#day 18: watch | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

wowbright · 2 days ago

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Chapter 23: Watch

Figureskating!Blaine/designer!Kurt Olympics AU for december klaine fanworks challenge. Also on AO3.

They did other things that night. So many other things. They didn't get to everything that was on Blaine’s wish list or even on Kurt’s. But that was fine. They had days to work on it before the men's singles competition started, and Sebastian was barely ever in the suite, instead spending his free time off galivanting with his mysterious man.

They woke up the next morning and cuddled under the blankets, skin to skin, as they talked about what they might do over the next few days: go up the mountain to watch the snow sports, tour the tea plantation, visit Stalin’s dacha, see some of the curling competition, or check out the Leonardo da Vinci Museum.

“What does Leonardo da Vinci have to do with Sochi?” Kurt asked.

“His mother was rumored to be Circassian. Sochi was the capitol of Circassia, which was an independent country before the Russian Empire destroyed it in the 1800s.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. At least half the population died. Either they were killed directly or they died while they were being expelled. It was millions of people. There are some Circassians still in the region, but most of the survivors were deported to Turkey and the Middle East.”

“That's awful. Is all of Russian history so awful?”

“Well, United States history is pretty awful too.”

“Yeah, but I already knew that about the United States.” Kurt sighed. “The entire world is complicated, isn't it?”

Blaine sighed sadly. He took Kurt’s hand. “It is. That's why this feels like such a blessing.”

“Holding my hand?”

“Yes. Holding your hand and lying in bed with you and just... The two of us, existing together. Life is hard, and the world is hard, and the burden feels so heavy even when I can't do anything about it. Like, my brother, he thinks that if I make a statement against Putin that’s somehow going to change things, but he doesn't understand. That's not how things work in Russia. Putin will do whatever he can to sow fear and distrust among ordinary people and create scapegoats they can blame for their misery so they won't notice that he and the rest of the oligarchs are the real cause of their problems. Me saying it's bad isn't going to stop him. He doesn't care what the rest of the world thinks about what he's doing. In fact, the more we hate it, the stronger he gets. With someone like that, the best resistance is to be yourself and to be kind to other people and to help other people regardless of what he's doing. But it still feels so inadequate. And then I'm with you and … life suddenly feels easy. I wish everything was like this—people being good to each other. But at least I can get a taste of that world when I'm with you. That's what I mean about it feeling like a blessing.”

Kurt kissed Blaine's shoulder. “‘Blessing’ as in something good? Or ‘blessing’ as in a gift from the divine?” There had been a time when asking that question when he was already this head-over-heels would have filled Kurt with dread. From the moment he'd embraced his own disbelief, he'd never thought he could seriously date somebody who believed in God or the supernatural, just like he couldn't seriously date someone who believed the earth was flat (like that one weirdo from match.com) or hated musicals (Kurt wasn't being petty; he had spent his freshman year at Parsons living with an otherwise lovely roommate who hated musicals, and the relief Kurt felt whenever the guy left the room and Kurt could finally blast Sondheim told him he could never cohabitate with someone like that). Kurt’s non-belief was fundamental to who he was, and he didn't want to be in a relationship where he felt like he had to stifle it.

But over the years, he’d found it wasn't so black and white. As much of a mismatch as he and Adam had been, the differences in their beliefs had not been among the problems. Adam didn't care if Kurt believed or not and never tried to convince him. As for Kurt’s part, he initially teased Adam over it—he had, after all, spent years coming up with incredible zingers about the stupidity of religion, and it was always a delight to find an excuse to actually use them—but quickly stopped because, even though Adam didn't say anything about it, Kurt started to feel like an asshole for making fun of something that was important to Adam and didn't affect anyone else. By the time they'd moved in together, Kurt’s view had changed so much that he would get on Adam’s case if he went too many weeks without going to a service—not because Kurt wanted a few hours of quiet by himself in their apartment (although that was a bonus), but because Adam always seemed happier when he went regularly.

“I guess both? But divine as in … not a god, really. It's more like what the preacher talks about in The Grapes of Wrath—how if God exists, it's not a person, but a sum of all the love and connection and goodness that exists in the world.”

