Author's note : Don't worry, I like happy endings too!
It was a feather. Only a feather. But strikingly beautiful, like an offering from a giant raven's king. Like night itself had laid on it to rest. Kurt brought it to the tip of his nose, just to feel its silky softness. It smelled like... the stars, like the pale reflection of the moon on the surface of a lake. Like the crispy chill of the first winter wind. He shivered.
''Going after the birds too, Hummo?'' the idiotic voice of Karosky greeted him half a second before the cold metal of the lockers did.
Kurt stayed on the floor until the pathetic laughers couldn't be heard anymore, bringing a hand up to his bruised cheek, rage in his eyes.
Blood dribbled from his chin, down the pale skin of his wrist. His jacket would be ruined. Oh, well. It wouldn't be the first time, neither the last.
He gathered his books, paying little to no attention to the ringing of the bell, to the way the empty corridor now seemed to hum with silence. His eyes fell on the feather he had dropped, looking so out of place on the dirty tiles. Almost reverently, he slipped it in his History book, fingers tainted with blood.
''New day, same fights, right?'' he murmured in a quivering sight.
Slamming the door of his locker, he made his way to his class, chin held high.
New day, new bruises.
''What is that?''
Rachel's shriek made Finn jump in his seat and then all of New Directions' eyes were glued to Kurt's face.
He had expected it, but it would have been nice to skip the melodrama, for once. ''Had a little encounter with Frankenstein this morning'', he said lightly, taking a seat next to Mercedes.
She was watching him with those eyes, the ones that said Next time, I'll squash him under my shoe like the little disgusting worm that he is, but Kurt knew that next time would be the same. She meant well, she was his best friend, but what could she do against Karofsky? Sing him to death?
''Kurt, maybe you should go to the infirmary...'' Tina said.
Mike nodded his approval.
''It's only a tiny scratch.''
''It doesn't look like a tiny scratch to me'', Sam said, his hamburger half-way to his mouth.
Kurt sighed, trying to ignore the way Rachel was leaning over the table like he was a magnet.
''Think about your career, Kurt. It could leave a scar,'' she whispered, eyes burning dangerously.
He took a mouthful of his salad, preventing him from answering. He chewed slowly, suddenly not hungry at all, almost feeling sick. There was a lump in his throat.
Couldn't they see? It had already left a scar.
That evening, Kurt went to bed early, slowly dragging the feather across his cheeks, the bridge of his nose, his lips. He didn't cry. He couldn't cry anymore. He doubted he had any tears left. He just felt so... tired. Empty. Guilty. His dad shouldn't have to worry about him, yet Kurt clamed up whenever But tried to talk to him. And he hadn't been happy with Kurt's poor excuse about his new bruise. ''I doubt a tree went out of his way to punch you in the face, kiddo.''
''It was windy,'' Kurt had replied, throwing his half-brother a brief -and very threatening- glance.
Finn, miserable, had looked ready to dive in his soup.
He let the feather fall on his pillow, even darker than the darkness of his room.
''Sweet dreams, Kurt,'' he murmured before closing his eyes.
The first time he saw him, it was on the last day of November. It was only for a short moment, and Kurt thought he had imagined it at first. He had been rummaging in his locker for his umbrella because, well, it was November and rain had been a bitch since morning. He hadn't turned to him because he had called out, neither because of a sixth sense. He had looked up because he could feel his gaze, as if cool fingers had brushed against the nape of his neck. In the whirlwind and the chaos of the ever-babbling students had stood a dark silhouette, not tall -definitely not tall, but imposing by its elegance. Black wings -yes, wings- half-spread on his sides, he had taken a lingering look at Kurt before disappearing in the mass of students.
Kurt had stared hard, unblinking, rooted in his spot until Quinn had bumped his shoulder with a smile, asking if he had seen a ghost.
''I think I did,'' he had said, voice not quite steady.
It had took all he had to convince himself that he was not, in fact, going crazy. Seated at his vanity, he had stared accusingly at the feather for hours until Finn had come in -without knocking, of course - to ask him if he was alright. ''Are you OK, man? I mean, even I don't stare into space that long and... look, do you want warm milk, or something?''
Kurt had turned around and lifted the feather to Finn's face. ''Can you see this?''
