Kurt watched the dice roll at the table beside him and listened to the subsequent holler of the group gathered there as a pair of twos came up and the quiet man on the end smiled and pulled his chips towards him. Watching the game was certainly more interesting than the conversation he was only periodically acknowledging at the table he was at. The occasional nod and random hum of agreement was all it took to keep the mouths of his companions going. He hated the meat market. He had long gotten used to the gambling, the betting, the crudeness, and the drug use that went along with his line of work, if it could even be called work, but he still hesitated for a moment every time his meetings took him to this place.

“Damn, Jeremy! Get a load of the tits on that one!” one of his tablemates hooted as a new product took the stage. Kurt let his gaze flash over the scene, sighing softly before again diverting his eyes.  

Thankfully his compatriots knew he was gay, so they didn't expect him to pay attention to the woman that crossed the front area. Occasionally, a guy would be led through, and then their attention would turn to Kurt, who, ever politely, rejected the human that had been paraded up front in the nude, usually drugged to the point of stumbling, and saying that that particular product wasn't his type.  

“Hey man. All it needs is a hole - am I right?” one of them had suggested, earning a chorus of laughs from the group, and Kurt, in the interest of making sure his clients were happy, chuckled along with them and then breathed in relief when a woman was back on stage after bids had been taken and placed on whatever man had found himself in the unfortunate situation of being sold.

A waitress came by to refill their drinks, topless and therefore earning extra attention in the form of drunken suggestions and groping from the man on Kurt's left. He had to grit his teeth, as he always did, when the woman looked his way with eyes that barely managed to hold back the truth of the indignity she suffered. It could be worse though. The woman that worked here made good money, if only in tips, and it wasn't like they had been forced into the position like the people on stage.

“I tell you what, man… if the old lady wasn't already wise on me, I'd be bidding on that slice up front.”

“Fuck that, man. You owe Kurt here way too much to be bidding on shit.”

“Fuck that. Kurt would spot me. Wouldn't you, man?”

With the mention of his name, Kurt had tuned back into the conversation. He smirked, putting back on his bankers face as he lit a cigar and made the men wait for his response until he had had a puff of the heavy, flavorful smoke.

“Depends on what you'd be putting down as collateral, and I already believe I have your ass and your soul.”

Drunken laughing, accented by rowdy hands smacking the table, which sent the beer splattering upwards before adding to the already sticky mess on the table. Kurt had already had his customary shot of vodka he drank whenever he came out here, to take the edge off as well as ensure that he was accepted among this crowd, and was now having his late night snack of nicotine while the rest of the group was consuming everything from caviar to nachos.

“Speaking of ass, Hummel - the stage is for you.”  

Inwardly he let out a sigh, knowing that he would have to feign interest in whatever poor soul they had there for the sake of his image, but outwardly he let his eyes travel to the sight in question, and that's when his heart seemed to stop.

He had seen that boy before.

He had heard that boy before.

Hell, he had touched that boy before.

Back in a different life, when life was so innocent that he hadn't ever felt the touch of another man against him, nor considered anything outside of Broadway or fashion for a career. Back when the biggest concern in his life was not whether or not to arm himself for a meeting, but what song he was going to sing for a stupid club he had been a part of in high school.

“My name's Blaine.”
“Kurt.”

He gulped, and the guys at his table chuckled and from the corner of his eye he saw them nudging one another and whispering something to the effect of, “Think we know Hummel's type now, eh?”

And while they weren't entirely wrong, they also weren't entirely right either. It wasn't the small, slim body that Kurt found himself staring at - though the night after he had met Blaine it was something he had fantasized about - nor was it the soft olive skin that flowed into red that was the cock Kurt had equally dreamed of that same night, but the caramel eyes that stared out at nothing, vacant and lifeless.

They had been so alive and bright when he had been singing in the hall at Dalton, and Kurt had convinced himself that Blaine had been singing to him in that moment. Kurt had thought that the things he had been going through at school then was the worst life could throw at him, and that song and those eyes had made him forget for a few minutes.  

