"Blaine, are you sure you don't want me to come inside Dalton with you?" Pam Anderson's voice filled their car, and Blaine shook his head. He hadn't wanted his mother to walk him into his new school like it was the first day of school all over again. He knew that she was worried; that Pam Anderson feared for her son's safety, but Dalton Academy was supposed to be an all-inclusive boy's private school. He wasn't sure he'd come across the same type of bullies he had at his old school, here.

"I'm fine, mom," he said quietly, tone soft. That was the thing about Blaine Anderson. Since getting his ass kicked - quite literally - he had lost all sense of strength in his being. He knew that he needed to have strength, but he was scared. He didn't want to be scared of everything, but what choice did he have? The guys who beat him to a pulp had left their mark on him. He was still in a cast for god's sake.

"Well, if you're sure, dear…," she trailed off, voice skeptical. Blaine took that as his cue to get out of the car. He opened his door, stepping out of the vehicle and trying not to wince when he jostled his ribs. The dicks had fractured two of them.

"Thanks for the ride, mom," he murmured, shutting the door, and looking towards the school. As far as fancy private schools went, it definitely looked the part. He inhaled a fortifying breath and walked up the stairs. He could do this.

XXX

After getting checked into the school and being introduced to his mentor, Wes Montgomery, Blaine didn't really have a clue as to what he was supposed to do. Wes was nice but he was a solid two years older than him and had friends his own age. Blaine didn't want to take him away from them. He knew that Wes had said he didn't mind; that Wes was being everything that a friendly person should be, but it was too much for Blaine. He just wanted to get to the safety of his room.

"Your roommate is Thad," Wes said, walking Blaine to his room. Wes had matched the pace that Blaine had set due to his injuries, and he didn't seem too mad about it. He kept talking. "You're the second transfer here today."

Blaine titled his head.

"Who is the other guy?" Blaine asked quietly, voice hoarse from disuse.

"Sebastian Smythe. He's a transfer from a school in Paris," Wes replied.

"So, he speaks French?" Blaine asked curiously, but Wes shook his head.

"Well, I suppose he may, but he also speaks English. He's originally from the states," he replied.

Blaine swallowed and said nothing. He didn't know what he could say to that statement. It wasn't like he was going to go out of his way to be friends with Sebastian; to be friends with any of these guys. He didn't make friends. Friends had earned him nothing but trouble. With a horrible jolt in his stomach, he thought of his so-called friends the night of the dance. The ones who stood by and did absolutely fucking nothing to help him - no, he wouldn't think about them. They had clearly not thought of him. They didn't care, did they? Not one bit. Wes stopped outside of a door.

"This is your room," he said, tone thoughtful. "But if you don't want to room with Thad, I can look around and see who all else is available."

What did it matter who he roomed with? Blaine wanted his own room and he knew that simply wasn't allowed. Not only did the Dean tell him and his mom that every boarding student roomed together, but Blaine wasn't allowed to be on his own while his injuries healed. For his own good. Whatever the fuck that ment.

Just then, the door across the hall opened and a tall, strikingly handsome guy peered his head out. "Thought I heard you, Wes."

"Sebastian," Wes nodded at him, and Sebastian's eyes traveled to Blaine, taking in the small posture, bruises, and cast. Blaine wished he had done something more to tame his wild curls, but he hadn't, and here he was. He straightened his spine, looking at Sebastian briefly before flickering his eyes elsewhere. As if he couldn't care less about what this guy thought of him. The truth of the matter was he wanted people to lick if not for anything more than the ability to breathe a bit easier here, in Dalton, than he had done in his last school.

His father was a gruff man. Surly and sharp-edges. But he had noticed Blaine spiraling in depression before the dance, and then the dance happened and that was the final straw. RIchard and his mom had gotten him the hell away from public school and placed him in the private school. And he couldn't be more grateful.

"I didn't catch your name," Sebastian said, looking at Blaine curiously. That's because I didn't say it. Feeling that that statement might be a bit too rude, Blaine cleared his throat quietly, pressing his fingers into his diaphragm.

"Blaine Anderson," he mumbled, running his good hand up the back of his neck. He definitely did not want to sit out here and talk to these guys. Yes, Wes had been nothing but nice to him, but he didn't think that meant he was a great contender for a new friend. Like he thought earlier, Blaine didn't make friends. He preferred to operate on his own.

"Sebastian Smythe, but I'm guessing you already knew that," Sebastian replied smoothly.

Blaine resisted the temptation to snort.

He was fifteen-years-old and tired. How had he gotten so tired this early in life? Perhaps Sebastian saw some of that weariness in his eyes; or maybe he was just being polite, but either way, he flashed a grin at Blaine, nodded at Wes, and retreated back into his room. Wes turned to Blaine. "So that's Sebastian. Right across the hall from you and Thad. I don't know much about him except that he's new, like you."

"And from Paris," Blaine added quietly.

"Right," Wes smiled. Then he tapped on Blaine's door and the future began to weave itself before his eyes. Blaine wondered at what was to come.