Clouds of dust float up into the air as he swings back and forth, toeing glumly at the ground. It's the day of his thirteenth birthday, October 6th and he's at the park for a ‘birthday treat'. He supposes he should be thankful that he's doing anything at all, he hasn't got enough friends for a party and he's pretty sure those he would want to invite wouldn't turn up anyway. So he's at the park, and he supposes he should be grateful because he has never really been here a lot either.

Aunty Helena and Uncle Matty are in Ohio for his birthday, they're off doing whatever adults do when kids like Blaine are otherwise indisposed. By ‘indisposed' he means, alone, in the damp chilly autumn air, scuffing his boots in the dirt and trying to retain as much heat as possible until his parents finally figure out he doesn't want to be there and take him home.

He mentally berates himself for not wearing his pea coat like his father had insisted, but then it was that insistence that lead to Blaine refusing and simply shrugging on his usual leather jacket, Matty's one, the one Matty had given him on his eighth birthday. Blaine refuses most of what his father tells him nowadays, he's learned that he holds little to know fondness for him, always telling him to smarten up and stop being such a fag. He's only just thirteen and yet he already doesn't care much for his father.

He's content like this, on his own in his scuffed up combat boots and his roughed up jacket. It makes him feel big and confident, like maybe he'll gather up the courage to stand up for himself sometime. It makes him feel like uncle Matty, like he's smooth and cool and it doesn't matter if he can never get his curls to sit right or that he likes to sing and draw. Or that he kinda sort of maybe likes boys...

Because he knows what it all means now. Knows what it means, when he gets thrown to the ground and spat on week in and week out. He knows what all the words mean, he knows what he is. Helena may call him perfect and Matty may say he's a fighter, but despite it all sometimes he hates himself for it, loathes the fact that he just isn't normal.

He keeps going, he holes himself up with Flash and his comic books, he sneaks out his window at night and watches the stars from the roof top, he takes his bike and rides to the music store to spend his allowance on all manner of music, chats idly with the managers Nate and Lizz who always let him have first look at new stock. There are so many things he's not allowed to do but does anyway, and he's adamant that he keeps doing them. Because without them he'd be nothing.

It's sitting on that swing, rocking back and forth, back and forth that he remembers all the times he certainly felt like nothing. All the name calling and spit balls. The humiliation and taunting, not to mention the amount of times he's come home with a bloodied lip or a shiner or his knuckles bruised and crushed. He's been face down in the dirt so many times that even at thirteen, he's wondering why he still gets back up.

He thinks about it and his blood runs cold when he hears a frightened yelp, one so similar to his own that he almost dismisses it as echoes of his own imagination. He leaves the swings and his eyes roam the park frantically, and it appears practically desolate until he spots them and he's frozen. Tommy and Max, his usual tormentors, are closing in on a boy around about his age down by the tire swing that hangs from the old oak. Without thinking he starts to walk towards them before he freezes again half way between the swings and the oak because he can hear them now, the boy pleading with a voice so musical it breaks his heart.

He doesn't dare move. Tommy and Max's voices are loud and harsh and he knows all too well what they must be saying to the boy they've pushed to the floor. He can feel his bruises and gouges burning and throbbing as he takes into consideration what he knows these boys are capable of. The boy on the floor's eyes meet his for a second, terrified and a piercing brilliant blue that makes Blaine's breath catch. The boy shakes his head almost imperceptibly at him, as if he knows what Blaine is contemplating and he's trying to prevent it. But if anything it just solidifies his decision.

The boy is the most beautiful person he has ever laid eyes on. Despite being tossed onto the damp earth, tears staining his cheeks and mud in his dishevelled hair, Blaine doesn't think he's ever seen an angel quite like this boy. Blaine take's a step forward and the boy shakes his head again, much more vehemently this time, but Blaine just takes another step and smiles down at the boy before approaching confidently.

Blaine is as scared as the unknown boy looks, and he feels his heart lurch in his chest when he notices just how panicked he looks when the other boys turn to face him. Like he's worried about Blaine. It's funny, Blaine thinks; how a leather jacket and a pretty boy make him want to be brave, make him want to be a fighter.

"Hey!" He calls, jutting out his chin and clenching his fists by his sides. He's only meters away now and he daren't spare the boy another glance. He's so small; he knows he doesn't stand a chance. He's small, slim, and fragile but he hasn't broken yet and that gives him confidence. Moments later though he's realising just how dangerous even confidence can be. One of them, Tommy, steps up into his space and glares down at him, his friend Max hovering close behind abandoning the other boy. "What d'you want Anderson?" Max growls out and it takes all Blaine's strength not to cower or run.

