Chapter 1
Kurt was hungry. He was past the empty, growling stage and now there were simply sharp pangs every so often, strong enough to double him over for a few moments while he composed himself.
He hated being this desperate. Hated that he had to take things from people who had rightfully earned them. There was an awesome soup kitchen and shelter closer in to the city that Kurt had found great comfort in earlier in the season. Unfortunately for him, some severely homophobic and more than a little aggressive young men had also discovered this spot and made sure Kurt didn't come near it.
He stared up at the house he had chosen.
It wasn't a mansion or anything like that. It was a modest, two story house. Red brick. A quaint walkway leading up to the front, with what appeared to be nicely tended flower beds on either side of it. There was a Christmas wreathe hung jauntily over the door although Christmas was still over a month away. Kurt hated this, too. It was only mid November and there was no telling how cold this winter was going to be. He hugged his thin jacket around himself as a gust of wind seemed to answer for him.
Now or never. He carefully veered off the sidewalk and headed around to the back of the house, peering through windows as he did so. He hoped a family didn't live here. Taking from children was the last thing he wanted to do.
So far, so good. It was dark inside, no movement or flicker of a television. Hopefully whoever lived here was asleep by now as it was the middle of the night on a week night.
He tried the back door, unsurprised to find it locked. Luckily for him homes in this area weren't built with safety in mind, as this was a nice part of town full of neighborhood watch programs and good school systems. Most didn't bother with deadbolts.
Kurt jiggled a paperclip until he heard the tell tale click, slipping inside and closing the door quietly. First stop: kitchen.
He stood silently in the nicely decorated kitchen, listening for any sounds of movement upstairs. Nothing. Feeling secure enough to switch a lamp on, Kurt did so and began to really take in his surroundings.
There were a few dirty dishes stacked in the sink but other than that the place was spotless. Nice, marble countertops had been recently rubbed down and there was a tray of cookies sitting with seran wrap over them. Kurt's stomach celebrated just at the sight of them.
He swung his backpack around to his front and unzipped it slowly. It held all that he owned in it, and there was plenty of room at the top for him to stash some food. Kurt eyed the fruit basket first. He knew it wouldn't fill him up but he couldn't resist placing two deliciously red apples into his bag. He got bread next, there was only half a loaf left which fit nicely. Refrigerated food was out of the question, as it began to smell after only a day or two, so he opened the pantry instead. Some canned green beans and dry packaged noodles should hold him over for now. Sometimes one of the restaurants in town let him use the stove in the back in exchange for washing some dishes.
He was preoccupied with the thought of this food when he closed the door to the pantry, causing it to slam louder than he was expecting. He stilled immediately. After a few moments of silence Kurt let out a breathe and continued on his way. He flicked off the lamp and slipped into the living room, not planning on taking anything just passing through to the back door.
The room was cozy, a couch and two arm chairs facing the fire with a nice flat screen TV hung on one wall. Bookshelves covered one wall filled with countless titles and Kurt couldn't resist looking them over. He slipped two into his bag, thinking someone with a collection this large wouldn't even notice they were missing, and they would help pass the time during long, cold days and nights.
Something on the edge of one of the shelves caught his eye. It was beautiful. A small vase, with two dried daisies resting in it. Kurt stepped closer, he just wanted to look at it. He picked it up carefully in his hands, studying the pattern of delicate flowers and vines hand painted onto the vase.
He jumped, the vase sent flying, when he heard a cold voice behind him.
"What the hell are you doing in my house?"
oOo
Blaine was awakened by the slam of a door. It wasn't one of those creaks that all houses make, but an audible click that sent him sitting straight up in bed. He had always been a light sleeper.
He was a little alarmed, as there was hardly any crime in his little neighborhood, and he was sure he would receive no visitors at this time of night.
He listened for a few moments longer. Now sure that he heard rustling downstairs, he quietly slipped out of bed. Pulling on a plain t-shirt, he grabbed his cell phone and headed for the stairs. For once in his life he didn't bother with his wildly curly hair. He typed 9-1-1 into his phone but didn't yet press send. Almost as soon as he was on the first floor landing, he saw him.
He couldn't tell what he looked like from this angle, only that he was small. Dirty brown hair, thin hands reaching for things on his shelf. Blaine couldn't believe it.
