Blaine stands front and center, the glistening black piano and the white dry-erase board acting as a dramatic backdrop, contrasting against his red-stripped button down and blue knit vest. He scans the group of teenagers sitting across from him, each occupying a red plastic chair, some even sharing one. He recognizes most of their faces from the performance tapes he diligently studied, and he notes a couple new members. The platinum blond boy with the beautiful, plump lips from yesterday morning and a larger girl with darkly shaded eyelids hidden under thick-rimed glasses, bright red-lips, and hair pulled into a tight bun. There are a few people missing. Kurt, for one; he recognizes this absence instantly. Another boy, he vaguely recalls, and the small girl with the silken hair and loud personality. He shifts from foot to foot, pounding a fist into his palm and waiting for his cue, sensing the heated glare of eleven pairs of eyes.

Mr. Schuester scrawls on the white board behind Blaine something that Blaine assumes must be inconsequential seeing as not a single person even glances at the board or takes any notes. Blaine swings his torso to view the board just as Mr. Schuester turns around and plants a hand on Blaine's shoulder. "We have a new student joining us! Blaine Anderson from Dalton Academy."

Mercedes, Tina, and Artie clap and smile with warm enthusiasm, while the boy with the lips, the giant boy, and the boy with the strange hair all looked at each other with disdain before turning back to Blaine. The rest of the group remains neutral or uninterested, as is the case with one cheerleader who continues to examine her nails as she had been since the start of the meeting. "Wait, Dalton? Isn't that that prison school for the criminally stupid down in Wapakoneta?" Puck speaks up.

Giant teen—Finn—Blaine tries to remember, having studied his notes at length the night prior, punches—Puck? Yes, Puck—Puck in the shoulder, "No, dumbass, that's Dunford Academy. Dalton is Kurt's new school."

"Oh, right. So, are you, like, a spy?" Puck twinkles his fingers at Blaine.

"No, I, um, I transferred here for personal reasons." Blaine catches Mercedes and Tina exchanging a darkened look, but he shakes it off. "I was a Warbler at Dalton, and I could probably supply some good backup to your lead vocalists—"

"Or you could lead," Tina shouts. Finn and Sam snap their heads around. "What, he was the lead Warbler. I bet he's amazing."

"He is amazing," a voice squeaks from the doorway. Blaine whips around to see Rachel Berry. He knew the name off top of his head without even looking for it. The little girl with the giant voice. She had stuck out the most in all the Warbler viewings of the New Directions performances and Blaine can't believe he hadn't recognized her right off the bat the previous morning. "Blaine Anderson, I'm Rachel Berry. Welcome to the New Die-rections," she says enunciating the first syllable as though trying to step around an awkward turn of phrase.

"Rachel, what are you doing," Finn stands, moving forward slightly as Rachel links her arm through Blaine's.

"Finn, calm down. This is Blaine. He's got a fantastic voice and he'll make an excellent addition to our team. Blaine, please show the group what you've got locked up in those gorgeous pipes." Rachel winks at Blaine before sliding out of his arm and skipping to take a seat next to Finn. Finn inches his chair closer to Rachel and slides his arm around her shoulder. Blaine rolls his eyes and notices Rachel do the same.

Blaine turns to the band, smiling inwardly at Rachel's unwarranted support, and nods for the music to start. He takes a moment to thank the high heavens that not only does McKinley apparently have the most skilled jazz band in the nation available on a moments notice, but that Mercedes instructed him to give them his sheet music before first period knowing they would be all tuned up and ready by the start of glee club that afternoon. Blaine spent most of the night practicing in his room, ignoring his parents every time they would pound on his locked door, shouting at him to go to bed or at least turn the music down.

The fast beat of the drums and ragged sound of the saxophones trigger Blaine's happy place and he spins on the spot, making three whole revolutions, before stopping abruptly and launching into a rocketing rendition of Hairspray's "Ladies Choice."

As Blaine sings and dances around the room, Rachel's fists fly to her chin in glee as she bounces in place. Quinn, Brittany, and Lauren, who had up to this point sat quietly and near solemn, join Rachel's chair-dancing. Tina and Mercedes sing along, kicking their feet, while Mike and Artie swing their arms to the beat. Finn and Sam sit back in their chairs, Sam with his mouth slightly agape and Finn with daggers shooting from his eyes.

