It’s cold outside- the unsympathetic air biting at my cheeks, stinging my neck, burning my hands- and almost as soon as I put a foot over the threshold, a shiver bursts through me. My shoulders shuddering automatically as the sensation shoots up my spine- bitter and unexpected - my neck rolling roughly with the feeling, like I‘m trying to force it out of my body with jittering spasms. As it passes and my skin is left tingling, I somewhat instinctively wrap one of my arms across my body, hoping to keep some of my warmth alight inside of me, using my other hand to pull the front door closed quickly, the thud of the wood resounding throughout the hushed, windswept street and making me flinch.

It’s still quite early in the morning but it’s late enough for everyone to be either at work or school. Except for the people like Puck and I, that is- the people who can’t physically drag themselves to school today because they don’t have a place there; for whatever reason. Maybe they literally don’t have a school to attend, like me, maybe they’ve just been kicked out by their principal for fighting, like Puck, maybe they’re too busy hiding an ugly black-and-blue family secret from the world, like Puck and I both have. And I remember what that was like, staring at myself in the mirror in the morning; having to make the decision to stay in that house all day. Knowing that staying there meant that I was practical handing myself over to him, knowing that I couldn’t leave just in case someone saw. In case someone found out. I thought I was in control but I was never in control. I can see that now. I can see almost everything, the way he would…

I close my eyes tightly for a second.

No.

I open my eyes and I ram those thoughts clean out of my head. All of my bruises have faded now. That isn’t my life anymore. It’s not even close. What I have now is so damn pure compared to what I used to call my life. I push my smarting hands into my pockets, hoping to distract myself because since this morning I’m feeling overemotional, the coarse denim of my jeans scraping cruelly against my skin before eventually it allows my hands some respite- a shelter from the bitter breeze that whooshes continuously around us.

I look over at Puck then but he doesn’t look anywhere near as cold as I feel and I wonder if that’s because, in general, my circulatory system has never been particularly good, I mean, Puck’s not even shivering. He’s not hunching his shoulders like I am either, in a desperate attempt to hide the last exposed parts of my neck from the inconsiderate wind. It just keeps cutting into me and when another shudder courses through me Puck smiles. Sincerity shining brightly in his eyes as he laughs to himself, quietly.

By the time we’re out of the driveway and pounding the concrete, our feet rising and falling in unison, and heading in the general direction of the mall, the wind is slowly softening. We’re barely at the end of the street when Puck leans towards me and bumps his shoulder into mine playfully. My arms shoot out from around my waist, to restore my balance and the wind abuses the perfect opportunity to hit me again. Puck grins as I shiver once more and I grit my teeth when the familiar chilled, stinging sensation passes through me. I push my hands back in my pockets. I’m torn between sitting down on the floor and curling into a ball, hoping the wind will just pass right over me, and pushing him back on the shoulder playfully. I don’t get the chance to do anything, though, because before I can do anything Puck does something that I truly don’t expect- he moves his arm effortlessly in my direction and links it through mine. The crooks of our elbows pressed together. My body tenses. I can’t stop it, especially not in this weather when my body is already so rigid. I cringe because there’s no way Puck didn’t feel that.

Noah Puckerman has never been afraid to touch me, that should be made very, very clear, right now, because he has never been shy in reaching out a comforting hand or offering me a warm hug but somehow, some part of me, had honestly thought that it wouldn’t translate to the outside world. Puck has a reputation. Reputations take work. Puck commands respect and there’s a part of my brain that wants to pull my arm away from his, like it hurts, because I’m just some stupid, needy, gay kid with too many problems and too many issues and I’m not worth losing respect over but I don’t. I don’t do anything. My arm twitches though, and that’s enough, because Puck just draws himself impossibly closer to me. If I wasn’t paying quite so much attention to the falling of our feet our thighs would be meeting occasionally and I just can‘t have that.

