
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/590212.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Glee
  Relationship:
      Blaine_Anderson/Kurt_Hummel, Mike_Chang/Tina_Cohen-Chang, Quinn_Fabray/
      Noah_Puckerman
  Character:
      Blaine_Anderson, Kurt_Hummel, Quinn_Fabray, Emma_Pillsbury, Will
      Schuester, Noah_Puckerman, Tina_Cohen-Chang, Mike_Chang, Carl_Howell,
      Sugar_Motta
  Additional Tags:
      Romance, Angst, Murder_Mystery, Mutilation, Infidelity
  Series:
      Part 1 of The_Boy_From_Oz_Trilogy
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-12-11 Words: 18649
****** The Boy With The Unicorn Tattoo ******
by inkystars
Summary
     Murder mystery novelist Blaine Anderson finds himself becoming
     increasingly obsessed with introverted high school drop-out Kurt, as
     a murderous psychopath stalks the rainy streets of Seattle.
                   (cover art by sweet-peach-tea on tumblr)
It was a dark and stormy night when Blaine Anderson first met and became
intrigued by one Kurt Hummel. 
October 4th. A Thursday. The rain poured thick and heavy along the streets of
Seattle, effectively ending the unnaturally long dry spell that the city had
been enduring. The citizens of Seattle looked to the sky with a mixture of
dread, amusement, and resignation, zipping up their light jackets as they
mentally vowed to take their rain jackets out of the backs of their closets,
secretly anticipating scoffing at those who would use umbrellas as they bustled
about downtown because they were clearly tourists. 
Northwest of downtown, past Queen Anne Hill and Lake Union, snuggled firmly
between Phinney Ridge and Puget Sound was the neighborhood of Ballard where the
two happened to coincide at precisely 9:06 pm.
Blaine Anderson had been sitting in Miro Tea Shop, distractedly sipping a cup
of straight earl grey tea and trying not to cringe—his editor had insisted that
he kick his coffee addiction so now he was on the leaf juice as he spitefully
referred to it—while he stared at his blank open document, willing his mind to
fill in the space with inky black words. The endless plethora of inspiration
that his mind continuously created was rendered moot by the fact that he could
never think of a place to start, middle, or end. 
Writer’s Block, they called it. It seemed so trivial and banal to him compared
to what he was feeling. Just so…ordinary.
A sopping wet shoulder bag slammed down onto his table, knocking over his glass
pot of tea onto his laptop keys, dousing them with liquid as the pot shattered.
He spluttered, yanking up his laptop and tipping it to the side to prevent any
tea from seeping in. Blaine looked up at the interloper of his table just as
the clock over the crepe-maker ticked over to 9:06 pm. 
“What the hell?”
Blaine found himself being ignored by a drenched teenager with a ducked head
who was cramming a multitude of lemon poppyseed scones into his wet bag as well
as what looked like one of the chocolate chunk cookies. The teenager arranged
the food before zipping the bag back up and slinging it over his shoulder.
He was very interesting to look at, Blaine noted. He wore long pastel blue
overalls over a billowy white shirt that was glued to his body because of the
rain. His short chin-length brown hair was pulled into two little nubby
pigtails behind either ear except for a few locks that fell into his face,
strung up with glass beads.
“Hey Kurt, here’s your order,” Quinn called from behind the counter, holding
out a drink and a hot panini. 
“Kurt” turned and walked over to her, taking the items smoothly before stalking
out the door. 
Blaine stared after him in bewilderment before shaking his laptop out lightly,
flinging amber droplets of incredibly bitter bergamot tea over his desk and
table before setting it down and angrily stalking over to the front counter.
“Who the hell was that and what was his problem?” he said angrily.
Quinn watched his vicious abuse of the napkin dispenser with amusement before
answering cooly, “Oh, that’s just Kurt. And I think he’s had a pretty bad
week.”
“You know him?” Blaine asked, patting himself down with the napkins before
sending his laptop and longing and despairing look. 
Quinn smiled enigmatically. “We have a history.”
Blaine arched an eyebrow but she wouldn’t elaborate. “What was he drinking?” he
found himself asking. 
“London Fog tea latte.”
Later that night with a brand new laptop, Blaine Anderson found himself curled
up in the sitting room of his lofty north Capitol Hill house as he started
typing, the crackling of Mahler on the record player and the howling wind
outside the only soundtrack to the mire of his thoughts. 
It was London, 1984. Amidst the thick lush fog of the night that never seemed
to let up, there was a killer on the streets.
Blaine stared at the sentence. It was wrong of course, but it was a start. He’d
worry about style later. The barest semblence of a plot started to form in his
head as he smiled and continued typing. 
***
The next day he saw Kurt Hummel again.
Each Friday he ventured to the Pike Place Market for a new bouquet of flowers
to spruce up his apartment. After walking down the length of flower vendors, he
doubled back to choose a favorite or two (or three—one for his bathroom would
be nice) when he stumbled into another person.
“Excuse me,” he said, clasping the person’s shoulders as he regain his
footing. 
A large pair of blue eyes were blinking back at him. 
“Kurt!” He held him at arm’s length, looking at him in shock. 
Kurt stood there, looking surprisingly different when he was dry. His hair was
fluffy and high and in a coiffed nearly mohawk-esque fashion, the pigtails gone
in favor of a small ponytail. The sweet farm boy look was gone as well, in
favor of a black sleeveless turtle neck, skinny jeans, and white lace-up boots.
He held a lemon tart in one hand and a large box of french pastries in the
other. He took a large bite of the tart.
“Uh, I know Quinn, from Miro Tea, and you stopped by last night?” Blaine tried
as a method of explanation. 
“Have you ever had any of the pastries from Le Panier?” Kurt asked, staring at
him. 
Blaine opened his mouth. “I—”
“Because they’re really very good,” Kurt said. “Here, try.” He jammed the rest
of the lemon tart into Blaine’s mouth, who choked around the citrusy explosion.
“Delicious, isn’t it?” Kurt said in the same monotonous tone, before brushing
past Blaine.
Blaine chewed furiously, gulping down the dessert before taking off after Kurt,
weaving through the midday throngs of people at the market. Past the flying
fish and Rachel the pig and the donut stand, Blaine finally caught back up to
Kurt. “Why aren’t you in school?”
Kurt ignored him.
“It’s just past noon and it’s Friday,” Blaine tried again. “Don’t you have high
school?”
“I don’t go to school,” Kurt said in a clipped voice. “It’s not really the
thing for me.”
“But you’re…” Blaine frowned. “How old are you exactly?”
Kurt turned suddenly and stared him down with his large blue eyes. “I’ve lived
a thousand horrific lives by now, each more terrifying than the rest and this
one is but a mere respite, the eye of the storm before I let oblivion take me
again.”
Blaine stared.
Kurt sighed. “I’m sixteen. Honestly. Adults have no concept of humor nowadays.”
He turned to the massive magazine stand and started plucking up volumes. “And
this is all I need to learn, right here.” He piled his arms high with various
Vogues and Ws and GQs and Elles.
“Isn’t it the law that you have to go to school?” Blaine protested.
Kurt shifted the magazines to one arm and reached up to tap Blaine’s nose. “Ah
yes, but therein lies the problem.” He leaned forward, his breath ghosting
across Blaine’s ear. “I can’t go to school because I don’t exist.”
Blaine blinked as Kurt leaned back, a sudden achingly sweet ghost of a smile on
his lips.
“Thanks for paying for my education, Mr. Earl Grey.” 
And then he turned and left, blending in seamlessly with the crowd.
Leaving Blaine to pay forty-seven dollars for the magazines. 
***
He went to Miro Tea everyday under the pretense of writing, when really he was
searching for Kurt. He probed Quinn endlessly but she kept her mouth shut.
”Look, don’t go messing around with Kurt!” Quinn finally snapped one Wednesday.
“He’s been through enough bullshit without some lonely writer poking and
prodding at him?” 
“Like what though?” Blaine leaned forward. “Come on, Quinn. You have to give me
at least something.”
She crossed her arms. “Don’t you have other obligations, Mr. Anderson?”
Blaine’s jaw clenched before he nodded and went back to his seat, typing once
more.
***
Blaine created an outline for his story—80s in London. A killer on the loose.
And then he changed it again. Swinging 60s in London. A killer on the loose.
And then…again. 40s in London. Amid the sirens of wartime, a killer on the
loose.
After a week of his story flipping decades, he leaned back in his wooden seat
and glared at his laptop screen. They were all good ideas but he just couldn’t
think of stories for each of them. He needed something new, a different angle
from the “it’s the person you least suspect” route he always went. 
“Why don’t you just set it in Victorian times?”
Blaine jumped, his chair nearly tipping all the way back before he latched onto
the table ledge and propelled himself forward. 
Kurt was standing behind him, style once again shifted to a cashmere lavender
off-the-shoulder sweater and white corduroys and black ballet flats. His hair
was floppy and soft looking and all down, hanging in uneven sort-of waves
around his face. 
Blaine blinked. “What?”
“Then you could make parallels with Jack the Ripper as well as the killings
that have been going on in Seattle,” Kurt said monotonously before turning to
go to the front counter.
Blaine pushed out of his chair after him and followed him to the front counter.
He noticed what looked like a few black dots on Kurt’s back, revealed by the
low dip of the sweater. “What do you mean?” Blaine asked.
“A London Fog and a poppyseed scone, Quinn,” Kurt ordered. He produced a card
from his pocket to pay.
“Kurt,” Blaine tried again. “What do you mean?”
“The Victorian era is a great source for fucked up horror stories,” Kurt
shrugged, pressing the card to Blaine’s chest. “Thanks for the tea, by the
way.”
Blaine glanced at the card, realizing it was his. “You—”
“Oh, and my food, clothes, and magazines for the past week,” Kurt shrugged. He
rubbed his cheek aimlessly against his shoulder. “I’ve never been able to
afford cashmere before.”
“You stole—”
“Only what you could easily pay for,” he said curtly, sitting in Blaine’s chair
and munching on the poppyseed scone as he peered over Blaine’s work.
Blaine stared at him incredulously. “Kurt.”
Kurt just clicked down the scant few pages that Blaine had managed to type up,
eyes starting as he crammed more of the scone into his mouth.
“Kurt!”
Kurt looked over at him in surprise. “What?”
A thousand questions popped into Blaine’s mind like “What the hell are you
doing?” or “Do you really think I won’t call the police?” or “Why are you
wearing girl’s clothes?” 
But the question he ended up asking was, “What did you mean, the killings in
Seattle?”
Kurt held his gaze as he crammed the last of the scone in his mouth and
swallowed. “In the Central District, the past couple of weeks, two girls have
been found gagged, raped, and strung up against a wall in a weird a twisted
version of a crucifixion with their bellies slit open and burlap sacks placed
over their bashed-in heads.”  
Blaine felt his mouth go dry. “Are…are you serious?”
“Completely,” Kurt said monotonously. “So that should make a good story, right?
That’s what authors do: reinvent the truth so they can tell a story. You’ve got
an incredibly creepy killer of females on the loose, throw him in with lots of
Victorian fog and the cold streets of London, add a few corsets with a dash of
scandal and voila, you have a national best seller.” 
Blaine scoffed, but the idea was tickling the back of his mind. “Victorian
era?”
“Try the 1880s,” Kurt mused, accepting his tea from Quinn with a half-smile.
“They were pretty fucked-up.”
Blaine rolled his eyes but found his fingers typing.
***
They met up everyday at Miro Tea, just after five. Kurt came everyday to take
the bus home with Quinn, sometimes accompanied by a hard-looking guy with a
mohawk who Blaine quickly learned was Quinn’s boyfriend and the father of her
baby bump. 
They didn’t even talk much—Blaine would be typing away on his laptop while Kurt
would be sketching in his notebook, but the occasional comment that Kurt would
make, or a Victorian lace design that he’d come up with and show Blaine would
spark a new frenzy in the story as a cohesive plot began to come together.
“Here’s your main character,” Kurt said one day in mid October, holding up an
incredibly detailed sketch of a man in an elaborate waistcoat and breaches.
Blaine stared. “But that’s you. Victorian-ized.”
“And here’s his sidekick,” Kurt continued, flipping to the next page.
Blaine frowned. “Wait, why am I the sidekick?”
“Because I’m the one who comes up with all the good ideas,” Kurt said
nonchalantly, going back to sketching.
Blaine arched an eyebrow. “Is that so?”
“I came up with characters, setting, main plot so…yes, it is so.”
Blaine folded his arms and tilted back in his chair. “Okay, so what’s this main
character’s name?”
“Bergamot,” Kurt said as he took a sip of his London Fog. “Alexander Bergamot.”