Blaine utilizes the whole room, something he'd learned to do with the Warblers in their limited choir room space. He refrained from spilling out into the halls, but only because he wasn't sure the rest of the group would follow. He leaps from chair to chair weaving around those still seated, as several in the group, mostly girls, leap up to hand jive and mash potatoes.

He runs down the center of the room to join up with Rachel, her finger wagging at him to dance with her. She sings along with him, looking him right in the eyes, smile a mile wide. Blaine is struck by her openness, her fanciful glisten, and her flirty Bambi lashes. Shit, she better not be trying to flirt with me. His face falls and his eyes lock with Finn's, the behemoth of a boy stewing in his chair as he watches his girlfriend dance with the dapper new kid. "Choice, choice, I'm the ladies choice," Blaine sings out the final line, faltering on the last few notes as he steps back from Rachel and attempts to refocus his energy on the whole group.

As all the applause dies down, Mr. Schuester steps forward to clap Blaine on the back and welcome him to New Directions. Blaine's eyes continue to remain locked on Finn's, as Blaine turns over in his head the idea of transferring back to Dalton, post haste.

Nearly an hour later, Blaine stands quickly and marches for the door, not even bothering to throw his bag over his shoulder, the strap dragging along the ground. He makes it a quarter of the way down the hall to his locker when a voice calls out behind him.

"Hey ladies man!" The voice is brute and mocking, a tone with which Blaine is entirely too familiar.

He slows his pace to a crawl, allowing the heavy footsteps to catch up. There's more than one pair and Blaine turns quickly, planting his feet to the ground, and leaning stiffly against the wall, just as Finn and Puck round on him.

"I think the new kid needs a lesson on how things run around here," Puck says smoothly, nodding his head toward Blaine.

Blaine's eyes fall shut, his palms cling to the painted brick behind him. "Just, avoid my ribs, okay? They're still brittle." Blaine words wobble on his lips, as he sense a sharp at the side of his chest, the ghosting pain of his prior beating.

When no fists connect with his stomach or face, and time seems to languish, Blaine opens and eye to see Finn and Puck's confusedly cocked heads squinting back at him. Blaine chokes back a laugh, as his brain makes the connection between the two boys standing before him and a video of a puppy jerkily perking its ears at a series of new sounds. "Ummm…" he begins.

"Dude, we're not gonna hurt you or anything," Finn steps back from Blaine, his face contorting into regret and terror, as though his father was standing disappointedly over him. Or, at least, that's the look Blaine recognizes from years of catching himself in the mirror after one of his father's "I'm disappointed in you" speeches.

"Wait, what? Why? Aren't you pissed off that your girlfriends were dancing with me?"

"Well, yeah. But we don't pummel people for that."

"Not anymore," Puck corrects, his face drooping as he remembered the good ol' days of tossing kids in dumpsters.

"See, you just need to know how it is around here. Like, Rachel, the one you ogled the whole time, she's my girlfriend."

"Yeah, and the rest are mine." Finn lops his head around and Blaine looks blankly at Puck. "What? It's kinda true. I mean, they've all been mine at some point."

Blaine shakes his head to refocus on Finn. "Don't… you have nothing to worry about with me. I'm promise." He wants to say more, to come clean, be honest, but the truth is he hasn't come out in years. At Dalton, everyone already knew his history, and no one bothered to question him about it. At McKinley, Mercedes could just tell, and there was no keeping it in. But beyond Tina and Artie, Blaine isn't sure who knows what, or worse yet, who even wants to know. He sighs and pushes off from the wall. "You really don't have to worry," he strokes a hand through his curls and picks his bag up from the floor. "Really." He keeps repeating the word, even as he walks away from Finn and Puck. Blaine isn't sure if he's trying to convince Finn that Rachel is safe from him, or if he's trying to convince himself that he's safe from Finn.

Text from Unknown: Great first day then?

Blaine: It wasn't my first day. Wait, who is this?

