It was the room Blaine has always been told to avoid for as long as he could remember. Although he was not quite sure if his parents had realized it, but they tended to use the room for rather depressing situations, thus giving it an ominous feel.

The first time Blaine sat down on the couch (he shifted a lot because it was really uncomfortable) was when he was six and was told that Nana had died. The second time was when he turned nine and was informed that he had to transfer to a different elementary school because the town was being "redistricted," which Blaine hadn’t understood at the time. The third time involved Blaine, at eleven, being told that the goldfish he’d won at a nearby carnival died and was flushed down the toilet while he was playing with his neighbors down the street. The fourth was on Blaine's account, sitting his parents down when he was thirteen and telling them that he was gay (probably not the greatest place to tell them, given the history of the room, but he just wanted an official setting and was too busy getting it off his chest).

So when Blaine, now sixteen, was called into the living room after he arrived home from a Warblers practice, he couldn’t help the twinge of anxiety in his lower spine and the freezing of his lungs. His mind was scrambling for a possible reason, running through names of mutual acquaintances that might have died between last night and now and creating possible, awful situations that would involve the use of the living room.

By the time he lowered his satchel to his feet and took a seat on that (still) uncomfortable couch, he was doing his best to keep calm.

His mother had her ankles primly crossed, twirling her thumbs on her pencil-skirt-clad lap (a habit that Nana had and which Blaine found himself doing whenever he daydreamed; his mother used it when she was nervous). His father was sitting on the opposite chair, his forearms resting on his knees as he wrung his hands and stared at the floor. Normally he would be impeccably dressed, not a hair out of place, but Blaine could tell he was a mess from the unbuttoned shirt at his collar, his loosened tie and his right foot, which was tapping like a bad case of restless foot syndrome.

Frankly, Blaine had been rather suspicious of his parents during the past month or so – they'd been staying up until the early hours of the morning, talking in low voices and his father had been staying later at work, rarely arriving home in time for dinner.

Are they getting a divorce? Have they been splitting up their savings and items they own as he practices his solos in his room, not having a care in the world?

He felt a mixture of terror and nausea.

Blaine inhaled slowly, letting the quiet air fill his chest and quell his insides, which wanted to crawl out of his skin because he can't handle his parents acting like this. Exhaling, he attempted a smile. "Hi, Mom, Dad. Is there…a reason why we're sitting in here?"

He felt somewhat stupid for asking this because, duh, of course there's always a reason for sitting in this cursed living room, but it was the right thing to ask as a proper conversation starter.

"Yes, your father and I have some rather…surprising news," his mother answered, re-crossing her ankles and shifting in her seat so her back was even straighter than it had been. Blaine glanced at his father, who was now sitting up with an ankle resting on his knee; it was the epitome of casual ease, but there was something so wrong about it, coming from the man who Blaine had always seen as the most collected person in the world.

"As you're aware, Blaine, my office has been doing a series of cutbacks and reorganizations to stay afloat in this economy," his father started explaining, his voice a soothing calm whenever he talked about his work. "My branch had been fortunate enough to avoid many changes last year, but that is no longer possible."

Oh no. His father had been fired. They no longer have a steady income. And if they don't have a steady income that means –

"My branch and the Lima branch are merging," his father continued, unaware of Blaine's internal panicking. For once, Blaine wished he wasn't as good at hiding it all because he could use a little reassurance.

But at least his father wasn't fired, so there was that.

"Okay…what does that mean for us?" Blaine inquired, unable to force himself to look at either of his parents, feeling like the biggest coward (it wasn’t unfamiliar).

"It means that I am no longer running the branch in Westerville. I'm being…demoted in the merge."

Blaine wondered if it was incredibly insensitive or inappropriate to apologize. It probably was, so he held his tongue.

"Do you…understand what that will entail?" his father asked and Blaine can feel his father's strong gaze on him, forcing him to look up.

Blaine shook his head, truly not understanding until it suddenly hit him: if his father was being demoted, then that must mean all the workers of the Westerville branch would have to move to Lima, which meant –

"We're not…moving…" Blaine started, his brow furrowed, adjusting so he was sitting on the edge of the couch.

"We are."

