A/N: Hey readers, Hope here with a new story that I'm really excited about. It's obviously a Klaine story and is about Kurt and Blaine's past, present, and future. It is written in third person and only crucial events are focused on in the chapters. The entirety of this story was inspired by the Rufas Wainwright song, Dinner At Eight. Just for all those who may be confused about the description, Blaine will be physically abused at home and will be compulsively involved with drugs and alcohol. So without further adieu, please enjoy the very first chapter of my story!

Chapter 1: Life in A Glass House

2003-2008: Ages: 9-14

Kurt crinkled his nose in disgust at the thought of playing softball. Him, Kurt Hummel, rolling around in the dirt with other boys because of a stupid ball that he was sure was not soft at all, was absolutely ridiculous. His father, Burt Hummel, raised an eyebrow, "Well?" He asked.

Kurt knew the answer he wanted to hear, hell, it'd be the answer that any nine year old's father would want to hear. But Kurt was Kurt. And that was just fine with him.

Burt took in Kurt's displeased expression and went into one of those, 'when I was your age' stories.

"When I was your age, I didn't care about getting dirt under my nails. I cared about having fun and enjoying my youth."

Little Kurt simply blew at his chestnut-auburn bangs that kept blocking his vision, and thought, 'Yeah well guess what? You still don't care about getting dirt under your nails.'

After the terribly long lecture, Burt looked at him with a hopeful expression and spoke softly, "Please, Kurt. It would mean the world to me to cheer you on. Just give it a chance."

Kurt groaned, he knew he was being guilt-tripped into it, but their was nothing worse than disappointing the ones he loved. He squinted his eyes and irritably spoke, "Fine! I'll do it! But there is absolutely NO way that they are making me wear a jersey, unless they wash it, dry it, and iron it first."

"Deal." His dad said with a wink. Kurt couldn't help but smile.

When Kurt arrived on the dewy softball pitch the next morning, he immediately began to analyze the children. There were two kids on his right stretching and talking about last night's football game- they were no doubt the kind of kids who treated gym class like the Olympics. Kurt scoffed.

Then, there were a couple kids on the bleachers, begging their parents not to leave, cry babies, Kurt thought to himself. Finally, Kurt saw one boy, sitting on the right of the field pitch, looking as if he was in deep thought. The boy had dark, curly brown hair, and what appeared to be hazel eyes. Kurt was fascinated by this boys complexity.

Surprisingly, Kurt appeared not to have any power over his legs, as they were leading him right to this boy. Halfway towards him, two of the boys who he had seen earlier stretching, approached him. "You don't seem like you can play softball..." The one on the right said, eyeing him up and down.

"Yeah, you're right David, he looks like a girl! Do you even want to play?" The left one asked viciously.

Kurt absentmindedly kicked at the dirt on the ground, "No, not-not really."

"Then why are you even here?" David questioned.

"Well, it was all guilt, manipulation, and blackmailing my friends!" Kurt said with a forced laugh.

The two boys looked at Kurt like he was speaking a different language, "You even have a high pitched voice to match! You are a fairy!"

Kurt dropped his gaze to the ground, suddenly fascinated by the fabric of his shoes. Tears formed in the corner of his eyes. It impacted him in a way the two boys would never know. Kurt always knew that it was abnormal for a nine year old boy not to play sports and prefer to watch All My Children rather than a football game, but he thought it had made him unique. The boys chuckled at Kurt's pained reaction, and he could only stand there, thanking God for the first time that his bangs were blocking his tear-filled eyes.

Suddenly, the laughing came to an abrupt stop. "Shoot, Blaine's coming." The left one warned the right one in a hushed voice. Kurt looked up and saw that the boy- supposedly named Blaine- was gingerly approaching them. With panic in their eyes, the bullies turned on their heels and ran off to the edge of the pitch. Kurt looked up at Blaine who looked quite pleased with himself for sending the bullies away.

He softly placed his hand on Kurt's shoulder. "Are you okay?" He asked gently. Kurt simply nodded as he noticed the flecks of gold in his hazel eyes. Kurt struggled to find his voice, cleared his throat, and then said tentatively, "Why are they scared of you?"

"I don't know. I think I wanted them to be scared of me." Blaine admitted with a shrug.

