I stared at the two-floored, impressively sized, suburban development in front of me. The lawn was beautiful and the house looked impeccably clean even from the outside. The porch was wooden and there was no tacky lawn furniture. The family lived in class; that much was evident. This was it. I took off the earplug and shoved the iPod into my bag. Nervously fixing my blue uniform coat, I looked around to make sure no one was watching. There would be problems if any one of the neighbors saw me. The problems would be warranted, though. I didn't even know what I was thinking. After all, him and I, we hadn't let anyone know that we were together, even though we both were quite open about our sexuality. Well, together was hardly the word for it. We had kissed, but that was it. The farthest we had gone was me taking off his shirt and making out with his belly button. He had enjoyed that more than I thought possible. So had I. And I had wondered how was it that Finn and Sam and the other guys lasted so long when they went to second base. It had been a particularly quick experience for me. Anyway, time to focus on the task at hand. What I was doing went beyond normal to just borderline crazy. I thought myself insane right then, but then it occurred to me that people who are actually insane don't know it.

Well, that was a mildly comforting thought.

I looked around another time and went up to the large wooden birdhouse-shaped mailbox, from the side of which I pulled out a little box, which contained a spare key to the front door. That I knew this was a testimony to Blaine's trust in me. Right now, I didn't even want to think about how badly I was abusing said trust. Gripping the key tight, I went up to the house, and climbed the porch stairs. I hadn't met Blaine's parents yet but I did know that both of them worked jobs most of the day. They hadn't been in the first (and only) time I had been here with him. So it was safe to assume that no one was home. Blaine was back at school, in class, I knew. That was one of the advantages of being with a senior; one could get some alone time now and then. I still had to make sure, though, so I went over to the window that looked inside. The curtains were drawn closed but it seemed like the lights were off inside. That was as sure as I could be, I supposed. I opened the door and walked in.

Wasting no time downstairs, I rushed upstairs. I pushed open the dark-brown colored door to his bedroom. It wasn't too ostentatious, and very clean. And big. The floor was carpeted. The wallpaper was a flannel gray. There was a queen-size bed next to the wall, a nightstand, and curtains covered the large window on the other side of the bed. A door to the bathroom and another to the closet, were near the foot of the bed. There was a black vanity table, and a computer desk on the corner. I could smell him here. His perfume, and hair gel, it all seemed like it was a part of the room. I took a deep breath and walked in.

I shouldn't be here without permission.

I'd better go soon.

I put my bag on the floor, and went over to sit on the bed. It was soft, and cool. I ran my hand along it. This is where he sleeps, I thought, and absorbed it, as if it were a new or surprising piece of information. My heart was racing. Slowly, I raised my trembling hands to take off my tie. That was followed by my coat, shirt, pants and finally my boxers. I could see half of my torso in the vanity mirror in front of me. After placing the clothes neatly on the bed, I went to his closet. I took out his soft white robe and put it on. Despite the nervousness, I felt a rush of adrenaline and suddenly I wanted to go through all of his stuff. A quick look through a drawer in his vanity and I found his cologne. I screwed the cap open and put a few drops in the palm of my hand. God, it smelled just like him.

One thing I liked about Blaine was that he enjoyed all kinds of music. From the most artistic pieces of sound to the most shallow pop music. He'd listen to anything if it caught his ear. Going through his CDs I saw among others, a few Madonna albums, the Wicked soundtrack, and… Marilyn Manson? That was a new one, even for Blaine. I moved pressed a few keys on his computer's keyboard and it went out of standby mode. I popped in a CD of Queen's greatest hits, and put on the track Crazy Little Thing Called Love.

I shouldn't stay long. He might be home soon. Or worse, maybe his parents.

Would you forgive me, love, if I danced in your shower, or if I lay in your bed, or if I stayed all afternoon?

From vanity drawer I took out some incense sticks and lighted them on a holder in the bathroom. The warm water slowly filled up the bathtub, while I had a look through the stuff in his room. That was when I noticed a letter that sat on his nightstand. I sat on the edge of the bed and picked it up. It read…

Hello, Love.
I love you so, love.
Meet me at midnight.

And…

No. It wasn't my writing.

Oh, God. I'd better go soon.

It wasn't my writing.

So, would you forgive me, love, if I cry in your shower, or for the salt in your bed, or if I cry all afternoon?

Thoughts? Suggestions? Criticisms? All is welcome. :]