Blaine couldn't believe it. His rucksack straps tugged mercilessly at his shoulders; they seemed to be threatening to pull him over backwards. He knew full well why.

That afternoon, his maths teacher had kept Blaine behind after class.

"Blaine," he began slowly. "I need one of your parents to sign this."

And he slid across his desk Blaine's last test, graded with a sharp red D.

Blaine felt his shoulders sag. "Really?"

"Really." The teacher scratched the back of his balding head. "You're not failing, per se – yet. This is just a measure to make sure your parents are aware that your grades are slipping."

Making Blaine's parents aware he was failing would involve a lot more blood, sweat and tears than was implied there. Cooper had never got lower than a B – and that had been at their old school, which was much worse than Dalton.

But there had been nothing that Blaine could do. So he'd taken the paper and started his journey home with it burning a hole in his bag.

It wasn't so much that his parents would care that he was failing; it was that Blaine's father wouldn't be willing to let Blaine "waste his time" with extra-curriculars rather than studying. Blaine had a nagging fear that, especially with his father's freshly renewed hatred for them, he wouldn't be allowed to continue in the Warblers.

He let himself in, snapping the door quietly shut behind him. Although he would most likely be coming home to an empty house, he didn't want to risk attracting either of his parents' attention.

Once in his room, Blaine flopped heavily down on his bed and took a breath. It's fine, he told himself, trying and failing to be assured.

Surprisingly, Blaine rolled over and managed to fall asleep. He awoke to a knock on his bedroom door.

"Blaine? You in there?"

It took a moment for him to recognise his mother's voice and he groaned sufficiently to show he'd heard.

"Dinner downstairs."

"Alright, thanks," Blaine called out, and yawned.

It took a moment for him to shake off his sleepy haze, before he remembered . "Damn," he muttered, stretching his arms half-heartedly. But he rolled out of bed, checked his hair in his reflection in the window, and headed downstairs.

Mr Anderson acknowledged his son with a nod. Blaine returned it. Mrs Anderson, on the other hand, smiled warmly and pulled Blaine sideways for a one-armed hug while serving potatoes with her free hand. "Hey," she beamed. Mrs Anderson was a short woman, with brown, curly hair and Cooper's eyes.

"Hi, mum," Blaine smiled, blinking sleep for his eyes. "How was work?"

Blaine's mother shrugged. "Oh, same old. They were short-staffed in maternity, so I did half my shift there." She sighed. "I'd love to work there full-time; it'd be so rewarding."

Blaine nodded encouragingly, taking his seat at the table. He always listened to how his mother's day had gone – it made him feel as if they were a proper family.

"I can't wait to be there for the birth of your first child, Blaine," Mrs Anderson said offhandedly.

Blaine froze. Had he misheard? His fork, which had been hovering over his plate, clattered down onto the china, splitting the sudden silence.

Glancing at his father, Blaine saw that he'd had a similar reaction, and they were both staring at Mrs Anderson is shock.

She, however, didn't seem to have twigged. "What?" she asked blankly.

Son raised his eyebrows. Father coughed.

Blaine risked another look at his dad. Mr Anderson had begun to stare at his plate with a hatred that he usually only reserved for the most liberal-minded people. Assuming that he would be most determined to avoid the question at all costs, Blaine opened his own mouth to respond. "Mum..."

Mr Anderson looked up sharply and Blaine felt his gaze bore into his temple.

Blaine swallowed, his stomach twisting uncomfortably. "There's no guarantee that I'll be having kids," he finished lamely.

Mrs Anderson laughed lightly. "Oh, I'm sure you will. Everyone says that when they're a teenager."

Mr Anderson didn't say a word, only continued to flick his eyes between the two of them.

Blaine felt his heart fall out his chest onto the floor. His mum had heard his come out, she'd been the first person he'd told... and she'd reacted fine, Blaine remembered. Or had she? She hadn't shouted, or cried, or disowned him. She hadn't shrugged it off as a phase, like his father had. She'd given him a hug, and left. Did that mean she didn't accept him? Had she not properly understood?

"But I probably won't be able to have kids," he added, prompting his mother to say more.

Mrs Anderson immediately set down her cutlery and looked sharply at her son. "Do you have AIDS?"

"What? No!" Blaine would've laughed if he hadn't been so confused. "Mum, I – "

"So you just need to meet the right someone, get married, and settle down."

Blaine took a deep breath. "I agree," he said, forcing a smile. "Then he and I can think about adoption or something, I suppose."

This comment was met with Blaine's father violently throwing down his knife and fork and grabbing Blaine by the scruff of the neck. His wife fled the room, he sobs chasing one another up the stairs.

Left half-standing, Blaine looked up at his father. Silence fell for a moment, before Mr Anderson dropped his son heavily back in his seat. Blaine landed awkwardly and gasped in surprise at the pain. "Fairy," Mr Anderson spat quietly at him.

Blaine stood up, staring at his father defiantly, before he turned on his heel and left, slamming the front door shut behind him.