Chapter 10

Just a Little Crush

Warning: mild language. From frustration.

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The things Dave did for these people.

Honestly.

When he had joined the spastic mania that was New Directions Dave had known, because he fancied himself a guy of decent observational skills, that his life was probably about to become slightly more…intense. That was the word for it, intense. With every conversation, every action, every casual look across the room being amplified by these seventeen-some-odd individuals stewing in their own microcosm of personal needs, it was a reasonable deduction. And finally, finally Dave had a way to understand why that was the way of the world because it seemed that the attitudes of just about everyone else in the school fell into either the categories of one, total apathy, or two, unparalleled, vindictive psychopathy when it came to regarding the Glee Club.

There was no range in between, believe him, Dave had tried looking for it, only to come up empty to the knowing, sympathetic eyes of Kurt and Rachel and a casual, "good effort" shrug from Sam.

So it was sort of reasonable for these people to be wrapped up inside each other's lives. Because they were the only ones that cared. At school, of people their own age, they were the only ones that had anything at stake with each other. So they took their interactions seriously, and their friendships seriously, which resulted in strong relationships, sure, but it also had its fair share of drawbacks.

When people who were this…passionate happened to co-mingle, on a regular basis, with no other outlets for their frustrations and sometimes unfortunately sharing the weight of a stressful social problem, building tensions could only be alleviated with one swift and fatal explosion of unforgettable consequences. Either a brawl or a spontaneous song or a tear-laden, heart-wrenching confession or something was bound to happen because all of that shit had to go somewhere.

Or, if one was feeling especially sorrowful and desperately needed an escape, you could always turn to booze.

Of course, that always tended to lead to other problems.

In their defense - not that Dave was feeling particularly strongly about supplying an argument for certain individuals at this exact moment - it had been a sort of awful week. Dave had to resort to the "sort of" qualifier because he had been a little too occupied to notice how the rest of Team Glee's week was going, but he could infer by the downtrodden expressions it wasn't exactly pleasant. At least, not for the ones he immediately cared about. Sure, Sugar seemed to be doing fine all bright and bubbly and inhumanly happy across the hallway and- yes, that was all of that particular thought Dave managed to complete before he was hit by yet another slushie. Luckily he hadn't felt that one, his extremities having settled into that delightful feeling of pins in needles that pretty much numbed out the shocked sensation of extra ice.

Dave surrendered and started wearing a waterproof windbreaker after the second day of his official Glee standing. Zizes still hadn't stopped making fun of his more it, but that was one of the few points he could argue her down from because she did not get the right to mock when she had not experienced it herself. No, Lauren Zizes was a slushie repelling machine and Dave may or may not have started to unashamedly use that to his advantage. Because he liked his face. He liked it a lot, and anything he could do to prevent permanent loss of feeling in it was welcomed with wide open arms.

So it had been a bad week. A bad week for Dave, a bad week for Sam (who seemed to get ragged on more, supposedly for converting Dave), and it had been an especially bad week for the Hebr-Asian fusion, Puck suffering under his attacks in stubborn silence while Mike was consumed by his own guilt and Tina was stressed out of her mind trying to keep a healthy balance between the two, which was a gargantuan feat in itself because even Coach Sylvester new about how badly those particular individuals were at communicating. Knew and didn't even try to use it to her advantage, that was how pathetically sad it was.

Increased slushies, mild altercations with the jocks whenever Mike tried to fight in Puck's defense, which got Puck riled because he did not care what happened to him but screw with his boyfriend and so help you misfortune and misery were coming your way, swift and brutal. And by that point at least half of the Glee Club would have rallied, signaled by an emergency text system thing they had set up, and break up the mess quick and simple before any teachers got involved. Turned out, aside from Dave's little fight with Azimio, those didn't tend to go so well for New Directions. Ever.

