Blaine Anderson (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
justlove) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
entrancelogs2013-08-28 10:42 am
justlove) wrote in entrancelogs2013-08-28 10:42 am
Entry tags:
Some nights I wish that this all would end
Who: John Blake (oversight) and Blaine Anderson (justlove).
Where: Blake's room on the fourth floor.
When: Backdated to 8/25, mid-morning.
Rating: PG-13.
Summary: Blaine has a CD for Blake's listening pleasure, but he also needs a hand with something.
The Story:
After the brief conversation that he had with Blake, Blaine was left wondering just what he was doing. It was definitely good timing, because how else would he have an opportunity like this?
Rediscovering just how much he liked Keane's music seemed like a fortuitous happening, and one that gave him the chance to kill two birds with one stone. He could bring Blake some new music, and he could see about calling in a favor. Because right now, he needed to do something.
Making his way up the staircases and down the hallways to Blake's room on the fourth floor, he mulled over how he was going to handle this, while also steeling himself for the inevitable reaction he expected from Blake. It had sort of come as a bit of a shock when he glanced in the mirror one morning, because those dark circles under his eyes hadn't been there the last time he checked.
It made sense, though, because he wasn't sleeping at night, except for a few hours at a time. The rest of the time, he was up and walking around the mansion, trying to clear his head and get back to some semblance of normalcy, only to crash again a few hours later. So, adding in the way he looked, along with the fact that his right wrist was still taped up because of a little over-exuberant punching (long story there), he was certain that Blake was going to have some things to say.
All too soon, he arrived on the fourth floor, and crossing over to Blake's room didn't take that long. Exactly why he was hesitating to knock didn't make a lot of sense; he really wanted to get that CD to Blake, and it was definitely one of those situations where something had to change.
He was confident that, out of everyone in the mansion, Blake was the one person he could count on to give him a hand. It wasn't for nothing that they were friends. And so, armed with that resolve, he knocked on his friend's door.
oversight) and Blaine Anderson (justlove). Where: Blake's room on the fourth floor.
When: Backdated to 8/25, mid-morning.
Rating: PG-13.
Summary: Blaine has a CD for Blake's listening pleasure, but he also needs a hand with something.
The Story:
After the brief conversation that he had with Blake, Blaine was left wondering just what he was doing. It was definitely good timing, because how else would he have an opportunity like this?
Rediscovering just how much he liked Keane's music seemed like a fortuitous happening, and one that gave him the chance to kill two birds with one stone. He could bring Blake some new music, and he could see about calling in a favor. Because right now, he needed to do something.
Making his way up the staircases and down the hallways to Blake's room on the fourth floor, he mulled over how he was going to handle this, while also steeling himself for the inevitable reaction he expected from Blake. It had sort of come as a bit of a shock when he glanced in the mirror one morning, because those dark circles under his eyes hadn't been there the last time he checked.
It made sense, though, because he wasn't sleeping at night, except for a few hours at a time. The rest of the time, he was up and walking around the mansion, trying to clear his head and get back to some semblance of normalcy, only to crash again a few hours later. So, adding in the way he looked, along with the fact that his right wrist was still taped up because of a little over-exuberant punching (long story there), he was certain that Blake was going to have some things to say.
All too soon, he arrived on the fourth floor, and crossing over to Blake's room didn't take that long. Exactly why he was hesitating to knock didn't make a lot of sense; he really wanted to get that CD to Blake, and it was definitely one of those situations where something had to change.
He was confident that, out of everyone in the mansion, Blake was the one person he could count on to give him a hand. It wasn't for nothing that they were friends. And so, armed with that resolve, he knocked on his friend's door.
no subject
His eyes settled on the door as three thumps called out Blaine's arrival. Blake compulsively tugged at his hems to align his clothing, lost in a land of excitement and uncertainty, expectant of at least a few moments of levity, even if there had been a certain perceived pall to those digitally perfect letters on his cellphone screen. The moment he opened the door, though, his heart dropped into his stomach and his smile faded by more than half.
"Blaine..."
