A/N: Okay so here we go, chapter four. I'm trying to set the scene for some Klaine-ishness in this one, but I'm also going to be getting some major plotlines in here as well. Enjoy!
"NO!" Blaine shouts, blasting back into reality. He sits up on his elbows, panting heavily almost as if he really had been running. Nightmares are familiar to him; they've come plenty of times before. Just never as vivid, never as real…
He brings his hand up to wipe the sheen of sweat from his forehead and discovers the extremity is trembling on its own.
"Oh…my god…" Blaine breathes after a moment, letting his head loll back until he is staring at the ceiling.
There is a gentle tapping at the door and Blaine jerks his gaze towards the sound just in time to see Kurt peer out from behind the panel of wood, his face groggy but concerned.
"Hey, you okay?" Kurt whispers, glancing behind him to make sure nobody is coming.
Blaine nods, still too flustered to answer out loud in a way that would be half convincing. Kurt eyes him skeptically for a moment and takes one last look back before stepping inside the closet and shutting the door behind him.
Even with Blaine's newly established trust, the idea of being locked in a room as small as this with someone like Kurt still makes him twitch with apprehension. There is barely enough light to see as Kurt's silhouetted form picks its way carefully over to the foot of the inflatable mattress, dropping down to the floor and sitting cross legged on the wood.
"Nightmare?" Kurt asks simply. Blaine hesitates for a moment before nodding, looking away in embarrassment from the Kurt's reflective, cat-like eyes.
Kurt seems to debate internally about his next question, but in the end he decides to ask anyway. "What was it about? You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."
"It…" Blaine starts, but his words are cut short by a bout of vulnerability. He was about to say, 'It was nothing,' but something stopped him. Something inside him snapped. The dam holding back the sea of emotions suddenly cracked and started leaking, and now all he wants is to pour out every detail, every feeling, every pain to the boy across from him.
Even before the plague, Blaine never had the chance to really talk about his troubles. On the surface, his parents always appeared so…impenetrable. He learned to model himself after them; he learned to bottle it in, to be solid, to be stoic. But now, everything around him has toppled and he's so unsure; he doesn't know how to act, how to feel. He swallows hard against a growing lump in his throat.
"My sister…" Blaine whispers.
And those two words are all it takes to burst through the dam altogether. The tears start flowing without his permission, gliding down his cheeks and imbedding themselves into the part of his lips until he can taste the salt. He takes a shuddering breath and turns away from Kurt, burying his head in his hands and propping his elbows in his lap.
"S-sorry," he chokes through his palms. Kurt freezes for a moment before tentatively reaching out and patting his shoulder. Blaine flinches at the touch but allows it, desperately trying to draw comfort from somewhere, and at the moment, Kurt seems to be a source.
"Don't apologize," Kurt says softly, rubbing circles into Blaine's muscle and loosening the many knots.
"Your p-parents…?" Blaine asks as he tries to control his breathing. Kurt seems to understand and replies comfortingly.
"They didn't hear you before; it's fine."
"Okay…"
A few minutes pass before Blaine is ready to speak again. He fights against each wracking sob before finally letting go and allowing them to overwhelm him, unconsciously leaning closer and closer to Kurt with each harsh inhale.
After he quiets a little and all that's left are silent tears, Kurt lets his hand drop from Blaine's shoulders and rest at his side.
"What is your sister like?" Kurt says after a bit of time.
Blaine wipes his face with the back of his hand. "She's…she's the best," he replies, his voice broken and damaged. "My mom always said that she looked just like me…and it's true. We have the same hair…she hates it…she always says she has the 'curse of curls'." Blaine lets out a heartbroken laugh, sniffling as he half-smiles.
Kurt returns the smile
"Having a little sister...it isn't always a dream come true, what with all the dress-up dolls and the hairbrushes…but, she's my sister…I love her…and now…n-now it's just..." Blaine trails off, stuttering as the tears return full force. He has to take a few moments to regain his composure before continuing.
"I lost her," he says, his voice just barely audible. "I stood there and I watched them take her away from me. I…I failed as an older brother. I couldn't protect her…it's just, t-they were everywhere and…I couldn't get to her in time…they just…swarmed…"
Kurt doesn't answer for quite some time. As soon as his crying is mostly under control again, Blaine looks up to see Kurt's brow furrowed with thought, the boys' lips pursed ever so slightly in a way that stabs Blaine with the same odd sensation that appears and disappears like a puff of smoke.
