"Do you think hes dead?" sounds a muffled, unfamiliar voice.

"I dont know," responds a second unfamiliar voice. His tone is riddled with fear.

"Why did you have to hit his head! I said we were just going to grab him-"

"It was in the spur of the moment!"

"Next time follow my command-"

The soft nervous chattering dies away when Blaine groans as he slowly regains consciousness. His head feels like it is in a turmoil. His mind throbs hard as he slowly tries to open his eyes. He barely remembers what happened- his last memory was of trying to catch up with the boy, Kurt Hummel, and then everything was a blur. He slowly flutters his eyelids, trying to adjust to the light, before he opens them fully to be greeted with the sight of four boys looking down at him as he lays on the ground on his back.

"Greetings," says one of them, flashing an awkward smile.

In a swift second, Blaine leaps to his feet, enduring the throbbing pain in the back of his head, and grabs one of the boys by his collar, pushing him up a wall- practically huffing through gritted teeth and nostrils.

"Who knocked me out," coherently ask Blaine, glaring at the boy whom shrinks.

"We-- didnt mean to," stammers the boy. "Please dont kill me," he begs in a hoarse, genuine tone.

Looking straight into the boys eyes, Blaine eases his hold because he was barely a threat. The boy has an auburn Afro hairstyle, rectangular spectacles that sit carefully on the crook of his nose, his face littered with zits with pus on its brim. Aside from that, he genuinely looked frightful. Once the choke hold is released, the boy sighs in relief and attempts to straighten his wrinkled clothes out- though it did no justice because he still looked as bad.

"Were sorry for knocking you out," says the boy as he retreats back to his three friends who all look like carbon copies of his kind.

"Why did you do that," ask Blaine as he rubs the little bump on the back of his head. It feels swollen. "And who the hell are you guys anyway?"

The four boys seem a little nervous as they glance at each other, nudging each other to answer. It took a few seconds of soft mutterings within their little colony before the boy with the Afro sighs and steps forward, a little reluctantly however.

"My name is Jacob Ben Israel-"

"Sounds like a mouthful," responds Blaine.

"You can call me JBI if you want. Thats what ma posse calls me," says the boy, in which he crackles at his own joke, only to clear his throat quickly when he realized nobody else was laughing with him.

"This is Jamie Rudolph," tells the boy, introducing the person next to him who has a big huge boil on his nose that is throbbing red. He resembles a particular animal with his similar last name- Rudolph the reindeer.

"Uranius Johnson," tells the boy, introducing the person next to him with the very, very unfortunate name. Blaine holds his breath so hard, not wanting to laugh despite how hilarious that name was. The boy has one lazy eye, his two front tooth protruding out of his face, and is a little obese.

"And that is Phat Ho," tells the boy, pointing at the far end of the line.

"Fat hoe?" ask Blaine, needing to be clear he heard that correctly and that it was not a side effect from the lump at the back of his head.

"Its Chinese," tells the boy, whom apparently really does hold the name Phat Ho. He has very small eyes, a haircut that looked DIY and a very skinny frame hidden under clothes two sizes bigger than him.

"I bet it is," says Blaine, fighting the urge to laugh.

"You must be wondering why we called you in here-"

"Called? You manually manoeuvred me in here out of my free will and hit me with something really hard that made me unconscious."

"I know, and were terribly sorry about that. Uranius got a little rowdy-"

Again, Blaine finds himself having to hold his breath. He does not want to be rude and laugh at somebody elses misfortune, but he couldnt help but to question why their parents gave them such names. They were probably drunk to an oblivion when it came to picking the names for their child.

"Can you just get on with the part about why you guys dragged me in here please," says Blaine.

"Right. Well, we saw the video of you beating up the football team and you were freaking amazing how you barely moved an inch yet at the end of the video they were all flat on the ground and then Azimo crashed into the bookshelf. You should know that that was the first time anyone has ever stood up to the football team and won," tells the boy.

"Oh. Thanks?" says Blaine. "So you guys nabbed me right off the hallway just to tell me that?"

