Chapter Text
Blaine sits on the grass in the Dalton courtyard on a Sunday in May, mindlessly strumming his guitar when he notices the black Mercedes pulling up in front of the dorm hall. He looks up and sees two men getting out of the car – no , he thinks, a man and a boy , probably around his age. Blaine frowns. He hadn’t heard about any new students and while Dalton couldn’t be considered a small school, gossip does usually travel fast here.
The man opens the trunk, reaches inside and emerges with a huge travel case while the boy just looks around with his arms crossed. He’s too far away for Blaine to figure out the look on his face but when their eyes meet inevitably, it’s so intense it makes him gasp quietly. Their eye contact lasts about 2 or 3 seconds longer than it should, only broken when the man yells “Sebastian!” and starts pulling the suitcase towards the building.
The boy rolls his eyes and throws a grin at Blaine who averts his eyes and feels his cheeks heat up. Sebastian , he thinks and glimpses up through his lashes, just in time to see the boy disappear into the building.
Sebastian. What a nice name.
The man comes out again when the afternoon clouds start hiding away the spring sun – sans the boy – gets into the car and drives off. Blaine takes it as his cue to pack up his things as well, pats down his pants and walks back towards his dorm room.
When he enters, Nick is still laying on top of his bed, thumbs fumbling with his Gameboy.
“Hey”, he greets him, an affirmative humming the only indication that his presence was even acknowledged, “Have you been in here all day? It’s been so nice out.”
Nick rolls his eyes. “I’m fine, Mom. I promise I’ll go out and play with the other kids tomorrow”, he mocks.
Blaine grins and shakes his head as he puts his guitar back in its case. “That boy, eyes always locked on a screen”, he sighs dramatically, “what shall I do with you, Nicolas?”
Nick snorts but stays silent otherwise, already back at defeating whatever video game enemy he’s taking down. Blaine turns around and sits down on his own bed. “Hey, have you heard about a new transfer student?”
No answer.
“Hey, I’m talking to you!”, he throws one of his pillows that thuds against Nick’s head and makes him look up with a glare.
“What?”
“Have you heard about a new transfer student?”
“How would I know if there’s a newbie?”, Nick shakes his head and focusses back on the screen, his thumbs hitting the buttons rapidly.
“I think I saw someone move in. Man and a boy with a suitcase but only the man came back out. Around our age – the boy, obviously.”
“Well, if he’s a transfer student, it can’t be good, right? It’s the middle of the semester, we both know what that usually means.”
He does. If someone’s transfer is that urgent that they can’t even stick it out for the rest of the semester, it usually means the situation is unbearable.
Bullying.
Violence.
Maybe something officials call an “incident” .
Blaine knows. He falls back against his bed and exhales.
He himself was a mid-semester-transfer.
The boy didn’t look particularly scared or beaten up, more annoyed, but he was also quite far away. And a cold, aloof exterior is sometimes earned the hard way, so…
He humms and shakes his head, decides to let it rest. They’ll know soon enough. However, before he grabs his philosophy homework, he makes a mental note to stop by Ms. Gringer’s office tomorrow morning before classes. If there really is a new student and if he’s here for the reasons Blaine came, he’s probably in desperate need of a friend.
Just like Blaine was. For him, it was Nick and then Wes and the Warblers as soon as he joined. He would love to repay that kindness by helping someone else get adjusted, take him under his wing and show him the world isn’t that bad.
Even if that started by simply showing him around Dalton and to his classes.
Blaine knocks on Ms. Gringer’s office door at 7:30 sharp, already in his uniform and with his bag over his shoulder.
“Come in!”
He opens the door to reveal the school secretary, grey hair neatly tied into a bun as always, white blouse spotless. When she sees him, the grey eyes behind her thick glasses soften a bit.
“Good morning, Ms. Gringer”, he smiles.
“Mr. Anderson, what can I do for you?”
“I, umm… I have a bit of an unusual request.” His fingers close around the strap of his satchel. “I was out in the courtyard yesterday when I think I saw a new student arrive. Brown hair, tall, around my age?”
Her lips purse into a small frown. “Mr. Anderson, you know I cannot discuss a student’s private matters with you.”
“No, no, of course not!”, he hurries to say, “I just wondered if you’ve already assigned someone to show him around because I would love to volunteer.”