A/N: As the biggest geek of all time, I felt obliged to write this. For all the bandgeeks out there...

Rated M for future chapters.

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee or any of the associated characters.

Blaine self-consciously fiddled with the hem of his grey plaid sweater vest as he stumbled through the crowded halls of McKinley. He had moved house and schools just a week ago and he was still yet to find his place. He found himself completely invisible, but that might be preferable to the 'slushies' he saw some of the unpopular kids receive.

He felt infinitely lost without even a group of friends to sit with at lunch. He spent his breaks in the library pouring over musical theorem textbooks (for a school that claimed to not support the Arts, they were more than sufficiently equipped). Although the books were great, he yearned for something more.

He just wanted a friend.

As the final bell rang, Blaine staggered out of the class into the sea of students that were crowding the hallways. He felt himself being pushed everyway he turned. He sighed to himself. This part he was still not used to. The hallowed halls of his old school had been so civilised, in complete contrast to the rowdiness of the McKinley students. Realising he had no chance of getting to his locker in this, he ducked into an offside hallway, hoping to find a short (or even long) cut.

Checking his clothes for aftermath damage, he continued down the new hall, a thankfully near empty one that he hadn't found himself in before. He found himself looking into classrooms as he passed, all of them seemingly abandoned. He wondered why they didn't use them anymore…

He trekked on, looking for a new path, pausing as he heard a familiar melody floating down the hall.

Somebody was playing music.

And not just somebody. A lot of somebodies.

He hurried his pace, following his ears as the music played on. It was a pretty tune, one that he had heard many a time before from his mother who was a musician herself. He found himself humming along until he found the class and put his hesitant hand on the doorknob, pressing his ear to the door to get a better sound.

He smiled and resisted the urge to clap when the song ended. He was about to knock when he heard a voice behind him.

"Like what you hear?"

He turned at the sound and looked up at the smiling face of Mr Schuester, his curly haired Spanish teacher. Blaine blushed at being caught out and down casted his eyes, nodding.

"This is the school concert band," Mr Schuester explained. "It's small and Figgins unfortunately doesn't give us much support so we're struggling a little bit… but we've got some talented students in there."

I bet, Blaine thought, thinking back to just how good the song had sounded. They were amazing.

"Do you play?" Mr Schuester asked him kindly. Blaine gave a sort of one armed shrug.

"A bit of piano," he offered.

Mr Schuester's smile broadened. "Excellent!" he exclaimed excitedly. "Our pianist just left the school actually and we're in need of replacement. Would you be interested in joining?"

Blaine's eyes widened as he considered the offer. He had played piano for years (his mother had taught him when he was just a little boy) and he had been longing for a clique…

This was perfect.

"I'd love to," Blaine agreed delightedly. Mr Schuester clapped Blaine's shoulder.

"Excellent," he enthused, pushing forward into the music room. "Blaine," he continued as the band instantly turned at the sound of the opening door, all staring him down curiously. "Welcome to New Directions."

The faces of the other band members blinked back at him blankly. He lifted a hand meekly, his eyes wide and nervous as he addressed them.

"Hi."

Before anyone could even respond, a short brunette put down her saxophone and marched up to him and extended her hand primly.

"Hello Blaine Anderson," she greeted him pompously. "I'm Rachel Berry, the first tenor saxophonist. As Band Captain, I believe it is my duty to welcome you to the New Directions with the upmost pleasure and enthusiasm. What do you play?"

Blaine raised his eyebrow, slightly taken aback at her pretentiousness, but glad at her welcomeness nonetheless.

"How do you know my name?" he couldn't help but ask. Because he was pretty sure he had never seen her before…

"She knows everybody," a dark skinned girl with a tenor saxophone strapped around her neck, quipped dryly with an eye roll. "It gets creepy after a while."

Rachel looked slightly affronted at her words and turned back to Blaine with a haughty look.

"Blaine, this is Mercedes Jones," she said long-sufferingly, suddenly taking on the duty of introductions. "She is the second tenor saxophonist."

Mercedes clucked her tongue and looked about ready to hit the girl, steadying her grip on her sheet music instead. Blaine wondered briefly why the girls didn't get along before Rachel continued her fast talking's.

"You never answered my question," she accused, folding her arms. Before Blaine could even ask, she answered. "What instrument do you play?"

"Piano," Blaine answered, avoiding her bright brown gaze and glancing around the classroom, looking for said instrument.