"You came here to find her, didn't you?" Kurt asks finally.
"…yes. I did."
"Hmm." Kurt thinks about this. He stares at Blaine with an unfathomable expression, the silence stretching on for what seems like more than a minute before he breaks from his frozen posture, opening his arms in invitation. Blaine simply gapes at the boy, neither refusing nor accepting the offer. After a while, Kurt moves towards him on his own, wrapping Blaine in a comforting hug.
At first, the gesture sends Blaine's instincts reeling. The only thing that keeps him from wrenching his body away is the temporary shock-induced paralysis in his limbs. But in the time it takes for him to regain control of his muscles, he realizes…it feels good.
His head is buried in the crook of Kurt's shoulder, his nose skimming over the soft, downy hair at the nape of his neck. It smells nice. Kurt smells nice.
And then, in the blink of an eye, the entire situation becomes so, so much more confusing.
The flash comes back again. The proverbial light bursts into the small room and drowns everything in color and vitality, and suddenly, Blaine is blinded by its luminosity. He feels something that he hasn't felt in ages. He feels…happy. He feels like everything in the world has a place and a purpose and there is balance and equilibrium and harmony. Warmth pulses through him to the tips of his fingers.
And as Kurt holds him in the darkness, he waits for the sensation to fade again.
It doesn't.
"You might be the bravest person I've ever met," Kurt whispers in his ear. Blaine shivers—he actually shivers—as Kurt's breath tickles the side of his face. Before he knows it, his arms are moving by themselves and wrapping around Kurt's torso, returning the hug with equal enthusiasm that he didn't know he possessed. His conscience stays astonishingly quiet.
Aren't I supposed to be berating myself right now? Blaine wonders. Why is this suddenly okay?
It seems too soon when Kurt pulls away. He holds Blaine at shoulder length, staring at him meaningfully.
"I'm going to help you," Kurt declares. "I'm going to help you find her."
"W-what?" Blaine blanches. His jaw drops unceremoniously open.
"I don't really know you that well," Kurt begins, "But I know that you're a good person. You've gone through so many struggles…I just want to do what I can to make your journey a little less painful. And if helping you is the way to do it, I will."
Blaine still hasn't closed his mouth. At this point, he feels he's being a bit rude, but he can't get his brain to wrap around what Kurt just said.
"But….but…"
"I don't know why either," Kurt answers for him. "Just…a part of me feels that I should. I can't describe it…maybe it has to do with that prophetic, destiny-related nonsense you read about in those magazines nobody subscribes to." He shrugs offhandedly but underneath his easy-going façade Kurt's own thoughts are swirling as well. "Whatever it is, all I can tell you is that for some odd reason, I feel very strongly about this. I have to help you. Please, let me?"
At the moment, the only portion of his body that Blaine can control is his head. He nods numbly at Kurt, his eyes stinging slightly from his physical inability to blink. He still hasn't closed his mouth yet. He probably should.
Kurt sighs in relief, dropping his hands from Blaine's shoulders and flashing a warm smile.
"Good. So I'm assuming that she might be somewhere in the city because…well because you made the trek down here…" Kurt smirks. "It's a little late at night to start planning right now—I mean, my god it's like three p.m.—so how about we get a little more rest and then start fresh tomorrow? Sound alright?"
"Y…yeah…" Blaine replies weakly.
"Perfect," Kurt chirps. He stands up from his place on the mattress and daintily picks his way over to the door. Despite the whirlpool of thoughts ricocheting around the walls of his skull, Blaine still manages to be struck by the gracefulness of Kurt's stride, the litheness of his form.
Just one more confusing emotion to be added to the pile, he supposes.
Just before Kurt shuts the door behind him, he turns back to the darkness. "Goodnight, Blaine," he murmurs softly in a voice that sounds like the smooth flutter of silk through the summer air. A voice that's weightless but electrifying all at once, intoxicating but not overpowering, soothing and warm but not placating or doting. A voice that's full of compassion and caring and comfort.
The door shuts with a faint click from the latch.
Blaine feels butterflies.
"Ugh."
That's the only sound Kurt can make when he wakes up the next morning—or night…or, whatever. He rubs his eyes with his fists like a child, yawning widely and stretching his arms over his head.
