Sam walked back from the kitchen with two plain white mugs in his hands. The steam floating from the cups into nothingness. Blaine couldn't stop watching it. He hadn't realized that he was staring at a warm mug in his hand until Sam asked if he was okay. Nodding his head, Blaine kept staring at the steam. The hot steam that was hitting his nose.
"You're staying here tonight, okay?" Sam said.
"Why," Blaine asked eyebrow crunched, and his eyes still staring into the minty tea. Most of the steam was thinning.
"Because I don't want you outside at two in the morning stumbling around high off your ass, so that you can get jumped, raped or stolen from, and not even remember it in the morning."
"Whatever," Blaine grumbled into his mug.
"No, okay, fuck you, Blaine. Fuck you for not caring that I give a shit about you. Fuck you for not noticing that I care about you. And especially fuck you for making me fall in love with you!" Sam yelled. His chest heaved up and down a few times. Blaine had finally looked up from the tea in the cup, and he blankly blinked at Sam. Sam who had a few tears dribbling down his cheeks. Sam who looked completely wrecked. Sam who had just professed is love for Blaine. His love for Blaine. He loved Blaine.
"Y-you love me," Blaine said staring at the nails digging into Sam's palm in a closed fist.
"Of course I do. People say that I'm blind and stupid, but those people definitely have not seen you Blaine. Let me tell you," Sam grumbled looking down at his feet.
"But I'm a mess. I'm a junkie. I'm a fucking whore, Sam. Look at me I'm unlovable."
"But you're my mess. You're my junkie. And I don't know what whore means, so I'm not going to say that your my whore," Sam said kneeling in front of Blaine his fingers spreading across Blaine's thin thighs.
"Good. I don't really think you want to know what whore means."
"I'll just google it later," Sam murmured.
"Good luck trying to spell it."
"Getting back on topic. Blaine Anderson, how would you like to be my boyfriend?" Sam had asked eyes shimmering in the strong white light above them.
"I didn't know you were, like, even five percent gay."
"Well, I am for you… I guess, and may be other dudes too. I really don't and care."
"This is going to be hard, Sam. I just want you to know. I'm not an easy person to deal with, as you know. I don't want you to—to end up hating, me, I guess."
"I could never hate you, dude," Sam smile tenderly.
Blaine closed his eyes, and sucked in a very shaky breath. His chest had stuttered. He continued, "You say that now, but—"
Sam cut him off, "Just say yes, please."
"Y-yes, yes, I'll be your boyfriend."
Sliding his hand to cradle the left side of Blaine's face, Sam leaned in towards Blaine. Their breath tickles each other with fingers of warm air. Sam's eyes trained on Blaine's lips that were opened by a sliver. The sharp curve of the top lip, and the dull smoothness of the bottom. They moved, but no sound came from them. Or maybe Blaine said something, and Sam didn't hear at all.
"Huh?" Sam asked leaning back.
"Remember when I had a crush on you for a bit in senior year."
"Yeah?"
"Well, I wish I could go back, and tell seventeen year old me to fucking cool it because he was going to get what he wanted. For once."
"See! I knew you never stopped wanting to bang me! I knew it!"
Blaine had slammed his mouth onto Sam's in a very messy kiss. Teeth clattered against each other. Tongues were slipping against each other. They didn't care. Of course they didn't care. All they care about was that they were together. Together, as one. Blaine gentling slipped his hand into Sam's like a ghost. They both stood up digging their heels into the slick wooden floor. Blaine legs eventually hugged Sam's waist tighter than a vice after Sam hoisted him on the hallway wall. Pictures had jiggled. There was a dull thump every time Sam would roll his hips into Blaine's. Blaine had tried to slow Sam down mumbling something about it being Sam's first time with a guy, so they should cool down. Sam only smirk lifting on side of his lips and shrugging. He was a male stripper at some point. When Sam threw Blaine on top of the thick blue blanket, all of Blaine worries and hesitation vanished somewhere. Just like the steam of the tea vanished.
