Jason walked down the dark, quiet alley. His fingers dragging along the long brick building beside him, his arm still dripping with blood. His eyes were dark and hollow, and the look of satisfaction was spread proudly across his face. Luckily for him, pleasure wracked through his body rather than pain. He never felt pain, never cried, never showed any real emotion. He looked down at the 3 gashes on his left forearm, picking the chipped finger nail out of the wound before climbing back through his window. He made his way to the bathroom, cleaning the wound, stitching it up, and changing his blood stained clothes. He casually tossed the old ones into the trash, tying up the bag and throwing it under the sink. His torso was pale, covered in scars and bruises, yet somehow it was still beautiful. The scars were from multiple different things. Kids at school, foster parents, people who tried to fight him off. Jason was much more than God himself had bargained for. Once he was ready, he quietly headed out, ignoring the glares he got as he made his way for Kurt’s dorm. He knocked once as He approached the room and stepped back, waiting patiently for an answer.