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The decorations are being taken down when they arrive into the City, leaving it feeling cold and dull. Sam wishes they could keep the lights up all year around, but then they wouldn’t be special anymore if that happened. It would just be normal.
January feels empty without the faux Santas and fairy lights, and packing up their own decorations around the apartment leaves Sam feeling dejected. But as February approaches at an unexpected speed, the days rush together in a blur of busy projects and nights spent late in school trying to get his assignments done.
(He’s very careful to communicate with Blaine through this; be frank and obvious. Ship Klaine crashed and burned, with disastrous effects, because they weren’t talking to each other about things, and Sam does not want a repeat. Blaine and Kurt are okay now, but it took them the best part of a year to rebuild their friendship.)
Blaine is just as busy (and just as careful), with his work load and classes, and he’s started living for Sunday mornings when Sam takes a late shift, and going jogging together whenever they have a spare hour to themselves.
They roll over Blaine’s birthday and Valentines in agreement that they’ll celebrate the two when both of their lives are less hectic, more predictable. Sam still gets him a gift, some books by an author he knows Blaine likes and, as a joke, glow-in-the-dark condoms.
“I’m just saying - lightsabers for dicks.” The grin on his face is almost painful as Blaine dissolves into laughter so consuming, Sam can’t help but join in.
“Oh my god, I love you,” Blaine gasps with the last trickles of laughter.
It sometimes feels like they’ve done everything in the wrong order; they moved in together before they said I love you, they followed each other to the same city before they were together, they kissed before they had even been on a date. But it feels so right to have Blaine saying that he loves him, like in-love loves him, for the first time while breathless with laughter at something as silly as novelty condoms. Like this was always how they'd end up saying it.
“I love you too,” Sam says as Blaine keeps smiling and reads the label on the back of the box.
It’s not until early April, when Spring Break commences, that they manage to finally breath in. A whole week of no school, and Sam takes a few days off in the busy little cafe he works in to spend time together; it’s nice to be able to, for finances to be stable enough that he has the option.
They go to see Captain America: The Winter Soldier which is a hit; they laugh, they cry, Sam wonders if they sell Black Widow bodysuits in men’s sizes out loud. But it’s New York, so they don’t get as many strange looks as they would have in Lima.
“I think I might ship Stucky,” Sam admits. “I still ship Stony, but… Stucky has a lot more poten - ponte -”
“Potential,” Blaine supplies softly, squeezing his hand.
“ - Yeah, potential, thank you, it has more potential than Stony in the MCU.”
Blaine sighs loudly. “I can’t believe I’m dating a multi-shipper,” he complains, voice teasing.
That’s another thing; they tend not to use the word “boyfriend” all that much. It just doesn’t - fit? Yes, they technically are boyfriends, and people using the term to describe them isn’t an issue, but the word boyfriend just doesn’t suit either of them, which tends to be confusing for other people when they don’t quite know how to interpret their relationship.
Sam’s lack of a personal label, maybe, is what speaks as the reason for why, but they’re happy. They transcend labels, Blaine thinks, and then feels incredibly pretentious. They’re happy. That’s what matters.
They go to plays at NYADA affiliated theatres in the area, because supporting the students Blaine studies with is important to him, and Sam is just along for the ride, really.
They see a production of The Way It Is, and then Sam starts acting - weird. Strange. Not himself. It only really starts to worry Blaine into the evening, the day after the play, when Sam still isn’t himself; because sometimes Sam has bad days too, and eventually Sam talks about it of his own accord, but this doesn’t seem to be shifting, nor does he seem to building himself up to talk to Blaine about whatever is bothering him.
He flinches when Blaine touches his shoulder while in the kitchen, and snaps at him later when he tries to help out with cooking. Blaine shrinks back, tells himself to stop being so offended when the feeling flares up because right now, he needs to talk to Sam about whatever Sam is not addressing.
Dinner is an awkward affair. Blaine is trying to think about how to ask without Sam shouting at him, Sam is staring determinedly at his food, and the atmosphere is so tense he could pick up his knife and fork and cut lumps from the air.
“Sam,” Blaine starts, before Sam sighs and covers his eyes with a hand that’s nearly trembling, whispers, please don’t, quietly.
