The Ink Drinkers

By Dror Bloodwood

It started with a fake tattoo. It (almost) ended in a death.

 

Blaine is nothing special. An introverted artist, uncomfortable with the very idea of kissing, and using his own skin as a canvas to keep sane. At seventeen, making friends, evading a bully, and crushing on a boy who tells him stories under the stars are the biggest challenges in his life.

 

Until the night the creatures he's drawn on his skin come to life... and a bully almost dies.

 

Understanding what's happening to him is tricky enough. Learning to control his unusual powers needs the help of Blaine's friends, a gang of girls, and two botanical witches - if Blaine's actions and the secrets the witches keep don't put all their lives in danger first.

 

Contains: An ace teen wreaking havoc, happily married witches, magical tattoos and many references to Greek mythology.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dror Bloodwood
• Release date: Jul 14, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223697701

Book preview

Chapter One

Blaine was on the verge of turning sixteen and everything felt like falling.

He had been counting the days until school was over. Not for summer break but for a life of freedom.

Eighteen months of feeling inadequate, of going around pretending at friendship. All Blaine wanted was to create and lose his mind in art, so he kept drawing, sidestepping conversations and questions with a smile, waiting and avoiding.

Always avoiding.

He was avoiding life until he could get out and live it.

Blaine was sitting outside before second period and watched the first dead leaves dancing in the warm breeze and drawing under a tree - drawing was like talking, breathing and dreaming, all at the same time - when a shadow approached, all bouncing and wild colours. Blaine tensed at the memory of another shadow, of girls looming over him.

Can I sit? the girl-shaped shadow asked, and Blaine nodded, because life hadn't robbed him of politeness yet.

The girl took a black ribbon out of her skirt’s pocket and started to pass it methodically through the eyelets of her pink boot, her face suddenly hidden by a fall of green curly hair.

Why aren’t you talkin’? She asked again, frowning at the ribbon not entering the hole as planned. Not in the way anyone else demanded to know why he wasn’t socialising, but rather in a tone she might have used to ask him what he was drawing.

Polite curiosity with a hint of real interest.

You mean in general or right now?

Hmmm both? I’m Daphne, by the way, and I was curious to know why you have no friends. She winced. Blaine winced too, and just like that, they started laughing.

That’s probably why I don’t have a lot of friends either, she added with a grin and Blaine laughed a bit more.

So rumour has it that, back in the day, Eddie was an arse to you and now you’re scared of girls for life. She rolled her eyes and Blaine sighed.

There had been a bottle when Blaine was eleven and a circle of giggling girls and booing boys and Eddie in the middle. Eddie had made the bottle spin round and round, trying to force Blaine to kiss one of the girls. Blaine had been forced to share his most secret truth instead. How he had been afraid of kissing girls or boys or anyone in between. Not much had changed since then and this little bit of information still delighted Eddie, years after primary school.

Eddie will be my personal plague until the end, right?

Depends on when the end is, but if you mean, end of high school, then probably.

Blaine looked at the girl sitting next to him, a tiny pixie of a girl with the name of a tree and smiled. He didn’t remember a time where he had been smiling so much at school.

Oh, she was wrong on one thing; he did talk to people. It was hard spending so much time in one place and never exchanging a word. It felt always more like justification and careful wrapping of his precious truths than real conversation. Anyway, weird was becoming the new fashion statement, so he tried to cultivate it. She tried that too, obviously, with the green streaks in her hair and her pink boots. He had no idea how she had managed to get those to pass the strict rules enforced at school.

Daphne finished tying the ribbon into a big bow then smoothed out the wrinkles of her dark blue uniform skirt. Blaine was pretty sure he had just glimpsed the bright yellow of what his grandma would have called a petticoat.

So when are you going to prove Eddie wrong and kiss someone? Memories of the kissing game when he had been eleven would pursue him until the end.

I don’t have to prove anything. He can deal with his size complex himself.  After all, Eddie was older by a year and Blaine had always been taller.

Daphne burst out laughing then stopped and considered him, her face turning serious. Blaine tried to deflect her next question, quickly. He had known her for all of five minutes, but already he could predict that this serious face didn’t bode well for him.