Kurt smiled. “I never read it. We did Of Mice and Men in high school. Maybe if I’d read The Grapes of Wrath I would have it turned out a little less atheistic.”

“Why? Were you trying to believe?”

“No,” Kurt laughed. “Not at all. I had enough bullies at school. I wasn't about to worship a god who wanted to bully me, too. And that's pretty much all there was in Lima at the time. The churches offered a god that was either an outright bully who hated my guts for being gay, or a god who was a passive-aggressive bully who acts really sweet to your face but later you find out they've been saying all kinds of crap about you behind your back and never liked you as you were, and if you want to stay in their good graces, you need to change into a person you don’t even like or recognize. I guess there were other options—Rachel has two dads and it was never a problem as far as I could tell in her synagogue. But I didn’t feel like I was missing anything by not believing in God, so I never went exploring.”

“You got bullied a lot, then?”

Kurt nodded. “It was bad.” He didn’t say anything more. It was too unpleasant to dwell on. The loneliness, the suicidality—Kurt didn't want to revisit those things when his life now was so opposite, lying here with Blaine.

But something of those memories must have shown on Kurt’s face, because Blaine said, “That breaks my heart.”

“Mine, too,” Kurt said. “But only when I think about it. Were you bullied?”

“I was teased a little about figure skating, but it wasn't to the extent of bullying. And I somehow managed to convince most people I was straight until I decided to come out, and by then I was doing home school.”

When Kurt got into Parsons and started to connect with other gay guys for the first time, he had been shocked to find that some of them had never experienced the daily threat of being shoved into lockers, thrown into dumpsters, dunked head-first into toilets, or exposed to barrages of faggot and pansy and queer. He'd felt almost offended. Why had they walked through the fire of high school and come out unscathed, while he had layer upon layer of scars? It wasn't just masculine guys, either. His first boyfriend, Chandler, had been one of them, thanks to attending some tiny magnet school for art nerds where “drama fag” was more or less a compliment. Kurt knew his resentment was irrational, but it took time to get over it. Sure, Chandler had told him, I didn't get bullied at school. But I was scared almost everywhere else I went.

“Was it at the school you went to with Sebastian?” Blaine asked.

“Dalton? No. It was before that, when I was in public school. Dalton happened after my dad found out what was going on. I went there while he worked on suing the school administrators.”

“Yay, dad!”

“Yes. It was nice to know he had my back. Dalton had a good anti-bullying policy they actually enforced, and my public school agreed to adopt it as part of the settlement. So I'm glad I went there. Besides, that's how I met Sebastian. And if I hadn't met Sebastian, I might never have met you. So in that way, it’s all worked out.”

Kurt meant it. It didn't excuse the things people had done to him or make them right. They had tried to beat Kurt down. But they had failed. Here Kurt was, defying all of them. He was loved by someone worth more than all of them.

“Kurt. I’m not worth you going through that.”

“You're worth a lot more than you think, Blaine Anderson. But I don’t mean it's some sort of cosmic trade-off, where I had to get beat up repeatedly in order to meet you. I just mean—” Kurt ran his fingers through the curls above Blaine’s forehead. Blaine’s gaze was steady on Kurt’s face, like every new thing that Kurt was revealing about himself was a gift. “I mean they tried to beat me down. But they failed. And here I am, thriving and lying in bed with a man who's beautiful and compassionate and caring—and incredibly hot, to boot.”

Blaine chuckled. “I think we would have met eventually, no matter what. There’s the Jesse-Rachel connection, and you’ve been doing ice dancing costumes so even if I didn't happen to run into you on one of my trips to New York—”

“There are 10 million people in New York. We never would have met.”

“I saw your plays though! I might have gone backstage eventually. And even if I didn't, I would have become familiar with your skating work sooner or later, because it's brilliant. I just can't imagine a world where we wouldn't meet, Kurt. I feel like everything I've done, every relationship I've had, has led me here.”

From any other person, those words would have sent Kurt into a panic. He had broken up with guys for far less. Chandler, after a month of dating, had said, “Oh my God, Kurt, we're the perfect couple. You complete me”—and yes, he'd ostensibly been talking about their coordinating Halloween costumes and yes, he was only parroting a line from Jerry Maguire. But the expression on Chandler's face said so much more, and Kurt wasn't there yet and, in fact, knew he would never get there because the whole reason he was dating Chandler was because Chandler was a wonderful friend who made him laugh and made trying out this whole dating thing feel safe.

