Blaine leaned over his algebra textbook in his dorm, his cheek resting on his palm. He ticked his pencil against the book page he was currently focused on, staring endlessly in an effort to memorize the formula he needed to complete the next equation.

"Dr. Harris is a bitch," called a voice from the opposite side of the room. Blaine turned sideways in his chair and smirked at the boy who seemed just as irritated over his math homework as he was.

"This is ludicrous; when am I ever going to need this? I plan on being a choir director after my 20 year minimum broadway spectacular; unless we sing some ridiculous School House Rock nonsense about addition, doing any of this is stupid," the boy sighed, tossing down his pencil in an exasperated—and also exaggerated—fashion, seeing as the pencil ended up dropping to the floor.

"They want us to learn basic skills, Trent. Just in case, for some unknown reason, we're faced with the apocalypse and the only way to survive is to correctly answer the formula for—," he paused a moment to look at his book and slowly read off the answer,"—the quadratic equation or the square root of a circ—"

"X equals the opposite of b—plus or minus the square root of b squared minus four-a-c—all over 2a," Trent cut into Blaine's explanation, singing to the tune of Pop! Goes the Weasel. "I think that was the most useful thing I learned from that crazy woman."

Blaine doubled over laughing, hand grasping the back of his desk chair to ensure he wouldn't topple foreword onto the floor. "Have I told you I loved you today?"

"Only every day, dearest," Trent laughed back as he stood from his desk. "Hey, I'm gonna meet the guys down for dinner. You want us to save you a seat or will you coop yourself up here again and be an antisocial anemone?"

"A what? Trent,that made close to zero sense. Do you even know what an anemone is?"

"Choir director. Irrelevant," Trent answered, pointing to himself with a smirk. "So, food or no?"

Blaine looked back over at the collection of numbered problems he had waiting for him to have completed by tomorrows class. He could toss it aside for now; finish some when he came back; and then the rest during study hour in the morning. No doubt that the rest of the guys were probably on the same set of problems as he was, so it wasn't like he was worried about falling too far behind the others; however, he did kind of want to go to bed at a decent hour. He was starting to get a little restless during his sleep; every now and then he would wake up to Trent tossing a pillow at his head to "chill out with the sleep flailing" and also to "graciously return his pillow as he was forced to part with it."

Trent was a fun guy to room with, but he hadn't been the first. When he moved in his first week, he was eager to learn about the boy that he would be spending the first year of his Dalton Academy school year with. As freshmen, those who lived on campus were assigned to live in adjoined rooms (that is, two 2-person bedrooms adjoined by a bathroom). The administrators hoped that this would give the oncoming freshmen a means of easy socializing and a sense of community. He found himself sharing a room with a rather tall, bleach-blonde boy name Jeff Burke. Jeff was just about done settling in as he was already tacking up posters on his side of the room.

The first thing Blaine noticed about Jeff was his interest in dance, music, and really old animated TV shows. Although he had absolutely no idea what this Aqua Teen Hunger Force was that was so boldly printed on a poster at the head of his bed, he was well aware of the title of the showtune playing from his iPod dock.

"'Hello Dolly!'? Talk about a throwback," Blaine had smiled at him while tossing one of his large duffle bags onto his empty bed. He was informed that his dominant clothing would consist of Dalton related attire and, although street clothes were allowed, the freshmen were informed they would find themselves unconsciously gravitating towards the blazer come November. So, with that in mind, he packed a few pair of jeans and t-shirts, but mostly opted for personal belongings.

"Hey, now, it's a classic," the blonde boy laughed, hoping down from his bed with a thud. Blaine instantly noticed how carefree this boy had seemed, much different than he was used to. For instance, his mother would never had let him stand on his bed; and if for any reason he did, he was to smooth out the comforter and pillows as soon as he left his perch. This boy, on the other hand, showed no interest in tidying his disheveled blankets. Another thing he noticed was the lack of TiMER implanted on his wrist.

"Name's Jeff," he smiled, pointing a finger to Blaine. "And before you ask, yes I enjoy musicals, and yes we will have a problem if you find my interests silly."

Blaine held his hands up in mock submission. "Julie Andrews was a goddess. I do not object to her supremacy. Please, spare me."

Jeff gave him a once over before the corner of his mouth curled into a smile. "I like you, you're going to be fun."

