NOTES: Visitors begin to see Marley and offer their condolences and make a few requests.
It had to have been a new day because different nurses were tending to the tubes, bandages, and machines that seemed to be branching out of every single spot of her body. It was kind of sad and pathetic that the changing nursing shifts were how she judged the time passing. It wasn’t the most sad thing about the whole situation, but Marley didn’t want to even think about the most sad and depressing part of it all. It would hurt too much and the more she even thought about it, the more she thought about just letting go and she had that choice. It was a big one and a terrifying one. How was she supposed to decide whether or not to stay? Marley wasn’t sure that she wanted to leave but what did she have keeping her here in a world without her family? Was there even anything that could get her to stay?
She could hear the mumbled conversations of the nurses and doctors as they filtered into her room. She was stable- Marley was just unable to tell whether that was good or bad. She was still in a coma and until she decided whether to stay or go, they wouldn’t know the full extent of her injuries, but for now she was here and she was stable. Apparently that was something she should be thankful for, and the people around her had the audacity to say just as much. She would be thankful if her parents and little brother were here. She would be thankful if they had never gotten in the accident to begin with. Instead, she had to be thankful that she was here and that her injuries weren’t worse. It was crap and it pissed her off. They didn’t know anything.
At least she was doing well enough to see visitors, even if it was just family for now. Marley was grateful for that, she was, but there was one person that she wanted to see more than anything- Jake. She knew he was here now. After all, she had heard him barreling in before the nurses stopped him. Despite the fact that she knew she couldn’t be heard, Marley begged and pleaded for them to just let him in. However, he was stuck in the waiting room with everyone else that was there for her- her grandparents, Tina, her parents’ friends, his friends. Sure, it was reassuring seeing them all there for her, but they weren’t Teddy. They weren’t her crazy, embarrassing parents. They weren’t really her family. And that’s what she needed now to get her through this, her family.
Her head popped up when she heard someone enter the room. She could practically feel herself hoping that it was Jake or Tina even though Marley knew it couldn’t be. Marley did however give a small smile when she saw her grandparents enter the room. Her gran took the chair next to her bed while her stoic gramps stood in the corner. Marley watched as her grandmother took her hand and began talking. She rambled on and on about anything and everything, except the loss of her family. She got all caught up on her gran’s gardening, her prize-winning orchids, and all of the family’s drama. It was one of the things that she loved about her gran- she was very no-nonsense but more than anything, she was trying to act like nothing had happened. Like Marley wasn’t sitting in a hospital bed with tubes and machines breathing and living for her. And she appreciated it more than her gran would ever know. Maybe one day she have the chance to tell her that or maybe she would just know.
‘...And Tina and Jake are here too. They wanted to make sure that you knew that. Even though they aren’t here physically right now, they are here. Don’t forget that hun. We’ll get them in here for you. Promise.’ Her gran finished before a doctor was beckoning her out of the room to fill her in on Marley’s condition. Marley watched as her gran planted a kiss on her forehead before hesitantly following the doctor out of her room and into the hallway.
That’s when her gramps stepped in cautiously, taking the seat that her gran once had. She could tell that he looked terrible, like he hadn’t slept in days and maybe even like he had been crying. It was a strange, yet completely heartbreaking sight. Marley had never seen her grandfather upset or cry or anything really. It wasn’t that he was emotionless, he was just a very stoic man. The only time that he really opened up to her was when he took her to her Juilliard audition in San Diego. Even then he didn’t say much, but he complimented her playing and had said he was proud of her. Honestly, that was all that she needed to hear and made all the stress and nervousness of the audition worth it. And now, he had that same look on his face as he did back then, like he was about to say something profound. As her gramps reached over and grabbed her hand, Marley leaned in closer and clung to every single word he said.
‘I uh, I don’t know how else to say this Marley,’ he started, the emotion present through the cracking in his voice. ‘I know that everyone wants you to stay here with us, with your family. I want that too. I want that more than anything else in this world and I know that you can do it. That you’re strong enough to stay and make it through all this. But I understand if you don’t want to. I understand that you might not want to stay her and that it might be really hard to fight through all of this and that you might not want to fight. I understand that Marley. That’s why I’m telling you that it’s okay if you don’t want to stay, if you want to stop fighting. It’s okay for you to leave us here. It’ll be hard but we understand. It’s okay for you to let go.’
