This was it.
He breathed in deeply. His palms grew sweaty. He tried to stop his body from the slight shaking it had started.
He was terrified.
This could change everything. The moment of truth. Would they still love him? Would they still be there for him?
Or would he lose it all?
Now or never. No more secrets. No more lying. No more hiding.
"Mom? Dad?" he spoke later, voice timid and uncertain.
Pamela Anderson looked up from her book, her smile warm and encouraging. His father looked away from the fire, his eyes taking in the bow tie and frowning, as usual.
"Blaine," his father said, gesturing for his youngest to speak his mind.
The boy, Blaine Devon Anderson, swallowed thickly, his Adam's apple bobbing painfully in his throat. He wished his brother, Cooper, could be here. He already knew; he knew he would back him up.
"I have something really important to say," he said, willing his nerves to leave his voice, gaining confidence and strength.
A beat. His mother had a knowing look, while his father remained tense, unmoving from his stance.
"I think it would be best if you sat down," their son said softly.
Frowning harder, his father did so, sitting next to his wife and taking her hand, who glanced at him in sudden confusion.
Exhaling, Blaine took the chair across from them, looking at his folded hands for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts. He had one chance. He couldn't screw this up.
"Honey," Pam said, seeing his distress. "You know you can tell us anything."
His father remained silent.
Mommy. Daddy. Please; help me. I'm scared. I need you.
"I'm gay," he whispered, a large weight pulling from his chest, letting him breathe for what felt like the longest time.
He glanced at his parents to gauge their reactions. His mother was smiling softly, trying to put her youngest child at ease. His father was frozen, his eyes wide in a state of shock and disbelief.
"How long have you known, sweetie?" his mother asked softly. Her face showed no signs of anger or fear; only love. Blaine felt himself smiling a little bit in relief.
"A while," he said at last, leaving it vague enough for them to not have a special time period to pinpoint, least they decided it was a fault in their parenting and something they did, or didn't do, that corrupted him. Like it was a choice or anything.
She smiled and stood, pulling her son up to embrace him. "So have I," she said softly. Her son pulled back in shock, and she winked at him. He found himself giving out a short laugh of disbelief, shaking his head in wonder. Tears of happiness started to form around his eyes, and his mother kissed his temple fondly.
"My little Blainey," she cooed gently. "You'll always be my baby boy. And I'll always love you, my son. Always."
Blaine smiled widely, his heart beginning to thaw of the icy fear that had encased it.
A sharp cut of sound came from next to them, where they lifted their heads in fear. Blaine's father had grabbed the nearest vase and thrown it across the room, shattering into pieces of glass, littering the ground. Blaine, the only one in socks, was trapped to move.
"Get out," he hissed, glaring at his son with disgust, embarrassment, and pure, unadulterated hatred.
"Dad?" Blaine whispered, confusion, fear and hurt racing through his veins like a cold, icy wind. He felt his heart begin to freeze over again.
"I said get out!" the elder Anderson shrieked, his expression turning enraged and wild. "I will not have a fucking fag as a son! I refuse to sit here and tell you that this is okay, that you could possibly be allowed to believe there is nothing wrong with you!"
"Daddy," Blaine whispered brokenly, his heart shrinking as the cold turned it to solid ice.
Pamela looked at her husband in shock, a disgusted, betrayed look spreading over her beautiful features, turning her face fierce and dangerously powerful.
"Don't you dare," she said through clenched teeth, holding her son closer to her lithe frame. "Don't you dare speak to our son like this. Not now, not ever. I won't let you hurt him like this."
"He's fucking sick, Pamela!" his father shouted, his voice booming and shaking with rage.
"No, he isn't!" she screamed back, just as fiercely, with a passion that rivaled her husband's.
"He can't stay here," his father said resolutely, coming towards this son with a determined mask set. Instinctively, his mother moved in front of him to protect Blaine, who had stepped back out of fear.
Instantly he felt a shard of glass cut into his foot, and he jumped back automatically from pain. Unfortunately, this caused him to continue stepping on glass, until he had reached the foyer. Unable to stand on his feet, he collapsed on the ground, sitting up and looking at the blood coming from his feet and soaking his socks.
His father, wearing shoes, stomped over the glass towards his son, undoing his belt as he moved. Eyes wide in fear, Blaine scooted backwards, whimpering in pain and terror.
His father raised the belt.
Blaine closed his eyes.
And his mother cried out in pain.
