Blaine Anderson (blaine_) wrote in spinningcompass, @ 2013-05-20 21:31:00 |
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Entry tags: | !closed |
Who? Blaine & Patrick
Where? The beach, then Blaine's apartment
When? Backdated- Saturday afternoon.
What? Patrick arrives, Blaine helps him settle in
Status? Logged, complete.
Rating? Medium- references to violence & sexuality. (TW- homophobia)
Patrick felt as though he had been punched in the stomach. Well, actually, that wasn't far from the truth, but the feeling inside him, the feeling inside him was worse than the physical pain. It was heart break. He was completely broken hearted. So much so that the moment, the second the world around him changed he dropped to his knees, unable to find the energy or the will to keep himself standing. What was the point in standing, anyway?
His hand pressed to his chest as though he could literally stop the pain with a press of his hand, but no- No.
Had he died. What the fuck was he? Was that a beach?
Fuck, he had died.
"I'm dead," he said out loud, looking around. "Oh my God, the dickhead killed me..."
It was taking a little time to accept and adjust to island life, but Blaine had to admit that the break from reality was actually pretty welcome. This was a delay- a delay to thinking about where he stood with Kurt, a delay to deciding what to do about school, a delay to deciding on college and his future. And he needed that, he needed time. He hadn't expected to get it quite like this, but he was trying to see the positive.
And it wasn't such a bad place, especially when he could stroll along the beach, imagine that he was just away on holiday somewhere. It would have been better with his friends- as much as he wanted space, there was still a sense of loneliness.
He was snapped out of his thoughts as a figure appeared on the beach, not too far from where he was pacing. Whoever it was, he seemed to be doubled over in pain- Blaine picked up his pace, jogging across the sand toward him, just catching his words.
"Hey, hey, hey- are you okay? You're not dead, just hurt," he assured him, reaching out and placing a hand on his shoulder. "Are you okay? Someone hurt you?" he asked, even though that much was obvious. He just wanted to make it okay again.
Patrick flinched against Blaine's touch, glaring up at him like a wounded animal. And , granted, Patrick was terrified, but it was manifesting as anger and a pulse of violence that he knew was very unhealthy-
"Fuck off," he hissed, jerking his arm away from Blaine's touch. "Just fuck off. Don't, don't touch me-" all of the words that had been hurled at him now beat their way to the forefront of his brain. And his heart hurt again.
"You might catch something," Patrick sneered, glaring up at Blaine. Oh, pretty fucking boy of course. Regular little jock. Asshole.
Blaine was shocked by Patrick's somewhat violent reaction, but perhaps he shouldn't have been. Something awful had clearly just happened to him, and he was a perfect stranger trying to lay his hands on him- it was clearly an instinctive reaction, and he could hardly blame him for that.
"Okay, okay-" he said calmly, holding his palms up in front of him as if to show that he meant no harm. He would give him a bit of space, time to calm down again.
He didn't understand his words- except, in a way, he kind of did. It sounded horribly familiar. "I just want to help you," he told him honestly, making no move toward him again. "What do you mean?" he asked, his hands dropping to his sides again in a sort of defeat. He already knew what he meant. He already knew far too well.
"I don't need your help. I don't need help. There's nothing wrong with me," Patrick snapped, pushing himself to his feet. There was actual physical pain too. Not just the metaphorical pain of his stupid broken heart. He wobbled slightly, touching his nose, running his fingers through his hair and then looking around. He didn't know how he was supposed to get out of here or where he was going to go. The initial reaction was of course to just want to go home, but home meant- fuck. Home meant. Oh, God.
Patrick sobbed, the noise slipping out before he could stop it and he clamped his hands over his mouth in surprise and disappointment with himself. It was just the one. Just the one. "I'm fine. There's nothing wrong with me."
Well, that clearly wasn't true. Even if Patrick thought that he didn't need help, as soon as he figured out that he was stuck on a weird island, he would realise that it wasn't true. He frowned deeply, watching Patrick with a sort of painful concern. He wanted to make it all okay again, but he didn't really know how to make him listen or calm down. The sob made his heart ache.
"I know," he said softly, after a little pause. "I know there's nothing wrong with you. You're just hurt and lost, but there's nothing wrong with you," he told him- if he was wrong about what he was picking up on, then Patrick could just brush him off as a crazy person. But if he was right- he had to say something to make it better.
"I'm not going to hurt you," he added after a moment, in case that fear was still there. "It's okay."
"Yeah, well, it feels like there is," Patrick said, irrationally changing his tune immediately, turning his head towards Blaine. "It feels like every little thing I do is wrong and everything- all of the time- and- fuck. All of the fucking time. And you, why the hell should I believe you? It was all going fine, it would have all been fine but now- and it's my fault, fuck, fuck-" he carried on, talking to himself more than anyone else. "Fuck. He- fuck." Patrick paced in a circle, kicking a lump of sand in frustration. "This is all my fault. Who are you, anyway? What do you want? What little kick are you going to get out of helping me?"
Blaine gave him an understanding, sympathetic nod, with a sort of sad smile. And then Patrick was going off one some weird disjointed ramble, and Blaine tried to follow as best as he could, but it was impossible. But even if he didn't understand the details, he could relate to the feeling.
