Someone is singing nearby. Their sweet, clear tenor voice is carried in on the wind and brings Kurt from his bed to the window. He removes the mosquito netting and leans against the ledge, looking down. There is no one to be seen. He can’t understand the words, but he can feel their meaning; the anguish, the lonely sound. Sadness tapers off into optimism, the last few notes joyful. Maybe it’s a love song, and Kurt finds himself smiling. It’s enough to forget the dull throbbing of his wrists.

There is silence in the wake of the song. Anxious longing burns in Kurt’s chest, fills his veins. He inhales sharply and leans forward. With no one to see him, Kurt is emboldened and begins to sing in reply. The other person probably won’t understand, but it’s okay because Kurt hadn’t understood him, either.

It feels good to sing again, normal and freeing. If he closes his eyes he can just imagine the choir room, the tiered seats and high ceiling. He loved that class. He loved�singing, it was the only time he felt truly comfortable in his own skin.

When he finishes, he’s met with nothing more than the sound of the breeze rustling the tree leaves. He notices Quinn on the ground coming his way and waves, but she doesn’t see him. As she gets closer she says something to someone beyond the house in Maelin, a bright smile on her face. There’s a reply, too quiet for him to make out.

Kurt calls down, “Morning!”

She looks up, shielding her eyes. “Morning. Why don’t you come down here today? You’re going to atrophy up there.”

Kurt rolls his eyes. “Fine. Give me a minute.”

He combs his fingers through his hair so it doesn’t look too awful and gathers his things, joining her on the ground. He glances around for whoever she was talking to, but there are only trees and foliage. No one to be seen.

As soon as he’s in range, Quinn hugs Kurt to her, almost fiercely. “I am so sorry I didn’t warn you about the traps. And I can’t believe Sebastian, I’m just so sorry that happened to you, Kurt,” she says into his hair.

Kurt is blushing when she lets go, surprised by the hug and emotion both. “I…it’s okay, I’m okay.”

“Are you sure?” she asks, looking him over.

“Yes,” Kurt insists. And he does feel weirdly okay this morning, probably better than he has for the entirety of his time here.

“Alright. Let’s go to the fire pit,” Quinn says, leading him over. There’s a low fire burning for breakfast preparation, and he sits next to her on what looks like an upended tree trunk.

There’s a man sitting across the fire pit with bright blue eyes and dark hair, tan skin and light scruff. He’s eating something like oatmeal, and staring. He looks familiar somehow, but Kurt has obviously never met any of these people, so he makes a face at him because it is�rude�to stare. There are also two women, the pretty one he saw the first day with jet black hair, and another with honey blonde hair. The black haired woman is holding the other, face resting against the side of her head.

“Is everyone here gay?” he asks Quinn.

Quinn snorts, handing him a bowl of the porridge. “No, just—oh my gods, is that a�hickey?”

“A what?”

“Your�neck,” she says, reaching for his collar and tugging it down.

Kurt bats her hand away. “I don’t know what you mean—”

The man across from him says something to Quinn, and they go back and forth, laughing, and Kurt stomps his foot. “Are you going to explain?”

Quinn looks back to him in confusion. “How do you not know what I’m talking about, that thing is huge.”

Kurt just stares blankly at her.

“Do you not know what a hickey is?” she tries.

“You haven’t taught me that word yet.”

Quinn’s eyes grow wide. “It’s…not in Maelin. Oh, Kurt. Nevermind.”

“No, I want to know what you mean.” Kurt huffs and digs around in his bag. If there’s something wrong with his neck he would like to know. He brings his small mirror out and takes a look. There is a large blotchy purple mark right�there, standing out in stark contrast against the pale cream of his skin. It’s right where Blaine—

Kurt lets out a small shriek. “Blaine did this to me!”

The man is laughing and the black haired girl is smirking, the other smiling, and Kurt can tell Quinn is trying very hard not to laugh. He glares at all of them. How dare they make fun of him?

“He must have been very happy to see you.� Or maybe he was making a statement. You know, hands off?” Quinn says.

“Hands off?” Kurt echoes.

“Mm. Staking a claim.”

Kurt is sure he is blushing, and jams his mirror back into his bag. “I never said I would be his mate.”

“I suppose he doesn’t want anyone trying to take you from him,” Quinn says airily.

“What, like Sebastian? What good is a bruise on my neck going to do against a sociopath?”

Quinn’s lips purse. “Good point. Well, in a romantic sense, at least. And Sebastian is gone, so you hopefully won’t have to worry about him anymore.” At Kurt’s raised eyebrows, she adds, “Blaine drove him out. He isn’t allowed here. He was up late last night, making sure everyone knew.”