Mr Schuester put a hand on his arm. "We have a keyboard in the cupboard," he explained. His gaze flickered over his students before settling on an alarmingly tall boy sitting at the drum kit. "Finn will help you find it."

The boy got up with a friendly smile and led Blaine out of the class, the sounds of the ensemble running through the number again echoing down the hallway.

"So," Finn said conversationally, "how do you like McKinley so far?"

Blaine bit his lip. He had been asked this question an awful lot in the past couple of days and he had lied every time. But to be honest, he was sick of it.

"Truthfully?" Blaine ventured carefully. "This school sucks."

Finn let out a loud laugh and clapped him on the back. "I think I'm going to like you, kid."

Blaine furrowed his brow. "Do you call everyone smaller than you 'kid'? Because that must be a lot of people Frankenteen."

Finn continued to chortle as they located the supply closet. "Yeah," he decided, "you'll fit in at McKinley just fine…"

And for some reason, those words made him feel better than he had since being at the school.

It was a team effort, but they finally managed to bring the piano back into the class and set it all up just fine. Blaine ran his fingers over the keys experimentally, smiling as the sound floated back, surprisingly in tune.

Mr Schuester than handed him the sheet music and they ran through together as a class. Blaine grinned to himself as he played. It had been a while. Back at his old school there was a lot of pressure in regards to academics, as well as his singing, so he hadn't really had a chance to play in a long time.

It was nice.

"Blaine," Mr Schuester said breathlessly when they were done. "That was… brilliant. Did you sight read that?"

Blaine ducked his head as all eyes turned to him. "I-I've heard it before," he answered blushing self consciously, "but no, I've never played it."

"Well keep it up," Mr Schuester enthused. Blaine muttered his thanks as he turned to the next student.

"Hey-hey Blainey."'

Blaine started at the hushed voice. No one (not even his mom) had ever called him 'Blainey'. He looked around to see a blonde girl from behind the percussionist stand whispering to him.

She smiled delightedly as he made eye contact. She shot a quick glance to their teacher who was helping a girl tune her flute before turning back to him.

"Is Mr Schuester your dad?"

Blaine choked on air as Finn and the other percussionist snorted with laughter. Blushing furiously, he turned his gaze back to his teacher who had turned to two students in the second row.

"Kurt, Sam," he was saying, "I don't know which one of you it was, but one of you missed the key change."

"It wasn't me, Mr Schue," the brunette insisted loudly. "I totally played F sharp."

Blaine blinked in shock as he took in the scene before him. His old school had had a band – he had even been in one in primary school. He knew how they operated. Students and teachers arguing over wrong notes wasn't anything unordinary.

But this boy…

He was extraordinary.

His silky pale skin (which Blaine had a really creepy urge to run his fingers across) was flushed with the effort of playing (the admittedly advanced tune, for a high school band, anyway) and his jaw was distinctively defined. His almost elvin shaped face was framed with perfectly coiffed brown hair that flipped into his sparkly eyes…

But his eyes. God.

His inner nerd kicked in and instantly identified his case of sectoral heterochromia, his blue eyes glistening with just a smudge of green. But mutation and all, they were the freaking prettiest eyes Blaine had ever seen. Blaine could feel himself getting lost in them when the blond boy's amused voice broke his stupor.

"Well, it wasn't me," the boy contradicted, leaning back in his chair and spreading his hands easily. "All I played was C sharps right through there…"

"Well," Mr Schuester said warningly, "it must have been one of you…"

"It was definitely Sam," the brunette boy, Kurt, shrugged. "I played it perfect."

"Of course you did," Sam said teasingly. "Mr I-never-miss-key-changes-"

They carried on with their flirty banter for a while before Mr Schuester broke up the conversation, insisting the whole band run through the number once more (without any mistakes this time, he said pointedly to the bickering boys). As Blaine flicked back to the start of the sheet music, he felt his stomach drop as Kurt leaned over to Sam to whisper something in his ear, making him laugh.

His momentary enamour with the boy with the diamond eyes shattered as he watched them interact. He felt an odd longing to know him, to know the secrets behind his musical laugh and the private jokes behind his sunny smile. He wanted to know the enigma that was Kurt, the alto saxophonist…

But how could he, Blaine Anderson, the dorky new kid who wore thick glasses and bow ties and who had more Vivaldi on his Ipod than Lady Gaga, ever measure up to the flirty blonde in the letterman jacket?

His answer came to him as he watched Kurt nudge Sam playfully as the band started up.

He couldn't.