He was being questioned, and it took Blaine a few attempts to actually find his voice again. "Um- my name's Blaine. Blaine Anderson," he explained, his tone sort of questioning, as if he was doubting his own name. "I was just walking on the beach here, and I saw- that you were in pain, and I just wanted to see if you were okay, and-" he shrugged, not sure how to answer the last question. "I- no kick. No kick. You just looked like you could use-" a friend? No, he was sure that would set him off on some other rant- "a hand," he settled on, with a bit of a sigh."I just thought you could use a hand."
"Blaine," Patrick repeated his name. Oh, of course he had some kind of fancy, fancy name. "Blaine Anderson. Of course. Well great, great, it's just great to meet you," he said, though it was obvious from his tone that he felt anything less than that. "No one- no one is...what's your deal? You're all smiley and happy and fucking- fuck. Fuck. Look at you. You're fucking perfect or something, aren't you? I don't want your hands. I've had enough fucking hands on me."
There's a moment when his mind flashes back to...to it. To seeing Brad being beaten. To the look in his eyes in the canteen. He feels tears spilling down his cheeks again, rapid and relentless. But he doesn't want to cry in front of perfect Blaine Anderson.
"Yeah," he confirmed his name with a nod, giving him a sort of tight smile, not wanting to say anything further to upset him.
"My deal?" he repeated, his brow creasing with confusion- why did everyone keep asking him that? Like it was some sort of crime to be positive and upbeat- he shook his head, his smile disappearing, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "I- I won't put my hands on you, okay?" he told him, figuring that was the most important point, really.
"I'm not perfect, no. And I'm sorry if my- face or something offends you. I'm not- happy about this, I'm not happy that you're in pain, or that you're- upset," he told him, wanting more than anything to just give him a hug, but he'd just promised not to put his hands on him.
Patrick stopped, sighed. Sighed and then let out another sob, wiping furiously at his eyes as though that would stop the grief. Blaine was being so nice to him. He really, really wanted him to be angry. He really wanted him to shout or something, to make him feel- feel like shit. Patrick wanted to feel like shit and Blaine was just being nice, wanting to look after him and-
He drew in a harsh, shaking breath and let out another sob, flopping to the sand again, his shoulders shuddering with the effort of trying not to cry like a child.
"I d-don't kn-know what to d-d-do-" he rasped. "I d-don't know where I am."
Blaine hovered for a moment, shuffling awkwardly from foot to foot. God, he just wanted to make it all better. He wanted to pull him into a hug, hold him while he cried it all out, he just wanted to fix it, now.
Eventually, he dropped down onto the sand next to Patrick, crossed legs, hands placed under himself just to stop himself from touching him, since he clearly had problems with touching.
"Okay- you're on an island. It's all kind of trippy, I'm sorry- nothing I say is going to make it make any sense, especially not right now," he told him calmly. "As for what to do- I think- don't worry about the big picture right now. You can't fix everything right this second. What we can do is go and- get you a drink, or something to eat, somewhere to stay- and figure it out from there," he tried to explain, realising that he had to sound insane.
Those were all such nice things. And Blaine clearly didn't mean him any harm at all. He was clearly not going to hurt him or fight with him or say anything horrible to him yet, so he would happily (and selfishly) take everything he could get until things got all fucked up again. Because Blaine would find out sooner or later that Patrick was nothing but a faggot and then all of this would change.
But then everything he'd just told him was really, really insane. So much so that he had to laugh a little bit. "Oh God, oh, God, what? Oh God. I'm not- this isn't anything to do with drugs, is it? No-" Blaine didn't look like the kind of guy who would take drugs. He wiped his eyes again. And now he wanted- well, a hug would be good, but he couldn't possibly ask for that after his outburst. Well, that and guys didn't just hug, did they? "I don't have any money."
"Yeah, I know," he said apologetically, giving him a little shrug. It made no sense, but it was what it was. "No, no, nothing to do with drugs," he assured him. "Feels like, but no."
The thing was that Blaine really would have given him a hug- in fact, it was taking a great deal of self-control to keep his arms firmly at his sides and not wrapped around the other guy. He just didn't want to make him uncomfortable, if he didn't like people touching him.
"Oh, no, that's okay. You don't need any. It's- I know it doesn't make any sense, but there are a lot of people here on this island, and we all just kind of- ended up here. But it's sort of self-sufficient. No money, you just- you'll see what I mean."
"Do I look like a wreck?" Patrick asked at length, touching his face again. He couldn't tell which bits were bleeding and which were bruised. "I don't want to have to try and convince people to give me things for free if I look like a wreck and like I'm going to just pick a fight with everyone. Although I did pick this one-" he added with a little shrug. He didn't want to ask any more questions about the island they were on.
"Patrick," Patrick said after another minute, hesitating before holding out his hand towards Blaine. "My name. Patrick."
Blaine shook his head, denying that Patrick looked a wreck. He didn't want to make him feel any worse than he already did. "No, no. But we can find somewhere for you to wash up," he explained gently. "You don't have to convince anyone. It's fine. Honestly, it's fine," he assured him, with a little smile. Maybe Patrick had picked a fight with someone, but Blaine wasn't going to judge. He had been on both sides of a fight before, and he knew that bruises like that- this wasn't just picking a fight. There had been real aggression behind whoever had hit him.
"Patrick," he repeated, his smile growing wider. He wiped the sand from his hand onto his trousers, and then accepted the handshake happily. "Good to meet you, Patrick. Even if the circumstances are kind of shitty."
Patrick couldn't help but smile at that. Yeah, they were a little bit shitty, weren't they? Circumstances.
