I don’t understand. I’m literally actively trying not to stare but he makes it so hard, no pun intended. This living situation is going to get complicated fast and by the way Rachel is staring at me staring at Blaine, I’m starting to suspect I’m fulfilling her “falling hard” predictions. God, she was so right.

For the most part, Blaine’s move-in was effortless. Finn wheeled out onto the street and captured enough good Samaritans , or “suckers” as Finn affectionately calls them, to help him lug various boxes upstairs. I carried some heavier objects with Blaine up the winding staircase, tripping over my feet as I eyed his bulging biceps. Several time I missed a comment he aimed in my direction and somehow ended up admitting to a fake ear infection.

“Otitis media,” I say knowledgably as he cranes his neck to look at my ear. “I’ll be a little hard of hearing for a week or so.”

I’m fully aware that I am undone. I just lied about an ear infection. Where can you go from there? But somehow words kept falling out of my mouth in the most incompetent matter.

“Need to go see an audiologist,” I nod at him, “ Did you know the profession of audiology didn't even exist until after World War II? I didn't until maybe three weeks ago when I accidently went out with an audiologist. Did you know audiology is a combined field of psychology, speech pathology and otolaryngology?”

I didn’t stop until Rachel clapped a hand on my shoulder.

“Let's let Blaine settle in, shall we?” She suggests, leading me out of his room and closing the door softly behind us. I then swore to censor myself most arduously.   

This has left me sitting at the table with my head in my hands. Rachel is humming absent mindedly as she hems her skirt. I know what she’s doing. It’s annoying.

To occupy myself, I uncork a bottle of whiskey and pour myself a generous glass. From behind doors I can hear Blaine unpacking. I catch the unmistakable hum of a guitar leaving it's case. Blaine mutes it quickly with a hand on the body- a sharp disruption of that lovely sound. I sigh at the thought of Blaine strumming a guitar. He must be nervous we’d be angry at his noise making- me proving to be nothing short of a crazy person. And all I really want is for him to nudge his guitar into the crook of his arm and play all afternoon and on to night.

Rachel coughs at me from across the room.

“You’re either destined to become a raging alcoholic or a druggie,” She says nodding towards my glass of whiskey. “You could try being sober around him.”

I pull a dramatic face “What? Where were you? I was sober all day and it was a disaster.”

Before Rachel can answer, Blaine’s door opens and he’s casting a shadow across the kitchen.

“So,” he starts, placing his hands on either side of the door frame and leaning out of it playfully. “I kind of just realized I know nothing about you two.”

Besides I’m crazy, gay, and sporting an ear infection. What else is there to know? But because he says it, I start to wonder just how shallow I really am. It’s true, I know nothing of him either. Besides his name being Blaine, him having a perfect body, and his unruly curls being adorable, I know absolutely nothing substantial. All of a sudden a hundred questions fill my brain and I’m battling to keep my mouth closed.

“Okay,” Rachel beams. This is right up her ally: her being able to talk about herself in excess. “My name is Rachel and I-“

“I thought that maybe the best way to get the ball rolling would be to sit around and play a question game of sorts,” Blaine claps his hands together and takes a seat at the eating table. He then motions to the bottle of whiskey by my elbow. “Maybe it could be a drinking game.”

Because the bottle of whiskey was in close proximity to myself and Blaine motioned to said bottle with certain enthusiasm, I almost die.  I drain my glass at hand, snatch the bottle and seat myself across from him. He smirks at me and grabs it from my hand. I’m so dead.

Rachel perches herself to his right and looks at Blaine attentively.  She’s hiding it, but I can tell she’s brimming with excitement.

“Whoever has the bottle must ask the questions. All the participating members must then answer that question. Who ever has the more interesting response gets the bottle and thus gets to present the next question,” Blaine says impishly.

“And the drinking?” I ask hoarsely.

“As you ask questions, you take a swig,” Blaine suggests. “Any questions?” he smirks.

“I think we got it,” Rachel responds looking straight at me. It’s then that I notice she has her competitive eyes on. Great. “Ask away, Blaine.”

“We’ll start simple. Where do yall come from?”

“Ohio,” Rachel blurts out slamming her hand down hard on the table. She seems to be confused about the nature of this game. “We're both from Ohio!”

I’m initially relieved I don’t have to speak, my voice doing that odd thing it does when I’m nervous. But then something in me yearns to let Blaine know. Know what exactly, I’m not sure. Me, maybe. Maybe I’m yearning for Blaine to know me.

“We come from a tiny town named Lima,” I say, finding the nerve to look Blaine straight in the eye. “A town full of cows, snow, conservative family values, and football.”

“We went to school together all our lives. We had to get out,” I glance at Rachel as I say this. “We were suffocating, so we moved here.”

