If Kurt had become accustomed to anything in it was life, it was darkness. Not even blackness – blackness promised sleep, the solitude of night, and escape. No, it was darkness that he had come to know hauntingly well. Even when he allowed his eyes to slip closed for a precious few seconds, the light burned through his eyelids, blurring his vision with an eerie red glow. And the worst was at night, when he buried his face in his arms to hide from the moonlight that penetrated the cold, dark glass of the basement window, when Sir Morfan brought the whip across his back, taking advantage of his vulnerability as he fought to escape in his dreams, wrenching him from the night with a loud cry.

This darkness was no different – his breath came in short, pained gasps, his stomach was so shrunken he could hardly remember the feeling of hunger, his body ached, and where it didn’t ache, it stung with pain. Quick, short, hot pain. He felt a hand press against the marred skin of his neck and his eyes sprung open, waiting, just waiting, for the strikes to come from Sir Morfan, ones he had come to feel he had earned, deserved.

He was greeted with a bobbing head of curly black hair, and oh, the head was turning up to meet him, and the hand was on his neck, and the collar was gone, and Kurt couldn’t know, didn’t want to know, what was going to go around his neck next.

So it was with a small anguished whimper that Kurt instinctively allowed his fingernails to shift to claws as he struck out his hand, gasping at the trail of blood and open flesh his nails left across the man’s arm.

The man let out a sharp, quick gasp of pain.

Kurt froze. He had never struck a human – well, not since Ben, but that hardly counted – and now he was going to be beaten worse than he ever had, not that he wasn’t a bad cat, not that he didn’t deserve it, but – oh, when Sir Morfan found out what he had done… Kurt rolled into a protective ball, tail between his legs. He didn’t know how he even had tears left, but he let them pour down his face as his body shook violently with fear.

“Shhhh. I know you’re scared, honey. It’s okay, it’s okay, you’re okay…” the voice soothed.

Kurt’s sobs grew louder. He had heard words like that before, words that sought to trick him, soothe him into calmness before they struck. He dug his face into the couch that lay behind him, not even wanting to know how he had got there. Sir Morfan must have found him in the alley, brought him back home…

“You were afraid. You lashed out, it’s a perfectly normal reaction. I would have done the same, you know.”

It had been such a long time since someone had called him “you,” referred to him as a person, acknowledged that he had feelings. This man couldn’t be his owner. Yet Kurt still froze, finding strange comfort in the way he felt hidden in the darkness of the couch, even though he knew that his back was visible and vulnerable to this man. But the man hadn’t touched him again, had he? He could have if he had wanted to…

“Can you turn around for me, honey?”

Kurt couldn’t. He let out another whimper, the shock and adrenaline wearing away and the pain returning. His fingernails dulled, no longer claws, leaving him fully weak and vulnerable to the man behind him.

“I know that you’re scared of me. That’s okay. I understand. I won’t touch you unless you want me to. But I need you to just turn around for me, please?”

Kurt didn’t move.

“I’m going to walk across the room, okay? I’ll be far away from you, and maybe then you’ll feel safe turning around. I’ll tell you what – I’ll even turn around so that my back’s to you, so there’s no way I would be able to hurt you, and you just let me know when you want me to turn around again. Sound good?”

The ball of fur and bruised, wounded skin didn’t respond, so Blaine walked loudly across the room, purposely stepping loudly so that he could be heard.

Kurt’s ears twitched alertly as they strained to follow the softening sound of footsteps. The man’s scent had faded, and Kurt felt his sobs easing.

“Turn around whenever you’re comfortable, sweetheart. I’ll just be here, across the room, facing away from you. I’m a veterinarian. I just want to take care of you, maybe help you feel better if you’ll let me. We can take care of those cuts and get something warm in your belly, maybe a nice bath and some sleep.”

Years ago, before he had been tricked and hurt and jaded by the world, Kurt would have felt comfortable and at ease. Now, he just wondered what trick this man was playing, why he was promising Kurt things that he surely didn’t deserve. Those things were only given to good animals, animals who were loved. As Sir Morfan had constantly told Kurt, when Kurt was eating, when Kurt was sleeping, when Kurt was being beaten… he was a bad cat, a misbehaved cat, a cat who constantly needed punishment and correction, no matter how hard he had tried.

Ten minutes passed.

“You’re being so, so, good and so brave, not leaving and running away from me, you know.” The voice came again from across the room. It was calm, never wavering in pitch. Just steady - a steadiness that Kurt could allow himself to latch onto despite his trembling heart. “I’m so proud of you for being so good.”

