Kurt felt like he shouldn’t have been smiling. Sebastian was still missing. This boy had lied and given him the run around. He should have been miserable, furious, but he couldn’t bring himself to be angry with him. In fact, he was just turning the oven on and putting the pizza in before running into his room to find clothes that would fit Blaine. At first he instinctively looked for shades that would complement his glossy eyes, but he shook his head and remembered that comfort was more important right now. He picked out a thick, navy sweater and his old, worn out grey jeans. All impossibly soft and warm and, hopefully, comforting. He may have been unsure what to do with Blaine, but he knew what to do with clothes.

He walked back into the spare room, which he guessed was Blaine’s room for now, where the boy was holding the blanket snugly around himself. His eyes were closed as he nuzzled into the blanket. Kurt paused in the doorway and smiled at him, so peaceful after the moments of sheer panic earlier. His body rose and fell slightly with his slow breathing. He wasn’t asleep, but he wasn’t exactly conscious. His head seemed seconds away from drooping forward until his whole body rolled onto the floor, nose first. Kurt almost didn’t want to disturb him, but he clearly needed to eat. Despite the red and purple stains on his skin, Kurt had noticed the way Blaine’s ribs had jutted out and the prominence of his collar bones.

He tried to pretend he’d just got back, rather than admit that he’d been lurking and watching him.

“So, Blaine, I thought you’d probably need-”

Blaine jolted awake, eyes wide and darting around to inspect the unfamiliar surroundings. Kurt felt a hot twist in his chest as the fear returned to his features, his jaw hardening, his forehead wrinkling in concern. His voice was rough from dozing.

“What do you want?”

He jumped to his feet and the blanket fell to the floor. The sudden coolness surrounding him made him look down at his naked body, and when he finally made himself look up at Kurt his cheeks were dark pink. Kurt squeezed his lips together because this really was not the time to start laughing, and held the bundle of clothes out to Blaine.

“I just brought you-”

“God, I’m sorry-”

“Here. Don’t worry about it.”

Blaine took the clothes, promptly dropping the sweater. They both bent forward to pick it up and almost collided in the middle. After an awkward laugh Kurt stood up again, letting Blaine get it for himself. He knew he was thinking too much into it but he thought it might make him feel less helpless. They eventually stood facing one another, Blaine holding the clothes firmly in front of his crotch.

“Sorry.”

“Hey, don’t apologise. It’s been a while since I’ve had naked men parading around my apartment.” He winced inwardly. That was probably the dumbest joke he could have made. Blaine was still blushing, staring intently at his feet. Kurt did everything in his power to avoid looking at Blaine’s torso and the bruises painted all over it. “And, uh, you needed new clothes anyway. I’ll wash the old ones tomorrow. Why don’t you just come through to the kitchen when you’re dressed, and I’ll make some more tea? I’ll try not to drop it this time.” Blaine laughed once and managed to look up again, smiling sheepishly.

“Okay. Thank you.”

Kurt smiled back and left him to it.

He filled the kettle up again and switched it on. He took a deep breath and without warning, his mind started racing again.

Those bruises. Where the hell were those bruises from? Why was he so scared? Why did he freeze with any more contact than hand-holding, but basically offer himself to Kurt? What was he running from?

The kitchen had filled with steam again and Kurt made tea with shaking hands. He knew it was all connected, but he was scared of his brain piecing it together. He had a feeling there would be answers he didn’t want to know.

“Smells delicious.”

The impossibly polite voice made Kurt flinch and he realised he was stirring his drink so hard it was starting to spill over the side of the mug. He pulled the spoon out and clenched the hot, wet metal in his hand. He was coming to unpleasant conclusions and the burn in his palm stopped him from exploding in a panic all over Blaine. He slowly and deliberately put the spoon down on the counter and turned to face the boy, taking a deep breath and faking a comforting smile.

Admittedly, it was only fake for a second.

Blaine’s cheeks had taken on a different shade, not red with embarrassment or pale from the cold, but rosy with warmth. The jeans trailed a little on the floor and he’d rolled up the sleeves of the sweater, but it seemed like a good thing that they were a little big on him. Kurt preferred him having too much to not enough. His smile was no longer a forced polite gesture, but a genuine sign of comfort. He rubbed at the fabric covering his elbow, seemingly amazed by the softness. He took a deep breath, his shoulders lifting up and dropping down in satisfaction. There was so much Kurt wanted to ask him, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. The boy looked happy, and it could have been years since he’d felt this safe. There was no point dragging him out of it now.

