Does He Know You?

by KurlyQ722

I knew you then... Do I know you still? I do know you, love, and always will. Never let go of the one who holds your heart.

36. For Better or Worse (2 of 2)

I apologize for the delay in posting this chapter. Hope you forgive me and enjoy!

O-O

The exponentially louder than normal blaring of an alarm clock woke Sam early Sunday morning. Wincing from the pounding in his ears, he rolled over to slam the snooze button and return to sleep. Unluckily for him, his brain woke faster than his body did, and the force of dead limbs tumbling to the side knocked him off of his bed, headfirst into the pointed end of his night table.

The throbbing in his head doubled, and Sam took the time on his knees, cocooned in a tangled mass of comforters, to silently curse whomever was responsible for fermenting beverages and distributing them to the masses. No one should be this drunk ever in life.

"Fuck me!" he hissed, rubbing the growing bump on his forehead. When his limbs gained feeling and function, he slowly rolled onto his back, blowing his blonde bangs away from his face and squinting at the ceiling as he tried to remember what happened last night.

Unlike the blackouts in movies, Sam regained every memory with little effort. The images didn't make his stomach or his head feel any better.

"Mercedes...shit." Sam dared to peek between the sheets and lift his boxers. He groaned again, realizing the names and numbers written in various colors on his groin weren't a creation of his buzz-driven imagination. And they weren't just on his privates, either. Several shaky signatures decorated his chest and arms as well.

How could he let this happen? The things he allowed himself to do, to let his fiancée witness, were utterly shameful. His drunken, angry rant afterward did little to fix it.

And now, not only was Mercedes probably pissed beyond belief at what he'd done, but Sam had also managed to simultaneously embarrass himself in front of a very influential group of people. Jocks and cliques always seemed to be the understood popular kids somehow. Why was that? Who made that rule? From kindergarten to college, it was an unspoken understanding, and the excluded just followed along in silent obedience. Very few chose to challenge it, because those who rocked the boat and defied norms were outcast and marginalized.

Once upon a time in high school, he'd dwelled among the elite. His varsity jacket and winning all American appeal had labeled him before he had the chance to label himself. But soon, the rules of popularity became too confining, too one size fit all for Sam's liking. Popularity was a delicate, silken ensemble to wear—pretty, but a pain to maintain and hardly breathable. He was more the cotton type on the inside, a guy that valued comfort over keeping up appearances.

Glee club let him embrace his dorky, artistic side, his private self, and taught him to love all that made him different. Yet here he was in college, shucking and jiving to earn the praise of the very group that had rejected him.

The word of the day today on his calendar was paradoxical. How fitting.

Sam briefly considered checking Facebook and YouTube to see if there were any new videos of him in compromising positions, but knew he wouldn't be able to stomach seeing the truth replaying in front of him. Not yet, at least. The shame was too fresh.

He couldn't stomach anything right now. Not school, or struggling to fit in, or mending his relationship with the love of his life. The thought of it all at once made him feel just as defeated as he was before the party.

Perhaps even a bit...queasy?

"Definitely queasy," Sam cupped his mouth and violently kicked the prison of sheets from around his legs, knocking his knee on the metal frame of his bed in his scrambled haste for the bathroom. Sweaty, clawing hands blindly sought the doorknob in the dark, then the porcelain throne, and Sam flipped up the seat and bent his head over just as last night's nachos and Jell-O shots returned with a vengeance.

Vomit poured in chunks of red and brown from every open orifice on his face. He shuddered from the tingling of bile stinging his nostrils, then stretched a shaky hand up to retrieve a towel from the metal rack above him to wipe his face.

From the vile smell of heavy cologne, Sam was pretty sure it belonged to Puck, but the soft terrycloth fibers felt too good against his clammy skin to stop.

"Fuck. My. Life." He had an art history test bright and early Monday morning to study for, a graphic design project due on Tuesday that was still in its early stages, and the first day of his new job as a stagehand from seven to midnight running somewhere in between the two.

The party was an absolute bust. He made zero new friends, but probably provided complete strangers with enough material to create millions of embarrassing jokes about him for the rest of his college experience. His entire body felt like sumo wrestlers had used him for wrestling practice. The cheeks of his ass throbbed for reasons he'd dare not ponder at the moment.

And, worst of all, Mercedes probably wasn't speaking to him at the moment. In fact, he was afraid to call her. What would his little risqué striptease show do to her reputation? What the hell was he thinking when he climbed that pole? It certainly wasn't about her feelings. The chanting voices encouraging him to chug from the beer keg must've drowned out that little voice of reason that demanded he stop being a dumb ass. He should have just gone to her place, settled in bed with a good movie, and be the big spoon to her little one. Right now, that's all he wanted.

Does she even want to marry me anymore? As messed up as he was, as the situation was, Mercedes was all Sam could think about. He needed her hugs and the soft, gentle raking of her fingers through his hair. He needed her sage advice as she offered him the handy bottle of aspirin that she always kept in her purse. He needed her to rub his back and tell him that he was still loved. He needed to smell her, to press his face into her softness, and find himself again.

Maybe needing her so much was his problem. Maybe needing was his problem, period.

"Hey man, you alright?" Puck asked from the doorway. Sam's retching woke him up a bit earlier than he'd anticipated . He was just as pale and miserable looking, save for his ridiculously oversized shades and knowing smirk.

"Do I look alright?" moaned Sam, rolling his blood-shot eyes at his friend. Puck slammed a small pill bottle and a glass of water on the side of the sink. The dull thud of glass hitting linoleum nearly made Sam jump out of his skin.

"Here. These'll make you good as new. I have some coffee brewing in the kitchen when you come out." He told him, pointing with his thumb. The gurgling sounds and the rich aroma from the coffee pot pervaded the air.

"No thanks. The smell's too strong." Sam groaned in disgust, clutching his stomach from the thought alone. "Water's safe. No taste."

"Alright. Suit yourself, blondie," shrugged Puck. He paused just before stepping away from the door frame. "Mercy brought you here by herself, you know. I'm guessing she carried you up, since you were so blitzed last night. Just thought you should know."

Sam heaved the last of his stomach's contents before replying, "She did?" in a pressured, shaky breath.

"Yeah. I thought you guys were just like, normal couple together. You know, kissy faces and holding hands and stuff. But, she's like a friend too. Even when she saw you on that pole with a girl holding your nut in her hands, Mercedes stuck by you. You don't see that every day," Puck reflected with a frown, warring with his own guilt. "Look, she told me to look out for you and I didn't. I'm sorry for being my usual asshole-ish self and letting you fall like that. I messed up."

Sam waved his apology away. "No way, man. The only one that messed up is me. I'm old enough to take care of myself."

"True. But still..." Puck nodded, scratching his neck. "I'm sorry, dude." Apologies were still foreign territory for him, but seeing his innocent friend heaving in a toilet made him feel some kind of way. "Next time, it's you and me, alright?"

Sam managed a small smile, wiping the corner of his dry lips with Puck's towel. "Thanks, man. I appreciate that." he rasped, "But in all due respect, I don't think I'll be taking you up on that offer anytime soon. This is the second and last time that I get drunk. I thought what we had at Rachel's party was bad, but man." Sam pushed himself up to stand, grabbing the sink for balance. "College liquor is on another level."

"That's what all the newbies say." Puck chuckled, patting his friend's shoulder. "Once you get used to it, it won't be so bad. The first time is always the worst."

The blonde opened the pill bottle and popped two aspirin into his mouth, swallowing them dry. "Then I can say I've had the worst then, can't I? I'll just check 'drunk ass mess' off my college to do list." joked Sam, massaging the kinks out of his back before walking to the kitchen. "Now that my stomach's empty and I'm not seeing double, I might take you up on that coffee."

O-O

After his liquid breakfast, Sam spent the rest of the morning surfing the internet for ways to remove permanent marker from skin. He tried every ridiculous recommendation, from erosive mixtures like baking soda and salt with lemon juice to toothpaste and nail polish remover. With all of his homeopathic efforts combined, it took three days for the last of the markings on his skin to disappear and a full week for the redness and painful swelling in his private area to go down. On his first day at work, Sam lugged equipment around with a bow-legged waddle, rocking from one foot to the other like some old west cowboy at a showdown. One of his co-workers coined the nickname Yosemite Sam for him, laughing at how his awkward walk and the white Stetson hat he wore as part of his uniform made him look almost exactly like the cartoon character. Another co-worker offered to dye his hair red and suggested that he grow a mustache. His scowling refusal was expected, given the less than pleasant throb between his legs.

Finally on Sunday night, eight days after the incident, Sam felt well enough and brave enough to face Mercedes and attempt to apologize. He whipped up a healthy stack of cinnamon pancakes (with a few chocolate chips added to the batter since he planned on groveling) and made a stop at the flower shop before he arrived at her building.

He called and rang her apartment several times, but she refused to answer him. After ten minutes of trying to reach her, Sam almost decided to give up and try another way to reach her. His saving grace was a neighborly student tenant leaving the building. She was on her way out, dressed in jogging clothes, and spotted the apologetic bouquet of roses in his hands.

The tremendous size and color of the bouquet gave her pause, and after a second look and quick inspection, the woman correctly acknowledged him as Mercedes' boyfriend.

"Oh, honey…." Her voice was slightly deeper than expected, and her build a bit stockier with fewer curves, but Sam was too emotionally frazzled to overanalyze it. Mercedes' outright refusal to let him had torn his confidence to shreds. And now this stranger, with a frown of distaste decorating her fuchsia lips, made him second guess even entering the building and trying at all. All of a sudden, he felt ill prepared.

"What? Too much?" Sam held his gifts out with a defeated pout. "I thought it would be a good start. Was I wrong?"