“Oh,” Kurt says softly, momentarily fixed to the spot with relief. He wonders what exactly Blaine told her, if she knows everything that went on. He gingerly touches his wrist, wondering if everyone�knows. Enough people surely saw him and Blaine last night, and they would probably want to know why Sebastian couldn’t return. He wonders if any of them were good friends with Sebastian, if he has family here.

The man across from Kurt stands, stretches, and says something to Quinn and the other women. When he passes Kurt he claps a hand down on his shoulder. Kurt turns his head and glares at the man’s back as he walks away.

“Do we�have�to do this out here today?” he grumbles to Quinn.

“Kurt, I think the reason Sebastian did what he did was because he thought he could get away with it.”

Kurt doesn’t reply at first, ashamed by his own weakness. “Because I’m smaller than him?”

Quinn sighs. “No. Because you’re an�outsider.”

The two women start to get up, and Quinn pauses. She says something to them and they reply, leaving in the opposite direction that the man had.

Kurt hardly notices. This whole time, all he’s been able to think about is how much he doesn’t want to be here, how much he doesn’t want to know these people. But he hadn’t considered this - what if they don’t want�him?

He looks up at Quinn once they’re alone, solemn frown and hard eyes.

“Sebastian thought I had no right.”

“Sebastian has…had some problems before. He’s wanted Blaine for his mate for a long time. I don’t think he would have tried that if you were one of us, though. He probably thought you were…”

“Expendable?”

Quinn makes a face, part affirmation, part sympathetic.

“It will help if people see you out here. With others,” she adds.

Kurt just nods. He shouldn’t be so surprised. When has he ever been wanted? Mouth drawn in a disdainful line, eyebrows high and eyes low, Kurt raises his chin. He doesn’t like people to see him as�less than�or�not enough, no matter the truth or how he feels. �There is still a stubborn streak in him that doesn’t want to give in, doesn’t want to be one of them, especially if they don’t want�him, but he knows right now they are all he has. He’s been learning the language to try and acclimate, but it hasn’t been enough.

“Blaine must really like you to have kicked Sebastian out. We don’t allow violence, but. Sometimes these things just get brushed aside,” Quinn continues, finishing her porridge in dainty bites.

Kurt jabs at his. “If he really likes me, why doesn’t he try to court me like a gentleman?”

Quinn looks up from her meal, spoon still in her mouth. “Court�you?”

Kurt points his spoon at her, amused by her expression. “You said you weren’t animals.”

Quinn rolls her eyes. “We aren’t, but we aren’t exactly high society.”

“Maybe that’s why I’ve been brought to you, to add some class to this place,” he says, twirling his spoon.

“Careful, there’s enough porridge left in here to dump over your head.”

Kurt raises his hands in surrender, smiling a little. “Okay, okay. Easy now.”

Quinn smirks and sets her bowl down, shaking her head. “You truly are awful. I actually feel bad for Blaine—”

“Hey!”

“Now, let’s get to work so you can tell him these things yourself, hm?”

----

As the week goes on, and another week after, the bruise on Kurt’s neck changes color and shape until it slowly dissolves away into nothing. Kurt’s wrists heal and soon enough the pain is nothing but an afterthought. Kurt learns to deal with bathing in the river, though he is certain he’ll always hate it. And he always makes sure he’s extra careful of where he steps.� No one claiming to be Sebastian’s kin comes after him. In fact, no one threatens him at all. He hasn’t exactly made friends, but it’s to be expected. It’s hard to make friends when you can’t even carry on a conversation. Still, people greet him, the curious looks stop. He develops�routines.

The reason Blaine is usually only around at night reveals itself once Kurt starts spending more time outside the house. It makes sense, as the leader, he supposes, but he finally sees a little of Blaine in action. Blaine hunts and gathers supplies, he fixes houses and is in the middle of helping build a new one. He makes sure various paths to gods knows where are kept free of foliage.

Kurt isn’t spying on Blaine, he just happens to see Blaine doing things sometimes. If he watches Blaine talking to people, it’s only so he can get a better feel for how people communicate with each other, and to see if Blaine as leader here is anything like Sue as leader back home.

Sue as leader, as Queen, does not exactly talk with her people. Blaine, though, will have entire conversations. And he doesn’t even look angry or haughty when he has them, it’s more like friends talking to friends. He laughs and smiles with them, plays with their children. As brutish and unsophisticated as Blaine has come across, he can be a little bit adorable, actually.

Kurt continues to live in Blaine’s house, though he knows he should probably ask to live somewhere else. It isn’t proper to share a house, and especially a bed, with a person he isn’t married to. But Blaine doesn’t initiate anything like the night of Sebastian’s attack, and Kurt doesn’t want to admit he likes not having to be alone at night.

