'You don't have to go. We could go get breakfast in the morning or something; I don't have to be at work til 10.'

Blaine pulls his jeans on. 'No thanks. I have to go.'

The guy (Blaine thinks it's John, or maybe James – either way, he isn't certain enough to say it) laughs. 'It's 2am. You got a meeting?'

'Early start tomorrow. I don't sleep well in other people's houses.' The guy gets up to let him out.

'No, no. I know where the door is.' Blaine weaves away when he leans in for a kiss. 'I don't… I just wanna go.'

'Jesus. Fine. Sorry for trying to be nice.'

Blaine sighs. 'You're a delight. I'm sure your parents are proud. I just don't like hanging around.'

As Blaine goes down the hall he hears, 'I guess I shouldn't call you?'

Blaine snorts. 'Probably not worth it.'

Sometimes he thinks the walk home is his favourite part of this. At least it's quiet. Cool, fresh air on his skin and however long it takes to walk home – hopefully long enough that his legs ache. He's lost the ability to be surprised by the guys any more. Some would be desperate to talk and spoon and make him breakfast, but sometimes they were a little rougher than he was expecting. He would just act like he was into it, make the right sounds until it was over. He heard himself talking and acting differently around them, using his most suggestive tone and being all cocky like he was some worldly businessman in town for a conference with a couple of hours to spare, not a high-schooler still living at home and keeping everything a secret.

He loves this. He's free to do whatever he wants. Freedom is great.

He knows the right way to twist the door handle so it doesn't squeak, the right floorboards to avoid so he can pad silently up to his room. He glances at the forced family photos on the wall, him and his parents smiling, perfectly happy. That felt real at the time. Part of him wishes he could get that feeling back, but he knows he can't. This way he gets to be himself. Exactly how he wants. His own terms, not answering to anybody.

He decides to wait until later to shower. He's got 4 hours to sleep first – or at least, 4 hours to lie quietly in bed, imagining scenarios telling his parents the truth. He has a feeling this version of him won't really fit into their next portrait. He tries to close his eyes and force himself to sleep, a famously effective insomnia cure. Soon enough, he gives up and picks up his phone, scrolling through Grindr. At least he can plan for tomorrow.

A message comes through from Santana. It's the Instagram story of one of the Cheerios, a bunch of them assembled in formation. 'Not long now – from human pyramid to pyramid scheme. Can't wait to see them tricking each other into spending money on bullshit.'

He laughs. 'You must miss it soooo much. All the smiling and hairspray and yelling about how much you love your school. Thank god you've got me.'

'Totally. Where else can I get sordid sex stories? How was tonight?'

He thinks for a moment before responding. Honestly, it was… nothing. A guy whose face he can already barely remember, a silent walk home, and his skin still crawling.

'A solid 6/10.'

'High praise, coming from you. Can't wait for the wedding. More details tomorrow.'

Back to the yellow and black, the filtered profiles and not-so-subtly racist 'preferences'. He fires off a 'hey' to a handful of guys, flicks through socials, Grindr for another half an hour, then gives up and settles for silently staring into the darkness until his alarm goes off. He manages 3 hours of broken sleep.

c*/c

'Morning, Luna. Your cereal's on the table. We're leaving in half an hour, so you need to get moving.'

Luna thanks her big sister and scoops a wobbly spoonful of corn flakes into her mouth. 'Do you have to go to work tonight?'

Santana stops tidying up the kitchen for a minute to sit at the table with her.

'Yeah. Sorry, baby.'

'I wish you could just stay home with me. Daddy doesn't read with me like you do.'

Holding her tongue when it comes to her father is normal for Santana. When their mom first left, he worked his ass off to keep everything together, and Santana did all she could to help, including getting the job at the café to contribute some more money. But things gradually started to slip, and now…

'Hey, girls.' He's in his dressing gown. That probably isn't going to change any time today. He gives Luna a kiss on the head and pours himself a coffee. After that, he pretty much sits with a blank expression, giving Luna a couple of nods when she talks to him, while the drink in his hand goes cold. Luna gives the occasional concerned glance while she tells them all about what she's looking forward to at school.

'And we're learning all about electricity and circuits, and Mrs Wilson said I can try and use the buzzer, but I don't think she'll let the boys use it because they're loud and stupid but I'm not loud and stupid, I'm clever and sensible so I know how to behave. And Mikey said yesterday that he wants to marry me, but I told him I don't want to because I'm going to be a lesbian just like you.'