"Let's hope for your sake that yellow roses are her favorite." The woman warned, holding the door open for him to enter. "Everyone knows that yellow roses mean friendship, and if I were you, I wouldn't be trying to get back into my girlfriend's good graces with a gesture that says you want to be seen as a friend." The corners of her lips suddenly turned up and stretched across her cheeks in a kind smile. She offered her hand, as if she suddenly remembering her manners, and waited expectantly for him to respond. Sam accepted the gesture, albeit rather warily, and firmly shook. "I'm Unique, by the way. I've heard tons about you. Good luck to you, honey!" She said cheerily, waving and jogging away. The last bit of her thought escaped the spaces between her tightly locked teeth, just before she escaped Sam's earshot. "You're definitely going to need it."

Sam thanked her with a kind smile and nod, pretending not to hear the last part, then groaned when he thought about how she might've heard of him. Was she a friend of Mercedes? Was she at the party? Or worse, one of the active participants in his little strip show?

He wracked his brain the entire ride up the elevator, but couldn't manage to place a 'Unique' anywhere amidst the host of names he'd scrubbed from his body. There were plenty of unusual names in various color inks, most he'd suspected were fake, but none resembling anything close to Unique. Something about scrubbing patches of his skin raw made him remember minor details like that.

The elevator doors opened to unnervingly silent halls. Taking a deep breath to rack up his courage, Sam stepped out and rolled his shoulders back before marching determinedly to her apartment. After another breath, he knocked on her door and waited, balancing his gifts in one hand as the other nervously ran through his hair.

"Who is it?" cried her sweet voice from the other side of the door.

"Mercy, it's me." His introduction was met with tense silence. "Baby, I'm sorry. Can we talk? Please?"

The door opened halfway, enough to reveal her annoyed face and crossed arms. "First, you royally screw up. Then, you decide to ignore me and don't call me for a week. What makes you think I want to talk to you?" she angrily asked, glaring hard enough to make his knees quiver, "Would you talk to you right now, Sam? Honestly?"

His shamed blush gave his answer. "I brought peace offerings," he offered meekly, holding the large bouquet of yellow roses and box of food out in front of him for her to take. "I know it's not enough, but I was hoping that it could be a start."

Mercedes frowned at the gifts, but opened her door a bit wider, accepting them with a look of wry suspicion. "A start to what?" she asked less harshly, sniffing the flowers as she placed the container of food on the small table near the door. The bouquet had to hold at least three dozen, if not more, of her favorites.

"A start of my promise to you. I told you that I'd buy you yellow roses every day and that you'd always smile with me. The day I gave you your ring and held you in my arms, I promised you that." The mention of the ring and their special night together after the assault was a low blow, but he was a desperate man with too much at stake to play fair. "And my special pancakes always seem to comfort you when you're stressed. I was hoping that this would, you know, set us up to have a healthy conversation...without alcohol involved."

"You don't have to explain anything to me, Sam. You're grown. If you want to drink and make a fool of yourself, that's your prerogative," Mercedes answered coldly.

"I know that," replied Sam, stepping closer. "But, I also know that when you plan on marrying someone, you give up all the selfish 'I' decisions you usually make and do things that will reflect well on the 'we'. We matters a lot to me." He had counseling to credit for that particular insight. "What I do effects you and changes how other people see you. I didn't just embarrass myself. I embarrassed you and I'm so sorry." Sam instinctively reached for her hand, but paused before they could touch, hesitating in fear of moving too fast and pushing her away. His fingers curled into a fist instead. "Just...please."

Mercedes took several quiet moments to consider his plea, running her fingers along her flowers' soft petals as she thought. "If I let you in and we talk," she gently replied, filling the gaping silence between them, "do you promise to be honest with me and tell me everything?"

"Ask me anything and I'll tell you, Mercy," Sam promised. He took a chance and stole her hand away from the flowers to link his pinky with hers. "Ask me."

A pained, half-hearted chuckle left her lips. "Quoting from my favorite movie? The one you used to propose to me? That's even lower than the pancakes and flowers." Mercedes commented, eyes glued to her feet. Sam gently cupped her chin and lifted her gaze back to his own.

"I'm not just saying that. You can trust me." he promised, and the sincerity swimming in his eyes served well in convincing her. A spark of electric current crackled between them, zipping through her veins like they were made of live wire, and for a moment, her stoic mask cracked and gave way to longing.

"How do you know I want to talk?" she asked him, pulling out of his grasp with a quick lift of her chin. She couldn't think straight when he touched her so familiarly.

"I don't." He shrugged, awkwardly busying his freed hand in his hair instead. "I'm just hoping that you will. I'm hoping that you've missed me all week as much as I've missed you. I'm hoping that you can find some room in your heart to let me back in and give me another chance."

If he only knew. She'd missed Sam from the moment she dropped him off at his apartment that night, reeking of sweat and heavy liquor. How sickening was that? He was at his absolute worst, couldn't even stand up on his own without her help, and her heart had somehow found a way to circumvent reason and forgive him for his stupidity. Love made absolutely no sense sometimes. "Well, I haven't missed you. Not at all," Mercedes insisted, but the protest sounded shallow, even to her own ears.

Sam smirked at her stubbornness, reading between the lines. "Yeah? Then why are you wearing my sweatshirt?"

Mercedes glanced down at her attire, eyes wide in shock as if she'd just remembered putting it on. Her mouth opened and shut several times as she self-consciously tugged at her sleeves. "My apartment was cold."

"Of course it was," Sam smiled warmly, knowingly. It was nice to see her as off-kilter as he was, if only for a moment. "LA does have its chilly days, doesn't it?"

Mercedes hummed in agreement, biting her lip to suppress her growing smile as she looked over his attire. "That explains your turtleneck, then." She commented, nodding toward his attire.

Sam pulled at his collar with a sheepish smirk, grazing a blotch of red skin on his neck that was still sore from the permanent ink removal process. "I, uh...I have extra sensitive skin? I think I have that Michael Jackson disease. What's it called? The one that starts with a V and sounds like vertigo. Vita-something or other."

"It's called Vitiligo, and I don't think you had enough melanin to start with to pull that off." She answered. Subtle hints of a smile rested on the wrinkles near each corner of her mouth. "I think your problem is your skin's not sensitive enough…at least not enough to stop you from swinging around half naked on metal poles the color of Pepto- Bismol."

"Well, that would explain why the bubblies in my gut went away after twerking on it." he replied, and their gazes locked and held for several moments.

The two shared a mirth filled look that broke the tension, and the resulting laughter echoed throughout the empty hallway. The understanding between them didn't come solely from the eight days they'd spent hashing out their emotions, or from their tumultuous year as a couple. Rather, the years of friendship prior to both of these things made forgiveness a practice, and the Sam and Mercedes that started out as best friends fell back into the familiar routine.

"I really am sorry, you know," Sam repeated as their laughter died down, leaning his head against the doorframe. "I was really dumb and drunk and everything I'm usually not. I wish I could undo it and take it all back."

"I know," sighed Mercedes, mirroring his posture. "And I wasn't as angry as I looked that night, just so you know. Scared and disappointed, maybe. Probably a bit jealous, I don't know." Sam took a chance and reached out to lace their fingers together. The touch barely fed their hunger for connection. Mercedes was ravenous for intimate touch after a week without him, and leaned in to rest her forehead against his. "You're a real idiot sometimes, Sam Evans," she whispered.

"As long as I'm still your idiot." Sam closed his eyes and sighed, brushing his nose across hers, and his heart skipped beats each time their skin made contact.

She tilted her head, and the sides of their noses brushed together as she spoke over his lips."Why did you drink so much, babe?"

"People make really dumb decisions when they're insecure, Mercy," Sam confessed, gently squeezing her hand. It was out. He'd told the truth. Would she think he was weak now, for confessing something so silly?

His irregular heartbeat ceased when he felt her breath catch, and the organ plummeted into his stomach when he felt her step away. One lid opened before the other, braving a peek at her presumed disappointment in him, her judging eyes. To Sam's surprise, the chocolate brown stare that greeted him was filled to the brim with loving concern and nothing more. Almost four years of knowing her, of entrusting her with his fragile ego, and Mercedes still managed to blow him away with new revelations.

"What are you insecure about?" she asked gently. Sam's body tensed and straightened, and when he glanced behind him at their surroundings, Mercedes realized their utter lack of privacy.

"Come in. Sit and eat pancakes with me and we can talk after. This container feels way too heavy to feed just one person, anyway." Mercedes pulled him into her apartment, and their fingers remained tightly knit as she closed the door behind them.

O-O

The couple made their way to the kitchen, silently fluttering about the small space as they had for many months of mornings. Mercedes took two plates and glasses from the kitchen cabinet as Sam took the jugs of milk and orange juice from the fridge, placing them next to the container of pancakes on the counter. They set their tasks next to each other and, in perfect unison, exchanged half of their items to finish preparing breakfast. Sam filled the glasses—milk for him and juice for her— while Mercedes divided the pancakes into two even stacks of four on each plate. She poured an abundance of maple syrup over each, taking care to pool a little extra near the base of Sam's plate for dipping. Sam, observing her as she worked, smiled faintly at the gesture. He was always amazed by how much she knew about him, down to the tiniest of quirks. No one, not even his own parents, had stored as much about him to memory as Mercedes had.

As he gathered their cutlery from the dishwasher, Mercedes reached in the drawer beside her for a larger knife. A small laugh escaped Sam's lips when he realized that she was cutting his pancakes into neat triangles, just the way he liked it. "Wow, Mercy."

"What?" asked Mercedes, tongue peeking out from the corner of her mouth as she made her precise slices.

"Nothing," Sam replied with a shake of his head. "Just the little stuff you do when I don't ask you to."

Frowning at his answer, Mercedes stilled and studied her handiwork, realizing only then that she'd cut up Sam's food for him without his permission. "Oh. Does that bother you? I know sometimes I can be a bit….motherly. I don't mean anything by it." she admitted apologetically, knowing how overbearing her actions could appear.

"No, it's fine," Sam insisted. "I like it. It doesn't't feel motherly, just...natural, like you know me better than I know myself sometimes. It's nice."

