I'm sorry for not updating any sooner, but can you blame me – each chapter is more or less 10-12 pages which is quite difficult to write in one day if I do say so myself. Now, onto the horrendous part of this equation – the laptop that had all my Glee in it just died, so I have to try a little harder to watch these things online.

Chapter 5

A cold shiver went up Blaine's spine when he had heard that voice again.

"Sebastian means nothing to me," it was a jeer, a dark mock, and Blaine found himself regretting every syllable of that statement, as he turned around to see Sebastian standing there with brilliant green eyes that held too much darkness for them to be ignored. Blaine should've known that he was there somehow, lurking in the shadows after the Tony fiasco.

Blaine found himself trying to tone out the anguish that he was feeling in his chest. It was a mixture of guilt, and guilt he'd deserved for even saying those words so carelessly, for saying things that he did not mean at the expense of others. Blaine had been standing in line in the Lima Bean, thinking of nothing more than what to buy – restriction or binge, black coffee or a sweet syrupy mocha that was going to fill him with nothing more than dread along with a croissant the size of his ass.

"I didn't mean it," Blaine finally said, sounding stronger than he felt. He always did. His teeth were gritted and he found himself automatically ordering a medium drip when he came up to the front line. Weak. He should've been able to decide that without Sebastian standing there, taunting him for his words, but he couldn't hate Sebastian because Sebastian had a point.

Blaine felt Sebastian's hand wander off to Blaine's shoulder. His grip was tight, and all Blaine can think about was the fat that localised in that area, disgusting – putrid fat that was widespread all over his body, scattered in globs and fistfuls of lard that he can grab with his hand.

Sebastian's turn came up and he ordered himself a latte, asking for a bit of alcohol to be in it. Blaine had not caught the name of the alcohol, but what else would Sebastian be ordering in his coffee? Chocolate syrup made him feel sick, and caramel was too heavy. He complained that hazelnut syrups ruined the taste. Extra sugar was unnecessary, and ordering things in 'skinny' versions was just hilarious.

Blaine had waited for his order, and taken the cup when it was prepared. His medium drip coffee that was barely any calories. He found himself staring at Sebastian for a few moments, and it suddenly dawned on him how thin he was. He had never thought of it, but Sebastian was ridiculously thin. Now, Blaine was flushing rather feverishly, thinking of how he must have looked like standing next to the brunette. He must have looked obscenely obese next to the effortlessly beautiful Sebastian Smythe.

Blaine shut his eyes. He wondered how he just realised this, how thin Sebastian was, and now, his mind was elusively making it worse. With every movement Sebastian made, all Blaine can see was his bony shoulders, his thin waist, his tiny thighs, and his tall frame. He wore it so well. Blaine swore that as Sebastian approached, he looked thinner instead of fatter, and this made him feel sick. Sebastian was passing by just so that he can get extra napkins. Blaine was still staring, realising that it was horrifically rude for him to do so but he couldn't help it.

His mind was instead raking up how thin Sebastian was, how he'd never ever come up to par with the tall brunette no matter how hard he tried. Soon after the jealousy had set in, so did the hatred – some of it was directed towards Sebastian, but most of it directed to himself. He hated Sebastian for being able to drink this latte and alcohol concoction without worrying about his waistline. He hated him for the fact that he used normal sugar in his coffee, and that he didn't worry about calories.

His mind was trying to calculate how much Sebastian weighed in that one minute, but he was at a loss. He was just staring at Sebastian as he moved so eloquently. His shoulders may be spaced out and broad, but his body looked brittle. He looked brittle. His mind raked up impossible weights. He looked like he weighed no more than sixty kilos (his mind was silently converting that to pounds, as the scale he used in was pounds, but oh, he was never a pounds person. He used to weigh in kilos all the time, but there was something so distressing about being seventy kilos and so short that made him feel sick.)

Somehow, as Sebastian moved, all Blaine can do was hope that Sebastian would let his weight slip out of his tongue. He can always ask, as he'd done nothing to let the brunette suspect that he was obsessed with his weight, but oh, was he obsessed. He was so obsessed that he was looking for any signs of protruding bone on Sebastian, and somehow knew that his hipbones were sharp, and his spine was sharper. His eyes were silently undressing Sebastian, not for the lust, but for the pure and utter need to know how the brunette looked like so unprotected. The bones were like flowers flourishing from Sebastian's body, and he had to see the flowers to hope for the rain to bestow upon his seedless crop.

He remembered standing in front of the mirror, a few months after the Sadie Hawkins dance, with circles under his eyes, and delicacy in his frame. He remembered his hand wandering off to his hipbones, trembling terribly. Look at you; he swore he can nearly hear Stephen's voice, like a tingle in his spine. Can't date a skeleton, Blainey. Can't date a skeleton.

