To be fair, the world is a playground to most five-year-olds, but Blaine takes it to extremes. His teacher sends him to the office his second day of kindergarten after she finds Blaine on top of the art cabinet, painting on the ceiling.

"It was a tree," Blaine exclaims proudly to Cooper after crying his way through lectures from his teacher, principal, and mother. "It was probably the best tree I've ever drawn."

"Trees don't belong on the ceiling. That was stupid," Cooper comments, only half listening as he picks at his guitar.

"Michelangelo painted on the ceiling. I learned about it in art."

Cooper nods absent mindedly before furrowing his eyebrows and setting his instrument down. "Hey squirt," he asks Blaine, who reaches out to pluck at the strings, "How'd you even get up there?"

Blaine glares."I'm not telling you. You'll tell Mom."

"You're in trouble anyway," Cooper points out, but only receives a firm head shake in response.

"Still not telling."

* * *

Saturday mornings are theirs. Dad works and Mom sleeps until ten. Cooper gets up at seven and trudges next door to Blaine's room in his boxers.

"Up. Let's go" he announces every single week, and every single week Blaine refuses to leave without getting dressed first, so Cooper picks him out an outfit and marches downstairs to pour some Cheerios into a plastic baggy.

"If you aren't down in two minutes, I'll leave without you!" he hollers as he walks out the door, but never stays true to his word.

"Are we going this week?" Blaine asks excitedly as runs out to the car. Cooper changes into wrinkled gym clothes from the backseat and cranks up the radio before responding.

"It depends. How did you do with training this week?" Cooper yells over the music. He teaches Blaine to sing, dance, everything he's learned from his years of intense performance lessons. Blaine takes them as well, but Cooper likes to work with him alone.

"Good," Blaine responds confidently some weeks, munching happily on his cereal, and Cooper will drive him to the lake a few miles away so they can swim, but some weeks Blaine just stares at the floor and shrugs his shoulders.

"Bad. You did bad." Cooper tells him those weeks. "You weren't paying attention to me Tuesday, and you need to work on your pitch."

They'll sit still for a minute after Cooper lists all his mistakes, radio blaring harshly, but then Cooper starts the engine and drives them to the lake anyway.

They'll practice later.

* * *

Cooper was born in the middle of winter. Maybe that's why he always feels so cold. He barely cares when their parents divorce, his mother sick of too many lies and empty beds.

Blaine was born in July. He cries for days after their father leaves. He loves animals, hangs out with the girls in his class instead of the boys, and cries during fireworks, dance recitals, and almost every movie he sees. To say the least, he's a handful.

After their mother gains custody, things around the house don't really change that much. Their father parents in the form of a hefty monthly check and occasional visits. Their mother doesn't go back to work, just spends her days nagging Cooper and trying to make life easier for Blaine

In the middle of the divorce, something a fair bit more disturbing happens. Eliza, one of Blaine's closest friends from dance, gets into a car accident with her family. At first it looked like she'll be fine, but two days after, she just dies out of no where, even after all the reassurances Cooper had sent Blaine's way. There was internal bleeding that hadn't initially been caught. She was eight.

Blaine is devastated initially, and then he just shuts down. He won't answer questions about how he's feeling, and he won't talk about Eliza. He stops playing with other children, prompting weekly therapy sessions. The therapist meets with the whole family after the first session, citing Blaine's lack of coping mechanisms for his downward spiral.

"He refuses to acknowledge what has happened," she drones in an unsympathetic tone. "He acts as if his friend never existed. Can you think of any experience that might have prompted this?"

Their father is affronted, immediately jumping to defend his parenting (or lack thereof), his mother blames herself, and Cooper just stares at Blaine, who appears to be oblivious to it all.

Blaine's social life isn't the only thing that suffers. His performances start to lose their luster as well. Bad weeks turn into bad months, and one Saturday morning Cooper just gives up. He sets his alarm for ten.

There are no more lessons after that.

