So hi guys! I know it's been a while and I am quite sorry. Congrats if you're still reading this though!

"I'm going to call you 'Crayon' from now on," I declared thoughtfully at Kurt, pointing a crayon at him. We were in Politics, sitting in our usual place at the back where hopefully no one would come to harass us. It was the week after Tina and my rather public falling out and I was trying to hide my glum.

He gave me a look of amused exasperation. "Um... what?"

"New nickname," I said, nodding as if it was the wisest thing I had ever said. And it sort of was. "Inspired by these crayons here," I continued dramatically. "Brittany gave them to me. She said they were sick and they had to be quarantined from her other crayons."

"Alors," Kurt spoke in French. We often spoke in French when we were together alone. Stopped people from eavesdropping. Kurt often repeated himself in English to be sure that he was saying exactly what he wanted to say, which kind of defeated the purpose. Ever the perfectionist my Kurt was. "Why am I Crayon?"

"Because you're awesome and colourful and awesome," I listed childishly, while absent mindedly colouring in the faces in my textbook. Purple really wasn't Boris Yeltsin's colour… "Also Crayon sounds like Kurt." I looked up gave Kurt a toothy grin.

He sighed and regarded me seriously. "You don't have to do this," he urged. "You can hurt, you know."

I was taken aback by this. And also by how unimpressed he was with his new nickname. My next ingenious nicknaming will go to Mike or someone who'll appreciate it, I schemed.

Kurt held my gaze, searching for some scrap of feeling or something that we both knew I wouldn't show. I bit my lip and broke eye contact, returning to giving Hilary Clinton a blue nose.

He continued staring just as intently. "Just remember you can talk to me anytime, OK?"

I nodded, still not looking at him. "Thanks, Crayon."

He shook his head and chuckled with affection.

The bell rang and I walked out into the hall, head down, avoiding people, when my phone buzzed in my pocket.

Emotional Rachel Berry spotted on the third floor. Be alert and meet at the auditorium in five. THIS IS A CODE RED, PEOPLE. WE COULD HAVE A FULL SCALE BROADWAY BALLAD ON OUR HANDS.

Normally, a text like this from Dean would get me all excited. There was a certain thrill that came with being in the McKinley High jazz band - you never really knew what or when or for whom you'd be playing, and having your instrument on you and your eye out for emotional looking glee club members had become a way of life. Ivan, Dean and I even staged fortnightly break-ins of the lockers of all the New Directions members - even Matt and Mike just to be safe - to steal their iPods, see what they'd been listening to and prepare ourselves for possible spontaneous performances. Sometimes we even added new songs to their iPods to get them going in the right direction (and it was getting embarrassing for everyone involved that Finn only had 4 songs on his iPod - all by ACDC. We were more than slightly suspicious he didn't know how to work it.)

We'd never been caught out not knowing a song or failing to be there when someone wanted to get their sing on in the auditorium or the choir room or the cafeteria or the football pitch or anywhere else. Puck and a small orchestra singing "Music of the Night" in the girls' bathroom was definitely a highlight.

Artie however would protest that we had in fact been caught out one time.

And in response a jazz band member would probably punch him in the face.

Because it totally doesn't count if you rick roll us.

Anyway, this time we ended up playing some sad Streisand song for Rachel and I was beside myself with boredom and apathy even though I usually quite enjoyed Rachel's singing.

Nothing was right anymore.

I'd come to this school with hopes of doing what I love and just being me - not having to please anyone or live up to expectations or pretend or lie. I was supposed to be happy.

But who knew being yourself would be so fucking hard. As a reminder of this I got shoved into my locker today by some guy I didn't even recognise, and then had to walk past Tina who became visibly upset at the sight of me.

Well, fuck.

At least when I was pretending to be a brainless, generic athletic dude the only person who was miserable was me. I mean I was pretty sure I'd treated Tina to possibly the worst first boyfriend experience ever. On top of that I'd just found out that Artie had liked her since forever so I'd been stomping all over his heart since I got here. And my poor Kurt was worse off because of me too. He'd gotten so much shit after that stupid time I'd stupidly tried to use him to break up with that stupid girl from my old school in an extremely public place. And Mercedes? Well... I hadn't done anything to her yet but I knew I'd do something stupid and screw shit up for her given the chance.

