Kurt stared at the boy in wild disbelief, questions running through his head so fast they stumbled over each other in his mind. How long has he been up here? Why is he in our attic in the first place? Is he homeless? He must be, or else he wouldn't be living in the attic of someone's home. Unless he was a criminal on the run...

He eyed the other boy carefully: he didn't look particularly dangerous, just frightened, and a criminal wouldn't behave like that if they were caught. The boy was small - several inches shorter than Kurt - with large eyes currently filled with fear, and a mop of thick, curly hair. He was barefoot and dressed in rumpled jeans and a creased red sweater, his shoulders hunched slightly in the thin material as if cowering from a blow. The book he had been reading - a worn paperback with a creased spine from having being read numerous times - laid on the floor beneath the windows where he had dropped it. He was backing away from Kurt, looking petrified, his eyes darting around the attic as if he was looking for an escape route, but Kurt was standing between him and the stairs. The boy curled further in on himself, becoming even smaller and more heart-wrenching to look at.

Kurt had no idea what to do or say. Demanding to know who the boy was and what he was doing here seemed rude and would likely scare him even more. He didn't know why, but he didn't want to frighten this boy off or call his dad or the police; he wanted to help him. The boy seemed harmless and looked so vulnerable with his wide eyes, long eyelashes, and curly locks tumbling over his forehead, and he looked around the same age as Kurt, yet here he was, living in a stranger's attic all by himself.

He took a small step forward to pick up the flashlight he had dropped and the boy skittered back again, reminding Kurt of a nervous animal. "I'm not going to hurt you," Kurt said in a low, reassuring voice. "Or call the police," he added as an afterthought.

The boy said nothing and the fear didn't fade from his eyes any. He was no longer looking around frantically; instead his gaze was fixed firmly on Kurt, watching his every move closely.

"Wh- What's your name?" Kurt asked him tentatively, still keeping his voice low and trying not to make any sudden movements as if he really were dealing with a frightened animal.

The boy still didn't speak and Kurt saw the movement of his throat as he swallowed. Licking his dry lips, Kurt set the flashlight on top of a nearby crate and lowered himself to the floor until he was sitting with his legs crossed in front of him. The boy continued to watch his every move, his eyes a warm honey colour in the low light.

Though he desperately wanted to know more about the boy and why he was here, Kurt knew not to press for the information. He cast his eyes around the room, his gaze landing on a couple of pieces of fruit next to the lone plate and tarnished knife and fork. "Are you hungry?" He looked back at the boy.

He was still watching him, looking like he was debating carefully about something. He shook his head, just a tiny movement.

Kurt shifted a little on the hard floor, trying to get into a more comfortable position. His heart squeezed as he looked at the pillow and blanket lying on the floor - this boy slept on the cold, hard floor every night. Averting his gaze from his pitiful makeshift bed, he suddenly realised something.

"Sorry, I forgot to introduce myself," Kurt said politely, smiling warmly at the boy. "I'm Kurt." He hesitated for a second, and then continued, "I live in this house with my family."

He waited for a moment to allow the boy to respond if he wanted to, but he didn't, though Kurt thought a little of the fear may have faded from his eyes. He hoped the boy was starting to realise that he wouldn't hurt him or throw him out onto the streets.

He shifted his weight around on the floor again, curling his legs to the side to see if that was any more comfortable - it wasn't. "You know people used to believe this house was haunted. Some still do, actually. They used to tell all these stories to everyone in Lima about ghosts and strange presences. People were terrified to come near it and everyone thought we were insane when we bought it and moved in."

He wasn't sure why he was telling the boy all of this exactly; he was just talking at random, saying the first things that came to mind. He wanted this boy to trust him and the only way he could think of going about gaining that trust was by showing him he wouldn't harm him in any way - he would try to be a friend to him. Maybe he was a little crazy for wanting to befriend the stranger living in his attic, but there was something about this boy, something in his eyes beneath the fear and pain, that made him want to help him.

"My dad never believed the stories and neither did I - there's no such thing as ghosts," he continued. He looked down at the floor in front of him as he spoke, but he could see the curly-haired boy just on the periphery of his vision; he hadn't moved any and was still watching Kurt closely. "Since we moved in here, though, I did start to doubt myself. I heard noises during the night and things were going missing..." The boy stiffened and Kurt quickly carried on talking, not wanting him to think that he was about to be reprimanded. "Now I know that all of that - and all those stories people told - stemmed from you."

