The first time Lefou feels it, he doesn’t recognize it. It’s tight, twisting and burning in his ribcage. It’s animalistic. It’s wrong, in every sense of the word; yet he cannot expel it- it fights him, ignites him, and he can’t turn back.
He’s thirteen years old. He’s quiet, tight-lipped and teary-eyed. He is jealous.
“Lefou?” Gaston asks. His eyes narrow in a questioning light. It’s beautiful, and it only makes the feeling grow. “You don’t mind do you?”
Lefou shakes his head quickly. His eyes dart from Gaston to the girl standing next to him. The two of them were supposed to have a sleep over tonight. They always did, every Friday night. It’s something Lefou doesn’t particularly look forward to in the way one doesn’t look forward to eating the same thing for breakfast every day. It’s just tradition, it’s almost mundane, it’s nothing special. But the second it’s taken away, it’s everything.
Because now, Gaston wants to go to the movie theater with this girl instead of sleeping over with him.
Gaston shrugs and throws an arm around the girl’s shoulder. The girl laughs daintily with her pretty fingers close to her lips. Lefou wonders if he were as pretty as she was, as dainty and soft, if Gaston might want to see a movie with him instead.
They leave, and Lefou goes home and does his homework in silence, doing all that he can to not think about Gaston and how Gaston was somewhere else with someone that wasn’t him.
The feeling returns frequently after that because Gaston begins to get interested in girls more after that. He goes through skirts like chewing gum. He dates one girl one week and another the next, every other day he has a new flavor, a new brand, a new type. Lefou feels jealous simmering under his skin like a pot of water sitting on a burner. The water doesn’t boil, but it is heating. The danger of a nearing boiling point is imminent, but Lefou walks away from the stove for not. It’s a whiles away, his boiling point, and he doesn’t want to sit around to wait for it.
The second time it really hits him is homecoming when they’re fifteen years old. Gaston and Lefou are sitting next to each other in the cafeteria, eating food and cracking jokes. Lefou feels at home. He feels high. He feels happy.
And then Gaston says, “Who are you asking to homecoming?”
Lefou blinks. “I wasn’t planning on asking anyone.”
Gaston looks at Lefou blankly, as if the idea was unthinkable.
“You have to,” Gaston sputters. “You’re going aren’t you?”
Lefou shrugs. “I thought I’d just go with friends if at all. Dancing, romance, girls,” Lefou gestures without particular direction with his hands, “Not my thing.”
Gaston stares blankly again, like Lefou is speaking another language. And it’s often like that: Lefou leaving Gaston behind with some of his words, some of his ideas or propositions. Gaston lives by a strict path and if anything diverts from that, he can’t understand it. The idea that Lefou wouldn’t be interested in dating every girl like Gaston is- it’s unthinkable to him.
Gaston turns his chin downwards, picks at his food, and then looks back up.
Gaston looks like he’s about to say something, but then he doesn’t.
For a minute, Lefou thinks that he said something wrong. He doesn’t know how. Just because he doesn’t want to date doesn’t mean anything. He just hasn’t met the right girl, right?
Before Lefou can ponder that thought, Gaston starts talking about football season again, about the team and who will win and what plays are the best or the worst. Lefou listens with every fiber of his being. He doesn’t care what Gaston talks about, if only he hears Gaston’s words so tenderly shaped on his lips.
They walk home. They say goodbye. They part ways.
And Lefou spends the night thinking of Gaston dancing in the arms of a faceless, shapeless shadow of a person. With enough time, that person might reveal to be a fantasy of himself in the place of a girl who can be pretty and soft. As time passes, Lefou envies the girls that hold Gaston’s hand and stand close by his side and kiss his cheek.
The pot on the stove heats further. Lefou wakes up one night from a dream where he took Gaston’s hand, pulled him closer by the shirt, and kissed him. He is shaking in bed, panicking about what he’s supposed to do when he sees Gaston the next day in school. Tomorrow is homecoming, and Gaston is going with a girl. A girl who is not Lefou.
In that moment, Lefou feels many things. He feels hurt, sadness, loneliness. He’s fifteen. He’s louder, bolder, and more courageous. But he is still jealous.
And at homecoming when Gaston walks forward as beautiful as he is, gorgeous from head to toe- with a girl hanging off his arm- Lefou presses his lips together. He can’t see them together. He can’t be here.
Gaston catches his eye for half a moment before Lefou runs, hides away in the restroom where the music dulls to a faint echo.
Lefou doesn’t even know why he’s here, what he planned to do or say or even think. How could he think he could endure this?
There are three stalls in the bathroom, but Lefou stands outside them, hands braced on the sink, heaving air in and out of his lungs. He closes his eyes- He feels stupid.
“Lefou?” Gaston is suddenly behind him.
His heart jumps, tight and cold and bursting.
Lefou laughs. He doesn’t know why he laughs, but he does. He looks up, and doesn’t know what to say.
“What’s wrong? Why are you in here?”
Lefou shakes his head. “I don’t know,” he answers honestly, “I want to go home.”
Gaston takes a few steps closer. Lefou is both attracted and repelled- wanting to close the gap between them while simultaneously wanting to run away.
“The dance has barely started-”
“I don’t care!” Lefou bursts. The pot of water, heating on the stove, has reached boiling point. “I don’t want to go back out there and-”
Lefou stops talking, and gestures to Gaston with his hand, sweeping up and down his body.
“-watch you dance with her!”
Gaston says, “I don’t understand.”
Lefou pushes past him. “I know.”
Outside the restroom, the music is deafening. Lefou is walking towards the exit. He doesn’t know why he came in the first place.
Gaston, though, stops him. He takes Lefou by the shoulders, spins him around, and pins him against the lockers. The locks clang and rattle behind his back, digging into his skin. He doesn’t care. All his nerves are ringing and buzzing with activity. He’s completely still.
“I don’t know what you want from me,” Gaston says.
He looks at him, eyes glistening with what neither of them will say. And against Lefou’s better intuition, he leans forward and kisses him.
The world bleeds out of color, out of sight and sound. Gaston’s grip on Lefou slackens in shock, and then his hands move up to Lefou’s hair. They kiss. It’s something extraordinary, marvelous, unprecedented. Lefou could write novels on everything he feels, everything he wants to feel and everything he will feel in the future. With the music booming in the distance, Lefou and Gaston stay in the hallway for a moment more, and forget conventions and everything they’re supposed to be doing.
And anyone would be jealous to have what Gaston and Lefou will have in years to come.
“What episode of “Glee” have you revisited the most?”
Probably the one when we went to New York in Season 2. That’s one of my most favorite episodes, and it was personally such a special episode for me because I had just left New York a year prior, and the next thing you know I was coming back one year later with this hugely successful show being followed by, I think, close to, like 200 fans and paparazzi. So, for me, it was crazy to be in these places that I’d walked through hundreds of times in my life, but now in such a different way. So, that was such a pivotal episode for me.
Honestly though if i love you i don’t care if you have hair and where u have it,i don’t care if you have fat or spots or stretchmarks or birthmarks or anything because at the end of the day I just want you shaking and screaming my name