A/N: So I have no experience with fanfiction, and therefore I don't know what's normal regarding story alerts, favorites and reviews, but I am so happy for the ones I've gotten already! I'm not kidding when I say I smile at every Story Alert and Favorites and those few reviews – God, I feel like kissing your feet (?)!

So this chapter is... essential. Like it may come across as a filler, but it's really not. I'm a little nervous about people's reaction because I don't know how many of you are like 'Can't they just meet already', but please have patience. Oh and it has a major time jump so be aware of that and look for the dates.

The song for this chapter is called Fifteen words by Hey Ocean! and it's beautiful. For your own sake go listen to it :)

I realized that I never put a disclaimer to this, but can't we just all agree once and for all that I don't own anything Glee related? Now go enjoy the chapter.

Chapter three: Fifteen words

June 5th

Kurt

"Hi, Kurt," Katherine Hummel greeted him with a pained look on her face. It was an expression Kurt had gotten very familiar with. All adults would give him that face, when they found out he was an orphan. Was it some kind of admission requirement to become an adults?

His aunt was as tall as he was, had blonde hair and the same smile as he remembered being greeted with as a child. But though they'd been sisters his mother and aunt didn't share much resemblance besides from the smile. Kurt looked more like his mother than her sister ever did.

Kurt quickly looked her up and down, taking in her outfit. The black jeans she wore were a little too baggy for his taste. Her shoes he couldn't quite place, but they looked like a mix of crocs and office heels. She had on a stripy shirt in faint yellow and creamy white, and to complete her oh so ordinary housewife look, she had her hair in a ponytail. Her form was slim and she had curves in the right places, but the way she'd styled herself made her look like a square. Kurt cringed.

She pulled him into a hug, totally forgetting about the heavy back he was carrying, making it a very awkward embrace. She then ushered him inside, taking the bag from him.

"It's so good to see you," she smiled and kissed him on the cheek. Kurt was too angry with her to appreciate any kindness she might show him and jerked away a bit. He saw her as the woman to ruin his life even further. "How about I give you a tour of the place, and we'll go get the rest of your stuff afterwards?" she proposed, and he shrugged. The apartment she'd rented had a combined living room/kitchen, two bathrooms and three bedrooms. She explained to him that she'd use the smallest room as an office, and he'd get to choose from the remaining two, which should be his room. She showed him the kitchen, which was of a decent size, and he decided, he'd be spending a lot of his time behind that stove.

Kurt had expected the place to be flooded with moving boxes, since his aunt was only moving in the same day as he was. He knew she'd gotten her stuff moved from Los Angeles the week before, but he only saw a pile of about five boxes in the corner of the living room. Didn't she have more stuff?

She showed him the room she planned to be an office and then moved on to the two rooms that would be their bedrooms. Kurt had warmed up to her a bit. She was all sorts of kind to him, but he just couldn't shake the hatred of off him. She was still the one to drag him away from everything he found comfortable.

"All right, so this room has no view, but it's the biggest," she said as she opened the door. Kurt stepped inside and looked around. The walls were clad in standard white wallpaper, and she'd been right; the view of the window only showed the building opposite it. The room was however a decent size, and it had a pretty nice closet, though it wasn't as big as the one he had at ho... in his old room. He had to learn not to call the house in Lima his home anymore.

"Kurt," his aunt called to get his attention. She smiled at him and walked a little closer. "I know how much you love styling and fashion, and I know you don't exactly want to be her. But I really want to show you, it will be okay to be in Westerville," she said softly before handing him a card of some sort. "So as a sort of moving in present, I give you unlimited use of this card to decorate whatever room you choose. I'll gladly help you paint and stuff, but what color and all that is totally your own choice."

Kurt held the card in his hand and more than anything, he felt like breaking it in half. She really thought, she could buy his accept and trust? He looked up at her, taking in her silly smile and kind eyes. That smile. He'd only been 11 when his mother died, but he remembered a smile that shone like his aunt's. Damn. He couldn't hate that smile. He decided on something in between hatred and love.

"Thank you," he said, tonelessly. Just because he decided not to hate her, didn't mean he would make her feel like she'd won.