"Sebastian," Blaine said his name as if he was under a spell. "I'm sorry," he said, not knowing how true his words were.

Sebastian looked at Blaine as if he was insane before a small but sincere smile crossed his lips. "Can't stay mad at you, Blainey," he muttered, shaking his head. "Can't," he reinforced.

It was that nickname slithering under his skin; the way that Blaine had said it just reminded him of Stephen. He somehow found a very small smile forming on his own lips, thinking of the fact that he was an exception to the rule and that made him feel happy if only for a small moment. "Hey, Sebastian," he knew it was a horrible question to ask but he can't help himself. "Uh, how much do you weigh?"

Sebastian snorted, rubbing his neck and shrugging. Blaine knew that Sebastian was six-foot-two, something that the brunette was too proud not to state. "I'm about fifty-eight kilos. Pretty damn small framed. I mean people think I look fatter, good for them."

"Wow," Blaine shook his head. "That's amazing." And horrific at the same time somehow.

He watched as Sebastian flexed just to show off the muscles that were practically microscopic to Blaine's eyes. Sometimes, Blaine wondered how Sebastian can weigh so little and look so normal. Somehow, Blaine's mind was morphing Sebastian's weight on him – it was almost as if his bones were thinning by the moment, and his skin getting paler and drier now. His collarbones seemed dangerously prominent, and he wondered if those feminine hands looked as skeletal as Blaine was seeing them. He could not help but see it as so. His eyes bent reality, and reality was but an image.

His self-loathing also had a great deal of loathing directed to Sebastian, and lust – somehow, he wanted to yank the brunette's head back and press his lips against Sebastian's own until the skin from Sebastian's lip was being pulled off by Blaine's teeth. He'd never felt so much lust for someone before, yet lust was just as it was – lust was lust. It was a need for sex, not a need for attachment or connection. It meant absolutely nothing.

Sebastian shrugged, and Blaine sipped his coffee along with him. He laughed here and there, though his laugh sounded hollow to his ears, or perhaps there was something wrong with his ears. He wouldn't be surprised if that was the case since everything else was wrong with him. He wondered how one body can withstand so much without breaking apart completely under the tensile and compressive stress it was being placed in. He just wondered, as he heard Sebastian speak. He tried not to stare at his body, those slender legs and beautiful neck. His mind drifted off to nowhere after some time, just a cavern of clouds built on fantasy.

After meeting up with Sebastian, the bulimic had found himself standing in line with a thousand huge bags of crisps, and chocolate bars in his hands. He had a pint of ice-cream before him. Everything seemed like a blur of Walkers, Cadbury and Ben and Jerry's. Everything seemed like a blur of colourful packets that promoted health benefits that junk food did not have. He had just realised that he wanted a croissant as well, and the craving was strong so he found himself standing in the bread aisle staring straight at croissants, and doughnuts. He'd have all of them. That fifty that he'd had saved up – he'd spent so much of it in one go, and he was afraid that this fifty would not fuel him for a day much less a week.

His hands were shaking as he picked up doughnuts from the aisle, and then he looked up catching a figure standing by the bread section. He'd sworn he'd recognise that distinctive jaw, that messy blonde hair, tall stature, and sloppy appearance anywhere in the world. It was the very thing that haunted his dreams. Blaine's heart fluttered, as he shook his head. No, Stephen was dead. Stephen was dead. Stephen was—when the boy turned around, Blaine could've sworn it was him. It was those eyes, that glint of that brown that made Blaine melt in his position.

He had only stared at him for some time, trying to process the idea of chasing him. He had dropped all the pastries that were in his hand, and his shopping cart was left abandoned full of binge food. He ran like he was on that trail, running for perfection. He can see that the boy had played for the bread and had left, and Blaine ran straight after him. The car that he got into was identifiable but Blaine could've sworn...

You're crazy, a part of his mind spat out. You are crazy. Stephen's dead. Stephen's dead because of you. He's not wandering around in a supermarket looking for bread. Stephen doesn't even like bread. He said it himself that bread makes you FAT. Fuck it. Why were you in the bread aisle anyway, Blaine? Did you really need to make your thighs expand even more? Are you really going to purge bread now?

He had to see it for himself, that that was Stephen. He had to. As far as he knew, Stephen was pronounced dead. Everyone hated him for it. He had no contact with Stephen's parents for years because of it, but now, he'd have to – to know if Stephen was actually alive or not. ARE YOU LISTENING TO YOURSELF? You saw Stephen die in front of you for God's sake, Blaine!

