Chapter Text
“Do you ever miss music?”
Sam looked up from where he sat tuning a guitar.
When Blaine mentioned that he might be able to get a last-minute studio, he imagined something basic. All they needed was a booth to cut vocals and maybe a couch to write on. They’d made do with much less than that over the years, after all.
In reality, Blaine lined up something bigger and better.
The studio, which belonged to another artist on his label, was in a sprawling compound. To get there they had to walk through a room that was so fancy Sam was afraid to touch anything; he knew that they’d never be able to replace some of the art on the walls.
Thankfully, the studio itself was more casual. Blaine turned on the lights and revealed a lounge complete with a mixing station and a supersized leather sectional that basically begged you to make yourself comfortable. The walls were decorated with all sorts of instruments and a couple album and single plaques.
He and Blaine passed through and headed straight for the glassed-in booth — not before Sam picked up a guitar off the wall. He just couldn’t resist.
Now, he reclined in a plush leather armchair plucking at the strings to make sure everything was in tune.
Blaine was already settled in at the bench behind a piano tucked into a corner. His team decided that it was too expensive and risky to travel with his piano so he’d made do with a keyboard the last few months. It got the job done, but Sam knew it could never compare to the feeling Blaine got sitting at (or standing on) a piano.
Sam took a second to consider Blaine’s question before responding.
“What do you mean? Music’s everywhere in my life.”
That wasn’t an exaggeration. Blaine recorded most of his sophomore album at home, which meant Sam got to listen in sometimes. Sure, he might not be performing professionally, but he sang along to the radio in the car. His guitar was still well-loved and came out for fireside performances. He blasted music during football practices and had playlists for his classes, which the students switched out daily based on their moods.
Hell, he even stopped by the choir room occasionally to see how the latest iteration of the New Directions were holding up. (He privately thought Mr. Schue was struggling to recreate the group’s past successes, but Sam recognized that he might be biased.)
Sam had, quite literally, just spent two hours in a crowd of thousands watching Blaine. After witnessing the earlier shows from the wings backstage, it meant a lot to get the full concert experience for these last few shows.
But he did it his own way. Santana and Brittany jostled to the front and spent the entire time chatting with fans and hyping up the venue. It was like they were cheerleaders again.
Meanwhile, Sam started toward the back so that he could take it all in. His artist’s eye found compositions in the mass of the crowd; everyone was locked in on his husband.
He ran into a quiet teenaged girl hanging out with her mom. Her wavy brown hair and braces instantly reminded him of Marley. She was every bit as bright-eyed and innocent.
Sam enjoyed half of the show with his new friends. Before parting ways, he gave them tickets to the upcoming acoustic show. Blaine had given each of his friends four to hand out, and Sam knew this duo needed to be in attendance.
He didn’t spend the whole show in the back, though. Santana and Brittany made sure of that. Once they dragged him to the very front of the crowd Blaine dedicated his performance of “Bloom” (arguably his sexiest song to date, which fans correctly speculated was about bottoming) to him.
The bright lights and Blaine’s sleek outfit — although he wasn’t wearing what you’d call a costume, he dressed up for his shows — utterly dazzled.
Tonight, he’d worn fitted tuxedo pants that hugged his ass perfectly (of course, Sam noticed; sue him). Blaine paired them with an oversized white dress shirt left artfully undone over a black lace bodysuit. Brittany glued gemstones on his fact, which reflected like diamonds in the shifting stage lights. The quartet went for manicures their first night together in Los Angeles, and Blaine selected a burgundy polish so dark it appeared black. His curls — which hadn’t been cut over the last three months — were wild and uncontained. His full lips glimmered with gloss, and his cheekbones looked extra carved out thanks to a slightly heavier contour than usual.
Sexy, otherworldly and a little ethereal, Blaine was every bit a pop star. But Sam also thought he resembled a fairy: The sort that beckoned you closer for a night of innocent dancing but promised so much more with a wicked glint in their eye.
Lost in his thoughts about his husband’s lips and how close they’d been to the microphone, Sam jumped as a piece of paper bounced off his face. Blaine grinned unapologetically.
“Welcome back to the present,” his tone was much more playful. “I could tell you were getting lost. What were you thinking about?”
Blaine clearly already knew; he always did. But Sam decided to tease right back.
