I've walked around broken, emotionally frozen,
getting it on, getting it wrong.

Chapter 1:

It was the only time he felt wanted, the only time he felt that he was worth anything, like he was attractive, appealing, but never beautiful, no matter what the 45 year old man with his suit pants around his ankles whispered roughly in his ear, followed by a string of expletives and words of degradation. Sometimes, Blaine would close his eyes and pretend, envision himself with a life, with someone to love, someone who loved him back, a boy who would smile at him and tell him he was beautiful and mean it. He would close his eyes and pretend that he was with the imaginary boy, that the boy was making love to him, carefully, cherishing him, but often the thrusts inside him became too rough and the pretence was shattered.

The only consolation was the wad of bills left on the bedside table, or on the sink in the toilets, or on the damp ground in the side lane by the quiet, little wine bar that was filled with not-so-quiet people, with big characters and even bigger egos.

Blaine closed his eyes as the hands on his hips tightened and he knew it was almost over, knew that in an hour, he would be back home, curled into the corner of the shower, scrubbing himself clean, leaving his skin red raw and painful. The guy finished with a loud, gruff cry and he shuffled away, pulling his pants back up, before smoothening his clothes out and tidying his hair in the mirror. Blaine immediately redressed and sat on the edge of the fancy, hotel room bed to tie his shoelaces. He took his time, because he had to wait for his money and the guy had promised a hefty amount for an hour of Blaine's time, a lot more than what he usually made.

Blaine knew the story. This guy had never even contemplated coming out of the closet. He had gotten married, had kids, a good job, but none of that was enough, because 'John Smith' (they all called themselves 'John Smith') liked men and 'John Smith' would pay men (or boys, in Blaine's case) any amount they wanted to show him a good time whenever he could get time away from 'Mrs Smith'.

Blaine had been with this one once before. He didn't often deal with the same clients a second time but he had offered extra and Blaine needed the money. Although he didn't like him much, he definitely wasn't the worst Blaine had encountered. There had been several worse, in fact. For example, there was John 'call me daddy' Smith, who liked to pull hair and for Blaine to boost his ego by telling him he was too big (he wasn't). There had also been 'Mr X' ("just call me Mr X") who had flung a pair of fishnets at Blaine and then promised to pay him double if he allowed him to call him Mona (Blaine didn't ask why).

Blaine hated it. He hated all of it and hatred was the only thing he felt any more. He didn't have friends, or a family, or anyone he could turn to when he needed help or a shoulder to cry on. He didn't have anyone. The only time he got to be close to someone was when he was working and sometimes, he needed that, just to feel the warmth of an embrace, of another body close to his own, but later, he just felt used and dirty.

"Did you like that?" 'John Smith' asked, once he was satisfied with his attire.

Blaine lifted his gaze from his shoe laces. "Sure," he told him, voice lifting with faux enthusiasm. "It was great."

It had been so great that Blaine hadn't even come. He rarely did, unless they demanded it. Sex wasn't something that gave him any kind of pleasure, not really. Sometimes, it felt good, because sometimes, they touched him and some of them were good enough actors that they made it seem real, but he knew, he always knew that it was an act.

'John Smith' gave him a smug smile and dug his hand inside his wallet to pull out some cash. "I'll leave it here," he told Blaine, as he laid the bills out on the dresser.

Blaine nodded and went back to tying his shoes. He could feel the man's eyes on him (he didn't know what colour they were) and it made him feel nervous, under interrogation, but he didn't let on. He simply finished tying his shoes and then stood up. He walked across the room and had no choice but to pass the man to retrieve his money. He ignored the pressure of the big hand squeezing his left buttcheek and the sound of low laughter and grabbed the money, before leaving the room quickly. He didn't look sideways once until he had left the hotel entirely and gotten far down the street.

Kurt had seen him before. He'd seen him by the theatre, in the coffee shop, sitting on the park bench. He had seen him reading a newspaper and buying a soda and ordering a sandwich. He stood out, no matter how hard he tried to blend in and on more than one occasion, Kurt had gotten up the courage to go say hi, but the boy always stood up and walked away, out of the coffee shop, or the grocery store, or the park gate before he ever had the chance.

He was always by himself, always staring off into the distance like his mind was elsewhere. Kurt couldn't tell what colour his eyes were, he had never gotten close enough to be able to tell. He had dark hair, always gelled down like a helmet on his head. His clothes weren't right for him, though, Kurt couldn't help but notice that fact. They were very ordinary and this boy, he was anything but ordinary.

Yes, Kurt had undoubtedly seen him before, but he had never seen him like this. Kurt was sitting in the window of a random coffee shop when it happened. He hadn't been paying very much attention, but the speed at which the figure was running made him look up and when he did, he saw him, the dark haired boy. The boy stopped and looked around quickly, as if he was being chased and then his shoulders seemed to rest when he realised no one was there. He slid into a seat by the door, one of the chairs that was reserved for customers who smoked, probably, and dug a hand into his pocket, seemed to feel for something, then pulled it back out again, but he hadn't taken anything from it.

