Girls Aloud are playing. Blaine kind of likes them, in the silly way that any five year old can like any music. She doesn't know if he understands it, but still she's noticed he always hums along when their current summer hit is blaring in a shop as she pushes him tiredly through the aisles in the trolley, or when his dad puts the car radio on if they go out for the day. Blaine likes a few other singers, too, all pretty girls with cute voices. She decides this means he's gonna be a real lady killer when he grows up, date a head cheerleader with a smile too big or maybe a student council president with smouldering eyes.

For that summer, though, those days are far away, so Maria just dances him around the kitchen and idly fantasises about her future daughter in law (because really, she always wanted a girl).

*

He's eight now, and it's cold, November weather teasing them with frosted windscreens and numb fingers as they stamp their way through the streets. Blaine doesn't mind though, so he dances in front of them happily, trying to walk backwards, huffing out his breath and laughing when it curls back around him like smoke.

"Look! Mum! I'm a dragon!"

He holds out his coat and uses it as wings, pretends to soar above the clouds and breathe fire and hunt innocent villagers. There's nobody else about, but Maria still feels embarrassed, and she clutches David's hand and scolds Blaine to calm down, honey, you're too old for these games. Blaine doesn't mind, he's already bouncing off in some other direction, and his attention span these days is surely getting shorter by the second, she decides. Now he's enamoured by some early Christmas tune winding around them as it escapes from a nearby house. He's humming along, like usual, dancing ahead of them so he can stop and show them some strange little dance move he appears to be way too proud of. Maria rolls her eyes, tells him to honestly Blaine calm down, we'll be home in a minute, you can mess about then, and walks a little faster. Blaine stops humming, and for a second she considers the miracle that he's actually listened to her for once, thank the lord, but no, a moment later he opens his mouth again and now he's singing instead.

It's the first time she's heard him sing, and she stops dead in her tracks. Frowns with her eyebrows, glances unsurely at David, questions honey who taught you to sing like that in a much gentler voice than she had just abandoned. Blaine shrugs, serendades a pretend microphone and twists his knees around strangely, but it's not exactly annoying anymore, because he's pretty much kind of amazing.

She shrugs it off. He's just singing for the sake of it. It doesn't mean a thing to him, he doesn't know baritone from tenor or good singing from bad singing. He doesn't know much, really, because he's a daydreaming sort of child, and his grades are unpredictable and his hobbies change faster than the flowers on the kitchen table, so of course music doesn't mean anything to him.

He sounds lovely, but he's going to be a doctor.

She smiles, and tells him to shush, and let's just focus on getting home shall we, I'm freezing, we'll save concerts for later.

Blaine shrugs, because the song has ended anyway.

*

He's twelve, and he doesn't want to talk to his mother. Not since they were watching a film together and some pretty girl came on screen and she prodded him wow, honey, she's pretty isn't she, you could definitely date a girl like that, and his father laughed a bit and agreed, said, sure, son, you could get any girl in your class at the rate you're going, because Blaine was filling out nicely and he'd already had his growth spurt so he was a bit taller than other guys his age. They had smiled at him fondly and expected him to blush or roll his eyes or tell them about some pretty blonde he actually had eye for at the moment, like a regular teenager. Instead his cheeks coloured angrily and he leapt out of his chair.

"For god's sake, not everyone wants a girlfriend, you know!"

They'd been shocked, but David had muttered puberty after he stormed out, so she figured it was okay for a while. She's wondered about Blaine, a few times, just very recently and only in the dead of night and the safety of her own mind. She's wondered if he might be gay. But that's stupid, and she quickly dismisses the idea every time she thinks it. Blaine is a kid. Plenty of time for girls later. And he still loves pretty girl singers so she has hope for him yet.

*

He's fourteen and wishing he didn't have to take Spanish. It's not that he finds it too difficult, or that it's mind numbingly dull, but more that the guys who sit behind him like kicking his chair and he just knows that any day now they're going to figure him out and he'll be getting a lot worse than that.

Today, though, they're about to break up for half term, so the teacher is collapsed in his office at the back and the class are entertained by a film. It flickers in the background of Blaine's thoughts, and his peers are glued to it by blank stares which mindlessly follow the movement on the screen. In his head, he recites lyrics, and tries to ignore the angry scribbles kids have left on the desk, this lesson is so gay and fag fag fag whispering to him like a never ending reminder that most of the people around him would only just begrudge him his existence.

He thinks of his parents, whose lips tighten in silence when two boys on the television screen hold hands.

Tonight, he thinks. I'll tell them tonight.

Something blows up on screen. Everybody laughs. For the thousandth time, he wishes he could make himself change.

