"What are you doing, Blaine?" Shannon looked up in surprise when her son entered the kitchen. He was dressed in his Dalton uniform; his hair carefully styled and his shoes tapping across the floor quickly as he made for the coffee pot.

"Going to work." He replied coolly, rummaging through a cupboard for a clean cup.

"You most certainly are not." She got to her feet and pulled the mug free from his hand.

"I can't skip again." Blaine gave up on the coffee pot and slipped around his mother to search out his keys, "dad went to work today."

"Your father did not go through what you did. Besides, we already called Dalton and told them we were dealing with a family crisis. You're off for the rest of the week."

Blaine sighed, "I want to go to work, Mom. I can't stay in the house and just keep thinking about all of this."

"Come here and sit down with me." Shannon reached out a hand to coax her son toward the table, but then thought better of it. She had taken note of the way he shied away from the touches he had not instigated for himself. Even Kurt had not been immune to Blaine suddenly jumping beneath an innocent hand on his shoulder.

Blaine sat but fidgeted with a forgotten napkin; twisting it and folding it between his hands. He glanced at the clock impatiently.

"What do you want for breakfast?" She gently pulled the napkin from between his hands as she moved toward the cupboard.

"Mom." Blaine groaned.

"Blaine." She retorted flatly. "I don't know why you're so hell bent on not eating, but it's not an option. You might as well pick something or else I'll just choose for you."

Blaine had figured out that toast would always be two slices accompanied by so much peanut butter he could barely swallow, fruit would lead to a second round of pestering to eat something else, and ignoring her lead to pancakes. "Oatmeal."

She nodded her approval and pulled out the box. She held it in front of him with a smile, "which flavor?"

"You pick." Blaine sat back in his chair and chewed at a fingernail, his eyes distant.

Shannon tried to bite back a sigh as she pulled down a bowl. She had done her online research on what she was supposed to do—don't push him, offer love and support; listen without judgment. She had read about the symptoms, too, and though they made sense in neat little bullet points on her computer screen, the reality was so much harsher.

"How did you sleep last night?" She didn't look at him as she punched the time into the microwave, but she kept her voice cheery, "Was that you or was it Tucker I heard up around three?"

"Me." Blaine said quietly. "Just came down for a glass of water."

1. Insomnia: the victim may have trouble with sleep, or, upon sleeping may experience nightmares regarding their experiences.

Shannon turned to study her son while she waited for the timer to go off. He was toying with something in his hand, his eyes still far off in some other world.

"Did you have any bad dreams?" She ventured.

He shrugged, "None I remember."

"That's good," She lapsed into silence, the hum of the microwave and Tucker's nails on the wood floor filled the space between her and her child.

2. Sudden changes in personality or mood swings are common; it is important to continue to offer support and love and know it is not you that the victim is reacting to but rather her experiences.

Her. Every single site had discussed she, the woman, the girl, her. The best she could find about anything regarding boys going through such an experience were a few statistics and three lines insisting males could be victims, too, in sidebar links titled 'Common Rape Myths Unraveled'.

When she was pregnant, she could not resist nodding her head up and down excitedly when the doctor has asked if she wanted to know the gender. She needed to know—had to dream of the baby girl whose hair she would tie up in ribbons or the little boy whose Hot Wheels and Brio trains would litter the family room floor; she had to paint the walls of the empty nursery at home so she could sit in the newly purchased rocking chair surrounded by blue or pink and dream of names for her sweet baby. Her aunts and sisters who already had children would croon to her about how wonderful it was to have a little girl to relate to, but baby boys… there was just something special about baby boys. And they had been right. Blaine had been so special; banging pots and pans contentedly while she cooked, busily pushing tractors and Tonka trucks down the driveway on warm nights, his pockets constantly needing to be emptied of dirt or bugs or the occasional frog he had discovered in the backyard. There had been the few anomalies, of course, little red flags leading up to the day he sat her and her husband down at the kitchen table so many years later. The momentary pause and look of longing as they passed the pink-tinted aisle of Barbies, the preference to re-watch the Little Mermaid over his Power Rangers movie time and time again…but Shannon hadn't minded. Gay, yes, but still her son; still her baby.