But that hair...those eyes... he swore—

Blaine shook his head again, and decided to leave the place. He shouldn't have been looking for any goddamned sugar, fat and sodium anyway. Like his hips needed anymore of that shit. He had left the supermarket, feeling disturbed and confused. For once, he'd somehow managed to push the thought of food to the back of his mind (though he was still somewhat thinking about it and glad that this can be his so called appetite suppressant). His thoughts were mostly composed of the boy he'd seen, that very boy that seemed so much like Stephen.

It couldn't be him, could it?


Blaine Anderson had given Kurt the fifty dollars that he had yet to spend that week, but it was only a bit in, and he was already thinking of the things he wanted to buy. His cellular plan and price of petrol was quite a bit. Kurt had asked him why, and Blaine had confessed to him recklessly spending his money on food. All of it, gone in less than a week. That he needed Kurt to keep account of his spending, and he'd said all of this with a soft flush to his cheeks. Kurt had decided to smile, shake his head and poke at his stomach. "So, you're being fed quite nicely, aren't you?"

Blaine would never tell Kurt that that was what he'd done when he was stranded in his car afterwards, just poke at his stomach repeatedly. Supposedly rock hard, but he loathed that about it. He loathed his muscular frame, something that he used to love, something that he'd built out of his own hands. Now, he wanted to destroy it. He wanted to destroy every bit of himself and leave nothing but thinness to prevail. As far as he knew, his intent was safe, as Kurt thought that he was 'being fed quite nicely', wasn't he?


He didn't know how it happened. He found himself grinning the next time he stood on Sebastian's scale, the one he'd kept in his room, stashed underneath his books. Sebastian was showering by then, and Blaine had gotten accustomed to the brunette's room. Blaine had stowed Sebastian's scale away yet again, and found himself standing there mindlessly muttering to himself. He wondered if the number was a fluke on his scale, yet his pants told him something differently. It fit looser around his terribly huge tummy, and his thighs seemed to be a bit smaller according to what he was wearing but right now, the mirror told him a different story.

He looked all but the same.


He was starved, shaking, and convoluting on the edge of his seat by the time he weighed in at that number. His eyes were wide with pain, and his hands were shaking. He was so dizzy from hunger that it overtook him. He mewled, and curled up into his hands. His weight loss was not a subject at all, not to the New Directions, not to the teachers that caught glimpses of him every day and not to the cashier behind the Lima Bean store that saw him nearly twice every single day. He just didn't know how to go about it.

Then he heard it. "You look thinner," it was said with a growl, as if he didn't like how that sounded, and of course, he wouldn't.

Blaine watched as Sebastian Smythe offered to buy him a muffin. What Blaine did not tell him that that was the first meal he'd had in days and it was not a meal at all. His body was depleted of food, and only had the smallest bits here and there. Often, he'd get nauseous from the lack of food in his body, and he'd thrown up bile a great deal in the last few days. He'd also managed to drop nearly ten pounds this week. He'd know he'd put some of it back on. He knew that he shouldn't resist Sebastian's offering, as to not raise suspicion.

So he ate, and then he hungered for more. He tried to hide his hands away. Kurt had asked him if he'd put foundation on his face that morning and Blaine had lied and said he had, only for Kurt to tell him that his foundation was making him look far too pale for Kurt's liking. He still laughed, and smiled, still somehow seemed so Blaine in front of everyone else, but in front of Sebastian, the mask fell and all the flowers died, and nothing was left but ashes to ashes. That was exactly what Blaine Anderson was made out of. Ashes, dust in the wind, all of those things.

How ironic for him to be any of these things when he was not feather light at all.

"You're little framed," Sebastian realised, grabbing Blaine's hand from where it laid on the table. "Like me."

There was something about that statement that left Blaine distraught, but he slowly nodded his head. Simply because in his mind, he felt like there was no association with him and Sebastian, not frame, not height, and definitely not weight.

"How much do you weigh?"

That was the question that Blaine was dreading. He felt all of the moisture leave his throat, as it burned in some sort of fire. The coffee he was sipping on was suddenly too drab for his liking. The world was grey and greyer still. The thought of answering the question left Blaine feeling defeated. "Sixty four," he rounded it, not wanting to sound overly obsessive that he had the number memorised.

Sebastian nodded his head, letting his hand trail towards Blaine's shoulder. "You've got so much muscle, Bee. Fuck."

Muscle weight, fat weight or water weight – Blaine did not want to weigh that absurd amount. In pounds, he was but 141.6, a significant decrease down from what he once was. He'd learned to work in pounds, because Kurt did, and now, he did do sometimes. Sebastian worked in kilos, and Blaine liked it that way sometimes. His Mother had worked in pounds, and so did his Father, but Blaine had always had a scale that worked in kilos, and always spat out numbers that they did not quite understand.

