It all started with Blaine's fucking asshole of a boyfriend Jonah. Blaine had arrived home after his shift at the bookstore on third, unlocked the door to their shitty box apartment and come face to face with his boyfriend fucking some hopped up meathead with atrocious tattoos against the kitchen counter. He gave him three hours to get out of Mr Steroids and out of the apartment.

If Blaine was honest he had seen it coming. They'd been together since his first year of college, both art majors, Blaine wide eyed and in awe of the city, young, naïve and idealistic. Along Jonah had come, with his surrealism and so-called Bohemian mentality and these ideas. Long story short he fell in love. He fell in love with a lazy, self-righteous, manipulative asshole. He learnt through countless close encounters, and degrading down talk that he was just supposed to be a quick fuck but as he came to learn sticking around was more convenient.

Convenient is all he ever was. It's stupid to fall in love, because when no one ends up loving you back, with the same vehemence, with the same passion, then that's all you are, a convenience. He should've known when Jonah remained jobless, slept until noon and smoked everything under the sun everyday. He should've known when Andrea tried to tell him what really happened at Ted's that night. But with every screaming match they had and every blow Jonah very nearly landed he was in love. Mornings with paint and coffee and cigarettes and the cool burn of winter air filtering through the cracks in their ancient walls filled him, completed him. The simple contentment of whispered words and succulent, sweaty promises, it was all pretence and it's stupid to fall in love.

Precisely three hours later and he came back to an apartment that was even more wrecked than how he'd left it. His easel, his easel was completely destroyed. An antique he'd spent months saving for and it was in pieces along with a note that simply read ‘I hope you're happy'. Blaine wasn't happy, he was so far from happy that he'd considered giving it all up. Jonah certainly wasn't going to pay his half of the rent anymore and where was he going to go with a two bit job at a bookstore and an art degree? God he sounded like his father.

It was for that reason that he didn't. Spending the entirety of your adolescence trying to please someone who perpetually disapproved tends to force someone into rebellion. He graduated and dragged himself to NY as soon as he could. He worked hard to get the money together, minimal loans and had to stoop as low as begging his parents to help fund his education but he made it. He made it to New York to pursue his dream. Granted that dream wasn't yet a reality but it would kill him to give it up, if only for his hatred of that self satisfied look he knew his father would have as he opened his door to find his good for nothing son standing with all his worldly possessions on his doorstep.

Blaine would not give up his art for the world, but he still had bills to pay, loans to pay, tuition to pay, rent and food and utilities. He was just one man on a student's income, alone with no heat and no inspiration. So something had to be done. He needed a flatmate.

~*~

Six ads and one month without heat and a reliable electricity supply and he finally received a response. It came in the form of an email from one Kurt Hummel, simple and to the point arranging a day for when he could go and view the apartment. It was innocuous, seemed legitimate, so Blaine didn't hesitate to reply; besides he was beyond desperate, a few more days and he would have been starving.

He tried his best to make the place look at least vaguely appealing but with the wall paper pealing off and the water stains on the ceilings very little could actually be done. He brought flowers and strategically placed some of his ‘prettier' paintings over the cracks in the walls and skirting boards but the place still looked decrepit and just plain shabby. So, after unsuccessfully trying to spruce up the apartment he resigned himself to an afternoon of playing the waiting game. Kurt had stated he could only view the place sometime between three and five and Blaine had asked him if he could be more specific but Kurt, as it so happened was a writer, and that apparently was reason enough to be unsure.

Blaine stretched out on the couch, his head and feet dangling off the arms as he stared at the mottled ceiling and waited. The electricity was off again so the only light in the apartment came from the setting sun as it filtered over the iron fire escape and in through the high arch windows that always stuck when it rained. His mind trailed lazily from thought to thought and his eye lids were just beginning to droop when there was a knock on the door.

He shuffled over, determined to make a good impression. After all, after a month it was still the only offer he'd received. Blaine opened the door expecting to meet this Kurt Hummel but instead he took one look at the person standing in the hall and immediately shut it again, locking and bolting it before sliding down the wood to slump on the floor.

"Baaaaby pleeease!"

"FUCK OFF JONAH!" Blaine yelled through the door, listening to the man's heavy breathing and the fruitless pounding of his fists against the splintering wood of the door frame. "Blaine, baby please, I'm sorry I really am baby." Jonah begged, or at least that's probably what he was aiming for, but he was far from desperate, the words sounding insincere and meaningless. "No you're not Jo," Blaine said quietly, pulling his knees to his chest "leave, go, please."

"Blaine I lo-"

"Don't-" Blaine choked out, "you don't. Leave. Now!"

"God damn it Blaine! Open the door or I swear-" Jonah screamed, the door creaking in protest as he slammed into it. Blaine was about to shout back, inches away from calling the police when he heard another voice filter through the cracks in the battered door from the hallway.