When are you going to put the other one on? He asked, gesturing to her second boot, as shiny and as blindingly pink as the other.

What? She looked at her shoe, biting her lower lip like this required a lot of reflection. Tomorrow? I brought only one ribbon, but I wanted to try it.

Blaine nodded, because he knew all about artistic urge and it was making complete sense but sadly, it hadn’t been enough to distract her.

So if you aren’t going to kiss a girl to throw Eddie off, what about kissing a boy? My cousin likes to kiss boys and he never was into kissing girls. He would have already hit Eddie though, she added, looking pensive.

Blaine would have liked to hit Eddie too, but Eddie was never openly provocative, always snide remarks and cold disdain and he never left without at least two friends going with him everywhere.

Yes, even to use the toilets. Blaine knew, he had run into them once while he wanted to wash his hands and they were acting as bouncers in front of the door.

Blaine hated these guys.

You want me to kiss your cousin?

Daphne laughed loudly at that and everyone who hadn’t been looking at them, the rainbow girl and the silent boy, turned at the sound. It was bubbly, joyful, a bit too loud, and honestly a bit ridiculous too and totally unapologetic. He loved the sound of her laugh. It sounded like music.

Nah, he listens to electronic and doesn’t take it well when I unplug his battery charger. If these were the two biggest faults in Daphne’s list of bad life choices, then Blaine thought he could live with that.

After his classes ended, he waited for her at the bus stop because he couldn’t be sure a girl wearing blinding colours and one untied pink combat boot wasn’t going to be a deadly hazard to everyone in her path.

Incidentally, it was also the day he made his first real friend.

Chapter Two

One year of drawing less in black and colouring more in red, green and orange, blue, yellow and pink. One year of laughing with other people and being dragged to parties where Blaine ended up having all the human models he could have wished for his sketches. One year of understanding you could have fun with people without being their absolute best friends and trusting them with all your truths.

One year of growing up.

Blaine was seventeen and in Upper Sixth and parties with schoolmates were now a normal thing to him.

It all started with a drinking game and a room locked with an old-fashioned key.

The beer bottle had been replaced with vodka because they were all almost adults there, and the room was actually a closet because it wasn’t a house where you bolted your bedroom door. You closed it and expected people to knock politely. Blaine was in two minds about glass bottles but, to be honest, Blaine was seventeen and had decided that being wary of giving his trust was his best shield in life.

Daphne had taken him by the wrist and almost dragged him to the circle where everyone was talking with shots glasses in their hands and had whispered You can’t keep on living your life by giving the evil eye to every glass bottle. You have to show the bottle who is the boss.

So, Blaine was standing in a circle made of people he had laughed with, eaten sandwiches with and crammed last-minutes revisions with, but they weren’t people he was interested in entering into full body contact with. It was a mix between a Truth and Dare and the worst Beer pong he had ever seen, involving tiny vodka shots and everyone too wasted to really care about flammable liquid spilling on the floor.

From the other side, Blaine saw Eddie studying his forearms with interest then raising his glass in a silent salute. Blaine closed his eyes, and too late, pulled the sleeves of his hoodie down to his wrists. The burn in his throat anchored him more into the knowledge that the evening wouldn’t end up without a humiliation of epic proportion.

Of course, when his turn came, Eddie was practically next to him and, over the background noise, Blaine saw him mouth the words Truth or Dare?

Eddie had been there at the beginning of Blaine’s Genesis. Hell, Eddie was practically the starting point.

Of course, he would know Blaine wouldn’t choose Truth, not when his newest secret was peeking out of his sleeves. Such a ridiculous, stupid thing really, but Eddie had a way of prying the stupidest and most innocent things out of Blaine and used them to make fun of him.

Whether at seventeen or eleven, Blaine still hated him.

He could see the question burning on Eddie’s lips; one Eddie knew the answer to. It didn’t deserve all this big fuss around it but really, Blaine had no other choice so, his eyes on Eddie and his lips pressing against the cold glass, he chose Dare and took the shot.

Eddie’s lips curled into a thin smile, and he said, loudly, too loud not to attract the attention of the crowd standing around them, I dare you to go into that room with the closest drinker.