And Dave himself was having his fair share of fights with Sam, the blond wanting to come to his defense and Dave wanting to go to Sam's defense and both of them arguing long enough to meet a slushie wave head on, no arguments, and still be mad at each other by the time it was done.

Were Dave being honest, he would say he was not surprised by how quickly the rest of the football team had turned on him. That didn't make it suck any less, but at least he wasn't trapped under the delusion that he was getting any invites on X-Box live that weren't from the glee club. Or that they would pull their punches. Or that they would stop egging his car.

(Dave had long decided if New Directions ever managed to overthrow the school's current social hierarchy those asshats would be assigned to the gracious duty of making his vehicle absolutely sparkling every, single, day. And they would be grateful for it.)

What did surprise Dave was that he didn't see Azimio nearly as much as he expected to. He had assumed his best-

…his ex-best friend would be bitter and need an outlet for that, but it turned out Azimio's appearances were more out of obligation than anything else. At least, as far as Dave knew. He showed up about twice a week to establish his dominance, throw a few well-aimed slushies and few hateful words, and aside from that, nothing. Unless he was the individual responsible for orchestrating the offenses done to Dave's car, but that was unlikely, because that was sort of sacred ground for Azimio. You could hate a guy, but you did not mess with his ride. There were standards.

It didn't make Dave any happier when he got to participate in the sport of frantically cleaning off his car before his mom got home, or make it any more appealing, but it did bring his mind a small token of comfort, which was really all he could ask for. It was the small things.

Sort of like the precious few moments he managed to spend with Sam.

With Dave no longer in possession of his high social standings, the old intimidation and seniority that had once seemed so off-putting no longer worked its charm. Like the rest of Glee Club, he was either invisible or a target, which meant that most of the times he hung out with Sam now had to be done in secure locations, or there would be interruptions. Unpleasant ones; ones that hurt. They had adapted accordingly, sticking to places like the choir room or their houses to stay safe, but it was really starting to cut into their friend-time, and Dave was not liking that. He was not liking that at all.

Especially now that he had- no, scratch that, now that he got to participate in glee rehearsals now, which he would have thought would be good for bonding but no, as it turned out spending an hour trying not to hopelessly trip over your own feet had a way of taking priority over simple things like interactions.

It made Sam smile, which was a plus, but now Dave was stuck in this thing called "Booty Camp" and why, why was this the name, he could not stand it, it hurt his head, but he couldn't protest because he was in Glee Club now and even if he stubbornly stayed in the back the entire time he still had to know the dances.

On the plus side, Sam came to "Booty Camp" because Finn had to be there and Kurt had to be there and those were his two rides home, but he hadn't had to participate. Not this time. Apparently those moves the blond had been practicing during their "investigation" time had been part of their performances and Dave hadn't even known it. So the blond got to look on from the audience, laughing at their mistakes and cheering them on for a particularly hard dance move.

Some of these things, Dave swore, were impossible. He tried to tell Mike as much (and then stubbornly ignore whenever the dancer "helpfully" demonstrated) but no one was having it. Not Finn, who had to put up with it all year, or Kurt, who at least had rhythm, or Mr. Schuester, who seemed to find Dave's protests an entertaining kind of endearing. Like a wayward duckling that would see the light soon.

It was unnerving.

But Dave tried, because he owed them all that much, and even though it killed a lot of his free time, moments he didn't have to spare, he still felt really good about it. Like even with all these added people between them he was getting closer to Sam.

And then he got the phone call.

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It didn't change very much, just the call itself. Dave had been studying, or working on a project, or something assuredly school-related he couldn't exactly remember anymore, when he got it. Bemoaning his lonely status on a Friday night, but understanding the necessity. School was important, he had to do…school. Yes, whatever it had been.

