Thank you for all your wonderful reviews to my last chapter! Some of you I can't answer, but know that you are appreciated as well!
I've gotten several requests and questions about Blaine and why he's at the hospital, so I hope this will please you.
Disclaimer: I don't own Glee.
Papa Don't Preach blares and roars Blaine from his sleep. He hurries to hit the mute button on his phone, hoping his ringtone hasn't woken up Kurt. He squints on the lit screen to see it's only 4 AM. Of course. But somewhere in the world it's noon and lunch, and every Monday at that hour his father will make this phone call. Blaine quickly goes through his options. He isn't comfortable about answering his father's calls in the hallway, in case someone from the staff will hear him. He wants to digest the conversation before he lets anyone in on it. But he doesn't want to disturb or wake up Kurt either. Blaine sighs, rolls out of bed and locks the bathroom door behind him.
"Good morning, father, where in the world are you this week?" he asks with a low voice.
Blaine does his best to hide the tired roughness from his voice. His father always seems to forget about – or ignore - the time zone differences, and it's easier to not give off an impression of having been woken up than getting a lecture of being a lazy sleepyhead in bed.
"Good morning, son, this is Moscow calling," his father laughs.
Mr. Anderson loves to travel and be in new parts of the world, so the company recently going international is just perfect for him. Blaine wouldn't mind travel either, but he wants to see more of the world than airports and business offices. He doesn't want to merely collect stamps in his passport from the border securities; he wants to see, smell, taste and hear different cultures and countries.
"Ah, dobriy den'," Blaine greets carefully.
"Why are you whispering, son? Nobody listens to a mumbler. Speak up and claim authority, you have to earn it to get it."
"I know, father, and I'm sorry. I just don't want to disturb my roommate."
"Oh, roommate, so you're finally back in school," his father seems pleased.
"No," Blaine stifles a sigh. "I'm still at Bellefontaine."
"Care to explain why we pay extra for your bigger room with extra facilities so you can keep up with your school work, and still there's somebody else intruding on you?"
"It's not like that. There were an emergency and they ran out of beds, so this was the best solution."
His father makes a displeased sound.
"For how long have this been going on?"
"Since Thanksgiving," Blaine replies, and he can hear the faint sound of pencil scratching paper. He expects his father will make a call to Christy later on, expressing his worries about the unfairness of him paying for somebody else's care and treatment. It's stupid, really. His father is so loaded the hospital bills hardly make a dent in his account. But isn't it always so? Cheapskates get richer and richer. Blaine's never missed anything in the material department, though, so he isn't all extreme.
"I talked with your mother."
Blaine doesn't say anything, but he suspects what's coming up.
"Why didn't you spend Thanksgiving with your family, Blaine Valério?"
Blaine manages to cover up the microphone on his phone before his whimpered sigh forces its way out. It isn't often his father uses both his names, but when he does… He could try lying and say the staff didn't want him to leave, but he never knows when his father decides to show any interest in his health and talk with doctor Whimchester. That's why Blaine's almost always honest with his father. Not because they have an open, trusting relationship, but because he doesn't know what cards his father has up his sleeve, and what his poker face hides.
"I…"
"Have you made it a habit to waste away people's time by letting them wait for your answers? If you're going to be a successful lawyer, you have to be able to think on the spot. And as your father I wouldn't expect you having to look for explanations."
Blaine wants to throw his phone against the ceramic bathroom tiles. He knows this is his father's way of giving him constructive criticism to prepare him for life as a grown up, giving him pointers on where to improve to be a better whatever. But it isn't what he needs at the moment.
"I chose to stay here," he finally admits. "I didn't see the point in flying in for just a day or two, just a waste of money," he adds, hoping that's a language his father understands and respects.
His father is silent for a moment. Blaine can't hear any kind of background noise or sounds from his father, and he wonders what's going on.
"Son… If there's one thing I want you to learn in life, it's the value of famiglia. There's always a point in seeing your own family, and should always be your priority numero uno."
Blaine wants to snort, but settles with one of the patronizing eye rolls Kurt would have given. These words are his mother's. His father doesn't even bother to hide it, but plays out the phrases his mother would have used in a discussion like this. Blaine shakes his head in disbelief at how his father is trying to use his conscience against him. He wants to ask where his father was during Thanksgiving, and how much of the family he saw, but he bites his tongue. This isn't worth fighting over; it's in the past as far as Blaine sees it.
"Blaine Valério…" His father sighs. "You've been at Bellefontaine for three weeks now. Isn't it about time you get back to school?"
"I'm scared, father," he admits.