Blaine rolled his eyes; Eddie couldn’t seriously think Blaine would take abuse without reacting. It would be a good way to shut him up without his two goons with big fists trailing behind though.

But at this moment, he felt a hand closing around his elbow and a voice saying, That would be me then.

He turned his head and found himself confronted with sandy messy hair and sparkling eyes coming to his shoulder. The owner of the hair was grinning and too many teeth were showing when he turned to Eddie and asked, Where should the challenge take place?

This is not a duel, Eddie answered.

It didn’t look bloodless either, Toothy grin boy answered with a shrug. He hadn’t let go of Blaine’s arm. Shall we go?

He caught Blaine's wrist and with the other hand holding a big cup, opened a path for them. Blaine tried desperately to catch Daphne's eye, but she only turned her head when he was way past any help and winked, mouthing words that looked a lot like Have fun.

Blaine thought it cruelly ironic, with a furious Eddy trailing behind him and a guy in front of him who looked a bit like an imp with his small size and his tangled hair. And was he really hopping through the crowd? It must have been the alcohol, Blaine thought; it would make anyone's walk looking a bit like dancing.

Eddie's eyes were boring a hole through Blaine's tee-shirt, and it was becoming seriously uncomfortable. He felt the look, insistent and hot with repressed anger and that was why, even if the alternative was a ferocious smile, he was relieved when the three of them stopped in front of a door.

You two, get in, Eddie told them, trying for a bored look now, but his eyes looked like they were made of frozen onyx and the eyes never lied. The whole sight was undermined when Blaine’s eyes shifted to Eddie’s red shirt. There was a giant pizza printed on it with Circle of Life written across it in bold black letters.

Blaine almost wanted to smile but then he looked at Eddie’s hands. He had fascinating hands with rough knuckles and long fingers. They were always moving like epileptic snakes. Blaine decided they were the reflection of Eddie’s soul.

Right now, the fingers were playing rigor mortis out of his pocket, palm flat and a shiny key in the centre of it.

Someone had been busy polishing and preparing for this moment.

Before Blaine or the toothy grin boy could try to snatch the key out of his hand (for what purposes, Blaine didn’t know), Eddie wound the snakes around it. Blaine stared at the closed fist and then at the third player in their new little game, who was now leaning against the wall, sighing quite audibly.

Eddie stared at him too, and the sigh wasn’t making him happy.

Obviously.

Are you always going through life like a drama queen or is it a special show?

It wasn’t the right thing to say, Blaine thought. Or maybe it was because it was fascinating to see Eddie trying to keep his cool. He only betrayed himself through glimpses of strong irritation in his eyes.

Did you fall on your head as a child or did your expression get stuck on an addled grin from the beginning?

The aforementioned grin only grew wider.

You wish you knew. Alas for you, I can read your secrets on your face, when you don’t know mine.

The secret being that you’re a fool?

Toothy grin boy- and really Blaine needed another name- made a show of clutching at his heart.

Oh Eddie, Eddie. Why do you hurt me so? He turned, arms wide apart and in the same movement bumped into Eddie, caught the flying key, and opened the door. The secret, dear Eddie, is that I have none. I’m an open book.

Then, in a few quick motions, he threw the key at Eddie’s face, grabbed Blaine, and slammed the door.

That’s what he wanted all along, this strange boy told Blaine, the grin slowly disappearing to be replaced by a more subdued, friendly smile. He leaned against the door and both of them listened to the sound of the key turning in the lock.

We are going to let him think he won this round. I’m Fox by the way, he added, moving away from the door.

Blaine, Blaine answered. He hadn’t said a word and his voice sounded rough and unused in the silence.

I know, Fox answered with a wink and Blaine swore internally. He knew there were rumours; he just didn’t want them thrown in his face.

What? Did I say something wrong?

Come on, do you think I don’t know people talk about me behind my back?

Huh, no? I had no idea. I just asked these girls who had drawn the sign outside.

Blaine sighed; it was hard seeing the other boy’s face now with rays of light only peaking all around the door. Eddie had literally thrown them into a closet.

