-For Warblerinfections. I hope this lives up to your expectations :)-
I've Been Looking for You Forever
Afraid of the Dark
A boy sits alone on a park bench. The pale sun dances off of his porcelain skin, hair fluttering a little in the breeze. He breathes deeply, an argyle decorated cane beside him. Cerulean eyes seemed to look at the park before him, watching children play and dogs run. A few people passed him, but they went unseen.
The boy was blind.
He slid sunglasses over his eyes, feeling the heat of the sun on his face, knowing his eyes would burn if he kept them exposed to it.
His hands danced over a book in his lap, one covered in dots in a code that only he could understand. He chuckled softly to himself at a line of dialogue. He reached down to his watch, pressing a button.
"Two-thirteen," the watch chimed. He stood, sighing. He tucked the book into his bag, double checking the clasp to make sure it was closed before he stood, walking away. He clicked his tongue in time with the cane in his hand, counting steps in his head.
He heard a few whispers of confused children as he passed, asking their mothers what was wrong with him. He heard cars cruise by, heard a man down the block yell for his son to slow down on his bike.
It was such a nice day.
Another boy sat alone on his bed. Sirens blared outside this once nice neighborhood, his parents screamed down the hall, much like the rest of the people in this building.
The boy's heart is hardened, hard as stone. Years of screaming, years of abuse from his father, from strangers on the street, years of his mother ignoring the bruises and the beatings, years of fighting himself on who he was, years of going to a school where the boys were just as mean as he was, and years of hurting himself just to have some sort of control had turned him into this.
He was cold, ruthless, jaded and cruel on the outside.
Inside, deep down where he doesn't let anyone get to, not even himself, he's afraid, alone, vulnerable. What he wants more desperately than anything else in the world, is to be loved. Sometimes, when the beating has left him weak and unable to stop himself from feeling, he imagines a boy, sweet, warm and beautiful. He imagines being in his arms, all troubles, bruises and agony melting away with his touch
He was imagining this now as the man he called father stormed inside, grabbing his shirt, shaking him, screaming faggot and backhanding him over and over again with unbelievable force while his mother continued to drink in the living room.
He wiped the blood from under his nose when it was finished, sitting back down, face void of any expression, pain and emotion, save anger, shoved back into the bottle he never opened.
He flipped his phone open, answering an incoming call that couldn't be more unwanted.
"What?" He snapped.
"Chill the fuck out, man. Were we goin' to that shithole tomorrow or not?" Wes asked, voice heavy with sarcasm and amusement.
"Yeah, we're going," he sighed.
"Something wrong?" His friend asked.
"No," he lied. "I'm fine."
Blaine Anderson hung up, staring down at his hands, wincing softly as a bottle crashed against the wall, screaming ensuing.
It was an awful night.
The blind boy walked along happily, being sure to keep track of where he was, knowing he had to be careful in this unfamiliar part of town.
Several things happened all at once.
The boy whose father had been yelling at him to slow down sped past, nicking Kurt's elbow and spinning him around while a jogger passed on his right, a car horn blared, tires screeching for a brief moment, his feet tangling up in themselves causing him to fall.
He took several slow, deep breaths, palms skinned. He hastily snatched up his cane, clicking softly to try and hear where he was.
He could sense the buildings and the people around him most likely staring. But…but nothing else was familiar. Turned around, disoriented and now frightened in the dark, Kurt Hummel was lost.
"Blaine, what the hell are we doing here?"
The boy chuckled, shaking his curls out of his face. "Shut the fuck up, Wes. Just trust me."
"This place is a fucking cow town," Jeff complained.
"Yeah? Well our competition's here. We might as well check out what little bitches we have to beat," he replied.
"What are they called again?" Nick asked.
"Nude Erections," Jeff giggled. Blaine smacked his arm.
"Hey," Thad said, grinning and gesturing across the street. "Check it out."
Blaine looked, adjusting his jacket. He froze.
A boy. A beautiful, soft boy walked down the sidewalk across the street. He was clicking his tongue, a slightly panicked look on his face, tapping the cane in his hand almost frantically. Blaine guessed he had a fast paced song stuck in that pretty head of his.
"Looks like he's on your team, Blaine," David teased, elbowing his ribs.
"Shut up," he said, chuckling lightly.
"How about we go say hi?" Wes grinned, crossing the street and heading toward him. Blaine frowned.
He didn't want that. For some strange reason, he wanted them to leave this angelic boy alone. He wasn't sure why he felt this way, but the last thing he wanted was to bother him. He wanted to leave him in this untouchable state of beauty. But Wes and the others were barreling toward him, laughing.
"Hey, buddy," Thad grinned, mocking him. The boy froze.
"Cool shades," Trenton remarked, plucking them from his face. "Mind if I try them on?"
"Please." His voice was celestial too; a soft, sweet bell that made Blaine's usually stony heart warm. "Please, I don't want any trouble. I'm just trying to get home."
He didn't look at them as he spoke. He didn't look at anything. He squinted against the peeking sunlight, gripping the cane in his hand, almost whimpering when Thad took it away.
"What's this for, Grandma?" He snorted
"Leave me alone!" He begged.
Blaine took the situation in. The sunglasses, the cane, his unseeing eyes…
"Fuck," he breathed. "Guys, stop." They went on taunting, not hearing his demand. "KNOCK IT OFF!"
"Dude, what's wrong?" Wes asked. The angel was pressed against the wall of the building, chest shaking as he tried to breathe, eyes filled with frightened tears.
"He's blind," he hissed. David snorted.
"So what?" The boy made the same frightened noise again. Blaine's stomach boiled for reasons unknown.
"'Sowhat?' Are you really that fucked in the head? Get away from him!" He shoved him back, snatching the sunglasses from Trent. "Go to the fucking school. I'll meet you there later."
"GO!" He snarled. "Or I'll kick your ass right here, right now!"
"Okay, okay," Flynn said, holding up his hands and backing away. "We're goin'. Sorry we scared you."
"Princess," Jeff added under his breath. They sauntered away, leaving an irrationally angry Blaine behind them.
He looked at the angel, pressing the cane into his hand, waiting for him to relax. "Sorry about them. They're…they're assholes."
"Are you going to hurt me too?" He asked shakily, still afraid.
"No," Blaine assured, keeping an edge in his voice. "No, I won't." He looked around. "Where are you trying to go?"
"My house," he squeaked.
"Which, um…" He was nervous. Why the fuck was he nervous? "Where do you live?"
Kurt was blushing, frustrated tears in his eyes. He blamed that damn kid on his bike for all of this.
"Where are we now?" He whispered, hating himself for relying on this rugged stranger. He could smell cigarettes lingering on his jacket, which was leather, he assumed by the coolness of the material he felt near his arm. He smelled cologne, too. Old Spice, maybe, hair gel and bubblegum. For the most ridiculous of reasons, he found the aroma almost intoxicating.
"107th and Ballard," he said. Kurt swallowed, trying to blink the tears away.
"North," he breathed.
"Okay," Blaine nodded. He reached for his hand, having to grab his left due to the cane in his right. "C'mon, I'll take you."
Kurt stopped short as he tried to guide him. "I don't even know your name," he breathed.
The angel had a name. For the first time in years, literally years, Blaine smiled.
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