Unknown: No, your first day in glee!

Unknown: It's Rachel. I got your number from Mercedes. Is that okay?

Blaine: Oh, okay, I guess. Yeah, glee was fun.

Rachel: Good. You ran out so fast we didn't get a chance to talk.

Blaine: Yeah, sorry. I was late for something.

Rachel: Well, I was hoping you might want to get dinner with me. I'd love to pick your brain about some ideas I have for sectionals.

Blaine: Uhhhh, I don't know. I don't think Finn would like that very much.

Rachel: Haha. Don't worry about him. I love him, but he can be stupid sometimes.

Rachel: Come join us!

Blaine: Us?

Rachel: Mercedes, Tina, and Mike are in as well. They are all so curious about the new boy with the dreamy voice and the fantastic hair.

Blaine: Okay, well, I guess I could meet.

Rachel: So, do you know Breadstix?

Blaine: I have GPS. Meet you there in what? 20?

Rachel: I KNEW IT!

Blaine: What?

Rachel: You liar! You didn't have somewhere to be.

Blaine: Okay, you caught me. I was terrified your boyfriend wanted to beat the crap out of me, so I bolted.

Rachel: BRB gonna go kick the crap out of Finn now.

Blaine: Rachel, don't. Please don't mention it to him.

Rachel: I'll see you in 20.

Breadstix was one of the small chain Italian restaurants in Ohio, the kind with mediocre food, particularly the breadsticks, but a constant cliental. The business did an excellent job of creating a homey, small town vibe, even underneath all the corporate shininess. Blaine and the Warblers frequented the Westerville Breadstix, and the manager always made a point to come out and beg them to perform on open-mic night. Blaine wanted to hope up on the stage and give the Westerville patrons something to get excited about, seeing as the population of Westerville seemed to have a perpetual stick up their collective ass, but Wes would have gaveled him to death first.

Blaine settles his gearshift into park and takes in the unassuming strip shopping center. Breadstix sits nestled between a hardware store and a bakery, with a discount grocery across the lot. Blaine slides out of the car, snatching his bag from the front seat and throwing the strap around his neck, taking a deep breath and shivering against the chill of the late afternoon air. He pulls out his phone and shoots off a text to his mother—New friends invited me to dinner. Cool?—even knowing he wont receive a reply.

The door snaps shut sharply with a satisfying clunk, just as a similar sound resonates from behind him. "BLAINE!" He twirls around, nearly slipping on the ice, and grabs on to the strong arm of a tall, lanky boy.

"Mike," he shifts his center of gravity to steady himself, and senses another hand latching on to his bicep. "Rachel, hey."

"Sorry, I surprised you," Mike begins. "I guess you shouldn't yell at someone across an ice slicked parking lot."

"Well, good thing you've got long enough legs to get her and grab onto me before I hit the ground." Mercedes and Tina arrive moments later whispering and giggling, stopping dumbfounded when they see Rachel, Mike, and Blaine in an entwined embrace, all hands and arms, even a leg or two. Blaine realizes there are more hands on him than is socially acceptable, and he lets go of Mike's arm. Rachel continues to cling as the trio makes its way to the door of the restaurant. Tina pulls Mike towards her and plants a kiss on his lips, eyes open and glaring at Blaine.

"Oh my god, I'm not trying to steal everyone's significant other!" Blaine shouts at Tina, his breath freezing on contact with the frigid air. Tina and Mike break apart slowly, both wide eyed and confused, intently focused on Blaine.

Blaine shakes his head, "I'm sorry, I'm just gonna…" he turns to move towards his car, Rachel's linked arm dragging him back.

Laughing Rachel draws Blaine to the door and pushes him inside. "No you don't. We need a fourth!"

"A what?" Blaine tries to loop back around Rachel's pushy arms—man, she is strong for someone so small!—halting as his eyes fall upon the empty, lit up stage at the back of the room. "A fourth? Rachel, what is this?" He whispers out of the corner of his mouth, as Rachel floats around him, pulling her jacket off and handing it to Mike who stands obediently by as Tina and Mercedes do the same.