Santana smiles, taking the empty cereal bowl away.

'Good for you. Boys are stinky anyway. Now why don't you go brush your teeth and we'll walk to school, okay?'

'Okay!'

She scrambles off to the bathroom and Santana puts her lunch in her backpack, checks she's got everything she needs, and finally looks at her father.

'You getting dressed today?'

He sighs. 'Honey, I can't have this fight with you again.' It hasn't been a fight for a long time. It's been her telling him to be better and him failing. 'I'm not having a good week.'

'Her friend's mom is dropping her off later. I'm working tonight, so you have to fix her dinner. And don't just order pizza, it's a waste of money. There's pasta and sauce, and there's stuff for a salad in the fridge. She needs something healthy. Got that?'

He nods. 'Got it. Look, Santana, I'm sorry-'

She's not even looking at him any more. 'Don't be sorry. Be better.'

Luna runs up to her, babbling that her teeth are clean and she can check her toothbrush and everything.

'It's okay, I believe you. Come on, sweet pea, let's get you to school.'

As usual, they meet up with Blaine on the way, and Luna insists on walking in the middle and holding hands with both of them.

'How are you today, Blaine?' They both smile – Luna really is a testament to Santana. She's miraculously polite, considering her sister is… well, different. 'Did you do anything fun yesterday?'

'Yes, Blaine! What you did yesterday, was it fun?'

He plastered on a fake smile. 'Sure, it was fun. I went to my friend's house.'

'Which friend?'

'Uh…' Santana widened her eyes at him. 'His name is… John.' He mutters 'I think' under his breath. Hook-ups are much more fun when he's recounting them to Santana. He can play the part of this young, promiscuous gay guy, sharing his hilarious stories with his best friend – his only friend, really – who always gasps in the right places and makes it seem exciting and funny, rather than pathetic. If she's judging him, she at least has the courtesy not to tell him in front of Luna. Obviously, she'll rip into him for this later, but that's just how they are with each other.

They drop Luna off at school and wave her off with big grins, and Santana mumbles that she wants more details.

'He was… big. But unimaginative. It was hilarious – he asked if I wanted to stay for breakfast.'

'Wow. Psycho.'

They keep walking to their school. Santana always wonders if newer teachers at Luna's school think she and Blaine are her parents. They drop her off more than their dad does these days.

'You know I don't do that. I'm not trying to get married and have a bunch of gaybies. I just want to have fun.'

Too familiar with this speech, she rolls her eyes.

'Sure. Oh shit, we've got social studies first. I do not have the energy for Mrs Hawkins today. We get it, society is terrible for everyone.'

Blaine will never get used to how quickly Santana slips into school mode – the polar opposite of the big sister walking Luna to school. She's not wrong about social studies. Mrs Hawkins is really outdoing herself today.

'I know it's easy to think everything's fine now because same-sex marriage is legal here, but there's still such a long way to go. LGB youth are five times more likely to have attempted suicide than their straight peers. The statistics on anti-LGBT+ violence is shocking – in a lot of places it's actually getting worse, and there are some countries where it's not just illegal to be gay, but punishable by death. Death by stoning. Can you imagine that? Just because of who a person is attracted to!'

Blaine could swear she looks right at him. Surely not. How would she even know? Is she going to throw rocks at him to show him how good he's got it here? He avoids her gaze.

One of the guys calls out 'We know all this. Be nice to gays. We get it.'

Santana cuts in. 'And who are you to talk about it? You don't have the first clue what it's like for queer youth.'

Hawkins takes a deep breath and stares Santana down – something most people have never achieved.

'Actually, Santana, I do. I'm bisexual.'

It's the quietest the class has been since… well, since the start of the school year.

Puck frowns. 'I thought you had a husband?'

'I do. Because I'm capable of being attracted to people of any gender, which is what bisexuality is, and I happen to be in love with a man. But it doesn't make me any less bi. And that brings me onto what I really wanted to talk to you about: I'm starting a chapter of PFLAG at this school, if any of you are interested in joining. There's already a handful of members lower down the school, and it would be so powerful if they had some older role models to look up to.'

Definitely a deliberate glance at Blaine and Santana. Undeniable. She also smiles at another boy in the class – one of the few in the class who consistently takes notes and makes thoughtful contributions. He used to be a Cheerio, but Santana has blocked those memories out so deliberately that she can't remember his name.