He had been distracted, sorting through a disorganized mob of papers on his bed while he searched in vain for something, when his phone rang, such a deceptively far distance on his nightstand. He lunged for it, cursing as papers tumbled to the floor but beyond caring, just, done with it all, because this was a ringtone he welcomed. It wasn't Rachel or Kurt or one of his ex-acquaintances preparing to unload some strings of obscenities and "well deserved" abuse, but Sam. And anything from Sam, at this particular moment, was a welcomed reprieve, because Dave had a headache threatening to surrender into a full-grown migraine and his eyes were strained from all the numbers he had been staring at and the cricks in his back…they were less than pleased, so less than pleased with their state, and any interruption, especially one from Sam, would be celebrated.

"Hello?" Dave gasped, stretched across the bed with his phone jammed against his ear, hoping he picked up in time.

Please let it be an invitation to their thirtieth viewing of Avatar, Dave could so use an evening of staring at colorful, pretty things on the screen while attempting to juggle popcorn into his mouth. That sounded, that alone, sounded brilliant, and Dave was so ready, eagerly awaiting the onslaught of super enthusiastic Sam babble to hit his ears in a flurried rush.

When this was not immediately the case, Dave became a bit worried.

On the other end of the line there was nothing, just, the empty void of no connections. Maybe Sam had pocket-dialed him on accident? That happened sometimes but it was still salvageable because Dave could call him back and see about the movie thing-

"Daaaaaave," Sam's voice cheerfully answered, pleasure conveyed by the extended vowel, like he was entertaining himself. "Dave, my man!"

They fell into a pause, Sam content for not supplying the reason for his call. Dave took this time to confirm with a sourful note that yes, this call had been intentional, and no, good things were not happening.

Dave sighed, not bothering himself with an attempt to disguise it, and stared up at his ceiling, exasperated.

"Sam," he said, voice firm and clear. "Are you drunk?"

The following pause was confirmation in itself, Sam busy deliberating, meaning his thinking was impaired, meaning he was, in fact, drunk.

When the blond finally answered his cheer remained undeterred, and if Dave had to stretch, there was a bit of pride in his voice. "You're smart Dave. You're so smaaaaaaaaaaaaart." Sam laughed, and in the background Dave could hear the drunken chortles of others, Mike and Tina, definitely, and maybe Puck.

"That's one of the reasons I like you so much," Sam continued, his pleasure with Dave now transcending to a pleasure with himself, like he was proud of this discovery and that was something that should be shared. Happily.

"Great," Dave replied half-minded, already pulling himself off of his bed and strategizing a plan of action. "That's great Sam."

"Daaaaaaaaaaaave," Sam slurred again, Tina joining in as a distant voice, like it was some kind of new game. "Dave, we're having drinks to have fun Dave. And we had it, the fun, but you're not here and that's sad. That's sad Dave and you should be here, having fun."

Dave shoved his shoes on, ahum-ing at all the appropriate moments and making encouraging noises, knowing there was very little he could say that would affect Sam's mood right now. The blond was oblivious to anything, especially anything that resembled common sense, and part of Dave was mad, furious, that they would risk this stuff, risk getting caught drunk just to- he couldn't, he couldn't form complete sentences in his mind right now because he was just so pissed, and worried, and who knew what those idiots were doing-

"Dave," Sam's voice was loud and insistent, enough for Dave to realize the blond had been echoing his name several times, trying to get his attention. "Dave," Sam continued. "I don't remember why I didn't call you at first, 'cuz you're like, my favorite pal and- no," Sam's head turned away, voice distant as he addressed someone on his side of the line. "Shut it Puckerman, I will not take that crap from you-" he turned back, probably scowling if Puck's laughter, now confirmed, was anything to go by. "But I didn't. I didn't call then so I thought I'd call now, so you can have fun."

"Where are you Sam?" Dave snatched his car keys off the hook by his door – an arrangement Sam had once found amusing in its inherent organization – and grabbed his jacket off the back of the desk chair, just in case Sam needed some coverage, or something. Dave didn't dwell on it much, but it never hurt to be prepared.