"I'm sorry I totally busted your balls then," he apologised, having the humility to look sheepish at his own behaviour. "I mean," well, it didn't mean that Blaine wasn't going to turn around and reject him again, maybe punch him in the face and tell him he deserved what he had coming to him, but for the moment Patrick could do with some help and he was willing to play it straight until he could figure something else out. "Bit of a rough week. Though I guess I don't have to worry about that much at the moment-" Yeah, he wasn't in school, and yeah, this was ridiculous. Maybe he was unconscious... either way, well- he'd get on with it.
"Um. So, do you come...here...often?"
"Don't worry about it," Blaine insisted, really ready to completely forgive and forget immediately. "I get it, it's fine," he assured him. He imagined that if he'd just been beaten and then dumped on the island he might have been a little bit difficult about it himself. It was understandable.
Blaine snorted with laughter at Patrick's next question- it was like a totally ridiculous chat-up line under really weird circumstances, even though he knew that wasn't how he meant it.
"What, to the beach? Not really, no-" he admitted, hopping to his feet again, and offering Patrick his hand. "Come on. Let's get out of here," he told him, smiling down at him.
"I meant, shit, I kind of meant have you been here long and- I don't know. I don't know," Patrick stammered and then laughed at himself. He had to laugh at himself. He rolled his eyes and then held up his hand to meet Blaine's, letting himself be pulled to his feet. "So where are we going to go? Do I have to- Is there someone I have to talk to? Like a leader or...the king? Is there a king?" he laughed. Oh, laughing was a little bit easier than it had been before, even if his face hurt. He shoved his hands into his pockets as they walked off of the beach, though he was still covered in sand. "Do you like, live on your own or-?" No, God, he just sounded like he was hitting on Blaine again.
"No, not long. I'm kind of getting used to all myself, you know?" he admitted with a shrug. "I don't have all the answers, but I'll tell you what I can," he added.
He laughed again at the thought of there being a king. "What, like take me to your leader?" he asked, putting on his idea of an 'alien' voice. He shook his head, glad that Patrick seemed to be lightening up a bit. "No, no, there's no leader or kind or anything like that," he told him. "Everyone just seems to sort of take care of themselves, and each other, as best they can."
"Yeah, I do. There's no one I know from home here. I met a guy when I arrived, and- well, he had some situation going on with an ex girlfriend, but I moved into an empty apartment next door. It's kind of weird, living on my own. Really quiet, I'm not used to quiet. If you want a roommate, or- I mean- you don't have to, there are other empty apartment, but- yeah, you can- there are other rooms or- I don't know, whatever. But you can clean up there, and I can make you a coffee or something," he told him, feeling his cheeks flush slightly. For goodness sake, why was he being so weird?
"Thanks, y'know? Thanks. I really appreciate- thanks," Patrick nodded, because he really did appreciate the kindness Blaine was showing him compared to what everyone else had been like. Compared to the way he had been judged and treated even before what had happened in the canteen. Now he was just being spoken to like a regular kid but someone who was way out of his social league.
And it was fascinating, the way this place apparently worked. It was fascinating. People just took care of each other. Like some kind of commune. Like hippies. Only Blaine didn't look like a hippy, and they were approaching something that looked a million miles from any commune Patrick could have imagined.
"Oh, a situation?" he couldn't deny that that use of words stirred something in his head, left some implications that were obviously not true, but still- "Um. I guess that's kind of awkward." But he wasn't going to push that point. Or ask Blaine if he still saw the guy. Well, he lived next door. But that didn't mean Blaine- or even that Blaine liked guys. Or the guy. "I don't want to cramp your style." He kept his head down because he couldn't- well, he didn't want to give himself away before he'd worked out how to settle down or at least survive. "Coffee would be awesome, though. And maybe I'll be able to make myself a little bit more attractive in your bathroom." There was blood on his face, he knew that.
"Don't worry about it, you're welcome," he told him, really not thinking anything of it. All he saw was a young guy in need of some help, there was no way he was just going to shun him.
"Yeah, I dunno- from what I heard later, I guess she's kind of a drug addict, so- yeah, probably not the best living situation," he admitted, pulling a bit of a face of discomfort. It was awkward, especially when he'd only just met Roger. "But, I mean, Roger's cool. He seems decent," he added, in case Patrick would worry about the neighbours.
"My style?" he repeated, with a very amused grin. "I really wouldn't worry about that, I do that all by myself," he chuckled. "Yeah, don't worry, we'll make you pretty again," he teased, and then frowned slightly. If he was wrong about the whole gay thing, that was going to sound a bit weird. Oh, well. He could find him somewhere else to live if it made him uncomfortable.
"Wow, that's pretty rough," Patrick said, because well, it was pretty rough. For everyone. But if Blaine thought Roger was a decent guy then he'd trust that. He didn't have much choice but then he didn't have any reason not to, either.
Patrick tipped his head slightly to survey Blaine. Pretty? That wasn't really a word that people used- well, it wasn't a word that people tended to use. Not for guys. "That's assuming I was pretty before," he said tentatively, testing the waters. "I could have been just hideous and then you'll be working on a hopeless task. Or maybe I'm ruggedly handsome, chisled and masculine. And you assume I'm pretty? You don't know, being smacked in the face might have changed me completely." Okay, that wasn't really a tentative test of the waters, but it was something.
"Yeah, it's not great," he admitted- he felt bad for Roger, but he really didn't want to get involved. It was way beyond the level of drama he was used to dealing with, and even though Roger was a nice guy, it wasn't worth it.
