If there’s one thing in this world that Blaine has grown to hate with a passion, it’s the huge shiny black cars he’s forced to travel around in. Not only because he’s spent so much of his life in them already and is unlikely to escape them anytime soon, but also because they’re so boring. One day, he promises himself as he looks out at the gray concrete buildings passing by, he will buy a car for himself and it will be something old and classy like a Chevy, or maybe one of those old hippie Volkswagens. Something with a little soul. Not these huge, slick monsters that never seem to lose that godawful new car-smell. Blaine is actually fairly sure his dad has the family vehicles replaced every year and the thought makes him roll his eyes.

“What’s up, Blainey?” Cooper shouts right in his ear, making Blaine jump.

“Don’t do that!” he exclaims, swatting at his brother who just laughs and scoots back to the other window seat. “And don’t call me Blainey,” he adds, glaring at Cooper for a moment before his gaze drifts back to the world passing outside the car window. He hears his brother scoff.

“Oh come on Blaine, lighten up! It’s good for you to leave home every once in a while,” Cooper says, fiddling with his phone but looking up at his brother every now and then. “Besides, I’ve heard good things about this town. It’s supposed to be a good place for… action,” he continues, wiggling his eyebrows as he puts emphasis on the last word. Blaine shoots him a tired glance.

“You know Coop, it really is a mystery why dad didn’t want you in charge,” he says, voice layered with exaggerated sarcasm. Cooper looks up again and shoots him a big, toothy smile.

“I don’t want to be in charge and you know it,” he says happily. “And you know what?” he continues, smile fading and brow furrowing.

“I know you don’t either.”

*

When they finally arrive Blaine scoots out of the car as fast as possible, pointedly ignoring everything around him while one of his uncles guides him to his room. He flops down on the bed, covers his face with his hands and groans. He does want to be in charge. He was born and bred to be in charge… quite literally in fact, because when his dad realized his attempts to shape Cooper into what he wanted were fruitless, Blaine had been the solution. In truth he’d probably have more brothers if his mother hadn’t died giving birth to him. He groans again and rolls over on his stomach, not giving a single fuck that he’s wrinkling his suit.

“Blainey?”

He bites his lip to hold back a nasty reply, rolls over again and sits up. Cooper is standing in the doorway, already out of his suit jacket and tie hanging loose around his neck. His expression is calm, although Blaine knows him too well to not see the faint traces of worry still in his eyes.

“What?”

“Dad wants to see you.”

*

Why the fluorescents, Blaine thinks to himself as he steps into his dad’s office. Of course his dad can’t meet him in an informal setting when it’s about family business, oh no that would be unthinkable. Blaine doesn’t think he’s ever been in his dad’s private room after the age of sixteen.

Why always the fucking fluorescents?

“Have a seat,” his dad says, barely glancing up from his paperwork.

Hello to you too, Blaine just barely stops himself from saying while walking over and sitting down in the chair opposite his father.

“I’ve sent my best men out to check tapes from surveillance cameras and interrogate our underground network,” Mr. Anderson says without looking up. “You know how this works, if I’m not available they will report to you as soon as they find something of interest.”

Blaine heaves a deep sigh. “So you want me to just sit on my ass and do nothing, as usual?”

“Until we know who did this I don’t want anyone in this family to parade themselves on the streets,” his father says in a tired voice. “Let the experienced ones take care of it.”

I’m not a fucking kid anymore, Blaine wants to say but stops himself. “What about Victor’s funeral?” he asks instead.

“Not until we find the killer,” his father answers, still without looking at him. “The kid has been dead for a month, he can wait a week or two more.”

“Right, of course. Family honour comes before everything else,” Blaine says, the sarcasm and irritation in his voice unmistakable. His dad cocks an eyebrow at his paperwork.

“You seem awfully invested in this for someone who’s only met the kid once,” he says, scribbling something on the paper he’s been reading before folding it and putting it away.

“And you seem awfully detached for someone who just found out their nephew is dead!” Blaine almost shouts, unable to keep his frustration at bay any longer. His dad finally looks up from his paperwork but his gaze finds the ceiling instead of Blaine.

“Victor was a drunk, a bumbling idiot who was no good for anyone,” Mr. Anderson says with a deep sigh. “He was not worthy of this family.”

“He was still your nephew!” Blaine is standing up now, anger radiating from him. Sometimes he can’t believe that someone like his father could love someone as much as he (allegedly) loved Blaine’s mother. He doesn’t seem capable of loving anyone or anything except honour.

