Okay. Okay. This is going to be long. Oh my gosh… I'm freaking out. Like, normally, I just put my little thoughts as ANs because I do enjoy talking to you guys, even if you don't pay a lick of attention, but holy CRAP, I'm so scared about this. Don't judge me, don't judge me, don't judge me…

Right. So.

My friend Gen was like "we should write prostitution fics" and I was like "…" and she was all "WE'RE DOING IT!" and I was like "!" and now, here I am, and I can't figure out how to do this without it being a multichapter, but… oh no. Oh NO!

So yeah. This isn't going to have any M rated content at all because… ew. Fine for other people, but not for me.

Just tell me if the fact that this is his JOB should make it be rated M, kay? Cause… cause this is all about emotions, not like… the actual more graphic stuff… you know what I mean. I'm scared. Okay. Let's do this. Here we go. Awesome. Ready? OKAY.

Hot tears rolled down Blaine's cheeks. He didn't get it. He just wanted to be home. He didn't like it here. He wanted to go play, but everybody kept acting like that was a bad thing. They didn't want him to play anymore. Blaine did think that some games were funner than others, but this place wasn't fun at all. The chairs hurt to sit on, people kept getting yelled at for yelling, and his grandma just kept crying and crying…

Grown ups weren't supposed to cry.

He just wanted to be home. He hadn't been home in a very long time. His grandma wouldn't let him. She kept saying that home wasn't good, that home was dangerous, but Blaine didn't understand. Every time he asked when he got to go back, she would cry and tell him that it wasn't okay for him to keep being hurt.

And that was another thing Blaine didn't understand. He knew that sometimes when he played with his dad, he ended up with bruises or sometimes scratches, but didn't every kid get that? At kindergarten he sometimes tripped or fell and skinned his knee, and that sometimes hurt more than a bruise, but his grammy kept letting him go there. Blaine just wanted to go home.

"Blaine," said one of the scary men who had been sitting next to his grandma. "Did your father give you these bruises?" he asked, pointing to a picture of him in just his underwear. Blaine hadn't liked getting that picture taken. They made him pose funny, and it had been cold despite how many people were staring and looking at him. He wiped his running nose off on his sleeve.

"We were just playing," he murmured. He didn't want to answer this guy. He had just made his grammy sit where he was, and all of his questions had made her cry. Blaine was already crying. He didn't want to cry anymore. The man frowned, and leaned over the little bannister between them.

"But, son, did it hurt when he played with you?" he asked. "Is that how you got all these booboos?" Blaine frowned. How old did this guy think he was? "Booboos" were for two-year-olds. He was six, thank you very much. He cast a glance at his daddy, who was handcuffed to the table he was sitting at, and then to his grandma, who was nodding sadly at the ground as tears ran down her face. Blaine gulped. He just wanted to go home.

"Yes," he answered quietly. He had just sworn on the bible to tell the truth. He didn't want to be bad. His daddy would be okay with that, right? Hopefully, he would be happy. They played Blaine's least favorite game a lot when he was unhappy. That was the one that he didn't play with his school friends. Daddy said that was just for them. Blaine wished it was just for him. He didn't want to play that game.

"And how does he do that, Blaine? When you're playing?" the man asked, and Blaine threw a look at the older man sitting up in the little box next to him. He reminded him of his grandpa a little bit, but his grandpa was taking a nap for a really long time; he knew that. His grandma called him "the judge". Blaine didn't know what he was judging. He had seen things like this on TV sometimes, but normally the judge would bang his gavel and there were less questions. Blaine whimpered.

"I don't know. He just hurts," Blaine answered honestly because his daddy did hurt when he went inside him, and he did hurt when he held him to close, and he did hurt when he pushed his head down so his daddy could have… what's the word… 'four plays'? Blaine wasn't sure that was right… He didn't like that one very much. "He makes me hurt all outside and inside."

