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A moment, beneath the paper streamers and spotlights and hundreds of gazes. A crown on his head tips just slightly forward like the way his lips curl when he smiles. A crown on the head of the beautiful boy in front of him, gleaming bright, reflecting the flicker of hope in his blue eyes. His emotions flare inside and his hands shake and all he can think is I want to dance with you, but his body seizes up, frozen over like a lake, and his heart stops as he catches the faces that watch them in silence, in the spotlight, waiting, judging. It would be so simple, to take Kurt’s soft hand in his own, to wrap his arm around a slender waist and pull close to the thing he’s wanted for so long. He stumbles over his words—I can’t do this—and backs away, slowly, and he still has time to pull Kurt close and show him that his strong, calloused hands weren’t just for shoving, that his fingers could brush gingerly against the delicate skin on Kurt’s wrist. But he can’t. He can’t. All those eyes on him and he can’t even admit it to himself.