"Mom, you want me to get that?" The sound of Blaine's voice roused her from her thoughts.

"Hmm?" She suddenly realized the timer was going off; loud automated beeps pierced the air of the kitchen, "Oh!"

She pulled the bowl out of the microwave, nearly scalding her fingers on its edge. She had planned on adding apples or brown sugar or some sort of extra to try and trick Blaine into eating something more so the anxiety she felt when they went through this power struggle again at lunchtime wouldn't be so high, but she thought better of it. She poured a glass of milk and put both things down in front of her son.

"Thanks." Blaine mumbled, twirling his spoon slowly in the bowl.

She sat down across from him and tried not to stare. He didn't like that. "Do you remember the G.I. Joe I gave you when you were seven?"

Blaine looked momentarily surprised, but then nodded.

Shannon didn't offer any further thoughts on the matter.

He studied her for a while longer before returning his attention to moving the food around in his bowl, plastering sticky globs of gray-brown to the edges until he could see the white plastic at the bottom. It slid sluggishly back down into the center, undoing his handiwork. He begrudgingly stuck his spoon in his mouth.

"Do you want to help me cut some flowers from the garden today?" Shannon watched Blaine eat as casually as she could.

Blaine swallowed hard and tried to ignore the heavy feeling of food sitting in his stomach. "It's Tuesday; don't you have book club?"

"I'm not going today," She replied. She had actually forgotten about it entirely…

"It's your week to host." Blaine glanced over at her, pausing in the rearrangement he had been trying to organize in his bowl.

Shannon let out a long sigh, "Oh God, you're right, it is. How do you remember that and I don't?"

"It's on the calendar." Blaine shrugged, he glanced down in his bowl again, "can I be done?"

Shannon was trying to figure out how she could weasel her way out of hosting the ladies that afternoon. She roused herself from her thoughts to glance at Blaine's nearly untouched bowl, "You took one bite."

Blaine lifted his glass of milk and emptied it. He quirked his eyebrows at his mother, "Now?"

The gesture seemed so familiar; so normal. She smiled despite herself and nodded. Kurt was supposed to be coming over later, she hadn't forgotten that at least, and he always seemed to have some sort of trick up his sleeve to get Blaine to be compliant. She would have to ask him to help her with her son's appetite. "Yes, fine. Go change your clothes. We'll cut a bouquet for the table for when the ladies come over I suppose."

Blaine gave her a small, grateful smile before moving to the sink to scrape his bowl clean.

She studied his back as he moved about—drying the bowl and replacing it in the cupboard, scratching Tucker behind the ears when the dog pressed his head against his thigh. It was moments like these she could watch him and pretend nothing was wrong. Her sweet, charming boy in his handsome Dalton uniform. She had taken advantage of those moments over the past week—quick instances of him checking the calendar in the laundry room, sitting idly at the piano tapping out one-handed melodies; the rare occasions he fell asleep on the couch… brief moments that were not tainted with a haunted look in his eye; milliseconds where she could forget what she knew now. He was still just Blaine; sweet, silly Blaine.

"I'll just be a minute." He turned toward her, the moment already gone, before he disappeared up the steps.

Shannon loved her garden. Loved the feeling of warm, wet earth around her hands, the sweet smell of living things she had cultivated all on her own. Blaine sat cross-legged in the grass beside her, watching quietly while she prodded some of the plants still in bloom, "I think I had something catered for today at Delaney's…"

"I can go pick it up." Blaine offered, pulling idly at some weeds along the edging of the garden.

"No, no, I can do it, Honey," Shannon used the back of her arm to wipe her forehead, and closed her eyes, trying to remember placing the order, "Yes, I definitely ordered the food...Oh! I reserved a room at the club for today; they're delivering them there... I can't believe I completely forgot about all of this."

"You've had a lot on your mind." Blaine said softly.

Shannon used all of her will power to not reach out and touch him, "Important things."

Blaine didn't look at her, his eyes moved to a fat bumble bee that was hovering among the foxglove; bending the entire stalk with its heavy body when it finally landed and climbed inside a bloom.