He was flushed, cheeks pink and forehead beading with sweat. He was close enough to the window that Kurt could study him. His eyes were perhaps a shade of brown and they were wide and filled with what Kurt conjectured to be fear. His chest was rising and falling quickly and he kept closing his eyes for brief periods and then opening them and looking around warily again.

Kurt wasn't sure what it was about this boy, but he needed to know him. He'd gone on dates in the past few months since he had arrived in New York, but none of them had amounted to anything but awkward kisses in the car before he said thank you and gone up to his apartment alone. None of the guys he had met had sparked such an interest in him. He had to talk to him, to say something, anything.

Blaine's heartbeat seemed to have retreated back to a healthy, steady rhythm and he relaxed in his seat. He wasn't sure just what it was that he feared after each job, but once they were done, he always found himself running until he was sure he was far, far away from whatever guy he had just had inside of him. His legs were tired from running (and from standing bent against the wall) and he desperately needed to shower, but he needed a minute, just to catch his breath, to allow his blood time to stop racing in his veins. It was a nice day, the sun was high and blinding and people were laughing and chatting and shouting and the aroma of coffee was close and appealing.

"Mind if I join you?"

Blaine's eyes shot up immediately, expecting to see a familiar face, or perhaps a not so familiar one who had heard things about him and was hoping for a demonstration, but when he lifted his head, he did not see a middle aged man smiling sleazily at him. Instead, there was a boy, about his own age. He was tall, with rich, brown hair swept back on top of his head. His eyes were blue, or maybe green and he was smiling and it was...nice.

The boy, however, had obviously seen the expression of horror before Blaine could stifle it, because he said, "Oh, sorry. I didn't mean to impose. It's just that...it's a nice day, much too nice to sit indoors and all the other outdoor tables are full."

Blaine looked around and sure enough, the three seats next to him were the only ones free.

"I come bearing coffee," the boy told him and only then did Blaine notice the paper cup in either of the boy's hands. "I don't know what you like, so I thought a latte was safest."

Blaine didn't say anything, he just stared and then looked down at the table. It was scratched and had tiny granules of salt on it.

"So, can I sit down?"

He looked up again and shook his head. "Sorry," he said. "Where are my manners? Please, sit."

The boy beamed at him and it gave him an odd sense of warmth. He sat down, back straight, and pushed the steaming cup towards Blaine.

"Thank you," Blaine said, meeting his eyes. "How much do I owe you?"

"Oh, nothing!" the boy said. "It's just coffee, no big deal."

Blaine nodded, very slowly and wondered if there was some kind of catch. The boy was staring at him, still smiling and Blaine nodded again.

"I don't really have regulars, so if someone told you there would be a discount—"

"A discount?" the boy asked, voice lower, eyebrows furrowed. "A discount...for...what, exactly?"

Blaine eyed him, trying to find a sign of some kind, but he couldn't pick one out. He would have believed the boy was genuine if he didn't know better. People weren't generally nice to people like Blaine for no reason and so, he assumed that the boy had to be a potential customer.

"I can do tomorrow," he told the boy, looking down at the coffee cup. "I'm done for today, so it'll have to be tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," he said, almost experimentally. "Um, I'm sorry, but I'm confused. Are you...asking me out?"

Blaine looked up quickly, eyebrows raised. This boy didn't look wealthy enough for that kind of set up. "What exactly are you looking for?" he enquired. "Do you want me to play the boyfriend beforehand? Like, some kind of domestic roleplay?"

The boy, who had been taking a sip of his coffee, spluttered and choked and had to grab some napkins from the side pocket of his over-the-shoulder bag. Blaine watched as he cleaned away the drops of coffee and caught his breath.

"Look, I think you..." He stopped and shook his head. "I wasn't coming out here to...to hit on you, or anything. I promise I'm not some kind of predator, if that's what you were thinking."

"I wasn't."

The boy tilted his head and seemed to study Blaine for a while, then his eyes went wide and he pushed his chair back a little bit. "Were you making fun of me?" he asked, voice louder. "You were trying to be funny, because I'm gay."

Blaine looked at him like he had three heads. "No!" he said. "No, of course not!"

The boy didn't look convinced, but he didn't stand up and walk away, either.

"Look, we just...we're on different pages," Blaine said. "I... I'm gay, too, you know. I just thought that... Why did you come out here?"

The boy seemed to relax. "I just wanted to say hi," he admitted. "I've seen you around before and well, it's silly, but I've kind of been trying to work up the courage to introduce myself for a while now." He was blushing and it looked good on him. "I didn't mean to offend you, or anything. Although I'm a little confused as to why you did get so weird about everything."

Blaine looked at him. He was so honest and real and...

"Oh, God," Blaine gasped. "You're not... I thought—Wow. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, I just thought..." He stopped, took a deep breath. "I'm Blaine." He held out a hand, then pulled it back, after realising he hadn't yet washed it. He still felt dirty. The boy looked confused. "Sweaty hand," Blaine said, as a means of explanation.

