All In

            As the day of Douglas' return had drawn closer, so too had the strange churning in the pit of his stomach that fought for dominance with the furious flutter and warm tingling spread he was growing accustomed to when he thought about spending time with Douglas.  He had met his boyfriend from the plane at Newark as a surprise and had been rewarded with the most beautiful smile he had ever seen.  Douglas had been travelling for over 17 hours, as was evident by lingering smell of recirculated air and the heavy scruff on his jaw. 

            ‘You should keep it – it makes you look rugged in a George Clooney kinda way.'

Douglas had laughed then as Blaine ran a hand over the dark hair flecked with grey peppering the older man's jaw, before making a point of taking his suitcases as the younger directed the taller man to a waiting taxi.

They had only had one day of rest at Douglas' before making their way up to the Chambers' familial home in Southampton.  The house had been built by Douglas' paternal great-grandparents in 1896 – the Clarks had been a steel family, and Douglas' grandfather (Douglas Graeme Chambers, 1st) had married the only living child of the steel magnate in 1932 after immigrating to New York in early 1931.  The house, known in the family as ‘The Summer Place'

            (‘More like Summer Palace,' Douglas had teased)

had been in the Chambers' family ever since and was now the retirement home of Douglas' parents, Douglas Graeme Chambers, 2nd, and his wife, Julia.

            ‘My family are very imaginative when it comes to names for their eldest sons, as I'm sure you gathered.'

The lump in Blaine's throat had seemed to grow exponentially in size the closer their taxi had gotten to the house, and Blaine had thought that he had been doing a good job of hiding his nerves, until Douglas had taken his hand in his own and given him a concerned look.

Blaine tries to breathe evenly but the truth is – he's terrified.  Meeting the parents of one's boyfriend is always a test thinly veiled as a nicety, but in this case Blaine knows the likelihood of a warm welcome is almost zero.  He takes the opportunity of the last fleeting moments of peace to watch the world pass by the window, one hand encased securely in Douglas' own. 

It is impossible to mistake their arrival at the Village – impossibly neat hedges and walls are dwarfed by blindingly white panelled and redbrick houses in fields of manicured lawns.  Gravel grumbles under the wheels of their taxi as it follows the circular path that would have originally been designed for horse and carriage.  The looming Georgian façade of the house was only dwarfed by the acreage of gardens; the house alone could have easily swallowed Blaine's family home twice over, if not thrice. 

Douglas squeezes Blaine's hand once and Blaine realises dimly that he is not the only one who is anxious.  He glances in the direction of his boyfriend and shoots him a reassuring smile in an attempt to make up for being so utterly self-centred and selfish, simultaneously making a silent promise to be strong for both of them – this is going to be far tougher on Douglas than on himself.

The taxi pulls up in front of an impressive oversized door surrounded by a Grecian-style pediment; the door opens almost simultaneously and Blaine only just manages to hide his shock when a butler begins ordering a tall youth to take ‘Mr. Chambers' and Guest's' bags up to the Blue Bedroom.  He shoots Douglas a reassuring look – their bags are going to the same room, so that is a good sign.  At least, he hopes it is.

They are led through the panelled entrance hall to the main hallway from which sweeping marble stairs lead to a half-gallery then split in to two, curving elegantly upwards to the first floor.  Blaine counts six sets of dark mahogany double doors leading from the main hall as they are led through, past the stairs, to the left.

            ‘Please wait in the Garden Lobby while I fetch Mrs. Chambers.  Oliver will be back shortly with refreshments after your journey.'

