Everlasting: ii
The summer’s warmth does nothing to diminish Blaine’s love of it. He is enamored with the warm nights snug like a blanket around his shoulders, the summer storms that tear open the sky seemingly from nowhere, and the sounds of crickets and frogs like night music, weaving together the smell of dew and heat that springs from the forest.
When he was younger, everything had seemed simpler in the summertime. But he’s a man now, and nothing will ever quite be quite as simple again.
Still, Blaine isn’t cruel enough to hold his fate against summer’s sweetness. He’s still as in love with it as he ever was, even beneath his heavy coats and practiced smiles.
Nighttime is his favorite.
The clear nights, of course, where the stars stretch endlessly until the forest seemingly engulfs them. The forest, which sways back and forth in a smooth summer breeze that seems to call to him, tries to tug him deep into the trees and all the secrets that are held there. It would have worked long ago if it weren’t for the fence, and Blaine sometimes wonders if he should be thankful to the iron for keeping his whims at bay or loathe it for keeping him in when all he wants to do is get out.
But nothing quite compares to the fireflies, which never fail to greet him.
It’s hard now to get the chance to see them; even if nights are his time of leisure, he knows that certain activities are selected for his enjoyment. Blaine can read or write or play the piano, or even sing if he is feeling particularly bold, but young men do not go out and chase fireflies. His mother has been reminding him of that quite sternly since he was thirteen.
But that doesn’t stop him from sneaking out the kitchen window as often as he can.
There is one freeing thing about being an Anderson, and that is the privacy such a name endows. No one lives near them. They’ve never had neighbors, something a younger Blaine had always disliked, but now that he’s older, he finds the lack of prying eyes freeing. In the darkness of the night, lit only by the moon and the stars, he can be himself without the judgment and pressure of societal eyes.
Even after years and years of chasing them, Blaine has never quite mastered the art of catching fireflies. Empty jam jar in hand, he darts around the yard, a real smile of childish indulgence pulling at his cheeks until they grow sore. It’s a fruitless endeavor at which he almost always fails, but it’s fun and carefree-everything Blaine’s life normally is not.
“You’ll never catch one that way.”
Blaine stumbles, the jar nearly slipping from his hand and the closest firefly skitters away madly. He turns abruptly, shoulders stiff, to see a strange man standing at the gate. It’s moments like these where Blaine likes the gate; it may keep him in, but it also keeps the outside world out. Most of the time it feels like a cage, but just this once it feels like protection.
For a moment, he doesn’t say anything, and neither does the strange man who seems to have appeared from nowhere. He’s dressed eccentrically, at least in Blaine’s opinion-although, it doesn’t quite compare to the strange ensembles he has seen Mr. Ryerson wear. Still, full yellow suits are not things often seen in little Lima, Ohio, and Blaine can only imagine the raised eyebrows and hushed whispers at such a display.
His mother’s garden party would have a field day.
“Do you know a lot? About catching fireflies?”
It’s a simple question, full of polite inquiry and just a hint of curiosity. Blaine has never intended to catch a firefly, not really, but it doesn’t stop the child inside of him from wanting to. Without realizing it, he is wandering closer to the gate and the strange man in the yellow suit who wears the sort of smile that hides secrets.
“Not particularly.” The man’s hands come up, curling around the iron of the fence. They’re slim hands with long fingers, but not hands that have seen a lot of work-Blaine’s father would call them privileged hands, and that fact puts him a little more at ease. “Never tried. After all, there’s nothing to gain. Why waste my time? No, I prefer… Bigger game.” Blaine feels as if there’s some sort of story he hasn’t been fortunate enough to be a part of, something humorous that tilts the stranger’s lips into a smirk. “Though... I suspect the strategy is much the same.”
“Strategy?” Blaine asks, amused, his eyebrow raising incredulously. Catching fireflies is a children’s game, after all. It’s about chasing and whimsy and faerie lights, not about something as complicated as strategy. Strategy belongs to the chess matches his father would sometimes indulge in or the way a seating chart is arranged at a social gathering, something he’s seen his mother slave over for days at a time while her hair greyed. “Forgive me, sir, but I don’t believe catching fireflies requires something as complex as strategy.” He folds his hands politely in front of him, keeping his manner reined in the way he has been raised to do.
“It is one thing to be better than people, Blaine,” his mother had once told him, “and another thing entirely to brag about such a fact.”
