“They what?” Kurt asks loudly, jumping to his feet in surprise. “What do you mean?”

“They kicked me out,” Blaine says on the other end of the line. “My father came to the school just as I was packing up my car to go home and he made me sit with him in a meeting with the headmaster and – what? No! I’m talking to – yes, I’m talking to him! No, I won’t – oh my god, leave me alo-”

The last bit of Blaine’s hurried words are obviously not for him, Kurt knows. But all he hears is yelling now; he hears Blaine’s raised voice and another, deeper voice shouting from farther away from the phone. Out of nowhere, there’s a crackling and a fuck load of noise on Blaine’s end of the phone and a pained cry and suddenly the line goes dead.

“Blaine? Hello?” Kurt asks weakly into the receiver even though he knows he won’t get an answer.

He pulls the phone away from his ear and watches the screen dim. Not knowing what else to do, he calls back, silently praying for an answer. The line rings and rings and rings.

And goes to voicemail.

Cursing internally, Kurt ends the call and tries a second time, only to hear the voicemail once again.

Something is wrong.

He sends a text.

Call me back.

Kurt sits gingerly on the edge of his bed, staring at the phone in his hand, willing it to buzz with the alert that Blaine is calling or texting.

Nothing happens.

Nothing at all.

A minute later, his phone glows with a new text message.

Call you later. I’m okay.

The hand that had encased Kurt’s heart in a vicious fist slowly releases its hold and the panic and terror subsides.

How late is later? When will he know what’s going on? He doesn’t want to wait, he needs to know what happened. He needs to know that Blaine isn’t being beaten or something, despite the ‘I’m okay’ part of his text message. What the hell is he supposed to do while he waits?

Kurt curls up on top of his bed, phone securely in hand, and stares at the screen. He doesn’t know how long he has to wait, but he knows unpacking won’t help and he has no other distractions to occupy his time.

So he lies there.

And he waits.

Kurt wakes a couple of hours later to the buzzing of his phone.

There’s a text from Blaine.

What’s your address?

Extremely confused, Kurt types out his address on the keypad and asks why Blaine even needs it.

I’ll be there soon is the only reply he receives.

Kurt rushes downstairs, eager for news and eager for Blaine’s arrival. What the hell is going on?

“What-” his dad asks as Kurt rushes past.

“Blaine’s coming over. Something’s wrong. He called earlier and there was a lot of yelling and then nothing. I feel asleep and now he says he’s coming over. I don’t know why,” Kurt states, cutting off his dad’s inevitable questions. “I just know he is.”

Burt snaps his jaw closed and Kurt stands at the front window, peeking through the blinds every few seconds. He eyes the curb, willing Blaine’s car to appear, and the wait seems almost endless.

Fifteen minutes later, Kurt throws open the door and Blaine’s rushing into his arms, looking completely disheveled and distraught.

“What the hell happened?” Kurt asks, pulling Blaine inside.

“It’s a long story,” Blaine says.

“Dad, I’m taking Blaine up to my room!” Kurt calls as they hurry up the stairs.

“Door open!” Burt yells in return.

Kurt rolls his eyes, but leads Blaine inside and leaves the door wide open.

“Sit,” Kurt instructs, pushing Blaine down onto the bed. “And tell me.”

Blaine takes a deep breath and begins the tale of his afternoon.

Blaine slams his trunk shut. It had taken him two hours to finish packing and load up his car. He’s not looking forward to the short ride home at all. Just as he’s about to climb into the driver’s seat, he sees a very familiar silver BMW pull into the parking lot. His body immediately goes rigid in fear, limbs heavy with worry.

The window rolls down.

“Get in, Blaine,” his father says stiffly, not even looking at him.

“What-”

“Get in the car.”

Swallowing his fear, Blaine climbs into the passenger seat of his father’s car. He doesn’t even have the courage to ask where they’re going. He keeps his mouth shut and his eyes facing forward, trembling with nerves as he realizes they’re driving to the main office building. His father pulls a jerky parking job and Blaine climbs out of the car and follows his father inside without a single word.