The butler leaves them then and Blaine takes in the sight before him – parquet flooring in three colours sweeps through the room which boasts more doors suggesting further rooms.  Large French windows lead down to the gardens, and Blaine spies the suggestion of immaculate colour-coordinated flowerbeds.  The room itself is airy – white walls and tall Georgian sash-windows with deep casings and painted wooden shutters.  At waist-height there is a dado rail with white panelling below that runs around the room, but other than two large, white marble planters full of white lilies, an old mirror, the frame of which has also been painted white, and a number of tall-backed wooden chairs, there are no more decorations.  Blaine realises that Douglas has taken a seat so he ought to join him, but truthfully he is feeling far too overwhelmed to sit, even if they had not been travelling for two hours.  The heady scent of lilies battles with the scent of beeswax and overpowers his senses, leaving him feeling nauseous and light-headed – he wishes he could open a window.

Fortunately, their wait is not long, and the tall youth who had taken their bags (Oliver, Blaine presumes) returns with a pitcher of fresh lemonade, three glasses and a wooden folding table, which he erects without a word, then retreats leaving Blaine and Douglas with the refreshments.  Blaine shoots a look at Douglas who smiles slightly but shakes his head.

            ‘Mother will want to entertain, best leave her to it.'

Blaine nods slightly and turns to look out of the windows on what he can see of the garden.  From his estimation they are in the West wing of the house, and Blaine wonders idly just how much the property is worth.  He knew Douglas' family were not exactly poor – Douglas has a residence on the Upper East Side - but this is a little more than he was expecting.  In a way, he muses, he had not really thought about it before.  It was a little difficult to ignore when confronted with the reality.

His thoughts are interrupted by the entrance of a woman in her mid-seventies.  Julia Rose Chambers is breath-taking, even now – her white hair is piled into a loose bun, from which curls cascade softly, enhancing the effect of her eyes which twinkle like two pale emeralds.  She holds herself like a movie star from the 50s, but there is a hardness to the set of her lips that Blaine finds disturbing.  She hardly gives him a passing glance as she immediately focuses on Douglas.

            ‘You look terrible, dah-ling.' 

            ‘Thank you, mother.' 

Between any other family it may have been seen as a friendly exchange, but Blaine forces himself to suppress a shudder at how tight and guarded Douglas seems.  The older man had stood when his mother had entered the room, and now embraces her gently pressing his lips to her powdered cheek, before taking her hand and walking her to one of the chairs near the lemonade table.  Douglas takes the seat next to her, and Blaine takes the opportunity to take the seat next to Douglas.

            ‘You father will be back for dinner,' Julia offers as she pours three glasses.  Douglas takes one and passes it to Blaine in what feels like a protective gesture and Blaine offers his thanks softly. 

            ‘No business at the table this evening please, no matter what he insists.  It's not the place.'  Julia replaces the jug then takes the remaining glass and sipping delicately before returning it to the table.

            ‘Of course, mother.'  Douglas takes a sip, his eyes never leaving the elder Chambers.

            ‘Roger called to tell us how young Douglas and Roger Jr. are doing.  They are charming boys.'

            ‘Yes.  I spoke to Rog myself when I got back yesterday.'

            ‘He did not mention it.'

            ‘I suppose he didn't.' 

The silence sparks and Blaine suddenly finds his lemonade fascinating.  It drags out, punctuated by birdsong and soft breath. 

            ‘I hear you know Douglas, Roger's eldest?'

The question catches Blaine a little off-guard, but he clears his throat and forces himself to raise his hazel eyes to meet the green pins examining him.

            ‘Yes.  My father and Roger's are good friends.'

            ‘You go to school together I presume?'

            ‘Yes.  Dalton Academy.'

Julia nods.

            ‘Really, Douglas?  A child?'

            ‘Not now, mother.'

            ‘At least he's well educated and good-looking, if a little on the short side; not like that last friend of yours you brought home.  The man had no manners!'

            ‘Mother.'  Douglas' voice has an edge to it that Blaine had not dreamed existed, however, oblivious, Julia continued.

            ‘What was his name?  Adrian?'

            ‘That was over 15 years ago -'

            ‘At least Adrian was a grown man.  Really, Douglas, people are going to think you have a houseboy, like Liberace!'

Blaine's eyebrows shot into his hairline.  Douglas's hand clenched slightly.