She smiled faintly at the compliment. "Oh, okay. I guess, sometimes, I feel like I do. Is that weird?"

"No weirder than me putting chocolate chips in your cinnamon pancakes before I knew it was your time of the month." Sam brought both of their plates to the table, leaving a slightly stunned Mercedes to carry the glasses.

"How do you know it's my time of the month? And you better not say it's because of what happened last week at the party. Trust me, you didn't't see even half of how angry I could've gotten."

"Well, when you yanked that girl down to your level and made her trip over her own feet, I did have my suspicions." Mercedes side-eyed the audacious comment, making Sam grin. "But when your eyes cut me down to size, I knew I caused that, not PMS."

"Exactly." She answered, setting their glasses down to gently poke his arm. Sam stood to pull out her chair, easing her toward the table once she was seated. She thanked him with a gentle squeeze to his hand as he sat, then the two said a silent prayer over their food before digging in. When the fluffy chocolate cinnamon concoction melted on Mercedes' tongue, she moaned and licked the tines of her fork, then licked away any residual crumbs lingering on her lower lip. Sam managed to look away before she could catch him staring, and subtly reached down to adjust the mounting pressure in his boxers. "PMS may have helped a little. When she put her hand in your pants, I snatched her so hard that my wrist almost snapped. I think I might've given her a bald spot."

Sam nearly choked, laughing with his mouth full. "I hear they make Rogaine for women now. Besides, she didn't ask if she could touch me. She just reached in and took what she wanted without my permission."

"Why do you think I snatched her? She had no right," Mercedes grumbled, sipping her juice.

"So you were defending me?"

Mercedes shrugged, stuffing her mouth with more food so she didn't have to answer. Sam smiled knowingly as he drank his milk, winking in her direction when she looked his way. "My hero. Valiant knight, you have protected my virginity."

"Virginity?" she scoffed, "Please..." Mercedes shook her head disapprovingly, but even when she glanced down at her plate and her hair fell across the side of her face, Sam could still see the notable signs of a smile. It felt good to joke with her again, to say whatever comes to mind without over thinking it. Somehow, in his search for friendship, he'd managed to forget the one friend waiting at home that mattered most to him. Never again, he vowed with a sip of his milk, enjoying her peaceful countenance.

The couple finished dining in companionable silence, clearing their plates and draining their glasses until their bellies were contentedly full. Sam took her plate and glass before she could stand, motioning with his head for her to sit on the couch as he took care of the dishes.

"Wow, someone must be really sorry," Mercedes observed aloud, speaking in his direction as she watched him clear the full sink. "Domestic labor? From the guy whose dirty clothes take up more space on the bed than he does?"

"I guess a swift smack on the ass is all I needed to fly right," joked Sam, pouring soap onto the sponge. The dishes were washed, dried and stacked together in a flash. Sam wiped down the counter once all of the clean dishes were put away in their appropriate cupboards. The minor task brought up a week's worth of aches and pains all at once, prickling his joints like pins and needles. His arms extended over his head, reaching toward the sky as he arched his back and twisted his torso to relieve the tension. Sam sighed in relief when his joints cracked and popped back to life.

Mercedes watched him the entire time, secretly enjoying the pale, muscled expanse of stomach exposed as he moved about. "Swift smack on your ass. I'll remember that."

The awkwardness of the day returned when Sam walked over to sit on the couch. His eyes flitted back and forth between Mercedes's arms and the empty space across from her. Hesitant, Sam decided on the safer choice, squatting slowly into the space farthest away from her. The pain of being so far away from her briefly reflected in his gaze, but he tried his best to cover it with a small smirk in her direction, hoping his weakness wouldn't show.

But the truth of him always showed when he was around her. The false smile was as painful for Mercedes to accept as it was for Sam to bear.

It had been eight days. She'd spent an entire week without seeing or speaking to her best friend. Even the short distance between their seats felt like an eternity.

"Sam, come here," she ordered, stretching her arm until her fingers could curl around a bicep. Sam quickly shifted over and rested his head against her shoulder, pressing his nose against the crook of her neck as she wrapped him in a hug. Mercedes squeezed his shoulders and pulled him forward as she leaned back, and the two rested in their solid embrace against the decorative pillows. Her fingers gently stroked his arm, and Sam felt all of the remaining tension seep through his skin and leave his body.

"I've missed you so much," Sam confessed, squeezing her waist. Her fingers moved up to slide through his hair and scratch his scalp. A soft kiss graced his forehead.

"I've missed you too. It's been a whole week." Mercedes pressed another kiss into his hair, lingering a moment to run her lips across the silken strands. She would kiss him there after they made love, when their bodies were as close as their spirits and he could trust her with his secrets.

"And I've missed this." Sam looked up, nudging the wrist of her stroking hand with his nose. "You, touching me and givin' me kisses. Eight days without this is too long."

"And who's fault is that, babe?" Mercedes chastised gently, walking her fingers down the center line of his face until she could tap his nose. "You pulled away. I never told you that you couldn't come see me."

"You were angry. I didn't want to assume," Sam answered. His eyes closed when she cupped his cheek. "I thought you hated me."

Mercedes turned his face until his chin rested between her breasts. The pads of her thumbs gently strummed against his eyelids until they opened up again. And when they did, the fear reflected in the barest of gazes tore her heart in two. "I can't hate you, Sam. I can never hate you." Her words were timely and welcomed. Mercedes felt the exact moment he took breath again. "I love you way too much to ever hate you. The worst I could ever do is be disappointed in you. And I won't lie, I was," Mercedes replied honestly. "But it doesn't mean that I want you to fall off the face of the earth and disappear forever."

"I wanted space for me, too. Needed to get my thoughts together, you know? I hate disappointing people I care about. It cripples me." Sam walked his fingers up the still arm resting beside him, from her shoulder to her upturned palm until he could align their hands. He stretched their arms out beside them, observing all of their differences. "You have really tiny hands."

Mercedes chuckled beneath him, watching as he laced his fingers with hers. "Duh, I'm a tiny person."

"Doesn't automatically mean that you'd have tiny hands, though. I know really tall people with the tiniest hands. It's so weird. It's like God ran out of matching parts and gave them hands from the lost and found box in heaven. " Sam mused. He brought their hands to his lips, kissing the place where their palms touched, and added, "I heard people with tiny hands have the biggest hearts."

"Did you get that off the internet, where all of your brilliant information comes from?" Mercedes joked softly, smiling in amusement.

"Yes." Sam looked up, meeting her eyes and smiling adorably. "But in my limited experience with tiny-handed people, I'd say that's pretty true."

Mercedes grinned and pushed back his bangs, wanting to see more of his eyes. "Your hands are huge. By your logic, does that mean you have a tiny heart?"

His smile softened. "Maybe, if selfishness makes your heart tiny."

"Drinking a little too much and acting a fool to get people to see you makes you selfish person? How?" Mercedes asked, growing concerned. She could see and feel the moment Sam closed up again, drawing into himself like he did before the incident. Most people would take the hint and change the course of conversation, maybe even stop speaking altogether.

Thank god she understood him. Mercedes knew the small talk allowed him to work out his issues in a way that felt safe. But for some reason, whatever was bothering him now had shamed him into silence. He needed her to dig, to pursue the emotion. Big hearts like Sam needed to be reminded that they were worth the chase from time to time.

Desperate to reach him again, she tried a different approach. "You know, I never told you why I was working so hard in the studio. It's not just because of the single or the demands from the label."

"Yeah?" The confession concerned him enough to coerce speech, shifting the focus to something he cared about more than himself—the heart steadily beating against his ear, belonging to the woman he loved most. "What else is going on, babe?"

Mercedes sighed and squirmed, uncomfortable with what she was about to share. "You know that my dad's not really on board with my music career, right?" Sam nodded. "Well, I had a really heated conversation with him after he helped me move on campus. I had to get a pretty big loan to cover my college expenses because he refused to shell out any money on a 'worthless career choice'. Mom is the one that's been sending me money for school. He thinks I'm gonna fail out here."

Sam sat up, shocked by Mr. Jones' uncharacteristic insensitivity. "He said that to you? Seriously?!"

Mercedes nodded, sliding further down into couch. "If my record's not a success...if this single isn't a hit, then I'll just be proving him right. I can't do that. I want him to know that I can be successful and achieve great things without his help. I've been talking about a music career for years now, but he still doesn't understand how much this means to me."

"And you think working long hours and singing until you're hoarse is gonna prove that?" Sam replied, voice heavy with pity. "Killing yourself is gonna prove that?"

When she heard it spelled out like that, her actions did seem ridiculous. "I'm not lazy about my dream, Sam. I'm gonna do something with my life."

"Mercy, no one believes that more than me. Mr. Jones is cool and all, but if he doesn't see how amazing you are and how much you care about music, then forget him and chase that dream by yourself. I'm your man and the biggest fan in your fandom. Triple platinum or selling copies out of the trunk of your car, I'm with you through all of it, pushing you until you make it. You hear me, lady? And trust me, you definitely will make it."

His unshakable confidence awed her and brought her to tears. "Okay." She whispered timidly, nodding. "I trust you."

Forgetting his previous apprehension about moving too fast, Sam crawled up and kissed her, pressing his body against hers as much as their position would allow. "Why didn't you tell me, sweetheart? You didn't have to go through that alone," he asked, drying her cheeks with soft swipes of his thumb.

Mercedes sniffled and replied, "For the same reason I think you didn't tell me about your issues. I was trying to protect you and handle it myself. I didn't want you to know that I wasn't okay."

Sam deflated in realization. "But we don't have to do that anymore..."

"Because we're in this together and we're not alone anymore." Mercedes smiled and nodded. "We're caretakers, you and me. We're so used to giving all of ourselves for other people and never expecting anything in return. Having someone that's concerned about us, someone to answer to….it's new, right? Even scary sometimes. But it doesn't mean that it's a bad thing. I'm sorry I didn't share before. I feel a lot better now that I've been honest with you. Will you let me in, too? Will you tell me what's bothering you?"