The expression on Chandler's face hadn't been safe.

Kurt broke up with him a few days later.

It had been like that all the way up through Adam. Kurt longed to fall in love, but the guys he fell for weren't into him, and he wasn't into the guys who fell for him. So he settled for flings and dalliances and open arrangements with no strings attached. With Adam, he’d finally felt like they were on more equal footing, but even then, the first time Adam told Kurt he loved him, Kurt hadn’t been able to say it back until he'd logicked it out to himself as Well, it's not like Christian felt for Satine in Moulin Rouge!, but real life isn't like it is in musicals, and I care about him, and isn't that love?

But now, here, with Blaine, Kurt felt no fear.

“Blaine,” Kurt said, “you're really going to have to stop saying you're bad at romance. Because that's the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me.”

“Well, all the other guys you've dated are idiots, then.”

“Good. Because I wouldn't have wanted to hear it from anyone but you.”

Kurt kissed Blaine. It started out slow and gentle, like the first hint at ice thawing on a lake in early spring. He melted into Blaine as Blaine melted into him, arousal warming their bodies as the morning sun filtered through the curtains. Blaine responded to Kurt’s touch with patient eagerness, his body pliant, his legs falling open in supplication.

Kurt entered slowly, languidly, like they had all the time in the world.

Because they did. Kurt knew it, even if they hadn’t made any vows. This love growing between him and Blaine was too powerful to wither. It would keep growing, as long as they both let it, for the rest of their lives.

“Oh, Kurt, you have no idea,” Blaine moaned, his head lolling back against the pillows, stretching his neck taut like a bow.

“About what?” Kurt said, kissing the elongated muscles at the base of Blaine’s throat.

“How good you feel.” Blaine gasped as Kurt shifted inside him. “Oh God. You feel so good.”

“I—” Kurt started, but it was getting hard to speak, Blaine’s muscle so tight around the base of Kurt’s cock, gripping and fluttering and tempting Kurt to move in it, through it, back and forth in a singsong rhythm that intensified Kurt’s desire even as it soothed the longing in his soul. “I have a pretty good idea, actually. I feel amazing.”

Blaine laughed. “Take a compliment when it’s— oh Kurt god yes—when it's, when it's offered.”

“You're one to … oh fuck … to … to talk. You're terrible at taking compliments.”

“Mmmm. But I can take your cock pretty well, can't... can't I?”

Kurt laughed, but the laugh turned quickly into a moan as he drew himself out slowly, leaving only the head of his cock inside Blaine, lovingly squeezed. Kurt eased back inside, prolonging the friction against Blaine’s rim and inside of him, watching Blaine’s face, his eyes closing involuntarily, his lower lip trembling, his mouth falling open in a pleasured gasp as Kurt’s cock caressed his most sensitive spot.

Kurt moved again and Blaine cried out his name, cried it again as Kurt sank in all the way and then again as Kurt pulled back only to plunge in again just as deep, his body and voice so welcoming, and now Blaine’s eyes were open, wide and so, so earnest, watching Kurt’s face, Blaine’s lips murmuring God you're so beautiful and then, as Kurt quickened his thrust, fuck me yes fuck me in equally reverent tones.

Blaine dug his fingers into Kurt’s haunches, pulling him deeper, coaxing him on, begging Kurt to take him, take him, I'm yours, Kurt, I'm yours, and Kurt didn't want to come, he wanted to keep feeling Blaine all around him, to keep watching his face surrender to pleasure so rapturously, to keep hearing those words, so close in meaning to I love you. But how could Kurt not come, with all of these things conspiring to ratchet up his desire? How could he not come when Blaine was so close to the peak himself, begging for release, begging for Kurt to find it with him?