"And hiding in the middle of Ohio is going to make it better?"
Blaine hates it when his father is right.
"I think it's about time you act the adult you claim to be, and get back to school. You're already a year behind, it's about time you finish high school and get your real life started. Maybe if you put your mind to it, you could graduate earlier."
Blaine shrinks inwardly, and sinks down on the floor in the dark room. He's a junior, but his old classmates from the school he left will be graduating in less than six months. There's no way Blaine can finish his junior and senior year in one semester. Even his father has to see that, right?
"I'm doing my best, father, I really am."
"I don't doubt you think you are, and I'm merely doing a father's duty to push you a little so you can be even better. You have so much potential, son. The internship in San Francisco is waiting for you, if you're still going to be… gay."
His father always says that word as if it's a bit odd in his mouth, like a Russian or Greek word he's trying out for the first time.
"I'm still gay, and I'll always be gay, dad," Blaine sighs, and he feels like a little kid every time they have this conversation, as if his four year old self is trying to explain the deep philosophy in the world of Teletubbies to a grown up who's never seen the show before.
"Yes, well, we have talked about this before. The internship is for a promising project directed towards a new potential clientele, and we need someone who can do the part and be an asset. Are you trying to disappoint me?"
Blaine clearly hears the unsaid "again", and a tear slowly falls down his face.
"No, sir…" he whispers.
"I'll talk to doctor Whimchester later today, find out if there's any way we can speed up your treatment. Maybe you can have several of those therapy sessions a day instead of one each day. That hardly seems efficient."
Blaine nods hard enough for more tears to fall down. His father doesn't understand that his healing takes time.
"I have a meeting in ten minutes, so I have to hunt down that god damn interpreter again, but it was nice catching up with you, son."
"Bye, dad," Blaine whispers as his father ends the conversation.
He stays put on the hard, cold bathroom floor for a long while, crying his heart out and biting down on the fleshy area by his thumb to mute the sobs. Eventually his butt and back hurt too much from sitting uncomfortably, and he all but crawls back in bed. He chucks the phone on his nightstand, and when the screen lights up he sees it's already half past five in the morning. He pulls the cover over his head, clutches the pillow in his arms, and lets the rest of his tears escape.
Kurt is a light sleeper, so when Madonna had started to sing in his room, he'd been startled. He'd seen Blaine grab his phone and dart off to the bathroom, so he'd rolled over to sleep more. He'd been too far gone to be able to reflect on the oddity of the early phone call or notice how long Blaine was away.
The next time Kurt wakes up, it's to an unidentified sound from across the room. Something looking like a horizontal ghost is tossing and throwing itself around in Blaine's bed. Kurt shakes his head as if it'll clear things up, and steps out of bed. He turns on the lamp over Blaine's bed. Someone he assumes is Blaine is completely covered in the white thick fabric, and is either having a seizure or a nightmare. Muffled sounds lets Kurt conclude it's the latter, so he pries the covers away from Blaine's head and shoulders. The boy is curled up in foster position, clutching to a pillow like it's his umbilical cord, but slowly rolling from side to side. Kurt takes a firm hold of the boy's shoulders to stop his movements.
"Blaine, wake up," he says calmly. He once read you shouldn't upset or scare someone having a nightmare, as that could make everything worse.
"Blaine, it's Kurt, I need you to wake up."
The boy seems to slow down his movements, but his eyes are still closed, and he's mumbling something Kurt can't understand.
"Perdono, papa, io sono colui che sono."
"Blaine…"
Kurt doesn't know what Blaine says, except it's beautiful, and he really shouldn't focus on that when the boy clearly is upset. He caresses the boy's cheek, slowly running his hand from his temple to his chin, down and down. The gentle movement seems to calm him down, as he lies still, and he hasn't said anything for some minutes now.
"Blaine, wake up…"
Tired dark eyes finally look up at him, and Kurt gives him a soft smile.
"Hey… You had a nightmare."
"I know," Blaine croaks. "It was awful."
"Do you want to go back to sleep? It's still a couple of hours until breakfast."
Blaine seems to be thinking about it, and opens his mouth as if to say something a couple of times. Finally he finds the words he was looking for.
"Can you..? Will you..? Just until I've fallen asleep?"
Blaine looks so tiny and sad, his skin pale in the little light his bed lamp provides, and he's still curled up, anchored to his pillow.
"Scoot over," Kurt orders, and crosses the room to pick up his own pillow.
He climbs under Blaine's covers, resting his head on his pillow. Blaine seems to have decided he'd rather use the pillow under his head than in his arms. They lay stiffly next to each other, looking awkwardly at the other, smiling shyly.
