Kurt was sprawled out on Blaine’s bed on his stomach, various pages of Calculus notes spread all around him as he tried to decipher Mrs. Hagenmuller latest torture method. Blaine was spinning himself around the room in bare feet, singing along to the radio as he waited for his boyfriend to finish his homework. Kurt moved furiously from one problem to the next, trying in vain to be done before Blaine’s mother called them to dinner, and he could already smell it wafting up the stairs. Deciding to call it quits, Kurt shut his text book and rolled off the bed. As Kurt righted himself, Blaine took him by the hand and twirled him. Kurt chuckled, stumbled a bit, catching himself on Blaine’s shoulder.  One song morphed into another, slower, older, and Kurt took Blaine by the waist and led him into a smooth waltz. The made tracks all around Blaine’s room, laughing and singing, catching each other’s eye and beaming.

Until a clearing of a throat caused Kurt to drop his hold on Blaine and Blaine to whip around exclaiming, “Babbo!” Blaine faltered for a second before saying, “Babbo, you’re home early.” Blaine’s father replied in smooth Italian, “Chi è che?” Gesturing to Kurt. Blaine slipped easily into Italian alongside his father, “Ho pensato mammina detto che avevamo stasera azienda.” Blaine’s father looked cross, “Sei Mammina ha detto 'Blaine ha un ospite'. Questo non è un ospite! E 'una fata!” Blaine’s eyes narrowed, “Babbo, Questo, è Kurt!” He pointed roughly at Kurt, wrapping an arm around him, “Il suo nome è Kurt! E lui è il mio ragazzo!” Kurt stood there mutely, letting Blaine hash things out with his father. Blaine’s father looked like he was going to bust a blood vessel, “Questo! Questo è quello che stiamo parlando! Te l'ho detto che aveva il suo strofinare frocio modi su di voi!” Blaine started to lunge at his father, But Kurt’s arm cinched tighter around him, holding him back, grounding him, “Babbo! Si può sentire! Io ti sento! " Blaine’s father rolled his eyes, “Chi se ne frega? Non riesco a capire! E Che cosa ha intenzione di fare al riguardo?!” This time Kurt was unable to restrain him, Blaine leaped forward, grabbing his father by his perfectly pressed collar, “Non avete il coraggio. Non ti azzardare a dire un'altra parola di Kurt nuovo Babbo.” Blaine spit the last word but his father seemed unphased, “O che cosa? Tu mi ha colpito? Fallo. Scommetto che ti ha colpito come una di quelle ragazze che non sembrano essere in grado di portare a casa comunque.” Mr. Anderson pushed Blaine and Blaine shoved back, “Ah, sì? Come le puttane di portare a casa quando Mammino è via?!”

Kurt flinched at the last thing Blaine said (unbeknownst to Blaine and his father Kurt understood everything quite well) and stepped forward, knowing before Blaine did that his father was going to attack him. Right as Mr. Anderson’s hand landed across his face Blaine swiped out, landing a fist in father’s gut. “Hey! Hey! Questo è abbastanza! Dacci un taglio!” Kurt shouted, planting a hand on Blaine’s chest, pushing him back, behind Kurt, away from his father. Each of the Anderson men turn to stare at Kurt as if he’s spoken---in well, another language. “Lei parla italiano?” Blaine said, looking incredulous. Just as Mr. Anderson said, “La fata parla italiano?!I”  Kurt rolled his eyes, “Si innamorato io parlo italiano,” and Kurt turned to Mr. Anderson with and gave him an icy glare, “E sì, fate in grado di parlare italiano anche.” Blaine looked at Kurt apologetically, “Kurt amor mio, I’m so---” And then Blaine’s father was cutting across him in a rage, “Cosa? Così si pensa perché si può parlare italiano ad arrivare a dirmi cosa devo fare? Come parlare a mio figlio?!” Blaine moved to defend Kurt but Kurt beat him to it, “Tuo figlio? No. Il mio ragazzo? Sì. Sono in grado, e vi impedisce di parlare con lui in quel modo!”
Mr. Anderson moved to get in Kurt’s face, but much like his son he was short a couple inches, he did the best he could yelling, “È insolente frocio poco! Come ti permette di parlarmi così!” Mr. Anderson shoved Kurt but then Blaine was shoving him back, and Mrs. Anderson was there, screaming at her husband, shoving him out of Blaine’s room shouting, “Go! Go! Basta lasciare! Prendi la tua roba e lasciare!”

There was the thumping sound of the front door slamming and Mrs. Anderson turned to the boys, placing a hand on each of their cheeks, “Stai bene i miei amori?” Blaine nodded and Kurt said, “Si.” She patted them both softly, and said with disgust, “Quell'uomo.” Kurt muttered, “Non posso dire che non sono d'accordo.” She nodded and said, “Well, now that that’s out of the way, we’re going to eat dinner. Kurt, ho fatto lasagne.” Kurt smiled and followed her as Blaine said, “But Mammina, what about Babbo.” Mrs. Anderson stopped and ran a tired hand through her son’s hair, “Aye caro, Dubito che sarà vederlo molto.” Blaine looked confused, “Why?” As Kurt rubbed comforting circles on his back Mrs. Anderson replied, “Tesoro, non c'è posto per questo piu 'qui. Non per qualcuno che si tratta così male. Avrei dovuto lasciato molto tempo fa. Tanto tempo fa, il mio amore.” Blaine nodded solemnly and Mrs. Anderson clapped her hands together, “Now come, it’s time to eat.” Blaine chuckled at her suddenly brightened mood and let Kurt pull him the rest of the way down the stairs.

As they sat down to eat Blaine raised an eyebrow, “So which one of you wants to explain why Mammina isn’t phased by Kurt speaking Italian?” Kurt shrugged and Mrs. Anderson said, “You don’t know everything mio caro.”