A/N: I really should be writing my other fics, I know, but I have all these ideas in my head and I just have to get them out. This is one of them.

This is a piece that I've been writing as a kind of self-therapy thingy whenever I've been feeling sad.

It's almost physically impossible for me to write anything less than 1,000 words because even when I have a simple oneshot idea (like this was originally) I just keep adding pointless details and background thingys to it and suddenly it's a 9,000 word long fic without much point.

As I said, I really shouldn't be posting new fics when I still have two unfinished ones to write, but I've almost finished chapters 1-3 on this one, so that just leaves the epilogue that needs to be written. I'll just post the first part now and then I can write my other things and post more chapters for this as soon as I've edited them a little.

Confusing A/N is confusing. Sorry.

The fic title, lyrics in the chapters and the over-all inspiration for this piece is the song The Sun Is Often Out, by Patrick Wolf. It's totally awesome.

Warnings: contains suicidal thoughts/plans and I guess it's a little angsty and could trigger, but it's not that angsty. I think.

Disclaimer: I always forget to add these, but no I don't own Glee or any of its characters. Obviously.

Chapter 1

Kurt had honestly just had enough. For years he had put up with it all and stood his ground no matter how much hate he got. He had stuck to himself and not changed for anyone. He had gone through all of his first school years with only one friend, who later turned out to be the biggest jerk on the planet. He had been bullied and teased ever since he could remember. As soon as people discovered that he wasn't only gay looking, but also had a gay, high-pitched voice, they never stopped teasing him about it.

No one knew if he actually was gay - which, for the record, he was - but they were offended enough that he was bold enough to dismiss all the traditionally boyish characteristics. He didn't play football with the other kids in school, he didn't fight with the others over who was coolest or strongest, and he didn't participate in the other kids' 'games', mostly summed up by them picking the weakest kid in school and then taunting him or her until the teachers were forced to get involved due to parental complaints.

Kurt was usually their favorite subject to use in these popular games, mostly because they knew he wouldn't go running to his dad for help. Sometimes they switched it up and picked another kid for their amusement, but then they eventually went back to Kurt. In the end, it was always Kurt.

In time, Kurt grew to learn how to avoid the sadistic kids in school. He had a bunch of secret hideouts spread out across the school. There he would spend his lunch breaks and free periods, perched below a huge tree on the outskirts of the school or crammed into a not-so-well-known cupboard outside classroom A7, a book on his lap or, more commonly, a sketchbook in which he would plot future outfits. He didn't own that many designer garments yet, although his dad had treated him to some due to his obvious passion, and he mostly drew things he picked up in his numerous fashion magazines that he hoped to some day own.

His passion for clothing and singing showtunes did nothing to improve his image, and he was clever enough to keep his sketchbook, full of both cut-outs from fashion magazines and self-designed garments he wished he had the fabrics to make, well hidden from the other students. In his bag he had sewn in a secret pocket in which he usually put his most precious things - the sketchbook, his favorite pencils and his iPod. Even if the other kids got hold of his bag and turned it upside down over a puddle of dirty water, the pocket's contents would be safe and sound.

Kids could be so very mean, no one knew that better than him. As he got older, the mean words and seemingly harmless games turned into the more than occasional shove in the school hallways. At first the teachers stood up for him somewhat by telling the other kids to 'play nicely', but as the years went by and the abuse just got worse, the teachers turned a blind eye to the whole matter.

There was no one left to stand up for him, and he quickly learned that the only one he could trust in this world was himself. He never told his dad about the teasing, because when his mom died his dad tried so hard to make things okay again and make Kurt happy, and the little boy didn't have the heart to tell him his only son was being both verbally and physically abused on a daily basis. So he let his dad remain in a blissful state of ignorance and handled it all himself. At a very young age he learned how to take care of himself, and his father, and every day was a struggle to keep his head above the water.

In his freshman year at McKinley High, he had plucked up the courage to join the schools glee club. He had been singing since he could remember, and had an extraordinary voice. Sadly, he had been so teased for it, he had a hard time adapting to the thought of it being one of his greatest strengths.

At first the club only had five members; Rachel Berry, Tina Cohen-Chang, Mercedes Jones, Artie Abrams and himself. He had almost instantly befriended Mercedes, who up til this day was his closest friend. He didn't care that much for Rachel because she was bossy, too loud and way too aware of her talent. The others he got along with fine, and as time went by, the club grew in size and they all became impossibly close to one another. They didn't stand up for him all that much, but they still kept him from sinking below the surface; they helped him breathe.

Glee club was his safe haven and people there loved him for who he was and he could be himself.