"You're welcome," she said with a smile. They walked into the next room and Kurt was sold. If he should decorate any room in that apartment it just had to be the one he'd just entered. There wasn't much difference from the other room, but what got Kurt hooked was one of the walls. It was the smallest of them all, but instead of being painted over, when the last owner moved, it had been kept the way it was. It was still white, but someone had used a black permanent marker and written all over the wall.

"Of course you can paint over that wall," his aunt said, but he silently shook his head. He dragged his eyes to the other wall, where two floor-to-ceiling windows showed him a beautiful view of the city. He could see as far as the park a good 10 minute drive from there.

"I'd like this room," he told his aunt, and she smiled.

"Then let's go get your stuff. I bought a mattress for you, and I hope you're okay sleeping on that, until you decide which bed you'd like. If not we'll have to put the couch up today," she said, and he told her a mattress on the floor would do for now.

Kurt had parked his car down in the little courtyard that belonged to the apartment building, and with combined effort they got all of his five cardboard boxes to the fourth floor. It was a relatively new building. His aunt had rented the top floor for them, and on his way up the stairs, Kurt gathered from the lack of names on the mailboxes that only two of the four apartments were rented. That left two rows of empty windows visible from the street.

"I think that's it. Now, what would you like for lunch?" his aunt asked as they put down the last of his luggage. "I think I saw a really nice Japanese place on my way here this morning. Let me go look them up," she said, and walked out of the room. Kurt was then alone in what would be his new room. Even though he'd been reluctant at first on the whole buy-whatever-you-want-for-your-room thing, he was already picturing things like wallpaper and fabrics. He'd have to get some samples as soon as possible.

He heard his aunt talking on the phone in the living room and sighed. This was where he'd live from now on. At least until he turned eighteen and could move to New York. Actually he hadn't thought of his New York dreams for a long time. Not since the end of May. Would Westerville change that? Could it really be that he was leaving not only his friends, but also some of his sorrow behind by leaving? No, that couldn't be it; he still felt like crying and screaming every time, he thought of his parents.

With a sigh Kurt started unpacking.

May 24th

Blaine

He was late. Not for something where you'd just say 'whatever – five minutes won't matter', but late for something of significance. Warblers practice. His whole life seemed to revolve around those three hours a week, where he'd get up and join his friends in an explosion of feelings.

"Hey, Blaine! Wait up!" someone called from behind him. He immediately stopped, though he knew he'd just be even later for practice. Damn, that was what his friends had made him promise not to do... He'd not do it next time.

Running towards him was a guy Blaine recognized from his psychology class. His name he'd temporally forgotten, but he clearly remembered those blue eyes and his brown curls. Blaine's first thought of him had been of how cute he looked in a Dalton tie.

"Hi," the guy said with a bright smile on his face. Blaine politely returned it. "My name's Andrew O'Brien – we're in Psychology together?"

"Yeah, I remember," Blaine assured him. He looked – well, not nervous, but out of his element.

"So, I've always really wanted to talk to you, and my friends told me to just go for it. Like with a band aid, you know. Anyway, they got me convinced to ask," Andrew said in such a hurry that Blaine had a difficult time following.

"Okay? What is it that you wanna ask me?" Blaine pressed, still smiling politely. He was really late.

"I-I wanted to see, if you'd be interested in meeting up for like coffee or something? I mean, like a date, if you'd want it to be. It'd be fine as just friends too, though," Andrew explained with a pleading look on his face. Blaine was taken back. He was gay?

"Wow. Uh- coffee? I mean, yeah, I'd be up for coffee," he replied, frowning. He let his eyes take in the boy in front of him. He was cute and from what he'd heard in their shared class, he wasn't unintelligent or rude. And to be completely honest, Blaine was flattered. He'd never had someone openly ask him out before. He was still getting used to Dalton being a safe environment for guys to date. The last time he'd tried walking with a boy on his side, had landed him in the ER on the night of a school dance.

"Is that a yes?" Andrew hoped.

"Yes," Blaine laughed, still a little thrown off. "When and where did you have in mind?"

