The Ides of March, a Glee fiction

I do not own Glee or Red Roses by AJ Rafael. Happy Klainerversary to all my reviewers!

March fifteenth. Usually the seventy fourth day of the year, seventy fifth during leap year. Perhaps one of your favorite days ever.

Things to celebrate on March fifteenth.

Everything you think is wrong day. The day when nothing goes right, and everything goes south. Not like the birds for winter. Like bad, horrible, terribly wrong.

Incredible kid day. The day where you appreciate how great your kid is. No calling them a spoiled brat, even when they refuse to eat their lima beans and you want to tell them there are kids starving that would love to be eating their lima beans. No getting told that if they want their lima beans they can have them, and oh by the way do you have their address and an envelope they can use.

Dumbstruck day. The day to be speechless, to not know what to say. It's like a slap to the face, and there's that momentary pause where you're like 'wait, did your hand just connect with my cheek?' and then you feel the sting. And you really want to say ow, because it hurt, you with your sensitive skin and all, but you can't say a word.

The Ides of March. The day Caesar was stabbed, 23 times, since the first 22 apparently wasn't enough, and you can be glad you weren't the janitor because imagine the blood stains.

Not that any of this matters.

It's only March fifteenth.

There's a moment when you say to yourself: 'Oh, there you are. I've been looking for you forever' day. The day that your crush says to you all the things you ever wished you would hear, and maybe some things you didn't expect (how were you supposed to know that singing Blackbird when Pavarotti died would make him crack?) but you don't care because you finally, finally, get to kiss. And for once, it's not a dream. He likes you, and he wants to be with you.

Only March fifteenth?

Psh. It's March fifteenth.

Break out the balloons and streamers people.

It's that day again. It's a Thursday this year, and you're standing at your locker, putting away your history book when he wraps his arm around you. Because it's your anniversary, and you're going to celebrate. Besides, if Brittany and Santana can kiss in the hallway, why can't you? They already know you're gay.

Yes, you know that people can clearly see you as they pass by the choir room, flirting with your boyfriend. It's not your fault he's adorable. (Amongst other things that you aren't going to mention for fear of salivating in front of your friends.)

He kisses you quickly, making you wonder if his lips were ever even there. You spin around and you want to say, "Happy anniversary. The first of hopefully many." But you open your mouth and no words come out. You're not dumbstruck. No, you've got a case of laryngitis and haven't been able to talk since you woke up this morning and your dad asked you if you wanted the last cup of coffee.

You smile and pull out a stack of sticky notes from your bag. You scribble down a quick message and pass it to him.

I can't speak.

Maybe Rachel's idea to have an all night singing practice was a bit extreme. No voice, and you're still nervous about those NYADA auditions.

He frowns for a minute. Then he tears the note off, folds over the sticky part, and sticks it in his pocket.

"Very well then. I have a surprise for you this afternoon." He shoves the sticky notes in your bag, acting as if it's perfectly normal for you to be writing him notes without any further explanation. Though they are small notes, and he probably doesn't want you to waste all your paper on explaining why exactly you have no voice.

You give him an inquisitive look as if to ask him what it is. Not that he's going to tell you. That defeats the purpose of it being a surprise. He grabs your hand.

"You'll see," he replies. And with hands swaying the two of you head off to class.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

During glee practice you're forced to sit and not sing, because stressing your voice is only going to make things worse. Blaine, loyal boyfriend that he is, asks Mr. Schue if he can sing a song, and when given permission he stands. He holds his hand out to you, and you take it, curious. He leads you to the front of the room, where he props you on a stool.

Tina and Santana stand behind you and Brad starts playing. You haven't heard of the song before but it sounds so catchy that you can't help but bounce along to it.

"There you are with your light brown hair. Apologize 'cause all that I did was stare. And no I'm not a creeper. I swear that I'm a keeper. I'm just glad you noticed that I was there." He dances around, and the girls back him up. As the song continues your friends pull red roses out from under their chairs (how had you missed that?) and bring them up to you.

By the end of the song you have an armful of flowers and a giant smile on your face. You jump off the stool and tackle him in a hug. You head back to your seats. They all congratulate you on your year together, because besides Tina and Mike nobody can manage to stay together very long in this club. Your hand reaches for your bag, and you pull out the stack of sticky notes.

Thank you. Blaine reads it off for you, folds it and tucks it in his slightly bulging pocket along with the rest of your notes.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

After a quick stop at the Lima Bean for coffee, where Blaine orders for you, no notes required, you're back on the road. He still hasn't told you what he has up his sleeve. It's not like you can pester him with countless 'are we there yets' (well you could write in, but you're running low on sticky notes and you don't want him to crash and die because you were too impatient to find out).

You finish your homework, and part of his while you're at it. The less work you have to do later, the more time you have to celebrate.

And you don't need your voices to celebrate.

The car stops, so you look up. You're in the Dalton parking lot. You wonder if he's taking you back to the choir room to re-enact your first kiss. But no. Instead he leads you to the tree. The one where Pavarotti was buried. This time there's no heavy coats, or competition loses to worry about. It's pleasantly warm out.

"I thought you might want to visit him. It's his anniversary too." He wraps his arms around your waist. Unlike earlier, this time you bury your head in the crook of his neck. Nobody stares, and the only passerbys are Nick and Jeff, who have somehow managed to find you.

They come over. Nick lays a hand on your shoulder, because he knows what day it is.

Not everything you think is wrong day. Not incredible kid day or dumbstruck day. Not the Ides of March. It's not like he cares if some guy named Caesar died.

It's March fifteenth.

The day Pavarotti died.

"The other Warblers will be arriving soon," Jeff tells you. That's when you realize it.

Blaine planned a remembrance ceremony for Pavarotti. A remembrance for the day that you came in, tears streaming down your face as you sang Blackbird. They day that you full on made out over a casket.

It's been a year. Today.

You've left your bag in the car, along with the sticky notes. You dig around in his pocket. You pull out a note (You've got peanut butter on your lip) and flip it over.

I love you.

You pass it to him and he grins. He tucks it away in his pocket.

"I love you too."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

March fifteenth. Sure you have no voice, but everything did not go wrong. In fact, everything went perfect. And when you get into the car, he carefully undoes the note and sticks it to his rear view mirror.

So what if everyone knows he has peanut butter on his lip?

He gets to know you love him.

And it doesn't get better than that.