Blaine's shoes hit against the cold pavement as he made his way to school. It was pouring rain- something he should have been used to by then, and, even though he believed he was, the feeling that held tight in his chest whenever it did rain, well-

 He'd never get used to that.

 Every molecule in his body was overflowing with a sort of sadness that accompanied the dark clouds and mud puddles. Drops of rain dribbled steadily down his face from the single curl poking out of his hood, collecting water. It was uncomfortable-sure- and the headache that began building up behind his eyes wasn't making it any better, but he was almost there. It couldn't be all that bad once he got inside.

Most people wake up with a purpose, looking forward to another warm hand to hold or breakfast to make, but others, like Blaine, had a harder time doing so; leaning over to stop the incessant beeping of his alarm and, realizing he has no hand to hold, no breakfast to make, no bus to catch and not one reason at all to get out of bed.

But, he always did, just hoping that one day, he'll have that.

 Hell, he hoped he would have more than that. Blaine woke up for a chance, every day for a chance that something extraordinary might happen, only to be disappointed when night rolled around.

 He hopped up the front steps to the school two at a time, wishing he would've brought an umbrella.

 Also, as it turns out, Blaine's theory was very wrong- it was worse inside.

 Now that there weren't buckets of water sheeting down over him every second, he noticed how soaking wet he was. His coat sleeves were dripping all over the hallway as he rushed to the bathroom, leaving a line of water in his wake.

He stuck his hair under the hand dryer, slowly but surely drying off the mop on top of his head. He then proceeded to change into the spare clothes he always had on hand.

Blaine had just begun to comb out the access water lodged into his curls when the boy's bathroom door creaked open.

Blaine froze, unsure of whom it could be, but hoped it wasn't anybody who would just shove his head into the toilet water, making everything he just did to dry himself off a complete waste of time.

In walked Finn Hudson, and Blaine physically stiffened. Finn Hudson happened to be one of David's best friends, well, was one.

Blaine hated how everything was in past tense when someone had passed away. Why should everything change? Because somebody is no longer living, means not that they have dissolved into nothing. They were still a part of other's lives. If they were your best friend when they were alive, they could sure as shit still be your best friend after death.

Much to Blaine's surprise, Finn nodded his head and gave Blaine a small smile, and, Blaine being a gentleman, he smiled back.

"Hey dude-" Finn started, and-

‘Okay. Why was somebody who shoved him into a locker not even a week ago seeming to want to interact with him?'

"I followed the water."

Blaine laughed awkwardly and continued combing his hair, wondering what the hell Finn Hudson was trying to accomplish.

"Hey, Blaine, look I'm really sorry."

Blaine looked over at the jock, taking in the sincere look on his face.

"Not just for what I did to you but for Karofsky's part in it too." Finn shoved his hands in his pockets, trying to maintain eye contact. "I knew that's what he would've wanted me to say."

Blaine nodded, trying a little too hard to pretend he cared what Dave would or wouldn't have wanted.

He turned back towards the paper towel dispenser and grabbed a few sheets press against his hair, allowing the water to leak out.

Blaine heard a large inhale of breath coming from the side of the room Finn Hudson occupied, and Blaine did a double take, grasping the fact that the football player was crying- silently, at that.

 That was, until the curly haired boy looked over and saw his eyes, red and puffy, and the saltiness slipping down his cheeks. Blaine was alarmed at the sight. As if on instinct, Blaine wrapped his arms around the taller boys' waist and hugged him close. Finn buried his face into Blaine's now-dried, soon-to-be wet again shoulder.

He could feel Finn breathing, gasping for air as he let the tears fall onto Blaine. Without a word, they stood there; it wasn't anything that felt weird to do. Actually, it made Blaine feel pity, which was a feeling he thought he'd never feel for one Finn Hudson, football player extraordinaire.

Finn pulled away from Blaine when the bell for first period rang, taking one of the pieces of paper towel sitting on the washroom counter that the tan boy was planning on using, and held it to his eyes. Finally, he turned back to Blaine.

