Word Count: 2400
Warnings: mild references to sexual violence
“it’s the middle of the night and i’m walking home alone in the
dark and there’s this guy following me and he’s starting to gain on me and i found this phone booth with a lock on the door and i tried to call my best friend but my hands were shaking so badly i accidentally dialed the wrong number and i don’t even know you but help me” au
The door shuts violently, the glass
shuddering in its frame. Kurt slams the flimsy flick lock home so hard that the
wood groans, and he staggers back, one, two steps before his back hits the
phone set behind him.
Oh god. Oh god.
He can feel himself trembling, his
hands shaking so badly that he can barely manage to dig the single quarter out
of his pocket. The glass of the tiny little phone booth is foggy in the cold,
but in the yellow light of the lamps outside, he can still see the man – that man that’s been following him for five
blocks now, and getting – closer, and closer, while Kurt’s steps got
progressively shakier, and his breath left him in panicked little pants, until
he’d finally managed to seek shelter in this mercifully lockable phone booth.
And now he’s trapped.