Marley could feel the tears in her eyes as she listened to him speak and she began to cry harder when she realized that he was crying too. She couldn’t even begin to describe the weight that was lifted off her shoulders and the relief that washed over her in its place. She finally felt like someone understood and even though she didn’t need his permission (or anyone’s really) it made her feel better because it showed her that they understood. It showed her that they would eventually be okay with her decision. “Thank you Gramps. I love you.” Marley whispered as she wiped the tears from her eyes. If they would be understand and be okay with her decision then Marley would be too. Her mind was made up. She knew what she had to do.
what ➛ The hockey players find Atticus and make him pay for sticking up for Blaine during the holidays. (trigger warning: violence and homophobia)
Atticus
The remainder of Atticus’ winter break passed quickly. The events that had transpired with Blaine at the supermarket had left him irritable, but his family just knew to leave him well enough alone until he dealt with his shit and got his head out of his ass. By the time his alarm blared Monday morning, he was prepared to walk into school with his head held high and holding no evidence that he had any kind of stress in his life at all.
He was true to his word. He didn’t notice anyone with the intention of throwing a slushie at Blaine or tossing taunts in his direction, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t happening. He wasn’t looking for it. He was actively avoiding Blaine, actually, taking different routes in the hallway and sitting on the opposite side of the room in the classes they shared. But despite all of that, school was a welcomed distraction. He had his friends, he had girls in short Cheerio skirts to ogle, and best of all, he had sports.
As wishy washy as he was in his passions, Atticus liked to stay active. He liked being on the swimming team and he liked being on the Cheerios, and he especially liked his weight lifting class behind the final period of the day. He liked the exertion and he liked having the opportunity to shower and refresh himself before going home on days when he didn’t have practice.
Today, he lingered.
Most of the other guys in his class had showered and left, ready to gather their things and meet up with their friends before the final bell to go home. Atticus, on the other hand, lent himself extra time under the warm water, and by the time he stepped out, there was about seven minutes until the end of day bell and everyone else had already vacated the locker room.
Pinching the towel around his waist, he ran his hand through his hair and pulled his duffle bag from his locker. He tugged on his underwear and then his jeans, and was reaching for his shirt when he heard the squeaking of a shoe.
Immediately, he tensed. Honestly, Atticus had kind of been waiting for some kind of blowback with the jocks since their encounter at the supermarket, but he’d hardly seen either of the men all day. Jaw set, he straightened up and looked around, just in time to see a large body flying at him.
He sprang into action, flinging his arms up to halt any further advancement. The other shouted something he couldn’t comprehend and he swung, making contact with the side of his head and stumbled back. From behind, the second grabbed him and he kicked, once again making contact with the first jock before he was shoved off by the second, effectively losing his balance.
And then someone took a swing and hit him right in the eye, flinging him back as his head ricocheted off of the locker behind him with a crack.
Everything swam, and with a kick, he dropped.
The pain in his head was blinding and he couldn’t tell what hurt worse- that, or the kicks being aimed at his torso. Every time he tried to stand he had his feet knocked out of him, until eventually he slumped, spitting a series of profanities and slurs at the guys aiming blows at him. And then, not a minute and a half after it started, it stopped, and they left, spitting homophobic slurs in his direction.
It was quiet, then, and Atticus slowly pushed himself upright, the lights from above blinding him and making his head throb. His head was fuzzy but with as much thought as he could manage, he could tell that he couldn’t get a deep breath and movement- oh, that hurt. He was conscious, which was good- beneficial- but beyond that he couldn’t grasp much of anything aside from the wave of nausea upsetting his stomach. He swore, propping his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands as he waited for it to pass, hoping that he’d be able to get his shit together enough to walk out of this fucking locker room.
Stupid fucking hockey players.
Blaine
It was impossible to forget the argument that they'd had, but Blaine did his best to put it behind him. It worked relatively well for the rest of the break - he focused on homework, Glee club practice, boxing, piano, in fact, there didn't seem to be a single moment where he wasn't busy doing something. This wasn't exactly unusual so no one asked him any questions. He didn't really have any time to miss hanging out with his friend. Of course, there were odd times when he was lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling that his mind would wander and he'd be reminded of just how nice it had been to be with Atticus. And whenever these thoughts took over his mind he ended up replaying their conversation in the parking lot, listening to the other boy telling him that he liked him over and over again.
