Disclaimer: I don't own Glee.

Three Years Ago

He crept down two flights of stairs into the basement kitchen. Manuela was gone for the weekend, Lindsay was, of course, away at school, and his parents were sleeping soundly four flights above him, so it was with ease that he slipped through the door undetected. He carefully set the oven to 350 degrees and turned off the alarm, so that it wouldn't notify him (and the rest of the house) when it was ready. He would be eagerly waiting, anyway. Once he saw that it had heated fully he made for his favorite spatula: it was perfect because it had no holes and left a clean mark.

This had become something of a routine for the past few weeks. In fact, sometimes it was literally all that would get him through the week. When he was slumped onto his bed, totally defeated by the taunting and mocking from the boys at his school, he would look forward to the moment when he'd be able to hold the smooth, scorching metal onto his forearm, right below the elbow. Friday, Saturday, Sunday night. A minute of pain that felt like taking a gulp of air after nearly drowning- and the ability to press his fingers to his arm and get a little taste if the next few days proved unbearable.

He didn't even get his hand firmly on the handle of his dear spatula, though, when he noticed something that had been left on the dark granite counter by the blessed chef. A plate of his favorite chocolate chip cookies and a small yellow post-it. "BLAINE-" she had written in thick blue ink, "THESE WERE STILL HOT WHEN I LEFT. DON'T BURN YOURSELF. -LOVE M."

DON'T BURN YOURSELF.

He felt a surge of guilt and plummeted further into dark mood. How could he want to do something like this? Had she known, or was she really just talking about cookies? All these people who loved him- Manuela, his parents, Lindsay- and he still couldn't bring himself to be happy. He wanted pain more than ever, but knew that would only hurt him more. He wasn't alone. He didn't know why he couldn't put up with the guys at school, why he let it get to him so much. It made him angry. It made him feel worthless. It made him feel so out of control, which was possibly the worst feeling of all.

He carefully peeled the note up from the counter and turned it over, to see if she had given some clue as to whether or not she had known. When he saw what she had written on the other side of the thin yellow paper he began to cry- hot tears searing his eyes in the cold of the basement.

"BE BRAVE."

Underneath it she had drawn what appeared to be a frowning spatula.

After a few moments of standing completely still in the darkness he began to move again. He didn't feel any better, but he knew that he had to do this for all of the people that loved him. He put the spatula away and crossed the kitchen to turn the oven off, which he only did reluctantly. He made a resolution to talk to his mother as soon as he could when he heard footsteps on the stairs. The light flicked on and he saw her standing nervously in the doorway.

"Blaine?" she asked, playing with the belt of her fluffy white bathrobe. "What are you doing down here? It's three o'clock."

In the morning. He would talk to her about this in the morning. "Nothing- I-" he paused for a moment. "Mani made cookies."

She looked at him, appraisingly. "She already told me," his mother said, walking towards the fridge and pulling out one of her chocolate flavored yogurts. "Have one," she prompted, gesturing towards the plate.

She sat down at the kitchen table, which they never ate at. He was pretty sure he hadn't even been in the kitchen with his mother since he was about seven years old. She told him to sit. He sat.

Then she looked him in the eye, and he could tell she was mustering all the bravery she had.

"Now I want you to tell me," she said, and his heart shattered into a thousand pieces as he heard the pain in her voice.

Tonight

The alarm clock was ticking. A television set was blaring the sound of explosions from somewhere down the hall. David was snoring loudly in the bed across the room. Rain tapped nervously on the window, drops making clear lines on the glass, which only showed blue-black darkness. The alarm clock was ticking.

Blaine couldn't sleep. It had been a long time since he'd felt this way- of course, he didn't feel this way now. He couldn't. That was all supposed to have disappeared with his old life, evaporated into a distant memory. And it had. So why was he lusting for fire, again? The feeling that's so hot it's cold, that made his eyes bulge and all the pain fall out of his heart. He closed his eyes and felt just below his elbow on his left arm, where the skin was a little thicker and coarser than the rest. He pressed hard but felt nothing. He was pretty sure David had a pocket lighter stashed somewhere in his desk…

But then his eyes shot open and rolled over on his bed pulled at the drawer of his bedside table, grabbing an envelope that was placed neatly on top of the books and sheet music which he had stacked in there.

He switched on his lamp and dumped the contents of the envelope onto his bed. There were really only a few things in there- a note from the epic ionization battle he and Wes had had Sophomore year in Chemistry class, a picture of Lindsay and her fiancé in Rome, a newly added ticket stump from "R.E.N.T."

Then his eyes found what he was looking for- an old yellow post-it note with thick, blue writing. He held it between his fingers and remembered how to breathe.

There might be more later, if I feel like writing it. Then it will definitely delve into Klaine territory.