If there's one thing Kurt has learned during the past months he's spent on the streets, it's that one should never eat anything from the garbage can if they want to live. He's not exaggerating; he tried that himself once. He still shudders when he thinks about it – not only did he get sick but avoided getting caught just by mere seconds. He will never risk that again. He may not be older than thirteen but he understands enough to know that a sick collarless hybrid would attract too much attention.
That's why he's waiting in front of a Chinese restaurant. He knows for a fact that the cook gives him the leftovers if he's patient enough and looks hungry enough, which will probably not be a problem as this is the first time he'll get food the whole day. His stomach churns and he curls up into himself a bit more, rests his head on his hands and waits.
It's not like he needs his owners. Or any humans, for that matter – he's just fine by himself, isn't he? He might be a bit hungry and cold most of the time but he's doing fine. He's alive and in a good enough shape, though he's pretty sure his bones didn't jut out this much before. He does miss the warm safeness of a bed (even though he wasn't really allowed to sleep in one) and the comfortable couch (even though he could lie on it only when he was alone) and all the best spots where the sun would feel extra warm when he turned his head towards it – but he doesn't want to go back. He would never go back.
The lights dim in the restaurant and the door opens. Kurt lifts his head and rises to his feet – he's missed the food once, when the cook had already left, and had felt hungry enough to steal a hamburger from a kid. He feels a little bad but he had been really hungry and the kid hadn't kept an eye on it, and it had tasted so good even though before he would have never eaten something like a hamburger. It's weird what a few months without a home and regular food can do to a person.
He makes a soft questioning noise as he walks slowly towards the person coming out of the door – people seem to like him more when he acts more like a cat, he doesn't know why – and he turns around.
But he doesn't have anything in his hands, like he usually has when he comes out of the restaurant after work.
Kurt's shoulders slump.
So no food today.
He's gone before the cook realizes he's been there at all.
Kurt doesn't really have too much of rules now that he's not anyone's, but there are few – all reasonable and strict, made and set by himself, and he can think of at least ten reasons for each rule to exist. He always follows them, respects his life too much to risk it for something stupid like running through the city center in the daylight. People might notice. People would notice.
One, never let anyone see you. They will catch you and take you to the Center.
Two, never take food from anyone. They will catch you and take you to the Center.
Three, never trust anyone. They will betray you and take you to the Center.
Kurt's not entirely sure what the Center is. He knows that his owners used to tell him that if he didn't behave they'd take him to the Center, and whatever it is it must be something horrible, because his owners always got that expression on their faces when they talked about it. The only thing he knows today is that he never wants to be taken to the Center.
It's especially hard to obey the rules today – he hasn't eaten a bite since Sunday, and it must be Tuesday already, he thinks. It's dark in his hiding spot, a bit cold and wet and he really doesn't want to lie there the whole day. He's never been this hungry and he thinks it must be because even though he's used to not eating, he's been getting more or less regularly food for two weeks or so and it feels especially horrible to starve now that he's gotten so used to having food once a day.
So that's why he's purposefully forgotten the rules number one and two and has a hat on his head, his tail tucked in his pants and is sitting in front of a shop with his back against the wall. He knows he's looking pretty bad – his face is dirty and there must be some blood from when he got into a fight and his nose bleed for ages, all over his shirt and face, but with some luck he might get some food or maybe even money. The sun shines straight onto his face, anyway, and it feels so good. He doesn't think he's felt it in ages.
He must have fell asleep, because when he opens his eyes the next time the sun is already set and the streets are emptier. There's still a few people and the shop is still open, so he's not too worried, but it makes him feel a bit uneasy to know that he's slept there, so close to so many people. Anyone could have noticed. Despite the hat and temporal lack of tail he's pretty obviously a hybrid – his eyes clearly more expressive and attentive than any human's, reflexes sharp and body long and lean. Anyone could have noticed; anyone could have taken him. Kurt shudders briefly at the idea, his stomach growls and he sighs into his hands. Dear God he's just so hungry, and he's fighting against the tempt to curl into himself and die. It seems like he'll be doing another trip to the Chinese restaurant today, after all. He moans a little, closes his eyes and lets his head drop. He'll move later.
"Here" says a voice right next to him, and Kurt swears he jumps at least a feet to his right. He's curled into a tight ball before he even knows it, his tail trying to move in his pants as he whimpers. Please no no no don't take me away oh my god -
"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to – you just looked so hungry, I'm sorry-" says the voice, and the human sounds just as panicked as Kurt feels, and he opens his eyes against his better judgment.
The human is a young boy. A boy with a panicked expression on his face and black curly hair and a bag on his left hand and a bread in the right and he looks so completely harmless it scares him, because it started like this the last time too and Kurt almost trips over his own feet as he gets up and -
wait.
Food?
He freezes and looks back at the boy slowly. He's still looking anxious and a bit self-conscious too, but his wide hazel eyes are earnest and a bit glossy as he looks at Kurt. He's not entirely sure what to do – he's already breaking all of his rules, but he's so so so hungry he's sure his insides are eating a hole in his stomach if he doesn't get something to eat soon. So he makes a soft questioning noise and watches as the boys eyes soften and realization hits him – he panics a little but the boy just smiles, his eyes soft and smile small.