Blaine felt a twinge of annoyance because it actually wasn’t a bad name. “And
the sidekick?”
“The earl, his financer,” Kurt nodded. “Elliot Grey.” A smile twisted his lips.
Blaine frowned, taking a sip of his tea before spluttering with laughter.
“Seriously, Kurt? Earl Grey?”
Kurt just hid his smile behind his tea latte.
***
In the attic of his house, the characters flourished. 
Blaine was still trying to find a good enough title—that was always the hardest
part for him: either a title came immediately or did not make itself known
until the end of the tale—but Alexander Bergamot and Earl Elliot Grey were
becoming more and more well-developed as the leaves outside the large glass
window turned from green to yellow to red to russet. 
Alexander. Age 19. A Sherlock Holmes-esque youth with a bit too big of a heart
(wishful thinking on Blaine’s part?) who was hunting down a killer of women
through the streets of London. 
Elliot. Age 24. His patron who finances his investigations because he got the
Earl’s elder troublesome brother out of the way so that Elliot could achieve
the earldom. 
Okay, so maybe Blaine wasn’t quite as subtle as he thought.
But he already had lots of undercover subplots laid out, from the stint at the
opium den to the ruse pulled off at Lady Edith’s masquerade. 
The killer on the other hand…
Blaine sighed, pen doodling idly on the page. 
Something to do with burlap sacks. Burlap had to give him edge to the villain…
But what?
***
Blaine read about the third murder on the eighth page of the Seattle Times.
Suzy Pepper, age 14, murdered on her way home from after school activities.
Beaten, raped, gagged, trussed up, belly slit, bashed-in head, burlap sack. 
Something tickled the back of Blaine’s neck and he didn’t know what it was. He
called in a favor—Carl Howell, one of the detectives at the precinct. He’d set
him up with one of his colleagues, Holly Holiday at a charity function at
Benaroya Hall three years ago. Though their relationship hadn’t lasted, Carl
and Blaine’s did and Blaine had carried the favor around for the right moment.
And now he was going to use it because he was almost certain that he knew Suzy
Pepper from somewhere.
Also, he needed to talk to Kurt about this most recent development and what it
would mean for the villain.
***
He went to Miro Tea, but Kurt wasn’t there.
The whole week, Kurt wasn’t there.
Finally, after nine days, Quinn’s boyfriend Puck tapped Blaine’s shoulder as
Quinn was closing up. “Dude, you need to find Kurt,” he muttered.
Blaine sat up straighter, putting away his laptop. “What are you talking
about?”
Puck sighed, looking around. “I think he’s in trouble. He was supposed to keep
in touch but…knowing him…he’s probably gotten himself in way too deep again.” 
Blaine stared at him. “Puck, what’s wrong with Kurt?”
Puck licked his lips. “Look, you know where Underground Seattle is? In Pioneer
Square?”
Blaine nodded.
“Go around back by the alleyway next to it after midnight tonight. And dude?
Make sure he’s okay.” 
***
The rain was pouring down heavily in sheets as Blaine parked his car on
Occidental Avenue and continued on foot, his collar turned up against the harsh
elements.
He wasn’t going to lie—the idea of this late night clandestine rendez vous with
fate and potential danger thrilled and intrigued him. Though admittedly, most-
of-all he wished to learn how Kurt was somehow spun up in the middle of this
tangled spider web of intrigue. 
Pioneer Square. During the day it was a charming little tourist location full
of information about Seattle in its early days and pubs and museums and art
galleries and jazz joints and only a couple of blocks from the waterfront. 
Except for Bell Town, it was probably the worst place you could be downtown at
night. 
Blaine slipped around by the entrance to Underground Seattle and crept along
the slick brick walls to the spacious back alleyway of fire escapes, hidden
nooks, suspicious doors, and dumpsters. He saw a small group of people about
halfway down and pressed himself into a small alcove with a door, shrinking
down to hide in the shadows as the voices drew nearer. 
“…if Motta won’t greenlight it.” 
“He’s grown…keeps…damn daughter of his.”
“Just tell…owes…the rest of the night.”
“Yeah, well tell Porcelain that…still has to pay me for…the days…spent who
knows where and I had to cover…” 
“Porcelain’s already in trouble with Goolsby and—”
“Just find…and get the money!”
The group passed into one of the other doors farther down the alley and Blaine
breathed a sigh of relief. He counted to three before moving from his hiding
spot. 
The rain was coming down even harder as Blaine trudged around dumpsters. A hand
reached out and tapped his shoulder and he turned to find a pretty redhead
smiling at him. 
“Hey honey,” she smiled. “Looking for company? Why don’t you come in? It’s
dreadful out.” 
“Can’t do,” he smiled apologetically. “I’m taken. But I’m looking for someone,
if you can help?” He offered a fifty.
She took it with a smile. “Who are you looking for?”
“Kurt.”
She laughed. “We don’t have names here.”
“Um…” Blaine frowned. “Brown sort of curly hair? Big blue eyes? Uh—”
“The boy with the unicorn tattoo?” She sighed. 
Blaine blinked. “What?”
“You’re looking for Porcelain,” she rolled her eyes. “As are half the clients.
He’s with the boss’ daughter right now. End of the alley on your right. Gaudy
neon door, can’t miss it.”
“Many thanks,” Blaine nodded and hurried down the alley past various doors
until the one at the end with bright pink neon hearts. He tried the nob,
pleased to find it unlocked, and opened the door carefully. There was just a
small entryway and stairs that led up to the second floor. The air was tinted
pink from the hearts in the window and there was a distinct smell
of cinnamon and ginger in the air. Silently, Blaine crept up the stairs. 
He was met with a hall of doors, but one was ajar at the very end, voices
floating from within. 
“…come on, it’ll be alright in the end though.”
“I don’t know…you’re not looking that great.”
“Oh come on, I just need some soup and I’ll be a—a—achoo!” 
“Come on, Kurt, I’ll just tell daddy—”
“No! You know it’ll only cause trouble for you, Sugar.”
Blaine pushed open the door and blinked at all the bright pink he was
immediately met with before focusing on Kurt who was sitting half-naked on a
large canopy bed with a girl who was holding his leg. His hair was all fluffed
around his head and his bangs were side-swept over his left eye making him look
incredibly feminine—as did the black eyeliner and golden gloss on his lips. He
wore nothing but a pair of puffy golden-scarlet capris that tied at his knees
and looked incredibly like persimmons. 
“Blaine!” Kurt jumped, grabbing a feathery pink blanket and holding it over
himself. “What are you doing here?” 
“Puck sent me,” Blaine said, his eyes jumping around the room. “He said he
thought that you might be in trouble.”
Kurt’s shoulders slumped. “I’m fine—”
“He’s not,” the girl—Sugar?—interrupted, yanking his leg. Kurt hissed. “Look.”
Large hand-shaped bruises blossomed up his calf.
Kurt yanked his leg back, rolling his eyes. “I’ve had way worse, Sugar, and you
know it. This is barely anything.”
“This was Goolsby saying hello!” Sugar snapped. “But this new guy…they have a
new customer in town and he’s…he scares me, Kurt, and Goolsby wants to send you
to him tonight and I can’t—”
“It’s not your choice, Sugar,” Kurt said with finality. “It’s mine. And if I
run, Goolsby will find me. He always finds me when I’m on the streets and I
can’t hide out in pee-patches forever, especially since the rainy season’s
started back up.”
“What if you weren’t on the streets?”
Kurt turned to face Blaine. “What?”
“You need a place to stay, right? Out of harm’s way?” Blaine stepped forward,
touching Kurt’s arm.
Kurt shook his head. “Blaine, I can’t—”
There was a knock on the downstairs door.
The three froze.
“Porcelain!”
“He’s not supposed to be here for another hour,” Kurt muttered.
“Porcelain, you’ve got a customer!”
“Kurt, go!” Sugar urged, shoving him towards the window. “Go with—” she glanced
at Blaine briefly. “—Mr. Trenchcoat here and get as far away from Pioneer
Square as possible!”
“Sugar—”
The door unlocked.
“Go!”
She shoved Kurt out onto the fire escape and Blaine followed. The window was
slammed shut behind them. Blaine grabbed Kurt’s hand and they hurried down the
rickety metal stairs.
“Porcelain!” 
The voice was above them and Blaine shoved Kurt over the last railing, two feet
down onto a garbage bin before jumping over himself. They hopped down from
there and raced around the corner. 
Kurt latched onto Blaine’s arm and pulled him around another building before
racing across an open square full of totem poles. Voices could still be heard
far off behind them, but Kurt expertly weaved them through foliage and over a
stone wall until they were by a series of metal chairs and tables, the sound of
running water surrounding them. 
Blaine breathed heavily in the dim gray-blue light as he leaned back against a
moss ledge. Kurt curled up next to him, shivering slightly.
“Here,” Blaine murmured, taking off his trenchcoat and draping it around Kurt’s
shoulders. 
Kurt blinked in surprise. “Thank you,” he whispered. “We should wait here for
half an hour, just to make sure that the coast is clear.”
“Okay,” Blaine nodded. “Where…exactly is here?”
“The waterfall park,” Kurt said quietly. “Just a small little hidden nook.” 
“Huh,” Blaine said, looking around. He’d never even known such a place
existed. 
The next twenty-seven minutes were filled with the sounds of bubbling creeks
and water rushing over rocks before Kurt silently stood and asked where
Blaine’s car was parked. They took an out of the way route to get to it, but
within ten minutes they were speeding through downtown, heading to Capitol
Hill. 
Blaine cranked the heat and cleared his throat. “Do you wanna…I don’t know,
talk?”
“No.”
“Okay.”
Blaine clicked on the radio and the music washed over their silence. 
You sit there in your heartache 
Waiting on some beautiful boy to
To save you from your old ways
You play forgiveness watch him now here he comes
He doesn’t look a thing like Jesus
But he talks like a gentleman
Like you imagined when you were young…
***
“Well, here we are.” Blaine cut the ignition in front of his three story tier
house. “Chez Anderson.” 
Kurt nodded and left the car without another word. He didn’t speak as they
walked into Blaine’s house, didn’t comment on the architecture, didn’t look
around in wonder, didn’t utter a single sound. 
“Um, I guess you can stay here,” Blaine said awkwardly, opening the door to the
guest room that was closest to his. He walked over to the bedside table and
turned on the lamp, filling the pale green room with a soft glow. “You have
your own bathroom and I guess we can get you your own clothes tomorrow—”
“Sugar has my things and she’ll give them to Mercedes who’ll give them to Quinn
who’ll give them to me,” Kurt said quietly. 
“Right,” Blaine nodded. “I’ll um, get you a towel.” He walked across the hall
to his room, grabbing on of the fluffy beige towels from his bathroom and
heading back to Kurt’s. “Here—”
He broke off when he entered. Kurt had placed Blaine’s trenchcoat over the
chair in the corner and was currently looking out the window. In the soft
golden lamplight of the room, Blaine could make out the stark black ink on the
skin of Kurt’s back, swirling in various patterns to create a…unicorn.
Kurt turned, arms crossed over his pale chest as he walked forward and accepted
the towel with a curt nod. 
Blaine looked at him, so young and sad and damp and cold.
And there was a moment: when Kurt looked up at him and the golden lamp glinted
in his blue eyes that were streaked with smeared eyeliner and his skin seemed
entirely free of blemishes and his lips glittered like the sunset and Blaine
reached his hand out to crush Kurt to his body—
He patted Kurt’s shoulder. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
***
Life…continued.
Blaine worked on his novel relentlessly everyday, hardly leaving the house.
Kurt would sometimes pop up in the kitchen with a mug of tea, or out on the old
rickety swing in the backyard or leaning against the attic window, but he
mainly confined himself to his room, sitting in a corner surrounded by stacks
of fashion magazines and sketching. He’d already given Blaine twelve different
character designs for the killer but none seemed to fit. Blaine could sense
Kurt growing increasingly frustrated and did his best to make sure they got out
every couple of nights to Miro Tea to visit Quinn and Puck—both of whom were
relieved to find Kurt alive and well.
Kurt didn’t talk much. He didn’t eat much. And he certainly didn’t sleep much.
And on the nights he did sleep…
Blaine’s eyes snapped open as the blood-curdling scream ripped through the
third floor. He stumbled out of bed, rubbing his eyes and headed to the room
across from his. As per usual, Kurt was thrashing in his bed, knuckles white as
they gripped his pillow and he cried and begged someone not to hurt him.
Blaine crawled over the covers and ran a hand down Kurt’s back. Kurt went limp,
just uttering quiet little whimpers and sniffles. Blaine wrapped his arms
around him tightly and started softly singing Somewhere Over The Rainbow into
his hair. By the end of the song, Kurt was in a deep calm sleep.