"I just really miss him, dude." Finn smiled sadly, mashing the paper towel up into a ball and chucking it into the garbage. He, then, held out his hand in front of Blaine. "Truce?" he suggested, hopeful.

Blaine grinned and took his hand, shaking it lightly, and let go. "Yeah."

Finn nodded again and hurried out of the washroom.

Blaine had made his first real friend- could he call him that?

And for once, Blaine was happy he had gotten out of bed today.

"What are you doing?" Blaine jerked awake, coming face- to- face with Kurt.

It was three A.M., and Blaine was enjoying his peaceful slumber, all until Kurt decided to plop onto the bed beside him and punch Blaine in the stomach.

"Sleeping?" Blaine answered groggily, feeling the blow to the stomach a lot more when he was awake rather than asleep.

Kurt groaned and rolled his eyes, slapping Blaine across the face, hard.

"What the hell?" Blaine winced and cupped a hand to his irritated cheek.

"Wake up," Kurt demanded, bouncing up and down on the bed impatiently, glaring at Blaine on every occasion their eyes met.

"What is wrong with you?" Blaine propped himself up against the headboard and eyed Kurt curiously.

Kurt straddled Blaine's lap, his hands coming to rest on the short boys' shoulders, grip so tight, Blaine was squirming underneath, attempting to try and get free.

"What's wrong with me? No, sweetie, what's wrong with you? Aren't I good enough for you?" Kurt snarled, tightening the grip on Blaine's shoulders greatly, piercing the skin there with his nails that began to grow.

"Jesus, Kurt. Stop! Stop it!"

Blaine tried to push him off, but Kurt returned with equal force, keeping him in place, as the demons nails clawed through this skin.

And-fuck- did it hurt.

"Wh-what did I do?" Blaine whimpered, groaning in pain when his shoulders started to burn, and he could feel the streaks of blood trickling slowly down his back.

"I'm not good enough, am I? Am I, Blaine?! Is Finn Hudson better than me? Is he?" Kurt smacked Blaine against the headboard over and over, making sure each time hurt a little more than the last.

"What?" Blaine's ears were ringing, being pounded repeatedly into a headboard (and not in the enjoyable sense) really fucking hurt, and, over the ringing, Blaine could only hear Kurt droning on about Finn Hudson and- what did Finn have to do with the continual hitting?

"WHY, WHY, WHY, WHY, WHY?!" Kurt screamed, hammering Blaine against the cold wood, every time the word would escape his mouth, and every time the wind would be knocked out of Blaine.

 He reached out and grabbed onto the demons' waist, his grip light and feather-like, barely able to hold on.

"Kurt-"Blaine gasped for breath, "Please, let-" Another smack. "me-" And Another. "explain!"

"Fine," Kurt grunted but refused to let go, Blaine's hands still like a ghosts' over Kurt's hips.

"Finn Hudson doesn't mean anything to me." Blaine breaths were heavy and uneven; Blaine felt like he had been skinned from his neck down to his lower back... everything hurt.

"You are mine, Blaine. Mine." His eyes narrow in the darkness of the room.

Blaine nodded, trying to decipher what ‘mine' consisted of, and what Blaine would have to do to make sure it stayed that way.

 After all, Blaine had never belonged to someone before.

Through the searing pain, and his own breath, he still noticed something about Kurt. He was shifting around on the bed, his eyes locked with Blaine's, and something about the way he was looking at him... it all said something to Blaine... he had never received this look before, but he's seen it before. It took him a minute or so to fully understand what it was, and when the name plunked itself into his head, Blaine let out a small giggle.

Kurt jutted out his jaw and took a closer look at Blaine, eyeing him carefully.

"What?"

"You're jealous." Blaine declared, entirely aware of his own correctness.

Kurt crossed his arms over his chest and pouted.

"Am not."

Blaine laughed a little harder this time, ignoring the pain completely.

"Are too."

Kurt leaped off the bed with a huff and yanked open Blaine's drawers, digging through them, a frustrated expression on his face. Blaine tilted his head to the side, watching the demon in intrest.