"Come here," Kurt finally suggests, opening his arms.
He'll have to be the brave one tonight, and Blaine has done so much for Kurt. Blaine shuffles over, and lays his head on Kurt's outstretched arm, keeping a distance between their bodies. Kurt wants to laugh; this is a bit silly, really, so he pulls the boy closer and holds him with both arms.
"Go to sleep, I've got you," he promises.
Not until Blaine's breathing evenly and his chest's moving steadily does Kurt close his eyes to drift away as well. I hope Margaret is the one to serve us breakfast tomorrow, is his last thought before he falls asleep.
When Kurt wakes up, he's alone in Blaine's bed, and the trolley with breakfast catches his attention. One of the big mugs has been used for coffee, but otherwise it doesn't seem like anything has been touched. The bathroom door is almost closed, and Kurt knocks just in case before peaking inside. It's empty.
Kurt tries to convince himself to not worry as he checks his phone for any texts. It's not like anything dangerous can have happened, Blaine is probably nearby. He spins aimlessly around the room, not knowing what he's looking for, but being open for any kind of signs which can explain where Blaine is. Finally he resigns, and decides to take a shower. He isn't brave enough to leave the room without knowing where Seth is. It's too early in the morning, and his defence mechanisms are still slumbering.
The warm water caresses his body and makes him all lax and mushy, leaning against the tiles and letting the heat embrace him, lull him to relaxation. He's always so tense, so stiff, so on the edge. A scolding hot shower helps for a while, but as soon as he's out and draped in a towel, his body closes up again. His shoulders and back are constantly aching, sometimes leading to tension headaches as well. He's tried a lot of different things to improve. Painkillers, jogging, yoga, better shoes, herbal tea, that time he was drunk in school thanks to Miss Rhodes' generosity, porn – and that only made him even more tense, and not in a good way.
Now his physical pains have been some kind of a constant, and it's usually only in the shower he thinks about it, because it momentarily gets better. Of course, the locker checks and dumpster tossings in school did nothing to improve his situation, but it was a different kind of pain, and sometimes it was even a welcomed pain. It was something specific and particular. He could watch a bruise and tell himself the pain would subdue as the bruise faded away. There was something satisfying about that discovery. He could monitor and predict his pain and its absence, and it was one of the few things left he felt he had a grain of control over.
The only thing that had made all his pain bearable, had been finding distractions. For the longest time, singing, dancing and acting with New Directions had been the ultimate distraction for him. It had helped him pull it through, until one day it wasn't enough, and he had spent the next three months thinking about what he now could turn to, to make things bearable. He'd considered drinking, but his only experience had taught him that the day after wasn't worth the sweet numbing of his consciousness. He'd briefly thought about drugs, but really, that wasn't an option. Not even Puck could get hands on that, and he'd considered it too risky, you never knew for certain what you'd get. He'd understood sex could be a nice distraction, but again, porn wasn't his thing, masturbation only got him that far, and who could a lonely gay teen in Ohio hook up with? Besides, the thought of sex had kind of freaked him out too; being naked in front of a stranger, doing things he didn't know how to do. Sex could hardly be good enough to be worth the awkwardness, embarrassment and humiliation he was bound to experience.
And then Kurt's creativity and imagination had gone kind of blank. Reading fashion magazines, creating designs, making clothes, shopping, hanging out with friends, watching his favourite musicals – nothing worked anymore. Everything was tedious, unnecessary, boring, and just activities to pass time. Nothing really helped, nothing made him forget, nothing gave him anything of value. He had been clinging to that straw of hope; he had been trying so hard for so long. The idea of ending it all had been more and more prominent in his mind. Kurt was lost in an ocean of hopelessness and despair, and one day he stopped his frantic swimming, and let himself sink under the cold, dark water.
He woke up in the ER in Lima, where he stayed for 48 hours before he was transferred to the emergency psychiatric ward for youth in Bellefontaine.
And here he is. He doesn't know what tomorrow brings; he hardly knows what he'll be doing in two hours. But it's OK, for now. He is fed, nursed, protected and fairly rested. It's nice, having a break from the real world.
So he gets dressed, towels his hair, and moulds and sprays it off of his face, and gets out to see if his stomach wants any of the breakfast they've been brought.
He stops when he sees Blaine sitting slumped in bed. He's panting, and holds a half emptied bottle of water in a death grip. A sweaty tank top is clinging to his chest, and drops of sweat are running down his temples. His hair is unruly and a mess, like he's run his hands through it several times, shaping it anew in his own sweat. Two boxing gloves are nestled in his lap, legs crossed Indian style.