He had run afterwards, despite Blaine calling him back to talk. As soon as they had stopped singing, someone identified him as a singer for McKinley's glee club and instead of facing the music, so to speak, he had run like a coward. He ignored Blaine's calls, and returned to the school, both feeling guilty for running, and for spying in the first place.

Kurt had meant to return. He had meant to apologize to the Warblers, and especially to Blaine, but that was when Kurt realized that life could actually get worse than he had been feeling it was.

“Kurt… your dad…”
“He's had a heart attack.”
“I'm sorry Kurt. He's gone.”

He was only supposed to have lost his mother. That should have been the end of it, but it seemed like Kurt had done something awful in a past life because it didn't seem like karma was on his side. For the second time in his life, he buried a parent.

It did mean he realized his dream of going to New York though, just not in the way he intended. With his grandparents too old and relying on government pensions to make ends meet, it was decided he'd move in with his Aunt Mildred and Uncle Andy in Brooklyn. That was when his life took another dramatic turn.

There was a reason, he discovered, that he had never gone out to visit his aunt and uncle at their home and they had only ever come to Ohio. It had to do with the same reason his dad scowled whenever Uncle Andy sent Kurt wads of cash for Christmas and his birthday, and the same reason why his mom and dad had fought over having Andy and Mildred stay with them during holidays.

Oh. His Aunt and Uncle were kind to him, and certainly accepting of his homosexuality, that wasn't it at all. But, within the first week of living with them, when Uncle Andy had his friends over for their weekly poker game, the direction of Kurt's life became very clear.  

Uncle Andy was deeply involved in a crime syndicate, specifically when it came to loan sharking. Kurt was invited to serve the men at poker, having to gasp for breath in order to breathe over their smoking, and bite his tongue at their prolific cursing. He had nearly fainted when one of the guys talked about making a hit, though it didn't happen until he was in the kitchen and connected the dots to realize the man wasn't talking about baseball.  

That night he had confronted his uncle, who had been indifferent to the whole barrage of threats and insults Kurt flung at him before simply stating, “you're in this family, Kurt. You can't get out.”

There was no out, he discovered. The whole brotherhood they had going was run on fear, and Kurt was simply told he had two choices - join his mother and father, or join them.  

Again, like a coward running from Blaine and the Warblers, he took the easy way out.

Now his past was slumped over on his knees, being prodded at by a couple interested old geezers, and blankly facing him. The life had been sapped from his eyes, replaced with fogged up glass, and, without realizing he was doing it, Kurt stood up and left the table, approaching the stage as interested parties made their bids.

“Fifty!”
“Sixty!”
“Sixty-five!”

They were speaking in terms of thousands of course, and the closer Kurt got, the more his body moved of its own volition and the more urgently his heart pounded in his chest. From here, Kurt could see Blaine tremble in place, drugged enough to be compliant, but not enough to numb the fear inside him.  

As if he were a dog, the filthy old men pawed at him, and made their bids, each one higher than the last. It didn't go as high as those for the women, but it was certainly higher than most of the men Kurt had seen pass through this place - and these men didn't even know sweet this boy was, or how serenely he sung. Yet, Kurt knew he wasn't a boy. Blaine had to be his own age, or at least around it, but Blaine didn't have the dark circles under his eyes Kurt had, nor did he have the frown lines. He looked younger, either by the effect of Kurt's memory, or by the lack of his involvement in these circles that prematurely aged everyone Kurt knew. Whatever the case was, Blaine was no longer the vision of a strong older male that Kurt had seen at Dalton. Now the tables had turned and he knew he was the more aged one, if simply because of his power base.

“Seventy!”
“Seventy-two!”
“Seventy-five!”

“Two hundred.”

The rapid bidding wars ceased just like that as Kurt now stood in front of the heaped pile of Blaine, and hands were thrown up in resignation as the men who had been bidding withdrew their interest. A knock sounded and someone called out that Kurt had made the winning bid, though who was in question as Kurt's eyes remained fixated on memory that was at his feet, along with a simple, sobering thought.

Now what?