A/N: So after this Prologue, please give me some ideas for Chapter 1. I've got some, but if would probably be a lot better with some people's opinions! Chapter 1 is going back to maybe a few months after where Prologue I left off. So, be sure to review.

Disclaimer: I don't own glee or the characters or anything. They belong to Ryan Murphy and Fox. I do own a piano, and keyboard, and the other type of keyboard or I would not be able to write this!

Prologue IV

Blaine POV

6 months after Prologue III

I watch as my teacher talks rapidly to me (in sign language of course). I still prefer simply lip-reading as I am fairly decent at it already. My parents said that I had to learn sign language, though, so I reluctantly got a tutor. I'm adjusting okay, but, oh how I wish I could hear again. And I probably always will. I miss the sound of people's voices, and even though I know deep inside I know what their voices sound like perfectly well, sometimes I feel like I forget. But most of all, I miss music. I can listen to the vibrations from my mp3 but it's simply not the same.

An hour later, I sit on my piano bench, staring at the keys and throwing a private pity party. I've played piano since... well... I can't remember a time when I wasn't. Except for the last 6 months. What was the use? I reminisce the way the piano used to sound like and a melody pops up in my head. I play it, imaging exactly what the notes would sound like. For a while, I feel complete again. Playing it is almost... like a drug. It doesn't solve any of my problems, but for that moment everything feels okay.

I sense the presence of someone and stop playing to turn and face my mother.

"H-how did you do that?", she asks. I face her, befuddled.

"Do what?", I ask. My mom has always said I don't have a deaf voice, but I don't know if that's the truth or not.

"You got your hearing back?", she asks, a glimmer of hope in her eyes. Something makes me feel like lying. It's when I say the next word that I finally actually know what it feels like to burst someone's bubble.

"No", I say back, looking at my hand for a while, which is laying over the side of the piano bench.

"Then how did you play piano?", she asks.

"I can remember what it sounds like", I say, shrugging my shoulders, "I was actually decent?"

She hesitates, "You were better than decent. That looked quite complicated for something you're imagining in your head."

"If I could hear, I don't know why I'd be lying to you about it", I say. She nods slowly, then goes back up the stairs.