Free me, leave me - Watch me as Im going down.  Free me, see me - Look at me, Im falling and Im falling.

Not an Addict – K's Choice

                His mind is in a whirl; he cannot sleep and he's barely eaten anything since he got back.  Their last few conversations run unimpeded on the treadmill of his mind – over and over – twisting and mutating.

                ‘What are we doing, Blaine?'

Blaine presses another kiss to Kurt's shoulder, feather light.

                ‘Well, correct me if I'm wrong, but I do believe we are about to make love…'  Kurt shifts and turns around to face Blaine, withdrawing slightly from him.  Something in Kurt's expression makes Blaine stop.  Blaine frowns and rocks backwards, supported by the headboard.  ‘What's wrong, Kurt?'

                ‘You can't stay here forever you know…'

                ‘I know.'

                ‘So…what happens now?'

                ‘What do you mean?'

                ‘You need to go back to Plymouth and I'm here, in Paris, for at least the next four months…'

                ‘…yes.  I know…'

                ‘…Do you?  Do you really, Blaine?  Because I don't think you've thought this through.'

                ‘So, enlighten me, Kurt.  What happens now?'

                ‘You go back and I stay here and we see what happens, I guess.'  Blaine raises his eyebrow and Kurt sighs in frustration.  ‘I mean, four months apart!  We are in no state to lie to ourselves here – we're a mess.  We've not even had a single serious talk about us since you showed up here and every time I try to bring it up you change the subject…'

                ‘…because it doesn't matter, Kurt…'

                ‘…but it does matter!'

                ‘Why?  Explain to me why we can't just write off the last couple of months – they didn't happen!  Tell me that we aren't soul mates.  Tell me that we don't belong together.  Tell me that you don't love me, Kurt.'

                ‘Stop it.'

                ‘You can't.  Know why?  Because we belong together – you know it, I know it.'

                ‘Blaine, it's not that simple.'

                ‘Why?  Make it simple.'

                ‘Blaine!'  Kurt throws his hands up in frustration, gets up from the bed and stalks angrily towards the window before turning around to glare at Blaine.  Kurt's nudity, however, somehow lightens the situation and Blaine has to bite his lip to stop himself from laughing.  ‘What?  What's so funny?'

                ‘Nothing.  Look, Kurt…'  Blaine gets up from his position on the bed and makes his way over to Kurt joining him in his nudity.  The fact that Kurt does not move away from him bolsters him and he takes a steadying breath.  ‘Kurt, I love you.  I've loved you, and only you, for years and I will love you for many, many more.  I know I've not been exactly stable over the last couple of months.  I struggle when we are apart and I'm really not good when I'm by myself.  I tend to dwell and I…look, I worry.  I worry that you'll find someone better – someone more deserving of you because I'm not, and I don't...'

Kurt's soft lips on his halt his speech.  The kiss takes his breath away and when Kurt ends it he doesn't pull away, but instead rests his forehead against Blaine's.

                ‘I love you, Kurt.  Only you.'

                ‘I love you too…'

‘Why do I feel like there's a “but” coming?'

‘Blaine, I can't keep going through this.  I can't do it anymore.  I just can't.'

                ‘What are you saying?'

Kurt steps backwards away from Blaine, but his hands linger on Blaine's shoulders then drift to his hips. 

                ‘I…I don't know.'

                ‘What do you want, Kurt?  The way I see it there are two options here – One: we give up – I go back to work, you stay here and we leave our lives in the hands of fate, again.  Two: we try again - it'll be hard, and we will argue and at times it will downright suck, but I think we are worth it.'

                ‘Three.  There's a third option: we try another “break” – you go back to work, and I stay here until my contract comes back up for negotiation and then we work out what happens next?'

                ‘Because the “break” option worked so well for us last time, Kurt…'

                ‘I love you, Blaine, but I can't keep waiting for you to realise that.  I can't…'

                ‘I love you too.'

                ‘I know.  But you don't trust me and you don't trust you.'

                ‘I do trust you.'

                ‘No.  You don't.  And you probably shouldn't.'

                ‘Kurt, don't do this.  Please.  Not again.  I need you.  I love you.'

                ‘Blaine, please listen, baby.'

Kurt takes a tentative step towards him and cups Blaine's stubbled cheek with his palm.  Blaine leans his face into Kurt's hand.  His mouth feels dry and he's shaking slightly.  Kurt takes a breath and Blaine's heart stops beating.

                ‘I think we need to trust in fate for a bit.'

It comes out like a whisper and Blaine can hardly hear it over the rushing noise in his ears.  He takes a step back and almost stumbles.

                ‘No.  I don't accept that.'

                ‘You have to.'

                ‘Why?'

                ‘Because you know I'm right.  Deep down, Blaine, you know I'm right.'

Blaine's shaking his head so hard he cannot see and he makes his way blindly to the bed and starts grabbing his possessions from their scattered locations around the small room, shoving them mercilessly into his bag without a thought.  At some point he realises he is still naked and he rectifies the situation with some dignity remaining intact.  Kurt watches silently as hurricane Blaine surges through his bedsit.  Blaine's hand is on the door, his bag on his shoulder when he feels a hand tentatively touch his bicep.  He turns and the fire in his eyes is quenched by the tears in Kurt's.