“We’re done talking about this,” his father says, eyes drifting closed while his right hand finds a cigar and a lighter in a drawer in the big mahogany desk. Blaine almost starts shouting again but he knows it won’t change anything, so he doesn’t. He just shakes his head, clenches his teeth and turns around, exiting the room in a rage and with the smell of cigar smoke following him. Five minutes in his room has him out of his suit and into jeans and a t-shirt, and as he grabs his brown leather jacket he pulls off his signet ring and throws it in a corner. He needs to be anywhere but here.

*

It’s a weekday and not even 5pm yet, so when Blaine grumpily stalks into the first bar he finds it isn’t exactly busy. The bartender pays no attention to him after handing him his drink and Blaine is grateful. The place is small but neat and the clientele consists of an elderly man in a worn suit, two girls discreetly holding hands under the table and half a dozen men in their thirties who most likely are there to watch the football game. Blaine is halfway through his drink and has one eye on the game when he hears the door open and feels the presence of someone else sliding up on the stool next to him.

“Could I just have a water, please?”

The high-pitched, angelic voice immediately catches Blaine’s attention and he’s glad he swallowed down his mouthful of Cuba Libre before turning around, because otherwise he probably would’ve choked on it. It’s hard enough to believe a voice like that came from a man, but from man who looks like that… wow, Blaine just barely resists the temptation to pinch himself. He tries to take it all in at the same time – the smooth pale skin, the elegant posture, the delicious jawline, the impeccable hair – and doesn’t realise he’s staring until the beautiful stranger turns his head and cocks a perfectly shaped eyebrow at him.

“Can I help you?”

There’s the voice again. It makes Blaine’s insides swirl in the most wonderful way.

“I – um, I… I mean, you – I…”

And turns him into a bumbling idiot, apparently. He feels the colour rising on his face and quickly turns away, his grip on the glass in front of him turning vice-like.

“No, I… I’m sorry, I wasn’t… sorry for bothering you,” he blurts out, staring intently at his own hands and just quickly glancing up during the last words. The stranger shrugs (oh god, he manages to make shrugging look graceful) and turns back around to accept his water from the bartender. Blaine has to force himself to avert his eyes, otherwise he’ll be staring at the stranger’s lips shaping around the glass as he drinks and imagining those lips shaped around other things and…

“Can I buy you a drink?” he suddenly asks, turning to face the man again, eager to interrupt both his own thoughts and the silence between them. The man looks up from his drink to Blaine, and raises his glass slightly.

“I already have one,” he says. His expression is guarded, but not unfriendly. God, Blaine could look into those eyes forever.

“No, I mean… a drink drink,” he says, feeling his cheeks flush again. For a brief second the stranger almost smiles, almost, but then his expression shifts into more guarded than before and he turns away.

“Thank you, but I can’t. I’m waiting for a friend.”

Blaine’s heart immediately sinks to somewhere around his feet. ‘A friend’. Of course a man like this isn’t single, of course he won’t be interested in Blaine when he probably has some supermodel boyfriend who fawns over him and gives him everything he needs.

Blaine’s thoughts are interrupted by the unmistakable tones of Defying Gravity, and he watches from the corner of his eye as the stranger pulls out his phone and answers it with a smile.

“Hi Rachel! Where – are you outside? Okay, I’ll be right out.”

Blaine frowns as the man hangs up and swigs the rest of his water. Rachel? Blaine has always prided himself on having an impeccable gaydar and there’s no way this guy is straight. Plus, he hadn’t cringed when Blaine offered to buy him a drink, like the majority of straight men would’ve done. No, he can’t let this one go. Just as the stranger is about to get up, Blaine finds his courage and his voice again.

“Hey, um…”

The beautiful man turns to face him again, eyebrow raised in question.

“What’s your name?” Blaine asks, slightly breathless and completely taken aback by those eyes again. The stranger gives him a once-over, seemingly contemplating if he should answer. Finally their eyes meet again.

“It’s Kurt,” the man says and there’s a smile in his eyes, even if not on his lips. He cocks his head to the side, eyeing Blaine curiously. “What’s yours?”

“Blaine. It’s… my name’s Blaine.”

“Blaine,” Kurt says and Blaine’s stomach swoops with the way he puts emphasis on the ‘l’. “Well, nice meeting you Blaine,” he adds and before Blaine can answer Kurt is out the door, running into the arms of a petite brunette. Blaine can see them through the window beside the door, and they’re clearly very good friends but are, to his relief, not acting like a couple. So his gaydar was probably right after all, and maybe there’s a shred of hope.

“Kurt,” he says, quietly and to himself, turning back towards the bar. “Kurt.” He relishes in the feeling of saying it, and wonders if he will ever see him again. If he will ever –

“Blainey!”

“Coop, for fucks sake, not in public!” Blaine groans and turns around, finding his brother’s grin inches from his face.

“I was worried about you!” Cooper exclaims as he slides up onto the stool where Kurt was sitting mere minutes ago.

