If Kurt thought the neighborhood Blaine lived in was scary during the daytime, it was terrifying at night.
Before he could let his imagination run wild on how many horror films had people murdered on empty streets with long, casting shadows and bone-thin trees, he turned the corner to the correct road. Thank god Kurt remembered what Blaine's house looked like, and he pressed the break of his Navigator in front of it, peering out the window on any indication of life inside.
The silence from the rest of the neighborhood echoed the thudding of doors, some muffled yelling, and much to Kurt's shock the sound of glass shattering inside Blaine's home until suddenly the front door burst open, casting a yellow light.
Blaine rushed out from the porch and down the steps, away from the direction the shouts were coming from. He skidded to a halt beside the passenger door, and before Kurt could even form words on what the hell was going on, he hopped inside.
"Go," Blaine croaked, pressing the heel of his hand to the side of his face.
Kurt stammered, the yellow glow from the streetlamps being the only source of light on his soulmate's profile, and all he could make out in that moment before he slammed on the gas pedal was a horrible bruise under his eye and cut over his lip. The sheer panic of the situation took over as auto pilot, and soon he was whizzing away down the street.
They were both silent, Blaine holding the side of his head and Kurt focused on the vacant roads. He tried glancing over multiple times to get a better look at the damage, at whatever caused Blaine to call him so late at night.
He did, eventually, halt the car at a stoplight, turning to face Blaine and asking, "What happened? Wait, oh my god, are you bleeding-?"
Blaine winced at Kurt's touch to his forehead, where at his hairline was dry, crusting blood. Shrugging, shaking his head, trying to pass it off as okay but having his eyebrows draw together in pain, Blaine mumbled, "My dad saw what my Mark was."
Kurt's breath hitched. Those words were like an anvil to his heart. To know Blaine was hurt this badly...because of him…
"I'm so sorry, Blaine," he whispered, unsure whether he should reach out and comfort his boyfriend and if that would do more harm than good. Tightening his mouth, Kurt nodded and decided, "Well, you can at least stay over at my house for the night."
"Kurt, I-"
He held up a finger, putting the other hand over the steering wheel. "No protests. Alright?"
Blaine looked tired and defeated. He looked up at Kurt through his good eye and half swollen one, sighing. "Alright."
The drive there was quick, but the journey into the house was like sneaking into a high security bank. Kurt ushered Blaine in as quiet as he possibly could, one arm around the other boy's back to steady him, careful to keep his voice as hushed as possible for the thought of waking his family and them seeing his boyfriend was too risky.
In the small, blue-painted bathroom, Kurt clicked on the light and told Blaine to sit on the counter top as he got washcloths and the first aid kit from the cupboards. The bright, fluorescent lamp on the ceiling made Blaine's wounds more visible, and making them look ten times as awful.
"You don't have to…" Blaine said, watching Kurt put the washcloths under soapy water and wring them over the sink.
"Blaine, you're hurt," Kurt stated, unable to look at the bruises and cuts without feeling his gut drop. "Just let me take care of you, okay?"
And Blaine let him, staying quiet and seated on the counter as Kurt stood in front of him with Blaine's knees resting on either side of Kurt's hips, dabbing the washcloth over the dry blood on his hairline and over his earlobe, examining the cut and wondering if it's deep enough for stitches. He was careful not to bump the purpling bruises under his eye, extending the length of his cheekbone, and as he discovered another also by his jaw.
The sloshing of the water in the sink as Kurt would dampen the cloths again became the only sound in the bathroom. Kurt met Blaine's eyes, catching how they were rimmed red around the edges, and asked gently, "This isn't the first time he's done this, is it?"
Blaine took in a breath through his nose, his gaze flickered downward. "Don't worry, I've had worse."
That certainly didn't make him feel better.
He brought his focus back on the wet cloth in his hand, and lifted it up to where Blaine's mouth was cut, gently dabbing it. He was careful not to meet Blaine's watchful eyes this time, until he was finished and went on to the scratched hands.
Both were bare, without the gauze covering the permanent black Mark. Kurt took the right one in his hand and cleaned it up, washing the cloth over the dirt and crusted blood on the knuckles. He wondered if Blaine fought back, or they were simply from something else. Just the image of the broad, cold-staring man Kurt met possibly hitting or doing worse to his soulmate was sickening.
