Author: Copyrogueleader (me!)

Title: The Soloist
Pairings: Kurt and Blaine (plus background Tina/Mike and on/off Finn/Rachel)
Rating: PG-13 (if a chapter contains any questionable/explicit material that constitutes an R rating, it will be clearly stated at the beginning of that chapter)
Warnings: Future chapters may contain triggers, but specific warnings will be placed at the beginnings of those chapters.
Synopsis: Blaine Anderson has never performed outside the dives and small bars of Morris Park, East Bronx and the comfort of his own home, but he is something of a protege when it comes to the piano. A chance encounter a very influential figure in the world of music, however, suddenly has Blaine performing in a whole new type of venue: the Palladium Center Hall of Music, a venue that, as far as New Yorkers are concerned, is but one pitch-perfect performance from Carnegie Hall. Blaine is intimidated - and with good reason - by some of his fellow musicians, and soon realizes that these young proteges' intra-orchestral relationships are, in many cases, not quite as harmonious as the music they create. There is one young man in particular, though, who captures Blaine's interest. A man who evokes feelings inside Blaine; feelings that Blaine can only express through music. A man who, irrevocably, becomes Blaine's muse.

You can follow me at copyrogueleader . tumblr . com for related posts! I'll gradually be posting audio clips of all the songs our characters will be playing, plus some pictures of locations mentioned in the story. Fun stuff ;)

The Soloist – Chapter I

Vivaldi: The Four Seasons, Op. 8/1, RV 269, "Spring" - 1. Allegro

Blaine Anderson had a feeling that the Palladium Center Hall of Music – while architecturally beautiful in every way – would never be anything other than an intimidating monument of stone and marble. It would certainly never be Renato's. It would certainly never be home.

Nevertheless, it was where life seemed to be leading him. While the romance of being a "starving artist" had never lost intrigue or adventure for Blaine, it had never much pleased his parents.

"I'm not literally starving," he had tried – lightheartedly – to explain to mamma and papa Anderson on multiple occasions. For some reason, they could never wrap their heads around the fact that Blaine – while holding a string of unique jobs and spending most of his time performing for his friends and family at Renato's or for the sundry crowds in every tiny, smoke-and-laughter-filled bar in Morris Park, East Bronx – was happy. Any and all attempts to make his parents see things from his perspective were, naturally, unsuccessful.

This was why Blaine – arms full of binders upon binders of sheet music – was now navigating his way through the typical early-evening pedestrian traffic, slowly but surely making his way to the Palladium.

Keeping a firm grip on his binders with one arm, Blaine clasped the collar of his coat a little tighter around his neck, protecting himself from the chilly, mid-October wind. He scaled the lengthy stone staircase, walked briskly through the row of tall, majestic-looking columns beneath the grand (though currently unlit) marquee, put his back to one of the gold-rimmed revolving doors, and entered the lobby of the concert hall.

The lobby was completely lit, its intricately gilded ceilings, marble columns, burgundy carpets, and vaulting staircases glowing in all their glory. The balconies of the upper levels which led to the mezzanine as well as the first, second, and third tiers, however, remained unlit, giving the whole place a mysterious kind of vibe, all very Phantom-esque, in Blaine's opinion.

"Hey, there he is!"

Emerging from behind a small set of red curtains that separated the lobby from the winding hallways of the inner theatre was the one and only person Blaine had had to pull out the stops for in order to get this job: grand maestro (and a bit of a legend when it came to uncovering new orchestral talent) William Schuester. In fact, as it turned out, hardly any stops needed to be pulled out in order to win him over.

While the entire idea of putting his "free-spirit" life on hold to do something "more musically professional" (as mamma and papa liked to say) held little appeal for Blaine, even he had to admit: the job was a God-send. The William Schuester just happened to sit down for a drink in a little place called Cecily's where Blaine Anderson just happened to be scheduled for a late-night gig. With nothing but a two-hundred-dollar Yamaha, a scratchy old microphone, about nine original songs and five or six covers, Blaine had Will's attention.

It wasn't until they were well into a conversation over drinks (on the maestro, of course) that Blaine's impressively extensive knowledge of classical music even came up. Blaine hadn't had a scrap of formal training, but he had taught himself to read music almost fluently by age seven and was pounding out Mozart, Chopin, Bach, Debussy, and Beethoven by age nine. Now, at twenty-four, his life was pretty much devoted to any and all things piano – a lot of original, Motown-esque, alternative stuff, but nothing had ever snuffed his passion for the classics.