Santana scrawls a note to Blaine: 'can't believe this school is giving gay lessons now. this really is the future.' He snorted and scribbled back: 'can she be more obvious when she looks at us - like we would want to sit in a classroom singing showtunes about self-acceptance with a bunch of freshmen.'

Quinn raises her hand.

'Look, Mrs Hawkins, I'm glad you're comfortable with who you are, but is it really necessary to bring it up in class? That's your business.'

'You all knew I had a husband, and nobody was uncomfortable with it. Look, Quinn, when I was your age, I didn't know any queer people. I saw the occasional gay guy die of AIDs on TV. I thought I was a freak and that I was going to have a miserable life. If I'd had adults in my life who were confidently queer, I know it would've made my life easier. And trying to help students is what teaching is all about.'

Quinn is put firmly into her place. The class is quiet again.

'Anyway, I want you all to fill out your surveys on homophobia in school – can you think of any instances of bullying or discriminatory language? How often do you hear it? And if any of you want to join our PFLAG group, just come and see me and I'll let you know when it is. That way I can make sure it stays a safe space for those who need it.'

Chatter quickly starts up again as the students fill in their papers. Blaine and Santana barely read the questions.

'God, she's so desperate to be interesting. Who cares if you made out with your roommate in college? It doesn't make you part of a community and it definitely doesn't make you some kind of hero to a bunch of kids who've probably all decided they're genderqueer pansexuals because they've watched too much Queer Eye.'

'Wow, Tana.'

'What? She's not facing an ounce of prejudice because whoever she's had a crush on, she still gets to hold hands with her husband in public and nobody will care. But I'm sure she still gets to put on her resumé that she's an inspiration to all the vulnerable baby gays.'

He's almost scared to reply. 'Okay. I mean, people can be bi. And she's not the worst teacher here by a long way.'

'Whatever. Look,' she holds up her sheet, 'everything here is perfect! Nobody's ever sent me any dick pics to straighten me out, nobody's ever called me a dyke, and I feel totally adored by my classmates. Can this class just fucking end already?'

Blaine definitely doesn't want to risk defending the teacher any further. He keeps it to himself that he thinks it's actually kind of cool.

On their way out, the conscientious boy from the class stops them. He's tall, eyes that are almost too blue, brown hair adding a few inches onto his height. Neither of them can remember his name.

'Hi!'

They stare at him.

'Hello? Who are you and why are you standing in our way?'

Blaine knows that's unnecessary, but he's not brave enough to tell Santana to rein it in.

'Oh, well, I'm Kurt, from all of your classes since middle school, and I- I saw you talking and just wanted to say that PFLAG sessions are actually pretty nice. You shouldn't dismiss it so quickly. We talk about gender and attraction and share experiences, and I've talked to kids in there I wouldn't meet any other way. It's also super helpful for anyone who's struggling to come out.'

Blaine is on the verge of giving a genuine answer when Santana beats him to the punch. Almost literal.

'Being gay is the least of my problems. I've got better shit to do than sit in a circle and tell a club of dorks how I told my dad I'm a lesbian and, as usual, he did absolutely nothing. My life is none of your business, so stay away from me.'

Kurt looks like she just slapped him. Santana shoves past him and starts walking towards her next class. Blaine risks hanging back for a minute.

'I'm, uh – sorry about her. It's not personal.'

Some of the hurt eases from the boy's face.

'I know. Hey, who hasn't lashed out at the wrong person before? Really though, think about joining.

It's not that dorky – okay, it is, but it's still nice.'

Blaine's heart is thudding furiously and he wants to thank Kurt, say he'll think about it, but he's being so nice and he looks so pretty and Blaine's stupid app persona takes over.

'I can think of some slightly more fun experiences we could share.'

He looks Kurt up and down. Kurt raises an eyebrow.

'Excuse me?'

It's too late; he's committed to it now.

'Well, how about we start our own club? There's some trees at the back of the football fields where I'm sure we'll feel totally liberated or whatever. I'll even let you bring a rainbow flag to kneel on.

Jesus. He wouldn't say that on Grindr. He wouldn't say that ever. That was a new level of gross, especially for someone at school who just trying to be kind to him. He's about to apologise and take it back, when one of the hockey team starts talking too loud right next to them.