Blaine caught the little look on Patrick's face, and he couldn't help but smile a little. He eyed him, apparently surveying his face, trying to see beyond the beating to what his face would look like when he was cleaned up.
"Hideous? Hmm- I don't think being beaten up usually makes anyone more attractive, so I'm going to assume you weren't hideous. Ruggedly handsome? I'm sorry-" he shook his head, as if he just couldn't picture it. "I'm sticking with pretty, but if you find it disagreeable, I suppose- I could settle on 'cute' as an adjective, instead," he told him, the smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He swallowed nervously, looking at his own shoelaces as they continued walking.
"Um- it's just in those tall buildings-" he said, swiftly changing the subject and pointing at the apartment buildings as they approached.
Patrick's brow furrowed at the words Blaine chose. More attractive? Implying...well, implying that Blaine might have thought he was attractive? Well, no, he couldn't make such wild assumptions about Blaine's opinion. It was just wishful thinking and he couldn't afford to let himself get that insane again.
Pretty, though? Pretty? Patrick felt his heart leap when Blaine opted for 'cute' then. Because no one had called Patrick cute. Ever. Well, Sam maybe, but that really didn't count. He felt his cheeks flush, even though it might not be obvious through the pink, swollen splotches on his face.
Then they were both looking down at the floor as they walked. Patrick really didn't know what to say. He didn't know how to work around it.
"Hey, it's really kind of you to do this," Patrick said, latching on quickly to the new subject. "Thank you. This- wow-" the buildings were massive. They didn't have many buildings this big back home. "I don't- seriously, if you want, maybe if you have like, other people to hang out with I won't take up a whole lot of your time. I'm not the most popular of people. And looking like this- well. Don't want you to be associated with some ruffian."
Blaine didn't catch the look on Patrick's face, and could only assume that his silence was uncomfortable. Shit- he'd never really been smooth, he'd never been good at romance, he'd never been good at picking up on hints-
But then, thank God Patrick was talking again, changing the subject from Blaine's awful failed attempt at flirtation. He smiled, and gave him a little shrug. He didn't think that it was anything that special, it was just the right thing to do.
"Where is home?" he asked, holding open the door for him, and then pressing for the elevator. He frowned, creases appearing between his eyebrows as Patrick started to protest the kindness. "You- really need to stop putting yourself down," he told him, with a soft laugh, as the elevator started to rise. "I already said, I don't really know anyone here. I would hardly call myself popular back home, either," he told him, with a chuckle. "And you know, if anyone's got a problem with who I choose to associate with, well, they're not someone I really want to know anyway," he told him, as the doors pinged open on the top floor.
Oh, unless this was his polite way of getting away from him after that horrible attempt at flirtation. "But, you don't owe me anything. I'm not going to force my company upon you if you don't want it, okay?" he told him, opening the door to his apartment, holding it open for Patrick to enter.
Patrick looked around the inside of the apartment building as they entered, peering at the doors either side of them and then the elevator. Fancy. And he was having the door held open for him. Well, that was charming. Patrick didn't get doors held open for him, but then he was a guy and he was supposed to hold doors open. And he'd never been in a relationship-
"Pittsburgh. Well, just outside Pittsburgh. And you? You look-" Patrick paused, leaning up against the side of the elevator and letting this be an excuse to just look at Blaine. Just look at him. "You look-" he was beautiful. God, he was just beautiful. His hair and his skin and his eyes- his fucking eyes were- "You're...A little bit not completely American. Or, shit, no, you're American but- shit-"
He laughed. Oh, he didn't know how to talk to pretty boys. "Sorry. About putting myself down and insulting you. Both. I'm just not used to- I don't get a lot of compliments. So-"
Blaine was just the nicest boy. Seriously, the nicest boy. Patrick beamed. And then stepped out of the elevator. And then had another door opened for him and oh- Patrick offered him a little curtsey. "Thank you, sir, you're far too kind. But look, honestly, you're- look- this is awesome. Thank you. Oh my God- this is an amazing place! Wow!" He ran in a few steps, spun in a circle and then bounced on the spot, grinning at Blaine. "You have the coolest flat, man!"
"Oh, cool. Ah, I'm from the world famous, and oh-so-exciting... Lima, Ohio," he told him, raising his eyebrows and giving him a sort of exaggerated sigh, as if it was just such a hard life. He didn't know what he meant by not American, but it was adorable to see the guy get so flustered. Apparently he wasn't the only one who was a bit socially awkward. "Um- yeah, I guess I have some Filipino heritage, if that's what you mean," he shrugged. "Not very Brady Bunch," he teased.
"You don't have to apologise, and you're going to have to try a lot harder than that if you're trying to insult me," he joked. He didn't get a lot of compliments? That was strange. "No? Huh. People obviously have no taste just outside of Pittsburgh," he told him, closing the door behind them, and letting Patrick take the place in.
"I would say thank you, but I can hardly take credit. I just claimed ownership. I guess I'm a squatter more than anything else, huh?" he shrugged. "Anyway, bathroom's just through there, feel free to make use of any products or- whatever you need," he told him, pointing him toward the right room.
Patrick grinned. "I've never heard of Lima," he admitted, though that wasn't a big thing, and that wasn't really an insult, either. No one had really had much of an idea where his pokey little town was, either, which was cool and oh, God, he had some Fillipino in him? Patrick fiddled with his hair, pulling out a curl and letting it ping back up again. "Yeah, I'm sorry, that was totally not cool. You're just-you know-" Really fucking hot.
