glee; brighter by starlight section viii
Title: Brighter by Starlight [section viii]
Fandom: Glee
Rating: for this section, PG
Length: 970 words
Warnings: None for this section
Characters/Pairings: Blaine, his father
Summary: A character study of Blaine. So, I got this letter about you today...
Notes: This section was a pain in the ass, I won't lie. But I'm finally pleased with it, so here it is. Three parts to go! *airpunch*
viii. solitary
n. isolated from others; characterised by preferring or possessing solitude
Blaine always felt like a stalked deer under his father's gaze, making him want to cringe and run away like any sensible person but unfortunately frozen to the spot. While neither abusive nor cruel, his posture and tone all hissed authority and it was probably what scared Blaine the most, confrontations like this. Not with anyone else; he tried not to put huge stock into what anyone else said, but his dad was different and he didn't know why. He cared, and it made his stomach clench like iron and he couldn't stand it. What a coward.
“Why didn't you say anything?” his father said at last, the stupid stupid letter crinkling under the grasp of his fingers (your son has been having some issues -), the black ink of the school logo twisting beneath the fold.
“I don't know, maybe you could have guessed?” Blaine snapped back, already feeling his back tighten and his shoulders rise defensively. His eyes didn't waver. “What did you think, that I just get into fights because that's what boys do, right? No way there could have been some sort of reason for it, because that would make too much sense.”
For a moment his father's mask slipped and he looked almost distressed, the lines in his forehead suddenly more pronounced, but it flashed away as quickly as it had appeared and Blaine would later think that perhaps he had just imagined it. “Don't speak to me like that,” he said, quietly, and Blaine felt himself slide back on the sofa and draw quiet. “I'm supposed to be able to see into your head now? Just magically know that all those kids ignore you or call you -” he stopped and bit his lip. “What was I supposed to do if you wouldn't even tell me about it?”
Blaine realises later that it was maybe not such a stupid question, but he has always been bad at not acting on impulse. “I don't know. What would you have done if I had? Tell me that you'd do something about it? Tell me that you loved me or that it was okay? Because I really can't see that happening.”
He heard his voice falter, the pitch cracking on the last syllable, and he stopped and thought hard about all the curse words he wasn't going to say. His father's eyebrows rose and Blaine flinched back but there was a flutter of pride inside, a flickering candle that smiled and burned bright at the surprise and pain that crossed his father's expression. But playing with fire will get you burned, and it sputtered out with a hard wash of guilt when Blaine saw his father's lips tighten and his fingers dig into his palms.
“I think,” his father paused and breathed in like it was almost painful, “that you should really consider transferring to a different school.”
“Why, so I can get universally ignored there too?”
“Blaine, you don't know that. Your mother and I think that you should maybe consider it, because you're clearly not excelling where you are now,” he stopped, momentarily, glancing up at the ceiling like what he should say would be painted there. “Don't act like this isn't hard for me - you know how it feels to know that you've failed at looking after your own damn kid?”
“I don't need looking after. I'm fine.”
“You're not. Any idiot can see that, Blaine, don't pretend to be brave when it's not going to do you any good.”
(So said the man who had told him from birth to man up and what's there to cry about? and you've got to stay strong and be there for your sister. So said the blind man.)
“Your... your mom found this place in Westerville, Dalton Academy. It's an all-boys' school -” Blaine watched his father roll his eyes, “- but it has a zero-tolerance policy on bullying, so. Maybe look into that.”
Blaine wondered if he was supposed to be relieved. “So you just want me to just... run away? Tell them that they've gotten to me and that they win? No. I don't want to. I can't.”
And it sounded childish but it was true and Blaine could tell his father wasn't taking it in at all. Frustrating. He knew best, he knew he'd do the right thing and - but - what was the right thing? A sinking sense of are you sure? had slipped into his head, made its home there, heavy and foreboding. He felt sort of sick wet and churning and he wondered if he could throw up on the patent leather sofa and forget about this stupid idea but then again, maybe that would be his surrender in the first place.
“I'm not saying you have to. But I think you should really go and take some time to yourself, get your head around it. I don't... staying where you are isn't going to help you.”
“... I'll ask mom to show me when she gets home.”
Blaine stared at the floor, his arm curled protectively over his stomach all of a sudden, and his father nodded with a strange glitter in his eyes and dismissed him.