The boy nodded. "I'm Kurt," he said. "I have to ask. When you said d-domestic role play...what did you mean, exactly?"

Blaine felt himself blushing. He took a sip of the latte. "It's not important," he said. "I just misread your intentions."

Kurt nodded like he understood, but Blaine knew that he had no idea.

"You... You've been trying to introduce yourself for a while?" Blaine asked.

Kurt nodded and smiled. "I've seen you around," he said again. "Just here and there and I—it sounds creepy, but I promise, I don't stalk you or anything—but I see you. Just sitting places sometimes and you look so deep in thought that I kind of can't help but wonder what you're thinking."

Blaine was speechless. Things like this didn't happen to him. Nobody ever noticed him without an ulterior motive.

"It's stupid," Kurt went on. "I know it is, but when I saw you out here, I grabbed the opportunity. If you're frightened of my full-on persona, I won't blame you if you get up and leave, I swear." He laughed nervously. "And I know I said I wasn't coming out here to h-hit on you, but I do want to ask you out. To coffee! I mean, we're having coffee right now," he held up his cup as if to prove it, "but I was thinking more along the lines of a...coffee date?" He looked hopeful, a gleam in his eye.

Blaine wanted to, so badly, but he couldn't bring himself to say yes, he knew what it would mean if he did.

"I can't," he said, voice low.

"Oh, God," Kurt said. "Wow, I've just made the biggest idiot of myself. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—you have a boyfriend, don't you?" Blaine shook his head and tried to speak, but Kurt went on, "You're married? Oh, my gosh, I didn't mean to—"

"Kurt," Blaine said, firmly. "I'm not in a relationship, or-or married, or anything like that."

"Oh," Kurt said, calmly. "You just...don't like me then."

"No," Blaine said, truthfully. "I do. I do like you. I mean, I don't know you, but I like you. So far. I just... Honestly? I'd love to say yes, but...I can't."

Kurt only stared, blinking very slowly. "So...let me get this straight. You like me and you want to go out with me...but...you won't?"

Blaine only nodded, eyes on the lid of the coffee cup.

"Is there any particular reason?"

Blaine nodded again and he decided that he had to tell him, because he wasn't going to see him again anyway. "Do you want to take a walk with me for a minute? I'll explain."

Kurt nodded this time and lifted his bag, then stood up. Blaine stood up, too and they grabbed their coffees and started walking down the street.

"So..." Kurt said.

"So," Blaine said, smiling. He had no idea how to bring it up, he didn't generally have to tell many people about his occupation, his life. "I don't know how to say this."

"Just tell me," Kurt urged, stopping to face Blaine.

"Look, when I tell you, please don't...scream or-or start shouting at me in front of people, okay?"

"I have no idea why you would ever get the impression that I would do that. Ever."

Blaine couldn't help smiling. "Okay," he said and the smile vanished. "I can't go out with you—I'd love to. You're...attractive and really nice and everything and I'd love to be able to get to know you, it's just that...guys don't really take very kindly to my...my job."

"Your job," Kurt repeated. His voice was lower when he asked, "Are you...a hit man?"

Blaine laughed humourlessly. "No," he said. "Nothing that glamorous. It's more..." He took a deep breath and then let it out. "I'm a...hooker, I guess that's the correct term." He didn't look up to see Kurt's reaction, but he could only imagine. "I've been selling, uh, sex for about a year now."

He lifted his head very slowly and Kurt was staring eyes wide, but still soft somehow.

"How old are you?" he asked.

"I turned eighteen three months ago," Blaine said, feeling ashamed. "I ran away when I was almost seventeen and...well, things didn't go the way I'd envisioned." He shrugged.

"You're so young, Blaine," Kurt said in an almost-whisper.

"Look, I didn't tell you the truth so that you could judge me," Blaine told him defensively.

"I'm not!" Kurt protested. "I'm not judging! I just...you can't like doing that. You can't."

"Of course I don't!" Blaine said. "You think I like not knowing what to expect every time some sleazebag approaches me? Do you think I'm proud of myself? I'm not. I don't even like myself. I can't remember the last time I liked myself."

"That's what I mean," Kurt said. "You're so young and you've been through so much."

Blaine shrugged and sighed. "Now you know. I need to go home and shower, so if you see me around again, just...act as if we've never met, okay?"

"You're embarrassed," Kurt observed.

"Of course I'm embarrassed," he told Kurt. "You're the nicest guy I've had ask me out in...well, ever. You're obviously smart and have a bright future. Of course I'm embarrassed."

Kurt nodded his head and then looked up again. "You... Is that why you were running? Did you...just get off, um, work?"

Blaine made a sound of affirmation.

"I see," Kurt said. "So... Are you still declining my request for a date?"

Blaine looked up, eyes wide. "You...still want to go out with me? Even though you know I'm a whor—"

"Don't," Kurt said. "Don't call yourself names, okay? I get it, you got lost along the way. I don't agree with it, I hate that you think that you have no other choice, but I like you. I don't know you, but I'd like to. So, yes, the offer still stands. Coffee date? You said you're free tomorrow, right?"

