The first was the fact that it was where his life truly began, his own personal equivalent to climbing out of the proverbial pit that was high school and finally stepping into the sunshine. The second was that it wasn't Ohio.

The third reason had a lot to do with the volume of bars within walking distance of his front door.

To be fair, there were more reasons than just those three (the fashion, the park, the sounds, the lights, Times Square, Broadway), but they were pretty much the top of his list. Circled. And underlined. Twice.

Grimms was a morbid looking cellar bar with a black front door, something equivalent to a suburban haunted house, but the inside made all the difference. The lights were warm and welcoming, the tables were mahogany wood with plush leather booths, and thanks to the flawless Madame Belle keeping bar, Cosmos for Queens were cheaper than beer.

It was a gimmick, most of the time. Drag queens and fishnet shirts on fridays, and nary a dart board in sight - but after twelve hours under his desk lamp going over the next season's line, it felt like a full body hug. With alcohol.

Kurt sipped his drink while he watched two boys by the bar, both of them shaky and grinning a little too widely, digging their hands into each other's back pockets, stealing kisses and sweet sideways glances. Underage, he thought. Probably with fake IDs. Thrilled and terrified and living the good life, and no doubt madly in love.

He sighed.

They're always madly in love.

He jerked bodily in his seat when a loud THUMP heralded Rachel's arrival. She dumped her coat and bag on the table, and dropped sharply into the second chair, face drawn intensely tight.

Kurt arched an eyebrow at her.

Rachel had been his best friend since high school, though they'd hated each other for half of it. But with joint aspirations of theatre and music and New York City, somehow they'd found each other in the backwash of seedy Lima miscreants, and held on for dear life.

He loved Rachel, even if he didn't always like her. She'd changed so much from the self-obsessed schoolgirl hellbent on stardom, especially once she'd found it. Now the poster girl for all things modern theatre, she spent about as much time signing autographs as she did talking incessantly about her next big show.

At least, she used to. Even fame had its limits, and the last few months had been taken up with what she'd colourfully dubbed her "hiatus from the Broadway firmament". Her sudden disillusion with the glamour and glitz would have been startlingly out of character ten years ago, but after hundreds of rolled out red carpets and patented signature poses, he could easily understand the inclination.

Eyeing her carefully, he took in the stiff curl of her shoulders and the way she wouldn't quite meet his eyes.

He sipped his drink. "Bad day?"

She drew a deep breath, and what he'd mistaken for a look of aggravation suddenly burst into a giant, disbelieving grin. "No, actually."

His mouth pinched in curiosity. "Do tell."

"I - I met someone," she said softly, tucking her hair behind her ear.

Kurt's brow shot up in surprise, and he wondered how that single physical act could reduce her to the high school girl he once knew.

Her shoulders lifted up to her ears, and her eyes trailed over the ceiling with the giddy look of nervous delight. "Well, met isn't the right word."

"You un-met someone?" he asked dryly, glancing back to the bar.

"I'm serious!"

"So am I," he countered. "You're the one talking gibberish. Spill."

"It's actually…" She played with her nails for a moment, trying to find the right phrase, and her mouth opened for a long pause before she spoke again. "I don't know what it is. But it feels-" she stopped to fan her face before she pressed both palms to her cheeks. "It feels like a fairytale."

"Oh god, not you too," he said, rocking back in his chair in defeat.

"What do you mean not me too?"

"Everybody's making -" he gestured to the bar, "goo-goo-eyes at each other and groping in public and waxing poetic about true love." He sipped his drink. "Finn called me yesterday, just to talk about his girlfriend. Do you know how many times you can say 'uhuh' in a flawless monotone before the other person notices? Infinite, Rachel. When the other person is Finn, that number is infinite."

She smiled at him softly. "It's gonna happen for you too, you know."

Kurt scoffed into his drink.

"Enough about me, how was work? I know you hate working saturdays," she said, finally removing her bag and coat from the table.

"Aren't you going to get a drink?"

Her shoulders drew up in a shy shrug as she blushed. "I'm not staying, I'm… going out. For the night. I won't be home till tomorrow."

He tipped his head appreciatively. "A night with someone you just un-met. I'm so proud."

