[Warning for language and homophobia.

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee or Blaine Anderson. Dylan Blackburn and any other original characters belong to me.]

It wasn't until a few weeks after the coming out fiasco that I finally really understood what it meant for me. At home, my father didn't speak to me, unless it was some command.

"Pass the salt, Blaine."

"Be back by 10."

I was surprised we were still having dinner together at all; you could cut the tension with a butter knife. But I knew my mom was trying to keep things as normal as possible so I sill trudged downstairs every night, siting as far away from my father as I could. It wasn't ideal and I hated the sudden abruptness of the departure of a father figure in my life, but I dealt with it. After all, you can't pick your family, right?

At school, guys who I used to count as friends were suddenly shunning me or outright saying things. I knew that I was a hot topic in the hallways. It was crazy; a little freshman like me, causing seniors to stare. Cameron Walker and his friends were among the worst. Not content with simply ignoring me, they bombarded me with insults and innuendos. One day in science, we were doing some experiment involving cucumbers. They somehow found the need to pretend to be having gay sex with the vegetables, all the while looking over at me with a smirk. I tried to laugh it off as much as possible, but Dylan had to suffer along with me and he didn't cope as well as I. Growing up I had gotten used to hiding my feelings and putting on a smile so this was just like another visit to the country club for me. Dylan was very much the person to wear his heart on his sleeve and all his emotions clear on his face. Every time we were shoved in the hallways, his face crumpled slightly for a moment. He always pulled himself together but I knew how much it was hurting him. When it had just been him as the out gay, he had received the taunts and insults, but to a lesser degree. Whether this was because everyone thought he was an anomaly, one in a million, or that I was somehow protecting him. I wasn't extremely popular but I had just enough status as a rich, straight, smart guy to deter the attention. Now, with both of us together and nobody to protect us, we came to learn how cruel people really could be.

I had always enjoyed playing sports, although I despised basketball (It just wasn't fair to have a sport you could only play if you were tall!) I was actually pretty good at soccer; something about a low centre of gravity or whatever. So, despite all that had been going on over the past three weeks, I was looking forward to the friendly soccer game during P.E. Playing made me concentrate solely on getting a goal or passing at the right time, or not losing control of the ball. I didn't have chance to think about anything else. It was an escape, even if only for a short while.

The match started off perfectly fine, the team all pumping each other up in the locker rooms before we went out. For a surreal three minutes I was treated as one of the guys again. I was mildly irritated when some idiot thought it would be fun to try and push me into the girls changing rooms with the exclamation that "fairies" would fit in better there. I just brushed it off; I had to play well. In midfield, I wasn't especially crucial up front or defending. Just comfortably in the middle, poised to seize any opportunity as it came. The game began with the other team - from a nearby school - largely in possession. They ran rings around us and we spent ten minutes just hopelessly following the ball in the hopes of a lucky touch. I was focused on the game and soon slipped into my leadership mind. I couldn't help it: I had always had an inexplicable need to control if I was part of a group, and soccer was one of those times. All my senses heightened, I spotted an opportunity as the other teams striker stumbled.

"Cam, get it! Pass to Will!" I yelled, jogging down the field. Cameron listened, probably not realising who was shouting, and neatly kicked the ball down towards the net. With a swift pass to Will on the other side, they managed to get in a perfect position to score.

Cameron turned to wave at some of the girls who cheered when he had got the ball as Will dribbled down the pitch. Will passed back to Cameron, who looked around just as the ball came flying towards his crotch. With a loud thwack he crumpled to the ground, cursing and groaning so loudly I could hear it from half way down the pitch.

The referee let out a high pitched screech on his whistle to pause play as he came over to check Cameron out. Seeing my main tormentor writhing on the ground should have filled me with joy, I supposed. But I felt terrible. I knew only too well how much that hurt. I felt sorry for Cameron Walker, something I'd never expected to feel in a million lifetimes. We had all huddled around as soon as he had fell to the ground, wondering what the verdict would be. His tanned face was red with pain, blonde hair tousled and muddy, his whole body scrunched into a tight ball. I could hear him whimpering but didn't get a clear view of his face as the referee pushed past me. He checked Cameron out before deeming him fit to play.

"Take a few minutes then back to play" he instructed, walking back a bit to discuss something with one of the line referees.

"Sorry, dude. I thought you were looking," Will mumbled, looking extremely apologetic. He was a big guy but didn't play football after a middle school shoulder injury, apparently. Still, seeing one of the biggest freshman I knew looking so humble was pretty funny. I quirked a smile just as Cameron looked up at me.

"This is all your fault, fag!" he hissed, spitting on the last word. His face grew as red as an old telephone box as his fury grew. "You set it up, didn't you? You're the one who told me to get the ball!" The rest of the team turned to glare at me, mindlessly accepting his words.

"No, I didn't!" I tried to explain, only to get shot down at his next words.
"Bet you loved seeing me down here on the ground. Bet you have a hard on just watching me," Cameron smirked.

"I don't think so," I retorted, horrified at the very idea. This seemed to irritate him even more and he rose quickly, advancing on me.

"'Course, fag. Your dream come true, isn't it? Surrounded by a bunch of sweaty guys," he added venomously. "Watch out in the locker room boys, Anderson will be checking you out!" he shouted.

A few of the guys from the other team who were just standing around looked over at us. I could feel that my face had gone beet root red with embarrassment.