There was lots of bustling in the room after that, and Blaine sunk down in his chair. Everyone was looking at him weird. He just wanted to go home… The scary man sort of straightened up and walked away from him for a minute as everybody else quieted down. As soon as the room was silent again, Blaine was asked another question. "Do you ever tell him that it hurts?" he interrogated, and Blaine bit his lip. What was going on? Was his daddy in trouble? Grammy said that he was going to get a very long time out for hurting him, but… but it had already seemed like a very long time for him to be away, and even if his dad got mad sometimes, he did miss him quite a bit.

"It doesn't matter," Blaine said quietly, and the angry look on his dad's face sent guilt creeping into his heart. What was he doing wrong? What was happening?

"Why not, Blaine?" the man asked, and Blaine looked to his toes and then back up at his dad, his answer falling slowly out of his mouth.

"Because he doesn't stop when I tell him to," he replied, and then all of a sudden, Blaine was being whisked away from his own little table and chair from the front of the room and looking over a stranger's shoulder at his dad, meeting his eyes for the last time…

Blaine Anderson popped his gum loudly. He knew he probably shouldn't be chewing like a cow on the job –seriously unattractive to literally everybody, thank you- but really? This was ridiculous. It was 1 A.M. on a Tuesday night in nowhere Ohio. Nothing was happening, and nothing was going to happen.

But that didn't mean he could loose hope.

So yeah, he was rocking this street corner –his street corner- until the sun rose over his head. That, or until the sharp, red stilettos he was wearing actually made his feet bleed. While, admittedly, the horrid things managed to pinch and bite at him no matter how many times he wore them, Blaine had to admit they looked fierce paired up with his skinny jeans, slightly rolled at the cuff.

Suddenly –thankfully- a car rolled up to his curb, the tinted window slowly rolling down. Blaine plastered a grin on his face, steeling himself to the hideous, weather beaten face of the middle-aged guy sure to be hiding behind the wheel of the Navigator he was driving. Blaine had this down to a science. The usual guy, plus the usual motel, plus the usual flip of the tongue, and he would be a thousand dollars richer. No big deal.

Except the boy who had stopped by was not his usual guy. In fact… he was anything but usual. Blaine couldn't help but falter a bit at the beautiful face leaning towards him, eyebrows furrowed together quizzically.

Wait… what?

His eyes… Oh gosh, his eyes.

Okay. Okay, okay, okay. Okay.

"What can I do for you, Love?" Blaine asked, trying to keep his cool, voice low and sultry. He was actually a little bit disappointed. People who hired him weren't supposed to be beautiful. Not only was that not what he deserved, but… Blaine didn't like when attractive people bought him out. It made him feel like… like, everything was sleazy, not just him and the other obviously slimy people of the world. He wrung his hands together. Funny. He almost never got performance anxiety…

"You can answer a question, actually," the boy inside the car said, his blue eyes sparkling, and… oh… the entire interior of his car smelled like him. Blaine couldn't help but catch the scent as it poured out the window. Again, he couldn't help but be disappointed. Blaine barely stifled the sigh that forced its way out of him as he gave the answer he knew the angel in the car wanted.

"I basically call it at a grand per job, but if you're expecting any kind of cuddling afterwards, then you're paying an extra five hundred dollars and hour. This is my work time, even if it's only your play time," he replied, calmly, but frowned. "You know, you seem like a pretty good kid. I don't really think you should be doing this," he tried a bit desperately before the other boy snatched him up and carted him away. As much as he needed a payday and this would probably be his last opportunity for a while, he couldn't help but hate the idea of this kid getting himself into anything. Also, like… his hair…? So perfect. And he wasn't even trying to get bought up.

"Okay, first? Kid? N-no. I'm totally older than you; I don't even know what you're saying," he said snappily, eyes hard, and Blaine sort of felt a bit exposed by the way he was yelling at him, but then the stranger's eyes softened. "And second, what? I was just going to ask you what you do on this street corner because every time I drive by here at night no matter what time it i- oh." He had cut himself off effectively as his eyes widened in realization. "Oh. I should have gotten that. Okay, I'm sorry… Okay. Okay. I'm just gonna go. Ack, I'm sorry," he rambled.

