Blaine Anderson had become numb.

There he was, trapped in the corner of his balcony and unable - for who knows what reason - to move.

Something was wrong.

Very, very wrong.

Kurt's sudden appearance had snapped the dark haired boy out of whatever hypnosis he had entangled himself in for all of 30 seconds. Just enough time for Blaine to remember why he was there, succumb to the shock of it all, and retreat to the same corner he was in now as he peered longingly through the space between the metal guard rails. And as he lost himself in his own mind, Blaine knew simple this - that there was no going back now, and that he should have jumped when he'd had the chance. That brief moment in time where he'd looked oblivion in the eye and chosen to procrastinate.

It had been beautiful there.

Peaceful, almost - the nothing that it was.

And now he was back in the present.

On the ground and trembling. Wondering -

what the hell was wrong with him that made him act like this.

His life was good, for the most part, right?

Hell. He had a lot more than some people his age, didn't he?

No.

No, he thought as his hands gripped cold metal.

He thought he might be shivering.

He didn't have what they had.

Because most people his age were loved, by their parents and family if anything else. But Blaine Anderson didn't even have that, and the worst part of it was, that no one else seemed to notice.

Losing Kurt had been the final straw.

And worst of all was that Blaine knew he'd brought it all upon himself.

There was no one else to blame for this.

Just him.

Him alone.

And oh how he was alone.

Gulping loudly without realizing, Blaine stared into the distance. At some point it must have registered in his mind that a truck had pulled frantically into his long, intimidating driveway. The driver's door had slammed loudly enough, and then there had been running. Hadn't there?

But Blaine was too lost to care.

His fingers scratched against the rail, piercing skin, and he didn't bother to try and stop it. All he wanted was to remain numb, and so he did.

Blaine Anderson was a statue.

Trembling and cold - but a statue none the less.

And he'd remain that way until the very end.

There was no going back.