A locker slammed, and a tall teen boy in a red letterman jacket ran his free hand through his short cropped hair. There was a furrow in his brow as he turned away from his locker, a pair of books tucked under his long left arm. He'd been feeling restless ever since his Spanish class. It would have been good if he'd been able to throw paper or spit balls at the new kid, at least, but Blake had chosen to sit too close to Mike for him to risk it. He wanted to get the guys to help him beat the crap out of Blake, but he'd been made to promise not to say anything to anyone. So that meant coming up with a reason for beating him up that didn't have anything to do with Rachel, or she'd never forgive him. He was sure of that at least. No matter how much the little jerk deserved it.

The teenager made his way down the hall, and just as always, the crowd seemed to part for him. He liked it on top – or as close to the top as Glee Club let him be. He liked the way that people looked at him. A couple of beefy teenagers in red matching jackets nodded their heads at him. One had a dweeby freshman struggling in a headlock. The freshman's glasses were crooked and slipping off his nose. The walking teenager forced a crooked smile and nodded his chin in greeting, as if it didn't bother him in the least that it was three on one, and the freshman wouldn't have stood a chance against any of them. Asses.

He turned away in time to catch a glimpse of the freshman kid's glasses slip and clatter to the ground. He heard a crunch and a gasp, followed by three sets of loud laughter. He cringed, but kept on walking. It was better not to think about it. No, it was best to just ignore it all. Up ahead he caught a glimpse of a short brunette and this time, the teen by smiled genuinely, all thoughts of bullies and broken glasses forgotten. "Hey baby," he greeted the girl, his girlfriend, Rachel. He slipped an arm around her shoulders and turned in to kiss her. He had to stoop low, and she pushed up onto her tippy toes, but they were able to press their lips together with minimal fuss.

The girl dropped back down to the ground and the pair continued on towards the their English classroom together. "Hi Finn," she greeted him. Finn frowned. She sounded – different than she usually did. She sounded uptight, but not the normal kind of uptight that had her freaking out over stupid stuff like song choice and costumes, but a different kind of uptight that had her acting – weird. He wanted to know if she was all right, but he didn't know if asking was a good idea. In fact, he was pretty sure that asking was a bad idea, and maybe he should just wait for her to tell him what was wrong. He waited, the dilemma consuming his single waking thought until she finally asked the question he was agonizing over in his mind.

"Are you ok, Finn?" He looked down. Her nose was all wrinkled. He liked it when her nose was wrinkled like that. He smiled. Then he remembered she was talking to him.

"Wha- yeah," he laughed awkwardly. "Course. Why – why wouldn't I be?" His brows furrowed again and he looked at her questioningly. She surveyed him with her brown eyes. He wasn't sure if he liked her brown eyes better than Quinn's blue eyes. He had always thought of himself as someone who went for girls with blue eyes.

"You just seem – preoccupied."

Occupied? "What – like – a port-o-john?"

"What?" She was clearly confused, but then, her features relaxed and she laughed. So did Finn. But he didn't really get it. "I said preoccupied. You know -," she twirled her hand as she searched for the word, "worried."

Understanding washed briefly over his face. "Oh! Right, um – no – not – worried exactly. Just – you seem pretty, you know, proccupied," he responded, hoping he sounded casual saying it.

"Pre-occuppied, Finn. Preoccupied. 'Proccupied' isn't a word," she told him in her rapid, huffy way. Finn felt a slight tinge of color rising in his cheeks, along with a tinge of what felt like anger to him, but that he quickly squashed. He was successfully distracted, though, and it wasn't until they'd made it into the classroom and found their seats that Finn even realized Rachel had totally dodged the question of her pre-occupied…erm…-ness.

The day had started badly for Kurt and it had only gotten worse. The assignment, if one could even call it that, was just another way for this screwed up world to express disapproval for who he was, for what he was. Because he didn't fit in – not with the boys, who he could tell would rather suck lemons than have to work with him, and not with the girls, who, how lucky for them, were born with different body parts that made their high voices and feminine features something to be expected, instead of reviled. And no one, not even Mr. Shue, had any idea how hard it was to even keep on breathing every day that people like Karofsky told him not to.

It was lunch time, but Kurt had no appetite to speak of. In fact, he felt downright nauseous. Tears pricked at his eyes. He could barely stand the idea of company, let alone company that required him to brave the cafeteria alone. It was enough just keeping his chin up, his back straight, his head held high, that fighting his fears when he was already a total mess was just too much to ask of himself. Kurt bypassed the lunch room and headed straight out McKinley's front doors, walking quickly and with no real destination in mind.

I'm not challenged in the least here. The words echoed in Kurt's head, right along with the words he'd wanted to say but couldn't: No one really cares, including you.

Blaine startled at the sound of the front doors exploding open. He looked up quickly from where he sat on the low wall at the front of the school to see a boy who wasn't wearing a letterman jacket. Blaine didn't look long, though. He just spared a brief glance to identify whether the person was an immediate threat before deciding that he wasn't. The curly-haired teen looked down at the red and white cigarette pack in his hands, opened the lid and closed it again. He tried as hard as he could to will the person to keep on going, not to stop and mess with him, obvious thread or not.

He heard the other boy's footsteps grow louder then fade. A minute later when he looked up again cautiously, he saw whoever had exited the school had disappeared from view. Blaine exhaled the breath he'd been holding, and fiddled with the lid of the cigarette box again – opening it, and closing it, with no real interest in touching the five unsmoked cigarettes inside.