                ‘No, baby.  Don't cry.  Please don't cry.'  The bag drops from his shoulder and he takes Kurt in his arms.

                ‘Option Two, Blaine, but you have to promise me something.'  Kurt's voice comes from Blaine's shoulder.

                ‘Anything.'  Blaine's voice is muffled slightly by his teary smile in Kurt's hair.

                ‘Whenever you start to doubt you, or me, or us – you call me and tell me.  No bottling it up.  No denial.  You pick up your damn phone and you call me and I'll come to you or you come to me.'

                ‘Deal.'

                ‘Je t'adore.'

                ‘Je t'adore, mon petit oiseau.'

                ‘I'm not a little bird, Blaine.'

                ‘Yes you are.  You're my little Warbler.'

                ‘You are ridiculous.'

                ‘I know - it's one of the reasons you love me.'

                ‘Dork.'

The kiss is honey and roses and salt.  A promise and a last chance.  They both know it as Kurt strips Blaine of his hastily put together wardrobe.  They both know it as they come together – fire and ice. 

Blaine sits up and massages his temples - his headaches had come back full-force since he had returned to England.  His mouth was dry and he felt like a wound had re-opened deep inside of him.  His mind wandered to Thom and he instantly felt sick again.  He glanced at the red LEDs of his alarm clock.  2:15am.  He sighed and switched on the bedside lamp.  He picked up the nearest paperback, hoping that the novel would distract his thoughts enough to give him some respite, but he knew it was hopeless.  After reading the same sentence for the fifteenth time he glanced again at the clock.  2:25am.  He returned the bookmark to its place and put the book back on the table.  He let his head fall back against the cool wall behind him.       

                ‘I didn't cheat on you.'

Kurt's admission comes seemingly out of nowhere and Blaine only just about has enough mental capacity post-coitus to raise an eyebrow in confusion.

                ‘I know I said I did.  But I didn't.  Not that it matters because I think I wanted to.  I think I wanted to hurt you, like you hurt me.  I was drunk and angry, and apparently too drunk to actually…you know.'

                ‘Really?  After what we just did you still can't bring yourself to say the word “sex”.  Fuck, Kurt.' Blaine laughs – it is in part a nervous response but his exhaustion coupled with the emotional and physical wreck he is at that time amplifies the absurdity of the situation.

Kurt rolls to face Blaine; the edges of his frown crinkling away with Blaine's laughter.

                ‘You're not mad?'

                ‘That you didn't cheat on me, or that you said you did, or that you thought you did, or that you wanted to?'

                ‘All the above?'

                ‘No.  I mean… I don't know.  I don't exactly have the right to judge you here, Kurt.'

                ‘I'm not asking you to judge me.'

                ‘I know.'

                ‘I want to know how you feel.'

                ‘That was then, this is now – OK?'

                ‘OK.'

He picks up his phone and flicks through his photos in an attempt to calm himself.  Photos of them together in Paris and in London.  Happy times.  A couple are earlier, of before – two boys in uniforms, young and carefree and utterly in love.  He smiles slightly.  He eventually reaches the video – it's a new one, Kurt made it without his knowledge when he had been in the shower.  He traces his thumb over the still image before he plays it - Kurt's hair is a mess and he's topless and looking utterly wrecked and the knowledge that he was responsible for Kurt's state sends a happy chill down his spine and a warm feeling right into the pit of his stomach.  He tentatively hits play with his thumb and is rewarded by the sweet sound of Kurt's voice insulting him.

                ‘You're an idiot, Mr. Anderson, you know that?' 

That line always makes Blaine smile.

‘You're an idiot so I'm making you this video for you to play when you're somewhere where I am not.  So that when you're feeling low or uncertain or upset you can find this message and press play and I can tell you that it will be OK.  It doesn't matter whether you're on Mars and I'm on Venus – I love you, and you love me, and that's all that really matters, right?  Because, no matter what happens, no matter what anyone else says, they can't touch us, remember?'

Kurt pauses there and Blaine knows what he was waiting for.

                ‘I remember, Kurt.'

                ‘Good.  So chin-up, baby.  We're fighters and we're going to make it.  One day soon I'll be by your side again and that next time we'll make it forever.  This is just one last test.  One last hurdle.  We're going to make it.  We're going to be fine.

                I love you, baby.'

                ‘I love you too.'

                ‘You'll see.'

The sound of a door opening causes the video Kurt to pause and glance at the door.  He grins impishly and winks at the camera, then blows a kiss towards his imagined future Blaine.

Blaine places a kiss to Kurt's image then presses play again.

‘You have to leave.'

                ‘Good morning to you to.'

                ‘Blaine.  Don't be like that.  You know what I mean.  Rehearsal's start in 2 days and you have been AWOL for over a week.  They're going to think you died – it's not like you told anyone where you were going.'

