this is what happens when Jo and I text, so, again, much of the credit goes to her
“This was a mistake, Blaine. I shouldn’t have come out here with you. I shouldn’t have kissed you—”
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Promise me you won’t leave again.”
“Please, Kurt. Just tell me this. Please. I need you. I always needed you.”
“…I won’t. I won’t ever leave you again, baby, I promise.”
There’s a terrible turmoil fighting deep in Kurt’s gut the moment they fall into the backseat, Blaine familiar and pliant and needing under him. They whisper promises between kisses, Blaine’s eyes wide and shimmering like a mirage as tears build and spill in clear twin trails down the side of his face.
Kurt remembers a time, a time so long ago that it seems like a forgotten dream, a past life, when things were similar, when Blaine was, again, under him and begging, but hungry. Not like now, not when every word is heavy with need and a desperate deserve to prove, to make amends. When Blaine lifts up and presses his lips hard to Kurt’s, there’s the slick salt of tears between them. Blaine arches up, curving toward Kurt’s body, but there isn’t a heat behind it: there’s just a desperate urgency to be close, to feel the things once felt that they had both grasped so easily on to, back when they were drowning and needed. Needed each other, needed their connection, needed to know that there was someone who knew how they were feeling.
This is what terrifies me about the ocean.
the few times I’ve gone snorkelling this is the most intensely scary but amazing thing about it, the bit where the reef ends and it suddenly just drops off and you cant see the bottom or what’s down there, and you swim over the edge and suddenly your in open water, and you feel so vulnerable like you’re a fish that lives on the reef, and you finally understand finding nemo
you finally understand finding nemo