“Are you okay?” Puck asks quietly, like he knows what I’m doing, like he can see how much concentration it’s taking for me to keep our bodies from meeting much more than they already are. One of his eyebrows raises slightly when I glance at him. It messes up my rhythm and our legs crash into one another, I pull back and decide to focus on the floor. He’s holding onto my arm so tightly. I can feel the anxiety, however misplaced, soaring through my chest. He seems to notice too, of course he does, I think, because my breathing is speeding up way too much and it’s so cold out here that he can physically see the air leaving my body, “Hey,” he says then, slowing our pace down a little, “What’s going on?”

“Puck,” I whisper lowly, my lungs burning, “People can see us out here.” I mutter obviously.

He stops us both dead.

“What?” he asks then, his voice both disbelieving and confused, as he pull his arm away from mine, slowly. I almost cringe at the loss and I’m about to frown when I catch myself and put a stop to it. Isn’t that exactly what I just wanted him to do? I wanted him to stop touching me, didn’t I? That’s what I told myself, at least, for his sake; for his reputation. Puck shouldn’t even be seen with someone like me. If someone from his school sees us they’ll use it against him. That’s what they’re like at McKinley, Kurt’s told me how the popular kids can turn on each other just as quickly as the turn on the more permanent social pariahs.

I’m about to keep on walking, in fact, I’ve almost raised a full foot off the ground, when Puck grabs at one of my hands. His fingers catching mine awkwardly and bending them backwards. I look at him then, confusion undoubtedly written all over my face but that doesn’t matter because he looks completely horrified.

“Tell me what that was supposed to mean?” Puck demands quietly, something lingering darkly in the back of his eyes, it’s intense but it’s nowhere near threatening, “Blaine, just tell me what you meant. Please.” He repeats, noticeably softer this time.

“You shouldn’t walk so close to me.” I offer sincerely, almost inaudibly, and he shakes his head.

“Why not?” he says firmly, almost demanding, but then something unfathomable changes in his face and he adds, “Am I.. am I making you feel uncomfortable?”

I don’t say anything as his free hand moves to my shoulder, holding my bicep loosely, his face serious, “Blaine, this is important? If I‘m upsetting you, you should have stopped me as soon as it started to feel that way for you.”

“No, Puck, that’s not it.” I start before stopping altogether as a woman with a small child walk right past us, their hands clasped firmly together, swinging as they walk. I smile; they look so happy.

“Blaine?” Puck says then and I pull my attention back towards him.

“People might think that you-- ” is all I get out before he cuts me off.

“What? Blaine, why would I care about what people think about me?” He urges quickly and I can’t help but bite my lip. He squeezes my hand and I close my eyes. I need to explain this better.

“You have a reputation, Puck.” I start carefully, a little apprehensive about his reaction. Though, I’m not afraid of Puck, I‘m never afraid of him, “I just don‘t want anyone to think that..” Puck pulls on my hand a little, the other falling down from my arm to grab the other, like he’s trying to make sure I’m looking straight at him for what happens next.

“Say it.” he whispers then, like he can read my mind, like he knows exactly where this is going, his brow furrows heavily, “Just say it.” He reiterates.

I hold my breath then before I nod my head. Heat surging through me as the words burst out of my mouth. My voice ten times stronger than I expected it to be, the words at least a hundred times more painful than I had ever wished them to sound.

“I just don’t want them to think that you’re a filthy fucking faggot, Puck, okay?!” I spit harshly, gritting my teeth before I pull my hands from his firmly and whisper softly, as tears fill my eyes, “I--I don’t want them to think you’re like me.”

Puck tries to reach my hands again then, his face falling, as I stuff them back in my jeans. I feel ashamed and stupid and disgusting. I can’t look up at him. I feel like I have an aura surrounding me; I feel like it’s beaming two different shades of pathetic, right at him. My eyes start to sting.

“You can’t just say something like that and then completely pull away from me.” Puck says quietly, his voice full of conviction, two more people passing us by without so much as a second glance.

