Blaine needed before collapsing in his arms and beginning to weep.

"He c-called me a queer, and a faggot." Blaine spat the insults, trembling against Kurt's stomach.

Blaine's walls, his protection, bravado, everything had been roughly shed on account of his father's actions. Kurt swallowed shakily.

"Shhh, shhh, it's okay," he muttered into Blaine's wily curls.

"I don't know where I'm going to go," said Blaine dryly. "If only my fucking dad hadn't taken my c-car. I suppose I could call up Coop."

"Don't be ridiculous," Kurt remarked. "You're staying with me. That's that."

"But your dad."

Kurt could pick out every color in Blaine's misty eyes. Deep brown, mint green, gold. Again, he was reminded why he fell in love with him, and the journey they had taken just to be here now. "Never mind him. He'll understand."

Blaine tipped his head and Kurt leant down to connect their lips. The kiss, as always, was genuine and sweet, but also tasted of agony and reject. When they pulled apart, Kurt swiped his thumb across Blaine's cheek to remove the tears.

"I love you, Blaine," he said softly.

"I love you, too."

Neither of the boys slept that night, and instead held each other beneath Kurt's white silk sheets and fur comforter. Blaine rested his head on Kurt's collar bone, his hair tickling Kurt's chin. Pearly moonlight filtered in through the window blinds, creating spider web-like patterns on the carpeting.

When the sun finally rose, Kurt was faced with a dilemma. How was he supposed to tell his father about Blaine? Would his father let Blaine stay?

A small snore emanated from Blaine's lips. He was asleep at last. Carefully, Kurt lifted Blaine off his chest and set him on the other side of the bed. He put on his slippers, and brushed his teeth quickly in his bathroom.

Upon arriving downstairs, Kurt realized that his father was getting ready to leave for work. Burt hurriedly poured his daily cup of black coffee into his Hummel Tired & Lube mug. He grinned at Kurt.

"Hey, buddy. Want some eggs?"

"Oh, um, no." Kurt sat down at the kitchen table. "Carbs, you know."

"You sure? It's Carole's recipe."

"I'm good." There was an awkward moment only filled with the gurgling from the coffee pot and early morning birds chirping on the window sill. "Dad, can I ask you a question?"

"Sure thing, bud, shoot," he said.

"I…" Kurt wasn't quite sure how to approach the subject. He chewed the tip of his tongue and nervously wrung his hands under the table. "Blaine was kicked out last night."

Burt nearly choked on his swig of coffee, staring at Kurt wide-eyed. "What?"

"He told his dad he was gay…Mr. Anderson didn't take it so well."

Burt took a shaky seat at beside Kurt. "Poor fella. Where's he going to go now?"

"See, that's kind of the problem. I thought maybe he could stay here," Kurt suggested.

Burt met Kurt's gaze evenly. "I just don't know-"

"You don't trust me?" Kurt snapped.

"No, of course I do…I suppose it'll be alright," Burt said. "But he's going to have to stay in the basement. You can ask Carole to help you clean it up down there. He's going to have to follow the same rules as you and Finn, you know."

"Yes! Oh, dad, thank you." He leapt up and hugged Burt. "I'll go get Blaine up."

"He's here?" Burt called after Kurt as he bounded up the stairs.

The Hummel household adjusted to Blaine's arrival quickly. He moved the few items, along with the things Carole had bought him, into the basement. Blaine slept on the pull-out couch and did his schoolwork at Finn's old desk. Kurt and Blaine were permitted to spend as much time as they'd like together as long as doors were open at all times and they were to sleep separately after ten o'clock. Blaine, assuming he'd be plagued with homesickness, found himself enjoying Burt's football rants over the specialty meal Carole had cooked up that evening for dinner. Finn and Blaine bonded over videogames. All to hastily, days morphed into weeks, then months and soon Blaine had been living with them for almost six months.

One late school night, Blaine snaked upstairs to get a cool glass of water. He froze at the top step at the basement staircase. Burt and Carole were quarreling in the kitchen.

"-not his fault!" Carole growled, accompanied by the banging of a pan.

Usually, Blaine would sneak back down to give them some privacy, but he heard his name and pressed closer to listen.

