Cut the Cord
Chapter 28

Blaine dozes for the rest of thenight, flitting in and out of consciousness and blearily searching for theclock on the nightstand each hour. The little red numbers mock him throughtheir reluctance to change, and Blaine grows increasingly frustrated that isn’tmorning already; it’s not like he’s going to get any more sleep. Not the deep,restful kind anyway.

Kurt is breathing heavily next tohim, not snoring exactly, just puffing out little breaths through his nose. Blaineenvies his ability to sleep like that, senseless to the world, and wonders whyhe can’t. He had sort of expected that lying in such close proximity to Kurtwould allow him to drift off, just like he used to, lulled by the solidsecurity that only having another body next to him can provide. Yet, here heis, unable to sleep despite the groggy tiredness. Maybe it’s because he isn’tactually touching Kurt, they’re not cuddled together like days gone by, and thewarmth radiating from the other side of the bed is tapered by the gulf betweenthem.

He remembers the Christmas Evesof his childhood, when he would spend all evening proclaiming that he was waytoo excited to sleep, and then pass out on top of the covers just beforeeleven, Cooper or sometimes his father tucking him in on their way up to bed. Thefollowing morning, he’d jump up at dawn and wake the whole house up, infectiouslyenthusiastic at the prospect of opening presents and the traditional familygame of Monopoly.

Kurt snuffles next to him and heblinks his eyes slowly, trying to clear his head of the stupid memories. Hewonders why he lost that excitement when he turned twelve, but deep down heknows it had nothing to do with discovering Santa wasn’t real; Christmas wasnot the only thing that changed. Cooper was finishing college and his dad wasgrowing more distant, working longer hours and only spending time with Blaineif a big game was on the television or, later, when he wanted help doing up anold car. It was around this time that Blaine started being teased by hisclassmates, cutting jibes aimed at his height and appearance, alien wordsthrown at him which he looked up when he got home.

He remembers the time his motherfound him on the big computer in the study, saw the Google search open, andquickly asked him a question about dinner, her tone overly bright as sheignored the definition of ‘faggot’ on the screen. He remembers his parents having whisperedarguments when they thought he was asleep, his dad becoming even more aloof,not getting home until after ten each night. He remembers how his perfect gradecards and extra-curricular achievements never impressed his father, how hismother brushed them off with forced smiles and asked him whether he was goingto try out for the football team this year, how much his father would like itif he did.

He remembers keeping it tohimself as the bullying got worse, not able to stand disappointing his parentsfurther. If I don’t start the battle,there can’t be a war, that was the mentality he adopted as he inchedfurther inside his own head with each locker shove. He remembers how theaftermath of the Sadie Hawkins incident hurt a lot more than the beatingitself. His father had smiled that tight smile, eyes flicking passed him to hismother, connecting with an ally and leaving Blaine wondering when he became theenemy in all of it.

He remembers trying to side-step the post-traumatic stress,but instead holding countless memorials inside his mind for what was lost;marking his sacrifice year after year as everyone else looked on politely,their sympathetic expressions telling him to let it go. So he suffered insilence, hand grenade of memories fiddling in his palms, a gift to himself ashe smiled and side-stepped in time with the music.

He remembers the nightmares and how his father told him thatit needed to stop, that it was unsettling his mother; he started boarding atDalton not long after that. He wonders why his father accused him of not tryinghard enough when Blaine was bending forwards for him, always one step ahead ashe was accused of lagging behind. Sometimes he’d be close to giving in and spilling it all out for his dadto see, but every time he’d pause, remind himself that if he didn’t start thefirst battle, there couldn’t be a war. It was all pointless really; he feltlike he’d been shot down regardless sand the bullet hole never quite closed up.

“Mmm…” Kurt stretches, rolling into Blaine,his face smushed against Blaine’s shoulder. Blaine freezes, marvels at howquickly a touch seems foreign as his muscles tense. For a moment he thinks Kurtis still sleeping, but then he feels fingers clench around his forearm as Kurtblinks blearily up at him. “Wha’ time is it?”

Blaine’s always found Kurt’stired slurring adorable; he’s usually so articulate and there’s somethingvulnerable about him before he’s regained his mental fierceness.

“Six-forty-two,” Blaine informshim after a quick glance at the derisive red numbers.

“Ughh…early…” Kurt’s eyes aresliding shut again and Blaine wants to scream at him to stay awake. Don’t leave me alone in the dark, please, Ihate listening to my own thoughts so much.

It takes Kurt a moment, but heseems to eventually realise that what he’s cuddling against may as well be astone for how tense Blaine is.

“…s’matter?” He asks and Blainecringes; Kurt doesn’t want to listen to more of Blaine’s whining, he did enoughof that earlier. He shakes his head, turning it away from Kurt on the pillowand forcing his back to relax into the mattress. Kurt uses the hand on Blaine’schest to push himself up, squinting at Blaine through the gloom. “Seriously,what’s wrong?” He sounds more alert now and Blaine kicks himself for waking himup.

“Nothing—I’m just being stupid.”

He may only be able to half-see,but he can feel the look that Kurtgives him.

“I’m just…thinking about life.”He corrects half-truthfully.

“Care to share?” Kurt has settledback down again, a little close for Blaine’s liking—or maybe the problem isthat he likes it too much.

“No, it’s fine. It’s nothing youdon’t already know, not really.”

“Ok.” And Kurt lets it go, justlike that; he always proves Blaine wrong in one way or another. “D’you want toget up then? Or—” He pauses, almost catching himself, but not quite quickenough to stop the idea infiltrating him. “Or I can give you one of thosebackrubs that help you sleep?”

It shouldn’t feel liketransgressing a boundary, but it does. Blaine sort of wishes Kurt hadn’thesitated; he really needs one of them to be resolute right now. He suspendshimself in freefall for a moment and then the realisation hits him: he can be the resolute one, if only inthe smallest of ways.

“I’d really like that.” It’squiet, but it’s certain and he feels Kurt smile against his shoulder.

He rolls over, wiggling until hisneck is comfortable and he can breathe properly, for once not thinking abouthow easily the pillow could stop his air intake for good. Kurt starts to tracepatterns over his pyjama top, brushes of the fingertip slowly morphing into aharder, more massage-like pressure. Blaine focusses on the sensation andforgets that it’s Christmas Eve and his parents are free of him this year,forgets that it’s Kurt lying next to him, causing this feeling, forgets thatlife is the most infuriating thing in the world. He allows himself to floataway into a skyline permeated by high-rise buildings and replicated dreams. Itdoesn’t feel scary exactly, more exhilarating, as he meanders into thedarkness, safe from the wind, but far away from the chaos below him.