***
A few days later, Blaine heard back from Carl.
“Listen, this can’t get out to the public.”
“I understand,” Blaine said calmly. “This is purely for research purposes
only.”
Carl sighed on the other line. “Well, there is a clear connection between the
three girls. They all went to Garfield High School, and they’re all from the
same group home.”
“Really? Have you talked to their supervisor—”
“That’s the thing. Suzy, the third girl, was found by their supervisor, a Miss
Emma Pillsbury, 32. Miss Pillsbury went over the edge and she’s currently in
the psychiatric ward of Virginia Mason.”
“Oh god,” Blaine muttered.
“Yeah. There’s one more thing. All three girls were last seen with the same
person, blocks from the school, but we can’t seem to figure out who he is.
There’s no record of him at the group home, but Emma had a picture of him in
her wallet. I’ll send it to you now…”
Blaine waited for the little picture text to pop up and he gave it a once-over,
his insides freezing up.
“Carl, I’m going to have to call you back.”
***
Kurt was in the kitchen, pouring chocolate rice milk over a large bowl of Honey
Bunches of Oats with Almonds. He was dressed down, light gray jeans and
this asymmetrical flowing dark blue blouse thing that dipped off one shoulder
slightly, his hair back in its little nubby ponytail. He took a large bite of
the cereal, humming as he crunched on the flakes. He turned around and jumped.
Blaine was standing in the doorway of the kitchen, half in shadow.
Kurt wiped his mouth where chocolate rice milk had started to leak out. “You
scared me,” he said through a full mouth.  
“Is that so?” Blaine’s voice was quiet and with his face completely blacked out
it was incredibly eery. 
“Yeah,” Kurt muttered, tucking one of his beaded locks behind his ear. He
glanced back down at his cereal, idly stirring it.
Blaine didn’t say anything.
Kurt continued eating, the silence growing heavier and heavier between them
until he finished, putting his bowl into the sink. 
Blaine was still staring at him.
Unnerved, Kurt tried to walk past him to go back to his room, but Blaine
grabbed his arm. His grip was tight.
“Blaine, let go of me!” Kurt protested, attempting to pry his hand off.
Blaine dragged him back into the kitchen, his voice unusually calm and quiet.
“You know, I can’t believe how long you had me fooled, Kurt.”
Panic set in, but Kurt beat it down. “What are you talking about?” 
Blaine gave him a hard look. “Oh, I think you know. The police are on their
way.”
The blood drained from Kurt’s face. “No…”
“Yes.”
“No Blaine, please let me explain—”
“I think it’s pretty damn clear, Kurt!”
“Listen,” Kurt said desperately, prying at his arm. “Blaine, you have to let me
go, just please let me go!”
“I don’t think so, Kurt,” Blaine snapped, grabbing his other arm. “You made
your bed, and now you have to lie in it!” 
“No!” Kurt screamed, thrashing wildly against Blaine. “No! I’m not going back!
You can’t make me! I won’t I won’t I won’t I won’t I won’t!” He managed to get
his head under Blaine’s chin and thrust it upwards, causing Blaine’s head to
snap back and his grip to loosen.
Kurt wriggled out of Blaine’s arms and tore towards the doorway. Blaine raced
around the island and managed to get his back against the door, slamming it
shut. Kurt backed away before scrambling onto the counter and pushing the
window open. Blaine grabbed his foot with one and, dragging him back as his
other hand scrambled at Kurt’s shirt, his nails dragging down the length of
Kurt’s back.
Kurt went rigid, halfway off the sink as Blaine reached over him to snap the
window shut, breathing heavily. Kurt’s hand shot across the counter, grabbing
something, before he turned around, eyes wide, pushing against Blaine.
There was a noise, almost like a sick squishy cutting sound.
Blaine stared down at Kurt, who’s blue eyes were nearly manic before they
blinked a couple of times and went wide. Blaine breathed in, feeling the sharp
aching feeling in his stomach. He looked down at the knife in Kurt’s hand.
The one that was pressed hilt-deep into Blaine’s stomach. 
Kurt gasped, backing away from him as dark red blood began to flow out of
Blaine’s shirt.
Blaine looked back up at Kurt, feeling his vision growing fuzzy around the
edges. “Kur—”
And then everything was black.
***
Beeping.
Then white.
Then nurses. 
Then doctors.
Then maybe surgery.
Then more beeping.
Then doctors telling police officers that they’d have to interview him later.
Then the beeping went away.
Then darkness but he was still awake.
Then silence.
***
Then the door creaked open.
The darkness pressed in against Blaine’s eyes, making it nearly impossible to
see, but he could make out the dark figure that walked around his bed then
leaned over to turn on the lamp.
He blinked against the sudden light but his eyes quickly adjusted. 
It was a girl. A very pretty girl at that, with long dark reddish brown hair in
two neat french braids over her shoulders. She wore a checkered blue dress that
flared out to her knees with a white blouse underneath it, white knee socks,
and black mary jane shoes. 
“Hello Blaine.”
Blaine’s eyes snapped up to her face as the familiar voice washed over him. Her
blue eyes were sad.
“Kurt…”
With a sigh, Kurt sat down in the chair next to him, grabbing Blaine’s hand
when it reached over for the panic button. “Ah ah,” Kurt admonished, his touch
gentle but grip firm. “Don’t worry, no more knives. I just came…to apologize. I
didn’t mean to stab you. It was just…instinct.”
“Instinct,” Blaine bit out. “Well your ‘instinct’ caused me to need surgery!”
“I know I’m sorry,” Kurt sighed. “I panicked. But you wouldn’t let me explain
and—”
“I think your actions pretty much spoke for themselves.” Blaine gave up on
trying to twist his hands out of Kurt’s—he was too weak at the moment—and
huffed back against his bed. “So what now? Bashed-in head? Slit belly? Burlap
sack? Or do you only do that to little girls?” 
A blink. Then brows furrowing. “What?”
“Marley, Kitty, Suzy—do I really need to go on?”
Kurt stared at him, looking utterly confused. “Wait, you think I killed them?”
“Of course. Why else would I have called the police?”
Kurt’s expression cleared as he looked at Blaine in surprise and—it
seemed—relief. “Blaine, I didn’t kill them.”
“You were the last person seen with all three of them and your picture is in
Emma Pillsbury’s wallet.” Blaine shot off.
An almost-smile crept onto Kurt’s face. “Emma has a picture of me in her
wallet?”
“Yes. I had a detective look into the investigation for more novel research.”
Kurt licked his lips, seeming to be weighing something in his mind. “Blaine,
I’m going to let go of your hands now. But—you have to promise to hear me out.
I’ll explain everything. And, afterward, if you want to press the panic button,
I won’t stop you.”
Blaine stared at him hard. “You’ll answer my questions?”
“I’ll answer your questions,” Kurt nodded. “Okay, I’m letting go now.” He
lifted his hands from Blaine’s letting out a breath when Blaine laid still.
“I’m listening,” Blaine said calmly.
Kurt sat back in his chair, crossing his legs neatly and folding his hands in
his lap. “What would you like to know?”
“Why are you dressed like a girl?”
Kurt rolled his eyes. “The police are looking for a young man named Kurt who
stabbed esteemed novelist Blaine Anderson and who may also be connected to the
killings around town. Why do you think I’m dressed like a girl?”
“Fair enough,” Blaine nodded. “When I told you that I called the police why did
you panic if you were innocent?”
Kurt looked to the side. “I thought you meant…something else. I have a…lengthy
history.”
“You’re sixteen.”
“Everyone has a has a story.”
 
“What’s your story then?” Blaine demanded in a low voice. 
Kurt gave him a wry smile. “There was a boy.”
An arched eyebrow. “Really?”
“There’s always a boy.”
“I thought there was always a girl.”
Kurt smirked. “Well clearly someone’s stuck in the twentieth century.” 
“Cute,” Blaine snarked. “But I’ll need a bit more of a substantial answer than
‘there was a boy’.” 
Kurt sighed, recrossing his legs. ”I…” he began slowly. “My past isn’t
important but…I’m not from around here. I came to Seattle seven months ago
and…I was living on the streets. There was a lot of messed up stuff from before
and I ended up in Pioneer Square for a little over a month before Emma found
me. She took me in.” He licked his lips lightly. “She runs a halfway house
called McKinley Home, for kids who don’t have anywhere to go. Quinn and Puck
lived there too. Quinn had really strict parents who threw her out after they
found out she was pregnant with Puck’s baby and Puck’s mom kicked him out for
dishonoring his family by not staying with the faith or something…” Kurt
sighed, rubbing his temples. “And we were close. All of us. We’d all walk each
other to school and from work just to stay safe. But then, Marley died… And
Kitty after her…” 
***
Kurt dropped his bag off in his room, avoiding the chatter of the others in the
common room down the hall and ran his fingers along the walls as he entered
Emma’s office without warning.
“Kurt!” she exclaimed, her doe eyes going wide. “What are you doing here?”
He stood in the doorway. “I heard about Kitty.”
Emma’s expression dropped as she leaned heavily over her desk. “Yes,” she said
quietly.
“And…” Kurt licked his lips. “It was the same as Marley?”
“The same,” Emma nodded. “Look, Kurt—”
“I’ll go to Miro more, keep an eye on Quinn and take the bus home with her,” he
muttered. “And I’ll pick up Tina and Suzy from school and if—”
“Kurt,” Emma interrupted and Kurt closed his mouth. “Thank you. But I want you
to be sure that you stay safe as well.”
Kurt nodded before shutting the door. He rounded the corner, knocking into Ken
Tanaka, but he ignored him and kept going.
“Hey.”
He glanced up and Puck was leaning against the hall. Kurt just blinked in
acknowledgement. 
“You heard about Kitty?” Puck asked grimly.
Kurt licked his lips. “How’s Jake?”
“Not too good,” Puck sighed. “First Marley now—” He raked his fingers through
his mohawk in frustration. “Look, usually I’d ask him to but I have an extra
shift tonight so—”
“I’ll get Quinn,” Kurt nodded. 
Puck gave him a half smile. “Thanks dude. I’ll pay you back.”
Kurt rolled his eyes as he went to grab a sweater. “No you won’t.”
***
“And we tried to stay strong, all of us…” Kurt blinked back tears. “But then
Suzy and Emma…”
***
Kurt walked into the McKinley Home in the early morning, cramming the last of a
cherry danish into his mouth as he walked down the hall, nodding to Mike and
Tina in turn. He headed back to Emma’s office and swung the door open. 
The man at the table definitely wasn’t Emma. He had curly hair and a sweater
vest and a smooth smile.
Kurt froze. “Who are you?”
“Hello!” The man smiled, walking around the desk and offering his hand. “Kurt,
right? We’ve met before. I’m Will, remember?”
A couple of memories stirred up in Kurt’s brain from the past six months of
Emma’s new boyfriend Will that had hung around McKinley, but to whom Kurt had
never spoken more than two words. “What are you doing here?” Kurt asked, hand
tensing on his bag strap. “Where’s Emma?”
Will’s face softened. “Kurt…Emma’s in the hospital.”
Kurt blinked. “What? Why?”
Will sighed, raking a hand through his hair. “Well, you know about the past
couple of weeks, correct? With…Marley’s…and Kitty’s…” 
Kurt flinched, but nodded.
Will’s mouth set into a grim line. “Well, last night…Suzy…”
“Suzy Pepper?” Kurt blurted out.
Will nodded.
Kurt’s mind reeled. He was going to walk her home yesterday but he’d forgotten…
“Emma found her and…she lost it, Kurt. She’s in the psychiatric ward.”
Kurt slumped against the doorframe. Will put a hand on his shoulder, but he
flinched away.
“I’m here to help, Kurt,” Will reassured. “I want to find whatever psycho is
doing this and avenge the girls, and Emma. I’m keeping an eye on everyone here.
But…” He walked back to Emma’s desk and sat down. “McKinley Home will have to
be closed, partially.”
“What?” Kurt choked out.
“To prevent any further danger,” Will explained. “This is a rough
neighborhood—”
“So you’re just going to abandon kids on the streets?” Kurt snapped.
“No,” Will said firmly. “We’re finding homes for everyone. For those who we
can’t find homes, they’ll still stay here, but otherwise we’re trying to
minimize the risk of letting a killer in through the doors.”
Kurt shifted. “So…”
“So we’ll be putting children into homes unless they really can’t—”
“I really can’t,” Kurt cut across. “Stay with a family. I can’t.”
Will sighed. “Well Kurt, you can’t stay here.”