The Andersons have no need to brag about anything. People simply know.
The Man in Yellow says nothing, simply watches Blaine with a look that he can only describe as unobstructed interest. Blaine’s smile flickers, feeling as if he’s suddenly become this man’s prey, and then the man is leaning over the gate and towards him.
“Is that so?” His voice is quieter, darker than before. Blaine steps back before he realizes he is doing so, but then seems to come to and adjusts himself to his full height. True, even hunched as he is, the Man in Yellow is significantly taller than Blaine himself. But Blaine has brains over brawn, and he constantly tells himself that his brains will get him much further in life than a couple of extra inches.
“One must never announce one’s presence to the prey.”
The man’s voice is quiet and his stare is so intense it makes Blaine falter again, if only slightly. His mind begins wondering how protective this gate really is, how fast he can run if he has to. Would his parents notice if he wasn’t in bed tonight? The fact that his mind resounds with a deafening no is not reassuring. So he remains still, trapped in the man’s dark gaze.
“One must become a part of the scenery.” His words seem to blend with the darkness and the nightly breeze, tainting the summer nights that Blaine loves so dearly.
“Invisible.”
How had Blaine not seen him before he spoke? Had he been so unaware as not to notice this strange man in his strange suit? Blaine feels a sensation at the base of his spine and is quick to recognize it: fear.
“Almost… Disappear.” His voice is getting lower and lower, and Blaine has to fight between stepping closer and running away.
“And be patient,” the man advises, his lips curling up into a knowing smile. He hasn’t stopped looking at Blaine, not for a moment, his gaze fixed like a stalking snake.
Blaine will not be the first to look away.
“Be patient until the exact moment arrives.”
The man’s hand flashes up quickly and Blaine jolts, jarred backwards as if he had just been struck. Only he hadn’t been. The man’s closed fist is held just next to his face and he is grinning, amused at the way Blaine had started.
Blaine finds it difficult to swallow suddenly.
The stranger holds his closed fist out in offering, but Blaine merely shakes his head. With a shrug and a muttered “suit yourself,” he opens his fist and a firefly flutters away in a zigzag. Blaine watches it, shocked that he had not noticed the man grab it and suddenly finding the idea of catching fireflies sickening. Perhaps it is the way its light flickers, or the fact that it seems to fly at a tilt. Captured and injured, just for amusement. It makes Blaine’s stomach curl unpleasantly.
“As you can see, strategy is applicable… Anywhere.”
Blaine’s head whips back towards the man as if he has all of a sudden reappeared. This time, Blaine feels no cowardice when he takes a step backwards.
“But I assume a young man such as yourself would be much better off applying such tactics to finding a beautiful bride.”
Blaine would laugh, because marriage is certainly the last thing he’s thinking about (much to his mother’s distress), but nothing about the situation seems humorous. Even if marriage was on his mind, treating any human being as if they were weak and ignorant-Blaine can’t even imagine.
By now, it’s all too clear how little Blaine wants to do with this man and the secrets swimming behind his eyes. It’s time for him to make his exit, to excuse himself. There are plenty of reasons to, after all, and he simply has to pick one. Then he can forget this night, forget this strange man, and forget the horrible twisting in his stomach.
“Have you lived here long?”
Blaine’s taken aback by the sudden turn in conversation and feels himself settle slightly behind his mask. The Man in Yellow’s voice has turned casual and polite, a tone that Blaine is comfortable with and used to hearing among his social circles.
“Quite,” he answers politely. “All my life, actually.”
The man nods, his fingers tapping against the pointed pikes of the gate as he glances around the estate. He really is like some sort of hunting cat in that yellow suit, or so Blaine thinks. A large hunting cat with shifty eyes and a quiet gait, looking for its next victim…
His eyes land on Blaine again.
“Perhaps you can help me, then.”
Blaine resists the urge to scoff, as if helping this man who has clearly been playing mind games with him is ridiculous. Help should not come to men like him, and yet Blaine feels the tug of his propriety. He is loath to help and yet his manners make it a necessity.
“I’m visiting, you see, trying to find some… Long-lost relatives of mine, you could call them. I’m wondering if you might know anything.”
It’s a strange request. Lima’s small, smaller than most of the surrounding towns, and it certainly isn’t difficult to find someone if you try hard enough.