“Yeah. Good. It shouldn’t take long. Let’s go and sit down. Don’t know about you, but I’m exhausted.”

Blaine nodded and took the mug Kurt held out for him. Kurt noticed him hovering his hand around it to soak up all the warmth he could. Blaine followed him into the living room and perched on a sofa while Kurt curled up on the other.

“Your apartment’s really nice. Everything’s so… beautiful. You lived here with…” he looked down at his drink, his smile fading, “with him?”

Kurt nodded.

“Been here almost two years. It takes almost an hour to get to work, but at least it’s quiet.”

Blaine perked up again at the mention of work.

“What do you do?”

“Oh. Well, I, um…” Kurt hadn’t expected such traditional small talk; “I’m a designer.”

“Like, clothes?”

Kurt nodded and smiled. Nobody had asked him about work for a while. It had been ‘any news?’ and ‘how ya holding up, buddy?’, and not much else.

“Yeah, clothes. I mean, I’m not exactly Alexander McQueen, but I’ve got stuff in a few stores. It’s just local so far, but local in Manhattan is global as far as I’m concerned.”

“I bet.”

Blaine was practically grinning at him now. Kurt thought his eyes had sparkled before, but they were wider and brighter and he was leaning forward instead of shrinking away. Kurt felt compelled to keep talking.

“You know, I could probably get you some freebies if you want. Everything moves so quickly and there’s always stuff left over, shirts and pants and- but only if you want. Places just throw stuff out, stuff I worked hard on, and I’d rather see it go to good use. Wait, wait, this is going to sound weird, but have you ever worn purple? Or mustard? Or, oh my god, both at once?” He started to gesture more excitedly, forgetting that he was supposed to be calm and subdued. Blaine wasn’t spooking, just blinking and shaking his head and smiling as Kurt blurted out one colour after another. “Ooh, you know what a lot of people can’t pull off? Don’t call me crazy yet, but have you ever considered wearing a bowtie?”

Blaine tilted his head and called Kurt crazy without saying a word.

“Um… it’s never really occurred to me. I don’t exactly have a big selection.”

Kurt’s hands clenched into fists. He wanted to punch himself.

“Oh, fuck. Of course. I didn’t mean, I’m not trying to- I just- I can just wash your old- your other-“

Blaine held up an open palm.

“Kurt. I was kidding. That all sounds amazing; well, maybe not purple and yellow-”

“Mustard.” Kurt couldn’t help interjecting.

“Right, mustard, sorry. You just – you got really loud really quickly.”

Kurt blushed.

“Oh, yeah. I do that. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise. I liked it. You’re allowed to get excited, Kurt. You can smile for other reasons than to stop me being all weird and homeless. I’m taking your spare room and your clothes and wrecking your carpet; I don’t want to make you feel bad about being enthusiastic about your work. Especially after what I’ve put you through tonight.”

“First off, I was the one who wrecked the carpet. Second, it’s not like you’re messing up any big plans.”

“But still, your boyfriend-”

“Has been gone for almost a year. When he went missing he was hardly my boyfriend anyway.”

“So… what have you been doing since? Have you dated anyone else?”

The runaway was starting to sound like Rachel. Kurt shrugged.

“I feel like I’m not allowed. Like I should be… mourning him or something. If I started- I don’t know; people would talk.”

“People are gonna talk about me.”

“Well, he doesn’t deserve sympathy. He’d hate it. You, on the other hand-”

“Don’t you feel lonely?”

Kurt was stunned into silence for a beat. Then that beat turned into half a minute.

“I… what?”

“I mean, you work, then you’re alone here, and you can’t move on from a guy you don’t seem to like very much, and it just sounds kind of… lonely.”

Jesus, Kurt thought to himself, if a homeless kid thinks your life sounds pathetic, you’re really in trouble.

“It’s not like I don’t have friends. There are a lot of people who care about me. And I love my job, okay, I’ve worked hard to get where I am and I want to keep moving and I-” He paused, mouth hanging open, before swallowing and looking at his knees and then into Blaine’s eyes. He had no reason to lie to him. He didn’t have to pretend. He nodded and sniffed. “As long as you know that’s not why I-” Blaine shook his head. “Good. I guess I’m tired of being responsible for my own happiness. I don’t mind; I’m just tired.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“You didn’t. Oh, god.”