The silence rang in Blaine's ears. "Oh. Well…i-if we have to then…I suppose we do," he stuttered, unable to think about how attached he really was to this house. Even though he dreaded coming home every now and then, it was still a safe haven for him as much as Dalton was.

Dalton.

"I suppose I'll be boarding at Dalton, then?" Blaine asked. About half his friends already lived there and even though he'd inevitably get homesick, he’d do it if it was the only way he could keep attending Dalton.

"No, honey," his mother answered quietly, her almond-shaped eyes bright with unshed tears.

"Then –"

"We can no longer afford Dalton, Blaine."

Blaine’s eyes widened and his heart slowed to a complete stop, his fingers tingled in a painful manner. He felt woozy, as if he was being dragged under water and he was at that point when he had to break the surface to breathe. If they couldn’t afford Dalton anymore, that meant he’d have to leave and where, exactly, was he supposed to go to school?

He inhaled sharply, needing air to circulate through his system so he could think. "What…what about scholarships? Dalton offers –"

"They don't offer scholarships in the middle of the semester," his father pointed out with a frown on his face.

"I can't just…I can't transfer in the middle of the semester – surely I have savings –"

"No," his parents interrupted sharply. He was surprised by the passion in their immediate rebuttal, which must've shown on his face because his father sighed. "We want to avoid touching your college and life savings. Your future after high school is too important."

"But –"

"This is the last thing we want," his father continued over Blaine, "but it's a lot smarter in a financial sense if we pull you out of Dalton right away and enroll you at McKinley High –"

"Wait, I'm going to McKinley?" He supposed he should've realized it as soon as his parents said that they were moving to Lima, but now it's all he can think about. That school, from what Kurt had told him, seemed absolutely backwards and barbaric; it seemed worse than his old school. After that futile visit to confront Karofsky, Blaine had hoped to never step foot there again.

And now he was supposed to go there everyday? Walk down those halls with his head down to avoid sneers? Take roundabout routes to avoid certain people in between classes? Eat lunch in empty classrooms because no one wanted to sit with a fag?

No. He won’t do that again, he just can't.

His mother stood up and walked over to him, taking the seat beside him. "I know this is difficult, but your father and I have thought long and hard about this is and it's really the…only option, I'm afraid," she said, wrapping an arm around his stiff shoulders.

"I can't…" Blaine started in a whisper, his shoulders hunching in, a bad habit he’d had his freshman year.

"If you think we're unaware of the risks of this, and then you better smarten up," his father snapped, getting to his feet. "I have to call the movers and let them know what time to arrive."

"Wait –"

"You’d better start packing. We have to move out by the end of this week." His father's face softened and he brought a hand to his son's shoulder to squeeze briefly before leaving the room.

His mother got to her feet as well. "We're sorry," she whispered, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor as she followed her husband out of the room.

He knew this was the point where he was supposed to leave; the use of the living room was no longer necessary but he couldn't bring himself to move.

~**~

Everything was packed on autopilot. It was like Blaine had convinced himself that he was packing for a vacation instead of a full-on move to a town two hours away. He knew the psychological reasons for doing it and that in the end he was going to have to come to terms with this new reality. But for now, he liked pretending that he was in a twisted dream and would wake up to his alarm soon.

It was not until he was staring at his ceiling, his phone chiming with a text that can only be from Kurt (he assigned Kurt a specific ring tone so he knew to answer right away; Blaine just didn't know what could happen at that school) when he realized: oh God, he'll be going there also.

He tossed and turned that night, his throat constricted and his stomach clenching with waves of nausea that came and went.

~**~

When he woke up at half past six, he almost forgotten; that amazing time when his limbs and eyelids were heavy, his mind slowly taking in the heater finally being turned on and the almost too hot space between his comforter and the sheets encasing his body taking center focus. But eventually, his second alarm went off ten minutes later and jolted him to reality, which he hated all over again, very much like the fourteen-year-old who used to hide behind wild hair and never looked away from his canvas shoes on tiled hallways.

He exhaled loudly, throwing his comforter off of himself as he concentrated on his white ceiling. Egg-shell white, if he's not mistaken. He remembers his mother collaborating with the painter on which shade of white would be best and they were stuck between egg-shell white and fine China white.

