Rating: PG - 13
Summary: Kurt took him in because it was cold outside, and he looked injured, and Kurt had an insatiable curiosity and wanted to find out how the hell the boy had ended up in his backyard in the first place (his being really attractive didn't hurt, either). It was like While You Were Sleeping, and Kurt was Sandra Bullock. Except with weird, unexplained phenomena. …And without Bill Pullman.
Spoilers: a little NBK and SLS, but AU in general
Disclaimer: I do not own anything.
Warnings: mentions of scary movies, eventual (but not for a while) light exploration of issues of consent

A/N: I rewrote this chapter maybe ten times before deciding to just give up and post it. I think it's a little slow at parts, but hopefully it's not too bad. Thank you for the feedback for those of you that have reviewed—it's really heartening! I hope you guys enjoy chapter two!

Thirty minutes had passed since whatever had happened in the living room had happened. Or… well, Finn claimed had happened. This was coming from the boy who believed Jesus had inhabited his grilled-cheese sandwich, after all (Kurt hadn't known whether to laugh or talk to Carole about committing her son to an institution when Finn had admitted that particular bit of information to him). During that time, Kurt and Finn had frantically cleaned up the living room to the best of their ability. Thankfully, none of the picture frames that had rested on the coffee table were particularly damaged (only one of them was cracked). The lamp, on the other hand… Kurt had asked Finn to run upstairs and get a new lightbulb that fit, which Finn did.

That left Kurt alone: standing in the middle of the living room, staring unabashedly at the sleeping form of John.

Kurt was more inclined to believe a freak windstorm had swept through the house than Finn's theory that the explosive gusts of wind that had toppled over the contents of the room had somehow emanated from John. But even with his skepticism, it was hard to ignore the fact that John looked different, suddenly. Kurt could have sworn his skin had been super pale, but looking at him now, he was a healthy olive tone. And the circles under his eyes had disappeared. He looked healthy, which… Kurt wasn't a doctor, but after so recently living through the repercussions of a heart-attack with his dad, he knew there was no such thing as a sudden, miraculous recovery.

But John was, miraculously, recovered.

Kurt eyes trailed down the prone body on the couch, and he couldn't stop himself from moving closer. Sitting gingerly by John's arm, Kurt leaned over his face, inspecting it for any signs of trauma or injury. It couldn't have just all gone away, just like that. It wasn't possible.

…Was it?

He leaned closer, slightly intoxicated by the scent of oak and… rain?… that enveloped the boy. Now that his face looked significantly more serene, and his skin was no longer tinged slightly yellow, he was even more beautiful than the wavering flashlight had revealed last night. Kurt moved even closer, drawn to the impossibly perfect shapes John's eyelashes created against his skin.

It wasn't like Kurt was going to kiss him or anything—that was way too Snow White for his tastes and, if he was being honest with himself, he was never comfortable with the dubious state of consent that permeated that movie, anyway. But it wasn't like he couldn't look. John wasn't awake, anyway.

…Except for the part where he totally was!

Oh, shi—

Kurt let out a strangled scream that might have sounded like Finn's name (but it wasn't, he would later insist, because he can handle himself just fine without Finn's help thank you very much) and his grip on the couch slipped. He tried to jerk backwards as John suddenly moved upwards and they ended up a pile of arms and aching heads until Kurt managed to safely extricate himself from the couch. He swallowed convulsively as John clutched the couch arm in a death grip, eyes darting wildly around the room (they were an amber or a hazel color that would have been slightly disappointing if Kurt weren't completely enthralled by the way that they seemed to draw in the light).

"Ow," John said quietly, rubbing his head.

Oh, he was an understater.

Great.

He moved forward, almost as if he were about to get up off the couch, but—suddenly—he stopped himself. Taking in the room more slowly, he furrowed his brow.

"I'm in a house…" he said slowly, as if that was surprising. Melted caramel eyes swept the room, settling on Kurt. "Your house?" he asked.

Speaking was a little too difficult a task to accomplish at the moment, so Kurt settled on nodding.

"Oh." Jo—the boy raised his eyebrows. "I—"

Hisvoice suddenly cut off, and heblinked, moving sharply to face Kurt full-on. Kurt swallowed as the boy's eyes met his, something intense and different in their depths.

Kurt was bolted to the carpet.

"Sorry," the boy breathed, and his voice was the softest of intimacies. "Do I know…?"

Kurt felt like a trapped deer in the amber headlights that were suddenly locked on him.

Those eyes—

It was like he was staring into a hall of mirrors.

He knew those eyes.

…But no, he didn't, really. That was stupid. Why did he think…?

Kurt forgot how to blink. He only knew staring. They were marble together. Glass.

Stuck in one moment.

