"It is a wise father that knows his own child." – William Shakespeare, The Merchant of Venice, Act II Scene 2

Lucas Anderson loved his son.

Blaine was not planned; Elise was Lucas's girlfriend, sure, but never a serious one. He had no intentions of marrying her, or staying with her after they left law school, or even taking her home to meet his parents, but when she showed up on his doorstep, crying, throwing around words like gynecologist and decision and sonogram before she even brought up the word baby. He held her and wiped away her tears; he told her that no, she should keep it, they could raise a baby; he gave her a $99 ring from the Target jewelry section and said they were engaged; he read the books about natural childbirth and agreed eagerly when Elise said that's the route she wanted to go. The baby may not have been conceived out of love, but there would be plenty of that when it was born, Lucas decided. They decided not to find out the sex until the birth. He told Elise it didn't matter either way, that he'd be equally happy with a boy or a girl, but he was lying. He wanted a boy. He didn't know what it was – some leftover primitive instinct that told him a male was more equipped to make his way in the world, some stereotypical fantasy of playing catch in the yard with his son while their dog ran around them wildly. He would have loved a little girl, sure, but he wanted a boy, so badly that he blinked away unexpected tears when the doctor put the warm little body in his arms, telling him that his son was beautiful and healthy. His son.

"Blaine," he informed the nursing staff proudly when they came in to check on him. "His name is Blaine."

He was a perfect little boy, too. He had his mother's mess of dark, curly hair and her deep, pretty eyes that changed colors – they were prettier in Blaine's face, though, Lucas decided – but he looked like his father, too, just in more subtle ways. His mouth was broad and quick with a smile, his jawline defined and strong, his nose straight and lovely. An Anderson nose.

And if the inherent perfection his father found in him wasn't enough, he was a naturally well-behaved and polite child. When he started school, his teachers called home just to let them know what a good student Blaine was, how he always had his homework done on time and always shared his toys with the other children during recess. Lucas would laugh about it to Elise, saying that most parents dreaded getting calls from their child's teachers, but he was secretly elated every time. He was the one that put the straight A report cards on the refrigerator, but only after making a copy to put in Blaine's file. It was never too early to start keeping track of these things, he reasoned.

And when he walked into nine-year-old Blaine's bedroom when he was having a sleepover with Nathaniel, a boy from his class, and they were pantless and touching each other on the bed, he didn't let it faze him. They were just kids, after all, and boys will be boys. It was only natural that he would be curious. It didn't mean anything at that age. There was nothing to be worried about.

Still, there was no harm in being proactive. He signed Blaine up that year for soccer, football, and baseball, saying that he could pick whichever he liked best after playing a season of each. The boy obliged good-naturedly, but it quickly became clear that he was no athlete. He was small for his age, and while he was fast, he wasn't necessarily good at any of the sports. He decided that soccer was the least of three evils and continued playing it.

Lucas knew it was wrong, pushing his son towards sports as an affirmation of his masculinity, especially at such a young age. It wasn't that he disliked gays, by any means. He'd circulated through the more liberal crowds in college – he had been an English major before law school, after all, and probably a quarter of the creative writing majors were gay. Hell, he'd had a gay roommate for a semester. But Blaine was not gay. He was just a little boy.

It wasn't until Blaine was twelve that the music thing started. He had always sung prettily, his unchanged, clear soprano voice echoing through the house since he was a toddler. When he turned twelve, though, he said he wanted to learn to play piano. Well, there was no harm in that – Elise tied a giant red ribbon on a nice Casio keyboard that they snuck into his bedroom while he was at school. After that, it was over. He half-assed his way through soccer for the rest of the season before politely informing his parents that his interests had shifted and he would be singing in the choir instead of playing soccer. Lucas wanted to tell him no, that he was not allowed to quit, but he stopped himself. It's okay, he told himself, there are straight musicians.