            ‘Mother…'

            ‘No.  You listen here, my boy.  What you do in the privacy of your own home is your business, but you are a representative of this family and I will not have you parading this…child…around like your property -'

            ‘He is not a child.'

            ‘Your father is not going to like it.  He thought you'd grown out of this…behaviour.'

Douglas' jaw clenched slightly.  Blaine hated seeing him like this – stressed, hurt and uncomfortable.  He took a breath fighting the instinct to keep quiet and make himself small.

            ‘Mrs. Chambers – if I may?'

The piercing emerald orbs snapped onto him, and for a fraction of a second he thought Douglas was going to interrupt him, but instead he remained focused on his mother, features unreadable.  Blaine cleared his throat.

            ‘Mrs. Chambers, I know I look young, and I am – I'm 19 years old, and I understand that you want what is best for your son.'

            ‘Do you have a son?'

            ‘No, but I do have a family – and they trust me.  They trust me to know what is right for me and to know what makes me happy, and though they don't often completely understand me, they support me.  Douglas trusts me too and we support each other.  I know that you probably think that being gay is a sin, but the world is changing – people are becoming more accepting.  Things are not like they used to be, Mrs. Chambers, and if you think that I will sit idly by while you insult my boyfriend and I, you truly underestimate me.  It is up to you – you can either accept this, or we can leave.  I wouldn't want you to feel uncomfortable in your own house.'

His hands are shaking slightly, and he is certain that he could not stand even if he wanted to.  The silence is worse than the slurs and accusation, but he can breathe because Douglas is smiling.  Douglas is smiling at him.

            ‘What was your name again, Mr…?'

            ‘Anderson.  Blaine Devon Anderson.'

She hums to herself, before turning her attention back to Douglas who drops his smile and straightens under his mother's glare.

            ‘You'll be staying in the Blue Bedroom.  If you'll excuse me – I'm feeling a little tired.'

Douglas immediately stands and offers his mother a hand to stand up.  Blaine forces himself to stand, knees still shaking and palms sweating, watching as his host makes her exit.

            ‘You continue to amaze me, Blaine.'  Douglas takes his hand and presses the knuckles to his lips.  His eyes are dark and hungry, and Blaine finds himself leaning into Douglas slightly.  ‘So brave.'  The taller man takes a breath and Blaine feels like he may faint.  ‘She's either going to love you or despise you know - there's no in between.'

            ‘Did she not despise the others?'

            ‘No.  She was remarkably indifferent.  She does not waste energy on people she does not deem worthy.'

            ‘Then I shall take it as a compliment.'  Douglas' eyes twinkle with laughter at Blaine's bravados.  ‘I'm sorry.'

Douglas frowns.

            ‘Whatever for?'

            ‘It was not my place to jump in like that.  She's not my mother and I'm a guest in this house, and you don't need protecting, I know, I just…  No one has any right to say things like that to you…  I –‘ 

Douglas' lips against his swallow the rest of Blaine's self-depreciating tirade.

            ‘How many times do I have to tell you not to put yourself down, Blaine?  You are the most wonderful man, and I am so lucky to have you.'

Blaine feels utterly boneless and is certain he would have dropped to the floor in an ungainly puddle, had Douglas not been supporting his weight.

            ‘Come on – let's go upstairs.  She'll expect us to change for dinner.'

Blaine nods numbly when Douglas takes Blaine's hand and leads him back into the main hall then left, and up the stairs.  At the half-landing they take the left staircase, and follow it as it sweeps around passing ancient-looking oil paintings, some of which he recognises, and stern family portraits.  There is a small minstrels' gallery to the right on the landing and Blaine catches a glimpse of a double-height ballroom below, which looks to take up most of the rear of the house and leads onto a large veranda, and on – to terraced lawns and beyond.  Douglas leads Blaine into a small corridor with two doors at opposite ends, then through the one to the right.