He had such a weird dream last night. Something about a boy…a human, rather. Strange; it was so realistic. He can even remember the color of the supposed boy's eyes, gradients of hazel and forest green. There was a part where the boy even came into his home.
Kurt stretches out the few remaining muscles in his back as he sits up in bed, making a satisfied sound as a few joints click in his spine. He uses the short moment to go back through the details of the dream, marveling at how clearly he can recall each event, as if it had really happened. How could something so ridiculous as that ever occur in real life?, he scoffs internally.
Thud!
Nope, that was real.
Kurt's head snaps over in the direction of the closet door where the sound originated. He takes a split second to let his mind grasp the fact that everything from yesterday indeed actually took place.
Then he begins to worry.
His first assumption to the origin of the sound is that Blaine woke up, panicked, and tripped over on Kurt's massive collection of shoes lining the edges of the closet and is now lying unconscious on the floor, his life slowing ebbing away with each passing second.
Okay maybe that's a little dramatic…
Kurt throws off his comforter and springs out of bed, practically running over to the closet and grasping the door handle with a tad bit too much force. He yanks the door open and squints into the darkness of the small room, searching the floor immediately for an unmoving, lifeless form.
Instead, when his eyes finally tear away from the wood and climb upwards, he finds the moving form of Blaine, slightly hunched over with his right hand clasped roughly against his forehead. The boy is facing away from him, looking more than a bit unsteady as he braces himself against the wall with his free arm.
"Nng…ow…" Blaine groans quietly. Kurt stands in the doorway, stilled for the moment by a bout of shock. Blaine is hurt? What happened? Is he okay?
"Blaine?" Kurt says softly. He sees the boy's body jolt in response and feels guilty for not alerting him to his presence sooner. Blaine turns on his heel to face Kurt, his eyes wide with terror that sends Kurt's mind spinning with concern. Blaine doesn't remove his hand from his forehead; on the contrary, it seems to press harder inwards, as if he wished it to permanently mold to his skin.
"Blaine? Are you alright? Did you hurt yourself?"
Blaine shakes his head, but not in the way that would answer Kurt's question. The motion is almost a warning, as if he were trying to say 'don't come any closer'. Kurt takes half a step forward, his mind buzzing with worry, and then it hits him.
The smell.
Oh. Oh…oh…
That smell. That rich, intoxicating, metallic, warm smell…
Before he completely loses himself, the tiny remainder of consciousness manages to give one last kick against the overpowering lust, shutting off Kurt's airways and closing his throat. He stands there in total, utter shock, unable to move even an inch, even a millimeter from his position. His mouth gapes openly, though no air takes passage in or out of it. He can't think. He can't function.
If he were able to process civilized thought in that moment, he would probably be wondering why the affect of it was so strong. He can't ever remember blood being this…this tantalizing. This hypnotizing. Not even the pure stuff, like what Carol brought home. Sure, it's enough to make him forget about his qualms with family members, enough to get him drooling like a basset hound…but he can always control himself. He can always put forth that small amount of effort that makes the difference between eating with a spoon and slurping it down face first.
But this…there is no other comparison.
A short, wheezing sound emanates from where his mouth should be. He can't know for sure where because, well, he doesn't feel anything at the moment. His body has become this bulky, lifeless thing attached to his brain. He makes the sound at the exact moment his mind conjures up an image of him being punched, hard, in the face. Why he thinks of that, he will never truly know. But his best guess is that the amount of shock he is experiencing is somehow equivalent to a sharp crack to the jaw, and his body decides to react accordingly as if that figurative blow was real.
But now he's out of breath.
That's a problem.
Kurt finally manages to regain control over his limbs and his eyes dart around his room. He needs to inhale; the fuzzy, tingling lightheadedness has already begun to cloud behind his eyes from lack of oxygen. If he doesn't breathe now, his body will automatically.
And he'll be standing right across from Blaine.
So really, the logic is simple. Get as far away from Blaine as possible.
Kurt springs into action, spinning around on the balls of his feet and making a b-line straight for his bed. He pushes off the floor with both legs and sails through the air almost gracefully before crashing down nose first into his giant mass of pillows. As soon as contact is made with the satin fabric, Kurt's gasping in full breaths of air like a suffocating fish, filling himself with nothing but the smell of himself and his fairly expensive hair products.
