Sighing to himself, Blaine sat outside the car shop. Opening his book bag, he pulled out one of his schoolbooks, planning to at least to something useful while he was stuck here. When his parents had casually asked him last weekend to bring their car to the shop some time this week, he hadn't expected anything to be wrong with the vehicle.

Apparently, there was, as the mechanic who'd had a look at his car just now had told him. Blaine's parents were away on a business trip that lasted at least two weeks, so he couldn't call them to pick him up, or even to just shout at them for letting him do the nasty work (although – of course, that was what the mechanic was doing now. But they'd still left it up to Blaine to get the car repaired, in the middle of a school week). Didn't they know how busy he was? He couldn't call any of his friends either, as he'd had to skip Warbler practice that afternoon in order to make it to the garage before it closed.

Nevertheless, the man (whose co-workers seemed to be free that day) had assured him that the repair wouldn't take too long, and that he'd be able to be back to where he needed to be before it would truly become dark outside. He had also given Blaine a cup of coffee (not like his usual, quality-wise, but it was decent enough for a car shop) – a cup which was now fully empty.

So, to prevent it from being blown away by a gust of wind, Blaine put down his book and his bag, stood up and walked back inside. He wasn't entirely surprised to see that the mechanic now was in the company of a boy Blaine's age – he'd seen him come in, after all; not that the boy had noticed him – but they appeared to be arguing about something. Just as Blaine had thrown his cup away, and made to go back outside again, the boy said something interesting.

"I blew the note. I wanted to lose."

So this boy sang? Judging by his speaking voice, Blaine reckoned he must be able to reach some pretty high notes if he wanted to. He would try to recruit this boy for the Warblers if he wasn't so sure that he didn't even attend Dalton.

The mechanic, who, Blaine guessed, was probably the boy's father (they couldn't be more different, at least at first sight), didn't appear to be very happy by the fact that his son had purposefully lost some sort of competition.

"Dad," the boy started, "I have known who I was since I was five."

As he was now facing his father, who'd just sat down a few feet away from where Blaine was standing, Blaine quickly slid further into the small corridor-of-sorts, not fully outside, but on his way. He knew he shouldn't eavesdrop, but… just this once, that wasn't such a crime, right? Besides, if anyone were to notice him, he could always say he'd only just walked into the shop.

"Being different made me stronger."

Blaine breathed in and out heavily. The exact opposite went for him. Sure, he'd come out, but since that made him so different from most people around him, he'd become unsure. He didn't know what to do most of the time. He tried to appear strong, tried to fool people into believing he knew what he was doing and what was right. He had turned into a version of himself that hadn't always been there, but had only established itself the moment he'd realised that he wasn't like everyone else. He seemed strong and confident on the outside, but on the inside, he was so, so insecure.

He hated it.

"Especially if I get up in front of a thousand people to sing a girl's song."

That was strange, though. The Warblers sang girl's songs all the time, and, as far as Blaine was aware, that had always been the case. Maybe it had to do with the fact that this boy had a higher voice than any boy his age Blaine had ever come across – would people find that offensive? But it wasn't as if this boy could help the fact that he had such a high voice, was it?

"I'm not saying I'm going to hide in the closet – "

In the closet. So his dad knew – and still seemed so, so accepting and – why couldn't Blaine have that with his own father? Why did his father, who was educated and well-mannered and sophisticated, have to be so opposed to the idea that his son was gay? Why did his father never look at him the same way as he'd done before Blaine had come out? Why did he treat his only son as such a disappointment? Wasn't he supposed to be the one to be open-minded enough to accept the fact that his son liked boys instead of girls?

But no, this was Ohio. Where open-mindedness was still not quite existing and where parents treated their children like scum if they'd done something, anything wrong.

And then there was this man – a small-town mechanic, someone who'd probably just wished for a kid who could one day take over his business, but got a gay son instead who wanted to get out of this so-called cow-town as soon as possible. And this man accepted that. This man seemed to support his son as much as he could.

It wasn't fair.

Of course, Blaine was glad that people like this man existed. He was glad that there were parents who unconditionally loved their kid, even if they didn't quite turn out the way they had planned for them to be. However, he couldn't help but envy this boy just a little bit – or maybe more than just a little bit – for having this man as a father.

"Are you okay?" All of a sudden, the boy was standing in front of Blaine, scrutinising him with a slightly concerned look on his face.

"Yeah," Blaine replied weakly, discovering to his horror that he was becoming a little teary-eyed. "I'm fine." And his voice was betraying him as well. Just fantastic.

"There are some tissues over there, if you want one?" the boy said tentatively, and although Blaine wanted to say no and just go to get a breath of fresh air, he found himself nodding sheepishly.

The boy presented him with the box of tissues before he could even walk two steps towards it, and now, the mechanic noticed him as well.

"You okay, kid?" he asked as his son walked off, muttering something about his coveralls.

Again, Blaine nodded. He wasn't fully ready to have a heart-to-heart with this man, or the boy, about his troubled home life or something. "How's the car?" he asked instead.

The man eyed him for another second before turning towards the car. "Most of it's repaired already," he answered somewhat gruffly. "We're going to change this tyre here, and then you should be ready to go home."

Blaine guessed it was best not to ask why the tyre in question needed to be changed, but just smiled weakly. "Alright," he said. "I'll just go back outside then."

"You can wait in here too, you know," the man told him, not seeming to understand why Blaine was so adamant about sitting outdoors.

"It's okay," Blaine replied. "Some fresh air will do me good, I think."

He didn't hear the man's response, but instead headed back out. There, he waited until his car was completely fixed. The mechanic informed him that he'd just send the bill to Blaine's parents, and with that, Blaine was free to leave. Casting one final glance at the boy and his father, Blaine swallowed. It was almost too easy to just tell them his story – but they probably wanted to go home and have dinner too. They had enough stuff going on in their own lives.

"Thanks," he therefore said, stepping into the car, and getting ready to get this car home, and then drive his own car towards Dalton.

Maybe he'd have another chance to talk in the future, and if not – well, then it was clear that he'd done the right thing.