His mom was out, Woman's Council, at the church perhaps, or one of her other volunteer things. Hopefully Dave could complete this mission before her return, but if he didn't he could always beg off any punishments by stating it was for a friend. She respected that and he was rarely out of the house when he wasn't supposed to be. It was an honor system he respected, and with his dad away on a business trip Dave had been self-enforcing. Bending the rules this one time wouldn't kill him.

He would feel slightly guilty for it later, but the overwhelming call of Sam was enough to pull Dave through that lull.

"Tiiiiina's house," the blond sing-songed, earning a rowdy cheer from his drunken compatriots. "Puck got the drinks an' Mike an' I brought the abs-"

"Still feel ripped off," Puck grumbled, sounding only half-committed to being bitter, the rest of him too entertained.

"You're welcome!" Sam declared, missing the protest and inserting what thanks he believed should have been in its place. "An' no one's here but us and we neeeeeeeed you-"

"I don't," Puck insisted, scoffing. "But he's been whining for like, the past-"

The teen was unceremoniously cut off with a scuffle, between him and Sam if the cheers of Mike and Tina told anything, and eventually Sam made his way back to the phone, panting mildly. Which didn't do things to Dave's libido. It didn't.

"So you should come," Sam breathed, sounding hopeful and informative at once. "Come and help us make popcorn, because Mike can't, he tried and it went badly and we can't turn off the Lion King, it just keeps looping-"

"'Oh I just can't wait to be KIIIIING'," Mike cheered from the distance, sounding unbothered by this arrangement.

"Like that," Sam continued, sounding pleased with Mike's addition, like it helped his argument. "So you should come. Will you come?"

Despite the fact that Dave was already in his car, seatbelt buckled, mirror adjusted, waiting patiently to end the call so he could look up Tina's address from where she had programmed it in his phone, he still put in a pause for thoughtful silence, as though he had to consider this (and not because he was a little dazed by the blatant hope in Sam's voice, how badly he wanted Dave to be there).

Eventually Dave shrugged, giving his rear view mirror one last adjustment, and replied. "Sure Sam."

And how was that for playing it cool?

The best, that was what.

And when Sam cheered, "Thanks Dave!", inspiring likewise exclamations from the other drunken morons in his vicinity, Dave did not feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Because Sam was drunk, and drunk versions of people have a way of doing things that sober versions would never consider doing. So…that was that then.

Just, get there, get Sam, and then take him home, Dave thought, trying to keep it simple.

Maybe if the plan was simple there would be no way he could screw it up.

Or at the very least, Dave could allow himself the delusion that would be the case, and then he could save the freaking out for when things inevitably got out of hand.

After all, Dave fancied himself a practical person.

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The state of Tina's living room did not appear to be completely unsalvageable; with enough determination one could hypothetically clean the carpet of all the scattered pretzels, cheese puffs, and Ritz crackers, if they were stubborn. The smell of burnt popcorn was distinct in the air, overpowering any odors that dared to oppose it but aside from that, and other wayward food items, everything appeared to be in one piece. Dave had been relieved at that, knew from a few unpleasant experiences with game after-parties how much damage just a few inebriated teenagers could manifest. Clean up was made much easier when you didn't have broken furniture to deal with, but knowing Tina she had probably laid down the law before hand, and based on what Dave had heard these four were more jovial drunks than belligerent.

Still, as Dave eyed the impressive ratio of empty bottles to teenagers, he decided that recruiting some backup would not be unwarranted. Kurt would be a good choice, probably. Or maybe Santana, if she thought the opportunity to obtain blackmail material was strong enough. Dave would think it over.

"Dave!" Sam cheered, thrusting fist into the air triumphantly as Tina wobbled her way over to the couch the blond and the other two idiots were sprawled across, the lone female having been nominated to let Dave in. "You're here!"

"Yep," Dave agreed, frowning at the way Tina collapsed on top of Puck, settling against her boyfriend with a contented smile and consciously ignoring any gruff protests.

Water, they needed water. That would make their hangovers slightly less horrific.