Puck continues after a pause, when he’s sure that the strangers are out of earshot, “Blaine, you don’t get to say that about yourself. Ever. Do you understand what I’m saying to you right now?” he asks but the power isn’t quite there anymore. His voice is too low and it wavers far too much towards the end. He reaches out and touches one of my elbows. His fingers are so gentle.

“My father, he said that I--” I whisper in beginning, before I cut myself off completely, pulling a swift hand out of my pocket and bringing it to my face. My fingers rest lightly on my forehead, half-shielding me from Puck’s eyes, as I struggle to fight the memories off- those bitter, emotionally confusing images and those dreadful sounds that my father’s mocking voice would make, all of it, racing through my mind so quickly that it literally blurs. I wish that Kurt was here, more than anything, I wish that he was with me. I need to hear his voice, I need to hear him singing to me. I pinch my fingers together at the bridge of my nose, in one last effort to stop myself from crying. It doesn’t work particularly well, and my vision starts to blur. Those familiar, watery storms brewing heartlessly between my eyelids.

“Those things that your father said, Blaine, they’re not true.” Puck promises quietly, “There’s nothing wrong with you and you know that deep inside yourself. I know you do. That’s not you talking, that’s your father talking and he’s wrong. He was always wrong.” Puck reasons firmly and when I look up at him, his eyes are staring into my damp ones absolutely faultlessly, emitting a powerful sense of unwavering determination and unquestionable commitment.

“You don’t know that. You weren’t there.” I whisper finally, desperately, as tears spill over and run down my face. Puck steps forward then, laying his hands flatly on my shoulders before he adjusts them so that his fingers are on either side of my neck. They’re so tender, so caring, that I’m not afraid of him- even though I though that anyone touching my neck would remind me of being strangled. It doesn’t. Puck’s cool fingers rub soothing circles into my neck and he makes me feel so at ease, so safe, that I start to cry harder. I’m just so overwhelmed. I have so many emotions and all of them are so huge. I feel like my heart is going to explode.

“Blaine, I know because you care about Kurt… and you’d never think he was ‘filthy’ or ‘disgusting’ for falling in love with other boys, would you? And you’d definitely never, ever, call him a faggot. Blaine. I don’t know what your father said to you.. or what he did to you.. but I would bet on my life that every time he called you a faggot you stood up for yourself and you stood up for Kurt.” Puck says passionately and I look up at him then through my teary eyes, his giving face is so close to mine, it’s true, what he said, I fought him for Kurt, but I don’t know how he knows that because nobody knows that… except for me; except for my father.

“I-- I did stand up for Kurt and f-for myself.” I stumble uselessly and he nods once.

“I told you so.” he smiles softly then and for some reason that sends pain straight to my heart, “You were so brave, Blaine.” he whispers and the emotion is smothering me.

“Puck? I--I don’t know what’s happening to me.” I say honestly, and his brow creases, my bottom lip starts to tremble violently and a whimper sneaks past my lips. Puck flinches.

“Shhh. Please, don’t get so upset. You’re just trying to be okay and there‘s nothing wrong with that. I know how confused you probably feel but you’re just testing the things he said to you. You’re just trying to validate what he said in your head. It‘s a completely normal reaction to what you went through.” Puck promises earnestly, moving his hands so that his thumbs wipe most of my tears away before he continues.

“You’re doing this with me because you trust me and I‘m so grateful that. I know what’s happening in your head right now because I did the same thing with Finn. I’ve been exactly where you are, Blaine. You’re just trying to find the evidence to prove that he was wrong.. and that’s okay because he was wrong, Blaine, and I can tell you that all day if you need me to. I can tell you that forever.” Puck pledges as he wraps his steady arms around me, his warm body pressing against my cold form. I cling to him.

“I’m so sorry.” I sob against his chest and I can feel him shaking his head. He sways us softly.

