Dear Kurt,

I wish you didn't have to see me like this. I am scared to leave my room, but I need to get out. I haven't eaten all weekend; because I know when I do they will find me. My parents. They will find me and they will scream at me. I hear their footsteps outside my room, and I know they do not want me here. Their hatred seems to ooze under my door like a disease, and it is making me sick. I wish you were here. I don't think I will give this letter to you. I just want to feel your presence, and somehow writing this letter gives me just a little bit of that.

Blaine had no idea what he was doing. All he knew was he wanted to write. He had so much to say, but it all seemed to crumble as his pen hit the paper. Blaine then thought he would write a letter to Kurt, but everything he wanted to say seemed too shameful when put on paper. He couldn't help feeling like he was going mad.

This weekend had pushed him further into his little hole of insanity than the past few weeks combined. These walls around him that he called his room seemed to be the only source of comfort in this house full of tension. Blaine felt as though his entire family was just a metaphorical rubber band that was just being stretched and stretched, and at any minute now the band would snap, and the house would explode. He could almost smell the smoke and ash.
Ever since the fight with his parents on Friday, Blaine had stayed in his room and not come out for anything, even food. He was quite literally starving, and thanked god he had his own bathroom so he could get water from the sink. It was now Sunday evening, and Blaine finally knew why insane people needed strait jackets. He had found himself talking to himself in whispers, and as soon as he caught himself he would stop and purposely fall out of his bed in the hopes to knock some sanity into him. He remembered fleetingly the words of Phineas Nigellus Black, "First sign of madness, talking to your own head."

After doing this five times in one hour, he decided there was nothing for it, and he called Kurt.

"Blaine?" Kurt's voice was happy, but also worried. They didn't talk on the phone much; Kurt always said he found it awkward to talk to anyone on the phone.

"Kurt..." Blaine found it hard to talk. There was a lump building in his throat, and he wondered why his voice was so willing to talk to itself a few minutes ago, but now unable to have a normal conversation.

"Blaine are you ok? Did your parents hurt you? Are you hurt? Blaine if you are hurt I swear to god I think I might come over there and raise some major hell. Oh my god Blaine you're not talking. You are hurt aren't you, ok I'm getting in my car now just give me five minu-"

"No! Kurt no, I'm, I'm fine…I'm fine calm down." Blaine interrupted; Kurt had said all of that very fast.

"oh." He said feebly. "Then what's wrong Blaine? Don't even say nothing is wrong because you never call if nothing is wrong."

How did Kurt know him so well? "Well… honestly? I think I'm going mad… I haven't eaten in 2 days. I'm so hungry, but I'd rather starve that face my effing parents."

"You haven't what?" Kurt shrieked, much the way his mother had done 2 days ago. "Blaine you have to eat food!"

"I'm not facing my parents! You have no idea Kurt, whenever I'm around them they make me feel like some slimy slug that is repulsive and can't understand a word they are saying! I am a freaking slug Kurt. I am a slug."

"You are not a slug Blaine! What are they doing?"

"My dad called you a…well, he called you a thing."

"A faggot?"

"No, he called you a thing. You know, like, an object… not a person."

"I can see why that upsets you but…" Kurt said in confusion.

"But! But I wasn't going to just let my father talk about you like that! He was talking like you made me gay or something! I bet it never even occurred to him that I might love you!" it took a second and the automatic gasp on the other end of the line for Blaine to realize what he had said. He clapped a hand onto his mouth with a loud smack, and there was a booming silence.

After a few moments, a feeble voice came through Blaine's speaker. "Was that, did you... do you mean that Blaine?" it was such a whisper that Blaine couldn't be sure he had really heard it.

Did he mean it? It came so easily off the tongue that it was hard to know. I love you. How clich� a phrase, yet so powerful in casual conversation. He had known Kurt for a few months now, and he would be lying if he said he never had a certain… curiosity with the boy before Kurt had the bravery to write him that letter a few months ago. Blaine's entire world had been shattered to bits, and Kurt was his one ray of hope in a word that was dark and spiraling in shades of black that somehow managed to get darker and darker. Sometimes late at night he found himself drowning in worry, and then being taken aback when those worries where focused on Kurt's happiness rather than his own.

"I… I, yes, Kurt. I think- no. I know that, I love you." Blaine's heart was beating so fast that he could feel it in every limb of his body. Another loud gasp from the other end of the line made Blaine's heart pound even faster. This was the moment, the moment where his one ray of light would be whipped out like every other comfort he had. Kurt would say that Blaine was being foolish, that he was playing children's games, and that he needed to grow up. That they were over.

"I love you too, Blaine." The voice was just as feeble as before, but it had such an effect on Blaine that a sob escaped his throat, and for the first time in weeks, in years, Blaine cried in happiness.