“Wow…” Jeremiah exclaimed leaning his arms against the bar as Blaine finished recapping the events of the last couple hours, well at least up until the point where he’d ended up sitting alone on Kurt’s bedroom floor. They’d both stood chatting alone in the kitchen for the last ten minutes, as near enough everyone had now flooded the living room, dancing until they were inevitably kicked out or crashed out.

“Explains the way they were acting with each other I suppose,” Jeremiah mused. Blaine stared blankly at him for a moment then asked, “sorry what? They were acting weird, when did you even meet Sebastian?”

“They came in for a drink like… thirty minutes ago?” he said, his tone questioning as he tried to remember. “He didn’t even have to say who he was, I knew it was him the moment I saw him from the way you described him. I’ve actually seen him at work a few times. He’s a real…” he paused looking for the right word.

“Stud? Dreamboat?” Blaine replied petulantly. “Actually, I was gonna say a real douchebag,” Jeremiah countered and Blaine laughed, eliciting a crooked smile from Jeremiah. When Blaine’s laughter finally subsided he continued his story, “Anyway, he was all over Kurt. But Kurt kept dodging him… And he snapped at him.”

That caught Blaine’s attention; he knew from Kurt that Sebastian could be ‘handsy’ but he hadn’t heard of Kurt getting angry with him. “Yeah? What about?” Blaine asked, with a serious tone. “He couldn’t remember Brittany’s name. I met her by the way, she’s sweet. A little odd, kind of… innocent,” he added tactfully. Blaine’s lips curled into a smile, “Yeah, her heart’s in the right place though… unlike a certain rodent faced slut who shall rename nameless…” Jeremiah laughed endearingly, finding the word slut coming out of Blaine’s polite rhetoric unexpectedly adorable.

“I’m going to miss having her around when she passes her test. Christ it’s less than a week now,” Blaine continued thoughtfully, albeit a little more sadly. Jeremiah took a hand off the bar and used it to pat him on the shoulder, “Blaine she’ll still be around after she passes. That girl’s not letting you go, she talks about you like you hung the moon.”

Blaine sighed dragging a hand through his curls, his elbow pointing skyward as his fingers rested at the back of his neck, kneading the tense muscles. “I hope you’re right. I don’t have a lot of close friends. I used to hang out with my friend Mike a lot but he’s barely been around since he started dating Tina. Kurt’s my best friend but well… you know,”

“I know. Well, for what it’s worth,” Jeremiah said, his voice soft, “you’ve got me as well.” Blaine fingers stopped their motion before resting on his shoulder. Two things about what he’d said surprised him: 1.) that Jeremiah basically had called himself a friend and 2.) how much he realised he wanted him as a friend. When he turned to look him in his eyes; brown, warm and inviting he simply said, “thank you.”

Jeremiah pushed off the bar and dug into his pocket, retrieving his phone. “It’s almost one. I should really get going, do you want a ride home?” he asked, sliding the phone back into his pocket. “No but thanks, it’s quicker if I walk. Besides I want to stay a bit longer, make sure Kurt’s ok. He was acting kind of weird.”

“How so?” Jeremiah asked, intrigued and a little worried. “Well he-”

Blaine was cut off by a loud crash and yelling, they both whipped their heads to the noise coming from the hallway. Stepping out of the kitchen they found Finn towering over Puck who was wiping a steady stream of blood from under his nose. As he stumbled to his feet, swaying drunkenly from side to side more people came to watch the unfolding carnage. “What the hell dude? What was the sucker punch for? I thought we were bros?”

“Bros?!” Finn spat the word like it was a curse, attempting to lung for his face again but held back by Sam’s restraining hands. “First you knock Quinn up. Then you make out with Rachel. And now you’re making out with anything that moves, like you only did it to hurt me. What’s the matter with you?!”

“Look Finn, it’s not that simple! You can’t keep the Puck-aconda in captivity. It’s gotta be free to roam so it can shed it’s skin and stuff. Besides it ain’t my fault Rachel’s a skanky little snake charmer.” This time Sam wasn’t strong enough to hold onto him and Finn came careening towards Puck who promptly bolted for the front door choosing flight over fight. “Get back here!” Finn yelled at the top of his lungs as he leapt through the open door after him.

“Guys! Guys! Finn’s wailing on Puck!” Rick the mullet headed hockey player called, instigating a stampede that could truly rival that of The Lion King. Blaine and Jeremiah jogged through the empty hallway, the only sound now was the unimpeded auto-tune of Ke$ha singing Tic Tok. When they arrived on the doorstep they could see that Puck had managed to get as far as three lawns away before Finn had apparently tackled him. Sam and Mike were unsuccessfully attempting to break them apart as the irate owner of the house was threatening to call the police.