"Wait...did you just pull some reverse psychology mess on me?" Sam laughed incredulously, feeling decidedly off-balance after her speech. She was right, too right if that were at all possible. Sam could take care of his siblings for ten more summers if he had to, manage school and handle his own finances without any help. Opening up to Mercedes meant dividing up the reins over his life and allowing her to help him steer. Loving was simple for him. Being loved was its own journey.

"No." Mercedes replied, gravely serious. "I just realized what a hypocrite I'd be if I demanded honesty from you and couldn't promise the same in return." Mercedes removed his hands from her cheeks and joined them in front of her mouth, then gently kissed across the bridge of fingertips they formed, until they bowed in and curled underneath her chin. "Sharing our problems with another person is hard for both of us. But you're not just another person to me, Sam. If we're serious about being together and getting married, I can't just be another person to you either."

"I am serious," Sam insisted, pressing his forehead to hers. "I've never been this serious before in my life."

"Then talk to me," pleaded Mercedes, "Just like you used to before we got engaged or started dating. I'm still the girl who guards your secrets with her life. I'm still that girl. We're friends first."

Sam groaned and fell into her chest. He grew quiet and still, trying to figure out the conflicting emotions within him well enough to explain them. "It's not..." Sam sighed and hummed, "it's not you."

"Then what is it?" she asked softly, gently smoothing the hair near his temple. Her tone was patient and understanding, relaxing him even more than her caresses.

"I don't fit in here, Mercy. It doesn't feel like I belong." Sam said sadly. "What you said when you texted Puck...it's true."

Mercedes tensed, halting her strokes. "I didn't mean for you to see that. I was trying to help, I swear."

"I know," Sam assured her, "You were only saying what I've been thinking for a while. Honestly, I would've felt weird about going to that party even if I didn't read your text. But knowing you and Puck thought the same thing, that I would mess it up for myself somehow...it made me even angrier at myself for being so awkward."

Sam's words suffocated her. "Sam, I'm so sorry. I just wanted Puck to watch out for you, to help you find your way—"

"I tried being the opposite of myself and it backfired." sighed Sam, "That wasn't your fault. I've been feeling this way for a while. Dr. Taylor said that I have 'unrealistic ideals of my reality' or whatever. I imagine myself being cool and popular and equate that with drinking and acting like an ass, thinking that somehow it will hide how small and dumb I feel. But it didn't. I just looked even dumber than I usually do."

"Sam, you are far from dumb." Mercedes cradled his face, forcing him to look at her. "You're afraid to show people who you really are because you're scared that they'll reject you, and I honestly can't figure out why. You're awesome! And I'm not just saying that because I'm wearing your ring." Sam smiled at that. "Didn't glee club teach you that? Didn't our entire relationship teach you that? You got awesome friends and an even more awesome girlfriend to love you, just by just being yourself. Who keeps telling you that you're not enough?"

Sam's looked down, shamed. "Me. I keep telling myself that."

"Please stop," Mercedes begged, in the sweetest voice. "And please stop thinking that perfect is gonna make everything better. Remember our day in the choir room, when you told me that you loved my scars because it meant that I wasn't perfect? You told me my flaws were beautiful. I meant it when I said it back to you. You're awkward sometimes and tell the corniest jokes, but I think it's charming. And maybe you do things that aren't the best ideas in the world..."

"Like doing a strip tease upside down on a pole and sucking beer from a keg while people graffiti my body?" Sam answered, chuckling at the ridiculous scenario. "Man, that was really dumb."

"It really was." Mercedes laughed, tapping his nose. "And you know what? It was a mistake. I'm told you're allowed a few of those in your lifetime. Own it, laugh about it, and promise me that you'll never do it again."

"I will never do that again," Sam vowed, imitating her voice with a chuckle, "Not unless I'm with friends in a safe place and you're the one touching my junk."

"Damn straight!" exclaimed Mercedes, sliding her hands down his back to possessively cup his bottom. "Promise kiss?"

Sam leaned up and pressed his lips to hers, cupping her neck to pull her in and deepen the kiss. "I promise, princess. Never again." Sam told her as they parted, meaning every word.

"Good." Mercedes smiled, utterly relieved. "Now, about the whole 'getting friends' dilemma..."

"Oh lord, please tell me you're not gonna set me up on some blind play date," groaned Sam, pouting. "I know how you're mind works, woman. While I appreciate the help, I think it would be best if I navigate that on my own."

"I wasn't going to set you up, I was just gonna make suggestions!" Mercedes whined, crossing off the idea of a 'friend meet-up' on her mental list of ideas. "Were you still thinking about joining a club? Maybe a sport? You're great at sports! And, you don't even have to join one on campus! That way, if you screw up, you can run away and never see those people again!" she sang brightly, pleased by her genius logic.

"Gee, thanks. I feel so encouraged." Sam deadpanned, throwing an arm across his eyes. "I'm not gonna give myself the option to run, though. If I'm gonna face a fear, I might as well do it head on, right?"

Mercedes beamed with pride and nodded. "That's my guy. Fear is bullshit."

"Fear is utter bullshit." Sam agreed, reaching up to tap her nose. "You know what? I'm gonna check out that pottery sculpture class thing I was telling you about." Sam sat up, facing her. "And you know what else?"

Mercedes bounced excitedly in her seat as he stood. "What?"

"I'm gonna try new things, even if it scares me. I'm gonna venture these shark infested college waters without alcohol or getting naked! I will resist the urge to strip for other people's pleasure!" Sam declared. "I'm an artistic being, aren't I? So I'm gonna make art, damn it! I'm gonna create shit with clay! I'm gonna walk up to people and do whatever celebrity impersonation I feel like! And if they don't like it...well, screw them!"

"Yes!" Mercedes clapped, jumping up and into his arms. "God, that's sexy!"

Sam's eyebrows rose, then fell as his eyes darkened. The toothy smile on his face gave way to a naughty grin. "Make-up apology sex, then?" Sam softly suggested, teasing the sensitive spot on her neck with barely-there kisses.

Mercedes tipped her head and moaned, grabbing his hair. "Can't. Period." Mercedes breathed, groaning when his arms tightened around her waist, pressing her chest intimately against his. "Ask me again on Tuesday. And please stop kissing my spot like that."

"Why?" Sam whispered, cruelly drawing circles in the equally sensitive dip in her back as he nibbled her skin. She arched into him and whimpered, cursing under her breath. "No sex doesn't mean I can't watch you cum for me. I still think that counts."

"Sam," she warned, her breaths growing shallower as Sam's fingers danced across her ribs and slid up to pinch a nipple. "It doesn't count for me. It's not what I want."

"Fine." Sam relented with a pout, removing his hands. "Make-up cuddles, then?"

The happy sigh that escaped her—long and well overdue—warmed her insides. "I thought you'd never ask." She took his hand and pulled him to the bedroom. "You can watch Moulin Rouge with me. I need a good cry."

"Aw, man! Is that the one where the girl dies in the end because she has TB?" Sam rolled his eyes. "The dude tells us in the beginning that she's going to die, and you still cry every time. I will never understand chick flicks."

"It's one of my time of the month movies. Thank the Lord I'm not making you watch Beaches. I'd be in a mess of tears." She tugged his arm, laughing when he stubbornly rooted his feet outside of the bedroom door. "C'mon, silly."

Sam pretended to drag his steps as he followed behind her. "Okay. But remember, I'm only doing this for you."

Six hours later, Sam and Mercedes sat huddled together under a large blanket, crying as Bette Midler waved goodbye to her deceased best friend's spirit as she crooned Glory of Love.

"Y-you didn't te-tell me she was gonna d-die like that, Mercy." Sam grabbed a tissue from the box in between them and blew his nose. "Damn it, you should have warned me!"

"I did warn you!" Mercedes tearily insisted, sniffling as she grabbed a tissue to dab her eyes. "You didn't believe me!"

"Well, we should have stopped at the second movie." Sam sniffled, tossing the empty dvd case of My Sister's Keeper on the floor, atop the growing pile of Mercedes' time of the month films. "First, the sister dying of cancer, and now this." Mercedes gave his shoulders a reassuring hug, snuggling against his chest as the credits rolled. Sam took the remote and stopped the film, wiping his tears on his sleeve.

"One more?" begged Mercedes, tugging his collar until she could mesmerize him with her doe eyes. "Please? For me? I'm in pain."

Against his better judgment, Sam nodded and allowed her to pick another film. He read the cover and groaned at the choice, anticipating the damage it would do to his feelings, before popping it in.

"Chick flicks, cuddling, and no sex afterwards." Sam smiled, shaking his head. "Is this what the marriage vows mean when it says 'for better or worse'?"

Mercedes laughed and slapped his chest. "Just shut up and watch the movie with me, husband." She teased, nodding toward the menu screen for The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants. "I promise you won't cry too much with this one."

"That's probably a major lie." Sam pulled her closer, resting his chin on top of her head. She kissed his chest, right beside where his heart rested. He scooted closer and nuzzled her forehead, then tapped her lips. She looked up curiously, then smiled when he pointed to his chest again, right above where his heart rested. Two kisses warmed his beating heart, and for a moment, Mercedes swore his pulse doubled in speed against her mouth.

"You know," she began, sliding her hand underneath his cotton shirt to warm her cold hands with his body heat. "I heard somewhere that people with really big hands have the biggest hearts."

"Damn that internet. Miseducating our youth." His hand felt for hers above his shirt, stilling her touches. "Hey."

"Yeah?" Movie forgotten, her hand slid from underneath his to toy with his nipple, futilely attempting to tickle him. Mirth danced in her eyes, and Sam found the sight as enchanting as the first time he made her laugh. Her caresses aroused more than tickled, but he appreciated her effort.