Blaine looks at me momentarily before nodding his approval, taking a long swig and then handing the bottle over to me wordlessly. Rachel moans in disproval. I almost do as well for I have no idea what I want to ask him. There’s too much.  I take the coward’s way out.

“Where do you come from?” I exaggerate my inflection.

“Ohio,” Rachel says bluntly giving me a look.

“Here,” Blaine answers cheerfully. “Born and raised Louisiana boy. Lived in New Orleans all my life.”

“Oh God, are you going to inflict on us your “true Louisianan” Cajun cuisine,” I ask hopefully. “Cause I would not mind, not one bit.”

After I say it, I’m almost embarrassed, having allowed myself an uncensored moment. But Blaine is smiling widely.

“You have no idea. And while I’m in the kitchen concocting a roux for my gumbo, the most atrocious Acadian accent will escape, bon ami, and suddenly everything will be spicy,” Blaine laughs. “and don’t even try to keep up with me when it comes to drinking.”

I smirk and allow myself a deep draw of the bottle before handing it back to Blaine.  Challenge accepted.     

“It explains the constant use of ‘yall’” Rachel points out. “I sort of figured you were from here.”

“Alright, alright,” he says. “What’s yall’s professions?”

At this both Rachel and I snort.

“What?” he asks taken aback.

“I work at a used book store,” Rachel says. “I enjoy it, but it wasn't what I was planning to do with my life.“

“And I’m a school teacher,” I say, exchanging at look with Rachel. “As young aspiring Broadway stars, Rachel and I always pictured ourselves shimmying in sequins.”

“But, ya know. Things happen,” Rachel sighs. “Namely, a meteorologist I was in love with happened.”

“And Harvey Milk for me,” I start, but Rachel cuts me off with a “don’t get him started on Harvey Milk.”

“Wait,” Blaine stops her, and looks at me curiously.  “Who is Harvey Milk?”

I sigh because Mr. Milk has become something beyond the flesh that contains him. He’s become an idea, something tickling my mind lately resulting in unthought-of of aspirations and queer notions. He’s transcended from some man in California trying and failing to hold office to something of a gay messiah. Because of this man, I burst out of the closet. I owe him everything.

This is not what I say to Blaine. As much as I want him to know me, I keep this part of me alone.

“Just someone,” I say casually. “A thought in California.”

Something about my tone makes Blaine drop it, for he sits back in his chair with an exasperated sigh.

“You two have nothing to be ashamed of on that front,” He admits taking his drink from the bottle. “I wanted to be the next Bob Dylan, but am a waiter during the day and piano-man at night. I play piano at Sexy Sadies down the street.” 

“Holy shit, no way,” I exclaim, having just been at that bar a few days ago (with Molly nonetheless.) “Why have I never seen you?”

“They hide me in the back. Most days this town craves the jukebox and I’m left drinking at my bench,” Blaine grimaces. “Plus the traffic there is astounding and I’m often drowned out.”

I’m suddenly hot. His vulnerability making an appearance has something to do with it, but I won’t deny that the thought of him gracing the ivory in a smoky bar makes me weak.

“But, sorry Kurt, I think Rachel wins this one solely because I have an infatuation with old used books and took an interest in meteorology at the University,” Blaine smiles, winking at me and handing the bottle to Rachel.

She shrieks in victory. 

Before I know it, we’re all slightly drunk and Rachel is putting on an Arthur Lee album and swaying slightly. Blaine produced a fedora and keeps repositioning it on his head, as he bops about in his chair. He laughs a lot when he’s drunk. He talks a lot when he’s drunk. He seems to do many things when drunk. As for me, I’m sitting back in my chair watching the scene unfold before me, fighting a warm sensation that seems to be building. I believe this is a feeling of satisfaction, or maybe excitement. Whatever it is, I melt into it and bask in the glow.

Things I’ve learned about Blaine thus far consist of nonsense facts that are nothing like nonsense to me. His favorite color, his favorite album, his favorite city to travel to: I seem to be sucking it in enthusiastically. I want to ask him more questions but I’m torn between calling it a night before embarrassing myself or digging further into his personal life. I want to know who his first crush was, his first heartbreak, his fist kiss, his views on the war, his sexual preference for crying out loud.

I watch him as he licks his lips slowly, lowers his fedora on his head and starts to sing along to the song Rachel had selected. Having forgotten music was even playing, I tuned into the song as well to hear “Alone Again or.”

I shiver when I hear him sing in the most angelic voice: “you know I could be in love with almost everyone.” He sings it almost as an afterthought, as if he just thought of it. With little to no effort, Blaine had just produced the most stunning voice from no where. My heart stopped.

It’s time to go. Wordlessly, I stand up, push in my chair, and go into my room. I sit on the edge of the bed and lift my knees up to my chin.