He paused again when Blaine seemed to drop another compliment on him. As though people outside of Pittsburgh- Patrick tipped his head and pursed his lips. As though he was worthy of people outside of his ridiculous circle of friends. But Blaine was so full of sincerity. So full of sincerity. He wasn't mocking him.
"Thank you," he said. For everything. The compliment, the offer, the generosity. "So- you don't mind if I squat with you?" he asked, a grin spreading over his face. It's not like Blaine was going to assume he was hitting on him.
"No, no-one has!" he laughed. "It's famous for..." he trailed off, trying to think of anything at all that might make it a landmark. "Absolutely nothing," he shrugged, giving him a grin. "Nah, it's cool, it's cool," he insisted, giving him a dismissive wave. He was so cute, playing with his hair. Really freaking adorable, and Blaine couldn't keep the smile from his face.
"The company would actually be really good," he admitted with a nod. "Umm- I've claimed that room, but there are three others, totally free. I mean, there's furniture, and my wardrobe just sort of appeared, and- oh hey, I'll get you a phone and a laptop soon- you'll see what I mean," he told him, heading over to the kitchen and filling the kettle.
"Awesome, awesome! Okay, cool!" Patrick nodded his head and bounded off to stick his head in each of the rooms, prancing around the apartment with a completely new lease of life. He still ached a little bit all over his body. But he could ignore it now! He was excited.
It really was just a coincidence that the room he chose then, the perfect room for him to sleep in, was the one opposite Blaine's. Yes. Well, it was a gorgeous room. He clapped his hands and bounced in, throwing himself onto the bed and oh, God, it was gorgeous! It was so comfy.
"Oooooh!" he groaned, stretching out. "Yes, this is perfect!" He called out to Blaine, rolling off of the bed and bouncing back out towards the kitchen. "Hm? Phone and laptop?" He twirled and, God, he needed to stop that. "I- what? Laptop?"
Blaine smiled, giggling to himself as Patrick danced about from room to room. He got out some cups, and started to make the coffee he had promised him.
"I know, right? They're awesome apartments!" he called back to him, filling up his cup with water, giving it a little stir. "Yeah," he smiled, turning to him as he twirled about. God, he was cute. "Yeah, the phones are all linked up already, with a full contact list, so you can text or call anyone on the island. The laptops, it's the same with the email, and there's a sort of island-wide forum so you can talk to everyone there as well," he explained. He didn't think for a second that Patrick might not know what a laptop was, which was probably silly of him, given the amount of different people he'd met since arriving on the island.
Patrick paused, blinking at Blaine. He really didn't understand what that meant. Texting? And anyone else? How many people were here? What the fuck did a laptop have to do with anything? And email? he opened his mouth to question it and then frowned, knowing he was going to have to rethink his wording.
"I don't understand," was the beginning and that was pretty simple. "I- what?" he asked. "Texting? And how...how many people are there? What is an email?" Patrick gnawed on his thumb nail, wondering if this was going to be the moment Blaine realised just how uncool Patrick was.
"Oh," he sounded out, his shoulders slumping slightly. Patrick didn't have a clue what he was talking about. He should have figured- he was far too cute to have been from his world as well. Or at least his own time.
"Yeah, they're both ways of communicating. I'll show you, it's pretty easy once you get the hang of it," he assured him. "I don't know, I guess there's about a hundred people here? Maybe more? I'm not entirely sure, to be honest," he admitted with a shrug. "Um- how do you- do you want milk? Sugar?" he asked, pointing his thumb at the half-made cups of coffee on the counter.
Patrick frowned, feeling as though he's let him down. He's being annoying. "Sorry," he said with a little forced laugh. "Sorry, I told you I was totally uncool. I don't want to burden you with having to show me how stuff works. It's cool. I- it's cool." Blaine was already doing a lot for him, he was already being so good to him he didn't want to push him anymore. "Uh, milk and one sugar but- where do we get it from? Do we have to pay?" Blaine had already said things were free, but it was really rather difficult to get his head around.
Apparently Blaine had enough in though, even if he was the only one living here, because there was milk in the fridge. And butter. And cheese. Well, he pulled the milk out and returned to Blaine's side, feeling a little knot of anxiety in his stomach. "I mean, just tell me if you need me to do anything or go anywhere, okay?"
"No. No, no, it's not that you're not cool, it's just- that this island is a bit weird because- there are people here from all different places, and-" he rubbed his forehead, hardly believing what he was just about to say, "-times," he admitted with an apologetic look. "Um- I mean, before I came here, it was- 2013..." he told him, pausing after the date, and giving him a questioning look. This could go either way. He wouldn't blame him if he just ran away from the crazy guy.
"Um- well no one here has any money, so we kind of all just- do our bit, and take what we need," he explained, as best as he could. Okay, so not everyone chipped in, but he was trying to paint a positive picture for some reason. He took the carton of milk from him, and clapped his other hand on Patrick's shoulder. "Enough of that. Relax. I want you to stay, okay?" he assured him, probably making a bit too much eye-contact, just to make sure that he knew he was serious, and not just being polite. Then, his hand dropped again, as he turned to pour milk into the cups, and brought out the sugar.
2013? That was...that was twenty years in the future. Patrick blinked at him, gazing through the pause even though, well, his eyes were so beautiful there was no harm in gazing into them as well. He could pass it off as wonder at the dates. "So you're from the future. Is this all crazy future stuff? Are there robots? Do people fly in cars?" he asked, his eyes wide with genuine wonder.
