Darkness surrounds him.
Shadows dance off the walls as the moon spills forth through the cage-like panes of his window, hiding the boy under Night's wing. The house is silent.
Thump.
Blaine curls in on himself, willing his body to compress, to shrink, to fade into dust and shade and live no more within the confines of the Anderson house. He leans against his wrought-iron bed frame and lets out a shuddering breath.
Thump.
There's no way out. The door is locked from the outside and he's three stories up, though right now that height seems the more appealing choice.
Thump.
There's no way out.
Thump.
The footsteps on the stairs are growing louder, closer, more ominous. Blaine wonders if his mother is out for the night, or just silent from a drunken stupor. Blaine decides he doesn't care.
Thump.
When he closes his eyes, he can see Kurt. Kurt smiling, Kurt laughing, Kurt wearing that lovely blue sweater, Kurt trembling underneath him, dizzy and fluttery in his post-coital haze, Kurt hugging his father, Kurt being hugged by his father, Kurt kissing his stepmother, teasing his stepbrother, Kurt being happy.
Thump.
Blaine is so envious of Kurt sometimes, of his loving family and happy home life. Blaine doesn't hate his boyfriend for it – he loves Kurt more than anything in his miserable existence – but he does sometimes wish that he was in Kurt's place and that Kurt was in his. But the very thought of Kurt enduring this hellish place brings a cold sweat to Blaine's neck and every time he wishes for that, he retches into the nearest trashcan, so disgusted with himself.
Thump.
A cloud passes over the moon. Blaine fades into shadow.
Thump.
Kurt's face seems to swim before his vision.
Thump.
It's getting closer now. He's getting closer.
Thump.
All goes quiet. The footsteps stop. The world is still.
Click.
The lock, it's-
Crash!
The door is thrown backwards and a hulking silhouette storms into the room, reeking of booze and hatred and sex with prostitutes and absolute misery. Father is too clean, too put-together to be human, Blaine muses. Not a wrinkle taints his suit, not a hair is misplaced on his cold, dark head, even as he staggers in, wasted and angry.
A hand reaches around Blaine's throat – the hand is too big, the man is too tall, everything about him is large and dangerous and everything Blaine isn't. The boy wonders if this is the end; if his father's anger will be too great tonight.
He wonders if Kurt will be okay without him. Surely he will. After all he has a family to take care of him: a stepmother to kiss away his tears, a brother to hold his hand, a father to hold him close.
If this is the end, Blaine is at least happy to know that Kurt won't be alone.
The hand on his neck tightens, and Blaine is thrown backwards into the wall.
Darkness surrounds him.