A/N: This… I don't even know what this is. Like, it's so out of character in my head canon and I don't know why I wrote it. And it's just a little bit ridiculous and probably really underdeveloped I don't know why it exists. Written entirely in the early morning, so it's possibly full of the most annoying errors ever and I hope you'll excuse that. But I sort of like it, so I hope you like it as well. Or just hope that you don't absolutely hate it. :)

Reviews make me smile. and really happy. and give me an idea of what to do next time.

Disclaimer: I don't own glee, I just play with it.


The day Blaine Anderson was kicked out of his parents' house was, for all intents and purposes, normal.

Soft morning light and just the hint of a breeze came through the open windows of the Andersons' kitchen, where the perfectly normal family sat eating a light breakfast like they would be any other day. The birds perched in the scattered pear trees broke the spring morning's silence with soft chirps. Mr. Anderson flipped through the paper while his wife cut into an apple and his eldest son skimmed through his calculus notes for a test first period. It wasn't until the younger boy at the table left to catch his bus that the man folded his paper neatly and set it aside, clearing his throat to catch the older boy's attention.

"Blaine, your mother and I think it's time for you to move out."

Had anyone been watching this exchange, they would just barely notice a tear sneak from the woman's eye as the boy dropped his pen and turned to face his father.


There had been no yelling or screaming in the Anderson household that day. Blaine was told he would be finishing out the last two months of his senior year at Dalton Academy, as the tuition had already been paid and really we aren't that unreasonable, and that when he returned home from school that day they would help him pack his belongings into his car before he left.

The afternoon went by in a silent blur for the boy. The only answer he'd gotten to why? why now? was short and vague, alluding to his brother and the kind of influence Blaine would have on him if he continued to live with them.

As Blaine drove down the road, everything important to him packed in a worn suitcase and a few cardboard boxes thrown in his trunk, his mother's final, wavering we really do love you, we just don't want him getting the wrong ideas echoed in his head.


Blaine was not planning on telling anyone about this… new development – until he realized that no, sleeping in the back seat of his car really wasn't an option. He found himself sitting at the dark wood counter of a classmate's kitchen explaining to a slightly frantic woman – just call me Pam, sweetie – that "it was really rather polite. If I didn't know any better, I wouldn't have noticed I was being kicked out of my house."


"I didn't know you and Mike were friends, Blaine. At least, not enough for him to drive 20 minutes longer to bring you to school."

"Oh yeah, we're the best of friends. I've been cheating on you with Mike since before I even met you, Wes."

"… Can you cheat on someone you're not dating?"

"Just… go bang your gavel or something."

Only after Wes walked away muttering something about that snippy little bastard did Blaine chance a look up from his spot in the library, tucked against the wall with his worn history textbook laid out to the wrong chapter in front of him. Had the library not been vacant, save the wrinkled librarian behind the desk, it would have been quite obvious that the 17-year-old Warbler had been sitting alone at the dimly-lit corner table with red-rimmed eyes for much longer than it should take to read the one page of the textbook he had never flipped away from.


It was fairly easy to write off his new, tired demeanor under his eyes to anyone who asked. Sometimes it was that killer exam in Mr. R's calc class – I swear we have one every other week, or maybe I just picked up a closing shift at the bookstore last night. I never got that discount at the GAP so I gotta make bank, you know. To Mike, it was your sister waltzed into the basement drunk out of her mind in the middle of the night and tried to convince me I was supposed to give her singing lessons (granted, that one did happen, but he hadn't been close to sleep in the first place so it was really irrelevant). He gave the truth to no one: his mother's final words to him ran through his head, consumed his thoughts until he could only sleep from sheer exhaustion.


"I can't believe you had a large coffee with about 80 packets of sugar and a shot of espresso and you're still falling asleep on my couch at four in the afternoon. If your drool stains this sweater, so help me -"

"First off, it was only five packets," Kurt flapped his hand a little at his boyfriend's interruption. " Second, I don't drool, so don't worry. And I told you how I had to re-write that entire paper last night – I swear my computer ate it for breakfast or something. I didn't get to sleep until, like, three."

"It might help if you saved your papers with better names than 'The Paper about the One Guy Shakespeare Wrote About.'"

"Oh hush, go back to being my pillow. Pillows don't talk, they sit and watch old movies while their boyfriends catch up on some much needed sleep."


It was sometime later that night, the sky a dark navy with little twinkling pin-pricks spread throughout. Kurt Hummel shifted his shoulders to look over the couch at his father. "I don't really think he can drive home, dad," he whispered, trying not to wake the boy passed out on his side.

"You have his home number?" Kurt nodded and twisted as little as possible to grab his phone from the coffee table without disturbing Blaine. "I'll call his parents and let 'em know he can stay here tonight." Kurt handed the phone over.

And that's what did it.

"Pillows don't move, either, Kurt." Blaine mumbled into the fabric of Kurt's shirt.

"Well now you're just being silly, Blaine. Here, get off of me and I'll go get you a real pillow that will stay nice and stationary for you."

"But you're warm…"

"I'll get you a blanket, too. Just go back to sleep."


"Blaine, wake up. Blaine. Blaine." Kurt shook Blaine's shoulder's lightly as he tried to wake his boyfriend enough to respond with more than just mmpfff just leave me alone I'm tired. "Blaine. Blaine if you don't wake up I'm going to sit on you."

"MmmffOHMYGOD get off get off get off you're squishing me!"

"I warned you. Now come on, my dad wants to talk to you." Kurt brushed invisible dust off of his pants as he waited for Blaine to just get off the couch already. He led the boy through the softly lit living room to the dining room, where Burt Hummel sat with a slight frown on his face and his hat in his hands.

"Blaine, I called your parents to tell them –"

"Oh, you called my… Like just now?"

"Yeah kid, just now. I called to tell them you weren't gonna drive home tonight seeing as you were passed out on my couch. They told me you aren't going back anyway. Blaine, did something happen?" Blaine wiped his face with his hands as Kurt backed up to lean against the door frame. Burt didn't look away from Blaine as he waited for an answer. He didn't get one.

"Hey. You know if something's up you can tell me, right? I know you kids don't always want to share your secrets with the world, especially not when that world is your boyfriend's father, bu-"

"They kicked me out last month." Blaine was barely loud enough to be heard over the dishwasher whirring through the kitchen doors, but his answer was as obvious as if he had shouted it out the window.

"Oh…" Kurt backed up even further through the kitchen, returning after a few moments of silence from all three of them, a clear glass of water in hand the only thing exposing the tiniest quiver in his actions from the news. They sat in silence for a while as Blaine sipped the water Kurt offered him, until –

"It's kind of funny, actually. They were very polite about it all…"