Patrick felt himself flinch when Blaine clapped him on the shoulder, his eyes widening slightly at his own reaction. Oh, but then he felt the throb of pain in his arm, radiating back down. "Oh." It wasn't even that hard, but Patrick had forgotten that he had been in a fight not long before. Which was odd. Blaine's hand remained there, though, warmth running through him. And God, Blaine was gazing into his eyes and Patrick's heart was beating rapidly. But then the moment was gone, over, and he blinked several times, clearing his throat and looking at the coffee. "It's 1992," he says softly. "Was. Was 1992."
Blaine smiled nervously as Patrick gazed at him, just hoping that he wouldn't freak out and think that he was a madman. "Umm- yeah, yeah, there are people from all different times. Robots- not really, no. There might be some on the island, but not really where I'm from. And flying cars are a no, sadly. No hoverboards, either. Back to the Future really gave false hope, you know?" he joked.
"Oh, god, sorry," he said when he noticed Patrick's flinch. He'd forgotten about the injuries. His hand slid up and down his arm for a couple of seconds, as if rubbing it better where he'd just clapped. "1992! Wow! I wasn't even born," he teased, passing over a coffee cup. "You want something to eat?"
Patrick couldn't help but smile at the description of the future. Well, it wasn't everything they dreamed of back in the nineties. Never mind. He smiled, let out a little laugh and then looked away almost bashfully. "Well, I guess if I ever go back I'll get on to inventing that. Or, hey, do you think that would break the whole world if I went back in time and changed something like that? And then if I got here again you'd be a robot-" Patrick laughed again, a little louder that time. "But shit, I can't even build a clock in woodwork, I'm not going to be whipping up a hoverboard any time soon."
Blaine touched him. Touched him in the most gentle way and it seemed as though the pain just melted away. Just melted away. Rubbed better. Although the thought of Blaine not being born- "Shit-" he shook his head. "I'm just about to graduate. Shit. Is this weird? I'd be like...a hundred when you were born." Well. That was a tiny little exaggeration. He thanked Blaine for the coffee and shook his head at the offer of food. "No, no. I got quite a good slogging, I don't think my stomach could handle food right now."
"Yeah, maybe don't do that, just in case," he teased, laughing with him. This was better, this was easier.
He could only feel amused at the thought of not even being born while Patrick was a senior. "I know, it's weird. You're not too far out, though. There are people from like The Past, you know?" he explained. "Oh, yeah, sure," he said, almost disappointed in himself for bringing it up. "Have a seat, hang on a sec-" he told him, placing his own coffee down on a low table by the sofa, and moving through to the bathroom. He returned a moment later with a damp cloth and a packet of painkillers.The latter was tossed in Patrick's direction, and the former-
He sat down beside him, turned his chin gently in his free hand, and carefully dabbed at a small cut with the cloth.
"So. Things are pretty rough at school, huh?" he questioned him, sympathetically
The Past was really not something that Patrick could very easily fathom. of course he totally knew some history but he couldn't grasp the idea of people from the past wandering around with them. but then he had only met Blaine.
Patrick sat, toeing off his shoes and sitting cross-legged even though it kind of hurt a little bit. Still, he recognised painkillers and popped three out of their little blisters, shoving them all in his mouth and swallowing them all down with a mouthful of coffee. The coffee was good. Hot, but good, and he was going to say as much to Blaine when he felt the touch to his chin, turning him. It was so gentle, so sweet that Patrick's eyes had widened with astonishment.
Part of his brain wanted to ask what Blaine was doing and why, but then another part of him - well, he didn't want to draw attention to the way that Blaine was so easily taking care of him in case it sounded like ingratitude. Or worse, if it was just something kids did in 2013 and if Patrick pointed out the kindness then Blaine would wonder why he'd noticed and maybe Patrick just shouldn't comment on anything until he was completely sure it was okay to.
So he held his breath, though the look on his face probably gave everything away.
"It's not so bad," he said quietly. "Just this one thing." This one huge thing. What had happened to Brad, what had then happened in school. "I just let my emotions get the better of me. it's nothing. I shot my mouth off when-" he paused for a moment, not quite flinching but not quite able to keep speaking as Blaine touched his lips. "I'm just a general pain in the ass," he joked lightly.
"Yeah? Well this one thing seems to be... pretty bad," he pointed out, dabbing at his face. He nodded along as Patrick continued to explain, and then sighed when he put himself down again. Poor guy- he'd seen that look on so many people before. He'd seen that look in the damn mirror. He dropped the cloth, and set it down on the table, giving Patrick a friendly smile. "There. Better. I knew you weren't hideous under the blood," he teased lightly, lifting his coffee to take a little sip as he thought about what to say next.
"I don't care how much of a pain in the ass you are, no one should be laying their hands on you like this," he told him, and then he settled back onto the couch, turning his body slightly to face Patrick as he spoke. "I've let my emotions get the better of me before, too. You know, sometimes you just can't take it any more and you snap. If someone- is wearing you down day after day, making your life miserable- it's only a matter of time before you open your mouth," he told him, very carefully, every word thought out before he said it, not wanting to freak him out or startle him.
"You know, I transferred schools twice, and the first time- it was because I looked a bit like you do right now," he told him, with a knowing nod. "I moved to a school with a zero tolerance bullying policy, and- yeah, it was better, but- I just ran away from my problems. You should be proud that you spoke up, even though-" he gestured to his face, and gave him a sad smile.