“Don’t be sorry. I don’t want to sound like a robotic clich� here but you really are perfect the way you are, Blaine. Being gay doesn’t make you less of a man, less of a human, less of an anything. Being scared sometimes isn’t shameful, it just proves that you feel with your whole heart and your heart is fucking golden, Blaine. You’re such a beautiful person. And it’s always alright to cry.. because that tells you that you’re still alive; that you‘re still fighting and I’m so fucking proud of you for that. You’re so much stronger than you think you are. You think you’re this weak boy who’s dragging everyone down with him but you’re not. You’re a teenager who’s trying, so hard, to reclaim himself and his life after it‘s been taken away from him for most of his life. Fuck it. I’m going to keep telling you this, until you believe me; I don’t even care if I sound like a soap opera or a broken record.” He presses a gentle kiss on top of my head then.

“Puck--” I whisper as I pull back from him, “We should keep walking, it’s cold.”

“Okay.” he says and when he pulls away from me he links his arm back through mine and we start walking again. The crooks of our elbows pressed together once more. The warmth of his body reminding me that I can feel and that I‘m alive. Our thighs brush together occasionally but I don’t mind, not anymore, because Puck doesn’t care at all.

We’re sitting comfortably in a overly bright caf�, which has far too many shades of yellow painted on the walls for my liking, drinking tall mugs of deliciously warm hot chocolate, when Puck takes a long, indulgent sip of his drink and says, with a mischievous glint in his eyes, “So, you and my boy Kurt, huh, what’s with that, dude?”

I think about it for a while- taking in both Puck’s curious question and the ambience of the establishment - we haven’t been seated here for more than five minutes. I watch as Puck takes another sip of his drink, his dark eyelashes fluttering as his throat gulps rhythmically. Then he uses the back of his hand to wipe at his mouth as he asks, “Well?”

“I don’t know.” I say honesty, stirring my drink in one, swooping clockwise motion before laying the spoon back on the saucer. A tiny clank echoing around us. It’s busy in the mall today, despite it still being early and a week day, and nobody seems to notice the noise I‘m making. And I’m glad that we seem to blend in somewhat perfectly because I’m sure my eyes must still be red from crying.

“You do like him, though, right?” Puck asks eventually and I nod, of course I like him, he’s Kurt Hummel.

He waits for me to speak.

“He’s just so--” I start pointlessly, trying to explain myself, but I don’t know how to finish that sentence because what is Kurt? What is he really? Amazing. Talented. Beautiful. All of that. I think so.

“Hot?” Puck offers at last and I raise an eyebrow before I correct him, “Perfect.”

“Are you ever going to tell him?” Puck asks lightly then, he’s obviously interested but he’s not prying, I shrug.

“I can’t tell him.” I mumble and Puck frowns a little, his eyes creasing at the corners.

“Why not? You don’t have to tell him right now but you should tell him eventually.” Puck suggests, raising his drink to his lips again. I wait until he has a mouthful of liquid before I speak again.

“He might not feel the same way about me.” I share then because, ultimately, that’s one of my biggest fears. I fear that I’ll say something to Kurt, confess something big, that he doesn’t quite share for me, and then I’d have damaged the perfection that we already have.

“Oh, he does feel the same.” Puck says instantly, a knowing look fleeting over his face.

“He’s never told you that, Puck, no way.” I say because I can’t see Kurt doing that and Puck just shrugs.

“Maybe not in so many words, but the fact that every time you’re around his whole world lights up… that tells me everything.” Puck say playfully, his hands wrapped around his mug.

“I’m so complicated, Puck.” I offer eventually, apologetically, staring fruitlessly at the patterns on the tiled floor.

“Kurt comes with thirty different face creams, that’s complicated.” Puck snorts then and I smile too.

“Hey, he likes to look after himself, that’s not a crime.” I laugh in Kurt’s defence and Puck looks at me as if to say: If you say so.

“Neither is telling him how you really feel.” that’s what he actually says.

“I don’t know exactly how Kurt makes me feel.” I confess, more to myself than to the curious boy opposite me.

“I think he makes your heart skip it’s beats. I think he makes you smile without trying. I think you look at him sometimes and you just turn to goo.” he offers and he’s not mocking me now, he’s being very serious. His fingers ghosting over the wood of the table.

“Puck..” I start.

