SKYHIGH

Of all the things Timothy knows he’s never going to forgive his father for, the place where he lives now is probably the worst. He could maybe forgive him for cheating on Leo – though the fact he did it, like, three days before the wedding makes it even harder to bear, somehow – and he could maybe forgive him for keeping up this ridiculous relationship he’s carrying on with that fucking whore of his lover, but this place, this place is just the worst. And the fact that Timmy’s compelled to hang out here every weekend since his parents split is making it all the more horrible.

The apartment is inside the city centre, where all the shops and fancy restaurants are. It’s an attic in one of the tallest residential buildings of the block. There’s a huge window on the living room wall that looks to the commercial street. It’s huge, it almost eats up the whole wall, and you can see the whole city looking out of it. At night, with all the colorful, blinding lights of the city on, looking out that window is like looking at the world upside down. It’s like every single star fell down on the ground, leaving the sky empty, blank.

It’s a very fancy place to live in. Makes you feel high, so tall, on top of everything else. Makes you think you could just hold out a hand and grab the whole town.

It does feel like a place his father would love living it.

It doesn’t feel like home at all.

He remembers something of the attic in New York, where his father used to bring him when he had to stay in town longer, because of some show or just because he wanted to hang out there for a while, auditioning for something or just living the city life. He clearly remembers a younger, not more than three years old himself getting ready to leave the loft in Westerville to go and stay in New York for a month or so. He remembers a younger Blaine too, asking him if he’s sure he’s got everything he might need.

Now that he thinks about it, preparing a well done bag for a long period of time to spend far from home was probably one of the first things his father taught him how to do. He has had to move from a place to another a lot of times in his life, and he never forgot his tootbrush or his clean underwear. Not even a pair of socks.

The bag he filled with the things he and the twins could need for this weekend is still made, as usual. He didn’t take anything out. He opened it only to take out the pajamas for both himself and his siblings. He didn’t even have to take their toothbrushes, Blaine bought new ones for all of them. There’s a cup in the bathroom, made of transparent glass like everything else there, and inside there’s a red toothbrush for him, a blue toothbrush for Logan and a pink toothbrush for Harper. When he first entered that bathroom, a couple of months ago, to get ready for the night, that was the first and only thing that really made him realize that everything was over, that this was their father’s new place, that they – that he, mostly – had to deal with it.

There’s no point in unpacking. They never stay here for more than one night only. Saturday night, and that’s all. Sometimes they have Sunday lunch together, but it doesn’t happen that often. Actually, his father used to ask them to stay for lunch more often at the beginning, but Timmy kept answering him that they had things to do at home, or that they had to go at Kurt and Dave’s for lunch, and Blaine eventually stopped asking. Now, he asks Leo before. But anyway, it only happened a couple of times or so.

Timmy really hates this place. He hates to move, he hates to settle down someplace else – even if for one night only. He hates his room here. He hates the bed, the desk, even the Mac Blaine bought him. He never turned it on once since he has it. He’s not interested. He already has one at home. That’s the one he uses, where he keeps all his things, his games, his music, his tv show episodes and movies. There’s where he keeps all his favorite sites, there’s where all his cookies are saved, there’s where he never has to type a username or a password for the sites he’s registered to.

There’s nothing that could possibly interest him in this place. Not the stupid devices his father keeps giving him trying to buy back his love, not the time he can spend with him, nothing. He barely manages to sleep, when he’s in this house. That’s how much he hates it.

He sits on the floor in front of the window and looks out. If he doesn’t look down, if he only looks straight in front of himself, he feels like floating on air. Sometimes he does it, and he likes it, because there are flashes surfacing in his memory, flashes about himself with his father. When he still was small enough for Blaine to keep him in his arms. There was a window so very much similar to this, in one of the places his father used to hang out with Leo when they were both younger and had only been together for a few years. If he’s not mistaken, it was an hotel or something. While waiting for Leo to free himself from school, Blaine used to take him in his arms and bring him to the window, and pointing out buildings at him. “That’s the McDonald’s where I got you the Happy Meal you found that funny car with a face in, do you remember? That’s the park where you fell on the ground and hurt your knee while chasing the pidgeons. That’s the mall where you had that strawberry-flavored ice cream that fell on the ground, and for which you cried until I got you a new one.” Timmy remembers drifting away to the sound of his voice, opening his eyes wide and pressing his nose against the window. It felt like flying. His father’s voice alone could bring him anywhere, he didn’t even need wings.

He snaps out of it when he feels his cheeks wet. He’s crying again. He always ends up crying when he thinks about the past, and he’s not even ashamed of it, though he probably should.

He had everything, everything a kid could want or need. He had it all and now he’s got none. He lost everything and it was all his father’s fault. No one could ever blame him for crying about it.

“You’re awake,” somebody says in a whisper, and Timmy instantly turns around, focusing on Cody. He frowns automatically, clutching his hands around his knees. “Do you feel sick?” Cody asks, and Timmy turns around again, looking out the window.

“What do you care?” he asks back, harshly. He can feel he hurt Cody. He’s so easily crushed. It’s almost pointless to even try. A harsh word, a snarky remark, even just plain coldness is often enough to reduce him to tears. Timmy used to find it funny, but now he doesn’t anymore. He used to call him “my evil stepmother” purposedly, to make him feel rejected, and seeing that little spark of pain flick in Cody’s eyes used to make him feel good. But now it doesn’t anymore. Now it’s just pointless cruelty, something painful and selfish Timmy does just because he can, just because he’s got the power to.

“I was just worried for you,” Cody answers, lowering his eyes. Timmy hears him step forward and sit on the couch right behind him, looking out the window the same way he’s doing.

“Why’s that so?” he asks, “You barely know me.”

“You’re Blaine’s son,” Cody answers, uncertainly.

“So what?” Timmy snaps at him, “You feel compelled to love me and take care of me just because of this? Well, spare yourself and me: you don’t have to.”

“I’m… I’m sorry,” Cody says, his voice nothing but a whisper. Timmy focuses on the streets, his eyes follow the cars passing by until they disappear behind a corner or in the traffic lights. He wants Cody gone. He’s coping with the fact that he can’t have him gone forever, but he wants him gone for now. He wants to be alone with the lights and his memories and he doesn’t want to have to keep wiping his eyes so he won’t see him cry. He wants to cry more so much. Why doesn’t Cody let him free to do it?

“Did you want something?” he asks, irritated by Cody’s silence.

Cody sighs, standing up from the couch again. “Your father feels guilty.”

“Not enough,” Timmy answers.

Cody sighs again. “He loves you.”

Timmy’s eyes fill with tears once more. “Not enough,” he repeats. His voice is shaking.

“…I’m going to leave you alone, now,” Cody says, probably getting – at last – that he wants to be left on his own.

Timmy listens to his steps down the corridor, the door of his bedroom opening and then closing again, and he’s finally in silence, now. He stands up and moves closer to the window, placing a hand on the glass and sliding his fingers against it almost affectionately.

Then he rests his forehead against the cold glass, and when the lights start blurring it feels like flying again.