Why is it always raining at those moments of intense sadness? Some people would argue that there is something lyrically perfect about tears and raindrops mixing as they fall down your face, but, for me, there was nothing especially bliss about soaked skin.

So, there I sit in what was once a beautiful purple cardigan which looks almost grey in its dampness, and the slick gel in my hair has washed out leaving me with what I can only imagine now looks like brown tumble-weed.

My heart sinks with every aching thought about Kurt, but, it's not a regretful ache; it's anger. It's a rage that makes me shake violently all over; or, maybe that's the freezing cold, I can't quite tell but it's certainly enough to make me curl up as best as I can.

Where am I? I've been standing here for so long I can hardly remember.

Ah, yes, Central Avenue in Westerville, the only place I could think to go to in times of 'tragedy' like this. It wasn't a choice I remember making, travelling across Ohio like this, but rather an instinct, like a homing pigeon who couldn't remember being programmed in the first place.

I'd take shelter under the bus-stop but there is a group of rather unfriendly looking hoodies gathering underneath. Even horrible looking street-folk have better circumstances than I do.

Why Westerville, though? The reason was a certain savour; the savour who hadn't yet swooped in to save this damsel in distress. In fact, my hero was about forty-five minutes late. Some luck I'm having.

Chilled and damp to my core, I saw the very man I was waiting for running to my aid.

No, he wasn't running for me. He hadn't seen me yet. He was running to get out of the rain. I had one shot at this, and I expected failure as rain dripped down my chest and abdomen.

If I didn't know better, I would have said Sebastian was wearing a cape and hood like a modern day superhero like Batman or The Flash, but, I could tell from about fifteen feet away that it was his Dalton blazer pulled over his head to shelter him from the downpour. Clever, but he always was.

He's close enough to see me now. His running halts, and instead he takes the remaining few steps over to me with a facial expression I can't seem to decipher.

"B-Blaine? Is that you? What're you doing here?" he said. I suspect he hasn't been in the rain for as long as I.

"I…so sorry…I didn't know where else to go…me and Kurt had a huge fight and…now…" I couldn't finish my sentence properly. I should leave now before I embarrass myself more.

"Come here…you're coming back with me"

Wow.

I didn't expect him to understand or accept that so easily, but he did.

"Sebastian…thanks! That's really…really kind!"

My lips chatter in the coldness.

"Here, none of that!" he exclaims, and before I can speak again, his blazer is already wrapped around my shoulders, and his long, muscly arm is coiled around my back and sits on my shoulder as he ushers me the remaining distance and into his apartment. He had no other layers on apart from his shirt and tie; he must have been freezing cold after his heroic sacrifice. Why was he being so kind?

The door is closed, locked and the lights flicked on. Perhaps if I wasn't oozing rainwater from every limb I would be more appreciative of how beautiful his apartment is. It's a sizable place, with a kitchen and lounge in one room, and a bathroom with ensuite attached by a small hallway. The furniture is so classy, but, then, I wouldn't expect any less from a gay son of a state attorney.

He fetched a warm feeling towel, turned on the central heating and thrust the towel and a neatly folded, navy blue hoodie with 'Dalton' and its logo printed in red.

"Sorry, it's all I could find – it should do, right?" he asked me.

I forgot to pack some extra clothes in the midst of the swearing and shouting. Kurt has probably burned them by now, I suspect.

"Thank you…this is really too much."

"Nonsense!" he said chirpily. It sounds like he's happy to see the boy who rejected him show up at his door, soaking wet and begging for help.

"Just through there is my bedroom, and then my bathroom. Take a shower, clean up, do whatever. Help yourself to soaps…" he began, listing off a series of optional tasks to do.

Once he had finished speaking, I nodded again, and dragged my wet shell of a body to the bathroom. He followed me as far as the bedroom. Luckily he wasn't too wet. He undid his top button on his shirt, and flicked his shoes off whilst I walked into the ensuite, and I closed the door, giving him a little smile as I did.

I began to dry my hair, which became curlier and curlier with every rub of the fluffy towel. The drying process warmed me up, but the vigorous action cause very minor friction burns as I dried myself with rage. How could Kurt just argue me out of the door, and not even care where I went? I'm so mad.

"So, you never said what you were arguing about!" Sebastian called through to me. I continued to dry myself off and took my shirt and cardigan off, folding them neatly on a pile with my trousers and shoes.

I slipped on the hoodie. It's one of Sebastian's hoodies. It's far too big for me that I have to roll the sleeves up past my elbow, and in length it goes nearly as far as my knees, covering my briefs but keeping me altogether warm; which was helpful since I didn't have any dry pants. It smells of him…and it's a smell I'm so fond of.

"We just had a general falling out…I can't see us getting back together soon, though."

I might have said that in a rage induced tantrum, but, it's probably true.

I unlock the door and walk into his bedroom. He's made me a hot chocolate. He's acting like my mom, and I'm letting myself be pampered like his boy.

He leans in closer to me as I sit on a small chair, and puts his muscled arm around me again. His grip is firm, but comforting. I still shudder with chill and anger.

"I'm just so angry, Sebastian…it's not even my fault…" I cry out, and stamp my foot childishly as I produce tears again.

My head is pulled in closer, and rests against his chest. It's an odd feeling of his hard pecks covered in the softness of his white shirt, but I feel safe here.

Or, perhaps I feel more.

He's stroking my arm with his large, thin hands now, and I feel less violent and angry than I did before.

But something comes over me and my arms and hands are taken over by a force that I can't control. This supernatural takeover, I suspect, comes under the category of 'sexual tension' or something to that extent as my hands reach over like bear paws, grab him by the side of the face and pull him in for a smooch. Our lips lock, and, because I imagine Sebastian will push me away, I quickly intercept any movement by grabbing his waist and thrusting him onto the bed.

I follow him down onto the bed and press my knees against his chest as my lips fumble around and passionately kiss his neck, freeing his mouth.

He should've said something by now. I see his lip quivering, so, he's going to speak soon. He'll tell me that I'm a crazy little bastard and he'll hit me away.

"Urgh…Blaine…are you sure about this…?" he said, breathless from our tonguing.

I didn't need words to reply. I pulled his shirt upwards to reveal his abdomen, and a line of defined, tall abs sit in a cluster, waiting to be kissed.

And I do just that, and kiss each of the six of them, letting out a small hiss from Sebastian as I do. I then take my tongue and follow the trail of hair from the line of his pants upwards, across his abs and then bestow a kiss on his chest.

Why hasn't he stopped me yet?

I think I know, actually…