Finn had taken a step back, looking at Kurt like he had grown a third head. ''Hum...yeah?''
Kurt had humphed, scrunching his face like it hadn't been the good answer.
''I'll just... leave you alone, I guest...'' Finn had said before closing the door softly behind him, maybe not to disturb Kurt in his insanity.
December usually meant sales and pre-Christmas frenzy, but this year, Kurt wasn't in the mood. His eyes kept catching sight of the angel, whether it was at school or at the mall, in his backyard or in his dreams. At first it unsettled him, making him nervous and on edge, always waiting for the next apparition. But as time passed, he felt curiosity growing almost stronger than fear. Who was he? Why was he watching Kurt? Was he his guardian angel? If that was the case then he was doing a very lousy job at it. Kurt was still getting the slushies' facials, the shoving into the lockers and the verbal harassment.
And why was no one noticing him? When he was in a crowd, it was as if he was a natural obstacle, nobody looking at him, but everybody stepping out of his way. He could stand right beside Mr. Shue during Glee club and no one would react.
Then, one night, at diner, Kurt suddenly bolted out of his chair because the angel was in his freaking living-room, and Burt almost had another heart-attack.
And that was it, Kurt decided. It had to stop.
Do you remember, Blaine, that no bird sang that day? Do you remember the gray of the sky, the elegance of the bare trees? I remember you. Dark against the virgin snow, eyes speaking of wonders unseen and unheard of.
Kurt's fingers felt numb from the cold, even around his cup of Grande Non Fat Mocha. He had decided that if he was going to have a conversation with an invisible angel, he certainly didn't want to do it in front people. His sexual orientation wouldn't be the only cause of his bullying.
It was a gloomy Saturday afternoon, clouds heavy with the promise of snow. Still, Kurt couldn't help but find a certain charm to the woods behind the park. Maybe because they suited his mood. As he strolled between the trees, he felt his heart grow heavy. He could feel the graze on the nape of his neck again, the silent presence of the angel behind him. He lifted his eyes to the darkening sky, came to a halt.
''I don't care if you have a good reason for stalking me or if it's because you're bored, but this little game needs to stop.''
He turned around slowly, and surely, the angel was there. But Kurt had never seen him this close and oh... He was beautiful. Black hair a mess in the winter wind and so curly Kurt doubted he could have run his fingers through it and his eyes... They were like two wells of golden light, sequins of deep green catching its brightness. Kurt bit the inside of his cheek, taking in his dark, long lashes, the sheer melancholy he seemed to exhale. He was entirely clad in black, fingers brushing against the hem of the long sleeves. The angel's clothes clearly weren't appropriate for the chilly weather and -Kurt's eyebrows went heaven-way- he wasn't wearing any boots. Barefoot, he stood on the snow like Kurt would stand on grass, seemingly as light as a flake, ribbons fluttering around his ankles like the softest chains.
The angel was looking right back at him, his giant wings like a stormy cloud behind him. He didn't show any reaction, like he hadn't heard Kurt.
Kurt took a step towards him, frowning. ''I told you I want you to stop following me and popping up out of nowhere whenever you feel like it.''
Something flicked in the angel's slowly widening eyes. He tilted his head, studying him with so much intensity Kurt thought he would combust on the spot. A hot blush crawled to his face under the angel's scrutiny, despite the cold.
''You can... see me?''
Kurt huffed out a breath. ''Of course I can see you,'' he said sharply. ''Why do you think I freak out every time you appear?''
The angel stared at him in disbelief, his whisper almost inaudible. ''Fuck me.''
Ok, impolite angel.
''Well,'' Kurt said, bitchy face back in place, ''Stop stalking me. It's disturbing.''
The angel snorted. Kurt felt himself blush once more, but this time he was insulted.
''I'm afraid it's not that simple, Lima Boy.'' He took a step toward Kurt, a sad smile tugging at the end of his lips, but his eyes strangely cold. ''I can't just stop...'' he stopped, considering his words. ''Stalkingyou, as you put it so flatteringly.''
Kurt's hands clenched around his Styrofoam cup. ''Why not?''
The angel's eyes locked on his. If Kurt had wanted, he could have touched him.