“My father practically built Lima,” Blaine finds himself saying. “I’m sure he’d be able to help.” That will be easier. His father is older and he knows how to deal with these sorts of men. Blaine probably should feel more equipped for the situation, but the Man in Yellow has left him completely at a loss.
“I rather like talking to you, actually.”
Blaine stills, his eyes widening as he stares at the strange man and the way his fingers trail over the gate in an almost suggestive movement. He takes another step back.
“Blaine!”
He turns at the sound of his name on the first call, something he rarely does these days. His mother is hustling towards him, a look of annoyance on her face that is quickly smoothed into polite detachment as she views the visitor beyond the gate.
“Hello.” Her voice is strained and overly polite.
“Good evening.” The man gives a nod of his head but shows no other form of greeting. He doesn’t even bother to remove his hat, a pet peeve of his mother’s of which Blaine is well aware.
“Blaine,” his mother turns her cold politeness on him and he mirrors it back at her. “Who are you talking to at this time of night?” Didn’t I raise you better than this? Are you insisting on making a fool of me twice in the same week? Blaine doesn’t need to have the ability to read minds when his mother’s eyes say it all.
“I don’t know,” Blaine responds coolly, glancing back at the man. “He hasn’t told me his name.” Which is odd, but it hadn’t occurred to Blaine until this point to question it. And now this strange man knows his name, at no one’s fault but his mother’s.
“Pardon me.” Blaine nearly rolls his eyes-now the man chooses to be polite. “I was simply asking your son if he could help me locate some relatives here in Lima. Maybe you could be of assistance?”
Mrs. Anderson turns her nose rather prominently into the air, looking over the man and his strange suit the way she looks over everyone in Lima-as if they are so far beneath her that they really don’t deserve notice.
“I hardly know everyone, nor do I want to.” His mother puts her hand protectively on Blaine’s shoulder, turning him away from the gate. “And I hardly stand outside discussing such things with strangers.” She says it as if the word is disgusting, spitting it from her mouth, and begins to walk Blaine pointedly back toward the house. He knows that once he is through the door, he will be receiving a stern talking to (“Do we need to start barring the windows, Blaine?”), but for once, that seems much better than the alternative.
“Evening, Mrs. Anderson,” the man calls in parting, the too-confident grin back in place on his face. “Blaine.” The word is like a kick in the gut, and Blaine feels his mouth go dry. He watches over his shoulder as the man turns and melts back into the summer darkness, whistling a tune that Blaine has never heard before. It would have been beautiful on any other occasion, but all it does now is make Blaine’s skin crawl unpleasantly.
The haunting notes blend into the breeze, carrying through the night until the door has shut it out. Even then, it continues to play in his head until Blaine is sure he’ll never forget it.
The clock is too loud.
The clock in the parlor is always too loud and it has always bothered Blaine, but never as much as it does right at this moment.
It’s a strange thing, sitting down for afternoon tea with both of his parents. Blaine sees his father very, very rarely, and tea has never been one of those occasions. Perhaps there is some sort of event that he has forgotten or been unaware of, although the thought does nothing to ease the thick silence between them.
His mother sets her cup down first.
“Blaine,” she begins primly, setting her hands into her lap. His eyes dart between her perfect posture and the way his father continues to sip his tea, and he sits up a bit straighter. “You know, a proper education gains one entry into society.”
He gives a small, confused nod. Yes, that is obvious. Blaine had attended school and, when school had not been sufficient enough, had received tutors. But it’s the summer season now and education isn’t normally a topic his parents broach until society has run itself dry.
“Your father and I…” His mother looks at his father, who sets his teacup down as if following some sort of pre-planned cue. “We’re concerned. You’ve been acting out quite a bit lately.”
Acting out?
His eyes widen incredulously. He hasn’t done anything within the past week that is all that surprising. Sneaking out before his wake-up call every morning and running around the yard at night; these activities aren’t new. So he had ruined a suit by playing softball in town, and his mother had lamented the gossip that followed. In a way, Blaine has been waiting for this-punishment. It always comes and, really, he has been biding his time.
“We’ve given this quite a deal of thought,” his father includes adds, and Blaine sits there quietly. Best to take his punishment as the well-raised son he’s expected to be.
“Dalton Academy for Boys has an excellent reputation.”
Blaine blinks, confusion furrowing his eyebrows.