Blaine peered down at Sam's phone looking at his open Facebook. After being picked up from Scandals, Blaine went home, and he wrapped his arm with a rubber band the same colour as the sky. It was with a practiced movement, and it happened so often that it was almost automatic for Blaine to go home and start drifting towards the drawer with the band in it. Now, Blaine was high while discovering that Kurt has a new boyfriend. A new boyfriend with stupid good fluffy looking hair. Blaine turned away from the phone sleeping atop his poor excuse of a coffee table—a large upside down cardboard box. He walked to the nearest wall, and started slowly thumping his head against it.
"Blaine, dude, what are you doing?" Sam had peek his head from where it was buried in the fridge.
"Trying to forget," Blaine mumbled continuing the abuse on his head.
"Trying to forget what?"
Blaine groaned, and he pointed his finger towards the phone laying on the cardboard box. Grabbing the quarter full orange juice jug out of the fridge, Sam gripped its neck, and he walked over to the phone. With slight smile instantly dipped into a deep frown. He blinked an umpteenth times.
"Are you upset that Kurt had a boyfriend? Because I thought you were over him," Sam looked over at Blaine's tense back with dead in his eyes that Blaine couldn't see even if he was looking directly at Sam. He was higher than a rocket in space.
Blaine huffed a fake laugh, and he said, "I will never be over him. I will and cannot love another man. My poor heart sings."
He clutches his heart to be dramatic, and Sam feels his heart tighten in his chest.
"But you're gonna start dating again right?" Sam had asked with a little panic in voice. Blaine missed it. Just like he missed the way Sam's face completely fell when he said no. No, he was never going to try dating again. Blaine turned away from the wall, and he started smacking his lips together.
"I'm thirsty," He declared his face kissed by the colour of a rose.
Sam handed him the orange juice, and started watching Blaine's head nod. It bobbed up and down like a boat on the ocean. A vast sigh blew out of Sam's mouth. He knew Blaine wouldn't notice anything now. It was almost as if he were unconscious. His eyes were open. His body swayed slightly, but he wouldn't react to anything. An elephant could come stomping into his house, and a muscle wouldn't even twitch. Blaine hadn't noticed the tears slipping from Sam's eyes even though it was right in front of his face.
When Blaine woke up, he had this dull ache all around his ass. He flopped over on the bed to see Sam sprawled out beside him like a fish that flopped on land. Sam was dressed in the nude. Blain looked down to see himself in the same outfit. Oh, yeah. Blaine shoved his head into the big pillow. They fucked. They were boyfriends. Blaine was the boyfriend of Sam Evan. That was one thing Blaine never thought he was going to be again. Someone's boyfriend. The window beside Sam showed that grey was peeking behind the long curtain. It was still dark. Blaine closed his eyes, and went to bed content for the second time in a very long time.
The second time he woke up it was to these feathery touches that tickled Blaine's neck. He turned his head, and all he saw was a patch of blonde hair. Sam was kissing up and down his entire face.
"Good morning," Sam breathed his hot breath polling over Blaine's cheek.
Blaine said, "Morning."
"I have to go to work."
"No," Blaine drew out wrapping his arms around Sam's hips holding him in place.
A deep chortle echoed in the tight bedroom. After pressing a long kiss to Blaine's waiting lips, Sam untangled himself. Blaine silently cursed himself cringing thinking about how much time he wasted being alone when he could have been with Sam. Well, he actually was with Sam most of the time. It was more of how much time he wasting thinking he was alone, high, when he really wasn't. Sam was always there. Sam will always be there. A knob shrieking came from the bathroom, and the water started up. Blaine decided to blindly stumble his stiff body into the bathroom. Sam was more than happy for him to join him in the shower.
Don and Micky had both tripped Blaine up in the hallway, so that he landed hard on his knees. They were going to bruise. After a few snickers were exchanged, a blue sticky shower landed over top Blaine's hair dribbling onto his eyes a little.
"It's the little sad fairy who's never going to have a dinky little boyfriend. How sad is that," Don had sneered.
"No one's going to love you… ever. You unlovable," Micky laughed.
