Blaine Anderson dies in a hospital bed at 9:15 am on Sunday, March 25th.  “He was old,” they say.  They conclude that it was inevitably “his time”, that “he lived a great life,” “That he at least said goodbye before passing.”

Of course, people say things all the time, without even the slightest hesitation.  Let it be known that only the cowardly say goodbye.

(X)

There is a baby crying.  Gasping at the empty air, trying desperately for someone, his mom, to hear. To chase away the nightmares devouring his mind like a snake.

His arms can only extend so far and his brain can only fathom the darkness of his surroundings.  He’s wailing, wailing and screaming.  Pleading.

In walks a man.

“Shhh. Shhh, hey there baby boy.”  He says to the bawling child.

“Shhh, shhh, shhh.  Daddy’s here, daddy’s here” He coos, lifting him into his meaty arms.

Burt Hummel is tired.  His eyes have begun to droop from restless nights and his chin is dusted with a shadow, dark like the countless mugs of ‘Joe’.  He feels as if he’s walking on stilts whilst intoxicated; body is tilting from side to side. The height has dispelled the numbness found below. Nevertheless he’s so far up, the ground isn’t visible.

Burt Hummel’s a trooper, always will be.

The man rocks his only son from side to side, humming an inconsequential tune.  He pats the bundle of life gently, waiting for the boy to quiet down, to be stolen by his fantasies.

“Daddy’s here.” He whispers.

Unfortunately, mommy is not.

(X)

Dear God in the sky,

            I’m not quite sure how you can exist.  I’ve been in airplanes before and have never seen you perched on a cloud.  I also don’t know why you should.  If what my dad says is true, that you created the world to supposed perfection, why do you continue to abandon us?  Why do you make our loved ones follow you into heaven?

            I can feel the teachers’ worry when I say you don’t exist.  I watch their eyebrows wrinkle and their lips turn downwards.  I know that my dad speaks to you every night, as if you can give him strength.  He doesn’t need your help; he has me.  So why do you exist?  Why did I bother writing this letter when it’s plainly obvious you are never going to answer me?

            From, Kurt Hummel (age 13)

(X)

The first time Kurt meets Blaine, Blaine doesn’t meet him.  Not really.

They’re both sophomores in William McKinley High School.  By a stroke of luck both boys managed to sneak into Tiffany Malcolm’s home coming rager.  Although, for a rager, Kurt is less then impressed.  He actually doesn’t know what he was expecting, but he guesses this is what is the norm of parties: boy and girls alike in various stages of one night stands, either grinding on the dance floor, vacuuming each other’s tongues with their own mouths, or half naked and gyrating.  Some senior, Cooper was his name, managed to get two kegs and three cases of the crappiest beer known to man.

Kurt doesn’t particularly enjoy drinking, but given that his only friend-who had forcedly dragged him to this sty as a source of moral confidence (for what he may never know)-Rachel, had left with the junior quarterback, Finn; he concludes that nursing a beer would be the most productive use of his time until he can leave.  Still, he manages to pace himself, unlike the chimps doing keg-stands in the kitchen.

Blaine on the other hand specifically devised a plan to sneak into this party.  By assisting Cooper, his older brother, with the beer he managed to score an invite.  Currently, he’s completely shit-faced.  His body has gone languid and the thump of the speakers is the only thing present in his head.

Some girl presses up against him-Brenda?  Britney?  Barbara? - Either way he finds it invasive.  Her boobs keep grazing his body and her eyes are too lopsided from the alcohol, the room is too hot and the music is beginning to quake more than pulse.

Blaine pushes through the throng of hormonal teens.  His throat feels parched and his forehead is clammy.  He needs another drink, or air, air sounds good.

(X)

            I think I may be sick.  Daniel Ford was riding his bike the other day outside on my street.  I don’t know what happened, but I felt a rush of…of…something.  But it couldn’t be WANT, right?  Right?  I must be getting the flu or something; because no way in hell could I have…those feelings for a boy.