It is immediately evident why the room is known as the Blue Bedroom as the bed linen and upholstery are in complementary shades of baby blue, pale brown, and cream.  The room has a dual-aspect view of the gardens, and is lavishly (but tastefully) decorated.  All the furnishings are in the French style, and are dominated by an Empire-style bed with button-back headboard in dark cream, and ornately carved, gilded frame.  A matching chaise-lounge sits invitingly in front of the large sash-windows to the North, with a couple of matching gilded chairs scattered strategically around.  The bed itself is flanked by two cream bedside tables with delicate cabriole legs that match the colour of the headboard perfectly, and the pale carpets are garnished with beautiful Turkish rugs.  

            ‘I'm actually surprised we're staying in the same room.' 

            ‘I insisted.  It was one of the conditions of me actually coming here in person and not simply conducting business with father-dear through the company solicitor.'  Douglas smiles at Blaine.  ‘Are you alright?'

            ‘I will be.  Just – it's a lot.'

            ‘I know.'

            ‘I can't imagine growing up here.'

            ‘It wasn't too bad; we were mainly confined to the attic.'  Douglas' wry smile makes Blaine laugh and Blaine finds himself pulling Douglas in for a kiss.

            ‘Are you OK?  I'm guessing your father'll be worse than your mother was.'

            ‘I'm used to it, Blaine.'

            ‘I know.  But that doesn't mean you should have to be.'

            ‘Are you sure you're 19?  You didn't steal the wisdom from some wizened old sensei?'

            ‘Absolutely positive.'  Blaine laughs.  ‘Come on – we should dress for dinner.  Your mother wants Liberace I'm sure we could find something suitably dazzling.'  He winks as he makes his way over to the large armoire, guessing (correctly) that their clothes would have been unpacked for them.

            ‘Oh, God, please no!  Shoot me first.'  Douglas' laughter is addictive and Blaine winks lewdly at him.

            ‘What?  You don't want to dress the part?  I'm sure I could find something that screams houseboy…'

            ‘No to the sequins, but we'll revisit that houseboy concept of yours at a later date.  Something tight and very, very revealing…' 

Blaine winks as he pulls out their dinner jackets.  Blaine feels ridiculously overdressed, but Douglas looks the epitome of a gentleman which is distraction enough to forget how uncomfortable he feels.  He slides a hand around Douglas' waist, revelling in the fact that he can, and kisses him gently.

            ‘Ready?'

            ‘I'll never be ready, Blaine.'

            ‘I know.  But you're not alone.'

            ‘They will probably ignore you throughout dinner.'

            ‘Houseboy – I remember.'

            ‘I'm sorry - for them.'

            ‘They're your parents and they are not alone in their ignorance - it's hardly your fault.  Look – this is your last real chance to make-up with them – I know you – you'd blame yourself if something happened to them and you were still estranged.  Your dad's, what, in his late 70's, right?'  Douglas nods.  ‘I know they hurt – but they're just words.  Words no child should hear from their parent, but words nonetheless.  You know that better than I do.'

            ‘You're channelling that sensei again…'

The kiss is sweet and short – both are anxious, but the little thrill that runs through Blaine reminds him suddenly of how young he is – the combination of teenage hormones and formalwear is seemingly volatile.  He pulls away slightly from Douglas and forces himself to concentrate.

            ‘If it gets unbearable we can always excuse ourselves, right?'

            ‘Of course.'

            ‘OK, so if that happens we only have to stick around for your business meeting tomorrow then we can go straight back to yours and spend the rest of our holiday together?'

            ‘Don't tempt me, Blaine.' 

Blaine winks and is rewarded by another of Douglas' genuine smiles.

            ‘Come on, mischief.  Let's do this before we are late and give mother something else to despise us for.'

            ‘Mischief?'  Blaine laughs.

            ‘You in formalwear does something to me – you know it does, so quit flirting and get your ass into that dinner jacket so we can go.'

Douglas picks up Blaine's jacket and holds it out for him as Blaine slips into it.

            ‘Once more in to the breach, dear friends!'

