Give Me A Chance (boyxboy)

Twenty-Three

After about an hour, I gently detach myself from Blaine. He murmurs something in his sleep as I quietly shimmy off the bed. I throw a blanket over him.

I look back once before I leave the room. Blaine is sleeping peacefully, and he looks so calm. I think I maybe helped.

I walk down the stairs, and a couple of them creak under my feet. Blaine's dad is sitting in a chair in a nearby room, reading a book. When he notices me coming down the stairs, he twists around to look at me.

"Is he still sleeping?" he asks me, closing the book and placing it on a side table nearby. I nod. "Good. He needs some sleep." He gestures to a couch next to him. I realize I'm standing at the bottom of the stairs awkwardly. "Come on. I won't bite."

I give a wry smile, but I do walk over there and sit on the couch. I don't know if this is supposed to be weird or anything. I'm not quite sure how to act. But being here, facing him, kind of reminds me about when I told dad and he crushed my picture. It feels eerily similar. I know it's not the same, but I can't help the cold sensation that comes over me. My heart clenches tightly.

He scratches his chin absentmindedly. "I'm not sure if I'm supposed to ask you about yourself or give you the dad talk or something," he says, laughing softly. "This is as new for you as it is for me." He shrugs.

I shrug right back. It doesn't feel as new as it should. "Sorry," I say. "I didn't realize you were gonna be coming home."

"Well, that's not your fault,"

Because it feels so similar to what happened with dad, I focus on my chest rising and falling and I look around the room. Just like the rest of the house, it's a little outdated, but it's warm and cozy. There's a homemade quilt on the back of the couch and an ancient record player on a stand in the corner. I use the room to ground me.

I chuckle lightly. "That's what Blaine always says," I mutter. My hands are clasped in my lap. I'm squeezing enough that my knuckles are turning white.

"Well... Lyam, was it?" I nod. "You should be anything but sorry. I expected to come home to find Blaine alone again. Seeing someone with him was a relief. You have no idea."

"What do you mean?" I ask him.

He waves vaguely. "It's just, I'm gone so often, and I know it's always just Blaine here, alone, doing everything he can to stay sane. No kid should have to live by themselves. Every time I leave, it feels like I'm abandoning him." I don't tell him that I kind of did know this. "He's been alone for too long. His friends were never really friends, and he never had anyone to keep him company while I was gone."

I lick my lips nervously. "He has me now," I say.

"I know, and I can't thank you enough," he says. "He needs someone to trust. I don't think he's forgiven me for detaching after his mom was admitted to rehab." He rubs his hands together nervously.

"Detaching?" I ask.

"Yeah," he says. "I spent more time at camp. I didn't want to be in this house without her here, and it left Blaine stranded. I'm pretty sure he still harbors a grudge against me." I don't tell him that I know Blaine blamed him for at least staying away after it happened.

"Yeah," I say lamely.

"Which is why I was relieved to come back and see you here with him,"

I lift my gaze. "So you have no issue with me being a... a guy?" I ask him. "You're not angry or anything? Not gonna pretend to like me and then get mad at him when I leave?" That's what I'm really worried about. You can never be too careful.

His eyes widen. "No, of course not," he objects. "Why would I do that?" His voice trails off toward the end of his sentence. He notices the nervousness in my eyes, the sweat on my forehead, the hands clasped viciously between my legs. His expression switches to concern, and it's the exact same expression as Blaine's. It's the same eyebrow scrunch, the same tightening of the cheeks. "What's wrong? What happened?" he asks me softly.