Kurt avoided his intimidating eyes, "Thanks for saving me." He said. "I'm Kurt Hummel, by the way."

"Blaine Anderson." The hazel eyed boy replied. Kurt quickly shot out his arm to shake hands. Immediately, Blaine cringed, closed his eyes, and let out a small whimper. Kurt was taken aback at his reaction, but decided not to say anything. Seconds later, Blaine opened his eyes, and with a relieved exhale, shook his hand. Kurt made nothing of Blaine's response, but it would one day mean everything.

Kurt continued softball for the next three years. He hated it. He begged and pleaded the coach to place him as water boy after his first week. Just one year in and he realized this: Kurt Hummel could not- would not- play sports. Still, He had one reason to keep showing up at the same pitch every Saturday morning; Blaine Anderson.

From their first handshake, they were inseparable. They had a strange relationship for boys so young. They either completely liked one another, or they wholeheartedly loathed one another. They could never plainly just be friends.

From ages nine to eleven, they seemed to have an unspoken understanding of one another. They knew what each other were feeling although they didn't have to say it. Blaine knew that Kurt didn't want to talk about the way that the boys picked on him, and Kurt knew that Blaine didn't want to talk about the way that he kept showing up with bruises.

It was only until Kurt turned twelve that everything changed. It was at a party to celebrate the team's second-place win in the twelve-year old softball league. Kurt's dad dropped him off at his coach Carson's' house on a rainy Saturday evening. He entered the two story upper class home cautiously, making sure to steer clear of the bullies. Ironically, the bullies found him upon his first entry.

"Looking for your boyfriend?" They asked with a sneer. Kurt simply ignored them, although his legs were immobilized, and blush was starting to form on his porcelain skin.

"Blaine, right?" One of them said with a smirk. He had thin brown hair and small green eyes, although his body was built like a mini football player.

"David! Get your butt over here! Come eat at the table!" Yelled a very pretty woman with the same green eyes as the bully. David rolled his eyes, and upon leaving, elbowed Kurt in the ribs forcefully, causing him to stumble back into the wall.

The other bully glared as he passed Kurt, but nonetheless left, which left Kurt to think about where Blaine actually was. Kurt walked around the house with a puzzled look on his face. He knew that Blaine said that he would definitely be here, but he was nowhere in the house.

As he was about to sit down and give up, Coach Carson asked him if he could go outside and turn off the hose that David left on as a prank. Kurt politely nodded, but rolled his eyes.

Just because I'm a water boy does not mean that I have to deal with all things involving water. He thought exasperatedly, but nonetheless made his way to the backyard.

And then he saw it. Blaine smoking -and to his complete shock- drinking. This wasn't the first time he had seen him smoke, however. He had seen Blaine smoking a few weeks back after everyone had left practice, but he couldn't believe it, no, he wouldn't believe it, so he put it on the back-burner. Kurt looked away in disappointment. He confronted Blaine about it a couple days earlier when he had built up the courage. He told him that he should stop, that it was killing him. Blaine told him he would stop, but Blaine goes by only one rule; new bruise, new relapse.

Kurt held his breath as Blaine spoke first, "Hey."

Hey? Really? That's it. That's all he has to say?

But Kurt responded calmly anyway, "Hey."

Blaine avoided Kurt's eyes as Kurt's face flushed.

"Do you think that that makes you look cool?" He asked, concern heavy in his tone.

"I don't do this because it makes me look cool." Blaine retorted with an undertone of sadness in his voice.

Kurt took a few steps towards him. "What happened?" He asked quietly.

"You tell me." Blaine said as he took a long drag.

"What-" Kurt began.

Blaine interrupted, "I saw them. The guys. David and his little sidekick talking- excuse me, I mean- torturing you."

Kurt knew what Blaine was doing, changing the subject, bringing up what makes him vulnerable as soon as Kurt hints at something about his family. He's done this since he was nine.

"You didn't answer me." Blaine reminded gently, bringing Kurt back down to earth.

Kurt stammered as his face turned red with embarrassment, "They-they said something about, well, you, and me. But It wasn't just that we were, well you- I guess, but that we weren't just, you know, friends, or something like that." He avoided Blaine's gaze for a long time.