Guilt settled into the pit of Blaine's stomach. This wasn't the first time this had happened, but every time it did… it managed to make him feel terrible about himself. But this was his life. And, you know, sex was never really a big deal for him. It was just a game, right? A game. So why not make a living out of it? But then there were moments like these, and well… This was never fun.

The Navigator's window started to fly up a little too slowly, obviously, for the other boy's liking, and Blaine stuffed his hand in the window. He didn't know why; he wished he hadn't, especially when the kid at the wheel looked up at him in horror. Gah, he hadn't wanted to freak him out… He didn't want to be scary…

"Oh, um…" He gave a little laugh, feeling awkward and a little nauseous. Crap, he had really surprised himself with this one… "My name's Blaine, by the way," he introduced himself uncomfortably, pulling his hand away from the stilled window. The stranger's expression lightened, and Blaine found himself being smiled at.

"Kurt," he said with a little wave of the hand at himself and drove away. Blaine grinned. Kurt. He'd remember that one…

And it was a good thing he had.

Blaine gritted his teeth together. Okay, now that had been his usual. The guy had been about fifty years old, as big as a mountain, and apparently determined to "rock his world" as he claimed he was doing as he sent the bed shaking.

Here's the thing Blaine would like to get across to all men, straight and gay alike: if the person you're going at would rather chop their entire lower abdomen straight off than endure another moment in bed with you, than clearly you're doing something wrong.

But whatever. Blaine could handle this. He had always been able to handle this. Little four-year-old him did this every other month for two years without knowing what was up. Now he was grown, and he did know, and –yeah- he could handle this. At least, that was what he told himself as he limped back to his usual corner, too afraid that a costumer would come looking for him without him there. Maybe he actually did hope no one else would show up… Gah, it didn't usually hurt this bad.

Blaine had only been standing at his corner for about five minutes when he felt something wet rush down his leg. He didn't think much of it. However, he had only been standing there for about seven minutes when he heard a slightly familiar voice call out to him, "Oh my- Blaine! Are you okay?"

He whirled around to see the boy from the other night darting out of his car –parked next to his curb- and opening up the passenger side of his Navigator, snagging a towel from the back and doubling it over the seat. "Kurt?" he asked, confused. He remembered him? And wasn't he okay?

"Yes. Wait, no… You," he yelped, looking beyond flustered. "Do you know you're bleeding?" he asked, and Blaine frowned, twisting a bit and noticing the red staining down the leg of his white jeans. Well, that wasn't coming out… Suddenly, Kurt's hands were on his shoulders as he pushed him into his car, and Blaine had never felt more dirty or untouchable in his life. Oh, please get off me. Don't touch me… You shouldn't touch me… "Get in. We're going to the hospital." Blaine let himself soak in the scent of Kurt lingering inside the car before scrambling out.

"No. They don't really do much there. I'm sure I'll be fine… I can't let that all be for nothing," he explained, and Kurt arched an eyebrow at him. He seemed stressed.

"What are you… No! You have to go to the hospital. You could need stitches… up in… there. That's not nothing!" he exclaimed, and Blaine rubbed his temples, suddenly feeling too dizzy to stand. He fought through it. Blaine was good at fighting through things.

"No, I mean… I just got paid. If I go to the hospital, they'll just take what I earned. I can't… I can't pay for that," he said, and Kurt appeared to be at a loss. He floundered for a second.

"But… But insuranc-" he tried, but Blaine laughed, effectively cutting him off.

"Ha, I'm pretty sure even if I had insurance, that they'd be pretty sick of me by now," he said with a poorly concealed smile. Kurt looked confused, so Blaine filled in the blanks. "I'd most definitely be on a repeat offender list somewhere," he explained, and the blush that coated Kurt's face was downright adorable and completely embarrassing for Blaine. Whatever. This came with the job… it came with the job…

"Wha~a? But… No, I… But…" Kurt stammered for a minute before setting his jaw. "No, you have to go to the hospital," he said, and Blaine couldn't agree more, as the world seemed to be spinning beneath him like a top –or was he the one spinning? Whatever. What was he to do? "I'll pay for you," he said, and suddenly the world was still.

"No, Kurt, you can't-" he attempted to refuse him, but Kurt just glared.