"It's open mic-night and we. Need. You." She crawls her fingers up his torso, poking him on each beat of her words, and flicking his nose on the finish.

Blaine looks back at Mike. "What about Mike?"

Mike shrugs his shoulders and holds out his arm to take Blaine's coat. "I can't sing."

"That's a lie and you know it!" Tina says, lifting up to kiss Mike's cheek. "Someday, I'm going to get you to sing for real, and not as a joke!" She takes Mercedes hand and heads to their usual booth.

"Yes, yes, well, as much as Tina believes in Mike's vocal talent, we've not been able to get a note out of him for nearly a year," Rachel pulls Blaine forward, walking them to their seats, as Mike hangs up their coats. "So, it's up to you. We've wanted to do this number for weeks, but we need a male voice to polish the sound."

"Not enough men in glee for you to pick from?"

"None that would know the song by heart without a lot of practice."

"What, you don't practice your songs before performing them? That sounds counterproductive."

"Loosen up, Blaine Warbler. You can't be perfect all the time."

"I don't know, Rach."

"Come one, it's just backup vocals. You mostly just need to oooh and ahhh. We'll work you up to lead, if you can ever take it from me, that is." Rachel chuckled and flipped around to sit beside Mercedes.

"What if I don't know the song," he says, hesitating before sliding into the booth beside Mike. Mike nudges his shoulder and laughs, causing a smile to spring to Blaine's face, as he looks down at the basket of breadsticks at the center of the table.

"Anyone who can throw together a number from Hairspray at the last minute will know this song." Blaine blushes and looks toward the stage. Obviously Rachel didn't realize how much time he'd put into practicing that number.

"So, Blaine, tell us more about yourself." Tina's quizzical look is undercut by the forcefulness of her request, no her demand.

"Let's order drinks at least before you girls start interrogating the man," Mike says, laying a gentle hand over Tina's, linking their fingers together.

"What'll it be girls and boys?" The question startles Blaine, as a skinny elderly woman with curly blond hair, soft features, and a voice earned from years of sucking cigars in lieu of the more demure cigarettes leans up against the end of the booth, encroaching on Blaine's personal space. Blaine smiles up at the womanly contradiction, a sense of comfort exudes from her. She reminds him of his late grandmother, a woman so abrupt and unforgiving in her individuality, yet with kind eyes that sneak into your soul and figure you out before you've even had the chance yourself. Blaine shies away, folding into himself against the plastic-y fabric of the booth.

"I'll have a hot tea with lemon," Rachel starts the order.

"Root beer for me, please," Mercedes continues.

"Two ice teas, one with lemon, one sweetened," Tina orders with rehearsed skill.

Mike looks to Blaine. "My turn? Oh, just water... with lemon, thanks." He offers a smile and the waitress-Hilda-offers one in return.

"Okay hon," she snaps her wrist against his shoulder, "but order some food to go with that free water. I live on your 20% tips." She chuckles, a frog filled laugh that vibrates against Blaine's eardrums. A grin lights up his eyes at the sensation-just like Grandma Marie.

Hilda scribbles on her notepad as she walks away, throwing back a second thought I'll give you some time to look over the menu glare. Blaine watches her walk away before turning back to the table, greeted by a warm smile from Rachel sitting across from him in the U-shaped booth.

"Dude, Hilda likes you," Mike says, throwing a hand up, requesting a high five. "That's so rare. She hates everyone," he adds as Blaine returns the bro-gesture.

"Yeah, Blaine, what's your secret?" Mercedes' question has a fullness that eludes Rachel and Mike-not Tina though.

"Umm, I dunno," he deflects, "she kinda reminds me of my grandmother. Maybe it's mutual?" Blaine shrugs. Mike nods.

Tina begins to say, "Sooo... Blaine," but Mike quickly throws in, "Do you like football?" effectively slapping a cork in Tina's inquirous mouth.

Blaine powers through the whiplash, turning to Mike enthusiastically, "Yeah, actually, a lot." Thank god for Mike... Umm, note to self, memorize new friends' last names.

"No you don't," Mercedes snorts, before snapping her mouth shut. Tina's eyes widen in horror, as if to say what the fuck, Mercedes?