But recently that had all changed. It was as if he had become invisible to everyone but the Neanderthales bullying him into insanity. No one even flinched as the jocks shoved him into the row of lockers so hard he bruised all over; no one turned their heads when they screamed 'Fag!' after him from across the cafeteria; no one noticed how his shoulders sank lower with each day, or how he rarely met anyones eye anymore, and when he did they completely lacked the life that used to dance around amongst those green blue colors. No one took any notice of how his laugh was always too forced and too high even to be him.

No one saw him anymore. The phone calls from his friends grew fewer and on every Monday morning he would hear wicked stories about the past weekends parties; parties to which he hadn't been invited.

"Oh god, Kurt, I didn't think you wanted to go! We just drank lots of alcohol and that's not really your thing, is it, so I just didn't think to ask you. Sorry man."

He was sick of the excuses. He knew that they just didn't want him around. Why even bother making up some dumb excuse as to why they never invited him along?

Come to think of it, nowadays they didn't even put in that little effort. They just awkwardly walked away, or changed the topic, or even ignored the hurt look on his face as they shared party war stories, leaving him out of the conversation like a soaked-through dog locked out in the rain.

He was all done with that now. He was done with the slushie facials, the teasing, the ignorance, the insults and, most of all, his basically non-existent friends.

The idea had been on his mind for years, but he had never actually gone through with it. This was different though.

This time it was happening.

At midnight one Friday night he stuffed his iPod and his phone into his pocket and went downstairs, telling his dad that he was going over to Mercedes for a spontaneous sleepover.

They had those sometimes – although it hadn't happened much lately – so it wasn't surprising that the only reaction he got from both his dad and Carole was a nod. Though that might just have something to do with the fact that they had both had a few glasses of wine at dinner earlier on in the evening, and were now slightly tipsy.

Finn didn't even acknowledge the statement; he was too busy clubbing a zombie to death at some video game he and Burt were playing. Burt, of course, was losing.

As Kurt toed into his shoes and closed the front door after him, he heard Finn's triumphant yell behind him. He had probably succeeded in killing that zombie at last.

Oh how Kurt would miss being kept up all night because Finn was downstairs playing video games, yelling his head off either in anger or triumph.

His heart clenched as he realized it was the last time he would see either of them. He had left them all letters, of course, but it was still a horrible way to say goodbye, especially since they hadn't even looked at him before he left.

With one hand still on the handle, he paused for a moment, his eyes closed as he went through the plan again, searching for a doubt he could cling to that would spare him and let him hold on for one more day.

But there was nothing to be found and finally, he let go of the door handle and strode off into the night. He fished out the iPod and put the earphones in, scrolling through the library to find a good song.

What was the last song he ever wanted to hear? What would be the soundtrack to his death?

Biting his lip, he put on The Sun Is Often Out by Patrick Wolf, and put it on repeat. He had gone four blocks or so by then, and only just now realized how cold it was outside. He hadn't thought to bring a jacket because, well, he wouldn't need a jacket in heaven. Or hell. Or wherever he was going.

A wicked, detached sort of smile settled in the corner of his mouth as years of taunts came flooding back to him.

Right, how silly of him to forget. He would be going to hell and burn in its flames because of his disgusting way of life.

The first time someone told him the "homosexual lifestyle" would earn him a place in hell, he had been eight years old. It was about a month before his mother died and it was the mother of one of the kids in school who gave him a scolding, telling him to "make the right life choices and not end up like those sinners God had long since forgotten", and then she had grabbed her kid and stormed off.

He still couldn't believe how a grown-up, adult human being could go up to an eight-year-old boy innocently playing with another boy and tell him he would go to hell.

Oh, well. Hell must be better than life, anyway, he thought.

A kind of weird calm settled in him as he strolled along the streets, Patrick Wolf's voice sending shivers through him that weren't all because of the unbelievable cold.

Streetlight walks the waters

Rising fast and dark and deep

The uneven pounding of his heart vibrating in his ears almost drowned out the music. It was like he saw the world for the first time. Everything was so beautiful in the midnight darkness. The streets were almost deserted, except for a few people passing him with their dogs. In the distance he could hear howling laughter, probably from some party nearby. Maybe his friends were there. Most likely. And he, of course, had not been asked.

Well, is your work of art so heavy that it will not let you live?

You'll be missed

He turned a corner and sucked in a breath as he spotted his goal; a high bridge going over a great river. It was perfectly high enough to jump from. It too was close to empty, with just a car or two going past now and then.

Soon there'll be flowers in the river

Tears being shed

You'll be missed

He went over to the edge and put his elbows on the rail, leaning his chin in his palms as he gazed out over the view. It was truly beautiful. The pearly white moon glittered brightly above him, surrounded by a jet-black sky dotted with stars. The river reflected them in a way that could only be described as magical. It looked like it belonged in a fairy tale, or a love story.

Only that this story wouldn't end with happy sighs as the star-crossed lovers finally kissed, no; this story would end with a boy on the bottom of the river, his body broken beyond recognition.

