Finn is sitting back on the couch screwing around with his camera when Blaine stomps in, shaking snowflakes out of his hair with an agitated huff.  He slides the door shut before throwing a kick at it.  "God damn it!"

Raising a curious eyebrow, Finn looks back to his camera.  "Something wrong?"

Blaine rips the scarf from around his neck and throws it carelessly on the floor.  "Jesse wants rent."

The camera falls sideways, bouncing slightly against the couch cushion.  "You're kidding, right?"

Blaine's coat is next, landing somewhere behind him.  "His wife just stopped me outside."  He runs a hand through his curls and moves to look out the window.  "She said he'll be here sometime tonight."

"Dude, it's almost Christmas!  What the hell?"

Outside, somebody's shouting, and Blaine guesses they're not the only ones angry at the infamous Jesse St. James.  "He's an ass, that's what.  Forgot all about everything leading up to his wedding, apparently."

Casting his camera a tired glance, Finn sighs and stands up.  "Don't let it get to you, B."

"Don't let it get to - are you mental?  We don't have the money!" 

Finn moves to snatch Blaine's scarf and coat, folding them over the arm of the couch.  "Brit's supposed to come in tonight, you know. It's her rent, too."

Blaine scoffs.  "Only sometimes.  Besides, we all know we can't count on her.  She's...spacey."

"And you're moody.  Still can't write that song?"

Shoulders sagging beneath the same ratty old t-shirt he's been wearing the past two days, Blaine shakes his head sadly.  "No."

"Maybe you just need the right inspiration."

Whatever Blaine is about to say is cut off by a loud knocking on the door, a series of three sharp, metallic hits.

Blaine shakes his head.  "The bastard."

Finn shoots his friend an unhappy look before walking purposefully towards the door.  "Yes?" he calls.  Behind him, Blaine chokes on a bitter laugh.  "Who is it?"

"Jesse St. James."

Finn takes a step back and shakes his head.  He opens the door slowly, pulling it to the side with a soft grunt.

And sure enough, it's Jesse.  Perfectly coiffed hair, lazy smile, cat eyes.  All things that Finn and Blaine once relied on.  "Good evening, boys," he drawls.  He nods at Finn.  "May I come in?"

Moving away from the window, Blaine strides towards him with a snort of disbelief.  Finn steps out of the way and glances at his camera a couple times before deciding it's not worth it.  He slumps against the door and settles for just watching, instead.

Jesse nods at Blaine.  "Good to see you, hobbit."

Blaine's smile is angry, and his face is contorted with the sort of well-kept rage that, on most days, he's good at hiding.  The lines on his face seem deeper, like he's had less sleep or less time to himself or less luck in life or less something.  Looking at him, any one person would say that he's had less something.  "Like you have the right to call me that, anymore."

Jesse snorts.  "It's just a nickname."

"That only my friends get to call me.  From anyone else it's just...it's just insulting."

"So, what, we're not friends anymore?"

"Tell me what you're here for and maybe we won't be."

Ducking his head, Jesse rubs tiredly at his eyes.  "Look, guys, you have to understand - "

"That you left your friends for money?" Blaine interjects.  "That you turned your back on everyone who gave a damn for some...some woman who's probably just using you to hurt us?"

"She isn't - "

"She hates us, Jesse," Finn adds.  "She wants us gone."

"Shelby's not like that, okay?" He shouts, throwing his arms up in frustration.  "We have to make a living somehow!"

"By feeding off the poor?  You know how little we have."  His voice cracks a bit, and it's with an extreme sense of defeat that he says "Why ya doin' this, man?"

"Finn..."

"Either way, we don't have the money," Blaine mumbles.  "And there's nowhere else to go so...looks like its back to the streets."

Something flashes past Jesse's eyes, but neither Finn nor Blaine is naïve enough to believe that it's remorse.  He reaches out and grabs Blaine's arm before he can turn away.  "I-I have a proposition."

"Yah, well, you can shove it up your - "

"Blaine!" Finn cuts in hurriedly.  "Let him talk."

"Finn, you can't be serious."

"Let.  Him.  Talk."

The tone to his voice makes Blaine's jaw fall a little slack, and there's a spark of defiance in his eyes, but he seems to think better that to let it burn and slumps his shoulders in grudging defeat.

Jesse sucks in a sharp breath, shoving his hands down the deep pockets of his probably-designer slacks.  "Help me stop Rachel's protest and I can assure you another year without rent."

Finn stiffens.  "Dude, isn't she, like, your daughter now?  Shouldn't you be supporting her?"

"Shelby wants nothing to do with her.  According to her, blood doesn't make a family.  Especially not when Rachel "wastes her life" performing on the streets.  She wants the protest stopped, and at whatever cost."

"And if we can't?  Stop it, I mean.  You know Rachel..."

Jesse frowns and takes a step backwards.  "You have a week."

---

Outside, Brittany S. Pierce is about to turn down the street she used to live on when a trashcan is knocked out in front of her.  She jerks back in surprise, only to let out a startled scream when she stumbles back into the warm body of a person.

"What the - "

Her words are cut off by a dirty hand curling around her mouth.  "Hush, now, sweetheart," the man purrs, whispering something that sounds like danger into her ear.  "Wouldn't wanna startle the neighbors."

Frozen in fear, all she can do is watch as two more men lurk slowly from around the corner.  Their smiles are pearly smudges swiped across a dirty canvas.

The one holding her wraps his arms around her waist.  "We just want your money, sister.  That's all, I promise."

Her chest heaves with a broken sob.