"Hey, Blaine. I got your bookbag," a tired voice called from the hallway. Blaine peeked a head out of the room and found his father looking lost down the hall of numerous doors.

"Over here, dad," he called out, waving a hand to catch his attention. Mr. Anderson turned and rested his eyes on his son, releasing a sigh of relief. "I didn't realize this place was so big," he commented, looking up at the high, sky-light paneled ceilings. A slight grin found its way onto Blaine's face as he watched his father. He never let himself be so curious around his mother; he was always just so stoned faced and feigning boredom just so she would stop trying to get him to participate in conversation. His dad meant well and was never strict enough to be uncomfortable to be around or distant enough to not have a one-on-one conversation with. He just preferred to do things on his own terms, or actually just without the constant nagging of his wife on his heels.

When his father entered is room, he took another glance down the hallway before turning around. He really didn't want to ask as his father seemed so relaxed just looking around the room, but he felt he needed to ask something. "So, is mom in the car, or-"

"Oh, she ran into Madam something or other," he answered quickly, looking over at a black and white poster gracing Jeff's side of the room. "You kids still like the Beatle's these days?"

"They are music, sir," Jeff replied with a smile, flopping down on top of his bed. "Paul had the voice of angels."

"You're wrong, son. Lennon was the one to talk about," Mr. Anderson responded, much to Blaine's surprise. He never discussed much music or pop culture with his father. His taste in music developed from the versatile playlists coming from his father's study. Every day at the same time for two hours when he was young, his father would come home and turn on his music and just listen. Blaine would request to join him with the promise that he would let his father relax and not ask too many questions. Eventually, Blaine began to learn the songs enough to sing along with them; his dad didn't confine him from releasing his voice and instead began to ask Blaine what he wanted to sing along to today. Those days began to decrease as Blaine's mother found a brand new obsession with being a socialite and building a stepford reputation. Soon, blasting music wasn't becoming for a family of their standards and the time Blaine and his father spent together was much shorter than before. It had been years since they had just wasted time together, listening to old and new bands and scores. Maybe the days he went home to visit family, he would bring it up once again.

There was a comfortable quiet between the three men with Mr. Anderson giving a question about Jeff's interests and letting Jeff give a calm answer before looking around to the next poster in silence. The peace didn't last too long as a loud, high pitched voice echoed the hallways.

"Neil? Oh, for heaven's sake, where is my husband," came the words of a rather annoyed Gloria.

Blaine looked over to his father who seemed to not hear his wife, or perhaps didn't really seem too interested in calling out to her. Blaine could bet, however, that the case was most likely his latter theory. So, to prevent any later scornful words his father would have received, Blaine waved his mother down into his room. "Here, mom."

"Oh, goodness gracious, Neil. Marcia Patterson was downstairs and I couldn't very well discuss anything with her since your name is the one they are all familiar with," Gloria sounded, hands on her waist and purse swinging from his wrist. After a moment of silence from her husband, Gloria turned to Blaine with a bright smile. "Oh, sweetheart, I can't believe you're growing up so fast. You have all of your things, toiletries; did your father bring up your bag?"

Blaine gave her a brief nod as she embraced him tightly. "We're going to miss you so much, dear."

The departure wasn't as heavyhearted as it could have been. To put it quite frankly, Blaine was thrilled to be at Dalton and away from that lifeless house. After the third teary hug from his mother, and the assurance that 'yes, mom, I'll be fine', she turned out the door. Neil Anderson stopped on his way out of Blaine's new residence for the next 9 months and placed a firm hand on his shoulder. He didn't speak right away, but when he did he gave his son just an inkling of a smile. "You'll be fine here, son. This place, it'll be good for you. I think you'll like it here."

Blaine nodded and stared up to his father, his once lively eyes bruised with age and sleeplessness. He grabbed his shirt sleeve before he got too far into the hallway—and into his mothers line of vision—and pulled him into a tight hug. His father, obviously surprised by the action, hesitated a moment but all but fell into the tight embrace with his son. "You don't have to be unhappy, you know," Blaine said quietly. Neil paused a moment before pulling away from the hug. He rested his tired gaze onto Blaine, giving a deep sigh and a nod. He knew he didn't, but he would. He always would, because he didn't know what else to do.

And with that, his parents ad left him alone in his dorm with his one of his three new roommates, a new environment, and a new life.