Things changed…not a lot, but enough. Kurt had never been very heavy handed as a master, but Blaine could see a little of Kurt's spark, that flame that burned so passionately through his brilliant blue eyes, diminish.

Blaine feared it might go out completely.

They thought that clearing the air would make things better, lift the burden from Kurt's shoulders, but it only freed the ghosts.

They didn't disappear, only lingering around the apartment, haunting Kurt when he least expected it.

It wasn't in things Blaine would have noticed when he visited Kurt. Now that they lived together, Blaine could see the tiny threads of Kurt's sanity fraying.

Gone were the black pinstripe pillows.

Then the matching comforter.

His black tank top disappeared.

He couldn't get Kurt to open up about it again, but as the holidays began to approach once more, Kurt became unhinged.

Blaine showed up one evening to a cacophony of fighting over a Christmas tree…or actually, a lack of one, which ended with a flustered Kurt screaming, “You're Jewish! Why do you even care!?” before he stormed into his bedroom, threw back the curtain, crawled beneath the new blue comforter, and lay there, holding his breath until he fell asleep.

Kurt had always taken charge, but this time, Blaine was taking matters into his own hands.

He had to get Kurt away.

No Christmas in New York for them this year. Blaine had saved up some money, and was flying them to Orlando – no snow, no cold, no department store Santas. Just a week at Disney and not a care in the world.

Their packed bags sat by their bed, plane tickets and itineraries safely stowed in Blaine's messenger bag.

He just needed to take care of one detail.

The cold bit into Blaine's skin through the thick fabric of his black pea coat…but he didn't care. He liked it. He savored the sting before every inch of his exposed skin felt numb.

Kurt wouldn't talk about his experience again, but Blaine had an excellent memory.

He remembered where Kurt said they'd met. Remembered how Kurt described him.

It took five tries before Blaine found him, in a different store this time.

Blaine blessed Kurt's crystal clear memory. He wasn't the department store Santa. Instead, he stood off to the side, wearing his costume, and leering at shoppers passing by.

Blaine shoved down his revulsion, feeding solely off his anger, as he plastered on his flirtiest smile and nonchalantly approached the man.

A smile – that's all it took.

“So, did you want to sit on Santa's lap?” the man asked, casually, as if he was asking Blaine for the time.

“Actually, I was hoping I would find you,” Blaine said, his voice smooth as velvet. “I'm kind of in need of a firm hand, and you come highly recommended.”

The man's eyebrows shot up.

“Recommended?” He smiled, obviously flattered by the idea that his prowess had been the subject of conversation by this stunningly handsome young man. “By who, may I ask?”

“A friend,” Blaine answered quickly. “Just an acquaintance who would like to keep his identity a secret.”

“Wow.” The man moved in closer, eyes trained on Blaine's mouth, shamelessly licking his own lips. “A mystery man. How intriguing. Will he be joining us tonight?”

“No,” Blaine said, a little sharper than he had intended. “No…I prefer your…uh…undivided attention.”

Sexy Santa's eyes sparkled. Blaine's lips curled into a wickedly enticing grin.

Blaine knew he had him.

“Your place or mine, hot stuff?”

“My place is fine,” Blaine teased, knowing that the allure of following Blaine back to his apartment would be too great to resist.

“Lead the way, gorgeous.”

Blaine's lower lip quivered with barely checked rage as he led the way through the store. The man walked behind him, undressing Blaine slowly with every step they took. Blaine could feel his hungry stare, like a tangible creature, sliding over his body. He suppressed a shiver, though being outside, he could just chalk it up to the freezing cold.

The temperature had dropped at least ten degrees since Blaine had started his mission, and the dry, cold air promised snow throughout the night.

Blaine could almost taste it.

He smiled.

They came to an alleyway between two apartments and stopped.

“If you don't mind,” Blaine said, biting his lip, doing his best to look coy, “I prefer to take the back door.” Blaine gestured down the darkened alley, praying silently in his head that Santa wouldn't get suspicious.

Suspicion seemed to be the last thing on the man's mind. In fact, Blaine could tell by the brief but calculating look in his eye that Santa was having some sinister thoughts of his own.

Blaine crooked a finger his way, and backed down the alley into the veil of dark shadow made by the two buildings.

Just as Blaine hoped, Santa followed.

Blaine couldn't see a lick in the pitch black alley, but he didn't have to. He cut through this way on his morning run every day. When the man tried to corner Blaine, Blaine led him right where he wanted.

Santa never laid a finger on Blaine. Blaine didn't give him the chance.

Blaine had a beautiful life – caring and supportive parents, amazing friends, and a gorgeous fiancé he loved with every inch of his soul.

His only regrets were letting bullies push him around. Not sticking up for himself when he had the chance.

Not being there to protect Kurt when Kurt needed him.

Every jab, every upper cut, every hook translated that regret. His jaw clenched tight to stop the pounding in his head, a red haze cloaking every rational thought he had, he unleashed the full fury of his regret on this disgusting excuse for a man, whose biggest mistake ever was meeting Blaine's fiancé.

Blaine only stopped punching when the man went still, the light rise and fall of his chest telling Blaine that he was at least still breathing.

From the pocket of his coat, Blaine pulled out an oversized pair of red suspenders. He tossed them down at the man, who Blaine could see straining to turn over and stare up at him.

Blaine spat in his face.

“By the way,” Blaine said, pulling his coat tight around him as the first flurry began to fall, “Rudolph sends his regards.”