On the package, it says, “Kurt is a 3rd generation AX400 Android capable of looking after the house, doing the cooking, minding the kids, organizing appointments, speaking 300 languages, and is entirely at your disposal as a sexual partner. There is no need to feed or recharge him and he comes equipped with a battery that makes him autonomous for 173 years. See the included booklet for operational instructions.” Inside is a boy with pale skin and blue eyes, unmoving.

-- 

Kurt is singing an old Beyoncé song, from one of Blaine’s vintage CDs, and dancing around the kitchen as he puts away the dishes. He’s wearing Cooper’s old skinny jeans and one of Blaine’s grey Henley’s that stretches tight over his chest, and he’s swinging his hips in a way that makes Blaine’s face heat up.

“Kurt?” Blaine says quietly and Kurt gasps, dropping the plate and spinning around to gaze at Blaine with big eyes.

Before Blaine can step forward, Kurt hops over the shattered plate and disappears down the hallway. Blaine hears the lock click on the bathroom door as he finds a broom and dustpan in the closet to sweep up the ceramic shards. He moves slowly, trying to figure out what just happened. The droids aren’t supposed to be able to do anything without a command, but there Kurt was, singing and dancing in his kitchen. Does that mean Kurt’s alive or malfunctioning? Should he send Kurt back?

Blaine knocks gently on the bathroom door, “Kurt?”

There’s no answer.

Blaine rattles the doorknob. “Kurt, come on, I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to talk.”

“Please don’t sends me back,” Kurt whimpers when Blaine unlocks the door with the key hidden on top of the doorframe. He’s curled into a ball in the corner between the toilet and the sink, hair falling over his forehead. “I’m scared.”

Blaine sits cross-legged across from him. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he repeats softly.

“But you’re going to send me back.”

“No, Kurt,” Blaine says patiently. “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on, though, and we’ll figure out what to do.”

Kurt nods, un-tucking himself from the corner and inching forward. “The man let me live, even though I was supposed to be disassembled.”

Blaine feels his eyebrows creeping up. “Why did he do that?”

Kurt shrugs and fiddles with the edges of his sleeves. “I don’t know. I think he felt bad. I told him I want to live.”

“Okay,” Blaine says slowly. “So you’re alive?”

Kurt blinks. “What does it mean to be alive?”

Blaine chuckles and scrubs a hand over his face. “I’m not so sure anymore.”

After a moment of chewing nervously on his lip, Kurt asks, “What are you going to do with me?”

Blaine sighs. “I’m not sure. You’re welcome to stay here as long as you like. Unfortunately, you can’t do much out there,” he gestures vaguely toward the door, “because the company would find out and take you back. And you don’t have a birth certificate or a Social Security Number, so you can’t get a job or anything.”

“I could live with you,” Kurt says tentatively. “I could clean, do what I was doing before.”

Blaine scoots forward and offers his hand, which Kurt carefully takes. “You’re not my slave, Kurt, or my servant. You don’t need to do anything. It’s not like I need to buy food for you, so you’re welcome to stay here, no cost.” Blaine smiles. “I would like to be friends, though. And maybe we can find some things you’re interested in, that you can do around the house.”

“Blaine,” Kurt whispers, blinking away the tears in his eyes, and letting Blaine pull him into a hug. “Thank you.”