            ‘Once more.'

-+-

            He can hear the rumble of raised voices – it reverberates through the walls and floor.  The air is thick with the overpowering scent of Mrs. Chambers' perfume, lilies and polish, which only serves to amplify the feeling that lightening is about to strike him.  He tries to ignore it and is marginally successful, but every now and again he makes out a word and his heart rate surges.

Dinner had gone surprisingly well.  As Douglas had predicted – Mr. Chambers had all but ignored Blaine's presence, however, Mrs. Chambers had been sure to engage him in their discussions.  Whether it was to be the perfect host or because she had decided to like him, he had no idea.  After they had finished their meal, Blaine had been led by Mrs. Chambers to the drawing room to play the piano for her, while Douglas and his father had disappeared to another part of the house (the billiard room, as he had later discovered), for a brandy and awkward pre-discussion about China.  Mrs. Chambers had seemed impressed by Blaine's musical abilities to the extent that she had asked him to play again for her

            ‘While the men discuss business in the morning.'

He had ignored the implied insult – preferring to assume that it was because she liked his company rather than that she thought he was feminine or a child. 

He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket but dared not excuse himself from playing – not while such a heated discussion was in progress.  Instead, he tried to play something soothing in the vain hope that, perhaps, Douglas may feel less alone (if he could even hear it where he was; Blaine assumed they were in the library – the room across the Garden Lobby from the Drawing Room - or the study).  Either way, it made Blaine feel a little less powerless.

He jumped a little and stopped playing when he felt something nuzzle his thigh.

            ‘Rufus!  I'm so sorry – he's so rude!  Rufus!'

Blaine looked down to see the head of a beautiful Irish setter in his lap – he had not been aware that the family had a dog.  He ruffled back of the animal's neck gently with his hand.

            ‘No – it's OK.  He just startled me.'

            ‘He's my husband's dog.'

            ‘He's beautiful.'

            ‘Daftest animal we've had.  I'll have Oliver take him outside.' 

            ‘No – he's fine, really.'  She shoots Mrs. Chambers what he hopes is a charming smile, and it seems to work because she makes no further move to have Rufus extricated.

            You don't like the tension either, do you, boy?

Blaine runs his hand over the large dog's russet fur, massaging behind the animal's ears once more, before he resumes playing.

Rufus stays by his feet.

-+-

            Roger's sudden arrival is almost unbearably awkward; Mrs. Chambers and her younger son disappear for what feels like an age before eventually, and just as suddenly, re-appearing with tea and tiny cakes.  Now, Roger sits beside his mother as Blaine plays, the staccato barks of the elder and younger Douglas punctuating the melody; off-beat and jarringly irregular.  Blaine had never felt so uncomfortable in his life – before, Roger had felt almost like family and they had chatted cordially, easy with each other.  Now, Roger barely made eye contact with him and Blaine's heart felt heavier by the second.

            ‘Mother – do you mind if I have a chat with Blaine alone for a moment?'

            ‘Oh!  Of course not.  Please excuse me – I need to see to Rufus.  Come, boy!'

Blaine stops playing, and the dog gives Blaine what could only be said to be a sympathetic look, before heaving himself to his feet and padding out after his mistress.  The door closed with a firm clunk and Blaine waited - he felt like he was a naughty schoolboy about to get a hiding from the headmaster.

            ‘Mother told me how you stood up to her yesterday –‘

            ‘Uncle Roger – I'm sorry I-‘ 

Roger holds his hand up to silence Blaine's interruption and the younger man feels his jaw snap shut obediently.

            ‘I'm impressed.  Not surprised, mind.  Your father's tenacious I expected no less from you.'

He gives Blaine a wry smile, but it does not meet his eyes.

