Everyone said that the first day of school always seemed scarier than it actually was.

Cooper was the worst. He took great pleasure in telling his baby brother the horror stories of his own first day; the teasing and the older kids, the teachers and the orders. By the time it came to pile in the car, Blaine was tugging at his mother's jeans, begging her to keep him home sick.

She chuckled, crouching down and brushing a dark curl off of her son's forehead. His hazel eyes shone up at her, full of worry and fear. She managed to coax him to the school with promises of treats and toys and all the wonders of a later bedtime – now he was an elementary school kid, after all.

Even so, once his mother had kissed him goodbye, the grey building loomed above the five year old as he stood in its morning shadow. Blaine shivered, feeling like an ant, about to be crushed. Seeing his fear, Cooper took his brother's hand in his and squeezed it, letting Blaine know he was there.

But Cooper wasn't there that morning, when school really began. Blaine sat shaking at his desk, his voice squeaking with fear as the teacher called his name first. Cooper had warned him about the register, how it was the check who were good and came to class. As his surname began with A, Blaine nervously waited as the rest of the class answered to their names.

The boy on his table answered just after the E's, so Blaine presumed his surname began with H. (He was very proud to report that he knew the alphabet off by heart.) The boy was taller than him, and had light brown hair that lay straight. His clothes were smart, something Blaine's mother would dress him in to go to a family wedding. Neither himself or Cooper had looked that way; their hair was always messy and unruly, their clothes ruffled or splattered in mud. To Blaine, the boy looked odd.

He also had the bluest eyes Blaine had ever seen.

"You're staring," the boy pointed out, making Blaine jump and blush.

"I like your eyes," he muttered, eyes falling to his lap.

The boy beamed before holding out his hand. "I'm Kurt."

"I'm Blaine," he replied, staring at Kurt's hand before extending his own; he'd never shaken hands before, even though he'd seen his father do it many times. But he was at school now, so maybe that was what school boys did.

"Let's be friends?"

Blaine smiled, relieved as he nodded. "Let's be friends.

When Blaine's mom picked him up from school that afternoon, she was pleased to see a big smile on her youngest son's face as he bounced over to her in the playground.

"Mommy, mommy!"

She crouched just in time for Blaine to fling his arms wide and grasp her coat jacket, hugging her tight. She laughed. "Did you have a good day at school?"

Blaine was nodding feverishly as he let her go. "I made a friend. Mommy, I made a friend! His name is Kurt and he has blue eyes – like you!"

Standing, she smiled and took his small hand in hers. "That's great, Blaine."

As they walked to the car, with every step the boy took, he repeated, "I made a friend… I made a friend…"

She smiled, thinking about how Blaine had never once said those words before. In Chicago, before they'd moved, he'd never made friends – being an August baby, by the time he'd started kindergarden, they'd started packing up the house to move to Ohio. Then, when they'd settled in Lima, Blaine just hadn't bonded with anyone other than his own brother. When she'd asked him about it, Blaine had always shrugged and told her he found the other children boring.

But now… Now he wasn't alone.