"Back in play!" the ref yelled, saving me from replying. I simply trailed into position, not able to get the looks of horror on my teammates faces out of my mind. Was I really that repulsive to people? Was I really that repulsive to people simply because I was gay?

We won. Once upon a time I would have been over the moon, ecstatic with the 3-1 win. I'd have been shouting and cheering in the locker room, jumping up on the other guys shoulders, all of us giddy with the success. It wasn't often that we won, and although soccer wasn't as big of a deal as football was, winning was fundamental to your social standing. I'd have probably gone to some party someone was hosting and had a good time. Once upon a time. As things stood, we traipsed back into the locker room, everybody focusing on the ball to the crotch fiasco. I kept my eyes down and quickly crept across to my locker, wordlessly pulling everything out and slipping out of the room unnoticed. I knew exactly what would happen if I stayed and I wasn't going to put up with that.

So I headed to the art rooms. The game had taken up our last lesson and the room would be empty, as it usually was. Ignoring the looks I got from a few stray students as I passed by in my sweaty soccer kit, I made my way to the little oasis of calm. Once inside, I locked the door, closed all the blinds and got changed as quickly as I could. I would have to shower as soon as I got home. With shaking fingers I put my dirty kit into my bag, closing my eyes tightly as I zipped up the bag. For the last time. I couldn't go through that again. I couldn't stand to have these people, these people who used to be my friends, look at me like I was worthless.

Breathing deeply to calm myself, I swung the bag over my shoulder, unlocked the door and strode out of the halls. I kept my head high and my jaw locked as I walked back to the locker rooms, my gaze firmly forward as I passed through to the Coach's office. This wasn't just a P.E lesson: Everyone tried out for the various freshman only sports teams at the start of the year, and whichever one we got on, was the sport we did once a week. It also meant we were officially on a school sports team. It was probably unheard of to quit; everybody craved the social status that came with being on a sports team, even a freshman one. Steeling myself, I knocked on the door, waiting for a few seconds before Coach Callaghan called me inside. The tall former football player turned coach looked up at me from his desk, his face a mixture of surprise and confusion.

"Yes, Anderson?" he questioned, his eyes slipping from my normal clothes to the bag clutched in my hand.

"I-I quit." My voice broke slightly but I managed to come out sounding stronger and more confident than I really was.

"What?" Coach Callaghan now looked even more confused, his eyebrows furrowing together.

"I quit soccer. I quit the team. I'll go do...basketball or something" I continued, my voice trailing to little more than a whisper.

Basketball, really, Blaine?

"You can't quit. It's in the curriculum," he protested.

"I'll figure something out."

"Blaine." He had now begun to chuckle. "Are you guys having a joke? Was it Cameron's idea? Well, you got me! I really thought you were go-"

"I quit, Coach," I interrupted, looking right at him. "I will not be harassed and made fun of here. Soccer's supposed to be fun but it isn't anymore."

"Are you having problems? We can sort something with the faculty, get some detentions?" Coach truly was flummoxed now. I could tell by the way his eyebrows were practically joined and the wrinkles on his forehead were like fissures in rock.

"No. I quit. Sorry." I slowly unclenched my hand and put the bag containing my soccer kit down on his desk before turning and walking out.

"Come to have a look at our asses, Anderson?" Cameron taunted as I walked back through the locker room. He was stood with a bunch of the guys, a towel around his waist and a smirk on his arrogant face.

"Yeah, yours is just the best I've ever seen. Fuck me?" I retorted coldly, sarcasm evident in the lack of emotion in my voice.

I didn't bother turning to see his face; the spluttering and indignant sounds coming from behind me painted a clear enough picture. I simply allowed myself a small smirk as I passed through the doors, allowing them to slam shut behind me with a loud boom. OK, I could deal with this. I had quit soccer. They couldn't torment me in the locker rooms anymore. The next stage was the hallways. I could get through this. I was a survivor. And so I walked out of the school with that little smirk still present on my lips.

"What? Blaine, what did you just say?"

"You heard me," I replied calmly, deeply in contrast with Dylan's gasps of shock.

"N-no! Blanderson..." he chuckled uneasily, trying to make light of the situation.

I looked over the deep mahogany table, my eyes skimming over the half-empty coffee cup and upwards to look at the wide green eyes of my best friend. Dylan stared at me, his mouth moving silently in wordless disbelief. It was rather adorable, watching him try to put his shock into words.

"Just think about it, Dylburn" I smiled, relieved when he smiled slightly at the nickname.

"I-I..Are you crazy?" was all he could manage.

"Most likely" I shrugged, leaning forward to convey the seriousness of my suggestion.

"I'm thinking about it. And I'm thinking no." Dylan looked rather smug at his little pun.

"Seriously, Dyl. I...I need you to forget all your doubts for a second. Just imagine it, OK? Forget about what people say or think. How cool would it be?"

I think my voice got through to him because Dylan finally stopped with the goldfish impressions and thought. I took a sip of my medium drip, carefully watching his face. I liked to think that I knew Dylan pretty well, seeing as he was my best friend and all. But I couldn't quite see what he was thinking.

"Ok." He took a deep breath. "Ask it me again..."

My face cracked into a smile, barely smothering my grin as I spoke.
"Dylan Blackburn, will you go to the Sadie Hawkins' dance with me?"