"Not quite," adds the boy. He looks nervous now more than ever, gulping hard, beads of sweat beginning to form on his forehead. Somehow, he reminds Blaine of a young Carl Harold. "We wanted to ask you if-- if you could-- only if you dont mind because if you do then you could just forget about it but then again it would really mean a lot to us if you would do it but then again no pressure--"

"Would you spit it out?" urges Blaine in an unexpectedly loud tone. His head was throbbing so hard the last thing he wanted to do was listen to this boy stammer for an eternity.

"If you could teach us how to fight like you," hastily says the boy, before he sighs in relief as if that was a plaque he successfully got rid of.

"What?" frowns Blaine, confused at the question.

"Teach us how to fight, and stand up to the football team without them throwing us into the thrash for doing so."

The question clearly was hard, and humiliating for the boys to ask because they stand there with cheeks slightly in a blush, feets shuffling slightly. The Chinese boy, whose name Blaine refuses to even repeat again, hangs his head. It was a sad ordeal to watch.

"Why do you guys want that?" ask Blaine, tilting his head slightly in wonderment.

The same look of nervousness befalls upon all the boys. They clearly had not planned this out properly, or had but is now tongue tied given that it is right in front of them. The boy with the Afro speaks again.

"Because this is our senior year too, and we want to live it up just like everyone else. We dont want to live our senior year in fear of getting thrown into thrash, or shoved into lockers, or get wedgies or slushies-"

"Slushies?" ask Blaine, raising his brow to the boy.

"Its the worst," dejectedly tells the boy, telling the story from the many, many past experiences he has with encountering a slushie. "We want to actually enjoy our senior year, and the only way for us to do that is if we can defend ourselves when the football team comes for us."

"Guys, I would love to help but," sighs Blaine.

Looking at the four, very weak and probable targets of verbal and physical abuse in this dump hole, he feels greatly sorry for them. Somehow it makes him even angrier that a bunch of Neanderthals have made people like these boys live in such fear. He wishes he could help, if the circumstances were different, he would but he is on a greater mission here than to help a bunch of fearful students stand up to jocks. He is not here as a student- he is here as an undercover agent, trying to save the world once again.

"I just cant. Im sorry," tells Blaine, an enormous lump of guilt forming at the pit of his stomach. The look of innocent disappointments falls upon the boys, making the situation even worse.

"Thats fine," sadly responds the afro boy with a subtle sigh. "We werent expecting someone of your caliber to help people like us anyway."

"Someone of my calibre?" frowns Blaine.

"One of the popular kids," tells the afro boy.

"Popular? Im not-"

"I do daily statistic reports for Quinn Fabray because she always wants to know if she is the most demanded girl in this school or not, so I mostly know what the hot trends are at this school. Currently, youre the hottest topic amongst the student body," tells the afro. "Were sorry we hit you on the head and dragged you in here."

"Its fine," tells Blaine, absorbing the information the boy had given him, which definitely would not fly well when Carl finds out. Come to think of it, the afro kid, JBI, does resemble Carl a lot.

"Lets go guys," commands Jacob as he and his three friends begin to grab their bags and head for the door. They all wear very disappointed expressions, and it is a stab into Blaines gut to watch the scene before him.

His job is to save the world, recognition or not, that is his job. To keep the world in a state of sanity, and to keep the people safe. Maybe it is his gut instincts to always help, and to always protect, or maybe it is because these boys genuinely looked miserable. Maybe he took pity on them but he could not explain his next move. He knew Carl would disapprove, frankly he disapproved as well given how short of time they have to get this mission to a closure, but his moral instincts are louder, and stronger.

"Wait," says Blaine. The four boys halt in their stance, eyes boring into Blaine. "If I do this, you guys cannot tell anyone. It has to be between us only, understand?"

"Yes, yes!" excitedly says the afro kid, Jacob. His face practically lights up like a Christmas tree. The other four boys wear big, bright smiles as well as they wait for the final word.