“Dalton?” Blaine is surprised to hear himself speaking, and his own parents seem to mirror the sentiment. “But… That place is like a prison. Everyone looks the same and acts the same and-”
“Enough, Blaine.” His mother’s tone is stern and his words drop off abruptly. “That’s nonsense. Boys emerge there as refined young gentleman, well versed in etiquette and manners. Both of which, I’m afraid, you’re sorely lacking.”
That stings. Blaine is nothing if not as polite as he has been raised to be. Is it so bad to crave a bit of freedom every now and again? Is it so improper to want to be Blaine and not just another Mr. Anderson? Why can’t he be a gentleman while keeping who he is intact?
“…I don’t want to be like that,” he mutters quietly, looking down. It’s rude, he knows it is, but he can’t face the looks of disappointment he knows his parents are wearing. His fingers grip around the fabric of his trousers. “I don’t want to be one of those boys.”
Why can’t they understand that? Why is it so important for him to blend into the background? Haven’t they always taught him that being an Anderson makes him special? Doesn’t being Blaine Anderson make him special, too?
“Which is precisely why you must go. Listen to yourself, Blaine. Imagine what the neighbors would say, seeing you act in this way.” His mother shakes her head, picking up her cup again. She’s drinking tea as if she isn’t talking about packing up Blaine and shipping him away, as if she isn’t treating him like some stain on the family name.
There’s that feeling again, coiling in his legs. He’d felt it before, in town, that feeling of wanting to get away as fast as possible. Where will you go? It asks him. Blaine wishes he had an answer.
“We can’t let this… Unbridled nature of yours ruin your chances at a respectable future. Come now, Blaine, it all makes perfect sense.” And his mother is seemingly done. She’s patting down her skirts, the way she always does when she settles to finish her tea.
“There is one other option.” His father looks at Blaine over the china of his teacup. He hasn’t lifted it to his lips in what seems like ages, and Blaine finds it unsettling. “You’ve been courting Miss Berry for quite a few months now, and I’m sure she would accept an offer of marriage-”
“Marry Rachel?” Blaine sputters indignantly, and his mother shoots him a glare.
“Blaine,” his father says sternly. “You have to understand. We’re only doing what’s best for you.”
That’s where Blaine has had it. Before he knows it, he’s standing, and his mother and father sit back as if they aren’t sure what to do with the sudden dynamic.
“What’s best for me or what’s best for the family, father?” And Blaine turns on the heel of his shoe and runs out of the house, runs as far as he can until he is flung against the gate. The gate that he hates and loves; the gate that is trapping him in the one place he can be himself, but that will never accept him that way.
Blaine Anderson is to be sent away to be educated. But what his parents don’t understand is he only wishes to step outside his fence.
So he does.
For some time, he runs. He isn’t sure for how long or for how far, but his house falls away behind him and everything becomes trees, trees everywhere. It isn’t until his breath is gone, his skin hot, that he dares to stop. He has never been in the forest before, has never been allowed, even as a young child.
What in these quiet woods should be so forbidden? Blaine has always sensed a mystery waiting for him here. It is a place so entirely different from what he knows, so far away from his tight, pruned world.
The energy seems to course through him, to run over his skin. The sunlight falls differently, filtered through tree leaves to reach his face, and the air is heavier but better in a way he can’t quite understand. There are no eyes to see him, no one to judge him, and Blaine can hardly stop himself from smiling.
At least, he can’t stop smiling until he realizes that everything more or less looks the same. While the forest is no doubt beautiful and enchanting, it’s strange and foreign to him. Each tree might be different as Blaine stops to look and admire, but together it is a singular backdrop that is a mass of green no matter which way he turns. His fascination disappears as solid dread fills the space it once occupied; he’s lost.
Of course this would happen; if he’d been using his head more than his heart, a practice his parents had been instilling in him since birth, this wouldn’t have happened. No, he would still be in that living room, signing his life away to one cruel future or another. Blaine had been lost there, too, and alone, but at least there had been warmth and food. What is the point of a free life if he has no life at all?
It is its own sort of punishment, showing him not to be rash and emotional. When he finds his way back he knows that there will be further punishment for his misconduct. In fact, Blaine will be lucky if his things aren’t already packed for Dalton.