Blaine shook of the few speck of slush that landed on his hands, and wiped them across his eyes. Avoiding getting any liquid in them. It would burn otherwise.
Blaine wished he could go back, and tell them just how wrong they were.
Kurt Hummel: Hey, do you think you could give me Blaine's number?
Sam Evans: Why?
Kurt Hummel: I just want to meet up with him before I go back to Lima
Sam Evans: Why?
Kurt Hummel: Because I miss him? Why are you being do defensive?
Sam Evans: You're not going to try to get back together with him… are you?
Kurt Hummel: God no. I have a boyfriend. I just want my best friend back.
Sam Evans: You're going to have call him, and don't be discourage if he doesn't pick up right away. He's usually not home.
Kurt Hummel: Does he not have a cell phone?
Sam Evans: Nope.
Drumming his fingers along his sides, Kurt hummed an idle tune waiting in line to order his mocha. He realizes that he is twenty minutes earlier than the decided time that Blaine and he were going to meet up. Yes, he realizes that. His anxiety on the other hand doesn't. Ever since the moment he woke up, Kurt couldn't seem to slow down his stuttering heart. He doesn't really know what he wasn't to talk about; he just knows he wants to talk. This time without walking away. A women behind the cahier calls next, and Kurt jumps a little noticing that there was no one in front of him. When did that happen?
Kurt cots the warm foam cup that he was just handed, and sets off to find a secluded corner. Somewhere not in the spotlight where everyone can see them. There's this corner slightly tucked behind the condiments area. Kurt quickly scrambles there before anyone else can slip into the seats. Once he sits down, he takes a deep breath. Placing his cup down atop the cleared off table, Kurt looks down at his phone. Congratulations, he wasted five whole minutes. He clicks on the face book app. Scrolling through all these posts, Kurt only seems to be able to watch the clock above the app. He watches the number slowly click closer and closer to noon. When the clock reads: 12:00, and the doors hollers out a ding. Kurt looks up to see Blaine entering the room. His physical condition was the same as a few days ago at the reunion, but his face was different. It was happier. He was draped in an oversized letterman jacket. One that a jock had worn in McKinley.
"Hey," Blaine said sitting down smiling a smile that had once been worn by the Blaine five years ago. Kurt missed it so much.
"Hello," Kurt greeted back, "I just want to start this conversation with an apology that I should have said years ago. I shouldn't have left like that Blaine. I'm sorry. I don't expect you to forgive me, but I just want you to know that I am sorry for leaving you all those years ago."
"Kurt, I'm sorry too. I'm sorry that I didn't say anything when I should have. You don't know how much regret I have of that day. There are not enough words to express it."
"I forgive you," Kurt breathed.
Blaine replied, "Well, then, I forgive you too."
"Where did you get that jacket? Did you join a sports team in senior year?"
"Nope," Blaine replied. If it were possible, Blaine's smile grew even larger than the one before, as he stood back up turning around to show Kurt the back of the jacket. Written in the bottom of the back was 'Evans'. Blaine sat back down laughing at Kurt's raise eyebrows.
"Why did Sam give you that?" Kurt had asked.
"Well," Blaine started shifting until he crossed one leg over the other, "I have a little secret to tell you."
"What is it?"
"Sam and I are officially dating."
"Oh!" Kurt gasped, "That's why he was being so protective yesterday!"
"What?"
"Oh, nothing. I'm happy for you."
"Well, I'm happy for you too. How's Elliot? What's he like?"
The two had started in a conversation as if they've been best friends forever. Firing small talk back and forth. Asking and answering easy questions one after the other. It was as if they didn't stop talking for over five years. It's as if Blaine hadn't changed at all. The conversation had really picked up, though, when the topic of what was the best musical was brought up. Blaine will always say that it is Rent, and Kurt will always deny that he had agreed that one time. Laughs came easier than both Blaine and Kurt expected.
"Thank you," Blaine had said eventually.
"For what?"
"For not bringing up what you saw in the bathroom."
"That's not why I wanted to talk to you today, Blaine."