The headmaster’s assistant shows them into the office immediately.

“Mr. Anderson, Blaine. Please have a seat,” says the headmaster, an older man with graying hair and deeply etched wrinkles.

“What’s going on?” Blaine asks meekly.

His father’s lips are tightly closed.

“Blaine,” the headmaster begins, “word of indecent behavior has reached my office and I must say, young man, I’m thoroughly displeased at the tales I’ve been told.”

“May I ask…what it was you heard, sir?” Blaine asks.

“Something along the lines of a sordid, secretive romance with young mister Hummel.”

“I didn’t know relationships within the school were the business of the administrative offices,” Blaine says softly.

“Normally I’d say they weren’t. You’ve been here long enough to know how Dalton Academy works, Blaine. You made a public spectacle of your personal issues, right in the middle of a corridor. Stories of the incident have reached the entire staff, other parents, and even the school board.”

“What?” Blaine asks incredulously.

“Indeed.”

“I don’t – I don’t understand why any of it matters,” Blaine says. “It’s my private life, I can-”

“You cannot, Blaine. This school has an image to uphold, a reputation that is sacred. You’ve defiled that image within a single day.”

“With a teenage romance?” Blaine asks loudly.

“Teenager or not, you’ve acted in a manner unfit to this school and its name. I cannot even begin to count the number of phone calls I have received from outraged parents, claiming that I am not upholding our disciplinary rules and that I do not have their children’s best interests at heart.”

“Maybe you don’t,” Blaine snaps.

“Watch your tone, boy,” Blaine’s father says lowly.

Blaine fumes silently.

“Whatever your opinions may be on the matter, I cannot sit idle by and watch my school’s reputation go to shame. You, just as well as any other child in this school, know the types of families we cater to.”

Blaine avoids the headmaster’s eyes. Yes, he knows very well. Everyone’s families are wealthy. Everyone’s families are big names. Everyone’s families have status.

“To cause such an incident, especially publically, especially as a homosexual, is to not only besmirch the name of Dalton Academy, but also the parents who pay for the tuition.”

“My private life should have no bearing on such things,” Blaine says as calmly as possible. “Neither should my sexual orientation.”

“Perhaps it shouldn’t. But it does. As such, I’m afraid I cannot allow you to return to Dalton next fall.”

“Wh-what?”

“Your place as a student has been revoked.”

“By whom, might I ask?” Blaine asks angrily.

“Myself. The administration. The school board. Everyone.”

“What about,” Blaine clenches his jaw, almost unwilling to ask the question, “what about Kurt?”

“Mr. Hummel’s father met with me yesterday. He was displeased with the way I ran the academy and, in turn, pulled his son from the list of returning students.”

Oh god. Blaine’s stomach tightens and he feels like he’s going to vomit. This shouldn’t be happening. Why is this happening? They were just – they’re just two teenage boys that screwed up. They just made a mistake. It was one mistake. Nothing like this was supposed to happen.

“Congratulations, Blaine,” his father says, hate swirling in his eyes. “You have officially destroyed this family.”

Blaine’s insides clench to a painful degree and he seethes silently, rage creeping into his muscles and veins. He turns his head slowly toward his father and speaks perfectly clearly.

“Fuck you, dad.”

“Blaine, do not-”

“Get up,” his father says loudly. “We’re leaving.”

“Fine,” Blaine says in a growl, almost tipping his chair over as he stands.

He storms out of the headmaster’s office and out of the building, his father hot on his heels. Once they reach the car, Blaine’s father grips his shoulders painfully and wrenches him around, lowering his eyes to Blaine’s level.

“How dare you-”

“Get out of my face!” Blaine yells, prying his father’s hands off his shoulders and walking past his father’s car.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

“To my car!”

“You had better be home in the next half hour, boy!”

Blaine doesn’t turn around at his father’s words. Instead, he takes quick, measured steps back to the student parking lot by the dormitory as angry tears begin to leak from his eyes.

What had they done?