"Uh, yeah, actually, I really do. I'm not just some stereotype."

"Yeah, Mercedes, I mean, look at me. I like glee club and dancing, but I'm also on the football team."

"I think what Mercedes is trying to say..." Blaine interjects.

"No, Blaine, Mike's right." Mercedes pleads with Blaine through cracking voice and starry eyes, a silent I'm sooo sorry, I'm an idiot. "Of course you can like both."

Blaine smiles and nods, "and yes, I do... like both."

"So did you catch the game last night," Mike slowly continues, side stepping the nonverbal conversation between Blaine and Mercedes.

Mike and Blaine launch into a lengthy recap of the game that lasts until the food arrives. As Blaine starts in on his bowl of spaghetti, the questions start anew.

"Tell us more about Blaine Warbler!" Rachel cuts Mike off just as he begins reenacting the game winning touchdown with drink glasses and balled up straw wrappings.

"Uh, well, first of all, it's Anderson, not Warbler." Rachel shuffles the comment off with a wave of her hand muttering details under her breath. "I've got an older brother. I like fencing and 70s new wave rock."

"All things easily learned from Facebook," Mercedes says.

"We want to know the real Blaine. What are your friends like?" Tina adds.

"What do you like to do on a Saturday morning?" Rachel posits.

"Is there anyone special in your life?" The question surprises the whole table as it arrives on the raspy tongue of Hilda, returning to refill glasses and take stock of the never-ending supply of breadsticks. "These kids are nosy little ones," she says, elbowing Blaine's shoulder, before walking away just as ghostlike as she had arrived. Sure, drop a grenade and run, why don't you!

The three girls smile, grins so toothy and wide they consume half their collective faces, as Hilda takes her leave. "Sooo..." they sing in a chorus of inquisition.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"That implies there is something to talk about." Rachel practically croons.

"Oh, come on," Tina starts.

"No, how about you all tell me about you instead," Blaine redirects, a little more harshly than he intended.

"We're boring. We were born, we live in Lima, we date each other in every combination imaginable, we go to glee club more than we probably need to, we sleep," Mike says, attempting to squash out the mounting tension.

"Precisely!" A small grimace graces Rachel's lips-obviously someone doesn't really agree, Blaine thinks.

"That can't be all."

"Well, sure, but we are tired of us. You are new and exciting!"

"He's not a new reality show, Rachel," Mike jumps in.

"Sounds like someone's in luuurve," Tina chides, poking Mike's face and tickling his ribs.

"Only have eyes for you, babe," he pulls her close, kissing her lips and folds his arms around her.

"Oh no," Mercedes say, throwing her hands over her face.

"What?" Blaine's eyes remain locked to the flailing mass of arms beside him.

"Once they get going, it's hard to pull them apart," Rachel giggles into her teacup.

"Hey! Hey!" Mercedes slaps Tina on the back, urging the pair to break apart. The tension expands across the table as the Mike and Tina continue eat one another's faces, the silence building and building until…

"I just got out of a relationship!" Blaine nearly shouts over the slurps of the couple. Tina pauses mid slurp and yanks away, crouching with Mercedes, hands clasped beneath their chins, elbows propped on the table, awaiting the juicy details. Details that Blaine isn't ready to divulge.

"Oh, come on! You have to give us more," Rachel shrieks.

Instead, Blaine launches into a detailed description of Dalton, its history, his friendships with Jeff, Trent, and Thad, his love of Katy Perry and Roxy Music, anything to distract them from questioning him about the one thing he isn't ready to give up.

The pasta bowls empty leisurely, and a few people take the stage to perform. One person reads a slam poem, another plays the guitar, and a third does a tone-deaf rendition of a Carol King classic that has the group collectively cringing.

Blaine senses their turn approaching as Rachel starts fidgeting in her seat, the anticipation rolling off her in waves. He wonders briefly what Rachel must be like before a big show, but files that thought away for the future, focusing his attention on the dread building in his gut. Blaine doesn't want to stand up in front of the crowd, even if it's just background vocals. Just the act of performing in a public venue claws at his chest and has ever since the last time, when all hell seemingly broke loose and he ultimately had to transfer schools.