“What?”

“I can’t believe you- you’re so sweet. You’re freakishly polite, you seem so normal and happy now compared to before, but when I touched you at the station you froze. Apart from when I held your hand. Then even though you hate physical contact, you were willing to- or at least you thought you had to sleep with me just so you could stay. I don’t want to upset you either, Blaine, and I wish I could drop it but I can’t. What happened to you?” Blaine shifted uncomfortably on the couch, making Kurt’s insides twist and jump with shame for bringing it up, but he couldn’t let it go. “Why did you think that? Why is your body covered in bruises? Who hurt you, Blaine?”

“Nobody.”

“Was it your parents?”

Blaine put his tea on the table, spilling it onto the wood, and glared at Kurt. He’d never shown a spark of viciousness, but suddenly there was a wild glimmer in his eye.

“No. My mother would never- she would never hurt me. She loved me. Don’t talk about her like that.”

“Loved? What happened to her?”

“She died.”

Kurt got up and sat on the floor in front of Blaine. He saw a tear spill over his eyelashes. He took his hand, while Blaine used the other to wipe angrily at his cheek.

“I’m so sorry;” Kurt whispered, stroking Blaine’s knuckles tentatively, “that’s awful. What about your dad?”

Blaine shrugged.

“Don’t know. Don’t care. He ran away before I was old enough to run after him.”

“So who looked after you?”

Blaine tried to keep looking away from Kurt, but the soft, warm voice pulled him back. Their eyes locked and Kurt knew whoever it was who’d taken him in after his mother’s death was the one who made him like this. Not the sweet, engaging boy from five minutes ago, but the trembling, crying figure hunched over Kurt.

“I can’t-”

“It’s okay,” Kurt reminded him, “you can tell me. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“They couldn’t find a place for me for a really long time. They kept moving me around because I didn’t have any family, but then they tracked down my uncle.”

“Your mom’s brother?”

Blaine shook his head.

“Dad’s. I’d never met him before, but he said he’d take care of me. He was so nice to start with, walking me to school, cooking for me, playing with me, but… but…”

All Kurt wanted to do was wrap his arms around Blaine, shield him from whatever he was scared of, but all he could do was hold his hand until his fingertips turned white. He almost stopped him from going on, for his own sake as much as Blaine’s, but he knew he couldn’t bring himself to put him through this twice. It was best to get everything out of him now, then he could- well, he didn’t know, but he would know what he was dealing with and then Blaine wouldn’t have to tell this story ever again.

“What did he do?”

Blaine’s eyes were streaming and his voice was unsteady. His grip on Kurt’s hand was unwavering.

“H-he said it was a game. He said kids loved it, and I never really knew what he was doing, but he touched me. I told him I didn’t want to play, but he said I’d like it eventually. At first it wasn’t a lot, just tickling me or kissing me, but he always went further than I wanted him to. He told me that was what everybody did, kissing and touching because they loved each other, like family was supposed to.”

“How old were you?”

“Eight.”

Kurt dug his fingers into his knee. It was hard enough imagining this happening to Blaine at seventeen, but a little boy? The idea of a smiling, brown-eyed boy at the mercy of a paedophile was horrifying. He felt sick with anger, but he bit his tongue. This wasn’t the right time to start shouting.

“It got worse?”

Kurt didn’t want to know the answer.

Blaine nodded.

“You ungrateful piece of shit. No wonder your dad walked out. Your mother should have taught you some manners.”

The little boy is quiet. He doesn’t understand what’s happening, why his uncle touches him where he does. He misses the way his mother loved him, a gentle peck to his temple, a soft smile and a whisper of ‘I love you, darling’. When his uncle kisses him, he shoves a salty tongue down his throat until he gags. When his uncle hugs him, he doesn’t let him get away. Blaine cries when he feels rough, heavy hands going where he doesn’t want them, but he’s told to be quiet.

“No, please, I don’t want to-”

“Don’t want to what? Don’t want to show some gratitude for everything I’ve done for you? You don’t want to show me you love me?”

Blaine cries out again as he’s pushed to the floor. He hears the clink of a belt buckle behind him as his cheek is scratched by the rough carpet. He shuts his eyes tighter, knowing something’s about to hurt. He feels the familiar crack and throb as the leather is brought down over his back, and he lets out a single sob. He knows it would be over faster if he could just keep quiet, but he can’t help it. It doesn’t hurt less no matter how many times it happens.

