Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or Hallelujah.
Note: Gosh, thanks to all of you who put this on Story Alert! I wish more of you would review, though. It really doesn't take that long to do, and it helps me know what you guys are thinking of this, be it positive or negative. Thank you.
Well, it goes like this:
The fourth, the fifth
The minor fall and the major lift
The baffled king composing Hallelujah
Blaine took a deep breath before dialing Kurt's number. He held that breath as the phone rang in his ear, a symphony of hope and uncertainty. "Hello?"
"Um, hi," Blaine said shyly. "This is, uh…"
"Why, if it isn't Blaine Anderson from Westerville," Kurt said in a slightly cocky voice.
"Uh, yes," Blaine said in surprise, caught off guard by the fact that Kurt could recognize his voice after only having met him once. "I'm him. I mean, yes, it's me. I mean…"
"So charming," Kurt sneered. "What do you want?"
"I want to teach you the joy and wonder of music," Blaine felt a little more confident as he looked at his composition book. Kurt began to laugh. "I really feel as if you're missing out," Blaine tried to speak over Kurt's insane laughter. "And I know music really helped me out at a time when I was in a dark place-"
"Stop right there," Kurt calmed down a little bit. "While I…appreciate…the offer, I still hate music. Look, I don't even own an iPod, okay? And while I'd love nothing more than to hang out with the great Blaine Anderson, I must refuse."
Blaine flinched at the unmitigated sarcasm dripping in Kurt's voice. "I'm not that great," he said finally.
"Oh, but I'm sure you are," Kurt said lightly. "Mr. Private-School-Preppy-Boy."
Blaine gritted his teeth. "I told you why I transferred to Dalton."
"Ah, but not all of us have enough money to transfer to an exclusive all-boy's boarding school, do we?" Kurt quipped.
"I'm on scholarship," Blaine said tightly. "And I get the feeling that you don't like me very much." He picked at a loose thread on his pajama pants, twisting it off and letting it fall slowly to the floor.
"That would be almost correct," Kurt paused. "And by 'almost', I mean, you do seem to be the stereotypical dapper/pretty boy/prep/hipster-wannabe that I so despise, but being one of the only other openly gay teenagers in this godforsaken state they call Ohio, I feel as if I'm morally obligated to like you as a colleague of sorts."
"Please," Blaine pleaded. "Just…come over to Dalton, or something. We can even meet at the store, or the Lima Bean. I just…I want to play you something. Something that I wrote last night, after meeting you. It's…you inspired it," he whispered.
"Oh?" Kurt raised a brow. "I inspired you to write a piece of music?"
"Yeah," Blaine cleared his throat. "And I really want you to hear it. I could teach you to play, if you want…"
"My mother taught me from the age of two," Kurt said bluntly. He softened, though, and quickly said, "but I'd like to hear this scintillating and truly wonderful, Grammy-Award-winning composition inspired by one meeting with me." Not that that's creepy at all, he muttered under his breath.
"Great!" Blaine didn't seem to hear him. "So, um…how's…how's next weekend?"
"Very well," Kurt sighed. "I suppose my calendar is free. Come to the store and go around to the back. Knock on the door twice, two short knocks, and I'll let you in."
"Awesome," Blaine smiled. "See you then."
"Yes, I suppose you will, Blaine Anderson," Kurt rolled his eyes and clicked his phone off. True, he had given this kid his number, but he hardly would've guessed that Blaine would actually call him. This kid was just so damn optimistic, something that Kurt definitely was not. If Blaine was glass-half-full, Kurt was glass-half-empty. Kurt would admit that he was a bit creeped out that Blaine had written a composition for him after only meeting him once, and that he was determined to show him the "joy" and "wonder" of music. Kurt scoffed; joy and wonder of music? There was no such thing.
The next Saturday
Blaine took a deep breath before knocking twice on the back door to Kurt's father's store, two short knocks, just as Kurt had asked. Moments later, a breathless Kurt answered, and Blaine wondered if Kurt had been waiting around for him. "Ah, I thought so."
"Hey," Blaine rocked from one foot to the other. "So, um…"
"I believe you said you had some sort of masterpiece to show me?"
"Oh, right, yes," Blaine fumbled with his bag. "May I, um…?"
"Duh," Kurt held open the door for the dark-haired boy. "Are you always this jumpy? Do I scare you or something? Wouldn't be the first time I've driven someone away."
