A/N: Hey, this is the first fanfiction I've ever posted so be nice lovelies. Yes I am British. I apologise in advance for any slips. I use the US spell checker on Word for this but I don't know how accurate it is so if you spot any obvious britishisms, just pretend its not there or its a character quirk :P
This will be multi-chaptered by the way, and I'll do my best to update fairly regularly, provided real life doesnt get in the way. In case your wondering, I do have a plan. Its not all written out, but I know where its headed. It's a slow burner but bear with it and things will get romantic. Thanks for choosing my little fic to read :)
Warning: If you don't like boy on boy I suggest you hit the back button. Later chapters will have this and I'll ignore any claims there was no warning.
Disclaimer: No I don't own Glee sadly. Ryan Murphy and Fox do. If I did I would buy myself a better car and a lifetime supply of chocolate.
Chapter One – The Move
"You can't just leave! Your whole world is here."
That was my friend's first reaction when I told them the news; that my dad after years of threatening to do so had bagged a job in Ohio and would be moving the family from New Jersey to Ohio.
When I say 'friends', I mean the only two people in the whole of my school who actually had the guts to hang anywhere near me. It all started back in middle school, when Peter Lance accused me of peeking at him in gym class. How do you explain to a jock two heads taller than you that your mind was elsewhere? That I was thinking hungrily about the day ending so I could go home and have some of Mom's lasagna? That his last growth spurt and my lack of one had, much to my misfortune, put his crotch in my eye line as I sat on the bench opposite him? I won't deny it looked bad. Mom's lasagna tends to make me drool, but come on; he didn't have to slam me against a locker and threaten to cut mine off.
From that day on there had been an imaginary perimeter around me. Word spreads fast in middle school, let me tell you. Previously unasked questions were now answered in my classmates' eyes, questions they'd never even thought of before. It all made sense now why my thirteen year old self had never had a girlfriend. It didn't matter that half the other boys also never had.
I thought it would stop when I entered high school but if anything it got worse. Much worse.
"Blaine?"
I looked up at Jade from my position on the grassy courtyard and shrugged in response. Jade sighed and sat beside me. I hunched over my bent knees and concentrated on touching my toes. I knew without seeing that Jade was having a silent conversation with Matt who flanked us from above even as she pulled my right hand away from my foot and held it tightly.
"You could stay at mine," Matt spoke up. "Mom loves you. She's always using you as an example of what I should be like."
I smiled at that. "That's because you never do as she asks."
"And because you go out of your way to be the perfect gentlemen every time you visit." Matt rolled his eyes. "Do you want me to get that, Mrs. Sampson? The meat loaf was incredible, shall I clear the table Mrs Sampson?"
I blushed and slapped him in the only place I could reach; his shin.
"Homo."
All three of us turned to glare at Peter Lance and his cronies who sneered down at us as they passed. I wrapped my arms around my knees and squeezed.
"And the award for least original insult goes to the one and only king douche himself," Jade snapped.
"Kiss my ass Harrison," Peter said and made a gesture down near his crotch. "Or his. He won't enjoy it, but you can try." He laughed openly at his own joke and accepted several high fives from around him.
Jade made to stand up, but I grabbed her arm and held her down. Peter and his friends walked off making lewd gestures and I didn't release my grip until they were around a corner.
Jade turned her furious gaze on me. "I could have taken that asshole, Blaine. And why the fuck did they high five him that? It wasn't even clever what he said."
"It won't make a difference," I said miserably. "You're just giving him what he wants."
"His dick ripped off and reattached to his face?"
"I'm leaving anyway, Jade, you won't have to put up with that for much longer."
Her frown softened. She grazed her index finger over the yellowing bruise under my eye; the reminder of last week's annual game of Cat and Mouse (or 'Douche and Blaine' as Matt called it). The games 212th round was imminent.
"You know we don't care about that B," she said.
"They'll have no reason to torment you when I'm not here, guys."
"Well that's bullshit," Matt said flopping down on the grass beside us. "And trust me, he won't stop. And even if he does, I'll find a way to pick a fight with him anyway. You don't drive my best friend away and get away with it."