When he looked through the history for a link he'd found a few days prior and saw the websites, though, he sobbed. It wasn't all porn – actually, surprisingly little of it was. No. "How to come out to your parents," "LGBT youth hotline," support websites. "Am I gay?" one title asked in big bold letters on a bright background. Lucas cried at the computer for what seemed like hours. He had wondered, sure. He'd feared it, dreaded the day that he'd know for sure. Blaine had been acting differently since he started high school – not sullen, exactly, but sadder and quieter. He seemed to have lost interest in being around his classmates: it had been months since he'd had anyone over at all, or even asked to do anything after school that wasn't choir practice or a show at the community theatre. A chill went through Lucas's body. What if Blaine had come out at school? Did they know that he thought he was – ?

He wondered if he should say something to the boy sitting upstairs, creating lovely melodies on his keyboard, but decided against it. Blaine was only a freshman, after all. Fourteen-year-olds did this. They got confused sometimes and thought things that weren't true. He hoped against hope that this was some sort of phase.

It was only a month later that Blaine came home bloody and beaten almost beyond recognition, the suit he'd been so excited about wearing ripped and dirty. He stood in the foyer while his father stared at him, neither of them able to move, speak, or breathe.

A violent tremor pulsed through Blaine's body, and he fell in a heap on the floor. Lucas rushed to him, the trance broken, and called behind him for Elise to call an ambulance. He seemed to be drifting in and out of consciousness; he probably had some kind of concussion, hopefully nothing worse. It was all his fault. Blaine had told him, he'd told him that he was going to the Sadie Hawkins dance with a boy – "it's nothing weird, Dad. Neither of us have dates, so we're going stag but riding their together" – and Lucas had done nothing to stop it.

"I'm so sorry," he was chanting, pressing his son to his chest. "I'm so sorry."

He held his son's hand in the ambulance, feeling more broken than he ever had in his life. He knew then, suddenly, that pain meant nothing when it was his own pain – but when it was Blaine's, it seared straight through his soul as though nothing could possibly mend him again.

He sat beside his son in the hospital bed, the blood and dirt finally cleared off of his lovely face.

"He's going to be fine," the doctor told him. "The concussion didn't do any permanent damage. He's going to have some scarring, but all things considered, your son was lucky."

Lucky. As the doctor left the room, Lucas stared at his son, bandages scattered randomly across his body and his face bruised a deep purple-green, and knew that he was anything but lucky.

Blaine stirred, waking up slowly. "Daddy?" he whispered, his voice hoarse.

"I'm here, Blaine," he said, sitting by the bed quickly.

His eyes fluttered shut. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice breaking. "Some – some guys saw us in the parking lot. They attacked us."

Lucas just nodded, feeling numb. "Why did that do that?"

"They thought we were gay." Blaine's eyes had opened now, and he was staring at his father, silently pleading with him to ask the question that was on the tip of his tongue.

Are you? Only two words. Lucas could ask. Blaine was practically begging him to ask. It would be for the best. If they could talk about it, they could work it out. He looked into his son's eyes, the pretty golden hue standing out even stronger when surrounded by the purple of the bruise. Then Lucas looked away. "Is this the first time something like this has happened?"

Blaine shook his head hesitantly. "It started this year. People started assuming things since I'm in choir and drama…they didn't like it. There are a couple of guys that have been bullying me, I guess. Just little stuff, shoving, calling me a f…" He didn't say it, though; he allowed it to drift off into the sad silence.

Lucas just nodded. "We have to get you out of there," he said, the words slipping out before he even realized he was saying anything.

Blaine's eyes widened. "You mean it?" he breathed. "Where – where would I go?"

"I don't know. You – you just have to be safe." He reached out to take the boy's hand but thought better of it. "We're going to keep you safe."

Dalton seemed to be the perfect solution. An enforced no-bullying policy and a great opportunity for Blaine to perform – it was everything Blaine could have wanted. It would be hard, Lucas knew, having his son live on campus, but it was nearly two hours away and he couldn't even drive yet, so there wasn't really another option.

