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He'd been entirely innocent before; blinded by youthful optimism and a childish confidence in the innate goodness of the world around him. 

That's not to say that he'd never been hurt, that he'd never felt the ache of anger, or the bitterness of jealousy. He was human, after all, and had experienced some of the disappointments of humanity. 

But this was nothing like that. This was all-consuming, blank, hollow, empty. This was an invisible hand clutching at his lungs, his throat.

This was the loudest silence he'd ever heard, the whitest black. This was his mother's tormented sobs and his father's vacant, unfocused eyes.

This was his brother's lifeless body resting in a casket, being lowered into a cold hole in the dirt.

-

They say that time heals all ills. He doesn't know about that; the steady tick of the clock stretches endlessly before him and makes him uncertain. He finds himself unsure of that day or the month, even, which frightens him.

He feels perpetually frightened. He misses the the security of his cock-sure past. He misses being certain of himself and of Cooper.

He misses his brother.

-

He lies awake into the early hours of the morning most nights. He can hear his mother speaking softly, presumably to herself. Sometimes he thinks that she may be praying, despite never showing any interest in religion before.

Other times, he's convinced that she's talking to Cooper, telling him about her day, about appointments with doctors and therapists. Telling him about how his father is working too hard and how she's worried about Blaine.

He wants to go to her, wrap her up in his arms and let her cry into his chest. He wants to cry with her, to let her comfort him in return. He can't breathe at the thought of it; he is suffocating.

-

He naps through the day to break up the monotony of existing. He wakes slowly, often experiencing a wonderful, split-second of not remembering. Not remembering calls from the police, or the smell of funeral parlors or the unnatural coldness of bloodless flesh.

It always comes back to him with a rush. As the short moment of respite passes he always feels as though he, himself, could die on the spot.
-

"Blaine."

He doesn't know how long it takes for him to realize that he isn't alone. He slowly opens his eyes to find- solace. A hand twines tightly with his own. Another cradles his head and strong fingertips begin massaging his scalp.

He burrows into the warmth only provided by another human being, as tired blue eyes consider him with concern. Mouths press together, lips dry and motionless. It's not really a kiss at all.

He feels the soft brush of exhalation across his lips, mixed with near-silent promises and declarations of love. 

He feels his lungs fill with oxygen and the steady, regular thump of his heart.

In that moment he feels so very- alive.

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