She slapped at him playfully from across the table, laughing.

"Go," he instructed, and saluted her with his drink. "Have fun. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Are you sure? I wanted to catch up first! I haven't seen you since thursday! What's new?"

He sighed. "Rachel, I design clothes. Every day. Surrounded by women who are so stressed out their teeth clatter louder than their Manolo's, and men who literally hiss like cats when they see someone in last season's boots. If one more person asks me if they look fat I might actually jump off the Brooklyn bridge," he fixed her with a stern look, "Nothing new ever happens to me."

Giggling, she reached over and rubbed his hand. "But you love your job."

"But I love my job," he repeated, sipping his drink.

She tilted her head at him affectionately, and he waved her away with dismissive hand.

"Go," he insisted. "Have all the sex. Then never, ever tell me about it."

She laughed, fixing him with a fond smile. "You need change for a cab?"

"I'll walk home," he said.

Her eyes narrowed into a scowl. "Kurt."

"I'll be fine." He met her gaze with mock sincerity, pressing a hand to his heart. "No alley hookups with tall dark strangers, I promise."

Suddenly curious, he watched her as she rummaged around in her bag for a moment and produced a can, holding it out to him.

"Pepper spray? Seriously?"

"Take it," she insisted forcefully, leaning over the table to push it against his chest.

"Fine."

"And Kurt?"

He glanced up expectantly, swirling his drink.

"I'm gonna say 'I told you so', some day."

Rolling his eyes, he raised a hand at her and smiled as he mouthed; "Go."

She kissed his cheek before she left, sweeping out the door with an irritatingly gleeful skip in her step.

"Even the Mona Lisa is smiling," Kurt grumbled, finishing his drink and pushing his glass across the table.

He rubbed his eyes briefly, exhausted and stiff from his shoulders to his hips, which flared in painful reminder as he dragged himself out of his seat.

The streets were a welcome cool change from the warmth of the bar, and the breeze washed over his pink face, left flushed from the alcohol and too rosy against the rest of his pale complexion. He hated that one drink left him looking like a painted marionette, but at least it was dark.

He made his way home slowly, eyes down and drifting over the pavement. He felt safer walking in the dark if he avoided eye contact with anyone, but despite the pepper spray tucked into his shoulder bag, he felt the familiar warning prickle up his spine; a byproduct of New York City at night.

A loud thump echoed across the asphalt, and Kurt registered the sound of a body hitting the ground. Just keep walking.

"Fucking fairy!"

His head lifted up at the taunt, glancing around frantically as his hand fumbled at the clasp of his bag. But it wasn't aimed at him.

More thuds met with a scraping sound and a loud, startled shout, almost drowned by the deafening beat of his heart in his ears. He turned again, glancing around in rapid jerks until he caught sight of the small mob by the alley entrance.

Three men stood over a smaller figure, hunched on the ground.

Run, his heart cried.

The lump in his throat held tight, too big to swallow, and his hand found and gripped the pepper-spray can in a fist.

He was four strides across the road before he realised he was running in the wrong direction.

"Stop it!" he shouted, holding up the can, trembling and trying desperately to steady his arm. "Let him go!"

What are you doing?! his head screamed. Run!

The man who turned to him had beady eyes and near-white lips, peeling back over yellow teeth. "Fucking fag night, is it?"

Kurt was going to say something witty, he was sure of it. Something brave and just a little bit cheesy with a one-liner punch, but mostly it came out as tsssssst when his finger fired off before his mouth did.

Yellow-teeth guy fell to the ground with a scream and a dull thump, thrashing and scraping at his eyes as the other two turned around.

"Let him go!" Kurt shouted as forcefully as he could, but the sound still came out cracked and far too high to be anything but comical.

The two men were laughing, moving in slowly like shabby, toothless lions eyeing off an easy dinner.

Kurt gulped, steadying his arm with his other hand and alternating pointing the spray between them. "This burns like hell. Don't believe me? Ask your friend Blinky over there," he tipped his head, "I'm sure he's having a great time."

He was certain one of them was about to say something. Some insult or slur, or even just bare what few good teeth they had left, but Kurt never found out. The rush came all too quickly; a flash of dark blue and silver, the sharp hiss of metal followed by a crack, then another, and the sickening thumps of both men crashing to the pavement in front of him.