"What, offer money to a friend? Get over yourself, and get in the car. You are getting checked out if it's the last thing you do, Blaine… Blaine…" He bit his lip, and his cheeks flushed red again. "I'm sorry, what's your last name?" he asked, and Blaine grinned.

"Anderson," he responded, and Kurt nodded with a smile.

"Blaine Anderson," he completed, looking a bit pleased with himself. "There, see? I know your full name. We're officially friends." Blaine's heart swelled for a minute before deflating faster than a popped balloon because… No. No, he and Kurt were most definitely not friends. Blaine could tell –he could tell- that Kurt was probably one of the most fantastic people living, and Blaine was… he was filthy. Normally he was okay with being filthy. Like, whatever… but then… then he was lonely, and it wasn't so fun anymore.

He got in the car and buckled his seatbelt, more than a little alarmed when Kurt sped through the red light at his corner, whipping around turns as they made the rather short drive to the hospital. Blaine cleared his throat awkwardly, wondering if he should say something, but… yeah. There wasn't actually much to say. Plus, Kurt seemed really concentrated on the road, clearly determined to change the ten-minute drive to the hospital into a thirty second one.

They pulled up, and Blaine hopped out of the car. "Okay, well, thank you. Goodbye, I suppose…" he said with a wave as he closed the door, but Kurt just laughed, rolling down the window.

"Go inside, and tell them you're name. I'll be right there… Like I would leave… I'm paying," he said light-heartedly, and now it was Blaine's turn to flush red. He followed Kurt's instructions to a T, and considering he was bleeding from a very… controversial place for a boy to be bleeding, the hospital took him back right away, letting him get through his examination before Kurt even had a chance to find his room. He was lying on his side in a rather covering –thank goodness- hospital gown when the other boy showed up.

"Seven stitches," he answered before he could even ask, voice slightly slurring from painkillers, and Kurt's eyes widened before he put on a smirk.

"Told you," he said, sticking out his tongue, and Blaine would have loved to stick his own right back at him, but he figured that him sticking his tongue out might be a little… weird. For everyone. There was an awkward pause, and Kurt scratched the back of his neck, sweater tightening admittedly deliciously across his chest with the action. The kid definitely had some muscle. "Okay, so… so do you want me with you, or…" he trailed off, and Blaine didn't know the answer to that one.

"Um… well, I'm allowed to leave in just a little bit cause they sort of want me out of here and all… But…" he felt really terrible asking this after all Kurt had done for him, but… crap, everything just hurt so bad, and really? No matter how early you started or how many times you had done it, there was no getting used to this. "Would you mind driving me home?" he asked, and Kurt nodded.

"Sure!" he answered, and soon they were headed out the front doors together. The ride was basically silent, aside from Blaine's directions, and soon they were pulled up in front of his embarrassment of a home. Ugh, Lima Heights… Yeah, not the ideal living place. But it was the best he could do. He tried to ignore the fact that he was forcing his grandma to live inside the mildew infested walls of his tiny apartment. Kurt frowned. "You live in that one?" he asked, pointing to the only darkened floor near the top of the building. Blaine shook his head.

"Actually, I live on the first floor. My grandma can't really make it up the stairs," he said, and Kurt just nodded, lips drawn tightly together in understanding. Blaine hopped out of the car, trying to ignore the rust-colored stain on the towel Kurt had left out for him to sit on earlier. "Kay, thank you…" he said awkwardly. Now what? 'See you later'? He probably wouldn't…

"No problem. See you later!" Kurt said, leaving Blaine floored before he pulled out of the parking lot for his row of apartments and made his way out of the complex. Blaine sighed. Why did life have to be so complicated?

"Don't come back this time, huh?" Blaine's grandma called out to him as he tried to slip unnoticed through the front door. She said that kind of thing all the time, but it still managed to send a pang of… gah, something through his heart with each repetition.

"I'm sorry, Grammy," he muttered under his breath as he clicked the door closed behind him. And he was sorry. He was sorry for being gay; he was sorry he didn't see point in not getting paid for something he didn't like; he was sorry he didn't turn out to be everything she had expected… But sorry covered their bills, and his gram didn't have another way of doing that.