"Then Ill do it," says Blaine, and the boys rejoice with a loud and deafening cheer amongst themselves. Blaine cannot help but to smile at how he made that happen- that little celebration.

-------

Kurt Hummel lays on his bed as the hours draw nearer to dinner time. It had been an awful day in school. Everyday in high school has been awful, to be frank, but today was especially awful- and the cause of that? That new kid, Lance Jackson.

He could not believe the audacity that new boy had to simply, flat out insult him like that. The boy knew nothing of the things he has had to struggle with in life. He was in absolutely no stance to call him weak. It was such a degrading term, more so than any of the vile, cruel names he has been called in his history. It definitely hurt him, what that boy has said- but somehow he could not decide whether was it because he refused to accept the reality of what he is, or was it because he genuinely believed against that word. Nonetheless, he allows his mind to rest, in refusal and denial to think about it anymore.

The soft, monotonous sound of Kurts ringtone goes off at that moment. He stretches across his bed and reaches for his cell phone to find his fathers incoming call on the screen of his iPhone.

"Hi dad," says Kurt, flopping back onto the mattress.

"Hey kid, I got some bad news for ya. I wont be able to make it for dinner tonight, in fact I might be home late. Got a lot to do here at the garage. Is there anything to eat at home?"

"I dont know. Maybe yesterdays left over pasta." says Kurt, fighting the urge to remark- and the previous days ones too.

"If you want, you could order some pizza for dinner. Theres some money on top of the desk in my room."

"Thanks dad, and dont tire yourself out too much, okay?"

"Okay. See you later," tells his father before the line goes dead.

Kurts father has been doing that a lot lately, and frankly Kurt worries for the health of his father. It definitely is not good for a man of his age to work so much. They were financially stable because his father owned the one and only garage in this whole town, so practically everybody goes there to get their cars serviced. He knows his father cannot bear to be at home, especially since his bedroom is one where it used to be Kurts late mothers room as well, which explains why his father has been sleeping on the hard, uncomfortable couch lately- even though he claims he fell asleep there after watching TV. He wishes his father would take it easy, take a few days to mourn before getting his head straighten out and go back to work, but differently people grief in different ways and if this is what his father needs to do to cope with their loss, Kurt really could not say anything.

He goes up to the kitchen and checks the fridge- pasta is delicious and all, but when youve had it for ten consecutive days, it becomes rather unpleasant. Choosing the alternative to order pizza, Kurt climbs up to the second landing of his house- a place he has tried to avoid for days since the passing of his mother. He inhales deeply, bracing himself for the experience.

The bedroom was still the same since the last time he was inside. Clearly his father had not moved a single thing. The bed sheet is still his mothers favourite, one she bought on Black Friday last year. It was at seventy percent off, he remembers clearly because his father had a small altercation with a woman who wanted the same bed sheet.

The vanity table is still filled with his mothers moisturisers and make-ups and hair products. He remembers, as a kid, sitting on the bed and watching his mother get ready for the day. She always looked so beautiful, even before she started putting her make-up on. His mothers favourite, white silk coat was hanging behind the door. Everything was a physical reminder of his mother, and for a second he forgets his objective of being up here. He takes the coat and slips in on, inhaling the sweet perfume of his mother that was still intact.

Kurt loses himself in the memory of his mother, his heart aching at the simple reminder that even though her scent still lingers in this fabric, her physical being is non-existent. They say when your heart breaks, it allows the light in-- but why does he still feel that his heart is broken, but in complete darkness?

Kurt couldnt help himself. He knew it was too much to come up here, but he was stubborn. He regretted it completely. It was too soon to look at his late mothers possessions. He was still a a broken mess. He was not ready to greet the things willingly. Kurt shrugs the white coat off and barrels down the staircase two steps at a time. The house feels as if it was shrinking in on him. The memory of his mother swallowing him whole- the gut wrenching memory of his loss. He burst through the front door- out of the house with its walls closing in, and runs down the sidewalk, tears streaming down his face, his heart hammering in his chest.

