xxx I Want To Hold Your Hand xxx Kurt CoBlaine xxx
If anyone tells you that Glee Club is too intense, believe them.
Because it's true.
If anyone tells you that falling in love is like falling to your death, don't believe them.
Because it's worse than that.
If anyone tells you that falling in love because of Glee Club is a rollercoaster ride, hair whipped back, neck snapping at every up and down, don't believe them.
Because they've probably never fallen in love over showtunes before.
He stands over with Santana and Brittany.
When he laughs, his entire face brightens, and his dark eyes shine. He glances over my locker more than once, but I know it means nothing: he's straight, just like Finn and like Sam before him.
At least Blaine's only visiting, and not a new student, a permanent resident at McKinley. I only have to see him once or twice a month, after school for an hour and a half when he drops by New Directions.
Once or twice is often enough.
But I know that is bullshit: His talent, his personality, and his beautiful eyes have pushed me into love. He understands me, and I know it. He is hiding just as much as I am.
I sit above Blaine in Glee Club. One in a while, he'll turn around and wink. When I perform "Mr Cellophane", he grins and nods in approval. He's always interested in what I've been doing.
But whenever I see him outside of Glee, he's standing with a Cheerio, flirting, laughing, smiling. If I knew that he only flirted with cheerleaders, I would have never turned in my uniform.
He runs his hands through his hair casually as he reads aloud the lyrics of "I Want To Hold Your Hand". Every word he says, every word is alluring, is irresistible. Blaine's cocky grin does not help matters at all. I'm have thoughts about him, fantasies, involving cocky things other than just his smile.
Must he always stand so close to my locker? Yet at the same time, he seems so far. There should be nothing between the two of us. I suppose he begs to differ.
It has been a month, three Glee classes with Blaine, that I have had to endure without him acknowledging my presence. He stares at the wall, right through me, says nothing to or about me. I yearn to loathe Blaine, to tear him apart inside, to scream out his every fault to the world, but that's so hard to do when you still love somebody.
It has been three months. He spends the fifteen minutes between school and Glee around my locker, yet constantly acts as if I don't exist. I know that I have done nothing, yet to him it's as if I've set his world on fire.
Four months and I am tired of the isolation. I confront him before Glee.
Do you have a problem, Hummel?
He asks.
I answer:
Only you, Blaine.
He grins cheekily, slaps my shoulder playfully, and turns, dawdling on the way to the Choir Room.
I stand alone, still comprehending what had happened. I had momentarily lost any love for Blaine, and regained it without much thought or consideration.
And as I close my locker, bag over my shoulder, I watch Blaine turn at the end of the hall:
I Want To Hold Your Hand.