            ‘I wish…  I…  Look, Douglas talks about you.  A lot.  When he first told me…  I'm not going to lie to you – I thought the worst.  I love my brother, and your father's like a younger brother to me…'  He sighs and rubs his face with his hand before looking up.  Chocolate pools lock with clear hazel.  ‘You're young, Blaine.'  Blaine frowns and Roger smiles sadly.  ‘You're going to hear that a lot – better get used to it.  You are though – young, hell, you're only a year older than my Doug.  I've known you since you were a kid…'

The walls almost shake with another blast of thunder.

            ‘He's fighting for you.  He's never fought before – when things got bad he gave up.  Self-imposed exile I call it.  I'm only just getting my brother back and it's thanks to you.'

            ‘I didn't do anything.'

            ‘You did.  You may not have meant too, but you did, Blaine.  I'm going to ask you a question, and I want you to think about your answer, OK?'

Blaine nods.

            ‘Do you love my brother?  I mean, really love.  Do you love him enough to stand by him – even if he loses everything?  Because that's what's happening here.  Father's eighty next year, and he's thinking about inheritance; our family's an old one and the trust is set up so that the eldest son always inherits everything.  Everything.  The business, the houses, everything.  Now, I know Diggsie - he doesn't give a rat's ass for things like that, but my father… Diggsie's never going to marry a governor's daughter like I did – hell, he's never going to marry a woman and have kids.  In Father's eyes – the line will die with my brother, and he's been holding on to a ridiculous thread of hope that one day Diggise'll wake up straight, and find a well-bred wife to pop out the fourth Douglas Graeme Chambers.  While Diggsie was in exile…it was easy to pretend.  But now he's back and the business is doing better than it ever has, and he brings a teenager – worse, a boy, home to meet the ‘rents…'  Roger sighs and pauses for a moment to let Blaine absorb what he just told him.  ‘Father's writing him out unless he marries a woman.  He was born in the 30s, my father – back then…  I'm not going to give you a history lesson, Blaine - you're smart: you know more about gay rights than anyone – apart from maybe Doug…  I don't agree with my father, but I do understand his refusal to accept change, Blaine.  But I need to ask you – what is my brother to you?  Because if the answer is not “everything” or “it” or whatever soppy, romantic cliché you can think of…you need to stop this now.  This is not a game.  This is not two teenagers playing at love.  This is adult, and scary, and real.  Do you understand?  I don't expect you to answer me.  That's between you and my brother, but I needed you to understand that there are consequences, Blaine.  There are always consequences.'

Roger takes one more look at Blaine before he stands.  Thunder roars.

            ‘I'm going to see what I can do now.  Just think about it.'

-+-

            The drive back to Douglas' penthouse is almost completely silent – Douglas' voice is hoarse from shouting, and there is an almost permanent crease between his eyebrows, but he looks stronger than Blaine had imagined.  He had not seen the younger Chambers again – instead he had dumbly waited by the piano in the Drawing Room, while he heard Douglas calmly ask Oliver to pack his and Blaine's belongings, explaining to his mother that they would be cutting their visit short.  Blaine's heart hammered as Roger's words circled him: sharks in the violent storm of his mind. 

He knows he should have thought about things sooner – their relationship had progressed so quickly and had been so good that he had refused to let himself analyse it.  He mentally kicks himself for every time Douglas had told Blaine that he loved him and Blaine had not returned the sentiment.  He berates himself for not being honest with himself and for not being honest with Douglas.  He feels dirty and pathetic. 

            He deserves so much better.

The truth is – he does not really know.  He has no idea what to do with his life beyond going to college in New York in the fall, let alone where he will be in 5 years, 10 years, 20…or with whom.  Blaine tries to organise the basics – allowing himself to dissect his feelings.  He recalls how he feels when he sees Douglas, how he feels when they kiss, or when Douglas smiles at him.  He knows how he feels then… 

            Why is it never easy?  I thought love was supposed to be easy.

            Is it?  Love? 

He thought what he had with Kurt was love.  He thinks, in a way, it probably was – young and inexperienced as it was.  Being with Douglas is so different to that and it is almost overwhelming. 

