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The door banged open, upsetting the wall hangings Blaine had just put up the other night. Cooper strode in with a wide, self-congratulatory smile on his face. "Blaine! Get up, kid. Happy birthday! I'm only in town for the rest of the night, and it's time I show you what it really means to be a man."
Blaine blinked. "That's fine, but I don't need your help. I have the internet."
"No," Cooper groaned, rolling his eyes and dumping the contents of a Wal-Mart shopping bag onto Blaine's bedspread. A pack of combs, a bottle of max-hold gel, and a set of hair rollers came tumbling out. "Not sex. That comes later. I," he said, picking out a comb and brandishing it like a tiny, toothy sword, "am going to teach you how to finger wave your hair like a movie star." He ran his free hand through his hair, and Blaine scoffed.
"Like you, you mean?"
"Precisely," answered Cooper, missing the sarcasm.
"A commercial for off-brand erectile dysfunction pills is not a movie."
Cooper aimed the pointy end of the comb at Blaine's chest, warning him with a glare. "Hey. Once the studios see it, we'll be rolling in dough. And besides," he said, gesturing to Blaine's bed-mussed curls. "You can't walk into your first day of the sixth grade with that 70s shag rug on your head."
"I'm in seventh grade, dummy." Blaine chose to ignore the insult, conscious of the way his fingers itched to smooth his curls back down.
"Seventh? Really? Shit man, where have I been?" He looked genuinely confused. Blaine chose not to answer his question. "At least I remembered your birthday, right? Come on, get up. The girls won't be able to keep their hands out of your hair when I'm done."
There was a brief moment of silence, a pause during which Blaine's heart plummeted, and he gave a tight, forced grin, looking at a point on the wall just past Cooper's left ear. "Thanks for the offer, but I think you should go now." He gathered up the items on his bed, placed them back into the plastic bag, and set it down. "You should take these, too."
The look of confusion on Cooper's face softened, edged with a touch of concern, but he simply shook his head. "No, you keep the stuff. Happy birthday, little brother." He shut the door behind him, carefully twisting the knob into place. The wall hanging still hung crooked.
-
The morning before school starts, Blaine will sleepily walk to the bathroom. He will open a cabinet, fumbling for shaving cream (a ritual he has recently and grudgingly begun to find necessary) and he will see the plastic shopping bag he had hastily stuffed onto the back shelf. Running his fingers over the hair rollers, he will not think of what Cooper said, of the shuddery dread that came with his words. Or the way that, not even a year ago, before Cooper moved away, he would have been able to barge into his big brother’s room and tell him absolutely everything.
He will sigh, uncapping the bottle of gel and squirting a large dollop that would certainly make his fluffy-coiffed brother wince, and he will tame his hair, meticulously sleeking each curl into place.
Blaine will look at the finished style and marvel at how different it makes him feel. Older, perhaps. Stronger. There’s a quiet comfort in the way the close-cropped curls lay flat against his scalp, in the way that he can manipulate each.strand to his exact standards. There’s not a lock of hair he can’t manhandle into submission, and he will relish the feeling of complete control,
He’ll smile at his reflection and admire the way it catches the light. Blaine will have to thank his brother, if he ever gets the chance.