----------

"Why the heck were you involved in a fight at that party and how come you never told me about it!" exclaims Carl Harold as he burst into the bathroom where Blaine was showering. He probably saw that viral video.

"Cant this wait?" says Blaine, completely mortified that he has to cover himself with the shower curtain. "In case you havent realized yet, Im butt nude in here!"

"If you didnt bother to tell us about what happened, which by the way is a liability to this whole operation, why the hell should I give you tranquil shower time?" responds Carl in infuriation.

Blaine sighs heavily as he turns off the running water off. "I didnt tell you because I knew youd overreact. Its just a stupid video recorded from a very low quality phone. It wont disrupt this operation at all, okay? Sooner or later everyone will forget the entire thing-"

"Urm, hello? Your moves on that video were specifically taught to you by professional CIA trainers. If anyone out there who has a vendetta against the CIA, which I am betting is a lot of people, sees that video, theyre going to know youre a CIA operative which will then put you in grave danger. What the heck is wrong with you!"

"Carl, can you just calm down for a minute-" tries Blaine as he reaches for the towel and ties it around his waist.

"No I will not fucking calm down!" exclaims Carl as he throws his hands up in the air. "You are putting mine and the rest of the people involved in this operations job at risk. I dont know what the hell is up with you. You know better than anyone how pivotal discretion is when youre in this line of a career. We cannot have a viral video of you beating up a bunch of kids accessible to the world! What were you trying to prove to them anyway? That youre stronger-"

"Of course not!" argues Blaine as Carl follows him out the bathroom. The other CIA operatives are subtly eavesdropping.

"Then what?" ask Carl, crossing his arms over his chest, starring at Blaine expectantly through half moon spectacles.

"They came after me, alright? I was taught to defend myself when somebody attacks me, and also they were bad mouthing that kid. What was I suppose to do? Stand by?"

"Yes!" says Carl, eyes ablaze with rage. "Your job is not to defend the kids honor simply because a bunch of big kids called him names at the playground, nor is it your job to fight back to a bunch of teenagers! Walk the fuck away, youre an adult! Your job is to retrieve the Elizabeth Discovery. You still know what that is, right?"

"Of course I do-"

"Then focus on that!" screams Carl exasperatedly. "Honestly Blaine. Youve always been at the top of the pack, why is it in this one youre slacking off?

"Im not, okay? Getting his trust isnt easy. It takes time," tells Blaine.

"Then you can start right now," says Carl. "I was told by one of the agents we put on guard around the Hummels residence that he saw the kid running out of his house, crying. No danger or anything, we checked," assures Carl as Blaine stands in alert.

"Okay fine. Ill go find the kid," tells Blaine as he storms away from Carl, completely humiliated from being yelled at in front of the entire team of this operation. "And Im not wearing any of those stupid clothes you put together that is, by the way, not how teenagers dress!"

------

Having been driving for a straight hour around the little central part of Lima, Blaine pulls over and sighs heavily, wondering where the kid was. He had drove past the Hummels residence, which is a very humble looking home, past the school, past the local parks and diners but to no avail. He wondered briefly what had happened, and why the kid was seen running out and crying. It worried him for some reason.

Something else was bothering him too. He had been wondering about their lead suspect- Lucius Dame. Something just did not add up. The CIA could track a particular ant if they wanted to, but for some reason they cannot find this man, Lucius. It is as if all their appratus had been tampered with, all their eyes blocked. It was definitely peculiar. The team had been on their backs trying to find out everything they could about this man, but the only thing they have was his identity. Something was off about this operation, but he could not figure out what.

As Blaine turns his the ignition on, wanting to head back to the headquaters, surrending to not being able to find the kid, he looks forward, out the window where the side walk was on the left, and he notices than of a boy sitting on one of the bus stops, legs crossed on the seat. He squints his eyes and recognizes that hair- sandy brown hair. Blaine drives forward, wanting to get a clearer look at the person and almost wanted to thrust his fist up in the air when he realized it was the boy, Kurt Hummel, sitting there alone, staring into space. He drives forward and rolls down his window.