Kurt gets a flash from last week, when he'd seen Blaine come out of the elevator early in the morning, looking similar to this. He'd said something about an early phone call waking him up. Kurt didn't look at his watch this night, so he doesn't know if Blaine's phone had chimed really late or ungodly early, but he may be spotting a pattern.
"Have you had breakfast?" he asks, not knowing what else to say. He's in no position to ask questions about his whereabouts or express any worry.
Blaine empties the water bottle and shakes his head.
"I can't stomach any food now," he mutters.
Kurt brings a cup of coffee to the desk next to Blaine's bed, and twirls back and fro on the chair. He tries not to stare, but Blaine looks really off. Now that he's closer, he can see the distant expression in his eyes, it's as if he's watching something far, far away, or maybe not watching anything at all. His otherwise expressive face is a blank slate of apathy. He hasn't acknowledged Kurt's presence in any other way than answering his question dutifully. Truth be told, Kurt is feeling a bit scared, he doesn't know how to deal with this.
"The shower is still nice and warm if you…"
"Yeah," Blaine interjects him, and leaves.
It's almost an hour later when Blaine steps out of the bathroom again. Kurt's anxiously spent the time eating breakfast and fiddling with his nail file. He'd tried reading, but couldn't focus, so he'd taken the file and worked on his nails just to keeps his hands idle. Melinda had come by to pick up the food trolley, but otherwise they've been left on their own.
Blaine doesn't look at him, but he doesn't have to for Kurt to immediately notice his red rimmed eyes. He quickly climbs into bed, and buries himself in the covers with his back to Kurt.
Kurt doesn't know what to do. Should he say something? What can he say? Or is it better to leave Blaine alone? Should he stay? Should he leave? What does Blaine need now? Should he offer to put up the curtain screen? Will Blaine see it as the offer of privacy Kurt means it to be, or will he interpret it as being pushed away?
Kurt is saved from further pondering by a knock on the door.
"Hey," Thomas says cheerfully as he opens the door. "You have an appointment with doctor Whimchester in five minutes."
Kurt nods and jumps down from his bed, but throws a quick glance at Blaine's still body.
In the common's room, Thomas stops briefly by Matthew and whispers something in his ear. Kurt notices Matthew leave in the direction of the bedrooms as he steps into the conversation room to wait for the doctor.
"Good morning, Kurt, how have you been since last time?" doctor Whimchester greets sincerely as he enters the room.
"That's a big question," Kurt answers, not without a smile.
"Yes, your weekend ended up quite differently from what we expected. But you turned down the offer to see me anyway."
"Yes," Kurt answers carefully, not sure if he's trouble for doing the wrong thing. "At the time I didn't have the need to talk with anyone, I was doing… good enough, on my own?" He doesn't mean to turn it into a question, but his uncertainty forces his voice to go up by the end of the sentence.
"I'm proud of you, Kurt."
Oh. Well, that was unexpected.
"You got thrown surprises we couldn't have imagined, and it didn't break you. You got up and fought on, and from the reports I've read you've even challenged and pushed yourself this weekend."
Kurt can't help but blush and study his kneecaps for a moment. He's not used to compliments being thrown his way like that.
"Kurt has really proved he's a strong fighter this weekend," Thomas adds, and his words remind him of those of Blaine's. Huh. Weird.
"How do you feel right now?" the doctor asks.
"Exhausted and overwhelmed," Kurt answers truthfully.
"I wouldn't expect anything less. Your family came to visit, there was Thanksgiving, you accepted getting a room mate, you met Seth, you've shared space and air with someone else for several days, your father came to see you again, and you went outside with Blaine for coffee. That's a very busy weekend right there. Did I forget anything?"
"I don't think I told Margaret, but I got a text on Saturday that made me all teary eyed, but in a good way."
"Would you like to tell us about it?"
The doctor is patient, and truly makes Kurt feel as if this is his decision alone. So Kurt explains the competition system of show choirs, and how his friends were on stage this weekend.
"A teacher sent me a video of their performance," he says as he pulls out his phone from his pocket, scrolls through to the right message, and gives it to Thomas and the doctor. "Push play when you're ready."
Thomas exhales in a whistle, but the doctor doesn't say anything until their performance is done.
"This gave you happy tears."
Kurt nods.
"Remember those talks we've had about feeling loved?" he says cheekily, and the doctor nods, shoulders bouncing with silent laugher. "That video kind of helped plenty," Kurt grins.