"I guess," Blaine looked out of the window. He can see a faint lining of his reflection. He just didn't look any thinner.

After his and Sebastian's coffee date, Blaine found himself driving mindlessly to Kurt's election. He was going to tell Kurt to borrow some money for some petrol for his car, and only that because he cannot be trusted with a bit more because a bit more can easily morph into puddles of gummy bears at his lap, and cola-cola candies littering the seats. He suddenly realised how guiltless he'd been meeting up with Sebastian incessantly these past few weeks.

Simply because Kurt was busy did not mean that he was allowed to do such things yet that was what Blaine found himself doing. He went to Sebastian's house, and they laughed there. He had met Sebastian's Mother, and Blaine had even helped decide Sebastian on a tattoo – though Blaine had honestly been shocked the moment that Sebastian said he was getting a tattoo. Sebastian was incredibly indecisive when it came to it. Blaine had seen Sebastian with his shirt off because they were deciding on where to place the tattoo.

Blaine suddenly realised that he'd touched Sebastian's skin, so close to sin. He'd ran his hand down that cold skin, seeing him shiver underneath that touch. Just as he'd predicted, Sebastian had a horribly sharp spine, hipbones and a faint lining to his ribs, but what caught his eyes most were his bony shoulder blades. He wanted to press his lips against that, simply because he knew his lips – though cold – would be warmer. Now, that Blaine was remembering all of these memories all he can feel was self-disgust.

How could he have done all of this and felt none of the guilt associated with such sin? He should be praying to God for remorse for his actions. He should be praying to God for refuge from the darkness—yet here he was, starving himself relentlessly, giving his boyfriend money, and fixated on nothing more than losing weight. He'd submitted to a monster created by self somehow.

He tried to push these thoughts way to go down towards the election. Kurt was counting on him, and he cannot be thinking about how much of a fuck-up in life he was at those moments. He'd promised himself that at least. This was Kurt's moment. Kurt, whom had been pushed to the back of his mind, for irrelevant things – such as a boy whom had been dead for too long that he thought he'd saw and another one that should have stayed a stranger. Now, he also felt bad, for the fact that he wasn't giving Sebastian the justice that he'd deserved when Sebastian had done everything in his power to make himself Blaine's saving grace.

It was in that election that things started to go fuzzy.

Kurt's introduction was fine. "Hello. I'm Kurt Hummel," he stood there looking proud and beautiful, and just about everything that Kurt was – porcelain angel. "I've been trying to address the real problem of obesity at this school..."

Now, here was where his mind had blocked out everything else. It was almost as if Kurt was talking about him, but Kurt wasn't talking about him and he knew that much. He just couldn't help but feel his stomach coil as he thought about it. He had just come to this school, and if obesity was such a problem, then he'd heard about it before? He swore his thighs could not get any fatter and his hands could not become any bigger. Small frame his ass. Everything was coated and covered in fat. It was a miracle he even had a frame.

"...well, I refuse to be bullied. In fact, I refuse to let anyone be bullied..."

Kurt's speech was fuzzy, and he couldn't have kept to it. His heart was pounding in his chest and his breathing had been constricted. He was suddenly aware of his body, too aware. Aware of every scrap of fat, every pound, every inch, and suddenly, they were expanding – bit by bit. He can feel the fat in his body, jiggling with his every movement. A quick jerk would cause his stomach to spill over his jeans, and his button to fly through the auditorium and hit Kurt's eye and send him to the ER.

"...it's violent and it's painful and it's humiliating..."

Now, all Blaine can think about was that one time they've done it. Glued together bit by bit. He can remember the feeling that he had with Stephen. He can remember sitting on that very chair that Blaine used to cuddle with his cat with, crying because everything seemed to unravel before his eyes, because he was violated, because it was violent, and painful and he was left humiliated. Kurt wasn't talking about that, was he? He shook his head. He was talking about dodgeball, but he could've sworn that...


He knew he was bending reality, but this time, the disorientation could be stopped no matter how real it sounded. Or maybe not. Kurt was done with his speech and Blaine stood up decked in his blue and red jacket. The waistband of his pants were hitting his stomach too hard, and he swore that he could not breathe. He could even begin to breathe.

Then what he'd dubbed as the Santana situation happened. She was outed, and suddenly, the memories fled back again, hitting him like a knife. He had to talk to Stephen's parents. He had to see if Stephen was okay. He was guilty, guilty for the fact that he didn't care about Santana. All he cared about was himself. Selfish Blaine. Selfish, selfish, selfish – but could he be blamed really when the world seemed to dull out his pain as if it were mere background music?

Perhaps. Perhaps not.