“Why not?” Kurt folded his arms. “You just said that those you can’t find
families for—”
“I meant kids who were in school,” Will said, giving him a hard stare. “And who
have some form of identification.”
Kurt looked to the side.
Will leaned forward. “Come on, Kurt. At least a last name—”
“No.”
Will ran a hand through his hair. “Then I’m sorry, but you can’t stay here
anymore.” 
Kurt took in a deep breath. “If Emma were here, I could stay.”
“But she’s not here,” Will said evenly. “And I have to look out for the good of
everyone.”
Kurt swallowed dryly. “How…”
“You have a day to pack up your stuff if you won’t cooperate.”
Kurt felt his heart pounding in his ears, but he nodded sharply and turned to
leave.
“Kurt?”
His hand paused on the door knob.
“Sorry—I’ve just been a bit scatterbrained when I’ve been trying to organize
everyone from Emma’s files but…there’s someone mentioned here—a Dorothy P.? Do
you know which room she’s in?”
Kurt blinked at the door. “Dorothy hasn’t lived here for a very long time.”
Will started to say something else, but Kurt was out of the door, closing it
tightly behind him. He shoved into his room and pulled his clothing into his
duffelbag, cramming as many magazines as he could into his back pack and
latching both onto his back before slamming the door shut behind him. 
“Kurt!” 
He turned and Tina ran up to him, throwing her arms around him. “Kurt, tell me
you’re not going.”
“I have to, Tina,” he said quietly, nodding to Mike over her shoulder. He
pushed her back, hands gripping her shoulders hard. “Listen to me. Don’t go
anywhere alone.”
“Oh believe me, she won’t,” Mike said, wrapping an arm around her waist. “We’re
all pairing up with buddies. Jake’s keeping an eye on Rory, Puck’s looking
after Quinn—”
“Do you all have places to stay?” Kurt asked.
Mike nodded. “Tina and I are staying here with Rory. The Jones family are
saints and they’re taking in Quinn and Puck and Jake because they want to help
out with the baby.”
“Okay,” Kurt nodded. “So you’re all taken care of.”
“What about you?” Tina protested. “Kurt, you can’t just go out there on your
own!”
“I’ll be fine, Tina.” he smiled. “I always am.”
“But—”
He pressed a finger to her lips. “Come on. You know I’ve been through worse.”
She sighed, pressing a quick kiss to his finger. “Be careful.”
“And hey, we’re saving up,” Mike said. “In a couple of months, we can afford an
apartment, and the second that happens, you’re coming to live with us.”
“Thanks,” Kurt nodded. “But I’ll be okay. You two stay safe, and make sure that
everyone else does.”
“We will.”
Kurt gave them a half smile before turning to leave.
“Going so soon?”
Kurt turned to raise an eyebrow at Ken Tanaka who was standing by the door,
chewing gum. “Yes, I’d rather leave while it’s still light. Apparently there’s
a killer on the loose.”
Ken nodded, an odd smile on his face. “Yes, there is.” He held the door open to
the downpour. “Stay safe, Kurt.”
He ducked his head and walked out into the rain.
Kurtsniffed, looking away. “I ended back up in Pioneer Square, and you found
me.”
Blaine looked down at his hands. “You were walking them home. The three
girls—you were walking all of them home from school to make sure they’d stay
safe.”
“Yes.”
“Why isn’t there any record of you at McKinley?”
Kurt laughed. “Don’t you remember what I told you back when we first spoke? I
don’t exist, Blaine. There’s…I don’t have a record. Well, one you can trace. No
identification. Nothing.”
“Okay,” Blaine nodded, processing everything. It all seemed plausible and Kurt
didn’t exactly look like a killer, especially in his odd 1930s farm girl outfit
he seemed to be sporting. 
Kurt looked up at him suddenly. “Wait, I’m the last person seen with all three
of the girls?”
“That’s what the detective said, yes,” Blaine nodded.
“But…” Kurt licked his lips. “I wasn’t the last person seen with Suzy. I mean,
I’d walked Kitty and Marley back to our neighborhood before catching the 48
going north and then they died, but Suzy…I’d walked her back the day before,
but that was the last time I’d seen her because on the day she died, I got
stuck in traffic so I couldn’t walk her home.”
Blaine frowned. “According to the police, she wasn’t at school that day.”
“But she’d told me that morning that she was heading to school and asked me to
pick her up later,” Kurt stared. “I stayed out with a friend all that night and
when I got back the next morning, she was dead and Emma was in the hospital.” 
The two stared at each other as the same question mulled over in their minds:
What had really happened to Suzy Pepper?
***
Two days, one faking of amnesia to the police, a front page article about
Blaine getting shot with a picture of him and Kurt dressed as a girl walking
out of Swedish Hospital sporting large shades, one small interview for the
Stranger newspaper—“Who shot you?” “Don’t remember.” “Who was the girl?” “Ellie
Grey, my cousin.” “How’s the novel coming along?” “Swimmingly.”—and an obscene
amount of painkillers later, Kurt and Blaine were in the Virginia Mason
hospital elevator, heading up to the seventh floor.  
They’d worked out their differences—Blaine had left a bold of blue-violet silk
in front of Kurt’s door with a card stating, “I’m sorry I thought you were a
serial killer” and Kurt had replied with a bouquet of red and yellow roses with
a card saying, “I’m sorry I stabbed you”—but Kurt was still grumbly because he
had to be seen publicly as “Ellie Grey”.
“Seriously, Blaine?”
“What? I panicked and it was the first name that popped into my head!”
“You named me after a character that I named after you after the tea you
drink?”
“…yes?”
He fiddled with the curls of his auburn wig in a disgruntled manner before the
doors slid open and he and Blaine headed to Room 716. They slid in quietly and
Kurt yanked the wig off of his head, stuffing it into his backpack. “I hate
that thing.”
“I know,” Blaine sighed. “But come on, liven up.”
Kurt shot a glare over to him before walking further into the room. 
Emma was sitting in a white chair, wearing a white hospital gown, gazing out
over the overcast city that was slowly declining into night.
“Emma?” Kurt said gently, walking around to kneel next to her. She kept looking
out the window. “Emma? Are you there?” He touched her hand.
She yanked it back, looking at him in surprise. “Dorothy?”
“No, Emma,” Kurt shook his head. “It’s me. Kurt. Dorothy’s gone, remember?”
“Dorothy, what are you doing here?” Emma asked, cupping Kurt’s cheek.
“Shouldn’t you be in school?”
Kurt swallowed, touching her hand gently. “I’m here to ask you what happened to
Suzy Pepper.” 
“Suzy Pepper…” Emma’s eyes went in and out of focus. “She’s so sweet and smart.
Did you know she has a crush on my boyfriend? It’s so cute…But most of the
girls did as well. Will’s so nice. I don’t understand why Ken doesn’t like him
though. Ken’s been awfully moody lately, don’t you think?”
“Emma,” Kurt said more clearly. “What happened when Suzy died?” 
“Suzy…” her lip trembled. “Died?”
“Yes,” Kurt nodded. “You found her dead body, remember?”
Emma looked back out the window, her eyes far-off.
“Em—”
“There was blood.” Her voice came out as a whisper as she wrapped her arms
around herself. “So much blood and Suzy was… and then there was more blood and
the scarecrow—” Her eyes went wide. “The scarecrow. Oh god, the scarecrow.” Her
nails started dragging along her arms back and forth back and forth until they
were suddenly digging in leaving rivers of blood. “The scarecrow the scarecrow
the—”
Kurt grabbed her wrists as she started thrashing back in forth screaming,
“Scarecrow! Scarecrow!”, trying to yell over her and calm her back down as
Blaine ran out into the hall to get a doctor.
“Emma please!” Kurt begged, losing his grip on her blood-slicked arms. “Please,
you have to calm down!”
“Scarecrow!”
Three doctors ran into the room and grabbed her arms, restraining her. One shot
something into her neck.
Shaking, Kurt stared at her slumped form in horror until Blaine grabbed his arm
and pulled him out of the room.
***
Kurt tore off all of his clothes as soon as he had his bedroom door slammed
shut behind him. He went into the bathroom and yanked the shower on to scalding
and climbed in, furiously scrubbing the blood off his arms. Stepping out of the
shower, he felt raw and pink and he ached. He avoided his reflection in the
mirror and pulled on his gray cotton pajama pants and short rich blue kimono.
He ran a towel through his hair before snapping it back in a ponytail and
padding back into his room. He turned off the light and curled up on top of the
comforter. Sleep took him.
***
It was midnight when the screams came. Blaine hadn’t even realized that Kurt
had gone to bed, and he was still downstairs by the fireplace working. Racing
up two flights of stairs, he found Kurt sitting up in bed, having woken himself
up and looking around in confusion.
“Kurt?” Blaine said gently, touching his shoulder. “Are you alright?”
A pink tongue snuck out, licking lips before Kurt looked up at him with wet
eyes and shook his head.
Wordlessly, Blaine scooped him up and carried him across the hall into his own
room, setting him on his large fluffy bed. Kurt rolled over, sitting crisscross
applesauce in front of the window, looking out at the cold autumn night.
“Blood,” he whispered quietly. “I had a nightmare about blood.”
There was a brief silence. 
“About what Emma was talking about?” Blaine asked gently.
Kurt shook his head. He untied the kimono, shrugging out of the material as it
fell onto the comforter around him. Then he leaned over and turned on the
bedside lamp.
On his back was the black unicorn, but unlike when he’d seen it when Kurt had
first come to his home, he could make out the details much more clearly at such
close proximity.
He could also make out what the tattoo was hiding.
The skin of Kurt’s back was covered with scars. Thick, ropey, horizontal lash
marks littered the expanse, from the top of Kurt’s spine down to his hips. 
“Kurt,” Blaine muttered, crawling over the bed to press his hand gently against
Kurt’s skin. “Kurt, what—” His fingers traced the shiny ridges. “Kurt are
these…whip marks?” 
Kurt’s back arched out of his touch as he pulled the kimono back over his
shoulders. “Just memories from before,” he murmured, knotting the robe
securely. “They don’t matter.”
“Of course they matter,” Blaine held his wrist lightly.
Kurt looked over at him, brows furrowed.
“I really…really care about you, Kurt,” Blaine said quietly. “And I hate the
thought of something like that happening to you.”
Kurt blinked before he leaned forward, pressing his lips to Blaine’s. 
Blaine froze as Kurt pushed him back on the bed, straddling him as he kissed
and nipped down Blaine’s neck. A thousand reasons for why this was a bad idea
raced through Blaine’s mind—one glaring particularly bright—but then Kurt was
popping the buttons of his shirt open and sucking on a collarbone and suddenly
Blaine just didn’t care. His fingers joined Kurt’s in ridding himself of his
shirt, his jeans quickly following. Blaine reached up for the knot of Kurt’s
kimono, but Kurt batted his hands away. He leaned over and opened Blaine’s
bedside drawer, grabbing lube and a condom before yanking the plug out of the
wall to turn off the lamp. 
Darkness filled Blaine’s room as Kurt stretched over him, a hulking shadow that
leaned forward and gripped his face as he kissed him again. Blaine broke away
to kiss down Kurt’s neck, his hands diving between cloth to stroke at Kurt’s
sides.
Kurt’s breath hitched as he let out a soft moan against Blaine’s ear and
suddenly there was a sense of urgency and Blaine tightened his grip on Kurt’s
waist, thrusting his erection into Kurt’s thigh.
Kurt sat up, pushing Blaine down against the comforter and moving Blaine’s
hands above his head and resting them against the headboard. “Don’t let go,” he
murmured.
“I won’t,” Blaine said roughly, shivering against the comforter.
Kurt gave him a hard stare. “I mean it. If you let go, I’ll leave.”
Taken aback by his seriousness, Blaine merely nodded and settled back into his
pillows. 
Satisfied, Kurt went back to kissing down his chest, grabbing the lube and
coating his fingers while his mouth worked on Blaine’s nipples. He reached back
into his pajama pants and started grunting and groaning as his teeth caught on
Blaine’s skin and Blaine would give anything to let go of the bars and press
his fingers back with Kurt’s. Once Kurt was panting against his chest, face
tilted so that Blaine’s nipple was digging into his cheekbone, he took his
hand out of his pants and yanked Blaine’s boxers down, throwing them across the
room. 
Kurt turned, sliding his pajama pants down to just under his ass, most of it
covered by his kimono. He rolled a condom down on Blaine’s cock and slicked it
up with lube before gripping the base tightly so he could sink down onto it. 
“Kurt…” Blaine gasped, his toes curling and popping. “I—”
“Shhh.” Kurt panted, his legs settling on either side of Blaine’s. “It’s…been a
while. Just…just wait a second.”
