"The way to love anything is to realize that it may be lost."
— G.K. Chesterton
Dalton was very much a fairyland.
That's what Kurt found himself thinking, as he was lead through the hallways to his dormitory for the first time; he knew no one, and yet he attracted a plentitude of bright smiles as he passed. The boy who had volunteered to show him around kept spinning around to point out certain classrooms and offer Kurt encouraging grins, and didn't seem at all concerned when Kurt couldn't quite manage to grin back.
"That's the library - you can see the Classics Club is meeting right now. And in there is the Latin room. Our Latin team was recently honored nationally, so they're all quite pleased at the moment. And this way is where you'll be staying!"
Kurt followed him into the dorm. Like all of Dalton, it was clean and functional. Two beds lined the walls, and a half-open doorway hinted at a bathroom. Despite a large window on the opposite wall, not much natural light found its way in. Cautiously, Kurt stepped inside, while his guide stood politely by the door, like a concierge, or a perfectly trained labrador. He wandered to the window and touched the drapes lightly. They had looked soft, but felt rough and strange at the touch.
"Very blue." He smiled, only straining a little. "It's...neat in here. Very nice."
The other boy grinned widely at Kurt's approval. "Glad to hear you like it. You'll definitely enjoy staying here - we're pretty accommodating people. If you need anything, anything at all, just shout it out and someone will lend a hand."
Kurt nodded his appreciation, and after being assured that he was okay with unpacking in solitude, the other boy wandered off. Finally alone, Kurt turned one full circle, absorbing his surroundings. This was certainly new.
His decision to board at Dalton had been extremely last minute - but then, so was his decision to transfer. "It makes no sense to drive me two hours twice each day," he had pointed out to his father, who, after some convincing, had grunted that he was right, and allowed him to sign up for a dormitory. Two suitcases and thirty six hours later, here he was. But for the weekend and vacations, this would be home now.
He sat on the bed, sighing. Dalton may have been a fairyland, but it was still a land of mystery to him, and he was still a tourist. This much he knew: it was a large, old school, with a reputation to match. His window overlooked the sprawling gardens, which were maintained by the mysterious and rarely spotted groundskeeper. The school sat on twenty acres of rather secluded land, most of which was woods or gardens, and all of which was perfectly manicured. Exploring the grounds would be a good way to start his Dalton career, Kurt decided; the school might feel strange now, but he didn't have to make himself a stranger.
Hopping off the bed, he padded out into the hallway and began his trek out of doors. The halls were mostly vacated now. Peering into classrooms as he walked by, Kurt could see rows and rows of boys sitting at attention, apparently listening to their teachers with a level of attentiveness that no one at McKinley could have ever managed. Kurt smiled; they had to be faking it. No high school student could ever be as alert in their classes as the Dalton boys appeared.
Outdoors, the grounds were engulfed in fog. Kurt skipped down the stairs of the main entrance, surprised - it had been gloriously sunny that morning. "Weird," he muttered. But there was more important things to do than wonder at the weather, and at the top of his priorities, at the moment, was exploring. He set off at a trot, stopping only once he came to the edge of the gardens. Or the supposed gardens. Not much was growing. Perhaps that was to be expected (it was very early in the year, after all), but Kurt's heart still sank in disappointment as he looked down at the painfully pruned shrubbery. He had thought that seeing growing things would be reassuring, but this was just depressing - at Dalton, even the plants had to know their exact place.
"Yallo," a voice behind him suddenly grunted. Taken off guard, Kurt tried to spin around, but instead fell, quite inelegantly, on his ass. He stared up, blushing furiously. The voice belonged to a tiny old man with a nose like a small squash, wrinkled beyond recognition, hunched over a knobby cane.
"Um," Kurt answered hesitantly, "hello."
The old man cocked his head. "Yer sitting on th' geraniums," he said, giving his cane a shake.
Kurt looked at the ground. He definitely was not sitting on any geraniums. "Sorry," he said, and pulled himself to his feet.
"I planted those maself, years past. Don't 'preciate the way you boys treat 'em."
"Yeah," Kurt answered, as amicably as he could. "It was an accident. I won't do it again."
"Ye'll have to halp me replant 'em, now," the man said bluntly, glaring at Kurt through thick spectacles.
Kurt shrugged. "All right. I can do that. Have you got any bulbs?"
"Not now," the man said, as if the suggestion was entirely preposterous. "When it's plantin' weather. Then ye'll come plant wit me."
"Uh," said Kurt. He was losing the train of this conversation. "Okay. How'll I know when it's planting weather?"
"I'll send for ye," the man answered. He gave his cane one last waggle, and turned back, walking away into the fog.
It was all Kurt could do to stare back at him. "Okay, then," he said aloud, entirely befuddled.
"All right?" For the second time, Kurt was surprised by a voice behind him, though this time he managed to turn around without falling over. Standing there was Blaine, hands in his pockets.
"Yeah, fine." Kurt gave him a quick smile. "Just, you know. Looking around."
"Well, come back in - you wouldn't want to miss your first ever Dalton Academy dinner. Plus, it's freezing out here."
"Suppose not." They made their way back to school. Despite its stately nature, it looked rather wilted and unimpressive when it was mostly hidden in fog. The grounds would prove themselves to be more interesting, Kurt was sure of it. Before letting Blaine lead him indoors, Kurt cast one last longing look in the direction of the woods; he knew that he had chosen to come here, to this land of structure and restriction, but he couldn't stop himself from gazing back toward the edge of the property, where the woods stopped being neatly kept and became true, wild forest. That was the direction that freedom lay.