Finn wanted the Glee club to rejoice to make Santana feel better. When Finn had told her that there were always going to be people that were going to support her for what she was, he snorted. Nobody would support an eating disordered boy that wanted to murder himself through self-purging. Nobody would support him if he knew what he'd done – the murder he committed, the acts of darkness that lay in that skin of his.

"Blaine. Kurt." Finn introduced them to let them get up.

Blaine's shirt was an older one and it fit him perfectly – grey, a nice pretty grey actually. He wore a bowtie. He thought he looked fine for one. Yes, fat, but at least his clothing choices were not as horrid as they could have been. Blaine was supposed to introduce their song choice to Santana under Kurt's decision. "Santana, Kurt and I have a song we like to sing to each other in the car, and we want to sing that for you right now."

The car. The car simply because it was the everything for Blaine right now. He was always talking about his car when he spoke of 'the car' – the scent of its leather, the suffocating atmosphere, the tight environment. It was the car. He somehow felt his stomach drop. He did not want a song with the word 'perfect' in the title. He did not want this, because he was nowhere near perfect. Speaking about perfection made him feel like a target, as if someone was going to realise just how obsessed with the word and idea of perfection he was.

Just to add assault to injury, Santana seemed to have snidely remarked to this. "Well, there's nothing I love more than having two pretty ponies serenade me. I think we'd get further staging against a giant gellervention for Blaine than singing lady music."

If she was saying stuff like that about things he was not insecure with, then what was she thinking about the things he was insecure with? Like his walrus weight. He was standing there, calm and collected outside, but inside laid a panic in his wake.

Kurt didn't say anything to her against what she'd said about him. He was a bit gutted at that. "I know it's hard," he began. "It was hard for me too, but you can get through this."

"If you'd just stop being so defensive—"Blaine added on, only to be cut off by Santana.

"I'm trying," she gave him a sickly sweet smile that made him feel more than just a little nauseous, 'but your hideous bowties are provoking me." And there was it again, hitting him in places that he lacked insecurity in, but suddenly, he was far too aware.

"Wait, are we talking lady on lady or girl on girl? 'Cause there's a big difference," chimed in Puck irrelevantly. Mr Schue though to bring them back to the topic, and tell Kurt and Blaine to start off. Blaine honestly did not want to sing, but when Kurt's melodic voice filled the air, all he can do was melt in his position. He stared at Kurt, completely mesmerised. He always was when it came to Kurt. He simply had this ability to do just that regardless of what he was singing. Blaine swore that Kurt's voice was so angelic sometimes that the words that flew out of his mouth were near prophecies.

They sang together, in some sort of harmony. He was amazed at how he can be in sync with Kurt. His heart fluttered in his chest. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he remembered that Kurt was the one chasing him. It sounded so surreal right now, nearly impossible now that he thought about it. They sang to each other's tones, and Blaine felt free from the moment – he didn't know from what, but he was as free as a warbler.

He found himself holding Kurt by his shoulders after the song was done – his scent lingered in the air, his cologne in his nose. Kurt.

He was waiting for feedback, somehow flying high even without it. The rush of the stage, the self-purging, the beauty, the pain, the lack of pain, the emptiness, the absence of it – just the meaning behind each syllable that had slid out of his tongue.

Santana's feedback was not something that he had ever thought he'd need to hear. She looked snide in her position, with her arms crossed over her chest and her eyes burning with some sort of destructive delight. "Thank you, guys. Thank you, Finn, especially," somehow, with this so called sweet introduced, his stomach churned and bubbled with insecurity. "You know with all the horrible crap I've been through in my life – now, I get to add that."

Kurt and him looked back at her, slightly dejected. Kurt didn't say a word, but Blaine found himself unable to say anything against it. He felt as if she'd criticised every good aspect about him, and he was now left, stripped to nothing but this.

He could tell that she'd be stand-offish this entire week. He didn't need her to say so. He could tell that things would just spiral out of control with her, but he can also somehow tell that they'd get out of this unscathed. His prediction was reinforced later on in the week when Finn was hugged tightly after a song, and a bit of heart to heart. Blaine didn't honestly feel like he existed there during that week, not in Glee at least. His mind, body and soul was invested in Kurt, Stephen and Sebastian – in that order, the correct one for once.

He can remember Kurt realising that he'd lost. He had not gone to Blaine, but he'd gone to Rachel. He had lost the elections that were his sole drive for so long, and Blaine felt his heart give out to him, but the fact that he'd gone to Rachel first made him feel insecure. In his head, he was running over all possible weights she was at, at her height, and even though he knew her weight would dress differently to his frame – he still found himself struggling to accept it. He recalled hearing 50kg from Finn once, 110, perfect, lithe, fragile-sounding. He paused for a few moments, and realised that that would be a perfect weight to be at. Just a bit below where he was during those darker days.

