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Coming back to Lima is almost anti-climatic in a way.
Nothing has really changed in the two months-ish they've been absent, whereas everything that has changed between them feels earth-stopping. The Lima Bean still houses both McKinley and Dalton students alike and the Mall still boasts its string of department stores, but now they can hold hands over coffee and a muffin (or herbal tea and a whole-grain bagel).
The being-a-couple talk goes well and they decide that yes, they want to continue to be a couple. Do coupley things together that they mostly already did, like cuddling and dates. The mutual orgasms are new, though.
The whole sorting out the last of their belongings, yes, goes well, but is endlessly time consuming. Sam didn’t think he had much stuff at the Hudmel residence, but packing the last of his belongings feels like it’s taking forever.
(It might feel like forever because every couple of minutes they find something that they pour their attention over, like Sam’s gold Rocky Horror Show shorts, or left over bottles of UV nail polish from Guilty Pleasures week. Or, they start kissing and it’s kinda hard to stop. They’re in the Honeymoon Phase, sue ‘em.)
Carol comes in every while with random bits of Sam’s that have been scattered around the house, like his True Jackson VP boxset, and has coincidentally missed them kissing every time. Or maybe it’s because she’s a mother and mothers are psychic. That’s what Blaine believes anyway.
Burt and Carol, the first aside from the Evans’ to learn of their new relationship status, are happy for them. Blaine’s glad his easy friendship with Burt survived him and Kurt falling apart, because otherwise he and Sam may never have had nearly as many Bro Nights, and wouldn’t have ended up here. He’s also glad on principle; Burt is a good man.
Blaine wonders if it's weird to him that his son’s exe stayed over in his house more times after they broke up than when they were together.
When the boxes are packed and stowed into the trunk of Blaine’s sizable SUV, it feels weirdly final. The moving van is coming tomorrow morning to Blaine’s house in Westerville, and they still need to pack some of Blaine’s things, but. It feels like a big step.
Now that it’s come down to it, Sam feels an almost overwhelming sense of sadness in saying goodbye to the Hudmels. They put a roof over his head for far longer than he expected, and kept him warm and fed, and Burt taught him enough mechanic skills that he only had to call him every one in ten times his beat up car gave up the ghost on his way to or from Westerville. They’ve become his second family.
Carol sniffles when he hugs her tight and kisses her cheek. Burt gives him a very firm handshake, and it’s enough to convey everything they don’t say.
Him and Blaine don’t say anything on the way to Westerville, the whole ride silent with a kind of grief neither of them expected. They’ve both been eager to get out of this town for so long, and it’s not that they still don’t, but it’s always hard to leave home, wherever home is.
The mood is less melancholy when they’re alone in Blaine’s house. They turn the music up, because unsurprisingly, Mr and Mrs Anderson aren’t home, and dance around his bedroom with the last careless abandonment left from their spontaneous road trip through middle America.
“Do you wanna do something stupid?” Blaine asks, grin curling impishly on his face as he looks over his shoulder to where Sam is lounging on his bed.
Sam’s eyes narrow in suspicion. “What?”
“Come here for a second.”
Hell is raised across different states of the country as a picture is sent to some twenty different cell phones, captionless. The picture consists of the two of them, lips’ locked, with Sam’s hand cradling Blaine’s jaw.
Marley sends back a blurry picture of her and Unique’s ecstatic faces, Kitty just says “ about time ,” and Kurt sends a sound clip.
“Rachel, have you checked your phone?”
“No, why?”
“Just check it.”
A period of silence is broken by Rachel’s shriek, mixed with Kurt’s laughter, before the audio cuts out.
Blaine is just glad he and Kurt have gotten back onto such good terms, and to have rekindled his relationship with Rachel, after the trauma of last October.
Throughout the evening while packing, others respond with messages ranging from “finally” (Tina) to “what the fuck” (Santana). Mr. Schue also somehow finds out, as he expresses his and Ms. P’s congratulations through a brief but genuine email. It’s touching, kind of.
