Kurt stood in front of the mirror in his small adjacent bathroom early Monday morning. The dark circles under his eyes made him look gaunt and sick. He'd lost a lot of weight in the past month and his ribs were starting to stick out. He'd always been pale but now it just looked unhealthy. He ran a hand through his limp hair and sighed, feeling tears of exhaustion gathering in his eyes. 

Bending over the sink, he splashed cold water on his face, letting his fingers linger against his skin. He sighed, the cool water slowly waking him up and feeling oddly comforting despite its chill.

There was a raspy sigh behind him and he froze, looking up at the mirror, blinking the water out of his eyes. 

In its reflection, he saw a girl standing behind him, long dark matted hair hanging all around her and wide eyes staring at him as she smiled, sharp teeth pointing crookedly.

Kurt spun around, back hitting the sink sharply, scream lodging firmly in his throat. He was alone.

His legs gave out, knees cracking sharply against the tile floor and he crawled under the sink, curling up into a ball. "Oh god, what's happening?" he whispered, rocking back and forth, tugging on his hair. 

He missed school that day.

***

Kurt sat at the dining table, dressed in black and gray, sipping only black coffee from a tea cup. He wasn't much in the mood to eat anything.

"I found you a lady to escort for the cotillion," his grandmother prattled on, oblivious to his current state. "Katherine Wilde. Or Kitty, as I'm told she's fond of being called. The Wildes are a good family and offer position, one of the oldest on the cape. They've been here nearly four generations now..."

Kurt blinked, lips still around the rim of his cup before he set it gently down. "Grandmother?"

She stopped talking and looked up at him, eyebrow raised.

Kurt licked his lips. "Do...do you know about an...an old mansion in the woods? Um...made with dark wood, really tall trees, an 'A' on the gate...?"

She blinked in surprise. "You mean Anderson Manor?" 

"Anderson Manor?" he echoed. "Who...who lives there?"

"Until recently, no one," she said, setting down her fork. "That's the oldest house on the cape. The Andersons have gone back generations."

"But they don't live there?" Kurt pressed cautiously. 

"No, they usually send their children off to boarding school. And they don't prefer to mix with society. Except the young men."

"Is that so?" Kurt said quietly. 

"Indeed. Then they moved to Europe before the great war," his grandmother nodded gravely. "Blaine VIII is staying at the house right now during his year off before Oxford, I think it is..."

"The eighth?" Kurt said, mind flashing back to the young man he'd met in front of the dark mansion.

"Of course. Anderson tradition. All their firstborn sons are named Blaine." His grandmother sniffed, wiping her mouth daintily with her napkin. "In fact...you were almost a Blaine Anderson."

Kurt stared. "Beg pardon?"

"My mother was engaged to Blaine V," she said nonchalantly, but the twist of her mouth betrayed her bitterness. "It was to be the joining of two of the most prominent families, but he left for England with claims of 'university'." She looked around sourly. "But everyone knows that he probably got that town hussy pregnant and ran off with her."

"Oh," Kurt said quietly, sipping at his coffee. "Do you have a picture of him?"

"I beg your pardon?" his grandmother's back straightened as she glared at him.

"I just mean..." Kurt scrambled. "I was curious about what the cape looked like back then..."

His grandmother stared at him before nodding at Edmund. He left the room, returning after a brief time with an old photo.

"That was Blaine V and my mother on the reef."

Blaine took ahold of the old silver frame and gazed at the photo of his great-grandmother. She looked remarkably like his mother and wore a long dark dress that he couldn't tell the color of because of the black and white photography. And next to her--

Kurt blinked, leaning forward. "They're practically identical," he whispered.

"What was that?"

"Nothing," Kurt shook his head. "Uh, it's a lovely photograph."

He stared at the face of Blaine V which bore an uncanny resemblance to Blaine VIII. His eyes strayed to the passerby in the photo, all of whom were going about their own business. Except...the woman with the long hair who was facing the photograph, her face smudged in the picture. 

Kurt thrusted the photo back to Edmund sharply, unnerved.

***

"Hey, Hummel!"

Kurt hissed as the broad field hockey stick jammed into the back of his neck, causing him to lose balance and fall in the snow. His jaw and palms scraped across the ice, drawing blood. He pushed off the ground, noting how similar in shade his hands were to the snow. When he pulled back, bloody imprints were left in the snow.

The team snickered and passed. Kurt remained kneeling in the snow, staring blankly at the bloody handprints.

He got up and went home.

***

Cold tap a third of the way. Hot tap all of the way.

Kurt quietly stripped his clothes as the bath filled with water, the steam filling the air and making it thick and humid.

Kurt took a deep calming breath and stepped into the tub, leaning against the porcelain ledge. He closed his eyes and let the heat take him, palms smarting from where they'd been scraped.

The tub filled and he turned off the taps with his feet. Then he leaned his right hand out and picked up the kitchen knife he'd placed on the floor.

He sat up, warm water pooling around him, turning his pallid skin pink as he lifted his left wrist out of the water, rubbing over the inside with his right thumb before awkwardly angling the large kitchen knife to his arm. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something dark and he blinked, looking down.

It was hair. Long dark swirly hair was creeping through the water around his legs. He looked at his knife and saw a distorted face staring back at him from behind his shoulders.

Kurt lurched out of the bathtub, accidentally cutting the back of his hand in his haste as he slid across the floor into the wall and crouched against it, naked and hyperventilating. 

His bathtub was empty.

