“Sebastian, please can we just-”

“Bullshit! You can’t lie to me, Kurt. I know you better than that. You couldn’t keep your eyes off him.”

Kurt sighed. They’d had the same argument every week since he could remember. They would go to some event, party, concert, dinner, anything to get out of their apartment and away from each other, and it always ended the same way. Accusations would lead to a blazing row, which inevitably ended in a storm-out. Rachel would try again and again to convince Kurt to end it, but every time he would simply laugh that the make-up sex was worth it. The truth was, the unhappy times were outweighing the good, and he was tired. When they did fuck, they would avoid eye contact, rarely facing each other, and it was rough and emotionless. When they’d first moved in together they couldn’t keep their hands to themselves, but now it was like they were punishing each other. Their heated debates and exciting banter had crumbled into bitchy arguments. They were both exhausted.

“You know I wouldn’t cheat on you-”

“Why?”

“What?”

“Why wouldn’t you cheat on me?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“I want you to say it.”

“Christ, Bas, I wouldn’t do it because… I just… I wouldn’t. I’m not that kind of person.”

“Wrong answer, asshole.”

Sebastian didn’t say another word. He grabbed his keys and a jacket and walked out.

That was the last time Kurt saw him.

The next year was one of the strangest of his life. He was bombarded by frantic phone calls, too-tight hugs, friends who couldn’t cook offering him meals, and somehow it all seemed unnecessary. Kurt couldn’t remember ever worrying about Sebastian. Even after a week, a month, when he didn’t show up at work or Kurt didn’t wake up to see him sitting at the table, drinking coffee as if he’d never been away, Kurt found himself not really caring. Obviously he didn’t Sebastian to be found dead (it would be too common, too undignified for him), but he liked his own life more without him in it. There were no arguments. There was no tension. He reached a higher level of intimacy and closeness with the silence of the empty apartment than he’d had with his boyfriend for a long time.

He just didn’t feel upset. He pretended it was because deep down he didn’t believe anything would have actually happened to him.

He knew it was really because he was happier without him.
It was October. Kurt was happily curled up in bed with a book and a hot chocolate (an indulgence Sebastian would have berated him for) and listening to the rain hammering on the window, when the phone rang.

“Yes?”

“Mr Hummel?”

Kurt snapped his book shut. He knew the voice. He hadn’t spoken to Officer Evans in a long time, but he’d been assigned to Seb’s case last November and he wouldn’t call this late unless it was urgent. He felt bumps rising on his forearms and his toes curling in anticipation.

“Kurt?”

He swallowed hard.

“Yes. Yeah. Hi, Sam. What is it?”

“Sorry to disturb you, I know you’re probably busy, but we’ve… we’ve got someone. He’s saying he’s… Honestly, it’s hard to say. He doesn’t really look right, but it’s almost been a year, he could’ve changed…”

“What? What’s happening?”

“He keeps saying he’s Sebastian, and that’s all he’s telling us. I don’t think… Could you come in? Not now, obviously, but we just… we need someone to tell us it’s not him. We can’t do anything with him unless you say for sure. We don’t really know what else to do.”

Kurt swallowed again. He felt sick. Every part of him was screaming ‘don’t be him, don’t be him, please don’t be him’, and he found himself drowning it out by agreeing to go to the station.

“God, no, you can wait until tomorrow, I just thought you’d want to know-”

“No, I have to. I want to. I need to see. Give me half an hour.”

Twenty-seven minutes later, he was at the front desk.

*

Blaine sank further into his sweater. He fought off a shiver, but it didn’t take long to beat him. His shoulders were hunched, and the doorway he’d hidden himself in was offering little shelter. He clung to the fact that it wasn’t raining as he wriggled his toes, trying to feel them again. He wrapped his arms around himself, but they were so thin it didn’t help. He told himself that if he could just have one meal, one decent night’s sleep, one bit of good luck, he could figure something out. He could formulate a plan. He could find a job and a place to stay and he would be fine, as long as he didn’t have to go back. He drifted into some fitful kind of sleep, dreaming of nothing more extravagant than a roof over his head.

He was woken up abruptly by a foot jabbing at his ribs. He blinked the bleariness out of his eyes to see a figure standing over him, jabbering in a language he didn’t know, slapping at his elbow with a newspaper. He took the hint and moved away from the building, apologising and staggering down the street. He could feel his surroundings becoming even darker, more covered, more threatening, and the splashes of rain falling in front of him made it harder to see where he was.

“Hey baby, you looking for me?”

He spun around to see a woman, seemingly two feet taller than him thanks to her Perspex heels, and he only came up to her corseted cleavage.

“What? Sorry, no, I don’t think we know each other.”

