Warnings: None, except for unabashed plot thievery from Sweeney Todd.
Pairing: Klaine
Rating: Ummmm PGish?
Blaine stalked down the cobbled street with all the frustration and steadiness of a long term sailor regaining his land legs (He was).
He walked quickly, hoping that the faster he regained his "land legs," the faster his sea sickness would ebb away. He wasn't walking from anything, except the fact that there was nothing to walk from. His ship had docked in London on the whim of the captain, a flighty and eccentric fellow with a shocking streak of white down the front of his otherwise jet black hair. The crew had all called him "Todd," but Blaine doubted the legitimacy of his name from the start.
He turned at the intersection of paths, and doubled back, pacing the street once more. When he tuned back in to his surroundings, a baker was shaking his shabby rolling pin at him, probably afraid that he was gathering information for a robbery or something of the like. Blaine scoffed inwardly. He was a gentleman, damn it, or he had been…before. Before his mother died giving birth, taking his younger sister with her, and his father drowned his sorrows and savings at the local pub, until he had successfully guzzled himself out of house and holdings, leaving Blaine to fend for himself on the streets. Luckily, he had bartered passage on a dingy cargo ship in exchange for his labor and aid in the kitchens fairly quickly, or he would have fallen prey to the city itself, as he had seen so often since his return.
"Oi! Out of my way, you lazy blighter!"
Blaine let the shoulder slam into him, too stunned to defend or brace himself. The force sent him stumbling down a side road that he had somehow missed in his previous pacings. He paused for a minute, queasiness vanished at the adrenaline that had coursed through him at the prospect of a brawl.
He shook himself inwardly, trying in vain to regain his bearings. He hadn't been paying a great deal of attention as it was, and it was beginning to cause a problem for him.
At least people weren't waiting for him.
He had shrugged, steeling himself for a long walk to the nearest inn, when a high, soft voice reached his ears, giving him pause. He closed his eyes, finally relaxing for a moment, an odd sense of calm suddenly overtaking him for the first time since he had docked. He followed the lilting song to a large estate, mostly hidden behind the shops and stands that cluttered the streets. The estate itself was stately, well cared for despite its old age. He ventured closer, leaning on a streetlamp and letting the music carry him to a place of home, of family.
He searched out the vocalist, finally setting his sights on a window that was propped slightly ajar, a soft head of chestnut hair leaned against it. As he chanced a few more steps, the boy (man, maybe, they seemed to be about the same age) met his gaze, eyes widening to an impossible size as his song cut off abruptly.
"Please, you can't be here!" The boy sounds genuinely concerned, his eyes darting aout frantically, as if searching out potential eavesdroppers.
Blaine's sizable eyebrows drew together, and he simply had to ask. "Why? Is there someone out here?"
The boy shook his head quickly, and Blaine frowned at the puzzle. As the puzzle pieces began to fit together in his head, his heart dropped to his feet.
The boy was scared, to the point of borderline panic. The boy was worried about him getting hurt, but there was no one outside the house.
"Is…is the person who could hurt me in there with you?" Blaine was simply horrified, but touched that this boy, this beautiful, strong, handsome boy, was worried for him, although he was forced to endure living with a monster every day.
The boy nodded slowly, a touch of sadness gracing his brow. "Please, please, leave. I can handle myself, but he gets very…jealous, when others talk to me."
Blaine opened his mouth to dissent, to ask, no, demand, that this beautiful boy climb out the window and down to Blaine. Before he could utter a word, he heard an ominous creak, and cringed inwardly, hiding behind a bush and hoping that it would provide adequate cover.
"Kurt?" An unfamiliar, frightening voice, one that chilled Blaine down to his core.
"Yes." His friend (friend?) sounded…resigned, and guarded perhaps?
"Sweet boy, why must you stay shut away in your room so often?" Blaine heard footsteps, and cursed his weak soul, yearning to barge through the door, and sweep this boy, this lovely and musical Kurt, over his shoulder and into a bright new life together.
Kurt's voice rang out, the loudest Blaine had heard, "Please, Father, I enjoy my privacy." Blaine understood Kurt's tone better now. The beautiful songbird was trying to mask his obvious fear, keeping a poker face that would make the most steadfast gambler green with envy. The voices faded to mutterings, unintelligible to Blaine's ears. He breathed a sigh of relief when he heard only one pair of feet leave the room, and chanced a peek from behind his camouflage.
"…Kurt?"
"You're still there?" Kurt's voice was wavering, and when his face reappeared at the window, Blaine could see the hastily wiped tear tracks.
"Of course, Kurt. I would never leave you alone without you asking me to." Blaine realized that he was baring his emotions quickly, and he blamed lack of socialization and family.
Kurt's eyes grew wide once more, and the hints of a smile were visible on his face as he spoke, "That was my father…"
Blaine hummed in acknowledgment. He had begun to formulate a plan, and wanted to implement it as soon as possible. "Run away with me?"
Kurt's sharp intake of breath, fervent nodding, and clutching at the windowsill were answer enough.