So life has blessed you with a gift, boy

That you've gone and thrown away

And with it your whole future

And left behind your family

A stab of pain in his chest followed those lines. His family, his friends. He was so tired of living, yet the thought of never seeing his loved ones again made tears trickle down his cheeks. But then his top bully's face – David Karofsky – appeared in his mind and his resolution grew strong again.

He couldn't go back to that. Death must be far better than being terrified all the time.

They're throwing flowers in the river

Where your body cold was found

And you are missed

You are missed

He straightened up, put his hands on the rail and looked around to make sure no one was around to see – and stop – him. Once the coast was clear, he tightened his grip of the rail and closed his eyes, letting the lyrics to his death song wash over him, drinking in every word as though they were water. Speaking of water–

He opened his eyes to peer over the edge, the glittering water looking far too welcoming.

Yes. He was ready for this.

Adrenaline was rushing through him, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. Just as he was about to climb onto the rail and take that last step to freedom and bliss, an unfamiliar voice broke through the music and reached his ears.

He spun around, probably looking as crazy as a rabid squirrel.

The person disturbing his goodbye to the world was a boy slightly shorter than Kurt himself, with a red scarf with thin blue stripes wrapped around his neck and a long black coat that seemed to be made out of wool. Hadn't he been so stunned by this new person's sudden intrusion into his life, he might have found it amusing that even though he was seconds away from taking his life, his first instinct was to check out the guy's clothing. It was like second nature to him, after all.

He approved of it and, his eyes slowly making their way upwards, the next thing he knew, he was looking into the most beautiful pair of eyes he had ever seen. Because of the poor lighting provided only by the moon and one flickering lamp-post nearby, he couldn't tell what colours they were, but they seemed dark yet warm and comforting.

Once he got over the initial shock at how vibrant those eyes were, he got another shock as the face connected to the eyes was just as gorgeous.

He had dark brown hair, neatly styled with some kind of gel that didn't suffocate the hair but left some curls half-loose though they remained fairly tamed. If it was one thing that Kurt was weak for, it was curly hair.

The boy made a gesture towards his ears, making a pulling gesture, looking intently at Kurt as if he was trying to convey something.

First he had no idea what he was doing, but then he caught on – he still had his earphones in.

He pulled them out and shakily twisted them around his iPod, shoving them into his pocket.

"Hi, sorry if I'm bothering you-"

"Oh, no, not at all", Kurt breathed out, still transfixed with the boy's face.

His voice was magic, too.

The boy smiled, and leaned against the rail right next to Kurt, gazing out over the river. He looked over at Kurt, who was still staring. Cocking his head a little, he said, "Do you mind if I stay?"

Kurt glanced hesitantly at the water flowing under them. He should just chase this strange boy away and get on with his plan. But his body wouldn't obey his mind and he found himself shaking his head.

The other boy put his hand forward, saying, "I'm Blaine. Blaine Anderson."

Kurt took it hesitantly. "Kurt Hummel."

"That's a really pretty name", Blaine remarked, returning his eyes to the river before them.

Kurt wasn't sure what to say. A regular day he might have been flattered that a complete stranger wanted to talk to him – and an attractive stranger at that – but tonight is was just awkward, because of obvious reasons.

"It's really beautiful, isn't it?"

"S-sorry, what?"

Blaine turned his head again and smiled. It was the kind of smile that could turn a heartless serial killer into a purring kitten vomiting rainbows.

"The moonlight. It's beautiful", he repeated.

Kurt nodded. "Oh, yeah, totally."

They were silent for a while, Kurt glancing at Blaine and wondering to himself just why this gorgeous boy had come up to him like this, telling him he had a pretty name and just standing there.

"So... what brings you here this late? If you don't mind me asking", Blaine broke the silence before Kurt could.

Kurt hesitated slightly, biting hard into his lip as he desperately tried to come up with an answer that wouldn't show just how messed up he was.

"Just needed some fresh air", he said. The credibility disappeared as his voice was shaking.

But Blaine just nodded. "Yeah, me too."

He glanced over at Kurt, his eyelids fluttering shut for a few moments before they reopened and Kurt suddenly felt as though he was on fire. He was fairly certain Blaine was some unearthly creature sent to earth.

Or maybe he had actually jumped, and this was the angel God had sent to take him to heaven. Wow, that was certainly a slap in the face to the homophobes that had always told him he'd go to hell because of his inclination to liking boys. God hadn't only sent him an angel, but he had sent him the most gorgeous one out of them all, for sure.

It was almost enough to make him believe in God after all.

Suddenly he was pulled out of his thoughts by Blaine heaving a great sigh. Once again their eyes locked together. "Actually, I've had kind of a bad day."

"I've had more of a bad life myself", Kurt said before he could stop himself.

"How come?"