They had the summer, though, before Blaine was off to school. He didn't know what to do – they hadn't spoken about the reasons for his attack since that night in the hospital, and now the opportunity seemed to have passed.

It was a stupid idea, he knew before he even presented it Blaine. Blaine had never shown any interest in cars before, but it was something, anything that would force him to spend time together, give them a last summer together. Besides, that was the sort of thing that fathers did with their sons.

He led Blaine into the garage, telling him to close his eyes. Maybe, just maybe if he sold it the right way, he could get Blaine on board with the idea, maybe they could bond over this incredibly idiotic plan Lucas had concocted.

"Okay, open your eyes."

Blaine just stared for a few seconds, taking in the ugly, ancient car with its faded, chipping red paint. "A car?" he asked slowly.

"That's not just any car," Lucas assured him quickly. "That's a '59 Chevy." Blaine was still staring at it in obvious confusion. "I thought we could work on it. Fix it up a bit. Have some time to bond, man to man."

Lucas knew it was wrong. He knew that you didn't have to fix cars to be a man, and he knew that you didn't have to be a man to fix cars. He knew it. But maybe if Blaine could do this, he could see how much easier it would be this way. He didn't have to be straight – Lucas couldn't try to change that – but maybe if he saw how much better his life would be if he could play the game, keep up the appearance, learn to pass…

So they set to work on it, and with every changed auto part, every flick of grease that stained his face, every hour they spent on the damn thing, Lucas could see the resentment, new and unwelcome, building into his son's young face. Blaine saw through his plan – of course he had, he was a smart boy. They were left with a beautiful blue Chevy, shining like new in the sunlight, and less of a relationship than they'd started with.

"Dad." Blaine was standing in the doorway of his father's study, still wearing his Dalton uniform. He had just come home after his last day of the fall semester, ready for Christmas break. "Can we talk?"

Lucas just nodded, not putting down the papers he was holding. Oh god, not now, he begged of some higher force he didn't believe it. Not yet. "Sure. Come in."

Blaine sat across from Lucas, a desk separating them. He looked different – Lucas had seen him three or four times since school started, sure, but Blaine had seemed to have very little interest in coming home on the weekends. He had left a little boy – scared, withdrawn, already victimized at age fourteen. But he wasn't quite like that now, Lucas noted in surprise. There was a confidence in his step, a determination in the set of his jaw. Blaine was a young man now.

Blaine's hands were folded neatly in his lap, but his knees were shaking uncontrollably, even seated. "I have something I need to tell you," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Not yet, not yet, not yet. He shuffled his papers, pretending to look for something. "All right," he said, not making eye contact. "But make it quick, okay? I'm behind on this case and I need to get back to it."

Blaine bit his lip, his smooth forehead creasing slowly. "Dad, it's – it's important."

Not yet not yet not yet. "Okay." He didn't look up. "What are you waiting for?"

"Look at me!"

His eyes shot up instantly, taking in the boy before him. It was the first time Blaine had ever raised his voice to Lucas in his life. He was on his feet now, his face flushed a deep crimson. "Let me tell you," Blaine pleaded softly as he looked down at his father with tears in his eyes.

Lucas stared up at him for a second, trying to make him understand. I can't, saying it makes it real. Not yet. He broke the eye contact, looking down at his papers again. He didn't answer, waiting on Blaine.

There was a muffled noise, something between a gasp and a sob, and Blaine ran from the room.

They didn't speak about it again. They spent the rest of Blaine's break in awkward silence, barely even making small talk over dinner. Blaine stayed in his room most of the day, playing his keyboard while his beautiful voice filled the house. He was enthralling to listen to.

"Blaine's been acting strange lately," Elise remarked one night as they climbed into bed, flicking off the lamp.

"I know."

She sighed. "You should talk to him. He listens to you."

Lucas stared at the ceiling. He listened to me, he mentally corrected her.

Blaine went back to school a few weeks later, and Lucas found himself missing the sound of Blaine playing and singing at 3 a.m. The silence seemed all-consuming – he exchanged brief pleasantries with his wife when he got home, then they locked themselves in their respective studies for the rest of the night until it was time to sleep.