“I don’t know what’s going on -” Blaine keeps talking because if he doesn’t, he’s afraid he’ll lose his nerve. “ - But I want to know, so I can help you, Sammy.”
Sam is quiet for a long while, before he nods slowly. “Can we, uhm - sit on the couch?” His voice is small and tired.
“Yeah,” Blaine replies, voice soft and just as quiet. “Sure we can.”
They leave their plates on at the table, cooling steadily, as they make a stilted walk to the piece of furniture in question.
It feels almost formal, sitting down like this. When they sit on the couch normally, they curl towards each other like it's magnetic or instinct, but Sam puts a deliberate foot between them, and it leaves Blaine feeling cold and panicked.
Blaine takes one of Sam’s hands between two of his own (after making it very clear what he’s doing and giving Sam the chance to refuse, because apparently touching is somewhat of an issue right now), and he’s trembling and pale like he’s seen a ghost.
“Uhm, do you - remember the play from the other night?”
Blaine nods, but Sam isn’t looking at him, so he says, “yeah,” voice patient and even.
“And at the end, when Yasmine - does what she does to Cane,” Sam’s voice is quivering, and his hand is curled into a fist between his own, shaking, “It just - it made me think of things that happened in - in the strip club.”
Blaine’s whole insides turn icy cold all at once, his gut revolts and he wants to throw up. He remembers debating about it in class last week, as opening night loomed closer for his friends involved, how some saw the final scene as passionate break-up sex, and others viewed it as Cane being raped.
“Sam -” Blaine whispers, voice cracking.
“And I know it’s not the same - because that didn’t happen to me, but they weren’t supposed to touch, but they did anyways and the bouncers never stopped them. And I could have stopped them, but then I’d lose my job and Stevie and Stacey would go hungry and I just couldn’t -” Sam’s breathing is ragged, like he’s just ran a mile in ten seconds, and Blaine distantly wonders under all of the layers of nausea and anger if he’s heading towards a panic attack.
Sam’s hand latches onto Blaine’s where it’s still cradled between the two, almost too tight. He takes some deep breaths, trying to calm down. “The other guys said I should like it, but it just made me feel dirty and gross, and that’s why I shoved you in Glee that day, when we were dancing -”
And the feeling of nausea almost doubles at those words, anger and guilt twisting together like some sort of medley of songs Blaine’s always hated. Not now , he tells himself, focus on Sam .
“- and I think that’s why I freaked out over the calendar, because if I didn’t get good grades then all I had was my body, just like when I worked there.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Blaine’s voice is shaking now, too. He sounds heartbroken and raspy. “Mr. Schue? Your parents?”
Sam scoffs, a wet noise through tears that are flowing freely down a pale face. “Guys just don’t talk about it. Look at all that shit I gave Ryder. He dragged up so many memories when I was just trying to forget, and I treated him how I was worried people would treat me.” Sam drags a hand across his face, wiping away tears, and when he speaks again his voice cracks, guilt and horror oozing their way out of the fissures. “He was Stevie’s age, man. If someone did that to him, I’d want to kill them.”
And Blaine knows it’s probably selfish to ask, but - “Do you still want to -?”
Sam interrupts him. “Yeah. Brittany really helped me - uhm, ‘reclaim’ sex as something fun. I never told her, but I think she figured out there was something I wasn’t telling her about. And you’ve never made me feel uncomfortable or - or cheap. You both, uh, compliment a lot in bed.”
Blaine is sure that he’d be blushing if he didn’t look a bit green, which he thinks he does.
When they go to bed, exhausted, Blaine is the big spoon for the first time since their first Bro Night and he got all octopus-y while unconscious. Sam is out like a light, with little snuffing breaths that aren’t quite snores.
Blaine doesn’t sleep.
It takes them a couple of days to fall back into the way they were, shooting the shit and singing Disney on the subway to the annoyance of other passengers. After the emotional upheaval, it feels good to do normal things like they both don’t have things in their past that threatening to ruin them.