"Here!" Sam enthusiastically waved an empty bottle in Dave's direction, smile brilliant as he lurched over the arm of the couch, offering it to him. "You should…drink. Drink for you! We are share-ers."

"Speak for yourself," Puck muttered, and then was instantly distracted when Tina made grabby hands at his chin, smashing their faces together with such lack of coordination it was almost artful.

"I shall!" Sam agreed happily, grin widening at Mike's hum of agreement, both oblivious to the fact that Puck was no longer listening. It didn't seem to bother Sam much, didn't deter his happiness one inch as he kept his focus on Dave, bottle extended. His grip on the neck of it was shaky, at best, a clear warning of soon-to-be broken glass, so Dave kept his attention on that. Just kept his attention on relieving Sam of his burden, (ignoring how casually their fingers touched because that wasn't something that required mentioning) and successfully pulling the bottle from Sam's reach (and not looking at how good his hair was all disheveled, his bottom lip, wet and red from the number of beer bottles pressed against it-)

"Thank you," Dave said, pulling his gaze away from Sam with a swallow, taking a rough estimate of how much each of them had drank. "How much have you guys had?"

"Individually?" Mike asked, grinning over the top of his beer bottle, eyes focused on Sam's antics. "Or collectively? Because I can answer neither."

Beside him, the blond had twisted so that his back was sprawled over the arm of the couch, head and shoulders hanging upside down, over the edge.

"Thank you Mike." Dave was sure to keep his tone pleasant, no longer surprised by the mild urge to strangle when it attacked. "That was very helpful. And also," he reached forward, snagging the bottle from the dancer's uncoordinated hands before he could protest. "I think you've had enough."

"Boo," Puck cheered, gaining enough awareness to pick up on when the booze was getting cut off. "Buzzkill."

"Go back to making out with your girlfriend," Dave ordered, not wanting to deal with that particular individual at the moment. Luckily Tina supported this plan, and Dave got the next few minutes of his life to be Puck-free as she eagerly picked up where they had left off.

Deciding to push his luck, Dave quickly relieved Puck and Tina of their bottles too, making a fast trip to the kitchen to locate a garbage bag. He found a box and set off back to the living room, determined, firing off a few texts to Kurt to get scrawny butt over here. If Dave got to deal with this, so did he. That was like- basic fairness. Probably.

When Dave returned Sam had managed to get himself upright and appeared to be trying some complicated hand game with Mike that neither one of them could remember the motions to. The end result was a lot of smacked faces and laughter which was fine, it was fine, but Dave just wished they would stop leaning so damn close together, just, he was a teenager with hormones and they were two guys he had once crushed and was currently crushing on, and even he had his limits-

"Daaaaave," Sam called, collapsing against the couch with string of drunken giggles, amused by the last in a long line of failures. "Dave you're…we're supposed to do fun things."

"I am having fun." Dave had consciously kept his eyes glued to anywhere that wasn't the couch, searching for any more bottles he had missed, the remainder of the beer safely hidden out of reach. "This here," Dave continued, doing his best to placate Sam, in case he turned out to be a touchy drunk. "This is fun."

"…do you mean it?"

It was the tone that got Dave.

That was what made him stop. It was the first…that wasn't to say Sam didn't sound happy, because he did, but he had also sounded…genuine. Like he really cared, he so transparently needed and wanted Dave to be having a good time too, because Dave was his friend, and Sam cared about him.

And there was also so much of that Dave could read into, so very much his mind would happily pick up and run with like a madman clinging to a dying dream, and Dave normally wouldn't, because he was a realist, but in that exact second he was struck by the overwhelming want to do so. Like maybe just this once…

Before he could reply, Puck cut in with a scoff, loud and graceless, and Dave looked back in time to see him roll his eyes in a painfully exaggerated way. "Seriously, just makeout with him Evans. You know you want to; we know you want to-"

Oh God- no, nononononononononoooooo- let them be forgetful drunks, Dave thought, pleading and praying as though it would make a damn difference, let them find that funny and let Sam not freak out about that-

Outside the frantic ramblings of his mind, the conversation continued, blithely carrying on without a care to Dave's actual participation.