How fitting, he heard Fox mutter, slapping his palm near Blaine’s shoulder and he stepped back instinctively, hitting the wall and illuminating the small room.

Ah you found it, Fox told him with a triumphant smile and Blaine didn’t see any sneer there. Fox only looked at the floor, pushing around old leather shoes and patted the beige carpet once or twice before sitting cross-legged under a plaid jacket.

The Morbid Poets, he answered while he was observing him.

What?

Blaine bit his lip and tried to smile at the same time. He was sure he just managed to look like an idiot.

The girls, I mean, the ones who asked me to paint the sign- because painting is better if you want people to see it from afar and it’s not like they are going to look at the details... He stopped but Fox was looking at him, head slightly tilted to the right, clearly fascinated. Anyway, they call themselves The Morbid Poets, like a gang only more snobbish. Not that they are a gang, but they decided that I will be rich and famous one day, so they are trying to build my career by making me do all the party invitations around, so they can go to art galleries in ten years and say they made me into who I will be.

He stopped to take a breath and Fox hadn’t backed away under the long coats, so Blaine felt safe enough to sit down against the wall.

Do you think they imagine themselves wearing berets and drinking wine while inventing deep tortured meaning about your collages of birds?

Probably. They want to be poets after all. Why do you think I will make collages of birds? He couldn’t help it; he was always curious to know what people thought of his art.

It was an awesome drawing, sorry painting, of two birds bathing in a giant glass of martini, so I guess you like to paint animals. But in ten years or so, your style will have probably changed.

Blaine considered that, looking at his fingers playing with the frayed hems covering his wrists. He stroked the skin absent-mindedly through the black fabric.

I dunno. Colour is what I like the most. I always saw collages as sad black and white silhouettes taken from newspapers.

So you can go abstract or use exclusively coloured papers or do both, Fox shrugged, not in a dismissive way, more as a matter of fact, like everything was possible.

Blaine stared at him like he had just given him all the names of the stars and the stories that linked them all together, like really believing in something was enough to see it coming true.

Find a shooting star and make a wish, a small voice whispered in his head.

That’s probably why he blurted out something he had never said to anyone, not even Daphne.

I don’t think I want my creations to hang unmoving between closed walls for people to look at them and forget all about them once the evening is over.

Fox leaned a bit closer, his left ear once again tilted toward Blaine, maybe feeling through Blaine’s excitement that it was important. Their heads were almost touching, and Blaine liked to imagine that long black strands of hair against short yellow made them look like conspirators.

I want to see art moving on people skins, breathing when they breathe and bleeding when they bleed. Explosions of colours and secret meanings.

Tattoos, Fox whispered almost reverently. So cool.

Blaine only smiled. He would be happy with just drawings, knowing that a part of him, even ephemeral, would be a part of someone else. Just living and making sense somewhere.

Fox’s eyes glittered in the light and Blaine had this strange impulse to trust him, even a little bit.

He had a vision of them hanging out together like that and talking about art and everything, not because they were stuck together but because they wanted to, like friends, and suddenly Blaine wanted this. Maybe he could give him a secret, even just half of it.

But this isn’t how you make friends, the voice in his head scolded him, this is how you get burned.

Not yet, not yet. It wasn’t the time for truths, Blaine thought, carefully ignoring that he was answering his own thoughts.

Blaine looked at his wrists again then at Fox, with his weird name and his freckles and thought half secrets were good too. Half secrets didn’t reveal too much about yourself. Half secrets could be exchanged against curious truths.

Lemme guess, Fox asked, after he had been observing him for a long minute. You’re going to ask me why my name is Fox?

I wondered about that, Blaine admitted, but I wondered even more about the way you tilt your head to the right side all the time? All the time wasn’t a long time actually, but everything seemed to be an eternity of personal details when you were stuck in a closet with someone.

Fox smiled at that. No one ever asked that. I have a hearing issue with this ear. He tapped his right ear. I’ve had it since birth, so when I was a kid, I thought it would make me look cuter to tilt my head like a dog, and then people would take pity on me and give me something sweet.

He laughed and Blaine smiled because it was a cute story, but it was a bit sad too, to be deprived of a part of your senses and never have known the whole thing.