He shook his head in disbelief over the whole thing. People would be more likely to believe the ghost stories than the truth: that a teenage boy was living in the attic.

Kurt glanced up at the boy hesitantly. "If you need anything - food, clothes, or whatever - then don't be afraid to let me know, I-" he hesitated again. "I want to help you."

The boy's expression shifted slightly and Kurt saw a brief flash of confusion and something he couldn't quite discern flicker across his face before the uncertainty and fear returned.

Kurt hastened to reassure him. "I know you weren't expecting me to offer that and I know you probably think that I'm lying, but I swear I won't tell anyone you're here and I'll help you in any way I can." He paused and picked at the leg of his jeans. "I don't really know why I want to help you, and most people would say I shouldn't, but I do," he admitted quietly. He lifted his gaze again and he met the boy's eyes for the first time. "I really do."

The boy still looked uncertain and Kurt knew he still feared a trick. It pained him to see the expression on his face, to see the hurt and fright in his eyes - what had happened to him so mistrustful?

The boy shifted slightly, transferring his weight from foot to foot and worrying at his bottom lip with his teeth, looking conflicted. He opened and closed his mouth several times and Kurt froze, watching him carefully and waiting hopefully for him to speak.

"P-Please don't tell anyone I'm here," the boy whispered finally.

"I promise," Kurt said sincerely. He waited, hoping the boy would say something else, tell him his name, maybe, but he didn't. He had wrapped his arms protectively around his waist, his shoulders still hunched over slightly, his eyes fixed on Kurt.

Feeling a little disappointed, Kurt slipped his phone out of his pocket and checked the time - quarter to eleven. His dad had already called him around eight, but he wouldn't put it past him to phone again to make sure he was heading to bed.

"I'm going to go back downstairs." He climbed slowly to his feet, grimacing slightly at the pins and needles prickling up and down his right leg. If his dad did call, he didn't want to answer it up here with this frightened boy; that was bound to start him panicking. "It's getting late."

The boy hesitated again and then nodded slowly.

Kurt picked up the flashlight. "I'll bring up some food for you in the morning. Do you want anything else or anything particular to eat?"

The boy shook his head jerkily, the curls on his head bouncing slightly.

Kurt nodded. "I'll see you in the morning." He bit his lip, his gaze landing on the makeshift bed. He made a mental note to find something better for him. "Sleep well."

He descended the stairs and shut the door to the attic, staring at the closed door for a long moment, thinking about the lonely, scared teenage boy hiding behind it. How long has he been up there, alone and terrified that somebody would find him?

Biting down on his lip again, Kurt walked slowly into his room and got ready for bed, his heart heavy. Every simple thing he did, from brushing his teeth at the sink to pulling back the covers on his bed, caused his heart to give a pained jolt; that boy didn't have any of this.

Like he thought he would, his dad called him again to check everything was okay and that he wasn't staying up too late. Kurt stammered a little when he assured his dad that everything was fine, his mind picturing the boy in the attic shying away from him, but luckily his dad didn't seem to notice anything was off. Once he had said goodnight and hung up he curled up under the blankets, a sharp pang of sympathy and sadness shooting through him as he remembered how the boy slept on the hard attic floor. He wanted to go back up there now and give him something better to sleep on, but he knew he should give him some time to recover from being discovered.

He tossed and turned for ages before he finally fell asleep, but it wasn't peaceful. He dreamed Karofsky was hunting him down, chasing him through the hallways of McKinley. He raced along the corridors, his heart pounding and panic filling him as the heavy footsteps chasing him got louder. As he ran, the once apparently endless corridor suddenly ended in a wooden door and he fell against it and fumbled with the handle, almost sobbing. The door swung open just as Karofsky's voice, terrifyingly close, echoed down the corridor.

"You can't hide from me, Hummel!"

Choking back a sob of relief, Kurt darted into the dark room and slammed the door behind him. His panic and fear shot up again as he scrabbled for a lock, his fingernails scraping fruitlessly over wood. Karofsky's laugh came from the other side of the door followed by the loud click of a lock.

"Got you now, Hummel," he sneered menacingly through the door, his voice loaded with the promise of more fear and pain.