“You still can’t learn, can you? I’ll fucking teach you.”

A grip on his arm as he is pulled up, still on his knees as his shirt is yanked over his head. Another swift sting across his spine sends him crashing back to the ground. He tastes blood, the result of biting his lip to keep quiet.

“That’s better, baby. Now you’re being good.”

Blaine hopes it’ll stop now, but he knows it won’t. He can still feel the warmth of a man behind him, hear the rough breathing. Another clink as the belt falls to the floor. He knows it’ll be hands next, blind swipes at his fragile body, his limbs, ribs, back, belly, until he’s almost unconscious, then he’ll be left to clean himself up. Maybe he’ll hit his head again so he can at least pass out first. He feels the familiar fingers tugging at his pants, exposing him, leaving him raw and cold and shaking.

Something new.

A zipper.

“No-”

“No? You dare say no to me in my house?”

His thigh is grabbed and wrenched aside. He lets out another single sob, snapping his mouth shut too late. A warm moist chest weighs down on his back and there’s a hot breath in his ear telling him to shut up. He feels something pressing up against him, slipping down by his lower back, thicker and harder and clumsier than fingers. The hand that isn’t on his neck is digging into his hip. There’s pressure, too much, and before he can figure out what it is or what’s going to happen, there is a sudden forward surge and the little boy feels like his body has been split in half.

It’s nothing like before. It’s usually just a twisting discomfort, an intrusion that makes him feel sick, but now it’s a sharp, searing pain, a weight inside him where it doesn’t belong. His whole body is heaved forwards and a hand pushes down on his neck so he can’t move. His frame is tiny, even for a boy of his age, and every inch is wracked with pain and disgust as he is violated and pushed harder and harder to the floor.

‘I’m sorry,’ he thinks, praying silently to anyone who’ll listen, ‘I’m so sorry.’ He doesn’t know what he’s apologising for, but he feels so sick, so dirty, he can’t stop. He doesn’t try to stop crying this time. He knows there’s nothing worse that can happen now.

He’s finally allowed the relief of blacking out. He wakes to taste blood, feel blood, see blood everywhere. Caked onto his skin. Drying on the floor. Slowly oozing out of him. He pulls his clothes back on, glancing around himself at the empty room. Part of him wishes his mother were there, but he’s also glad she can’t see him like this. He wipes the streaks of tears from his cheeks. He wanders slowly upstairs, wincing with every step and clinging to every surface he can for support. He steps into the shower and reaches for the shower switch. He has to stand on his toes to turn it on. He tries and tries to scrub himself clean, retching when he dares look down. The water running down the drain is streaked with red.

The little boy puts on soft, blue flannel pyjamas. He almost gets lost in them. He can still hear his mother’s voice saying ‘you’ll grow into them, sweetheart’, a caring smile on her face. He takes out the lilac sweater from its hiding place under his pillow and sits on the floor of the wardrobe, crying into the wool. It’s all he has that still smells like her.

Kurt’s lip was stinging from biting on it so hard.

“I thought what he was doing was… what I deserved. I didn’t know there was a name for it.”

“There’s a prison sentence for it, Blaine.”

“He told me I owed him.” Kurt closed his eyes for a second, realising that was exactly what he’d said in the car. “I thought it was my fault…”

Kurt had no idea how he’d managed to keep going for so long, but it was obviously too much. The boy’s body was taken over by sobs, shaking violently and clinging to Kurt’s hand as if his life depended on it. Right then, it probably did. Blaine drew his knees up to his chest and wrapped an arm around them. He leaned into the arm of the couch, rocking back and forth, whispering ‘I’m sorry’ over and over, just like when he was ten, just like he’d kept doing until two weeks ago. Kurt tried to tell him it was okay, but he knew he wasn’t the one Blaine was apologising to. All he had to do now was hold Blaine’s hand, run out and turn the oven off, then run back and hold it again. They were too upset, angry and nauseated to eat anything. The pizza stayed on the counter, uneaten, and Blaine sobbed himself to sleep. Kurt didn’t leave his side, keeping Blaine’s hand in his own until he dozed off, slumped against the sofa.

Kurt woke early. His neck was stiff. He blinked until his vision cleared and he remembered everything that had happened last night. He realised his hand was reaching up behind him, and he looked up to see Blaine, twitching in his sleep. His whole body was coiled tightly around both of their hands.