Those were the last words Blaine Anderson heard from his father.

So maybe it wasn’t the best idea to drop out of Harvard, blow off two hundred dollars on a camera, and drop all of his plans to move to New York City. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to break away from two parents who had supported him financially for twenty four years, but when Blaine saw those plane tickets, he’d never felt such a pull. He’s never felt compelled to do something as much as he was when he learned that his friends from college where going into the business.

Because, honestly, Blaine was miserable at Harvard. He had the skills to handle his class work with ease, it was like kindergarten to him. But he was bored.He was bored with the people and the classes and the attitude that everyone had. You do this, you get to fulfill your father’s dream and not be shunned from the family. You don’t do this, you’re on your own. He knew it was a horrible thing to do, that so many people would literally Kill to get into the school, and he was just dropping out just before his final year with not so much as a second thought. He also knew the wrath of his father would be vicious, after all the careful planning and more importantly,money, they’d put into Blaine’s private school fast-track-to-ivy-league education, after they’d allowed him to be gay (just not under their roof, of course). How could Blaine just throw all that love away?

Pretty easily, apparently.

He stepped out of the doorway wordlessly, holding a suitcase in one hand and closing the mahogany door quietly with the other. And that was the end of Blaine Warbler Anderson.

~

“You have mega balls, man.”

Blaine let out a light chuckle, the most he could muster as he forced one last bag into the back of his little red mustang. This was a graduation gift he thought as he closed the car door, holding the phone between his ear and his shoulder as he took the half-empty coffee cup from its place on the roof of the car and making his way around the front to slip into the driver’s side, the car coming to life when he pressed the key into the ignition.

“If you say so, Wes. It sure doesn’t feel like it at the moment.” He sighed, realizing just how bad he looked as he caught sight of himself in the rearview mirror. His eyes were still red and swollen from the crying, and the cut on his lip still looked pretty bad, even though it had been two days. The bruises were fading, but they looked uglier now than when they were purple. There wasn’t much he could do about the black eye.

Staying in the hotel was the worst, having time to just sit there and think about what he was giving up.

But Blaine wanted this; he’d chosen it.

“I’ll see you at the airport in ten?” He heard Wes say, sounding a little rushed. He could hear voices in the background, and figured he must be on set.

“Sure. See you then.”

Blaine didn’t remember the flight or getting out of the airport or getting in the Taxi while talking to Wes on the phone, who was apologizing about not being able to show him to the apartment after they'd gotten off the flight. But he did remember the first time he saw broadway, the lights so bright and the people all shuffling in and out of different shows. There were people kissing and pictures being taken, and even people weren’t exactly dancing around and smiling as they hailed a taxi, everyone looked like they belonged there. And once Blaine walked into the little apartment he’d be sharing with Wes and his friend, god what was his name, chad?, well, it didn’t matter so much now that he wasn’t with his family any longer. Maybe this wasn’t home yet, but this was where he belonged, what would become his home in time.

Blaine didn’t see his roommates until the next morning, and even then he only saw Wes, his other roommate,kurt, he had found out, had gone out for a morning audition.

“You look like—“ Wes cut himself off at midsentence, seeing the little glare Blaine shot him. It had been his first night of peaceful sleep in nearly a month since he’d dropped out, but it was all still too new to talk about.

“I know, You don’t have to point it out.” The curly-haired boy mumbled against his cereal bowl.

“Okay, okay, I won’t poke fun. But god, man. You’re hair is like…It’s crazy without all that gel. How does that even happen?”

“Dad’s hair. You should have seen him before he was bald.” Blaine said, ending the conversation short. He didn’t want to talk about how crazy his hair looked when it wasn’t properly styled, he didn’t want to talk about how he looked like he’d gotten in a gang fight. And after what he’d recently been through, He certainly {did not} want to talk about his father, of all people. As far as Blaine was concerned, he didn’t know his father anymore.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to bring it up…” Wes muttered, his voice dropping down into a whisper.

“S’okay.” Blaine mumbled between bites.