Two auditions was all it took. Two auditions and Blaine had secured himself an eighteen-month contract playing as pianist (as well as, unofficially, organist and harpsichordist) with the Valiance Chamber Orchestra, William Schuester's own, personal contribution to the great city of New York – an orchestra of hand-selected musicians, plucked out of everywhere from the Juilliard School of Music to, evidently, Cecily's Bar & Restaurant in Morris Park.

That's what they love about William Schuester, Blaine thought as the middle-aged man pulled him into a warm embrace, his creativity.

"Good to see you again, bud," the maestro grinned, giving Blaine a very fatherly squeeze on the shoulder.

Blaine, still shaky from the icy wind, huffed out a friendly "You too, sir, you too," before getting a better grip on his binders.

"Ah, please. Call me Will."

Blaine just laughed and gave him a timid smile, and before he could say another word, Will had relieved Blaine of about half of his numerous binders and was steering him in the direction of the auditorium.

"Everyone's just starting to get warmed up, so just jump right in there, make yourself at home, and let me worry about introductions, all right?"

Blaine swallowed nervously. "Yeah, yeah sure. Thank you."

Finally, they entered the theatre. Blaine had only been inside the actual auditorium a couple of times; most of his auditions had taken place in the practice studios backstage. The few times he had seen it, though, it was either too dark or too brief a visit to really let the height, the beauty, the sheer majesty of the place sink in.

Every awning and railing of every box and balcony was intricately gilded with intertwining golden designs, all leading a viewer's eyes up to the impossibly high ceilings that were painted romantically with clouds – heavens, really – and angels, and mythological creatures, and pale pinks, and pastel greens, all surrounding the golden hinge and chain which held a breathtaking chandelier…

Staring up so high for so long started to make him dizzy, so Blaine turned his attention back to following the man in front of him down the red carpeted aisle, towards the stage.

The other forty-two members of the orchestra (Blaine had done his homework) were bustling around the stages, unpacking their instruments, a few flutists and violinists already beginning to warm up. Gaining that "admission" or "membership" into a new group of people was always intimidating; no matter how many times in life a person went through the process. New school, new workplace… it never seemed to get any easier. Following Will up the steps that led to the magnificent stage and taking his seat at the concert grand, though, Blaine couldn't help but feel slightly uncomfortable, watching the other members all talking, gossiping, laughing amongst themselves.

It reminded Blaine of that "discourse community" stuff he'd learned about in his first-year college composition class. Specifically, the James Paul Gee philosophy that there was no "pseudo-membership" or "semi-understanding" of a community; you were either a member, or not. This irritated Blaine. And frightened him, if he was being completely honest with himself.

Will set the rest of Blaine's music on the floor next to the piano bench, gave him another amiable clap on the shoulder, then made his way to the podium and started organizing his own materials.

Blaine set his coat aside, rolled the sleeves of his sweater up just below his elbows (playing for long stretches of time always evoked the need to give his forearms room to breathe), pulled out his Vivaldi and set the numerous sheets on the piano in front of him. One, two, three… five…?

"Hey, your music ran away from you."

"What?"

Blaine turned to see a young man (What a voice…) taking a few steps towards him, a bow and violin in one hand and "The Four Seasons" page four in the other.

"Your music," he smiled, handing the piece of paper back to Blaine, "ran away from you."

"Oh, yeah," Blaine laughed, "I guess it did." He made space for page four between pages three and five, then turned back to the young man who had returned it to him. "Thank you," he said.

"Sure. So, you must be the uh," he laughed softly, "mysterious new pianist."

This time, when Blaine looked at him, he really looked at him. He was tall and lean, but gave off the sense that he was strong, stood his ground. His sleeves were – like Blaine's – rolled to his elbows, and the first couple buttons on his navy blue blouse were undone, the stretch of dark fabric accentuating firm shoulders, strong arms, and soft, fair skin.

He had a kind face; soft features and an unassuming expression. He had light brown hair, light eyes… but of all the things Blaine had taken in about him thus far, the most interesting was, by far, his voice. It was lovely. Gentle, nearly feminine, but lovely.

