Blaze immediately noted how wary Kurt seemed, and couldn't help but wonder if he really looked that threatening. The male had always thought of himself as lover, not a fighter, and tried his best (especially in recent days) to present himself that way.<span style="color: red"><span style="font-style: italic">He must just be a nervous person</span></span>was the conclusion Blaze came too, feeling a little presumptuous in his slightly intoxicated state.<br/><br/>Hazel eyes stayed trained on Kurt as he spoke, listening to the short answers and honestly loving the lack of small-talk-skills the male had. It didn't seem like he was interested in talking about himself... or at all, and Blaze appreciated that. He was only really a talker when he was drunk. Still the slight fear that the night wasn't heading in the direction he wanted bloomed in the back of the male's head. He had to do something.<br/><br/><span style="color: red">"Parents can be a drag."</span>he started, fumbling around in his pocket for his cigarettes again. He wanted to sympathize with Kurt, try and make him more comfortable. Lighting another one, he took a long drag, keeping his gaze on the male sitting across from him the entire time.<br/><br/>Blaze knocked back another shot.<span style="color: red">"Since you seem a little on edge when it comes to the whole talking thing, why don't you ask me some questions?"</span>he proposed, smirking just a little. His southern roots shown through the more he drank.<span style="color: red">"Considering you came to my house without knowing much about me."</span><br/><br/>----<br/><br/>Quinn was genuinely shocked when the man opted not to take down his information. Immediately, a wave of relief rushed over him, distracting the blond from whatever questions he should be asking given the situation. The relief was quickly replaced with a mix of horror and shame as the man went over what had transpired that evening. His brain started jumping back and forth between what he should do next - call his best friend or call his therapist.<br/><br/>The next half an hour when by quickly and numbly, Quinn going along with whatever the medics had to say or do and avoiding any eye contact with the other patrons of the grocery store. He'd have to start shopping somewhere else now.<br/><br/>When the man approached him once more, Quinn struggled to maintain eye contact. Graciously, he agreed to the man's idea, writing his information down in shockingly neat handwriting given his shaky hands.<span style="color: dodgerblue">"T-Thank you so much... I don't think I got your name."</span>he started, side eyeing the door. He wanted to leave, to go home and hide his head under his pillow for the rest of eternity.<span style="color: dodgerblue">"You didn't have to do that for me, and I probably would've thrown myself under the bus if you hadn't done that."</span>