"It wasn't the highlight of my life, no. I mean, it was- it was a big thing so-" Patrick whispered. He really had been the cause of it. He'd continued to push Brad when it was obviously a bad idea. "I kinda of- it was my fault." He concluded, though it was the most self-deprecating thing he could have said it felt as though it were true. He sniffed when Blaine finished cleaning him up, allowing himself a little smile at the compliment. He knew he was going to still be bruised, despite the blood now being gone.
Patrick ducked his head sheepishly as Blaine started talking. Oh, Blaine was telling him something so personal, something he had clearly suffered through and Patrick hadn't been the innocent party. But of course Blaine had been. He'd been worn down, and the guy was so sweet, so gentle and charming it must have taken a lot to push him.
The smile fell from his face at the thought of someone hurting Blaine like this. Over and over in his head he told himself that he had pushed the situation, that it was his fault, that Blaine would never have done what he had done. So Patrick shook his head, his eyes stinging. He wiped one but a tear escaped from the other, plopping down his cheek. "It's not like that. I- you make it sound like I did something gallant. I didn't. I ruined...I was bad. I'm not a good person." Everything started to fall down on him again, the thought of what had happened to Brad, what he had started- "Sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. You told me all of that and- I'm sorry."
Blaine nodded along as Patrick spoke, really listening to everything he was saying, trying to understand the best that he could. "Well, even if you started it, that doesn't necessarily mean that it was your fault," he told him, somehow just refusing to believe that Patrick could have been at fault. It just didn't seem to sit quite right.
And then there were tears, and Blaine felt an actual pain in his chest. "Oh, God, I'm sorry," he told him gently, placing his cup down on the table again. "You're not a good person? Why would you say that? I don't- what could you have possibly done to deserve... this?" he asked. It was mostly a rhetorical question, but if Patrick wanted to tell him, then he was ready to hear it.
"Oh, god, don't apologise. It's okay. It's okay-" instinctively, he shifted forward in his seat and moved to wrap his arms carefully around Patrick, pulling him protectively into his chest, as if he could just make it all go away. "It's okay, we don't have to talk about it if you don't want to, it's okay. You're not a bad person," he told him softly, holding onto him.
Patrick hadn't wanted to cry about this again. He'd cried all over Sam for hours recently, cried himself to sleep, cried himself to sleep in her bed- but now Blaine was holding him and cradling him and Patrick couldn't stop himself. He couldn't help but sob, his fingers balling in the front of Blaine's shirt. He trembled, breathing raggedly. "I- I-" he started, sniffling. Oh, God, he had to tell Blaine. He had to tell him. "I'm so sorry- I'm sorry. Listen-" Patrick pulled back, his cheeks flushed and damp, his eyes redder than before. "Look, I- I was, I have to tell you- because you need to- I know you've told me a lot but- I'm sorry. Um. I was- having sex with someone and their dad caught us and- and made me watch whilst he punished- I had to- it was my fault," he choked out, trying to calm down his breathing.
"And then- then- um, in school- we spoke and I...I got angry and- but it was my fault in the first place. It was my fault, you see? We shouldn't have been sleeping together. And- and I shouldn't have said anything. Because it was my fault." He didn't mention that Brad had called him a faggot. He didn't mention that Brad had wanted him, had made moves, had been affectionate, hadn't been forced into anything-
Patrick sniffled again and leant forward, wrapping his arms around Blaine for one more hug. One more hug.
Blaine wanted to make the crying stop. He wanted to make him smile, he wanted to make it all okay again, but he knew that it was going to take time. Patrick had obviously just been through something really traumatic, and he needed to let it out before he could begin to heal.
When he started to explain further, Blaine felt his heart sink. He felt physically sick. How could Patrick blame himself for that? For an abusive parent? "Oh my God-" he breathed. He could hardly imagine. What would he have done if it had been Kurt? If his dad had just gone apeshit and started beating him- what would he have done? What could he have done, against an adult, a parent?
The explanation was getting worse, and Blaine actually felt as if he wanted to cry on his behalf. He shook his head in disbelief. "No, no no- that's- oh my God-" he babbled, not even sure how he was meant to react to that. Patrick came to him again, and he held onto him a little tighter, one hand moving against his back in comforting strokes.
"This is not your fault, no- God, no- I'm so sorry. His dad should never have reacted like that, it's not- that's not good parenting- and you know, it's not you he's going to be mad at, it's his dad, or maybe it's fear, I don't know, but it's not your fault. I promise it's not. And then- then he hit you?" he asked for confirmation. He'd automatically gone for the male pronoun. He wasn't stupid, he knew gay teen problems when he heard them.
It did feel a little bit better, getting it all out and having Blaine's reaction justify his feelings. It helped. It helped a lot. And Blaine was stroking his back, soothing him as though it really was going to be okay. It really was going to be okay. Well, he wasn't in school anymore. He was safe from that here.
"I should have known- I should have- he- I know he didn't want to see me after what had happened but he- but I made him and of course he didn't want to see me because his dad- because of what his dad had done and- and then- he didn't want anyone else to know. Just because- because I'm a f-faggot-" he stammered, sucking in a sharp breath because- because- "I tried to hit him f-first and I shouldn't have. And- and- he had his friends." Patrick laughed bitterly. "I shouldn't have. I know I shouldn't have. I'd never- I'd never been ashamed of myself before. But-" Tears poured down his cheeks and he shook his head. Now he was. Now he wanted nothing more than to say he was wrong and sorry and he should pull away from Blaine rather than making him miserable. He'd made Brad miserable. He knew that Sam had been miserable-
Blaine had said 'he' first. He had implied- But Blaine still held him. Blaine still held him even though- even though Patrick was a faggot."Sorry. I'm sorry. I thought I'd cried all of this out- and- fuck. I'm sorry. It's a lot of- Look, I'm done now. It's fine. I'm done now. Sorry-" he tried to pull away again, despite the tight, comforting grip Blaine kept on him.