"Leave him alone" Blaine grits out, proud of himself for not letting his fear show. "What did you say?" Tommy smirks and Blaine just takes a deep breath. "I said leave him alone!" Blaine yells.

"Don't" The boy chokes out from behind them, still frozen on the ground and Max and Tommy both bark out sinister laughs. "What's this Blainers? Got yourself a boyfriend? Come to save your princess did you?" Blaine doesn't get a chance to reply, Tommy lands a swift punch to his stomach and he falls to his knees, they start the usual tirade of slurs and spittle and it's only a matter of time before they start landing blows. He glimpses the boy from between his tormentors' legs, mouths at him to run, to run to the monkey bars, climb them and stay there that they won't reach him up there, that they won't follow. The boy is reluctant, seemingly pained by what Blaine is suffering through but he has no choice, it's one or none and he isn't going to let Blaine's sacrifice go to waste.

Max dealt the first blow, a punch to the face that left Blaine's nose starting to bleed as he hit the ground hard, spine juddering on impact. They force him onto his stomach, Max twisting his arms behind his back as Tommy pulls harshly at his hair bending his neck and yelling obscenities into his ear. Usually Blaine would keep his eyes tight shut, desperate to use the darkness to block it out, but despite his cries of pain and the dust and gravel falling into his eyes he keeps them wide open, determined to see that the beautiful boy makes it to safety.

Blaine doesn't respond, just smiles through blood and dirt and tears when the boy makes it. He doesn't kick out or attempt to escape; he knows a struggle only makes it more worthwhile for them so he stays still, eyes never leaving the small figure of a boy on top of the monkey bars.

Eventually his tormentors tire, giving his face one final shove to the dirt and then moving on and exiting the park. He stretches his arms out with a wince and rolls onto his back with a hiss of pain, sitting up slowly to spit out blood. Breath wheezing and head spinning he stumbles to his feet again, cursing his sensitive eyes whilst trying to blink away the dust and grime.

It hurts all over and Blaine kinda wants to go home but there's something he wants to do first. He brushes himself off as best he can, plays with his curls a little but soon leaves them; they're a lost cause anyway. He goes to straighten his jacket when he notices. His jacket's been ripped, he bites his lip to stave off tears; his leather jacket's been roughed up a little over the years but never so obviously damaged. He sighs dejectedly before trying to smile. He wants to learn the beautiful boy's name.

He hobbles towards the monkey bars nervous and jittery and it doesn't quite register why. He gets to the foot of the frame and the boy hasn't looked up from his precarious position atop the bars yet, his head buried in his knees. Before it even occurs to him what he's doing, Blaine is hauling himself up the monkey bars, panting and grunting with the exertion yet he still thinks idly that maybe he should have tried to fix his hair or straighten his clothes better or actually clean his face.

He hadn't noticed the boy had been watching him so when he's met with a pair of dazzling inquisitive eyes he's almost struck dumb barely managing a quiet "hey" with a bashful smile. The smile, however, is one that the boy does not return. "You shouldn't have done that" he says softly and his eyes fill with tears again and Blaine wishes he wouldn't cry. He really hates it when this boy cries.

"You were hurt because of me" and Blaine just stares down at the ground, playing with the tattered arm of his jacket and mumbles something about it being "not your fault" and "it's okay, just some scratches". The boy huffs indignantly and the sound makes Blaine smile slightly and look up.

"It's not okay, you got hurt saving me" The boy says with a frown and pulls out a periwinkle blue handkerchief. He leans in close, dabbing gently at the cuts on Blaine's face and he sucks in a breath and holds it. Blaine knows he must be staring but he is so unable to look down or away that he doesn't let it bother him. He stares and stares, with parted lips and wide hazel eyes and he hurts, he aches, he's tired but he can't stop thinking about how cute this boy looks, with his bottom lip caught between his teeth and his brow furrowed.

The boy finally leans away, tilting his head and looking at Blaine's dirtied face contemplatively. The sun is shining in earnest now, the light falls through dappled autumn leaves and onto the boy just right and Blaine eventually breathes out with a whisper of the word "pretty". A blooming blush stains the pretty boy's cheeks as he grins, all teeth and dimples.

"What's your name?" Blaine asks, shifting closer and stretching an arm over the boy's shoulders, his and Matty's best crooked smile firmly in place.

"Kurt" the boy replies, blue eyes wide and full of iridescent light "Kurt Hummel".