"I know. And thank you, really. It's actually been kind of nice forgetting about it for a while. In case you were wondering… I am trying to stop using it now. Especially for Sam. I've actually been thinking about going into rehab."
"You do whatever you think is best, okay?"
A dry laugh escaped Blaine's throat, and he said looking away from Kurt, "I can't believe that you were the first person I told that I want to go to rehab, and I haven't talked to you in five years."
"It's crazy how easy people can click back into place again. I'm leaving for New York tomorrow early. We're gonna stay in touch, right? I don't want to lose you again."
"I would-I would really like that, Kurt. Thank you."
"Hey, stop thanking me. It's what friends do for each other."
"Friends?"
"Friends."
They bid their farewells. A hug was exchanged before they both left. A hug were eyes were sewn shut so tightly, and they felt each other's hair tickle their faces. Kurt drove his way back to his Father's house at 4:21 while Blaine sat on the edge of the lifting concrete waiting for Sam's beat-up faded red car. They had felt content like a million pound weight was lifted of their shoulder, so that they could take in deep inhalations. When Sam's car had jerked to a stop in front of Blaine, and Blaine hopped in closing the door with a light thump, Blaine felt like his life now was maybe worth something. That maybe he was too focused on the past memories when he should have been more focused on making new ones with people who loved him. Not dwelling on the people who didn't.
Blaine looked over at Sam, and said, "I want to go to rehab… or at least get a counsellor or something."
"Whatever you want, babe, whatever you want."
They drove away, and Sam looked over at Blaine one more time.
"You look really hot in that jacket by the way."
Blaine didn't mean to. To which people probably think how do you not mean to inject a needle full of heroin into your arm? He had been good. He had been great actually. Nearly two months completely sober. Two months without needing rehab or a counsellor. Noah had this whole two month sober party planned against the wishes of Quinn, but they won't be needing it anyways. Blaine guesses Quinn did get her wishes. It had just been a bad night. An awful night really. Blaine had stopped selling his body now considering he didn't need it for drugs. He worked at the Lima Bean during the day, and by night he was grinding down on a pole nearly in the nude.
Blaine didn't mean to overdose. He didn't. It was just a really awful night.
One of his regular clients of his old prostitution work came into Scandals that night already tripping drunkenly over everything before he even reached the bar. He wasn't there to get drunk, though, he was there to get laid. Of course, Blaine didn't know this. Blaine was up on the stage sweat slowly dripping into every crack of his body, as he thrusted his hips to the beat of the song playing. It had reached closing time, so Blaine left using the back exit which lead to a dusty rock infested alleyway. The man from earlier started following him. His name was Denver Donelson. He was nearly stepping on the back of Blaine's feet the entire time, as Blaine tried to walk back to his apartment.
Denver wasn't like most of the men that paid Blaine to sleep with them. Sure, he had a wife and kids, but he wasn't old like the rest. He was quite young only in his late twenties. He was tall; standing at a towering six three. The entirety of his body was caked in thick muscles. Realistically he could get any man in Scandals he wanted. The reason he paid Blaine to sleep with him was because he knew for a fact Blaine kept quiet. That Blaine wouldn't go running his mouth off to the Mormon Church he grew up in. The man's brunette hair was pretty basic, and he had no facial hair that really made him stood out. There was one thing about him that gave Blaine the ability to pick him out of any crowd anywhere. A thin long white line that started just above his eyebrow, and ran down the side of his face until it stopped by the corner of his mouth. When he smiled, the whole scar twitched. Blaine can recognize it anywhere.
"Hey, Denny bear, you didn't pay me enough. You know a whole night is two hundred and fifty bucks," Blaine had said picking at the wad of cash that was just handed to him. It was only one hundred and seventy-two bucks.
"I can pay you the rest next time we do this again, okay? Now get on your hands and knees."
Blaine turned around to face the wilted flat Motel bed they were using that night. It seemed that there were stains on the pillows. Some of them yellow just like corn. Some of them were white—Blaine could probably guess what those ones were. He fell deep into the velvet coloured sheets everything avoiding the pillows. A pointed look was sent to Denver's way. Laughing and falling into sync with Blaine, Denver wrapped his thick hands around Blaine's hip bones. His hands were like breakfast sausages.