(Rory doesn’t text back until the next morning, because of the time difference, but he’s super happy for them too.)
The movers are arriving early in the day. They somehow managed to cramp the last of Blaine’s things into boxes last night, leaving the room feeling bare.
“This is weird,” Blaine mutters, standing in the middle of the floor. They’ve cleared out the boxes to the foyer so the moving people can get them out to the truck easier. “Like really weird. I can’t believe I’m moving out.”
“Look at it this way, dude. No bedtimes, no curfew, no rules! Parties every week! It’s gonna be sweet!” Sam tells him, leaning against the door frame.
“Sam, we both know we’re gonna fall asleep in front of the TV before midnight most nights like old people. Neither of us have been to an actual party since Rachel’s like three years ago.”
“So?” Sam questions. “We’re going to college, dude! Not just college, but colleges for the arts! It’ll be wild, man!”
Blaine smiles at Sam’s enthusiasm, falls in love a little bit more.
“We met at that party,” Blaine reminisces.
“Did we even talk to each other?”
“We said hi, and I think I talked to you when I was drunk, but I can’t really remember what I said.”
“Oh, yeah.” Comprehension dawns on Sam’s face, face pulling into a smirk. “You said something about Kurt thinking I was gay when I first came to McKinley, but I couldn’t really understand the rest of it because you were slurring.”
Blaine puts a hand over his face, muttering in embarrassment. “I didn’t.”
Sam barks out a laugh, humour lacing his voice, “Yeah, and then Kurt dragged you outside to his car.”
“I’m never getting drunk again,” Blaine says as the doorbell rings. Sam glances out the window into the street; the moving van is here.
Putting everything into the van takes about two hours, and Blaine tips to men manning the truck generously. They end the night curled up under Blaine’s laptop, which he’s taking in his carry-on luggage, and watch the Avengers. It feels fitting, considering it was the first movie they watched together in this room. Or maybe Sam’s just being sappy.
They arrive to Columbus airport in the morning still sleepy, passports in hand. They don’t get to feel the pensive sadness of leaving that threatened to overwhelm them the day previous, because they’re too groggy. Even Sam, who's an early bird regardless of what time he went to sleep, feels tired and drained.
By the time the plane touches down, the two are much more awake, excitement buzzing up under their skin.
“We’re in New York! ” Sam whispers gleefully, as they walk through security, and something warm and fond blooms in Blaine’s chest.
Kurt and Rachel meet them at the airport, which is a pleasant surprise.
The tube ride to Williamsburg, not far from Bushwick, is easy, in terms of mobility and for the emotional structure of the four. Kurt fills him in on the latest with Vogue, and Rachel tells Sam about her Funny Girl rehearsals. Conversation flows easily with information that the quad never deemed important enough to waste time telling the others over their limited phone calls.
Their apartment is moderately sized, with a decent kitchen and two bedrooms. Boxes are stacked neatly in their cosy living space, along with a couch and coffee table where the group retires after touring the apartment under their own steam.
“So, the elephant in the room,” Kurt says, voice thirsty for gossip. Honestly, Sam’s surprised neither of them haven’t bring it up sooner. “How did -” you gestures towards where the two of them are lounging comfortably on the couch, “ - this happen? Because Sam was straight last time I heard.”
The two look at each other. “It just kind of did?” Sam says, voice lilting upwards as he glances over to his best friend.
“Yeah,” Blaine agrees. “It’s not exciting, really, we just kissed in the back seat of a car, and here we are.”
“And I’m not super hung up on labeling myself, but bi or pan work if I need one, I guess?” Sam tells them, and it’s proof to how much New York has changed Kurt in that he doesn’t make some pointed comment about multi-gender attraction. Blaine's proud.
“Romantic,” Kurt drawls, sounding almost bored but his face is warm and good-natured.