Shannon studied the flowers, too, and changed the subject with a tone she hoped sounded cheerful, "I can still bring a bouquet with. What do you think; the freesia or the heather…or the hydrangea?"

Blaine's eyes drifted over the flowers, "The hydrangeas."

"I thought so, too." Shannon began clipping the blooms carefully, arranging them in a neat pile at her side. Blaine tipped his head back and closed his eyes, apparently liking the sun on his face. They sat quietly like that until her pile of flowers was toppling over one another into a scattered row on the lawn. "Does Kurt like flowers?"

Blaine laid back in the grass, flinching for a moment when the back of his head touched the ground; he turned his face toward his mother, "Dunno."

"I bet he does; you should find out what his favorite is." Shannon ventured, "It's good to know that sort of thing about… about the person you love."

Blaine watched her quietly before speaking, "You don't have to do this, you know."

"Do what?" Shannon looked at him in surprise.

He remained as he was, looking up at her, "Try so hard."

She stared at him in silence. She opened and closed her mouth a few times, but didn't know what to say.

He sat up, resting his weight on his palms behind him, "I know… I know me being gay was never easy for you and dad and I know all of this just makes it so much harder, but, you and dad, none of this was your fault. You don't need to keep trying to make up for things."

Shannon felt a knot forming in her throat, "Do you remember earlier this summer when we talked about how fast you grew up? Do you remember what you told me about how I missed it?"

Blaine nodded, "You blinked."

"I didn't though, Blaine, I chose to close my eyes to it all. I thought if we all just kept pretending everything was okay—if you were doing well in school, if you and your father could stay out of fights, if we just tiptoed around whatever person you might choose to love—I was sure we could make it real. I wasn't fair to you."

"You've always been good to me, Mom." Blaine touched a hand to hers gently.

She traced the top of her thumb against his palm. "Not good enough, sweetheart, but we're going to be better for it all. I promise."

Blaine didn't argue; he even let her pull her hand out from under his to touch his hair briefly.

She tucked the few stray curls under her fingers behind his ear before blinking back the sudden tears that stung her eyes, "I'm going to get these in a vase before they start to wilt. Are you coming in?"

"I'd like to stay out here for a bit."

Shannon bobbed her head up and down quickly as she gathered up her flowers, "I'll let you know when I'm leaving."

She left him alone, but as soon as she was inside, she moved to a window overlooking the backyard. He was still seated in the grass, throwing a tennis ball that Tucker bounded after jubilantly. Another moment for her to lock away with the rest. She arranged her flowers in a vase—a task she usually found soothing—but found herself getting up over and over again to look out the window and then reluctantly return to her project. When she finished, Blaine was still outside.

"Blaine, honey," she called out to him from the deck, "I'm going to go to the Club... do you want to come?"

He turned toward her for a moment and shook his head, "Would you mind if I stayed out here?"

"Of course not, dear," Shannon smiled, though she wanted desperately to keep him in her sight.

3. Despite all the victim has gone through, it is important to allow her to still feel like an individual; do not meddle with too many of her affairs or smother her when she does not want the attention.

"Remember to listen for the door; Kurt should be here some time soon." After a few more reminders that she would only be gone a few hours and she had her cell phone if he needed anything, she finally departed.

When Tucker nudged at his ankle to toss the ball again, Blaine threw it into the wreckage of the shed. He watched while Tucker tried to search it out, digging at the splintered wood and whimpering. He lay back in the grass and pulled the plastic star from his pocket. He twirled each of its five points between his thumb and fingers; thinking. When he felt a sting forming on his cheeks and nose, he squinted up at the sun; already beating down so hot on his face that he was sure he was burning. He sat up and shaded his eyes with a hand. Tucker had found his ball and was lounging in the grass, panting. "Tuck, house."

Tucker bounded past him and waited at the top of the deck stairs to be let in. Blaine watched him sprint to the laundry room, but didn't wait for him to return. He went up to his room and lay down in his bed. The sun was too bright for the stars to emit any more than a hazy green glow, but he stared up at them anyway.