That part still didn't seem real.
Eventually the break came to a close and Blaine was woken sharply by his alarm clock bleeping on his bedside table. With a groan he clicked it off and once again got back into his daily routine. Christmas had been a nice chance to relax, but now it was back to the grindstone and he wasn't going to let anything get in the way of his school work. However, once he set foot in school that went out of the window. It seemed as though he spent the majority of the day looking for Atticus, trying to spot him in the hallway or in the cafeteria but the other boy wasn't anywhere to be found. It became obvious why once they settled down into their first shared lesson: he was avoiding Blaine. Stupidly that knowledge hurt; he should have expected it after what had happened but it was still hard to swallow.
Once he'd figured it out he kept his head down. He was still acutely aware of whenever Atticus was near him but he tried not to seek him out. Instead he focused on his work, trying to discipline his mind into not wandering but even that was difficult. In the end the day seemed to crawl by until he was, finally, sat in his last lesson of the day, staring at the clock and willing the hands to move quicker. He wanted to get home, change into something comfy, put a Disney DVD on and feel sorry for himself all night. That sounded like heaven.
He was one of the first out of the classroom, swinging his bag over his shoulder and heading towards his locker. He put in his combination and stepped back, swapping his books over as quickly as he could before he noticed something was wrong. His gym bag wasn't in there. A loud groan escaped him and he nearly headbutted the side of the locker as his chin dipped to his chest. He'd have to go back and get it, otherwise someone could steal it or the janitor could throw it away or...something.
With a huff he turned on his heel and hurried towards the changing rooms. If he was quick this wouldn't put a dent in Operation Ice Cream fest.
The school was emptying fast and he slipped through the crowd with ease until he neared the gym. He could hear loud voices ahead of him, which turned out to belong to several large hockey players who wasted no time in shouldering him out of their way. He missed the lockers, thankfully, but it was enough to make him pick up the pace. He wanted to get out of here. Now.
He pushed open the door to the changing room, quickly scanning the room and finding it empty. With that assurance he stepped inside and made his way towards the locker he'd used that day, however, just as he reached it he heard a noise. His brow furrowed and he took a cautious step forwards, leaning around the row of lockers to try and see who was there.
His heart seemed to stop at the sight before him. He dropped his bag and hurried forwards, his eyes wide as he took in the bruised and bloodied form of his friend. “What -? Are you –“ There was no point in asking him if he was okay, was there? “Let me look, please?” He asked gently, his hand hovering over Atticus’ shoulder but not yet touching; he didn’t want to scare him and make anything worse.
Atticus
Atticus didn't hear the door or the footsteps that followed, but he was acutely aware of the bag dropping on the floor. He flinched on instinct, immediately wincing at the way his ribs protested to any movement whatsoever, withdrawing further into himself. It would pass. This had to pass; he'd man up, walk out of that locker room, go to his car, drive himself home. He'd sleep, he'd wake up, and he would be as good as new in the morning. In the back of his mind he recognized that something was definitely hurt- a broken rib, perhaps, but he hoped to fuck not- and his head was throbbing, but he didn't want help. He didn't need help.
But of course, who else were to find him than Blaine fucking Anderson? Just his luck.
He didn't want the pity, he didn't want the argument. He didn't want anyone to know just how he'd been ambushed and had hardly gotten in any ounce of a fight. He pulled an arm up and clenched his jaw. "Mf-" he began, but the consequence noise came out slurred and he paused, regained his composure, and tried again. "Don't- I'm fine, I just. I'm fine." He wondered, briefly, if he looked bad. He was shirtless so the majority of the wounds were visible, save for where he was hunched over. He swore again, refusing to look up. He could feel the black eye forming.
Except- oh, yep, still nauseated. He pulled a fist to his mouth, trying to even out his breathing but finding that impossible, considering he couldn't manage to get a deep breath. "Just- trash can, please, and then go so I can vomit my lunch out with dignity." Deep down, he didn't want Blaine to go. Not really. But his irritation regarding their fight and the situation at hand was too strong, and any inclination he may have had to cling to the boy and never let go was good and buried.