“I can’t believe they’re fighting over my sister!” Blaine exclaimed, watching the spectacle with wide eyes. “They’re going to get everyone arrested at this rate!” Jeremiah said anxiously, shifting on the balls of his feet. “Wait here!” he called as he sprinted towards the crowd.

Blaine observed the scene with something akin to mild amusement. He started to wonder why Kurt wasn’t going ballistic at Finn for ruining their party. No matter how drunk he might be, he could never pass up an opportunity to rein bitch supreme, especially over his hapless stepbrother. That’s when it hit Blaine. Kurt wasn’t in the fray of onlookers… and neither was Sebastian.

Spinning on his heels he surveyed the downstairs with quick, darting flicks of his eyes but there wasn’t a soul in sight. Panic started to flare under his skin, the contents of his stomach churning dangerously as a nauseating coppery taste flooded his mouth. With a sickening realisation he looked upwards at the ascending stairs then sprinted up the two steps at a time, praying that his gut feeling was wrong.

Kurt’s door was closed when he arrived outside it, the edges dark and silent. Maybe I’ve got Sebastian all wrong Blaine wondered maybe he just put Kurt to bed… With trepidation he pressed at ear to the cold wood and listened intently.

There wasn’t a sound to be heard and silence was deafening. He was about to turn around when he heard the faintest pop, like wet suction, followed by a low hissing like a snake, “Shhhhh… shhhhhh Kurt, it’s ok. I’m here. I’ll take good care of you…” Sebastian crooned, resuming the wet noise. A whisper with barely the strength of a breeze responded, “no…no…”

That Bastard! Blaine few into action. He twisted the handle savagely, but the door wouldn’t budge. He pummelled his fists against the wood, the bones in his hands screaming as he cried, “Sebastian! Open this goddamn door right now! KURT!” With as much strength as he could muster Blaine launched himself at the solid wood. The collision sent a splintering pin through his shoulder and all his effort had succeeded in was rattling the door in its frame. He continued to call Kurt’s name desperately, the piercing sound a crackling note.

Stepping back to charge the door again he very nearly ran right into Sebastian who’d suddenly appeared. Clicking the door shut behind him he towered over Blaine, “‘Kurt! Kurt! ’Can you hear yourself Blaine?” he mimicked with cruel amusement. “You really need to get over this obsession you have with him. It’s very unhealthy.”

Blaine surged for the door handle but was quickly blocked, “get out of my way Sebastian. Or I swear I’ll…I’ll…” he stammered, searching hopelessly for anything to threaten the imposing boy with. Sebastian chortled pushing him backwards with ease. “Blaine this is all very cute but my boyfriend is currently waiting for me to ravish his brains out, so I’d really like to bring an end to whatever this is,” he said wagging a finger in Blaine face.

“Kurt is not interested in you. It was a nice little ego boost to have you trailing around after him but it’s gotten to the point of sad. Now I can tell you’ve put some effort in tonight, and even I’ll admit you could borderline pass for acceptable looking but know this. You are still a looser. You’re always going to be a looser. So why don’t you run back home, cry about it in your diary and then jerk off to his class picture, ‘cause it’s the closest you’re ever going to get.”

Snap. Blaine’s knuckles stung as he shook his hand. It was shocking how much punching Sebastian in the face had hurt. He and Mike had watched quite a few kung fu movies together in the past and none of those guys had shaken their hands after breaking a slab of concrete in half. However the stinging in his hand was nothing compared to the pain in his head as he was propelled back savagely against the wall, the audible crack of his skull ringing in his ears.

Blaine’s vision blurred through his contacts and he felt dizzy, the room spinning slowly like a merry-go-round. As the scene came into focus his first sight was that of a fist bunched in the fabric covering his chest, holding him firmly in place. Then as they trailed up he flinched at the sight of cold metallic eyes, glaring back at him with unrestrained fury. “You need to learn your place Blaine,” he spat venomously.

In Blaine’s periphery vision he watched as Sebastian’s fist rose, the skin stretching taut and white, over the hard bones, as it hung suspended in the air. Blaine closed his eyes, his body tensing as he waited for the blow.

A tearing noise rang in his ears and for a fleeting moment he wondered if it was his skin. But his chest was lighter and he realised the hand that had held him down was gone. When he dared to open his eyes he saw Jeremiah had a hand locked around Sebastian’s fist, twisting it to an unnatural angle behind his back whilst he savagely dug his fingertips into the crook of Sebastian’s other arm.

Blaine watched in awe as the impossibly tall boy who’d probably just been about to knock him out was reduced to a wincing and whimpering mess under Jeremiah’s unrelenting clutch. “Right you little shit,” Jeremiah spoke directly into his ear, twisting the arm tighter until he gasped. “Parties over.” And with that he wrenched him away and marched him unceremoniously down the stairs.