Sam convinced himself that his chuckle was for her sake, not because she'd actually wormed her way through the defenses around his heart and managed to alleviate the pain. Wallowing in self-pity was his old way of coping. Mercedes' playful mood proved to be a better remedy.

"Never stop loving me like you do, okay?" Her teasing stopped, and the glint in her eye disappeared in favor of an emotion far weightier and heartwarming than simple joy. Rapture? Contentment, maybe? Sam was still working on finding the right words to describe his world.

"Don't worry, I won't. Not ever, I promise." And though he didn't realize it then, Mercedes had branded her promise on every throbbing millimeter of her veins until the words seeped into her bloodstream. Whatever it took, she fully intended to keep that promise— with everything in her, for the rest of her life.

O-O

Their spring semester ended on a higher note, filled with an abundance of good news. All finals were passed with flying colors, GPAs remained elevated and intact, and Sam finally decided to sign up for the sculpture classes his co-worker recommended. In between his newfound clay work at the art studio and his job working for Faith, he had plenty to keep him busy. The activity boosted his confidence level and his circle of friends, and Mercedes took care to mention each time she spotted a new smile on his face. So far, the average daily count was around fifteen or so.

To celebrate his newfound sense of self, his fiancée decided to take him out for a night on the town, complete with a romantic dinner and plenty of dancing. She made playful inquiries about his 'mysterious celebrity boss' throughout the course of the evening, but Sam carefully dodged every question regarding the artist he was working for with equally playful answers and distracting kisses.

Before curiosity could get the better of her, DMC Records called several days later to praise Mercedes on her body of work. Her sound board and managers insisted on an album release for early October. The news had been an answered prayer, and Mercedes found herself thanking God for every obstacle that shaped her and molded her for that moment. She felt ready, both professionally and personally, for this next step in her life, and Sam counted least twenty new smiles a day after the phone call.

Unfortunately, album release dates meant promotional gigs and performance dates that squeezed their way into the little spaces of time she had as a student, which meant less time for the couple to spend together. This time, however, both parties were equally as busy and content with their individual projects. They hardly missed the other's absence.

Sam left for Kentucky the day after his last final to spend time with his family before heading to Ohio. He'd purchased his plane tickets weeks in advance, homesick beyond belief, and offered to buy Mercedes' tickets on several occasions. She thought he was showing off because of the regular hefty paycheck he was receiving, but truthfully, it was Sam's sly attempt at making sure she didn't forget about coming to see him graduate. Of course, he didn't say the word graduation when he'd offered. Foolish pride kept him from reminding her outright, since he'd initially made such a fuss about avoiding it. He was hoping that she'd read between the lines and get the hint. She was an expert at decoding his little quirks, and Sam loved having someone willing to put so much work into understanding him.

In some ways, he still felt that he was walking for her. Passing high school was all that used to matter to him, especially after the grueling work schedule he'd had last summer, but the thought of him in cap and gown seemed to put a special sparkle in her eye. After royally screwing up at the frat party, he wanted to make sure that she'd always look at him that way, like he was her personal champion.

Plus, his parents and siblings seemed just as eager to see him walk for his diploma. His grandparents in Tennessee were going to watch him via video chat and share it with their friends, and they didn't even know what video chat was. His grandfather only touched technology when it was completely and direly necessary. Since the both of them only made it as far as the sixth grade, Sam knew that it would mean the world to them to see him shake Figgins' hand and take his diploma. It was a win-win.

O-O

As soon as Mercedes dropped Sam off at the airport, she immediately returned to the studio to work on her promotional tour. College attire of sweatpants and sloppy buns transformed into sequined gowns and red-carpet ready curls overnight. Jewelry and designer shoes were thrown at her feet, free of charge. People higher up in the label, including Mr. Simmons himself, came out to meet her and invited their celebrity friends to her shows. All forms of dairy were eliminated from her diet in preparation for her back to back performances, and a small team of makeup artists and fashion advisors accompanied her on the road to each gig.

At first, it was overwhelming. The flashing camera lights hurt her eyes and the grueling ninety hour workweek ran her body ragged. Then, after her twelfth or so performance, hearing the rave reviews from PR execs and other artists in the business made it became thrilling. By her third week on the road, Mercedes couldn't imagine being anywhere else, doing anything else, but entertaining crowds of fans.

"Girl, you should've seen me! I was fire! They were lapping up my lyrics like thirsty refugees at an oasis, I swear it!" she exclaimed into her phone, pressing it against her shoulder with her cheek as she rolled down her stockings in the bathroom. Her name wasn't big enough to demand dressing rooms, yet.

"I bet," Tina said, undressing in a similar way on the other end after a date night with Mike's family. "Which one did you choose as your single again?"

"It's called Brighter Day, and honestly, I'm surprised the label picked that one," admitted Mercedes, stepping out of her heels and into her Jordans. "It's a gospel type song, but with a neo-soul edge that's really popular nowadays. The album is R&B to be honest, but this song has the potential to appeal to everyone." Just then, she heard the faint cheers of the intimate audience, demanding an encore from the new artist. "Tina, can you hear them? They want me to sing again!"

"That's great!" cheered Tina, "Too bad, though. I guess they'll just have to wait and follow you to your next show."

"What are you talking about?" Mercedes stepped out of the bathroom stall and set her phone to speaker, resting it on the counter as she slipped on a plain red blouse and her leather jacket. "I've never performed in my regular clothes, but I'll give my fans what they want if they're asking for me, makeup or no makeup," she told Tina, pulling out a wet cloth to wipe away any traces of smeared eyeliner. "Ugh, I always cry when I do my cover of I will always love you and make myself look like a raccoon."

"I guess if it doesn't run you too late." Tina conceded, ignoring her last comment. "What time does your flight leave tonight?"

"What flight?" Mercedes chuckled, reapplying the fire engine red color to her lips. "I have a flight?"

"Your flight home, silly! Sam said you bought your ticket for tonight."

Mercedes had just slid a finger in her mouth to remove any excess lipstick and paused, mid-pull, in remembrance. Sam had called her two days ago, asking her for the fifth time if she'd bought her plane ticket yet. Believing he was anxious to see her again, she lied and told him that she'd already purchased it for a flight leaving that night. He'd called her during an important exec meeting and she'd rushed an answer to appease him.

"I kind of lied about that," she sheepishly admitted to Tina, wiping her finger with a paper towel. "I'll probably leave sometime tomorrow, if anything."

The line grew eerily silent for several moments, enough to make Mercedes check if Tina was still on the line. "T? You still there?"

"You lied to him, Mercy?" Tina asked, shocked by her friend's unusual dishonesty. "How could you?"

"I know, I know. I pride myself on telling the truth, but it was a little one when you think about it! It's not like I'm not coming at all." she argued, "Besides, what does it matter when I come up. Now or later, you'll still see me, right? If I can't get a ticket, I'll just drive up."

"You didn't buy a ticket?! Oy." Mercedes chuckled at her friend's dramatics. She could almost hear the slap of her hand connecting with her forehead. "Mercedes…"

"I'm coming! Stop worrying, mother hen!" she chuckled, "What is this, another Tina-vention? Is there something you're not telling me? Something I should know?"

"Mercedes, you probably wouldn't be able to get a plane ticket this late, during graduation season," she hinted, hoping to jog her friend's memory.

"Okay, then I'm driving. It's settled," shrugged the diva. "I'll leave in the morning."

"Mercy, it takes, like, a day and a half to drive up here! No!" Tina let out something between a growl and a yell. "Really, Mercy?! What's tomorrow?"

"Saturday?" Mercedes frowned, struggling to understand her friend's frustration. "There will probably be traffic, but it's nothing I can't handle. If you're worried about spending time with me, don't worry! I always make time for my girl!" she offered. "Hey! You think the label will let me borrow a driver? That way, I can arrive to Ohio in style, you know? Daddy will flip! He'd be so impressed, I just know it."

"Mercedes, graduation is tomorrow!" Tina yelled, frustrated by her friend's uncharacteristic cluelessness. "Artie's and Erin's….and Sam's."

The truth hit Mercedes like a fist to her stomach, and the contents of her cosmetic bag spilled out of her hand and into the sink with a harsh clatter. Mercedes stared at her reflection and swallowed, wondering for a fleeting second how someone who looked so put together in the mirror could be so disorganized on the inside. "Shit. Tina….Shit!" The new DMC recording artist bent over the sink and rested her heavy head on her crossed arms. "How….I forgot that? How in the world did I forget that?! Oh god, I'm such a bad fiancée."

"Honey, you're not bad. Caught up in your own world and insensitive to your reality maybe…" Tina comforted in her own way, "But definitely not bad."

"How am I gonna explain this to him, T? I'm the one who convinced him to go! I promised him I'd be there! I never break my promises, T! Especially to him." Mercedes groaned, growing ill at the thought of his disappointed face. She had a sudden thought, an idea, and a flare of hope flickered in her belly. "What time is the ceremony? Maybe I can still make it."

"It's at nine tomorrow morning." Mercedes checked the clock on the far wall. She had nine hours to get home, pack a bag, purchase a ticket, and hustle to Ohio. Thinking again, she decided against packing. The venue where she performed was already two hours from campus, in the opposite direction of the airport. And that wasn't even factoring in traffic and any other obstacles. No, the clothes she'd left back at her parents' house would have to do. Papa Jones' platinum card could fund an emergency shopping trip, if necessary. Wasn't saving her relationship considered an emergency?

"I'll talk to you later then, T. I have a plane to catch." Mercedes scooped all of her makeup back into her bag and snatched up her cell phone from the counter, then sprinted through the door, past her manager's demanding questions to catch a cab outside.

"Bye, girl! Good luck!" encouraged Tina, just before Mercedes ended the call.

O-O

"She'll be here, Sam. I just know she will. She wouldn't miss this for anything."