“What about you and Adam?” Blaine deflects. He remembers seeing the changed Facebook status a few days ago in one of the spare moments between packing and more packing
He was surprised when he didn't feel any kind of lingering resentment; he only felt happy and contented, and liked it along with 56 others.
Kurt is bubbling over while talking about Adam, his voice full of genuine, pardon the usage, glee. Blaine knows he'll meet him (and also Brody) at some point in the coming weeks.
Eventually, the two have to dash to get ready for work, and Sam and Blaine send their love for Santana with them, even though they know she'll just blow them off. It's the thought that counts.
“We're in New York! ” Sam exclaims again, as the sun starts to set, and Blaine can't help but laugh.
Being in New York is definitely different than being in Lima; that much is clear from the moment they step outside. It’s loud and it smells terrible and the sidewalks are bulging with people who bump and shove and don’t pay any attention to them.
Despite all of that, it feels amazing. The freedom, different from the one of their road trip, is almost dizzying.
Classes start and as October firmly takes it’s place on the calendar, the trees start to turn from an overhead sea of lush greens to a swarm of golden burnt oranges and reds. It's beautiful.
Until it isn't.
Blaine doesn't notice when the world starts to be tinted grey around the edges again, but Sam does. He sees it in the way Blaine sleeps fitfully or not at all, and how the bags under his eyes keep getting deeper, and how their sex life dies nearly overnight.
“B, I’m worried about you,” Sam tells him when, for the third night in a row, Blaine gets up to make warm milk in the vain hope it might help send him into slumber.
They stand in their kitchen at 2:34am on a school night, wrapped in their dressing gowns, hair mushed up from the pillows. Blaine sighs.
“It's just getting hard again,” he admits quietly, face vacant. His eyebags are so deep that in the dim light of the kitchen, they seem like bruises.
This is what Sam was afraid of.
“How about we go see a doctor, find out what's going on in your head?” He suggests, trying not to sound desperate or scared. The fear has made itself a home of his stomach already, but he doesn't want his own panic to imprint into Blaine.
Blaine nods, eyes on the floor, wringing his hands as the pot on the stove boils. Sam hugs him, and Blaine clutches him so tightly it hurts.
It's slow going. Dr. Web (the dark-skinned man with a kind smile and white hair Blaine goes to see once a week after classes) says it's normal for things to start at a snail's pace.
Blaine feels frustrated that he can't see the changes straight away, and when he can't get out of bed in the morning, and when he misses plans with Kurt and Rachel because his brain just isn’t working.
His libido is also missing, which he's worried is affecting Sam. Sam won't hear a bar of it though, and insists Blaine take care of himself, his head, before he takes care of Sam.
Sam can see the differences, just like Blaine didn’t notice his slow slide into depression, he can’t see the incline he’s taken. He sleeps better. He remembers to eat without prompting (and suddenly Sam knows how Blaine in the midst of his own body related breakdown, felt when he wasn’t eating right).
He's doing better by the time December rolls around, smiles more genuine, eyes less tired. He starts to talk in the middle of whatever movie they’re watching, which used to drive Sam up the wall, but now that he’s doing it again, Sam finds he missed it.
(They know they were lucky this time, catching it early. Sam hopes they always do, because he’s not foolish enough to think this isn’t going to happen again.)
They go home for the Holidays, and all of the original New Directions are home at the same time for the first time since, maybe, graduation two years ago. They all meet in Rachel’s basement for old time’s sake, and get drunk.
It doesn’t end up as messy as the first Rachel Berry House Party Train Wreck Extravaganza, which Blaine blames on the fact that they’re much older and wiser (and, also the fact that Mr. and Mr. Berry are upstairs this time). Brittany still takes her shirt off at some point, and Blaine’s pretty sure he did body-shots off of someone.