"I was thinking later this week? I'll let you pick the place," was the reply he got. Blaine quickly got out an unused piece of paper from his bag, writing his number on it, before handing it to the waiting boy in front of him. "How about Thursday? We'll go after school," he suggested, before explaining how late he was for Warblers practice. Andrew gladly took his number and when Blaine turned around to run for the choir room, the last thing he saw, was Andrew smiling happily.

"See you Thursday," Andrew called after him, as Blaine raised an arm in good bye.

"There he is! You are more than fifteen minutes late, Warbler Anderson. You have a good excuse?" Wesley Montgomery required as soon as he stepped inside the choir room.

"My apologies, council, my last class ran late and then I was held up in the hall on my way here," Blaine explained, dropping his satchel by one of the uncomfortably hard couches spread out in the room. Everyone was already gathered and ready to begin – clearly they'd been waiting for him.

"Of course you got held up in the hall," Wes sighed, returning to the agenda of that day's meeting.

June 8th

Kurt

After carefully planning his trip online and driving around town, getting lost more than once, Kurt found himself comparing pillowcases. One was a grayish color decorated with little dots in black, the other one was black and had a cross in red on it, like it was a wrapped up gift. He held up a third pillowcase he hadn't considered, wondering if it would match better.

His problem was making a decision and not just on which cover his pillows should carry, but on everything about this new room. He'd first considered making it look like his old room at his old house, but had then completely eliminated the idea – he did not need another reminder of the life he once had. He'd then considered a more feminine yet still masculine style, like with draperies and a morocco inspired theme, but had then decided against it, since it was never his dream having to carry heavy rugs to the fourth floor.

With a sigh Kurt threw both pillowcases in the cart, gaining a little satisfaction by knowing his aunt would be missing another 25 dollars on her account. He was sure she could afford it, but it still made him feel like he had some power over her. Since he moved in, she'd only been home a couple of hours that afternoon and to sleep at night. Else she'd been busy at her new job and with getting things 'taken care of' as she phrased it. Kurt's decision about not hating her was slowly fading, and he'd adopted this killer look, showing how disappointed he was, whenever she was home.

Absentmindedly he wheeled further into the store. He'd had problems finding the place, but had been so grateful for such a well-equipped shop relatively close to the apartment. They had both furniture and knick-knack for him to decorate with. He'd soon after moving in discovered that his aunt had only brought what he would describe as absolute musts from her life in LA. He'd asked her where the rest of her stuff had gone, and she'd just looked at him funny and told him that what was in those five or so boxes was all she owned. Kurt then gained permission to decorate the rest of the apartment too.

"Can I help you?" an overly friendly voice asked from behind him. Kurt realized he'd been staring at the same chair for the last five minutes without moving. He turned around and was met by soft blue eyes covered by a pair of heavy glasses and a sweet smile. Had he not been in a decorating crises, he'd be tearing those glasses off her face. They ware practically fashion suicide.

"I- no, thank you. I'm just looking," he told her, pointing towards the chair.

"All right, call if there's anything I can help you with," she politely said and turned to leave. That's when Kurt saw her socks.

"Oh dear God," he breathed, but refrained from telling her of how her brown and yellow knee high socks were affecting not just her own look, but the whole store's visual image. Instead he gave up on doing any more shopping, grabbed a catalog and paid for the few items he'd managed to decide on. Only 57 dollars were drawn from the card.

March 27th

Blaine

Though Blaine wasn't really trying to sneak his way in, he wasn't exactly holding his head high either. He carefully closed the terrace door, making it all the way to the stairs before his dad appeared out of nowhere.

"Hey, Blaine. Where have you been?" he asked with a smile. His question was simply curious and not demanding at all, but Blaine got thrown off and forgot all of his plans to lie about his date with Andrew.

"Out for coffee with a friend from Dalton," he told him, nervously crossing his ankles and rubbing off his sweaty palms in his pants. He was still wearing the uniform required for students at Dalton, but couldn't really care, as he saw the look on his father's face. It was a rummaging look. He wanted to know if Blaine's nervous appearance indicated this 'friend' was more than just that.

"Montgomery's kid?" his father wanted to know. Blaine let out a pausing sound before denying.