The sun had been high in the sky when he’d first crossed the garden gate, but now it has sunk lower. At least, Blaine thinks it’s lower. The light is filtering differently but he can’t exactly see the sky above him. Maybe if he could, he would be able to orient himself and find his way home. So the only thing he can think to do is push towards the sunlight, through the trees and the branches until he finds himself in a clearing.
But he isn’t alone.
There is nothing particularly strange about the clearing aside from the large tree that seems to stand in the center of it and the young man that kneels beside it. Blaine has never seen him before, which is strange because the Andersons know everyone in Lima even if they aren’t particularly worth remembering. Blaine isn’t so good at it yet, but he can usually recognize faces. He is certain, however, that if he had seen this boy before, he definitely would have remembered.
It crosses his mind that maybe this boy is a figment. Blaine isn’t the sort to believe in magic, but the woods certainly feel magical. Perhaps this strange boy is a faerie or a nymph or a sprite. But his knowledge is short on such things, so he really knows no way in which to identify the stranger as such.
One thing is certain. Even in worn trousers and shirt and a waistcoat hanging open improperly across his chest, this boy makes clothes look finer than anyone ever could. The only word Blaine can grasp is beautiful. Indeed, he is far more beautiful than Rachel or any of the other girls he has carried on his arm through the dragging years of his life as a bachelor.
The boy is drinking from the tree, which is odd until he splashes water across his face as well. How strange; Blaine has never seen a spring from a tree, but he pushes the uncomfortable thought away with the knowledge that his intelligence of woodlands isn’t very extensive.
The tree itself is large in girth and taller than all of the others, and the letter ‘H’ is carved artfully into its bark. This draws Blaine’s attention, but only for a moment, before the boy has tossed his light hair back and is standing. He is all legs and length and Blaine is captivated by him. Too captivated. Captivated to the point that he’s taking a step forward-
Snap.
Startled blue eyes flash around, frightened, and now Blaine is staring at him face-to-face. It’s almost too much but he finds that he can’t look away, no matter how much he wants to turn and dart. It continues this way for an amount of time that seems immeasurable to Blaine. Even the ticking of the pocket watch he carries in his waistcoat falls on deaf ears as they stare at one another, and Blaine finds himself believing in magic right at that moment.
“How long have you been standing there?”
The voice seeps into his skin and buries itself there forever, Blaine is certain. He’s never heard such a voice in all his life and he is sure beyond doubt that he never will again. It takes him a moment to register that his mouth is open, trying and failing to form words as his brain circumnavigates the situation and the boy in front of him.
“Not long.” The words tumble too quickly from his lips and the strange boy raises his eyebrow skeptically. “I… Not long. Not at all. I was just… I was out walking, and I walked past…” Blaine’s voice halts and the silence bubbles between them again. It is unlike him to stumble over his words like he is, and the boy’s subtle but telling reactions are both entrancing and increasingly frustrating.
“You shouldn’t be here.” His voice is detached, dismissive, as if these simple words would be enough to have Blaine turn around without question and walk back into being lost. “It’s dangerous in these woods. It’d be better if you just turned around and went home.” The voice is still even, calm, calculated. Still, it would be terribly easy to listen to it, however. “Go on now.”
Blaine’s eyebrows furrow, his mouth set in a line, and his legs still refuse to move.
“I own these woods.” Well, in a manner of speaking. He certainly will own these woods at one point in his life. “So, excuse me, but I’m welcome to walk where I please and I will ‘go on’ when I so please.” Blaine realizes that he sounds much more grounded than he feels, especially with the way the boy is staring at him. His eyes seem so open, so vulnerable, but Blaine can read nothing in them past the blue and the green and the grey.
“You own these woods?” His voice comes out a bit higher-he’s surprised, and Blaine feels a smug smile tug at his lips.
“Yes. I do.” This is the part where the strange boy understands his mistake, apologizes for being rude, and introduces himself. If Blaine is lucky, he might even offer to walk with him back to town and then he won’t have to deal with the uncomfortable acknowledgement of being lost in what is practically his own backyard.
“What’s your name?”
Again, there is that uncomfortable feeling that whoever this boy is, he doesn’t know who Blaine is. He isn’t narcissistic, of course, but is it his fault that everyone in Lima knows of the Andersons? Knows of him?
“Blaine. Anderson. Blaine Anderson.”