The conversation was dropped and the subject changed, Wes going into a very detailed story of every person in the crew and their life story. Blaine didn’t listen so much, only trying to remember names since he’d be directing the cast along with two other directors in a month’s time. It was a crazy idea, sure, but Wes had known Blaine since their high school days at Dalton academy, so when he found out they needed another director, he practically begged Blaine to do it. He’d been in charge of all of their high school productions and musicals, even if they were boring and usually about the founding fathers.

Strange as it was and though they didn’t have much to work with, Blaine was a natural talent. He had the vision and the drive it took, but after the first few productions Blaine became a little too interested, and was suddenly forbidden to take on anything other than schoolwork and Warbler competitions. He hated it, but it was just another part of “the plan”.

Like the plan worked out so well anyway.

Blaine sulked. He sulked on the couch and on his new bed but the mattress is still so stiff to him so he sulked on the carpet and eventually just fell asleep sulking on the living floor watching Boy meets world.

~

“. . . Is that our new roommate?”

Blaine woke up to quiet voices coming from someplace close, probably the kitchen. Somehow, he’d managed to defy gravity and roll from the floor up onto the couch (or someone had woken him up for a few seconds and helped him up) and he was wrapped in blankets, Spongebob’s high-pitched voice blaring {Iiiiiii’m ready!} from the TV. Blaine didn’t recognize the voice of whoever had just spoken, and he figured it was probably one of Wes’ friends. He had mentioned something about having members of the cast over a lot. . .

“Yeah, that’s Blainers. From Dalton, remember?”

“Wait, the one who dropped out of Harvard?”

There was a silence. Why would they bother whispering if they thought he was asleep?

“. . .Poor guy.” The voice was back now, softer. Barely audible. And there was sorrow in it, not pitying sorrow but more. . . sympathetic. “He’s beat up pretty bad. . . he looks homeless.”

“Well, until yesterday, he was. His parents totally cut him off from every—“ Wes stopped, hearing the sound of Blaine’s bare feet padding against the floor as he made his way to his room.

Blaine wanted to go back to sleep, but he just couldn’t. He’d been sleeping for hours, but it felt like years. He wanted nothing more to crawl under his cashmere blankets, maybe have some soup. But none of that was an option right now.

He was starting to drift back into sleep when there was a light knock at the door.

“B-Blaine? Do You mind if I come in?”

“Did you bring food?” Honestly, he didn’t care that it was rude. He was starved and Panda express or Pizza or anything edible should be in front of him.

There was a soft, airy laugh from the other side of the door as he opened slowly, Kurt walking in carefully with a tray that held a carefully prepared plates of Chinese takeout. Kurt had thought it a little silly to put a “BW” in soy sauce next to Blaine’s food, but apparently that was another inside joke the younger boy had yet to learn. Wes explained as he prepared the plate (making sure none of the foods touched) that Blaine’s nickname was Blaine Warbler, so they liked to imitate Dalton’s fascination with putting a logo on everything and put a little “BW” on Blaine’s food whenever they went out. There had even been a time when they wrote it on the inside of all of his clothes. As much as he knew he wasn’t in the mood for jokes, he knew his friend wouldn’t be able to help smiling at the high school pastime.

Blaine turned slowly over to face Kurt, knowing he probably (still) looked like hell. But he didn’t want to be a total asshole, and he really didn’t want Kurt feeling sorry for him. I mean, who does this guy thinks he is saying that Blaine Dapper Warbler Ander—

The first time Blaine saw Kurt, his thoughts stopped.

Even though he was half-asleep and his head was pounding, he could swear he had never seen eyes that blue.

He was pretty sure his breath stopped too, because Kurt cleared his throat a little too obviously, walking over to the bed and sitting on the side as Blaine sat up, running a hand consciously though his hair. Blaine thanked him as he set the tray down on his lap, and as predicted the soy sauce made him smile, which looks so out of place when you have a black eye and a swollen lip.

“Sorry I wasn’t able to meet you this morning. I’m Kurt Hummel.”