As he walked back to the apartment he shared with Rachel and Finn, Blaine felt sick to his stomach, pumped full of expensive food Rachel had paid for with her daddies’ credit card, and guilt. Rachel and Finn walked ahead of him as usual and Blaine stared down at the sidewalk. His heartbeat sped up as he approached the building at which he’d seen the desolate-looking young homeless man earlier that evening. With each step his chest pounded, pounded, but Blaine saw nothing but an empty doorway.

Unsure why, Blaine walked forward. The boy had gone, as had the sleeping bag and his ragged drinks cup, but there, on the cold stone step, was the vivid red Alexander McQueen scarf the boy had worn earlier.

Rachel and Finn were still engrossed in conversation, becoming mere blurs in the distance so with a little bit of embarrassment, Blaine bent down to pick up the scarf before putting it in his satchel. It was soft, possibly cashmere, and caressed his hand like a whisper.

“Who are you?” Blaine said, into the chill of the New York night. It was barely twenty degrees outside, and he could feel the tears that threatened to fall freeze at the corners of his eyes.

--

Blaine had an early class the following day, but his night was full of fitful dreams. He knew the statistics, he’d volunteered for The Trevor Project when he’d been at Dalton. Being a pinoy hapa man who preferred the company of other men, the odds weren’t entirely in his favour. Luckily, his Latina friend Santana who was also a lesbian had always had his back after she had admired the Dalton Warblers’ rendition of ‘Where is the Love’ by The Black Eyed Peas during Sectionals in his sophomore year while her girlfriend Brittany performed for rival New Directions. And, he realized, Santana might be the only person with the mixture of tough love and pragmatism needed to help him get a grip on this situation.

“Hey, Hobbit!” Santana said, slapping Blaine on the back as he walked through the doors of Jicama. “What’s up? “ the restaurateur continued, “you haven’t worn that kicked puppy look since you missed out on tickets for that Roxy Music reunion.”

“I...” Blaine sighed. He could never hide anything from his friend. “Maybe we could talk about it over lunch?”

Santana snorted. “A liquid one. On the rocks. First round’s on you.” Her eyes softened a little, betraying some of her vulnerability. “Yes, I ate. If I worked in a restaurant without eating my own food, might as well be on Kitchen Nightmares.” She paused. “No, Blaine. Talk about it now before I go all Lima Heights on yo ass.”

“It’s,” Blaine stammered a little; Santana might have been twenty one, but he still felt guilty for abetting criminal activities when he sipped on his favorite Old Fashioneds. “Okay. I was going to dinner last night, with Finn and Rachel --”

“They played footsie while Finn stuffed breadsticks down his blowhole? Well, that explains why you look like someone stole your trike.”

Blaine laughed. He loved Santana’s insults, because there was never any real malice beneath them. She’d had a hard life, and she had a good heart. “No, no!” Blaine shook his head. “The problem is, I saw a homeless guy on the way there.”

“Blaine? Newsflash. This is New York. The guy who sold me my Manolos lives under the bridge.”

“I know. Rachel always tells me I’m too soft-hearted, but she was... the way she was raised, she doesn’t understand how hard life can be. Finn seems to understand a little more, but he thinks if you just... toss them a few bucks and serve them some soup it’s okay. And usually I agree, I have to tell myself that because it consumes me inside, but there’s just something about him, Santana.”

Santana raised an eyebrow. “You want to bang Boxcar Billy? When’s the wedding.”

“No!” Blaine felt his cheeks flush and the top of his head warm under his beanie hat. “No. Santana, he was... he was just a kid. His eyes haunt me. I didn’t know what I could do, but can you maybe make sure his taco’s extra stuffed if he comes to Jicama?”

“What, because you want to stuff his taco!” Santana tossed her hair over her shoulder and adjusted the straps of her dungarees. “What does he look like?”

Blaine considered the question. Granted, the boy had his sleeping bag pulled up to his chin and wore a hat, but Blaine was going to try his best to recall what had captured his imagination. “Courageous,” he said, simply. “He knows he’s down on his luck, but he still look so proud. He’s pale, light brown hair, and he has these sea green eyes, and...”

“He needs to catch a break in this miserable, stinking world?”

“Something like that,” Blaine mumbled, reaching into his satchel and extracting the boy’s Alexander McQueen scarf. “If you do see him, please. Give him this.”

“Hey, hobo, did you drop your McQueen?” Santana said, with a snort. “I’d have more of a chance sneaking my abuela across the border than finding someone based on that.”

Blaine sighed, as Santana fingered the fine fabric of the boy’s scarf and smiled at it appraisingly before she placed it in her Coach handbag. This was going to be more difficult than Blaine had envisaged.

--

After four days had passed, Santana told Blaine not a single homeless person had walked through the doors of her restaurant, and that he should put the thought out of his mind and concentrate on his forthcoming audition for the role of Emmett in an amateur production of ‘Legally Blonde’. Rachel assisted him in his rehearsal, but every time he sang his audition song (‘When You’ve Got It, Flaunt It’ from The Producers) he kept thinking back to the dejected but courageous-looking boy who didn’t have it, but still tried to flaunt it, tried to show a spark in the face of danger and adversity when other people would probably have given up long ago.

“Rachel,” he said, just as Rachel ‘s manicured fingers placed the Wagner CD in the stereo to practice for the opera course she was planning on taking over the summer. “Can I ask you a favour?”

Rachel stomped towards him on her tiny feet. “It had better be important! If I don’t start my vocal runs within five minutes, my honey lemon tea will chill slightly and not be the optimum temperature to warm my vocal chords for such a challenging piece!”

Given how driven Rachel was, and given that Finn had already been banished to the nearby coffee shop to practice his own lines for an important scene he had in his crime procedural the following morning, Blaine decided to cut to the chase.