Blaine
There was nothing worse than seeing someone in pain, whether you knew them or not, but to see a friend in distress was one of the worst things Blaine could think of. He should have gotten here sooner. If he'd remembered that he'd left his gym bag here right at the end of class then maybe he'd have been able to stop this earlier. He knew that this wasn't the time for self-recriminations but the longer he stared, taking in the myriad bruises that littered his friend's skin he couldn't stop it. He wanted to take the pain away. There was no way Atticus had done anything to deserve this - no one could deserve such a savage beating.
"Don't." He practically snapped, refusing to allow the other boy to pretend that he was fine. He was well aware of what those bruise could mean beneath his skin and there was no way it didn't hurt like hell. He still didn't dare touch him; he could remember how hard it had been to accept even the gentliest of touches right after he'd woken up in hospital. There was always the fear that more pain would follow. His eyes, however, never stopped roaming, cataloguing bruises and cuts and trying to figure out how best to help. Really Atticus should be going to a hospital - he'd need to be checked out, although if he'd done anything to his ribs the most they'd be able to do would be to bandage them. They might be able to give him some pain meds, but from the looks of it he wouldn't need to stay in more than a night at most.
His head snapped up when his friend mentioned being sick and worry started to gnaw in the pit of his stomach. That wasn't a good sign. That could mean head injury. Concussion. God anything! He stood quickly, turning on his heel and rooting around until he found the nearest trash can. Carefully he set it down next to Atticus, before he knelt next to him once again. "I'm not leaving. Not when you're in this state. You'll never get out of here without help anyway. And you'll need someone to drive you to a hospital." He wasn't going to take no for an answer and he hoped his expression said as much. Gently he nudged the trash can closer, "Can you give me a scale for the pain? Like out of 10?" He asked, "Anything other than nausea? Vision problems? Anything?"
Atticus
Reaching forward, he gripped the trash can thankfully and pulled it in close to him, knowing it was only a matter of time before it came in handy. He gripped the edges, a groan escaping him at the words coming out of Blaine's mouth. Fuck. He didn't want to go to the hospital. He didn't have to- he knew what happened, he knew what was wrong, and all he needed to do was go home and sleep. Medicate himself. Watch some trashy television. Kick someone's ass the minute he didn't want to shout every time he moved his torso. But Blaine was here, and Blaine cared too much and while normally he might have liked the attention, at the moment all he wanted to do was be alone. Kind of. That feeling was intermixing with his overwhelming desire to wrap himself up in the boy and never let go, but he definitely didn't want to entertain that idea anymore.
"I don't- I'm on the Cheerios," he stated blatantly, as if that explained at all. "I've gotten hurt enough to know that this is a- a thing, a concussion." He looked up at Blaine, finally, the first time since the boy arrived, and- oh, yeah, light hurt. He closed his eyes. "I don't want to go to the hospital. I don't need to. I just need to sleep. Just- sleep." The wave of nausea got the better of him, then, and he lurched forward despite the pain in his abdomen and vomited into the trash can, clutching onto it like a lifeline. When he pulled back finally, wiping his mouth off on the back of his hand, his body felt like it was on fire from the exertion.
With another groan, he slumped back against the lockers again and braved another look up at Blaine, because hell, there was no point in hiding anything now. "Can you, uh. Shirt, please?" He asked, gesturing to the bench where his bag was sitting.
Blaine
It took a lot to not snap back at the other boy; it was all very well knowing what a concussion was but it was another thing entirely to pretend that it was nothing. Concussions were horrible, although Blaine hadn't had to deal with one, he'd read all about them. He'd wanted to make sure he knew all about these sorts of injuries, because there was no knowing when he'd next need to know these things. If he'd transferred this wouldn't be a problem, but since he'd stayed at McKinley he'd wanted to know the worst someone could do to him. He'd read up on head injuries and other minor problems - he'd learnt all about strapping ribs and stopping bleeding. Apparently that would now come in handy, which he supposed was something he should be thankful for.
"You're not sleeping with a concussion." He replied firmly, wincing when his friend leant forwards and threw up into the bin. He reached out now, rubbing his back gently in an effort to help. He kept his touch light, trying not to disturb any bruises or cause any further pain. Once the other boy had finished he took the trash can away and placed it to the side, leaning back on his haunches and nodding.