Blaine didn't want a lot out of life, but for one second –one tiny second- he wanted to be loved again. He never got to be loved. Not anymore. He just wanted his grandma to forgive him because… He knew. He knew he had done wrong, but he couldn't stop.

This was who he was. This is what he was meant for. His dad had gotten it, Blaine had gotten it, and how his grandma just needed to get it, too. He couldn't be anything else. This was who the world obviously intended for him to be. What else could he have been? He was filthy and used. When it came to people like him, there was no point in trying to act clean.

He was a mess.

There was no point in denying it.

Blaine liked Kurt thinking they were friends, even if they could never actually be. Every time he drove by in his car, he managed to give Blaine a little wave as he turned the corner. He almost wished he would stop to talk, but then he remembered his place and how he was working so, no, that wouldn't do.

He was currently standing at his corner, heels digging into his feet painfully. This was stupid… Why couldn't his signature be something like… a pair of pink sunglasses or a bowtie for everyday of the week? Something that didn't make him want to amputate his limbs. Literally, anything in that department would work. There were so many options out there… But changing now would be biting off a bit more than Blaine could chew.

Blaine wasn't sure what time it was when the hands grabbed him from behind, but he did know he was at least partially prepared for it. Sure, he screamed like a banshee into the hand covering his mouth, but this was Lima, Ohio. He had been expecting something along these lines since he started this job, and it's not like this would be the first time it had happened.

He felt himself being dragged off, but suddenly, the hands on his body backed off as quickly as they came on. What? What kind of gay bashing was this? Blaine opened his eyes, having just realized they were shut tightly closed, looking around for soon to be flying fists, ears ready to block out the insults sure to be flung his way. His jaw hurt from how tightly they had been holding onto him, as did his shoulders and arms. His body was tense until he took in two very familiar faces.

One was Kurt's. Not a shocker.

The other belonged to a man Blaine didn't actually know, but he was always riding in Kurt's car with him. He was a bit older, definitely balding beneath the baseball cap he had hiding his head, and he looked beyond sympathetic. That was a particularly weird and confusing look for Blaine to receive from someone the man's age, but he took what he could get.

"What?" he asked, a bit dazed and rather confused. Kurt laughed and ruffled his hair. Agh! What was this? The other boy acted like they went way back or something… Blaine had only spoken to him a total of, like, seven sentences in his life!

"Don't worry, they're all gone," Kurt said, not really explaining much of anything, but –again- Blaine took what he could get. The man beside him, who Blaine now noticed had an aluminum bat held tightly in his hands, cleared his throat. Kurt flushed. "Oh, yeah. Blaine, this is my dad, Burt. Burt, this is Blaine. The one I told you about?" he clarified, and the man's –Burt's- eyes widened in realization as he eyed Blaine's shoes. Again, Blaine felt skeevy. The world was not meant for Blaines, and Blaines were not meant for the world.

"Nice to meet you, sir," Blaine said with a smile anyway, sticking out his hand to shake Burt's, but the older man recoiled a bit, the action obvious to Blaine despite the attempt to suppress it. Blaine let it roll off his shoulders. He liked Kurt a lot –he was sort of his only friend- so it kind of hit Blaine to get that reaction from his father, but he was a little more than used to it. His grandma wouldn't eat anything he made her, let alone sit on a chair he had been in before hand. There was literally a spot on the couch and a seat at the table where his gram wouldn't let him sit. Those were her 'clean spots'. "Thank you for helping me," he offered, dropping his hand comfortably.

"No problem, kiddo. It ain't right to hurt another person, no matter what the reason. Especially when they don't know the full story," Burt said, and Blaine watched as a wave of guilt washed over his face. Suddenly, he found himself completely enveloped in a hug. Was Kurt's family just made up of touchy people? Blaine slowly wrapped his arms around Burt for a second, trying to make sense of the situation. People Burt's age didn't really touch him like this… ever. Actually, people in general didn't really touch him like this. He couldn't help but lean his face into the man's shoulder, soaking in the hug.