Jade grabbed his hand and pulled it into her lap. Matt smiled warmly and I watched with my head propped on my knee as he rubbed his thumb up and down the back of her hand. My mouth lifted up into the smallest trace of a smile. I wanted to believe they would miss me as much as they were saying, but the truth was I had always been the third wheel in this friendship. Even back in middle school when they were still arguing and pretending like they didn't like each other all that much, I always sat on the sideline annoyed at how dense they were, jealous of how open they could be about their feelings, resenting the fact they had the luxury of expressing that attraction and weren't taking the precious opportunity.
They were the best friends I could ever ask for. They looked out for me. Never wavered in their loyalty, and yet I always felt that they'd be so much better off without me.
"Why Ohio?" Matt asked.
"It was the only office Dad's company had available,' I mumbled. "Why?"
"Cos uh," Matt shifted a bit. "Isn't Ohio like notoriously homophobic?"
"Probably."
"So how's that better than here?" Jade piped up. I could see their point. Truth be told, people mostly just kept to themselves in my town. They gossiped though. I'd heard the whispers in the supermarket as I helped Mom push the cart, each rumor more farfetched than the last.
"Is that the … homosexual one?"
"Mr. Lance still holds Mr. Anderson responsible for the incident in gym class. He says he should have more control over his son."
"What happened?"
"Apparently some of the boys caught the Anderson boy doing … you know to … poor peter."
"No? Really?"
Lies, lies, LIES!
But it could have been worse.
'Mindless lies and needless gossip,' Mom refers to it as on the odd occasion she acknowledges the talk at all. If we don't talk about it, it isn't happening as far as she's concerned. I'd known for a while it was getting to her and Dad. Way before he announced the move; I just wasn't expecting Dad to make such a drastic decision.
"A change of scenery will be good for us, Blaine. We can get away from all the lies, have a fresh start. You'd like that, wouldn't you?" he'd said.
The question was rhetorical, the decision made without mine or my little sister Saffron's consultation. Probably even without Mom's. I felt obliged to agree.
"Blaine?"
I hesitated. "Dad's asked me to keep quiet," I said vaguely, scratching the back of my head.
"Quiet, about what?" Matt's face creased in confusion. Jade seemed to get my meaning though - her eyebrows shot up passed her fringe.
"About … being gay?"
I nodded.
"He wants you to pretend you're…" Matt trailed off.
"Straight."
They stared at me in varying degrees of shock, anger and sadness. After a long silence, Jade pulled me into a soft hug. I gripped her tight.
"When do you leave?" she said.
"In a month."
A month later, I'm sat in the driver seat of my car, following behind Dad's, with the removal van in close pursuit. I glance at my twelve year old sister Saffron, who gazes out the window, her long, dark curly hair blows in the breeze from the air conditioning. She hasn't spoken the entire journey from New Jersey. I can't blame her. I don't feel much like talking either.
We turn into a suburban street, and I notice the road name is the same one hastily scribbled onto the back of Dad's business card that sits on my dash. The one he gave me in case we lost them at any time. I notice Dad pulls over and do too, and when parked, I look out my window at our new home.
"We're here,' I say to Saffron. She turns to peer out of my window too. We share a look and I know we are thinking the same thing.
I want to go home.
Dad's already walking towards the removal van, so I unbuckle my seatbelt. "Come on Saff. The sooner we get this over with the sooner we can go to sleep."
She nods and climbs out of the passenger seat. I wanted to say more to her. Tell her I'm sorry we had to move – sorry she's left all her friends behind – sorry her shoe in as cheerleading captain was snatched away from her – sorry she has to start all over again at the bottom of the ladder she'd so carefully made her way up. She was all set to rule middle school. Once she was of age I knew she would have ruled my lemming filled high school. She's just strong like that and often said wished she was older so she could be the queen bitch and force everyone to be nice to me.
She's always been ambitious.
Dad passes box after box out to me and I help the movers bring them into the house. Mom spends most of the time unpacking stuff inside. Dad warns Saffron who appears to be walking on auto pilot and isn't taking notice of her movements to be careful on the road, but no cars travel up or down the street until 3.30pm, when a black navigator pulls into the driveway of the house next door.
As Dad shuffles around in the van for another box to offload into my arms, I watch as the lights switch off and a lean boy with styled light brown hair, dressed immaculately in tight jeans, knee length black boots and a tailored black trench coat moves gracefully out of the driver side and pushes the door shut with slender fingers. He turns a curious eye to the removal van and I shift my gaze back to Dad who I realize with a start is holding a box out to me. I take it and turn back towards the car. The boy has gone.