He looked them up once and they were pretty much the same; it was maybe an anecdote worth sharing with Kurt since he's the kind of person who noticed those miniscule things.

Kurt. He should know about this transfer situation really soon, but first –

"Blaine? Are you up?" his mother called from the bottom of the stairway.

"Yeah," he said, his voice rough before he cleared his throat. "Yeah, I'm up," he added, louder before sitting up and beginning his morning routine.

It used to take Blaine over forty minutes to gel down his hair, but now it took about twenty as he expertly combed a mound of gel through his hair. Thankfully, his hair was behaving today (sometimes his hair rebelled and it took close to an hour and half a bottle of hair product to control) because even though he woke up to his alarm, he remembered glancing at his bedside clock and reading 3:28 AM in the dark.

He stared at himself in his bathroom mirror, adjusted his tie and ignored the bags under his eyes. He tried not to think about how at the end of the week, he was going to have to return the blazers and ties and trousers and pull out the jeans and cardigans for everyday use.

He skipped breakfast and drove to school early, the repressed worries and thoughts settling uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach.

~**~

"You know I love you, Blaine, and I admire your face greatly and your voice that could reach heaven –"

"What is it, Jeff?" Blaine interrupted wearily, rubbing his eyes. Usually he would be amused by Jeff's hyperbole, but today Blaine wasn't really in the mood for it.

"You look like shit, dude."

Blaine couldn’t help the strangled chuckle that escaped his throat. "Didn't sleep…at all, really."

Jeff nodded in understanding. "Why do the teachers here always pile on work before Thanksgiving break? It's terrible. Brutal, actually."

"Devastating," Nick chimed in, pushing himself through the small space between Jeff and Blaine.

"You don't even know what we're talking about," Blaine pointed out lightly.

"Sure I do – homework." Blaine shouldn't be shocked at this point – he and most of the Warblers are convinced that Jeff and Nick share a telepathic bond. "I was up until four last night trying to write that dissertation for Mrs. Steinberg."

"…You mean the three page paper on Catcher in the Rye?" Blaine started shaking his head. "I had her last year and that paper wasn't bad, come on, Nick," he laughed. "Just wait until you get to A Tale of Two Cities."

Nick's face crumbled as he hid his face into the crook of Jeff's shoulder.

Blaine only has this week left with these kooky, wonderful people.

Oh.

Tears unwillingly fill his eyes and he had to look toward the murals in order to compose himself. He wished so much that this wasn't his life right now, which is almost laughable, given that yesterday morning he thought his life was pleasant.

"Are you okay?" Nick inquired, forcing Blaine to take a breath and grit his teeth before tacking on a smile.

"Sure. As I told Jeff, I'm just tired."

~**~

Wes tapped on his gavel three times to bring order to the Warblers. "Gentlemen, we have a little over a month until Sectionals and we are allowing possible suggestions for our set list," Wes explains in his authoritative voice, glancing around the room with pursed lips, obviously afraid of what suggestions will come of this.

Seeing his opening, with a shaky hand, Blaine raised his arm.

"Junior Warbler Blaine," Thad gestured with one hand, his lips quirked into a smile.

Blaine got to his feet, his breath rattling in his chest. "Thank you, Council, this…um. It's not actually a suggestion. I have an announcement," he started, not looking at anyone in the face.

"Go on," David added kindly, breaking the tense silence.

Blaine straightened his back out, his eyes flickering to a few of the Warblers' eyes. "I know this will seem rather sudden and believe me, no one is more…shocked and disappointed than I am about this…but," he bit his bottom lip, a habit he’d dropped last year before he said, "I'm afraid that after this week, I will no longer be attending Dalton Academy due to recent fiscal…quandaries." He winced at the word choice, not knowing why the hell he had to break out the SAT vocabulary at the most ridiculous times.

Needless to say, they didn’t take it well.

Objections were made (mostly by Thad) while Blaine calmly explained (a startling contrast to the mass of emotions he was keeping buried under the surface) the situation; that as of Monday morning, he would be attending McKinley High in Lima.

Most of them patted him on the back, said they would miss him (Thad hugged him). He knew the words were supposed to make him feel better, supposed to help in some way.

They didn’t.

They made him feel worse.