I guess the habit stuck even if it makes me look like an idiot, but it helps too.

A hearing aid would help, Blaine suggested, but Fox waved it away.

I don’t need that. It’s not that damaged.

Blaine decided it was a good truth and anyway, he didn’t know if Fox was touchy about the subject, so it seemed safer to change it.

Want to see more of my drawings? he asked shyly.

Sure, especially if it means more birds in swimming pools full of vodka. Do you hide a sketch book on you? he asked, looking at Blaine’s hoodie suspiciously.

Better, Blaine answered and rolled up his sleeves.

Fox’s expression became a bit apprehensive, his eyes going from Blaine’s face to his wrists, but then it turned into an expression of amazement until Blaine stopped his sleeves at his elbows.

Did you do all of that? Fox asked, obviously impressed and Blaine felt tempted to boast a little, but then, art should always speak for itself. He tried to put himself in Fox’s place, seeing his skin against the contrast of the black fabric. It was an explosion of reds and blues.  Colours invaded everything, only stopped by an unfurling of black lines. Green swirls and straight arrows of yellow, abstraction and geometrical shapes from one side, becoming running animals and unstoppable water from another side.

Blaine lost himself in the stories he had drawn there, not realising he had needed the soothing sight of it in the midst of some much noise at the party.

They aren’t real tattoos, you know. They are only drawings. It was only a half truth of course, but Blaine needed to wrap his truths in secrets, then into an extra blanket of lies like knights had needed armour, protecting himself until everything vital was safely tucked inside.

They should be real, Fox said in a low voice, almost as if talking too loudly would make the art shatter and break Blaine’s skin, revealing everything.

But then Fox straightened and, in an excited voice, started to describe how he would see all his favourite stories translated on skin and when the key turned in the lock, Blaine hadn’t had time to worry that they’d  been forgotten and left there for the night.

It had been the fastest and the best sixty minutes of his life.

It got even better when Fox calmly stood up, got out of the closet and without checking first if Eddie, snickering but his eyes still angry, had his sycophants with him, walked up to him. He made sure Eddie and everyone else present was listening. You don’t transfer your own fears onto people.

Then he punched him in the face.

Of course, they had to act fast after that.

Eddie was on the ground—drama queen act in full force —and his goons were already trying to cut through the excited crowd who did nothing to help them.

Blaine caught Fox's wrist who, with his triumphant smile, was obviously basking in the crowd’s cheers and had only time to check that Daphne was safely out of the way, over there with the gang of the Morbid Poets.

The girls were looking happily bloodthirsty, and Daphne was trying to communicate through crazy gestures. Reassured, Blaine led the way and soon, the two boys were running down the empty street, laughing at what had been done, at how friendships happened. They didn’t know how Eddie would retaliate but right then, they didn’t care.

Chapter Three

Blaine had hoped coming back to school on Monday would feel like smooth landing but who was he kidding? Of course, it felt more like crashing into reality.

He had been giddy on the way home Saturday night but as Monday had been crawling closer, so had his nerves, until he could feel them warring and burning in his stomach on Monday morning.

The whole day was a blur of waiting for Eddie’s attack and plotting hundreds of ways to counter them. Except Eddie didn’t come and Blaine didn’t realise he had spent all day playing with a black pen until a vine made of ink and apprehension was peeking out of his sleeve and wandered out onto his palm.

The only fluttering hope had come from looking out for messy strands of sandy hair in the crowd. They finally emerged on the head of a breathless boy, curling and darker from sweat. A smile brightened Fox’s face when he looked up and spotted Blaine in the crowd.

Fox slowed down and breathed deeply, waving to people on his way to meet Blaine. Any news on Eddie? He scanned Blaine’s body like Eddie could have gotten his hands on him for what? Petty revenge?

None. I don’t think he has come to school today.

And why am I not surprised? Fox whispered, almost to himself.

Blaine looked at this small, ferociously grinning boy and smiled too.

It was better to share a new link with someone you called a stranger a couple of days earlier ago than spend his days worrying about someone who has done nothing but shown him ugly truths, Blaine reflected while Fox started walking beside him and chatting about his day like they had known each other forever.