“Tequila,” Blaine mutters into his folded arms, resting on his kitchen table, the next morning. His parents have decided to celebrate Christmas in Hawaii this year, so him and Sam are staying in the house, uninterrupted. “Why did you let me drink tequila? I get drunk in one beer, Sam.”
Sam, who is making a breakfast that smells decidedly less greasy than hangover breakfasts should, chuckles. It sounds beautiful but it also sounds as loud as gunfire in his battered brain. “I found it funnier to watch you rant about Joss Whedon’s genius-ness to Puck.”
“Puck liked the Avengers, he told me before.”
Sam puts a plate of scrambled eggs in front of him, and he digs in. As he chews, he tries to remember the shenanigans of the previous night; Tina’s bubbling giggle in accompaniment to Mercedes’ loud joyful one, Quinn shouting at Puck about something lost to the merry drunken chatter, Sam pouring a measure of whiskey into two different cups and leaving the second behind the bar -
“You poured a drink for Finn last night,” Blaine says quietly.
Sam just shrugs, eyes on his meal. “I didn’t want him to feel left out.”
Blaine just reaches over the squeeze his hand.
They drive to Kentucky for Christmas Eve, and leave the morning after Boxing Day, an amazing few days of festivity under their belt.
It’s wonderful to watch Stevie and Stacey open their presents, the untainted joy on their faces at their new toys. Stevie insists that Sam has to help him build whatever LEGO set he got, right now , and Stacey is content playing alone with a long haired Barbie doll, so Blaine migrates to the kitchen to help Mary with breakfast.
“So Sammy told me you weren’t doing so well for a while,” Mary says offhandedly as she mixes together pancake batter. Blaine feels like he’s been caught red-handed at something, and is kind of embarrassed. A voice that sounds a lot like Dr. Web’s tells him that it’s okay, mental illness isn’t something to be ashamed of.
“Uh, yeah,” he manages to say evenly. “It wasn’t great but I’m doing better now. I’m seeing a therapist every week, and I’ve spoken to my professors about it.” He chops fruit at a steady pace. “Everyone’s been really good.”
“Have you spoken to your parents about all this?” Motherly worry seeps into her words just enough to be audible.
Blaine huffs a humourless laugh as he moves to slide the chopped fruit into a bowl. “Not really,” he says, looks up at Mary, “We don’t really see eye to eye on - a lot of things.”
Mary purses her lips, hums almost disapprovingly. “Well, honey,” she says, moving across to the hot stove. “You know we’ve got a lot of love for you here, right? Anything you need, just let me know.”
Something warm fills his chest like a lava flow, constructive and consuming. “Thank you, Mary.” The words are grateful as they leave his mouth in a soft smile, one which is mirrored in Mary’s face.
Sam strides into the kitchen at that very moment, with two very excited blondes in tow. He kisses both his mother and Blaine on the cheek before going to the fridge, and chugs milk straight from the carton.
“Sam, don’t drink from the carton, that’s gross,” Blaine scolds, trying not to snicker as Mary whips around and points a spatula at him.
“My god, there are two of you now,” he mumbles as he puts it back in the fridge.
“What was that?” Mary says sharply to the back of her son’s head.
“Nothing, I didn’t say anything.”
The day seems to drift away after that, between playing with the twins and watching Christmas movies, until it’s time for bed. The two squeeze into Sam’s single, curled together so closely that it feels like they’re one person. The cot goes empty.
Driving home, again, is hard. As always. But Blaine keeps singing along to the cheesy Christmas songs on the radio, so it’s bearable.
New Years is upon them before they can even really think, and they’re being dragged to the Hudmels to ring in the New Year surrounded by all their friends. The comradery is plentiful, with wine and beers spread around, and an uncapped Bud sitting next to Finn’s picture on the mantle. It’s easy and simple.
The room counts down loudly, quickly dissolving into shouting that’s barely understandable, but then Sam is kissing him in the mist of the hollering of their friends, and Blaine knows that everything is okay.