“Can I volunteer at the soup kitchen?”

“Of course!” Rachel said, with a happy squeal. “Finn and I think it’s so important to give back to the community!”

--

Blaine fastened the red and blue-striped apron around his waist in a double bow as he walked into the dining hall of the soup kitchen. Rachel had told him that on his first shift volunteering, he was only to remove plates and trays from tables, because waiting on the homeless gave them some independence, and that was thoughtful. She explained that serving responsibilities were issued on a fair, egalitarian rota and that if he persisted in showing his compassion, he would soon be issued with his very own ladle.

“It’s a tough gig, bro,” Finn said, looking handsome in his apron as he patted an elderly lady on his head. “It’s a lot of responsibility to place in someone’s hands.”

Blaine smiled at the taller man. Finn always, only ever wanted to help people but tended to lack direction in his life, and didn’t have the confidence to pursue weightier acting roles. Blaine was so glad that he had Rachel in his life to drive him towards the starring roles and the spotlight he deserved. One day, Blaine thought, maybe he could star in a remake of Boys Nxt Door, and stay true to his Pinoy heritage while pursuing his own dreams of stardom. The lack of non-white stars could be disheartening, and once again Blaine’s mind went to the youth. Had he lacked proper role models growing up, which had caused him to feel so alone he ran away? He must have been a runaway, after all. He looked too fragile for anything else.

“Ah!”

The sound broke through Blaine’s dreamy reverie and he turned around to notice its source, pain trembling with every inch of breath. Had Rachel been right? Were the homeless dangerous, were they aggressive? It was a sound of panic, of distress, and Blaine’s thoughts turned to Sugar Motta, the daughter of the man who’d sold him his piano, who had seemed just as distressed that morning. Nobody could ever hurt someone as sweet as Sugar.

When he turned around, though, Blaine saw it was the glasz-eyed boy. Blaine rushed over to behind the serving counter, sea green eyes meeting Blaine’s concerned hazel orbs. The boy had dropped his Borscht over his bare, skeletal fingers and stared at Blaine like a deer in the wild who had just seen a hunter.

“Are you okay?” Blaine asked, reaching out across that damn counter barrier to somehow heal the hurts the boy was experiencing.

The boy said nothing, his soup bowl clattering to the ground, spraying Borscht over the floor like a shattered, purple snow globe.

“What happened?” Rachel asked, turning around and putting her phone back in the pocket of her apron. When she saw the soup bowl on the ground she scowled.

“I know not everyone can have my grace, and certainly not when they’re underfed, but how could you be so clumsy?” Rachel announced, waving her soup ladle at the boy. “That is a waste of money, time and effort! You aren’t the only hungry person here who could have used that soup!”

“I’m sorry,” the boy whispered, voice barely a cracking whisper. His eyes began to water, and he seemed to shrink into himself. “Please don’t be mad. I’m sorry. It was an accident.”

“Well clean it up!” Rachel said firmly. “We must all do our part in this little helpful corner of the world of ours.”

“But Rach,” Finn said, now behind the counter too. “Last week, I was drumming with my soup ladle and ended up spill --” looking to Blaine, then to the boy in front of them, Finn shook his head. “You’re being really mean. That’s not cool.”

Blaine didn’t miss the smile that lit up the boy’s face at Finn’s words, and watched the boy blush as Finn reached across the counter to tap him on the shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay. Blaine here will clean up. He’s pretty good at cleaning up messes, y’see. You can have --” Finn reached for Rachel’s ladle and plunged it into the vegan matzo ball soup. “Ow!” he said as Rachel stamped on his foot.

“Finn, darling,” she said, as though telling off a young child.

“Remember what I told you last week?”

“Uh, ask them if they can’t have carbs?”

“Ask them if they have a gluten intolerance!” She shook her shiny tresses accusingly. “Homeless folk find locating suitable restrooms a hard enough task without wheat-related complications. You, of all people, should be able to understand that.”

“I told you I suck at this!” Finn protested, rotating his ankle with a wince. “And if you want me to be your husband, you might wanna understand that your matzo ball soup is way salty.”

“But Finn!” Rachel said, clearly oblivious to the queue building up behind her. “You said my matzo ball soup was delicious! My daddies said it was better than Ina Garten’s! And vegan, too!”

The boy raised his head and spoke clearly and brightly. “Is this a soup kitchen, or an episode of It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia?”
“Wait?” Finn frowned. “I’m on set? Oh god, I’m totally on set. Man, this apron adds like twenty pounds. I wish someone told me.”

“It’s okay,” the boy said, and Blaine was about to reach out to soothe his delicate-looking hand, but thought better of it as the beautiful eyes that had sparked something in Blaine narrowed to steel. “I don’t need your charity,” the boy spat. “Nor your matzo ball soup. It’s salty enough to give me wrinkles.”

Rachel’s bottom lip wobbled as she looked at Blaine, then at Finn, then at the line of hungry people behind the sassy homeless boy. “You!” she said, with a dramatic point of her finger. “Are not welcome at my daddies’ soup kitchen for the Jewish poor.”

“Good,” the boy spat out with another nod of his head. “Although you might want to ask your daddies to rename it to the soup kitchen for the Jewish and tasteless. Though, let me be frank. Your argyle sweater vest should have indicated that. How foolish of me.”

Finn just stood there like a large goldfish as Rachel clucked a little and immediately served the next person in line with an apology and a stage-bright smile.

Blaine tore his apron off and threw it at Rachel’s feet. “I’m going after him,” he said, narrowly avoiding the puddle of spilled soup and crockery, shocked at his cousin’s harsh words. “You could do with some charity yourself!"

TBC