He pressed his face against the cool ceramic toilet bowl and knew he had to do the right thing.
vii. confusion || ix. fake
Fandom: Glee
Rating: for this section, PG
Length: 970 words
Warnings: None for this section
Characters/Pairings: Blaine, his father
Summary: A character study of Blaine. So, I got this letter about you today...
Notes: This section was a pain in the ass, I won't lie. But I'm finally pleased with it, so here it is. Three parts to go! *airpunch*
viii. solitary
n. isolated from others; characterised by preferring or possessing solitude
Blaine always felt like a stalked deer under his father's gaze, making him want to cringe and run away like any sensible person but unfortunately frozen to the spot. While neither abusive nor cruel, his posture and tone all hissed authority and it was probably what scared Blaine the most, confrontations like this. Not with anyone else; he tried not to put huge stock into what anyone else said, but his dad was different and he didn't know why. He cared, and it made his stomach clench like iron and he couldn't stand it. What a coward.
“Why didn't you say anything?” his father said at last, the stupid stupid letter crinkling under the grasp of his fingers (your son has been having some issues -), the black ink of the school logo twisting beneath the fold.
“I don't know, maybe you could have guessed?” Blaine snapped back, already feeling his back tighten and his shoulders rise defensively. His eyes didn't waver. “What did you think, that I just get into fights because that's what boys do, right? No way there could have been some sort of reason for it, because that would make too much sense.”
For a moment his father's mask slipped and he looked almost distressed, the lines in his forehead suddenly more pronounced, but it flashed away as quickly as it had appeared and Blaine would later think that perhaps he had just imagined it. “Don't speak to me like that,” he said, quietly, and Blaine felt himself slide back on the sofa and draw quiet. “I'm supposed to be able to see into your head now? Just magically know that all those kids ignore you or call you -” he stopped and bit his lip. “What was I supposed to do if you wouldn't even tell me about it?”
Blaine realises later that it was maybe not such a stupid question, but he has always been bad at not acting on impulse. “I don't know. What would you have done if I had? Tell me that you'd do something about it? Tell me that you loved me or that it was okay? Because I really can't see that happening.”
He heard his voice falter, the pitch cracking on the last syllable, and he stopped and thought hard about all the curse words he wasn't going to say. His father's eyebrows rose and Blaine flinched back but there was a flutter of pride inside, a flickering candle that smiled and burned bright at the surprise and pain that crossed his father's expression. But playing with fire will get you burned, and it sputtered out with a hard wash of guilt when Blaine saw his father's lips tighten and his fingers dig into his palms.
“I think,” his father paused and breathed in like it was almost painful, “that you should really consider transferring to a different school.”
“Why, so I can get universally ignored there too?”
“Blaine, you don't know that. Your mother and I think that you should maybe consider it, because you're clearly not excelling where you are now,” he stopped, momentarily, glancing up at the ceiling like what he should say would be painted there. “Don't act like this isn't hard for me - you know how it feels to know that you've failed at looking after your own damn kid?”
“I don't need looking after. I'm fine.”
“You're not. Any idiot can see that, Blaine, don't pretend to be brave when it's not going to do you any good.”
(So said the man who had told him from birth to man up and what's there to cry about? and you've got to stay strong and be there for your sister. So said the blind man.)
“Your... your mom found this place in Westerville, Dalton Academy. It's an all-boys' school -” Blaine watched his father roll his eyes, “- but it has a zero-tolerance policy on bullying, so. Maybe look into that.”
Blaine wondered if he was supposed to be relieved. “So you just want me to just... run away? Tell them that they've gotten to me and that they win? No. I don't want to. I can't.”
And it sounded childish but it was true and Blaine could tell his father wasn't taking it in at all. Frustrating. He knew best, he knew he'd do the right thing and - but - what was the right thing? A sinking sense of are you sure? had slipped into his head, made its home there, heavy and foreboding. He felt sort of sick wet and churning and he wondered if he could throw up on the patent leather sofa and forget about this stupid idea but then again, maybe that would be his surrender in the first place.
“I'm not saying you have to. But I think you should really go and take some time to yourself, get your head around it. I don't... staying where you are isn't going to help you.”
“... I'll ask mom to show me when she gets home.”
Blaine stared at the floor, his arm curled protectively over his stomach all of a sudden, and his father nodded with a strange glitter in his eyes and dismissed him.
He pressed his face against the cool ceramic toilet bowl and knew he had to do the right thing.
vii. confusion || ix. fake