Chapter Text
Sleep was escaping him.
His alarm clock was telling him that he needed to get up in four hours, and he’d still not managed to feel even remotely drowsy. He was always edgy close to competition, but this was the first time in a while, he’d stolen so little sleep. He could hear Wes’s steady breaths from the bed opposite and envied his friend’s ability to sleep though anything and everything. He’d tossed and turned, gotten up and paced the dorm room, sat in the bathroom on his phone; and his roommate had slumbered through it all.
Back in his first days at Dalton, when his nights were constantly disturbed by nightmares, and every shadow scared the crap out of him; Wes had made him promise to wake him if he ever needed to talk. He’d sat and listened as Blaine recounted every painful second of his attack, he’d held him throughout his numerous breakdowns and anxiety attacks. He’d covered for him on the days when he had gotten so bad, he’d barely been able to leave their room, and now? Now that the nightmares were a rarity rather than the norm, and he’d gotten a hold on his anxiety? Now, Blaine was terrified of waking his roommate for something as inconsequential as this seemed.
All it had taken was one conversation. One small line that had probably meant so little to the person who had said it, but had sent him crashing from cloud nine, only to end up in a crumpled heap in a tree. ‘Your solos are breath taking, they’re also numerous.’
The fact that it had come from Kurt only amplified the problem. It amplified the problem until it was ringing in his ears, banging against his head and consuming him. It was the reason he had yet to find sleep. He sighed again and got out of bed, pulling on his slippers and a dressing gown. If sleep was going to elude him then he might as well make something of the next four hours. He slipped out of the dorm, only just remembering to grab his key and tiptoed down the corridor to the main staircase.
If he timed it just right, he could be back in his dorm without Wes being any the wiser, and a couple of extra hours of practice under his belt. Creeping around the school after dark had become a skill he’d acquired in those early days, when Wes had managed to sleep through one of his nightmares, and he’d not wanted to wake him. He’d taken to wandering the corridors aimlessly, and yet; he always somehow ended up at the same place.
The practice room.
Technically, it was an old common room, that the Warblers had commandeered for their use, but the acoustics were decent, and there was a great view of the grounds from the piano stool. He slipped into the attached office of the staff sponsor they never saw, and raided the desk for blank music sheets and a pencil. He suspected that it was the same stash of supplies that he had sneaked in last year, they never really did see their sponsor.
He settled down at the piano and quickly went through his warm up before starting to attempt to figure out the tune that had been rattling around his head the past few days. Wes was constantly asking him where he got the inspiration for his songs, but he could never seem to be able to sufficiently explain it. Sometimes he would get an earworm that would result in him sitting at the piano, or picking up his guitar and spending hours trying to work it out. Sometimes little snippets of lyrics would make their way into the corners of his notebooks, scratched in the margins of his algebra homework or scribbled on the back of his essays. All he knew; was that the longer it took him to get it out and down on paper, the worse it would get. The worst were those earworms that wiggled away before he could fully work them out. Earworms that, no matter how long he spent trying to get them down on paper; would escape him, never to be heard, or played, or felt.
Missed opportunities.
Just like the opportunity he’d had to fully stick up for himself today, and instead had used the excuse of the council to deflect Kurt’s comment. He knew that sometimes he was too much, in fact; most of his time these days went into trying to be just enough. It was exhausting. Wes had already admitted to him in private that although Kurt’s range was impressive (they hadn’t had a proper countertenor in years); they weren’t going to consider him for a solo unless they went to nationals. He was too valuable an asset for the harmonies to stick out front, and truthfully; they weren’t yet sure that he was up for the pressure.
“You’re going to send me grey prematurely, do you know that?” His hands left the piano keys and he whipped around to find Wes leaning up against the doorframe, his arms folded and an exasperated look on his face. His roommate turned around; leaning out of the door to murmur to someone outside before stepping into the room and closing it behind him.
“Sorry.” Blaine replied with a grimace. “I couldn’t sleep.”
“I figured.” A silence stretched out in front of them, broken only by the old clock on the mantle before; “You should have woken me.” Blaine apologised again, his standard response to most things these days. He still worried about stepping on toes or offending someone, even after over a year at Dalton, almost two now. It was automatic, ingrained in his psyche, an aftereffect of what had happened before… “What is going on?” Wes asked, pulling him up from the piano stool by the hand and leading him over to one of the sofas.
