"Um, Kurt?" Blaine yelled through the bathroom door while his boyfriend was inside using the restroom.
"What, Blaine," Kurt yelled back.
"I spilled soda on my pants," Blaine replied. Kurt couldn't see how brightly red his boyfriend was blushing. Blaine heard Kurt sigh.
"Look in my closet. There should be a pair of sweat pants you can borrow," Kurt said. Blaine opened Kurt's closet and began the nearly impossible task of trying to navigate it. Kurt never wore sweat pants, so they would probably be buried under all of the designer clothes. Blaine was pawing through a rack when he felt something hard clunk against his leg. He picked it up and found that it was a sparkly, silver baton, like what the girls lead parades with. Blaine giggled to himself and brought it out of the closet and began to try to spin it. On the first try, it hit the floor within two seconds, the second time, a wall. He looked up when Kurt shrieked. "Where did you get that?" Kurt asked, his face the color of a ripe tomato.
"Your closet," Blaine replied simply.
"That's…not sweatpants," Kurt said, seizing the baton.
"No, it's not sweatpants," Blaine said, laughing. "Kurt, are you embarrassed?"
"Maybe," Kurt replied. "I wanted to do baton when I was six, but I got teased in school because baton twirling was for girls. So I stopped. But I never got rid of my baton."
"Why would I make fun of you for wanting to learn baton? You know you don't have to hide anything from me. And plus, I think it's kind of cute," Blaine said. Kurt blushed even deeper. "Can you teach me?" Blaine asked.
"Yeah!" Kurt said excitedly. Kurt intertwined his fingers with Blaine's and showed him the right way to hold it. Soon, Blaine was sitting on Kurt's lap on the bed while Kurt was teaching him baton tricks, still in his soda-soaked jeans.