Come with me, Kurt. Come on. Kurt had no choice but to comply, willingly and joyously. He spilled his desire into Blaine’s body as Blaine quaked around him, embracing the gift.

~~~

“Is it just me, or are we really good at sex?” Blaine said a few minutes later, once the aftershocks and delirium had passed. They’d broken out the churchkhela and leftover cheese for breakfast, and now Blaine was at the espresso machine, putting the final touches on two Americanos.

“It's not just you. You blow my mind every time. I’ve never—” Kurt stopped himself. He had learned long ago not to compare lovers.

“Never what?” Blaine turned and looked through the door to Kurt's bedroom, raising his eyebrows flirtatiously as he mixed creamer into Kurt’s drink.

Then again, this wasn't exactly comparing, because sex with Blaine was incomparable. “Sex is different with you. It feels more intense.”

“Is that good?”

“It’s the best.”

Blaine smiled, obviously and adorably pleased, as he walked over and handed Kurt his drink. “Well, that's not something I'm accomplishing by myself. We've got great chemistry. Frankly, I'm glad I didn't know sex could be this good or I might have been miserable for the past twelve years.”

“Is that how long you've been having sex?”

“I lost my virginity when I was seventeen. Wait, so maybe that's thirteen years? I mean, sex with my first boyfriend was pretty hot— oh my God, I'm sorry. That was— was that rude? Or TMI?” Blaine was back in the bed now, next to Kurt, both of them sitting up and leaning against the headboard. Their legs were touching, side by side. Kurt reveled in the softness of Blaine’s leg hair against his own.

“No. I would hope you've had decent sex before. Otherwise I wod feel sad for you. Say as much as you want about sex with this mysterious first boyfriend. Maybe I could learn a few pointers.”

Blaine laughed and shook his head. “Nope, no pointers. He wasn't a great lover in a technical sense. Or even in an emotional sense. But I was young and horny and we had a very messed up dynamic that led to me feeling extremely wanted every time we bonked, which was all I needed for sex to feel super hot when I was seventeen.”

“Was he older than you?” Kurt asked. It was his first thought at messed up dynamic.

“No. We were the same age. I met Darrell when we were both at the junior level. Unfortunately, that also meant competed against each other a lot. I thought we could keep it from getting in the way, but we couldn't. And even if that hadn't been an issue, I don't know how long we would have lasted. It wasn't healthy. I never quite knew where I stood with him, because sometimes when we were alone he'd be really affectionate and vulnerable, but other times he'd be super standoffish and a little mean. But that just made me want his approval even more, and the times I got it—it got me so hot. Combine that with knowing there was a good person under all the bravado, and I fell for him hard. But I kept doing better than him, and he kept getting meaner, and then I got on the team for the Salt Lake Olympics and he got really mean. I still tried to stick with him, because I was young and I thought love meant putting up with someone even if they're hurting you.”

“Physically?” Kurt regretted asking it the second the word passed from his lips. Not because there was any shame in it, but because the question implied a hierarchy of abuse, where physical was always the worst kind. He knew from his years of being bullied that wasn't necessarily true.

“A little, but it wasn't the main thing. The stuff he said, the way he manipulated things—that fucked me up a lot worse. Sue figured out what was going on and she told me if I didn't dump him, she would.”

“God, Blaine. That's awful.” Kurt wished he could protect the younger Blaine by replacing Darrell with someone who would have treated Blaine right. Kurt wasn't deluded enough to think he should have been the replacement; Kurt had been such a mess at that age, capable of falling in love intensely, but completely unprepared to deal with the emotional intimacy it entailed. “I'm sorry if I dredged up something you’d rather forget.”

“No. I wanted to share it with you. It's part of who I am. I could say it fucked me up for relationships for a while, but I think I was already kind of fucked up? I mean, I don't want to blame my parents—I think they do the best they know how—but love felt like something you had to earn in my family. I was desperate for affection wherever I could get it. Thankfully, Sue also made me go to a therapist to unwind some of that stuff. And she’d say, ‘Remember, Blaine, the only person you need approval from is me, Sue Sylvester’—which obviously isn’t true, but it worked great as a stopgap while I worked on valuing my own judgment.”