"They don't know- I mean, they just...They're bullies, Kurt. It's what they do." Blaine said as a bit of blush rose in his cheeks. Kurt finally looked at his face. There it was. Another one. A dark purple bruise that contrasted with his hazel-gold eyes, and a split lip too.

Blaine realized that Kurt was staring at his rugged appearance, he took another long drag, and a sip of alcohol, that he brought from his dad's wine pantry.

Kurt spoke up, "You can't let your bullies get you down either."

Blaine smiled tentatively, "Did it make you upset? What they said? About you and me, I mean...?"

Kurt was startled by his question. He was taken aback at the thought of him and Blaine being boyfriends, but was also taken aback at the thought of him having a crush on a girl. He never had a girlfriend, or a crush on them or whatever. Besides, he wasn't the fastest runner in the class, wasn't that what girls based it on? Kurt pursed his lips and furrowed his eyebrows to try and distract from the blush rising in his cheeks.

"It...I guess it didn't. I mean, I don't think it upset me..." Kurt stated softly. "How about you?" He asked quickly, wanting to change the subject.

"No. It's okay to like someone the same as you. I think I saw a TV show about it." Blaine answered with a dreamy look in his eyes.

Kurt suddenly reached out to grab Blaine's hand. Blaine held it softly, forgetting all about the cigarette in his other and the bottle of whiskey on the ground. Blaine closed his eyes contently as Kurt ran his finger over his split lip. Blaine lazily traced circles on Kurt's soft hand.

It happened so fast. Kurt and Blaine tentatively moved close to each other, and with their eyes closed, but minds open, kissed one another. A kiss full of innocence, purity, and pain.

But it was over before it began.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" David yelled, his arms flailing wildly. Kurt and Blaine jumped back with a start. Blaine quietly composed himself and leaned against the wall, while taking another sip of his whiskey, hands shaking compulsively. Tear's immediately pooled in Kurt's eyes, he was shocked, terrified. He felt like a freak.

"You are a faggot!" David accused Kurt in a disgusted tone, "You're going to hell, you know?"

Kurt couldn't help it. The tears streamed down his face as he looked for Blaine to say something, do something; anything. But Blaine just stared at the ground, now repeatedly drinking, swallowing, and then taking a drag.

Kurt worked up the courage to move, and when he did, he ran as fast as he could back to his house. He could hear David scream "Freak!" as he crossed the road and ran headfirst into the darkness.

His house was only twenty minutes away, but it felt like it took him hours to get there. And while he ran, he thought about it all. The boys. Himself. His Dad. Blaine; how Blaine couldn't even look him in the eye, how Blaine went silent, how Blaine was going to smoke, drink, and probably die because of it. But Kurt hated him. He hated Blaine for everything. And he was quite sure that Blaine hated him too.

When Kurt got home, he ran straight to his room, locked his door, and hid under his covers. He sobbed hysterically for hours. He cried, thought, and then cried some more. After several hours of this process, Kurt was only sure of one thing: That he would never, for the rest of his existence, see Blaine Anderson again, but he was perfectly okay with that, because Blaine Anderson was bad news.

How very wrong Kurt Hummel would be.

Over the next year, Kurt was indeed correct; Blaine was nowhere to be found. Although that might just have something to do with the fact that Kurt had quit softball immediately after the incident. He couldn't face the bullies by himself; he was only thirteen years old.

Without Blaine in his life, he was numb. He did the same things routinely, with nothing to look forward to and nothing to keep him going. Emptiness filled him more and more everyday, along with heavy bouts of confusion. He tried not to think about the kiss too much because it made his heart heavy, but he found himself dreaming about it often. Kurt knew it, he knew it all along; he likes boys. It was a hard thing for him to accept, but he did, and that's what was important.

Kurt very often felt pointless, like he didn't matter, like he was invisible. Nobody noticed him in school, nobody cared, and as much as he hated to admit it, he needed Blaine. You either live and lose in love, or you don't live at all. Kurt did not live at.