"Any particular reason why youre out so late, on a school night?" ask Blaine. The boy is startled when he is pulled out of whatever reverie he was in. His eyes is riddled with genuine surprise when he realizes who it was.

"Lance?" says the boy. "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same question- though I would ask why are you at a bus stop at eleven PM."

"Im-- trying to get home. Its too far a walk," he tells.

"Im new in this town, but even I know bus services here dont operate past ten."

"They dont?" says the boy. "Explains why Ive been waiting for forty five minutes."

"Come on, Ill give you a lift," tells Blaine as he stretches across the interior of his car and pushes the passenger door open, welcoming the boy.

"Its okay. I dont mind walking-"

"You just said it was too far a walk, and it is way too dangerous to stroll around town at this hour. Hop in."

"Lance-"

"Its actually not a question. If I let you walk home by yourself this late and you wound up dead tomorrow, Im going to be the last suspect considering Ill be the last that ever saw you. So, get in," says Blaine, pulling a smirk at the boy whom sighs heavily. He takes a few seconds more, as if defying against the order, until he surrenders and climbs into the passenger seat.

"Thank you," he mutters quietly. Blaine could not help but to realize how puffy those blue eyes were, and how red his nose was as if hes been having a bad flu for days. His face looks paler than usual, his hair barely coiffed.

"No problem," tells Blaine, choosing to not point that out yet. "Can I ask why are you out so late?"

"I was-- going to get dinner," tells the boy, who took a second to brainstorm a lie. It was obvious to Blaine.

"Going to?" ask Blaine.

"I left my wallet before I went out," he says.

"Who even does that," says Blaine, frowning at the boy whom shrugs indifferently in responds.

Something definitely had happened to the boy. He needed to find out what, not only for the mission, but also to ease his worry. He did not know what is it about this boy. Maybe it is his fragile state and Blaines incessant instinct to protect innocent people that is bridging the gap for Blaine.

"Take a right here," instructs the boy, but Blaine does the opposite and turns to the left, entering a parking lot of a diner instead. "I said take a right," the boy says, riddled with annoyance.

Blaine ignores his instructions and instead pulls into an empty parking space before turning the ignition off. The boy looks positively confounded. "Lets go get something to eat," tells Blaine as he climbs out of his car.

"I really rather just head home," grumbles the boy whom stays rooted in his seat.

"Come on, you said you went out to get dinner but you forgot your wallet. I bet youre starving considering dinner was four hours ago. My treat, okay?" says Blaine as he hunches forward, resting his hand on the roof of the car and looking inside where the boy is still seated.

"Lance-"

"Look, this is my apology for earlier today. I was a jerk, and I apologize. Let me make it up to you by treating you to some very delicious burgers," says Blaine. "Please?"

The boy looks hesitant for a whole, staring at the dashboard as if mustering his courage before he sighs aloud and reaches for the door handle.

"Good then," smiles Blaine.

They walk across the car park, a small proximity in between them. Kurt crosses his arms over his chest as they make their way into the small diner. It looks like a family friendly place, though at this hour there are only two other souls- one sitting at the counter, the other at a far end booth reading a newspaper. Kurt and Blaine slide into one of the booths as a waitress comes to their service.

"Welcome to Arnolds House of Burgers. What can I get you boys?" ask the young girl in a monotonous tone. She looks positively miserable.

"Ill just have a coffee, Kurt?"

"The same-"

"Youre not having just coffee. You havent eaten dinner for God sake. Hell have the triple layered chicken burger deluxe meal with a side of frenchfries, a chocolate milkshake and vanilla ice cream with some rainbow sprinkles," tells Blaine.

"I dont eat that much-"

"Youre starving, I know you are," he tells and from the way the boys head falls, even he knew it was true.

"Coming right up," says the girl as she disappears behind the counter.

"Im not going to finish that you know," tells Kurt.

"Well see," smiles Blaine. "So, what actually happened?"