“It's becoming clearer to me why you like Sue.”

“Yeah. She’s like my fucked-up foster mom. She's flawed, but she's the right kind of flawed for me.”

“Are you estranged from your parents? Is that why they're not here in Sochi?”

“Not estranged. I see them at other times, but they don't come to most of my competitions anymore, and I prefer it that way. It's too stressful. I used to feel bad about it, because even if it hadn't been their first choice and they would have preferred hockey, they put so much money into my training when I was younger and my mom was pretty much the ideal figure skating mom. She gave up so much just to get me to practices and competitions and find me coaches and costumes and schmooze and get things done. But when I got more elite, it became too much to have them around at competitions. They’d give me ‘advice’ and get into my head, and suddenly I'd start to struggle with elements in my programs I’d had down pat for months. I talked about it with Sue and I talked about it with my therapist and then I talked about it with my parents. I framed it as ‘you guys have given me so much, so please don’t also give up your retirement following me around the world.’ I think they were relieved, too. Flying to all these competitions can get grueling, and my dad’s in his mid-seventies and not in the best of health.”

Kurt did some quick math in his head. “Wait. Your dad was born during World War II?”

“Yup.”

“And your mom?”

“She’s a little younger, but not much. They were both over forty when I was born.”

Kurt sipped his coffee. “I guess that makes sense. Cooper must be like, what, twenty years older than you?”

Blaine laughed. “Don't say that to him. But closer to that than he’d like you to believe.”

“Huh. So you’re kind of an only child like me?”

“Sort of. But he’s always been a looming presence, even after he moved out. Sometimes for the better, and sometimes not.”

“Is he here in Sochi?”

“Not yet. He'll get here closer to when the hockey tournament starts. That's mainly what he'll be covering for the network.” Blaine bit off an enormous chunk of churchkhela, looking away from Kurt and toward the window as he began to chew. Kurt took it as a signal that Blaine didn't want to talk about his brother anymore.

They took turns showering. As they dried off and dressed, Blaine told Kurt about boyfriends since Darrell, some better than others. Kurt began to rank them in his head. He put a guy from college named David toward the top, Jesse somewhere in the middle, and Darrell at the bottom with Eli only a smidge ahead of him.

“What about you? Have you been in love before?” Blaine asked as he worked the last bit of gel into his hair. His tone was straightforward, with no burdensome weight or potentially guilt-inducing tone of And how do you feel about me? like when Adam or Walter had asked similar questions. Maybe it was because Blaine already knew what Kurt felt for him.

Kurt caught a stray curl dangling over Blaine’s forehead and pushed it into place with his fingers. “I don't know. I certainly thought I was in love with the varsity quarterback when I was in high school, but he was straight—and became my stepbrother—so it was irrelevant.”

Blaine’s eyes went wide. “Was that awkward?”

“Not by the time our parents got married. And I'm very glad Finn’s straight. We would not have made a good couple, but we make good brothers. May I?”

Blaine had a bow tie dangling over his collar and had just grabbed the ends to tie it. “Sure.”

Kurt was an old hand at this. He had done many a bow tie backstage. But while those times had been a necessity of the job, this was a moment of intimacy. Blaine watched affectionately as Kurt moved his hands in the familiar pattern, each movement feeling new because this was Kurt’s first time doing this with Blaine. “I’ve had a few infatuations besides my stepbrother. But I've only had one serious relationship, and I loved him, but … I think I wanted security, more than anything else.”

“What happened?”

“We dated for a year and then we moved in together for a year, and then he wanted to move to England for work, and I didn't want to go with him. And I broke his heart and he swore he'd never talk to me again. And that was a year and a half ago, and he’s kept true to his word.”

“Do you miss him?”

Kurt had missed Adam in the first few weeks after he’d moved out. He missed having someone to watch Downton Abbey and swap Broadway gossip with, and he missed Adam’s pancakes. But he'd been surprised at how easy it had been to let Adam, himself, go. Even now, knowing Adam was right here in Sochi, Kurt had barely thought of him since the airport.