Blaine felt as though his heart was breaking just listening to Patrick's story. And that he could blame himself for what had happened just added salt to the wounds.
He flinched at Patrick's use of the word 'faggot', and mouthed a soft "Hey-" of protest at it. Did he really think so little of himself? Had people really made him feel so worthless, that he could just use that word about himself like he was something terrible. But he was getting a better picture of the situation now- the other guy was in the closet, and Patrick was just a threat to him.
"It's not your fault, it's not-" he insisted, letting him pull back a bit, his hands finding his upper arms, holding him carefully in place. "Hey, listen to me, Listen- it's not your fault. He was scared, yeah? And it sounds like- from his dad- he has a reason to be scared. But he shouldn't have taken that out on you. He's afraid, he's been taught to hate what he is, and that's a damn shame, but he's taken that hate out on you, and that- that is not okay, it's not," he insisted, holding onto him the whole time.
Patrick tensed automatically when Blaine took hold of his upper arms, though it was clear the touch was meant to be gentle and reassuring rather than violent. And Blaine was being so understanding. So kind. But then no one- well, no one had really had a problem with him being gay. Sam and Charlie had been fine with it, he'd never really been bullied, it was just- now it was out in the open, now it was something he had dragged other people into and it was- he was-
He moved his hands away from Blaine, because it was one thing holding onto him like a child when it was just that, but now he didn't suppose... well, Blaine was so nice. And it felt nice to have someone talk to him this way. Sam had been so angry with Brad that Patrick hadn't been able to get a word in edgeways, but Blaine was being very rational.
"I'm sorry. Sorry. This is- I'm sorry. I'm so embarrassed." He didn't pull away from Blaine's grip, though. "I pushed him. I shouldn't have. But um, it's fine here, isn't it? And- I should have said, probably. About being...being gay- I should have said earlier."
"Hey, it's okay. Don't apologise for being upset, it's okay. It would upset anyone, you know?" he reassured him, his hands gently moving up and down his arms in soothing strokes. "There's nothing to be embarrassed about," he insisted. "Hey, we all do stupid things when it comes to- relationships, for want of a better word," he admitted with a shrug.
Lines of confusion appeared on his forehead, and then after a few seconds contemplation, he smiled at him. "It's not always easy to slip it into the conversation early on, especially when you're contending with being kidnapped by an island," he pointed out, with a cheesy smile. "Um- but if you think it's something that should be brought up sooner rather than later, then I suppose I should tell you that I am. Gay, I mean," he told him with a shrug, as if it really wasn't a big deal. "As for if it's okay here- I mean, I think so, no one has said or done anything disrespectful or- no, no one's had a problem with it so far," he assured him. "And you know, if they did, that's their problem, yeah?"
A little smile had started to play over Patrick's lips, he had begun to get more comfortable and it was nice. It was nice to be comforted, to be consoled in this way. Blaine's hands on his arms were so gentle and calming. And yes, Patrick felt stupid, but he didn't care as much anymore. He drew in a shaky little breath and smiled brighter, because yes, he probably wasn't the first person to do something stupid.
But the smile slid dramatically from his face when Blaine admitted he was gay. Blaine. Blaine was gay. Blaine was gorgeous and happy and beautiful and God. He was gay. Patrick's expression crumpled, though he didn't take offense, of course. He wasn't upset. Just overwhelmed. Because he hadn't met another man who was so happy, so comfortable with who he was, so able to offer his advice- Patrick drew in another shaking breath and then sobbed, leaning in against Blaine's hands, letting them keep him up straight. Overwhelmed. That was all he was. Tears ran freely down his cheeks once again. Everything was okay here. Everything was fine. And Blaine was gay.
Blaine noticed the change in Patrick when he told him that he was gay, and he was a little surprised. It looked almost like he was horrified at first, and then crushed, and then- oh!
"Hey, hey-" he murmured comfortingly, his hand moving to let Patrick fall against him as he wrapped his arms around him once more. He could only assume that Patrick didn't really have much contact with anyone of his own age who was openly gay. "It's okay, now. It's all okay. You don't have to be upset," he told him, running his hands soothingly against his back. "It's going to be okay, now. It's not so bad here, actually. And- yeah. You can stay here, we'll- it'll be good. We'll be fine."
Patrick went willingly back to Blaine's body, cuddling up to him in a way that he thought he should probably be ashamed of. Clingy, weeping, really not very good at all. But Patrick needed him. He really did. And yes, Blaine was right in his assumptions. He had just needed to know that he wasn't so completely alone.
"I'm not- I'm not-" he stuttered out against Blaine's neck. "I'm not ashamed," he confirmed, just in case Blaine had thought he was. Because clearly Blaine wasn't ashamed of himself. But the hand on his back, the words, it was all wonderful. More than he'd ever been offered by anyone.
"We'll be fine," he repeated, his mouth pressing to Blaine's throat, though for the moment anything erotic was far from his mind. "Thank you so much." Blaine did smell amazing, though. He really did.