"You can have it all", he says, his smile all soft and understanding. "I have enough anyway", and at that all the restrains melt and Kurt gives in. The bread is fresh, still warm on his hand and he almost moans at the feeling. It feels even better in his mouth, and he doesn't really care what the other boy thinks about him because he's so so so hungry, still, and it's way too good. He can't remember the last time he had real, fresh bread.
The boy's eyes never leave him, the expression on his face is somewhat proud and soft at the same time, with no hint of pity. Kurt eats the food in a pace that would have embarrassed him before but leaves him only grateful nowadays, and when he's finished the boy hands him wordlessly an apple.
"I'm Blaine", he says softly while Kurt sinks his teeth into the fruit.
"Khurth", he answers with his mouth full. He has the decency to blush, and he clears his throat awkwardly. "Kurt", he clarifies then, his head hanging. The other boy chuckles at him, but it's a kind kind of laugh, so Kurt doesn't mind, just smiles a little.
He finishes his apple in a silence, watching Blaine intently. He can practically feel his tail flicking around curiously. He's so curious his skin is itching – who is this boy? No-one has ever given him anything, if you don't count in the cook of the Chinese restaurant.
"You didn't have to do that", he says once he's finished. The need to lick his fingers clean is horrible but Kurt refuses to give in to the instinct, knowing that he has embarrassed himself enough already. But the boy just laughs dismissively.
"But I wanted to", he says and shrugs. Kurt decides that he likes the sound of his laugh.
"Thank you, then", Kurt smiles carefully, a practiced, calculated distance between them. He's almost sure Blaine will ask, will question and maybe still take him to the Center, but he doesn't.
They sit in complete silence for a while, and Kurt finds himself relaxing in the warmth of the setting sun, small purrs leaving his throat as his eyes slip shut. He can't remember when was the last time he felt this good, his stomach full and the air warm around him, someone who cares next to him, and he doesn't even realize what he's doing before he's got his face tucked safely into the crook of the other boy's neck. It's so warm, so comfortable and the other boy smells so good, and he can only barely keep himself from licking the skin of his neck, and oh god he could just stay there forever.
He jumps, then, his eyes wide and fearful, bad cat fucking faggot behave yourself, please please dont hit me and Blaine's frozen to the spot with his hand risen to pet the smaller boy's ears, his eyes panicked again and Kurt does the unforgivable; he hisses. His ears are flat against his head and his tail is between his legs, and he's so, so scared because dear god he's going to die, Blaine is going to beat him up and take him to the Center and -
Kurt doesn't look behind as he runs as fast as he can.
Blaine Anderson is that kind of a person you would call ridiculously spoiled and lucky.
At the age of nineteen he has the house of his dreams (two bedrooms, a huge living room and a lovely kitchen with carefully chosen furniture, completely paid by his parents), a car (a gift from his parents he got when he was eighteen and moved away), all the electronics he ever pointed his finger at and lately, the job of his dreams (songwriter-singer).
Shortly, Blaine has all the material he would ever want and a bit more. After going through both high school (Dalton Academy, Westerville) and college (NYADA, New York) as one of the best students and one of the most popular kids as well, he moved to New York to begin his career as a musician, the job he always wanted. His parents may not have loved the idea, but they had been always supportive and Blaine is so, so grateful to them. He knows he could have had it so much worse – it's not easy to be a gay kid in Ohio, after all.
Blaine had known that he had wanted to live in New York ever since they visited the city when he was thirteen. He had loved the tall buildings and the busy streets, the opportunities it held and especially the people. Which brings us to the next point – Blaine is lonely.
It's hard to not to be lonely when he's living alone in a huge apartment, the sound of whatever music he's playing the only thing keeping him sane during the long days and even longer nights. He'd love to have friends, but truth to be told, he hasn't tried too hard to get any. He's busy, he really is, and he's a bit afraid that he wouldn't have time for friends anyway. The only friend from high school he keeps in touch with is Wes, and Wes has his own life and friends in Los Angeles.
So, that's why he's doing what he's doing.
Blaine isn't really a big fan of hybrids – not because he doesn't like them, but because he absolutely loathes the way people treat them. He remembers promising himself that he'd never get a hybrid, never destroy a persons life like that, but he really is lonely and desperate. At least he's going to get one from the shelter, so he's doing something good.
So, he wraps a scarf tighter around his neck, tucks his hands deeper into the pockets of his coat and opens the door.
The shelter is a big, cold-looking windowless building. The man waiting for him is in his late thirties, and his handshake is a bit too strong.
It's noisy and a bit too warm and Blaine takes off his coat as they walk to the place they keep the hybrids in. He doesn't think he's heard that many different sounds at the same time in his life – there's bird chirping, meows, barks and other noises he can't identify. He wonders briefly why none of the hybrids make noises one could classify as human noises. Maybe they're trained out of it, he thinks, feeling a bit sick.
