“shhhh. it’s okay. it’s okay.” kurt soothes, petting your hair. you’re laying in his bed, and for once, his phone is no where to be found. he isn’t filming anything. he killed a lot of people tonight, but not you. he’d never hurt you. you were special, his prize from the night. you’re trusting and naive, believing the story he tells you about how someone must’ve drugged you at the bar. that when you got in his car you passed out, and he saved you.