He wants to though. Blaine knows it’s not a toy. He’s been told many, many times that the piano is not a toy, nor something to be played with, which is really confusing for Blaine. Cooper talks about playing the piano all the time, but Blaine’s not allowed to play with the piano? The adults really don’t make a lot of sense sometimes.

Blaine knows he’s not really supposed be this room at all without supervision. There are many breakable things in here: antique vases; heavy, ornate boxes with brass locks and no keys; old books tucked safely behind glass that he’s desperate to read, even though he won’t know most of the words in them. They are things that are not for little boys at all, or so his parents, and his nanny, tell him.

But sometimes, when he knows his parents are busy, he sneaks into the parlor, and with the giddy delight of getting away with doing something he’snot supposed to do, he gets right up close to the piano.

It was a wedding gift from Mr. Anderson’s parents: a beautiful 92-key B�sendorfer and that’s a word Blaine struggles to say. It’s maybe the biggest word he knows. He tries to mimic it when Cooper says it; slowly, following the shape of his brother’s mouth, but he trips over the second syllable every time. He practices though. And soon he’s going to get it just right.

Blaine likes to trace the bright gold lettering of the name on the side of the piano, letting his fingers trail over the intricate work, and mouthing the names of the letters as he goes. He’s learning his alphabet and he’s getting really good at it, even if sometimes he forgets what comes after ‘g’ and has a hard time saying ‘s’ without his tongue getting in the way a little. His ‘z’ looks really pretty though; everyone says so.

The body of the piano is black, blacker even than Blaine’s own hair, and he can see his reflection in the polished, gleaming surface. He grins and pokes the image of his own nose. He’s careful to wipe the smudge of his fingerprints from the surface before he sneaks back out of the room.

He wants to peak under the lid, the see what makes the piano work, because he can’t quite imagine how pressing down a little button makes music. But the lid is heavy, and he’s not much taller than the piano itself. Not yet. He’s not going to risk the lid slipping from his fingers and crashing down.

The last time he dropped something, a teacup he snuck out of the kitchen to have a tea party with Cooper, he’d been sent to his room forever. He doesn’t want to know what would happen to him if he hurt the piano in any way.

Would his parents take his favorite toys away? He almost has that Lego castle all put together and this time the walls haven’t collapsed in on him. Would they make him stay in his room all the time? Or would they send him away? Oh god what if they send him away for breaking the piano? He would never get to see Coop again and -

“What’cha doing, Blainers?”

The sudden voice scares him and Blaine jumps back from the piano, tucking his hands behind his back, as if hiding them meant he hadn’t been touching anything at all. Oh no. Is Cooper going to tell their parents he was in here? He wouldn’t do that.

“Nothing!” Blaine squeaks. He’s a terrible liar though, and he knows Cooper will never believe him. He certainly didn’t believe him when he said that he hadn’t dropped the teacup, that it had fallen and he hadn’t been anywhere near it at the time.

Sure enough, Cooper grins at him like he knows all of Blaine’s secrets. He probably does.

“You want to play, huh?” Cooper asks, and he walks over to the piano, pulling the bench out and sliding onto it.

“I’m not allowed,” Blaine protests, but he takes a shuffling little step forward, almost without knowing he does it. It’s not fair that Cooper gets to play with the piano whenever he wants. It’s also not fair that Coop gets to stay up hours and hours after Blaine is shuttled off to bed. He likes it when Cooper comes and reads him a bedtime story though.

“Come here, B.” Cooper pats the piano bench and just like that all of Blaine’s hesitation is gone. Cooper scoots over to give Blaine room to scramble up next to him.

Blaine is fairly bouncing with excitement. He’s never been allowed to sit on the bench before. From here the piano seems even bigger than when he’s standing next to it. It stretches out long and black in front of him, and the keys are so very white. He’s kind of afraid to touch them in case he gets them dirty. But he’s good about washing his hands so it’ll probably be ok.

He looks down, to where the three gleaming gold pedals are so far below his feet.

“Coop, I can’t reach the pedals,” Blaine pouts, swinging his little legs that have no hope of reaching down to the pedals for many years yet. Maybe this is why he’s not allowed to play?

“Don’t worry,” Coop says gently. “I’ll deal with those. We won’t need them today. That’s for later, when you get really, really good.”

Blaine grins again and wriggles in anticipation.

“Here, we’ll start easy. This is C,” Cooper point to one of the gleaming white keys. “Press it.”