Blaine tilted his head back and stared at the canopy, nerves sparking down his
spine as Kurt gasped and adjusted and twisted on top of him. 
“Okay,” Kurt sighed. He splayed his hands on Blaine’s legs before raising
himself up then sinking back down. 
Blaine’s hands gripped the bars of his headboard tighter as he watched Kurt
gasp and moan. Then Kurt shifted, one of his hands moving back and pressing
into the comforter as his back arched, his kimono slipping down his shoulders.
Blaine watched as the unicorn on his back undulated and rippled and looked
almost as if it were galloping. 
Kurt started gasping out Blaine’s name and then he was clenching down and
Blaine was done. His hips thrustup sharply into Kurt as he came in the condom,
bright lights shooting in his eyelids as he was overtaken by the searing heat. 
And then the warmth was gone as Kurt pulled off him, pulling his pajama pants
back up as  he pulled the condom off of Blaine and chucked it into the garbage.
He pushed his kimono off all the way and climbed onto the other side of the
bed, facing away from Blaine.
“Kurt?” Blaine tried. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
Blaine blinked in confusion. “Did you even…do you want to clean up?”
“I don’t need to,” came the muffled reply.
Blaine stared at the hunched back. “Kurt—”
“Blaine.” Kurt turned around, looking peeved. “Did you just enjoy the
intercourse that we partook in?”
“I—yes, but—”
“Then please stop pestering me,’ Kurt snapped, rolling back over. “I’m tired.”
“Okay,” Blaine said quietly. He reached out before changing his mind and leaned
over on the bed, kissing the top of Kurt’s shoulder gently. “Sweet dreams,
Kurt.”
There was no reply.
Blaine rolled back over and closed his eyes, drifting off to sleep, missing the
light sniffle of his bed companion.
***
As a rainy fog settled in over the city in the early hours of the morning,
Blaine was the first to wake.
He turned on his side to look at Kurt. He looked so peaceful on the bed, his
expression smooth and hair fanned out around his face and curling slightly at
the ends and his lips parted and soft and he just looked so young.
Blaine leaned forward and gently pressed his lips against Kurt’s, kissing them
lightly, then the corner of his mouth, then his chin, then jaw, then crook of
his neck.
Kurt sighed in his sleep and curled towards Blaine, a low moan in the back of
his throat. 
Blaine smiled against his soft skin as he pulled Kurt closer, trailing his hand
down the side of his waist. Kurt had been so adamant last night about giving
Blaine pleasure, and now Blaine wanted to return the favor. He stroked the soft
skin of Kurt’s belly gently, surprised to feel a belly button piercing that he
hadn’t noticed earlier, before trailing his hand farther down, cupping the
front of his pajama pants.
Suddenly his hand was grabbed and he was flung onto his back as a wild-eyed
Kurt pressed his forearm into Blaine’s throat. 
Blaine’s hands shot up to pry Kurt’s arm off but Kurt had already pushed
himself back off of the bed, looking around wide-eyed before storming out,
slamming the door sharply behind him.
Blaine breathed heavily, air flooding back into his lungs before he whipped his
covers off, grabbing a pair of pajama pants and taking off after Kurt.
He was right where Blaine knew he’d be—in the attic by the window, sitting
crosslegged as he looked out over the hill. Blaine sighed and went over to sit
next to him, adopting the same style. 
“It’s okay, Kurt.”
Silence. 
Blaine looked out over the rain. “Look, I’ve known a few trans folk—”
“I’m not trans,” Kurt said in a flat voice. 
Blaine blinked in surprise. “Then…”
Kurt turned to him with a smile. It wasn’t happy or sad but a tad…malicious,
almost. “Oh, Mr. Earl Grey. I can already see the cogs moving around in your
head. Trying to fit and place me into a category. You’re wondering about my age
and odd voice and style that seems to fit neither men nor women. The only thing
you have to go off of is a name—Kurt. And considering that I’m a homeless
runaway high school dropout, you can’t even trust in that. So you wonder—am I a
flat-chested girl who’s lied about her gender this whole time or merely a very
pretty boy with a high pitched voice who just so happens to not have a cock.”
Blaine titled his head to look at Kurt full on, his hand flexing, the phantom
memory of what he thought would be there when he’d cupped between Kurt’s legs
only to find…nothing. 
Kurt’s smile widened as he reached a finger up to tap Blaine’s nose. “You’ve
already thought of a thousand stories, haven’t you? You writers always jump to
fifty conclusions at once.” 
Blaine licked his lips. “Is your real name Kurt?”
Kurt raised an eyebrow. “Yes.”
Blaine didn’t blink. “Is your legal name Kurt?”
Kurt’s eyelashes fluttered slightly and he glanced back out the window. “No.”
Blaine nodded. “So what were you born as?”
“A boy,” Kurt shrugged. “Externally and internally.” He gave a humorless laugh.
“Not quite sure what I am now though…”
A sudden chill came over Blaine as his mind offered up fresh new possibilities.
“Kurt…you weren’t the one to do that to yourself, were you?” It wasn’t a
question. 
Kurt wrapped his arms tighter around his knees, his back flexing, causing the
unicorn to ripple. “I was nine,” he said quietly. Kurt opened his left hand,
palm up, smooth and flat, before bringing his right hand down hard, sideways,
in a chopping motion. He gave a weak chuckle. “All I remember is that it took
me five minutes to realize that the horrible piercing screams were coming from
my mouth.” His hand reached behind him and started rubbing unconsciously at one
of the lower scars on his back.
Blaine wrapped his arm around Kurt’s back, pulling him close and resting his
lips against his hair. Kurt curled his head into the crook of Blaine’s neck and
the pair rested there, looking at the rain. 
***
Four days later found the two in a rowboat on Lake Union.
“Well this is kinky.” 
Blaine sighed, letting go of the oars as he adjusted his cravat. “It was your
idea!”
“I didn’t know we’d be in a damp rowboat,” Kurt sniffed, crossing his legs
daintily under his lacy petticoat. “And it was just to help us get in
character.” 
Blaine shot him a look. “I’m pretty sure that Alexander Bergamot never
wore…that.”
Kurt was reclining in the other end of the rowboat an innocent smile on his
face. He was wearing a curly red wig with a large blue ribbon in his hair, as
well as a pale blue corset, fluffy white petticoats, and a thin lacy shawl. 
“Yes he did,” Kurt argued. “In the opium den, when he goes undercover as a
harlot and seduces the earl mischievously to play on his emotions so he’ll
react in the proper way when the police arrive, but the killer is actually
there and he mistakes Alex for a woman and sets his sights on killing her
next.” 
Blaine stared. “But none of that’s in the book.”
“It is now,” Kurt grinned, leaning his head back against the edge of the boat.
“Speaking of the killer…”
“Which one?”
“Both.” With a sigh, Kurt sat up. “Now, Emma called the killer here ‘The
Scarecrow’.”
“Which could mean any number of things,” Blaine nodded. “Most likely about the
burlap sacks. He places them over his victim’s heads before stringing them up
not in a biblical manner, like we priorly thought with crucifixion—”
“—but like a scarecrow in the fields,” Kurt nodded. “So is there any basis? Any
killer scarecrows?”
“One I can think of,” Blaine bit his lip. “Fictional. Jonathan Crane from the
Batman comics. His alter ego was The Scarecrow. He’d shoot everyone up with
fear toxins and…yeah.”  
A smile quirked Kurt’s lips. “You are such a nerd.”
“Shut up,” Blaine rolled his eyes. “Anyways, it doesn’t entirely add up but
it’s the best lead we’ve got.”
“So the thing that all three murders havein common is McKinley Home,” Kurt
sighed. “But that doesn’t really help.”
“Did Emma have enemies or anything? Anyone who’d want to harm the girls?”
Blaine frowned.
Kurt racked his brains. “Not really. I mean, she got into a bunch of spats with
Figgins, one of the guys on board for children’s welfare or something…but I’m
pretty sure that Kitty at least could definitely take him and he doesn’t really
seem like the psychotic rapist murderer type.”
“Few seldom do,” Blaine argued. 
“Plus I’m pretty sure that he’s at some conference in Portland right now, so he
has an alibi,” Kurt sighed.
“Okay. Anyone else?”
“I mean…everyone pretty much loved Emma,” Kurt shrugged. “Like, she was pretty
much perfect. Sweet, pretty, helpful, gave great advice, loved kids, selfless,
the whole package.”
“That’s a dead end then,” Blaine sighed. “Pun intended. We’ll just have to keep
digging.” 
“Alright,” Kurt lolled back against the side. “Now back to the kinky part…”
“Any kinkiness found is your fault.”
“Says the thirty year old who’s with an underage boy in a corset alone on a
lake.”
“Twenty-eight,” Blaine grumbled.
“Semantics,” Kurt shrugged. He spread his legs. “Is that why you dragged me out
on the lake? To reenact some deranged fantasy? Am I the Alice Liddell to your
Lewis Carroll?” 
“Oh shut up,” Blaine rolled his eyes, leaning over for a kiss.
***
After Blaine dropped Kurt off downtown—
“I have errands, Blaine. Not everything I do revolves around your book.”
“You’re going to run errands…in a corset?”
“Yes.”
—he returned home to do more storyboarding. 
They had a killer—tentatively calling him the Scarecrow, though Blaine knew
he’d change it.
(Which was a pity, because Scarecrow really was a good name but it’d been used
before so he couldn’t. Oh the woes of copyright.)
The killer killed women and Bergamot and Grey investigated. While undercover,
the killer became interested in one of Bergamot’s disguises and fixed him as a
target, not knowing that he was in fact male.
But who was the killer?
Both in the story and in real life, the question plagued Blaine. He couldn’t
pin down who it was in his story because he couldn’t pin down who it was in
real life.
The doorbell ran. 
He came down from the attic, surprised to realize that it was already starting
to get dark, and opened the door, expecting that Kurt had forgotten his keys
again.
It wasn’t Kurt. It was a man with wavy hair and a cozy brown sweater vest, with
an odd expression that was a mixture of imperiousness and stupidity.
“Hi,” he said, holding out his hand. “My name is Will Schuester. I run the
McKinley Home.” 
“Oh, hello.” Blaine shook his hand, inviting him in. They went into the sitting
room and Blaine turned down the CD player that was always blaring music through
the downstairs. “Would you like a drink or…?”
“No thank you,” Will waved his hand. “This is a short visit. But…I was talking
to some of the kids, and they were telling me that you were the guy that Kurt
was staying with.”
“I’m sorry,” Blaine frowned. “But how did you find me?” 
“Well your picture was in the paper,” Will explained. “Then Quinn said that
she’d dropped off some of Kurt’s clothes,so I just wanted to check in and make
sure that he was okay.”
“Yeah,” Blaine nodded. “Yeah, he’s great.”
“That’s good,” Will smiled. “He can be stubborn, but it’s nice that he’s found
someone that he can get along with. Plus there are others his age living
here…?”
Blaine blinked. “What?”
“Your cousin, correct?” Will raised his eyebrows. “We were all reading the
article after you were in that mysterious accident—I’m glad you recovered, by
the way—but don’t you have a cousin staying here as well? Or is it just…you and
Kurt alone?”
“No, I mean yeah, uh…” Blaine floundered. “She stops in a lot but she’s always
busy around the city.”
“Huh,” Will stared at him. “I thought she looked a little familiar.” 
You have no idea. “She volunteers a lot,” Blaine supplied unhelpfully. “And uh,
she’s a tutor at Garfield High. That’s…probably where you’ve seen her. I mean,
I’ve heard that a lot of your kids go to Garfield.”
“Really? Here.” Will dug around in his pocket, producing a card. “Give her my
number, the kids could really use some extra tutoring. Jake and Rory in
particular have been struggling a lot.”
“Sure thing,” Blaine promised, lying through his teeth.
“Well, I’d better be off,” Will sighed, standing. “I just wanted to check…” He
turned towards the stereo. “Is this Barbra’s version of Ding Dong The Witch Is
Dead?” 
“Yes,” Blaine said, eyes raised. “Yes, it is.”
Will sighed happily, a smile on his face. “I just love this musical so much.
See, I wish I could teach the kids about music, but all their schedules…” He
sighed. “Well, it was nice to meet you, Blaine. Tell Kurt I said hi, and your
cousin to give me a call if she wants to get some volunteer hours tutoring.”
“Will do,” Blaine nodded with a smile as he saw him out. Will was halfway down
the walk when Blaine remembered something. “Hey Will!”
Will turned.
Blaine bit his lip. “Does anyone at the McKinley Home like Batman comics?” 
Will raised his eyebrows. “Batman comics?”