Both the doctor and Thomas grin back at him.
"Have you talked with your friends afterwards?"
"I did. I cried. And laughed."
"Crying is always OK, and laughing is even better," Thomas smiles so genuinely it makes Kurt think they honestly care about him.
"Tell us about the coffee date, that surprised me in the best ways," doctor Whimchester encourages.
"We're not dating," Kurt explains hurriedly, to erase away any misconceptions. "Blaine wondered a couple of times if I wanted to join him. I think I can call him a friend, we get along well. Anyway, I didn't want to go out, because I was afraid. But then Seth happened, and I couldn't stop thinking how useless every precaution ends up being. I decided to fake some braveness, and joined Blaine."
"You aren't faking braveness when you actually pull it through, Kurt. You are stronger than you give yourself credit for."
Kurt snorts at that.
"It isn't much strength in a boy that shivers on his chair and gets skittish with any kind of touches."
The doctor looks questioningly at him.
"Blaine and I have a somewhat tactile relationship," Kurt mumbles. "Oh God, not in that way!" he hurriedly adds, blushing violently as Thomas chuckles. "We just hold hands and cuddle now and then. It's… It's nice…"
"Body contact releases endorphins, which is a hormone that makes us feel happier and better. It's also a nice confirmation for the self esteem that somebody wants to be that close to you. And it's also a big fat vote of confidence to let someone in that close in that way," doctor Whimchester says, neither teasingly nor condescendingly.
"Is that why the nightmares ended the night Blaine slept in my bed?"
"The endorphins may very well have played an important part for your improved sleep. But it can also be because your subconsciousness considers Blaine safe, so you felt comforted and protected with his so close."
Kurt nods, it seems plausible.
"Did anything scare you during the coffee? You said you were shivering and skittish."
"Nothing special. Just everything and everybody. You know," Kurt shrugs, and rolls his eyes. It earns him a muffled chuckle from Thomas.
"If I told you we'd release you tomorrow, what would be your worst fear?"
Kurt stares wide eyed at the doctor. Seriously? Where the fuck did that come from?
Kurt exhales slowly, filling his mouth with air and looking like an acorn stocking up on hazelnuts.
He would be scared about going home, having to settle in with the new routines and rhythms there, still not used to Carole and Finn living with them. He'd be wary about his dad and his worries and concern. He'd dread meeting his friends, having to look them in the eyes after all that has gone down. But his biggest fear, obstacle and nightmare…
"I'm anything but ready to go back to school. I… I just can't. That place is literally killing me."
"We're not planning to release you tomorrow. I wanted to know what you think about your nearest future. You're not going to be here forever, but you'll still need help even after you cross that threshold. How do you feel about being here?"
"I like it," Kurt quickly answers. He has to think for a moment to explain himself, though. "I'm constantly feeling overwhelmed by life and reality, and I think too much. I feel too much. This has been a good break from the real world. It's like hitting the pause button to give me a chance to get my breath back."
When Kurt enters their room again, Blaine is still under his covers in bed. It almost looks as if he hasn't moved since Kurt left, except he's facing the other way now. Kurt climbs into his own bed. He's exhausted and drained from the conversation with doctor Whimchester, and it doesn't take long before he's fast asleep.
Blaine yawns and stretches, curling up his body before unfolding again. He rubs his dry eyes, and tries to understand why he's awake.
"There you are, Blaine, welcome to the world of living. I've brought lunch, you must be hungry," Melinda says, nodding at the trolley by the foot of his bed.
"Not really," Blaine groans.
"That's probably because you're still half asleep. Get up from bed and move around to activate your hunger," she suggests.
Blaine shrugs, but at least he sits up, punching the pillows to give his back some support.
He looks over at the other bed, where Kurt is fast asleep. He briefly wonders what went down with Kurt while he slept, why the boy is even further away in Dreamland than Blaine himself was.
Groggily, he stumbles into the bathroom to pee and splash some cold water in his face, and by the time he's out again Kurt is out of bed and Melinda is gone. Blaine gives the trolley a quick glance, but nothing catches his fancy, and he really isn't hungry. He sighs, and crawls back into bed. He can feel Kurt's eyes on him, but ignores it and buries his head in the pillows, tucking the covers over him, and desperately hoping for sleep to come back easily.
Blaine still doesn't look good, Kurt concludes. He'd looked awful this morning, and it doesn't seem as if his sleep has improved anything. Kurt notices he still doesn't want to eat anything. And Kurt still doesn't know what to do. Clearly, Blaine wants to sleep, so maybe he should just let him be. It doesn't make Kurt feel less awkward, though. Should he stay, or get out of the room?