"What are you-?" Blaine didn't get to finish before a shirt was tossed at him from the opposite side of the room.

"Put that on. We're going out," Kurt said simply, walking over to the window and hauling it open. "I'll be outside, darling."

He swung his feet over the ledge and hopped off.

Then Kurt was gone, and the curly haired boy never heard him hit the ground, though Blaine's room was on the third floor.

Blaine contemplated going back to bed instead, masking tonight's events with sleep, but Blaine knew he couldn't do that, a part of him still wanted to be with Kurt, though the other part was scared to death.

Blaine stood slowly, now, noticing the intense pain that was still occupying the area on his back. He wearily put on the t-shirt, sniffling when the shirt slid over the fresh cuts. He felt the cotton absorb the blood left there, but Blaine didn't really know what he was doing right now anyway. He just hoped they weren't on their way to a restaurant or something.

Blaine laughed dryly at the idea of Kurt bringing him to a restaurant.

Kurt would murder the staff; there was not a doubt in Blaine's mind.

The raining had ceased, but there were puddles all over the ground, and the midnight fog was hanging close to the ground, covering any mysteries that could be lurking around at an hour like this. Nothing could be heard- not a cricket, not an owl, and not even a car in the distance. There was a line of streetlights breaking up the fog every couple yards, allowing Blaine to see enough of the road to be able to walk on it and still remain quite safe.

He looked around for Kurt, who seemed to have disappeared completely.

"Who are you looking for?" The demon whispered in his ear, and Blaine flew forward, cursing at Kurt when he turned to face him. Kurt giggled and intertwined their fingers together, beginning to walk briskly towards the street, and dragging Blaine out of his driveway.

Every slight movement hurt Blaine, but Kurt didn't seem to care. He was on a mission  and was fully prepared to take the shorter boy with him.

"Where are we going?" Blaine queried as they broke through the fog together.

"Mr. Hudson's house," Kurt replied, not missing a step in his stride towards the destination.

"Why?" Blaine questioned again, and Kurt rolled his eyes.

"You have a lot of questions." Kurt commented, squeezing Blaine's hand in an attempt to ease the worried boy. "Remember how I said we were going to find someone tomorrow?"

Blaine twitched, remembering their conversation from yesterday.

Yesterday.

It was yesterday when Kurt said "Tomorrow."

Tomorrow  was Today.

Oh no. Kurt couldn't be doing this.

He absolutely could not be doing this right now.

Blaine whipped his head in Kurt's direction, and the demon looked positively filled with pleasure, glad that Blaine had caught on without any more explantion.

"No." Blaine whimpered, unable to believe this.

"Yes."

And Blaine could feel the excitement coursing through his body. Kurt was bouncing down the street, still dragging Blaine down the street towards Finn's house.

"Your mine, Blaine, and he has to know that."

The reason didn't help Blaine at all. He couldn't do this; he couldn't murder his first real friend at Mckinely.

He pictured Finn and himself playing video games in Blaine's room while they stuffed their faces with potato chips, Finn going on about football to Blaine, and Blaine doing the same about Kurt- wait- no. Not Kurt.

Kurt stopped in front of a maroon house. It was dark and silent, like all of the other ones. He guessed this particular one was none other than Finn Hudson's.

Kurt grabbed Blaine's face and placed a kiss to his cold lips.

"Do this for me, sweetie," The demon murmured before slipping a limber object into his hand and pointed his body towards the entrance of the house.

Blaine gulped and looked down at his hand.

Kurt had given him a knife - the biggest knife in the kitchen, is what Blaine always called it; he recognized it and noted that Kurt probably stole it from his own kitchen.

A voice took over his thoughts.

"Blaine I'm going to be right here if you need me." Kurt's voice echoed, though, when he looked up, Kurt was sitting on the curb, smiling at Blaine. He raised a finger to his temple and tapped it several times.

"I'll be right here... inside."

 Blaine's eyebrows furrowed, and the boy nodded furiously, looking at Kurt once more before taking a hesitant step towards the home.

He could do this.