The Man pushes the door open and the noises become clearer and stronger. Blaine takes a hesitant step inside, and woah, well, he didn't know they could stuff so many people in that small space. He's not even even exaggerating; the hybrids have roughly the size of a small bed of a cage, with only a mattress on the floor. A few of them have blankets or toys and a few of them seem to be hurt.
The disgusted expression on his face is apparently clear enough, because the Man looks uncomfortable as he tries to defend the shelter.
"We're a bit short of money right now", he explains awkwardly as Blaine's eyes drift from a dangerously skinny cat hybrid to a scared-looking dog hybrid with a bloody nose.
"I can see", he replies dryly, his stomach churning uncomfortably at the sight of an obviously injured, limping young cat hybrid with terrified eyes and jutting bones. It's even worse than he thought it would be and he's beginning to regret it. Maybe it would be the best if he just went back home and never brought this subject up again – but.
But. Now that he's seen all these hybrids and the horrible way they're being treated, he's determined to make a difference, to give the good home they deserve for at least one of them. And that's the reason he keeps on walking through the corridor, looking into the cages he passes and occasionally asking things from the Man. There are young, abandoned hybrids and older collarless ones that are found from the streets, but none of them is any different to him. He knows there's going to be the one for him, but as he reaches the end of the corridor he still hasn't felt the spark and feels a jab of disappointment.
"Is there any more?" he asks the Man, who looks a bit unsure.
"Well, there are the ones we're getting rid of, if you catch my drift... I suppose it wouldn't hurt if you took a look at them", he says with a small shrug and Blaine can feel his blood running cold. Getting rid of. Technically it's illegal to put down hybrids, but most of the shelters still do it with the hybrids too sick or aggressive to find a new owner. Blaine knew this, of course, but it still feels like a punch to the face, to hear it like this.
"You wanna see them?" the Man asks and Blaine finds himself nodding.
And that's how he finds Kurt.
The corridor where they keep the to be-killed hybrids is even more stuffed, hot and small, and there's two hybrids in each cage. Blaine can feel himself tearing up at the sight of the hybrids, lying on the ground or sitting in a corner with their ears flat against their heads and eyes on the ground, waiting for death.
He spends more time going through these hybrids. He tries talking to them in a soft voice, and some of them answer with a scratchy voice, but most of them keep quiet and barely even lift their eyes from the ground. Blaine's heart aches as he realizes that these hybrids, these persons will die here, be put down like some kind of animals because no-one wants them anymore. It's so horribly unfair and he kind of feels sick again. He just wishes he could save them all. He knows he's going to be able to save only one, though, so he keeps looking.
It takes a long while, but finally he's at the end of the corridor, facing a defeated-looking dog hybrid with sunken blue eyes and golden hair, and he wishes his eyes can tell her how sorry he is, and as she wags her tail a little with a brave smile he feels his heart breaking into millions of pieces, wishing he could save her and all the other hybrids. He can vaguely hear the Man talking about the dog hybrid he's trying to communicate wordlessly with ("Brittany is sweet but a bit dumb, we don't know why she's so afraid of belts but she'll probably grow out of it") and he feels the rage flaming up inside of him again.
He bites his lip and sends one last look to Brittany as he stands up.
That's it, then, he supposes. He could take Brittany – and he probably would, but frankly, she doesn't spark any interest he knows he's looking for.
He's just about to thank the Man for his time (and then call the police once he's left the building) when a tiny whimper from Brittany's cage catches his attention. He had though it was strange that Brittany had her own cage, but apparently that wasn't the case – because now that he knows where to look there's a small cat hybrid in the corner of the cage, curled into himself, probably just as much to keep himself warm as to hide.
The hybrid lifts his head and Blaine freezes -
"I'm Blaine" "Kurt" "You didn't have to do that" "But I wanted to" "Thank you, then" -
"That one", he blurts out. "In the corner. I'll have him".
If the Man is surprised, he doesn't show it. He nods once and draws a blank form from the pocket of his coat (really, does he just carry those around?) and hands it and a pen to Blaine.
Kurt. Kurt who he had met only once and even then so briefly. Kurt, who had looked so thin and nervous and who had ran away. Kurt, who had gotten caught. It's like there's an icy fist clutching his heart as he fills the form with shaking hands and gives it back to the Man. He nods once, and smiles that little smile that makes Blaine feel uncomfortable.
He feels bad when the Man opens the door of the cage and picks the cat hybrid up like he weights nothing, wraps a blanket around his lithe body and unceremoniously drops him to the floor. It's like his feet aren't capable of carrying his weight and he loses his balance and falls against Blaine.
"Woah", he says, trying to sound light. "Careful".
The hybrid is a bit taller than he is, and so light he practically does weight nothing. He seems to be too tired to stand by himself and Blaine isn't sure what to do – will he let him carry him to the car? But he seems to be too much out of it to really realize what's going on, his eyes empty and unblinking as he stares at the white wall next to the door.
Blaine ends up carrying Kurt into the car. At some point he lets his head fall against Blaine's collarbone and Blaine can feel the trembling sigh he releases. His arms tighten around him instinctively; there's something in his head telling him to protect this beautiful boy and he's doing his best to do just so.
So he drives him home.