Kurt slowly eats his chicken salad, while all his thoughts and worries flow around in his mind. Seth is still in the ward, so Kurt really doesn't want to be in the common's room. Then he remembers how Blaine had encouraged him to nap in front of him, because he was used to roommates doing so. So maybe Blaine also is used to sleeping with other people in his room? Kurt decides to stay for a while and read in Blaine's book. It'll be nice to get his mind on something else than the weekend and the conversation with doctor Whimchester.
Blaine stays asleep for the rest of the day. Thomas and Matthew comes by right before dinner to check with the boys if there's anything they need to know to complete their reports before they leave for the day. But Matthew leaves immediately, and doesn't even bother to wake up Blaine when Kurt tells the boy has slept 99 per cent of the time since breakfast.
"Come on, Kurt, you're joining us in the common's room," Thomas says when Kurt has finished his dinner.
"I'd rather not," he says silently. Both to avoid disturbing Blaine, and to avoid offending Thomas.
"Seth will be in his room for the rest of the evening, and you seem restless and bored hauled up in here. Join the others and get your mind on something else," Thomas argues.
Kurt resigns, and with a last worried look on Blaine's still body, he follows after Thomas.
"Are there anything I can do for him?" he asks, finally fed up with worrying and wondering.
"Blaine? No, he just needs to rest, he'll be fine," Thomas reassures him with a soft expression. "I understand it's weird for you, but you don't need to think about it. He's far gone and probably doesn't even notice you're in the room with him."
"Did you… Is he drugged?"
"No, his brain is just really tired and wants to sleep. Matthew spoke with him earlier, and Blaine wanted to make sure you don't feel exiled. I believe his exact words were 'it's your room too, dummy'," Thomas winks.
"That Anderson is a true gentleman," Kurt snorts through his blush.
Thomas hums an agreement.
"But don't forget it, OK? It will only hurt Blaine if he finds out he makes you uncomfortable."
"I'm not uncomfortable," Kurt insists. "I'm just worried, and uncertain what I can do for him."
"You don't have to do anything, Kurt, that's our job."
"Yeah, I know, but…"
"I get it, Kurt, I do. You seem to get along well, so just continue whatever you've been doing so far, it seems to work."
Kurt just nods, and steps into the common's room.
"Hey Kurt!" Jenny shouts, and she seems really glad to see him. "We're about to begin a round of Scrabble, do you want to join us?"
"Sure," he smiles, and skips over to Jenny and Sandy.
Scrabble seems to be the it-game in this ward, and he can't count how many times they've played it during his two weeks here. But it's fun, so he doesn't mind. Jenny hands him seven letters and a platform to rest them on.
"Jenny?"
"Yeah?" She looks up from her game pieces, and smiles at him.
"Thank you for helping out on Friday, for getting Thomas. I… I couldn't do anything myself."
Jenny's smile turns sad.
"I wish I could have done more," she sighs. "I can't believe that guy… But let's not talk about him, huh, I want a pleasant evening," she says, and lays down her first word. SCUM.
Kurt stays in the common's room until long after supper. A bunch of them are watching reruns of Cupcake Wars, and Kurt thinks it's actually quite nice to spend some time with people and get out of the room he's been hauled up in the whole weekend.
Back in their room, Blaine still looks as if he hasn't moved the last hours. Kurt can't help but sigh worriedly, as he heads for the bathroom to get ready for bed. Kurt keeps looking at Blaine from his bed for several long minutes, before he closes his eyes and allows himself to enter Dreamland.
A sharp light irritates Kurt's eyes. He groans as he looks through squinted eyes to find out what's going on. The bathroom door is ajar, and Blaine's bed is empty. Disturbingly noises from the bath get Kurt out of bed without being awake and completely aware of his actions.
He finds Blaine crouched by the porcelain bowl, emptying his stomach. Wordlessly he soaks a wash cloth in lukewarm water, and kneels down by the slumped body. Blaine spits once more, arms resting around the toilet ring. Kurt carefully nudges him by the shoulder to make him look up. He gently wipes the wet cloth over Blaine's pale and sweaty face, cupping his cheek with the other hand. His eyes are big and distant, but just from Kurt's easy ministrations some life is brought back to his dark eyes. A blush paints over Blaine's cheek bones, and he looks embarrassed.
"I'm sorry," Kurt says, realizing he must have overstepped. "I took care of my dad when he was sick, so I just acted without thinking. I'm sorry." He lets go of Blaine, and the cloth lands on the floor.