“I wish it hadn't ended so badly. I wish I had understood myself better, earlier. Maybe not moved in together. I'm not the easiest person to live with in the first place, because I need my alone time and want everything just so. But I would have been able to do more give-and-take if it's what I'd really wanted. That's what I feel bad about. We were friends when we started out—not best friends, but friends—and I knew, for me, that was sort of the limit of it—friends who were hot for each other—but I also refused to acknowledge it because I’d decided it was time for me to settle down if I was ever going to meet my high school bucket list item of getting legally married by thirty.” Kurt was done with the tie. He straightened it and patted his hands against Blaine’s chest, then turned him toward the mirror. “Good?”

“Perfect,” Blaine said, and gave Kurt a peck on the cheek. “Also, you must have been adorable in high school. What a hopeful bucket list item! I’m remembering correctly that it wasn't legal anywhere back then, right?”

“It wasn’t. But I had high hopes for Massachusetts.”

“And now you’re thirty, and still not married. How much time is left before you lose your chance?”

Kurt’s heart skipped a beat. Silly heart. Blaine wasn’t about to propose to him. Even if he did, Kurt couldn’t say yes yet. It was too soon to talk about marriage, no matter what Kurt’s heart said.

“Until May 27th. Then I turn thirty-one and all my dreams come crashing around me,” Kurt deadpanned. “I think I'll survive, though. When I was a kid, I thought marriage was the end goal, because after that everything would obviously be happily ever after. Now I realize building a happily-ever-after is a continuous process.”

“So, do you still consider yourself the marrying kind? Or are you more like Katharine Hepburn?”

“Oooh, I like how you just assume I know all about Katharine Hepburn’s eschewing marriage and living in her own house separate from Spencer Tracy. Because I do, of course.”

“I may have googled your name the night you arrived in Colorado Springs and found, among other things, an article you wrote about Katharine Hepburn as an icon of gender-bending fashion.”

“Did you, now?” Kurt was flattered. Blaine must have really dug. That article was back from when he'd still been a student at Parsons.

“Yup. I kind of had a crush on you from the moment we first met. In case you weren't aware.”

“I might have had an inkling,” Kurt flirted back. “And here I thought I had an unfair advantage in terms of knowing things about you from outside our personal interactions.”

“You did before we met. Then I tried to catch up.” Blaine’s bounced on his toes excitedly. “Now, are you going to answer my question about Katharine Hepburn?”

“Well. I do admire Katharine Hepburn. And I think I could do a long-distance relationship if I had to. But I wouldn't want it to be that way forever. I'm still the marrying kind.” It felt so heady to say it. After Adam, Kurt had questioned whether he could ever be husband material when he had been so unwilling to meet Adam in the middle. But now, there wasn't a bone of doubt in Kurt’s body that he could be. Adam just hadn't been the right person for him.

“How interesting,” Blaine said, batting his eyelashes like the seductive little vixen he was. “I think I’m the marrying kind, too.”

#wowbright writes fic #my klaine advent #december klaine fanworks challenge 2024 #day 18: watch #klaine fanfiction #Figureskating!Blaine/designer!Kurt Olympics AU

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serickswrites · 4 months ago

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Falling Stars

Warnings: captivity, torture, restraints, forced to watch, blood, wounds, infection, mcd

Caretaker carded their fingers through Whumpee's sweat soaked hair. They had pulled Whumpee into their lap hours ago and had tried to offer Whumpee any measure of comfort, no matter how small.

It was the least they could do.

They had sat chained in a corner for days, watching Whumper torture Whumpee. Begging Whumper to give Whumpee a break and hurt them. Hoping that rescue would come soon and they would both be spared.

But as the days wore on and the blood dried on Whumpee's skin and Whumper re-opened every wound, Caretaker began to doubt. They began to doubt help was coming. They began to doubt Whumper would hurt them. And they began to doubt that Whumpee would survive.

Some of Whumpee's wounds still bled from Whumper's last visit. Some wounds oozed and wept. And some were so deep that Caretaker was certain Whumpee was dying. And soon.