"The man told you to leave," a voice, high but strong and sharp sounded through the chaos "I think you should do what he says." Blaine scrambled to his feet and unlatched the door. He pulled it open just a tiny bit; making sure the door chain was across, just enough so that he could see out into the hallway. The man tipped his head toward the door, steely blue eyes watching as Blaine cowered some what pathetically behind it. Jonah scowled, following the man's gaze and noticing the door slightly ajar he lunged at it.

Eyes widening Blaine jumped to try and slam the door shut again, only he was a few seconds too late. Shaking hands unable to latch it quick enough the door was thrown open, catching Blaine in the ribs with a sickening crack, throwing him backwards, the chain ripping away from the frame. Jonah hovered over him in the doorway, his forehead beading with sweat as he trembled, his eyes bloodshot and wild. Oh. Blaine scrambled back clutching at his side. He opened his mouth to yell, to ask him what the fuck he thought he was doing, anything but didn't have to when the man from the hallway hauled Jonah from the apartment by the back of his shirt. He slammed the door behind him bellowing "LOCK IT! NOW!"

Blaine crawled toward the door, fingers fumbling with the locks, slamming the bolt across with much more force than necessary and fiddling futilely with the obliterated door chain before sliding to the floor, wincing at the pain in his side. All that could be heard above the pounding of blood in his ears was the muffled shouts, yelps and scuffling beyond the door.

He stayed silent, leaning against the wall next to the door, breathing harshly and shaking with adrenaline as the echoing shouts and shuffling died away and came to a halt.  He wrapped his arms around his torso gingerly, trying to avoid putting any pressure on his throbbing left side and make himself as small as possible at the same time. There was knock on the door.

~*~

Blaine stiffened sharply, waiting for the pounding and ungodly shouting to strike up again but all that came was the soft murmur of the man's voice.

"Blaine? It's alright, he's gone." He said softly. A pause followed before he spoke again, voice even and quiet, like he was placating a frightened animal. "Are you- are you okay?" He asked through the wood, soothing voice laced with concern. Blaine rose shakily to his feet, squaring his shoulders and taking a deep breath as he unlocked the door and pulled it open slowly. At first he didn't notice the man, eyes too busy furtively scanning the hallway for any sign of Jonah but then he spotted him, standing tall and regal right in front of him, his eyes, the precise colour of which undeterminable, were soft and kind looking in the flickering orange light of the buzzing bulb hanging from the hallway ceiling. The man dabbed at his bleeding lip gingerly with the back of his hand. It seemed strange to Blaine that he was smiling.

"Oh my god" Blaine whispered in shock "You're bleeding, that fucking asshole, come in," he said ushering the man into his apartment, trying not to hiss or wince with every step he took "let me help you with that." Blaine steered the man toward the kitchen island before hobbling away to find a cloth and some ice. It didn't go unnoticed by the man that he seemed to brace himself before he took every step, his teeth boring down on his bottom lip with every twist his torso made. By the time he'd returned, his breathing was ragged, his teeth almost tearing through his lip. Blaine leant down to dab softly at the man's cut lip, his face close enough for the stranger to see the pain flash in his honey gold eyes.

"Stop," he said gently, taking the cloth from his hands and manoeuvring Blaine gently back "it looks like you need taking care of more than I do." Blaine opened his mouth to protest, reaching for the cloth again and letting out a small yelp at the jerky movement. Pain shot through him, causing black spots to form across his field of vision and his stomach to churn nauseatingly. The stranger's soft hands steadied him as he swayed on his feet.

"Blaine? Blaine? Shit, we need to get you to hospital, get you checked out. Can I take a look at your ribs?" Blaine didn't answer the question, his head rushing with blood and cloudy with pain. "How d'you know my name?" He asked dazedly. "My name's Kurt Hummel," the man grinned, "hi roomie."

Blaine snorted. "Ha like you'd wanna move in here now." He said bitterly. He was going to have to live on the streets, sell his art and his materials for money to pay for dirty rooms in cheap motels until he had nothing left all because his asshole of an ex-boyfriend beat the shit out of his only potential flatmate. Blaine tried to wrench himself from Kurt's grasp but almost vomited in the process. "Lift your shirt and let me see." Kurt said sternly and Blaine glared at him, trembling with the effort to hold back tears. "I said," Kurt repeated, his voice strong and unwavering "lift your shirt and let me see."

Blaine did as he was told reluctantly, his head turned away as he heard Kurt's sharp intake of breath. The left side of Blaine's torso was already marred with a garish purple bruise, spreading and darkening quickly across the smooth tan skin covering his ribcage. Blaine slowly lowered his shirt, and stood studiously avoiding eye contact. "Shit Blaine," Kurt exclaimed "that fucking bastard, I swear to god it's a good job he high tailed it out of the building pretty quickly after I kicked him in the balls."