Burt broke away after a couple moments, and Blaine caught Kurt looking at the pair of them approvingly. Blaine rubbed the back of his head and looked to the ground. "You're always saving me…" he murmured, and he saw Kurt smile softly at him out of the corner of his eye.

"I'm just glad someone is," he replied, and Blaine flushed. Kurt was so cute… The other boy's hand somehow managed to work it's way onto Blaine's shoulder, and he turned his head up to look him in the eyes. Kurt was giving him a rather upset look, and Blaine felt his stomach twist.

All too soon, the moment was gone, and Kurt was climbing back into his car. It was eleven o'clock at night. What had they been doing out in the first place? Kurt always seemed to be driving by his corner late at night, but he didn't seem to be much of a party-goer. Huh. Weird.

It wasn't another two days before Blaine saw Kurt again. Naturally, he had been out on the sidewalk, waiting for someone to come to him, and the world seemed to answer his prayers. A yellow van parked at the stoplight, ignoring the green light reflecting on its hood. Blaine hated vans. They were so cramped; it made him feel claustrophobic. He should definitely charge extra…

A rather seedy looking guy stepped out of the driver's seat. He was older, the top of his head balding but the rest of his hair long. Long enough to possibly tickle Blaine's shoulders as he lay underneath him. Ew. He really didn't want that hair touching him. It was dirty and gross.

But whatever. Money was money, and –again- this had never been a big deal for Blaine. He was used to being touched when he didn't want to be. It took a lot to throw him.

Blaine plastered on his biggest smile, waiting patiently as the guy made his way over, a creepy grin pasted on his face. Let's be real: some of his clients were scarier than others. Blaine didn't really have a preference. The guy was about to cross the last lane of traffic to get to Blaine, when a black Navigator screeched into a park next to the curb. Blaine was confused when Kurt sprung from the car and ran up to him.

"Hey, Blaine! How are you?" Kurt asked, looking a little flummoxed, and he wrapped an arm around Blaine's shoulders. The guy in the street looked at them, confused, before turning around and getting in his van. Blaine's heart leapt into his throat.

"Kurt! What are you doing?" he yelped, breaking free of Kurt's grasp and jogging up to his potential client's car, but it was already pulling away. Blaine felt his shoulders sag. "Crap, I needed that guy!" he exclaimed and then shot a glare towards Kurt. "Why would you do that?" The taller boy bit his lip, eyes fixating on the lazily switching traffic light.

"I just… I didn't want you… I don't know," he settled on, and Blaine tried not to shout.

"Kurt, that was at least a thousand dollars that now I don't have. I needed that," he said because –yes- there were expensive things out there that Blaine had to buy, such as all the ridiculous doctors appointments his gram kept setting up. He was already behind… Suddenly, his chest constricted a bit. Oh. Hell, no. Blaine was not crying right now. He didn't cry. Not anymore. "I really, really needed that."

"I'm sorry, I just… I didn't want to see you hurt, again. I… I was saving yo-"

"Saving me?" Blaine cut him off, tears clogging his throat. "No you weren't; you were making things worse. Kurt… This is my job. I'm not going to get paid… I… I need money, Kurt. How… I never get paid… and then I was going to, but… but why…? I-I-I…" Blaine broke off into sobs, and Kurt was hugging him. Blaine didn't like it. He didn't want to be held by Kurt. He was perfect, and Blaine was dirty, and… and… Well, it didn't matter. This was his life. He was okay.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to mess anything up, I just…" Kurt didn't finish his sentence. Blaine was crying too hard to really pay attention to it anyway. Crap, crap, crap. Blaine didn't cry. He never cried… "Can I pay you? I'm using your time, I should pay you." Blaine just cried harder. "Wha- okay. Blaine. Would you just… come home with me? Not to do anything, just… just come home with me, I feel like… I feel like you need somewhere nice to spend the night," Kurt said, and Blaine sniffled, trying to catch a breath.

