I'm not really sure what this is. All I know is that I LOVE Klaine right now and I love this song and I really needed to write something. Enjoy this little bit of nothing and please review!
I weep for wonder wand'ring far alone
of shadows on the stars
Blaine padded outside quietly, bare feet scuffing gently on the wood of his porch. The night air was crisp and clear and filled him with a sense of understanding that he couldn't feel in the stuffy confines of his room. The jumbled mess of emotions and thoughts calmed down, and the boy felt, for a moment, that he was close to being his old, collected self again.
Creeping across his backyard, damp grass tickling his ankles, Blaine sat down, head tilted back so he could stare at the sky. The stars were breathtaking (understatement) and the boy had to lie back and just breathe in this moment of peace and wonder.
The moon was pale and round and so luminous that it appeared smooth and unflawed, and suddenly all Blaine could see was a vast expanse of milky-white skin, from that perfect heart-shaped face to that delicious length of neck and collarbone, down that slender chest, past the almost-there abs and the bony hips, and then…
Blaine shook his head, trying desperately to ignore the bold presence of the moon in his sky. Instead, he turned to the stars, smiling at their beauty. He could see their twinkle in a pair of blue-green eyes, inlaid in a flushed face, sweaty and sleepy and post-coital.
He groaned, clenching his fists. The teenager concentrated on the deep nothingness that served as the celestial canvas, but couldn't focus for long. The blackness was suddenly a room, and in the corner was a crying boy; a motherless boy, a beaten, bullied, broken boy, an unloved boy who Blaine loved so much.
That room became a hospital, and the boy was there, beaten, bullied, and broken into a million pieces. No one stood by his bed. No one knew he was there. No one knew that he was dying. No one but Blaine.
The teen shook his head again – he was fine, physically. He was strong.
The hospital bed became a coffin, and Blaine shot up, letting out a strangled sob. Forty-five minutes later he was outside a house, pajama-clad, barefoot, and on the verge of tears.
It was late yes, but a light was on in the living room. A tall boy answered the door, completely confused as to why there was a hysterical stranger on his porch. Luckily, Kurt pushed him out of the way, ushering Blaine into the warmth of the house.
As soon as they touch down on the landing of Kurt's bedroom, Blaine lost it. He sank to his knees, arms wrapping around the small boy's waist. Words spilled from his mouth, all jumbled together into a mess of hysteria – iloveyouweallloveyou and youknowthis,right?pleasesayyoudo and don'tfeelalonebecauseyou'renotalone – until he wasn't even speaking English anymore.
Kurt knelt down beside Blaine, and a faint redness in his eyes told the older boy that he had not been the only one crying that night. The blue-green orbs were dull, shadows masking the stars that usually shone so brightly from them.
Remembering the moon and the sky and the loveliness that hung above their heads, Blaine led Kurt outside, past Finn and his Skinemax marathon, out the back door of the Hummel-Hudson abode, into the chilly air of the night. They sat together on the grass, Blaine still shoeless and panicked, Kurt absolutely confused and touched. A cloud passed slowly across the moon, darkening the sky, and Blaine's mind was overwhelmed with thoughts of hospitals and coffins and a cold, lost Kurt, bloodless and unmoving, surrounded by something drastic, like a pool of his own crimson life source or empty orange bottles or a thousand notes uttering his last goodbyes.
Blaine had only known Kurt for a month – four long, brutal weeks in which the bullying at McKinley seemed to have stepped up a notch – but he felt connected to the younger teen. Maybe it was the recent suicides in the LGBT community that had him shook up so terribly, or the fact that small, fragile, young Kurt reminded Blaine of his own experiences in public school, but reason didn't matter at the moment. All that mattered was Kurt was broken and strong and so fucking beautiful that Blaine was ignoring his common sense and pressing his lips to Kurt's, hand trailing across the silky expanse of neck up into the boy's hair.
He pulled back, and a faint shining was back in Kurt's eyes. Blaine kissed him again, and again, and again, until his eyes were brighter than the stars, and suddenly the cloud passed on, and the world was bathed in the moon's milky glow again. Kurt smiles a little, and Blaine's beating heart calms down, retracting the threat of breaking through his chest with anxiety.
They fall back against the grass, hands intertwined as they watch the stars shimmer above them, all fears of the future replaced with a calm sense of belonging. The night is far from over, and their lives are just beginning.