"I can't do that," Sam protested, scrunching his nose at Puck. "He's my best friend, you can't-" he elbowed Mike in the stomach, who had been stuck in a dreamy stare down with Tina. "Tell 'em Mike."

"Wha-?" Mike blinked a few times, mouth hanging open as he considered, but managed to do a quick mental recap and catch up, understanding the question without clarification. "Who said that?"

Sam gestured vaguely, hands traveling up and out as though to demonstrated the whole world. "You know," Sam began, frustrated with his lack of communication. "It's like a rule."

"Well it's a dumb one," Mike declared with a haughty tilt of his head. "You should be allowed to makeout with whoever you want, best friends included."

"In fact," Mike continued, a dangerous look of determination making its way onto his face, one that never made for good things. "It should be mandatory," he declared, thrusting a triumphant fist into the air. "To makeout with your best friends. A rule! 'Cuz if you can't makeout with them, who can you makeout with?"

"This logic," Dave began to say, somehow managing to find his voice through the horror that had descended upon him. "I don't think it's quite-"

"Quiet you!" Mike waved a menacing finger in his direction, attempting to look authoritive and all knowing. "You cannot defy the Makeout Rule! For it is the rule-!"

"Hey rulemaster," Puck called out, one hand cupped around his mouth, the other wrapped around Tina who was pouting at their makeout interruption. "Isn't Sam your best friend?"

It was pretty much the equivalent of explaining the meaning of life to Mike at that exact moment; the dancer's eyes widened, amazed and confounded by this undeniable truth and Dave should stop this- should have stopped this earlier, way earlier-

But then Mike Chang was collapsing back onto the couch, draping himself across Sam Evans and, with a look of determination that could not be equaled, enthusiastically beginning to makeout with him, the blond, Dave's friend, Mike's best friend, Sam Evans.

And then, just to make matters that much better, Sam Evans started kissing him back.

Which made Dave's previously existing hatred for alcohol all that much greater.

Despite whatever distractions Dave had wanted to pacify himself with it just…it kept happening, even after Puck and Tina lost interest and turned to their own entertainment, it just kept going on. It was a fact Dave's mind was struggling to cope with, half-believing that perhaps he had fallen asleep in the middle of his frantic studies and apparently this was the end result, but it was real. He knew it was real because even his subconscious would not want to deal with drunken Puck and- Sam and Mike, as though this were normal, as though this were an understandable happening, were just- sure, they were drunk, but inebriation, Dave knew from his own pitiful experiences, had its limits. There were still lines somewhere.

Lines Sam's mind should have met, examined, and dutifully walked away from, regardless of how good a friend he was, but instead there was this, this…thing of them making out, leaving Dave to watch, slack jawed, as his past and current objects of affection went to town on each other's faces.

He vaguely felt like he should be recording this, and that thought was immediately greeted with an overwhelming backlash of "No, stop it, be a responsible and respectful friend" from his brain clashing with a "Yes, we should do this thing, why aren't we doing this thing, DO THIS THING" from Dave's less refined yet persistently excited lower regions. It was an altogether unpleasant combination, ending with a sickening feeling of guilt in his stomach and some remarkably exciting feelings in his pants.

It was very conflicting.

It also felt like there was a veritable range of emotions that should also be bombarding Dave that he was neglecting (confusion maybe; horror, a possibility, perhaps a bit of jealousy?), and as sure as he was of them rearing their ugly heads later, for the present, Dave was stuck between being dumbfounded and appreciative, trying to keep his eyes averted from the way Sam's hands grabbed at Mike's back, at the way the dancer towered over the blond, dominating, and the stupid (awesome) sounds they were making, and how-

"Sam." Mike pulled back, gasping, lips pink and smirking, a dopey, pleased grin. He combed a hand sloppily through the other teen's hair. Sam (the traitor? Dave's not sure if it really applied) leaned into it, eyes closed with a hum of contentment.