"No, not Wes." His father took a sip from the coffee cup he was holding.

"Who then?" Now his question was demanding. Demanding Blaine tell him the truth instead of trying to get out of it.

"A-a guy I have a class with, A-Andrew O'Brien," Blaine stuttered, cursing himself for acting like a frightened toddler. His father's brows furrowed, he was clearly trying to come up with an O'Brien of money. Blaine hadn't asked, but he never got the impression that Andrew's parents were anyone special. Could he make up some lie? No, the way his father was staring at him, he would know if he tried to tell anything but the entire truth.

"Were you studying?"

"Um – no. We just had coffee," Blaine told the stairs. He really just wanted to go take a shower and never talk about this with his father ever again.

"On what occasion?" Blaine was practically squirming.

"H-he asked me, if I wanted to have coffee with him earlier this week." It was now clear to his father what kind of coffee his son had had with this O'Brien kid – and what he thought about it.

"It's late. Your mom's in the kitchen. Make sure to wash your hands before we eat," he said before disappearing into his office. Blaine felt like crying or maybe screaming. He'd had a good time with Andrew. He hadn't felt that instant connection they always talk about in books and movies, but he'd felt... good for a change. He knew, he and Andrew would never be something big, but he'd like to see him again – if not for a date, then just as friends. They had a lot in common and he was easy to talk to. But no matter how good someone made him feel, his father would always be there to make him miserable again.

Blaine decided to take his shower before dinner, since he almost felt dirty after that brief chat with the man that called him his son. After having dried his curls, he helped his mother in the kitchen, preparing a salad, consisting of only lettuce, tomatoes and cucumber – really, would it kill her to serve something more than water based vegetables?

He then lay the table, putting extra effort into decorating it with colorful napkins and candles, because as his mother put it: "We're allowed to get a bit fancy". Only when his mother knocked on the door to his father's office and told him dinner was on the table, did he join his family in the obliged happy time of 'just the three of them'. Normally Blaine wouldn't even be home on a Thursday, but he'd been exempted from school the following day, because of an appointment his mom was dragging him to with an ophthalmologist. She was convinced he needed glasses, though he kept saying he was fine.

"Can I have the pasta, please?" his mother happily cheeped, thanking her husband, as he got it for her. "I hope you'll like it."

Blaine put a forkful on his tongue. They were having spaghetti bolognese, but it was always fun to see how his mother could absolutely kill any recipe. Blaine had had better at his boarding school. He remembered one of his first visits at David's house where they'd had this exact dish, and he'd nearly spit the first forkful back onto his plate, because it was just so spicy. He later learned that it was not David's family making strong tasting food – it was just his mother who refused to even add salt to spaghetti in fear of ruining it.

"It's great, mom," Blaine complemented her, making her smile.

"Yeah, just as always, my dear." Blaine was surprised by his father's cheerful tone. Was he not suppose to be mad? Maybe he was just keeping his wife out of it.

"Thank you." They ate a bit with his parents talking about work and something about hiring a lawyer to take care of an unreasonable hospital bill they'd been sent, when Blaine's grandmother got in the hospital. She'd had a minor surgery and had luckily survived both the procedure and not being able to smoke for four days while admitted, but the bill his parents had been presented with had been downright insolent.

"I'll look into it later this week," Blaine's father decided and thereby closed the conversation.

"Do that," his mother agreed, eating another forkful of air. "How was your day, sweetie?" she asked Blaine with a smile. He finished chewing before speaking – some manners they had taught him.

"It was fine," he replied. He knew, if he wanted to tell his mom of Andrew, she would be more than delighted, but he saw how his father had stiffened in his seat at the mention of Blaine. No way was he voluntary bringing that up again.

"Just fine? Well, that sounds exciting," she said in a humored voice. "Anything you want to tell us about?" Blaine knew it was an innocent question, but he couldn't help but feel put on the spot.

"We got our English papers back today," he offered with a shrug. "I had this bad feeling about it – you know, how sometimes you just know something is missing? Turns out my teacher felt the same. I just feel so annoyed knowing I could have done better. I got a decent grade for it though."

"What did you get?" his father asked in an unimpressed voice.