This seems to be enough. The strange boy stands straighter, eyebrows shooting up incredulously. He takes a few steps closer to Blaine, eying him up and down in a way that makes Blaine want to curl his arms around himself in an attempt to shield himself.
“An Anderson?” His voice does not portray feelings of intimidation or scheming or even polite interest. It is genuine curiosity, with perhaps a pique of amusement that Blaine doesn’t quite understand. “Well, isn’t that interesting.” Blaine’s eyebrows furrow. Yes, they might own the woods and hardly set foot in them, but they’re still Anderson property.
“No, it is not.” This time, he does cross his arms defiantly, and the strange boy just looks all the more entertained by it. “What is interesting is that you’re here. That’s trespassing.” Blaine is adopting every attitude he has ever seen his mother and father portray, donning the façade that he uses in the company of polite society. It’s a person he has never wanted to be, but this boy is beginning to infuriate him.
“Trespassing?” He chuckles, shaking his head and glancing over his shoulder. Blaine watches him closely, the way his strange eyes take on a distant look. “There’s a trespasser here and it certainly isn’t me.” It’s quiet enough that Blaine hardly catches it, but it’s the tone that stops him from saying anything. It grows silent for a few moments, Blaine watching the stranger and he being too far-gone to notice Blaine’s lingering gaze.
He turns back suddenly, startling Blaine into taking a step back.
“You’re still here, Blaine Anderson?” His name sounds sharp in the boy’s musical voice and Blaine fights back a wince. Aside from his own mother, no one ever jars him this much-so why and how is this boy doing it so easily?
“Yes. As I said, I am quite allowed to take a walk in my own woods if I please.” He raises his chin, but even doing so hardly makes him feel superior to the boy who is staring him down. There’s something about him, even in his weather-worn and travel-beaten clothing, that makes Blaine feel small again. He swallows, wishing he could continue on with his fictional walk and find his way home.
“So you are. Then I suggest you walk away from this place.” The blue eyes turn cold and any amusement is gone from his face. He stares Blaine down, and Blaine can do nothing but stare back. “Turn around and walk home.”
His nerves betray him and he fidgets, his hands clasping together in a way that the boy instantly takes notice of.
“I was. Walking home, that is. Or. Trying to. You see, it’s not often that I walk these woods and it was an… Impromptu urge that spurred it on, so I wasn’t-“
“So, you’re lost?”
It is enough to sacrifice his pride if only to erase the cold and distant look in the other boy’s eyes-he is amused again, eyebrow raised. No one has ever looked at Blaine that way, not that he can remember. Blaine has been made fun of, been whispered about and stared at, and these are things he has learned to assimilate into his life and either accept or ignore. But he was not playfully teased, not ever, and this boy seems to be breaking rules that Blaine has always thought were a constant in his life.
“I believe that is the simplest way of putting it.”
The boy moves closer again and Blaine’s eyes flick to meet his.
“I don’t make a habit of being simple, although my pa insists that I become rather blunt when I belittle.”
Blaine probably should take that more to heart-after all, he’s just admitted to belittling him. But he’s more focused on the way he says the word ‘pa.’ Not only does it erase whatever small part of Blaine’s mind that thinks he’s talking to a wood sprite, but the single word is filled with warmth in a way that Blaine simply can’t comprehend. He loves his father, of course he does, but Blaine has never felt the amount of affection that the stranger has infused in a single word.
“Who are you?” He has to ask, has to know. If he knows, maybe this won’t have to be the end of their exchanges. Blaine is fascinated and he is sure that this is what he’s been feeling, what he’s been waiting for. It’s an opportunity for friendship like he’s never been offered before.
But the boy averts his gaze, staring off into the woods. “I’m no one.” When he looks back, his expression is distant again. “I’ll point you home, but you should forget that this happened. Forget this place. Forget me.”
It takes effort for Blaine not to visibly dig his heels into the forest floor.
“I’m not leaving until you give me a name.”
The boy’s eyes narrow sharply and he closes the distance between them in a few quick strides. Blaine hardly stops himself from stepping back.
“Really?”
It occurs to Blaine then that he is in the middle of the woods with a stranger. His parents don’t know where he is and he’s apparently done something to offend this beautiful boy. Is a name really so much to ask?
“It’s just a name.” Blaine tries to keep his voice even; he fails.
“Then I do not understand why you are so adamant about getting it.”
