XXXVIII. Abandoned
Not for the first time—or the second, or tenth—Blaine found himself leaning against the side of a shop with a stabbing pain in his side and a pulsing throb in the soles of both feet. His face was flushed and red and sweaty; he felt altogether gross and unattractive. The only consolation was that Sam looked just as tired as Blaine felt.
"I told you you could do eight miles," Sam said, breathing hard. "I'm proud of you."
Blaine smiled and then coughed, throat too dry for words. Sam handed him a water bottle, and he slugged half of it down before speaking.
"Don't be too proud yet. We still have to get home without me keeling over and dying."
Sam leaned next to Blaine, poised to reply, but froze. "Did you hear that?"
"I'm having a hard time hearing anything but my blood in my ears."
"Shh, there it is again." Sam cocked his head to the side, eyebrows knitting closer together as he concentrated. "It sounds like…."
"What?" Blaine shook his head to clear it, but managed only to make the rushing in his ears louder.
"It actually sounds like you when you're whining about running." Sam smirked and dodged Blaine's elbow, then took a few steps towards the alley between two buildings.
And Blaine heard it—a barely audible mewl, small and broken, echoing from the alleyway.
"Oh no!"
And with legs that still shook from running all those miles, Blaine dashed into the alley; something was hurt, and that something needed him.
There was just enough sunlight left in the day to illuminate the ground, the glass and trash that littered the concrete. And there, nestled against the brick of a wall—a tiny kitten, its grey fur interspersed with tufts of black. As Blaine approached, it opened its mouth wide and hissed, exposing its pink tongue in its fear. Blaine hesitated, then took another step forward, hand outstretched.
"Be careful," Sam warned from behind him. "What if it has rabies or something?"
"Aw, Sammy." Blaine took yet another cautious step; the kitten had stopped hissing, but was now eyeing them with mistrust. "She's obviously been abandoned. We should help her!"
He paused with his hand inches from the kitten's nose. It meowed softly, then pushed its tiny, fluffy head into Blaine's palm.
"See? She knows we're not going to hurt her."
Slowly, warily, Blaine scooped the kitten into his hands; it fit easily into his cupped palms.
"What should we do with her?" Sam ventured to place a finger or two on the kitten's skinny back, and smiled when it began to purr.
Blaine thought for a moment, stroking the kitten's chin with his index finger. "I'll take her home for now, then see what I can do for her. Don't worry, little fella," he said, raising the kitten to eye level, "I promise we're going to find you a home."
It meowed as if in response, and the warmth that spread over Blaine's face was enough to bubble love in Sam's chest; with no conscious thought, he pulled Blaine into a tight, one-armed hug, careful not to disturb the cat that was now huddled against his collarbone.
At Blaine's questioning look, Sam grinned and said simply, "Blaine Anderson, Champion of the Abandoned Fluffy Animals."
Blaine rolled his eyes in mock exasperation. "Alright Sam Evans, Fearer of Rabies, let's get going."