Kurt had grown so used to abuse that he couldn’t help the way he fluttered at the praise. Any kind words were a novelty he had never grown used to. And he realized that the man was going to continue to stand there, would not go away. Whatever inevitability faced him in the future, he was only prolonging his misery the longer he spent with his back to the man.

So with a rustle, Kurt rolled his body over. He held back a gasp.

He was in a small living room. It was filled with bookcases and illuminated the soft glow of a fireplace. In the corner stood a small Christmas tree with golden lights and shiny silver balls. The couch he lied on was a soft, plushy maroon.

And as he allowed his eyes to travel over the room, he saw the man and examined him. He was surprised by how short he was – Sir Morfan had been tall, thick, and strong, leaving Kurt completely vulnerable and defenseless. This man was strong, to be sure – his black t-shirt was tight over his biceps, and his shoulders were fairly broad. But there was a kindness in the way he carried himself, in the way his body was built. He was wearing dark red sweatpants, and the sheer fact that this man also loved to wear soft, warm pants, enjoyed feeling comfortable, soothed Kurt’s heart. The three gashes Kurt’s claws had left were open and bleeding on the back of his arm, looking strangely beautiful against the tan of his skin as he stood perfectly still and allowed Kurt to survey his body.

Kurt wasn’t sure how to address the man to tell him he had turned around, so he reverted to the one he had been punished for the least, the one most of his owners had liked to call him.

“Your… your slave’s turned around now.” His voice shook as the man turned around.

Kurt was shocked by the darkness, then immediate tenderness in the man’s eyes as he turned to face him, taking no move to come closer to Kurt.

His eyes were big – big yet gentle, and there was a little bit of playfulness lurking beneath them. And he was… beautiful. Humblingly beautiful in a way that made Kurt ashamed to even be in his presence, so weak and disheveled and matted.

“You’re so good, doing so well,” the man said through berry lips. His voice was rich and calming. “But do you have a name?”

“Um, yes. Kurt.”

“Beautiful,” Kurt heard the man murmur. How could this gorgeous man even begin to consider anything about him to be beautiful? “Is it okay if I call you by that name?”

“Yes. Sorry, yes… yes, Sir.”

“Shhh, Kurt. You’re not my slave. I don’t care what anyone has told you – you’re no one’s slave. You’re worth so much more than that, you’re a person and nothing less. And my name’s Blaine. I will never, ever, make you call me Sir. You’re just as special, just as important, and worth just as much as I am.”

“Okay.” Kurt said quietly. He couldn’t bring himself to refer to a person by his actual name.

“You’re still bleeding, honey.”

“So are you,” Kurt observed as he surveyed the man’s arm with wide, still afraid eyes.

“Nothing I haven’t had before,” Blaine chuckled.

Kurt still looked at him, his eyes painfully aware and alert.

“I’m not going to punish you, you know.” Blaine allowed the words to sink in as Kurt just stared at him.

“You’re such a good boy. You were uncomfortable. You didn’t trust me, and you had no reason to. It wasn’t your fault. I won’t punish you, and I’ll never hit you. I promise,” he said, raising up his right hand so solemnly that Kurt giggled a bit inside.

“Is it okay if I walk over to you, now? You must be in a lot of pain.”

Kurt just nodded, an elegant bob of his pointed chin.

“Thank you. Thank you for letting me.” Blaine said simply, and the casual way in which he said such beautiful words sent warmth tingling down Kurt’s body all the way down to his toes.

Blaine lowered himself down onto the chair he had placed beside the touch, and Kurt instinctively shrank back a little at his proximity, despite the fact that he was so drawn into the warm golden brown tones of his eyes.

Kurt whimpered and buried his face into the fluff of the pillow Blaine had placed beneath his head.

“I need to finish taking care of your wounds before they get infected,” Blaine said in almost a whisper. His voice floated gently between their two bodies, curling itself snugly in Kurt’s ears.

“Okay,” Kurt made out.

“Can I touch you, honey? Just to take care of you, nothing more.”

Kurt trembled but nodded, his eyes wide and alert on Blaine’s hands as he watched them work quietly and diligently, touching him only where necessary. His eyes were soft and tender, but his brows furrowed in concentration and care.

Blaine spoke to him in a soothing, steady voice, praising him for allowing him to do this, for being good for him. Kurt clung to the gentleness of his words through the pain, not even paying enough attention to comprehend the actual words and instead immersing himself in the simple pleasure of a tender voice directed towards him. He eventually allowed his eyes to flutter closed, trusting the hands not to hurt him.

When Blaine’s hands reached his neck, Kurt panicked, and his hands grasped at his flesh, horrified to feel only the bruised skin.

“My collar. Where is it?”

Blaine observed Kurt quizzically. When Kurt’s hands began to claw at his neck and scrape at the flesh, Blaine took them in his own and held them gently yet firmly, not wanting Kurt to injure himself even further.

