They'd both known the snow would make things harder. The first appearance of snowflakes and frost on the kitchen windowpane elicited a collective sigh from the Hummel household - first from Burt as he stumbled blearily into the kitchen at 5am, scrambling for coffee before he headed off to work at 6, and later from his son, Kurt, at 8am. Kurt had drifted through his morning routine, the corners of his vision blurred by his lack of proper sleep. He'd awarded himself a moment of quiet as he stood at the window in the kitchen, munching halfheartedly on his breakfast of nearly stale toast. The jungle gym in the center of their apartment complex gleamed with the first snowflakes of winter, a halo of untouched white beginning to form around it.
Winters were always hard on the Hummel family. Burt became more generally sullen as the cold descended on their small town of Lima, Ohio, grumbling every morning as he shoved on a second and a third layer of coveralls for work. Winters in Lima were known to be bitter and unforgiving, and the lack of proper ventilation in his auto repair shop didn't do him any favors. His wife, Elizabeth, had nagged him for years to get an old family friend, Dennis Hudson, to come take a look at the shop's radiator, finally cut himself and his employees a break during the harsh winter months. When Dennis Hudson had passed away not five years earlier, he'd used it as an excuse for continuing to put off the project. Not for the first time in the past several weeks, he found himself wishing he'd listened to her.
Kurt, Elizabeth and Burt's teenaged pride and joy was no fan of the winter either. While he was grateful that his unusually pale, tinged with under hints of rose, skin was considered the norm, he'd often complained about the limitations on his clothing options.
"But I thought you loved layers?" his mother had asked him warily one year, standing at his doorway as she watched him toss shirts and pants from his closet at an alarming rate.
"Layers for warmth are not the same as layers for fashion!" he'd snapped, Elizabeth ducking as she narrowly missed being hit by a flying cardigan.
While the Hummel family suffered the same winter plagues as every other family in Lima - from sniffles, fevers, broken heaters, and one year a full blown flu outbreak, Elizabeth kept her head high. She kept a modest but comfortable home for her husband and son, working tirelessly to keep them all from falling into a slump as the skies turned grey and streets turned to slush. It was the little things she did that kept everyone in good spirits: a surprise apple pie for dessert one night - Kurt and Burt basking in the scent of cinnamon and vanilla as she cut off a piece for each of them. "I had some extra time today," she'd say with a shrug, though they both knew just how hard she'd worked to find that extra bit of time. Once Kurt had come home to find his wardrobe reorganized by color, something he'd been meaning to do for quite some time but kept pushing off as finals approached. His mother was curled on his bed, sleeping soundly with a broom propped up at the foot of the bed. He'd smiled, thrown a quilt over, and spent the night in the guest room.
The first signs that something was wrong came along in the final days of the previous years winter. Elizabeth had grown quiet, her husband and son shooting each other suspicious glances over dinner each night as their beloved matriarch pushed around the food on her plate, seldom taking substantial asked what was wrong she'd respond with a shrug and a weak smile. "Just feeling under the weather," she'd say, or, "My allergies are coming in early this year." It wasn't until Burt had spotted a nasty spattering of harsh bruises along her shoulder blades that he demanded the truth.
Breast cancer. Stage four. It had been stage three when she'd first been diagnosed in November, but had progressed quickly when she refused treatment month after month. Elizabeth remained firm in her opinion, despite both her husband and son's passionate protests. She continued to refuse treatment, allowing nature, and the disease, to run its course. She'd insisted that the family didn't have the finances to fund the necessary treatment - they were already barely scraping by with each weekly paycheck. Elizabeth had been able to pick away at her retirement fund to cover the costs of her monthly doctors appointments, but even those funds had begun to run low as the summer approached.
Without much else to do but hope, Burt and Kurt watched as Elizabeth faded away, growing quieter and smaller as the weeks went by, until she was gone. It had been a surprisingly calm evening as Burt and Kurt headed straight to the hospital after their respective work/school days. Hospital visits weren't uncommon at this stage of Elizabeth's life, and they'd fallen into a routine. Elizabeth had been admitted on Monday of that week when she suddenly found herself unable to breath. By Thursday she was gone.
The funeral was a small affair. The Hummel's had a select handful of friends who crowded them with support. Some distant family members from distant cities came to pay their respects. Kurt had taken a week and a half off from school to help his dad with arranging what was necessary. The brief reprieve from the torment of his bullies had been a welcome luxury.