He wondered if he could, and then thought if he should...it sounded so drastic of a change, then not drastic enough. He rubbed his neck. He was 115 and fat before. Surely, five more pounds would not be good enough to achieve his perfection? Then again, he was two inches shorter. Perhaps, perhaps, 110 may be the key. His mind was swirling with thoughts. He stood there more determined than ever. Blaine realised that Kurt would not talk to him about his election-related frustrations, and he, in turn, should not feel bad for not telling him about his weight, Stephen, or Sebastian.

Thinking of the last one, something so interrelated with Kurt left him feeling slightly sick. He knew that logically he should tell Kurt – about Sebastian at least, but fear was a harder drive than love this time. Just as he found himself standing there stoically, Kurt had walked up to him with a very soft smile and sharp nod to his head. "Let's go get lunch."

Blaine would have told himself that he was lying if he said that he'd forgotten there was a lunch period. Every day, he'd be debating whether or not to eat. After realising how distant Kurt was getting, Blaine thought that the only perfect thing for him to do was wait until Kurt offered to go to lunch. This was exactly what was happening now, except instead of an offer, it was a near demand and Blaine was always the obedient.

Blaine followed Kurt straight into the lunch hall. He was in a fleet of fear and absurd anticipation. He wanted to eat. He wanted nothing more than to eat. It had been thirty-six hours since his last morsel, and this entire idea of fasting was disgusting. He seemed to put on quite a bit regardless of what he'd eaten, so this was where his logic came in and he started looking for whatever he wanted served down the lunch line. Of course, this meant that he putting a horrible amount of calories on his plate.

It's okay, a part of him was convinced otherwise. You just won't eat for another day. Don't worry.

Blaine's hands were shaky. He knew that Amy had paid for this, so now, he felt horrendous for wasting her money when he should have been eating from before but at the same time, he couldn't feel a thing for her. He just didn't care anymore. Jayden had called him every insult under the moon, and she'd done nothing about it despite her knowing that his parents would have stopped Jayden from tongue-lashing at Blaine if they could.

Blaine had found himself shoving everything that Kurt would disapprove of. Chips, following pizza, a brownie and a chocolate chip biscuit. The canteen food wasn't abhorrent and knowing with this hunger that was suddenly building up in the core of his stomach at the sight of food, at the smell of it – that he honestly would not care how it tasted like as long as it was food. He and Kurt sat down and Kurt watched him demolish all of what was on his plate in minutes.

Kurt had blinked repeatedly, as if trying to process the fact that Blaine had honestly eaten all of that without gagging – the only talent he seemed to have at that current moment. He swore that the bloat that was in his stomach was horrifically unimaginable, and his stomach was stretched out to disturbing limits. He felt as if he'd eaten the whole world's supply worth of salt. He was disgusted at himself, yet at the same time, he wanted nothing more than to get up and eat more. He also wanted to starve himself simultaneously, and had been wanting so with every morsel he had.

He was torn to pieces, as he sipped away his frustrations. His hunger was gnawing at him, but he told himself that he had no money, and he could not be caught stealing for God's sake, and for God's sake, he must attain to that at least. He'd already done so much to destroy, to hurt, that he did not need another sin accumulating on his never-ending pile of sins. He'd heard before from a priest that allowing one sin into your life was simply allowing your life to unravel, bit by bit, sins accumulate into a heart that was once white and pure. Now, Blaine's heart was not white, nor pure. It was dark, and black, bottomless in its essence and existence.

Nothing can feed his hunger, his hunger for sin.

A few days later, it was the same thing, and now, he found himself professing his sin to the porcelain God. His fingers scraped against his throat, and the ache in his throat. The burning ache in his throat that was leaving him shakily. He did not eat most of the week, but when he did, it was because Kurt was inviting him, and he'd always eaten the most. That dinner that he found himself scratching his throat in was one he'd had after eight-one hours of no food. He was pushing his body to an absurd limit he realised. He loathed how his senses seemed to sharpen, and his mind seemed to finally form coherent thoughts within minutes of ingesting a certain percentage of food. He enjoyed being ill in a way that he couldn't understand. He loathed that all of the negative symptoms he'd been experienced the past few days – dizziness when standing up, stomach aches from horrific hunger pangs, and being unable to tolerate cold temperatures.

He'd eaten off so much - Kurt was literally shocked at the amount that did stomach. Even at a gathering where overeating was inevitable, this was not the normal. Blaine had thought that not eating for a while would make eating very uncomfortable, but it seemed as if the minute that food was introduced into his mouth, he seemed to gobble it all down – especially if Kurt was the one paying for it. With Sebastian, the brunette was not as food-orientated, although he seemed to be the only one that noticed any chance in Blaine's weight, so Blaine didn't eat at all when they were around except for the times that Sebastian remembered that he had not offered Blaine a muffin in a while but that had become a rare occurrence.