Blaine slid to the ground, breathing heavily as his hand snaked around to the back of his head. He gingerly touched the tender raised area where his head had collided with the wall and winced. It throbbed wildly, increasing when he heard the sound of the front door slamming and pounding footsteps running up the stairs.

Jeremiah knelt on the ground in front of Blaine, his faced etched with concern. “I came back and you were gone. Everyone fled when the neighbours threatened to call the police, even Puck and that tall guy he was fighting with. What the hell happened here?” Blaine fought to get the words out between his ragged panting, “I-I saw him take Kurt upstairs. And he looked… he looked so out of it. I thought he was going to…”

Oh god, Kurt.

Blaine was suddenly stumbling to his feet, ignoring the scolding pain in his head and lurching towards the door. He flung it open and stopped in his tracks.

A bridge of light stretched from the open door, stencilling Blaine’s still silhouette across the wall over the bed, where Kurt’s body lay strew in fretful angles. Rolling his head away from the obtrusive light, Kurt whined brokenly and burrowed his rose stained cheek into the folds of his hastily discarded black cardigan. Little care had apparently been given to the article as an inverted sleeve hung off the edge, floating on the surface of the floor like the fingertips of a drowned corpse.

Kurt’s writhing movements caused a rift to surface in the fault line of his shirt; the soft button edged folds yawning open to expose a slender streak of unimpeded fair skin. It ran parallel from his throat, (still swathed by Sebastian’s silk scarf) to his navel; the small dent in his flesh a sickening juxtaposition to the empty buttonhole of his pants.

His pants were unbuttoned.

This small detail, the open button, was enough to completely break Blaine. “Oh Kurt…” he chocked as he stumbled across the room, ignoring the swelling pain in his head and shoulder as he careened towards the boy he’d loved over half his life. As he crawled across the sheets, the shift in weight made Kurt momentarily recoil, until the familiar texture of Blaine’s hand tentatively stroked with featherweight care across his forehead. His touch transformed him, stilling his fretful body and smoothing the wrinkled skin shrouding his eyes, like choppy water gone eerily still.

“That kid is despicable,” Jeremiah finally said, his presence making itself known as he hovered a short distance from the two boys. “You don’t think he...?” Jeremiah asked, the question filled with implication, reverberating in the silence like the aftermath of a heavy church bell ringing. “No,” Blaine replied quietly, continuing to card his fingertips through the silken strands of Kurt’s hair. “But I think he would have if I hadn’t gotten here in time. Urgh! I knew there was something wrong before. I shouldn’t have-I should have- I..I…” choking on guilt he searched hard for the words. “None of this is your fault Blaine. But I think we should call someone. Maybe take him to the hospit-”

“No!” Blaine almost shouted. His hand flew from Kurt’s head and the semi-conscious boy whimpered from the loss of contact. Returning his hand to his face, he delicately caressed the soft skin, cooing softly until he settled again.

Blaine bit his lip and took a long drag of air before explaining, “Sorry it’s just… he hates hospitals. His mum, not to mention his dad well… I just don’t want him to wake up alone and get scared when he realises where he is.” He paused before continuing, “I-I’ll stay here. I’ll stay up all night and watch him. I’ll make sure he’s safe. When he wakes up I’ll explain, and-and I’ll take him myself.”

Jeremiah wavered, his instinct telling him not to listen to Blaine’s pleas. He sighed, “Ok, look,” he said, taking a sharpie off the bedside table and drawing Blaine’s free hand into his own. Across the taupe skin he wrote ten little numbers in a careful script as he spoke, “you call me if anything happens Blaine. Any time. You promise?” Blaine nodded sagely, “Yes, I will. I promise.”

“Good,” Jeremiah said with finality, capping the lid on the pen and placing it back on the nightstand. As an afterthought he added carefully, “Text me tomorrow as well, let me know he’s ok… And you as well.” With that he turned to leave but just as he was crossing the threshold Blaine spoke, “Thank you. Thank you for everything.” Jeremiah paused for just a second, smiling crookedly, “you’re welcome Blaine.” Then he disappeared, leaving nothing in the darkness but the lingering echo of his dissolving footsteps.

Blaine glanced over at the clock glowing red on the nightstand - 01:58. He groaned inwardly, wincing at the throbbing in his head coupled with the prospect of the long night stretching ahead in front of him. An arm suddenly wound low around his waist, pulling him in tightly. Blaine’s breath hitched as the arm was closely followed by first a knee wrapping over his legs and finally Kurt’s cherubic cheek resting lightly against his chest.

The hand tangled in Kurt’s hair slid down his back, tracing stars over the expanse with his fingertips. He continued to do this until the sun cracked the edges of the window like the fault lines of a volcano.