It was April when Lucas received a text from his son. I won't be living at home this summer, it read. The Warblers are touring Europe.

He called Blaine quickly. "Hey, what's this about?"

"We're going to Europe," came Blaine's voice, sounding tired. "We'll be there for a month."

"I – okay, that sounds great." Lucas smiled a bit in spite of himself. It would be a great opportunity for Blaine. "How much will it be, and how soon will you need it?"

"I've done fundraisers," Blaine said flatly. "It's paid for."

"Okay," Lucas said. "Must have been a hell of a lot of fundraising. Do you need money to spend while you're there?"

"I'm working at a music store five minutes from Dalton now. I have enough to cover it."

God, when had that happened? Lucas's eyes blinked shut. He'd been written out of his son's life. "What about the rest of the summer?" he asked softly. "You said you'd only be in Europe for a month."

"My friend David and his family spend a month in New York every summer." Lucas instantly wondered if this David character was a boyfriend. "They invited me to join them."

"Okay," he answered slowly. "Do you need anything for that? Money, plane tickets – "

"It's taken care of."

Lucas was quiet for a moment. "Will we see you at all?" he asked finally.

"I'll be by on Saturday to pack some of my clothes."

"Well, we'll see you then, I suppose." He hesitated. "Everything okay, Blaine?"

"Bye."

"Bye. Love – "

Blaine hung up before Lucas could finish the sentiment.

It had ages since Lucas had seen his son. Blaine, true to his word, hadn't come home at all the summer after his sophomore year, and he'd found an excuse not to come home for more than a few days during the Christmas break, either – "Wes's family spends Christmas in Hawaii, Dad – I can't just pass up a trip to Hawaii." Lucas called and texted a few times a month, seeing if Blaine had any free time to grab a coffee, but Blaine was always too busy with Warblers practice. It did not slip by his attention, however, that Blaine never seemed to have Warbler practice when Elise asked to see him.

Lucas was on the internet late at night, checking his email one last time before he went to bed, when he saw stopped on Facebook and saw that Blaine had posted a status about a competition the Warblers were getting ready for. He went to his son's profile quickly, seeing an event page and clicking it, jotting down the time and the address listed.

He arrived to the theatre right only minutes before the lights flashed to indicate the beginning of the show. A show choir of kids in red outfits singing songs about Jesus filled the stage, and Lucas couldn't help grinning – would Blaine be in such an undignified spectacle? He couldn't imagine his son singing Jesus songs.

"And now, from Westerville, Ohio, the Dalton Academy Warblers!"

The curtain rose, and a sea of boys in Dalton uniform stood in an exact formation. It took Lucas a second to find his son, but he looked absolutely radiant, as though there was nowhere on earth he would rather be.

A boy stepped out of the formation – tall, slender, and graceful. He started singing, an ethereal, gloriously feminine voice filling the hall easily. Lucas was entranced by the child – they were letting this boy, this effeminate boy sing a solo, showing no fear of being mocked or beaten up afterwards. He was proud, showing off his lovely talent with an effortless confidence.

Another voice took over, though, and Lucas snapped his head to see Blaine, stepping downstage. Blaine was staring at the other boy as he sang, his eyes so full of love and emotion, so free of the bitterness Lucas had seen in him every time he'd been around him in ages. Blaine looked young, young and beautiful and in love, a puppy in over his head.

Lucas glanced around the audience, the familiar fear creeping up inside him. There were probably a thousand people here, watching his obviously gay son singing to the obviously gay boy he was obviously in love with. He tried to gauge the atmosphere in the room, expecting to see people shaking their heads or looking on in disgust. But they weren't.

There were smiles on the faces around him. Someone a few rows behind him was whispering about how awesome it was that these boys were singing together. Someone to his left let out an "Aww" when they began singing together in perfect harmony. The dark-haired girl in the pale blue dress in front of him was looking at her companion on her right, whispering, "Oh, Kurt," with a hand on her heart.