"Sure." He moved towards the bag, riffling through it until he found a shirt. Once he had it in his hand he turned back to Atticus, dropping to the floor again and gently he took hold of his arm and placed it one sleeve. "You're going to have to help me here." He needed Atticus to lean forwards so that he can get the other arm into the hole, and attempt not to cause him any more pain. "Who did it?" He asked quietly, wondering if he even wanted to know.
Atticus
Atticus was starting to realize that, no matter what he did, he wasn't going to win this argument. Blaine was right; he wasn't going to be able to walk out of here on his own and even if he did manage that, getting behind the wheel of a car would be a terrible idea. Given that there was no one else around, well, it appeared he was at Blaine's mercy. He really, really didn't want to go to the hospital, though. He associated the hospital with a lot of terrible things- his mother's death, his father's health problems, the night he found Blaine- and he wasn't interested in adding his own bad experiences to the list. Plus, in retrospect, this wasn't even that bad. Blaine had gone through worse. If Atticus could just get home and to bed and rest, then it would be all over.
"Thank you," he grunted, shifting as best he could to put his arm through the other sleeve. Scrunching his face up at the pain, he took over, slowly poking his head through and pulling the v-neck on all the way. He didn't bother to smooth out the material and instead turned his next focus on Blaine's question, snorting humorlessly. "Same guys from before," he muttered, rolling his eyes. "Damn bastards."
Atticus leaned forward, then, jaw clenched as he grabbed hold of the bench in front of him. He tried to hoist himself up but couldn't manage enough momentum, and with a sigh, he slumped back down. "Do you mind, like, giving me a push?"
Blaine
Blaine bit his lip to stop himself making any sort of noise when Atticus put the shirt on - it hurt to watch him, so it had to be truly painful to actually be going through the motions. He needed painkillers. He needed something to take the edge off at least. "You're welcome." He murmured, his hands falling uselessly to his sides as he waited for further instructions. Honestly, all he wanted to do was get Atticus in a car and drive him somewhere safe. Somewhere he could be looked after, but he could tell that a hospital wasn't going to be welcome idea.
When he was told who exactly had done this he felt his heart sink like a stone. He tried not to let it show on his face, but the anger and guilt built up rapidly inside him, leaving him reeling. The boys who'd been in that store the other day, the ones he'd riled up had done this. This was, in that case, partially his fault. If he'd left Atticus to deal with it how he saw fit then he wouldn't be sitting on the floor covered in bruises. He'd be okay. Once again he had to force his mind from those thoughts, focusing instead of helping this boy as best he could.
At the question he nodded, more to himself than anyone else, and instead of pushing he slipped an arm around Atticus' back, looped the boy's other arm over his shoulders and slowly helped to lift him to his feet. "You can put your weight on me if it helps." He offered, reaching out and snagging Atticus' bag with his fingers, quickly hefting it onto his free shoulder. "Are you sure you don't want to go to hospital?" He had to ask, hoping that the answer had changed in the past thirty seconds.
Atticus
Atticus squeezed his eyes shut to ward off the quick prick of tears that he felt at the pain of standing, and he slumped against Blaine more than he thought he would have needed to, swearing. Yeah, something was definitely heavily bruised or broken, and he was panting by the time he actually stood upright, his body desperately protesting every move he was making. He grabbed a fistful of Blaine's shirt, as if that would help matters any, and he whimpered. Okay, maybe he ought to look into getting some strong, strong painkillers.
He licked his lips and took a deep, unsteadying breath. "If I- mm, fuck. If I let you, you have to- I don't want anyone knowing how this happened, just... don't tell anyone. Don't want to deal with police or the school or my dad." Well, Burt was obviously going to find out, anyways, but he didn't want his dad storming out to the hospital. No, he wanted to handle this as quietly as possible, but fuck, he didn't want to deal with the pain anymore. He groaned again. "Only for the fucking Vicodin."
Blaine
It took a while for them to get upright and even then it was obvious Atticus was in a lot of pain. Blaine's brow remained furrowed as he kept his arm tight around his friend, wishing that the touch could transfer the pain away. As they stood he couldn't stop himself from whispering soft nothings, trying to calm the other boy slightly and distract him. However, soon Atticus was talking and Blaine bit his lip. He didn't like the idea of not telling anyone about what had happened. Surely they couldn't let these idiots get away with it. Yes, there might not be a way to prove what had happened, but Atticus was aCheerio, therefore he had sway at this school. They wouldn't just let him getting attacked lie.