“Nothing.” He winced, that was too quick a response to be anything close to believable.
“Liar.” Wes replied just as quickly. “You’re a liar Devon, and I don’t even need to prove it. The evidence is right here in front of me.” There was another silence, Blaine trying not to meet Wes’s eyes in fear that the other boy would see right through him. Wes always did have a special talent for reading people. “Look, you know that I’m always here for you right?” He nodded. “And, that you can tell me anything in confidence, and without judgement.” Another nod. “Then please talk to me Dev. You wouldn’t have come down here unless you really were too wired to sleep, and the only times you’re too wired to sleep are when you’re overthinking things, or you’re excited. I know it’s not the latter otherwise you would have had no problems with waking me up to tell me. So, do us both a favour and cut the bullshit so that we can both go back to bed.”
“I don’t want another solo.” He whispered. A weight leaving his chest for having said it out loud. “Not for regionals, not for our impromptu performances, not for the rest of the season. Give them to the others. I don’t want it to be ‘Blaine and the Pips’ anymore.” He hadn’t realised that he’d got up to pace until Wes stopped him in his tracks; reaching up to untangle his hands from where they were tugging painfully on his curls, a tic that had only appeared after his surgery.
“Is this because of what Hummel said to you today?” He asked sternly, his eyes hard and his mouth pressed into a thin line. “Because you know that none of us feel that way, right? You’re our best lead Devon, and yours is the voice that would best lead us to Nationals.”
“But, he’s right Wes.” Blaine whispered. “I don’t deserve everything you guys give me. Nick’s voice is just as strong as mine and Trent…” His tirade was stopped by Wes’s hand slapping over his mouth.
“Shut up.” The other boy ground out; his expression now beyond pissed. “You are not going to let Hummel ruin all the work I put into you, do you understand me?” Blaine nodded, dropping his eyes to meet the carpet, rather than Wes’s face. “You say that you don’t deserve it, I say that’s bullshit. We’ve been over this dozens of times, and I’ll be damned if one spiteful and jealous comment is going to set you back months. Now, I’m going to remove my hand from your face and you’re going to tell me why you do deserve the leads. Are we understood?” Blaine nodded again and sighed when the other boy’s hand fell away from his mouth and grabbed his wrist to bring him back over to the sofa.
“I deserve them because you guys think I’m the strongest lead.” He whispered; his hands knotting together on his lap.
“Not good enough Devon.” Wes replied, reaching out to separate his fingers and instead lace them through his own. “Try again.”
“I deserve the lead because I am the strongest voice.” A nod of approval this time.
“Better, why else?”
“Because I work the hardest.” Another nod.
“What else?”
“Because I am the only one who knows how to cover up a slip from one of the guys.”
“And because you are going to be the first Junior to take up the gavel when I graduate next year. Because despite everything else you are the leader that this team needs. You breathe music Blaine, and you can do things that none of us are able. For God’s sake you are here at three in the morning, fucking composing instead of sleeping. You are more invested in this than anyone I know, including Hummel. You are a lead Blaine, he isn’t. Yes, he might be able to belt out a Broadway classic, but so what? There is no emotion behind what he does. You connect with the music and an audience in a way none of us are able. Now stop this bullshittery and come to bed.”
“Can you at least give him an audition?”
“No Dev, and we’re not going through this again. If Hummel’s got a problem, he can approach us, not take it out on you. I’ll tell him as much when I see him at breakfast. Don’t you think that you put yourself through enough as it is?”
“Is there any way I can convince you otherwise?” Blaine whispered, suddenly feeling as exhausted as he should have done five hours ago.
“Not a chance.” Wes replied with a snort. “Now clear your stuff and please come up to bed.” He complied quickly, gathering the half-filled music sheets and grabbing the pencil which had rolled onto the floor. Wes grabbed his hand and practically dragged him back up the stairs and towards their dorm room, unlocking the door and pushing him onto his bed. They divested themselves of their dressing gowns and slippers and both were soon bundled back up under the covers of their respective beds.
He was asleep in seconds.