            -Blaine Anderson (age 14)

(X)

Kurt is, well, frankly he’s horny.  He assumes that the beers he’s been consuming throughout the night have finally hit him.  His body is thrumming with a steady electricity.  His skin feels on fire, and his world is a hazy diagonal reality, where people are infinitely happy and too stupid to judge.

Kurt stumbles his way into the upstairs hallway.  He thinks he’s looking for a bathroom, but he isn’t capable of remembering why.

Suddenly, a hand yanks the collar of his navy shirt into the dark confines of a linen closet.

Lips, lips and hands.  They desperately spread across the ticklish sides of his stomach.  They nip at his gasping jaw and suck on the bud of his bottom lip.  Tongues slip and slide together steamily.  Gasps and moans erupt within both bodies; unabashed lust boiling and boiling till the closet feels condensed.  Kurt is both suffocating and breathing for the first time in his dreary existence.

“So hot.”  The other person mumbles, a deep scratchy voice.

“Mmmm.”  Kurt mewls, as fingertips delve briefly to the skin beneath his shirt.

He’s suddenly overcome with an insatiable hunger.  A bubbling swirl, inching him faster and faster into the tight air.  He’s so fucking turned on it aches.  Aches so badly, right down to his feet.  His lips are bruised and his form is ruffled, but the pure adrenaline igniting his heart keeps everything spectacular.

“Gonna come.”  The other boy voices; words peaked with unbridled desire.

Yes, Kurt thinks as his body continues to push and stretch.  He’s breathing fast and rocking directly into the other boy’s thy.  He’s so close.

And then an animalistic groan breaks from the other’s throat.

Kurt freezes, still sporting a throbbing erection, but instantly snapped back into the world.  The other boy has gone quiet and motionless, breath erratically huffed and muscles tensed in anxiety.

He doesn’t know him, Kurt realizes.  But he wants him…he knows.

“I-ah…” The boy clears his throat. His hand comes up to scratch at the back of his head.

An unsettling pause has fallen upon the two teens. However, for the first time, they make eye contact.  Kurt can’t define the color of the boy’s eyes-they appear to be a dark brown in the limited black.  They’re pretty.

“Thanks” the boy, says.

He startles the still-hard Kurt with a gentle and quick kiss on his forehead, before exiting the closet with swift paces.

(X)

Kurt remains, boner still standing tall.  He stares at the shelves of color-coordinated towels and realizes for the first time that night, he has never even spoken to Taylor Malcolm.

Without warning the closet door is wrenched open and there standing in the hallway are four of the upper-classmen football players.

“Ha!  I told you some faggot would be in the closet” One shouts, completely proud of his incidental play on words.

The other meatheads guffaw like pathetic hyenas.

“Oh and look!  His little friend is awake!”  Another says sardonically, pointing directly at Kurt’s crotch.

“AHAHAHA!  What’s the matter Bony? Did the hot dogs leave you in here alone?”

“Probably didn’t want to be sucked on by some girly-ass chick, right Bony?”

With a stuttering breath, Kurt runs misty-eyed out of the closet.  Behind him chants of “Bony! Bony!” trail, like an ever-present echo.

(X)

He can’t breathe, can’t think.  The diagonal universe returned, but this time more twisted and obscene.  Like walking into the blistering sun after watching a movie in the dark, or being punched by the stench of floor cleaner in the hospital, Kurt’s head splits.

He’s shakily tripping towards the bus stop, just praying for a way out.   When a call beckons his attention from behind,

“Hey, Blainers!...Hey, Blaine! Blaine Anderson! Come on, Squirt!”

A slightly-shorter-than-average boy jogs towards another much older teen.  His curly hairs looks disheveled and his limbs move in a guilty way, if that’s even possible.  As if sensing Kurt’s curious gaze, he turns, only to stare directly in return.  And that’s when Kurt knows.  His first ever sexually driven experience was with Blaine Anderson at fifteen, buried between the shelves of Egyptian cotton and threadbare towels.