"Life is more than report cards," his mother mumbled, but was overheard.

"I got a B minus," Blaine told his father, almost gaining the strength to meet his gaze. And instead of acting like a dad telling his son "That happens even for the best of us" or "You'll do better on the next one – I can help you if you'd like", his father just returned to eating his dinner with a frown and an utterly exhausted look on his face.

"A B minus is not just a 'decent grade', honey. You can be proud of that," his mother told him, and he sent her a thankful smile. That was what he needed; a normal parent. Someone to tell him he did good. Someone who would give him a boost of confidence even if he didn't always deserve it. "What else did you do today?" she wondered. Suddenly the table was flooded in red wine. Blaine looked up to see his father sending a apologetic smile towards his mother, who was frantically dabbing the place were the wine had hit the tablecloth. "Oh no," she all but cried.

"I am so sorry. Let me go get a towel," his father said before leaving the table.

"Get something stain removing too," she called after him. As she was desperately rubbing the stain, cursing over how impossible it would be to get off, Blaine couldn't help but wonder if his father had knocked over his wineglass on purpose.

June 10th

Kurt

After almost a week of living with his aunt, Kurt found himself kneeling before The Wall in his room just as he'd done nearly every day for the five days he'd been living there. He'd divided his room in three parts. There was still no furniture aside from a chair he'd temporarily borrowed from the kitchen.

The mattress his aunt had gotten him made up one part of the room; his sleeping space. He'd put the chair there too as a kind of bedside table. He'd decided, as long as he still only had a mattress to sleep on, he'd put it in front of window, to be able to enjoy the view both when he woke up and went to bed. Another part of the room was his dressing area. He'd been able to empty two of his boxes in the closet before it was absolutely filled, so he'd had to leave the rest of his clothes packed up. The last part of the room revolved around The Wall. The night of his arrival, he'd kneeled down in front of it to read some of the inscriptions. He'd found most of them to be lyrics and poetic quotes. Up against the wall he'd left the box filled with his music and book collection in it. There was pictures in there too, old gifts from friends and family and quite a few posters too. He'd never been one for having posters on the wall, but he was seconds away from throwing them all up there to just have done something with his new room. Kurt Hummel had never before found himself stuck on decorating – keyword being 'before'. He was absolutely stuck. None of his ideas did it for him. Either they were too much, too little, not him or just... wrong. He'd worked himself through dozens of catalogs already, but nothing really caught his eye.

The only thing he knew for sure about was The Wall. He would not be painting it over, but one thought had not been willing to leave his thoughts. Could he add his own quotes?

That was what brought him to sit by The Wall on a dull Thursday evening, where he'd once again been left alone in the apartment, with a permanent marker in his hand. Hesitantly he turned it around in his hand before lifting it to rest at the white wall. It wasn't as easy writing on the wallpaper as he'd first thought, but with a bit of trying he was able to write what he wanted.

With a satisfied look on his face he got up and continued his evening with a moisturizing routine specially made for times where he'd have nothing else to do. He felt better knowing his words were up there on the wall, and as he added cremes and cleansing liquids to his face, the words 'Life is fraughtless, when you're thoughtless' shining down at him in thick ink.

September 3th

Kurt

"So you're attending Dalton in a couple of days. How do you feel?" Kurt's psychologist, Dr. Pacer, asked him at their last session before Kurt's first day of school as a junior. Dr. Pacer was a sweet woman with black hair and a slightly crooked nose. Her eyes were big and innocent and sometimes made Kurt feel like he was spoiling a child. She just seemed like such a newbie, though the many diplomas decorating her office walls were saying otherwise.

It was a nice office though. Kurt had at first been afraid to see a collision of black and leather, but to his surprise and delight, Dr. Pacer had had someone professional design her colorful office. The windows were decorated with small window stickers of stars in colors of gold and silver. Her desk was metallic and had an almost blue shine to it. The walls were painted a soft green, and Kurt had read enough about interior design to know that green was a soothing color. Did Dr. Pacer have stressed clients? Maybe even violent ones? The woman in front of him didn't seem like someone who could stand up for herself, if someone decided to attack her.

