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Klaus had always somewhat known he was different from his siblings. Even if he didn’t know why. Not different like Vanya was different, it wasn’t visible, but something deep down had always held feelings that no one else seemed to have.
When he was young he would steal Mom’s high heels and hobble around the house. They hurt his feet and they were much too big for him, but he liked how they made him feel. Diego and Luther would tease him about not being able to walk in them, but Klaus knew they wouldn’t be able to do any better.
When Allison told their parents she was a girl, Klaus had been overjoyed. He’d always wanted a sister, someone who could braid his hair and paint his nails like they did in movies. Vanya didn’t count because she never talked to him.
He wasn’t a girl.
No matter how much he loved wearing skirts or heels or makeup, it didn’t feel right. But… he didn’t think he was a boy either. Was there another option? There didn’t seem to be. Everyone he knew was either a boy or a girl, so why didn’t he feel like one?
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By the time Klaus was in the midst of his teenage years he was nearly positive he wasn’t like the others in his family. Even besides his gender identity (something he still didn’t have words for), he had figured out that when it came to romantic preferences, he liked guys way more than he liked girls. But he wasn’t gay, was he? Because he still liked girls too.
He told this to Ben one evening, during the free time after dinner. Ben said that he thought he liked both girls and guys too.
“Does that make us weird?” Klaus had asked, and Ben said no. What are the odds that there would be two extra weird people in one weird family? Klaus mauled this over, but had agreed in the end.
Just a few months later, Klaus wasn’t so sure anymore, because now he was the only one.
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It took Klaus a while to figure out exactly who he was. And it took even longer to put names to those feelings.
For a while he had just floated on a general “I’m not picky” or “I can be whatever you’d like”, but it never felt as real without a name.
It took a lot of experimenting, going to gay bars and clubs, hooking up with people all over the spectrum. He even tried to see a gender therapist once, but that was expensive and honestly not very helpful to him.
And every day it gets more solid, more certain, more real. He gains more confidence to wear skirts or dresses or platforms, kiss a guy in public, call himself Mx. Hargreeves whenever he gets the chance (even if it's just to himself). Ben helps, too. Helps to have someone to bounce off of, someone who loves you no matter what you want to be.
There’s something cathartic about being able to define yourself for the first time. Like you’ve been lost in a corn maze for hours and someone just taught you how to make a map.
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Dave. Vietnam. Feelings, feelings, feelings. Bursting, bubbling feelings at a strength Klaus hadn’t known he was capable of.
He loved Dave, more than anything, more than anyone. He would destroy the world for Dave, would give up everything to hold him close for just one more night.
And Dave loved him. And that was the scariest thing, because it meant that Klaus was a person-a person worth loving. Because it meant that it was real. Sometimes Klaus would convince himself that it wasn’t, that this was a dream or a drug trip or something, that none of this was happening. But when he saw Dave’s face light up when Klaus kissed him, when he felt Dave’s lips against his own, when the feelings bubbled deep in his chest, he knew this had to be real.
And then he lost, he lost him, and it felt like he had been hollowed out, drained of everything worth living for.
But he moved on, and no matter how much it hurt some days, Klaus would never give up those few months of love, love, love.
Being queer to Klaus is like holding a flaming torch, being queer is like lighting a bonfire. It may be safer to hide your light away and not draw the attention of whatever is lurking in the shadows, but by god it feels so good to shine.