About 5.00pm cars start returning to the houses in our new street, including a red van that parks next to the black navigator. I'm reading the side of the van; 'Hummels Tyres and Lube' when a middle aged man, wearing a lumberjack jacket and a cap steps out of the vehicle and immediately makes a beeline for the removal van we have almost emptied.
"Burt Hummel" he announces, holding his hand out to my dad who takes it with a firm grip and smile.
"John Anderson," he responds. "This is my wife, Maggie, my daughter Saffron and my son Blaine." He gestures to all four of us.
Burt Hummel nods to each of us. "Need a hand?"
"No thanks, we've almost got it," Dad taps the side of the removal van as if in demonstration.
"Well alright then. Where do you guys hail from?" Burt says conversationally.
"New Jersey."
"Ah, well if you need any help my son and I are just inside, and my stepson shouldn't be long," he offers, nodding back at his house. He looks me up and down. "I'm willing to bet my sons about the same age as you …?"
"Blaine," I remind him shaking his hand.
"We'll see if I can get him to come over and say hi. Never hurts to make a friend the first day in a new place, huh?"
I don't really know what to say so I shrug and give him as charming a smile as I can muster. He nods to each of us once more and walks back to his house.
It takes another hour to finish unloading the removal van and I immediately excuse myself and head up to my room, flopping down on my just reassembled but unmade bed. I can't be bothered to make my bed tonight so I get up and lay out my quilt over the mattress, fish my pajamas out of my suitcase and head to the en-suite bathroom. I take a shower, thankful Dad had turned the water and heating on and brush my teeth before I change into them, and when I return I find that Mom has been in and put the sheets on my mattress, quilt and pillows and she's opened my bedroom window. I feel a rush of affection towards her and immediately turn my light out and dive into bed.
I check my watch. 8.00pm. I never sleep this early, but I'm so tired. My bedroom is situated at the side of the house, and with my curtains not yet up, the light from one of the side bedrooms next door streams into my own, creating odd shadows among the boxes that loom around the unfamiliar room.
I sigh and close my eyes; will myself to drift off.
And that is when I first hear it. The voice. At first it is soft melodious and soothing, more like a hum than anything, and for a moment I think I'm imagining it, but then it grows a little clearer and I hear the words;
'A tiger in a cage can never see the sun,
this diva needs her stage, baby lets have fun.
You are the one I choose; folks would kill to fill your shoes,
you love the lime light too now baby.'
I lift out of bed in curiosity and walk over to the window in search of the voice. I immediately spot the source. The boy I had seen climb out of his black navigator; Burt Hummel's son, is in the middle of his room in clear view of the window, dancing around with a comb raised to his lips. My mouth opens in awe. I've never heard a voice as high and beautiful, come from a boy before; at least not one above the age of thirteen and certainly not in person. I'm almost jealous. I love to sing, and I recognize the song immediately. Rent is one of my favorite musicals. I could never pull off that song though. Not with my lower tenor voice.
"Take me for what I am, who I was meant to be,
and if you give a damn, take me baby or leave me."
And yet here this boy is belting the song out with ease, eyes closed, dancing around his room with grace and poise. Another thing I don't have. I can't dance. Not that I've ever tried. It was one thing being gay in my old school; another thing entirely pursuing activities that proved it beyond reason to the narrow minded Neanderthals who taunted me in the hallways. No, it's better to steer clear of that. Especially now no one knows. A clean slate, as Dad said.
I find myself wondering if this boy only dances in his room or if he can do what I can't and show it to the world without fear. I like to think he can.
I watch him belt out the rest of the song, without a care on his face. And then it ends. And his eyelids have lifted. And he's peering out the window and into my dark one. I freeze, transfixed by the grey eyes (Or are they blue?); wonder if he can see me. Praying he can't. Hoping he can. His eyes scan the window but never quite meet my eyes ... and then he's closed the window and pulled the curtains. I exhale a breath I didn't know I'd been holding and rest my elbows on the window sill in thought. His voice still echo's in my head, the words teasing my reinvigorated mind;
'Take me for what I am, who I was meant to be.' He sings in my head.
I sigh and return to bed. Fat chance of that happening.
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