It was ten minutes to nine, and Mercedes Jones was nowhere to be seen. Tina checked the crowd three times for her just to be sure. She and Sam had been calling her phone since seven that morning, but all of their attempts went straight to voicemail. Both of them were trying their hardest not to let their concern show on their faces, for the other's sake. Unlike Tina, who knew the truth, Sam was worried about his love's well-being.

"Well, you spoke to her last night, right? She said she was coming. I believe her." Sam's green eyes snuck another peek through the curtain and desperately scanned the crowd, nibbling his bottom lip. "She's probably getting her sick revenge on me for pulling that surprise stunt in January. I bet she's gonna call in the next minute and tell me she's standing by the door. She would do that."

Tina's heart grieved for Sam's optimism. She wished that she could be as sure, but her conversation with Mercedes last night gave her little hope. You really messed up big, girl.

"You're probably right." Tina smiled sadly, resting a hand on his shoulder, "Why don't we get you ready in the meantime? You want to look your best for all the pictures she's going to take."

Sam looked back at her and grinned, turning around and straightening up for inspection. "What do you think? Do I look like a grown up?"

The quiet excitement in his eyes and eagerness in his grin made him look so fragile and innocent. Sam made a point to remind everyone around him that he held little concern for the graduation festivities, but the glow about him told an entirely different story.

"You look like a well deserving, high school graduate," Tina whispered affectionately. "I'm proud of you, Sam."

Sam chuckled, and the deep rumble of the sound brought back a semblance of maturity to his form. "Thanks, T. I feel ready."

Tina moved his tassel to the side so it wouldn't obstruct the view of his face and kissed his cheek, and in that motion, she was reminded that she stood in a girlfriend's place—a fiancée's place. It didn't feel right. Mercedes should be primping him and covering him with proud kisses.

"Oh my trouty mouth, look at you." Santana sauntered over in a tight tube dress and heels, appraising Sam's form as he fiddled with the golden stole around his shoulders. "What happens when your kind become adults? Do you grow longer tails and become mermen or what?"

"I'm glad I'm sharing this moment with you too, Santana." Sam deadpanned. "Do you have a mirror? My lips are feeling a little chapped. I think I need to reapply."

"Here." Santana handed him her compact mirror. "Don't pucker too much. My mirror is only used to attractive reflections with normal sized body parts."

Sam rolled his eyes and snatched the mirror away, retreating to a corner to put on his chapstick. Santana playfully stuck out her tongue, which he returned.

"She's still not here?" she whispered, once the blond was a safe distance away.

"Nope. No calls or anything." Tina whispered back, watching Sam with pitiful eyes as he rubbed his lips together. "Poor thing. Can you believe she just forgot?"

"Hmph." There were certain people in Santana's world that she revered as near saint-like. She needed inhumanly selfless examples around her to balance out her corrupt nature. Mercedes was always at the top of her list, until Tina told her what their friend had done. It was probably stupid, but it always hurt a bit when those you look up to do things to remind you of their imperfection. "I hope she remembers my advice about fixing relationship issues. She's gonna have to apply a whole tube of chapstick to those lips, grease her knees with Vaseline, and suck that dick dry until she can taste his soul."

The ringing of Sam's phone interrupted the moment. A harsh shush came from Principal Figgins, standing in the corner of the stage as a silent statue of authority to keep the graduates in order.

"Sorry." Sam whispered, but answered the call anyway, hoping it was the call he'd been praying for. "Mercy?"

"Sam!" The couple smiled on either end, happy to hear the other's voice. "Baby, I'm so sorry. I can't give you a good reason, but I think I'm gonna miss your ceremony."

"Yeah, right. Stop playing around, babe." Sam playfully scoffed, convinced she was trying to trick him. "You forget that you're a terrible liar. I know you're probably sitting way in the back where I can't see you." Sam poked his head through the curtain again and squinted into the darkness, spying a small, shapely figure dressed in white that resembled his love, holding what he believed was a phone in her hands. "See? I see you right now. You're wearing white."

"Baby, that's not me," Mercedes insisted, pained that he was searching so hard for her. "I'm not there. Sam…I lied to you about buying the ticket."

"What?" he laughed, totally confused. "Why would you do that?"

"I was in a meeting when you called me and you were….you distracted me." It hurt her to confess the truth now, but she owed it to him. "I told you whatever I needed to so that I could get you off the phone."

"So, you weren't planning on coming?" His smile left completely, replaced by a pitiful frown and surprisingly, tears. "At all?"

"No! I was!" she exclaimed, clutching her phone even tighter. "I was coming just like I said, that wasn't a lie. I fully intended to buy the ticket after the meeting. But then, there were more meetings, then promo work, the late night gigs….it just slipped my mind. I know how it sounds but…..God, I'm sorry, babe."

"My graduation slipped your mind?" Sam asked coldly, hating himself for the break in his voice that he couldn't hide. "Oh."

"I'm sorry." The apology was desperate and honest, close to pleading, and Sam could hear several breaks in her voice within the small space between syllables. He sniffled, wiped the stray tear from his cheek, and remembered her forgiveness when he messed up. He remembered how much he swore that graduation meant nothing to him. He remembered that he was fortunate enough to have his family and hers sitting in the audience, ready to whistle and scream and cheer him on. "Sam, there's no place I'd rather be than with you, cheering you on."

One event in your life, he reminded himself. She's only missing one. You've missed a summer of her accomplishments when you moved to Kentucky. You've missed her label signing and her first day moving in on campus because you couldn't bear the thought of letting her go. This is the same thing. It's only one.

But it didn't feel the same. Having his fiancée miss the moment he officially accepted his diploma felt like seven missed summers combined. Not seeing her smiling face in the crowd felt like dozens of missed semesters. And as much as reason argued with the hurt in his heart, arguing all the reasons why her absence shouldn't destroy him, it didn't stop the quiver in his belly. It didn't cure the tightness in his throat. It didn't extinguish the anger that scorched his heart.

"It's fine," he said flatly, sounding neither angry nor hurt. It was worse than either of them. To Mercedes ears, he sounded dead inside. "It's no big deal, just me walking down an aisle and getting a rolled up, blank piece of paper. You're not missing much."

"It's a big deal to me, Sam," Mercedes insisted, afraid of his tone. "Every big event in your life should always be a big deal. I tried to get a plane last minute, but they didn't have anything. I begged and pleaded for hours, demanded managers, everything I could possibly think of. One of the flight attendants felt sorry for me and helped me research other flights, but nothing left until twelve today, after the ceremony is supposed to be over."

"Mercedes, it's okay, I understand." He took a breath, counted to ten, and released it slowly. "I'm not mad."

"I'm still coming. I'm just gonna be a little late," Mercedes tearfully assured him, ignoring his words. "Please don't hate me. I'm sorrier than I've ever been, Sam. I love you more than anything in this world, just….please…"

"Baby." The word quieted her. "I'm disappointed, but I'm not mad. Angry that you can't be here, but I don't hate you. Believe me," he whispered, just as the music for the graduation march began. "I could never hate you."

Mercedes took a deep breath and sighed heavily, feeling even guiltier. "You should." She sniffled. "You really should hate me right now."

"But I don't," he replied. "You're stubborn and selfish sometimes, maybe even a little vain, but I love you with all of that." Declaring his love out loud reminded him of what truly mattered, and the stirring emotions inside him settled down for a time. "Sometimes, the bad shows more than the good, right?"

"Right. Like today." Mercedes murmured. "Why are you being so understanding about this? I don't deserve it."

"I didn't deserve it, but you forgave me. That's what love is. You taught me that." Sam heard Figgins' call for all of the graduates to get in their places, so he hurried to explain with little words. "Put your hand on your chest?"

"What?" Her lips quirked in the faintest of smiles.

"Just do it," Sam demanded with a small smirk, placing a hand on his own chest, "What do you feel?"

"My heartbeat?" she replied, as if it should have been obvious.

"No. You feel my heartbeat. I'm feeling yours." Sam amended. "And I know how fast it's beating because you feel guilty and you hope I'll forgive you. It's exactly how it felt when you found me drunk off my ass at that party. You're worried."

"Yes," Mercedes admitted, nibbling her lip. "I shouldn't have lied. I shouldn't have broken my promise to you, Sammy. I'm really, truly sorry."

"And I really, truly believe you," Sam said quietly. "If you're not sure, use that superpower of yours and tell me if I'm lying."

Though it was wholly unnecessary, Mercedes closed her eyes and centered all of her energy toward the steady pulsing beat beneath her palm. She smiled fully then. "I feel it. I believe you." She sighed, opening her eyes. " Thank you. I'll see you after you march, okay?"

"I'll hold you to that," Sam replied with a chuckle. "And hey?"

"Yes?"

The sounds of applause and hollering parents forced him to whisper. "I'm still in love with you, you know."

Mercedes pressed her nose against the speaker and tried her hardest not to cry in relief. "I'd hope so, because I'm still very much in love with you, too. I need us to work, Sam."

"Well, maybe you should make it up to me." The slow, seductive coo of the words left little room for misinterpretation. "I'm open to...you know… putting in work if that's what it takes."

She could already feel his kisses along her inner thigh. Her thighs clamped together as the imagined caresses grew closer to her center. "That's what I take…..your work. But what's a good relationship without some joint effort, right? I like to give back, too." Mercedes flirted back, growing warm from the naughty ideas running through her head. "Later, though. Go graduate."

Sam smiled big at the screen as he hung up, just in time to hear his name called over the microphone.

He didn't walk to his diploma like he'd intended. He ran to it, swiftly and purposefully, discovering a burst of vigor trapped in his bones.

O-O

After a brief celebratory dinner with the family and friends, Sam retreated to Burt's house for some much needed shut eye, reclaiming his old room downstairs. The bed sheets remained as crumpled and slightly undone as he'd left it. His small travel bag rested in the corner of the room near the bookshelf, unzipped and overflowing with clothes he'd sorted through that morning. Sam sniffed the air, scented with his cologne, and smiled. The small room in the basement was his slice of paradise, his first claim to a space of his own after escaping poverty and homelessness, and standing there gave him all the feelings of home. Each corner of the room bore the mark of his inhabitance, and it felt extremely nice to have a solid piece of Lima settled underneath his feet.

