Dear Blaine, a Glee Fiction

I don't own Glee. Please review!

Dear Blaine,

Let me just start of by detailing to you how incredibly awkward I felt as you gawked at me during breakfast this morning. Wes and David were on either side of me, hiding their smiles behind heaping spoonfuls of Frosted Flakes. Now, do tell, were they that happy over the sugar coated cereal? I mean, I know Tony the tiger says that they're great (not for your hips I'm sure) but can cereal truly be that great? It's a matter of opinion, but if you say no then your opinion is wrong. You were seated across from me, with a smear of blackberry jelly from your English muffin smeared across the tip of your nose. I remember specifically wanting to reach across the table and wipe it off for you. Instead, Wes threw a napkin in your general direction and continued to giggle. You hadn't been paying one bit of attention to where your food was going. No, instead you were being a total creeper and watching me eat. It's just a banana Blaine. I don't see what the big deal-oh. Oh dear Gaga this just got ten times more awkward.

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Dear Blaine,

I am terribly sorry that I wasn't able to make it to the show. Had I have come, I would've sat in the middle, and you probably wouldn't have seen me anyway. Trust me, I always manage to find the most perfect view in the place, only to have some tall guy sit in front of me. I know I'm rather on the petite side (yet a victorious two inches higher than you) but really? Now granted I could've come and sat in the front row. For you I would've endured an hour long neck ache just to crane my neck up and see you. Well, I'd actually probably see up your nose. Not that your nose hairs aren't attractive, but I'd rather be getting lost in your eyes. Was that girl you had to sing with as good as me? Please say she wasn't better. I don't care if she's an incarnate of Barbara freaking Streisand, please say I was better. I love when you stroke my ego. I like impressing you. I'd also like to press against in general, preferably up against a grand piano. For some reason that fantasy keeps haunting me.

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Dear Blaine,

Guess who got Beauty and the Beast DIAMOND edition in his stocking this year? This guy! (In case you can't tell, I'm pointing to myself right now.) That's right, I have in my possession three versions of the classic Disney film. It has the untold stories behind the making of the film, a briefing on the musical composition, deleted scenes, and games. Did I mention that there is a sing along mode? Sir Disney, if you in fact are Superman, then I think I have come across kryptonite. Honestly, I don't plan to kill you with it. I adore you far to much to do such a thing. I am, however, not above using it to get what I want. If you aren't busy this afternoon, I'll invite you over to my dorm to indulge in a BATB marathon. It is Friday after all, and you won't have to be anywhere or do anything. Just bring your adorable self, bundled up in those non-regulation pajamas of yours. Yes, I am referring to the ones with the low riding sweats and wife beater. Or should I say husband beater considering we're both gay here? I promise you I'll wear mine. Then we can both sing on the top of our lungs until my roommate runs out of the room screaming. Come to think of it, he is going home this weekend. Which means we'll be alone. Together. Watching an animated movie.

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Dear Blaine,

I'm gravely craving some gummy bears. Finn, who is still weeping over his loss of Rachel (even though he broke it off with her) had a whole bag full when I came home over break. He had a really big one, which in my opinion looked really bloated. Or pregnant. There was another gummy with it, slightly smaller and normal looking. Then the gummy bears started making out. I think it's safe to assume that the bigger one was supposed to be Finn and the smaller one was Rachel. Glad to know the gummy bear wasn't pregnant. Though they did have a little baby gummy bear. Finn had mumbling something about how its name was Drizzle. It was at that point that I left the gummy family to themselves to pack my skin care products for Dalton again. I haven't seen the bears or Finn since, and yet, I find myself craving gummy bears. Will you go to the movies with me so we can get some? You can pick the movie. I'll even share my bears. You can have the red ones. Our hands will meet in the bag and they can tangle together. Gummy bears will be abandoned, along with the movie as we proceed to make out. The other patrons around us will throw popcorn at us. Maybe we should sit in the back row. That is makeout row, right?

One new email from Blaine. Read.

Dear Blaine,

Do tell, where are you hiding those skin tight jeans of yours?

From,

Backspace.

Love,

Backspace

Forever Yours, Kurt

P.S. Next time you try serenading me with Train, try "If it's Love."

(Because honestly Pookie, we both know it is)