A/N: I'm glad to be writing Bike again. This is the first chapter in several to come, hopefully.
The title is from a song that will probably be mentioned in later chapters: "That Moon Song" by Gregory Alan Isakov.
:3
I always wanted to throw up when I saw Brittany's glossy eyes, the pain residing deep inside her radiating off of her like a space heater in the middle of the summer, seeping it's warmth over our already sweaty bodies. I wanted to scoop her up, hold her tight in my arms and beg her to believe everything was alright. I wanted to brush her blonde locks out of her eyes and gently kiss her forehead, reassuring what I had just told her.
I watched her stand at the head of the Glee club, biting her lip in anticipation. She parted her lips slightly, ready to release what she was holding deep inside of her. I could see her fingers wring together nervously, ponytail swishing as she moved.
"I have to leave Glee club," Brittany finally spoke, "I have to leave McKinley, actually," She said, nearly whimpering. I could feel myself become detatched to her words, the breath a little colder and quicker on my lips. Nobody spoke, the air heavy and suffocating. All I could do is stare at her, blinking.
"Why?" The crackled word drifted out of me finally, a few confused faces looking back at me. Rachel arched an eyebrow up at me, slightly confused as to why I was asking. Nobody knew about Brittany and I. Brittany kept it quiet, afraid of something I wasn't sure of. It could have been Santana disapproving or something of the sorts, but whenever I asked her if we could say something, she would always get this look of panic, shaking her head quickly and looking up at me with those sad eyes. Maybe she just didn't want anyone to know.
"Why do you care, Chang? Shacking up with my girl?" Santana crossed her arms, squinting as she judged every piece of me with her eyes. She surveyed my body, searching for something to pick out and laugh at me for. I gritted my teeth at her comments, looking forward at Brittany. The blonde girl at the front darted her attention from Santana to me, studying both of our faces in some kind of panic.
Brittany opened her mouth to speak, but Santana cut her off.
"Well? Are you?" She stared at me again, her eyes still narrowed on my face. She sucked in her cheeks slowly, crossing her legs.
"San," Brittany said quietly, her stare soft as she watched Santana's face, "Leave him alone," Her voice was small, disconnected from her body. Santana poised a few words to speak on her tongue, sighing and dissolving them before she could blurt them out.
"Why are you leaving?" I repeated, keeping my eyes on her. You could almost hear Santana's eye roll, my eyebrows furrowing a little further. I thought Santana would be a little more sympathetic, being Brittany was her best friend. I guess I was wrong, best friends at McKinely being like the weather. I guess they had hit a bit of rain.
"I just have to go," Brittany's tiny voice cracking, the tears starting to roll down her cheeks. The situation reminded me of when Coach Tanaka forced us to quit Glee club if we wanted to stay on the football team, dragging us away from our outlet. Brittany snuck into the locker room, hiding behind an unused section of lockers. After I was the only one left, she stepped over, cupped her hands over my eyes and let out a tiny giggle.
"Guess who?" She grinned, thin fingers still pressed to my face. I took her hands, turning around to look at her with a small chuckle.
"Brittany, what are you doing in here?" I held on to her hands before shifting closer to set them on her lower back. She returned the motion, her hands gently scratching up my back. She tilted her head up to look at me, smiling softly and stretching up on her tip-toes. She pressed her lips to mine, grinning a little wider.
"I miss you," Brittany muttered, tracing my spine gingerly with cold fingertips.
"I just saw you 9th period," I replied, Brittany's hands gently pulling on my hips. Her fingers were tangled in the flannel on my back, pulling me forward as she moved back to lean against the lockers. Some chipped paint fell off of the metal as Brittany's head rested against one of the locker doors, looking back up at me.
"In Glee club. It's not the same without both of us dancing together. It feels like something's missing," Brittany said sadly, flicking her bangs out of her eyes. One of her feet dragged up against the back of my calf, hands still wrapped around me. The decision of whether or not to go back to Glee club was eating me alive, tearing me in two jagged pieces. Football was how I got Brittany to notice me in the first place, keeping me from dripping with slushie every day. It was my defense mechanism. All I had to do was shift the letterman jacket over my shoulders, puff out my chest and be shielded for the rest of the day. Sometimes, carrying around a slushie also helped to fend off being hit myself, even though I always ended up drinking it rather than throwing it in someone's face.
I never understood why that started in the first place. It doesn't make you tough to fling flavored ice into someone's face. It makes you look like a sadistic coward, too weak to let the walls fall away from you. Everyone was too weak to let their shell peel away, each one of them being a scared little boy, curled up in a tight ball and rattling around in the steel cover of a football player. If I said "they" it would make me a hypocrite.
I'm just as scared and hidden as all the rest of them. I'm scratching and slamming against this shell of a man I have become, ending up just as curled up as before. I want to scream out that my life is nonsense, admitting to myself that I'm not doing what I want to do. I want to shake off this armor, break off the metal at my ankles.
I want to dance.
I want to dance through my life instead of stumbling. I want to dance through the pain. I want to dance through the happiness. I just want to dance.
"I miss Glee club," I frowned back at her, Brittany's eyebrow arching excitedly.
"Why don't you come back, then?" She was almost squirming with excitement, moving her hands away from my back to clasp them together hopefully. She rocked on her heels, pleading eyes looking up at me.
"It's not that easy, Britt," I groaned quietly, her face dropping.
"What's so hard about it? Just come back. Are you happy in Glee club?" Brittany asked me, setting her hands on her hips, "Are you?" I chewed on my lip, looking down at my feet. She tilted my chin back up with one finger, making me look her in the eye.
"Yes, I am," I said firmly, grabbing her hand holding my head up and swinging it at her side.
"Then pick. Do you want to be happy or popular? It's an easy choice," Brittany stated, letting go of my hand, waving a little and walking out.
There's just one difference in this situation.
I can't go into the locker room and make Brittany stay, just like she made me stay.
With Brittany's bag slung up on her shoulder, she turned around, leaving the entire Glee club behind.
That wasn't going to stop me from running after her.