"You......you need to......get out of here, C'ta'r," Whumpee managed to rasp out. "G-G-G-Go outttttt th-th-th-the wwwwwwinnnnndow-ow-ow-ow."

"I'm not leaving you," Caretaker said as they stared down into Whumpee's fever bright eyes. "Just rest a bit longer. We'll find a way to get both of us out of here." Caretaker blinked hard, fighting against the tears that were always present in their eyes. They looked away as they tried to blink away the tears. The starry night's sky winked at them from out the window.

Whumpee smiled softly. "I.....I don't th-th-think sssso-o-o-o-o."

"Nonsense. Just rest more. Rest and then I'll take you home. You can rest more. You can heal. And maybe....maybe you will be all better by the time all those falling stars happen around your birthday. We could watch them again."

"I'd.....like th-th-that."

"Just rest, Whumpee. Close your eyes. I'm not going anywhere."

"C-C-Can'ttttt l-l-l-leave yyyyyyou-ou-ou."

Caretaker's heart twinged. "It's ok. I'm not going anywhere. You're not going anywhere. Just rest, Whumpee. I'll watch over you."

Reluctantly, Whumpee closed their eyes. Caretaker knew that no amount of rest was going to make Whumpee well enough. But they couldn't give up hope. They couldn't let Whumpee die. Not yet. There had to be a way for both of them to get out.

But as time wore on and Whumpee got weaker and weaker, Caretaker realized that Whumpee was holding on, was prolonging their suffering, to spare Caretaker the heart ache.

Whumper had dragged Whumpee from their arms countless times. Whumper had beaten and tortured Whumpee countless times. And Whumper had left Whumpee barely alive and breathing on the floor countless times.

But this time was different.

Whumpee hadn't stirred when the cell door slammed shut. They hadn't stirred when Caretaker called to them. Normally Whumpee slowly dragged themself close enough that Caretaker could pull them into Caretaker's lap. But this time they just lay there and breathed.

"Whumpee," Caretaker called softly. "Say something, Whumpee."

Whumpee groaned. "T-T-Tiredddd. H-H-Hurrrrrttts-s-s-s-s."

"I know. I know, Whumpee. Let me hold you. You've always slept better in my arms. Come on, Whumpee."

Caretaker stretched to the end of their chain, their fingertips just brushing Whumpee's arm. Whumpee moaned as they tried to roll onto their side. Blood had pooled beneath them and the ground was slick. Whumpee was too weak to pull themself along.

"Love, come on, you can do it."

Slowly, painfully, Whumpee rolled onto their side. They managed to push themself with one leg close enough to Caretaker that Caretaker could pull them close. Whumpee gasped with pain as Caretaker moved them, their eyes wide and bright with pain.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry! I'm sorry!" Caretaker repeated over and over.

Whumpee didn't respond as their chest heaved weakly. They lay in Caretaker's arms, but couldn't get enough air to speak. Their eyes were hazy with pain. Their eyelids fluttered open and closed as they struggled to remain conscious.

"I'm sorry, Whumpee. I'm sorry," Caretaker sobbed. They pressed their forehead to Whumpee's. "It's ok. It's ok. You can leave me. It's ok. I'll be ok. I promise."

Whumpee blinked up at Caretaker, their eyes suddenly clear. Caretaker nodded. "It's ok. You can rest. You can leave me. I'll be ok. I promise I'll be ok. You can," Caretaker sniffed, "you can go, Whumpee. I'm here. I won't leave you."

Whumpee's stuttering wheezing breaths echoed in Caretaker's ears. They opened their mouth, but no sound came out. "It's ok, Whumpee. It's ok. I love you. You're ok, love. I'll be ok."

Slowly, Whumpee's eyes closed. Their body slowly relaxed in Caretaker's arms. Their stuttering breaths continued as Caretaker watched Whumpee relax. A light flashed in the darkened cell. Caretaker looked up and out the window. Stars. The stars were falling out the window.

"The falling stars are here, Whumpee, look," Caretaker said as they returned their gaze to Whumpee. Their mouth went dry. "Whumpee?"

Whumpee looked peaceful, as though they were asleep, their face no longer pinched with pain. But Caretaker knew better. "Oh, Whumpee," Caretaker wailed, "I am so sorry. I'm sorry."

Whumpee flopped bonelessly in Caretaker's arms as Caretaker lifted Whumpee close. They rocked with Whumpee's body as they sobbed. Whumpee was free. Whumpee had gone. Whumpee had left Caretaker behind. Whumpee had gone where Caretaker could not follow. Whumpee was with the falling stars. And Caretaker was alone.

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