"Oh! No, not at all," Blaine flushed pink with embarrassment.
"Sure," Kurt eyed him strangely. "So, here's a piano," he gestured.
Blaine laughed. "I think I know what a piano looks like, Kurt."
Kurt dropped him a glare that Blaine could've sworn had icicles in it. "Don't make me regret inviting you over, Blaine Anderson."
"Sorry," Blaine dropped his gaze. "Um, well," he pulled his composition book out of his bag and opened it, setting it on the piano's rest. "It…it doesn't have a title yet, but…um, I hope you like it."
"Dazzle me," Kurt said, a hint of sarcasm in his voice as he casually leaned against a drum set, crossing his arms, a glazed look of boredom forming in his eyes.
"Okay," Blaine said softly. He took a deep breath and let his fingers fly over the keys, letting the notes rise and fall. What he loved most in music was the way that a melody could rise, fall, and then rise again; especially when the rising notes were major notes and the falling notes were minor notes. He loved composing things in 4/4, but also enjoyed 3/3, or even mixing it up and having different counts and different tempos to make the piece more complex and interesting. He wished he could've caught a glimpse of Kurt's face as he played the melancholic, haunting, and beautiful song that he'd inspired, but his back was to the pale boy. Sure, Blaine could've turned around, as he knew the keys so well that he could've played blindfolded, but he couldn't bring himself to. When he had finished playing, he let his hands fall down to his sides. There was silence between the two boys, and Blaine hesitated to turn around, afraid that Kurt had up and left.
"So I inspired that, eh?" Kurt finally spoke up softly, a voice that Blaine had not heard him use before, a tone so different from the usual harsh, sarcastic, hardened one.
"Yes," Blaine whispered. "Did…did you like it?"
Kurt tapped his fingers on the cymbal of the drum set, creating a steady rhythm that beat in time to Blaine's heart. Before he knew it, Kurt was squeezing into the piano bench next to Blaine. He leaned his elbow on the side of the shiny black instrument. "Play it again," he demanded, a slightly amused look in his light eyes.
"S…sure," Blaine nodded. "Of…of course." He cleared his throat and began to play again, occasionally sneaking a glance at Kurt's face, which was a blank slate, completely unreadable and causing the younger boy to get nervous, and he hit the wrong key, immediately turning red at the clinker. When he'd finished again, he sat there, breathing heavily, a sudden heat forming between him and the other boy. Blaine shivered; how hadn't he noticed before how pretty Kurt's eyes were, how nice his skin was, how cute his nose was, how soft his hair looked…he closed his eyes, not wanting the boy to catch him staring.
"Again," Kurt demanded, face still not expressing emotion, but his eyes had a glint of amusement in them.
"Okay," Blaine trembled, suddenly hyper-aware of Kurt's eyes watching his every move, his ears listening to every note, his fingers tapping the top of the piano rhythmically.
"Stop," Kurt said in the middle of the piece, and Blaine complied. "I can't listen to this knowing it doesn't have a title."
"Well," Blaine said brightly. "Do you have any suggestions?"
"Beautiful Misery," Kurt quipped lightly. "Because that's what I live every day."
"Kurt," Blaine forced himself to look into Kurt's pale eyes. "Why…why are you so miserable? I…I think you're…you're covering these horrible, lonely feelings with being snarky and sarcastic because…it's easier to…to deal with…"
Kurt played a few keys aimlessly, seeming to ignore Blaine. "Maybe you don't really know me as much as you think you do."
"But I want to," Blaine cast his gaze downwards.
"You can't fix what's not broken," Kurt spoke wisely. "And I most certainly am not broken, despite the fact that my family is. And just because someone has a sarcastic, snarky, or witty personality, that automatically means they're covering up something darker and deeper?" He laughed. "My, my, I'm glad you're not a psychologist."
"I…I guess I'll be going now," Blaine stood up awkwardly and began to pack up.
"Wait," Kurt said quickly. "Leave the book," he nodded towards said object.
"Are you sure?" Blaine furrowed his brow.
"Do you really need it? I did sell you three," Kurt challenged.
"Well, I suppose not," Blaine said slowly, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "I…I, um, I guess I'll see you soon, then."
"You just might," Kurt smirked, turning his back on Blaine for the first time, listening to Blaine leave the room. As soon as he was sure that the boy had left, Kurt took a breath and began to play the composition that had been written for him by a boy who might be more than he seemed…just like himself.