At just after 5:00 that afternoon, the front door of the Berry residence banged open and two beaming men stepped through the threshold. They each kicked off their shoes and unwrapped their scarves. LeRoy's eyes scanned the room and settled on Rachel as she stepped into the living room from the kitchen. "Rachel, honey, hi! How was school?" The men entered a little further and Hiram closed the door behind them as the girl crossed the living room and pecked them each on the cheek. "Hi, Dads. It was good! Really good. We have a new assignment in Glee today. I am so excited. It's another boys versus girls competition, you know, like the last time we were getting ready for Sectionals…"

The girl had launched into the explanation of her day, complete with hand gestures. LeRoy smiled knowingly. "That's nice, Rachel, honey," said LeRoy half-distracted as he moved with her into the kitchen to get dinner started. Hiram came over and set a bag of groceries on the counter, then gave LeRoy a kiss on the cheek and Rachel a kiss on the back of the head. The girl had already pulled carrots out of the fridge and started slicing them on the cutting board as she talked, but at the unexpected kiss she stopped, turning her head. "Dad, where are you going?" she asked. He never left the kitchen like this - this was their time. This was the time the three of them would spend time together as Rachel recounted her day.

"I'm going to go check on Blaine, honey, I'll be right back." Her eyes widened with surprise and mild offense.

"But..."

But she was too late. Hiram pushed his way through the door and let it close behind him. She felt LeRoy's hand between her shoulder blades. "Honey, I'm still here. Go ahead with your story."

He rubbed her upper back gently, despite his confusion at her reaction to Hiram leaving, and after a breath or two, Rachel seemed to find herself again and launched back into recounting her day, though with notably less enthusiasm.

There's a thin line
Between the dark side
And the light side.
Baby, tonight

Adam Lambert's raw vocals filled the entire room with sound. Blaine could see the pencil he was tapping to the beat, but couldn't hear the actual taps. He started humming softly.

There's a struggle
Gotta rumble
Try to find it…

The question was a simple one, but Blaine reread the passage anyway, searching for the exact wording the book used because he knew that's what the teacher would be looking for, that's what they always looked for.

But if I had you
That would be the only thing I'd ever need

He found the sentence he was looking for and started copying it down.

But if I had you…

A pressure – a sudden pressure on his shoulder and Blaine shot up from his seat, tearing his earbuds out of his ears. He turned and backed away, his eyes wide, his breathing short. He was ready to defend himself, ready to take on whatever blows were coming his way, but all he met was a shocked Hiram, with wide eyes, a slack jaw, and a hand pressed daintily to his chest.

"Blaine, I'm sorry – I didn't mean to startle you." Hiram reached out a hand and Blaine retreated another step. Hiram lowered his hand. He cleared his throat. "I knocked on the door a few times but I guess you didn't hear me." The older man's eyes wandered to the earbuds that had fallen to the floor. "You shouldn't put the volume so loud – you could damage your hearing."

"What do you want?" asked Blaine. There was clear distrust in his expression, and Hiram noticed Blaine's eyes flicking back and forth between him and the door. His brows furrowed. Blaine was acting like a cornered animal. Ok, so maybe that was a bit of a dramatization, but he clearly disliked when Hiram stood between him and his only escape route.

Hiram wasn't going to leave, but if just sitting a little farther away would make Blaine feel more comfortable, he, for one, could manage that. He cleared his throat with a light cough. "Well," he said, and lifted the desk chair, moving it away from the desk and to the corner farthest from both Blaine and the bedroom door, "I came to see how your first day of school went." Hiram set the chair down in the corner, facing the room, then turned around and sat. He crossed his right leg over his left and set his folded hands on top of his lap. He watched, and saw the Blaine appeared to have physically relaxed. The boy pocketed his hands, then moved towards the bed and sat on the edge of it.

He shrugged. "It was fine."

"Fine," Hiram repeated with a small smile. "I see. Did you find your classes all right? Or were you late to any?" Blaine raised a brow, and Hiram thought he could see the question in his eyes: is this a trick? Hiram continued, nonplussed. "I want to make sure they aren't penalizing you unfairly. It's only your first week, and I got reassurance from Principal Figgins that any minor lateness would be forgiven for the week."

Blaine swallowed. "Oh. Well, I didn't get detention or anything."

Hiram smiled and nodded once, satisfied. He gestured at the desk. "I see you're working on homework. Is it anything I can help with?"

Blaine's eyes seemed locked on Hiram, as if he were studying Hiram like one of his textbooks. "No. I mean, I'm fine. It's just history."

Hiram chucked. "History and English were always my two best subjects," he said wistfully. "Of course, if they come as easy to you as they did for me, I may not be much help with homework after all. I'm totally useless at math or science. Those are LeRoy's subjects. That's why he's the one that pays the bills and balances the checkbook around here." Hiram smirked slightly, but they were interrupted by another voice.

"No," said LeRoy, appearing in the doorway, "it's because if I left you in charge of the debit card, you would shop us into the ground." Hiram rolled his eyes, but couldn't help the smirk on his lips. LeRoy turned to Blaine then. "Blaine, we're making a tofu stirfry downstairs. We've got plenty of tofu but I thought you might like beef or chicken with yours instead. Which would you prefer?"

Hiram let his eyes travel to his son, who seemed, quite honestly, perplexed. "Oh, um. Chicken. I guess." A small smile curved even more deeply into Hiram's lips as LeRoy nodded and headed back to the kitchen. Thought he'd met his other father's question with confusion, Blaine had answered it without suspicion or anger as his first reaction. Yes, that was definitely progress.