“Uh yeah, I…I have a bunch of old ones that I was going to donate to Goodwill,
but if you know of anyone…”
Will paused for a moment, thinking. “Well, I know that the Puckerman brothers
love comics, but they mostly like Marvel…”
“Oh,” Blaine nodded. “Okay.”
“Or Ken.”
Blaine blinked. “Who?”
“Ken Tanaka. He’s one of the staff. I know he likes Batman comics.”
***
Blaine closed the door firmly shut behind him. They had a suspect…no, too much
circumstantial evidence. It was probably just a coincidence. He’d have to ask
Kurt—
The sky outside was already dark and Kurt still wasn’t home.
Wake up, the wicked witch is dead! 
She’s gone where the goblins go
Below below below yo ho
Blaine settled uncomfortably in his armchair and turned on the TV, channel
surfing. 
He ended up on the news which was reporting something that had happened at the
waterfront. A body was found on the rocks towards the south end of downtown.
Blaine leaned forward as the reporter confirmed that it was in the same vein of
the prior three killings.
The ones from the McKinley Home. 
The camera zoomed in. 
Why everyone’s glad she took such a crowning
Being hit by a house is even worse than drowning! 
The remote dropped from Blaine’s hand as he saw the pale blue corset on the
body and the curly red hair spilling from the bloody burlap sack.
***
It was a long and dark night.
The first thing Blaine did was grab his phone before he remembered that Kurt
didn’t have a cell phone. But he called Miro and asked Quinn if she’d seen him.
She hadn’t, and neither had Puck or Jake. They called more of their friends,
but no one seemed to know anything.
The news didn’t report more about the body and Blaine was stuck pacing back and
forth on the bottom floor of his house, waiting, hoping, pleading, praying…
Kurt didn’t come back. 
Blaine ended up throwing one of his chairs against the wall and breaking down
crying in front of the fireplace.
At two in the morning, he grabbed his keys. 
He drove all through downtown—Bell Town, the Seattle Center, lower Queen Anne,
the waterfront, Pike Place, Westlake, around the Paramount, Pioneer Square, the
stadiums, the international district, the train station. Then through the
central district, crossing over Rainer, Washington Middle School, 23rd and
Jackson, MLK, Garfield High, Union, Madison, back over to Capitol Hill,
Broadway, Lowell, the botanical gardens, the cemetery. 
He tried not to let his mind stray, but images of Kurt being stalked through an
alleyway and then beaten and raped and what the Scarecrow would do to Kurt when
he found out that he wasn’t a girl and then his stomach being slit open and his
head bashed in and that horrid sack being placed over his head as the lights
left his eyes—
Over and over and over and over he kept looping around, searching, shouting,
crying, begging.
At 4:06 am, a dejected Blaine Anderson returned home, worn out and feeling like
a raw nerve ending as he stumbled through his front door.
“Where have you been?”
His head snapped up and there was Kurt, curled up by the fireplace with a mug
of cocoa in his hands. He was wearing his pajama pants and a snuggling dark
gray sweater with shoulder zippers, his hair mussed as he looked up at him with
wide eyes.
“You look terrible,” Kurt frowned, standing. “Why were you out so late?”
Blaine staggered forward, taking Kurt’s face in his hand. “It’s you…it’s really
you.”
“Um…yes.” Kurt laughed nervously. “What’s the matter with you.”
The shock fled from Blaine and was quickly replaced with anger. “Where the hell
have you been?” he yelled.
Kurt took a step back, staring at him like he was a lunatic. “What are you
talking about?”
“Where the hell have you been the past ten hours?” Blaine demanded, breathing
heavily.
Kurt blinked. “Upstairs. Asleep.”
Blaine stared at him. “But…I didn’t see you come in…”
“You were upstairs,” Kurt said, still wary. “I heard you working and I didn’t
want to disturb you so I just unloaded my stuff and decided to take a nap. But
I guess I was a bit sleepier than I thought because I woke up around three
because there was a crash downstairs. I came down and you were pulling out of
the driveway and you took off. I’ve been waiting up for you.” 
Blaine sagged against the side of the fireplace, tears spilling over his
cheeks.
Kurt walked over to him, placing a cautious hand on his shoulder.
“Blaine…what’s wrong.”
“There was…” he cleared his throat. “There was another killing tonight.”
“Another from McKinley?” Kurt’s shoulders dropped.
“No,” Blaine shook his head. “I mean, I don’t know who it was. But…she had red
hair. And she was wearing your corset…”
Kurt closed his eyes and his shoulders slumped and his eyebrows drew up.
“Virginia.”
“What?”
“Virginia Wolf. Or at least, that’s what she always called herself. I didn’t
know her real name. She’s one of the girls down in Pioneer Square…”
A memory suddenly flashed through Blaine’s mind.
The rain was coming down even harder as Blaine trudged around dumpsters. A hand
reached out and tapped his shoulder and he turned to find a pretty redhead
smiling at him. 
“Hey honey,” she smiled. “Looking for company? Why don’t you come in? It’s
dreadful out.” 
“…and it’d been her corset that I’d…”borrowed” once so I returned it to her
today before running my errands.” 
Blaine just kept looking at him, breathing heavily.
Kurt sighed. “You…you thought—”
Blaine grabbed his face, kissing him deeply as he held him as close as
possible, wrapping one of his arms tightly around his waist. “I thought you
were dead,” he whispered raggedly as he tore his lips away to kiss down Kurt’s
neck. “I thought that psychopath had gotten to you and I thought that was your
body broken on the waterfront rocks and—” His breath hitched and he shut his
eyes tightly, trying to block out the horrific images that had been playing on
the front of his mind for the past ten hours.
“I’m here.” Kurt pulled Blaine’s face back, littering it with kisses. “I’m
here.” Blaine reached up to Kurt’s zippers, pulling both of them down his arms.
“I’m here.” Kurt pushed Blaine’s jacket off his shoulders and then his shirt.
Blaine yanked Kurt’s sweater off.
They somehow found themselves on the floor in front of the fireplace, Kurt
gasping loudly as Blaine raked his lips all across his body. He fumbled with
the drawstrings of his pajama pants but Kurt stopped him, a flash of fear
shooting across his face. He tried to turn over, but Blaine held his hips down.
“No,” he whispered. “I want to see you. All of you. If you want.”
Kurt bit his lip but laid back on his arms, watching Blaine ambivalently. 
Blaine kissed down Kurt’s chest, paying special attention to the details of
each scar his tongue came across, pausing briefly at his bellybutton to swirl
the little ruby piercing inside before undoing the drawstrings of Kurt’s pants
and pulling them down off his hips. 
Kurt tensed beneath him, but Blaine just kissed down the smooth hairless skin,
lazily dragging his tongue across the slightly shiny pink scars. He heard Kurt
gasp above him and glanced up briefly to see Kurt’s head thrown back, his hand
holding onto his neck as his blush spread to his chest. Blaine moved his lips
to the crease of Kurt’s thigh, nuzzling and licking and sucking and sucking and
sucking and then biting sharply. 
A hand shot down and yanked on Blaine’s curls, but it didn’t shove away, it
pushed his face further into Kurt’s thigh. Grinning, Blaine grabbed both of
Kurt’s legs and hooked them over his shoulders, licking and dragging his teeth
down across Kurt’s skin until he reached his hole, his hands smoothing the
globes of his ass out so that he could lick across it, burying his face in. 
Kurt’s feet kicked and scrambled all over Blaine’s back as his other hand came
down to Blaine’s hair as well, tightening as Blaine went to town. 
He had no idea how long it lasted. Forty minutes. An hour. Two. Kurt was
sweating and moaning and writhing on the floor, his entire body in a rich pink
flush as Blaine lazily withdrew his tongue. He’d already come rubbing off
against the soft carpet sometime back after a particularly throaty “Oh
god, Blaine!” from Kurt and he dragged himself up next to him, pulling Kurt
into his arms as Kurt shivered and flexed, his eyelashes tickling the crook of
Blaine’s neck. The fire was still crackling as they drifted off to sleep. 
***
“Is it…” Blaine traced his fingers along Kurt’s back, hopping from one scar to
the next. “What’s sex like for you?”
It was late morning. They’d woken up in front of embers before grabbing a
container of blackberries from the fridge and dragging a comforter out of the
closet and resuming their cuddling on the rug in front of the fire.
Kurt shrugged lightly, popping a blackberry in his mouth. “Sex is sex. It
depends on who I’m having it with. But it’s not as…urgent for me, I guess.
There’s not really an end point. Everything just tends to feel really good and
then after a while I get sore and have to stop. Well, that’s with good sex.
With bad sex it’s just uncomfortable and boring.”
Blaine idly spiraled his finger along the horn of the unicorn. “And…tonight?
How was it?”
Kurt smiled lazily, leaning over to kiss him. “It was the best. Thank you.”
Blaine wrapped his arms around him, pulling him close as their lips moved
slowly together. Suddenly he pulled back. “How do you pee?” 
Kurt stared at him in disbelief before dissolving into giggles, pressing his
face against the crook of Blaine’s neck. 
“Sorry,” Blaine blushed. “It’s actually been bugging me for a few days.”
Kurt covered his mouth, like he always did when he full-on laughed and rolled
onto his back, wiping tears from his eyes. “There was a tube at first that
stayed in, but after a couple years it wasn’t really needed anymore.”
“Oh,” Blaine frowned. “That’s…actually a lot simpler than I thought.”
“Remember, eunuchs have been around for thousands of years,” Kurt smirked,
clambering on top of Blaine’s chest. “Lots of science has been put into the
matter.” 
“Okay, okay,” Blaine muttered, resting his arms around Kurt’s waist. “I was
just wondering.”
“I know,” Kurt smiled, tapping his nose against Blaine’s. “Mr. Earl Grey,
always so curious with his writers’ mind.”
“Yes, my mind’s the organ that’s curious,” Blaine said dryly as he rolled his
hips up into the crook of Kurt’s thigh, before rolling them over into the thick
Persian carpet.
***
Late afternoon. The fire was built up again and the rain was hammering on the
windows. 
Blaine had a fountain pen and a bottle of ink and was busy writing all over
Kurt’s back. 
“What are you writing?” Kurt asked for the fiftieth time. “Come on, you have to
tell me something.
Blaine looked at the written word wings he’d added to Kurt’s unicorn.
“Blackbird singing in the dead of night. Take these broken wings and learn to
fly. All your life you were only waiting for this moment to arise.” 
Kurt rolled his eyes, trying to hide his smile. “Seriously?”
“It’s a special charm,” Blaine said wisely. “Scarecrows don’t like blackbirds,
so this will keep you safe.”
“Aw, my sweet magician, giving me charms and spells.” Kurt smiled, resting his
head on his arms. “Proceed.”
Eventually the inky dried and Blaine rolled Kurt around, writing all down his
arms and legs and chest. 
“There’s no place like home,” Blaine smiled as he wrote the words in a spiral
around Kurt’s bellybutton. He smiled at the little ruby in Kurt’s bellybutton.
“Just say that three times and tap your ruby piercing and you’ll be home.” 
Kurt snorted, giggling lightly as Blaine finished the last “e” with a flourish.
“Seriously Blaine?”
Blaine shrugged. “The Wizard of Oz was my favorite movie as a kid.”
“You’re a goofy old man.”
“And you’re a silly boy,” Blaine shot back with a smirk before blowing over
Kurt’s bellybutton to dry the ink, and sealing it with a kiss. “There’s no
place like home.” 
Kurt took Blaine’s face in his hands and pulled it up his body, landing it on
his lips. “Home is whenever I’m with you,” he sang softly along with the song
playing, a gentle smile on his lips as he pressed them to Blaine’s again. 
***
Nearly midnight. 
Blaine was sitting cross-legged by the fire and Kurt was straddling his lap,
gasping as Blaine’s hands gripped his hips tightly and swiveled them this way
and that so he could grind against Kurt’s prostate. Kurt gripped his shoulders
tightly, uttering Blaine’s name with every pant and gasp and groan and Blaine
wrapped an arm around his waist, trying to keep them as physically close as
possible.
***
Three in the morning. 
The two lay passed out in the tangled comforters, equally content smiles on
their faces.
The Scarecrow stood over the couple, gazing at them impassively.
Then he turned, walking silently through the house. He went upstairs, checking
every room in the house. He found something in Kurt’s room and took it. He went
back downstairs to the sitting room and took something from there as well, on
impulse. 
He stood in front of the couple again, considering. In the end he decided no.
He didn’t have the time and it wouldn’t be nearly as fun. But when he had the
time, he knew of a very particular way to make both of them scream. But not
today. He didn’t want to sully his pallet.  
He already had Tina to look forward to later today.
