Disclaimer: I do not own Glee.
A/N: It was one of those days for me at the end of last week. So I finally found my way back here, with some help. THANK YOU, Addie117, for being my inspiration to keep fighting.
Real Imagination
It is one of those days.
To Blaine everything feels 'Gray.'
No, it does not look gray. He still sees them, the colors, he still feels the sunlight, only ….
Only it does not feel like sunlight at all. And the rain does not smell like rain, and even the birds beginning to sing again now that spring is actually nearing … 'they sound the same as they did the year before,' Blaine is sure, but the sound feels, reaching Blaine's ears dull and mechanic, … cold.
He squeezes his eyes back shut tight from where he is curled up on his right side on Kurt's bed in the Hummels' home.
He has been here for days, hiding away.
He squeezes his eyes shut tighter against the light filtering still into the room, onto the bed, through the more than half-drawn curtains Burt had opened up a little checking on him earlier.
Blaine has no idea what day it actually is. He has been sleeping in Kurt's clothes all this time, keeps changing into a fresh pair when he feels like it, or more, when he feel like they start smelling - smelling too much like him.
He brings his hands up and covers his face as he can himself feel imagining it again, the tell-tale dip of the bed behind him, the warmth moving closer, the warmth of not just any other body. "Kurt," Blaine chokes out into his hands as he can feel himself imaging those muscles, covering the heart he cannot bring himself to stop loving so very much, no matter how hard he has tried these past months to miss Kurt less when he is not here, Blaine can feel those muscles of Kurt's chest, strong and 'so warm,' fitting themselves in motions careful and loving against his back.
"I wish you were here," Blaine blubbers out in an intended whisper into his hands sticky and wet with tears and snot and spit, all mixing, building a stinging mask on his face as he cannot bring himself to move his hands away and face another day of … pain-filled loneliness.
Kurt is still there, Blaine's mind still holding the despair mixed with hope, undeniably stubborn, close.
"I love you."
Blaine freezes. He never before has dared to even try and imagine Kurt's voice. He wouldn't.
"Tell me, Love. What happened? Dad mentioned something about a dance?"
"Kurt?" Blaine whispers shakily as he, eyes still squeezed shut, too afraid to look, slowly turns around in arms warm and '… real?'
"I'm here, Love. I'm here. I thought dad told you I'd come?"
"Kiddo, believe me, I tried," Blaine's whole body spasms as, utterly unprepared, he hears Burt's voice from the doorway. 'How desperate am I? Making Burt up now too? A dad …, a dad, who … who … cares.'
Kurt pulls Blaine closer, sooths the tremble still lasting out of limbs cold and stiff, with one hand reassuring resting on Blaine's chest now, warm and soft, 'Real?'
Kurt's other hand willing warmth to reenter his boyfriend's body as he keeps running his left gently along Blaine's right side.
"You two going to be alright for half an hour, I've some work left to catch up with at the store."
"We'll be fine, Dad," Kurt hums softly not looking away from Blaine's form curled small into his arms, Blaine's arms awkwardly tangled up between their chests, Kurt can see the tension still there.
"Okay, you two. I'm a phone call away. See you at dinner."
"Thanks," Kurt says voice raised only a little in his goodbye to his dad, but he can still see the clear, cruel effect is has on Blaine.
Kurt knows something though that sooth the cold of the thoughts dark away, every time.
Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these broken wings and learn to fly
All your li…
It is how far Kurt makes it before he cannot watch on any longer as Blaine only shakes harder, tears running silent and heavy on the bedcovers they are still curled up on together. 'I don't understand,' Kurt thinks, until he sees ...
Blaine's eyes finally open now, but, glued somewhere onto Kurt's red cardigan.
"Shit," Kurt whispers to himself as he tries to catch Blaine's eyes.
Kurt basically rips the cardigan over his head, dress shirt underneath clean, spotless, white.
As Kurt's arms find Blaine again his back is rising in uneven breaths, his heart still pounding out of his chest, shaking Kurt's fingers, already slightly trembling before, on their own, with the fear of helplessness.
"Blaine, look, it's gone, no blood. I'm alright. You're alright. No one can hurt us here. My dad would never allow anyone to hurt you, Blaine. He said he will chaperone at the dance all night if it will make you feel safe." Now that Kurt has started he does not find himself able to stop, "Carole offered to come too. Like she would let my dad be around crazy impulsive teenager alone all night." 'Shit, no, wrong thing to say.' "She has a much better idea of what they are like than dad. I mean having to raise Finn, she knows. You don't have to go at all, Love. Just come to New York? Just you and me, I'll send Rachel to Brody's. Just you and me, a whole weekend. Blaine please look at me, I need to know you're …."
It is no more than a wet, sad whisper, "I'm not okay."
" … here with me."
"Am I? Here with you? I made you up didn't I? It's still Thursday afternoon and I just fell asleep all alone, … again. And I'm imagining all this. I don't want to keep making you up. I can't keep making you up. Waking up hurts so much. Don't let me wake up. Please!"
Then there is the touch of a soft cloth, to his forehead, his cheeks, and Blaine's eyes drift closed again, his senses holding on to soft and warm and 'Kurt, all Kurt,' even the soft touch of a scarf on his skin, 'Kurt.'
Kurt puts the scarf he had taken off earlier, before scooting onto the bed beside Blaine, back onto the bedside table – a scarf now needing a good wash.
Blaine feels a kiss on his forehead, his nose, both is cheeks, his chin, his neck, both his eyelids, and finally his lips before he dares look again.
Their lips brush together as he lets out, in a breath soft and a little mangled, "Kurt?"
"I'm here."
"What is the first song I ever sang to you?"
"Teenage Dream."
"Where did we bury Pavarotti?"
"The Dalton grounds, but Blaine …."
"What did I tell you Rachel tastes like?"
"That pink bubblegum, Rosewater, the kind you absolutely hate, but Blaine these are things you know just as well.
"Right. You aren't real, are …?"
But Kurt breaks him off with a kiss, first soft and lingering then deep and sparking something in Blaine he has not been able to sense in days.
Blaine is quiet, flushed and shallowly panting as Kurt pulls back, Blaine ending up burying his face in the soft crook of Kurt's neck as he tries to follow Kurt's lips.
Kurt's breath tickles Blaine's right ear as he hums softly right next to it, "Feels real, right?"
Kurt is the one to jump for a moment as Blaine's warm breath on the tender skin of his neck turns into lips kissing all the way up his neck, open-mouthed, hot, only stopping at Kurt's lips, as their eyes meet.
Blaine's voice is rough and wet, but finally calm, relaxed even, "Hi."
"Hi," Kurt breathes right back as arms wined around each other, and bodies welcome wholeheartedly that feeling, moving together, that feeling, safety, …
… home.