Its time to begin, isnt it? I get a little bit bigger, but then Ill admit Im just the same as I was. Now dont you understand that Im never changing who I am?

It's Time – Imagine Dragons

                He loses himself in Thom's hands.  His headache is all encompassing and he tries to block out the whirring of thoughts as they fight for dominance and his attention.  He needs to stop trying to understand.  He needs to not think about missing memories or nightmares or break-ups or relationships or cheaters.  He needs not to think.

Thom's fingers are magic – they effortlessly home-in on knots in his muscles, teasing the tension from his body.  He melts.  He focuses on not thinking.  On emptying his mind.  On letting his back-brain deal with the mess his life has become.  On nothingness.

Lips on bare skin.  The press of arousal against his lower back.  Short, hot pants of desire against his neck.  Tongue and teeth grazing his pulse point.  His body responds physically.  He turns his head and their lips come together like magnets.  The kiss is deepened and intense but there's the wrong amount of pressure, it's a little too wet and there's a little too much teeth.  It is wrong.  Everything is wrong.  The hands trailing over his pectorals are too rough and too large.  There is too much stubble it is burning his cheek and chin.  He can feel the panic rising.  He fights it down.  He tries to focus on the nothingness.  He keeps his eyes closed.  Strong hands turn him, pushing him down.  A body presses him into the mattress.  A leg falls between his own.  A nose brushes his.  He keeps his eyes closed.  He focuses on nothingness.  Hands fumble their way over his abdomen, lips and tongue follow.  Warm breath in short pants.  Teeth tug lightly at the waistband of his sleep shorts.  He focuses on nothingness but his hands clench against the bed sheets.  Nimble fingers…

                …Pianist's fingers…   

…tease at his fabric covered cock.  Teeth and lips and tongue taste and tickle and nip.  His hips buck up involuntarily seeking friction.  A nose nuzzles him.  A mouth sucks him through the material.  He moans.  The weight on him shifts.  Lips return to lips.  Tongue strokes tongue.  Moans and pants mingle.  The weight is wrong and it shifts again above him.  The pressure in his head grows.  He fights back a wave of nausea as rough hands…

                …Pianist's hands…not His…

…tug at his shorts.  He lifts his hips in response.  A mouth on his groin sucking his balls gently...

                …not His…

 …Fingers kneading his ass cheeks…

                …not His…

…A moan…

                …not His…

…A tongue…

                …not His…

The dam breaks.

 Morgan:  hows it going?

 me:  I don't want to jinx it.

 Morgan:  that well?

 me:  Oh yes.

 Morgan:  want to talk about it?

 me:  Not really.

 Morgan:  know what caused it yet?

 me:  It is just the one file.  It keeps corrupting.  I managed to restore it from the back-up once and I've rewritten the host program. 

 Morgan:  but it's starting again?

 me: I have no idea why.

 Morgan:  but it's working now?

 me: For now.  But I need to stop it happening again.  I just don't know how.

 Morgan:  I know the project is your baby, but if anyone can fix this it's you.

 me:  I wish I could be that confident…

I'm replacing the lost bits.  Hopefully that will be enough. 

I just wish I knew why it keeps happening.

Maybe then I could stop it.

December 31st

                Blaine's fingers are sticky with honey from the fresh baklava but so is the warm hand in his so he cannot bring himself to care.  Above them the sky fills with smoke and bursts of colour.  Children shriek – laughter and fear; interchangeable.  Blaine's lips taste like almonds and pistachios and his hair smells like gunpowder.  His arms around him, he rests his head on Blaine's loose curls and breathes him in.  Blaine rests his head back against the chest of the man behind him.  They watch the rest of the display together through blank eyes – their minds are more focused on sensations - the intertwining of their fingers, the smallest movement of a fingertip as it ghosts across a wrist, the rise and fall of their synchronised breath… 

Blaine shifts slightly, turning around to face him, sliding his arms around the other man's slim waist, his fingers gently pulling him closer. 

It is so dark and the park is so crowded.  They are one of hundreds of couples wrapped in each other but it feels oddly intimate; as if they are invisible, as if they are alone.  He catches glimpses of his partner's features with the transient explosions above.  He is smiling.  He catches Blaine staring.

                ‘You are so beautiful.'  His words are swallowed by another firework and the crowd begin the countdown.  Blaine is deaf to them all.  Blind to the sea of glow sticks.  Unable to comprehend anything but the warmth of the beautiful man in his arms. 

                ‘I'm sorry.'

The kiss is perfect.

January

                He barely remembers packing but the image of Thom's shocked and hurt expression appears to be burned into his mind.  He cannot clear it or make it go away it remains even when he closes his eyes.

                ‘I'm sorry, Thom.'  He mutters as he walks alone, an overnight bag over his shoulder.  He trusts his feet to take him where he needs to go.

The station is crowded – it is the holiday season after all – and he struggles to find a taxi.  He spends the entire journey refusing to think about what he is doing.  He concentrates on that so hard that he is surprised by the taxi driver shirtily asking him whether he is ever going to pay and get out of his cab.  He manages to stutter out a mumbled apology as he hands over the cash then collects his boarding pass.  He does not allow himself to think about what he is doing until the plane is in the air and by then it is too late.  It is overwhelmingly tempting to buy a bottle of alcohol from the duty-free cart but he stops himself and tries to focus on reading the in-flight magazine.  It is a futile exercise.  Sudoku does not help for long either.  He is saved from his self-induced mental torture by the woman sitting next to him – it is her first flight and she has a panic attack.  Blaine spends the remainder of the flight calming her down, then distracting her until after they have landed.  He did not intend to but he ends up telling her all about Kurt and Thom and how he ended up on a plane about to do perhaps the stupidest thing he has ever done in his admittedly short life.  She reassures him that he is doing the right thing and becomes very involved in his story.  Apparently his life is the perfect distraction if you are not living it.