Blaine's amber eyes flew open, seeing his mother clutching her face, a red welt visible to his scared eyes.
His father stood back, eyes wide and angry as his wife slowly lifted her head, gazing at him with murderous eyes, the red welt in stark contrast with her pale features.
"Don't. Ever. Touch my son."
The stare off continued, neither willing to back down or move. Blaine stayed huddled in the corner, flinching and whimpering softly as the blood continued to pour. Betrayed, hurt and horrified, he stood slowly. His parents turned to look at him, his mother taking a step towards him.
Blaine held up a hand, and she stopped, confusion shinning in her pretty brown eyes. Shaking, he found a pair of shoes and slipped them on, barely holding back his cries. His mother looked at him with horror, understanding dawning.
Tears finally breaking free, they slid down his face in hot, salty tracks.
"I'm sorry."
And he bolted out the door, his mother's cries and father's taunts fading as he ran without thought, his mental pain enough to overshadow the physical.
At least for now.
Blaine stumbled around in the fresh winter snow, running both blindly and figuratively as tears obscured his vision and he soon lost any form of recognition of his surroundings. The pain in his feet was becoming unbearable, and the utter anguish tearing at his heart was crippling.
After what felt like forever, he found himself on a flat, empty opening. There were a handful of trees surrounding the area, and he found himself drawn to one. He looked at it from afar, feeling eerie about it.
It was broken. It had fallen, and it's branches still reached out, as if they hadn't been informed of their current condition. He felt... almost as if they were... looking at him.
With a shutter, he feel to his knees, the snow soaking through his jeans almost instantly. His hands flew to his face as he sobbed, soul crying for acceptance, comfort, any kind of understanding. He felt as worthless as his father saw him.
And then he heard it.
"The snow glows white on the mountain tonight,
Not a footprint to be seen.
A kingdom of isolation,
And it looks like, I'm the King."
There was a voice. Singing. It was... Beautiful.
"The wind is howling like this swirling storm inside.
Couldn't keep it in, heaven knows I tried."
There wasn't anything he could do to stop it. Without realizing what he was doing, he found himself walking back to the same tree that had drawn his attention in the first place. He had to know the voice. Anybody who sung Disney was someone he had to know.
He could use a friend right now, too.
"Don't let them in, don't let them see,
Be the good guy you always have to be.
Conceal, don't feel, don't let them know.
Well, now they know!"
There wasn't anything he could do once he caught sight of the boy sitting next to the tree. He was curled up in a ball, with a wave of stylish brown hair poking out of a fabulous scarf, looking as broken, if not more, as Blaine.
So he joined him.
"Let it go, let it go!
Can't hold it back anymore.
Let it go, let it go!
Turn away and slam the door.
I don't care,
What they're going to say.
Let the storm rage on,
The cold never bothered me anyway."
Brown hair looked up quickly, brilliant blue eyes bright with tears and wide with fear. He took in Blaine, no coat, blood soaked shoes, and tear stained face. His eyes softened as he pieced together a theory. He looked a bit happier now.
"It's funny how some distance,
Makes everything seem small.
And the fears that once controlled me,
Can't get to me at all!
It's time to see what I can do,
To test the limits and break through.
No right, no wrong, no rules for me.
I'm free!
Let it go, let it go!
I am one with the wind and sky.
Let it go, let it go!
You'll never see me cry.
Here I stand,
And here I'll stay.
Let the storm rage on."
They stared at each other, Blue Eyes slowly standing up without breaking contact. Slowly, almost hesitantly, he held out a gloved hand to Blaine.
He took it without hesitation.
"My power flurries through the air into the ground.
My soul is spiraling in frozen fractals all around.
And one thought crystallizes like an icy blast.
I'm never going back,
The past is in the past!
Let it go, let it go!
And I'll rise like the break of dawn.
Let it go, let it go!
That perfect guy is gone.
Here I stand,
In the light of day.
Let the storm rage on!
The cold never bothered me anyway."
They stayed silent, aware that they were smiling at each other with blinding enthusiasm. Blaine knew he was holding a complete strangers hand, but as he felt himself moving closer, he could help but feel like nothing else mattered anymore. That as long as this boy was here, he could confront anything.
Like he had met his own guradian angel.
"My name's Blaine," he breathed, breathless and in awe.
"Kurt," was said, the voice high and just as beautiful speaking as it was singing.
I've been looking for you forever, Kurt.