Days were for school, but the nights started to belong to them. Well, more the evenings if Blaine was being honest. His mother would never let him get away with nights spent outside. Sometimes Blaine was envious of boarders with their plans of mischief and freedom. Mostly, like the morning before, he was glad he lived at home.

Blaine, his mum had called from downstairs, you got a package yesterday. I forgot to put it in your room.

Where is it from? he had yelled before running down the stairs, too impatient to wait for an answer.

Japan, apparently. What is it with Japan and art? his mum had asked, turning the silver package between her fingers.

"Mangas? Animes? It’s the pens I used your credit card for, remember?

Yes, when I asked what was so special about imported pens, but his mum had been looking at the box with interest, more curious than annoyed at spending money on art stuff. After all, Blaine’s passion for drawing hadn’t been born from lonely afternoons as an only child. His earliest memories were of him sitting with a box of pencils and a notebook after he had gone on a walk with his parents, his mum guiding his hand while his dad was putting music on and making them cocoa.

You want to try them, too? he had asked, suddenly realising he hadn’t seen his mum drawing or painting in a while.

She had smiled, opening her mouth on an answer when her eyes had settled on Blaine’s wrists.

Oh Blaine. Why do you feel the need to draw on yourself then hide it like that?

Blaine always hated when she had this look. A look of concern and worry that should be about him but was just making him feel guilty because it meant he had hurt her.

I’m not lonely mum, if that’s what you’re asking. I have friends.

Having friends doesn’t mean not being lonely sometimes.

His mother was often right but this time, she had been wrong. Blaine hadn’t felt lonely in a very long time. He felt understood and if he kept drawing on himself, it was because skin was still the best canvas and nothing could beat the impressed looks of Fox, Daphne and her friends when he showed them his new creations.

Daphne and Fox had met during the week following Eddie’s unforgettable party. First impressions and the sharing of fond memories of a special evening where a nemesis had ended on the floor guaranteed that they hit it off immediately.

Not even half an hour after talking, Fox had already borrowed Daphne's black glitter eyeliner and he wore it every time they slipped outside to talk under the stars.

It makes me feel like a space pirate, he told Blaine one night and he started drawing a mask around Blaine's eyes after that.

Blaine had brushed his fingers against the black make up and compared the stars playing on his fingers with the stars winking at them in the sky.

The night after, he had tried for the deeper shade of dark blue, only brightened here and there by tiny luminous white spots, spreading it from his nails to his wrists and gathered up all his courage for what Fox had planned that night.

Daphne had bolted out of it, saying it was something they should finish together since Fox had been in the middle of it and anyway, she found wine much nicer to get drunk on.

He had called it a game of facing the bottle and ending this fear and Blaine knew by that he meant this ridiculous, illogical fear.

Blaine had a phobia of glass bottles now when others had a phobia of spiders.

It was the way it was and really, it could have been worse. Blaine could have been afraid of frogs because at least, he knew the bottle was dangerous only in the hands of others when a frog could jump on you any time.

It’s really a matter of trust, right? Fox asked, echoing his thoughts, and taking the dreadful things out of his bag. A least, he had hidden them until this moment and Blaine was thankful for that. Out of sight, it didn’t sound like that much of a deal.

In front of him, it was a whole other story.

I totally get your let’s fight this ridiculous fear with what it originated from idea- except if it comes with Eddie as an option, please don’t take Eddie out of your bag- but really, does this need to have alcohol inside it?

First, that’s not a ridiculous fear. No fear of any kind is ridiculous. But it doesn’t mean it has to plague you for life, Fox answered, looking straight into Blaine’s eyes, all vibrant honesty and Blaine had the urge to ask what his biggest fear was.

It didn’t seem possible, at this instant, that something as powerful as fear could stop Fox but it didn’t seem fair to ask either, not when this evening was all about helping Blaine, whether he wanted it or not.

Fox had kept on talking, though. Second, there is a big chance the meanest bottles will contain alcohol and you need to control them. His face didn’t break into laughing lines and that’s when Blaine understood he was totally dedicated to the whole endeavor.

So you’re serious about this. He had wanted it to sound like a question, but it definitely was a statement.