"I uh," Blaine laughed a little as well, "I guess I am. Although I'd hardly say "mysterious." There's really not that much to me."

"Oh, well, we'll see about that," he said, playfulness bouncing on his words and dancing in his eyes. "My name's Kurt." He extended a hand.

Blaine took it fondly. "Blaine," he said, "Good to meet you."

"You too. Hey, listen," Kurt stepped in a little closer and leaned against the concert grand, as if to make sure none of the other musicians were listening, and continued, "Some of the guys caught wind of your, uh… "unorthodox" musical background…"

"Lack of musical education, you can say it," Blaine nodded, laughing shyly.

Kurt smiled. "Yeah, well. Some of them are uh… they're… kind of…" Kurt sighed, then so pointedly and bluntly stated, "they're snobs," that Blaine had to hold back his laughter.

"I'm serious!" Kurt whispered urgently, fighting back a grin himself.

"Any one person in particular I should be on the lookout for, here?" Blaine asked in a good-natured mimic of Kurt's urgent whisper.

Kurt's eyes widened in what Blaine read as sheer exasperation when he said, "Ohhh yeah. Her name is-"

"Alright everyone, let's bring it in, grab a seat, and we'll get things started."

Kurt gave Blaine a shrug and a humorous "we'll finish this discussion later" look before returning to his seat and propping his violin against his neck, and preparing to tune up.

Will picked up his conductor's baton and indicated to one of the oboists sitting further back (an unusual-looking man, Blaine noticed, sporting a lot of hemp and a full head of dreadlocks) give the pitch, the rest of the orchestra soon following suit. After a few seconds of fine tuning, the distinctive sounds of each and every instrument all melted into one steadily humming note. In Blaine's opinion, there was a certain mesmerizing musicality to the sound of an orchestra tuning itself, all instruments coming together and becoming one. Truly a beautiful sound. He had actually gotten a few chills in that fleeting but breathtaking moment.

"Thank you, Joe," Will called out before setting his baton back onto the conductor's podium, picking up and briefly glancing over a document, then crinkling it up and setting it by his baton. "All right, gang. As you all know, Thanksgiving is just around the corner, which means Christmas is one its way, which means it's almost the New Year, which means…"

Some of the other musicians chuckled amongst themselves and exchanged amused glances as Will continued…

"Come January, we're going to have a whole lot of rehearsing to do to get ready for our annual April Concert. Now, I know when Sunshine left last month, it was major setback." An irritated murmur spread across the orchestra. "However," Will stated, clapping his hands and rubbing them together enthusiastically, "I am pleased to announce that her official replacement for the next eighteen months is finally here to join us – everyone, please give a warm welcome to Mr. Blaine Anderson."

The applause wasn't exactly zealous, but it was polite and encouraging. There was, though, a small faction of young men in the back corner who cheered loudly and boisterously, despite the fact that Blaine had never met them. The biggest ham of them all was a heavily-built, darker-skinned character with a shaved head and a Mohawk that, in Blaine's opinion, looked more like a dead squirrel than a tuft of hair.

There was something about their winning grins that made Blaine sure that their slightly over-the-top welcome cheer was good-natured, and genuinely accepting. He grinned back at them, shoulders shaking as he laughed under his breath.

"All right, all right… that's enough, Noah," Will smirked, indicating the Mohawked man in the back. "Now, today we're going to continue with our newly-arranged rendition of-"

"Mister Schuester."

Will closed his eyes for just a moment, then opened his mouth to recognize the comment when a girl – a tiny little thing with dark brown hair just to her shoulders - stood up (and even so, Blaine still had trouble spotting her from amongst the others). And my gosh, is she loud.

"While my fellow albeit less confrontational and more easily manipulated musicians may be completely content to sit idly by and watch you pluck informally trained and under-qualified musicians out of obscurity and allow them to gain unearned access to our hard work, I am not so willing."

Will sighed and put a hand to his forehead. "Rachel…"

"And," she continued, ignoring Will's attempt to interject, "I think I speak for everyone when I say that the most reasonable decision you can make in this situation is to demote – um, I mean – move Kurt to the position of pianist as he is formally trained and more than capable of taking on such a more mild, less-demanding job."

"Rachel, that's not…"

"And then, instead of," she sighed dramatically, "divvying up the violin solos or whatever it was you planned to do for the April Concert, you can give them to the musician who has had the longest-running and most rigorous form of formal training in this entire orchestra. When you finally decide on a set list, you can send me the music PDFs via email."