"Kurt? Are you okay?" Blaine asked, squeezing Kurt's hand.
He nodded hastily. "Of course. But are you? Like, does it still hurt bad?"
"Well, not as bad, but…" Blaine broke off, beginning to blink rapidly, and looking at Kurt's shoulder instead of his face. His hand was squeezing tighter, almost numbing.
"What is it?" he whispered, setting the washcloth aside and held both of Blaine's hands in his own, soothing his thumb pads over his fingers when he saw Blaine's hazel eyes begin to mist.
Blaine exhaled, shakily and cracked. He closed his eyes, his pursed lips trembling, and finally sagged forward, enveloping his arms around Kurt before burying his face in the crook of his neck. Kurt did the same, wrapping his arms around Blaine's torso while stroking his back soothingly, feeling Blaine shake against him and hearing soft, broken sniffs near his ear, the actual sobs muffled by Kurt's cotton white pajama shirt.
"I'm just so fucking scared, Kurt," he whispered into the fabric.
Kurt held him, rocking gently, making soft shushing sounds, his heart somehow both clenching and swelling and wanting him to cry along with Blaine as well. He couldn't bring himself to, only pressing a kiss to the side of Blaine's neck and assuring him he was alright now, that he was safe.
Time passed, and Kurt was set on making sure Blaine was the first to detach from the embrace, ducking his head and rubbing the tears away with the heel of his hand.
"Sorry about your shirt," Blaine mumbled, his voice small, childlike.
His shoulder had tear stains, but that was it. Kurt smiled lightly. "It's fine, don't worry." Which struck an idea. "You should probably get pajamas, too." And when Blaine looked confused, Kurt added, "Well, you are spending the night here, remember?"
He quickly finished wrapping Blaine's knuckles up in bandages from the first aid kit. And after tiptoeing up to his bedroom-constantly double checking on Burt and Carole's door across from his to make sure he hadn't stirred them awake-Kurt acquired in the dark a worn t-shirt and pajama bottoms for Blaine, handing them to him in the bathroom and waiting behind the closed door until he had changed.
When Blaine was finished and opened the door quietly, Kurt couldn't help but smile with adoration at the sight in front of him. Blaine was fiddling with the hem of the shirt Kurt had given him, his grey Wicked one, also wearing too-long, white-and-red striped pants, the ends bunching up around his ankles.
"What are you smiling at?" Blaine asked, running fingers through his already disheveled hair, cracking a smile for the first time all night.
Kurt shook his head, taking his hand and leading him out into the darkened living room. "Oh, nothing," he sighed, the weight on his chest lessening a bit.
He got spare blankets and pillows and set them on the couch for himself, Blaine watching him from the side. Kurt turned to him, extending a hand out for him to take. "Here, you can sleep in my room."
Blaine's eyes widened immediately. "Alone?" He stepped forward, clasping Kurt's hand between both of his desperately. "Wait, no-I don't...please don't leave me alone."
"Okay, okay, um." Kurt's cheeks grew hot, because he thought it would be easier to explain in the morning to his dad about one strange boy in his bed, instead of him finding them both sleeping in the same bed together.
Thankfully, Blaine seemed to have read his mind. "Hey, it'd be okay if we just, you know, camped out down here."
Kurt's shoulders relaxed. "Are you sure?"
Blaine's smile grew. "Positive."
In a way, it almost felt like a sleepover, setting up the layers of blankets on the carpet and fluffing up the pillows at one end. They shuffled under a checkered patterned quilt, Kurt on the right and Blaine to the left, both situating down and facing each other, their cheeks pressed to the pillows.
He could see Blaine's eyelids drooping, obvious how utterly exhausted he was. Kurt himself stifled a yawn, unconsciously shuffling closer to Blaine, almost having them share the same pillow. Their knees ended up bumping, and not long after that their legs tangled together.
"Goodnight, Blaine," Kurt whispered, blindly searching for Blaine's hand in the sea of their quilt. Blaine caught him, twining their fingers together and resting them between their chests.
He was close enough to feel Blaine sigh, his muscles releasing tension. "Goodnight, sweetheart."
They drifted off together, ending that crazy, hectic, nerve-wracking day with just them, breathing steadily and silently. Nothing but their laced fingers and matched heartbeats between them.