As he is about to leave the baggage claim for the exit he feels a hand on his shoulder.  She hugs him tightly and slips a piece of paper into his hand with her phone number and address on it.  At least now he has somewhere to stay tonight if it all blows up in his face (‘Not that it will!' she reassures him).  He somehow manages to find another cab and passes the driver the address he had managed to get out of the secretary.  He spends the journey blindly watching the buildings pass him by – it is easy to allow the street lights to dazzle him as darkness falls. 

He does not panic until he has knocked on the peeling green door and when it happens it as if he has been knocked backwards by an Atlantic wave.  He struggles to remember to breathe.

Footsteps echo and the door opens.

                ‘Blaine?'

                ‘Kurt.'

December 24th

                ‘Blaine?'

                ‘What?'  His muffled reply comes out from under the quilt. 

                ‘Blaine?'

                ‘What?!'

                ‘Get up, Blaine.'

                ‘You can't make me.'

                ‘Want to bet on that?'

Blaine groans as Thom jumps on top of the bed – somehow he manages not to knee Blaine anywhere delicate in doing so and for that he is greatly appreciative.

                ‘Come on.  I found this place I want to show you.'

                ‘Sleeping.'

                ‘You've been “sleeping” for the past month.  Whenever you are not working you are “sleeping”, Blaine.  Get up.'

Thom pokes and prods him through the thick winter weight duvet and Blaine eventually throws the cover off from his head.

                ‘Fine.  Fine.  Quit it!'

Thom acquiesces and allows Blaine to get up.  He watches as his friend pads his way over to the bathroom.

                ‘Wear something warm!  It's cold out!'

                Thom seems to have been driving them for a good 20 minutes – the air is cool but not unpleasant and there is no one on the road. 

                It is Christmas Eve…

He idly watches the dark imposing buildings reduce in size and stature and become interspersed with dark towering trees.  Soon there is nothing but countryside and Blaine is suddenly aware of the stars.  There are so many of them - it is easy to forget when you live in a city.  He marvels at how clear the sky is and spends his time attempting to find constellations he recognises – the first he spots is Orion.  Eventually Thom pulls off the main road and down what looks like a dirt track.  Blaine raises an eyebrow and Thom grins.

                ‘If I didn't know any better I'd think you were taking me out into the middle of nowhere to kill me.'

                ‘Not likely.  You've been the perfect roommate – it is almost like you're already dead.'

Blaine frowns and Thom laughs.

                ‘Where are you taking me?'       

                ‘Patience, Clarice.'  Thom's accent suits his Hannibal Lector impression and sends a small chill down Blaine's spine.

                ‘Stop that!'

                ‘Quid pro quo, Clarice.'

                ‘Gah!  That is terrifying.  You definitely missed a calling as a serial killer.'

Thom laughs again as he takes a seemingly invisible turning and heads off-road.  He eventually pulls the car to a stop and turns to face Blaine with a strangely serene expression. 

                ‘Ready?'

Blaine nods slightly then exits the car.  It is as black as pitch with the car's lights extinguished and he pauses to allow his eyes to adjust to the moonlight.  Meanwhile Thom has retrieved a picnic blanket from the vehicle and gently takes Blaine's hand in his.  He cannot see his feet, so trusting Thom to know where he is going he allows himself to be lead.  A small tingle makes his way up his spine at the act.  He doesn't let himself dwell on it.

When they are about midway across the field Thom drops Blaine's hand and puts the blanket down before taking Blaine's hand again and gently pulling him down beside him.  They lie in silence looking up at the stars and Blaine feels all the tension of the past months flow from him. 

He cannot remember who breaks the silence first – he suspects it was himself but he is not sure.  Once they start they continue for hours.  There is something about lying in the dark that seems safe and comforting.  Blaine lets go.  Lets go of all his hurt, anger and confusion over Kurt.  Lets go of being bullied at school.  Lets go of disagreements with his parents.  He feels as if he is floating.  He learns more about Thom's life and his own than he ever knew before.  It is as Blaine imagines confession must feel.

It starts as a low rumble and escalates into a roar.  Blaine realises where they are as the plane flies close enough to read the number on the fuselage over them.  The field is at the end of the runway.

The suddenness of the plane's arrival and departure does something to Blaine.  He feels as if everything snaps suddenly in to place.  He feels Thom move beside him and knows he is about to kiss him.  Blaine does not turn away.

January

                He puts his hand out to stop Kurt closing the door on him.

                ‘Kurt, please.  We need to talk.'

The door stops moving and he hears Kurt turn and walk back down the hallway.  Blaine pauses – uncertain whether to enter and follow.

                ‘You coming in or not?'

Kurt sounds tired and Blaine is inside and following Kurt into what appears to be a bedsit before he is aware he has taken a step.

                ‘Why?'  Kurt doesn't look at him and Blaine suddenly cannot take it anymore.

                ‘Because I love you, Kurt.  I miss you and I can't stand this mess we are in.'  He does not wait for permission or a response – he walks over and kisses the man he loves.  Kurt melts into him and Blaine wraps his arms around Kurt's lower back as Kurt's drape over his shoulders and around his neck.  They sigh into each other, both surrendering.  Kurt's lips reclaim his almost desperately and numbly Blaine realises how hard the months he can barely remember must have been for Kurt.

                He cheated on you.

                I didn't exactly give him reason not to.

                How can you trust him?

                He trusts me.

                Are you sure about that?

The fall backwards onto the couch breaks his reverie and his mind.