"Err thanks?" Blaine muttered confusedly with a small smile. A blush stained his cheeks as Kurt's thumbs brushed the strip of skin exposed where the shirt he was wearing had ridden up above his hips. "Seriously though," Kurt continued, hands jerking away from Blaine's skin "we need to get you to a hospital and get you checked out, looks like a few of your ribs might be broken."

"Can't" Blaine mumbled, shaking his head.

"Bullshit baby, you're in so much pain you can barely stand."

"I can't afford it. I don't have any money."

"Well your insurance will-"

"Don't have any of that either."

"Christ Blaine how are you even alive right now?"

"I'm a poor college student, I get by." He shrugged, wincing at the movement and letting out a long sigh "I get paid on Thursday I can make it until then."

"Don't be an idiot that's three days away. I'll cover it and you can make it up to me."

"I really don't think-"

"Come on Blaine," Kurt whined, cutting him off "It's the least I can do."

"You've already beaten off my crazy ex-boyfriend." Blaine stated seriously.

"Well then I guess I'm just your night in shining armour." Kurt grinned

~*~

It wasn't until Blaine was sitting shirtless on a gurney with an old, scrawny looking doctor poking and prodding at his side that Blaine learnt that Kurt was nine years his senior. At first he was genuinely shocked. He'd assumed he was a little older, maybe a year or two, but it seemed that Kurt withheld the kind of otherworldly beauty that stood the test of time, eternal youth, so to speak. At the sight of Blaine's gaping Kurt had scoffed and replied simply with "Twenty eight is not at all old Blaine shut up."

It was not that Blaine minded in the least that his new flatmate was quite a bit older than him. Kurt was kind and quick witted and was equipped with a sense of humour that had Blaine laughing and smiling more than he had in years. He liked him instantly, so much that without any further consideration he offered Kurt the place. With a beaming smile, eyes twinkling with promise he agreed, without hesitation or second thought.

The doctor, Hale his name was, wrapped Blaine's ribs with little care and many a disdainful glance, yet Blaine couldn't decide whether it was his obvious youth, paint still streaked through his hair and a tattoo dancing across the undamaged skin of his right side or the fact that the pain had had him so close to tears that Kurt had taken to holding his hand. Hospitals had always been disconcerting to Blaine and surprisingly Kurt had been able to sense it from the moment they stepped through the door and the scent of disinfectant, vomit and illness had washed over them like a tidal wave of anxiety. It stands to reason that a stranger would know him better than those who had known him his whole life.

Getting back to the apartment proved just as difficult as leaving it. Every jolt on the road caused pain to spike in Blaine's side and he prayed for the New York traffic to move faster, anything that could get him closer to home and taking his pain medication. A sudden stop and Blaine was slammed forward, the seat belt cutting harshly at his torso. Pain ripped through him so violently he was on the verge of passing out and the next thing he knew he was at the sidewalk, slumped onto the curb as he vomited into the gutter, Kurt brushing his curls back and out of his watering eyes.

"If you're comfortable with it I'd like to stay with you tonight." Kurt asked softly, chewing on his bottom lip and looking down at Blaine with a furrowed brow. Blaine stared up at him quizzically, "why?" he asked bemusedly. "Because although we've only just met you I can already tell that you're an idiot-"

"Hey!"

"But you're charming and cute and I'll worry if I don't." Kurt added with finality. Blaine let out a muffled laugh; there was apparently no arguing with Kurt Hummel. "Sure fine whatever, save me from throwing myself from the fire escape once I'm hyped up on the meds. My hero once again."

Medication administered and confined to his bed Blaine appeared small, younger and more vulnerable than he seemed whilst mobile. Kurt bustled about, familiarising himself with his new home as Blaine watched him from a cocoon of blankets with a small vague smile gracing his lips. "You're beautiful!" He sing-songed with a grin and the joyous childlike lilt to his speech the pain medication clearly afforded made Kurt grin and turn to look at the man. "It's true, yo-you are truly breathtaking." Kurt's smile dropped slightly, noticing an indiscernible look in Blaine's glistening eyes that made him uneasy. It was just the medication talking. "But you're old!" Blaine giggled and Kurt let out an indignant huff. "I am not old!"

"You're almost a decade older than me!" Blaine challenged.

"Yes 'almost' being the operative word honey."

"It's okay," Blaine slurred, eye lids drooping as he watched the sluggish path his hand took in order to eventually rest atop Kurt's "you must be ex-experienced in-in... stuff." He trailed off, blush blooming high on his cheeks like a naughty school boy. The flutter of his long lashes caused Kurt's breath to hitch in his throat, his eyes widening when he caught the man's meaning. "And are you - experienced Blaine?" Kurt asked involuntarily, his curiosity getting the better of him. "I've-I've dabbled." Blaine smiled, looking both bashful and sleepy. His hand skated over Kurt's face briefly, his cheek, his jaw, his lips, before he let it flop back to the bed with a wistful sigh. "Goodnight pretty Kurt."

"Goodnight Blaine."