The garage door slammed and soon Tucker was barking excitedly at whoever had entered the house. Blaine sat up and listened.

"Hello?" A voice shouted from the base of the stairs. Blaine relaxed back against the headboard; he knew that voice.

"Upstairs." He called back.

Kurt appeared in the doorway a moment later, he moved straight to the window and pulled open the shades, letting sun spill into the previously artificial dusk. "It's beautiful out today."

Blaine nodded his head; "I haven't been in bed all this time, if that's what you're implying."

"Not at all." Kurt raised an eyebrow, "Your shorts are on and your bed is made. My deductive skills aren't that shabby, Mr. Anderson. Oh! I have something for you."

"Don't call me that, you call my dad Mr. Anderson." Blaine took the book Kurt was offering him, he turned it over in his hands a few times, "Did you finish it?"

"Yes, sir, but please don't try and act out the whole book; I don't know how I would feel about you cross dressing." Kurt settled into the space Blaine had created for him. Their arms touched and Blaine slid over a little further.

Blaine caught his own involuntary recoil and corrected it quickly, but he sighed, "I'm done being the impressionist."

"Any new characters in mind?" Kurt quirked an eyebrow and smirked.

"Just me for now." Blaine shrugged, putting the book down on his nightstand, "Unless you have someone in mind."

"I can think of absolutely no one better." Kurt smiled, tapping his foot lightly against Blaine's.

Blaine looked down toward their legs, "No crutch today?"

"The crutch has been retired and the boot comes off next week." Kurt replied jubilantly; he opted not to comment on the abrupt subject change.

"Already?" Blaine stared down at Kurt's leg cynically.

"You wear this thing around for a summer and then try and qualify it coming off with 'already'," Kurt rolled his eyes, "and it's been almost two months."

Blaine shook his head in disbelief, "Where did the summer go?"

"I said almost two months; we don't go back until after Labor Day," Kurt smiled, "We still have time."

Blaine fell silent, a frown shadowing his features. When Kurt brushed his fingers against the back of his hand, Blaine flinched, "You're thinking about Eric."

Blaine nodded slowly.

"It's been a week Blaine; I'm sure he's conscious and if he hasn't said anything by now, I'm pretty sure it will stay that way." Kurt turned his head to look at Blaine, but Blaine was staring straight ahead.

"I'm not concerned about that." Blaine replied, worrying the plastic star between his fingers once again.

Kurt caught a hold of his hand and tucked the star back into his pocket without explanation, "So what's bothering you?"

Blaine didn't like lying to Kurt. Even if it was just by omission, it felt wrong; dirty even, after all they'd been through together, "I don't know."

"Yes you do," Kurt replied quietly. He waited.

Blaine finally turned to look at him; their faces were so close he could almost taste Kurt's breath on his tongue. Strawberries and something else, "This isn't what I had pictured for this summer."

Kurt held back any sarcastic comments that this had been exactly what he had had in mind for their time off from school, "What did you imagine?"

Blaine was quiet, his eyes drifting over Kurt's face—his hair, his eyes, his mouth; the little line of freckles the sun had created across his nose, "I thought I was finally going to put all of that behind me. I actually believed—'

His eyes were still studying his face, searching for some lost memory of the days before that summer, "I actually believed, after the first day of summer, you and I were going to, at some point…"

Kurt swallowed hard, "Make love?"

"Yes." Blaine turned away.

"I wouldn't have been able to." Kurt said softly.

Blaine looked at him questioningly.

"I… I wanted to, when I came over the first day of summer, I had every intention of going through with it." Kurt felt his cheeks turn hot, but he kept talking, "but I couldn't and I didn't know why; I thought it was just because I've always been so… well, you remember my attempts at sexy."

Blaine smiled sympathetically, "You got better."

Kurt smiled, too, but he was shaking his head. "But then I realized, that wasn't the problem at all. I couldn't go through with it because… I loved you, Blaine, I've always loved you, but there was just that…that wall between us."

Blaine looked away, "We functioned a little more smoothly with it there."

