Blaine's lungs strained from exertion and from his refusal to breathe properly, lest someone discover him and cart him away because not only was touching other people a crime, but they would claim touching yourself is illegal too. He knew they would. For him they would. He knew that plenty of people would be happy to dig up some obscure law that they could twist in order to throw him in jail.

He knew what they all thought of him. He was the neighborhood creep. Mrs. Jensen down the block liked to tell the horror story of the time her dear, compassionate son, Matthieu, had invited the sad, friendless little boy over to watch a movie, and how Blaine had "pretended" to fall asleep and had so scandalously dared to rest his head on poor, unsuspecting Matt's shoulder. Matt had been so terrorized by the contact they'd had to put him in therapy, apparently. And Blaine had been treated to dark looks and harsh whispers ever since.

He wondered what would happen if he told the whole neighborhood that the real reason the Jensen's had sent Matt to therapy was because not only had he in turn let his own weary head lean against Blaine's gelled curls, but he'd also draped his arm around Blaine's shoulders and pulled him closer.

He wondered if they would claim his self-pleasure a crime because he was probably objectifying some poor, young soul in his disgusting, pervert fantasies.

He wasn't, he didn't really have any fantasies that could fuel his nightly ritual. He just liked to feel, that's what he got off on, the slow, deliberate feel of skin touching skin.

Even if he was just touching himself.

Besides, even if someone did catch him, it's not like this whole thing was his idea. He never would have known to try something like this, not until that health class and the stuffy old professor who had instructed,

"From time to time a developing male may be forced to relieve himself manually in order to function peacefully, but this is generally avoidable and for the well-adjusted young man, it should not become a frequent issue."

Well, Blaine was just Mister Mal-Adjusted then, it would seem.

Every single night it was that Blaine would come home from his long day, and he'd step into his shower and wash away his defenses. His hair gel down the drain, his cardigan in the hamper, his saddle shoes kicked off by the door.

He'd slip into bed with fluffy curls that themselves seemed to stick out in every direction, reaching out, begging for someone to touch them, for just a moment of human contact so that for just one moment they wouldn't feel so alone.

Blaine philosophized about his hair being a metaphor for himself more than was probably considered normal.

When he made himself comfortable in his bed, his old stuffed elephant tucked securely in by his side, he'd let his hands wander. And he'd just feel it.

He always started by wrapping his arms around his chest. Just a hug. Like he did to Effie. Like he wished his brother would. Like his brother had when they were young, until his father had screamed at Coop to never do that again. That he would turn Blaine into a pervert.

Blaine's father liked to gloat about being right whenever he had a little too much gin after work.

And then his arms would move from their warm self-embrace, and Blaine would claw at his stomach, trying to tear the constant ache out and throw it far away from him.

And then he'd scratch at his skin; his wrists, his thighs, his chest. He'd scratch until it hurt too much, and he'd stop when it went numb. Every once in a while he bled.

And then he'd be kind to himself again, apologize for the pain by rubbing at his nipples and by stroking his cock, sometimes an errant finger would flutter against his hole. Enough touches to make up for the solitude, plus enough to make up for the cruelty to his own body.

And anyway it helped him sleep.

...................................................................................................................................................

Blaine was wrapped up in something warm and so incredibly soft. His field of vision was crowded with vast expanses of what appeared to be milky pale skin, definitely too beautiful to be his own. A rosey blush tinted the skin in some places and in others an early morning sunrise seemed to be reflecting off the flesh, making it seem like it was glowing.

He could hear someone saying something, the voice was musical and lilting and the tones were kind and warm, but the speech was unintelligible and sounded as though Blaine was hearing it from underwater.
Blaine could hear a heartbeat clearly though, as if it were inside his head, but he knew for certain that the heartbeat was not his own. The effect was so very comforting, womb-like almost, and Blaine was surprised by the safety he felt. He smiled contentedly and turned to bury his face deeper into the silky flesh.

He frowned at the dry material now pressed against his face, the cool, slightly scratchy fabric was all wrong. His eyes fluttered open as the sounds of comfort faded and he found his face deep in his pillow, blankets wrapped tightly around his body, Effie held closely in the crook of his left arm.

He sat up and groaned in mourning for the loss of the fantastic dream, which he'd had many a time before. He stretched until he heard the satisfying pop of his stiff joints. He reached blindly for the table to his right feeling for a little translucent screen.

He found the phone and pressed his thumb and forefinger to the small pad on opposite sides of the bottom of the device, it recognized him and the screen lit up, displaying the time, and notifications for apps, a little note was blinking with a reminder from his calendar, he opened it and a small groan escaped him, he had forgotten he had a piano lesson in the city that day.