Incidentally, that is also when Kurt receives the only nickname to ever grace him.  “Bony.”  It didn’t help that his skin was incredibly pale or wiry.  That his eyes sunk into his skull and his ribs poked behind the translucent milk of his complexion.  Kurt looked like a skeleton, and so that was what he was known as.

The gay, perverted skeleton in the closet-how punny.

(X)

The first time Blaine recalls seeing Kurt (in broad daylight) he was actually trying to stare blankly into space.

Funnily enough, it happened at a funeral.  Jonathan Price, age 18, had recently committed suicide.  And although he was actually Cooper’s friend, more than Blaine’s, Blaine still found himself uncomfortably stiff in a wooden pew.  His hair was beginning to resist the lacquering of gel and the pastor-or whoever he was-kept speaking in a monotonic voice.

“God all praise thee…” and the like.

Despite however rude it may seem, all Blaine was cognizant of was that he was utterly bored.  And so he began to will his eyes to go vacant, to gape into that void where your brain goes fuzzy and calm.  Where time proceeds to tumble around disconnected ears, moving quicker then expected.

And that’s how he saw him.  Fourth row, far end, sitting next to a ridicuously dressed woman.   Blaine was…well, struck dumb.

He was beautiful.  Absolutely, undeniably, beautiful.  With luminescent skin and a slender frame the boy had speared Blaine with an unfamiliar hunger, plain and simple.  Immediately he found himself wanting everything.  The kisses and secret handholding, the warmth of his frame in his arms, the loving glances that spoke so much louder than “I love you” ever could.

Blaine never talked to him that day.  In fact, up until Taylor Malcolm’s party, Blaine never said anything.  He was content to gaze at the other from far away; not knowing his name or age, but fully informed with the movements of his body.  The other boy actually seemed to be everywhere Blaine was.  Whether that included the science lab or library, Blaine was blessed with full viewing all the time.

However, that didn’t feel like enough.  He needed him in the most carnal and forlorn way.

But why would a god like that ever talk to Cooper Anderson’s midget dweeb of a brother?  Furthermore, why would Blaine ever get what he wanted?  After all, he was gay, and to be gay in Lima, Ohio was the death of all hopes and dreams.

(X)

By junior year both boys had spent every waking minute either thinking of or silently ogling the other with secret yearning.  It wasn’t until October 12th at 1:30 pm when they were finally, and formally, introduced.  They were paired as English partners.

Kurt was simultaneously ignited with unadulterated hope and nervousness.  Whilst Blaine was practically beaming.

They became friends in a matter of days, close friends.  Friends that were able to laugh at the most pathetic and odd nuances or life, who can practically speak telepathically, who miss each other every night regardless of the amount of time actually engaged with one another.  They were unconditionally and unwittingly in love.

(X)

Dear….me?

            I don’t know what’s happening anymore.  I hear these, these…echoes.  Like a whisper or something.  They keep scratching my brain and clogging my dreams.  At first I thought it was nightmares, but now I know, it’s not.  They call me: Kurt, Kurt, Kurt…  Like I can do something, like I can help.  But they’re not real right?!?  Right?  They feel real, like I can reach out my hand and touch the air, knowing that it’s actually them.  Like they can yank me back to wherever they came.

            I’m worrying Blaine.  He says I look worse and worse everyday.  Probably because I can’t sleep anymore.  Because that’s when it’s the worst, when I’m alone at night.  I can feel them, whispering across my arms.  Circling my bed like a shark in starvation, waiting for me to follow.  I won’t, I don’t want to.  I need help.  I need an answer.

            What am I?

            From, Kurt Hummel (age 16)

(X)

Kurt’s dad works too many hours.  On top of that, he consumes grease like Blaine applies it to his hair.

