I don't even know what this fic is.
Warning (?) for some anxiety-ridden Blaine.
Title from Adam Lambert's song The Light, which is amazing so you should check it out.
The Light
Blaise's throat is sore; he knows, somewhere in the back of his brain, that he's been screaming and crying, but that part is closer to subconsciousness than the overload of sensations around him.
The room is too hot.
The light spilling from the window is too bright.
The fabric on his skin is too rough.
The fan makes too much noise and too little wind.
There's an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach, like he ate too much or drank too much or thought too much.
The door opens and creaks too loudly- he wants to curl up into a ball but his body won't listen, his hands won't let go of the death grip they've got on the bed.
Footsteps; a hunched over figure walks towards him, the way you would when trying not to scare an animal, lowered to Blaine's height.
It's just Kurt, he thinks, trying to make his heart rate slow down.
Kurt sits down at Blaine's feet, quiet as a mouse, thankfully, and doesn't try to make eye contact. He lifts a cup of water to the height of Blaine's fist, curled up on the bed, clutching it.
A cup of water. It doesn't register as a question in Blaine's mind, but he can't figure out what to do with the knowledge that it exists. It's as if his brain met a command it can't recognize.
There's a straw in the cup, made of plastic and colored yellow. Kurt's knuckles are white as he's holding it up. The glass is sweaty with condensation. There's one cube of ice floating in the water.
Kurt doesn't pressure him to do anything with the cup (What should he do with it, really? His mind is too preoccupied to know), just holds it up near Blaine's fist.
It's so hot in this room.
Blaine looks at the cup. A cup of water. There's ice in it and condensation on it. Shouldn't it be cold?
He grabs it quickly, but Kurt isn't alarmed. He makes sure Blaine has a good grip on the cup before letting it go and dropping his hand to his lap.
It takes a second for Blaine to realize that the cup is indeed cold- cold and wet inside his palm. He takes the straw into his mouth and sips without thinking; the chill spreads in his too-warm chest, quick and soothing. His throat feels better. He keeps drinking, letting his consciousness return to him slowly.
He yelled, he's sure of it. He knows he cried. He could remember the reason if he tried, but he refuses to. Not right now.
The loud noise of air suddenly sucked through the straw makes him startle.
There's no more water in the cup to drink.
He lowers the cup, and Kurt is there to take it from his hand.
"Better?" Kurt says quietly, so quietly, barely heard.
The room is not quite so hot anymore, and almost quiet enough. Blaine can feel the water in his stomach.
Better?
Blaine nods.
Kurt puts down the cup on the floor, and looks into Blaine's eyes.
"Sorry."
"It's okay. Not your fault."
Blaine nods again. He trusts Kurt enough to try and believe his words.
"Come up here?"
Kurt slowly stands up and sits next to Blaine; Blaine leans onto him, and he wraps his arms around Blaine's waist.
He no longer feels uneasy with his surroundings so he breathes with relief, closing his eyes.
"Sorry," he says again.
"I forgive you."
He inhales deeply. Kurt rubs his back.
"Do you want to shower and take a nap? I can order in dinner."
Dinner- don't think about it.
"Yeah."
"It wasn't your fault, Blaine."
He makes himself take another deep breath. "Okay."
"Tell me what I can do to help."
"Shower with me? I don't want to be alone," he asks with a tone that's almost pleading.
"Of course. Now?"
"In a second."
Kurt hugs him tight, and the knots in his stomach begin to loosen. They're still very much present, but no longer aching.
He doesn't feel uneasy in Kurt's arms, and that's what he needs. He breathes again.