I always wondered, with the way Blaine looked at Kurt the very first time they met, if that really was the first time they had met. What if it wasn't?

Kurt sat on his swing, swaying gently back and forth as the sounds from inside his house continued. His mother's funeral had been today; the day they put her into the ground. The day he finally realised that she was never coming back. He sniffled softly.

He didn't want to go inside. He didn't want a bunch of crummy adults putting their hands all over his perfectly styled hair. He didn't want whispers of "I'm so sorry…" He wanted to be happy again. He wanted to play with someone. Since the only other kid there was seven months old, he had decided to come outside instead. He wanted his mom.

"Can… Can I swing with you?" Kurt looked up, his eyes finding a pair of warm hazel brown eyes staring back at him. The boy looked nervous, like he'd rather be anywhere but here. The hazel eyes looked down at the ground, and Kurt sighed inwardly. He shrugged gently.

The boy sat down on the swing next to Kurt, his feet shuffling back and forth as he slowly started to move back and forth. Kurt took note of the boy's unruly dark brown curls. He wondered for a moment how he could get his hair to do that. Kurt remained silent, wondering why this boy even wanted to be near him. Didn't he know that Kurt's mother was dead? Didn't that make him feel sorry at all? Rage bubbled up in Kurt, and he stood abruptly.

The other boy's head snapped up, watching Kurt warily as Kurt stalked over to the flowerbeds that had been his mother's pride and joy. He stood and followed as Kurt sank to his knees, ripping up one of his mothers' rosebushes.

"Hey!" The other boy knelt down, grabbing the roses from Kurt's hand, gently pulling the twigs from the now evident scratches and cuts the bush had inflicted on Kurt's hands and fingers.

"Don't do that," The other boy whispered, running his hands over Kurt's fingers, trying to soothe the inflamed cuts. Kurt didn't care about the cuts at all. He was just happy he could still feel something.

A familiar prickle began behind his eyes, and he screwed his eyes shut tight, hoping his emotions didn't give him away. He was a boy, for crying out loud! He was supposed to be strong, and never cry! That's what Mr Carleson from tee ball told his son. Even if Kurt's daddy didn't mind that Kurt made him have tea parties and play dress up, he knew other people expected him to be rough and tumble like the rest of the guys.

"Hey, don't cry…" The boy's soft tone made Kurt open his eyes, and he stared back into the most amazing eyes ever. They were honey coloured, with a touch of green and gold mixed in. Kurt had never seen eyes like that before, and wished he could have such cool eyes.

"I'm not crying…" Kurt whispered, his hands shaking. The scratches were actually starting to hurt now. A single tear betrayed his lie, trickling down his cheek, and he looked at the ground, embarrassed.

"It's okay." The other boy whispered, putting his arm around Kurt's shoulders. Kurt could hardly believe that this boy was being so nice to him. Then he remembered why.

"It's not okay. My mom…" Kurt sniffled again. "My m-mom died. We put her in the ground t-today…" Kurt burst into tears, the first time he had really done so since his mother had died. The boy leaned forward, wrapping his solid arms around Kurt's shoulders, holding him tightly while he cried.

"I know. I'm sorry… I wish I could make it all better…" Kurt leaned into the hug, resting his head on the other boys' shoulder as he cried himself hoarse. The boy was patting and rubbing his back, hugging Kurt with all his might.

Kurt gulped softly, sniffling again as he tried to stem the tears from his eyes. He leaned back, sitting on the grass as the other boy watched him warily.

"You okay?" The other boy asked; his eyes full of concern. Kurt wiped his eyes on his sleeve, and then his nose, making a little disgusted sound as he did so. When he looked back at the boy, he was surprised to see a wide grin on the boys' face.

"What?" He asked snappishly, not really in the mood for smiling. The boy just continued to grin.

"You. That noise you made, when you were wiping your nose. It was…. A funny noise." Kurt looked at the other boy, a smile creeping across his face as he realised it really had been a funny noise.

"Well, you know, wiping your nose on your sleeve is kind of disgusting, after all…" Kurt giggled softly, causing the grin on the other boy's face to grow even wider.

"Come on. You should put some anti…antiseptember on those cuts…." Kurt giggled again, watching the other boy try to remember such a hard word. His face screwed up and his nose wrinkled, and his eyes crossed while remembering.

"I think you mean antiseptic," Kurt corrected gently, almost laughing as the boy's face lit up with recognition.

"Yeah! That stuff! It'll make you feel better, I promise! My mom always uses it when I fall and skin my knees. I bet she'd even let you have a Popsicle, once you're all bandaged up!" He jumped to his feet and pulled Kurt up beside him. Dashing into Kurt's house, the boy dragged him past all of his relatives, and his parent's friends, ending up in the kitchen, where Kurt's daddy was talking to a very nice looking lady.

"Mom! Mom, lookit!" The boy held out Kurt's hands, showing off the scratches. Kurt's daddy's eyebrows pulled down, and he grabbed Kurt around the waist, heaving him up on the counter.

