A/N: This is a birthday gift for LokiFirefox. Romantic!Blam story. I do not own Glee or Maroon 5. Love Somebody by Maroon 5 can be found on Spotify.

I

"Come on over. Everyone's gone. And I'll cook you dinner."

Blaine bit his lip. Those four magical little words dropped, softly, down the well of his thought and rippled through the water below, quiet and deep. He held his breath and wanted to remember them so desperately for when he might need to mull it over, tomorrow or next week or ten years from now or fifty years from now. While he was desperately committing them to memory, anticipation padded in and started to purr and purr and his toes reflexively curled, because he also held the memory of Sam's spontaneous, wonderful, beautiful kiss, and replayed it, over and over, so he could hug his blankets and smile (or so he thought he must be doing) in his sleep.

Those four words were important. This wasn't going to be video games night or movies night or an afternoon of sloughing through math homework. Those activities are best friend activities, and you invite your best friend over to your house to do best friend activities in a brisk "best friend" tone. But the way Sam had softly said "I'll cook you dinner," in that breathy, throaty, drawl-blurred way, sent shivers up and down Blaine's spine in a way that screamed and whispered at the same time: we're more than just friends.

He felt the smile spread across his face, but just in case, just to make sure, just to confirm it, Blaine asked anyway. His voice quivered. "Is this a date?"

Sam had just chuckled. "Wear a tie. And bring dessert."

II

The doorbell felt heavy when he pressed it, but he didn't have long to wait. The door flew upon, and there was sunshine himself, smiling widely, eyes alight. Sam wore a pale blue shirt and purple tie, slightly askew, under a "Kiss the Cook" apron.

They both stood there, blinking at each other. They had each chosen black dress shoes, and wow, oh wow, this was a date.

"Hey... you."

"Hey, yourself." Sam flicked his tongue over his lips. Blaine's breath caught.

"I... uh, I like your apron."

"You can take it as a suggestion, if you want."

Blaine still had to hold the dessert box, but he put his hand on the back of Sam's neck and pulled Sam down to graze his lips: just a short, sweet little peck. It was incredibly domestic, and heart-warming, and Blaine's stomach did flip-flops at all of what this might mean, because he saw it all unfold before his eyes and the hopeful, happy vision of it blurred his vision. "Spaghetti, huh?"

"Yeah, it's easy. I cooked it all the time for my kid sister and brother. Oh, wait. No. I didn't mean you aren't worth the effort of doing something hard, it's just I know how to do spaghetti well, and, uh..."

Sam was nervous.

"No, no! Spaghetti's great! I love carbs! Where should I put this?"

"Meatballs too. And salad. Oh shit, I didn't even think about the sauce getting on your clothes, and I asked you to put a tie on..."

Blaine gripped Sam by the forearm, and Sam stopped rambling. "No. It's fine. I'll just put a ton of napkins on my lap. Just tell me what you want me to do." A jolt skated between them, and to stop the moment from becoming too romantic too quickly (because he remembered Sam wanted to go slowly), Blaine let go, and flexed his fingers.

"Uh... put dessert in the refrigerator. Just cram it in somewhere." Sam gestured with a giant quilted oven mitt. "Come on in. Sit down at the kitchen table, and uh, maybe you can set it, too. You know where all the plates are, I guess."

Blaine set the table swiftly with placemats and cloth napkins and two stubby half-burned candles set precisely between them. Sam took his apron off and set the food out: neat piles of pasta and sauce and napkins, a big bowl of salad, dressing on the side, and a pan of nicely browned meatballs. The dim candlelight bobbed and danced and softened the edges of their world, so they ate mostly in silence, except for sidelong glances that lingered just a little more than normal.

"I didn't know you could cook," Blaine said in awe. He spooned more meatballs on his plate. They didn't taste store-bought. "These are really, really good. Did you make them yourself?"

Sam shrugged, but Blaine could tell that the compliment pleased him, judging by the half-quirk of his eyebrows and an intimate spark in his eyes. "It's too expensive to buy frozen ones. We'd just get the ground beef and pork and mix 'em up, spices, salt, you know. Sometimes my mom and dad would buy in bulk and then they'd make a lot in advance, so I could feed everyone quick without waiting for them to come home from work."

Blaine tilted his head, and a slow smile spread across his face. "I'm learning a lot about you." The words hung, heavily, in the air between them.

"You already knew all the important stuff. This is just, you know..." Sam dipped his fork into salad, "details. So, I should ask the same thing. Do you cook?"

