Author's Note - Right guys, this is chapter one, version 2! I've been editing for the past week or so with the amazing EmilianaDarling (She's on livejournal, and you should totally go check her out, she has amazing Glee fanfiction) as a sort of Beta for the first six to seven chapters. I think we've managed to improve this a lot, and so if you've JUST started reading and i've only just updated this chapter, i'd give it a few minutes to make sure i've uploaded the other updated chapters, which i'll be doing straight away.
The air is chilled, and his breath condenses, as if he's a dragon breathing smoke. The ally is dark, the walls pressed close around him and Kurt really hopes it's a cat he sees scamper under the trail of dumpsters to his left. Shadows leer at him as he stands close, but not too close, to the building behind him. Come on, he thinks, watching the opening of the slim street, just one.
No one walks around the corner.
Kurt sighs, half tempted to lean his head back against the wall behind him. But no: he may have sunk low, but that wall is covered in nasty-looking gunk. After glancing at his watch, he's about ready to give up. The past few nights he'd been lucky: he's only had a few clients, but they tipped handsomely and Kurt likes tips. Tips mean he can afford to pay his heating bill. Kurt glances behind him again, grateful for the building light which hangs overhead. The fact that he can see every broke piece of glass, every used needle, makes him feel better, rather then disgusted.
Being well known around the area had its perks. Guys know where to find him, and he rarely has a night when no one is interested. His timing must just be bad, because tonight is one of those nights. He looks at his watch again, as if he could claw back the hours, maybe go a few blocks over to the next set of nightclubs, have worn something a bit more tempting. Anything to have changed his luck.
After another five minutes Kurt gives up. Shaking his head and burying his hands into his pockets, he trudges back towards where he'd parked his beat-up car. Climbing behind the wheel, Kurt pauses; staring out through wind screen as though someone is going to come running from the shadows and beg to have sex with him. He doesn't realise he's shaking until he moves his hand to the ignition.
"Oh, god," he murmurs, biting his lower lip. The flesh of it is soft between his teeth. "I'm pathetic."
He clenches his fingers around the steering wheel as he quickly pulls out of the ally. Tomorrow. He vows, tomorrow there'll be someone there. They need me.
On the other side of town, Blaine Anderson is sitting on a padded leather stool, leaning against a smooth chestnut bar and breathing in the scent of Apple Schnaps mixed with Jack Daniels. He's knocking back shots and laughing loudly with his friends. A celebration, his friends say, for moving to New York, and he rolls his eyes. They don't believe him when he says he'll be out of here within a few months. To them, this is his new home: to him, it's only temporary.
The bar isn't well-lit, and from where Blaine sits he can only see two lamps at opposite sides of the room, only slightly illuminating the grinning faces that surround him. But he notices when a group of men walk in, especially when one of them says something in a high, clear voice that jerks him right out of his thoughts. Automatically Blaine's eyes scan the group, searching for the man he knows already isn't there. "Kurt," he sighs, shaking his head.
Where are you?