''I can't tell you.''
Kurt refrained the urge to roll his eyes. ''Of course.''
''It's not that I don't want to,'' the angel answered, tone biting cold, ''It's that I can't.''
This was getting confusing.
''Look,'' Kurt said, his own voice not a bit warmer, ''We've already established that you have the faculty to talk, so I see nothing holding you back.''
The angel said nothing, lips set in a thin line. His eyes darkened, gold and green vanishing until there was no light anymore, as if a lid had been pulled over the wells. Kurt wasn't in a position to appreciate the strangeness of this phenomenon, but he couldn't help shivering under his now coal-dark eyes. He took a long sip of his cold coffee, willing himself not to lose his composure.
''Alright, then, I guess I'll see you around?'' he couldn't help but sneer.
What a strange situation. The angel watched him darkly, and Kurt couldn't help but shiver, but not because of the cold. It wasn't fear either. It was something in between, closer to the heart. Loneliness. It emitted from the angel like sun radiated warmth.
Another shiver.
Kurt took a step back. He could have taken a step forward, laid a hand on his chest. Would his heart be beating? Would his skin be as cool as his eyes?
Another step back.
Before leaving the woods, he couldn't help but cast a glance over his shoulder. The angel stood in the snow, night falling around him like a mother would embrace his child.
There were no stars. Only snow.
Only snow...
Do you remember, Blaine?
Kurt didn't expect to sleep that night. He didn't. Flashes of gorgeous, lonely eyes, pale fingertips and snowflakes melting on darks wings kept rushing behind his closed lids.
He didn't see the angel again until a few days after the winter break.
Carole was already in bed and Burt still at the garage even though it was getting late. Finn, snoring in the armchair, looked like he was gone for the night. Kurt, comfortably tucked in a blanket, was in a delicious tête à tête with Audrey Hepburn, watching her ''having a nervous breakdown'' in Charadeand murmuring religiously every line.
Suddenly, the room filled with the scent of snow, and Kurt laid very still. His heart might had missed a beat or two and, for the life of him, he couldn't remember how to breath.
The angel walked slowly to the TV, graceful as a swan, the tips of his large wings brushing the floor. Eyes fixed on the screen, he didn't acknowledge Kurt at first, simply watching the movie, his face unfathomable.
''Who is she?'' he asked after a while, lips barely moving.
Kurt cleared his throat. ''Audrey Hepburn,'' he said, voice low as to not wake Finn. ''Do you... do you know her?''
Would an angel watch Audrey Hepburn's movies?
But the angel shook his head. ''I don't know.''
Kurt raised his eyebrows. ''You don't know?''
The angel turned to him. ''I don't remember.''
Kurt nodded carefully, not quite understanding, but trying too. He wasn't sure if he was ready to take on angel psychology, as they seemed even more twisted than humans. With a sight, he detangled himself from the blanket, and placed it gently on Finn's shoulders (a mumbled ''Thanks, man.'').
The angel followed him to his room and Kurt closed the door behind them. ''How long are you going to follow me?''.
The angel took in the room, from the tiniest book to the well-made bed. He took a few steps towards the vanity, fingers brushing the back of the chair. ''I'm sorry, I can't answer that.''
Kurt half-expected it, but anger still slowly rose through him. ''Tell me what you can then! I'm sorry, but it's not very... polite to follow me around like you do.''
The angel looked at him, head cocked to the side, a small smile tugging at his lips. ''As usually no one can seeme, I don't bother with such things as politeness. But I have a job to do, whether you like it or not.''
''A job.''
''Yes.''
Kurt didn't even bother to ask what kind of job it was, certain he would still get no answer. ''Just... tell me what is your name, then,'' he said, taking one of his moisturising cream from the angel's hand.
''I don't have one.''
Kurt blinked. ''Ok, then what do I call you?''
''You don't call me anything.''
Kurt rolled his eyes. ''Look, if you're going to stick around for a while, I need to know how to address you.''
The angel was suddenly too close, cool breath caressing Kurt's ear, soft curls brushing his cheek. Unconsciously, Kurt grasped the long dark sleeve with trembling fingers, nose filled with too many scents and heart hammering against his rib cage.
Lips on his ear.
''Shinigami.''