He counts his breaths. One…two…three…four…
"B-Blaine…" he stutters into his pillow. "What happened in there?"
A response doesn't come immediately. He figures that Blaine is still trying to recover from the crippling realization that Kurt could have killed him moments ago. Kurt swallows hard at the thought, squeezing his eyes shut in remorse. Yes, it had been that close.
A long time passes. A very long time. But Kurt is patient. He doesn't dare look up to see Blaine's inevitably trembling body; he's too afraid of what he might see trailing down the boy's forehead…
Stop thinking about it…
"H-hit m-my head…" Blaine chokes out. The tremor is more than audible in his voice.
Kurt feels a flash of guilt at how frightened Blaine sounds. In that brief stretch of time before he replies, he feels more like a monster than ever before.
"Are you okay?" Kurt asks. He very much wants to pull his head out of the pillow and see Blaine's face for himself, but isn't sure he can handle it quite yet.
"Y-yeah…" Blaine heaves a strangled breath. "A-are you?"
By that he means, 'are you going to kill me?' Kurt thinks. He sighs to himself and nods. "Yes, I think…do you mind—um—cleaning it up, though? It'll probably be easier if I can't see it."
Kurt shoves the image of trailing blood out of his mind and focuses on Blaine's audible heartbeat, listening intently as it grows infinitesimally slower.
"C-clean it up with what? There's nothing to use. I-I mean, I know there's Kleenex in the bathroom but it's out in the hallway and I don't want to disturb—"
"Use one of my socks," Kurt interrupts. "My bureau, top left drawer. They're organized first by color, then by brand, then by age…" Kurt smirks sheepishly into the pillow, idly wondering what Blaine thinks of his compulsivity. "If you don't mind, can you pick out one of the cheaper ones?"
He waits for a moment before hearing the sliding of wood and the faint shuffling of fabric. He detects Blaine's quiet but sharp intake of breath from what could only be the result of pressing the sock to his forehead. Kurt himself winces, though he doesn't know why.
"Okay…" Blaine pipes up after a minute. "I think I got everything"
Kurt takes one last long breath from his pillow—he's planning on holding it for a while—before rising up from the bed and turning to Blaine. The boy looks a little frazzled but most importantly his face is absent of any blood. It's all soaked into the fibers of the sock which, luckily, is black and masks any of the red stains that would easily show on white cotton. Blaine still has it pressed to his skin, but he seems a bit less terrified, maybe only apprehensive.
"Do you…do you maybe have a Band Aid or some gauze or…?" Blaine asks quietly, trailing off and blushing. Kurt averts his eyes quickly but he still silently wonders why Blaine would be so embarrassed to ask for help. Nevertheless, he turns to exit the bedroom, stopping once by his bed to grab his pillow and smush it against his face for another breath. The act itself must look pretty stupid, but Kurt doesn't care. If it means the difference between Blaine being alive or dead, he's willing to look like a complete clown.
Kurt comes back from the bathroom shortly after with a box of jumbo Band-Aids and hands it to Blaine, stopping by his bed to grab another breath from his pillow.
A few moments pass before Blaine hands the box back, a fresh bandage covering the wound on his forehead.
"Thanks," he says quietly. Kurt nods in return, still wary of breathing just in case the smell might be lingering in the air. Blaine glances around the room awkwardly before coming back to stare directly at Kurt. "And…and thanks for not, um…y-you know…killing me…"
"No…er, no problem," Kurt manages before cutting off his air again. He needed to answer that out loud; a nod would not have sufficed. After the small, tense interchange, Blaine falls silent again and looks down at his feet, wandering over to the closet door and reaching out to touch the handle lightly.
"…is it always that bad?" Blaine breathes, his eyes staying fixed downwards.
Kurt blinks slowly and swallows hard.
"No, it's not."
A/N: I know, it's been so long since I last updated. And I'm SO SORRY. Seriously guys, I feel pretty guilty. But, in my defense, it's been a REALLY long past few weeks. For starters, I tore my ACL and I've been in and out of doctors offices like you would not believe :( Second, school started up and keeping up with work is a PAIN. I've been swamped with life you guys.
Anyway, I can't promise that updates will be consistent. But I can promise that they will get done. Again, I'm really sorry you guys.
Please review! They really put a smile on my face :)