Kurt’s dad has a heart attack when Kurt is at school.

Blaine rushes to his friend instantaneously, classes be damned.

He never sees Kurt cry that day, but feels the cracks ebbing their way up his friend’s torso, in a manner that disturbs every molecule within Blaine.

He doesn’t understand what’s developing, but one concerned glance towards Kurt says enough.  His dad is sick and Kurt is cursed.

(X)

“What’s up, Bony!”

SLAM

Once again Kurt has been hurtled into the lockers.  He wonders if he’s fragile enough, like bone, to actually break anything.  Then again, bone is pretty strong.

It’s been one week and three hours since his dad was hospitalized.  Comatose.  Kurt has been staying at Rachel’s house because Blaine’s parents are off in Thailand or wherever. Even with the notion of her support, Rachel still maintains to annoy the shit out of him.

In truth, everyone in Glee has been obnoxiously piggy-back-riding him, as if to fully purport their sympathy; more like dispute they’re past ignorance.  Everyone, except for Blaine, who continues to just be there, without deities.

Nevertheless, Kurt can feel himself decaying. His insides are in a perpetual spiral, twisting and intertwining.

The voices have stopped, but Kurt assumes they’re just preparing for something terrible.

(X)

Trash cans.  That’s what the noise is.

Blaine’s never been by this side of the gym before, but the continuous BANG reverberating from the trashcans-being chucked against the wall full forcedly-drew him closer.

“What are you doing?”  He asks, tone trying to stay placid.

Kurt just grunts and goes to pick up another one.  His arms rotate, muscles straining, and he belts out a growl, hurling the can with every ounce of strength and anger against the brick.

“Kurt, sto-“

“WHAT DO YOU WANT, BLAINE!?” Kurt turns, eyes a blaze.

And that’s when Blaine notices his friend.  His shirt is splattered with blue and red stains, matching the blood-shot eyes that seem to stew in endless turmoil.  Slushies.

“You’re going to hurt yourself.” He replies meekly, absolutely heartbroken at the sight.

Kurt ignores the statement.  Preparing to throw once again.  His knuckles look like paper, clenched so tightly around the trashcan’s rim.

“No Kurt, STOP!”  Blaine shouts sternly, hand grasping Kurt’s quivering forearm.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, trying to quell the cumulating tears in his throat.

“A cat died outside of my house.” Kurt says resigned.  He places the can back down.

His muscles relax, but his face still possesses that grim, rigid expression.

“What?” Blaine questions, shocked by the irrelevant answer.

“He died Blaine, he died.  He’s dying, and they’re coming, they’re coming for me Blaine…” Kurt begins to babble, sobs now racking his thin form.

Kurt instantly throws himself into Blaine’s arms.   His shoulders tremble and his nose begins to drip, he’s gasping.  He’s wheezing, and coughing…he can’t think.  He mutters like a mad man in the train station, begging for everything to fall away; for the voices to die and his dad to live, for the cat to not be on his porch step, lifeless.

“Who are they, Kurt?” Blaine asks, attempting to understand the hysterical musings of his Kurt, his own tears falling.

“I don’t know.” Kurt brokenly whispers. “I don’t know…”

(X)

Blaine didn’t reveal his sexuality until he met Kurt.  Somewhere between 14 and 15 he had come to turns with his orientation.  However, Kurt prompted the grand broadcast.

Kurt and his fiery confidence, his graceful limbs and angular jaw.  Kurt, living, amazing, Kurt.

In hindsight, Blaine had been a complete fool.  His naivety conjured a land where people actually cheered for the truth, whooped at Blaine’s courage to be, well, a gay fisherman trying to hook an equally attractive trout (metaphorically).

Simply said, he was wrong.