Blaine nodded, unable to believe this was really happening.

"Okay, then. I'll mee—oh, my God. You thought I was a...client? Do you call them clients? I'm sorry, I don't know the terms, but you thought I was looking for a discount!" Kurt's cheeks burned a vibrant pink then.

Blaine smiled slightly. "Sorry," he said. "You don't look like you are, but...you can't tell with some people."

Kurt nodded. "It's okay," he assured him, cheeks still coloured. "So, tomorrow?"

Blaine smiled, knowing he should still decline, but he needed to allow himself to have some kind of outlet. "Tomorrow," he repeated.

"Can I get your phone number?"

Blaine shakes himself a little. "I—yes. Sorry. I'm not...used to really giving out my number."

"Oh, if you're not comfortable—"

"No, I am." He smiled for effect. "I am. I'm just... It doesn't happen a lot."

Kurt handed him his phone and Blaine typed his number in. "Thanks," Kurt said, taking the phone back. "I, um, guess you need to go. I'll text you with the details, is that okay?"

"That's fine," he told him. He paused. "Look, are you sure about this? It's okay if you're not. You don't have to do this out of pity or kindness."

"I don't date people because I pity them," Kurt informed him. "And I'm not really that kind, I'm sort of a bitch."

Blaine chuckled. "Okay, well, if you change your mind,"—please don't change your mind, please don't change your mind—"you've got my number."

"I have your number," Kurt said, with a nod, "but I won't change my mind."

Blaine looked sceptical, but he nodded anyway. "Okay, well. I'll...go."

"You'll hear from me later," Kurt promised, before giving him a broad grin, a wave and then walking away.

Blaine finished showering, his skin irritated and red, and ate a microwaved meal, before sitting on the ratty, old couch and switching on the little television set. He wasn't watching it, not really, but the sound filled the silence in the cold, heartless apartment. His hair was still wet, limp curls dripping water down his forehead. He felt miserable, cold and alone. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt like he was at home.

The faint buzzing filled his ears, then and he grabbed for his phone, tucked away in his jacket pocket by the door. Nobody ever called Blaine, nobody ever contacted him or offered him friendship. It had to be Kurt. His heart was beating too quickly, fear that the boy had changed his mind filling him. He allowed his finger hover over the middle button, the one that would open the text message from the unfamiliar number, but the curiosity became all too much and he pressed it and the message loaded.

Hi, Blaine! It's Kurt, from the coffee shop today? I said I'd be in touch about our date tomorrow. Is 3pm okay? I'll meet you at the coffee shop we met at today and we can go on from there. Let me know if that's alright. Kurt.

Blaine grinned from ear to ear, his fingers shaking as he composed his reply.

Hi, Kurt. That's perfect.

He fought the urge to ask if Kurt was definitely sure again.

I'm looking forward to it. Thank you. Blaine.

He re-read the words a dozen times, before sending it off and then going to sit down, phone clutched in his hands, willing another text to come through. A minute or so later, one did.

Great! I'm looking forward to it, too! I'm in work until 2 and my boss is kind of a jerk, so if I'm a little late, please wait. I WILL get there!

Blaine smiled at Kurt's words and sent a reply.

That's okay. I guess I'll see you at 3 (or a little after, depending on how your boss is feeling).

Kurt was a faster texter than Blaine was, probably because Blaine hadn't had a lot of practice in a while. Kurt seemed like the type of guy everyone liked, he seemed like the type of guy who had a lot of friends.

Exactly. I'll bring him coffee in the morning, see if I can butter him up a little. He might even let me get out early. It's late, I don't want to keep you up, so I'll see you tomorrow. Goodnight, Blaine.

Blaine knew it was ridiculous, he knew it was cliche and insane, but he could have sworn that he had quite literally swooned. He said goodnight back, before switching off the tv and laying down to sleep, a smile on his lips.

"Who are you texting?" Rachel asked, coming into the living room area.

"No one," Kurt muttered.

"I know that look, Kurt Hummel. Who is he? Is he cute?"

Kurt rolled his eyes, but couldn't hide the smile growing on his lips. "His name is Blaine and yes, very."

"Ooh! Blaine!" Rachel enthused. "When do I get to meet him?"

Kurt rolled his eyes a second time. "I only just met him today, Rachel. At least give me a chance to meet him before he is to be subjected to your crazy."

Rachel's eyes went wide and she tugged on Kurt's arm. "So I do get to meet him! You think this one will be serious? Do you think he's the one?"

Kurt smiled and shrugged her off (his sweater was too expensive to have Rachel pulling on it in such a fashion). "Maybe," he told her. "I've got a date with him tomorrow, so we'll see."

He got to his feet and went inside his bedroom, ignoring Rachel's squealing, but when he climbed under the covers of his bed, he would be lying if he said he hadn't squealed a little himself.

Hi, Blaine. Sorry, I'm running a little late. The coffee didn't do much for his mood, I'm afraid. I hope you don't mind waiting a little while longer. I'm about to leave and I'll be there as quickly as my feet can get me there. See you soon, hopefully. Kurt.

