Based around Sentoo 2
If anyone had ever said the bravest thing that Blair Sandburg would do was walk through his own front door, he would have laughed in their face. The loft was home; a place to escape the realities of the world. It represented safety and warmth, friendship and love. From the first time Jim had shown him his tiny room he knew he had a place he belonged. Jim let him decorate his room as he liked, and soon it was filled with precious mementos. Pictures and cushions. Expensive artefacts and tacky souvenirs of his many travels. Over time his belongings had spread, a photo on the shelf, CDs on the entertainment unit, masks on the stark walls. Blairís belongings mixed with Jimís, a mismatched jumble that somehow worked.
The loft was permanent and safe. Blair knew he could leave his room in the morning, secure in the knowledge that his stuff would be there when he came back. No worrying about rats of the vermin or human variety.
Blair loved the loft. If he had a bad day he could collapse on his bed and escape in a book. Or vent his frustrations by chopping vegetables for dinner, listening for Jimís return home. He marked blue books bathed in the heat of the fire, and watched TV on the comfortable couch, feet pushed under one of his cushions. It was his home, the place he could relax and be Blair. Not Mr Sandburg the TA or the geeky observer. He didnít have to prove himself in any way, could feel himself relax as the front door closed.
Which is why the betrayal cut so deep when Blair opened that door, seeing nothing but a bare loft, with all his precious belongings stuffed into boxes. The loft had been violated, and not even by a stranger. Jim had destroyed his home, and Blair could feel every bit of security heíd ever held smashed within minutes.
It hurt in a way Blair could never explain as his chest ached and tears threatened, but he had to walk away. Wondering what heíd done this time to lose yet another home. Even when the reasons were explained and the situation fixed Blair could still relive that moment in precise detail. Jimís stony face, the boxes, the pain in his chest, the tear that leaked despite his best efforts as he walked away, hold-all filled with an assortment of clothes held in one shaking hand.
The scar may have scabbed over, but underneath the wound was deep, and Blair could feel it throb as he stood outside the loft door once more. It used to be his home, a place he felt safe, but now all he could remember was bare walls and boxes.
Blair wanted to go in, but he was scared. Scared to know if it could ever be the same. Heíd been called brave many times, but as Blair hesitantly pushed open the door he knew bravery was starting over, recreating his home. He didnít feel brave, but as Jim pulled open the door, sweeping him into a hug, he knew heíd go on, even if underneath the wound never stopped itching.
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