Within a week Blaine’s upper torso was a mixture of purples and yellows.  He had taken to carrying extra gel and clothes. Plus, his locker had been re-painted twice because of the Neanderthals who sprayed bright pink labels reading “Fairy” and “Faggot” were relentless pricks.  Overall, Blaine was the newest bait to a sea of dim-witted, one-dimensional, homophobic, asshole, sharks.

Even with complaints to both Figgins and his parents, the bullying persisted.  Mainly because Blaine’s parents were too far away, too disconnected, from their suffering son to distinguish his fear.  They were distant ever since Blaine coming out, and no plea (even with Cooper’s assistance-who was now living in California) could draw them from a cave of blind-sightedness.  Figgins, on the other hand, was just incompetent.  So Blaine was left abandoned in a face off with daily beatings.

That wasn’t the worst part though, the worst of it was the leering looks directed by Dave Karofsky.

Blaine’s arms littered with Goosebumps at the mere thought.  Those dark eyes raking their way around his body, planning incision points and nerve endings.  Even with Kurt by his side, Blaine felt like a bulls eye.  He was exposed to Karofsky; lurking in the shadows and salivating in a manner, which epitomized wolf-ish.

Blaine was aware of the gears churning in Karofsky brain.  The occasional twitch of fingers when he was in proximity. Kurt could even sense a rising tension between the two, but was swiftly denied by Blaine’s reassurances. Regardless, Blaine didn’t want to worry him, all things considered.

He would be fine.

At least, that’s what he believed until January 2nd at 4:30 pm in the men’s locker room.

(X)

Lizzie,

        I lost him…Kurt.  I can’t find him Lizzie, I’m so sorry.  I’m, I’m in a pit….There’s a beeping and it keeps poking my eardrums repeatedly.

        Darling, where are you?  Where is our boy?  My boy.

        He’s so strong, Liz.  He doesn’t even know it, but he’s porcelain that kid.  Tough, beautiful porcelain.  Sometimes, I wonder if he’s actually a mirage.  Because no way would I have dreamed that you, princess, would give me such a star.

        I need to find him, Lizzie.  However, I think that may mean leaving you, wherever you may be.  He’s my son.

        Love Always, Burt Hummel (age: 56, location: Lima Memorial Hospital)

(X)

At 10:15 on Friday the 28th of January, Kurt Hummel punches Dave Karofsky twice for enforcing a kiss on Blaine’s unwilling lips.  The first directly hits his stomach,  the next in the nose.  Kurt breaks two fingers, but Karofsky’s the one who tumbles like Goliath.

Consequently, this is also the day Burt awakens from a coma, which lasted 3 weeks, 2 days, and 45 minutes.

“Don’t you dare touch my Blaine ever again…turd”  That’s what Kurt said (more like spat).

That’s what instigates Blaine’s weeklong dreams of Kurt as a hero in spandex, otherwise recalled as the “Week of endless erections.”

(X)

 Kurt is managing the voices.  His breakdown a few weeks prior was not predicted, and although he hasn’t mentioned it, Kurt can feel Blaine’s concern with every “secret” glance.

He still feels them though, cackling manically through murky waves.  Sometimes he sees them, a blue fog that disappears with one blink.  Maybe he’s going mad.

(X)

Rachel Berry, self-proclaimed protégé, has always been keen on the sexual attraction between her best friend and Blaine.  Actually, it’s painfully obvious the amount of adoration each holds.  After all, nobody can look at a person in so many loving glimpses (more like stares) without being completely head over heels.  Rachel wishes Finn would stare at her like that, but anyways…

Either the boys are too consumed by their passion, or they really are just oblivious and full of self-doubt.  Which is why, Rachel, the mastermind she is-thank you very much-has devised a full proof plan to get Blaine Anderson into Kurt Hummel’s pants.

(X)

Firstly, she has to instigate Blaine.  Being the, admittedly, less aware of the two, he needs to wake up.

“Hey Blaine!”  Rachel chirps, startling the unsuspecting junior.

“Oh!  Hey, Rachel, how’s it going?” Blaine says.