'Kind of creepy telling a bunch of teenagers about her sex life. Probably wants to fuck one of the girls. Or maybe she gets off on getting kids to hook up with each other. I bet it's just the second best pedo class after glee club and she can't sing for shit.'

Blaine's fist clenches. He wishes he were the kind of person who could stand up and argue with them, because he knows they're full of shit, and every word they say makes a new spike of anger flare up in his chest, but he just… can't. He doesn't want to get involved. He just wants to go to class. Mostly. He looks up to see Kurt watching him, almost challenging him to do the right thing, but just seems disappointed.

'Wow, what a monster, being kind to children who want to understand themselves better. If only she ran a really cool straight club, like a bunch of guys hitting each other with sticks. Go back to your cave, moron.'

The guy grunts and slopes off with his friends. Kurt turns back to Blaine.

'And as for you? What you do on your own time is your business, but I will not be spoken to like that. We're at school, you maniac.'

Kurt leaves and Blaine feels an inch tall as he drags himself to Science.

'So,' Mr Roberts drones, 'you will present these next week. I want you to go into detail and be prepared to answer questions on your different kinds of cells. You need to look at its function, its location in the organism, and its composition.'

Santana's group is quiet. It doesn't matter who she works with – most people are quiet when faced with Santana Lopez. She knows why. And she likes it that way.

'Maybe,' Rachel is first to take the plunge today, 'maybe we could use a flipchart or something, rather than just PowerPoint.'

Tina nods. 'Yeah, okay. Does anyone mind which one we do?'

'Who cares?' Santana grumbles. 'Just pick one so we can get it done.'

Brittany is oblivious to Santana's tone. And she's one of the few people in the school who is rarely on the receiving end of it. 'I vote sperm. And why do we need words to explain what they do? They're all about movement, right? Why don't we take the whole class to the pool and swim towards a giant beach ball to show how they swim up to the egg?'

Santana is just staring at her, trying to think of a tactful way to shoot the idea down, a courtesy she doesn't extend to many people. It's difficult to think at all though, when Brittany is just smiling and doing a wiggling, swimming movement on her stool to demonstrate her idea.

The others look expectantly at Santana, clearly bracing themselves for an explosion. Can she suddenly be kind, just because it's Brittany? Looking at her makes Santana feel dizzy and stupid and weak and can't stand it, and she especially can't let the others see it. They might think it's pathetic, or worse, cute.

'That's idiotic. I am not about to squeeze my hair into a fucking white swimming cap to do a synchronized fertilisation routine with you. We do the presentation, we say the facts, we pass, and we sit down again.'

Brittany looks crestfallen, and Tina pats her arm. 'It's okay, Britt. I think she just means we don't have time to plan that kind of routine. Good idea, Santana.'

Santana can't bring herself to look up from her notes. She never explained to Brittany why she had to quit Cheerios – there was too much to do at home, and in all honesty she just couldn't handle slapping that smile on all the time. She still hasn't admitted to herself how much she misses the happiness pouring out of Brittany, and getting to be close to her every day.

When she walks to her and Blaine's usual spot under the bleachers for lunch, a guy she's never spoken to steps in front of her.

'Hi. I know you don't know me, but my name's Jack and I think you're beautiful. I was wondering if I could maybe get you a coffee some time. Sorry, I know this is really forward, but-'

'But what?' It's not like she ever reacts positively to being hit on by guys. But the timing of this one, when she's weighed down by the guilt of being so cruel to Brittany, and just wants a cigarette and a break with her one friend, is too much. She doesn't stop to think if this boy deserves the lashing he gets. 'But you think you're gonna turn me straight with your magical dick?'

'You're- oh, god, I'm sorry, I didn't realise-'

'Oh sure, you just thought "hey, she's got somewhere to go, I'll see if I can get in her way! Give her more attention she has no interest in!" Go bother somebody else; I'm sure there's some cute little sophomore just desperate for attention from a skinny, greasy little bitch like you.'

'I, uh- I'm sorry. I was just asking. I didn't know. Sorry.' He scampers away, tail between his legs.

Blaine, scrolling through his phone, holds out his lighter as soon as he sees her. She lights up while he asks 'Wanna talk about it?'

'Why do guys think they can just ambush me with some shitty come-on?'

He snorts. 'Sounds awful.'

'You know what? Try and say that again when you've had gross old men yelling at you from trucks since you were nine.'