Kurt had a few people he might consider friends, mostly the fellow social outcasts of the after school glee club, but no one particularly close. There was no one to text when something exciting happened, or to invite to see whatever months old movie the Lima Cineplex had finally gotten its hands on. Rachel and Mercedes, his closest friends from the glee club, had dropped by his mother's wake to pay their respects - Rachel pulling him into a hug that lasted just a few seconds too long. He'd appreciated the gesture, but still dreaded the thought of returning to school the following week. As expected, his tormentors hadn't taken his grieving into consideration - making sure to promptly toss him into his usual dumpster upon seeing him on his first day back. "Welcome back, princess," their leader grunted before slamming the lid of the dumpster, Kurt sighing before waiting fifteen minutes to lift himself out of yesterday's garbage.
Despite Elizabeth's death, life went on. Burt made the painful decision to move himself and Kurt out of the home they'd lived in since Kurt was three to a shabbier apartment on outskirts of Lima. Covering the last of Elizabeth's medical bills had taken a major toll on his paychecks, and try as hard as they might their home was never the same - not without her. The new apartment in Lima Acres was meant to be a fresh start, a new beginning for father and son. Yet the apartment was about as grey, dull, and dim as Kurt and Burt both felt.
Christmas was now only four weeks away, nearly seven months since Elizabeth had passed, and there wasn't a decoration in sight. Kurt had attempted to construct a wreath for their door, something he and his mother had always enjoyed doing every year, but found himself frustrated when his artistic vision refused to come to life, tossing the half finished wreath in the trash.
The sight of first snow left Kurt in a particularly foul mood that morning. The fact that he had spilled a bit of his coffee as he poured it into his thermos in his rush to get out the door only made things worse. He ignored the burning sensation in his fingers as his hand began to turn a nasty shade of red, tying his scarf haphazardly and storming out the door. In his huff he'd completely missed the man carrying a stack of heavy boxes up onto his floor, pushing past the grunting man without a second glance. Unfortunately, he didn't notice the second, much younger man carrying an even heavier set of boxes one floor down either, and found himself crashing straight into him. The crash knocked them both down two steps, both of them collapsing roughly on the landing.
"Oh God, I'm so sorry, I should've looked up," Kurt apologized quickly, his cheeks as red as his burnt hand as he scrambled to his feet, attempting to restack the man's boxes while he lifted himself back up.
A quick glance at the man he'd knocked over revealed that he wasn't quite a man really, but a boy, about Kurt's age in fact. Despite having been carrying a load of heavy boxes up two flights of stairs thus far, the boy hadn't broken a sweat. In fact, he seemed oddly underdressed for the weather, wearing only a simple pull over sweater and jeans. His dark curls were wild and untamed, matted at the crown of his head, not fitting the rest of his put together persona. He took the box Kurt was struggling to lift from his hands with ease, his fingertips lightly brushing against Kurt's burnt knuckles as he did so. The brief touch sent chills snapping through Kurt's body like a clap of thunder. The skin that had been throbbing with warm pain just moments ago was now cold to the touch. Kurt gasped quietly, quickly shoving his hand back into the pocket of his coat. The boy gave him an odd look, his hazel eyes darting to Kurt's now hidden hand before gathering his boxes and shooting up the stairs without another word.
"I said sorry," Kurt muttered to himself, turning warily and heading out of the building, vaguely hoping that the new strange boy wasn't moving onto their floor.
The odd encounter with the equally odd boy quickly left Kurt's mind as he drove off to McKinley High, foot hovering over the gas nervously as he avoided the slush that had already begun to form on the roads. Arriving at school in one piece, Kurt made a dash for the door, hoping to get into the warmth of the building before the lugs of the football team found him first. He was nearly at the doorway when a wave of bitter ice smacked him off his feet. He landed roughly on the sidewalk, the snow beneath him stained deep purple. A grape slushie, their favorite. Kurt could already feel the ice hardening against his skin as the letterman jacket clad group of goons began to laugh. Their leader, Noah Puckerman, crushed the empty Big Gulp cup in his hand, tossing it beside Kurt.
"Happy first snow, Hummel," Azimio, Puckerman's right hand man spat as the group entered the building.
Kurt took a quick swipe at his cheek, hissing at the burn of the iced drink pulling off of his skin. Thankfully he'd thrown a spare set of clothes into his car earlier that week, knowing that the jocks would likely try to corner him that week. They'd been silent for too long. He wiped off what he could from his cheek and neck, trying to prevent the slushie from dripping any further into his clothing before lifting himself up and heading back to his car. He pulled out the duffel bag with his change of clothes and several packs of wet wipes and rushed off to the bathroom, hoping he could still make it to homeroom before the bell.
He stumbled into homeroom three minutes after the bell, out of breath as he quickly took his seat. He glanced nervously towards Ms. Simon, his homeroom teacher, expecting her to call him over to his desk so she could write out a detention slip for his tardiness. Instead, her desk was empty. Several students were gathered in small groups, chattering excitedly and shooting glances at the empty desk. The class waited and waited for the inevitable substitute, but no one had come to take Ms. Simon's place by the time the bell had rung for first period.