* * *

Ohio is easy to leave. Cooper cheers his way through graduation, literally dancing up the stage to get his diploma. He leaves the next morning, shaking hands firmly with his father, kissing his mother's tear-stained cheek, and fondly ruffling Blaine's hair.

"Calm down, buddy. I'll come back," he assures, laughing a bit.

"I don't w-want you to leave," Blaine blubbers, but Blaine always cries. Cooper ignores him, loading up the trunk by himself. As he navigates through the bends of the driveway, his family fades away in the rearview mirror, His parents are separated by an awkward five feet, Blaine sobbing his eyes out between them. He raises his hand to wave once, and then doesn't look back.

Los Angeles isn't really what Cooper thought it would be. He auditions for bit roles a lot that summer, but nothing happens and he ends up working at a Starbucks until UCLA starts in the fall.

The acting program is hard. It's time-consuming. He barely has time to sleep, let alone party. At least that's what he tells his parents. There's no way he'll be able to make it home for fall break. Maybe Christmas, if his teachers don't want him to stay over break.

The excuses fall through when he flunks.

It's summer when Cooper returns to Ohio. Blaine is ten now, and he comes home from school every day with black eyes and broken spirits. After the first day of middle school, he crawls into Cooper's bed and cries. Cooper doesn't know what to do, so he just continues fiddling around with his guitar, reaching out to stoke Blaine's hair after his brother falls asleep.

His mother told him about Blaine over the kitchen counter in hushed tones the afternoon he came home. His kid brother was still seeing the same therapist, two years after Eliza's death. She was still working on his social skills, and they were getting better, but Blaine refused to do more than what was demanded of him.

"They have him on antidepressants," she revealed, tears shining in her eyes. "He's ten."

Looking at Blaine, curled up against his feet and frowning even in his sleep, Cooper sees why.

There are moments in life, when decisions aren't made, but reach up and punch you in the face the same way Blaine's bullies punched him. Cooper reaches for his laptop and starts googling apartment complexes. Michigan sounds far enough.

* * *

The call comes at 3 am, three nights after Cooper's twenty-first birthday. His fingers fumble for the phone.

"Hello?"

"May I speak with Cooper Anderson?"

"This is him."

"This is Westerville Memorial Hospital. I'm sorry sir. We were unable to get in contact with your father. We have your brother here with-"

"What's wrong with Blaine?"

"Your brother is fine, sir, but I'm sorry to inform you that your mother has passed away."

Everything should freeze, but it doesn't. Time still passes. Cars are still roaring down the highway outside the apartment. His roommate still snores, audible from two rooms over. Only Cooper freezes, unable to respond, phone clutched tightly in his hand as he stares at the glowing red numbers of his clock.

"Sir?"

"What happened?"

"Your brother called emergency services at nine pm this evening. It appears that your mother suffered a stroke. We're still looking into what may have caused it. She was alive upon arrival, but has since passed. I'm so sorry. We haven't been able to contact your father."

"What do I have to do?"

"Is there someone to keep your brother? A neighbor?"

"Where is he?"

"He's in the waiting room right now. A nurse is looking after him."

"Does he know?"

"No."

"Put him on please."

There is a pause as the phone passes hands, and he tries to stay calm. He can do this, because there's no way this is actually happening. This is a dream. Just in case it isn't though, he has to stay calm. For Blaine.

"Hello?"

"Blaine?"

Why did his voice just crack? Why is he crying? Keep it together. Stop it.

"Blaine, are you hurt at all?"

"I'm okay but something wrong with mom and they won't tell me what's going on," Blaine rushes out and Cooper can tell he's freaking out.

"Okay, squirt, calm down. I'm going to drive over there. I'll be there in three hours tops." He pulls on some pants and grabs his keys as he talks. "Just stay with that nurse, okay?"

"Okay. Cooper, I think she's really sick."

"We'll talk about it when I get there, okay? I love you."

"I love you, too."

He drives with the windows down to keep him awake. The winter Michigan air is a bit cold, even for Cooper.