"Get up boy! Everyone's down for breakfast and you know I don't appreciate coming up here just so that you don't have to take the bus!"

Blaine groaned as he slowly woke from his dream. He couldn't really remember what he had dreamt about but from how the sheets where twisted around him it must have been a nightmare. Again.

Outside was more knocking and yelling and he hurried to answer Mrs Figg. "I'm up Mrs Figg. I'll be done in a second. Thank you for waking me. I'm sorry you had to bother." He knew that he mumbled all of that half asleep but Mrs Figg seemed satisfied as she murmured something along the lines of "you better be boy" before stiffly making her way down again.

Blaine finally managed to open his eyes and after finding his glasses on the nightstand, he was also able to see his surroundings.

The sun was already up, as he could see though the windows of this attic room. He looked around, stretching, trying to get the tiredness out of his bones and took in his room, in the light of the morning sun.

An outsider would have described Blaine's room as neat... and even more likely, simple.

There wasn't much in it. A small bed, a desk with a lamp and a wooden chair, a sofa, a shelf and a cupboard.

What an outsider wouldn't see, was what made this place a refuge and place of peace for him. The beautiful cushions on the sofa, he had saved from being thrown away last winter because they were ''last season'' according to his aunt. The sunflower on this desk he had started taking care of after his cousin Cooper had decided that gardening was boring and so were flowers, all the books in the shelf he had read a thousand times and especially the picture of a woman and a man embracing each other lovingly under the head line: Lily and James Anderson. Happily married.

Lily and James Anderson were his parents. Lily and James Anderson had died 9 years ago.

Blaine glanced at the clock. Ten to 8. Darn it! He jumped out of his bed and hurried into his en-suite bathroom. People might think that having his own room with an en-suite bathroom was luxury and he should be grateful for having them but Blaine knew better.

The attic room, just like this bathroom served as a way to keep him of the radar of his aunt and uncle. Out of sight, out of mind.

He sighed. He shouldn't care. He had lived in this house for 9 years now, ever since his parents had died and he was used to it. His uncle, Lily's brother, and his wife had raised him. They had given him food and a place to sleep. They had bought his books for school and glasses when it had become obvious that he needed them. Still, he wasn't wanted. Blaine had known that since he could think. He could tell it from the way that his uncle looked at him disapproving whenever he entered the room and he knew it by the way that his aunt ignored him for as long as possible.

He knew they could be different. They were when it came to his one year older cousin Cooper. His uncle would laugh and pat Cooper on the shoulder if he said something funny and his mother would hug him when he was proud for gaining a good mark at school and also when he was sad for getting a bad one.

They were loving parents. They just didn't love him and Blaine had given up on trying to figure out why or change it.

He just stuck to the life he had been shown: staying to himself, living in their house but outside their family.

Blaine stopped his thoughts. He didn't like to whine. Who cared, so why do?

The boy looked into the mirror. He was met by brown eyes behind thick, round glasses, triangular eyebrows and a face framed by thick dark locks. As he riffled through his hair, a thin scar, formed like a lightning bold, became visible on his forehead. Besides his eyes, his mother's eyes as he knew from the photo, which seemed to be sort of muddy brown but showed to be a dazzling mixture of hazel and green, this scar was the only thing he liked about the way he looked.

His aunt had told him that he got it when his parents had died. They had died in a gas explosion in their house. Both his parents had been ''torn into pieces'' as the article, he had found online had described it, but their one year old son had survived ''magically''.

Blaine couldn't remember much about the accident or his parents, however. He had been a toddler, merely older than a year. All he saw when he thought about what had happened was a bright green light and pain. It must have been the explosion which had hit him... though he couldn't come to terms why he remembered the fire as green...

He glanced at his clock again. Past eight. Quickly he finished his business in the bathroom and grabbed a pair of jeans and a t-shirt from his closet. It wasn't like he didn't care what he wore... he just didn't really like any of his clothes. All he had were the hand-me-down clothes from Cooper and though the bad-boyish look of expensive true religion jeans and t-shirts might work for his cousin, small, thin Blaine felt ridiculous wearing them.

Blaine shoved his books and papers into his backpack and ran down the stairs. He had just reached the bottom as he saw his uncle and cousin heading for the door.

"Wait!" Blaine yelled and his uncle turned looking at him disapproving.

"Do not tell me what to do boy." His uncle shot at him, while his cousin snickered lightly.

"I'm sorry." Blaine mumbled but his uncle simply ignored him, reaching to open the door.

"Well you're late, so either you get in the car now or you have breakfast. You're choice." He shot him a nasty grin.

Blaine stared back and his stomach chose right this moment to indicate that breakfast would be the right choice. Still, he had to pay for the bus ticket himself. Money he really didn't want to waste when he could avoid it.

"I-I'm fine. I'm not hungry." His stomach grumbled again and his uncle's grin got wider.

"If you insist." And his uncle was out the door, his cousin following him, babbling about some project he was doing at school and which would be ''brilliant'' thanks to him. Blaine rolled his eyes when he heard someone calling his name.

"Hold it Blaine." He turned and saw Mrs Figg coming towards him, a paper bag in hand. He looked at her quizzically. "Here. Don't need someone starving in my house and now get lost."

The boy grabbed the bag and gave the old woman a broad smile. "Thank you so much Mrs Figg." He cheered and ran out, hurrying to get into the car before his uncle could leave without him.