Saturdays meant opening shop at eleven instead of nine in the morning, but also for Burt Hummel it meant cooking bacon and eggs at nine instead. He didn't mind it, since it was technically tradition and he got bacon in his stomach before work (much to Kurt's disapproval, since he was suppose to be on a diet, so to speak).
He scratched the back of his neck as he passed his son's bedroom, the door closed as usual. Since Kurt always slept with the door shut, this wasn't out of the ordinary, until Burt walked down the steps to make way to the kitchen.
However, he slowed his pace when he caught a lumpy blanket in the center of the living room. Burt squinted his eyes, half-considering whether he was just imagining things, especially when one of those lumps turned out to be Kurt, sound asleep and holding hands with the lump next to him: a dark-haired boy with an awful bruise on his jaw, also in deep slumber and just so happened to be wearing a familiar shirt with green Wicked lettering.
Burt fixed his jaw, standing uncertainly at the foot of his steps with his face warming. Out of all the ruckus that happened yesterday after Kurt and Finn got out of school-Kurt locking himself away all night while Finn went on and on about who exactly Kurt's soulmate was-and now this? He would like some clear answers.
Walking over to the back of the couch, still shuffling awkwardly, placing his hands on his hips and glancing around the room like he expected something to jump out, Burt cleared his throat. Loud.
It at least make Kurt shift slightly, resituating himself and, much to Burt's dread, closer to the strange kid lying next to him.
Burt glared down at them, crossing his arms over his chest. "Kurt," he said plainly, not as loud as his cough but enough to make his son wrinkle his brow, rolling to his back and gradually blink his eyes open.
It took a couple seconds for him for him to take in his surroundings, calculate exactly where he was and who he was with. Once everything was falling into place, visibly Kurt's body tensed and his eyes snapped fully awake. He sat up in a flash, clutching Carole's quilt he was under and staring at Burt like a deer in headlights. "Dad!" he gasped, stuttering for more words, possibly an explanation, his face blushing so red it was traveling down to his neck.
Burt pointed a finger at him. "Kitchen. Now." He glanced one last time at the dark-haired boy still sleeping, catching sight of an ear piercing and tattoo on the inside of his wrist. Great.
Kurt was still a blushing mess when Burt had him alone in the middle of their kitchen, trying to gesture along with his stumbling words. "Dad, look, um, it's not what it seems-I just, it was-"
Burt cut him off, crossing his arms sterner. "Is that who I think it is?" He nodded towards the living room.
Gulping, Kurt crossed his arms to mirror Burt's, his Mark showing uncovered. "Yeah, that's...Blaine."
"The Blaine?" Burt gestured at the Mark.
Kurt exhaled, looking down at his hand. "Yep."
"You mean, the Blaine Finn kept mentioning during that mess the other day?"
"Dad-"
"And now he's having sleepovers at our house?!"
"DAD-" Kurt's face flushed deeper, if that was possible.
Burt held up a hand to stop him. "Now, when I ask what the hell is going on, I want straight answers. No riddles or...empty responses and stuff. Clear answers, you got it?"
Kurt nodded slowly, his crossed arms tightening. "Alright. Just...please keep your voice down. He-Blaine-didn't get a lot of sleep last night."
Burt raised an eyebrow, and Kurt's eyes grew huge. "Not like that!"
They didn't sit down or get comfortable, Burt just stood there and let Kurt whisper-tell him about the events going on. How he and Blaine had tried to keep their Marks a secret, considering Blaine's reputation and the new status of the Glee club. And soon some kid Burt had never heard of started gossip and things got out of hand, and Blaine's father had found out, leaving Blaine injured terribly.
"His father beat him because of what his Mark said?" Burt interrupted, a hint of rage bubbling in his chest.
"Yeah. He needed a place to stay afterwards, that's it," Kurt finished, now leaning against the refrigerator. "I wasn't just going to leave him."
Burt nodded, of course believing him. But something was still out of place. "I just don't get it, Kurt. Why would your soulmate be someone like...that?"
"Like what?"
"You know…" Burt gestured his hands. "All tattoos and piercings and, god what did Finn say? He like, gets in fights and vandalizes everything?"
Kurt rolled his eyes, looking back towards the living room. "He's not just all that, Dad." He turned back to his father, his mouth tugging at a smile. "Opposites attract, I guess?"
Burt scoffed, shaking his head and trying not to laugh. "It's just bizarre, I guess. To wrap my head around."