Blaine, however, was the exact opposite. He felt every emotion through every fibre of his being. He felt sorrow, grief, anger, frustration, and agony. The kind of pain that only soul mates know of. It was the first time in his life that his emotional pain outweighed his physical pain. Blaine was very broken now; he didn't have Kurt to put him back together. Blaine tried his hardest not to think about the kiss, but he couldn't help himself. It crept up in his mind when he was least expecting it. He knew he liked boys. It was hard for him to accept, but he did, and that's all that mattered.

Blaine continued softball. He wasn't scared of the boys there because they were scared of him. One time, he even hit one of them. It made him feel powerful. Like he was in control. The other kids never noticed that Blaine hit someone; just like they never notice that someone hit Blaine.

He hated going home. It scared him. His father, after running several companies, was losing all his money in an economic slump; Blaine was getting it worse than ever. His mother didn't even wince.

But Blaine found comfort in things that were bad. He smoked, got high, and drank. But what could you expect? We're all addicted to something that takes the pain away.

Blaine, surprisingly, was also addicted to his books. They helped him escape, they took him away from his miserable life and broken home. He could be sailing the Pequod with Captain Ahab, helping Tom whitewash his fence, and leaving Pencey with Holden Caulfield all while being beaten. His dad didn't fancy his books as much as Blaine did though. He burned them right in front of his eyes too. He said they were a load of shit and couldn't teach him anything. This killed him, but he couldn't be weak. He wouldn't let himself.

So this is how it went on for a year; one person numb, one person emotional, two people broken. They needed each other, they were just too stubborn to admit it.

Soon, the important time came in every thirteen-going on fourteen year old's life: the time to decide which high school you would be attending. The place where you would spend the next four years in your own personal hell. Little did Kurt and Blaine know that it didn't exactly have to be hell for either of them.

Kurt flipped the pamphlet over as he spoke, "Dalton, Really?" He asked with raised eyebrows.

"Dalton. Really." Burt Hummel replied kindly.

"But Dad, this is really expensive..." Kurt admitted.

Burt smiled and spoke excitedly, "Business has been picking up really well lately, and this is the best move for you, besides, that kid- what's his name? Oh yeah, David, well he's going to McKinley with his other friend. McKinley's not too big of a school, the chances that you would run into them are very high," He spoke much softer now, "and I know how they treated you, Kurt. You're special, and you always have been, and with financial aid we can afford to send you to a school that will be good for you."

Kurt sat there in bliss; he had heard great things about Dalton all his life and to be going there would be like being initiated into some private group or something.

He smiled to himself, nodded enthusiastically to his father, and with a reassuring squeeze of Burt's hand, set off to his room.

Things went much differently in the Anderson household.

"Blaine come the fuck downstairs!" Called a furious voice that belonged to Blaine's father; Jared.

Blaine inhaled angrily, but nevertheless made his way down to the first floor.

"God dammit kid, can you not clean up a little, like maybe look a little presentable for me? Huh?" Jared slurred, obviously drunk. Blaine held his breath, the smell of his father's breath made him woozy.

Jared pointed his free hand at Blaine, "You are going to Dalton, you ungrateful shit. Not that we have the money to send you there anyway, but-" He let out a belch, Blaine looked away disgustedly, "appearances are important. Reputations are meant to be upheld. And no 'buts' you're going you twit."

Blaine tried hard not to look excited- anything he might like his father would take away- but he was really excited to go to Dalton. His family-friend's kid went there and loved it, he said that they didn't give a shit about drinking or drugs, just as long as you got good marks and played on a sports team.

Startlingly, Jared accidentally dropped his vodka bottle on the ground and it smashed into a hundred pieces with a loud blow. "Clean that up." He ordered Blaine in a harsh voice as he walked out of the kitchen to go pass out on the couch.

Blaine silently grabbed some paper towels and a broom. It took him about five minutes to have the floor looking decent. The ground was still wet in some areas, but that was probably because Blaine- subconsciously- was letting himself cry. With a shocked expression, he delicately touched his fingers to his face, he pulled them back into view, only to realize that he was indeed crying. Immediately, he turned and walked over to the pantry, grabbed a bottle of vodka, and ran upstairs.

When he made it to his bedroom, he locked the door, drank half of the bottle, collapsed onto his bed, and fell into a dreamless sleep.

The next four years would be one hell of a ride for both of them. Full of hatred, love, and tears. Oh, lots and lots of tears...