He draws in a shaky breath as they exit the cab and Douglas pays the driver.  The doorman, Markus today, helps with their bags and they travel up in the elevator in silence.  Blaine busies himself in the kitchen making coffee when Douglas disappears into his bedroom. 

When Douglas reappears he looks agitated – his hair is dishevelled, as if he has been running his hands through it.

            ‘I'm so sorry.'  Douglas' voice is gruff.

            ‘What for?'  Blaine gestures to the fresh coffee cup but Douglas makes no move to retrieve it.

            ‘For everything.  I'm sorry for putting you through that.'

            ‘I'm not going to lie and tell you I enjoyed it but there was nowhere else I would rather have been.'

            ‘I'm still sorry.'

            ‘It's not your fault.  I'm sorry you had to grow up with such a lack of acceptance and understanding.'

Douglas huffs slightly but Blaine cannot tell whether it is self-depreciating amusement or simply defeat.             

            ‘Can we talk?'  Blaine's voice is a little hesitant but he feels strangely calm.

            ‘Of course.' 

When Douglas makes no suggestion of intent to move from his present spot on the floor in the kitchen, Blaine passes him a cup of coffee, then takes his hand and leads him to the dining table.  They sit across from each other and Blaine reaches for, and grasps, Douglas' hand in his own, running his thumb over the other man's knuckles.

            ‘Roger talked to me while you were with your father.'  Douglas raises his eyebrows but his eyes remain fixed on their intertwined hands.  ‘And…I realised that I hadn't been fair to you.'

            ‘What do you mean?'

            ‘I…I need you to know that…I'm not going anywhere, OK?  You're not alone.'

Douglas's eyes meet his across the table, and Blaine's heart breaks a little at the love shining in them, certain that he does not deserve the man across from him.

            ‘He…Roger…he told me that your argu- discussion with your father was about me…'

            ‘Oh, darling.  It wasn't - It was about me.'

            ‘I made it worse being there though, didn't I?' 

Douglas squeezes Blaine's hand gently.

            ‘Let me explain something to you – I'm proud to be with you.  Never think that I'm not.  I never want you to feel like I'm trying to hide you to make life easier, Blaine.'

            ‘It would be easier though.  To keep it a secret…'

            ‘It wouldn't though.  To hide our relationship – even to make life easier, would make me as bad as the people we want to hide from.  You're too important to me.  I want everything for you, Blaine.'  He sighs and looks down at their hands again before looking back up and locking eyes with Blaine.  Douglas' eyes are shining and Blaine's heart skips a beat.         ‘I've had boyfriends and lovers and acquaintances before…you know that.  At first I was naïve, or in denial – I'd bring them home with me and introduce them as my boyfriends, but my mother would insist on calling them my “friends” and my father would stiffen and it…it made me feel sick.  Like I was broken.  A disappointment.  So, I stopped bringing them home, or, when I did, I'd call them my “friend”s and leave it be.'  Douglas takes a breath and pulls Blaine's hand a little closer to his chest.  ‘I never fought for them.' 

‘Why?'

‘When you get to my age, Blaine, you know.  Before, there was always something missing.  It would be purely physical, or purely based on a mutual passion, a shared love of French theatre, or Italian cuisine, perhaps?  Maybe it was a stop-gap to ease the pain of loneliness…but it was never this.  It was never you.  You make me want to be a better man.  You make me want to fight again.  I'd given up.'  He drops his eyes to the table and Blaine squeezes Douglas' hand in reassurance.  ‘That day I agreed to accompany Roger and Adeline to your parents' party – they were tasked with finding me a wife, and I was going to give in.  I had it all planned out – it would have to be mutually beneficial and of course I would tell her the truth from the start.  Companionship, that's all I thought I could expect now.'  Their eyes meet again and Blaine's heart stuttered.  ‘You blew me away.  You still do.  You give me strength I thought I had lost.  You make me smile, you make me laugh – you challenge me.  You move me, Blaine.'

Blaine's heart stopped.