She laughed and threw her head back, letting her long, dark hair fall down her back in a sodden, wiggly curtain. He couldn’t help admiring her for working despite the weather conditions. He had a flashback of his mother rolling her eyes because the gardener refused to work in the rain. He remembered her laying a blanket on the floor of the living room so they could have a picnic inside, and when they were done she wrapped him up in it and carried him to bed. He was six. Everything had been perfect, and now he could barely remember her face. He squashed the memory down, focusing instead on the face in front of him, thick lashes and red lips and white teeth flashing.

“Honey, nobody knows me. But you can try, for the right price.”

“Oh, um, no thank you. You’re very beautiful, but I’m not really, uh, I need to go.”

She stopped laughing and looked him dead in the eyes.

“Go? Where exactly are you gonna go? It’s almost three. Little thing like you, you’ll only get in trouble.”

He tried to look away, but there was something sympathetic about her eyes. He blinked helplessly.

“I’m already in trouble.”

She cupped his face and wiped a tear from his cheek with her thumb. She couldn’t let him stay out here alone. He wasn’t the kind of man she was used to dealing with. He wasn’t a man at all. He was a lost boy.

“Okay, kid. Come with me.” She took his hand and they walked through a couple of seedy alleys and up what felt like a thousand flights of stairs, talking the whole time.

“Don’t worry, baby, I’m not abducting you. There are a lot of people out there who would snap you up in a heartbeat, but you’re not really my type. This,” she brushed at his shoulder, tugging at the fabric of his hoody, “tells me you’re broke, and that stubble says you’re not the kind I’d give a freebie to. Jesus, you’re shivering. How long have you been living like this? Have you got a name? Never mind. You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. I get it.”

He was still reeling from the feeling of another person’s hand wrapped around his. That alone was more kindness than he’d been shown in years, and it was enough to make him dizzy without being dragged through a part of town he didn’t know and into the apartment of a prostitute he’d just met. Her place was nicer than he expected. It was small, but full of deep reds and purples, and it was clear that she was proud of the home she’d put together for herself. She flicked her shoes off and Blaine smiled when her toes flexed into the scarlet rug. She ushered him towards a sofa with a mauve throw draped over it.

“Make yourself comfortable; I’ll be right back.”

She kept talking to him while she changed, but he was asleep in seconds, his frame naturally coiling into a ball and the lumpy armrest soaking up some of the moisture from his hair. She returned, still talking, rubbing at her hair with a towel. She saw Blaine asleep on the couch and smiled sadly. She wanted to keep him. She wanted to take him in and look after him and feed him up, but she could barely provide for herself. The recession had hit everyone, even her clients. She didn’t want to wake him, but if her idea was going to work, she’d need to start prepping him as soon as possible. And if he looked sleep-deprived and hungry, no harm done. She remembered how taken aback he’d been when she’d held his hand before, and decided it would be the kindest way to wake him up.

Blaine started when he felt fingers linking with his, flinching and sitting bolt upright. His eyes widened when he saw his unfamiliar surroundings, and he tried to yank his hand away from what he thought was grabbing him. His body urged him to distance himself, to keep moving, to escape from this new trap.

“Woah, woah, honey, it’s okay, I’ve got you. I’m here. You’re safe.”

Blaine froze and stared at the woman holding onto him, his breathing strained and his heart beating too fast. He gradually remembered her as the woman who had walked him home, given him shelter from the rain, except now she was in jeans and a loose, navy sweater. The bright, false colour had gone from her lips and eyes, and her smile was warm and comforting. He swallowed and forced a smile back.

“Thank you.”

His hand had stopped trying to wriggle out of hers, and was instead gripping onto her tightly. She stroked the back of his hand and pressed a gentle kiss to his knuckles. She saw his shoulders drop as he remembered he didn’t need to be scared.

“Don’t mention it. I couldn’t just leave you. Not in this part of town. You want something to eat?”

She stood up and shuffled over to the kitchen, or the area of the apartment that contained a fridge and a tiny stove, about a metre away from where Blaine was sitting.

“It’s Blaine.”

“What?”

He sat up straight and she fought the urge to rush back to him and rock him back to sleep.

“You asked my name before, right? Well… It’s Blaine.”
“Not anymore it’s not. But I’m Santana. I told you a minute ago, but you were asleep.”

His eyes narrowed at the name comment, but he shrugged it off. His brain wasn’t working fast enough to analyse anything.

“Nice to meet you. I like your house. It’s so nice of you to bring me back here. You didn’t have to.”

“You’re quite the gentleman. Well, a) it’s more closet than house, which is apt considering how I pay for it, and b) like I said, I didn’t want to leave you. Now, as much as I wish I could let you stay here until you sort something out, I can’t. But I have a friend. I think I can help you. It’ll just take some work.”

She pulled her phone out and tapped the screen a couple of times. Blaine looked up at her, scared, unsure of what was happening as she held the phone to her ear. “Sammy? Is that my little Trouty Mouth?” Blaine heard an agitated voice on the other end of the line. “I’ll call you what I want, and in a second you won’t mind. That brunette you were after? I think I’ve found him.”