"Sam," Mike continued, gaze shifting from the blond leaning against him to Dave. Despite the alcohol, Dave could see the wheels turning in his head, some craftiness at play, and the smile transformed into something more sinister. Almost, dare he think it, devilish. "Dave's your best friend too right?"

Mike finished this with a thumbs up to Dave, something the sober teen could only give the briefest second of attention because then Sam was perking up, realizing the truth of this statement.

"That's right," Sam agreed and then, for a split second, they were both smiling at Dave, beaming like they shared in a victory. For a moment, Dave almost felt like a winner with them. He stupidly allowed himself to relax, despite himself, despite knowing better, and that was really all it took for him to completely let his guard down.

It happened in slow motion, except it didn't because it was real time, but somehow felt like hyper time? But the next thing Dave knew he had an armful of giggling (giggling, this was no overstatement, merely a simple delivery of facts) Sam Evans, and then the second after that he had a face-full of Sam Evans, and it was, undoubtedly, the best face to ever been seen in that particular position.

It was mere reflex that had Dave wrapping his arms around the other teen's waist, because it was improbable that Sam would be able to remain standing on his own. That could be the particular reason for the way he had latched onto Dave, slinking almost into him in a manner that was just horribly unfair, so close to things he shouldn't want to be close to and it would be better if the blond stopped grinding on-

But face. Just, face and Sam, kissing him- goddamn- it was happening, this was not some torturous daydream but the real deal, lips soft and wet and eager, sloppy but making up for that and then some with enthusiasm alone and Dave probably shouldn't be responding but damnit, damnit, damnit he was human. He had limits too and the way Sam kept pressing so close until there was nothing- grabbing and pressing and not stopping-

Dave was human, and Sam tasted like cheap beer and cherry chapstick and had octopus hands that were pretty much everywhere, sliding up Dave's front around his back down to- and he was constantly moving, an impressive feat in itself because he shouldn't be able to manage that much, not when he couldn't even do a high five but then again hand-eye coordination didn't really have much to do with stamina and will did it and-

Why? Just- it was the best, in that second, exactly what Dave had wanted. Validation for his attraction, total confirmation that this was him, this was real, this was what he wanted, but the stinging question of why continued to play in his head, and hope, so strong and defiant kept building, supported by Sam's care and his want and his willingness, his sadness for Dave not being there, his-

It took Dave a few seconds to realize Sam had pulled away, when he discovered it wasn't so hard to breathe now and gulped gasps of air like it was his lifeblood (and it was, whatever, but-), waiting for Sam to recover so they could do that again, or more, because Sam hadn't moved away, but maybe, perhaps maybe Dave shouldn't be taking advantage of this (oh, there you are common sense. In case you were wondering, you weren't missed) and then Sam was looking up at him, eyes squinted.

"I think," Sam began, sort of dazed, eyebrows furrowed. "I think that…"

It was the small sound of rejection, a hummed protest in the back of Sam's throat that had Dave moving, shifting the blond in his arms, turning him away. The move was executed just in time for Dave's fears to be confirmed, Sam upchucking all over the hardwood floors with an unceremonious gargle.

Out of respect, Dave averted his eyes, allowing Sam what little dignity he could offer until the gagging subsided and Sam went still, sagging against Dave's chest with a pathetic groan.

It was pretty much the equivalent of a cold shower, helpfully bundled with a wake-up call.

This was the reality Dave lived in. Not fantasy land, here. And there were still a few problems here that needed to be dealt with.

Dave had located the nearest bathroom on his way in for just such a reason, and was already hauling Sam towards it, knowing based on intake alone Sam wasn't quite finished yet. He was right, again, because Dave was unfortunately gifted that way, unfortunately perceptive, and he took what solace he could from rubbing a gentle hand on Sam's back, giving the blond what comfort could be offered in between bouts of vomiting.

