Tick-tock-tick-tock

It's quiet. It's too quiet. Everything besides the steady ticking of the metronome, that goddamn repetitive sound that his ears and brain have been trained to focus on since his first piano lesson, has been muted. It's the only sound he can process and it's like water drops falling on that one sensitive patch on his skin where even if he was to reach and wipe it off, a phantom feeling remains. Like it's under his skin, pulsing at regular intervals, too slow to match his racing heartbeat.

Tick-tock-tick-tock

His breathing automatically matches to the rhythm of the ticking, like he's been conditioned to do in lessons, but the occasional stutter at sounds around him upsets the balance. He buries his head in his arms and curls up, wrapping his arms tighter around him, trying to cover his ears, but he knows the ticking won't go away.

Tick-tock-tick-tock

The text messages he sent earlier are probably unanswered. His Mom is at her spa appointment, as usual, and won't even look at her phone for another hour. She's mentioned it this morning, when he was rushing out to school, grabbing a slice of toast to eat on the way. Did I hug her? His brain scrambles for the answer but it's too hard to focus on anything but the damn ticking.

Tick-tock-tick-tock

He's breathing as per the coach's instructions when his breath suddenly stutters for a moment, seemingly without a reason. His eyes drop to the floor as he's muttering an apology and he tries to return to the lesson, most of the class watching him with apathetic looks he's already used to. It's a late lesson, the afternoon ones never managing to hold people's attention.

Tick-tock-tick-tock

The focus is on the metronome as he matches the notes to it, his voice scrambling to reach its best. There's a feeling in the pit of his stomach that's distracting him and he wants to shake it off, but doesn't know how. He has no idea where the anxiety is coming from, the class not one of those that would make him nervous.

Tick-tock-tick-tock

It's like the steadiness of the metronome is what's nagging at his brain, but he can't tell the voice coach to turn it off. So he tries to focus again and continues failing as random stutters shake his voice. Finally, he's called off the stand and replaced by someone else when the coach remarks on how off he seems to be. He mutters an apology and sits down, feeling like he wants to curl up and hide until class is over.

Tick-tock-tick-tock

He knows there might be notifications and comments on the Facebook status he left, but he's not touched the site since... then and only logged in earlier because of the urgency. He doesn't want to know if anyone replied there. Cooper's in an audition, there was a mass text message earlier reminding everyone to please not text him and interrupt his focus. He texted anyway, just in case... risking the annoyance for the one message he wanted to get through. Last year proved that his brother wouldn't really be annoyed in this case.

Tick-tock-tick-tock

Everyone but Tina and Britt are in the room and his mind drifts to how Sam is probably feeling. He hopes Tina didn't make it in, doesn't want to think of any other option because it's better that way, she's safe. He'd texted her too, the only one he told where they were because he knew she wasn't in the building yet. When Sam scrambles up and causes chaos, they all freeze and look up.

Tick-tock-tick-tock

His arms come up around his ears again and he wonders if his Dad's seen the news. If they'd been on the news yet at all. Maybe it's too small a case, too small a school to mention, even if the threat is big enough. He wonders if he'll come home sooner than usual, if he's getting into the company plane now to be there. If they'll walk out at the end of the day and something will change.

Tick-tock-tick-tock

The class is dragging on. It feels longer and the tight knot in his stomach is bigger with each tick and tock of the metronome. Every few beats he wonders if it's worth the risk to reach for his phone, to reassure himself it's only a phantom fear, that he's anxious for no real reason.

Tick-tock-tick-tock

It feels like there's something happening that he has no control over, that someone needs him. The beat of his heart is urging him to run out, to reach out and be there for someone even if he's not sure who. He remembers the last time he felt like it and feels the blood drain from his face when the memory of his Dad in a hospital bed washes over him.

Tick-tock-tick-tock

He's dismissed, finally, when he gasps out loud one too many times, the urgency of his heartbeat and breathing getting too hard to control. On the way out, he almost falls through the door and sinks to the ground by the wall, scrambling for his phone. It's taking forever to turn on, the sound of the metronome still echoing in his brain.

Tick-tock-tick-tock

The last message he sent is one he doesn't expect a reply to either. Even if they're in a good place, even if he thinks that it's more than they both let on. He had no right, but he couldn't not send the message, couldn't leave things unsaid. That's why he had nothing to say on camera, he said it all in those texts.

Tick-tock-tick-tock

He sees the missed calls and text messages flash on his screen and one catches his eye immediately. In the others, he registers words that stop his breath and send a shiver down his spine, but there's that one he can't ignore.

Blaine-Blaine-Blaine-Blaine

The repetitive sound changes to the echo of a name in his head and his shaky fingers find the familiar number. He silently whispers incoherent words into the empty hallway as he waits for an answer and curses at the sound of the voicemail. Not stopping, he frantically dials again and again and again.

Tick-tock-tick-tock

It's over, over and he hears his Mom's voice and breathes again and shakes and can't quite grasp the concept of it's finally over. Until a beep interrupts the call and he gasps and his Mom gets it and tells him to not drive because she's almost there and Dad is on the way. It's only then that he looks at the screen and forgets to breathe for a moment again.

Kurt-Kurt-Kurt-Kurt

There's a ringtone and the voicemail again but he knows not to give up, he can't. His fingers hit the redial button again and he holds his breath until the familiar click and then a few whispered words reach his ears.

"I'm OK."

"I love you. God, I love you so much."