“I know he’s your best friend, Blaine; I know you don’t want to damage that but sometimes you just have to take a chance. I think he’d have taken a chance on you if he thought you were okay enough to handle it. I think he’s just waiting… so he doesn‘t feel like he‘s taking advantage of your situation.”

“I don’t know, Puck.” I say, my uncertainty very poorly masked.

I cringe.

“And that’s totally fine.” he says quickly, “You have to come first, Blaine, because you have a lot of stuff going on right now. Though, as soon as you feel able to.. you should tell him exactly how you feel. Maybe you do only see him as a best friend, maybe you see him as much more… but there’s not a single doubt in my mind that he’s there for you no matter what. The love between you both, whatever that is, it’s solid.” Puck finishes before he freezes, like he thinks he’s said too much, a soft blush ghosting his cheeks.

I just stare because I never thought I’d see Puck blush.

“Aww, look, you’re a big softie under that scowl, Puckerman.” I say teasingly and he glares over at me.

“Keep it under wraps, Anderson.” he threatens lightly.

“You’re sweet.” I push and he cringes. A smile pulling effortlessly at the corners of my mouth; Puck looks increasingly uncomfortable.

“And you’re in deep shit if you keep grinning at me like that.” Puck frowns before it bleeds into a smile.

“I thought you loved me?” I pout and he rolls his eyes.

“I do.” he whispers, “Nowhere near as much as you love Kurt’s ass, though.” he finishes and I can feel my eyes widen; searching the room quickly to see if anyone is looking in my direction as a warm, heavy blush covers my cheeks. He just laughs.

“Hurry up and finish your drink, Anderson, you and I have a date in the park. It’s monkey bar time.” Puck smiles and it must be contagious because I laugh right back at him, and I know that I mean it.

“So, how was your day with the elusive Noah?” Kurt asks softly as he drops his heavy looking school bag onto the ground, the flap bursting open, allowing a pile of text books to slide onto the floor. His shoulders sag in response and he sits down on the edge of his bed, his spine bent as he rest his forearms on his thighs, one of his hands trying to scoop down and pick up a book but he misses it completely. He’s clearly had a hard day. I shoot him a look of adoration and understanding even though he can’t see it because he’s too busy staring at the floor.

“We went to the park, which was a lot of fun.” I say eventually and Kurt nods, frowning down at the books on the floor, “It’s okay, I’ll pick those up for you, Kurt.” I say then and he turns his head to look at me. A look of absolute gratitude written all over his face. His beautiful eyes not shining quite as bright as they usually do, he just stares at me, my heart starts to pound.

“Thank you.. I’ve had such a rough day today. I have so much course work to catch up on, Blaine, and I‘m completely exhausted after the drive home. It honestly felt like forever.” He finishes and I nod in sympathetic consideration, standing up almost immediately to walk around to where Kurt is sitting. I crouch down on the floor next to him then and start gathering his books, random pieces of paper jutting out everywhere, I just tuck them inside and stack them all in a neat pile. Kurt would be happy with that. I look at him and he smiles softly.

“I could just fall asleep.” he whispers next and I nod, watching as his eyelids flutter.

“Lie back on the bed.” I say then and he raises an eyebrow in my direction- but he can‘t hold it there for long- before a yawn bursts out of him.

“Please, Kurt.“ I ask again and he does it this time. I’m not sure he has the energy to protest my request, though, so he just crawls backwards and lies down, flat on his back. His arms falling to his sides. His face relaxing as his head sinks into his pillow.

“I’m going to take your shoes off and give you a foot massage.” I promise and he moans, his feet arching instinctively in his shoes. I know for a fact that Kurt likes foot massages- he goes for one twice a week.

“Blaine, you don’t have to do that.” he reassures seriously, his voice heavy and low.

“I know… but you’ve been working hard today and you’re really tired and I’m fine… so, I may as well do something nice for you before you fall asleep.” I smile, slipping his shoes off his feet and laying them neatly on the floor. Side by side, just like he would.