Blaine relaxed in his seat, the same seat he had been sitting in when Kurt had first approached him. He had gone out early that day to buy a new outfit for the date. He didn't own many date-with-an-exceptionally-gorgeous-not-to-mention-fashionable-guy worthy clothes. Nowadays, it didn't matter what he wore and he usually went for what cost him the least. A lot of men didn't care much for what clothes you wore, they were much more interested in you taking them off.

Now, he felt strange in his clothes, like he had taken a step back in time, to the days when he'd enjoyed school and the company of friends and trying to look good. He wore a red v-neck sweater with a white shirt underneath and a red bowtie. His pants were white and straight-legged and his shoes were black. He hoped he looked okay. He hadn't dressed like this in such a long time and for a moment, he could pretend that nothing had gone wrong, that his life was still on track and that he hadn't fallen to pieces.

"Hi. You look great."

Blaine looked around at the sound of the voice and saw Kurt coming towards him. He smiled.

"Which is more than I can say for myself. I didn't get any time to tidy up, I've been in that office since 9am, so this... Nevermind, you don't care. Coffee?"

Blaine stood up. "I'll get it."

"Oh, no, please. I asked you out. Let me."

Before Blaine could protest, Kurt was walking inside the coffee shop. Blaine followed after him.

"Let me buy," he urged.

"Blaine, it's fine. What's your order?"

"Kurt—"

"What's your order, Blaine?"

"Kurt, just because I do what I do, doesn't mean I can't afford two cups of coffee."

Kurt stopped, turned and blinked at him. "I wasn't implying that you couldn't," he said. "Just tell me your coffee order."

Blaine sighed. "Medium drip. Please."

"Okay," Kurt said, with a slow nod. "Do you want to go get a table?"

He nodded, giving in, then turned around to find an empty table. He decided that the booth in the far corner was the best choice, so he sat there and waited. He felt awful for having accused Kurt of such a thing, but he still couldn't shake the feeling that Kurt had bought his coffee for the very reason Blaine had implied.

"Medium drip."

He looked up just as Kurt placed the cup down in front of him, before sliding into the seat facing him.

"Thanks," Blaine said, taking the cup in his hands. "Sorry for...that."

"That's okay," Kurt assured him. "We can start over. You look great."

"Thank you," Blaine said. "You do, too."

Kurt was wearing a white jacket, with a white shirt underneath, which was covered in dark patterns of some form and was accompanied with a pair of black, skin-tight jeans. A pair of white Docs covered his feet.

Kurt smiled. "Thanks," he said. "I was half-convinced you weren't going to come, you know."

Blaine looked up. "I'd have to be nuts not to."

Kurt flushed visibly. He chuckled quietly. "Sorry I was late, by the way."

Blaine nodded. "So, what do you do, exactly?"

"Oh, I'm an assistant at . I'm in the boring part, though, you know, paperwork. My boss is a nightmare, but I'm hoping to work my way up. To the fashion part."

Blaine smiled. He could see Kurt working in fashion. "That's amazing," he said. "I mean, it's Vogue."

"You read Vogue?"

"I used to," Blaine muttered, looking back down at his hands around the cup.

Kurt didn't ask questions.

"Um, so, tell me about yourself," Blaine said, hoping to change the subject. "Have you always lived in New York?"

Kurt smiled. "Definitely not," he said. "I'm from Ohio."

"Ohio?" Blaine asked, eyes widening.

"Mm hmm," Kurt confirmed. "Lima."

"Westerville," Blaine said.

"Huh?"

"That's where I'm from. Westerville. Ohio."

"Wow," Kurt said. "That's not so far away."

Blaine nodded. "You wanted to get out. I know what that's like."

Kurt eyed him, but shrugged after a moment. "NYADA was the dream," he told Blaine. "But that didn't happen, so I came here anyway and applied to Vogue and I got the job. New job, new dream and all that."

"How long have you been here?"

"Since after I got done with high school. I got here in August," he told Blaine, "so around two months."

"You like it?"

Kurt nodded. "I love it," he said.

They both sat there in silence for a while, until Blaine lifted his gaze to meet Kurt's.

"You can ask," he told Kurt. "About... Well, anything."

"You don't ha—"

"Ask," he said. "It's okay."

Kurt looked contemplative for a few minutes, but then he looked at Blaine again. "Why did you run away?"

Blaine sighed. "It's a total cliche. Parents didn't like the idea of their son liking boys. There was a lot of bullying and they eventually had to move me from my school to a private one and it was good there for the most part, but I...I serenaded a guy I liked at his workplace. I know, it was dumb, but a friend of my mom's was there shopping that day and she told her and my parents didn't take it very well, so things got...bad. I had to leave."

Kurt gave him a sympathetic look. "I was bullied a lot, too," he said. "Had my first kiss stolen by my number one offender."

"You're kidding."

"No," Kurt said, with a faint smile on his lips. "100% true."