Sometimes Kurt even wishes Blaine would kiss him like he used to.

Sometimes they’ll share a look, or a lingering touch, and Kurt wonders and waits and maybe hopes a little, but Blaine always pulls back. Kurt thinks he must have changed his mind, and it hurts, and that’s the worst, really. Kurt reminds himself that he shouldn’t want it, shouldn’t want�Blaine, but he’s beginning to forget why.

----

Kurt is laying on his stomach in bed, studying some of the notes he took over the past few days, when he hears someone climbing the ladder. He looks up, interest piqued, and is greeted with the sight of a very sweaty, very filthy Blaine.

“Oh gods, were you rolling around in the mud?” Kurt asks, nose wrinkled and notes forgotten. “Honestly, if we’re going to be cohabiting we have�got�to set some ground rules. A: wipe your feet on the rug—when I get one. B: baths, Blaine,�baths.”

Blaine ignores him, going over to the pulley. There’s a grunt, and whatever he’s bringing up must be heavy because his biceps are working overtime. Kurt bites his lip. It can’t hurt to�look.�He sits up on the bed to better admire the sweat-shiny musculature, and gods, maybe sweat isn’t all�that�bad…

His thoughts are interrupted by a loud�thunk�against the floor. Kurt jumps and recoils in horror when he sees that Blaine has just tossed�an animal carcass�onto the floor.

“That—what—”

Blaine is standing there behind the thing, beaming like a child who has finally learned to tie his boots, awaiting praise and head pats. Kurt looks back to the animal, raising a blanket to cover his mouth and nose. It’s some sort of deer-like creature, but it’s missing it’s�head�so Kurt can’t be completely sure.

“I really hope you don’t expect me to prepare that.”

“For you, Kurt,” Blaine says gleefully in Maelin.

“For me,�no. Not want,” Kurt says, struggling to say the words correctly. He isn’t sure he’s gotten his point across, so he adds a, “Yuck,” for good measure.

Blaine’s face falls. He kneels by the deer and starts talking, and Kurt thinks he’s pointing out its size and how pretty it is? Maybe how much food it will provide? But he doesn’t care, it’s�disgusting.

“Not in the house, Blaine! This isn’t�civilized!”

Kurt huffs in frustration at Blaine’s lack of response, and tries to tell him in Maelin, too.

Blaine gazes dejectedly at Kurt before lifting the deer back up and returning it to the pulley system. He pouts the entire time he lowers it, and when he’s finished he looks back to Kurt, a question in his eyes.

Gods knows what that question�is. Kurt stares back and makes a shooing motion when Blaine doesn’t move. Blaine’s shoulders slump and he finally makes his way back down the ladder.

“Honestly,” Kurt mutters to himself.

----

Kurt is hanging his laundry to dry, what scant laundry he�has, when Blaine approaches him with an eager smile on his face. It’s an awfully cute smile, to be honest, but Kurt isn’t sure he trusts it.

“Yes?”

Blaine offers him a large knife. So large it might as well be a short sword. Kurt takes it, holding it gingerly in hand. “Um. Thanks?” he says in Maelin.

“For you,” Blaine says, looking pleased with himself.

Kurt gives him a wan smile. “So I gathered. I’m not sure what you want me to do with i—”

Blaine swoops in and kisses him on the mouth, interrupting. Kurt’s eyes widen and he sputters.

“Blaine! You’re lucky I didn’t just stab you!”

Blaine ignores him, instead traipsing off to points unknown. It’s the first time Blaine has kissed him since the incident with Sebastian, and it shocks Kurt. It secretly pleases him a little, too, but he pushes that thought down, mentally scolding himself. Kurt watches Blaine go, flustered and frustrated and holding the knife with no worldly idea what he’s supposed to do with it.

----

It’s a rainy afternoon and Kurt is trying to fix one of the window shutters, cursing his complete lack of woodworking skills. He almost thinks he has the frame properly back on its hinge, when Blaine comes climbing up the ladder.

“Oh, thank goodness,” Kurt says, still absorbed in his task. “Maybe you’ll know how…”

The words die on his lips when Blaine comes into view, bare-chested, skin wet and gleaming, raindrops clinging to his curls. As much as Kurt is loath to admit it, it strikes him every time he sees Blaine how�handsome�he is. And sweet, honestly, and—

—Upturning a burlap sack, letting out a long, strange animal that makes a beeline for Kurt.