Blaine does so, but so slowly, so carefully that it doesn’t make a sound at all. His dark eyebrows furrow in confusion and he looks up at Cooper. His pink lower lip is sticking out almost comically far.

“Coop? It didn’t work.”

“You have to press harder than that. Here, like this.”

Cooper takes Blaine’s hand in his, and for a flash he remembers the night Blaine was born, and the way his newborn brother grasped so tightly to his finger. His brother’s hands are getting bigger, chubby and awkward, but Cooper’s are larger still, and his Blaine’s hand fits in Cooper’s palm.

He takes Blaine’s index finger and presses down on the key with the right amount of force.

The note rings out clear and true, rumbling sweetly through the body of the piano and out into the room, brushing against the walls and sliding against the windows.

Happiness blooms bright and infectious across Blaine’s face, his eyes widening in wonder and delight. He gasps and claps his little hands together in delight.

“Coop! I did that. Did you hear? I did that!” He’s beaming up at Cooper with a smile so wide his eyes almost disappear.

Cooper grins and ruffles Blaine’s hair. “Yeah you did, B. That was really good. Ok, let’s do it again.”

Over the next hour Cooper walks Blaine through the notes and major scales. He’s not surprised that Blaine’s attention never waivers, that he never gets antsy for something else. When Blaine wants to be good at something, wants to be perfect, he works at it until he gets there. It’s an Anderson family trait. Though perhaps it’s one of their better ones.

Cooper can’t wait to show Blaine how to ride a bike, or learn to swim.

He even teaches him Hot Cross Buns, and pride swells hot and wonderful in his chest when Blaine gets it on his own the third time through. It’s slow, his fingers are hesitant still, and the melody is off, but the notes are right and Blaine is so giddy he’s nearly vibrating off the bench.

“Cooper I did it!”

Cooper bumps his arms into Blaine’s and couldn’t wipe the smile off his face if he wanted to. “See, I knew you were going to be good at this. You’re going to be better than me in no time.”

“You really think so?”

“I know so.”

Blaine laughs and turns back to keys, ready to try it again when their mother’s voice sounding from the doorway startles them both.

“What’s going on in here?”

With eerie synchronicity, the Anderson brothers look up from the keys, matching sheepish looks on their faces. Oh shit Cooper thinks. Uh-oh Blaine thinks.

Mrs. Anderson cocks a perfectly shaped eyebrow at them and Cooper clears his throat.

“Mom, I uh, I really think Blaine should start piano lessons with me. He really likes it. He’s a natural.”

Mrs. Anderson gives her elder son a long, appraising look. He’s nodding his head almost imperceptibly, as if he could influence her decision on Blaine’s musical education. She shifts her hazel-eyed gaze to Blaine, whose got his hands clasped together in supplication and the most adorably pleading look on his little face she’s ever seen – lower lip pouting, forehead scrunched - the whole works.

She knows how often Blaine sneaks into the parlor and stares at the piano, thinking that no one sees him, that no one knows what he’s up to. Blaine is a lot of things at this age, but no four-year-old is subtle.

“Well,” she says, and puts her hands on her hips. “Then I suppose we’ll have to call Mrs. Badcrumble and have her add Blaine to her schedule, won’t we?”

Blaine whoops, throwing a little fist into the air, and scrambles off the bench. He runs to his mother and wraps his arms around her legs, burying his face in her skirt.

“Thank you thank you thank you I’ll be so good at it I’ll work so hard you’ll see you’ll be so proud of me,” he rambles, voice muffled in the fabric of her skirt. Mrs. Anderson smiles warmly down at her youngest son and brushes his hair back from his forehead.

“Yes I’m sure I will be,” she says. Blaine has a bowtie hanging loose around his neck, because he still hasn’t figured out how to tie it for himself. Mrs. Anderson reaches down and carefully knots the grey and purple plaid bowtie, making sure it’s perfectly straight, and smooth the edges of his collar.

“There, don’t you look handsome for your first lesson.” She hugs him tightly, pressing a kiss to his forehead, before straightening up and pushing gently at his shoulders, guiding him back to the piano.

Mrs. Anderson catches Cooper eye. “Make sure he takes a break for lunch, ok? You know how he gets.”

Cooper grins. “Yes, of course.” He laughs when Blaine knocks his elbow into his chest in his haste and excitement to get back up onto the piano bench.

Thank you he mouths at his mother, and he means it. Bone-deep.

Mrs. Anderson just smiles at her sons and leaves the room, the notes of Hot Cross Buns trailing after her.