Blaine rolled out of bed reluctantly, he loathed mornings. He made his way to the bathroom, stumbling over his own feet. He avoided the mirror, as much as he could when he looked like this, with his unruly hair, and slight stubble. He didn't look like the well put-together young man everybody expected him to be and that was just too close to the truth to not be painful.

He brushed his teeth, washed his face, shaved, and gelled his hair relatively blindly, looking up only when he at least had sort of a handle on his appearance, he finished styling his hair, then looked into his own tired eyes.

He sighed, letting his shoulders slump before pulling them back into his perfect posture. He forced his lips to part into his practiced facade of a smile, not enough to appear too friendly but still cheerful enough that it looked like nothing was wrong. He let it snap from his face after a moment though, it was exhausting and it would get enough practice over the course of the day.

He left the bathroom and went to his closet, pulling out his outfit for the day, he dressed himself carefully, so there would be no wrinkles, every button would be in place, and everyone would think he was actually in control. He selected a bow tie from his large collection. He liked his ties, they made him feel contained and secure.

He made his way to school, stopping at a cafe on the way for his morning coffee, and the day passed him by in a blur. He listened carefully and did his work well that was not to be mistaken, but he felt as though he was on autopilot as he took notes on his tablet in the overcrowded lecture halls with the rest of the students.

He ignored the taunts from his classmates as he left for the day, hurrying to his car so he would make it to his piano lesson on time. They seemed to flatten themselves against the walls of lockers as he passed, calling out to their peers.

"Here comes Anderson. Don't let him touch you."

"I bet he's in such a hurry 'cause he can't wait to get home to his comfort animal!" They laughed.

"Jeez, Anderson, why are you such an infant? 'waaahh I miss being held by my mother!' grow up."

Blaine glared straight ahead, refusing them an emotional response.

This was evidence for a fact Blaine had always been certain of. The laws were intended to prevent cruelty, but humans were very capable of adapting, and verbal abuse had intensified tenfold. His great-grandmother had told him stories from long before the conflict, where the schoolyard bullies would get into physical altercations, and although it would hurt, most of the bullies didn't have the cognitive capabilities to produce any truly devastating insults.

She had said a ridiculous rhyme, something like "sticks and stones make break my bones but words will never hurt me." and she'd warned Blaine that the opposite was actually true. Blaine couldn't help but wish that his peers would just use their fists against him, he was sure it would be a relief from the constant taunting he recieved.

Either way he'd never know.

His piano lesson was with Ms. Terrance in a nearby city, just a quick ride on the high speed rail away. Blaine hated these 'lessons'. He was an advanced pianist and studied on his own, but he needed to be with an instructor to be eligible for competition.

Ms. Terrance required that he check in once every two months so that she could monitor his progress. It wasn't like he didn't like the old woman, she'd sit next to him on the bench and if she knew of his reputation, she didn't show any signs of caring. And she smiled and gave him hard candy when he played a piece well. The lessons were just inconvenient, and he'd always leave with his cat allergy acting up, and Ms. Terrance always called him Ben.

He was walking back to the train station afterwards, his pockets stuffed with butterscotch losenges, a slight spring in his step from Ms. Terrance's warm praises, his boat shoes tapping out a soft rhythm on the pavement. He shivered in the shadow of a tall building and crossed his arms over his torso, wishing he would have worn something other than a light polo shirt, he could've sworn it had been sunny and warm when he had entered his piano teacher's brownstone.He looked up at the sky searching for the sun, he found it much lower that he had anticipated, barely peeking out from behind a towering skyscraper. He checked his watch, cursing that the time was much later than he had thought, he must've taken too long in his lesson, played one too many songs for Ms. Terrance.

Flustered, he looked around, taking in his surroundings. His train would leave soon, and there would be later ones, but he was tired and not eager to wait around a busy train station when all he wanted to do was sleep.
He considered a nearby alleyway, he was familiar with that particular alley, Cooper had dragged him down it several times when they were young and had attended their piano lessons together, Coop had been one to look for shortcuts in every aspect of his life. Blaine had since ceased using the stray path, wanting to dissuade any more suspicion from being placed on him, but, he really did not want to be late, and so he ducked into the dark alley, at just a bit of a run.

He came around a bend in the narrow way that connected to another alley and would deliver him only a block away from the station. He stopped, startled.

And then across two people, a man and a woman only a few years his senior, the woman was pressed up against a dingy back wall, the man crowded into her space, his hands on her waste, her arms around his neck, their faces peculiarly pressed together.