Blaine glances over to the shaking boy still standing where she obliterated him a hundred yards away.

'Not bad. I could take him off your hands for you if you want.'

She sighs. 'Whatever. You'd never do anything with a boy at this school. That'd mean you'd have to see him again, and that would mean someone other than me might find out you're a fag.'

'Apparently someone already does. That Kurt guy kept talking to me about joining that club after you left. Ridiculous.'

'Totally. Who needs queer liberation when you've got Grindr? You're a modern-day Harvey Milk. Anyone lined up for tonight?'

'Scruff today, actually. And I've got some possibilities. Why did he keep talking to me but just let you storm off? I don't want to join that stupid club either.'

'You didn't leave, so he kept talking, dumbass. Or maybe I'm just not as obviously gay as you.'

He wishes that didn't give him a heavy feeling in his stomach. 'Obvious' is his worst nightmare. 'Sure, bitch. They're just scared of the rage. I don't think I've ever seen you be nice to a single person at this school.'

'I'm nice to you.'

'You literally just called me a fag.'

'And you called me a bitch.'

He takes a drag.

'Guess we're perfect for each other.'

They lean against the fence in silence.

They still walk home together as usual. Their thing may not be very nice, but it's consistent. They see the worst of each other, but at least they know what's behind it. And they get exclusive glimpses into each other's best moments too.

An SUV honks at them as they walk. 'Told you,' Santana says, her voice both vindicated and exhausted.

Blaine offers an apologetic smile. 'Maybe that was for me. My butt looks great today.'

She chuckles and elbows him. His phone buzzes just as they arrive at her house and she groans.

'I take it I'll see you tonight?'

'Looks like it. I'll have my usual, please.'

Santana rushes inside, dumping her bag in the hallway. 'Lulu?'

Luna is in the living room with a sandwich, watching cartoons.

'Hi, Tana,', she calls out in a daze, completely transfixed by the bright colours on the screen. Santana strokes her hair.

'Good day, baby?'

'Uh-huh. I got a gold star for my drawing.'

Santana smiles. 'I bet you did, tiny Picasso.'

'And Luke was being mean to Annabelle, so I told him to leave her alone, and now she's my best friend.' Her face lights up. 'Oh, oh! Can I tell you a joke?'

She checks her watch and figures she can be a bit late. She sits with Luna, absent-mindedly untangling her hair. 'I want to hear your jokes more than I've ever wanted anything in my whole life.'

'Okay, okay. Two muffins are in the oven, cooking. One muffin says "phew, it's hot in here" and the other one says "wow, a talking muffin!" Annabelle told it to me and I think it's the funniest joke in the whole world and I'm glad she's my best friend.'

Santana burst out laughing and pulled her close for a moment.

'That's amazing. Where's Dad?'

Luna shrugs. 'I think he might have gone for a nap. He said he was tired after he got me food.'

She glances at the food in question. Peanut butter sandwich. Exhausting work. She fetches an apple and tells Luna to eat it when she's done, knowing she'll eat it immediately so she can get back to the sandwich, then goes down the hall to find her father.

'Jesus.' She gives him a shove, bringing him into vague consciousness. 'One thing. I told you do one thing. Vegetables. I've got to change then I'm going to work. Maybe if it doesn't kill you, you could spend some time with your daughter tonight.' She thinks she can hear a muffled 'sorry' on her way out.

'More potatoes, honey?'

'No thanks, Mom.'

'You're awfully quiet, son,' his father commented. 'Problems at school?'

He shrugs. 'No. All fine. How was work?'

He notices his parents share a quick look.

'Oh, you know, this time of year is always busy. Cold weather breaks pipes; my guys fix them. Good system.' Another glance between them. 'Listen, Blaine, we're – we're a little worried about you.'

Blaine doesn't look up. His mother has a try.

'You're not in trouble, darling, it's just that- you always seem so tired. We've seen that your grades are slipping.' She strokes his hair back. 'I mean, you know we don't mind about that but it's just not like you. Is something bothering you?'

'We just – we used to spend so much more time together, and now you just go to your room. I know you're a teenager and we're probably not very cool, but… we miss you.'