Heart racing a mile a minute, something inside of him cracked. "What's going on?" he whispered, tears streaming down his face. "What the fuck is going on?"

"Kurt..."

The voice was unmistakably female and also whispered in his ear. He wheeled around, but there was nothing but wall.

Stumbling back into his room, he pulled his clothes on hastily, jamming a wooly beret on his head and a thick pea coat around his shoulders. He laced up his boots and wrapped a scarf around his throat before leaving the house and heading out into the woods out back.

The sun slowly began to set behind the thick blanket of clouds. 

He walked for and hour, twisting and turning and losing his way a couple of times before doubling back on his footprints until the trees started thinning out and he came to a meadow.

There it was.

The well.

Shivering slightly, he walked forward gently across the deathly still meadow, snow crunching heavily underfoot as the well came closer...closer...closer...

He stood in front of it. Despite the fact that he'd essentially doubled in height since he was eight, the stone structure still seemed...enormous. Like it'd consume him whole if he just reached out and touched--

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Kurt spun around and there stood Blaine Anderson VIII, staring at him intently. He was wearing a simple maroon trenchcoat and gray slacks, the vivid color striking against the white background.

Kurt blinked, shaking his head. "What?"

"The well," Blaine said evenly. "It's very old. You could cause damage to it."

"Oh," Kurt said, glancing back at it nervously. "I...okay."

"Can I ask why you're on my property?"

"Your property?" Kurt echoed faintly.

Blaine raised his eyebrows. "Yes. It's been in my family for generations."

"Oh," Kurt blinked. "I'm sorry, I just...I was looking..."

"Looking...?" Blaine prompted gently.

"For answers," Kurt answered awkwardly, wringing his fingers and wincing as the sores on his palms and the cut on the back of his hand opened back up.

"Some questions are better left un--" Blaine cut off suddenly, looking down at Kurt's hands and Kurt could've sworn that his eyes darkened. "You're hurt..." he said quietly.

"I--" Kurt tried before Blaine grabbed his wrists smoothly, holding his palms up for inspection. "It's nothing, it's fine." He shrugged, shifting his scarf. 

Blaine's eyes shot up to his newly exposed jaw and cold fingers brushed against the scraped skin, lingering on his neck.

Kurt felt his pulse and temperature skyrocket.

"What happened?" Blaine asked quietly, yet his voice still carried.

"I..." Kurt licked his lips, glancing around and missing how Blaine's eyes were immediately drawn to them. "I tripped and fell at school. Skidded on the ice."

"You're lying."

"What?"

Blaine tapped his index finger against Kurt's pulse. "Your heartbeat sped up. You're lying."

Kurt blinked. "I--it's none of your business."

"You're on my property. That makes it my business."

"That doesn't even make sense."

Blaine gripped Kurt's wrist tighter. "Kurt, what happened?"

"Ouch!"

Blaine released Kurt's wrist instantly, hand flying away from his neck, an odd look flitting over his face before it relaxed back into smooth expressionlessness. "Apologies. I did not intend to hurt you." He reached out, as if to touch Kurt again before closing his hand and putting it back by his side. "I should walk you home. It's getting late."

Kurt rubbed his wrist and nodded cautiously, walking back across the meadow and into the trees again.

They stayed silent for some time.

"May I take you out for dinner tonight?"

Kurt looked over sharply in surprise. "What?"

"Lobster dinner. Tonight," Blaine said evenly. "Around eight?"

"But..." Kurt tried to wrap his head around the notion. "Why?"

"Because you seem like a pleasant young man and I'm absent company."

A part of Kurt that he'd never admit to how large seriously considered saying yes, but the rational and slightly fearful side looked at the situation logically. This was a guy who he'd met twice, both times with very little sleep and under duress who was inviting him out to dinner while they were walking in the middle of the woods in the dark. "I can't. I have homework."

"Friday, perhaps?" Blaine offered.

"Sorry," Kurt shook his head. "I have some cotillion thing I have to go to."

"Well what about--"

"I don't want to go to dinner with you, okay?" Kurt snapped, shoving his hands in his pockets as he avoided Blaine's gaze. There was a long pause.

"Forgive me," Blaine murmured gently. "I shouldn't have pressed. It's just...you don't look very well and I thought maybe some food and company might help."

"It's fine," Kurt sighed. "I mean, it's not fine fine, it's just...I'm sorry for losing my temper. I've been really exhausted lately..." Kurt rubbed at his eyes wearily, feeling the day weight down upon him.

Blaine glanced over at him, eyes serious. "Bad dreams?"

"You don't know the half of it," Kurt muttered, trying to stifle a yawn. 

They reached his grandmother's house quickly thereafter, Blaine halting at the start of the courtyard. "I'll take my leave."

"Thank you for the walk back," Kurt said sincerely. He was glad to have someone else to talk to to distract him from dark slim trees that all too often looked like stilted women. "I guess I'll see you around."

Blaine smiled softly at him. "Goodnight, Kurt Hummel."

"Goodnight, Blaine," Kurt said evenly with a small attempt at a smile before he turned and headed up the front lawn. At the door he turned, but Blaine was already dawn.

It wasn't until halfway through dinner with his grandmother that he stilled, his eyes widening. 

He had never told Blaine his name.

So how the hell had he known it?

Going upstairs after dinner, Kurt found a small white gardenia blossom on his pillow as well as a white notecard. He picked up the notecard and written on it was a message in silver ink.

Sweet dreams, Kurt.

Spine chilled, he crawled under the covers.

And for the first time in nearly a week, he didn't dream of the woman or the well.