*

He's nearly fifteen now, and he's really going to do it. He's going to tell his parents, and they're going to be fine with it, and then he's going to go with Kyle to the Sadie Hawins dance and have a wonderful time and make all those dumb jocks see the error of their ways and then the rest of his life will just be spent dancing down a rainbow with a kitten in each hand and glitter raining from the sky.

Yeah. Right.

He really is going to tell them, though. He's been on the Internet for the best part of two weeks, gazing at the screens of chatrooms and help sites, scribbling notes about stages of denial and structured arguments and tones of voice, equal parts horrifying and reassuring himself by reading different people's stories. He's planned and learnt reasonable responses to everything they could possibly say, done everything perfectly, prepared himself the way he never had before, every other week for the last two years when he's convinced himself he's about to tell them, and has sat at the kitchen table after school with a squirming stomach and sweaty palms just to run away the second he hears their keys in the door. Today he's sat at that same table, as always, about to be sick with nerves as he watches the clock tick from four to five and awaits the sound of cars in the driveway.

They arrive.

He's dizzy.

"Hey honey," his mum is saying absently as she drops her bag onto the table next to him. Now she's rooting through the cupboards, pulling out wine glasses, going about her routine like he's not even there. Which he's actually not, in spirit, because he's pretty sure he's about to faint or cry or for gods sakes just do something.

"Mum," he tries, and his voice cracks. She looks around, a little curious, pauses in her rummaging through the cupboards.

"What is it?" she asks. His head swims, wonders if she can see how he's feeling, if she thinks he's sick or on drugs or something equally macabre.

"Can I talk to you and dad for a minute?" asks his voice, and his stomach makes a valiant effort to crawl up his throat and stop the words before they come out, but it doesn't work, so now he's said it and he thinks he's going to be sick on top of everything else.

"DAVID!" she calls, not taking her eyes off Blaine. He appears in the doorway a few moments later, shrugging off his suit jacket and loosening his tie, flicking through some case files absent mindedly. He stops when he catches Maria's eye. She seems to be trying to tell him something, but he doesn't know what.

Blaine clears his throat.

"I, erm, need to talk to you guys," he starts. His voice sounds feeble and wobbles. His parents exchange another look before sliding into the chairs across from him and crossing their arms in a freaky display of unintentional unison. A united front. Blaine gulps.

"Are you in some sort of trouble?" his mum asks. He can see her eyes flickering, her fruit machine brain pinging through the worst case scenarios and randomly choosing one to focus on. Expelled from school beat someone up on crack hit someone with the car got someone pregnant failing all his classes help what do I do.

"No, I'm fine," he replies, willing his voice to get stronger. He watches for another moment as she deletes all her old theories and instantly creates more. He doesn't know whether he finds this reassuring or annoying.

"Spit it out, then," his dad says brusquely once there have been a few more minutes of uncomfortable silence. They watch him. He gulps.

"I... I just wanted to talk to you because I really love you guys, and it's really important to that - I mean, for us to be completely honest with each other which I..."

"Honey," his mum prompts, in a less than gentle way.

"Right, I... I just thought you should know that it's totally not a big deal, but I, erm, I'm gay."

There's a pause. They look frozen, their eyes widened and their minds whirring. Blaine can almost hear his mothers thoughts, all wait what did he say I must have misheard him what sounds like gay play yay way may hey day Jay... Maybe he wants to change his name to Jay that must be it, and his dads eyes are just going nonononononononononono.

"You..." His dads voice comes out strange, so he clears his throat and begins again. "You're awfully young to be thinking about those sorts of thinks, Blaine."

"You're the ones who've been pushing me to get a girlfriend," he reminds them.

"I..." His mother this time, trailing off just like his dad, the most in sync couple even when they don't mean it. She, too, tries again. "I just think you should think about what you're telling us, honey."

She's pleading, although she'd never admit it, and he doesn't know whether he wants to cry or yell.

"It would mean a lot if you guys would say you accept me," he says in a reasonable voice, just like the websites told him, and he doesn't give in to his emotions because this has been hard on him so it's bound to be hard on them, too.

"Well, we..."

They exchange a look. His dad stops speaking and his mother starts.

"Of course we accept you, sweetie, and we will love you no matter what. We're just saying, there's no pressure on you to decide any of this stuff now. Maybe try dating a few girls. This might just be a phase. You are awfully young, after all, Blaine. We love you, hon, and I would hate for you to suffer for this unless you're sure. Wy don't we just wait a year or so, and then try talking to us again if you're more sure."

She pats his hand sweetly, and he leaves confused, because he has done everything just like he planned, but he still feels like maybe he hasn't come out at all.

They stop talking about girls, but they don't talk about boys, either. In fact, none of them mention it again for months.

*

He's just fifteen and he's taking up boxing. He'd done exactly what he promised, taken Kyle to the dance and danced with him happily and although there was no premise for a kiss because they were just friends, it was kind of everything he wanted from his first school dance.