Blaine had noticed the cycle he was trapped in. If not for the fact that he only went to these dinners once or twice a week, he would have had an insanely fluctuating weight for quite some time now. He didn't know how much he weighed, but he can guess that it wasn't as much as he thought it was – he thought he weighed as much as the size of an elephant and was afraid to weigh in just for that confirmation. He scraped up the food that was in his stomach against the porcelain bowl, and stopped when he saw nothing more than stomach acid. His stomach was in pain. He loathed not eating after purging, because the hunger pangs were unimaginable.

That was what he got for being so stupid. He'd be living on whatever he can fend off in his car. The few bottles of water that he'd taken from Kurt's fridge whenever he was in the room. Kurt was always eating it seemed, but rarely ever offered because Kurt was one that lived by the philosophy that if Blaine wanted something, he would have asked for something to eat. He made coffee most days, and sat beside Kurt with shaky hands. Even then was his liquid consumption low. His food consumption was non-existent for most of the week, but outraging for that day or so that Kurt had asked him to go out for them to eat.

The binging and purging had left him into a mindset of fasting, and fasting made him overexercise simply because overexercising took every edge off his appetite.

After his binge with Kurt, he'd spent most of his times with Sebastian and Sebastian never quite mentioned food. He was more cautious about being in Sebastian's room now, not for the fact that it was a sinful thing – being in Sebastian's room (yes, yes, it was, and he didn't even care anymore like the disgusting sinner that he was) – but for the fact that he wanted to weigh-in and at the same time, wanted to go around Sebastian's suspicion. On a Friday, he weighed in at 143.2, which made him want to scream. He had no self-strain or control.

He had to stop this. It obviously didn't matter how long he went without eating if he was putting the weight back on when he did eat. His heart was twisting in his chest, and he wasn't doing it for the right reasons. The only good reasons to fast was to get closer to God, and he was doing it simply because he wanted to lose a bit of tub on his tummy. It was disgusting; to see how fast he'd fallen into the pits of his own bulimic mindset from before. Bulimic no more, he told himself, simply because bulimia was taking a toll on his body, frame and mind. He swore to himself that if he did not stop binging and purging ever so often that he was going to tell Sebastian about it. He knew that he can restrict, not for too long before the binging overtook, but he'd decided that tomorrow was a day where he would eat less and that was what a day it would be.

Now, that he'd got his eating settled, he thought of Stephen.

He opened up his sketchbook again, and drew. He drew Kurt, and then drew Stephen. Somehow, along the lines, he was trying to emulate memories. He spent hours distracted by the curves his fingers can make, the shading, the softness in the drawings. He found himself immersed in that realm again, the scent of the paper between his fingers and just the feel of the pencil against his skin. It was almost like second nature – no, it was second nature. It was beautiful in ways that most people did not understand, and he hoped nobody ever would.

He purged himself through ink and paper and then he cried as he felt it all rushing back to him. Every waking feeling of that night – surely, it had to be real. Surely, Stephen had to be dead, and surely, he was holding onto false hope. That encounter he had with that boy, though only lasted a short few seconds, challenged his idea of a dead Stephen and him coming to the realisation that he probably was dead was leaving him restless and unhappy – almost as if he had to watch him die all over again.

The next few days were spent with him doing little else but going to school, drawing and he was eating – though had relapsed into a pattern of only eating during school days and going to others' houses in the weekend to eat something for dinner. He still starved, but had not quite fell into the binge and purge trap yet again. For one, his mind was dull, and he was brought back into the place he was years ago during the depression. He didn't even want to eat. The thoughts were there and they lingered, but his hunger had subsided, and he lacked cravings.

All he found himself wanting to do was sleep. His hunger late at night meant nothing to him anymore. It was not as important as thinking about sleep, and what lingered for him in the world of sleep. The world looked dull. Kurt, his source of comfort, looked to be dull. Blaine suddenly was aware how irrational his thinking was towards Kurt – that Kurt was distant because of him. That Kurt didn't want to be near him. He felt the guilt following him around, intensified more than ever. He didn't think about it all the time, but sometimes, he'd be attacked by this sudden wave of helplessness and guilt that left him feeling sick.

He remembered after Sadie Hawkins, how things seemed to blur and the world looked duller. He remembered waking up in the morning, staying awake for the first ten minutes and then wishing he'd fall asleep again. He remembered only eating properly when his Mother told him too. Dinner was the only meal that he consumed regularly properly, whilst he spent the rest of the day stomaching toast, omelettes and chocolate – very rarely would anything else slip under his mouth those days. Everything was just...confusing. Now, everything was confusing again, and Blaine didn't know how to feel about that. He didn't know if things were supposed to be so dull and disturbing, or if things were supposed to get under his spine like this.

