Authors Note: Hi! This is my first FanFiction ever! It was originally a one shot but then 2,813 words later, and still writing, I decided to make it a multi-chapter fic. So bear with me, please review and give me tips, because I really want to improve! Thank you!


Blaine hated feeling this way. He hated feeling at all. Maybe his life would have be better if he was numb to all feeling, maybe he wouldn't have made all these mistakes. But he wasn't numb to feeling, because here he sat, on the floor, clutching an almost empty bottle of vodka to his chest, taking a swig every few minutes. He was alone, he always had been, simply put no-one cared. He grabbed a cushion from the couch, breathing in the sweet scent. The subtle coffee and vanilla coursing through his nostrils, coursing through his blood. 'No' he thought 'Don't think of him! You cannot think of him!'. But his heart didn't listen to his head, it never had, because soon he drifted into a world of memories of Kurt and that couch.

'No stop Blaine! Stop' giggled Kurt, gasping for air.

'Only if you say it!' Teased Blaine, with his signature smirk written all over his face.

'No! I refuse!'

'Ok now you're going to get it!' Laughed Blaine, diving back in to tickle Kurt.

Smiling at the way Kurt's glasz eyes lit up with joy, the way his eyelashes fluttered. His eyes flickered back and forth between Kurts eyes and lips. He pulled Kurt in for a hungry kiss, which Kurt responded eagerly. He deepened the kiss, slipping his tongue into Kurt's mouth, he let out a small front door clattered, Blaine jumping off Kurt quicker then he ever thought was possible.

'Hello Blaine' His father said stiffly 'And who is this?'

Kurt went to answer 'I'm his...' But Blaine quickly interrupted.

'This is Kurt my...friend, my good friend'.

Kurt looked at Blaine, his face clearly portraying his emotion. Hurt. Disappointment. Pity.
Blaine quickly looked away, choosing to look at his hands, twiddling his thumbs, a habbit he'd had since he was a young child.

'Well' his father continued 'I was talking to John, one of my colleagues, he has a daughter around your age'

Blaine froze, he knew what was coming. 'Oh really?'

'She's a very pretty girl, well educated, I got her number for you. Maybe you can take her out for dinner sometime?'

It wasn't a question. 'Ok...I mean yeah...sure' Blaine stammered.

'Your mother forgot to tell you, we are going to New York next week, so you are going to have to stay at Dalton, alright?'

'But its thanksgiving next week...and my birthday'

'Blaine you are too old for birthdays...and for thanksgiving...I don't believe we've had much to be thankful for this year' He said sternly.

'Yes Dad'

'Blaine, remember what I said about called me Dad? I'd prefer if you called me Father of Sir. Goodnight.'

Why? Why did no one love him? Why did everyone he ever cared about, leave him? First his mother, then Kurt. He remembered that day when his Mother left him.

It was a crisp January day, right at the beginning of the year, new year resolutions that hadn't been broken yet. He'd walked into the house, he'd never referred to it as his homee. It was empty, as always. He'd found a note, scrawled in his mothers neat perfect handwriting. It had been brief, simple, just stating the facts. His Father had been having an affair. She couldn't handle Blaine's 'Disease', and she was in love with another man. She had a new family now, in another state, she had replaced Blaine with a perfect son. She didn't want to hear from him or see him again. That was the first time he drank to drown out his feelings, he kept everything to himself. He told no-one. He didn't want to break that perfect confident intelligent exterior he'd worked so hard to create. Just like that, his family broke, ripped to shreds.