What Sam's take could've possibly been upon seeing the infamous JBI video. Rating mainly for language. Please forgive errors and enjoy!

"So June…"

Sam supposed he deserved that, even if his lip curled and his grip on his guitar tightened so hard the strings scraped against the frets. He breathed measuredly through his nose and set his guitar carefully on the bed before replaying the Jacob Ben Israel video again.

"So June…"

That would forever be one of the worst months of his life. He'd thought it would be December, when his family had gotten an eviction notice underneath their Christmas tree or even February, when his relationship with Quinn had met its demise and he'd risen from the wreckage by dating Santana. Actually, more "messing around" with Santana, but she wasn't super bad all the time. She was a damn fine kisser and had a really nice ass.

Didn't compare to Mercedes' rear, though…nothing could. His baby got back—

Not his. Not anymore. Fucking Tennessee.

And to think a year ago he'd been upset he'd had to leave the damn state. Now he was back, not even two neighborhoods away from where his old house used to be and attending the public school he would've attended had he not gone to the all-boys school before moving to Lima. He'd already had friends at the school, old flings he hadn't thought about since the moment he'd strapped in to drive the pick-up truck full of things that couldn't fit into the U-Haul his father had driven or the minivan his mother had. He hadn't known what to expect, and certainly hadn't anticipated one Mercedes Jones.

He'd actually gotten to know about her through Quinn, when, during those rare occasions, she would open up to him about her pregnancy, or "The Ordeal" as she'd called it. Only two people had ever made Quinn's voice modulate from flat desolation to wistful affection—Beth and Mercedes. He'd only ever asked once why they barely spoke anymore. Quinn hadn't given him straight answer in reply, but he'd known not to broach the subject again. Yet it was because of that tone Sam had started paying attention to Mercedes at all—well, that and her singing…and her body…

Curves. Curves for days. From her cheeks when she smiled to…erm…the rest.

He liked how she was often the voice of reason with a 'tude, until it'd turned on him that one time in glee. He hadn't liked it very much then, extremely hurt she thought he could betray people so easily until he remembered they hadn't really known each other well at all. But she'd apologized in her own way—sending over a tin of her cookies and offering to babysit when Quinn couldn't. They'd broached a shaky yet tentative friendship from that apology, which had become the topsoil needed to help the seed of attraction inside of him grow into something much more.

Then prom had happened, and that seed sprouted. It was then he realized just how fragile Mercedes was underneath all that sass and swagger, hiding it behind a mighty talent and mighty personality so well few bothered looking beyond the surface to see it. He could admit without Quinn's initial clues, he wouldn't have been able to spot it, either.

Mercedes hadn't liked he could see that deeply inside of her and had tried to close him out, but Sam wouldn't let her. In New York he'd declared himself to her, in an alleyway near their hotel, and had been the first boy to ever kiss her lips. And truthfully, he wouldn't have had a problem being the last one to do so at all.

But God had had other plans.

His father had been blessed with his old job and no one could say no to that. Sam had been a coward and not told Mercedes, leaving her to find out through the glee club grapevine, and she'd cussed him out good in the motel's parking lot the night before he'd left. Then, she'd broken up with him, claiming she couldn't trust him and had known he'd leave her all along.

"Granted not like this," she'd said on a derisive snort, her jaw tight and mutinous while her eyes gleamed even under the dingy parking lot lights. Not a tear fell, however.

She'd never been more beautiful to him, and Sam had thought that all kinds of fucked up.

"You thought I would leave you," Sam had said carefully. She'd refused to verbally confirm that, just tilted her chin higher and gritted her teeth harder. "Have I done anything to make you think I would?"

"Other than date the hottest girls at McKinley or wait until now to tell me you were leaving? I don't need your pity, Samson Evans!" she'd snapped, her voice quavering just so. And he'd realized that had it not been for this past month and a half of getting to know all about her, he would've never recognized that break in form. He'd heard her voice do that before, though, just now he knew why it did.

"Of all the things you have of me, Mercedes Jones, 'pity' ain't one of 'em."

She'd squeezed her eyes shut then. "Sam—"

"And you're the hottest one of all, Mercedes," he continued, stalking closer to her until he was in her face. "And now I'm fucking pissed because I won't get the chance to walk through the halls with you on my arm or kiss you by the lockers or serenade you in glee. Some other fucker's gonna get to do that, because now we're broken up and I'll be hundreds of miles away and you'll be here, fierce and fabulous, and nobody can resist that."

"They have," Mercedes had mumbled.

Sam had gripped her chin firmly and brushed his mouth against hers. "They won't now. You're different. I unleashed your genie, lady."