The dark circles, the not-quite-perfect head of hair, the stance, all of it ticked together like puzzle pieces to complete a picture that had John feeling cold. What happened? Aside from the obvious, he hadn't heard that Anderson had run into any subsequent trouble. "C'mon, come in, come in," he said, urging Blaine along with a gentle hand on his elbow.
Goddammit. The cape and the cowl and the long nights, the notes, the upset, and the concern, all for what? Blake, feeling negligent, tugged out a chair for Blaine on his way over to the CD player. Mood music — something classical and calming — whispered from the speakers and John broached no argument as he held up two coffee mugs plucked from near his coffee pot (a newer addition to his decor, if Blaine lent himself to observing as much).
"Tell me what's goin' on, man. What's up? Know you said nothin', but..." A cup tilted in his direction served as a gesture in the absence of free hands. If that was the truth, Blake was a monkey's uncle.
no subject
What he really wanted (and what he wasn't sure he could get from anyone) was to shake off those haunting nightmares and go back to the way he was. And he hoped that this would be the start of that. If he could just talk it out, maybe he'd feel better. Maybe those terrible images would stop replaying at night.
He let Blake guide him into the room, and as he took in the surroundings, he couldn't help but allow a small smile to form. There was something comforting about Blake's room, and everything in it contributed to that atmosphere. It came as a stark contrast to his own room, the one he was growing to despise because of what it represented.
"Hey, Blake. How's it going?"
He managed to ask as he all but fell into the chair that Blake had pulled out. And once there, he tried to resist the urge to slump down and put his face into his hands. He didn't want Blake to think he was so easily cowed by things, when it seemed to him that the older man was pretty much unflappable. But everything was combining to make Blaine anything but unflappable.
"And I don't know. I just... I'm not handling things very well," he said finally, knowing there was a telltale tinge of red creeping up from his neck. It was embarrassing, because he didn't see anyone else who was still hung up like he was.
no subject
Practically. Except Blaine's words cut into him and he felt ice spreading through his veins. It was never a good sign when a person like Anderson just came out and said they weren't doing well. Most people were afraid to say even that, afraid they might look weak. Whatever the case, Blake's surprised and shocked and concerned.
"Hey, hey," he urged, voice quiet. "Who's to say what handlin' somethin' well really means? We all cope diff'rently..." Blake wasn't dismissing Blaine's words. On the contrary, Blake was making a pretty good case for the boy to not feel quite so bad about feeling bad.
"Anyway, what's goin' on? What's got you down, man? Talk to me." Because John was desperate to help and he wasn't going to stop until he'd done at least some good.
no subject
If he had any choice in the matter, he wouldn't be doing what he's been doing. And what he'd been doing was being driven to taking late night walks that last for hours because the nightmares just wouldn't let up.
And admitting as much to Blake was harder than he thought it would be. He found it difficult to imagine Blake being so hung up on something that nightmares and an inability to sleep would be a problem. But it was a problem for him, and embarrassing or not, he'd like it to stop.
"The Hellhounds were here weeks ago. You'd think I'd be over that by now," he said by way of an answer. The frustration directed at himself for still being bothered by it was all too evident in his voice, given the clipped way in which he delivered them.
no subject
What could he do? Other than assure Blaine that everything would eventually be all right, there weren't many tools at his disposal. Nevertheless, there were some sure-fire ways to help out, whether they were obvious or not.
He finished off the two cups of coffee and then busied himself taking a sleeve of crackers from his stash. It might not be the best snack, but it would certainly settle any upset stomachs.
"There a particular reason you need to hit a time table? Healin' happens as it happens. Can't force it," he said, trying to be as gentle as possible.
no subject
And that wasn't exactly healthy or the best way of coping, but it was still hard to know what was the best way. "I don't want to be hung up by this forever. At some point, don't I have to forget about it?" He wanted to forget about it, and the sooner, the better.
He wasn't angry, but glaring at the cups of coffee sitting in front of him felt good, even if it wasn't accomplishing anything. Actually, it was accomplishing something, in a really weird way. Being frustrated, and even angry, was a better alternative to feeling numb.