Sam was too wrapped up in his comfortable thoughts to notice the second presence looming behind the open door. Its creaking hinges as it closed behind him made him jump and spin on the balls of his feet.

"Mercy!" he exclaimed, in happy shock. "You're here!"

"I am," she replied, pressing her back against the door as she deftly turned the lock. "Miss me?"

His eyes drifted down her body and noted her attire—the Iron Man towel from his bathroom wrapped snugly around her bare curves, parting just above her right thigh to expose the flesh of her hip. She raised the leg and rested her foot against the door frame, angling her knee just enough to tease him with the knowledge that she wasn't wearing underwear. Her neck and shoulders were still damp from what Sam could only assume was a recent shower, and the pointed tips of her curls clung to the tiny beads of water rolling down her collarbone. Green eyes followed a droplet, and he licked his parched lips when it disappeared in the crease between her breasts.

"Very much," he replied a bit huskier, stepping forward to slide his hand across her raised knee and up her thigh until he could sink his fingertips into the small rolls decorating her waist. His thumb brushed across the smooth skin there, then drifted south, slipping beneath her towel until he could massage the sensitive area beneath her stomach. She shuddered when he touched the shaven skin, jutting her pelvis forward to encourage lower caresses. Sam stepped closer to breathe her in, pressing his clothed body against hers, but otherwise ignored the silent plea. His fingers itched to loosen her towel instead. They walked up her abdomen and along her side, inching the small tucked corner below her armpit that kept her nakedness hidden.

"Ah, ah!" Mercedes warned, smacking his hand away as she clutched the top of her towel. "I didn't give you permission to peek, did I?"

"I need permission now?" Sam asked with a smirk, rolling his hips against hers. "I thought you wearing my towel meant you were saving it for me."

"Don't ever assume." Mercedes purred, reaching up to stroke his cheek. Tipping forward, her lips hovered over his as she whispered, "Open your mouth. You've been a naughty boy."

Sam's lips parted at her command, more from shocked arousal than obedience. Of all his fantasies of her, dominant Mercedes was his most prized possession. Thoughts of her had aided several of his self-service sessions in the past.

"Close your eyes." He obeyed, shuddering in anticipation of her next move. "Do you trust me, baby?"

"Yes. Hell yes." he whispered. The shudder he felt from her made him smile. "What are you going to do?"

"Be a good boy and open your mouth first." Mercedes gently pulled his chin, guiding his jaw open. "You're getting something tasty."

Sam felt the stretch of an elastic band wrapped in something soft loop around his left ear, then his right, before the center of his makeshift gag was pushed against his tongue with soft jabs of her fingers. Sam gasped when he licked the fabric and realized it was her underwear, then moaned when he tasted her salty essence. He was sure he was drooling, but the lingerie in his mouth was already drenched beforehand, covered in the fruit of his fiancée's masturbatory efforts. God, he wished he could've watched her. It was one of the things he enjoyed most.

"Like it?" She smiled when he nodded and garbled a yes through his gag. "Good. Keep your eyes closed until I tell you."

Sam took her hand and let her lead him. She let go for a brief moment, and when Sam heard the rustling of sheets, he knew she was preparing the bed. Another pause, then the heavy thud of cloth hitting the hardwood floor. It sounded heavy, almost like she'd balled up the comforter and threw it to the ground. A softer thud followed, bordering on a gentle plop, and he gulped when he realized that the only fabric in the room that could make that sound was the wet towel wrapped around Mercedes' body. It was soaked with water when he touched it earlier.

"Come to me." Sam quickly stepped forward, blindly following her voice and reaching out to feel her. He blushed when his hand made contact with a bare breast, then gently cupped its underside and jiggled it in his palm. A curious finger brushed across her hardened nipple, gently circling and flicking it about until it became completely stiff, but Mercedes grabbed his wrist and stepped away before he could pinch it.

"Now Mr. Evans, I thought I taught you better than that." Her chastising words held a tone of amusement. "On the bed. On your back. Right now."

The hand still holding his wrist yanked him forward until his knees hit the edge of the bed, then pulled his shoulder to turn him and shove him backward. His head hit the pillow, barely missing the bars of his headboard. Sam's breaths grew shallower, and a delightful tingling ran up his spine from the rough handling.

"You like that, baby?" Mercedes crawled up his body on her hands and knees, slapping his hands on her ass before her lips reached his ear. "Are you hard and ready for me, Sam?" Mercedes tugged the waist of his jeans, slipping the button free from its hole as her other hand slowly drew the zipper down. He hissed against her lips when she freed his hardness from his boxers, then tried his hardest to mouth the words more around the constraint of lace underwear when she began to stroke him.

"What? You want more? Beg me again, baby. I love it," she purred. Sam cried the word louder, thrusting against her closed fist. Mercedes kissed his closed lids as a reward for being so obedient. "Fuck, you look so sexy underneath me."

She nibbled his ear and tightened her hold around his cock, glancing up every so often to watch his eye balls loll back and forth against his lids. It was such a simple thing, but Mercedes felt the moisture score the flesh of her parted thighs like molten lava from any little thing Sam did on his way to orgasm. From the way his tongue snuck underneath her underwear to moisten his lips, making them appear softer and utterly kissable, to the little mewling sounds he made every time her nail scored the mushroomed tip of him. Unconsciously, her own excitement dripped against his thigh, and Sam lifted his knee to ease her ache without breaking the 'no touching' rule.

"Sam..." she whispered, kissing his lips as she rocked against him, massaging her clit with every roll of her hips. "Baby, that's good. I've been such a bad girl. Can you smell it? Smell me?" Sam groaned with need. "The body wash I showered in that belongs to you? The cologne I found on your dresser dabbed on my neck and between my tits?" She cupped her left breast and lifted it to his lips, circling and probing his mouth with her hardened nipple. Sam whimpered from the touch of pebbled skin rolling across his and clamped down, trapping her briefly between his teeth before she tugged the treasure away. "The sweet scent of my honey, soaked through your sheets after I came all over them?" Her tongue toyed with his through the lace gag, blending the taste of her essence with the sinful heat of her kisses.

Sam mumbled a protest mid-kiss, jutting his head forward to ease her away. Mercedes took pity and removed the offending garment distorting his words.

"Please say I can touch you like I want to," he begged in panting breaths, angling his head toward her as much as the bind of silk-covered elastic would allow. His eyes remained shut. "You're killing me."

"Really?" Mercedes softly kissed his chin, popping the top button of his shirt open. "And here I thought," she kissed up and down the curve of his jaw, releasing another button with each press of her lips until she could feel the smooth skin of his naked chest. "I was fulfilling a fantasy for you."

Sam groaned, loving and hating how right she was. "At least say I can open my eyes...give me something."

"Not yet." Mercedes sat up and flipped around until she straddled his chest, scooting further and further back until her ass grazed his lips. Sam, still blinded, groaned when he felt the change in position. Without warning, Mercedes bent over and flicked her tongue up and down the length of his penis.

"Do you remember our first time, Sammy?" Sam whimpered a yes just as she slid his length down her throat, gargling and slurping away to fuel his imagination. "Remember when I touched myself for you, and you promised that I could watch you cum if I let you watch me?" She moaned around the head of his cock, blowing a gentle breath across the wet flesh when she pulled away. The pad of her thumb followed the swollen, throbbing vein on the underside of his member, and silently, she counted each pulse of blood flowing through her lover's veins. "You made me feel safe, like I could share this intimate thing with you without worrying about you bragging to your friends. You're my best friend, Sam."

"You're mine too, Mercy," he rasped, kneading her backside. "That hasn't changed."

"I want to watch you this time. I need it." Her gasp and shudder delighted him when he surprised her with probing fingers, breaking the rules and satisfying the ache in her core. Sam took her moans as unspoken consent to finger fuck her.

"N-no," she shakily demanded, pulling his fingers out of her. "This is about you. I'll take care of me. Open your eyes."

Sam wasn't sure if he wanted to open them anymore. The feeling of his body being touched in the darkness amplified the pleasure. Even now, with Mercedes' mouth consuming him, he felt minutes away from erupting and seeing stars flash before him. Then again, the way her hips frantically moved against his chest made him curious. What was she doing? Was she rubbing herself? Was she using her hands?

"Sam…"she hoarsely cried, circling her hips even faster against his chest. "Look at me. Watch me."

He reluctantly obeyed, and the sight that met him necessitated a gasp. Three of her fingers stood straight up, poised to the sky and drenched with cream, as she bounced her ass. They disappeared into the contracting pink hole on display in front of him with every bounce, reappearing even wetter and messier than before. Sam wanted to lick her fingers, to taste from the source, but their differences in height and odd angle made it difficult in this position. When he scooted up into a more comfortable sitting position, her behind barely grazed his shoulders.

"God, what you do to me…" he sighed, digging his nails into her thighs when she cupped his balls and gently squeezed. Mercedes stunned him when her fingers moved further south and probed his ass. Surprisingly, after a moment of allowing his muscles to relax around the intrusion, he pushed down against her hand, urging her to push in deeper.

The penetration didn't disappoint. After a brief moment of gentle probing while she sucked him, Mercedes found the small, rounded bulge of his prostate. The smallest pressure made his hips rise so high, she nearly choked around him.

"I'm sorry," Sam apologized between excited breaths. "Feels good."

Mercedes kissed the tip of him before engulfing him again, bathing the flesh with her tongue as she drew pressured circles on his prostate. Sam's eyes crossed until everything around him resembled kaleidoscope images.

"Fuck!" He stuffed her underwear back into his mouth, gagging himself to muffle his pleasured screams. Mercedes pulled up and jerked his cock as she covered his swollen head with loving kisses, even after spurts of semen covered her nose and decorated her chin. Her fingers resumed the task of pleasuring her pussy, spurred on by his release. Teeth sunk into the top of Sam's thigh to quiet her shrill cries as she came, and her essence seeped from her and pooled in the chiseled grooves between her fiancé's pectorals.

