A/N: Merry Christmas Eve! xx Although for our boys the times are much less festive :S

The night was a dizzy whirl of colour around him as he drunkenly stumbled down the streets. He felt light headed and his chest ached with guilt. He knew Kurt was probably having the time of his life with his friends, enjoying those last moments they had together that Kurt had invited him to be a part of. It meant a lot to him that he did – that he wanted Blaine there.

And of course he had to go and fuck it up.

Fucking stupid Sam Evans it was all his fault. He knew none of the New Directions liked him. They were suspicious of him, they judged him and they didn't want him hanging around Kurt.

But for Kurt's sake, they dealt with it.

But Sam apparently couldn't.

He had been searching for Kurt when he overheard him. He was on the phone and in between muffled conversation he heard Kurt's name and the overprotective instinct in him flared up.

"-yeah, he brought Anderson," Sam was saying. "Did you hear that he might be coming to McKinley next year? Ugh, before long he'll go down the same path as his good for nothing father and then Kurt will be-"

The smash of the phone against the floor could barely be heard above the smack of Blaine's hand against his skin. He punched every surface he could reach before managing to back him up against the wall, his hands tight at his windpipe.

How fucking dare he say those things? How dare he talk about his father?

Sam didn't know what pain was. He didn't know loss he didn't know true sadness and what it was like to be desperate and afraid and scared and cold and hungry for a life that he once had. He didn't know what it was like to fall asleep every night with tears burning behind his eyelids, waking up every few hours, muffling his screams into his pillow.

He didn't know what it was like to sit huddled on the cold bathroom floor, admiring the gentle drip of blood against the tiles.

And until then he didn't know a fucking thing about Blaine or his father.

Kurt bit his lip sadly, swirling his drink around in his glass. The rest of his friends were buzzing happily around him but nagging worry was unsettled in his chest, preventing him from joining in the fun.

Across the table he could see Sam glaring at the table cloth, apparently having the same problem.

After a moment Sam looked up and met his eye darkly. He nodded shortly and Kurt rose, excusing himself from the table.

He needed some air.

The flashing neon lights of the dingy bar had looked appealing from a distance but as he entered to the stench of sweat and wet wood, Blaine felt almost sick. He sidled up to the bar, ordering a beer although he knew he was in no position to drink any more than he already had.

"Hey there," a low voice growled beside him, sending an uncomfortable shiver down Blaine's spine. He turned to see a tall, handsome boy leering down at him, his stance almost predatory. "Haven't seen you around here before…"

Blaine almost snorted at the horrible pick up line. "I have no idea where I am," he admitted.

The boy smirked. "Welcome to Scandals…?"

"Blaine," Blaine offered.

"Sebastian," the boy grinned, offering his hand. Blaine shook it reluctantly. "And what brings you here, Blaine?" Blaine stiffened, not really liking the way his tongue caressed the 'l' of his name, almost possessively. He leaned closer and Blaine could smell alcohol and cologne on him.

"I needed a distraction," Blaine admitted, the words falling off his tongue before he could stop them.

Sebastian's smile broadened. "I can help with that," he said, reaching for his hand and pulling him out of his seat.

"What are you doing?" Blaine asked, too tired to protest.

"Dance with me."

In the cool breeze outside the restaurant, Kurt shivered, wishing with an aching pain in his chest, that Blaine was here to keep him company, to offer him his tattered leather jacket or a soft sweet smile that filled him with painful hope that he couldn't afford to have.

He checked his phone for the fiftieth time that night and sighed wistfully at the emptiness of his inbox.

"Are you okay, little bro?" a voice said behind him, snapping him out of his thoughts.

Kurt gave his brother a meek smile. "Yeah," he lied, "just tired… it's been a long day."

"It's been a long year," Finn corrected with a sigh. "To be honest, I'm kinda glad it's all over, you know? A fresh new start and all that…"

Kurt's smile broadened just a little. "Yeah," he agreed, "I know…"

And then Finn startled him by suddenly wrapping his arms around him, pulling him in for a deep hug. Kurt was surprised at first, but then relaxed into his touch, warmth spreading across his chest, his breathing easing up just a little bit.

"What was that for?" Kurt asked curiously when he finally pulled back.

Finn shrugged. "You just looked like you needed a hug."

Kurt nodded, trying not to sniffle as tears clotted behind his eyelids.

"Thanks," he said earnestly. Finn patted him on the back.

"You ready to go home?"

Kurt exhaled gladly. "Definitely."

The light of the moon was almost eerie as it illuminated the garden path up the back of the Hudmel household. Blaine knew the path like the back of his hand, his feet guiding him, even as his mind was elsewhere.

Guilt coursed thick and dark through his chest. He had been wrong – so wrong. And he was sorry.

He just needed Kurt to see that.

He struggled up the thick oak tree outside his window before rapping on the glass three times, successfully getting Kurt's attention.

He opened the window hastily to let Blaine in.

"Where have you been?" he asked frantically. Blaine fell immediately into his arms once inside and Kurt sobbed with relief as he held him tight.

Slowly, Kurt guided him to the bed and Blaine exhaled gratefully. Kurt pulled down the covers and Blaine clambered in quickly, smiling as Kurt slipped in beside him, pulling him into the warmth of his arms.

"Kurt," Blaine said suddenly, turning in his arms for a moment, whispering, "I'm sorry."

Kurt smiled softly, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

"It's okay," he said reassuringly. "I'm just glad you're safe."

And here in Kurt's arms; he was.

But when the sun crawled through the crack in the curtains and Blaine blearily blinked his burning eyes open, he found that he was no longer locked into the safe, loving embrace of Kurt, but back in the sad reality of his own bed, the other side of his mattress cold but well slept in, a scrawled note resting on the rumpled pillow.

Last night was fun. We should do it again sometime ;) – SS

And next to the initials were the ten digits of his phone number.

Blaine cast the slip of paper aside, rolling over and growling at the pounding in his head.

Right now, he hated himself more than ever.