And that's how I found myself sitting under a desk in an empty classroom, wondering how I could find some way to make a perimetre around myself so that no one would have to deal with the absolute shitstorm that is me.

I sat there the whole afternoon - missing both brass band and glee club rehearsal with the jazz band. Music wasn't making me happy any more so I didn't bother. Seeing my friends brought on way too much guilt so I didn't bother.

The time ticked on and slowly the light behind the drawn curtains of the empty classroom began to fade. I hugged my knees to my chest, not really knowing how or when or whether to go.

After another while the light had faded completely - I'd been here a fucking long time. A dull murmur of chatter sounded from outside, signifying the end of some after school class or something. I tried to block out the sound to continue wallowing miserably in my swamp of guilt, but I was disturbed by the door creaking open. A pair of worn sneakers walked fluidly and somehow gracefully through the class, accompanied by a tune being hummed slightly off key.

"Mike?" I said out loud before I could stop myself.

The sneakers stopped short and pivoted to look around. "Who goes there?"

I tried to stand up but given that I was sitting under a desk this was rather unsuccessful and a dull thud accompanied a sudden pain on my head.

"Fucknuggets," I cursed, sitting back down and rubbing my head.

"Andre?" Mike laughed. "Dude what are you doing down there?" His head popped down and he beamed at me, making the dark seem lighter. Mike was like a bouncing ray of sunshine sometimes.

A reluctant grin formed on my face. "Hiding," I answered, before adding offhandedly, "Or something."

"From what?" Mike still wore wonderful huge smile, waiting for some kind of punchline because I don't think we'd ever spoken in a non-jokey way.

I didn't really do that with anyone.

It kind of made it harder to answer, but I managed, "Everything."

"Oh," Mike's smile dropped off quickly and he moved from standing doubled over with his head poking under the desk to an open sitting position on the floor, ready to listen. Everything about Mike's movements was so expressive. He cocked his head to the side questioningly.

I told him, in a series of vague mumbles, how I was miserable and had messed up with people who'd trusted me.

"Give it time," he said predictably after I'd finished.

I made an unimpressed face and mumbled something rude and ungrateful before I could stop myself.

Mike looked uncomfortable.

"See!" I urged, angry at myself, "I'm an absolute tool. You shouldn't even try with me, Mike, just go home."

Mike smiled, proving that he's a way better person than me. "I don't think you're a tool."

I scoffed.

"OK, well sometimes, yes," Mike conceded amicably, his posture relaxing again. "But I still like you."

Something sent a jolt through me at those words.

"Your friends do too. And Tina will come around."

"Are you sure?"

"Eventually, yes," he smiled, patting my knee. "Although I did hear that she told you she loved you and you said you loved cake."

"Hey!" I said defensively. "It was a That 70s Show Reference!"

Mike arched an eyebrow.

I gave in. "Yeah, OK that was quite dickish. I should apologise."

"Good start!" Mike congratulated.

I shuffled out from under the desk, and Mike pulled me up with an outsretched hand. My stomach leaped as he was quite strong and I was sort of flung across the room.

"And if you can't get out of your rut after that," Mike began shyly, "You could pick up something new? Like a club or something? Chemistry club needs new members..." Mike looked self-conscious after this, and tried to wave away the comment with his hand with a small laugh. His awkward quietness was kind of endearing.

I grinned and we left the dark room together, with me feeling more than a bit better about things.

Inspired by Mike and hopefully on some good nice genuine good whim of my own (but let's not get ahead of ourselves), I attempted to start making things right with Tina.

Based on the way she'd been acting around me and what I'd heard from Kurt, I was quite sure there wasn't much chance of us getting back together.

And I was surprisingly totally more than OK with that.

I did miss her though, but not in a longing, relationship-y way. I missed being her friend.

We used to sit together in English but Tina had taken up trying to melt into the wall when I got near her like she did before we knew each other. I'd considered forcing my way between her and the girl next to her so we could talk, but I reminded myself of my mission to be less of a dick so I found somewhere else.

Tina was extremely messy during class, using several notebooks margined with doodles and somehow managing to spread all of her possessions all over her desk and the desk next to her. I smiled because when we used to sit next to each other it was absolute chaos because I was just as bad. Either way, I knew she'd take ages to clear up so I hung back.

