‘I can save you, Blaine.’ He stated it simply, his shoulders shrugging slightly at his own words.

The silence was thick and painful, pressing down on Kurt like an ocean of unease crashing over the top of him.

Kurt thought he’d heard Blaine mumble something almost inaudibly as he stood up and quickly paced to the door.
‘Blaine-’ he called after him, but Blaine was already gone.

~

Kurt drove home from school that day, remembering everything that had happened between him and Blaine the past few days.
He didn’t know what was happening; he had an idea, but he really wished it wasn’t true. He wished that Blaine knew that it was stupid to think like that, that he knew that hurting himself wasn’t going to do any good. But still, he’s seen some bruises, some scars on his arms. When he asked about them Blaine would brush off his comments with a silly joke or excuse. He worried about Blaine; he never opened up to anyone; he hid himself. Kurt wished Blaine would open up to him; show him that he really does trust him. But it didn’t seem like Blaine really trusted anybody.

~

The memories of a few hours ago ran through Blaine’s head as he sat, curled up in the corner of his dimly lit bedroom.

His parents were away for a holiday. Nobody would be home for another two weeks…

Stop it, Blaine. He whispered in his mind, knowing where his head wanted him to go. His phone buzzed at the other end of the room. He didn’t get up to answer it.

K: Are you okay? (4:35pm)

Stop it; you’re fine. You’ll work it out with Kurt. You can just tell him you’re fine. He’ll believe you. You don’t need to- his eyes flickered to the bathroom door. It’s only a few metres away…nobody has to know. Just don’t go very deep… his fingers subconsciously started fiddling with the hem of his sleeve, almost lifting it up- No, Blaine. Almost swatting his hand away, he sighed in frustration. It’s been three weeks, relapsing isn’t an option. You’ll be fine.

K: Blaine, I know you’re upset. Just, please talk to me. (4:56pm)

You’re better than that, Blaine. Kurt loves you without the cuts, the bruises or scars. Don’t, you’ve come so far already. He can’t find out. You can’t tell him, Blaine. He’ll hate you. He’ll realise what a coward you are. He thinks it’ll all be fine. But it won’t. You don’t want him to know, Blaine. Why are you such a coward?
His arms clenched around his legs as he dug his nose in between his knees. His body trembled as warm, salty tears slid down his face.

K: You’re worrying me. Pick up your phone. (5:13pm)

A coward, Blaine. That’s what you are.
You can’t even tell the boy you love that you love him because you’re too scared he won’t say it back. What type of man is that? Why can’t Kurt see what a coward you are, just so he can leave you already? You don’t deserve him.
He peered down at himself.
He hated what he saw. He wished it would go away.
Go away. Heat burned at the back of his throat.

K: Blaine. Seriously. Call me. Now. (5:34pm)

It was getting dark outside as Blaine peered out the window.
He wanted something…someone, anything to make him stop. But as he got up and neared the bathroom, nothing happened.

K: Pick up your phone, dammit. (5:44pm)

As he made his way to the cupboard under the sink and drew out a small blade, still, nothing happened. Nobody wanted to help him.

K: Please, I don’t know what to do now. Are you okay? (6:02pm)

Nobody cared.
K: Blaine. (6:05pm)

Nobody wanted him.

K: Please, Blaine. (6:12pm)

So he did the only thing he’s ever known to do right in his life.

As he picked up the blade to his skin, he paused; waiting for something to happen.

THREE MISSED CALLS: KURT HUMMEL (6:28pm)

Nothing.

So he pressed down, as hard as he could. Suddenly remembering the soothing sensation as if it had never went away. He kept pressing down, harder and harder. Forgetting where he was, forgetting what had happened, forgetting Kurt, his parents, school, life, collage, football, glee – everything. His starlit sky; his beautiful painting – he forgot the red drops, growing plentiful on his poorly rolled up sleave and the sting in his forearm. He was flying, high above everything, the wind in his hair, the sky in his eyes.

Then, suddenly, he fell. He remembered. Everything. The painting, the worries, the cuts, the bruises, his parents, Kurt. He started frantically dragging the blade across his skin. Wanting so much just to forget again. Wanting so much not to remember. Remembering meant hurting.

But he didn’t forget. He kept remembering. Soon he was falling; faster and faster and faster. He couldn’t see. He couldn’t hear. All he could think about was Kurt.

His eyes, his smile, the way he knew exactly what he was doing, his laugh, his everything.

The way his eyebrows raised when he turned his head sideways. The way the muscles in the side of his cheek next to his mouth twitched when he smirked so beautifully. When the light hits his eyes - a deep, warm cyan makes its way through his eye – almost dancing from his retina.

The way he makes me feel.

Like nothing else is important. Like no matter how bad anything will get, I’ll have something to look forward to, something I can hold onto. Like I don’t need to worry as much, as if I’ve done something right for once. Like there’s no more oxygen unless I spend every second of every day wrapped up in the ever so comforting warmth of his presence. He keeps me on the ground – like…almost like gravity.

~

‘Dammit, Blaine.’ Kurt sighed to himself as he hung up the phone after hearing Blaine’s voice mail for the sixth time.

I want to go see him. He needs to know I care. I just don’t want him to think I don’t trust in him. Maybe he just wants to be left alone for a while, maybe I’m pressuring him a little. I’ll wait another half an hour. If he doesn’t pick up his phone I’ll go see what’s going on. God, I hope he’s okay.

The next sixteen minutes of Kurt’s life was the most unbearably stressful sixteen minutes he had ever lived in his entire life. He couldn’t stand the suspense anymore; he needed to know Blaine was okay. He needed Blaine to be okay.

He tugged on the jeans he had worn that morning, slipped on his black boots, grabbed his car keys and dashed out of the house, ignoring the questioning calls coming from his father in the living room.

Rain poured down as he rushed to his car, almost slipping what seemed to be a dozen times.

~

He hates you, you know, Blaine. Nobody could love you.
You’re a wreck. You can’t go a few weeks without hurting yourself. It’s almost sickening. Nobody could even begin to care for something this disastrous.

It’s your fault, you know, Blaine.
You could’ve stopped yourself. Poor you, pathetic little Blaine, can’t even control yourself when you’re feeling a little gloomy. There are people who have it much worse than you do, Blaine, and they’d give anything to be in the position you’re in. And look at you, sitting here on your floor, literally almost killing yourself in hatred. You should be ashamed of yourself.

He dropped the blade, stood and without another thought, made his way to his room. It was dark now. How long had he been in there? The clock read 8:12. Had it really been in there for two and a half hours? Had he passed out? It had seemed like a few minutes. His fingers found a switch on the wall, light suddenly flooding his room slightly burning his eyes for an instant.

He was so tired. His eyes started drifting close as he stood, resting against the doorframe. He made his way to his bed and fell onto it, the prolonged and almost painfully energy consuming movement he made to do this drained him. He let his mind drift into an near unconscious state of being.

Everything around him smelled like Kurt. It was so nice.
He loved Kurt.
Kurt was so special. He made everything so beautiful.
But he made Kurt sad when he hurt himself…he knew he did. It was so selfish of him.

Kurt would never forgive him for hurting himself.

Blaine’s eyes fell closed for a few seconds, but shot open in the next.

Kurt.