Blaine shook his head. "That's awful. I'm sorry."

Kurt shrugged a shoulder. "I'm over it. I'm working at Vogue, he's waiting tables at Breadstix."

Blaine laughed.

"Can I ask something else?"

His laughter faded away. "Sure."

"How did you get into this? The...prostitution?"

"I had a friend," Blaine said. "His family, they lost basically everything and he ended up out here. Got a gig stripping. He introduced me to a friend of his one night and the friend, he...did this. Slept with people for money. He was with an agency, said it paid well. I thought it was insane, you know, back then? But then money was tight and I couldn't find a job—not many places are willing to hire a guy who hasn't even graduated from high school—and my mind kept going back to that guy and I thought, if he could make as much as he did with an agency, I could make more by myself and...I've been doing it ever since."

"You couldn't have contacted your family?"

Blaine looked away.

"Sorry, not judging. Just..."

"I know," Blaine said. "There are other ways, but this way I don't have to count on anyone else. It's just me, you know? I have rent to pay and I need to eat and doing this, I know I can make enough to live. It's...all I'm good at."

"I'm sure that's not true."

"It's the only thing I'm good at that puts food on the table, then," Blaine corrected. "I didn't agree to this date so that you could convince me what I'm doing is wrong. I already know it is."

"I didn't mean to suggest that," Kurt said. "Sorry. This got a little serious for a first date. Subject change?"

"Sure."

"Is there anything you want to ask me?"

Blaine thought for a moment. "Tell me more about you. Anything at all."

"I'm afraid it won't be very interesting," Kurt said, with a chuckle. "Um, I'm Kurt Hummel. I'm 18, almost 19. I live with my best friend, Rachel, who did manage to make it into NYADA. Our apartment is kind of amazing, but cheap, so I think someone might have died there once." He smiled. "I have a step-brother, Finn, who is in the army. My dad and stepmom are back home. Dad owns a garage, he's a mechanic. Um, I'm not sure what else. Oh, I really like scarves."

Blaine smiled at that. "Are you done with your coffee?"

Kurt looked down at the empty cup in his hand. "Oh. Um, yes."

"What's your order? I'll get this round."

Kurt smiled. "Non-fat mocha. Thank you."

"Not a problem."

Kurt watched him standing in the line, waiting for the barista to take his order. He was so small, looked so young. He frowned. He hated that this boy had had to resort to selling himself, hated that he'd done this rather than try to contact his parents. Things had obviously been bad if that hadn't been an option.

Blaine came back a few minutes later, a smile on his face, a coffee in either hand. He placed one down in front of Kurt, before sitting down himself.

"Thanks," Kurt said.

"Tell me why you're still here."

Kurt furrowed his eyebrows. "Here?"

"Here, as in still on this date."

"Oh," Kurt said. "I like you. Is that so hard to believe?"

"Kind of," Blaine admitted. "You know this can't work, right?"

"I don't see why not." Kurt shrugged.

"Kurt, I—"

"If you genuinely believed that, I don't think you would have come on this date."

Blaine sighed. "I came because I'm not likely to get another offer like this ever."

"Well, then, let me ask you now. Go on a second date with me. Friday night. Dinner."

Blaine stared. Kurt nodded.

"Why?"

"I like you," Kurt said again. "That's all there is to it, I swear. I'm not tricking you into anything, or messing with you. I just like you."

Blaine still looked uncertain, so Kurt sat back and gave him a smile.

"Tell you what," Kurt began, "wait until the end of the date and give me an answer then, okay?"

Blaine sighed and opened his mouth to tell him he couldn't, but Kurt spoke first.

"What are your plans for the rest of the day?"

Kurt saw the flicker in his eyes. "Might work some tonight."

He looked embarrassed.

"Have you got plans for dinner?"

"Um, dinner generally involves me and a microwave oven."

"Microwaved meals are terrible for you," Kurt informed him. "Have dinner at my place today."

Blaine looked shocked. "Kurt, I couldn't—"

"Of course you can!" Kurt told him. "Rachel's having dinner with this guy tonight—she goes to NYADA with him—and the last time she had dinner with him, she didn't get home until the early hours of the morning. So, if you think you can stick me out for another few hours, come have dinner with me. I don't want to eat alone, I always make too much."

Blaine looked conflicted.

"Oh, say yes," Kurt urged. "I want you to."

Blaine looked at him for a little while longer, then gave in. "Okay, yes. Thank you."

Kurt's apartment was so entirely Kurt, but Blaine knew he shouldn't have been surprised.

"Don't look so surprised, we haven't known each other for long, but surely you can tell I'm fabulous."

Blaine laughed. "I can tell," he confirmed. "This is pretty snazzy for a couple of recent high school graduates."

They'd made a stop at the grocery store on the way back to Kurt's, chatting about their old schools and music and glee club, which, coincidentally, they had both been a member of. Kurt placed the shopping bags down on the kitchen countertop and pointed to the centre of the living room. "Rachel thinks it happened there. You know, the death. Or murder, or whatever. She claims she's psychic. Don't ask."