"Are you sure?" He murmured, keeping them still for a moment before he nodded shortly. He wasn't happy about it, but he couldn't say no, not when there was a chance that Atticus wouldn't let him look after him. "Okay. Fine. Just...let me help." He couldn't stand the idea of Atticus trying to get home under his own steam. "I don't think they'd let you take that and leave." Which was a shame. He probably had some strong pain killers at the back of his medicine cabinet at home, but that would be too far to go right now. "Take your time and lean on me." With that they started to move; Blaine picked up his bag on the way out and slowly they made their way out of the locker room and through the school.
Atticus
Atticus leaned against Blaine as instructed, wincing as they made their way out of the locker room. The hallways were emptying but there were still people milling about, and although it was still probably very obvious that he was in pain, he schooled his emotions and tried to walk a little straighter despite his body's protests. It took a long time but eventually they managed to get out of the school, still relying heavily on Blaine to even keep himself upright. Those stupid fucking jocks. He couldn't believe he actually let them get to him; he should have known, should have been more alert. He supposed he was thankful they'd chosen him as their target and not Blaine- that would have made his determination not to protect Blaine anymore really waver- but he was still so pissed that he hadn't been able to fight back.
Squeezing his eyes shut tightly against the sunlight, he took a deep breath. "I- thank you," he muttered, finally. "Sorry that you needed to- yeah. Thank you."
Blaine
There were a few students wandering around them as they made their way through the school and Blaine could practically feel Atticus putting his walls up, pretending to be fine when he was anything but. The pain was written on every movement he made and Blaine hated it. He just wanted to get his friend somewhere safe where he could get hold of pain killers and start mending. They needed to get him somewhere he could stay still, otherwise he'd end up aggravating the injuries he had.
After a long walk they made it to Blaine's car, it took even longer to settle Atticus into the seat and do up his seatbelt. From then on it felt like a blur to Blaine. He barely registered brushing Atticus' apologies away; he didn't notice that he started the engine and drove them both to the hospital. Checking the other boy in was done on autopilot, in fact he didn't even come back to himself until they were back in the car and he was driving a pretty much out of it Atticus Hummel back home. He always seemed to zone out around hospitals, but he had all of the other boy's medication information written down on a piece of paper in the bag with his pills. He hadn't wanted to miss that.
Within about half an hour he managed to help Atticus into his house (although it took a while to get him to co-operate when he was so high) and into bed, leaving Blaine wondering what he should do next. Since their fight Atticus had made it clear that he didn't want to be around him, so maybe he should just leave? Someone would be home soon enough and as long as he left the instructions for his medication out on the table then his family could look after him. No. He couldn't just leave. If he was going to do anything, he'd wait downstairs until one of the Hummel brothers came home or their father.
"Try to get some sleep." He murmured, unable to resist the urge to brush the other boy's hair off his forehead as he lay on the bed. Blaine took a step back from the bed, prepared to leave and head downstairs now that there was a glass of water on the bedside table.
Atticus
Atticus grumbled his way through the hospital, hating everything that came with it. He associated hospitals with bad. He associated them with where his mom died, where his dad almost died, where Blaine almost died. And he wasn't anywhere close to death, not by any means, but the place had such a bad connotation to it that even being there made him feel a sense of dread. Despite his anger and pain, all he wanted to do was get home, be with Blaine, be somewhere safe. Eventually, however, those feelings lightened thanks to the heavy dose of pain medication they gave him, and it was enough to numb the pain just as much as it was to lighten his mood.
Somehow- don't ask him how, because fuck if he knew- he got home and into bed, and there was Blaine, such a comforting and solid presence who was- leaving. He frowned. Why was Blaine leaving? No, he wasn't supposed to leave. He was supposed to stay, and love him, and make sure he was okay. He was supposed to lay in bed with him and cuddle. Right? That's how this worked, didn't it? Maybe? Whatever.
Atticus whined, needy, at the loss of contact. "Where are you going?" he protested, huffing and opening his eyes. "You- belong somewhere. What's that Taylor Swift song? You belong in my bed? Or... no, that's not- mm, Blaine, I want to cuddle." He pouts, pathetic, and opens his arms up wide. He's completely out of it but he's one hundred percent sure that he wants Blaine. Yeah. "Please?"