He didn't understand why it was coming back right now. His parents had died some time ago. Stephen had died a long time ago, and it had been months but he was slipping back into his state of true depression – something that he had no control over. He remembered his Mother telling him to take his pills, and him crying and screaming because he didn't feel like he deserved the help, that he deserved the pain because of what he did to Stephen. Whenever Stephen was mentioned at those days, the house somehow slid into some sort of standstill silence – as if it was a topic that nobody was allowed to discuss, something that was not okay to think about.

Next time he weighed in, he was at 138.2, this was the lowest he'd weighed in so long, and the other time he weighed in, he was at 139.5. There was panic about gaining, but no emotion next to losing. He couldn't care enough to stop himself from eating, but at the same time, he did not eat that much. He ate more than he had during restriction phases, but still, so much less than the average male would consume in a day.

He felt a hand slide on his shoulder, bringing him closer and looked up to see Kurt's eyes. It was one of those moments where Blaine was aware of his height, but only because he had to look up. It was one of those moments where he felt like he had to stand on his toes just to see the beauty clearly. Kurt had offered a croissant. Blaine hadn't eaten breakfast, and nodded his head. He buttered his croissant and drank tea that morning instead of his usual coffee.

"There's something different about you," Kurt chose to state, murmuring under the breath. "You look tired."

Blaine shrugged, and chose not to respond to that. "I guess."

Kurt had his NYADA application on the table. He kept on writing it, crumbling it up and then starting to rewrite it again. Blaine didn't want to think about how many times he'd printed that application. Kurt seemed to have wanted to ask a question beforehand, but it somehow slipped his mind when he saw the application.

Blaine's hand slipped into his sketchbook, and he found himself opening a new page. Kurt's concentration levels were amazing when he was concentrating on his application and Blaine found himself senselessly drawing every curve of Kurt's frame, every bit of embodiment that lay before him, the skin, salt, and those eyes. He'd never quite drawn a person as intimately as he did then, and never with them in the same room as him. Blaine was self-conscious when it came to his drawings per say.

Blaine found himself looking up after finishing off Kurt's cheek to look at Kurt and noticed that the brunette was not there. Blaine suddenly was aware of the figure looming over his shoulder, and Blaine looked up. Hazel eyes meeting Kurt's face, that were filled with shock. "I never knew that you can draw, much less that you can draw like that."

Blaine's lips softly formed a smile. "Like what?"

The words fell out of Kurt's lips like it was a prophecy that most people could not quite understand. "Like this is the only thing you're good at."

Blaine honestly felt like it was the only thing he was good at. Kurt's hand had drifted towards the sketchbook, and he flipped the page. It was another picture of Kurt and the thought of that made the brunette smile. He turned the page and then his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Blaine knew what page his eyes had landed on.

"You're drawing Sebastian?"

Blaine shrugged, and then smiled weakly. "It doesn't mean anything, Kurt," but the brunette seemed angry at him and Blaine's stomach sloshed, reminding him how wrong it was that he was thinking of Sebastian when he drew. Kurt had shut the sketchbook and Blaine found himself grabbing it before shoving it into his bag and looking at Kurt to ask him for a bit of money so he can buy more coffee.

Kurt was a bit colder when giving up the needed money for him to be able to buy a cup of coffee. Blaine had gone to the line with hope of getting a good, warm cup of coffee before his eyes suddenly was met with the stranger that stood beside him. Blaine's heart was thudding. That blonde hair, dishevelled in that way, that height, that frame...his heart was beating quickly.

Then he heard him speak, and Blaine knew that either he was hallucinating, seeing ghosts or there was another explanation to it that made actual sense.

The boy before him turned around, and looked as if he just vaguely recognised Blaine. Blaine's jaw dropped, his eyes glittering under the light. His face trying to take into those features that had haunted him for so long—a look of confusion rested on the blonde's face, but it was not just a 'look of confusion'. It was his look of confusion. It only validated what Blaine believed to be true.

"...Stephen?" Blaine called out, choking very softly. "Stephen Eli Blake?"

A face of recognition replaced Stephen's face, and the blonde raised an eyebrow. "Blaine?" he realised, shaking his head. "Blaine Devon Anderson?"

And that was when things started to blur even more.

yes. i am leaving you off with the biggest cliffhanger known to mankind. now, let's just hope i upload the next chapter next week or so. i'm just hoping. it's so much to writeeeeeeeeee.

xo Peanut Butter/Sam