“Great…”  She casually (read: obviously) flicks her eyes across the hallway.  He’s busy rifling through his locker, so she assumes he doesn’t notice her survey of the corridor.   Luckily enough, there are only a few stragglers walking about the hall.

“Sooo…Can I help you with anything?” Blaine asks.

“Um, no, no, I’m fine.”  Rachel replies, a bought of nerves suddenly hitting her stomach.

“Alright then.” Blaine says, skeptical. “Well, I guess I’ll see you in glee.”

And then he’s turning, turning and walking down the now empty passage.  Without warning, or any form of pre-meditation, Rachel blurts, “Kurt’s in love with you!”

Blaine’s exit is abruptly pause.  He turns in seeming slow motion to face her.

“What?”  He asks, feeling dazed and stunned.

“Oh man, “(Rachel mutters to herself with guilt. ‘Way to stick to the plan, idiot’ she thinks)  “Erm, Kurt, he’s…well, he’s in love with you.”  She admits.

“Rachel, Kurt and I are just friends.”  He says, trying to quell all sparks of hope internally.

“Yeah, cause all best buds want to fuck each other.”  She responds sarcastically.

“I-ah-do not want to fuck Kurt!” Blaine says in a hushed shout, face going red and eyes flitting around the area in anxiety.

“Hey, it’s okay.  He wants you too.”  Rachel says, hoping to calm the now flustered boy.

“Yeah right.”  He says pitifully.

“Right,”  She states with firm conviction “And you need to tell him, Blaine.   We both know Kurt’s one of a kind and if you don’t act now you’ll be watching him disappear with a broken heart.  Why don’t you ask him to the Sadie Hawkins dance coming up?”

“But, what if he says no?”  Blaine asks, eyes innocent and already defeated.

“What if he says yes?” Rachel replies with a coquettish smile.

(X)

Dear Diary,

            It is times like this I can’t help but bask in my ingenuity.   Kurt said yes!!!  You’re welcome, Blaine Anderson.  Oh journal, they are so going to get married and have gaybies (that’s gay-babies)!!!  And then when its their wedding and I make the Maid of Honor’s toast the whole world will know that I, Rachel Berry, is the reason they got together!  Then I’ll a twelve-minute ballad dedicated to them and Finn will be reminded why I’m sooo much better then Quinn…

            (an excerpt from Rachel Barbara Berry’s personal diary, age 16)

(X)

“You-you look beautiful, Kurt”  Blaine utters; standing on the Hummel’s doorstep the night of the dance, completely winded by Kurt’s magnificence.

Kurt blushes, making Blaine even more stunned.

“Thanks, you look great too.”

Behind him stands Burt Hummel, stern and threatening even in his weakened state.

“Blaine.”  He huffs, calling the boy’s attention from the dazzling sight.

“Sir.”  He says with a shaky outstretched hand.

“Now Blaine, I want you to take care of him and of yourself.  Anybody gives you two crap, give me a call, Kurt already said he do the same….And no funny business, I know that they spike that punch and I will be damned if you two come back lookin’ like the picture of indiscretion.”

“Dad!”  Kurt scolds, face pink with embarrassment.

“Understood, sir.”  Blaine says, intimidated.

With hurried excitement and fear of another outburst of Burt’s parenting, Kurt grabs Blaine’s hand and all but bolts out the door to the car.

His face is beaming with exhilaration on the drive over, because finally! And Blaine can’t help but smile too, the feeling of pure happiness buzzing in his  veins.  They sing harmoniously with Katy Perry on the radio, windows drawn and motor humming through Teenage Dream.

It’s in that moment that Kurt and Blaine believe in love and in life.

(X)

Rachel’s singing some melancholy song about heartbreak to the crowd (to Finn and Quinn on the dance floor), multi-colored balloons and streamers surround her.  The lights have dimmed and everyone of McKinley High sways to the band.  It’s merriment in an effortless and infinite picture.  Couples, young and foolish, curled into each other, fueled by the tangible glee in the atmosphere.  No one has passed a slur or remark.