They broke apart at the sound of Blaine's shocked gasp. Their eyes were wide and they stared at him like deer caught in headlights for a moment, before running in the opposite direction from Blaine's destination.
Blaine felt as thought the earth had shaken and dropped out from beneath him.
He couldn't believe what he had just seen.

Fuck the train he thought. He needed to talk to these people. He chased after them the way they had disappeared.

He ran quickly, and beamed in gratitude for the Dead End sign that hung from a wall as he passed. He found the couple cornered, they were arguing and the young woman stood atop a metal trash can, trying to reach the bottom rung of an old fire escape latter. The woman noticed that Blaine had rejoined them first, she nudged her companion to direct his attention toward Blaine.

The young man stepped threateningly toward Blaine, his shoulders squared and his chin held defiantly high.

"Are you a cop?"

Blaine backed away submissively "No! I was just... wondering... what- what were you two doing exactly?"

"Right like we're just going to admit to it so you can go and report us to the authorities." The young woman sneered at him as she lowered herself from the garbage can. "Why don't you run on home, kid, and forget you ever saw anything."

Blaine snarled in frustration. Here were two people that were breaking the law, touching each other carefully and deliberately, and they weren't apologetic about it. He had a million questions, how had they found each other? How had they agreed upon their illicit activities beforehand? One could not just go around asking to touch a person that way, if they were to ask nearly anyone in their society they'd get put in solitary. And what was that thing they had been doing with their mouths all pressed up against each other?

"Listen! I am not going to report you to anybody. I want to do that, with somebody, like you were doing. Please. How do I find somebody... for me?"

The man and woman exchanged a look and the woman walked over to Blaine, she stood before him, and slowly and carefully raised her hands and placed one on each of Blaine's shoulders. Blaine gasped, his knees threatened to buckle, and his muscles twitched, fighting between flinching away from her touch and leaning into it. An embarrassing whine left him and the woman smiled warmly.

"Oh honey, you've been wanting this for a long time haven't you? And you thought there was something wrong with you, am I right?"

Blaine felt his cheeks color, and he looked at his shoes, nodding just slightly.

The man moved closer to them, standing behind his companion. He spoke with impassioned words.

" Look, kid, humans weren't meant to live like this, going our whole lives without any physical comforts. We are social creatures! We have a highly developed sense of touch, really it's remarkable! And that sense of touch is meant to be used as a tool to form bonds between family members, to provide comfort, to aid in self-expression, really, there's so much they're depriving us of with these ridiculous laws."

The woman chuckled and casually pushed her friend back, she flattened her hand against his broad chest without a moment's hesitation. Blaine felt very overwhelmed with all this new information.

The woman directed her attention back to Blaine, she smiled and rolled her eyes.

"Sorry about him, he's... passionate."

She turned to grin slyly at her friend, throwing him a discreet wink. Then spoke again, her voice lowered to a whisper.

"There's a resistance. It's a place for people to go that have... fallen out of favor with our dear government. A safe haven, you know. You should come, Saturday night, you can... meet people there."

Blaine hesitated only briefly before nodding rapidly. "Yes! When? like, what time? Where is it?"

The woman reached for Blaine's arm, she pulled it towards herself as the man slipped a pen into her other hand, once again Blaine faught the urge to flinch. She smiled up at Blaine as she wrote a time and address on his skin. Blaine grinned gleefully at her, "Thank you!"

"No problem, little one. We best be going now." She gestured to the dark sky. "It's late, we wouldn't want to... arouse suspicion, now would we." She walked back the way they had came.

Her friend followed behind her, he whispered to Blaine as he passed " See you there, kid, and uh, you wouldn't want to go spreading that information around." He cracked his knuckles before turning his back on Blaine.

Blaine was left alone to process this new information, he stumbled back against the wall, sliding down to sit on the gravely pavement, his legs sprawled out in front of him, his eyes fixated on the ink on his forearm.

He couldn't believe these people had just dropped into his life. Claiming that his feelings were perfectly normal, and touching him so casually, she hadn't even seemed aware that her touches were illegal.

He stayed there slumped against the brick wall for some time, lost in his thoughts. He didn't come out of his head until his phone went off, the bright light that shone through the fabric of his pocket, alerting him of a text message from his worried mother, he remembered his train and got into his feet, going at a bit of a jog to catch the next departure.

On the train he was restored to his lonely normalcy as he watched the other passengers curled in on themselves, sitting distanced from each other, in already sparsely placed seats.