He didn’t want to leave Dalton. He was safe here. He was well liked.

It was okay to be himself here.

The rest of the week passed in a similar fashion as he broke the news to his teachers, other classmates and acquaintances. He thought he saw Thad tear up a couple of times during Warbler’s practices, and he nearly cried himself when auditions were held for a lead soloist to replace him.

He hadn’t told Kurt. Telling Kurt they’d soon be in the same school somehow made it all real. He knew Kurt knew something was bothering him, but Kurt himself had seemed a little distant, and hadn’t questioned Blaine about it, for which Blaine was incredibly thankful. Of course, when Blaine showed up at school on Monday, he would probably have some explaining to do.

Friday finally arrived (despite his pleading and pandering to the universe that time stop and he be left where he was) and that’s how everything felt.

Final.

He went to each class one last time. He spoke to his teachers one last time, faking as smile as each one wished him luck. He had one last lunch with Wes and David, and then the time came for his last Warbler’s practice.

It was subdued.

Not even the naming of Wes and Nick as lead soloists for Sectionals in a few weeks perked up the room. The boys couldn’t keep their eyes off Blaine for more than a few moments. Blaine knew he ought to say something as the practice came to an end – give some kind of moving speech – because wasn’t that what a leader did?

So he stood up, clearing his throat.

“I just want to say that it’s been a joy to be here at Dalton, and I’m going to miss you all very much,” he began. “I’m so grateful that you chose me to lead the Warblers in all the songs this year, and I wish I didn’t have to leave.”

Wes stood up, and moved around the table.

“We have a tradition among the Warblers,” he told them, filling in those that might not know. “Once a Warbler, always a Warbler,” Blaine smiled at his friend gratefully. “And there’s only one way to say good-bye,” Wes continued. “In song.”

Slowly, the rest of the group rose, harmonies began, and then David began to sing.

Na, na, na, na,
Na, na, na, na
Hey, hey, hey, good-bye

He sang slowly, the tone melancholy. The rest of the Warblers chimed in, as Blaine gathered his bag (one last time), and as a group they walked him to the door.

Na, na, na, na,
Na, na, na, na
Hey, hey, hey, good-bye

Their voices echoed through the halls of Dalton as boys stopped in their tracks to watch. Blaine kept his eyes on the ground, blinking back tears. He’d save them for the ride home (except he wasn’t going home. He was going to strange house in a strange town).

His parents would be waiting in the parking lot, intent on going to Lima tonight, and beginning their lives in the new house.

Na, na, na, na,
Na, na, na, na
Hey, hey, hey, good-bye

They reached the parking lot, a crowd formed behind them, as one by one the boys hugged Blaine. Wes and David were last.

“I’ll call you as soon as I can.” Blaine promised his friends.

“Anything you need, you let us know.” Wes smiled sadly.

“I will.” Blaine hugged each of them, and then forced his feet to turn. He didn’t want to go, didn’t want to face the world waiting out there for him.

With a sigh, Blaine put one foot in front of the other and arrived at his parents’ car. His father was frowning, checking his wristwatch, his mother examining her manicure.

They had no idea what they were doing to him (whether it was by their choice or not).

Blaine somehow made his hand move, and opened the door, sliding into the backseat. He pulled the door shut, and for a moment it sounded like the clanking of a jail cell door, trapping him forever.

Na, na, na, na,
Na, na, na, na
Hey, hey, hey, good-bye

~**~

His parents were silent nearly the entire drive to Lima. It wasn’t until they reached the outskirts that his mother spoke.

“Blaine, dear, we’re going to stop and get you signed up for school.”

“Now?” Blaine asked, surprised.

“The guidance counselor was very kind and offered to stay late so we could get you registered.”

“Whatever.” Blaine sighed, resting his head against the window as his father pointed the car in the direction of McKinley High School.

~**~

Miss. Pillsbury was very sweet. She was somewhat strange, but very sweet. She immediately greeted his parents, applying hand sanitizer to her hands before shaking theirs, as well as Blaine’s. Once they were all seated, she put more sanitizer on her hands, before picking up her pencil with a napkin and wiping it off thoroughly.

“I understand you’re coming from private school,” she said to Blaine.