"I ha-have to take care of my gr-gram," he choked, and Kurt nodded. Blaine was vaguely aware of Kurt holding him close for a while before leading him to his car, sitting him down in the same seat he used that fateful day they became friends. Eventually, Kurt pulled up outside his house, and once again Blaine was being lead away again, but this time to his door.

"Mrs. Anderson?" Kurt called, and Blaine tried to tell him not to, but… Gah, see? This was why he didn't cry. "Mrs. Anderson?" Blaine watched through his tears as his grammy stepped out from behind the corner of the he hallway leading to the bedroom.

"What are you?" she asked rudely, and Blaine couldn't even find it within himself to be embarrassed by her. Why? Why didn't she care about him anymore? She used to love her little Blaine-a-bee! Why wouldn't she anymore? This… This was all for her…

"I'm a friend of your grandson's," Kurt said coolly, ignoring his grandmom's snort of disbelief. "He's rather upset, and I just thought-"

"Put him in his room. He'll get over it," she said with a wave of her hand, hobbling to her bedroom and closing the door despite Kurt's calls of protest. Blaine had never been so humiliated… His face felt hot, and he couldn't tell if it was because he was crying or because of how completely mortified he was. Kurt looked at him, shifting from foot to foot awkwardly. It was obvious he wasn't comfortable with him or his house right now.

"So do you want me to-"

"Just put me in my room," Blaine hiccupped. It was hard to breathe. "Like she said." Kurt didn't look sold, but he did put him in his room. The shocked look on his face was enough to prove to Blaine that he was more than surprised by his lack of possessions. A mattress on the floor. He probably looked like a crack head.

Regardless, Kurt let him be and left the apartment, the door clicking behind him on his way out. And again? Blaine cried harder.

Blaine's heart stopped a little bit at the sound of his doorbell. Who on earth would visit him? He was expecting anyone from some men in white coats to finally take him away to the bank ready to repossess his house once and for all. Well, anyone but one person.

"Kurt?" he squeaked, thoroughly surprised. The boy seemed to melt a bit before him.

"Oh, thank goodness… I was so worried," Kurt gasped, flinging his arms around Blaine's neck. "I thought you were dead or something. You haven't been at your corner in, like, two weeks, and I… I was so worried!" He pulled away and held Blaine by the shoulders, looking into his eyes and sort of fussing with his clothes to get them back in order after he had hugged him. Of course, Blaine hadn't really been in order in the first place. "So? What's up? Did you get a new job? Are you doing well? It's weird not seeing you; you're such a constant to me," Kurt said, and Blaine watched his face as he took in his appearance. "Blaine?" Kurt asked, but he just clenched his jaw. "What happened?"

Blaine didn't say anything. Instead, he led Kurt deeper into his apartment. He could sense the other boy's nervousness behind him, but… gah. Blaine was used to things hurting like this… He was. Everything hurt just so freaking bad all the time, but he… He didn't know what he was doing anymore. What was he supposed to do?

He opened the door to his grandma's bedroom, stepping aside so Kurt could see in. The room was empty aside from an old, spindly bed and a little table by the side with a big, shiny silver urn sitting up on it. Kurt looked confused. "Wha-?"

"I didn't have enough money for a proper funeral," Blaine said quietly, and the way Kurt's beautiful, amazing, sapphire eyes widened was heartbreaking. However, as much as it hurt to see, Blaine didn't think he could find it within himself to do anything about it. He never wanted to find anyone dead like that again. Never.

"But I-"

"I don't know what to do, Kurt," Blaine said, not really hearing him. "What… She's not here, and I'm so scared, but… but there's still bills to pay, and there's still her bills to pay, and I don't… I'm not…" He cleared his throat. This time he really wasn't going to cry. He hated crying. "I'm not brave enough for this, Kurt. She's really gone, and she never… she never forgave me. I just wanted her to love me again…"

Naturally, Kurt pulled him into another hug that, yes, Blaine absolutely hated. He hated being touched… hated it, but he let Kurt hang onto him anyway. That's… that's just what you do…

"Blaine, I think… I don't think you should be alone like this anymore," he muttered into his ear, and Blaine awkwardly buried his nose into the crook of Kurt's neck, his body tense. "You've been alone so long. You need… you need love, okay? Come home with me this time," Kurt said, and Blaine didn't know what to do. He was so scared, and things just kept getting worse and worse, and he didn't have anything to fall back on.