Taking a moment to catch her breath, Mercedes reached for the towel on the floor and gently wiped him clean, then took an unused corner to wipe the evidence of their lovemaking from her nose and mouth. She spotted his graduation cap near the foot of the bed and stretched her arm to retrieve it, crawling beside Sam and resting it on his head as he recovered. He pulled her to his side, kissing her forehead and wrapping the comforter around her as he collected himself.

"Damn," he finally uttered, smiling in her direction. He glanced up and noticed the hat tilted toward his forehead. "Why am I wearing this again?"

"I didn't get to see you in it." Mercedes quietly replied, resting her head on his shoulder as she fiddled with the cap's tassel. "You look good. Like a grown-up."

Sam laughed at her choice of words. "That's what Stevie and Stacie said."

"Did they notice that I wasn't there?" she asked, concerned about their perceptions of her absence.

"Boy, did they. Stacie demanded that I tell her what I did to upset you. I swore up and down that you weren't mad at me, that you just forgot, but they didn't buy it. Stevie said that his Mercedes never forgets the big days that happen in our family."

Mercedes briefly smiled at the words our family, then frowned when she realized how bad it must've looked to the twins. They were old enough to remember how heartbroken Sam was when they had to move to Kentucky. To them, she and Sam were indestructible. "So, they blamed you for the fact that I wasn't there?"

"Crazy, right?" Sam scoffed, shaking his head. "I don't know how you did it, but you've recruited two extremely loyal fans to the Mercedes fandom."

"My fandom bakes cookies. It was easy," she joked halfheartedly. "I'm really, really sorry I wasn't there, Sam. I won't miss another big family day because of work again."

"That's an unrealistic promise, Mercy. Work's gonna tear you away sometimes," Sam reasoned. "I understand that. Just don't lie to me and tell me you're coming when you're not. You broke our number one rule."

"I know. I'm sorry." Mercedes pouted. "I feel terrible."

"Don't. It's in the past." Sam waved away the mistake like it was a fleck of dust in the air around them. "Besides, I've done it, too. You're just way better at apologizing than I am. Pancakes and flowers ain't got shit on this."

Mercedes beamed at his compliment. "Yeah? So, you liked it?"

"Liked it?" Sam sucked his teeth and took her finger, swirling it in the warm pool of fluid on his chest before he brought it to his mouth and suckled greedily. "Shoot, I forgot I even graduated today."

She laughed and snorted in relief. "I guess Santana was right, then."

"About?" he probed, tapping her nose.

"She said ninety-nine percent of relationship problems can be cured with some extremely dedicated head." His amused eyes met her playfully serious ones as she nodded. "It's a scientific fact."

"Says Dr. Snix Lopez? Why am I not surprised." Santana's views on sexuality and the world around her had always amused Sam, even when they were dating. "Can't say she's wrong, though. I couldn't be angry right now if I tried."

"I told her she should either be a sex therapist or an entertainment lawyer." A puzzled look crossed Sam's face at the second suggestion of profession. "You know, because she helped me get my record deal."

"Oh right. The blackmail DVD thing," Sam answered distractedly, more concerned with sampling more of Mercedes' essence from her fingertips. "Underhanded, but effective."

"Good word," noted Mercedes, kissing his cheek as he drew her coated middle finger between his lips.

"It's the word of the day on my calendar. Underhanded," he repeated. "Acting or done in a deceitful and dishonest way. That's sounds like it's right up Santana's alley."

"Doesn't it?" Mercedes laughed lightly. "The end justifies the means for that girl."

The two shared a moment of silence, reflecting on all that transpired to bring them to this moment and wondering what the future held in store.

"Are you happy, Sam?" she asked quietly, twirling a sweat-drenched strand of hair near his nape around her fingers until it curled.

"With you? Absolutely. With life?" Sam bit his lip and looked to the ceiling, choosing his words carefully. "I think there's still a lot I have to find. You have a set plan about where you want to be in five years. I'm trying to get there."

"My five year plan includes your happiness, you know," she noted aloud, reminding him that he was a part of her future. "Part of that means you need to tell me things instead of bottling them up inside. I can handle the imperfect days, too. I notice when you're not yourself...like when you start pinching your belly in the mirror when you think I don't notice."

Sam's gaze flickered to hers in mild shock, then fell away. "I do that when I feel out of control. Obsess about how I look, I mean."

"Don't. You're perfect." Mercedes kissed his lips before he could protest. "Absolutely perfect." She worked her fingers through his hair, kissing him once more as she scratched small circles against his scalp. Sam gave in and let her have her way, moaning in between the small moments their lips parted as he took her in his arms. Mercedes rolled on top of him and squeezed her legs around his waist, pulling away with a small smile.

"You're awfully convincing," Sam smiled, tapping her nose. "And awfully cute."

"That's the other way I recruit people to my fandom. Overpowering cuteness," she deadpanned, playfully rolling her eyes. "How did you know that I was on my period the day you came to apologize? I've been wracking my brain, but I'm sure I didn't leave any Midol or tampons out as clues."

"Abrupt change in subject, but I'll play along," smirked Sam, tucking her hair behind her ears to see her face. "You were wearing flats."

"I was wearing flats?" she repeated, unconvinced. "That's it. I was inside my house. That's not unusual."

"You were wearing those old black flats with the little hole near the pinky toe. The butt ugly ones." He explained with a light chuckle, hugging her waist. She leaned over and rested her body atop his, tucking her head underneath his chin. "You were going to throw them away two summers ago, but said that you'd keep them for those water retaining days when your feet swell up. Your feet only swell up during your time of the month."

"Observant," mused Mercedes, secretly impressed. "And you chose that week to muster up the courage to talk to me?"

"Why do you think I came bearing cinnamon and chocolate chip pancakes? You feed the tiger before you try to pet it," Sam reasoned. He laughed when she took a pillow and smacked his arm. "What? It's true!"

"Whatever." She grumbled, feigning annoyance to hide her smile. "Imagine if you lived with me. We'd be on the same cycle."

"Ha Ha." Sam rolled on top of her and dropped the pillow over her face. "You're hilarious."

"Prove me wrong, then," she challenged, throwing the pillow on the ground and brushing the strewn hairs away from her face. "Move in with me."

"In your dorm?"

"Or we can get a place together. I'm not married to my apartment," she told him, rolling them back over to rest against his chest. "Do you want to?"

"This is a serious offer?" She glanced up and nodded in the affirmative, squinting as she studied his reaction. He paused a moment, thinking, before he replied, "Okay, then."

"Okay? Just like that?" she chirped, visibly gulping.

"Just like that." Sam nodded, kissing her forehead. "That is, unless you're already having second thoughts."

"No!" she insisted, though her stomach flip-flopped at the thought of sharing a private apartment with a man for the first time in her life. "I want you with me. I...we should do this."

"Are you sure?" he asked, concerned by the hint of fear he heard in her voice.

"I'm not sure of anything but you," she answered honestly. "It's a little scary."

"Why did you offer?" he asked, confused by her conflicting responses. "Is this another apology?"

"No." she assured him, though she couldn't say for certain if that was completely true. "I just thought that….it already feels like we're living together, right? Doing laundry, buying groceries together, the movie nights and sleepovers...we even argue like we're already shacking up. Why don't we just add a lock and key to the equation?"

"Shacking up...wow," Sam chortled. "And what if I can't live on campus with you?"

"Then I'll rent us an apartment." He frowned, shaking his head. "Okay, we will rent an apartment and share the costs. Give whatever you can and I'll cover the rest."

"With what job, Mercy?" he chuckled.

"I'll make it work somehow. Between the label and my allowance money, we'll be set." She shrugged. Money was the least of her worries.

"Spoken like a rich kid," Sam huffed, teasing her. "We're not getting some ridiculous Hollywood villa or beachfront property, you know. It has to be affordable."

"Alright, Alright! I'll find the dingiest, flea-bitten place I can get with the shadiest landlord and put down a deposit," joked Mercedes, kissing the corners of his mouth. "So are we in? Are we really doing this?"

Sam took off the graduation hat tilted haphazardly on his head. Looking at it, he reflected on her offer again, more carefully than the first time. That familiar rolling unease in his belly, the one that usually accompanied the major changes in his life, churned on and intensified.

As a child, life is addition and subtraction, a simple cause and effect equation with fifty-fifty probabilities that typically worked in your favor. Adulthood was all about the gamble, the plunge into the uncharted. Sam had been a betting man since he was fourteen, sliding engagement rings on any delicate hand that might've shown him love. "I think we are," he replied, shocked by his own words. "We definitely are."

Mercedes beamed at his reply, squealing excitedly behind the hand that bore his grandmother's engagement ring.

Only put it on one finger, son. Never take it off, no matter what happens...

"It's you and me, Jones. Forever." He smiled back. One slow kiss sealed the deal, and Sam maneuvered Mercedes back onto her back, reaching in the bedside drawer for the condom hidden in his wallet.

Make-up sex truly outdid regular sex, and Sam thanked the fates working in his favor that Kurt, Burt, and Finn wouldn't be coming back home for another hour.

O-O

Moving in together? Woah! Do you think they're ready? Young love can be so beautifully naïve in its early stages.

Also, did anyone else notice that Sam neglected to mention the one tiny country music star sized secret he's been hiding? And is Mercedes' album work going to her head? Are they both just two big hypocrites, hiding things and lying to one another, or are they simply...human? Is lying to protect someone you love ever okay?

Share your thoughts with me, lovely readers!

(And P.S., Make sure you pay attention to the titles of my newer chapters. If you can follow the theme, you'll get an idea of what the future chapters will discuss, to some extent. Don't jump too quickly to any conclusions, though. I'm gonna surprise you!)