"What do you mean?" ask the boy, looking perplexed.

"Im no genius, but your eyes are really puffy and your nose is red- an obvious give-away that youve been crying," points out Blaine. "If you wanna talk about it, Im open."

The boy stares at the table design of little peppers with smiley faces. He inhales and exhales at a timely separation. He looks miserable, and tired and as if he hadnt slept for days. Those heavy eyebags of his look unhealthy, he could have very well passed for a zombie.

"Ive been going through a lot of things lately- and I guess it finally got to me today," shrugs the boy.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" timidly ask Blaine. He did not want to pry, even though he obviously knows what the boy is going through. He needed the boy to tell him-- trust him enough to share. He sighs heavily before he lifts his head up.

"My mother passed away recently, and for awhile I was doing fine-- I mean, as fine as a person can be after going through a loss, but today..just wasnt the best of days," he tells.

"Im really sorry," tells Blaine as he rest a hand over the boys, whom flinched for a brief second before relaxing again. His skin is cold, but so very soft.

"Thank you," says the boy, very timidly.

"No, really. For what I said earlier today too. It was insensitive of me," says Blaine, stroking the boys knuckles in comfort.

"Its fine. It wasnt as if you were entirely wrong," says the boy in a very demoralizing tone.

"Youve been through something traumatic, and on top of that having to deal with those Neanderthals every day. Thats a lot for somebody to take," says Blaine. "Dont you have anybody to seek comfort in? Friends maybe?"

A sarcastic snicker slips through those pink lips of his. He looks up with gentle, innocent eyes and a sad smile. "I dont have any friends," he tells.

"I highly doubt that," says Blaine, in disbelief.

"Its true. People just dont find me-- appealing enough or whatever," tells the boy.

Blaine could have very well disconnected his jaw from his face. He could not believe the words that came out of that boy? Unappealing? Those unique set of eyes alone appealed to him- even though it should not have. He still could not help himself but to admire how pretty they looked- definitely something that separates him from other guys. Unappealing was definitely not in the vocabulary to describe Kurt Hummel.

"Are you nuts? Youre crazy appealing," says Blaine, in which the boys cheeks burn crimson and his head falls in flattery.

"Thank you," humbly says the boy, with a small smile pulling across those lips. A smile Blaine found very adorable, he could not deny. In that moment, the waitress comes with a tray in her hand. Kurt quickly snatches his hand away, both in embarrassment and in a way as if he forgot that their hands were with each other.

"Here you go, and dont forget to tip," says the waitress as she shimmies away.

"That was rather demanding of her," says Kurt.

"Ballsy is more like it," tells Blaine as he picks up the cup of coffee on his side of the table. On the boys side, however, is a whole feast laid out in front of him. The burger Blaine had ordered for him is practically eleven centimetres, a plate of aromatic French fries, a tall, mouth watering glass of chocolate milkshake sit around the main course. The boy stares at it with wide eyes.

"Dont worry, your desert will come later," smirks Blaine. The boy laughs dryly, before he picks up a French fry and puts it in his mouth. He instantly relaxes, because food it after all comfort any bad day.

"So how was it like? Beating up the football team and now having everybody talking about you?" ask Kurt.

"It was pretty easy to be honest, those guys go for the straight kill- which is practically suicide," tells Blaine.

"How do you know so much about fighting anyway?"

Blaine couldnt help but to smile at that question. It was definitely one of his favourite questions to be asked, reminiscing back on his glory training camp days, but here- obviously he could not be truthful with the boy of his past.

"I-- watch a lot of movies, I guess," tells Blaine.

"Well, pretty good for someone who learns from movies.

"Im flattered, thank you," says Blaine.

"Can I ask you something else?" says the boy. He looks merrier now, definitely from the effect of having food in his system.

"Of course," says Blaine in welcome.

"Why are you so interested to get to know me?" ask the boy, with a profound legitimacy edge to his intonation. Those eyes bore into Blaine in question.

"You seem like a very nice person, and a good friend. Why wouldnt I be," says Blaine.