"He's been living here for six freaking months!" Burt argued. "We're barely holding up with two teenage boys, and now we've got three!"

"Hush now, we've got plenty of money to spare. It's not like he's asking for impractical things! We're doing everything as we would regularly, the only difference is we're buying a bit more food. Have some sense, Burt," Carole said.

Blaine's brows furrowed. Burt was right; he was a burden. He shouldn't have taken advantage of their hospitality for this long. Hell, he shouldn't have ever called Kurt that one fateful night.

"Don't get me wrong, Carole, the boy's a charmer. And what happened to him sucked. But it's time that he gets up from this luxury trip and gets a real job, and a place to live," Burt countered.

"Shhh! He might hear you!"

Stinging from their conversation, Blaine quietly slipped downstairs. He sat on the couch in numbed silence, running options through his mind. Seemingly done with invisible hands and unmemberable actions, Blaine's bag was packed. He took the sheets off the couch fold-out bed, and rolled them up along with the bed. Once he was done cleaning the basement, it was almost as if nobody had been staying there at all.

The light had been turned off in the kitchen and Carole and Burt had gone to bed, all traces of their conversation washed down the sink along with the dish suds.

Part of Blaine wished that someone, anyone, would come running after him. He stood on their lawn, shivering in his flannel pajama pants, and staring at the dark Hummel house above him. Only the occasional rustle of leaves could be heard.

Perhaps Blaine should leave a note; Thanks for all your help. It's best I move on. Alas, no, he decided. Going back inside was too risky at this point. He didn't want somebody waking up on account of him stepping on a creaky floorboard, or slamming the door a bit too hard.

Without another regretful thought, Blaine began his stride down the obsolete sidewalk.

"Blaine, dear, time to get up!" Carole yelled down the basement steps as she dried her hands on her apron.

It was half past ten, and she was getting ready to put away the breakfast plates. "If you want breakfast, you'd better hurry up!" She turned back to Kurt at the kitchen table. "Will you go check on him?"

"Sure," he replied, sucking syrup of his pinkie finger and bounding down the stairs and into his boyfriend's lair. "Blaine -"

He froze on the bottom step. Everything was gone. His worn suitcase at the end of the bare couch was absent, his toiletries has vanished; every trace of his mate had evaporated.

"Carole!" he shouted. "He's gone!"

The Hummels drove around the neighborhood and all of Lima for over two hours, Kurt constantly calling and texting Blaine. They found no sign of him, and Burt was forced to come to the conclusion that he had overheard their feud last night.

After three in the afternoon, they returned home, only for Kurt to tug on a jacket and return to the persistent search of Blaine. He jogged along the sidewalks, calling his name.

At last, the pastel streaks of sunset began to shimmer across the sky. Kurt wrapped his arms around his waist, a singular teardrop rolling down the tip of his nose and plopping onto his pea coat.

What had made Blaine so upset that he couldn't even say goodbye to him? He passed the neighborhood park with the squeaky swings and lonely red slide. Oak trees bordered the park, carrying the remaining golden rays through the patches in the star-shaped leaves.

Kurt took a deep breath and strode over to the park. Only the sullen sound of rustling braches filled the cool air. Kurt took a seat on one of the swings and tipped backwards, shoeing scuffing in the powdery sand beneath him.

There was something soothing about rocking back and forth on the swing. Perhaps it was the fact that memories of his childhood swarmed his mind when he did so.

"Kurt?"

Kurt's head snapped up, and he clenched the metal chains hard. "Who's there?" he demanded.

Something moved from a nearby bush and Blaine's dark, mop of curls emerged. He had bags beneath his hazel eyes, and a pale complexion.

"Blaine!" Kurt shrieked, racing over.

They embraced. "Where the fuck have you been?"

"I'm sorry…I felt like I was imposing." Blaine scrunched up his features, avoiding Kurt's eye.

Kurt kissed his forehead. "It's okay, shhh."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Blaine kept murmuring as gradually the couple moved to lay in the downy strands of grass under one of the oaks. Blaine rested his head on Kurt's chest, watching the sun disappear.

"I'll stay with you," Kurt said. "We'll figure something out."

Blaine's eyes glittered with hope. "I love you.

"I love you, too."