"Hey, T," I said awkwardly.

She looked around over her shoulder and, seeing me, turned back and busied herself in her bag again.

"I just wanted to-"

"Don't," she silenced me with a whisper.

I put my hands up in surrender. "I just want to say I'm sorry."

Not looking up from her back still, she gave a tiny nod.

I went on. "I was a jerk, and I took you for granted."

Tina stared at me, her expression softened.

"Sorry," I said again, feeling super awkward at this stage.

She shook her head. "It's ok." Her hand reached for my arm, giving it a light pat. "Thank you."

I smiled. "So we're OK?"

With a laugh that I'd definitely missed hearing, Tina swung her bag over her shoulder and began to step out of the room. "Not yet," she said. "But we'll get there."

I laughed back and hurried off to the next class.

On Wednesday afternoon, Artie and I were left to pack up jazz band.

I told him I was sorry about getting between him and Tina. He told me I was stupid, but looked slightly grateful nonetheless.

"Dude," he began emphatically, "we need a night out."

"Come again?"

Artie had his scheming face on. "You and me. We're stuck in a rut. We need a big crazy night out."

"Well, Kurt and Mercedes were going to take me shopping," I mused. "Kurt said I dress like a colour-blind kindergarten teacher from the 70s and if I wear purple and orange stripes again he may kill me..."

"Shopping doesn't count," Artie dismissed. "You need-" he paused dramatically "-a 'Dude Night'," He placed each word in the air with his hands dramatically as if it were up in bright lights on a neon sign.

"Doesn't that sound…" I searched desperately in the deepest crevices of my brain for the proper term. "Totally lame?"

"Hell no! You need a night out with yo brothas, brotha."

Artie looked very serious. And although every part of me disagreed with the idea because I currently preferred moping around my room playing sad songs than being social, I could never say no to Artie.

"Fine," I grimaced, throwing my bag onto Artie's lap huffily. "But I don't promise to feel better about anything afterwards."

"Oh, you will," Artie said somewhat evilly.

I sighed and began pushing him down the hall. "I guess now we just have to round up our 'brothas' – " I attempted imitating Artie's ghetto accent with embarrassing results.

"Never do that again," he said after we both had some time to think about what I had just done.

"Ok."

The next morning I told Kurt of our plan.

He rolled his eyes at me without the usual fondness with which he usually rolled his eyes at me. "Well, have fun with that," he snarked and turned to stalk off to Mercedes.

"So… wait. You're coming, right?" I asked, somewhat confused.

He turned back and spoke in a small voice. "I'm invited?"

"Well of course you are! It's 'Dude Night', and you're… a dude… right?" It felt odd that I had to explain it to him.

Kurt stared at me, seeming to be searching for something that would prove I was making fun of him. I continued looking bemused.

He sighed. "I just… I don't usually get invited to guy things." His voice was still small and bitter.

Sometimes my friends made me want to hug them until they didn't know what sad was anymore.

But that would take a really long time for Kurt because he was sad most of the time, so instead I patted him on the arm and told him that he'd better come because it'd be no fun without him.

"Mmm, that's true, it wouldn't be," he agreed, laughing and placing his mask of smugness firmly back on.

Oh, Kurt.

"Dude Night" came around rather quickly the following Thursday. I was sort of looking forward to it because there are only so many times you can sit alone, mope and play sad songs on Artie's old guitar. Also I was looking forward to seeing the jazz guys be awkward in a social situation - especially Leo, the keyboard player, who was possibly the most awkward person ever.

I mentally thanked Artie a thousand times for forcing me into this, even though I had some suspicions that he just wanted to get his drink on. But his heart was definitely in the right place.

Artie ended up inviting Finn and Puck who I didn't really know, but I went with it. Puck, in his element, insisted he'd 'take everything from here' when Artie asked him.

I didn't think that was a good sign. Neither did Kurt.

"What's the worst that could happen?" Artie asked as we waited for everyone to show up.

"Scary shit's gonna go down," I lamented.

"We could get arrested," suggested Kurt.

"We could be killed."

"Or worse, expelled!" Kurt's Hermione impression was oddly good.