Shuffling of footsteps could be heard approaching. They both simultaneously looked over and saw at the edge of the kitchen the kid they were talking about, looking shy and unsure. Blaine glanced at them both, shrinking back a bit. The appearance of him being quite a sight: wearing Kurt's t-shirt and pajama pants that were too long for his legs, with morning stubble and a bedhead of dark curls sticking in all directions. The wounds Kurt mentioned were there, cuts and bruises from abuse, not a random street fight others might presume.
Burt caught his son relax the second Blaine came into view, his face and eyes softening. Blaine obviously wanted to smile back, but still seemed scared out of his mind at the sight of Burt there.
He decided to make the first move and stepped forward, holding out a hand for Blaine. "We haven't been properly introduced, it seems."
Blaine hesitated, his mouth parted. "Oh. Um." He awkwardly shook Burt's hand. "I-I'm Blaine."
"I know." He glanced at Kurt and smirked, his son returning a slightly embarrassed blush. "I'm Kurt's father." Suddenly, he remembered why he had come down here in the first place. "You like bacon?"
Blaine was taken aback, searching for answers from Kurt. Kurt simply took his hand, leading him to the table while telling Burt they'd love some bacon.
While Burt cooked up breakfast, he overheard the boys' conversations. Kurt asking Blaine how he had slept, if his injuries still hurt as bad, if he wanted anything else to eat. Blaine was surprisingly polite, quiet and probably still on edge, answering Kurt's questions softly. It was after Burt handed them plates piled high with scrambled eggs, sausage and extra bacon that Carole joined the party.
She was startled by Blaine's presence, and Kurt and Burt soon informed her on the situation (a brief run of it, given how Blaine was pinking at the cheeks at more attention being drawn to him). After learning about Blaine's cuts and bruises, she immediately went mother-mode over him, examining how serious they were and assuring she had medicine in the closest that would help heal them faster.
Carole's departure to the bathroom left Blaine wide-eyed and frozen, like being doted upon was something new. The thought left Burt feeling bad for the kid, for the reality though probably true, it was damn heartbreaking.
Then things took a turn for the worse when Finn woke up.
His step-son trudged into the kitchen, following the smell of breakfast while yawning. He stopped in his tracks once he caught Blaine seated next to Kurt, and his body instantly stiffened with anger.
"What the hell is he doing here?" Finn shouted, ready to go forward and tackle their guest but Burt was up, holding his shoulders and bringing him back.
"Finn, calm down-"
"Calm down? Burt, you don't know who this guy is, what he's done-"
"Finn!" Kurt was standing up as well, his hands balled into fists. Blaine's expression was hard, and he glared up at Finn where he was seated.
Fortunately, Carole had arrived back and got her son to somewhat cool down, leading him out of the kitchen and down the hall. Kurt looked absolutely infuriated, and Blaine said he was finished eating.
Kurt agreed, taking Blaine's hand. "We'll get you clothes for today, okay Blaine?" He started marching out the kitchen, only to glance back other his shoulder at Burt. "And I don't care what Finn thinks, Blaine's staying for as long as he needs to."
Blaine was sheepish when he also said to Burt before Kurt lead him up to his room, "Thanks for breakfast, sir."
Burt huffed out a laugh. "You can call me Burt, kid." And watched them both disappear up the stairs.
Blaine had to admit, he never could see himself wearing mustard colored pants that he had to roll up so they wouldn't overlap his ankles. But Kurt kept convincing him that he looked rather handsome in that color, handing him a dark grey cardigan in exchange for his Wicked shirt.
They had both thought it best to reside in Kurt's bedroom for the remainder of the morning, or until Finn decided to "mature and accept the facts," as Kurt put it. He had told Blaine he would wash the clothes he arrived in, and let him borrow clothes Kurt owned for the rest of the day. Leading Kurt in a frenzy around his closet and drawers on what articles of clothing would look best on Blaine.
"Do you want a bow tie to complete the look?" Kurt asked after Blaine had shuffled into the cardigan, also frowning at the sleeves hugging his wrists.
"A bow tie?" He looked up at Kurt like he was speaking a foreign language. His boyfriend smirked and held up a black plaid bow tie in one hand and a red one with dots scattered around it in the other.
"Yes. A bow tie. You wear it around your neck."
Blaine shook his head, staring at the ties with disapproval. "No thanks...they're not really me."