“I took it off, honey. It was choking you. I’m surprised you’re still okay, given how long it looks like you’ve been wearing it. I had to cut it, though, since there was a lock on it, in the back.”

And that was why, despite his clawing and scratching, Kurt had never been able to get the collar off, slip away from the metal chain that had tethered him to his previous owner, his previous life.

“But my owner – he’s going to…”

“No, Kurt.” Blaine cut him off, unwilling and unable to bear listening to the panic and pain in Kurt’s voice. “You’re not going back to him.”

“I have to. He’ll… he’ll come find me, he told me he would if I ran. It was so stupid of me, he knows where I am now, he must, and he’ll come and capt-“

Blaine’s eyes were wide and teary. “Shhhh, kitten… he doesn’t know where you are. You’re with me now. I’ll never let him get to you.”

Kurt didn’t believe him but was too weary to argue and slumped back against the pillows, exhausted.

“You haven’t had much to eat, have you?” Blaine observed, his eyes on the way Kurt’s ribs protruded through his tattered clothes.

Kurt moved his head in the negative, the slightest shake before collapsing back against the couch.

“I know, honey, I know…” Blaine murmured. “Do you think you can handle anything solid right now? Some fish, anything?”

“…no.” Kurt’s voice was small and shaky.

Blaine touched a hand to Kurt’s forehead. Blaine’s skin was cool and refreshing against his own skin, hot and sweaty. He could feel the pulse in Blaine’s wrist, the soft, plushy pads of his fingertips and the ligaments, the bone… it felt solid, yet there was such an aching gentleness in the way Blaine touched him. He hadn’t been touched so tenderly by anyone in so long, and he couldn’t help the way his heart yearned to trust someone again. It was just his nature to trust.

Before he knew it, Blaine was pressing something rubber against Kurt’s mouth. Kurt opened his eyes to see at bottle, and looked toward Blaine questioningly.

“I know it’s silly, honey, and it’s not that I see you as a baby or as any less of a person. We just need to start slowly to get something in your stomach that you can keep down. This is very mild and has the nutrients you need.”

The fact that Blaine was speaking to him like an intelligent person, explaining his reasoning and allowing Kurt to decide for himself… it made him feel like he was… someone. Like he had an identity. Kurt said nothing, but looked at Blaine with wide and trusting eyes as parted his lips to allow the nipple to enter his mouth. He sucked lightly. There was something primal and intimate about allowing Blaine to feed him, and he lost himself in the sensation of the warm stream of milk trickling down his dry throat. He felt embarrassed, but Blaine’s eyes were so warm and concerned and non-judgmental that he allowed himself to relax.

“Good, sweetheart. You’re doing so wonderfully, doing this for me. It’s going to make you feel better, kitten, I promise.”

Blaine used his finger to wipe away a drop of milk from Kurt’s lower lip when he removed the bottle.

“We’re going to give you a bath now, and then you can get some rest. Does that sound good?”

Kurt nodded weakly. When he tried to stand, his head swam with darkness and he fell back onto the couch.

“Can I carry you?” Blaine’s voice was soft.

Kurt nodded weakly, allowing Blaine to scoop him into his arms and carry him against his chest.

Blaine’s scent was nice, soothing even. And mild. It was natural and primal – it hadn’t come from a bottle. It was embedded in his hair, in his clothes, and just so characteristic of him.

Yet despite his instincts, his need for human contact, for affection, Kurt felt his eyes tear. The intensity of the emotions was just too much, and it had been too long since he had been touched that being held so closely to another body was just too overwhelming. It was too much for him to handle, too much trust for him to give anyone.

Blaine seemed to understand as he placed Kurt down in the bathtub. He perched himself on the side and wordlessly ran a hand up and down Kurt’s arm, careful to avoid the wounds.

“I know, baby, I know,” he whispered.

Kurt allowed Blaine to remove his clothes. They were so tattered that Blaine had practically seen all of him anyway, and he just wanted to feel clean again. He wanted to feel the warm, purging water run over the top of his head, yearned for the way he would feel his old owner’s cells leave the surface of his skin.

Kurt whimpered and cried out as the lukewarm water stung his open wounds, desperately thrusting his head back and looking for something solid to rest on, feeling so weak.

Blaine steadied Kurt’s head with his hand and draped his leg over the wall of the tub, pulling up his pant leg to allow Kurt to rest his weary head over his thigh. Kurt’s eyelids opened halfway, gratefulness shining beneath them as Blaine ran a hand over his cheek.