She'd rolled her eyes and tried to hide her grin, but Sam had smiled and kissed its appearance upon her face, humming the Christina Aguilera tune all the while.

"Stop making me smile! I'm mad at you," she'd demanded.

"I'm mad at you. I don't want to break up with you."

"Be realistic. We are broken up. Whether we want to be or not."

He didn't want to be realistic. He wanted to be with her, so he'd pressed her against her car and shoved his tongue down her throat, making her do scales with her whimpers. He'd slid his hand underneath her top and slid it up so he could wedge it under the curve of her breast and God he'd miss her when he left.

"You won't even try the long-distance thing?" Sam had accused, barely separating his mouth from hers to complete the feat.

"We're sixteen, soon-to-be-seventeen for me. A little too young to be talking forever, don't you think?"

"Mercedes—"

"If we're meant to be, we'll find each other again."

That was such utter bullshit that Sam had groaned and separated slowly from her. Her lips had been swollen and her breasts had risen and fallen from the force of her heavy breathing. And while this had been the most amicable breakup he'd ever endured, it was still the worst.

"Don't break too many hearts down South," she'd told him, unconsciously bringing her hand up to her own. Sam had known she hadn't realized she'd done it because she was using her sassy voice, the one she used when she was covering her vulnerability.

He'd almost told her he loved her, but he'd wanted his balls attached for the trip down to Tennessee. Instead, he'd told her he'd see her on Facebook soon.

And boy, had she gotten an eyeful.

One of his old flings had posted a pic of them making out and had tagged him on it. In his defense, he'd been slightly drunk and he was free and clear to kiss other girls now. But perhaps such a kiss not even a week after ending it with Mercedes was a little too soon. He'd immediately regretted it and untagged his name, but the damage had been done. Mercedes had played it cool on his Facebook wall—she'd had no choice; they'd not ever officially outed themselves as a couple even though Sam was pretty sure the whole club had known about them by the time he'd moved. She'd called him a Southern Lothario with a wink emoticon and had refused to entertain a gchat with him for the next two weeks. Irritated by her silence, Sam had turned the old fling into a girlfriend, who'd then proceeded to make sure the entirety of Facebook knew about it.

"She breaks your heart, I'm breaking my foot up her ass," Mercedes had typed into a gchat window two days after the announcement. "And I got me a new boo too. Guess you unleashed that genie real good, Sammy."

She hadn't announced her new relationship status, though; in fact, the option wasn't on her Facebook at all. But his Mercedes knew there was a time, a place, and a way to do it—

Cue Jacob Ben Israel.

"Fuck," Sam mumbled under his breath, closing the video with a hard click of the mouse.

Not his.

His Yahoo!Chat box popped on the screen with his current girlfriend sending him a kissy-face emoticon. He grinned and started to type a reply when he noticed Mercedes was back on gchat. He didn't even pause, automatically switching to type a message to her.

"So June, huh?"

He picked up his guitar again and began to strum, barely glancing at the Yahoo!Chat window's new message of "r u there?"

When Mercedes replied, he set down his guitar again so he could speak to her in earnest, even asking for a video chat. Of course she resisted at first, but if she missed him even half as much as he missed her, she'd grant him his request.

Bingo, he thought, and she looked adorable in her pajamas with a silk scarf wrapped around her head. Even without her makeup she was flawless. She wouldn't look at him fully as she spoke, pretending she was doing homework, and the fact made him smirk. She definitely talked a good game; but even between video chat and hundreds of miles, he could still see the real Mercedes underneath, and he proceeded to prove it to her.

Sam wasn't the least bit surprised when she abruptly ended the video chat, which was a good thing on her part because his boxers had grown exceedingly crowded thinking about their makeout sessions that he'd been about to describe. The Yahoo!Chat box was still blinking and there was a block of text inside of it. Sighing, Sam picked back up his guitar and began to play an earworm that had been stuck in his head for the past few days. An idea sparked, and he turned on his webcam to record his impromptu performance. After he was done, he sent a message to Mercedes and finally typed "Hey" to the Yahoo!Chat box.

Again, Mercedes was playing tough, trying to reject what he wanted to send her…to reject him. But he wouldn't let her do it. She couldn't do it, not any more than he could. Just because they weren't physically together anymore didn't mean emotions suddenly stopped. Quinn still had a place in his heart, for Christ's sake—even Santana. And if Mercedes thought she didn't have a place (an entire wing, if he were honest with himself), she was going to be very disappointed…and if she thought he was anxious to move out of his place in her heart…

He typed a final message of the night to Mercedes, sent her the video, then logged off of gchat with a grin, humming the earworm he'd just sent as he typed into the Yahoo!Chat box.

She ain't you… (Chris Brown)