He turned his eyes back to the stage, loving this world, this show choir community more than he had ever dreamed he could. His son, his perfect Blaine, had found a safe place, a corner of the world where being gay wasn't something repulsive, wasn't something that got you attacked and landed you in the hospital.

Blaine was safe, Blaine was in love, and Blaine was happy. They didn't win the competition, but Lucas slipped out the back of the theatre before the lights came back up, his eyes moistened with proud tears.

"Dad?"

Lucas nearly jumped from his chair. He had thought he was alone, but there was Blaine, a small smile on his face. "God, you scared me," he laughed, getting up quickly and striding over to his son, wanting to take him in his arms but extending a hand instead. "It's good to see you, Blaine."

"You too." Blaine's smile was genuine in spite of his obvious discomfort, full of that same happiness that seemed to radiate from him that Lucas had seen onstage a few months ago. "It's been a while."

"It has." Lucas let go of his son's hand and patted him awkwardly on the back. "Have you eaten? It's almost dinner time."

"No, not yet," he said, "but Dad, I'm not here for dinner."

They stood, just looking at each other for a second. "I know," he said, rushing the words out. "We can talk after we get some food, okay?"

"Can we talk first?"

He felt the familiar panic running up and down his throat, but he nodded. "Sure," he said, leading his son out of the study and to the living room couch.

"Dad," Blaine started quietly, looking at the floor, "I know you really don't want to have this conversation, and I definitely understand that. But there," he hesitated for the first time, his voice wavering slightly, "there's someone that you should meet, and you can't until – "

"Is it the boy from Regionals?" Lucas's voice was low.

Blaine's eyes widened. "What?"

"The boy you sang with at Regionals – was his name Kurt?"

"Yeah," Blaine breathed. "Yeah, that's his name. You were there?"

Lucas nodded. "I'm sorry I didn't stay to see you. I didn't know if you'd want to see me, so I left." He paused. "You were wonderful, Blaine."

"I'm gay, Dad." The words were out of Blaine's mouth before Lucas had a chance to react. "I've known since I was eleven. And I'm sorry I didn't tell you before."

"It's not your fault you didn't tell me." Lucas listened to his voice, wondering why it sounded so distant and hoarse. "God, Blaine, I didn't let you."

"It was Kurt," Blaine breathed. "Kurt and his dad are so open, and I told him that I wished, I just wished that I could have that with you, and he just rolled his eyes at me and said that that would never happen if I never came out to you." His voice broke suddenly. "I love you, Dad, and I never wanted to disappoint you."

Disappointment was never the issue. He wanted to tell Blaine that, that he understood that it was nothing he could help, nothing he did on purpose. He wished he could take his son in his arms and let him know that the only reason he ever wanted him to be straight was for his sake, so he wouldn't have to endure the cruelties of life that he'd already been exposed to before he transferred to Dalton.

Instead, he nodded. He stood up quickly. "You know, there's a Buckeyes game on tonight," he said, swallowing. "If you want, we could order pizza and watch it together."

Blaine looked down. "That sounds good."

"Cool. Ham and pineapple?" He was looking for the phone book when he stopped, not quite turning back to look at his son. "Does Kurt like pizza and football?"

He heard Blaine's breath hitch. "Well, no," he laughed softly, "but he's a great actor."

"If you want, you can see if he wants to come over." Their eyes met, and Lucas took a deep breath. His son was staring at him, hope and relief etched in the lines of his forehead. "I – I'd like to meet him. I'm sure your mother would, too."

"Okay." Blaine pulled the cell phone out of his pocket, texting with trembling hands.

Lucas retrieved the phone book – why was it behind the recliner? – and looked up the number quickly. Blaine had sent the text and was now staring at the screen, his perfectly chiseled face unreadable. "Blaine?" Lucas asked quietly.

His head shot up, the reverie broken. "Yeah?"

"Love you, too."