The boy has moved so close that their toes are nearly touching, and it makes Blaine’s heart stutter and beat erratically in his chest. He feels like he’s being examined and there is the ever present fear that he may actually be in some sort of danger, but there’s something else. He feels hotter than normal under the collar of his shirt, like he has a fever. He longs to press his hand to his forehead and check for sure; it would be just his luck to fall ill in the middle of the forest.
Those blue eyes sweep over his face and they must see something there because they widen in shock before the stranger stumbles back a few steps. His reaction is so extreme that Blaine nearly looks over his shoulder to see if there’s a bear standing behind him. Instead, he lifts an eyebrow and takes a hesitant step forward.
“Are you okay?”
He seems to come back to himself then, blinking and looking away. His face is flushed and Blaine’s beginning to wonder if there’s something in the air making this happen. Nothing is said and Blaine takes another step forward, although this seems to draw the boy’s attention once more.
“You’re supposed to be leaving,” he says, although his voice isn’t quite as sharp as it was before.
“And you’re supposed to be giving me a name.”
The boy lets out a noise of frustration and steps back towards Blaine.
“You’re persistent.”
Blaine just folds his hands in front of himself and looks at the boy with patience. It must become plain to him that Blaine really has no intention to leave unless he is physically forced.
“It’s Paul,” he says dismissively. Blaine grins.
“Then it’s a pleasure to meet you, Paul, despite the unconventional means.” Blaine holds out his hand; it’s what he’s been raised to do, what he’s supposed to do, but so far Paul hasn’t exactly been following social regulations. He didn’t even present his last name, despite knowing Blaine’s, but Blaine decides to let it go. It had been difficult enough getting the one name.
Paul hesitates again, but finally slips his hand into Blaine’s.
Unlike what Blaine would expect from someone he meets in the middle of a forest, Paul’s hands are clean and pale as milk next to Blaine’s darker complexion. They aren’t smooth the way Blaine knows his hands are; Paul’s hands are slightly calloused from use and, if Blaine hadn’t known Paul’s status by his threadbare clothing, he would have definitely known it by the feel of his fingers.
Paul doesn’t seem to return Blaine’s sentiment and draws back from the brief contact as if Blaine’s hand is made of fire.
“You got your name, so it’s best you go now.”
Blaine deflates slightly. He had truly believed he might get a friend out of this, or at least a new acquaintance. He hadn’t realized how badly he wanted someone who treated him like everyone else before the moment it happened.
“Well, um…” Blaine pinches the fabric of his shirt collar. “I believe, before that brief digression, you had just pointed out the fact that I am very much lost.”
Paul nods to himself for a few moments.
“I suppose it does no harm to point you on your way.”
Relief and gratitude course through Blaine and he smiles with every ounce of it.
“I’d be much obliged.”
Paul moves towards him, stretching the flat of his palm out almost as if he intends to touch Blaine-he doesn’t, but the motion alone prompts Blaine to turn around. They’ve moved a few steps when Blaine stops and Paul shoots him an annoyed look.
“I apologize, but I’ve been in the forest for a few hours. If you don’t mind, I’ll just grab a drink of water and then we can be on our way.” Blaine flashes a smile and then turns, but he’s hardly walked two steps before Paul’s hand is closing tightly over his bicep. He looks back in surprise.
“You can’t drink that water,” Paul says, his voice even. Blaine furrows his eyebrows.
“Why not?”
“It’s... Not good for you. I think I saw some toads in it.”
Blaine wrinkles his nose but attempts to shake Paul off of him anyway.
“I saw you drink from it, and you seem perfectly fine. Besides, I’m dry as dust.” Blaine breaks away and moves a few steps closer but then Paul is there again, standing between Blaine and the spring.
“I said no.”
Blaine furrows his eyebrows and frowns, moving to push past Paul when he is roughly shoved backwards. He stumbles, eyes wide, and stares up at Paul in a sudden onset of fear. A stranger with a name is still a stranger, and even if Paul has done nothing towards him to signify that he’s dangerous, that doesn’t mean he isn’t. Blaine really needs to leave.
So he turns on his heel and he runs.
“Wait!”
Whatever Paul wants from him now, Blaine has no intention of finding out. ‘He shoved me. He actually shoved me. No one has ever shoved me before.’