Kurt�shrieks�and scrambles for the bed, climbing it to get away. The animal is skittering all over, making weird grunting noises, claws clacking against the floor. It’s long and brown with black eyes and�sharp�teeth, like a giant rat. Kurt dives under the covers and refuses to come out.

“Kurt?”

“Get it out!”

Blaine says something in Maelin, and Kurt is almost positive he just said that the rat creature is a friend.

“Friend!? No!” Kurt replies in Maelin, peeking out from under the pelts to glare at Blaine.

Blaine says it’s a friend for�him. How damaged�is�Blaine to think that a creepy animal can be a�friend?

“Get Quinn,” Kurt says.

“Quinn?”

“Yes, get Quinn!” Kurt repeats, shaking the blanket and scooting further back on the bed.

Blaine frowns, but does as Kurt says. Kurt is left alone with the animal. He can’t see it, which is worrying, but can hear the thing rooting around somewhere else in the house. He shudders and waits, praying it won’t come looking for him.

After what feels like an agonizingly long time in which Kurt imagines ten possible ways the creature could attack him, Blaine finally returns with Quinn in tow. Her hair is slightly disheveled, eyes puffy. She looks sleepy and less than amused.

“Yes, Kurt? Blaine said you were shouting my name, I presume you need something?”

“Yes,” Kurt says, sitting a little higher despite the glaringly displeased way Quinn is regarding him. “Tell Blaine to get that�creature�out of here, and ask him why he keeps giving me�horrible things. Please.”

Quinn turns to Blaine, nonplussed, and relays Kurt’s message. Or at least he hopes. He’s getting better with the language, but it’s difficult to recognize much beyond basic words while people are talking. Blaine’s expression is sullen when he replies, and they speak a bit more before Quinn returns her attention to Kurt.

“He’s courting you,” she says, a cross between a smirk and guilt on her face. “I may have mentioned something about that to him a few weeks ago.”

Kurt flushes hotly and refuses to look at Blaine. “You—�This�is courting? Giving me dead animals and�rabid wolverines?”

“—It’s an�otter—”

“It’s a beastly creature with beady eyes and it will bite me!”

“You are�such�a brat.”

“I am not a�brat,” Kurt exclaims, pounding his fist into the bed for emphasis. He can feel tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. That’s what they all called him and it isn’t�true.

“At least he’s trying!”

“I’m trying, too! Don’t you think this is hard for me? I can’t even�understand�him,” Kurt says in a rush, motioning to Blaine. “He just�decided�and I never even got a say. I�never�get a say!”

“Fine.” Quinn’s voice and expression are of pure frustration. “What would you like me to tell him, then?”

“Tell him to just…stop giving me things that can eat or skewer me,” Kurt says lamely, glancing at Blaine. Blaine is just standing there, forehead wrinkled in apprehension, watching the both of them, probably wishing he knew what they were saying. Kurt is glad he doesn’t. Blaine, for all his ridiculous behavior, is maybe the only person on the planet who doesn’t think he’s some spoiled child.

Quinn sighs and says something to Blaine. They talk to each other for a minute, and Kurt tries to follow without much success.

When they finish, Blaine gives Kurt one last, mournful look, before collecting the otter and leaving. Kurt wonders what Quinn said, each word, and wishes he had the courage to ask. He doesn’t mean for Blaine to hate him, he�does�like Blaine, he just doesn’t know what to do with all these feelings. How to act on them. How to even understand�them. At times he aches for Blaine simply to touch him, a brush of fingertips, a nudge from his shoulder, even. Sometimes he even wishes his wrists still needed the salve just for the excuse of Blaine applying it. Other times he can’t even look at Blaine and the urge to push him away, to run back into the Wild, is overpowering.

Quinn heads for the ladder, following Blaine, and Kurt pipes up. “Thank you.”

“Kurt,” Quinn says, pausing in the doorway. “No one’s saying you don’t have a choice. He doesn’t mean to be…so much different than you’re used to. I know where you’re coming from, I know the way people do things here are unlike you’re used to. I know you’re still adapting, and I am sorry on his behalf. If you aren’t at all interested, I’ll tell him for you, but he seems to think you are, and he just wants you to give him a chance.”

Kurt looks down, cheeks flaming, playing with the edge of the animal pelt. “How did you know?” he asks, glancing up, eyeing her belly. “With your mate.”

Quinn smiles and gets a far-off look in her eyes, hand unconsciously going to her stomach. “It wasn’t just one thing, but…he looked at me in a way he didn’t look at anyone else, and I realized I didn’t want that to stop. Sometimes it’s just that simple.” Her smile twists into something sardonic. “By the way, my mate is a little annoyed at you for getting me out of bed.”

Kurt’s mouth falls open. He’s seen Puck, even “met” him more or less, and he is the last person Kurt wants annoyed with him.