Blaine
Blaine was quite sure he shouldn't find it so adorable to see Atticus quite so high on pain medication, but it was hard not to think his friend was the complete embodiment of cute when he was like this. He seemed to lean on him more than usual and the way he blinked around at everything was...yeah, okay this boy was seriously cute. However, he also knew that he couldn't hang around when he wasn't wanted. There was definitely something about Atticus that drew him in, but after their fight he didn't want to risk ruining anything again. Maybe now he'd done his bit and looked after Atticus they'd be able to move forwards.
With that thought in mind he stepped closer to the door, reaching out for the handle before he heard a voice behind him. He turned his head, biting back a smirk at the pout that was making its way onto his friend's lips. "I don't think Taylor Swift's sung a song about being in her bed before." He can't resist teasing the other boy, tilting his head and watching him fondly. However, his request makes him falter. "Are you sure?" There's really no chance that his response is going to be lucid, but Blaine had to check. He took a few steps away from the door, moving closer to the bed. "You sure you don't want me to just...go downstairs?" If Atticus is anything like him then he'll need plenty of affection when he's sick or...well, high on medication.
Atticus
Blaine's words only half registered in his mind, and Atticus huffed out a sigh because the words that were registering were just frustrating. And wrong. He was hearing them wrong. But whatever- he had a goal in mind (Blaine = in his bed) and he was going to fight until he got that, because he was suave as hell. Even when he didn't know what he was saying. Or, at least, he thought he was suave as hell, and that would have to suffice for the time being. He groaned, not understanding why Blaine was saying things instead of just getting into the damn bed, and he pressed the heel of his palm into his good eye and rubbed.
"Mm, Rihanna, then. Taylor does the slutty songs and Rihanna does the kinky songs. Whatever," he babbled, before his nose crinkled as if Blaine was doing him a serious injustice. "What? Are you- don't be stupid, I'm not going downstairs. I just got into bed, why the fuck would I want to go downstairs? No, you've gotta- I can't follow you down there, you gotta stay." His nose crinkled and he buried his face half in his pillow, huffing. "For a pretty and smart guy, you're very silly."
Blaine
The longer Atticus talked the more Blaine started to rethink his earlier decision. Clearly he wasn't going to be allowed to leave the room until his friend fell asleep - maybe not even then. He just had to hope that once Atticus came down off his high he wasn't going to get mad at having Blaine still in his room. "I didn't..." He cut himself off, shaking his head slightly as he reminded himself that the other boy didn't really know what he was saying. He could remember being on those types of pain killers and half of the time he had had no idea what he was doing.
"I'm not that silly." He huffs slightly, crossing the distance to the bed, toeing his shoes off before he settled down on it. Carefully he lifted his legs up onto the mattress, keeping a little distance between himself and Atticus so as not to aggravate any injuries. "How are you feeling?" He asked softly, turning his head.
Atticus
There was still the dull ache of his injuries with every move but they were easier to ignore, easier to forget if he didn't move for a long period of time, so when Blaine sat down but didn't do exactly what Atticus was trying to convey that he wanted with his mind (really, where was this boy's mind reading skills? Fucking weak ass game) he didn't hesitate to make it happen himself.
"You're pretty silly," he replied, reaching a hand up for one of Blaine's, setting it on top of his head and then reaching for the other to lace their fingers together, reveling in the closeness and intimacy of it all. Atticus shifted closer, then, burying his face into Blaine's side and closing his eyes. Oh, right. Question. He was asked a question. He took a deep breath and hummed on the exhale, trying to think of the proper adjective to describe how he was feeling. Warm. But- no, nope, didn't want to say that. He yawned. "Squishy."
Blaine
After a while Atticus seemed to take matters into his own hands and Blaine found himself being manoevred so that they were cuddling properly. It was impossible not to smile when his hand was positioned on top of his friend's head and his fingers started to move instantly. He carded them through his soft locks ceaselessly, trying to ignore the warmth that bubbled in his chest at how domestic this felt. If he just ignored the facts about why they were here it was actually really lovely to be like this. It felt almost like the first time they'd cuddled...the first time they'd kissed.
