A very emotional piece to wrap up the seasons mini-series, inspired by two things- first and foremost, RJ Aguiar's #DearMe video (can be found on his YouTube channel, TheNotAdam), and second, this post about how we are made of stars: .com(slash)post(slash)84624943944

If you need this reminder- you hold the universe inside of you. And you deserve to be happy; you deserve to be loved.

And I love you.

At Home

It's fall, and Blaine doesn't feel at home in his own skin.

He's sitting cross-legged on the bed, hugging himself.

The sky outside is gray; Blaine's mind is clouded.

The wind blows, invisible yet holding a great force; Blaine shivers, gripping himself tighter.

It's like an itch, a twitch under his skin.

He wonders when it became like this. Maybe it was always there, a constant buzz in the back of his head.

There's no specific thought in Blaine's mind, just static white noise, screaming- This is Not Home. This is an Empty Hotel Room.

It should be comfortable- should.

But like an empty hotel room, it's not comfortable; it's empty. It's not friendly. It's not yours.

Blaine breathes. If his therapist were here, he'd call it progress- breathing. Privilege, breathing. Good job breathing.

He feels like the standard is set too low, but these days he can't always reach it. Some nights he doesn't breathe, others, he wishes he would stop.

The door opens. A lump in his throat appears, and he doesn't look to the doorway. The bed dips with Kurt's weight. He knows well enough not to try and touch Blaine.

"Can you hear me?"

The lump grows bigger. His breath stutters.

"I'm right here. I won't leave you, Blaine."

Tears well up in Blaine's eyes; rain falls onto the street, soaking the air, cleansing the asphalt.

Blaine stares at the dresser in front of him through the tears, letting snot run over his top lip until it reaches the crack between his lips and there's saltiness on Blaine's tongue.

He speaks through the wetness and the lump in his throat. His voice is hoarse. "It doesn't feel like home."

Kurt nods. He doesn't ask how he can help. He just sits, and that's enough.

Blaine cries for what seems like hours, his body shaking with the wind's spirals outside. It's intense enough to leave him mute, silent.

When it subsides ever so slowly, he's left panting for air. "Tell me about the stars again, please," he says.

Kurt holds out his palm. Blaine swallows, and drops his arms from where they were gripping his own chest. He takes Kurt's hand.

"You said you didn't feel at home."

Blaine wipes his face on his sleeve. A soft thunder is heard from afar.

"But you are, Blaine. Remember the stars?"

Blaine makes a choked noise, affirmative.

"They're so big, aren't they? And so powerful and fascinating. Do you remember, Blaine, where the atoms in your own body-" Kurt squeezes his hand gently, "where do they come from, Blaine?"

"Stars."

"You are made of the stars, Blaine. And if you look past the clouds outside, you'd see the very same stars looking back at you. You are a star among the other stars, Blaine. You are just as big, as powerful, as fascinating as they are. You are at home amid them, right now."

Blaine's body is limp all but his hand that's holding on to Kurt's, gripping for his dear life.

"When you've calmed enough to speak, you can tell that to yourself. You're allowed to, it's okay."

Blaine sucks in a quick breath. "I am- I am ma-made of the sta-ars. They a-are within-in me. I- I am within-within them. Home."

He feels so incredibly small yet gigantic, blown out of any and all proportion. But he's home again. Home among the stars, on a small green star called earth, made of stardust all in himself, holding Kurt's hand.

A lightening outside strikes. Blaine doesn't hear the thunder that comes after it.