“Why?” Blaine scoffs. “It’s not like it’s the first time I’ve had to get out of the house after an argument with dad.”

“True, but you’re usually in a town you know,” Cooper points out and takes Blaine’s glass from him, draining the rest of the drink. “Dad has a point Blaine, one of our own was killed here just a month ago.”

“Dad’s an idiot,” Blaine mutters, drawing thoughtless patterns in a small pool of condense on the counter. “He never listens to anything I have to say.”

“Dad never listens to anything anyone has to say, little brother,” Cooper says, nudging their shoulders together. “Oh, and I had a quick look in your room before I came after you. Here.”

Blaine looks up and sees Cooper holding out the signet ring towards him. He sighs and turns away, but Cooper pushes the ring into his hand.

“You’re lucky I found it before one of your uncles did, they would’ve taken it straight to dad and that wouldn’t have been pretty,” he says, putting a hand on Blaine’s shoulder and shaking him gently. “I know you’re upset with dad but the faster we get done here the faster we can go back home, and I know that’s what you want.”

Blaine thinks about Kurt, about his gorgeous eyes and smooth, pale skin and wants to say that he’s not so sure about that, but instead he just grunts in agreement and takes the ring from Cooper.

“That’s my boy,” Cooper smiles as Blaine slides the ring onto his finger. “Come on, let’s go back. You may be the son of a mobster boss, but you wouldn’t want to parade the streets of an unknown city after dark.”

Blaine fondly rolls his eyes and gets up, letting Cooper put his arm around his shoulders as they walk out.

----------

“Oh god.”

“Kurt –“

“Oh god, oh god, oh god. This isn’t happening, this can’t be happening…”

“Kurt,” Rachel says again, more firmly this time and Kurt can feel the couch dip as she sits down next to him. “You have to calm down, freaking out won’t help matters one bit.”

Kurt groans and lifts his hands to his face, covering it so he won’t have to see the headline in front of him, printed in big, black ominous letters;

MISSING MAN FOUND DEAD
Anonymous tip leads police to body

The police haven’t gone out with the name yet but everyone knows the dead man is Victor Anderson. The family is well known even outside of their main operating area and word travels fast, both about the murder and about the fact that the Anderson family arrived in town yesterday. Reports say they’re staying inside the thick walls of their mansion but are still determined to find the killer, pulling every resource they have to do so.

“Kurt,” Rachel says again, obviously concerned by his silence. “There’s no way to link you to the murder, we were extremely careful when moving and burying the body. Please, please try not to freak out.”

“I know, I know,” Kurt mumbles into his hands. “But what if… what if they do find out?” he continues, his voice weak and trembling. “They have eyes and ears everywhere, we can’t underestimate them. If they find out it was me, if they…”

“Sweetie, no,” Chandler says from Kurt’s other side, sliding an arm around his waist. “Please don’t talk like that, everything will be okay.” Kurt wants to squirm away, wants to be alone but he’s trapped between Chandler and Rachel and they both have firm grips on him, so instead he just sighs and curls up on himself even more.

“Look, dude,” Finn cuts in from the chair opposite them, his voice sounding distant to Kurt’s ears. “Why didn’t you just go to the police, tell them it was self-defense? They could’ve protected you.”

Kurt shakes his head violently, trying to keep his voice steady as he answers.

“Nothing is safe when it comes to the Andersons. If they suspected the police knew, they would find a way to make them spill the information. I couldn’t risk that, not even the police is stupid enough to get in the way of the Anderson family.”

Kurt lowers his hands from his face just in time to see Rachel frown.

“So you think the police will just drop it and let the Andersons handle it? That doesn’t sound very professional,” she says.

“Professionalism has nothing to do with it,” Kurt answers. “It’s simply a question of not wanting to get tasered or possibly shot.”

“But the police wouldn’t just do that!” Chandler exclaims. “They would…”

“God, I don’t care!” Kurt yells, pulling himself free and standing up. “I don’t fucking care what the police would and would not do because the Anderson family is in town and that means there’s a possibility I might soon have a price on my head! I want all of you out, now!”

They all look at him with shock written all over their faces. Rachel stands up and reaches for him but he shies away, pointing at the door.

“Kurt, please…”

“No. Out, all of you! You too Chandler, I’m done with this. Leave me alone!”

“But, sweetheart…”

“I said get out!"

They all just stare at him in disbelief and sadness for a couple of seconds before slowly turning around, grabbing their jackets and leaving. Chandler is the last one out the door and he turns in the stairway, his gaze meeting Kurt’s.

“Kurt, baby, please don’t…”

But Kurt slams the door in his face, his breathing rough and uneven as he walks back to the couch and collapses on it, violent sobs shaking his body for what seems like forever before he finally drifts off into an uneasy sleep.