Blaine smiles shyly, looking at Kurt through his eyelashes.
"I'm sorry I woke you up. I didn't have time to close the door…"
Kurt chooses to ignore Blaine's comment instead of argue with him about how he honestly shouldn't need to feel sorry about being sick.
"Have you gotten it all out, or do you need to go again?" he asks instead.
Blaine shakes his head.
"I haven't eaten anything today, so I should be fine."
Kurt gets up to the sink, removes the tooth brush, and fills the plastic glass with cold water.
"Rinse," he encourages.
Blaine gargles exaggeratedly before spitting out in the toilet, making Kurt chuckle.
"Do you need anything else?"
"Nah, I'll just go back to bed, I think. But thank you for asking. And helping. I really appreciate it," he says sincerely.
They climb back in their beds. Kurt is wide awake, staring at the ceiling. His mind is empty, but his body won't sleep. Maybe he's slept too much today already. He checks his phone, it's almost 5 AM.
"Can't you sleep either?" Blaine softly asks.
"Doesn't look like it," Kurt shrugs.
He's used to not getting a lot of sleep. Some nights he hardly sleeps at all. His nightmares keep him awake. That's the best nightmares. It's worse when they keep molesting his mind, keeping him trapped in his sleep. He hasn't had any nightmares lately, though, that's always worth something.
"Do you want to continue with our 20 questions?"
"Sure."
Kurt doesn't remember how many questions they got to last time, and even if they have reached the 20-mark it doesn't matter. It'll be interesting to get to know the boy better, no matter what.
"If we sit together we won't risk disturbing anyone," Blaine suggests.
"Seems wise," Kurt agrees, and joins Blaine in his bed. They sit cross legged face towards the other, and Blaine's covers draped over their legs.
"You can go first," Blaine offers, and Kurt thinks for a moment.
"How many boyfriends have you had?"
"That was an easy one," Blaine chuckles. "The answer would be none. I've had crushes, and went on a couple of dates, but nothing that lead to anything. And you?"
Kurt snorts.
"Before I met you, I didn't even know any other out gay teenager," he says, emphasizing the out-bit, because Karofsky doesn't count in this picture.
"Have you tried to end it before?" Blaine asks, gesturing to Kurt's almost healed wrists.
Oh, okey, so they're not avoiding the heavy topics tonight.
Kurt shakes his head.
"Do you think you'll try again?"
"I don't have a crystal ball, Blaine," Kurt smirks. "Right now I don't have the need. But being here really doesn't count, it isn't the real world."
"I know," Blaine says solemnly. "Being here is like running away to hide."
Kurt really wants to know what Blaine means by that, but is afraid of crossing a line. On the other hand, it can't be more personal than Blaine's last question?
"You don't have to answer, Blaine, but I've been wondering… Why are you here?"
Blaine studies his lap for a long time, and Kurt prepares a new question. Eventually Blaine meets Kurt's searching eyes.
"I'll tell you," he whispers softly. "Do you want the Latin fancy-schmancy names on my diagnoses, or an English summary of what's wrong with me?"
"Tell me what you want, how you want it. And there's nothing wrong with you."
Kurt takes Blaine's hand to emphasize his last point. Blaine laughs humourlessly.
"You don't know me."
"You're no complete stranger either," Kurt parries quickly.
Blaine switches so he's holding Kurt's wrist, carefully avoiding the still soar scar. With his other hand, he's drawing a whimsical pattern in Kurt's palm, and his index finger is gently running up all five fingers. He repeats the motion, over and over.
"I have four diagnoses that cooperate to make my struggles even more complicated," he begins. His eyes are focused on his ministrations on Kurt's hand. "They are always there, lurking in the background, but popping out to play at both random and expected moments. When it gets too much for too long, I end up here to get a break from reality and be helped out of the vicious circles; reset me before a new effort to make it work."
Blaine's been talking to their joined hands the entire time, but now he lifts his head, watching Kurt intently.
"Is this too much?"
Kurt firmly shakes his head.
"I'm not scared, and I'm not going anywhere."
That seems to be the encouragement Blaine needs.
"I'm not sure which diagnosis is the most prominent or serious, because they are so entwined. It's like the chicken and the egg; I don't know what came first and lead to the other."
Kurt doesn't say anything, but lets Blaine take his time.
"I'm depressed. I have social anxiety. I have an avoidant personality disorder. And I have anger issues."
Blaine is watching Kurt with an intense gaze, as if he's expecting him to bolt out of the door.
"OK," Kurt simply says. He isn't intimidated by this, so far.