He's so close. Painfully close to blurting it all out. He knows they love him. He knows he's lucky compared to other people his age, because they would probably try so hard. But the rest of the family, and their friends, if they knew about him, he really doesn't know what would happen. They've built this perfect little bubble around him, and suddenly he feels like he's been betraying them for months, going behind their back and hiding so much from them. He knows if he tries to make any kind of noise now, if he even looks up at them, he'll start crying and he might never stop. He's just a tiny little boy, desperate for his parents to hold him and tell him it's okay, but he just can't let them. He has to keep everything he's done far away from them, away from this house. None of it fits in with their idea of a perfect family, a perfect life. In all honesty, he's not sure it fits in with what he wants, either.

Knowing his parents would try isn't enough. The possibility that they would even have to 'try' makes him feel sick.

He realises he's been staring at his plate for a couple of minutes while his parents try to comfort him. Suddenly, he stands up, almost knocking his chair over. He clears his throat, just enough to blurt out something about homework and he's sorry and gets upstairs as quickly as possible. Angrily wiping at his eyes with his sleeve, he immediately gets his phone out, and opens up the profile of the guy who messaged him earlier. He's an older guy, beard, not bad looking. It'll do. Anything to stop his head spinning.

He waits half an hour before climbing out of his window, onto the garage and down to the ground. He doesn't care about the rain – he needs to be anywhere but here.

Blaine's at his usual table by the time the guy arrives. Santana brings him a black coffee, and almost asks him what's wrong, but thinks better of it. He looks ready to give out her level of rage and she's not in the mood. A big guy appears – burlier than his photograph, which isn't a problem, but. God. Pale pink sweater, big cheesy grin, a pretty loud 'Hi!' across the room. He's a lot. The campness is a turn-off. 'Goodness, I hope you haven't been waiting long!'

Blaine shakes his head.

'Not long. You're fine.'

Geoffrey (yes, really, Geoffrey) gets a good look at him and the huge smile fades.

'Oh, my. You're young. You're really young. No.'

Blaine bristles. 'It's fine, I don't care.'

'That's very cool of you, but I do care. About dumb little things, like not being a creepy old man and not going to prison. Sorry, honey.' He's about to leave but Blaine stops him.

'Wait. You- you don't even know me. Don't treat me like I'm just some stupid kid.'

He pauses and considers Blaine for a moment.

'You want another coffee?'

So they sit for a while. Blaine's jittery and frustrated - his clothes are wet, his hair is exploding, this isn't what he came here for, and it isn't helping get his mind off anything. It's also pretty late to be on his third coffee in half an hour. Santana finds the whole thing bizarre and too funny for Blaine's liking.

'Why are you so angry, Blaine?'

'I'm fine. Why are you so…' He gestures vaguely at the man in front of him. 'This?'

Geoffrey laughs. 'Count yourself lucky I decided against the feather boa. What, did you expect a straight guy to walk in here? Secret's out, sweetie, I'm as gay as the day is long. That's why we're here. I've tried toning this down but it didn't take. And I'm too old to change my ways now. So, back to my original question: why are you so angry?'

'I'm not angry.'

'Oh, sure. Because skulking around for hook-ups on a school night is what completely happy people do.'

'You're here too, aren't you? Lots of guys do this, and it doesn't make them bad gays.'

His voice takes on a Kim Cattrall drawl. 'Well, I can be a very bad gay when the mood takes me.' He chuckles. 'Sorry. I'm a trashy queen with bad taste in TV. Look, I love a night of fun as much as the next guy. There's nothing wrong with this, if you enjoy it, but you don't exactly look thrilled to be here.' Blaine tries to soften his scowl. 'Does anybody outside of the dating app world know you're gay?'

Blaine could explode. How dare this random stranger be CORRECT.

'My friend does. She – she's gay too.'

'That waitress who keeps refilling your coffee and giggling at you? Well, that's a start. Your parents?'

Blaine stares at his coffee. 'I didn't come here for a therapy session.'

'I know. But as previously stated, I don't want to go to jail, so you're not getting what you came here for, so here we are. Should I take that as a no?'

Blaine almost walks out right then, but something compels him to stay. 'They- they wouldn't get it.'

'How do you know? Do they say homophobic stuff around you?'

Blaine shakes his head.

'I don't know. I just.' He picks at a nail. 'I don't think they'd like this version of me very much.'

No pithy comebacks this time. Geoffrey puts a friendly hand over Blaine's.