"I like cooking, but I'm not at meatball level. I bake cookies, sometimes, but I bought the cake we'll have tonight."

"Why didn't you bring your cookies?" Sam peered at him.

"I didn't know you wanted cookies," Blaine said, a little too sharply, and stuffed bread in his mouth so he could think his way out of this suddenly very slippery territory.

Sam looked faintly disappointed. "It wasn't that I wanted cookies, or whatever you bought, but it would have been nice if you baked them." He took another bite of salad, but his face had that expression Blaine remembered: Don't hide. He waited patiently, chewing, until Blaine had formed an answer.

"I didn't know we were at the level of baked cookies," Blaine said evasively.

Sam blew exasperated air through his lips. "That's not good enough. Meatballs and cookies aren't levels, 'cause I know very well this isn't a video game and you do to. What are you scared of?"

Don't hide. "I don't know."

"Are you scared that you'll get hurt?" Sam put his iced tea down.

"I think I am. I'm also scared that I'll hurt you."

"I'm not scared of you hurting me. I'm not scared of me hurting you."

Blaine gave him a startled look. "Why?"

"Help me clear these plates away and cut dessert. I have another surprise for you," Sam said abruptly. "Maybe it'll help answer your question."

III

Sam had lit a fire in the den. It was bright and cheerful and incredibly romantic. There was a red-checked picnic blanket spread out on the carpet. He carried their dessert plates and forks over to the floor.

They sat cross-legged and faced each other, and Blaine waited for Sam to start talking.

"Look. I'm not scared because I'm not expecting perfection. You're sure as hell going to be disappointed if you want perfection from me."

"That makes sense," Blaine said. It took more effort to push these words out, but push them out, he did. "I just want you." Those were four more magical words that held in their scope so many emotions that were so hard to quantify, bursting at their seams with things that were about to spill out onto the ground.

"See, that's exactly it," Sam replied. "If all we want right now is each other, then that includes all the bad stuff that will happen. Fact: I will make mistakes. And so will you. So, tell me. Why didn't you bake the cookies?"

Blaine knew it was about more than just cookies, so he paused again - just a breath - and it was the truth, this time, that tumbled out: "Because I thought you wouldn't want them."

"I'll answer your question now. Fact: I will always want to eat whatever cookies you bake. No matter what the occasion is. No matter how burned and crispy they get, because you baked them. Yeah, I could have screwed up dinner, but you would have eaten it anyway, right? Or chipped in for pizza?"

"You're right. I would have. Because you made it for me, and that makes it better. Because it's a gift. And I will - " Blaine smiled, wide and deep - "appreciate everything you do for me."

"Right. It's give and take. You encourage me. I support you. I get to think the world of you, because I do. You get to think the world of me, because you do. I make dinner. You bake cookies. But I will screw up. And so will you. It's just in how we manage it, you know?"

"Deal."

"Deal. So, let's have dessert and celebrate this." Sam sliced through the moist cake. "It looks really good. Now, open up." He wiggled the laden fork towards Blaine's chin. "Open up for the airplane."

"You are a dork."

"And so are you. Open up. Then cuddles. Maybe Mass Effect 3 later, but cuddles first."

"I didn't know you preferred cuddles over Mass Effect 3."

"When Artie comes over" - Sam grinned boyishly - "I prefer Mass Effect 3 first."

Blaine laughed. "I'm glad you've got your priorities straight."

"I do. See, it's you, and you're here."

Sam put on some music. They curled up, like cats, and took it in turns to feed each other chocolate cake by the fire, licking the frosting off each other's forks and fingers. The fire snapped and cast greyish shadows on the furniture and the soft warmth snugly enveloped them both. When the song came on, Sam sang Love Somebody softly in Blaine's ear:

You're such a hard act for me to follow
Love me today, don't leave me tomorrow, yeah
But if I fall for you, I'll never recover
If I fall for you, I'll never be the same

Blaine said drowsily, "Do you think you will? Never be the same? I might not be."

"Maybe. Aren't we going to find out, though?"

"Yeah, I'm curious."

"There's a lot of things we need to do."

"I haven't forgotten about all of that, but since you're here, I'd rather focus on now."

"I know you'll take care of business. I'm not scared."

"Not as long as you're here with me." Blaine looked back at him, up and through his eyelashes.

"Mass Effect 3 might not happen if you keep on saying and looking romantic things," Sam teased.

"I think I'm okay with it."