Brittany’s words echoed in Blaine’s head as he stood in front of his bathroom mirror, just before he was due to leave to collect Kurt for prom.
He gripped the edges of the sink hard and stared at his reflection, his jaw clenched, his eyes tight, his hair gel free, the curls working their way down his forehead and over his ears.
He felt shaky and nauseous and his knees trembled as he leaned his forehead against the cool surface of the mirror and tried to calm down, closing his eyes and reluctantly letting the memories take him.
“Grab him, he’s getting away…I dunno, by the hair, or something.”
“I’ve got him,” Blaine winced in pain as the boy grabbed him hard and fast by the curls and he only had a couple more seconds of consciousness before his head was smashed into the brickwork, and he was knocked out cold.
Blaine opened his eyes and glanced at his reflection, his face so pale he looked like a ghost. Then he reached for his hair gel and squeezed some out onto his palm before beginning to work it through his unruly hair.
He just couldn’t.