And so he left the house, as silently as he’d come. 
***
“Seriously?” Kurt nudged the device with his index finger, scoffing at it. 
It was the next afternoon, late lunch. Blaine had eggs and fruit salad. Kurt
had iPhone a la mode. 
”You need a cellphone, Kurt,” Blaine rolled his eyes. You’re not going to freak
me out like that again, understand? Always let me know that you’re okay.”
“Okay,” Kurt assented, entering all his friends’ numbers into the phone and
sending them a mass text letting them know that they had a number under which
they could contact him. 
“So there was another death,” Blaine sighed. “But this one broke the norm.
Virginia Wolf wasn’t a member of McKinley Home.”
“Not true,” Kurt countered. “She was several months ago before she left to work
for Goolsby.”
“Oh.” Blaine blinked. “Okay, so she does fit the mold. And Will dropped by
yesterday—”
“Really?”
“Yeah, while you were asleep upstairs. And he mentioned that someone named Ken
Ten…”
“Ken Tanaka?”
“Yes! Ken Tanaka apparently likes Batman comics.”
Kurt stared. “So…he could potentially be the Scarecrow.”
“Except there’s no motive,” Blaine sighed.
Kurt fiddled his fingers, looking up at Blaine. “Actually…there might be.”
“What?”
“Look, this is all hypothetical,” Kurt said hurriedly. “But…Ken liked Emma.
Like, he really liked Emma. I’m pretty sure that she’s the only reason he
volunteers at McKinley. And he was always asking her out but she was always
declining, saying that her focus was on the kids. Then, about six months ago,
she started dating Will and Ken got like, really pissed off. He disappeared for
a couple months then came back really sullen. And…he’d like, snap at anyone for
speaking highly of Will and…” he squirmed uncomfortably. 
Blaine frowned. “Well, it’s a s—”
He was cut off by Kurt’s new phone ringing. Kurt glanced at it in surprise:
Quinn was calling. He picked up the phone. “Hello?”
“Kurt?”
“Yes?”
“Kurt! You have to get to Virginia Mason, now!”
“Oh my god,” he stood up from the counter. “Is the baby coming?”
“No! It’s Tina! She was attacked!” 
***
Kurt burst into the hospital room, chestnut curls bouncing around his shoulders
as he ran over to Tina’s bed. She was badly bruised and looked like she’d just
survived a stampede, but she was mercifully alive. Puck, Jake, Quinn, Joe,
Rory, Mercedes, and Mike were all there. 
“Tina,” Kurt sighed in relief, giving her an awkward pat. “How are you? What
happened?”
“Dude, I always forget how hot you are as a girl,” Puck stared. Jake nodded.
(Quinn whacked Puck, Kurt whacked Jake.)
“I was walking home from school,” Tina said quietly, her voice weak. “It was
the middle of the day and Mike had work, so I thought I’d be fine…”
“I had a break though,” Mike added, his voice hard. “So I texted her that I’d
just meet up with her halfway.” He looked off to the side. “I should have come
faster, I—”
“Shhh,” Tina rasped. “You did fine.” She took a deep breath. “I was just a few
blocks from Union when someone grabbed me and pulled me into a dark alleyway.
He was wearing a burlap sack and he grabbed my neck and just started hitting me
and hitting me and then bashing my head against the brick wall—” She broke off,
squeezing her eyes shut as a tear leaked out. Mike leaned forward with a
tissue, his expression pained.
Tina gasped out a breath before continuing. “And I kept screaming but then he
covered my mouth and started tearing at my clothes. But then Mike came and he
fought him off and the man ran and Mike stayed to make sure that I was alright
and he called 911.”
“I got him though,” Mike said grimly, softly stroking Tina’s cheek. “I picked
up one of the bricks and bashed him on the side of the head.”
“Badass,” Puck nodded with respect, gently rubbing one of Tina’s feet. “You
were too, Tina.”
“We need to up the buddy system,” Quinn sighed, rubbing her stomach. “I mean,
if this asshole is just going to try and pick us off during the daytime…”
“My mom says you can all stay with us,” Mercedes added. “We’ll make room. You
can come too, Kurt.”
“No,” Kurt shook his head. “I’m fine where I am and I’m safe.” He squeezed
Blaine’s hand briefly.
***
Blaine left the group of friends after an hour to make a call.
“This is Howell.”
“It’s Anderson. I’m going to need you to stretch that favor…”
***
“Hey, there’s something I have to go do,” Blaine whispered againstKurt’s
temple, giving it a soft peck. “But I’ll be back in a couple of hours, okay?”
“Okay,” Kurt nodded sending him a smile.
Kurt waited ten minutes after Blaine had left before excusing himself and
heading outside, heading to the nearest bus station.
He had to know. He’d just take a quick step into McKinley Home, just to see Ken
Tanaka, to see if he had a bruise on the side of his head.
He sat on the back of the #4 bus, legs crossed neatly as he waited for the ten
odd stops it would take before he got close enough to walk.
A nagging guilt tugged at the back of his mind and he rolled his eyes, taking
out his phone before sending a text to Blaine.
I’m headed to McKinley to see if Ken has a mark on the side of his head. Don’t
worry, I’m being safe.
***
Blaine walked into the precinct, Carl waving him through. “We’ve got him,” Carl
nodded. “He’s in interrogation now.”
“Thanks,” Blaine sighed in relief. 
“No, thank you,” Carl pushed open his office door. “You’ve cracked more on this
case then any officer here.”
“Well…” Blaine shrugged. “I’ve had help.”
“Ah, yes,” Carl smirked. “This mysterious Kurt.”
“Will the charges against him for these murders be dropped if we can prove it’s
Ken?”
“Yes,” Carl nodded. “Not too sure about the ones of him stabbing you.”
“I don’t remember being stabbed,” Blaine said in monotone.
Carl laughed. “You know, for a writer you’re a horrible liar. But yes, that one
will be dropped too which will make things much easier since we can’t even find
a record on the kid.”
Blaine nodded and his phone buzzed. He glanced at the next from Kurt before
replying.
Kurt, that’s the opposite of safe. But come back, I’m at the precinct and we’ve
got Ken.
Then he reread Kurt’s text.
“Carl,” he said suddenly. “Check to see if he’s got a bruise or a bash mark on
the side of his head.”
***
Kurt knocked on the door of McKinley Home, waiting, poised. 
“About time—oh. Hello.”
It was Will, his eyebrows shot up in surprise. 
“Sorry, I thought you were Ken, one of my colleagues. He’s been taking way too
long on his break. But you’re Ellie, right?”
Kurt blinked before he remembered the wig. “I—yes.”
“Blaine Anderson’s cousin? The one who wants to help out and tutor?”
“Yes!” Kurt said, having no idea what kind of lies Blaine had spun for Will.
But he needed to buy some time until Ken returned and Will seemed to like Ellie
more than Kurt so he stuck to her. “That’s right! I know it’s kind of late, but
I was hoping to fill out an application before I went home?”
“Oh, of course, sure,” Will nodded, waving him in. “There in my office. Would
you like tea or coffee or something?”
“I’m fine, thank you,” Kurt smiled, following him down the familiar hallway to
Emma’s office. He sat down in the plush armchair and waited for Will to grab
the documents. 
“Here you are,” Will smiled as he handed over the two forms. 
Kurt took a clipboard and started filling them out, praying that Ken returned
soon because he really didn’t want to make smalltalk with Will. 
Follow follow follow follow follow the yellow brick road! 
Well, it was one way to stall. 
“I love this soundtrack,” Kurt gushed. “Ever since I was little.”
“Ah, me too,” Will grinned. “It’s the best, isn’t it? And the next song is my
favorite. So good.”
Kurt nodded, slowly checking one of the boxes.
***
“He doesn’t,” Carl shook his head, getting off the phone.
“Really?” Blaine asked, surprised. “Well fuck. Everything’s confusing.”
“This whole thing has been messed up,” Carl sighed, rubbing his temples.
“Seattle’s known for its suicides, not its serial killers. And this guy’s just
bizarre.”
“Targeting only young girls from a group home?”
“Not only that,” Carl frowned. “Just the method of killing. It’s sloppy.
Spilling the girls’ innards everywhere? That’d be a bitch to clean up and based
offthe blood splatters, the killer definitely got blood all over himself. And
the whole thing just seems senseless, like the guy doesn’t even have a
brain.” He sighed, rubbing his eyes. “But Tanaka still has overwhelming
evidence against him. And if we can link him with the Sedan, we’ve struck
gold.”
“Sedan?” Blaine frowned. “What Sedan?”
“Oh, right,” Carl dung through his files. “I ran with your tip about Suzy
Pepper. Turns out, Kurt wasn’t the last person she was seen with and she did go
to school the day she was killed—just not class. She went to after school
activities and stepped into a blue Sedan.” He pulled out the picture and showed
it to Blaine. “Now, we can’t make out the license plate, but if we can—”
“I know that car,” Blaine breathed.
Carl blinked. “What?”
And suddenly things clicked into place.
“…messy…”
“…sloppy…”
“…like the guy doesn’t even have a brain…” 
***
“So…” Kurt sighed, searching for a topic. “I heard that you came to my cousin’s
house two days ago?”
“Yes,” Will nodded. “I went to ask about one of the kids who used to live here,
Kurt? I believe you’ve met him?”
“Oh, yes!” Kurt said, pitching his voice slightly higher out of paranoia. “He’s
nice. A bit quiet though.”
“Yes,” Will smiled. “And your cousin is a really great guy—he actually loaned
me this record and a couple of others.” He gestured over to the record player
where a handful of records were laid out on the table. “Oh! That reminds me…”
He pulled something out of his drawer, leaning over the desk to hand it to
Kurt. “I think I accidentally came home with this. It was probably stuck next
to one of the records.”
Kurt took the soft coral scarf from him. It was his. But…he’d bought it two
days ago, when he’d been running errands downtown. Then he’d come straight home
and gone to bed. Schuester had come over while he slept but…the scarf had
stayed on Kurt’s bed. It hadn’t gone anywhere near the records.
And come to think of it…
Kurt glanced over at the records on the table. Cyndi Lauper. The Beatles. The
Mamas and the Papas. Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros. 
And The Wizard of Oz.
I could wile away the hours
Conferring with the flowers
Consulting with the rain…
There was no way Blaine could have loaned those records to Will two days ago
because they had been playing all day yesterday while they’d lounged on the
sitting room floor.
Kurt turned back to look at Will, who, in the act of giving Kurt his scarf, had
leaned forward out of the shadows. A dry swallow. Then Kurt opened his mouth,
begging his voice not to waver.
“Why…that looks like a really painful bruise. Where did you get it?”
And my head I’d be scratching
While my thoughts were busy hatching
If I only had a brain. 
***
“Kurt pick up your phone!” Blaine yelled as he texted Kurt for the thirtieth
time before trying to call him again as he raced to the central district. “Kurt
pick up Kurt pick up Kurt pick up.”
***
“Oh this?” Will laughed. “Come now Ellie. I think you know exactly where I got
it from.” He leaned forward on his folded hands. “Or should I call you
Dorothy?”
Kurt bolted. He ran to the door, trying to wrench it open but it was locked. He
fumbled with the locks before a hand slammed on the door. Kurt felt his phone
buzzing and he blindly pressed talk. 
“Kurt it’s Will—”
“Blaine help me, please—!”
Will ripped the phone from his hand and threw it down on the ground hard. 
Kurt shoved against him but cold metal pressed against his throat.
Will smiled at him. “Come on, Dorothy. We should have a nice little chat.”
Breathing shallowly, Kurt allowed Will to steer him back into his chair. Will
sat on the edge of the desk, knife pointed directly at him. “I wouldn’t make
any sudden movements if I were you. You know how well I can use this.”
Kurt sat petrified in his chair. His best hope was to keep him talking. “Why
are you doing this?”
“For you, Dorothy,” Will said, as if it were obvious. “Because you gave me hope
again.”
“What are you talking about?”
Will sighed. “Did you know that I was a director?”
Kurt shook his head.
“A good one too. On Broadway. Schuester’s shows. Everyone wanted to see
them…But then there was an actress. A singer. Voice like an angel.” Schuester
sighed. “She wanted to become a star. I wanted to help her. I fell in love with
her. We both liked The Wizard of Oz. I thought it was fate. Until eight months
ago, she told me she was getting married.
“I tried to convince her not to, but her mind was made up. She told me that she
didn’t love me. After all I’d given to her… I lost everything. I had to cut
myself out of the musical theater world. From her world. I moved to Seattle the
next week. Started volunteer work. I didn’t want to know what was going on in
New York. I didn’t want to know about what roles she was playing. I didn’t even
want to know who her intended husband was.” He looked down at Kurt, his eyes
full of sadness. “Because if I heard anything about her…about my Rachel Berry
again…I’d have to wring her pretty little neck.” 
