Rating/Length: PG / ~800
Summary: Cooper says a bad word in front of bb Blainers.
(Now with an achingly adorable drawing of Coop, Oop, and Blaine by Katie.)
Cooper slams the front door shut and doesn’t care that the force of it knocks a few pictures on the wall askew. He kicks off his boots, dumps his school bag on the floor, throws his jacket on top, and leaves the whole sodden mess in a desultory heap in the foyer. When he gets home that evening, Father will probably yell at him to clean up his mess. But until then, Cooper doesn’t care. He lost the lead in Romeo and Juliet to Tommy Can’t-Act-For-Shit Rodgers and then he had to walk home in an absolute downpour.
“It’s not fair,” Cooper mutters to himself as he makes his way through the big, quiet house to the kitchen. It’s a little late in the afternoon and Blaine is probably down for his nap, but Cooper doesn’t care about that either. He grabs a couple of juice boxes from the fridge and heads upstairs to Blaine’s room. Sometimes he just needs his little brother after a hard day. As he walks down the long hallway, he passes by the study. The door is slightly ajar and there’s soft jazz music filtering out into the hallway. He smiles a little – his mother is probably in there, reading or working on god knows what while Blaine naps next door.
The door to Blaine’s bedroom, across the hall from Cooper’s, is closed and Cooper pushes it open carefully.
Blaine is sitting up in his little toddler bed, amongst his airplane sheets, clutching a bright orange dinosaur in one hand while he sucks on the thumb of his other. His big, honey-gold eyes widen with delight when he sees Cooper, and Cooper feels a little better already.
“’oop!” Blaine exclaims around his thumb and Cooper grins.
“Hey, buddy. Why aren’t you napping?” Cooper sits down on Blaine’s bed and Blaine immediately crawls in his lap. His little brother still smells like baby and his dark, wildly curly hair is silky-soft against Cooper’s face when he drops a kiss to the top of Blaine’s head.
“Yes, yes you are.” Cooper shifts until he’s resting back against the headboard and Blaine is heavy on his legs. He pushes the straws through the seals of the juice boxes and hands one to Blaine, who takes his thumb out of his mouth long enough to accept the drink and take a sip.
“It’s not fair.” Cooper says, and he sucks harshly at the straw, taking his frustration out on a poor juice box. He’s still angry about the play. He’s sure his audition for Romeo was way better than Tommy Has-a-Giant-Pimple-On-Forehead’s was, but Tommy is the nephew of the director of the play. Cooper doesn’t know much, but he knows he didn’t stand a chance. It’s not fair because Susan Jones is going to be Juliet, and Cooper really, really likes Susan.
“I was so much better than Tommy Can’t-Shoot-A-Freethrow and he still got the part.” Cooper wraps his arm around Blaine’s middle and holds him tight to his chest. “He didn’t even remember half of his lines! And we all know he only got it because his uncle is directing the thing. It’s not fair. And no one else seems to care. And Tommy’s going to get to kiss Susan, which really sucks because I want to kiss Susan even though I’m pretty sure she can’t stand me. It’s ridiculous because it’s not like Imeant to hit her with that basketball, it just happened and I said I was sorry and fuck.”
It slips out before he can stop it and Cooper gasps. It’s one of those many, many things he’s not supposed to say in front of Blaine. He’s going to be in so much trouble.
Cooper looks down at Blaine, but Blaine just blinks curiously up at him with those wide eyes of his – their mother’s eyes. Blaine reaches out with a short, chubby arm and hands Cooper his beloved stuffed animal. His eyebrows, so prominent on his round little face, lift up a little as he waggles the offered comfort.
“For me?” Cooper asks, exaggerating his surprise. Maybe Blaine didn’t hear him after all.
Blaine just sucks at his own straw, smooth, plump cheeks hollowing a little. Cooper laughs, takes Oop from Blaine’s fingers, and tucks the dinosaur under his arm.
“Thanks, buddy. You’re the best little brother, but don’t repeat what I said, ok?”
Blaine nods and his curls flop over his forehead. “Ok.”
Cooper forgets about what he said until dinner that night. They’re all seated around the big dining room table, which is unusual, and not really talking, which isn’t unusual at all. Things are as normal as they ever are until Blaine fumbles with his sippy cup of milk and it falls to the floor, clattering and rolling across the hardwood.
“Fuck,” Blaine says, in his soft little voice. Cooper flushes an ugly shade of red and slides down his chair as his parents’ eyes find him across the table.
“COOPER!” His mother’s voice is loud and scandalized.
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