“Yes, Ma’am,” Blaine murmured. “I attended Dalton Academy in Westerville.”

“I’m sure you’ll fit in fine here, then,” she replied. “I see most of your credits transferred over, and we can place in similar classes here at McKinley.” Miss Pillsbury checked off a few things on her sheet.

“That’s good,” Blaine’s father replied. “We absolutely refuse to let our circumstances cause Blaine’s education to suffer.” Miss Pillsbury smiled at his father, but Blaine worked at keeping his face a stone mask. It didn’t matter if he himself suffered, as long as he got good grades.

~**~

“Over here is the library,” she gestured, pointing her arm. Blaine nodded, his arms crossed over his chest. They’d left his parents to finish filling out his paperwork with the very flustered secretary (who’d also stayed late to help them out) throwing documents at his parents.

“Did you have any extra-curriculars at Dalton?” Miss Pillsbury wanted to know as they passed the activities board.

“I was the lead soloist for the Warblers, the glee club,” Blaine replied, more out of courtesy than actually wanting to answer.

How he wished was somewhere else – anywhere else.

Miss Pillsbury’s eyes lit up, and she smiled.

“Come with me,” she said, turning down the side hallway and toward the auditorium. “I’m sure they won’t mind if we take a peek.”

“Who?” Blaine asked, as the guidance counselor opened the door and ushered him quietly inside. “Oh.” Blaine nearly gasped out in surprise.

Oh.

The New Directions were in the middle of a performance – the girls wearing tight pants with raincoats and the guys wearing dress shirts and pants with vests. Each of them held an umbrella, that they used as they danced and sang, and holy crap, was that water?

Blaine’s mouth fell open in surprise, and he was unable to tear his eyes away as the guys moved to the front. He picked out Kurt with ease, one of the more fluid dancers, and damn.

“They’re good, aren’t they?” Miss Pillsbury whispered.

“Amazing,” Blaine managed. The Warblers were so screwed. A pang of regret shot through him, and he realized that he was no longer a Warbler, not really, and so it shouldn’t matter who won or lost at Sectionals.

The song came to a close, and everyone on the stage began slapping high fives, and the boys started splashing water at the girls, who shrieked. Mercedes ran and hid behind Kurt as one of the guys advanced on her.

“Don’t you dare, Puckerman!” Kurt shrieked. “If you mess up my hair…”

“You’ll what? Hairspray him to death?” One of the girls asked.

“Emma.” The teacher seemed to take notice of them standing there, and everyone else looked over too.

“Hi, Will.” she greeted. “I’m just showing our new student around. Everyone this –“

“Blaine?” Kurt’s voice pierced through the crowd as everyone turned to look from him to Kurt and then back.

“You two know each other?” The tallest boy of the group spoke up.

“Yes, Finn.” Kurt sounded annoyed. Blaine eyed Finn, whom Kurt had vaguely referred to a few times as the son of his father’s girlfriend. “What are you doing here?” Blaine swallowed hard, really looking at Kurt.

Kurt’s shirt was soaking wet, clinging to his skin when Kurt crossed his arms over his chest and raised an eyebrow in Blaine’s direction.

Blaine was so mesmerized he didn’t even notice when Miss Pillsbury told him she’d be back, or that she and Mr. Schue had gone somewhere.

“Well?” Kurt prompted.

“Hey!” A girl’s voice spoke up loudly, and a short brunette pushed her way through the group to stand next to Kurt. “I know you!”

“What?” Blaine was startled, moving his gaze from Kurt to the girl.

“What are you talking about, Rachel?”

“He’s the lead soloist of the Dalton Academy Warblers! I saw his picture on the Ohio Show Choir chat room,” she shouted again, pointing at him. “He’s a spy!”

“I am not a spy!” Blaine exclaimed, startled the vehemence in her voice. What hurt though - actually physically hurt - was the guarded look that was suddenly in Kurt’s eye. Like he was considering Rachel’s words.

Didn’t Kurt know him better than that? Kurt opened his mouth to say something and then froze, his expression akin to a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming vehicle. No one else seemed to notice, but Blaine saw movement out of the corner of his eye – the same movement that Kurt had seen – Karofsky. Kurt and Blaine’s eyes followed the football player until he disappeared in the darkness.