"I don't know where to begin... I'm not sure I always know how to separate them. The textbook answer is that I feel inadequate. I'm my own worst critic, and seldom think I'm good enough. I can logically see how I treat myself, but that doesn't mean I'm in a position to change it."
Kurt's throat is dry. He thinks about an earlier conversation, about Blaine's parents constantly pushing him to be better, always seeing room for improvement. Where on earth can Blaine go to feel good enough, to be valued for himself, and not seen as an unreleased hypothetical potential?
"I'm not so good with communication and evaluation, and can interpret things in the worst way possible. If… If I notice someone on the street looking at me, I will jump to the conclusion that something's wrong with me. I feel as if I am being choked, and I need an absurd amount of compliments and confirmation to counteract my own insecurities."
Kurt's heart aches for the boy. It all makes sense, and Kurt can find several examples from their interactions the last two weeks to back up Blaine's speech. He quickly puzzles pieces together in his head and discovers patterns in Blaine's behaviour.
"I have social anxiety. I expect others to critique me, so obviously I avoid settings like that. I'm always worried about what other people will think of me, and I spend so much energy and time on preparations, trying to find out how I can counteract their negative opinions about me. I've been pretty good at reading people," Blaine shrugs. "And as we talked about yesterday, I've become a good actor, putting on the necessary masks. But just because I play the part, doesn't mean I get rid of my inner anxiety and struggles. I'm still afraid of not being good enough. I… I just want people to like me…" he sighs, and Kurt cups his cheek with his free hand. Blaine leans into the touch.
"I'm depressed, and it is like living in a roller coaster. Some days are really dark, others are nearly normal. I have mood swings, I get easily tired, some days it's impossible to laugh, some days I don't want to do a single thing, other days I'm hyperactive and all bubbly. Some days everything feels meaningless, and I just feel so utterly bared of any kind of happiness."
Kurt nods; he recognizes this all too well.
"Today was a fairly heavy day, where I could only sleep, and wasn't hungry or anything else. I just couldn't feel, couldn't breath. So I sleep, exhausted from everything going on in my head."
"I get it," Kurt whispers carefully, afraid to interrupt Blaine's monologue and make him close in on himself.
Blaine takes both of his hands and holds them firmly. He quickly smiles, but it never reaches his eyes.
"Lastly, there are the anger issues, and that must seem so contradictory for a shy, introvert boy avoiding people… But I bottle up emotions. I can wear my heart on my sleeve, but I force away and hide a lot of emotions, because I'm afraid of how people will respond to them. So instead of facing the confrontation, I tuck it away. Until I explode. I often find myself in a sort of defence position. I fear other people's opinions on me, I expect the worse, and sometimes it upsets me enough to make me boil."
Kurt hardly believes the complexity of Blaine's struggles. How does he endure it all?
"After the attack I told you about, I've developed several anxiety patterns. I'm afraid of being in crowds of people, I'm afraid of walking alone, I never go outside in the dark, I'm skittish and literally jump if someone touches me without my consent. And I'm so angry on those who did it, and angry that I still is suffer, more than two years after it happened."
Blaine is almost panting, agitated from his speeches and emotional pouring.
"Can I hold you?" he asks, thinking about the endorphins doctor Whimchester mentioned.
The other boy smiles fondly at him.
"Yes, you may. I don't know why, but my body seems to accept your touches without any problems."
Kurt smiles back at him, and quickly steps out of bed to sit behind Blaine. He leans against the headrest, and gently tugs on the boy so he can lie down in Kurt's arms against his chest.
"What do you do to counteract your challenges?"
"I took up boxing for my anger issues, suggestion from my anger management therapist. I even started a branch of Fight Club in school, but I did not tell you that," he says sternly.
Kurt snickers.
"I was on anti depressive pills right after the dance, but I try to stay clean now. I go to a boarding school so that I have to interact with other people, also after classes. The problem is the lack of incentives to leave school grounds and meet the rest of the world. I try, but it's so easy to postpone… I have gotten different mental and practical tools from doctor Whimchester to deal with difficult days. He believes this is mostly a long lasting healing process, so with patience and the right surroundings I'll be better. And I am better now than two years ago, but I still relapse."
Kurt holds the boy tight to his chest, not knowing what else he can do. Blaine pushes his head further back on Kurt's shoulder, and kisses him tight lipped on his jaw bone, right under the ear.
"Thank you for listening, and not ridiculing me," he whispers, voice trembling.
"You're not alone," he murmurs in Blaine's hair.
Translation:
Perdono, papa, io sono colui che sono – I'm sorry, dad, I am who I am.