Another Day in Paradise

Blaine’s laugh echoed around him as he clutched his to-go cup of coffee. His cousin Rachel was regaling him with tales of how she’d performed wonderfully at her audition for NYADA’s production of West Side Story. It was scary, moving to New York to attend  Columbia; Blaine still felt like a stranger. Though, while he wasn’t sure he wanted to pursue Broadway like Rachel, or television acting like Rachel’s fiance Finn, he was slowly but surely gaining confidence and adjusting to life in the big city.

“So, then I turned to him and said, “well, I certainly can solve a problem like Maria!” Rachel said, and Finn’s quizically raised eyebrow made Blaine laugh even more. “Callbacks are tomorrow, but the director said that was more of a formality. I really hope so! I need this role more than I need air.”

“They’d be mad not to recognize your talent, babe,” Finn said, clutching Rachel closely to his broad chest.

Rolling his eyes at yet another of their physicals displays of affection, Blaine didn’t notice the crack in the sidewalk. Tripping a little, he turned his head to the side. What he saw immediately made his heart catch in his throat, and something clenched tightly in his chest. For all the times Rachel told him it was a fact of life in New York, a city teeming full of transients, it was easy to detach yourself when you’d lived there your whole life. Blaine didn’t ever think he’d be able to get used to the city’s immense homeless population. He tried to give them spare change whenever he could; most of them seemed older, veterans and people who couldn’t afford healthcare. Instead of a lined face and a shock of gray hair, what shocked Blaine was that this man was, well, more of a boy. His bare hands were whiter than the robe Rachel wore when she went to the spa, but his cheeks were blanketed in a rosy watermelon flush due to the cold. It seemed to blush his entire face, skin paper-thin and unprotected from the icy New York winter.

“Woah, what's the hold up?” Finn called. “We’re gonna be late for dinner!”

“I’ll...” Blaine started, looking between the sea green eyes of the boy in the doorway and back to Finn’s warm brown ones. “I... I just... forgot something. I’ll catch up later!”

Then, Rachel briskly marched over to him and took ahold of his arm. “Blaine,” she said tersely, tossing a veil of her shiny brown hair over her shoulder. “Are you... oh.” She seemed to take in the homeless boy, too, and lowered her voice to a whisper. “I know it upsets you, but I can assure you the city has a very comprehensive program for rehabilitation of the homeless. Plus, Finn and I regularly volunteer at the soup kitchen; my chicken noodle soup is both nourishing and healthy! I'm fairly certain I've seen him there before.”

“He’s... he’s just a kid.” Blaine lowered his voice, not wanting to humiliate the boy even more than his position suggested. He wasn't sure how Rachel could be fairly certain; Blaine didn't think he could ever forget that face, and those eyes. “He’s so scared; so alone.”

“Maybe he has that thing,” Finn said, then chewed his lip a little. “You know, the one that makes you lose all that weight and stuff.”

Blaine gasped. “Cancer?”

“Naw, the one that... it sounds like help, but it doesn’t really help you...” Finn shrugged one shoulder as Rachel walked over to him and clapsed his hand tightly. “AIDS! That’s it!” He looked to be deep in thought. “Aw shucks. C'mon, though. If we’re not at Candle 79 by, like, five minutes they’ll give our reservation away.”

“Just one minute,” Blaine said, flashing them a smile. He knew how mad Rachel could get, and having Finn dangle the promise of her favorite restaurant under her nose only to have it yanked away would have her sulking for weeks. “I promise.”

“You’re most compassionate,” Rachel said, but Blaine couldn’t help but notice she was still holding hands with Finn, keeping her distance.

How could his cousin and friend be so callous, Blaine thought, as he forced himself to smile through his nerves and made his way over to the shivering, boy. It was only when Blaine was close enough to notice how chapped and blue-gray the boy’s lips were that he realized the scarf wrapped around the boy’s neck was Alexander McQueen. It made a striking contrast to the ragged sleeping bag that enveloped his form. What had happened, to cause such misery and pain and to cause this?

Glancing over at Rachel, who was staring at her watch, Blaine extended his hands and offered the boy his medium drip. As tiny, blotched hands extended to grip it, there was a barely perceptible murmur. The boy’s face seemed too weak to even break a smile.

“Th... thank you,” he said to Blaine, and Blaine could sense he had a high, proud voice even through his slight cough.

“Can I...” Blaine started, reaching into his pocket for his wallet.

“Blaine!” Rachel called out. “Reservation!”

The boy laughed, and a tiny glimmer of brightness started to shine in his eyes. “Pushy, isn’t she?”

“Oh, Rachel’s just...” Blaine sighed, wondering if the boy did perhaps recognize Rachel from the soup kitchen. “She's just Rachel. I really have to go, but...”

Blaine wondered what he’d even say to someone in this boy’s situation. There were no words he could offer to comfort, or console. Saying he’d see him again wasn’t quite it, because Blaine really hoped that the boy would find warmth, and comfort, and a roof over his head. It seemed wrong to ask him for his name somehow, or ask him about his story. Rachel had told him homeless people were often drug addicts, or criminals, or incredibly dangerous. This boy seemed nothing but vulnerable and helpless but proud at the same time, but Blaine soon realized there was one thing he could do to assist the boy’s situation which wouldn’t rob him of his dignity, and perhaps give Blaine a chance to know a little more about how to help.

“Listen, this friend of mine owns a restaurant.” Blaine quickly reached into his satchel and scribbled down the address of Santana and Brittany’s cafe before pressing it into the boy’s bird-like fingers. “Any time. Whenever you need a hot meal. No questions asked."

“Dude, we’re leaving now!” Finn said, and when Blaine turned his head he could see Finn lead his petite girlfriend down the subway stairs already, almost hear his footsteps echo, heavy and unsympathetic.

“I won’t forget this,” the downtrodden boy said, cheeks appearing even more wind-bitten as a chilly gust of wind whipped around him. "I'm immensely grateful. For your kindness."

“Courage,” Blaine replied with a nod, and gave one last look over his shoulder, his heart squeezed in a vice of sadness as he dashed to the subway to catch up with Rachel and Finn.

The Jewish girl immediately snapped at Blaine, startling him. “I’ve told you! You simply can’t be soft --”

Blaine felt the hackles rise up on the back of his neck. “He wasn’t always that way, Rachel,” he  snapped. “Through his pain, through everything, he’s just a kid. He’s just a kid, like... like us!”  

”Blaine's right, Rach. Maybe we should..."

"This isn't Ohio, Finn," Rachel said, shaking her head. "We volunteer. My fathers give a steady proportion of their income to a variety of Jew-friendly charities. I am not going to be made to feel guilty about this, and I am going to enjoy my dinner with my favorite cousin and my handsome fiance."

"Sorry," Finn muttered, Blaine tuning him out as he offered to carry her bag for her.

As they waited for their train, Finn and Rachel chatted ahead of Blaine, their chatter an endless drone, a guilty buzz around Blaine’s ears. While Rachel explained to Finn what a seitan piccata was, and how she couldn't wait for her next spa appointment, Blaine couldn’t stop thinking about the beleaguered boy in the doorway. Through all the pain, Blaine had seen the courage the boy showed, his morals and humility and a hint of a spark. Blaine knew he wouldn't enjoy dinner. Not when he had to find a way to rekindle the spark, and enable the homeless boy get his fire back.

TBC?