Kurt froze, eyes wide and jaw hanging open, struggling for comprehension. A groan let him know they weren't unconscious. Or dead, his mind supplied.

Suddenly a hand found his bicep, hauling him around in a half circle as he stumbled and found himself pressed to someone's chest.

Huge tea-coloured eyes under curls of dark hair pressed in far too close to his face, and he gasped sharply in shock.

"Run."

Kurt staggered with the pull, fumbling and dropping his can as he raced across the pavement in the grip of a stranger, ignoring the angry cries from behind.

They tore down the streets, past staring onlookers and up the next block until the sound of footfalls and grunts behind them finally faded away. Don't look back, he repeated to himself, remembering what he'd always been told, don't look back, it slows you down.

He pounded across the sidewalk, breathless and aching, adrenaline still burning in his veins like battery acid. Suddenly aware of the silence, he threw out his arm to catch the one holding on to him.

"Stop!"

Kurt crashed into something hard before stumbling backwards and falling gracelessly on his ass. He blinked, and stared, and blinked again, sucking sharp breaths in through his mouth.

The man hovered above him, just a dark silhouette outlined by a streetlight before he crouched down and met Kurt's frantic eyes.

"Are you alright, brave knight?"

Kurt's eyelashes fluttered in utter confusion as he tried to process what was happening. "Wh-what?"

The man tilted his head, dark curls falling across smooth olive skin, eyes too bright and almost hypnotising in the dim evening glow of the city. "I asked if you were alright?"

His voice was too soft, and too warm, just like the hand that reached out and rested on Kurt's knee.

"I- I-" Kurt gulped around vowels. "Who- What?"

"You saved me," the man said with a gentle smile, and Kurt's heart almost stopped in his chest at the sight.

"I - saved you?"

"Yes," he laughed softly, still staring with those damn honey tea eyes.

Stop looking at his eyes.

"You were being attacked," Kurt said numbly.

"And I still would be, if it weren't for your courageous intervention," he insisted, reaching out to help him up.

Kurt stared at the leather-gloved hand for a long time before he took it, wincing as a sting flared in his grazed palm. He groaned as he was hauled up from the concrete, still dazed and staring stupidly around them both.

"Are you- okay?" he asked, glancing back to the stranger and catching the red flash of blood near his hairline. "You're bleeding!"

Dark eyebrows shot up in surprise and confusion. "Bleeding?"

Kurt gestured to his forehead, and the man dusted across his own gently and flinched. "Oh!"

"Do you need to go to the hospital?"

Again, he was met with the same confused expression. "Hospital?"

Kurt narrowed his gaze, and stiffened with a gasp when he finally took in the whole picture.

The man was wearing a tunic, an actual tunic, of deep navy blue, emblazoned with some kind of silver crest. There was a brown leather belt slung low at his waist, holding the sheath of a sword - a sword? - and below it fell tighter black pants of an unfamiliar fabric, ending with long leather boots.

"Oh god," Kurt breathed. "I rescued a cosplayer."

The man's mouth curled into a gentle smile at the edge, but his eyes were still dark and his brow still drawn tight in confusion. "My dear, brave knight, I think you have me mistaken for someone else," he said genuinely.

So genuinely, in fact, that Kurt stared openly in bewilderment.

"You - I -" He shook himself to clear the jumble in his head. "Okay, I don't know what you guys are doing out this time of night, or if there's some kind of convention in town right now, but this is a bit too much for me considering we were nearly killed a minute ago. So I'm going to go home, and have a hot bath, and pretend like this," Kurt gestured between them. "Never happened."

"W-wait," he said, holding up both hands in supplication. "Please."

Kurt's breath escaped him again at the look in those eyes, those goddamn eyes that made him feel like his heart was being dragged down his ribcage like a xylophone.

"What?"

"Your name," the man begged. "At least tell me that, so I can write songs in honour of your bravery this night."

Kurt's mouth fell open. "Wow, you're really dedicated to this stuff, aren't you?"

The man's brow lifted again in question.

Kurt huffed out a sigh. "Kurt," he said. "It's Kurt."