Yes, it was the perfect picture of romance.

"Sorry…sorry Dave," the blond gasped, looking the epitome of dejected at his sudden sickness. "I didn't mean to…"

Dave rushed to console the other teen, squeezing his shoulder for added emphasis. "It's okay Sam. I don't mind."

"Of course you don't." There was a pout now, small and petulant and dangerously attractive settling on Sam's lips. "You don't get bothered by anything, you're like, Superman good."

"…Thanks?" Dave said, not sure how he should take that, and the other teen gave him an exasperated look.

"I'm not Superman good," the blond huffed, drumming his fingers against the side of the toilet, glaring down at its porcelain whiteness.

"Well…" Dave was not equipped to deal with self-hating Sam, he was barely able to deal with plain ole' drunk Sam and the changes in mood here were getting a little too extreme for him to cope with at this exact moment, so he was kind've at a loss for what to say.

Turned out, his buying time ploy didn't work so well because Sam just stared at him critically, an open challenge, like Dave had confirmed it even though Dave hadn't but he was going to or something-

"You're Sam-good," Dave settled on, earning a snort from the blond, like it was a cop-out, but Dave continued. "You're Sam-good and you know what? I like Sam-good, so if you've got problem with that, with my opinion, then I must not be quite as uh…"

"Superman good?" Sam offered, but he was smiling now, a shy, coy thing, no longer doubting, and Dave couldn't help but smile back.

"Yes," he confirmed. "Then I must not be as Superman good as you think I am."

Though when that became the scale of measurement for the quality of someone, Dave did not know. He was just sort of riding the tide here.

It had been a long evening.

"Okay," Sam agreed, giving a jerky, uneven nod. "Sam-good's good."

"Exactly."

They looked at each other, and just like that it was like any other time they were hanging out, shooting the breeze, sharing easy smiles and slow comfort, because they were friends.

And then Sam's expression soured, and with an unpleasant gag he was back to wrenching into the toilet.

So…

That pretty much summed up the evening.

-:-:-:-:-:-

Endnotes:

Soooooooory everyone. Got hit by finals. Good news is, I'm all done for the semester, so I should, in theory, have more time to write. We shall see.

That being said, who else has "I Just Can't Wait to be King" stuck in there heads? What? Everyone? GOOD.

A big thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, Sammiam and Abby. You two are toooooooooooo kind ;)

But seriously, thanks for the encouragement. I'm glad it entertained.

So I've had this chapter planned out since….like September, and the fact that I finally get to write it fills me with so much excitement and happiness and just, FINALLY, right? A lot of times I'll make plans for things that never end up happening, but I'm glad that didn't turn out to be the case. Drunken makeout times have been achieved. Though initially, they were going to be a bit different.

For your viewing entertainment, I will share the original version of the makeout scene.

It's the bare bones of it though, in script form, so it's not totally refined.

SCENE

Mike: Has been scorned by his girlfriend and boyfriend. "Sam. Saaaaam." Reaches for the blond blindly. Cuddles into his side. "We should totally make out."

Sam: baffled but not disgusted. "What? No way, Tina will beat me up."

Mike: "But Saaaam, all best friends make out."

Sam: more confusion "I've never…" giggles, "made out with a best friend."

Mike: looks up at the ceiling as though this is the most mind boggling thing in the world, like he forgot he suggested it. In wonder. "I haven't either."

They stare at each other. Sort of. They're drunk, so they sort of end up looking half at each other and half past each other.

Mike: determined "We should fix this."

*enter drunken make outs*

Tina: *woops*

Puck: speculative "I am not as bothered by this as I should be."

Tina: Brightly "We should make out."

Puck: slams fist down, spilling beer. "Accepted!"

I thought it was cute enough to share :)

Okay everyone,

Until next time :D