Blaine didn't. He started to unpack one of the bags and Kurt started grabbing pots and pans.

"What time do you need to be gone by?" Kurt asked, his back to Blaine.

"Um, whenever. I mean, perverts and creeps are generally out at all hours." He paused. "Sorry."

"No, that's okay. You can be honest with me."

Blaine stood there awkwardly. "What can I do?"

Kurt turned, opened his mouth, then closed it again. "Any good at chopping vegetables?"

"It's been a while, but I'm sure I can manage." Blaine gave him a smile.

"Brilliant," Kurt said, grabbing a chopping board and a knife. "You know, Rachel would tell me I'm insane for giving a complete stranger a knife and turning my back on him, but I'm sure if I tell you I'm an amazing cook, you'll want to wait until after dinner to kill me."

Blaine chuckled and took the knife. "I'll wait then."

Kurt grinned. "Thank you," he said. "I promise I didn't bring you back here to kill you, either."

"That's encouraging to know," Blaine joked. He got serious again then. "Listen, I won't get offended if you ask questions. I mean, you don't have to if you don't want to, but I understand if you have questions. I mean, if things were different and I met a guy who did what I do, I'd have questions."

"I don't want to pry," Kurt told him, unwrapping chicken.

Blaine shook his head. "It's okay. It's probably good for me to get it out. I've never spoken to anyone about this. I don't talk to anyone, really." He laughed nervously.

Kurt was frowning. " Nobody?"

"No."

"You don't have to answer anything."

"Ask."

"Were you scared? The first time?"

Blaine gave a weak laugh as he chopped a carrot into small, diced pieces. "I'm still scared. Every time. It's mostly new, um, people, so I never know what to expect. From experience, the first time could have gone so much worse."

"A lot of weirdos then?"

"You'd probably be shocked if I told you some of the things I've encountered," he admitted.

Kurt gave him a sad smile. "I'll throw those in here," he said taking the carrots and piling them around the chicken in the cooking tray. "So, um, how does it work? I mean, you said you don't belong to an agency, or whatever, so how do you..."

"If you know the right places to hang around, it's easy," Blaine told him with a shrug. "I mean, sometimes it's not, I'm not the only one out there, but most of the time, it's not so hard."

Kurt nodded. "And then, what, you just...get in a car with them?"

"I tend to not go for that option," Blaine said. "I do it on my terms. I never go to anyone's house. I name a hotel, get them to pay for a room and...go there." He was blushing now, embarrassed.

"You don't have to talk about it."

"It's okay," Blaine assured him.

"Can I ask how much you make? I mean, you really don't have to tell me."

"It's okay," Blaine said again. "It depends."

"On?"

"What they want," he told him. "How long they want. $50 an hour and then...you know, extras, depending on...what they want me to do."

"What's the most you've ever made?"

"$400," he informed him.

Kurt's jaw dropped. "That must have been a long night."

Blaine nodded. "Long, exhausting." Painful, he did not add.

Kurt placed the tray in the oven and gestured for Blaine to follow him. They went and sat on the couch. Kurt turned to face him.

"Are they all really old?" His nose was wrinkling.

"Not always," Blaine said. "Some of them are young. Some are married with families. Some are old."

"Your first one...?"

"In his forties. Married guy. Kind of not what you'd expect. It wasn't his first time, but he seemed kind of...nervous? Not as nervous as I was—I was, um, I was a virgin going into it. I'd never-never even been kissed." He looked down at his lap. "But I mean, it wasn't so bad. Don't get me wrong, it was awful, but it could have been much worse."

Kurt nodded. "When you say extras...?"

Blaine shifted in his seat. "It's like..." He shook his head. "That night, when I made the $400, I, um, I did some things I'm definitely not proud of. I mean, I'm not proud of any of it, not ever, but that night was... I'd been sick and I had to see a doctor, just in case it was anything... It was only the flu, but I was scared and I went and, um, I had to pay rent that week and I...I didn't have the right amount, so when the guy told me he'd give me $400 for, well, a specialty job, or-or whatever, I said yes. I hated it, I hated every second of it and I don't... The thing is that I can't say I wouldn't agree to something like that again if I got really desperate and that...it terrifies me."

Kurt tilted his head and looked a little teary eyes. "I'll, um, go check on dinner, okay?"

Blaine mumbled something and Kurt stood up and went back to the kitchen to check on the chicken. His occupation (if one could even call it that) had many awful traits. It was degrading and made him feel terrible and sometimes it left him bruised and broken and in a lot of pain and up until he had met Kurt, he hadn't known that it would stop him from ever finding happiness. Of course he had thought about finding someone before, but that had always been a pipe dream. Now that Kurt seemed to like him and he definitely liked Kurt back, things seemed so much more real. He would never be able to have a real, romantic relationship, would never be able to find someone he could spend the rest of his life with. He had to put a stop to this before he wound up too deep.

Kurt returned a little while later, telling him that dinner was almost ready. He sat back down and turned to look at Blaine again.