“Ugh. You’re the best friend in the whole universe, Blaine.” Kurt smiles then, his eyes closed tightly as I peel his socks off. I smile too but for the first time I’m almost absolutely sure that I wish I was more than his best friend. Even more than his best friend in the whole universe.

That huge part of me that’s capable of love- it loves Kurt.

The rest of the week passes by in a hasty blur of conversations about school transfers, homework, self confidence and musicals. Before I know it, it’s Friday night and the clock on the bedside table is telling me that it’s almost midnight. We’ve been in bed for two hours and Kurt is fast asleep, his soft breath filling the darkness around us, but I’m wide awake because my throat is insufferably dry and scratchy and the water I have just isn’t helping, at all. I need to make a cup of that special-blend lemon and honey tea, the one that Kurt is so fond of. I move the covers off my body and head for the stairs, bumping my toes into sofas and tables and unidentified objects as I make my way across the room.

I tiptoe up the stairs, keeping my bare feet soft in their fall, reaching out a hand when I’m at the top; running my fingertips across the wood until I meet the metal of the lock. I flick it open. A soft click resounding through the darkness. Almost instantly a sleepy voice says, “Blaine?”

I can’t help but smile a little.

“It’s alright.” I whisper back into the darkness, my body turned awkwardly on the stairs, hoping my voice carries to him, finds him somewhere in the darkness and lets him know that nothing is going on. Somehow, Kurt manages to wake himself up every time the lock clicks. I don’t know how he does it, but it happens. It’s even more confusing because sometimes he can be so deep in sleep that I think an earthquake wouldn’t rouse him but that tiny click, it just wakes him, every single time.

I stand silently in the dark then, listening to the soft rustling of sheet before Kurt says more purposefully, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Kurt.” I say softly and silence falls around us.

“What are you doing?” he asks then.

“I’m just going to make some tea, my throat hurts.” I offer and I hear him lie back down on the bed- the sound of a body settling back into the sheets.

“Okay, I’ll wait for you to come back.” Kurt says then and I smile as I pull the door open, the soft lamp light drifting momentarily into Kurt’s room. I step into it, pulling his door closed, before I straighten my t-shirt, run a hand through my messy curls, and head for the kitchen.

I flick the light on and the instant shock of the brightness burns my eyes, dazzling me until I shield my eyes with a hand and shuffle swiftly to the kettle. I wait for my eyes to adjust before I flick it on, I’m still squinting but I’m not blinded by it anymore. I lean against the counter, my arms flat against the cold marble and I drift in and out of sleep as I listen to the kettle boiling away. The sound of the bubbling water filling my ears and soothing me as well as any lullaby. My head lolling forward until I hear the final click that tells me the water is boiled and that prompts me into searching for a cup.

I set the cup down but before I have time to add a teabag a loud bangs startles me. My heart automatically racing as my knees knock and my hands tremble, rattling the cup as my fingers brush past it. I start to freak out because it’s late and I don’t know what’s going on and I feel far too disorientated for this.

I hear two voices then, voices that are trying to be quiet but completely failing, as the front door slams heavily, my eyes fluttering in shock as uncoordinated weighty feet head towards me, the sound of bodies crashing into the walls filling my ears. I take a step backwards. Watching the door in confusion as two people burst into the kitchen. I gasp.

Two sets of eyes stare back at me.

“Blaine?” Puck says quickly, a hint of confusion in his voice, he didn’t expect anyone to be awake. He didn’t expect anyone to see him practically carrying Finn into the house. The taller boy leaning on Puck for support, swaying into his friend, his hands falling all over him. I don’t know what’s going on but as soon as I meet Finn’s eyes, I see it. Finn is drunk, in fact, Finn is completely hammered. He instinctively tries to step forward and reach out to me in some misguided greeting but Puck tightens his grip on his friends waist, as he looks between Finn and I. He’s trying to read this, he’s trying to read me, he’s trying to figure out what to do.