The grape slushie had turned out to be a fitting starter to what turned into an unusual day. In every classroom Kurt entered groups were huddled together, hushed rumors passing between them until a teacher broke them apart and began their lesson. Kurt struggled to catch bits and pieces of what gossip had apparently intrigued the entire school. He'd heard Ms. Simon's name thrown around, and mentions of a police officer stopping a couple of kids for questioning on their way into the building that morning, but not much else.
When the final bell finally rang Kurt rushed to the choir room for glee club rehearsal - anxious to see if Rachel or Mercedes had any idea what was going around the school that day. Not surprisingly, the majority of the glee club had gathered in a cluster, chairs angled towards one another, deep in conversation. Kurt strolled up, taking his usual seat and angling it towards the others before leaning in to whisper to Mercedes.
"Do you have any idea what's going on today?"
Mercedes turned to him with a puzzled look. "You haven't heard?"
"Well it's not like I have anyone to hear from," Kurt muttered, shifting uncomfortably. He spent most days wandering between classes in silence and eating his lunch in the furthest corner of the lunch room. This year his schedule had been the polar opposite of all of his friends from the glee club, and he often found himself never speaking until he got to the choir room for rehearsal.
"Ms. Simon's missing," Mercedes said in a whisper.
"Yeah, she was missing from homeroom this morning. She's probably just out sick," Kurt replied with a shrug. Ms. Simon's absence was hardly worth talking about. She was older, and especially frail. There had been plenty of days when she had to call out sick because she'd fallen ill or broken a bone while trying to do a basic task.
"No I mean she's missing missing. Her daughter called the police to go check on her when she didn't answer her phone all weekend. She wasn't in her apartment and they've been looking for her all over the city."
"She couldn't have gotten that far, she's what - eighty now? Maybe she got lost on her way home from the supermarket," Kurt said with a quiet chuckle, attempting to lighten the mood. Mercedes gave him a stern look.
"It isn't funny, Kurt. People really think something bad happened to her."
Kurt shifted uncomfortably, his stomach sinking as the guilt over his unkind comment sank in.
"Do they think it was a break in?" he asked, Rachel suddenly deciding to chime in on their conversation.
"Her apartment looked the same as always, or at least that's what I've heard. A police officer tried to stop me on my way in this morning, but I insisted that I couldn't be bothered until I'd had my morning cup of tea to soothe my vocal chords," she said with a stern nod.
Kurt and Mercedes rolled their eyes, turning to join the larger conversation at hand, led by Finn Hudson, their resident 'popular kid.'
"Puck got stopped on his way in too. These two cops kept asking him all sorts of questions like where he was this weekend, if he'd heard anything about Ms. Simon or if he knew if she had plans for the weekend. Puck was all like, "I don't know shit about Ms. Simon," and the cops started getting really in his face about it."
Kurt rolled his eyes. It wasn't unlike Puckerman to disrespect a figure of authority, but this was especially stupid, even for him.
Mr. Schuester, the glee club director, stepped in and quickly broke up the gossip cluster, insisting that everyone turn their seats around and listen up for their latest assignment. While Mr. Schue went on and on about their latest assignment - duplicity, a concept Kurt barely understood on its own, and definitely didn't understand how it applied to show choir - Kurt sank back in his seat, attempting to process the myriad of strange things that had occured today.
His life had been a vague fog since his mother's desk, no matter how hard he tried to throw himself back into his extracurriculars and make the most of his time with his few friends before his final year of high school came to a close. There were no good days or bad days, every day was another boring, bland day getting him closer to… something. What, he still didn't know.
He had been working on his applications to various colleges in New York, but he was still months from finding out whether his hard work had materialized into anything. There wasn't much Kurt had to look forward to when it came to his day to day life, but when he allowed himself to picture himself in New York City, the cold, drab town of Lima nothing but a memory, he walked with a bit more life in his step. However, even this happiness was short lived, as the guilt at the thought of leaving his still grieving father behind would always follow shortly after.
Ms. Simon's disappearance had obviously rattled the Lima community - Kurt was sure his dad would announce that he was going to be stricter about his curfew once he got home after rehearsal. There had been a lingering feeling of dread in the back of Kurt's mind as he coasted throughout the day, settling more deeply in the forefront of his mind as he continued to tune Mr. Schue out. His skin prickled as he absent mindedly ran his fingertips along the knuckles of what should have been his burnt hand, shivering when he realized the skin was still frozen to the touch. Right where the strange boy from his building had brushed against him.
Authors Note: Well howdy, if you made it all the way to this point chances are you're an actual angel. This is a thing that I started writing at my desk one day because the idea refused to get out of my head. It's loosely inspired by the Swedish film Let the Right One In, but won't be following the original plot by much, just a couple of elements. Please be kind.