Broken Bird

"I see you're really staying on top of your studies," Blaine says to a pile of books and papers that have clearly been largely ignored.

I don't tell him it's because I can't focus at all. I just roll my eyes and scoff, "Okay, Dad, did you really come over just to check on my studying habits?"

"No. That's just a less important side-mission," he says, with a smirk.

It's frustrating because when he looks like that I just want to wrap my arms around him, but I can't. I'll have to add that to my growing list of little things I always took for granted before and never will again.

He climbs into my bed and sits cross-legged in front of me. He looks like he wants to get closer or touch me, but he's scared I'll break. "So, how you feeling?"

I don't tell him that I don't sleep properly anymore or about the flashbacks. I just say truthfully, "Sore."

There's that look on his face like he wants to say more, but he doesn't know the right thing to say. It's almost his default expression since...the incident. He's been good, though, the best actually, and he certainly means well.

Like the night it happened, when he first saw me, how he freaked out, but then he tried so hard not to visibly freak out. That's when he first acquired that look. He wanted so much to do or say the right thing, but he had no idea what that was.

He still doesn't obviously. I save him the trouble by changing the subject (and, yeah, okay, so it also saved me from any further questioning.) "So, anything interesting going on at school?"

"Not really." He doesn't really want to change the subject, but he plays along for me. "It's been kinda boring actually." He pauses. "Everyone in New Directions misses you."

"Do they?" I don't really know what to say. I can't tell where he's going with this.

"Of course!" he says. I wonder if he knows where he's going with this subject. He seems hesitant, like he's back to the ever-present question of what the right thing to say is. "It's just not the same without you, y'know?"

What's the normal thing to say to that sort of comment? It's crazy how I don't know anymore. I try anyway. "Well..." I adopt a tone of mock smugness. "I guess I can see how that could be." That didn't feel so natural or normal, but at least it didn't betray how little and stupid and broken I have become.

He grins at me, but doesn't say anything. I can't really tell what he's thinking, and it freaks me out just a little. He moves closer until he's beside me and almost touching me. "I miss seeing you every day, too."

"What do you call this?" I manage to sound normal with that snark. I'm not sure how with everything I feel when he's that close and the interesting ways it all plays with the rest of the chaos in my brain.

"Not the same," he says, almost sadly, but then he corrects himself, "I mean, it's not...enough."

The implications of that are even weirder. I wonder if he knows. "Oh really?" I try to sound coy, although to what end I have no idea.

"Yeah." He smiles, but that hesitation is still in his eyes. I know he means well, and I love him for that, but I hate that hesitation so much.

I take his hand in mine. "This is pretty good though."

There's that look in his eyes that says he thinks otherwise at least on some level, but he plays along for me. "Yeah." He still hesitates, and I wish he wouldn't. He finally leans in and kisses me.

It feels good and normal. I wish he wasn't so scared to touch me now because we really need to do this more often. It's the one time I don't have to act; I don't even have to lie to myself. For just a few seconds, we're far away from everything.

Then, he pulls away, and it's all rushing back. I once again don't quite know myself or how I should feel or act. I can't handle reality, and it's flooding back, but I have to act like I can.

I allow myself one singular show of weakness. "How late do you think you could stay tonight?"