'You know, kid, you're part of something so much bigger than just you. Even if your parents don't get it, there are people who will. We've been putting work in for kids like you and your friend for decades so you could be safe and happy and free. Do you feel any of those when you do this, Blaine?' He ducks down to catch Blaine's eye. 'You say your parents wouldn't like this version of you. But I don't think you like him either.'

For the second time that evening, Blaine is on the verge of tears. He yanks his hand away.

'Well, thank god there are ancient fags like you around to give us all the guidance we need.'

Mean is so much safer than sad.

Geoffrey's expression cools.

'Don't call me that.'

'Ancient?'

Geoffrey's voice is eerily calm – like a parent saying they're not angry, just disappointed. 'I will not have slurs used against me.'

Blaine laughs and looks out of the window at the storm. 'But I'm one too. I thought that was allowed.'

'Not when you say it like they do. Not with hate in your voice.' He sighs. 'You know what, I don't know why I'm still here.' He stands up. Santana watches carefully, ready to intervene. Blaine's annoying sometimes, but he's her only friend. Geoffrey gives it one last try. 'You don't have to feel like this.'

It would be easy enough for Blaine to say one tiny, honest 'thank you'.

'Well, gee, thanks, mister! I'm healed!'

Geoffrey puts his coat on and nods out towards the rain. 'Try not to get stuck out in that. Your world seems cold enough already.'

And he's gone. Thunder growls with the slam of the door. The cafe is empty apart from Blaine and Santana, and the rain is only getting worse.

'What was that? I don't think I've ever known you not to seal the deal. Did the fuzz put him off?' She ruffles his hair but can tell he's shaken up and puts a hand on his shoulder. 'Seriously, though. That seemed intense. Are you okay?'

'God, can people stop trying to analyse me for one minute? I wanted to fuck, and he just treated me like precious little doll, now you've turned all cute and cuddly because I'm apparently too pathetic for even you to be mean to, and my parents-'

The yelling stops. She doesn't push him. When he speaks again, it's quieter, calmer, almost guilty.

'They were… nice. Just so, so nice and I still didn't say it.'

He looks at his feet, leaning against the booth he'd been sitting at. Santana doesn't say anything. She doesn't say that at least his parents have noticed that he's struggling, or that he doesn't have to be the parent in his house because he's already got two perfectly capable ones who would do anything for him. She knows he knows he's lucky. She doesn't need to pile on.

The quiet is interrupted by more thunder, and they both jump when one of the chairs outside slams into the window. It's not enough to break it but there's a sizeable crack.

'Christ, was it that bad ten minutes ago?'

Blaine shrugs and swallows. 'I- I don't think we should walk home in that.' The lights flicker for a moment, then the café is dark. Their hands link instinctively.

'This way. No windows in the back room.'

They grope their way to the back and huddle down together on the floor, still holding hands.

'That guy doesn't know what he's talking about, B. If you're not ready to come out, you don't have to. You still seem gay as hell to me.'

He musters up a laugh. He's about to answer when they realise it's silent outside. Their hands squeeze, as if they're expecting the racket to start up again, or the café to explode or something, but it never comes. There's even light coming in through the crack at the bottom of the door.

'It can't be over. That was way too fast, right?'

'Go check.'

'You work here'.

'I'm a tiny delicate lady; I couldn't possibly-'

Blaine hauls himself up and pulls Santana with him. Tentatively, he twists the handle and winces when the bright light floods their tiny space.

Not only is it not raining any more, it's also not night-time. And they're not in the café – it's like an old school diner. Blaine and Santana take one look at each other and snigger, before looking down at themselves: Blaine looks like he should be in a barbershop quartet with his little bowtie and sweater vest, while Santana's jeans and t-shirt have been replaced by a poodle skirt and yellow cardigan, with a little white hat pinned to her completely stiff hair, piled up on top of her head.

A man with a too-big smile tosses her an apron. 'Come on, sweetheart, table four are waiting on those burgers!' He shoves a silver tray piled high with food into her hands.

'Excuse me?'

They look out at the scene in front of them. A jukebox. A blackboard featuring today's specials. Steaming plates of pancakes, waffles and fries, tall milkshakes with whipped cream and cherries on top. The place is rammed with teenagers, the girls all dressed like Santana, boys in letterman jackets with their hair slicked back.

There's one other noticeable difference.

This place doesn't have a single speck of colour.

The rain may have stopped, but it looks like a shitstorm has just begun.