"Come on, baby. Tell me you don't want it. For real," He growled tongue kissing Blaine's ear.
"Of course it want it," Blaine said, "but for the right price, Denver. You know this.
"I'm surprised your fully aware of what I'm saying… you're usually your so doped up on drugs that you don't notice me short changing you."
"You what?"
The room went silent and still. It was a picture.
"You've short changed me before? How big of a douchebag are you? You can get out Denver honestly," Blaine said shooing Denver's hands off his hips. Denver had only dug them in harder, deeper.
"Baby, I bought this motel room just for us. I'm not going to waste it."
Blaine was thrown onto the bed head diving into the pillows. Something wet had brushed his forehead, and he puckered up his face like a child's eating a lemon. A heavy weight settled itself in the middle of his back. Blaine didn't need to look to know it was Denver.
"Denver, come on, no means no. I want to stop," Blaine sighed.
The weight had pushed harder making Blaine's lungs feel tight. Way too tight for him to be comfortable. Hands wandered and danced their way to the front of Blaine's jean. They fiddled around with the zipper.
Pushing the hands away, Blaine said, "God, are you retarded? I said no. I want to stop."
"I have a cousin who is mentally retarded, and I find that very offensive. I think you need to be punished," Denver had whisper his hot breath tickling its way down Blaine's neck. Rum was the only thing Blaine could smell when Denver opened his mouth, and he knew it came from the empty bottle in the corner.
Blaine had huffed losing patients wanting this whole night to be over with, so he could go home to dig through his stash. Sam would be there giving him sad eyes. He would ignore them like he always does. Blaine flopped over back draped across the bed head still leaning against the filthy pillows. Surprised gasps slipped out of Blaine's mouth, as the thick hands pinned his hands above his head. Blaine had thought Denver would lighten up. He didn't. He just dug his nails into Blaine's wrists nearly breaking the layer of skin on them. After Denver had tried with all of his might to keep Blaine's wrist together with one hand while fiddling with Blaine's zipper with the other, Blaine kneed him in the stomach. His face went red, as smacked the shocked face with the back of his hand, hard. Red spilt across Blaine's cheek. Blaine tackled him to the ground. They both had rolled around for a bit growling like crazed beasts. Paintings shook violently on the wall. Lamps fell over, and beds shouted when they were scraped across the floor. Once Blaine and Denver had bruises littered all of their bodies, and bits of blood dripping down their face to the tips of their chins, Denver wrapped his hands hard around Blaine's throat. Closing in tighter and tighter until Blaine reached for a piece of shattered lamp. Blaine tug the sharp piece through the side of the greasy blood ridden face.
Blaine could recognize that scar anywhere because Blaine was the one who gave it to him.
Still walking back to his apartment with a drunken stumbling man walking behind so close that he could feel the eyelashes on his neck, Blaine felt hands dig into his hips. It brought him back to that night. A night that was easier to forget while he was high on heroin. And, oh, how Blaine loved forgetting the night his hand was completely red with someone else's blood. The hands on his hips forced him to face the man. To face Denver and his scar. His scar full of memories Blaine wants to forget.
"Hello, baby," Denver said a smile tickling his lips.
"Go away," Blaine said, "I need to go home."
"Going to shoot?"
"I don't do that anymore."
"Oh, sure. And I still don't have a wife anymore."
"Fuck off," Blaine growled idly scratching his nails across the scars sprinkled all of over his arms. He left little red lines all over his forearms. Denver reached out to kiss Blaine. Blaine had only huffed shoving him away. All of a sudden Blaine was shoved onto a brick wall back being scrapped, and a tongue licking at his lips.
"Denver, stop it, please," Blaine had whimpered thinking of Sam.
"Oh, you beg like a pretty bitch," Denver whispered with a breath lingering of scotch, "and I love it."
"I really thought you were past raping, retard."