"We'll be out of your hair as fast as you can blink."

---

While Finn is off draining the last of their hot water, Blaine is sitting in front of the fireplace with a pencil clamped between his teeth.  Before him, a blank notebook waits patiently for his words, but it would honestly be easier just to the burn the damn thing.

"Why the hell can't I come up with anything?"

"Maybe you just need to unwind."

Blaine jumps up, tripping over his own feet in a speedy attempt to stand straight.  "K-Kurt!  Jesus Christ!  You can't just..."

He stops when he really allows himself to get a good look at the man standing before him.

Kurt Hummel.

Pale skin, pink lips, eyes the color of the ocean.  He's wearing a baggy red sweater that slides from his shoulders and a pair of skinny jeans that makes everything look great.  His hair is a perfect sweep of chestnut tresses that Blaine wants nothing more than to card his fingers through.

When he smiles, Blaine almost forgets how to breathe.

"I heard Jesse stopped by."

Blaine shakes his head and turns back to face the fire.  "Just to prove how much of an ass he is."

Kurt nods and walks to stand beside him.  "It's my rent too, you know."

"Yah, well, the hope is that we won't have to even pay it.  If we can get Rachel to stop her protest..."

"You think it's gonna be that easy?  We all know how she works.  Once she has her mind set on something, nothing can stand in her way.  She'll just knock it down."

Blaine smiles despite himself.  "Gotta admire her for that, huh?"

"Hmm."

Kurt angles his head to better take in Blaine's form.  He smiles fondly before reaching forward to smooth back a few loose curls.  "You know, there's no point in using gel if you're just going to run your hands through it all the time."

There's a sweep of red across Blaine's cheekbones as Kurt pulls away.  "Bad habit, I guess."

"You only do it when you're stressed."

"Yah, well, this song..."

"You're thinking too much.  Here, let me help you."

"How?"

"Just sit down and let me take care of you."

Swallowing back a nervous shudder, Blaine plops down on the floor, folding his legs Indian style while Kurt follows, settling on his knees behind Blaine.

"Relax, okay?" Kurt whispers, and his voice rolls across Blaine's skin in slow, sweet waves.

He sets his hands on Blaine's shoulders and starts rubbing circles into the muscle.  "Let everything go."

With Kurt's touch anchoring him, Blaine finds this surprisingly easy.  It's easier to breathe, easier to think.  Kurt is his inspiration, a walking piece of art that is constantly begging to be touched but that can never, ever meet the fingers of someone as undeserving as Blaine Anderson.  Every smooth circle against his back is another ache, but it's sweet and not entirely unpleasant.

Because a world made of wanting Kurt is better than a world without him.

And it's with this thought that all the others disappear.  His rent, his sickness, the song...

They're just gone, and the entire universe is made very simply of him and this beautiful, wonderful, magnificent creature.  To the very core of him, be believes this is right.  Like finding where he most belongs with little worry as to where he'll end up.

It's just him and Kurt, and nothing could be better.

"Feel good?" Kurt asks, lips just about grazing Blaine's ear.

"Mmm, Kurt..."

Something crashes rather violently behind them, scaring Kurt enough to pull away completely.  "Finn!" he shouts, eyebrows drawn together in genuine anger that Blaine has to try hard not to read too far into.

Standing over a broken lamp in nothing but a towel, Finn smiles sheepishly.  "Yah, uh, sorry bro."

---

Santana doesn't intend to spend her night the way she does.  Her entire goal is just to get home, put away some groceries, and work on the dance move that tripped her up earlier that afternoon.  The last thing she expects is to have the love of her life waiting for her in bed.

But when she hears that quiet whimper from behind a dented trashcan, things change.

Pulling her purse closer to her side and tightening her grip on her groceries, she veers off her usual path and steps quietly towards the heap of crushed metal.  "Hey, someone there?  Don't mess me with, I've got a gun."

"T-Tana?"

That voice...

Santana drops her groceries and runs, nearly breaking a heel in the process.  She kicks the trashcan out of the way and falls to her knees, not even feeling the scrape of skin across blacktop.  "Brittany?  What the hell happened?"

Brittany tries to smile, but the action makes her wince when it disturbs a cut on her cheek.  "Got mugged," she coughs.  "H-help me up?"

With shaking hands, Santana carefully takes her friend's weight and helps her to her feet.  "Where'd they hurt you?  Did-did they..."  She keeps one hand on Brittany's shoulder while the other rests on her cheek.

Shaking her head, Brittany leans into the touch with a quiet sigh.  "They just took my money, Tana, don't worry.  Your groceries, though.  They're all over the dirty ground."

Santana laughs, mostly to keep herself from crying.  "Come on, sweetie, I'll take you back to my place.  And don't worry about the groceries, okay?  We'll just get more tomorrow."

Even though it probably hurts, Brittany smiles, and the entire universe forgets to move.

Once back at Santana's apartment, Santana cranks up the heat and sends the other girl in for a shower. 

The moment she hears the door close, she leans against the counter and rubs at her temples, trying to alleviate an almost ever-present headache.  A month ago, Brittany was just another girl she'd met on the street, troubled almost the same and living between cities. 

Two weeks ago, she was the most beautiful person to have ever graced the world with her presence. 

She was in Santana's veins, a constant high that never failed to lift her from whatever sour mood she was usually in.

And even though it's irrational, even though someone as strong and original as Brittany S. Pierce would never fall for a sell-out like Santana, she can hope.

Unused to the feeling, Santana finds herself smiling despite it all.

She pushes off from the counter and moves to get her bed ready for the other girl to sleep.