The smile that spread across the man's face sent a wave of warmth from Kurt's stomach up to the lump in his throat.

"Kurt," the man repeated, smooth and beautiful like a distant bell. He stepped in, taking both of Kurt's shoulders in his hands and letting his gaze trail slowly over his face. "Kurt. I am Prince Blaine of the Sovereign Kingdom of Daltasia. And I am forever in your debt."

Kurt tried to remember how to breathe.

"I- I-" he stuttered gently, finally settling on a numb smile. "Okay."

As Blaine released his shoulders Kurt felt them slump, and a sharp twinge down his sore spine to the slowly blooming bruise on his ass shocked him back to reality.

Blaine was still watching him. "Can you perhaps grant me one more boon before you go?"

Kurt rolled his eyes. "Okay, honestly, who talks like that?"

With a tiny step back, Blaine blinked at him in surprise, his expression bordering on stung.

Kurt tried to fight the sudden twinge of guilt. Oh god, I feel like I just kicked a puppy.

"I didn't mean that, I'm sorry," he said. Why are you apologising to this lunatic? "I'm tired, and I just-" he waved an arm, his eyes closing briefly in exhaustion, "need to go home."

Blaine's expression drifted into what Kurt could only interpret as sad resignation. Something in his chest clenched tight.

"I won't keep you," Blaine said softly, bowing his head before he moved to leave.

"Wait, wait," Kurt groaned, stepped forward and lazily swatting at the air. "What do you- need?"

A grateful, relieved smile that washed over Blaine's features.

"Do you know the way to the nearest castle?" he asked, glancing around carefully. He wet his lips carefully, almost like he was holding back fear. "I am … very lost in this strange land, and seek passage back to my own."

Kurt boggled. "You just don't quit, do you?"

"Quit - what exactly?"

It took a moment for realisation to get from Kurt's heart to his head. The innocence in those huge, beautiful eyes, the terror that lingered behind them. He actually believes this is real.

"Oh wow, did you -" Kurt flexed his hands, approaching him gingerly. "Are you from - a hospital? Are … there doctors, where you came from?"

"I came from Daltasia," Blaine said sincerely, pressing his hand to the crest over his heart. "I need to find a princess."

"You didn't happen to bring Luigi, did you?" Kurt joked, and tried not to kick himself a second later.

"I don't know this Luigi," Blaine replied. "But I can help you find him on my quest, if you like?"

"No, no-" Kurt laughed, waving his hands. "I was joking. I - never mind. Oh god. Um," he ran his hands through his hair, wincing at the sting and the shift of weight as his bag slid up his shoulder. "Look, I can help you - to the hospital. They might know how to get you home?"

"These... hospitals," Blaine began curiously. "Are they members of your royal court?"

Kurt let a slow breath drag into his aching lungs, lost in frustration as helplessness burned in his throat. "No," he said softly on the exhale. "No they're not."

Blaine sighed, his gaze drifting to the ground. "I suppose I should start walking, then," he said quietly. "I'll surely find my way, there may be a tavern or a meadow I can use to rest for the night. Please forgive me, I… I've taken up too much of your time."

There was a pause as he shuffled forward, and Kurt absently registered the quick-sinking feeling that usually came before he did something incredibly stupid.

"No, no, wait," he held up both hands, pressing them to Blaine's chest as he tried to pass. "Look, you're … injured. And it's late." Oh god, what are you doing? No. Shut up. "You can… come home. With me. You can stay for the night, and… start walking tomorrow."

Kurt Hummel, what the fuck are you doing?

His inner voice was silenced under the swoop of his stomach when Blaine's face lit up in wonder.

"Your kindness truly knows no end, brave kn- Kurt," he finished with a smile, the clip on the t of Kurt's name lingering softly on the air. "I will repay you for this some day, I swear it."

"Yeah, yeah," Kurt sighed, rolling his eyes as he turned Blaine around by the shoulders and flinching as the sword clipped his knee. The fabric clinging to Blaine's back was soft under his sore hands, bright red and smooth in the dim light. Oh god, is he wearing a cape?

Kurt laughed silently to himself as he lead them down the street towards his apartment.

"Why do I get the feeling I'm going to regret this?"