Disclaimer: I don't own Glee.
A/N: I don't even know which corner of my psych this just crawled out off. But it did. Maybe because today I can finally let go again of pretending to be oh so strong. To get through study sessions and exams. I am finally catching a break, and apparently, and very reassuringly for me that means my mind is letting loose:) After all the trials of the last months of work I am still a writer at heart and mind and soul and really just all over. I can never be unhappy about that, ever.
Worries To Carry Alone
It is not like Blaine has never had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach before.
But this time feels different.
There are reasons instead of reason, it seems, and those have him worry. It is not a choice.
If he had a choice he would be happily dancing around the kitchen right now and bake cookies for Kurt. Because you can never bring enough happiness through baked goods to someone you love.
But that fear he cannot grasp is holding him down and won't let go. And there is not a thing in the world he can think of to do to make it go away, to make him not simply sink to the floor where he is standing right now, halfway between the kitchen and the door to the apartment, and still be there when however long later Kurt walks in.
"You won't believe the day I've ha...," Kurt sing songs, breaking off as soon as he spots Blaine just crumbled in on himself on the floor.
Blaine hears the thud of bags and maybe a jacket hitting the floor, an umbrella in the mix, definitely, and then he feels the heat of a body beside him, a hand warm on his cheek's skin, and a voice in his ear, soft but shaky, "What's wrong?"
Blaine huffs his next breath out in a sharp, frustrated way that Kurt knows, from his own dad, ... but Blaine does not.
"Hard time breathing?" Kurt asks. He had seen his dad fall into depression after his mom had died, had only fully registered that he knows the signs the second time around when Burt had almost broken it off with Carole, after Finn and the faggy-lamp incident, almost lost her too, and slipped for several days into a state close to this but in the end nowhere near.
Finding Blaine drifting in his own skin, it is no reassuring thought.
"Blaine? Sweety?"
Another huff, much less sharp.
"Please say something ... ."
"I don't know what's going on with me," he says it because it is the only thing he can feel right now, those worries weighing that hollowness inside him down, him with it. And there are no words for that.
Kurt spends the whole night holding Blaine ... in silence. Hoping there will be words tomorrow, maybe even answers.