“I’m really happy, Blaine” Kurt mutters into Blaine’s shoulder; they dance closely in a bubble of adoration.

“Me too, you really do look amazing.”  He says, a permanent grin gracing his cheeks.

“You don’t look so bad yourself.” Kurt replies flirtatiously.  Blaine chuckles.

“You know, I was the person…in the closet, I mean.”  Blaine says.

“I know, I’d recognize your eyes anywhere.”

“Well, I’m really sorry I left, Kurt.  I was stupid, and I shouldn’t have left you alone, at least not without helping you out or something-“Blaine rambles, guilt scratching at his words.

“Hey, hey, hey…it’s okay.  I’m glad you’re here now”  And he is, Kurt can’t find an inkling of despair in this moment.  Truthfully, it’s the only time Kurt will ever feel…happy.  And as unfortunate as that may be, he was lucky enough to have it, to remember it.  Kurt feels ebullient and undeniably alive.

They dance, dance till the gym is slowly emptied and the punch is swallowed away.  They dance till the music goes silent and their soles ache from constant movement.  They dance, together.

(X)

” Lima Police Department, what’s your emergency?”

“H-hi-hello, I need an ambulance, please!”  Rapid breath, hitching with panic.

“Please calm down sir and state your location.”

“U-um, W-w-William McKinley High School?!  Please!  You have to help me, it’s my friend he’s in trouble, oh-please”  Sobs reverberate into the receiver.

“What happened, sir?”

“T-these four guys, they-they, please you have to help!  He’s , he’s unconscious and I-I don’t know what to do, please!....They’re coming!”

“Who’s coming?  The attackers?”  The operator asks, knowing she has yet to alert the ambulance.

“No-no, I don’t know, please, please, help me!! Help me!”  Trepidation rises.

“Please calm down sir, an ambulance is on the way, can you tell me your name?”

“K-Kurt Hummel…”

(10:15 pm)

(X)

When Blaine re-awakes he first sees a vase of dried-dead flowers on the bedside table.  Next to them, in what appears to be an uncomfortable chair, lays a boy, soundly asleep in the most precarious bend.  Kurt, it’s Kurt, bedraggled and exhausted, spine sloping in a question mark fold, next to Blaine’s motionless body.

He’s in a hospital, Lima Memorial, to be exact.

“Kurt?”  Blaine rasps, voice gritty from disuse.  The sound is too meek to rouse the dozing lad, but Blaine contends that he doesn’t need to be woken just yet.

Blaine stares at his love.  Love, that’s what Kurt is now.  His love.  There’s no doubting, even with the foggiest memories of the dance distorted in Blaine’s head, he’s in love with Kurt Hummel.

Kurt has dark circles and wrinkled clothing.  His face is washed from any of the luminosity Blaine saw before.  His body looks crumpled and hunkered in its current slouch and his forehead is creased with worry-wrinkles.  He looks like death.

“Kurt?”  Blaine repeats, needing to hear his boyfriends’ (that’s what they are now, right?) bell of a voice.

Luckily, the second call stirs Kurt.  Blue eyes open and expand in what can only be shock.

“You’re awake?” Kurt whispers.

“Yeah.”  Blaine confirms.

“Thank goodness.”  Kurt states, quickly enveloping Blaine in a sturdy embrace.

Blaine’s body is sore.  His left leg is concealed in plaster and there’s a line of bandages covering the slit on his right shoulder blade.  Overall he feels devoid of any pain (probably due to the mountain of pills currently coursing in his system.)

Blaine had developed a habit of  feeling…numb since middle school.  He would cast his mind in a fuzzy vacuum, where all the bad and good are inconsequential.  It’s like a the eye of a storm, it’s a pause where Blaine is allowed to…be.  He used to need it, especially to balance his parent’s invisibility and Cooper’s obnoxious stardom.

