Chapter 1 – Green Eyes

("Green Eyes" by Coldplay)

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee, their characters, setting, or plot. All of those belong to Ryan Murphy, FOX, and their affiliates.

"Whoa, man, calm down," he told me. The tears began streaming down my face as he led me down the back hallway and into the bathroom. "It's only a slushie. It could be a lot worse," he said before pulling a chair from the hallway into the bathroom. I couldn't stop crying. What the hell was going on? How could this one stupid slushie turn me into a weeping idiot? "Come sit here," he said, pointing to the chair he placed in front of the sink. His voice was so calm, so smooth, like the inside of a chocolate turtle. He put his hand on my shoulder and guided me to the chair. As I sat down I started to realize what was going on.

I tried my hardest to stop the crying. The stupid, endless sobbing. I felt like such a dumbass. But I couldn't stop. "I'm…I'm sorry, I…" But a full sentence never came out.

"Just breathe," he said, turning on the water in the sink. "Don't apologize." Why was he being so damn nice? Nobody at this school had really said much of anything to me yet. I mean, sure I heard them talk about me when I walked into the library, or when we got an exam grade back. I knew they noticed me. At least enough to talk shit about me. So maybe I'm not the smartest kid in school. Or the most outgoing. Or the most popular. But I didn't care about any of that. I just wanted to get through my day without any hassle.

"I'm sorry," I said, my tears finally subsiding. I wiped my nose with my sleeve as I watched him take off his own blazer. "Why are you helping me?" I asked as I began to cringe from the combination of sticky slushie syrup and tears running down my neck.

"Because I used to be you," he said simply. "When I was at my old school. What's your name?" he asked, leaning down next to me and pulling a towel out of his bag. I looked at him dumbfounded.

"Uh…Sam. I'm Sam," I stuttered, wiping my eyes with my hand. I took off my shirt to reveal my white beater which had, thanks to his quick thinking, been saved from the slushie. He was giving me a look. That same look you give a sick puppy. That look of absolute pity. As he pulled a small travel size bottle of shampoo out of his bag, I almost laughed. "Do you just carry these things around with you?" I asked. He looked back at me with a bright grin.

"See, there's a laugh," he said, picking the slush out of my hair. "And yes, I do carry this around with me. I've got uh, a towel, and some shampoo, and an extra uniform. All perfect for the rehabilitation of a slushie victim. Now let's wash that stuff out of your hair." He stood up, moving next to the sink. "Come here, Sam," he said to me. Just hearing my name come out of his mouth was a new experience in itself. I moved closer to the sink. "Now just lean your head in," he instructed. I looked up at him and gave him a sheepish smile, narrowing my eyes. Something about all of this felt suspiciously good. "Go ahead," he said, grinning back at me. I moved my head into the sink.

The warm water began to rush over my head and he ran his fingers through my hair. Remember that feeling I mentioned, about being the strainer? No music, not one song in my entire life, has ever given me that feeling like he did. It was like Avatar, except without the cool ponytails. The minute his hands touched my head, or my hand, or my shoulder, or whatever, we were like connected. It was nothing I had ever felt before.

"My name's Blaine by the way," he added as he washed the slushie out of my hair. I grunted dumbly. "You don't say much, do you?" he asked, laughing a bit.

"Not really," I responded. "At least not when I don't know somebody." It was true. I had the worst damn problem with that. So much for opening up to people. But like I said, if you had my life, you wouldn't blame me. People don't tend to be so friendly when they find out your brain is slow.

"That's okay. My mom always tells me that there are too many people in this world who talk a lot but don't really say anything," he said. "Sometimes the quietest people are the ones with the greatest thoughts." I was glad he couldn't see my face in the sink or I wouldn't have been able to hide my smile. "You know they make special shampoo for color treated hair," he added nonchalantly as he rubbed his own shampoo into my hair.

"I don't dye my hair," I said matter of factly.

"Yes you do," he replied unconvinced. Busted. I changed the subject.

"You said you used to be me?" I asked.

"Yeah," he replied gently. "At my old school, I was bullied a lot. When I found out some of the Warblers were throwing slushies, I tried to make them stop. But that didn't work, so I just try to help people out as much as I can. Ergo, my Mary Poppins bag," he explained with a laugh.

"Wait, the Warblers are the ones doing it?" I asked. I had never been to a school where the singers were ruling the place. "The glee club losers are throwing slushies?" I asked incredulously.

"Hey, watch it!" he said playfully, rinsing out my hair. "The Warblers are like rock stars here," he explained. "And I'm one of them, so be careful."

"Sorry," I replied simply. He put a towel under my hair and pulled my head upright.

"Don't be sorry," he said with another small laugh. "I'm just messing with you. Besides you have to just stand up to them. Don't let them tear you down," he explained as he dried my hair.

"That takes a lot of courage," I said. He looked at me deeply. The kind of look where you know that person is so in the moment and present with you and that nothing else is on their mind. A smile crept onto his face.

"Yeah, you're right. I guess it does." I didn't break eye contact with him. It was magnetic. Like a tractor beam pulling me in from…okay, seriously? Here I have this amazing, nice, beautiful guy staring at me and I'm thinking about the tractor beam on the Death Star. I had to focus. Even if Star Wars was pretty awesome. I brought my mind back to him. And he was still staring. How long had it been?

"What?" I said dumbly. Quietly, but dumbly.

"Nothing. It's just your eyes are," he seemed to snap himself out of his own head. "Oh God,"
he said embarrassed. "Oh God, I'm so sorry," he continued, flustered. He tried to laugh it off and spun around toward the door. "I need to go. I'm so –"

"Stop," I said, grabbing his arm and pulling him back. "What, uh, what about my eyes?"

"I…they're just really…green." He cleared his throat before adding, "They're nice." I felt a smile sneak onto my face. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't be saying things like that."

"You think my eyes are nice?" I said, my voice in barely a whisper.

"Uh, yeah. Is that okay?"

"I…I don't know."