“Do you want me to back us up, so you can get past us?” Puck asks seriously because he understands me, he understand how this is slightly.. what was that word Ellen used this week? Triggering? Yes, that’s what she said. She said that sometimes certain things, certain actions will remind me of the things I‘d rather forget.

“N-no. It’s okay.” I say decisively, after a pause, because it’s Finn. He may be the first drunk person I’ve been in contact with since I left my father but it’s going to be okay because it’s Finn Hudson and this week he even told me that I mattered to him. This is a chance for me to overcome my problem. I can do this. I need to do this. For me. I just have to work through it, this could be a huge leap in my progress. Puck is here too, so, I’ll be fine, won’t I?

“Okay.” Puck says eventually, walking Finn further into the kitchen and throwing him onto a chair; he’s not exactly gentle. Then Puck moves to stand behind his friend, looping his arms under Finn’s and shifting him, with a lot of effort, so that he’s not hanging off the edge quite as much. It’s obvious that Puck has been in this position before.

“I tell him not to do this but he always goes way over his limits. Every single time.” Puck says, the disappointment heavy in his voice. They were both at a party tonight, a McKinley football team party, I can’t even pretend I’m jealous. It sounds completely awful, a squad of sweaty jocks guzzling beer and objectifying women, I could live without that. I would have lasted two minutes there before I’d have walked out of the door, got into a car and gone home. A thought strikes me then.

“Puck, did you drive home?” I ask quietly, glancing at the clock, it’s ten past midnight, worry starts to settle in my chest because it’s so dark outside and there’s clearly alcohol involved here. I look at Finn then and I think my heart stops beating as I wait for an answer.

“Yeah.” Puck says eventually and my face falls, he notices, he has to, because he instantly starts reassuring me, his hands on Finn’s shoulders, “I didn’t drink and drive, Blaine. I didn’t. I don’t drink, at all. I’ve seen what alcohol can do to people; I’m not becoming that person. I’m not.” Puck finishes with determination; a part of me wondering if he’s talking about his father now because I’m, personally, one hundred percent certain that I’m never going to drink alcohol for that exact reason.

We don’t speak for a while. All of us just existing in our positions.

“Could you get me a glass of water?” Puck says first, a hint of embarrassment in his voice, “I’d do it myself but I’m not convinced he’s gonna stay totally upright if I move. He needs fluids.” And as if to prove his point, he takes his hands off Finn’s shoulders and the tall boy instantly leans over, Puck’s quick hand the only thing stopping him from falling straight off the chair.

“S-sure.“ I nod as I walk to the sink, turning the faucet on and filling a glass quickly, I‘m not entirely comfortable with Finn being behind me, not in his current state, and I hadn’t expected that. I turn around and walk towards them both. Puck smiling in thanks as I put the glass on the table in front of Finn.

It’s then that it happens.

Finn’s hand darts out and before Puck even has a chance to move, let alone do something to stop it, Finn’s fingers are wrapped tightly around my wrist. A whimper bursting past my lips. Though, that only seems to make things much worse because Finn squeezes until it burns. I wasn’t ready for this. My face scrunches up in a mixture of pain and dread.

“Finn.” Puck says firmly then, his warning tone unmistakable, his eyes darkening as I try to tug away from the grip that holds me where I stand and fail.

“Please, don’t..” I mutter quietly but that doesn’t seem to help either because Finn just pulls me towards him, forcing me a step closer. I can hear my heart beating now.

“Finn! Let him go, right now.” Puck tries again, his eyes wide when he looks over at me apologetically. Finn just squeezes again, oblivious to the damage he‘s causing me.

Puck watches me fall apart.

“Please, please, please, please..” I repeat and I’m starting to get upset now, hot emotion surging through my chest as tears prickle in my eyes. I can’t do this. I need him to let go. I need this to stop. No one ever stops.

“Finn! You‘re hurting him!” Puck all but growls and my vision starts to blur. The air increasingly hot and heavy as I forcibly drag it down into my shuddering lungs. Gasping for breath. I give my arm one last tug, in the hope of escape, and then it’s all over because I can hear my father’s footsteps pounding down the hallway. I can smell the unforgettable stench of cigars and alcohol and urine. I automatically gag and my shoulders sag forward.

