2

Candles

Kurt was wary of this boy. If he was as mean as his friends then there was no telling what he'd do to him.

"Oh, here," he said, putting his sunglasses back on his face. He jumped, still shaken from before. "Sorry!" Blaine said, chastising himself for forgetting about his inability to see.

There was genuine quality to his voice behind the initial chill that he emitted. His hand on his was gentle, calloused, but gentle. He could feel the edges of cuts on his knuckles from fighting. He was sure his eyes were as cold as the first layer of his voice, and he wondered what the rest of him might look like.

He didn't know what this boy, Blaine, wanted with him, or what his angle was, but he wanted to know more.

"So," he ventured, going forth on his mission. "Do you go to McKinley?"

"No. Dalton Academy. In Westerville," he said gruffly.

Great, I'm being taken home by a criminal, he thought. He could downplay him all he wanted, but there…there was a certain, something that this boy named Blaine that wore leather that smelled like bubblegum and cigarettes that made him want to stay with him and keep his hand in his.

Blaine seemed to be something wonderful. He shook his head, realizing he had been speaking. "What?"

"I said, where do you go?" He said. Kurt sensed a smirk.

"McKinley," he stated, anticipating the scoff that followed.

"Um, how do you-?"

"Just because I can't see like everyone else can doesn't mean I can't keep up academically," he snapped, agitated and blushing. "I order my textbooks in Braille, there's a padlock on my locker and I don't take gym class, okay?" He growled.

"Whoa, sorry," Blaine said, trying to shrug off the guilt he felt for embarrassing him. He kept it far from his voice. "Just curious. No need to go all bitch-mode." Kurt's scowl deepened.

"If you heard every teacher, classmate and adult you ever came in contact with ever say the exact same thing to you, you'd be a little testy too," he spat. He was fuming now, wishing he could walk away, but he had no idea where he was still. "What street are we on?" He demanded.

"Um, Cherry," he replied.

"Facing which way?"

"North."

"Which side?"

"Left."

"Alright, then, Blaine," he said firmly, angry, "I can find my way from here. Thank you for humiliating me and pretending to help me." He started to leave. Blaine grabbed his hand to stop him.

"Hey, whoa, wait a second," he pleaded. You can't go. Not yet, I just met you. I want to know more, I want to know everything about you. You can't go yet. He cleared his throat, removing the vulnerabilities. "Look, I didn't mean to offend you, okay? I'm sorry I made you mad, I really am." Kurt frowned, determined.

"I don't believe you," he said.

"What can I do to make you believe me?" He asked, exasperated.

Suddenly Kurt put his hands on his face, fingertips at the corners of his mouth, eyes and on his cheeks. "Say it again," he demanded.

"What are you-?"

"Just, let me do this okay?" He said. "Say it again, please."

"I'm sorry I made you mad. I'm so very, very sorry. I wasn't trying to humiliate you or anything, I wasn't," he said.

Kurt could see when he needed to. Right now he could see a lot of things. He saw Blaine's smooth skin and curly hair, dark maybe, but that was just a hunch. He saw the smoothness of his lips and…and the sincerity of his words. Kurt could see Blaine then, see his face. There were holes he had to fill in, of course, but he could see him and the truth.

"Okay," he breathed, slowly taking his hands away. "I believe you." Blaine smiled again, surprising himself. He was so unused to this…

"Can I take you home, still?" He asked, his voice caught between demand and permission. Kurt nodded, deciding to grant him it. "Cool."

Burt frowned, watching his son come up with a boy that he didn't know…an angry looking boy with a fixed expression of anger and cockiness. His brown leather jacket was worn, tight white shirt smudged with grease from what he assumed was some sort of dangerous motorcycle. A cigarette hung from his lips, knuckles injured, a cross hanging around his neck.

Well, I suppose even dirt-bags need religion… he thought venomously. His main interest is what this off-the-beaten-track boy was doing with his son.

"Thank you," Kurt said softly, looking at him, well…in his direction. Blaine shrugged, keeping his cool.

"No problem." The pale angel started to walk away. "Hey, wait!" He said, taking his arm. "Um, can I see you again sometime?"

Kurt paused, his heart stopping, cheeks red and hot. Did…did he just…

He just asked…asked me out…didn't he?

"What?" He squeaked.

Blaine looked at him, at his soft skin and hair, his lips and…and so much more.

"Um, do…can I see you again?" He repeated, trying not to sound eager or desperate.

So he had heard him correctly. "Um, I, uh..."

Blaine shook his head. Look at yourself, he thought, reopening old wounds. Why would anyone want you? Especially someone like him? "It's alright," he sighed. "It's fine. You don't have to if you don't want to. It's cool." He moved away, turning. He grabbed his hand.

"Wait," he said, knowing full and well his father was probably watching him this very moment. "I do." Blaine's eyes grew.

"You do?"

"Uh huh," he cooed.

"Um," he smiled, flicking his cigarette away. "I was gonna come up this way tomorrow…if you wanna hang out?" He tried to sound cool, slick and smooth and detached.

"Were you going to the school?" He asked.

"Uh huh."

"Then you can meet me outside," he mumbled. "If you want."

"Kurt!" His father called.

"Definitely."

"Okay," he was smiling again.

"Kurt!"

"I'm coming!" He said. Blaine glanced at the door. "Bye, Blaine," the angel grinned. Blaine's heart jumped in his chest.

"See ya, Kurt."

Kurt counted his way to the door, hearing Blaine's hesitant retreating footsteps on the grass. He passed his father without pause, smiling to himself.

"Who was that?" Burt demanded, his instincts to protect his son taking over.

"A friend," Kurt said softly, hanging up his jacket.

"What kind of friend?"

"Not sure yet." He could hear the euphoria in his voice, and that worried him a little.

"Kurt," he sighed. "I don't know if I want you hanging around someone like that."

"Someone like what?"

"Don't play dumb with me. You know what I'm talking about," he said firmly. Kurt sighed.

"He's just a nice boy that took me home after I got lost in the park," he explained. "I don't see why I shouldn't be allowed to be around him." Burt sighed, arms folded and nostrils flaring. Kurt heard his deep breathing. He patted his father's shoulder.

"It's alright, Dad. I'm alright. Don't worry," he smiled and went upstairs.

"I told you, I want to Lima with the guys!" He defended, unable to block the next blows to his face. His father grabbed his collar, yanking him around and slamming him into the wall and getting in his face.

"Don't you fucking lie to me, you little bastard!" He screamed, alcohol strewn breath assaulting him. "Which one of your fuck buddies did you see huh? Who'd you fuck, faggot?" Blaine shoved him away.

"I didn't!" He snarled, blood on his lips. "It's none of your fucking business what I did!"

"DON'T YOU BACK TALK ME, BOY!"

He went back to his room, beaten and shaky.

In a perfect world somewhere, tonight would have been much different. "I met a guy today, Dad," he would say. "He's perfect and beautiful and I've never seen anyone like him before."

"That's great, Blaine," his father would reply. "I'm happy for you."

But no.

He bowed his head, heart heavy, body aching. He'd had worse, yes…but he wasn't sure how much he could endure before he broke.

He covered his face, a tear slipping down his cheek.

He hoped it would be better tomorrow.