Karofsky here, in the auditorium, definitely spying on them and getting away with it while Blaine, who was not spying at all, got accused of it.

Oh, the irony.

“I am not a spy!” Blaine repeated himself, as Rachel had begun to drone on and on about it, threatening him with scrambled eggs, while the scary looking guy with the mohawk whom Kurt had called Puckerman cracked his knuckles.

“I go here now,” Blaine said loudly. “Effective Monday.”

“What?” Kurt stared at him for a long moment. “But, Dalton?”

“My dad’s company downsized,” Blaine said. “We couldn’t afford it.”

“Oh, Blaine,” Kurt replied, his voice sympathetic. He moved as if to touch Blaine in some way and seemed to think better of it.

“We’re moving into our new house this weekend, if you want to come by and see it,” Blaine invited him, his tone hopeful. Rachel raised her eyes in surprise.

“Just how well do you two know each other?” she demanded. “Are you dating?” her voice went shrill, and there was murmuring from the other members behind them.

“No!” Kurt hissed. “We’re just friends.”

“Then why were you hiding him, Ladylips?” The Latina girl asked.

“Because, Satan, I didn’t want to have to go through this exact moment we’re having right now,” Kurt snapped. “I went and spied on Warblers a few weeks ago. Blaine and I met and now we’re friends, okay?”

“I’m confused.” A tall blond girl spoke up from the back.

“About what, Brittany?” Kurt sighed.

“Santana said Locker Boy didn’t exist,” Brittany was staring at him, and Blaine glanced at Kurt in his own confusion.

“There’s a picture of you in Kurt’s locker,” Finn mumbled.

“Oh,” Blaine could feel his face turning red, and noticed Kurt’s was too.

“How did you get out?” Brittany was talking to him now.

“Out of where?” Blaine asked.

“Kurt’s locker,” she answered. “Once I got stuck in mine and it took forever,” Brittany paused, and then blinked at him again. “And how did you get so big?”

“I’m really sorry about this,” Kurt mumbled. “I just…put it up so I had a hopeful reminder that life doesn’t always suck.”

“It’s okay, Kurt,” Blaine told him. “It’s sweet.”

An awkward silence fell over the group, and just when Blaine was going to suggest that he leave, a male voice started singing.

“Did you ever know that you’re my hero…?”

Puckerman, possibly the scariest looking guy Blaine had ever seen, was singing "Wing Beneath My Wings". For a moment, Blaine was tempted to pinch himself, especially when the other boys joined in, harmonizing with him.

“Oh, my God.” Kurt hid his face behind his hands. “I don’t know any of these people.” Blaine laughed. “I need to get my clothes out of my locker and then go somewhere very far away from here.”

He led Blaine away from the group, and Blaine was content to let him. At least he would be at the same school as Kurt. He thought maybe he could face anything, as long as Kurt was by his side.

They arrived at Kurt’s locker, and Kurt took the hat he was wearing off and leaned the umbrella up against the wall. He opened his locker, and began finger combing his hair in the mirror hanging up.

Blaine didn’t see that though. His eyes were focused on the picture Kurt had somehow found and hung up, with one word underneath it in cut out letters.

Courage.

Maybe Blaine should take his own advice.

“Nice,” Blaine gestured to it with his head. Kurt’s face flushed again.

“Thanks.” Kurt pulled a bag out of his locker and then shut it. “Why are you really here, Blaine?”

The guarded look was back in Kurt’s eyes, and it took Blaine’s breath away. He didn’t want to Kurt to look at him like that…like he was untrustworthy.

“I told you,” Blaine answered. “My dad’s company downsized. He had to take a less prestigious position with less pay. We couldn’t afford our house or Dalton, so we moved to Lima.”

“Blaine, dear,” Blaine turned his head to see his parents at then end of the hall, his mother looking at him expectantly. His father was frowning, and Blaine knew it was because he was standing here talking to Kurt. He sighed.

“I gotta go.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” Kurt replied softly.

“I’ll see you on Monday,” Blaine promised, backing away. He gave Kurt a little wink and relished Kurt’s surprised yet embarrassed expression, before turning and walking away.

He could feel Kurt’s eyes linger on him long after he was out of sight.