Kurt shivered, trying to keep his panic internal. 
“And I loved her too much,” Will sighed. “So I had to cut myself off to keep
sane. It was so dull and boring and monotonous…and then I met you. You
remember, don’t you? You were singing Somewhere Over The Rainbow…”
Kurt didn’t remember, not really. His first month at McKinley Home was hazing
because he was half out of his mind and had been “Dorothy Porcelain” the whole
time as a coping method. His first true clear memory was taking a pair of
shears to his hair and cutting it off. The second, wandering around Capitol
Hill alone at night until he’d stumbled into a tattoo parlor and walked out the
next morning with a unicorn on his back.
But his time as Dorothy…it was fuzzy at best.
“…and we talked about The Wizard of Oz.” Will chuckled. “You told me how much
you adored the scarecrow and how much you’d like a fellow like him. I came here
and volunteered every weekend. Emma thought I was so dedicated to the kids when
I really couldn’t care less about them. I only wanted to see you…” He looked at
Kurt, his expression livid. “But then you left. Without a trace.”
Well…no, he’d just snapped out of the fucked-up mental state he’d been in for
years and finally went down the path to self-discovery. Or something like that.
“And then I started dating Emma,” Will sighed. “I needed to know more about
McKinley Home. About its occupants. Dorothy P.’s files were locked, but I still
managed to pilfer some of Emma’s notes. She’d written that you’d bonded a lot
with your female roommates. So I killed Marley.”
It felt like a punch to the stomach and the panic fully set in. “That’s why you
killed Marley?”
“It wasn’t hard,” Will shrugged. “Kurt was walking her back to the
neighborhood, but as soon as he left I was able to convince her to get in the
car with me so I could drive her home. And then Kitty. And then Suzy.”
“Why?” Kurt yelled. “What in god’s name would possess you to do that?”
“I needed your attention,” Will said. “And you told me how much you liked
scarecrows, so I made a bunch of them out of your little friends.”
Kurt’s breath started coming out quicker. “What did you do to Emma?”
Will smiled. “She found me…arranging Suzy’s body. So I put on my mask and
poured Suzy’s blood over her. I knew it would trigger her OCD.”
Kurt stared at him. “You’re psychotic.”
“And then I heard that you were back working in Pioneer Square so I booked you.
But when I came to your room, you were gone…”
Kurt remembered that night, Sugar shoving him and Blaine out of the window.
“And then you were on the front page. On the arm of Blaine Anderson.”
When Kurt had to dress as a girl to avoid the public eye.
Will smiled grimly at him. “I didn’t even know about the guy, but then Quinn
told me that Kurt was living with him and I realized that Blaine was probably
taking in pretty young things from around the city. I saw you alone downtown
and followed you to Pioneer Square. But then I mistook one of the girls you
worked with for you—”
Virginia.
“—and then she had to go. And after that I went to Blaine’s house. He lied
through his teeth, talking about how you were some school tutor and I
encouraged him to give you my number. I can’t believe he actually did.”
He didn’t.
“And then I broke into his house again. Last night. He was tangled up with Kurt
on the carpet.” He laughed, glancing at Kurt, as if that was supposed to hurt
him in some way. “I found your room, got your scarf, took the records…then, to
get your attention, I attacked Tina.”
“But it didn’t work,” Kurt muttered. “Mike got there.”
“It worked perfectly,” Will smiled. “You’re here. And now we can be together.”
Kurt sat frozen in his chair as Will leaned forward to kiss him. He panicked,
body seizing up before he forced himself to relax. Then he was kissing him
back, clinging to his shoulders desperately. “Yes, Will,” he gasped, trying to
stall. “Thank you. You did perfectly, Scarecrow.” He pushed Will back against
the desk and Will cupped his ass, pulling him up against him as he stuck his
tongue down his throat. Will’s hands were roaming around his legs. Kurt raked
his hands down Will’s back, reaching behind him. He grabbed a pencil and shoved
the pointy end into the wound on the side of his head. 
Will screamed, shoving Kurt aside, who bolted for the door. Will was right
behind him and he swiped with his knife, missing Kurt by an inch. Kurt dodged,
racing around his desk, trying to find some sort of weapon to use when Will
came at him, shoving the desk until it tipped over on its side, leaving nowhere
to run. Kurt backed up against the record player and grabbed one of the vinyl
records.
“Dorothy—”
Kurt brought it down hard over Will’s head, feeling it shatter in his hands. He
screamed as Will grabbed him, bringing his hands forward and there was a
sickening slicing noise.
They stared at each other in shock, Will’s head wound oozing blood from the
pencil jab and there was a clatter as the knife dropped. 
Kurt pulled his hands down, dislodging the shard of vinyl from the back of
Will’s head. 
Will stumbled backwards, blood dripping around his collar as he stared at Kurt
with the same wide-eyed expression. He moved loose-limbed around the room, like
he was made of water.
Or straw.
Until finally he collapsed in a heap on the ground. 
Kurt breathed heavily, trying to get enough air in as he looked down at the
large bloody shard in his hand. It was hard to make out, but there was one song
that was clearly listed along the circular middle.
Blackbird. 
At that moment, the door was crashed open and Blaine walked in, eyes wide as he
took in the situation. “Kurt,” he breathed in relief. “Kurt, are you okay?”
Kurt shook his head as his body started trembling. 
“We have to get you out of here,” Blaine mumbled, pulling on Kurt’s arm. “Kurt,
come on!”
“Wait,” Kurt said distractedly. He got out his scarf and started wiping off all
the surfaces he touched, erasing his fingerprints. “Okay, let’s go.”
***
Thank god for Carl. 
The official story was that Will Schuester was spilling his plans to a victim
and Blaine heard at the door. By the time he got into the room, a scuffle had
broken out and Will Schuester was left for dead, the female nowhere to be
found.
(Kurt just made sure that Blaine knew Schuester’s plan backwards and forwards
before giving his official statement to the police)
Ken Tanaka was released, but he didn’t resume his job at McKinley. Carl started
volunteering there to help out with repairs and also started visiting Emma to
check up on her.
(And okay, he may have formed a slight crush.)
***
Kurt didn’t talk to Blaine for a day.
And then he talked to Blaine for a whole day.
And then they drove out to Alki in West Seattle so they could watch the sunset
because it was an oddly clear night.
“I can’t believe we went through all of that,” Blaine muttered as he traced
idle patterns into Kurt’s palm. They’d been sitting there for two hours, long
after the sun set.
“I thought it’d be different here,” Kurt said, looking out over the water. “I
thought that I could just run away and escape from the monsters.”
Blaine leaned over and cupped Kurt’s face, turning it towards him. “I wish I
could hide you from all the monsters,” he murmured. “I wish…I wish I could help
take away some of the pain of all those scars you carry.”
Kurt gave him a teary smile, wrapping his fingers around Blaine’s wrists.
“Don’t you see? You already have.”
Blaine leaned down and kissed him, the harvest moon hanging heavy in the sky.
***
“Two weeks?” Kurt complained, sticking his bottom lip out in a pout. 
“Just for some dumb conference I have to attend,” Blaine laughed, kissing
Kurt’s bottom lip. “I’ll be back before you know it and then we can actually
sit down and finish this monstrosity together in peace.”
“Peace,” Kurt smiled. “That sounds nice.” He sighed, flopping back on Blaine’s
bed. “I know!” he said excitedly. “You could take me with you! I’ve always
wanted to see New York!”
Blaine paused before quirking an eyebrow. “And how am I supposed to get you on
an airplane when you don’t even have any identification?”
“Urgh,” Kurt’s arms spread out in defeat. “Point taken. Just two weeks?”
“Just two weeks,” Blaine promised. He sealed it with a kiss. 
***
“Howell, the prints came back.”
“Thanks, Bryan,” Carl nodded as he looked over the packets. There were
Anderson’s, Schuester’s, the smudged ones that he knew had to be Kurt covering
his tracks, and…a fourth one. One that definitely didn’t belong there with the
others. 
It was just one tiny little thumbprint that had been lifted—obviously whoever
had gone through had been thorough. But that one little thumbprint
had registered in the database. 
Carl stared at the report, glancing back up at Bryan. “Are these correct?”
“Yeah,” Bryan nodded. “Double checked them myself. You remember that one,
right?”
“Last Christmas,” Carl nodded. “Everyone here heard about it even though it got
virtually no media coverage.” 
“But hasn’t she been MIA?” Bryan frowned. “And why would she show up here? At
this specific case and how did she get there before us? It doesn’t even make
sense.” 
Carl glanced down at the black printed name of Katy Karofsky. He felt like
something much bigger was going on and he had a feeling that the mysterious
“Kurt” was somehow tied up in everything.
So he started digging.
***
Kurt walked into the rickety little shop, accidentally brushing against the
wind chime. He frowned at the tops of his long bangs. He’d have to cut them
again, this was just getting ridiculous. 
“Unicorn!”
A small smile quirked his lips as he caught an armful of blonde. “Hi Britt,” he
said, muffled against her hair.
She pulled back, whipping a piece of hair behind her ear before tucking her
hands into her apron. “So why are you here?”
He ran a hand through the hairs at the back of his neck. “I…I need another
tattoo done. Look, I know that you’re not supposed to—”
“I’ll do it,” Brittany said simply.
Kurt blinked in surprise. “Really?”
“Of course,” she smiled. “Anything for my little unicorn.”
Fifteen minutes later found Kurt stretched out on the comfortable leather
table, head rested in his arms. 
“So do you have anything in mind?” Brittany asked as she tied her hair up. “Or
do you want me to just go at it again?”
“I have something, but feel free to elaborate,” Kurt said into his arms. “Um…a
couple of roses? On my left side, sort of underneath the unicorn’s hooves?” 
“Roses?” Brittany asked. Then her face split into a grin. “Wait, have you found
another unicorn?” Kurt buried his head in his hands, blushing. “Kurt, you have!
Look at you, my happy little unicorn! Is he cute?”
Kurt smiled against his arms, his cheeks flaming. “The cutest.”
“Oh goody!” Brittany clapped her hands. “So, roses? Just black again?”
“Actually…” Kurt bit his lip. “Could you make the blooms red…and yellow?”
“Sure!” Brittany took out a sketch pad and started drawing. “We’ll just do the
black outline today and then we’ll have you come in for the colors tomorrow,
okay?”
“Okay.”
“What’s his name?”
“Blaine…his name is Blaine.”
***
Kurt winced as he sat down on the plush chaise in their sitting room, pulling
the New York Times off the coffee table—Kurt still wasn’t sure why Blaine even
got it at all—for lack of anything better to read. He really did need to buy
another Vogue soon. He stretched out and started flipping vaguely through the
pages. To be honest, he never really understood newspapers all that much,so he
flipped to the entertainment section, reading various movie reviews then
traversing over into musical theater, remembering wryly when Blaine had taken
him to see Wicked at the Paramount Theater the night before he’d left as a
goodbye present. 
He flipped the page and there was an article about the new Elphaba at the
Gershwin Theatre. He almost turned the page until her name caught his eye.
Rachel Berry.
He blinked. It was her. The woman Will had obsessed over until… He found
himself reading the article. And the further along he read, the more annoyed he
got. Rachel Berry sounded pretentious at best and clearly had a high opinion of
herself. He quite frankly failed to see what similarity could be drawn between
the two of them besides the fact that they both liked Wizard of Oz-related
things, and he was ready to throw the whole newspaper into the fire when
something in the last paragraph caught his eye. Frowning, he leaned forward and
read the end of the article. 
Kurt sat very still for a long period of time. Outside, a raindrop hit the bay
window. Then another. And another. And then it was pouring, whole torrents of
rain falling from the sky in a downpour. 
Inside, Kurt got up from the chaise and went upstairs. He gathered all of his
clothes and personal belongings into a bag and grabbed the rain jacket Blaine
had bought him, zipping it up all the way. He went back downstairs and left his
key on the dining room table before heading over to the door and locking the
handle, closing it firmly shut behind him as he left Blaine Anderson’s house
with no intent of ever returning.
The New York Times’ entertainment section lay open still on the coffee table,
those last few lines of the Rachel Berry interview still exposed.
…and Ms. Berry is extremely confident about her upcoming debut on the Gershwin
stage. But what of her personal life? “My husband and I are very happy,” Berry
smiles, idly stirring her iced coffee. “Blaine is in Seattle right now writing
a novel but he’s promised to fly out to see opening night.” The couple will
celebrate their first wedding anniversary this April. 
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