Blaine, Blaine, Blaine.

A beautiful boy he is, with curls and a sly, shy smirk. A quiet boy, one who tip, tip, tip-toes around, lest he disturbs Mother in the house. He is like a swath of lace, small, delicate, yet complex and disturbed when one looks for more than a mere moment.

Blaine, he carries himself as if he is a piece of glass, one that has already cracked but cannot handle anymore imperfection. He is sullen, quiet, and has a mysterious look in his eyes, one that makes the crowds go wild. Now, our brooding boy knows how to play the game, how to charm and flirt, smile and wave. But even when he looks like there is no place he’d rather be, the boy, he dreams, dreams, dreams away.

He dreams of somewhere warm and blue. He dreams of music and never ending tunes, he dreams of the Ocean enveloping him in its waves, and he murmurs, ‘I will see you soon’.

You see, the green-eyed boy, the beaches of Cyprus, that was home. The rolling green hills, the mirth he shared with his twin, Aidan, it made the boy whole.

Blaine was raised on the isle by his mother, father, and doting grandparents. The six lived together in a villa and Blaine’s days were spent playing with his brother, baking with his grandmother, and helping his father out with the farm. The family was happy, picture perfect almost.

All good things must come to an end though, and the dreamy life of the Fontaine’s was one of those things. It was the eve of Blaine and Aiden’s seventh birthday, and the boys were ecstatic. Neither could sleep, and as they stared at the ceiling in their bedroom, Blaine was struck with an idea, a night swim in the reservoir near the villa. The two agreed, and snuck out of the house, laughter echoing through the night. When they arrived, they began to taunt each other, Blaine, mocking Aiden’s sudden fear of swimming in the dark, and in a moment of impulsive playfulness, Blaine shoved Aiden into the depths of the lake. Now, Aiden was not expecting this, nor was he expecting his head to hit a rock as he went down, instantly knocking him unconscious. Blaine stood there, watching his brother drown, paralyzed with fear. He reached down, fought to bring his brother to the surface, but it was only by the sheer luck of his magic that he got out, dragging his now dead brother with him.

This use of magic, his first accidental use, was keeping him warm and dry after pulling the corpse out of the lake. At seven years old, Blaine was terrified. Questions swam through his mind, would his parents hate him? Would he be in trouble with the law? But, without the warmth, it is likely that he would have gotten sick, as the temperature continued to drop as the night went on.

Thankfully, by morning, the twins had been found. Blaine, shaking, holding his brother tight, he cried out, but by the time help came it was too late.

Blaine and his parents packed up and moved to the small town of Coniston within a month of the boy’s birthday. His grandparents stayed behind in Cyprus, and each year, on March 2nd, they visited England with heavy hearts to watch as Blaine’s mother became more and more withdrawn, his father less and less present, and Blaine, left to shoulder the burden of his brother’s death alone.

This weight, it beat the boy down. It led a formally upbeat, little ray of sunshine to become darker, more cynical and more quiet. He no longer knows what he wants, or who wants to be, he only knows that he does not want to be the boy who, in his own eyes, murdered his best friend.