'Go Outside' by Cults, from their debut, self-titled album.


In the night things were easy and neither of them could guess why. It was simple. Cook a meal, eat it, watch TV on the couch, arms and legs wrapped together. Brush teeth, get in bed. Kiss. Fuck. Just sleep. In the night, it was easy and both of them knew why but neither wanted to admit it. In the night, when they were tired, that was life. Life was food and television and sleep.

That's the easy stuff.

In the morning things got difficult. In the morning one would wake up and watch the other sleep. One would want to love the other and would be unable to. His heart would beat and it would pump blood and he would want to smile but found that he could not.

In the morning, breakfast was a solitary affair. To the bus stop. To work. To classes. It was a day spent apart, a sporadic text all that kept them linked. The daylight disinfected the morning's fester and then it would be back home.

Dinner. Television. Sex.

They'd tell themselves they were pleased with orgasms that felt mechanical. They'd tell themselves they were happy going through the motions. A grope, a kiss, a fuck that didn't feel like love anymore.

"Is this it?" Kurt asked Blaine one night, when Blaine was almost asleep.

"Yes," Blaine said without thinking.

In the winter, it started. One morning, Kurt didn't get out of bed. Blaine ate his breakfast by himself, and Kurt lay in their bed. When Blaine came home, Kurt hadn't moved. The apartment was cold, the television silent. Kurt's books hadn't been touched, the stereo hadn't been turned on.

Blaine sat at the edge of the bed and asked him what was wrong but Kurt didn't answer. "To me," the slighter man said at long last, "death is not a fearful thing. It's living that's treacherous."

And then he sang, and Blaine realised it had been months since they'd sung to each. Sung for each other.

"I really want to go out," Kurt began, and he sat up in bed. It was music they could hear now, not the silence of the apartment and the cars on the street outside. "I really want to stop to see your day. You really want to hole up. You really want to stay inside and sleep the light away."

Then they were standing, and Kurt was holding Blaine's waist, and they were kissing and for the first time in a long time they meant it. They held on, they kissed, and they didn't stop.

"I know what's good," Blaine sang, "exactly because I have been there before. And I know what's good; exactly what the night cannot behold."

They were dancing, slowly; they were at school again, and everything was simple bubblegum pop and bad eighties covers. Their hearts pounded out a xylophone beat. They were young and beautiful, they were themselves again. They were dating, not living; they were loving, not feeling their way through life, two blind men pulling themselves along.

"I think that we should break up," Kurt told him.

The music stopped.

"I really want to live my life and you're just in my way."

And all was silent.