Disclaimer: I don't own Glee. I'm not nearly that creative. I wish.

Sitting back in his chair, Wes grimaced internally. He'd been so excited to get a part in this opera. It was only community theater, but it was the first time he'd performed outside the safety of the Warblers. When he sang with the Warblers, they all looked alike and dressed alike, and he knew everyone and was extremely comfortable overall. Here, he was in the chorus, but he didn't know anyone else. He'd made a few friends so far, and everyone seemed nice, but it was still really different. The Warblers were a self-run student organization, for one, whereas here there was an actual director, as well as a music director. Plus a stage manager and a couple of other people helping run everything. Wes was usually comfortable around adults in general, but he was much more familiar with settings like school than this. It was something he'd wanted to get into, this theater world, but it was his first foray in, and it was very new. The intensity of the director made him a little nervous; he figured she was just acting a little harsh in order to prevent anyone feeling they could slack off or anything, but it was a little disconcerting.

And it made moments like this that much harder. It had been announced that rehearsal time was (unsurprisingly, he supposed) in reasonably short supply. Therefore, everyone would be expected to behave, ie be attentive, not direct each other, and (he inferred) not offer suggestions or comments out of turn, or ask stupid questions if it could be helped. These things made sense. But Wes was used to taking charge, at least from time to time. He knew a reasonable amount about choreography and music. And sometimes things came out. This time, it had been especially borderline - a suggestion that perhaps some of the guys in his voice part were singing the wrong part. He realized as he was saying it that it was not a thought that should have gotten said. It wasn't that bad of a thing to say; it was early in rehearsals yet, and he hadn't said it with a tone of accusation or anything, but it wasn't right to have said, really. And he was immediately embarrassed he'd said it. And it seemed that the director had (nicely, with a smile) agreed with Wes as he'd taken back his statement, saying he was probably mistaken. So that didn't make him feel any better. Now he'd be the kid who was overeager, couldn't keep his mouth shut, or possibly (and worse) the one who blames things on others, or something like that.

Since they were arranged by voice part, Wes hadn't managed to seat himself in the back of the room. He felt a bit exposed sitting in the front of three rows, but reasoned that it wasn't a big deal. Only, he felt this feeling rising in him. So embarrassed at having spoken without thinking thoroughly, he wasn't sure what made him react this way, but it's not like it was new. He supposed it turned into some sort of anxiety, though the terminology never seemed quite exactly right in the moment.

Wearing short sleeves and athletic shorts, holding his score in his right hand, Wes was thinking about angles. Usually this worked best with crossed legs and two free hands, but he needed a singing position while seated (ie, feet on floor) and to hold onto his score. Glancing at the singer to his left, he assessed. Well, he'd never been caught or suspected before, so why should anything change now?

Wes breathed deeply. There. That was better. He wondered sometimes about this response to situations like this. How did it make it better? How did it make any sense? It was a distraction, he'd always told himself. Something tangible to distract from the more ethereal, emotional stuff. A way to control his emotions by controlling something else. Sometimes, though, it felt more like a consequence, though - more like the kids he'd read about in books at the library (in full surreptitious mode, with a couple of excuses all in hand, just in case he was caught). Distraction or punishment - was one better? Was there really a difference? Did it matter?

But this wasn't helpful either. Keep going. Bring it back to the moment, what's going on here, except don't think about the stupid comment, and also don't think about how you're not thinking about the stupid comment. Just try to move on. Do what it takes. And soon someone tells a joke, and things shift back to a better place. It's good again now. Until the next thing comes. It might be tomorrow or the next day, or it might be five minutes. But anticipating is of no use, so just laugh at the joke, Wes tells himself. If the moment's good, just stay there while you can.

A/N: Thank you so much to those of you who have reviewed! I half figured nobody would be interested in my random little story here, so I was very appreciative that anyone found it worth the time to read let alone review! The encouragement is...super encouraging, so thanks again!