I’m always serious about danger.

Blaine didn’t ask either what could have made such a carefree boy so serious and careful at seventeen.

He only knew that alcohol could equal uncomfortable truths.  Truths you weren’t ready to share, trust you weren’t ready to give, and that if he wanted to avoid more awkward moments, he had to learn how to control the bottle.

Fox used a rock as a bottle-opener and passed the first bottle of beer to Blaine.

He smelled it, grimaced, and took a sip.

That’s not how you get drunk, Fox told him with a little smile. Blaine was starting to learn that the smallest smiles of Fox were the truest.

He held his breath and watched.

Fox lightly tapped his bottle against Blaine’s and tipped his head back.

It wasn’t that it was bad, Blaine reflected.

It just was bitter with a weird aftertaste that became warm and better after a few sips.

Yes, whatever Fox had said, Blaine wasn’t going to drink more than a few sips at a time. Even if it meant a few sips of the second or third bottle. 

And like Fox had predicted, the bottle wasn’t something scary anymore. Blaine had learned that night that it was only an item to represent his fears and he could choose to crush it under his shoes like the stupid glass bottle it was, or he could let it lead his life.

It was fun, and under the stars, with just a glass bottle between his fingers, it felt like they were the only two people in the world.

He told that to Fox and could feel a blush creeping over him from the silliness of it- or maybe it was only the warmth of the alcohol- but Fox laughed and agreed.

It was a precious thing this feeling, and like a precious thing held for too long in a tight fist, it broke into invisible pieces.

Blaine was playing with a firefly when a phone buzzed, and Fox fished it out of his pocket. Blaine never bothered checking his, two or three buzzing could only mean a panicked parent and that’s when he knew it was his cue to look at it.

He was feeling too good not to let his curiosity take over.

You seem to know everyone at school, he said. It wasn’t jealousy, no. More awe at the fact someone could have so much energy for everyone.

No, I just say hello a lot, Fox answered, distracted. Blaine studied his profile in the blue light of the screen until Fox raised his head again.

It’s my ex-girlfriend, she is spending a lot of time with my ex-boyfriend and asked if it bothers me, Fox explained with a sheepish smile.

Blaine lifted an eyebrow, And what did you answer?

That it’s awkward, because it is.

I wouldn’t know, Blaine wanted to whisper, so low Fox wouldn’t hear but still he would ask him to repeat and then Blaine could tell him how it still bothered him when he heard the whispers about his name never appearing on the school secret list of tournaments dating.

Even with Daphne at his side and now Fox having his back, despite making friends during this year, Blaine didn’t feel like he fitted in.

That’s not what he answered because he didn’t want to hear confirmation of his suspicions, that maybe something was wrong with him. So instead, he stared at the stars, white spots of wonder, lightly touching their twin sisters on his fingers and smiled to Fox.

Smiling at Fox was always easy.

Tell me the story of Cassiopeia, Blaine asked instead.

Blaine loved to draw stories and Fox loved to tell them.

Night after night, lying on the ground together, some nights with Daphne, other nights on their own, they had woven memories made of tragic tales and heroic battles and the stars had looked upon them, becoming their personal library.

Blaine didn’t want to break the memory of one night just because he couldn’t handle a truth about himself.

He had sworn not to tell any truth out loud, and after all, truths about himself were the ones that had to be the more carefully wrapped and buried deep inside his heart.

So, he just kept his thoughts to himself and released the firefly, thanking it silently for keeping his secret. Already committing the fragile body to memory and remembering this moment through his brushes and his skin.

Fox chose this moment to look away from his phone and into Blaine's eyes, opening his mouth to start the tale and stopping abruptly, seeing something that made him frown.

He put away the phone and took a swallow, draining the bottle.

Hey. Fox waited until Blaine looked him in the eyes. You don't have to do that, you know.

What? Trying out drinking? Because I already am, Blaine answered, showing him the brown, half empty bottle. But Fox's mouth didn't lift at the corners.

Faking being happy when you're not.

Usually, that's the way people want it. Blaine started worrying at the bottle's label with a blue glittery nail.

In case you didn't notice, I'm not most people,