"Quick, girls, it's time," Rachel grabs Mercedes' hand, who grabs Tina's, who in turn reaches across Mike and takes Blaine's hand.

Blaine finds himself standing front and center, okay, off center, beside Rachel as the music starts up. Mercedes and Tina start singing the first few lines behind them, and Blaine's eyes grow wide as he recognizes the song… a duet… and apparently Blaine was taking the lead after all. Rachel sang the first verse, while Blaine stood dumbfounded starring back at her, until his part approached, and his innate performer kicked him into gear—Don't go wasting your emotions/Lay all your love on me."

Rachel lied. This wasn't a background vocals part, but it's wasn't really a lead either. Blaine only sang the course, and mostly repeated the same lyrics again and again, but he still felt duped.

When the song ends and the small crowd finishes its modest applause, the girls return to the table, and Blaine excuses himself to the restroom. His eyes pierce into Rachel as he stepped away, stabbing her with how could yous and little liars.

Rachel charges into him as he exited the bathroom.

"God Rachel, are you stalking me now?" Blaine spits, as he darts around her small frame.

"Blaine, wait." Blaine grabs his coat and hit the door. "Blaine!" Rachel runs after him, her own coat forgotten inside.

"What? Why did you ask me here Rachel? Did you just need someone to sing backup for you? Because you seem to have plenty of those. You didn't need to force me onto the stage with false pretences."

"Blaine, I'm sorry. I just, I wanted you to feel like part of our group." Rachel shrugs her shoulders together and shivers.

"God, Rach, it's freezing. You should go back inside."

"No, not until you forgive me!" Rachel stamps her foot on the pavement, the ice sending a reverberating through her bones from the sole of her foot.

"Okay, fine. I forgive you for pushing me into something I wasn't ready for. Happy?"

"What are you talking about?" She throws her arms out wide, before snapping them back just as quickly, sheltering from the cold. "You're a freaking Warbler. You're THE Warbler, for crying out loud. It's not like you don't perform in front of crowds all the time."

"Actually, today was the first time I've performed in public since Invitationals. Warblers don't do public shows. Do you know how much work it took for me to even walk into that choir room today? And then the response from everyone, the response from Finn! You all aren't particularly welcoming to new people."

"Why do you think I invited you tonight?" Rachel screamed, her voice cracking from the slap of the cold against her throat. "I wanted to make up for Finn and for the others. I wanted you to like us, to like me."

"Rachel," Blaine chuckles and steps forward, wrapping his arms around Rachel's frozen body. "Rach, I do like you. I liked you the second you walked in the room. You're the first person to not ask me about my past or make inferences about my present. You just walked in, took my arm and accepted me." He rests his chin on her head. It's a stretch, but Blaine finds it nice to be the one to provide that small comfort for once.

"Blaine, you know I'm taken, right?"

"Rachel, you know I bat for the other team, right?" Rachel's laugh shook against Blaine's chest.

"Yeah, I kinda figured, but you're not the easiest to spot."

"That's what I thought! But then Mercedes… wait, you mean she didn't tell you."

"No, she wouldn't do that to you. Not after everything with K…" Rachel stops before Kurt's name fully falls from her lips. "Can we go back inside?"

"Yeah, sure."

Rachel pulls away from his embrace and rushes for the door. "You coming?"

"Just a minute." Blaine flips the backs of his knuckles at Rachel, shooing her inside. "I promise. I just need to make a phone call."

"I'll order you some extra breadsticks," she says, the door clicking shut behind her, Blaine's grimace going unnoticed.

Blaine unlocks his phone and breathes deep. He holds down the 2 on his dial pad and waits for the call to register. The voicemail picks up instantly—Warbler Nick here, leave a message at the tone, or join us in the 21st century and just send a text. *beep*. Blaine hangs up and pockets the phone. He stands out in the cold a few minutes longer, breathing in the clean, crisp chill, until he hears the music start up again, and Rachel's soprano takes center stage in his thoughts. He turns on his heel and reenters the restaurant, rushing the stage—this number is in dire need of a duet partner.