"I'm fine," Kurt told her, but without smiling. She moved a little on the chair, not pressuring him into saying anything. A couple of minutes went by in absolute silence before Kurt felt he just had to break it. "I mean, it's not like I'm looking forward to it."

"Why not?" she questioned. He sighed.

"Because I just want to go back," he said with a shrug. "Westerville isn't home to me. I've been to the apartment maybe a total of ten times over the summer," he explained, crossing his legs as he'd seen people do when interviewed. Though he'd seen Dr. Pacer since March, he still didn't feel comfortable telling her stuff his parents should be hearing. He knew that if she found something suspicious, she had every right to tell his aunt. Kurt knew he was seen as a fragile creature to not push, not question without thought and not trigger. He really was surprised that his aunt had wanted a kid as damaged as him. He was on two kinds of anti depressive medication – one scientific and the other one herbal – and everyone was always preaching about how delicate he should be treated. Even his friends had been told to take it easy around him. He was partially forbidden to hear upsetting gossip and Mercedes had a really hard time filtering what was upsetting and what wasn't, so mostly she just kept her mouth shut.

"So when not in Westerville at your apartment, where were you?" she asked him.

"At my friend Mercedes' house. And at my old house," he said, before he went quiet.

"What were you doing at your old house?" She got out her pad, ready to take notes.

"I- I emptied the house with help from my father's girlfriend and her son," he told her, scratching his nose to hide his trembling bottom lip. Dr. Pacer didn't miss it though and made another note.

"Now, what was that like?" she slowly asked. He took in a shaky breath.

"Dreadful," he told her, not trusting his voice to speak anymore than that. He was remembering the boxes filled with his dad's belongings in the hallway and Carole with her marker, walking around, labeling the boxes with only three words – 'Kurt', 'Charity' and 'Storage'. When she wrote storage in her neat handwriting Kurt felt his heart drop. Three boxes and a couple of furniture was going with him to Westerville, but a lot of his family's things were packed up and ready to go to one of those self storage places, where they'd be until someone needed them. Kurt had not wanted much from the home, and though he had assured Carole that she could take what she wanted, she hadn't felt like getting anything other than a picture of the two of them and a single t-shirt.

"What part of it?" Dr. Pacer pushed. Kurt closed his eyes, mentally curling up in the chair, though he sat just as stiff as he had for what felt like hours.

"Ehm... It was all very - intense." He tried finding the right word, but intense was all that really came to mind. The three of them had barely spoken as they packed, but somehow Kurt just knew that this was it for Carole Hudson. She wouldn't try love again. He'd gotten the story of how a lawn painter had stolen her heart and made promises to her just to take off with some blonde chick and leave her alone with Finn and a dried out lawn. Add her husband, Christopher, who had died in war and Burt who she no longer had either, Kurt wasn't surprised that Carole got next to no sleep and was constantly sad. Each lover had cut their own scars in her skin. Scars too deep to ever really heal.

"Can you try and explain?" she prompted in a soft voice.

"Like... It felt- I'm... It was-" He cut himself off with a deep sigh. Dr. Pacer wasn't going to pressure him, he knew, but he felt as if it was important to put words to his feelings. But his brain wouldn't let him. Kurt shook his head.

"No? All right," she said softly, scratching something off her pad. "How do you feel?"

"I'm fine," he assured, forcing a tired smile at her.

"I got you some books that I thought you could maybe take a look at," she said, pushing a stack of books towards him. Kurt put them in his satchel, but knew he would probably just skim through one of them the day before his next appointment with her.

"Thank you," he murmured.

"Is there anything you want to talk about before we part?" she offered, but Kurt shook his head. He didn't need a professional to talk to. He had needed her in the beginning, but it was becoming clear to him that someone who got paid to listen wasn't what he needed. I want a parent, he thought as he made his way out of Dr. Pacer's office and out on the streets of Lima. The problem was that a parent wasn't an option. But if he couldn't get the comforting touch of his mom and dad then what did he need? Hopefully the answer would show itself soon, because Kurt wasn't sure how much longer he could stand not knowing.

The phrase Kurt writes on the wall is from the song 'Dancing through life' from Wicked