"Your dad won't want me," he said partially because he didn't want to let himself hope for anything. He didn't dare. "He won't." Kurt's arms impossibly tightened around him, and Blaine felt suffocated. He stood up stiff, officially leaning out of the other boy's touch.

"No. He needs someone just as much as you do," Kurt said, and Blaine shuddered. Kurt was wrong. Maybe Burt needed somebody, but that wasn't Blaine. He wasn't anything. He was untouchable, trash. Burt wouldn't want him. He wouldn't. Kurt seemed to sense this and continued. "Blaine, he doesn't like your job, but… but with us, you can be done with that. I know it's crazy, but my dad and I are always talking about you on our way home from the hospital. I think… I think you need to be with us. Not just for you, but for me and my dad, too." Blaine was thrown.

"The hospital?" he asked, and he could feel Kurt's face heat up on his ear.

"Blaine. We need someone," Kurt just said again, and Blaine let the question go. He wasn't quite sure what to do with himself. What… Was he supposed to be holding Kurt back? How hard? What passed the line? He brought his hands up to Kurt's chest and fisted his shirt in his hands. Kurt's hair was soft and feathery against his neck.

"Okay," Blaine said and Kurt, thankfully, pulled away and grabbed his hands.

"Okay?" he repeated, excitement gleaming in his eyes, and Blaine wondered how he did it. He nodded in response and Kurt dragged him into his bedroom, throwing the, like, twelve piece of clothes he owned into the drawstring Nike backpack he'd had for ages, and then taking by the hand and carting him off to his car. Blaine sat in the passenger seat like usual, only this time there was more history to it: blood and tears.

He was honestly in a fog. He shouldn't have said yes… he didn't need somebody. He had somebody. He had lots of somebodies, but they all… They all didn't work out. No one wanted him, and Blaine was used to that. Kurt put his hand on his knee as they drove, and Blaine's skin crawled.

"Dad?" Kurt called into the quiet house, towing Blaine behind him. "Blaine's here, okay?" The tone to his voice implied there was more to what he was saying than the actual words. There was a shout of acceptance from somewhere upstairs, and Blaine didn't know what to do with himself in such a nice house. It had been a while since he had been somewhere that wasn't dirty or cramped. He suddenly ached for nicer clothes. He didn't fit in here…

"Kurt, I don't think this was a good ide-"

"Oh, hush," the taller boy said with a flippant wave of his hand, and he disappeared down the hallway. "Would you like something to eat?" he called, and Blaine furrowed his eyebrows together. He heard the familiar sucking noise of a refrigerator door opening, and Blaine had never wanted to go home more in his life. He cleared his throat, pulling at his collar.

"No." Kurt came back to join him in the foyer -sipping from a bottle of water- and once again grabbed him by the hand. This time, Blaine found himself in a guest room.

"Here, this is your room! And you can put your stuff in here…" Kurt said, stringing out clothes from his bag and stuffing them in the drawers of a big dresser. He looked excited.

Blaine wanted to vomit.

Things were moving so, so fast. Blaine couldn't keep up; he couldn't keep up, and Kurt was babbling so fast about all the stuff he needed to know about schedules and his dad and… Blaine couldn't take any of it in, he was so overwhelmed. Crap, what? What?

"Blaine, are you okay?" he caught at the end of one of Kurt's tangents, but –no- he wasn't okay. Of course, he didn't know how to say that because people never asked him that kind of question, and somehow his feet were turning him around and he was running –running- out of the house. "Blaine…? Blaine!"

Kurt was calling for him, but he didn't dare turn around. Instead he burst back out through the front door, twisting his way through the tangled mess of unfamiliar streets laid out before him, one destination in mind.

Kay, this was going to be a one-shot but um… yeah. It's clearly far too long. SO TWO SHOT! I'll put up the next piece when I write it. That's sort of more rehabilitation, and this part is obviously when all the crap happens. I'll set about fixing it later.