Except the part where he nearly dies.

He's in hospital for two nights and they bandage up various scrapes and he lives in a suit of slowly yellowing bruises for a month. He hadn't really told his parents that Kyle was his date, had just mentioned a friend he was going with, and their lips had tightened because of course they knew, but it had become this big thing they never talked about so they'd just brought him a tux and told him to have fun. When they find him in the emergency room his mother is crying, and his dad is uncomfortable. They obligatorily wonder why anyone would do that.

Guess I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time is what comes out of Blaine's mouth, though he really just wants to scream at them because damn it, they know why it happened.

When the bruises are nearly gone, his dad mentions the possibility of taking a class or something.

"Maybe you should learn how to hit," he says, and he doesn't say because it's a tough world out there and if you're really going to insist on this gay stuff then most people are going to hate you and lots of people are going to try and start stuff and I need you to be able to defend yourself because I can't do it and I love you but you're making everything so so difficult right now. But Blaine knows he's thinking it, and he appreciates that, because he knows that his parents really do care about him. They're just lost in a cloud of bad decisions.

"Just in case," his mother says when they bring it up again over dinner, and it turns out they've already done the research and they give him a brochure for the local gym and tell him to pick a class. He chooses boxing, though he'd really rather Kung Fu or something gentle, because it seems like the manliest and that's what his dad would want. If Blaine can't be straight he can at least try and please his parents in other ways.

It also helps him get out his anger, which if he's honest, he has a lot of.

Every time his dad drives him to the class, he looks a little bit prouder of Blaine. After nearly a month of nobody mentioning school, his parents push another brochure across the dinner table to him. This time it's not a sweaty local gym where he'll learn to beat people up; it's a private school. All boys. Cute uniform. The words that leap out at him, though, are near the back when he flicks through the brochure in confusion. Zero tolerance no bullying.

His parents have money, so even when he sees the fees, he doesn't feel bad about nodding.

*

He's still fifteen but now he's fifteen in a summer heat, the air warmer than anyone can remember for years, and he finally feels like he has an excuse to be lazy like a normal teenager. He spends the first week sleeping straight through the mornings, then beating up a punch bag in the basement for hours in the afternoon. He doesn't see his friends. He doesn't really have any friends, since he's cut the cord with everyone from his old school but still not yet started Dalton and met new ones.

Maria remembers ten years ago, Blaine crying on the counter and sucking on an ice lolly as she bandaged up a grazed knee. Now he's taller than her, and a fighter, and he's had a whole lot worse than grazed knees but she's never seen him cry, not once, since he told them he was gay. She supposes he must have, because it got so bad for a while there that she herself had been crying herself to sleep every night, but Blaine must have saved it for when he was hidden in the shower or curled up under his sheets.

Blaine still sings along to pretty girl singers on the radio, but that has a whole other meaning now. The daughter in law she once dreamed of in her head is looking more and more masculine these days, until she's picturing the first person Blaine brings home as a skinny indie boy with floppy hair and troubled eyes. That would be his type, she thinks. He's not too much into girly things, so she can't imagine him going for one of those fashionista stereotypes.

She's scared but she accepts it. She mentions this to David one night, the first time they've talked about it in so many words since it all began. The next day, he brings home an engine.

"Blaine, we're building a car," he announces, rolling his son out of bed when he sees it's past eleven in the morning and ripping his curtains open violently. Blaine groans from the floor, twisted in the sheets, shields his eyes against the sunlight and looks ready to kill someone. David pretends not to notice the copy of Vogue on the desk or the increasingly feminine looking cardigans hanging in the wardrobe. Pretending not to notice things is becoming David's forte, really.

Blaine moans and groans for a while until his dad pulls out the words bonding experience, and says them with such desperate sincerity that they are both obligated to spend the summer pretending to know or care about cars, clapping each other on the back and not complaining when their clothes get dirty, though they both secretly care. David's never been a real man's man, he wears expensive suits and works in an office and gets spa treatments when he's stressed, and sometimes he wonders if it's his fault Blaine has ended up this way, like he didn't have a good enough male role model or something so he got confused about how guys are supposed to be. Then sometimes he thinks Blaine must have just been born this way and there's nothing he can do to change it. He's thinking that side of things more and more lately, but that doesn't mean he can't try.

Maria doesn't help, because she's talking about it now, maybe not to Blaine but definitely to David. Late at night she whispers about how she would imagine Blaine's girlfriends when he was younger, but now the smiling cheerleader has become a lanky football player and the smouldeing student council member has become an exotic guy from band. She's upset by it, he knows. She really wanted a girl. But maybe, just maybe, she's starting to accept it now.

He remembers her dancing Blaine around the kitchen when he was younger, the cutest kid in the world with mad curls and huge eyes. He doesn't admit that he cries sometimes.