"I don't want to be rude," Blaine said, sitting up straight, "but I don't think it's a good idea if I stay."

Kurt's eyebrows furrowed and he sat up, too. "Wait, you're leaving?"

"I don't think this is going to work out," he said, which was a huge understatement, in his opinion.

"But why not?" Kurt asked. "I thought we were getting on really well."

Blaine stood up and walked towards the door. Kurt followed him. "We are," he told Kurt. "It's just... It's not you, okay? It's me."

"You're giving me the it's-not-you-it's-me? Really?" His eyebrow was raised.

"Look, you're great. You are and I'm sure you'll make an amazing boyfriend for someone, but that someone isn't me. And I know this is only the first date and I'm counting my chickens on the boyfriend thing, but dates, they can lead up to that and I just...I don't want to let things get that far."

He spun around and started to walk to the door again, but Kurt reached out and touched his arm. His touch was gentle, soft, but still firm somehow. Blaine stopped still at the contact.

"What are you so afraid of?" Kurt asked softly.

Blaine shut his eyes and took a deep breath, but didn't say anything.

"Look, I know this is sort of a unique set of circumstances, but what you do doesn't change the fact that we've got a lot in common and you're nice and, well, gorgeous and I like you. A lot. And if this progresses to boyfriend stage, then that's sort of great, don't you think?"

Blaine shook his head, still looking the other way. "You don't need a boyfriend who sleeps around as much as I do. You don't need a boyfriend that you can't talk about."

"Can't talk about?"

"What happens if it does get to that point and your friends and family start asking questions? Are you going to make up a life for me? Pretend I'm at school, or that I have a perfect job and a nice, little apartment with a scenic view? I don't have any of those things. That's not who I am. I don't mean to be crude and please, excuse my language, but I let people fuck me for money, Kurt. I'm a prostitute. I don't have friends, or a family, or anything going for me except for my body and when that's gone, I'll have nothing. Not a single thing. You don't need this."

Kurt let out a long breath and gave Blaine's arm a reassuring squeeze. "You'll have me," he whispered. "Even if this doesn't head in the direction of romance, I still want to be your friend."

Blaine let out a shaky breath. "Why?"

"I don't know," Kurt admitted, "but I..." He took another deep breath. "I feel like this could go somewhere. Don't you?"

Blaine nodded his head, very slowly, eyes still closed. "Yes," he exhaled. "That's what I'm afraid of."

Blaine felt himself being pulled gradually backwards and then Kurt moved to face him. His eyes were curious, wide and studying and his lips were parted very slightly. He blinked a couple of times and then seemed to let out a long breath and before Blaine knew what was happening, Kurt was leaning in and pressing their lips together.

It was unlike anything Blaine had ever experienced before. There was no brute force, or roughness, or dominance, it was sweet, soft, but firm and although it was just a press of the lips followed by a smack of lips and nothing more, it felt wonderful, better than anything else ever had. It was the first time he had been kissed for reasons other than sex. It was the first time he felt really and truly wanted.

Kurt broke the kiss and leaned back to look into his eyes. Blaine could only breathe, trying to get his heart to find its usual, steady beat again, but before that could happen, Kurt was sliding his fingers between Blaine's and pulling him forward for another kiss. It was harder this time, filled with a lot more intent, but still more gentle than anything else he had ever had done to him. When this kiss ended, he stood back and let out a shaky breath, feeling something inside of him snapping and breaking.

"Just because I'm a whore, doesn't mean I'm going to sleep with you on the first date," he said and he regretted it the moment he said it, but he needed the defence, needed to build the wall back up safely around himself.

Kurt looked stunned. "I wasn't—I can't believe you think that." He shook his head. "It was just a kiss—two kisses. It was just two kisses. I don't have some kind of grand plan to lock you in my bedroom or anything. God. I'm-I'm a virgin. I'm not-not ready for-for that. It was just kissing."

Blaine had known that, of course. "Just... Just k-kissing?" he found himself asking.

Kurt studied him for a moment, then seemed to realise. "Well, no. But that doesn't mean I have some devious plan brewing. It was more than just...just a kiss. More than just kissing. I mean, it was for me."

Blaine swallowed. "It was for me, too," he said, in a faint whisper.

He was rewarded with a smile from Kurt. "Will you stay for dinner?" Kurt asked and Blaine noticed that their fingers were still linked together.

"Okay," he said. "But..."

"I know, Blaine," Kurt said, with a nod and Blaine only tilted his head in confusion. "I know what I'm getting myself into," Kurt explained. "Don't worry. I'm sure you're worth it." He gave his hand a final squeeze, before letting go and turning around, gesturing for Blaine to follow him to the kitchen.

Blaine stood for a few heartbeats more, trying to remember the last time someone had told him he was worth anything. When nothing came to mind, he quickly made his way to the kitchen, where Kurt stood, oven gloves on, the tray in front of him on the countertop. When Blaine walked into the room, Kurt looked up from the chicken and gave him a smile and Blaine allowed himself to imagine what it might be like to have someone in his life that would smile like that just for him.