Sounds of discord and dissonance pounding through the air woke Kurt from a blissful sleep. It sounded like roadside construction set to the rhythm of an 80s breakaway pop hit. He fought the noise with a pillow shoved over his head, trying desperately to ignore the din, hoping it would pass. But it was the sound of aggravated cursing between the ostinato rhythm that chipped away at his peaceful dreaming and dragged him into the present.

It was 3 AM and pitch black, and he was cold and alone.

As Kurt listened to the cacophony of noise filling the studio (not that he could avoid it), a pattern began to emerge. Harsh chords would scrape together, followed by a wrong note and Blaine's favorite expletive.

“Plunk – fuck! Plunk – fuck! Plunk – fuck!”

Kurt groaned as he climbed out from beneath his nice, warm comforter and grabbed for his robe. He predicted this would happen when Blaine got the call asking him to fill in last minute for the keyboard player in his friend's cover band. Kurt had just hoped that anxiety would have the decency to wait till daybreak to show its ugly face.

“Plunk – fuck! Plunk – fuck! Plunk – fuck!” The noise and the cursing continued, leading Kurt to Blaine's work space, where Kurt found Blaine sitting on a bench in front of his electric keyboard. Wrapped in a robe but otherwise undressed, he sat hunched over the keys, sheet music spread out on every available service. He had a pair of Bose headphones clamped down over his ears, crushing his mass of curls to his head, the wire of the headset dangling and swaying back and forth as Blaine pounded out his frustration on the keys.

“Blaine,” Kurt whined, wrapping the robe tight around his body, “do you have to do this now?”

Blaine's playing stopped. He looked up at Kurt, his brows drawn together in confusion.

“What do you mean?” Blaine asked, taking the headset down from his ears and resting it on the back of his neck. “How could I possibly wake you? I had my…”

Kurt reached over and grabbed the chord, pulling it up until the silver connector dangled in the air in front of Blaine's face.

Blaine sighed, his shoulders sagging.

“I'm sorry, Kurt,” he said. “I didn't mean to wake you. And I know you think I should be sleeping, but this is the first time I've performed with a band in ages. I just…I don't want to mess this up.”

“I know that, baby,” Kurt said, walking behind Blaine and resting his hands on Blaine's shoulders, massaging gently. “But you're going to stress yourself out.”

“I know, I know…” Blaine bowed his head and melted beneath Kurt's talented hands, “it's only…I've heard this song before, and it sounds nothing like what I'm playing. I mean, I know I haven't played this kind of music in a while, and my sight reading is a bit rusty, but…” The sentence faded and Blaine shook his head.

Kurt wanted Blaine to go back to bed, to get a good night's sleep and look at the sheet music again in the morning with fresh, well-rested eyes, but he knew that Blaine wouldn't sleep at all if he didn't figure out the problem.

“Come on,” Kurt said, pulling Blaine upright by the shoulders. “Give it another try. Show me where you are in the music and I'll follow along. We'll figure this thing out together.”

“Alright,” Blaine said, sitting up straight and readjusting the bench beneath him to improve his posture. “I'm at this refrain,” he said, pointing to the sheet music. Kurt looked the six bars over and nodded, giving Blaine the go-ahead to start.

Blaine played the notes, and from the first chord Kurt knew something was wrong. He eyed the notes in the bars as Blaine played them, trying to tap along with the beat, but the resulting mess was far from euphonic.

Blaine ended the refrain with the same, “Plunk – fuck!” that he had every time he played it.

Blaine dropped his hands from the keyboard when he was through, his head slumping forward and landing on the keys with a sharp jumble of tones.

“I suck!” Blaine mumbled. “I've lost it, and I suck, and no amount of sleep is going to fix it. I can't resolve that Goddamned augmented chord!”

Kurt bent down over Blaine's bowed head and kissed the back of his neck, stealing a closer view at the refrain. He squinted his eyes and peered at the notes, smiling when he discovered the problem.

“That's because it's not an augmented chord,” Kurt said. Blaine lifted his head up as Kurt reached out, grabbed the pages of music, and flipped them right side up.

Blaine sat up again, his cheeks turning red, and played the new refrain, sighing in relief when the harmonies resolved.

A much more pleasant chord dissolved into the air, and Blaine looked up sheepishly as Kurt.

“Maybe I should get a few more hours of sleep,” he said, pushing away from the bench and standing up.

“Good call,” Kurt said, taking him by the shoulders and steering him back to the futon in the studio, “good call.”