Eventually Denver walks away stumbling his way back to Scandals. Blaine decides to pray for whoever Denver ends up with that night. After he was gone, all that Blaine was left with was the taste of light rum in his mouth, and a hammering heart. See, it wasn't really Blaine's fault that he had sprinted home diving nose first into the drawer with a secret stash. He just had a bad night. If anyone was to blame, it was Denver. That's why Blaine was confused at all the angry faces pointed at him, as he blinked himself awake for the second time. The first time had been a lot better. Everyone was just happy that he was alive, so being mad was the farthest feeling that they all decided to be. Blaine just wanted to go back to sleep. Maybe take some heroin, so he can stop the shakes that are starting to move his whole body.
"Everyone shut up, I think he's waking up," A high pitched voice rung, but it was a little too low to be a girls.
"Kurt?" Blaine had grumbled eyes still closed.
"Oh, thank god," Someone had whispered to the left of Blaine, or what Blaine thought was the left. He didn't really know. All he knew was the achy pain that throbbed throughout the entirety of his body was all too familiar. Was he in bed?
"Come on, baby, open your eyes for me, please," the voice from a few seconds earlier had said. It sounded familiar. Was he at Sam's house?
"Sam, where am I?" He croaked out. His throat felt dry, and scratched up by a million tigers. It hurt to talk. It hurt to move. Blaine decided he didn't want to do either which included moving his eyes that felt like a million pound weight on the think skin. Sounds of quieted breaths surrounded Blaine. He just wanted to know where he was.
"Open your eyes, okay? You'll figure it out."
A very, very panicked voice said, "Blaine, for god sakes open your eyes, so we know you're okay."
Blaine had opened his eyes for the sake of whoever just said that. They sounded on a near panic attack. They sound like they were on the break of being psychotic. White was all he saw for an umpteenth seconds. White brighter than pure snow which had slowly faded into a concerned face huddled at the foot of his bed. A face that was forever burned deep into his mind, but one he hasn't seen for years. One he hasn't seen since his senior year.
"Cooper?" Blaine rasped out forgetting about his sore throat. Right, no talking.
Arms coddled his neck and shoulders. A breathy voice said, "Oh, thank god you're okay. I'm sorry I haven't been there, Blaine. I'm so sorry."
A groan deep from Blaine's chest sounded the silence of the room.
"Are you okay? Did I hurt you? What hurts, squirt?" Cooper fired off franticly.
"Everything," Blaine mumbled letting black seep into his eyelids once again.
"Why the fuck would you do that Blaine? What am I supposed to do with the damn cake in the fridge? And now Quinn's going to start another argument about how I spend too much time with you," Puck had grumbled in the corner he was standing in arms slipped into each other. A 'get well soon' balloon covered his face from Blaine's view on the narrow hospital bed. It was a dinky thing that someone must have grabbed in the gift shop in the lobby as an afterthought. There really was no soon to the get well of a drug addict. Sweat started to pool everywhere on Blaine's body where he was huddled like a fetus swimming deep in Sam's old red McKinley hoodie.
"Fuck off, Noh, can the argument come after I get out of this shit hole? Everything hurts so badly," Blaine mumbled into the tiny pillow his head slept on. The five people on the room soften their hard eyes at the tone of Blaine's voice.
"He's got a point there though, Blaine. Why the fuck would you do that? I just got you back into my life and you think that it's okay to just waltz your way back out? Also, I'm missing an important assignment back in New York," Kurt grumble from he sat in the far corner. His legs crossed and arms settled deep into his lap. His eyes were stone cold staring at the hospital bed.
"Come on, guys, this is first time overdosing. Give him a break," Sam protested standing right beside Blaine's head.
"And his only. I'll make sure of it," Kurt snapped.
"Can you guys stop talking about me like I'm not in the fucking room?" Blaine said.
"How about you stop using fucking heroin first?" Kurt said back.
Sinking his head into the pillow with more lumps than a potato sack, Blaine closed his eyes. He murmured voice so quiet, "I'm sorry. I just had a bad night. It wasn't really my fault. I swear."