                ‘I know.'  He sighs and adjusts the towel wrapped around his hips, his hair dripping down his neck and back.  ‘But you could at least let me dry off before throwing that at me.'

                ‘Sorry.'

                ‘No serious conversations whilst naked, or partially naked, or before caffeine, remember?'

Kurt laughs and throws his pillow at Blaine; his towel almost drops as he deflects the fluffy projectile. 

                ‘You know I'm right though.'

                ‘I know.'  Blaine frowns as he picks up a wide-toothed comb and attempts to untangle his curls so that they will not result in a frizzy mess once dry.

                ‘Mousse, Blaine.'

He rolls his eyes and searches Kurt's shelf for the product. 

His mind wanders as he dresses – Kurt is right.  He does have to get back.  He cannot avoid his real life forever, as much as he would like to keep pretending with Kurt in Paris.

                ‘I don't want to leave you.'

                ‘I know.'

He wakes to find the light still on and his phone mushed against his cheek.  The clock blinks 5:15am at him and he frowns, bleary-eyed.  He rolls over and recoils when his arm collides with a snoring warm body.  He jerks upright and knocks over the glass of water on the table in the process.  The sound of the glass smashing against the wall wakes him up again.  He throws back the covers and begins to breathe again once he realises that he is in fact alone.  He glances at the clock and watches as the digits flick from 5:14 to 5:15am.  He takes deep calming breaths until his heart rate returns to normal. 

                ‘I'm going to miss you.'

                ‘I'm on the other end of the phone, Blaine.'

                ‘I know.  But it's not the same.'

                ‘I know.'

                ‘We'll be OK, won't we.'

                ‘We will.'

They stand there, frozen, hands intertwined.

                ‘I love you, Blaine.'

                ‘I love you.'

They part eventually when Blaine is called by name for his flight.

                ‘You really have to go now, sweetie.'

                ‘I'm scared.'

                ‘It will be OK.  Trust me?'

                ‘I trust you.'

                ‘I trust you.  You need to trust in you, Blaine.'

                ‘I know.'

Blaine looks down at their intertwined fingers and Kurt squeezes his hand gently before letting go.

                ‘Call me when you get to your new place.'

                ‘I will.'

                ‘I want to know all about it.'

Blaine smiles slightly and pulls Kurt to him to give him one last kiss.  He breathes Kurt in as the second

‘Final call for Mr. Anderson for EasyJet flight number 6956 to Edinburgh.  Please make your way to gate number B26.  Dernier appel pour Monsieur Anderson pour EasyJet numéro de vol 6956 à Edimbourg.  Sil vous plaît vous rendre à la porte numéro B26.  This is the final boarding call for Mr. Anderson for EasyJet flight number 6956 to Edinburgh.  Please make your way to gate number B26.'

is made over the Tannoy system.  

                ‘Go on – before a bunch of angry Scots and French tourists strangle you for making their flight late.' 

‘I'm more concerned about the butch gate attendant who keeps glaring at me.'

Kurt smiles then gives him a nudge and Blaine picks up his bag, gives Kurt one last longing look then makes his way towards the security check area.  He doesn't look back.

He drags himself to rehearsal and goes through the motions on the stage allowing his mind to clear and the familiarity of the dialogue, and the escape that the costumes provide, to pull him through.  He adjusts his movements to the new space without conscious thought – time is fluid when he is beneath the heat of the lights.  When he is on the boards everything is mapped out for him – it is all out of his control, all he needs to do is go through the motions and say the lines.

Once the rehearsals end it is a different story – without the structure of being Fiyero his mind is unconstrained and unfocused.  His headaches return and with them nosebleeds with frightening regularity.  Each is worse than the last - the latest does not stop for 2 hours and when it finally abates all he can taste is copper.  He sips at a glass of water, cringing at the taste, breathing carefully through his mouth as his nose is still stuffed with tissue paper.  He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror and is appalled at sight of his sallow skin, the dark bruise-like circles under his dull eyes, the sharpness of his cheekbones, the limpness of his lifeless curls.  His clothes have begun to hang from his frame – no one has said anything to him directly but he knows they know.  His costumes have been taken in, and the chat in the greenroom is minimal and revolves around easy topics that will not trigger him – the weather, minor changes to the blocking or script, events on vapid reality TV shows, the latest topic on the news, politics…  “Safe” areas. 

Behind his back there are whispers – words are thrown around like ‘unstable'.  Nobody knows what to say.  They glance around the subject, tiptoe around him, treat him as if he is breakable, delicate.  Rooms fall silent when he enters, but he cannot bring himself to care. 

He knows what he has to do – call Kurt.  But that feels like failure.  Like admitting to both Kurt and himself that he cannot cope alone.  That he is needy.  That he is not worthy.  That he is pathetic.

Bile rises in his throat, but this time he only just makes it to the bathroom in time.  He heaves himself up from the floor and rinses his mouth with freezing water from the tap.  He closes his eyes and fights down the second wave of nausea, breathing slowly and regularly in a vain attempt to keep the panic attack from rising up and swallowing him whole.  Shaky fingers reach for his phone and he finds the video.  He presses play.