Since knowing Kurt, the need had died down, but now, drugged and broken, Blaine wants this paralysis to disappear.  He wants to feel Kurt’s hold, to kiss him with the same burning ferocity he had in Taylor’s closet.  But he can’t.  His body is lead and moving requires too much power.

Kurt doesn’t mind though.

As if sensing Blaine’s desires, he pecks a sickeningly sweet and caring kiss to his lips.  It’s gentle and weird, considering the horrid situation.

“Are my parents here?” Blaine questions.

“No, sorry.”  Kurt, sympathetic to Blaine’s familial problems. “But they did call.”

“What’d they say?”

“That they’re transferring you, to another-um-another school.”

“What?” Blaine speaks, flabbergasted.

“To Dalton Academy, a boarding school in Westerville, Ohio.  It has a no-bullying policy”  Kurt states, obviously not entirely happy with the circumstance, but unwilling to witness Blaine in danger again.

“I’m not going”  Blaine quickly refuses.

“Blaine you have to-“

“No, NO,  what right do they have to care, now?! After all these years?! I don’t want to leave you here.  Not after what happened.”

“Blaine that’s exactly why you have to go…I’ll be fine, I promise.”

“How do you know?  Huh?!  How do you know, Kurt?!  McKinley’s vicious, at least with two people we can protect each other.  How can you promise you’ll be okay?!!”

“BECAUSE THEY CAN’T TOUCH ME, BLAINE.”  Kurt belts, suddenly.  He jumps from his chair and begins to pace with audible huffs and tense shoulders.

“What do you mean?”  Blaine inquires, unprepared and slightly frightened by the sudden change in behavior.

“I…I’m not…human, Blaine.”  Kurt says through clenched teeth, facing the window away from Blaine’s distressed gaze.

“What?”

“I don’t know.  I don’t think I’m…human”  Anxiety builds in both boys, an unsettling quiet fills the room.

“Kurt, look at me.  What do you mean?”  Blaine asks, perturbed and yearning for the blue eyes to return to his sight.

“You laugh at me.”  Kurt utters, dejected.

“Doesn’t matter, tell me.”

Kurt finally looks back.  His crystalline eyes are brimmed with unshed tears and his face seems to have aged years.

“I-I think I may be…the grim reaper.”

 “What?”

“It all started with Jonathan Price’s funeral.  I was sitting in the pew next to my Aunt, who just needed to come to her dog walker’s ceremony and couldn’t do it alone, and I saw…something.”

“What?”

“I-I don’t know, it was like a wisp or something.  It was like this fog, this smoke, but when I saw it, I knew it was Jon.  Like, it was his…soul or something…and then over the past few years I’ve been hearing…voices.”

“Voices?”

“Yeah, they whisper in my ears at night, Blaine.  They killed that cat and I know they’re just waiting for me to-to follow them.  To become one of them.”

“Hey, calm down, calm down.”  Blaine coos, attempting to sedate Kurt’s increasing hysterics.

To the best of his abilities, Blaine holds Kurt’s rattled form in his arms, despite the burn of his sides.

“I believe you.            “

“You do?” Kurt vocalizes, words watered down with tears.

“Yeah and I’m not gonna let them find you, Kurt.  I’m not gonna let them hurt you.”  Blaine mutters into Kurt’s auburn hair.

“That’s not the problem, Blaine…What happens if I hurt somebody?  When Karofsky kissed you, I-I was  Angry.  I could feel him, breaking.  I could feel his life through my spine, Blaine.  I could feel you loosing breath, loosing consciousness…and what  happens if I-”

“Shhh, shhh.  You will not hurt anybody, okay?”  Blaine says, grabbing Kurt’s face in both palms.  He speaks with conviction directly into the baby blues.

“I’m gonna be here.  Even if it kills me.”

And that’s what scares Kurt the most.