"Yeah, I'm the silly one." The sarcasm was evident in his tone but it was gentle as he squeezed the other boy's fingers softly. "Squishy, huh?" He chuckled at the term, continuing to move his fingers through Atticus' hair. "You look sleepy too." He pointed out.
Atticus
Atticus melted once Blaine started working his fingers through his hair, and even sober he was pretty sure that he'd do just about anything to make sure this never, ever stopped. He was completely pliant in the bed, then, warm and feeling safe despite all of his injuries and oh, he wanted to hold onto this forever. He kept his face buried in Blaine's side, inhaling the unmistakable scent of him and letting it lull him further, until his breathing was slowing and Blaine was commenting on it.
"Very," he hummed, turning his head just so, effectively blocking out the light of the room. "Gonna sleep. Thank you." He yawned, then, and let the wariness take him over, falling asleep.
what ➛ Blaine and Kurt head out separately to a club and boom chicka wah wah.
Things had been incredibly strange at the office lately, but Blaine knew exactly what was to blame for that. Ever since the party the atmosphere between himself and Kurt had been slightly tenser than normal. Laura had picked up on it straight away and he'd been subjected to several odd looks from her, when she'd seen the two of them practically avoiding each other lately. He hadn't dared talk to her about any of this; she was an employee after all, and whilst they might get on very well he didn't feel comfortable telling her about what had almost happened. He'd almost made a very big mistake, even if it hadn't felt like that at the time. Up on that roof it had felt like the most natural thing in the world and the desire to kiss Kurt had been all consuming.
The only person who had a vague idea of what had been going on lately was Wes, and all he really knew was that Blaine was having some guy trouble. He could probably guess that it was someone at work, but he had no idea that the source of these feelings was the intern currently stuck in his office. If he did Blaine was sure he'd receive several lectures about the whole situation, along with a long winded speech about how he couldn't possibly let anything like this situation happen again. It wasn't appropriate and it couldn't lead to anything. His father would go nuts if he found out and Blaine really couldn't afford to piss his dad off, especially not when there was a chance he'd be thrown out of the company.
It was natural for that particular thought to take up his time recently. The fear that he'd end up disappointing his father and be fired for making such an indiscretion had been haunting him at night recently. It was making getting a full night's sleep pretty difficult and so when one Friday rolled around, and he'd just settled down for a relaxing night in front of the T.V. he'd heard a knock at the door. When he'd opened it it had revealed his best friend dressed up relatively well, a six-pack in his hand and he was given instruction to change into some decent clothes and get several beers down him.
Needless to say he hadn't taken much persuasion.
The first part of the night had gone wonderfully; he'd changed into his favourite, relatively tight pants, a dark shirt and a bow tie. It wasn't until he'd done it up that he realised it was the one Kurt had bought him for his birthday. He ran his finger across the fabric again, debating simply taking it off and putting on another but it went with the outfit... In the end he gave up and kept it on, joining Wes and downing several beers in an effort to forget.
By the time his fourth bottle was empty they were itching to head out into the city. He needed to dance and bopping on the couch to the shopping channel music just wasn't doing it for him. Wes hadn't been too hard to convince, however, it had taken slightly longer to persuade him to head to Blaine's favourite bar. Wes had fancied something a bit more high class, but Blaine...well, he wanted to find someone. He wanted to dance with, kiss and do...plenty of other stuff with a like-minded guy. He needed something to take his mind off of Kurt and he was quite sure that fucking another guy would do wonders.
Maybe he just needed to get laid?
With that thought in mind they set off to the club, chatting animatedly in the back of the cab all the way. Blaine threw a few bills in the direction of the driver as he pulled up at the curb, and the two men stumbled out of the taxi and after a quick word with the bouncer they were allowed inside. The music was blasting, the beat making the floor vibrate as they moved towards the bar. All around them people were dancing, singing and generally just having a good time. People were grinding up against one another already and Blaine wanted nothing more than to get out and join them. However, a few more drinks couldn't hurt.
Wes caught the attention of the barman and soon enough he had a whiskey in front of him. He lifted it to his lips, taking a small sip and relishing the burn as the liquid slipped down his throat. He stared out at the crowd, barely listening to what Wes was saying to him (although shouting might be more accurate, since that was the only way they could be heard over the music). When his friend seemed to realise he was being ignored he gave up, ordering another couple of drinks and letting Blaine simply study the crowd.