Blaine asks Sam if he can talk to Dr. Web about everything, because he’s worried that if he doesn’t, he’ll bottle up all the things he isn’t always brave enough to talk to Sam about, and they both know that’s a bad idea. Sam tells him yes, hesitantly, biting into his bottom lip hard enough it nearly bleeds, and Blaine feels awful for doing it but he knows it’s the right thing.
Dr. Web gives him leaflets to support groups that may be helpful to Sam. Sam doesn’t go, but he sends his thanks along to him through Blaine.
For Blaine’s birthday, almost two months late, Kurt manages to convince them to go to the Village to celebrate his birthday. Blaine’s hangover lasts well into the evening.
“What did I even drink?” Blaine asks after throwing up for what feels like the millionth time, but is actually the sixth. He flops back down onto the couch and snuggles into Sam’s side as he resumes The Empire Strikes Back and pulls blankets over himself.
“You started with beer, and then cocktails, and then I think Adam bought the first round of shots. Tequila, vodka, and something else.” Sam wraps a big arm around Blaine’s shoulders, heavy in a way that’s comforting.
Blaine tucks his face into Sam’s chest. “Then why aren’t you hungover?”
“Because it’s 8pm the next day, and I only drank two beers and a shot. You were so wasted that I didn’t wanna take my eyes off you.”
“I’m sorry,” Blaine mutters, voice muffled into Sam’s shirt. “It was your night too, and you had to spend the whole time taking care of me.”
“Hey, no,” Sam coaxes Blaine to look up at him as Yoda beats R2D2 with a stick. “It was your birthday - kinda - and I’m glad you had fun. I also got some videos of Drunk Blaine to blackmail you with.” Sam smiles smugly. “So I’m good.”
Blaine drops his head back onto Sam’s firm chest. “I hate you,” he mutters into his pec. Sam’s hand curls into his ungelled, kinda sweaty hair. It feels nice.
“You love me. Fact.”
They fall asleep over the credits, and in the morning, Blaine is vaguely aware of Sam moving out from under him and tucking the blankets up around him. He kisses his forehead, before showering and leaving for work. Blaine slips back into slumber, warm and happy.
Sam enjoys working in the coffee shop; the customers aren’t always nice and sometimes he has to check what’s scrawled on the side of his cup with the barista next to him, but the staff are good and the money is good enough, but there’s nothing more that he loves than -
“A tall mocha latte, please.”
- than when Blaine decides to pop in on his way home from class. He usually hangs around until the end of Sam’s shift and they go home together. Blaine gets to do some homework, and Sam gets to admire the view, everyone’s happy. The barista upfront already knows Blaine by name, knows his order off by heart, and knows that he’s “hopelessly in looooove” with her favourite co-worker (her words, not his).
“Sure thing, Blainey,” Cherry says with a playful wink, redundantly writing the order in purple sharpie; Sam knows it off by heart too. She pushes it into Sam’s hand, as Sam snorts from behind the machine he’s become a master at over the past few months.
“Y’know,” she drawls, her crossed arms settled on the counter, her shoulders pushing forward towards Blaine, “I might be convinced to let that big, broad blonde of yours out of here an hour early, ifffffff - “ She pauses dramatically, “ - You can tell me the first black person to win a Tony Award.” Cherry pouts, instantly drawing attention to her staple deep plum lipstick.
Blaine is smiling; when Cherry found out that Blaine was a Broadway nerd studying at NYADA, she started this little game to play with him, where she’d ask him questions on theatre history. He’s never gotten an answer wrong, to date.
“You’re making this too easy for me, Cherry. Juanita Hall, 1950.”
Cherry tuts, her purple pout prominent and false disappointment dramatically pouring off her in waves. “You’re too good, B. Go on, get your boy out of my site.”
Sam hangs his apron on the hook in the back room, grin on his face as he strolls out. He kisses Cherry on the cheek as he passes, and she swats him with a cloth. The place is full of regulars, whose names and stories Sam’s learnt over his tenure here, and they smile at the small exchange, bidding him and Blaine goodbye.
He takes Blaine’s hand between his as they come onto the street. “Anything exciting happen today?”
Blaine chuckles. “It’s a drama school, everything is exciting. I saw Lacy sprinting across campus to see the fountains at the front building shut off.” The two take the steps down into the subway, Blaine carefully holding his coffee to his breast as they weave their way through the little crowd of commuters. “What about you?”