Kurt laughed, placing them back in his drawer. "Whatever you say, Mr. Rocking-The-Mustard-Pants."
"Hey now!" Blaine protested, but Kurt was still laughing as he walked over to the bed, sitting next to Blaine on the edge.
Kurt himself was wearing brown pants that fit him perfect in every way imaginable along with a comfy burnt-orange sweater, looking like the autumn trees right outside his window. He was still smiling at Blaine, bringing his fingers up to smooth them through the curls, Blaine absently leaning into the touch.
"How did your dad find out?" Kurt asked, his teasing tone before now gone serious. He watched earnestly as Blaine's breathing went uneven, his casual stance now rigid.
"I...well…" He had hoped to bypass all concerns related to what had happened last night, even now he had tried to suppress the memories out of habit. "Before, at school...Karofsky had confronted me and ripped off my gauze. I forgot I wasn't wearing it when I got home." He shrugged, staring down at his knees.
Kurt tilted his head. "Why on earth did Karofsky rip your gauze off?"
"I dunno. But, it was weird, like he wanted to know what my Mark said." Blaine met Kurt's eyes, seeing how they were just as bewildered as his. "Like, he must've had some idea because before he said 'If it's who I think it is...' or something like that."
"Weird. Every one of my friends found out because of Jewfro's stupid blogging website. Do you think Karofsky found out because of that too?"
Blaine shook his head. "Nah, this was before all that shit storm."
"Weird," Kurt said again, his fingers in Blaine's hair starting to stroke it again. He began playing with the curls on the ends. "It's going to be hell at school on Monday."
"Yep." Blaine nodded once.
"Do you...is all your school stuff at your house?"
The only item Blaine had taken with him when he ran was his cell phone, that was it. His black shirt, faded jeans, and old sneakers were the only clothing that was truly his, the rest was at his own bedroom. He wasn't really up to go back over there, and he had a feeling Kurt would refuse to let him set foot back in his neighborhood.
"It's fine, it's just my backpack and stuff." Blaine smirked, attempting to lighten the mood. "It's not like I was planning on doing my homework anyway."
Kurt was thinking, pursing his lips and staring at Blaine's face. "Do you think we should call the cops?"
"No!" Well, maybe yes. Except the idea of his parents-more so, his father-being furious that he escaped the house last night and ran away was still fresh in his mind. His father had noticed Blaine rushing out, throwing his wine bottle at the wall after him. Did he remember by now? Would he come chasing after him and drag him back, cutting him off from everything as punishment: school, his phone, his truck, Kurt.
"I don't know," Blaine said, overlapping Kurt's extended hand with his, twining their fingers. "I don't want to think about it now."
Kurt nodded. "Okay."
They stayed in a content little state of silence, their thumbs soothing each other's skin. Blaine's gaze had remained fixed on their linked hands resting on his lap, but he had caught Kurt constantly glancing up at him, so he finally asked, "What is it?"
"Oh, I just…" Kurt bit the corner of his mouth. "Is it bad that I've wanted to kiss you for the longest time, but I'm afraid that I'll hurt you when I do?"
That was definitely a thought that sent Blaine's heart soaring happily. "You could never hurt me, Kurt." He closed the space for him, cupping the back of Kurt's neck to bring their lips together, slotting them expertly and savoring the taste.
Kurt's bedroom door was cracked open, so his dad wouldn't get any wrong ideas on what they could possibly be doing. Sadly, this meant they couldn't go beyond just kissing sweetly, which was careful as it was considering the cut above Blaine's mouth still stung slightly.
Soon, Kurt was humming blissfully, and Blaine parted away just to see why. His soulmate's face was at ease, his eyes blinking open lazily. "Have I told you that I love you today?" Kurt sighed, grinning.
Blaine chuckled, the funny things his heart was doing making him feel way better than what the last days had given him. "No, I can't say you have."
"Well, I do. I love you, Blaine Anderson." He giggled, bringing Blaine back for another eager kiss, his fingers raking back in his curls.
"I love you, too," Blaine tried to say between intakes of breaths. But Kurt was persistent, finding out he was able to kiss Blaine without irritating his cut, sucking playfully at his bottom lip, angling his head to deepen it.
Blaine simply smiled into it, holding Kurt close and feeling absolutely carefree and, for a moment, fearless.