"Kurt, what on earth have you been doing?" Burt asked gently, reaching over to turn on the kitchen tap and running Kurt's hands under the cold water.

"He was swinging on the swings in the backyard, and I was swinging too, but then he got real upset, and ran to the bushes, and ripped up a nasty looking bush with a bunch of prickers on it." The boy managed to spill out all in one breath. He took a deep breath and continued. "Then he cried, but only a little bit, and then he laughed, because I told him he made a silly noise when he wiped his nose on his sleeve!" The boy smiled widely, watching Burt tend to Kurt's scratches.

"Miranda, I think I really like your boy," Burt replied softly, running his hand over the curls on the boy's head. "Thank you for bringing him in to get these looked at, son," The boy smiled even wider, and Kurt wasn't sure if the sun was shining or not, because the force of that smile was even brighter than what the sun could do on a cloudless day.

"There, all bandaged up," Burt muttered, gently sliding his son from the counter. "Now, you should go out and play, Kurt. I think Blaine would like that." Blaine stood for a moment, his eyes wandering towards his mother with a small pleading expression. Miranda sighed, and asked Burt if the children could have a Popsicle. Burt chuckled, and brought out a Popsicle for each of the boys. He handed the pink one to Kurt, and the purple one to Blaine. The boy then grabbed Kurt's hand and tugged. Kurt winced, and Blaine was instantly contrite.

"I'm sorry! Did I hurt you? Of course, I hurt you! I'm really, really sorry! Will you still come outside and play with me? Pretty please? With cherries on top?" Kurt couldn't help but smile, and taking Blaine's hand carefully, they made their way outside, Blaine talking a mile a minute and not even focussing on his Popsicle.

"My mommy knows your daddy because your daddy fixed her car. There was something wrong with the alterionator, or something, and he fixed it right up! He was really nice, too. Mommy said it was sweet of him to help her out, even if he wasn't her normal car guy. She broke down on the side of the road, on her way to get me from school. Your dad stopped and checked out the car, then gave her a ride to come get me! Isn't that awesome?"

Blaine finally stopped talking long enough to look at Kurt, who was dumbstruck by the fact that this boy chattered as much as most blue jays did. Blaine's eyebrows shot straight up, a wondering look on his face.

"What? I know I don't have anything on my face; Mom made me wash it twice before we came over, and I haven't had anything to eat since we got here! Well, except this," He held up the purple treat. Blaine's face turned a bit pink, as he watched Kurt's eyes.

"No. You don't have anything on your face, Blaine. I'm just… really happy you're here. I was really sad a while ago, but you've made me feel… well, a bit better, anyway." Kurt turned a bit pink too, his eyes avoiding staring at Blaine, a bit embarrassed that he should want to be happy on such a crummy day. He took a bite of his melting Popsicle.

"I'm glad about that," Blaine replied, reaching out his hand to Kurt. As Kurt settled his hand in Blaine's, he was tugged forward; to sit in the shade of the elm tree in Kurt's backyard.

Together, Blaine and Kurt sat talking about a hundred different things. The afternoon was spent getting to know each other, learning about likes and dislikes, what people they found the most influential in history (Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. for Kurt; Rosa Parks or Albert Einstein for Blaine), what their favourite sports were, and other general topics.

By the time the sun had gone down, they had been sitting under that tree for over five hours, just talking. Now Kurt was leaning half on the tree, and half on Blaine, and he was slowly falling asleep on Blaine's shoulder.

"Blaine, it's time… oh. Burt, that is too sweet, but you really should get him to bed." A female voice intruded on Kurt's drowsing. Kurt registered the sounds, but he was so comfy he didn't really care. He snuggled more into the warmth that was Blaine's shoulder.

He felt himself being lifted by a strong pair of hands, who carried him inside the house in to his bedroom; they tucked him in tight and a gentle pair of lips kissed his forehead.

"Good night, Kurt," Burt whispered softly. "I love you."

When a certain young countertenor caught the attention of the lead singer of the Warblers, a connection that had been lost was reinstated. When Blaine turned to look at Kurt, he was in awe of the beautiful boy standing before him.

But where Kurt believed this to be their first meeting, Blaine remembered otherwise. Because he remembered a small chestnut-haired boy, with the most incredible blue/green/grey eyes that he had ever seen. He remembered holding this boy while he cried. He remembered talking for hours under the shade of a tree while the sun set. He remembered the reason for the tears, knowing that the young boy had just buried his mother.

And in that moment, that one glorious moment of looking up at the boy who had haunted his dreams for years, Blaine knew. He knew this was Kurt; his Kurt. The boy who had needed him so desperately so long ago, needed him again. So he grabbed Kurt's hand, similar to when he had such a long time ago, and pulled him through the halls of Dalton.

They would find their way. Together.

I enjoyed writing this. It's one of the first things I've enjoyed writing in a while. I hope you like it.