Until a thunderstorming stampede of elephants hit the stairs, and Finn appeared breathless in the doorway of the kitchen, effectively shattering the world.

"Did he wake up?" Finn shouted, making the boy literally jump and turn lightning fast—faster than should have been humanly possible—eye contact broken, arm raised in a strange, protective—

Finn raised his hands in surrender.

"Oh, okay," he stumbled haltingly over his words. "I'm guessing that's a yes."

The boy shook his head slightly and relaxed. Kurt let out the breath that had been clamoring to leave his mouth.

"Sorry," said the boy, rubbing the back of his neck in a gesture entirely too endearing for his own good. "That was awkward. Wow. Uh—" The boy sat up straighter (if that was even possible) and…

Kurt couldn't explain it.

He transformed.

An aura of confidence was suddenly projecting from the boy, a warmth and a maturity that was a huge change from the wild, strange… whatever he had been beforehand. Kurt looked at Finn to make sure he had also registered that sudden disturbing adjustment, but frowned when he noticed his step-brother didn't seem too bothered.

"Where are my manners?" The boy said. He got up off the couch—thoughtlessly, it seemed, as the next minute his knees were buckling underneath him and Kurt was running to catch his fall.

"Thanks," the boy said, entirely too much breath in his voice. He looked down at Kurt's hand around his waist. "You're stronger than you look," he confided.

"Yeah, I get that a lot," Kurt told him. Which wasn't entirely true, as he hadn't heard that from anyone since he had quit the Cheerios, but, whatever. He chanced a cautious glance at the boy's eyes—

They were normal.

No weird multiplied mirror effect. No endless depths of honey-colored wildness. Just… just regular eyes.

…Huh.

The boy was looking at him strangely, his head tilted slightly as if listening to something.

"You can let me go now," he said.

"Oh!" Kurt jumped. Suddenly self-conscious at their proximity, Kurt set him gently back down on the couch and stood up, backing away what he deemed to be a substantial amount. He devoted himself to studying the pattern on the couch cushions: little purple flowers becoming friendly with triangles, which, really Carole?

"Sorry," he said.

"It's not a problem," the boy grinned. Kurt felt his knees go a little weak.

Dear god.

He was charming, too.

"My name's Blaine," the boy said, amusement coloring his voice in slightly deeper tones. He held out his hand. Kurt shook it, raising an eyebrow.

"Blaine?" someone used his mouth to ask. That was his name?

Blaine dipped his head in assent. (Oh well. No one's perfect.)

"I'm Kurt," Kurt told him, smiling slightly (Blaine's happiness was infectious). "And that's Finn," Kurt gestured to the kitchen door. Blaine smiled over at Finn—who had moved closer to the couch ("Hey, man!")—and shook hands with him.

"It's nice to meet you both," Blaine said pleasantly. He glanced back at Kurt (with a lingering gaze. There was definitely some lingering going on, and that wasn't wishful thinking, dammit!).

"So!" he exhaled loudly. "I'm in a house!" Blaine grinned widely, looking around with something that looked like amazement (but couldn't be, because who would be amazed at being in a house?). Kurt and Finn traded looks.

Blaine grinned at them. "Too excited?" he asked.

"A little," Finn told him.

"Sorry," Blaine seemed unable to do anything but grin. "I just didn't expect this. This is… This is a really, really great, unexpected development."

Kurt must have been wearing an incredibly disparaging expression on his face, because all he could think while listening to Blaine was: this was not at all how Peter Callaghan acted when he woke up. How come Sandra Bullock got all the sane men and Kurt got all the crazy ones who thought houses were the best thing since Prada handbags?

Oh my god, what if Blaine was homeless?

"… on't know," Finn was shrugging. "Ask Kurt." Kurt blinked and snapped back to focus.

"Ask me what?" he turned to Finn.

"Why he's in our house." Finn said (repeated?). "He wants to know."

Kurt looked at Blaine, who flashed him a smile. A crazy intruder from his backyard, yes. But damn if he wasn't still unfairly attractive.

"I found you lying outside under the oak tree last night," Kurt explained, gesturing to said tree. "It was cold, so I brought you inside."

Blaine turned to look where Kurt had pointed to, a solemn expression crossing his face. He hummed softly in thought. Kurt thought he caught "must have fallen" escaping from Blaine's lips, but they slipped through his fingers into the air before he could examine them more closely. Blaine took a visible breath.

"Well," he began, louder and to the room. "I guess we have ourselves a bit of an awkward situation here."

He turned to face Kurt and Finn, unapologetically amiable.

"You see," he continued, smiling softly. "I've run away. And I'm afraid I can't go back."

He shrugged slightly.

"Ever," he added.

Kurt felt his stomach pirouette.