Twenty minutes later, Blaine walks into his house and races up to his room. He hears his father yelling so he slams the door behind him. He tugs his phone out of his pocket and dials Kurt’s number immediately.

As soon as Kurt answers, he attempts to describe what had happened, but his father throws open his bedroom door and begins shouting.

“What?” he asks sharply.

“Get downstairs!”

“No!” Blaine shouts back.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m talking to-”

“Your little boyfriend?”

“Yes, I’m talking to him!”

“Get off the god damn phone and get downstairs!”

“No, I won’t-”

“Give me the phone.”

“Oh my god, leave me alo-”

“Give it to me!” his father yells, attempting to grab the phone out of Blaine’s hand.

Father and son grapple for Blaine’s cell phone. Blaine keeps tight hold of the device, his father’s fingernails digging into the skin of his wrists. He sees the screen and realizes that Kurt can hear everything but just before he ends the call, his father shoves him and Blaine’s knee collides with the corner of his desk. Blaine screams and ends the call, dropping the phone on the floor and kicking it under the desk, out of his father’s reach.

“Get downstairs right this moment,” his father hisses between clenched teeth.

Rubbing his sore knee, Blaine glares at his father. “I’ll be down in a minute,” he says, giving in because for the first time in his life, he’s scared of his father’s fists.

His father storms out of the room and as soon as Blaine hears his footsteps on the stairs, Blaine snatches his phone and sends a quick text message to Kurt. He sets the phone on his desk and begins to rub at his sore knee, predicting a dark bruise. After taking a few seconds to steel himself for whatever may come, Blaine walks out of his room, down the stairs, and into the living room.

His mother sits primly on the arm of the sofa, a glass of wine in her hand. Blaine has no doubt that it’s the last of the bottle. She’s probably been drinking for hours now, as she often does in the middle of the day.

“Are you happy?” his father asks darkly from his spot by the fireplace mantle. “Are you happy that you’ve ruined us?”

“I haven’t ruined anything,” Blaine returns evenly.

“Everyone knows,” his father states. “Everyone. I’ve been ignoring phone calls since last night.”

“What does my relationship status have to do with this family? I’m a fucking teenager!”

“Watch your mouth, Blaine,” his mother chides flatly, looking at the wine in her glass, swirling the deep red liquid with a tilt of her wrist.

“Teenagers make mistakes all the time,” Blaine says.

“Not in this family,” his father says. “Not in my house.”

“You call this a family?” Blaine asks. “You’re never home and when you are, you never have anything nice to say to me! I make perfect grades, I’m top of my class, I never get into trouble.”

“Until it comes to keeping your dick in your pants,” his father bites.

“It’s none of your business! And besides, you’re a hypocrite! God only knows how many secretaries you’re sleeping with!”

His mother doesn’t even look up from the rim of her wine glass.

And Blaine knows it’s because she already knew of his father’s extra-marital activities.

“I’m an adult and my life is nothing you should be speaking of,” his father snarls.

“Well don’t get into mine, then!”

“You’re my son!”

“Am I?” Blaine wonders. “Am I your son? Because it doesn’t seem like I’m anything to you. Because it seems like you’d rather I were dead than gay.”

“Maybe I wish you were,” his father says.

Blaine stares back, unblinking, eyes brimming with tears. He had always known that his sexuality never sat well with his father. But he honestly never expected his father to wish he never existed.

“Fine,” Blaine whispers, breath hot on his lips, ready for whatever his parents have to say next.

“You’re going to live with your Uncle Samuel,” his father informs him. “He’s already been made aware of the situation. You have ten minutes to get out of my house. I never want to see your face again.”

With that, his father leaves the room, leaving Blaine and his mother behind. Blaine stares at the empty space his father had just vacated. He catches sight of the most recent family photo on the mantle and wonders what his mother will do with all the pictures of him. He’s imagining the picture without him when his mother finally speaks.

“I never expected you to be such a disappointment.”

She stands.

She leaves.

Blaine’s chest tightens and his knees give out. He falls to the ground.

But he doesn’t cry.

Because his Uncle Samuel lives on the outskirts of Lima, Ohio.