“Cherry told me about her weekend, which was crazy. Remind me to never go one of her parties.”
“What happened?”
“She thinks she might need to repaint her living room, is all I’m saying.”
The sound of Blaine’s laugh is lost in the rush of the train arriving. It’s on a different train, that they get one of the most exciting texts all year.
From: Kitty
Ms. P’s gone into labour, pass it on xoxo
“Dude!” Sam exclaims, shoving his phone towards Blaine, causing the passengers around them stare even more than they already were. They do look a site; two dapper gentlemen in suits riding the subway to Broadway.
“That’s awesome! We’ll tell Kurt and Adam when we get to the theatre,” Blaine says.
“What a day to be born, Baby Schue,” Sam mutters at his phone screen. He’s always had a softness of kids; it's adorable. “Rachel might be mad you’re stealing her thunder, though.”
“Not for long, Rachel loves babies and Mr. Schue.”
Funny Girl is a hit. Rachel is stellar as Fanny, along with the rest of the cast. Sam isn’t the theatre geeks the rest of them are, but after all the shows he and Blaine have tagged along to, he knows a good show from a bad one, and this was most certainly an amazing one.
And of course, Rachel is ecstatic over the news of little Daniel Schuester finally coming into the world. Coming towards 11:30pm as they bundle out of the theatre, Mr. Schue lets them know that Ms. P (who is actually Mrs. Schue now, but old habits die hard) is doing fine and that the baby is seven pounds, exactly.
“Do you want kids someday?” Sam asks him, days later, when it’s just the two of them laying side by side in bed. He’s flicking through the baby pictures Mr. Schue has been forwarding to the graduates.
Blaine puts his book on the bedside table, and turns to lay on his flank next to Sam. “One day,” he says, eyes trailing into the distance wistfully. He imagines matching wedding bands and shrieks of laughter from the yard of a house bordered by a white picket fence. “Obviously not yet, we’re too young and still in college,” he adds, backpedaling. “But, yeah, one day.”
Sam’s smile is soft and beautiful. “How many?”
“Two, maybe three.” Blaine adjusts his pillow to be under his head and he cradles it in his arms. “And we’d live in a house just outside the city, where the kids can ride their bicycles down the street, and they can get ice cream from the ice cream truck, and you’d drive them to dance classes or baseball practice.” Blaine feels a homely warmth slowly spreading out from his heart to touch every limb and digit.
“Do we have a dog?” Sam asks. He’s slowly sinking into the duvet, relaxed and smile easy. Blaine looks at him and all he can think to describe him is the word soft .
“Yeah,” Blaine tells him. “A big dog. A labrador or a mastiff, or maybe a mutt. From a shelter or the pound.”
“We could name him after someone, like Frodo or Spock,” Sam says, voice gentle. His eyes suddenly dance with contained excitement, “Or Neytiri.”
Blaine quirks an eyebrow. “You really want to name our future dog after a ten foot blue space alien from Avatar?”
“Don’t knock Neytiri, she’s a badass! She’s the best lady warrior, like, ever, she’s loyal to her people and smart and independent, and generally awesome. She starts fighting the RDA’s tanks, even though -”
Blaine stops listening, just letting Sam’s passion wash over him in crashing waves of affection and love. He feels light in a way that he hadn’t felt before he got to know Sam, not in Dalton, not at McKinley with Kurt. He almost feels dizzy with it, gratefulness feeling like sunshine in his veins. He lets out giggle, like the feeling is almost tickling.
“Why are you laughing?”
He huffs another small breath filled with mirth. “I just -” he shakes his head, wraps a hand around Sam’s wrist at chest height, stroking his thumb across the back of his hand. “I love you so much.”
Sam moves his hand to catch Blaine’s in his own, lacing their fingers together. They’re big and calloused, pale next to his own deeper complexion. It holds his just right.
“I love you, too.” Sam touches his forehead to his.
He can feel the smile on Sam’s face when Blaine kisses him, and like lightning, he’s struck with the realisation that he and Sam are more than okay. They’re more than great, more than awesome ; they’re perfect.