Blaine's skateboard hits the pavement hard and he jumps on, skating down the street with ease, making his way through the neighborhood to the skate park by the middle school. He's meeting his friends there to hang out, but Blaine is mostly in it for the skating and the drinking he knows will start later on. He doesn't particularly like the other boys he spends his time with, but it's better than trying to skate as a loner, and they're not terrible company. Plus, they've always got booze to supply him with and they don't make him pay for it.

When he rides into the school he doesn't see his friends in the skate park—instead, he sees those dumbass bitches that call themselves the skanks. He'd already been having a shitty day, being yelled at by his idiot of an aunt for the joint she found in his room. He doesn't need cigarette smoking, wannabe cool kids ruining his skate time.

"Hey, sluts, mind getting the fuck outta here?" he calls out to them as he skates up to the entrance gate of the skate park. "My friends and I are here to skate, you're in our way."

"Yeah? I don't see your friends shrimp," one of the girls says back, and it's the apathy that spurs on his anger, making him march up to her and pluck the cigarette from her mouth, throwing it to the side.

"Fuck you, cunt."

There's an uproar. The girl stands up and slaps him across the face while all of her friends start screaming at him, pushing him back towards the exit. At least they're reacting, at least he's noticed.

"Go the fuck back home to mommy and daddy, skater boy," another girl says, giving him one last hard shove, throwing his skateboard at him and slamming the gate shut.

And shit, did that hurt. He kicked up his board and managed to make it far enough away that they wouldn't see him, collapsing on a bench and angrily wiping away the few tears that slipped out while he was running. He feels like screaming, kicking and punching and exploding. He hunches over, crossing his arms and letting his head drop, the sobs coming out of him uncontrollably.

"Hey," he hears a soft voice say above him, and looks up to find the one male skank, a pretty boy with pink and purple streaks in his bangs, ears pierced multiple times and piercing blue-green eyes made even more stark by his eyeliner. "I'm Kurt."

Blaine doesn't respond, just wipes his eyes and nose on his sleeves and warily watches as the other boy sits down next to him.

"Want some?" the boy asks, holding out a bottle of wine that Blaine didn't see before.

Blaine accepts it, taking a small sip and then a huge gulp, enjoying the taste more than he thought he would and slumping back against the bench.

"My parents are dead," he whispers, not daring to meet Kurt's eyes, taking another swig of the wine and closing his eyes, a few more tears slipping out the sides. He almost startles when a soft, cold hand lines up next to his, their fingers twining and Kurt's thumb drawing soothing circles on the inside of Blaine's palm.

"So's my mom," Kurt answers, looking Blaine dead in the eye. "And my dad's had a heart attack in the past year—who knows what could happen to him next." Kurt finally breaks eye contact at that, looking off into the distance, clearly upset. Blaine squeezes his hand and offers the wine back over to him, trying to ignore the way his heart beats faster when Kurt scoots closer to him so that their conjoined hands rest on their legs and the sides of their bodies are completely connected.

They sit like that, their breath synced up, passing the wine back and forth until it's all gone, their friends forgotten, both at peace for the moment, if only for so long.