"It was a lie, Blaine. It would have never been as real for you as it was for me. It would have destroyed us."

Blaine didn't say anything. He drew his knees to his chest and rested his chin on them, "And all of this has been healthy for us?"

"Could you look at me right now and say we're not closer for it?" Kurt retorted quietly.

"Yeah, our intimacy is spectacular," Blaine motioned a hand at the space between then and let out a long breath, "Whether or not anything happens to Eric for all of this, it doesn't change where we are right now."

"I can be patient," Kurt said quietly.

Blaine closed his eyes, "Kurt, I know you love me, but, are you sure that this is what you want?"

"Am I sure what is what I want?" Kurt frowned; confused.

Blaine's eyes fluttered open again; he turned his cheek into his knees so he was facing Kurt, "Are you sure you get all of this?"

"You're going to have to be just a little more succinct, Blaine, I don't know what you're getting at."

"I know you, Kurt," Blaine sighed, he moved to sit cross-legged, facing Kurt full on, "I know how important every little detail of a relationship is to you. I try to get it right for you, I try to do things the way I think you picture them in your head… but I can't cover this thing up, I can't pretend you and I are going to get to share this big, special moment if we ever do have sex. I… I can't give you what you deserve with this one."

"Blaine," Kurt felt his voice waver, he swallowed hard to correct it, "I think it's you who is still not getting it."

Blaine stared back at him sadly.

"I want you, Blaine. Only you." Kurt took a chance and brushed a hand across Blaine's forehead.

Blaine let out a breathy, bitter laugh, but Kurt was already shaking his head.

"You're so hard on yourself," Kurt dropped his hand back into his lap, "Do you remember why I was so upset the first time you and I confronted Karofsky?"

"He stole your first kiss." Blaine had never forgotten. It had been the moment, even if he hadn't had those kinds of feeling then, that he had known Kurt was special. The world was still a romantic, beautiful place for him, and Blaine had promised himself he would do his best to keep things that way for him.

"I was so sure he had ruined it for me. I was positive that, for the rest of my life, when I looked back on my first kiss, I would think of letterman jackets and the smell of old gym socks." Kurt smiled faintly, tucking his legs underneath himself neatly, "But that's not what I think of at all. Not even for a second… Do you know what I remember?"

Blaine shook his head.

"When I think of my first kiss, I remember thinking it couldn't possibly be happening, I remember my heart beating so hard I could feel it in my teeth. I remember the taste and the heat and wanting to laugh and cry at the same time simply because it was all so incredibly surreal." Kurt closed his eyes for a moment, and when they fluttered back open, he smiled, "I remember you, Blaine."

Blaine's eyes were misty, but he remained quiet.

"I know it's not anywhere near the level of what happened to you, but I really believe, when the time is right," Kurt blinked back tears that were stinging the corners of his eyes, "You'll be my first… and I'll be yours. You aren't broken or dirty or ruined, Blaine. You're perfect. You'll always be perfect to me."

Kurt nearly had to stifle a gasp when Blaine tipped his head in closer so their foreheads were touching; his eyelashes were a dark blur in Kurt's vision and his breath warm against his face. He expected a sad retort, a bitter comment about how unfixable things had become. But it never came. Blaine found Kurt's hands and held them between his own.

Before Kurt could open his mouth to stammer something out to fill the silence, one of Blaine's hands came up to his face. Kurt held perfectly still beneath the warm palm on his face, the thumb that traced the groove between his lower lip and chin, and finally, the mouth that touched his.

It was not deep and passionate like their first kiss. It was soft; quiet. Just long enough for Kurt to recognize spearmint and that familiar flavor that was nothing but Blaine. When their lips parted, they remained still, their foreheads still touching, and Blaine's breath warm on his mouth as he exhaled. Their eyes met, but with his face so close, all Kurt could see was a blur of warm hazel. He didn't wait for Blaine to speak, to murmur an I love you, or offer some sweet sentiment. Kurt didn't fill the silence either. He didn't offer words of encouragement, cooings of affection, or a note on things looking up.

Some things don't need to be said. Some things go beyond words.