“Oh, you know… Just thinking about all the ways in which I interact with music every day. Including that concert I was at tonight. I saw someone kind of famous…”
Another piece of ripped-up paper flew across the room, but Sam managed to catch this one. He stuck his tongue out and waggled his eyebrows.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. You’re an athlete,” Blaine deadpanned. “But it really has been so long since you’ve performed like this.”
Huh… Blaine was right. Sam processed the realization before responding to the original question.
“I guess I do miss it a bit. Life seemed hard in high school but performing always made me feel better. I think we can both agree shit’s a lot harder now, and performing is gone.”
Blaine nodded. “There are other ways to ease the stress, obviously. But music is an escape. I think it’s part of why the last few months have been so hard. This dry spell is a nightmare.”
“What’s stopping you?” Sam was genuinely curious, and it seemed like maybe an answer was working itself out in Blaine’s head.
“Like you said, the problems we’re facing now are so much more real than before. Even in the last year they’ve magnified. Sometimes it feels like if I start to open up I won’t be able to stop.”
Tears pooled in his hazel eyes while he stared down at the keys. Sam had spent the years of his life vowing to help this man whenever he was on the edge. But this was different. Sometimes crying was what you needed to process and move forward. Sometimes letting go was the only option.
Maybe this would open the dam Blaine had built up to wall in his emotions. Taking down that guard would suck, but he needed to do it.
“What do you want most in the world right now?” Sam gently set the guitar down and walked across the space to kneel next to his husband. He grabbed his hands and looked up into his eyes as Blaine’s body shook.
“To be home with you. For this album to be coming more easily. For Santana to get better…”
“That one,” Sam decided. “Let’s write about Santana. You know she’d love to be the subject of a song. It’ll feed her ego.”
Blaine chuckled softly. But he shook his head.
“That’s maybe part of the problem. I’ve missed so much. I don’t even know what to say to anyone anymore. You’ve all done these hard things while I rode around on a bus hundreds and thousands of miles away. I got updates, but I didn’t live this with you. Now I’m afraid of saying the wrong thing.”
“B, you were doing what you needed to do. What Santana demanded. We are a family, and there hasn’t been a single second that anyone thought you were running away. In fact, I don’t think we would have gotten through this if you weren’t organizing all of the help from the rest of the group.”
“Now, what would you say if you didn’t have to worry about saying the right thing? What’s in your heart?”
“That I love her to pieces. That this sickness has broken all our hearts, and that I cannot imagine life without her. That I hope and pray every day to someone… anyone who will listen that someday she finds peace. That somehow she’ll get better soon.”
Sam grabbed a pad of paper and scribbled a couple of words as Blaine continued. He wasn’t sure what they’d come up with, but some of the things he was hearing could turn into lyrics.
“I know the odds of a full recovery are nonexistent,” Blaine continued. “I was at the appointments before I left and have done my own research. Our time is limited, and I cannot even begin to imagine what will happen when it runs out. Sammy, I’m afraid this will break us.”
The shorter man slid off the bench and wrapped his arms around Sam’s middle, and Sam set the pad aside to return the hug.
“There are a couple things I know, dude. You’re right that this is going to feel impossible. But I refuse to believe that it’ll break us,” Sam rested his head over Blaine’s and lightly rubbed his cheek against his husband’s silky curls. “Plus, I think I have an idea for a title at the very least. Let’s call the song ‘Soon You’ll Get Better.’”
*
“You did it, Blaine. I knew you could,” Sam smiled across the room at his husband who had just played their demo of “Soon You’ll Get Better” over the speakers. The unassuming ballad came together almost as easily as breathing after Sam jumpstarted the process.
“I couldn’t have done it without you,” he replied. He pressed a couple of buttons and downloaded the track. The label would be thrilled...
“Soon You’ll Get Better” was the only finished track, but the duo also started putting together a couple other songs. With some work, they could finish them in Los Angeles.
It wasn’t an album, but it was the start Blaine needed. And he honestly felt better to have gotten the feelings out.
He wasn’t expecting Sam’s next idea.
“You should debut this at the last show. You know fans will go wild.”
Blaine hadn’t been able to play anything new this tour. Instead, he’d worked a cover or two into each show to mix things up. But this would be exciting.