Puck's plan had the potential to do all of those things. He had a friend who had a friend who had a friend who ran a bar on the outskirts of Lima who said they were very lax on checking IDs and wouldn't mind a bit of young blood to liven the place up.

"Oh gosh," Kurt breathed as we walked into the place, scrunching his nose in horror – presumably at the décor. It was a dingy place, with that odd smell you get in every bar. The walls were lined with pictures of cars and bands that had once played there. It was also obvious the place had a reputation for being easy to get into; the amount of other small groups of obvious high school students who were trying to look inconspicuous was almost laughable – until I remembered that I was doing the same.

Some hours and several drinks later, Puck and Artie were having a dance-off in the middle the room. Their level of intoxication meant that Artie had a distinct advantage as there were no issues with him tripping over his feet. Puck had faceplanted into a third patron and was becoming increasingly unpopular with the crowd.

Finn, Kurt and I sat at the bar watching them. Kurt sipping a fruity daiquiri, Finn knocking back beers, and me swirling a glass of red wine, doing my wine-taster's impression.

"The taste is quite sharp," I observed. "Quizzical, yet decisive."

Kurt grinned through a glare at me. "Andy you're drinking the cheapest wine on the menu."

"Price is no issue for a wine as handsome as this!"

Finn chuckled happily. "I take it you're feeling better Andre?"

"Apparently!"

We turned back to Artie and Puck's ever intensifying dance off. Kurt laughed happily as we watched them, not so subtly leaning into Finn.

"I could watch this forever," I said dreamily as Mike joined them. Puck and Artie then joined forces to out-dance Mike, with Puck standing on Artie with his arms spread like he was surfing. I couldn't quite decide who I was rooting for and before I could consider this deeply Kurt was taking my hand and leading me on to the dance floor.

"I can't dance!" I protested, pulling away from Kurt.

"Everyone can dance," Mike appeared behind me, grabbing my shoulders and forcing them to move to the beat.

I jumped at his touch then, determined to prove him right, allowed him to lead me to the middle of the floor where we did the most enthusiastic version of the nutbush anyone will ever see.

Every time I jumped faced the right side of the bar during the nutbush, I saw the progression of Puck trying to pick up a group of older women out for a ladies' night or something. First, I saw him sit down with them. A few turns later he was still there, looking like he was making some progress. The fifth time I turned around, he had an arm around one of the women, definitely getting somewhere. Halfway around the sixth turn I saw Leo, the keyboard guy from the jazz band, walking towards him.

God no, I thought, wishing Leo away from Puck because Leo had an uncanny ability to-

Cockblocked!

Leo had somehow plonked himself in between Puck and his target, and was introducing himself with a beaming smile and handshakes all round.

The nutbush stopped and I was dizzy, considering going off to the corner of the dance floor occupied by most of the jazz guys who were in all out awkward mode, shuffling from foot to foot avoiding eye contact with each other. I was stopped on my way over to them by Kurt, who'd just been convinced by Artie to do more shots than someone his size could handle, slamming into my side.

"Hey, Cray!" I laughed, wrapping an arm around his shoulders to steady him.

"Hey, Dre!" he echoed with a toothy grin.

The music was pumping loud and fast as some popular old song came on and the whole bar, middle-ages women and awkward high school guys alike, got up to dance. Kurt and I got caught in the middle and he took my hand, put another hand on my waist and leaned his head on my chest. We swirled slowly against the fast beat. I wasn't sure why we were like this, probably because Kurt seemed to be having trouble standing, but it was kind of nice.

Later, the bar closed and we were very politely kicked out. Kurt and Artie ended up crashing at my house. We spent so long setting up the couch for someone to sleep on we forgot that there were beds as well and the next morning we woke up with rather sore backs to add to our extremely sore heads.

Even worse it was a school day, and as I rode to school (after someone's alarm went off and Kurt made Artie and I cover our eyes so we couldn't see him without his hair properly done) a little more wobbly than usual, I was convinced I was still a little bit drunk.

Which is why when I saw the sign-up sheet for a new rock band at McKinley run by Sue Sylvester (with the words NO GLEE KIDS ALLOWED scribbled angrily above where you write your name), I heard Mike's voice in my ear saying, "You could pick up something new? Like a club or something?" and thought it was a totally amazing idea. After all, Mike suggested it. And Mike was really awesome…