Branches swipe at him as he runs and he pushes against them as much as he can; there isn’t time to find a clearer path and a few scratches aren’t all that bad. Blaine can hear Paul hurrying after him and doesn’t understand why he’s being followed or what he did wrong. He just knows that he should keep running.
He tosses a glance back over his shoulder, wondering how much distance separates him from his pursuer, when he runs into something-hard-and nearly falls backwards. He would have, he’s sure, if the thing he’d run into hadn’t grabbed his arms.
Blaine turns to look slowly and sees another unknown man there, staring at him strangely and then looking over his shoulder as Paul runs closer.
“Kurt, who is this?”
Blaine blinks in confusion, looking over his shoulder at Paul-well, actually, apparently it’s Kurt. But it only takes him a few moments to realize that whoever it is he’s run into knows him and that can’t be any good for Blaine.
“Let me go,” Blaine grits, attempting to wrench himself free, but the man before him is strong and holds fast.
“...I ran into him by the spring,” Kurt admits reluctantly and when he looks at Blaine he actually looks remorseful. Blaine doesn’t understand it and the thought to question it leaves his head as soon as the man forces him into movement.
“Let me go!” He demands louder. “My father could have you arrested for this!” This is kidnapping, isn’t it? Or assault? “Help! Someone help me!”
A hand claps over his mouth and he stills, eyes wide.
“Please be quiet,” Kurt whispers. “Go ahead and tell Pa, will you? Leave Hutch here with me and I’ll take care of it.”
Blaine watches the stranger who nods after a couple moments of contemplation. He doesn’t let go of Blaine until an arm-Kurt’s arm-is wrapped tightly around his waist. And then he’s gone, disappearing into the thickets of trees.
“I’m going to take my hand off of your mouth now. Don’t scream. It won’t do you no good anyways. There’s no one but us around for miles.”
Kurt slowly removes his hand and Blaine doesn’t scream. He can’t scream all that loudly, anyway, and he hasn’t been gone long enough for anyone to be looking for him yet. But people will be looking; as soon as night falls and he doesn’t come home, his father will send people to find him. It’s only a matter of time.
“Are you going to kill me?” He asks instead, his voice quiet and resigned. He can feel Kurt’s body become rigid with surprise behind him.
“Why would you ever think that?”
“Well, how else do you take care of something?”
“I’m just bringing you to meet my pa, that’s all.” Kurt moves around Blaine and the way his arm twists around Blaine’s middle makes him shudder. But Kurt quickly goes to grab Blaine’s arm and begins tugging him forward. Blaine doesn’t fight so much this time, although he does drag his feet just a bit. It isn’t long before they break through a line of trees and see a horse grazing there. It looks up in interest at their approach.
“Hey there, Hutch.” Kurt’s voice is riddled with affection as he touches the stallion on its thick neck. “You ever ride a horse before?” Kurt asks as he turns to look at Blaine again. He hasn’t, but he isn’t about to admit that.
“It doesn’t have a saddle,” is what he says instead.
“Astute. Come now, get on.” He holds out his hands and Blaine looks at them in confusion. “Step up,” he says, slowly, and Blaine bristles at the tone. This sounds like a horrible idea, it really does. The horse doesn’t even have reins; how exactly do they plan on riding it?
Kurt makes a sound of impatience, and so Blaine hurries to place his foot in Kurt’s cupped hands. He’s lifted almost instantly and makes an undignified sound of surprise before he swings his leg over and settles onto the horse’s back; Hutch doesn’t budge an inch. Kurt heaves himself up easily behind Blaine and gives the horse a small pat and then they’re on their way.
Blaine would be concentrating on how very much he feels like he’s going to fall off the horse and be horribly injured (despite them traveling at an easy trot), but he’s distracted by the heavy, warm feel of Kurt’s chest pressed against his back. It’s unlike anything he’s ever felt before, and it makes Blaine’s heartbeat quicken.
“So... Kurt?” Blaine asks after a few moments of silence.
“Yes?” Kurt replies, a hint of amusement in his smile.
“If you were just going to abduct me, I don’t see why you bothered using another name.”
It’s quiet for a few moments and when Kurt does speak again, his voice is quiet as if he’s afraid the trees might hear them.
“Maybe that’s because I really did just want you to go home.”
Blaine is confused, but he doesn’t ask any other questions. After all, it doesn’t make a whole lot of sense. If Kurt didn’t want to abduct him then why did he chase him and do just that?
i. ii. iii.