Kurt eyed him suspiciously. "You genuinely want to hear about my useless life?"

"I doubt it's useless, but I'd love to listen if you want to talk. I've been told I'm a great listener."

"And how do I know you're not secretly a weird perverted 60-year-old man trying to rape me?", Kurt blurted out.

What the hell Hummel? he scolded himself.

Blaine gave a loud laugh that rang over the empty bridge. "You're right, that could be a risk. Last time I checked, I wasn't a 60-year-old rapist but who am I to tell?"

Kurt smiled. It was the first genuine smile anyone had brought out of him all week.

"Well, okay, how about this; I tell you five personal facts about myself that you can use to blackmail me with in case it turns out I'm a big weirdo."

Kurt's mouth fell open slightly. "You're not serious are you?"

"No, I was actually just kidding. I'm Severus."

"Did you- did you just make a Harry Potter joke?"

"Yeah. That's the kind of guy I am, sorry." Blaine rubbed the back of his neck, grinning foolishly.

Kurt folded his arms across his chest, both for emphasiz but mostly to keep the little body warmth he had left. "Very well then. Five personal facts."

Blaine pulled a mock thoughtful face, stroking his pretend beard. Folding a finger down with each fact, he said, "Okay, so... I am a sixteen year old boy and, as far as I know, not a perverted rapist. I go to Dalton Acadamy, an all-boys school in Westerville. My dad and I don't get along very well, and I'm pretty sure he'll kick me out of the house any day now. Hm, what else..."

Kurt was really staring now. Was it really that common for people to go up to complete strangers, ask to hear their life story and then plow into their own? Kurt didn't have much experience with being approached by people at all since people mostly just avoided him.

"-ah! I love colorful bowties. And I'm a sucker for Disney movies and anything Harry Potter related." Blaine smiled widely, showing off some of his teeth.

Kurt tried his best not to gawk, but it was not easy.

"There, now you have five personal facts about me", Blaine said, smiling.

"I guess I do."

"So, how about you let me buy you a cup of coffee and you can tell me all about this supposedly useless life of yours."

Kurt almost choked on, well, air.

"Oh, I don't know. I have- I have stuff to deal with", he mumbled, not looking into those hypnotizing eyes.

This, however, seemed to only increase Blaine's determination. "How about I throw a cookie into the offer? You can't say no to free cookies and coffee."

Kurt eyed him for a few seconds. Oh, what the hell. He could jump off a bridge any day, and he wasn't one to turn down free food anyway. Besides, judging by the look in Blaine's eyes, he wasn't going to get rid of him too easily.

And what if he jumped, and Blaine managed to catch him, or called for help in time. That would just be thoroughly humiliating and he wouldn't have another shot for a long time. Maybe he'd get locked up in some hospital for crazy suicidal teens.

Coffee and cookies sounded like a better deal, at least for now.

"Okay, sure. Let's get coffee", he said.

Blaine first broke into a grin, but it quickly faded into a concerned grimace as he took note of the way Kurt's nose and cheeks were tinted red and his body was tensed up to stop it from shaking too obviously. "You're shivering. Are you cold?"

As always when trying to hide something, the symptoms only got worse as if his body deliberately tried to mess with him. He cursed himself for not bringing a jacket as his teeth were clattering in a very obvious way as he said, "No, it's fine."

But Blaine promptly unbuttoned his coat, shrugged it off his shoulders and went behind Kurt to wrap it around him, all but forcing his arms into the sleeves and then buttoning it again over his chest. Looking satisfied, he said, "There, all better."

He let his hand linger on Kurt's chest for a few seconds before letting it fall and shoving both hands into the pockets of the hoodie he had been wearing underneath. He zipped it up to keep as much warmth as possible inside, but Kurt swore he glimpsed a pink bowtie underneath before the zipper came up.

"But now you'll get cold", Kurt said, sounding like five-year-old.

"Nah, I'm fine", Blaine said, indicating his hoodie that at least seemed to hold more warmth than Kurt's outfit.

Kurt's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Who are you really? Are you an angel sent to earth to spread love and warmth or something?"

Blaine laughed softly. "I don't know about the angel part, but I do like a good old love-and-warmth spreading. How come you're out without a jacket anyway?"

"I forgot it, I guess. I was... distracted." He blushed profoundly. The whole thing was just so embarrassing. "But really, how come you just walk up to a stranger and give him your coat? People don't do that."

Blaine just shrugged. "You looked lonely, and I thought, 'why the hell not?'. You seemed nice, and I was proven correct."

Seeing that Kurt was still shivering, Blaine grabbed his arm and tugged him along across the bridge, pulling him close so their hips were pressed together.

He smiled reassuringly at Kurt's nervous sideway glances. With a flirtatious wink that made just about every bone in Kurt's body melt, he said, "I know a great coffee place nearby."