I can vaguely feel another hand touching my wrist and pulling but it’s not enough. It’s not enough to stop my father staggering into the kitchen, his creased off-white shirt caked in his own vomit. I stumble backwards, a loud crash echoing around me as my father grabs my shirt and pushes me harshly against the counter- wincing as my back collides with the hard surface.

“Please, don’t hurt me.. you’re not supposed to be here...” I whisper hopefully but he just laughs bitterly, sniggering as he brings his face much closer to mine. My eyes closing tightly as his breath ghosts over my face, “Well, I am here, faggot.”

Tears slip down my cheeks then, my arms reaching out uselessly as I try and protect myself, as he moves a hand to my neck, his fingers wrapping around it painfully slow. He’s not pressing, he’s waiting, he’s mocking me, he’s letting me cry as he humiliates me. He’s thriving off the anticipation of his inevitable actions. He’s enjoying this. I feel sick. My insides squirm.

“Don’t.” I whimper again, the fear of what’s coming now just a painful as the bruises he’s given me in the past.

“You don’t get to talk to me like that you stupid shit!” he snarls as he brings his other hand up, curling a fist. I flinch and slam my eyes shut.

“Blaine!” An upset voice calls then but I’m too scared to open my eyes, I'm too afraid to see who it is, because my father is about to plunge his fist into my face. A deep sob escapes my body then. As I wait to be struck. I’m terrified, in fact, I’m absolutely devastated.

“Blaine, please, come on, it’s me. It’s Kurt. Blaine, please?” My heart pounds and I don’t know what to do because I can still smell my father but Kurt is demanding my attention. Kurt. Kurt is here. I start to panic. I can’t let him hurt Kurt. I force my eyes open then and when I do there’s nothing there. Nothing but Kurt’s horrified face.

“Kurt--” I whisper as I start to cry anew, Kurt moves forward quickly to wrap his warm arms around me. As soon as he's holding me I fist his shirt, my face pressed firmly into his shoulder as sobs start to shake my body.

“It’s okay, Blaine, everyone’s okay.” Kurt whispers in reassurance, one of his hands moving to cup the back of my head and his touch is so gentle, so soft, that my chest starts to ache.

“Shhh.” he says as my shoulders start to bounce, the sound of my crying echoing all around us, I thought he was gone for real this time. I thought I was getting better. I thought I could be okay. I was wrong. I was so wrong. I feel like everything I’ve been working on is ruined. I feel like I've failed. I feel like I've let them down, that I've let myself down.

“He’s not here now. I‘ve got you.” Kurt whispers sincerely into my ear, his voice wavering slightly, like he’s trying to be brave for me, “I love you.” he finishes and that just makes me grip him harder. I can feel his heart beating.

“I love you too.” I mutter into the material of his shirt.

Eventually, Kurt walks me back to his room. A firm, supportive hand wrapped around my waist. I don’t know where Puck and Finn are but I don’t see them anywhere. Kurt opens the door, flicks the light on, walks me down to the bed and tucks me in comfortably before he leans down and places a soft kiss on my forehead.

“Do you still want your tea?” Kurt asks quietly and I shake my head. My throat feels fine now. Kurt just nods, before turning around and walking away from me.

“Kurt?” I whisper and he stops.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart.” he reassures and I just watch as he walks up the stairs and clicks the lock on the door shut. Relief suddenly washing over me. We’re okay now. Nothing can touch us, not now. Not here, not when we're like this.

Kurt walks back towards his bed then, tiredness evident on his face. He turns the light off and stumbles back into bed. Making himself comfortable and then, finally, sliding his hand under the covers until he finds mine. Our hands intertwine. Kurt doesn’t say anything and he doesn’t need to because his actions always tell me absolutely everything. Above all, they tell me that I’m not alone, that I’m loved, that I’m home and that he isn’t going anywhere. Not ever.