Blaine would have sworn that he could hear the nearly imperceptible unraveling of the crinkled-up paper on Will's podium in the silence that followed. And it took Blaine a moment to realize it, but quite a bit of heat had crept up his neck and, most likely, into his face.

"Are you done?" Will asked, eyeing the girl called Rachel with agitation.

She gave a deliberate nod and sat back down.

"I hope you realize, Rachel – and this goes for anyone else in here who feels the same but isn't saying anything – that when you undermine the decisions I make, you undermine me, and you undermine my expertise. Blaine is not good "for an untrained pianist." His skill level is incredible for any pianist."

Blaine could feel the heat continuing to creep up his neck as eyes turned to him. This was definitely not how he had envisioned his first day going.

In another instant, the tiny but fierce girl was back on her feet, and the rest of the orchestra was beginning to murmur in exhaustion as she demanded, "But if Kurt is just as good, then why not make him pianist and give me the solos that are rightfully mine?"

"Rachel, that's enough!"

She fell silent again.

"Kurt is a violinist, Rachel. Yes, he is a spectacular pianist, one of the best I've seen, but he is just as good of a violinist and, more importantly, he wants to play the violin."

For the first time throughout the entire confrontation, Blaine chanced a look at Kurt. He was surprised at what he saw.

He had been expecting frustrated, irritated, some form of being annoyed. But what he saw, was… embarrassment? Maybe a little… disappointment? In who, himself? Why would he be disappointed in himself? He hasn't said a word… I wonder why he doesn't tell her all of this himself… maybe he has already…

"… And in case you've forgotten, Rachel, Kurt is one of five first violinists. You two are at the same level. He earned his position just like you did, and I hardly think it's fair for you to suggest that he doesn't deserve to be where he is. This is why we have yet to assign a concertmaster. It's too close of a call to be fair to either of you. Now get off his back, sit down, and play well your part."

Blaine saw the most fleeting exchange take place between Will and Kurt – briefly, they made eye contact, and Kurt mouthed an imperceptible "thank you." Will responded with a soft look and a small nod.

There was another silence, not quite as long or painful as the last. In a moment, though Rachel (her voice softer this time, and a little defeated) was speaking again.

"Well," she said, "I think that the least Mr. Anderson can do – since he already seems to have won you over, Mister Schuester – is prove his worth to his peers."

Blaine felt as though his heart had fallen into his stomach.

"What are you saying, Rachel?" Will asked.

"Let him audition again. For us. If he's as good as you say he is, one little number shouldn't be hard. And it seems only fair, given that I – as well as a few others here – are Juilliard-trained and have rightfully earned our positions. Why should we not have a say in whether or not he's earned his?"

Another short silent followed in which Will stared, tiredly and hopelessly, at the tiny but fiery violinist named Rachel. He sighed. He closed his eyes, and quietly, he said, "If it will settle this matter once and for all so that we can continue rehearsals with no further interruptions or unnecessary animosity towards our peers," he opened his again and shot a glare in Rachel's direction, "I'm sure Blaine would be more than happy to oblige."

All eyes, it seemed, were suddenly fixed on Blaine, and he felt frozen.

"Either one of your audition pieces will do, Blaine," Will said in a comforting tone. Unfortunately, beneath it Blaine heard Rachel scoff, most likely at the fact that "either one of your audition pieces" clearly indicates that yes, he only had two auditions. "Or, if you have something else in mind, that will be fine. Whatever you're most comfortable with," Will finished.

Blaine swallowed, his mouth suddenly bone-dry. He gave a quick nod then turned back towards the piano keys. He reached onto the floor and retrieved the binder labeled "Mozart," withdrawing a few sheets and replacing "The Four Seasons" on the piano's music stand. He put his fingers to the keys.

Just before he hit the first note, though, he paused. Don't do it, he told himself, Sure it'd make a statement, but it's not worth the risk… oh, fuck it.

He gathered up the sheets, and put them back in his binder.

This'll give them something to talk about.

Without another second's hesitation and without the sheet music, he dove straight into Mozart's eleventh Sonata, hoping to God he could pull it off… by memory.

Comments never go unappreciated! Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed. Next chapter will be posted soon :)