“You’re being so good, I’m so lucky to have you here with me, to be able to take care of you the way you deserve…”

Blaine’s words continued, distracting Kurt from his pain and exposed state as he brought the washcloth over his body, dirt and blood flushing away and leaving beautiful, pure skin in their wake.

When it was over, Blaine brought a towel-wrapped Kurt over to his bedroom, sitting him on a plushy chair and rummaging through his dresser.

He went over to his desk and cut something with a pair of scissors before bringing the clothes over to Kurt. There was a pair of plaid flannel pants and a t-shirt with a picture of a gingerbread man on it. Kurt smiled lightly through his exhausted, hazy eyes.

“The pants are kind of short, but the stores are all pretty much closed tonight, so this is the best I can do,” he said apologetically. “I cut a hole for your beautiful tail, though.”

Kurt’s insides flailed a bit with laughter when he saw a crooked, heart-shaped hole just below the elastic waistband of the pants.

“They’re perfect,” he murmured as Blaine helped him into them.

Blaine then headed over to a drawer in the corner of the room, returning with a hairbrush in hand. Kurt’s half-lidded eyes flew open when he saw the object growing nearer to him, and he let out a strangled cry. “I’m sorry,” he mustered.

Blaine stopped in his tracks in the middle of the room. “Sweetheart, what on earth is there for you to be sorry for?”

“Your arm,” Kurt choked. “Please, I can’t – you can punish me later, but… everything hurts to much, and the hairbrush…”

“You thought… you thought I was going to hit you?”

Kurt didn’t respond, his eyes teary and his face flushing with embarrassment.

“Kurt, beautiful… I meant it when I told you that I’ll never hit you, never punish you. Especially for something you did when you were afraid. I had no right to be touching you, and you had every right in the world to be protecting yourself.”

He paused and moved closer to Kurt to sit on the arm of the chair he was nestled in, which Kurt allowed.

“As for the brush, I just wanted to brush your fur. You’ll feel better when you feel as beautiful as I know you are.”

It was only then that Kurt allowed himself to reflect on the pet names. Beautiful, honey, sweetheart. It had been so, so achingly long since anyone had called him that. He still didn’t believe that this was real, and didn’t want to allow himself to hope, to enjoy any of it, afraid that it would only be taken away and he would be left with what he had…nothing. He wasn’t used to the affection, and it overwhelmed him. But maybe… maybe he could allow it to wash over him, immerse himself in the pleasure for just a little while, for he had nothing left to lose, already having lost his dignity, his life, his everything.

The rubber bristles were soothing against Kurt’s scalp, and he felt Blaine’s hands massage his shoulders, kneading the thin and tired muscle as his fur grew fluffy and Blaine worked out the mats, careful not to pull on the delicate, sensitive flesh of his ear and tail. He yawned, tentatively leaning his fragile body into Blaine’s strong, comforting hands.

“You must be exhausted. Let’s get you into bed, alright?”

“Bed?”

“Yes.”

Kurt hadn’t been in a real bed in so long, but said nothing as Blaine brought him over to his bed and tucked him in beneath the covers, soft yet heavy enough to make him feel safe.

“I’ll just be downstairs on the couch.”

“I can’t… I don’t... I’ll sleep on the couch.” It was surely better than the cold stone of Sir Morfan’s basement floor. Yet Kurt wasn’t willing to tell Blaine how long it had been since he’d slept in a real bed, afraid of showing him just how miserable and vulnerable and unhuman he really was. It was humiliating.

“No, baby. You sleep here.” Blaine’s tone left no room for argument.

Kurt panicked as Blaine flipped the lights off.

“I – B – Blaine?”

“Hmm?” the hum was soft, soothing to Kurt’s ears, and filled him with temporary confidence.

“Will you stay here? With me?” Kurt instinctively braced himself for the inevitable rejection, but none came.

“Of course.” Kurt heard Blaine voice choke a bit as he lied beside him on the bed. Kurt was beneath the covers; Blaine was on top of them on the side opposite Kurt.

The room was dark, and Kurt sought out Blaine’s hand, resting his on top of it for reassurance.

Something about touch – not the brush of shoulders in the grocery store but deliberate, heartfelt contact with fellow living beings - makes people feel infinitely closer to one another and connected to the web that interweaves us all.

“It’s been so long since I’ve slept in a real bed,” Kurt whispered, open and vulnerable. “Thank you.”

He heard tears in Blaine’s voice once again as the man leaned his face closer to Kurt’s and whispered, “You never need to thank me for giving you the things you deserve.”

There was no need for further words. Kurt allowed his eyes to slip closed, Blaine’s hand warm and solid in his own, his scent surrounding him as he buried his face in the pillows. He was vulnerable, weak, and in pain, but Blaine… Blaine wasn’t going to hurt him.