Speaking of good ideas…
“Play it with me, Sammy,” Blaine pleaded. “Come out on stage with me. We’ll surprise everyone. This song wouldn’t be possible without you, and I don’t think I can get through it without you.”
He knew this would be the largest audience Sam had performed for in years. But the second Blaine pictured Sam standing next to him on guitar, he knew it needed to happen.
The blonde took a second to process the idea before nodding gamely.
“Pinky promise,” Blaine asked.
He held out his little finger and linked it with Sam’s. Their wedding rings glinted in the light and clinked off one another as they sealed the vow with a kiss.
*
“Thank you so, so, so, so much, Los Angeles,” Blaine shouted into the microphone as his band played the outro of his latest single.
The week passed in a blur, and he was more than halfway through the final show of the tour. As a seasoned performer, Blaine knew that some shows became a blur in his mind. The bright lights, outfits and fans ran together like a watercolor with countless other moments on the stage.
However, he didn’t want to forget a single moment of this night.
Brittany had done his makeup, pasting a rainbow of gemstones to his face again. She tried to dress him in an equally colorful look, but Santana vetoed it and put Blaine in distressed jeans and one of Sam’s oversized McKinley crewnecks. It was simpler than he was used to onstage, but it perfectly matched the night’s laidback vibe.
His three friends were front and center in the audience, and Blaine recognized some of his fans from other shows around them.
Everything was going right so far. He didn’t even feel nervous about what was coming next.
Blaine and Sam agreed that “Soon You’ll Get Better” should be a surprise to everyone. That included the rest of his band, since they wouldn’t need any accompaniment.
“Now, I want to do something for you all tonight. We’re going a little off script here, and only one other person knows what that means,” Blaine told the audience with a cheeky wink. “Is that cool with you?”
He laughed at the deafening roar that met his question.
“Guess that’s a yes. Which is a good thing because I want to do something that I haven’t gotten to on tour yet… I’d love to play something new for you.”
If possible, the crowd got even louder.
“This moment is dedicated to some very special people who I’d like to bring up here.”
He walked to the front of the stage and pointed out Sam, Santana and Brittany so that a security guard could help them over the barrier. There was a knowing grin on his husband’s face, but his friends looked appropriately surprised.
Blaine reached down to give Sam a hand; together they helped their friends. A gesture had stagehands bringing a mini loveseat to the stage so that the two girls could sit.
Another stagehand brought out a guitar for Sam. The blonde accepted it with a smile.
“I’m sure by now some of you have met these incredible people. If you haven’t, allow me to introduce you to the best friends you could ever ask for — Brittany and Santana Lopez-Pierce,” he wrapped an arm around each of them. Then he kissed Sam on the cheek.
“And this is my husband, Sam Evans-Anderson. He’s going to help me out with the number because my band hasn’t even heard yet. Surprise,” Blaine explained as everyone got settled in. “He also helped me write this song. Trust me when I say that it would not have been possible without him.”
The audience cooed as Blaine picked up his guitar. He and Sam huddled next to each other at the mic stand. It was just like when they sang “Heroes” in high school, and Blaine wasn’t surprised to find that it was the most right he’d felt onstage all tour.
“This song is called ‘Soon You’ll Get Better,’ and we’d like to dedicate it to Santana. We love you to pieces, Satan.”
“Y’know we had to do it,” Sam responded to her middle finger with a laugh. They were afraid that if they didn’t introduce the song with a joke that they wouldn’t be able to make it to the end.
Together they launched the simple melody. By the time the second chorus came around, some people in the audience were singing along.
“We love you,” Blaine mouth in her direction as the audience erupted into applause.
Santana got off the couch and made a show of wiping her eyes as Blaine and Sam approached.
“Wow, it’s been a while since I’ve been serenaded by two dudes,” Santana joked once she had a microphone. “Seabiscuit over here has really stepped up his game since our high school days when he and his porcelain-skinned ex sang Pink at me. Meet me in the audience if you want that story in full.”
“Seriously, though. Thank you both for that,” Santana smiled softly. Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she looked out at the audience. “That was a heartwarming moment in the middle of a magical night. How about we keep the surprises coming and I sing a little something for my friends over here?”
Blaine should have seen it coming, but he did not expect that he’d be playing “Trouty Mouth,” “Hobbit Hips” and “Songbird” on the piano in the middle of a show. However, he knew that he’d remember this moment for the rest of his life.