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The closet is cramped and dark, tucked under Marcy Rogers’s basement stairs. “There’s a lightbulb up there.” Marcy crosses her arms. “You could turn it on, if it’s easier that way.”
Blaine follows the shape of her outstretched finger to the dangling cord, giving it a sharp tug. it sways above them like rusty mistletoe. He sits back on his heels, fidgeting with the hem of his sweater, unsure of how to proceed. “I like your party,” he says, because he’d arrived early; he’d seen the way she lit up when greeting each new guest, how worried she’d been beforehand about this or that going wrong and what if they didn’t like the food or the music, Blaine, what if?
They’ve never been particularly close, but he’s finding it hard not to be charmed by her earnest fretting. And really, it has been fun. He’d been having so much fun that when Rick slyly suggested a game of Seven Minutes in Heaven, he hadn’t even protested when the entirety of his sixth-going-on-seventh grade class decided that the birthday girl and the first alphabetically-ordered male guest should get to go first.
Marcy isn’t saying anything, though. She hugs her knees to her chest, presses her back against the slope of the closet’s slanted ceiling.
“We don’t have to,” he finally offers,.and she tilts her head down..”We could just stay in here for seven minutes and. You know. Talk.”
She looks up at him, vulnerable and a little resigned.. “You don’t want to kiss me?”
“No, no -- I just -- only if you want to? Because if you don’t it’s fine, I don’t -- it’s just peer pressure, it’s a stupid game.” Her face falls, and he swallows. “Right?”
A shrug, and she looks away. “I’d like to try it.” It comes out as a murmur that Blaine can hardly hear over the pounding bass of the party’s music, and she shifts so she’s kneeling too, smoothing her dress over her lap and biting her lip.
Carefully, he shuffles closer until their knees are touching and he can take one of her hands in his. “I’ve never kissed a girl before,” he admits. It makes her smile.
“Neither have I,” Marcy says, and they both giggle..It’s a tired joke, though with the quiet laughter most of the tension eases away. Blaine’s nerves are still thrumming with energy, but it’s a much less frightening kind of nervous, skating the edge of anticipation.
She leans closer, and they’re almost touching foreheads. Her eyes flutter, half-lidded, and Blaine inches forward some more, close enough now that they have to tilt their heads to keep from bumping noses.
“You’re cute,” she whispers.
“You’re pretty,” he says back, and it earns him a puff of laughter across his lips. They’re not kissing yet, but they’re so close, and Blaine doesn’t miss the blush across her cheeks or the way her lips part, even as they turn up in a grin. She is pretty, gorgeous, with soft blonde hair and wide green eyes and a figure that threatens to leave girlhood behind at any moment.
He should want this so much.
“Wait,” he says, leaning back, and her eyes flutter open. “Do you mind if I...” He points to the light above them.
“Sure. Yeah, okay.” She’s already breathless, and her eyes are shining. Blaine reaches for the cord, pulling them into darkness again and --
-- those are her lips on his, and they’re kissing. It’s soft and slightly dry, but it’s nice. It’s pleasant. Marcy smells so good, and she’s shy and slow against his lips. When she pulls away, it’s hard to tell in the dark but he’s pretty sure she’s beaming.
“You’re really good at this,” she says.
Blaine feels his body go warm at the compliment. “Thanks,” he says, and she pulls him back by the hand for another kiss. This time it’s firmer, more forward, and she slides her other hand to the back of his neck and runs it through the curls at his nape, pushing herself closer. Her small breasts press into his chest, and he freezes momentarily. The movement seems suddenly more sexual than anything.
He closes his eyes tightly and tries not to think. Keeps kissing her, gripping her hand tighter when she curves her arm around his back and up through his hair again, praying to God that she can't tell what he's thinking, what he's been trying not to think since the first time he woke up from a dream with sticky sheets wrapped around his waist. Marcy's lips part wider, and Blaine freezes, because what if she wants him to put his tongue inside, and what if she wants to put her tongue in his mouth, and it's too much, everything is too much and he can't --
The closet door swings open, making them break apart. Blaine’s heart is racing -- from nerves or adrenaline, he’s not sure what -- and it’s a rapid, heavy thump he can feel from his chest to his ears, that, combined with the abrupt brightness and the now-clear spill of the party’s music, claws its way through his ribcage, pushes out of his chest, wraps itself around his whole body and in seconds he’s scrambling to his feet, nodding a small appeasing greeting to each face he passes and making a beeline for the bathroom upstairs. He thinks Bobby Reynolds says something crude about what he’s going to do up there, but he ignores it, keeping his face neutral as he can until he reaches the bathroom, closes the door behind him, and vomits straight into the toilet.