The smaller boy eyed one of his books, one of his favorite books and slipped it into his bag. What else of Blaine's had this boy stolen? There was no telling how long the boy had been there, going through his stuff with his dirty hands and sneaking it away. Blaine's fury grew.
Something seemed to have caught the boy's eye and Blaine strained his eyes in the dark to see what it was. His heart nearly stopped and exploded out of his chest in the very same moment.
His mother's vase.
The last thing she had made with her own hands. The last real, untainted memory he had of her. The filthy boy now had it in his paws, and Blaine saw red.
"What the hell are you doing in my house?"
The boy spun around, startled, and the vase went soaring. Time didn't seem to go in slow motion, like it does in the movies, and the vase crashed to the ground a moment later before either of them had time to react. Blaine froze open jawed. His anger returned ten fold.
"Look what you've done, you idiot!" The boy shrunk into himself, but Blaine's fury didn't allow him to see his trembling hands or tear filled eyes.
"Please, I'm sorry-"
"'I'm sorry,' isn't going to fix that vase, is it?" Blaine growled, advancing on the smaller boy. "What else have you stolen from me?"
The boy's hand shook badly as he reached into his bag. "I'll return it all. I swear. Here," he held his hand out with one of the books he had pilfered and Blaine snatched it with such force the boy cringed away from him.
"Like I would believe you. You'll return it all once the cops arrive."
"No! Please!" The boy's eyes were wide. "Don't call the police."
"And why shouldn't I? There is a trespasser in my home, who has obviously stolen my belongings. This is very much against the law."
"Please," the boy said again. Blaine held his fancy phone out with 911 already typed on it. His finger lingered close to the send button. "I can't go to jail." The boy's voice broke. This time Blaine noticed the tear streaming down the thief's face and Blaine felt an unexpected pang of sympathy for him. He quickly pushed this down, but he did lower his phone back down to his side.
"Give me your bag," he said.
The boy clutched his possession close to his chest. He bit his lip, seemingly comparing his options before looking up. "Will-will I get it back?"
"That's for me to decide, isn't it? Its full of my stuff anyway." The smaller boy deflated at this. After a moment of silence he held it out to Blaine and it was taken from his hands in an instant. Blaine moved to set it on the couch, keeping one eye on the huddling boy the whole time. "Now, let's see what you've taken." He looked down to reach into the bag.
On top was another book, also one of his favorites. Blaine found it curious that the thief had chosen two books-turned-musicals out of his extensive library. He looked up to say a scathing remark when he saw the boy had left. Without a sound, he was gone.
"Wait!" Blaine bolted to his back door to see it swinging open, the boy nowhere in sight. "Thief!" he cried. He knew none of his neighbors were awake, though. No one would hear him. He hit the door angrily before going back inside and slamming the door.
He thought about calling the police to report the crime, but knew they would probably never find the guy. Blaine growled, returning to the kitchen. See what else the little brat had tried to take from him.
He sat heavily on the couch, pulling the bag close to him. Next on top were a few packages of Raman noodles, cheap stuff he only ate when he was starving and couldn't stand to cook. Half a loaf of bread. Two shiny apples were carefully placed in the folds of a blanket so they wouldn't bruise.
This brought Blaine to the stuff at the bottom of the bag that wasn't his. There was a worn t-shirt, a tattered blanket, an extra pair of socks. A small pouch that Blaine grabbed, expecting (hoping) to find stolen silver or jewels. Instead there was a small stack of pictures, a locket, and twenty four dollars meticulously folded.
Blaine was beginning to experience an odd feeling in his stomach. Guilt, he recognized. It now was looking like Blaine was the one who had stolen, taking from someone who had very little.
But he had broken into his home! Blaine tried to rationalize. But now he couldn't stop remembering details that his anger had blinded him off. The boy was painfully thin. His wide, scared eyes.
Blaine sighed, running a hand through his unruly hand before passing it over his eyes, exhausted. There was nothing he could do now. The boy was probably a mile away by then and in no mood to be found. Blaine zipped the bag up, resolving to get some sleep and begin his search in the morning. He was going to find this boy and return to him what was rightfully his.
oOo
Hope the ending of the chapter wasn't too rushed. Let me know what you think!