Terrified, Kurt looked around to find he was in his attic.

"No..." he muttered wildly. Karofsky laughed again-

Gasping, Kurt crashed out of the nightmare. Fighting out of the tangle of blankets around him, he sat up, panting and sweating as if he really had just been chased along an endless maze of corridors. He looked wild-eyed around his room until his gaze landed on the clock by his bed; he squinted at it - two in the morning.

Once he'd gotten his breath back, and his racing heart had slowed, and the panic had receded, he flopped back down on his bed and tried to clear his mind of the images of his dream still burned into his brain. He glanced up at his ceiling, above which Blaine was, trapped there by his fear of the outside world and his lack of a home, trapped like Kurt had been in his dream, except Kurt could wake up from his nightmare, Blaine couldn't.

It took a while, but eventually he calmed down enough to consider sleeping again and, after shooting one last look up at his ceiling, he closed his eyes, exhaling in relief when he discovered that Karofsky's twisted face was no longer printed on the insides of his eyelids.

Tilting the water bottle, Blaine tipped a small amount over his toothbrush and into the plastic bowl. When he was done, he set the brush aside on the crate and rinsed his mouth out with some more of the bottled water, spitting the mouthful into the bowl - he would empty it in a sink tomorrow when he went downstairs.

Every day after the house had emptied of its owners, Blaine would venture down from the attic and hurry through the same routine as fast as he possibly could so he could be back up in the attic before any of the family returned home. First he went to the bathroom, where he would empty and rinse out the bowl he used as a sink, before having a quick wash. Next was the kitchen, where he refilled his water bottle and took some food, careful to make sure he only took small amounts from nearly full boxes and packets to minimize the risk of the missing food being noticed. Some days, once he had put all the food up in the attic, he would nervously enter the bedroom next to the door leading up into the attic and borrow a book, usually a school textbook.

He used them to keep up his education as best he could, and always returned them once he had finished reading them. Sometimes he also borrowed novels, which helped to pass the time as well as giving him an escape from his confined, lonely life.

He glanced over at the small pile of clothes on a nearby crate, debating whether it was warm enough to get away with sleeping without a hoodie on. Deciding he would be fine in just the sweater he was wearing, he walked over to his bed, pulled back the blanket, and laid down on the thin blanket that he used as a mattress. The blanket didn't make the floor any more comfortable, but it did offer him some protection from the chilly floorboards. He punched his pillow into a more comfortable shape and tugged the blanket up around him.

Now that he was in bed and had nothing else to occupy his mind, his thought drifted to the teenage boy who had found him hiding out in his attic - Kurt. He had never seen the owners of the house before and whenever he thought about them, when he sat reading his books and listening to the faint sounds of them moving around the house, he had imagined people similar to his parents, people who would just call the police the second they laid eyes on him and demand he be thrown into a detention centre or something. He never expected there to be someone like Kurt, someone who seemed to actually want to help him, someone who didn't judge him on first sight, but perhaps wanted to learn his story.

Once or twice when he had been lying in his poor excuse of a bed and staring blankly at the wooden beams holding up the roof above him, he had fantasized wildly about someone finding him, understanding the situation he was in, taking him away from this attic, helping him to get the life he had always dreamed of having, one that wasn't full of abuse or ruled by his parents. But even in these wild, impossible daydreams he had never imagined the person that found him would be like Kurt.

Though the light had been poor, Blaine had still been able to see that Kurt was beautiful. He had just been able to make out pale skin, coiffed hair, and gorgeous blue eyes. His voice was beautiful as well, extraordinarily so: higher than most males', but smooth, flowing, and musical. And Kurt hadn't immediately called the police or ran away from him; he had spoken to him and said he wanted to help...

A part of him really wanted to trust Kurt, to believe his promise that he wouldn't tell anyone about him, but that part was overridden by a much larger and stronger part that didn't trust anyone anymore. He couldn't afford to trust Kurt; he could tell anyone at any time, he had no reason not to - why should he protect the teenager hiding out in his attic? If he had somewhere else to go and didn't get overwhelmingly nervous at the thought of leaving the house that had been his safe haven for over six months now, then he would leave now before Kurt got the chance to tell someone, but he couldn't. He had no choice but to hope that Kurt would keep his promise and not breathe a word to a single soul. For the first time in over a year he had to rely on another person.