"Its just-- its pretty rare when somebody introduces themselves to me, and then stick around longer to get to know me. Its new," tells the boy.

"It shouldnt be," says Blaine under his breath, in which he wasnt even sure if the boy had heard him. He didnt need to, it was something he had to mutter to himself about the boy.

"All the girls are practically swooning to get to know the toughest boy in school as of late- or so Ive heard," tells Kurt with a slight smile on that face of his. The plate of french fries that was full just minutes ago is now empty, and he wasnt sure if the boy even realizes it.

"I dont really care to be honest," tells Blaine.

"Why? Already have a special girl at heart?" he says it with a playful grin.

"Not--exactly," says Blaine, biting his tongue to voice the truth. Discretion, he had to remind himself. "How about you then? Any special guy?"

"In case you havent realize, this town is infected with homophobia. Im the only open gay kid in town," says the boy.

"Must get pretty lonely," says Blaine, studying the boy as he takes that final bite of his huge burger.

"Sometimes," shrugs the boy, though Blaine knows very well it must be hell for the boy.

"You do realize that youre done, with everything?" says Blaine. The boy wipes his mouth and is surprised himself at the empty plates that sit in front of him. "You havent had desert yet."

"I didnt even know I was that hungry," says the boy.

"Well, sometimes we dont know what we want until its sitting in front of us," says Blaine.

-----------------

Once the boy had finished every thing Blaine had ordered for him, they jump back into the car as Blaine makes a slow speed towards the Hummels residence. Somehow, he did not want the night to end. It felt nice talking to someone out of the CIA group for once.

The boy, Kurt, presses himself into the side of the seat as he stares out the window, up in the night sky where there were stars in the street that had no street lights. He was calm, and in a better state than when Blaine had found him. Though he still looked weary, there were colour in his cheeks now as compared to how pale he looked just hours ago. It felt good, knowing he had made that happen for the boy.

"They say that the stars we see are dead, so there is no point in wishing upon a star," tells the boy.

"That is awfully pessimistic," remarks Blaine.

"It makes sense though," tells the boy.

"Why do you say that?"

"Because Ive wished upon so many, yet none have come true," tells the boy.

"Well, a star doesnt just disappear. Its death is a gradual evolution, so maybe your wishes are a gradual evolution as well."

"Ill believe that testament when one of my wishes actually come true."

"Do I get to know what are those wishes?"

"No," tells the boy, the corners of his lips upturned as he stares out the window.

The car pulls to a halt outside a very humble looking place. The boy sighs heavily, as if dreading to head inside. He understood him completely. It must not be easy being surrounded by physical objects that is a constant reminder of his loss.

"Thank you," says the boy as he looks at Blaine straight into his eyes. "For supper-"

"And coming to your rescue," points out Blaine, in which the boy smiles.

"And that, yes," says the boy as he attempts to get out of the car but Blaine stops him, gently holding his wrist. The boy whips his head around, probably a little startled.

"I know youre going through a hard time, and school probably makes the hell twice as difficult, but I want you to know that I am here. You might have been alone in the past, but I am here now, and I am your friend. If you need someone to talk to, or just hang out with, you let me know and I will take you for burgers again, alright?" smiles Blaine.

A shy smile pulls across the boys lips, his cheeks a slight blush. A glimmer flashes across those eyes of his. "Thank you, Lance."

"Goodnight, Kurt," says Blaine.

"Goodnight," says the boy before he clambers out the car and walks up to his house. He turns as he reaches the front porch and gives a bidding wave before he disappears into the house.

He knew he was crossing boundaries here- he knew his mannerisms with the boy was inappropriate considering both their sexualities, but he could not help himself. Something about this boy intrigued him. Maybe it was the way he shifted his weight gracefully every now and then, maybe it was his insecurities that only served to his allure, or maybe it was those hypnotic eyes. Something about this boy was different from all the people Blaine has met in his life, something about the boy made him interested to dig deeper into his core-- and it has nothing to do with the mission.

-------------