“Better be careful, m’lord,” she calls as she descends the ladder.

Kurt hides back underneath the blankets.

----

Kurt doesn’t see Blaine until the next night. Blaine is quiet, careful, like Kurt is a wild animal he might spook and scare away. A wooden box up the pulley follows him, and Kurt groans.

“Not another present. I take it back, I don’t want you to court me. I don’t even know why I said it in the first place,” Kurt says, watching Blaine heft the box up and set it on the floor.

There’s a hesitant smile on Blaine’s face and he beckons Kurt over. When he comes near, Blaine tugs on his sleeve and points to the box. Kurt looks inside and smiles in surprise. The box is filled with a jumble of fine clothes. There are all sorts, from basic tunics to more elaborate garments of velvet and silk and satin, and Kurt kneels to get a closer look.

“Where did you get all this?” he asks, regardless of Blaine’s inability to understand him.

Blaine just smiles and takes a small kit from the crate, offering it to Kurt. Kurt murmurs a thank you in Maelin and opens it, revealing needles, threads, and scissors. Kurt’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

“I can tailor them.”

Blaine nods eagerly, even if he has no idea what Kurt’s said.

Kurt is honestly touched. Even after rejecting Blaine’s last three attempts, Blaine still tried. He didn’t have to. Kurt hasn’t promised him anything. Kurt hasn’t done anything.

“This is a lovely gift, Blaine, which I do not deserve,” he says slowly. “I know that I’m accustomed to having what I want, I know that I have lived a mostly burdenless life. I�know. And you don’t have to give me these things. It wasn’t what I meant when I said that to Quinn…”

Blaine is listening patiently, and Kurt lets out a small, humorless laugh. He doesn’t know why he bothers when Blaine hasn’t a clue to what he’s saying. He supposes that sometimes even just the act of speaking aloud makes him feel less alone.

“Anyway, I do appreciate it. This is the nicest gift I have ever been given.”

He shares a smile with Blaine and his gaze lingers. He thinks back to what Quinn told him. Blaine’s eyes are like half-moons, crinkled at the corners, lips curved warmly as though he were the one receiving something. Kurt wonders if this is that smile. His heart is pounding hard, so hard he swears he can hear it. He tears his eyes away, looking instead to the crate.

The clothes are various sizes, both genders. Some appear new, while others are worn, some too ragged to do much of anything with. It’s like they’ve been taken from different sources. There are more scraps in one of the corners, and Kurt’s hand pauses when it reaches a blue sleeve with an embroidered gold cuff. He recognizes this coat sleeve. It looks like it’s been cut away at the shoulder. Dark brown flecks stain the cloth. Kurt is interrupted by Blaine, who arches forward, hands up and fingers curled into mock claws. He growls and roars, doing a comical impression of a lion. Comical until Kurt realizes what it means.

“Is this blood?” Kurt asks, hand clenched around the sleeve.

Blaine’s reply is a blank look.

“I asked you a question! Is this�blood?�This is�David’s!�Did you find him? Did he die? Did you cut this sleeve from his�dead body?”�Kurt’s voice gets louder with each word, rising in pitch, and Blaine shrinks back a little, wide-eyed, eyebrows slanted in confusion.

Kurt crumples in on himself in defeat, head bowed and shoulders slumped. He expects tears, but there are none. A part of him had always suspected, if not known, but here is proof staring him right in the face. David was his last connection to home.�David�was his Prince, brave and strong and a perfect gentleman. And Kurt was the fool who had held that torch, waiting for him to sweep in and save the day. Gods, he really had thought that would happen, that David was out there somewhere. He was stupid to have hoped. He should have realized his old life was well and truly over the moment the Gate lowered.

Blaine’s arms wind around Kurt and draw Kurt to his side. He holds Kurt close, almost covering Kurt’s body with his. Kurt wriggles to get away, feeling vulnerable and overwhelmed, but Blaine just holds him tighter, murmurs softly against his hair. Kurt’s struggles eventually ease and he gives in, letting Blaine cradle his face to his chest. His skin is warm, the touch of cheek to chest intimate and calming. Kurt takes a tiny, shuddering breath, and tentatively winds his arms around Blaine.

Blaine hums softly, gathering Kurt fully into his lap, and begins to sing.

Kurt realizes it’s Blaine who he heard singing the morning after Sebastian’s attack. It’s delicate now, close to Kurt’s ear, sending tiny shivers down his neck. Blaine’s voice is soothing, and Kurt lets Blaine rock him like a child until he’s on the verge of sleep and has no energy to protest. And then nothing hurts. And then, he sleeps.