#warblertowarbler

When he enters, the girl lets go of his hand and somebody hands him a drink. He's about to decline it when he realizes there's no one to decline it to. He shrugs and brings the clear plastic cup to his face and sniffs it. It smells terrible and he gags, but that doesn't stop him from throwing his head back and tilting the cup so the contents spill into his mouth. It's bitter and just as bad as it smelled, but Blaine swallows anyway. A slow burn goes down his throat and instantly his eyes water from the sensation.

The room starts to move and in that moment, Blaine knows it's time to find a place to sit. He somehow acquires another drink that just as bad as the first, but he gulps it down anyway. He finds an empty counter and a single stool is tilted on its side on the floor. He pulls it upright and sits, only to find a third drink sitting in front of him. Blaine looks around, wondering who's trying to get him drunk, and he makes eye-contact with the guy who announced the afterparty. The guy gives him a thumbs up which Blaine politely returns, though he doesn't know if the guy is doing that because he gave Blaine the drinks or because Blaine's at his party. He doesn't really know anyone at the party, so it figures it wouldn't be too bad to make friends with the host either way. Blaine shrugs and drinks from the cup a little before pulling out his phone and dialing his best friend's number.

There are three rings before there's a sleepy "Hey."

"Oh god, did I wake you up?" Blaine asks. He doesn't exactly know what time it is, only that it's dark outside. His eyes can't exactly concentrate to read the tiny numbers on his phone's screen, but he figures it must be late.

"What? Oh, no no. I was awake," Sam says quickly. Blaine lets out a sigh of relief; he would've felt so guilty if he had woken him up just because he was a little lonely at a party. "Bored out of my mind, but awake. I've been going over my portfolio. Bichette wants me to make some of my pictures 'more midwestern', whatever that means."

Sam sounds so stressed and confused and Blaine feels for him. "I told you, you should leave that agency. You deserve way better than that," he says sincerely.

"I can't leave now; I've been booking so many jobs. Bichette knows, like, everyone in the industry. Working for her really opens doors. Well, she doesn't know everyone. I asked her if she knew Mercedes and she gave me this really mean look; it kinda scared me."

Blaine imagines Sam at the other end of the phone, probably surrounded by half naked pictures of himself in stereotypical midwestern motifs, and laughs a high giggly laugh that he can't stop no matter how hard he tries. Giggles devolve into hiccups and soon Blaine is coughing into the phone, the liquor in his system threatening to come back up the way it came.

"Dude, are you okay?" Sam asks.

Blaine finally manages to catch his breath and he sets his drink down and wipes a hand over his face. "Yeah, uh, I'm sort of at a party? I've had a few drinks."

"Uh-oh," Sam says after a moment. "You know how you get when you're drunk."

"What does that mean?" Blaine asks, defensively.

"You become a huge cuddle bunny," Sam says and Blaine smiles. That is true; if anyone knows that, it's Sam. There were more than enough times where Blaine had gotten drunk off his ass and ended up all over Sam. Sam never complained or treated him weirdly afterwards, which Blaine was always grateful about. "Who are you with?" Sam asks.

  "Some people from NYADA. Actually a lot of people," Blaine says, looking around and just noticing how crowded the small apartment has gotten. "I was at a thing to celebrate someone winning the Winter Showcase and somehow I've ended up here."

There's a pause at the other end of the phone, which worries Blaine for a second, before Sam asks: "Is Kurt there?" Blaine chest pangs painfully at the mention of his ex-fiance and he picks up his drink and lets the rest of its contents make its way down his throat, burning his throat and making him cough a little more. "Or Rachel?" Sam adds quickly.

"Nope," Blaine manages to choke out. "I saw them at the Winter Showcase party but...Kurt was there with some guy and--"

"How about Rachel?" Sam asks before Blaine can go through another one of his sad spells.

"She was mingling with other people. She's quite popular at NYADA; everyone knows her. Everyone who is anyone absolutely adores her," Blaine adds and takes a long gulp of his drink. The air quickly fills with smoke coming from somewhere Blaine doesn't know and doesn't bother to find out. It's light gray and hangs right below the ceiling like an indoor storm cloud, intent on adding to his gloom. Lately, he's been finding himself at random parties more and more and it always ends with him calling Sam and crying about his problems over the phone. "Everyone loves her."

"And you," Sam states.

Blaine shakes his head. "They think I'm short and untalented and just a pretty face and a nice ass for the teachers to stare at to make them feel young and virile."

"Holy crap, dude, who told you that?"

"My dance teacher."

"Geez, what's with the teachers at that school?" Sam asks. Blaine can almost see the face that Sam's making from his room and he almost smiles."It's like all they want to do is break your spirits."

"Well, it's working," Blaine says miserably. "The students hate me too. Every time I try to sing a song for fun or to bring us together as a group, everyone glares at me like I just murdered their dog with my voice."

"Man, that's harsh."

"I thought I would be happy here, I really did. I mean, when I had Kurt, I didn't really notice anything else. I was just so high on love, nothing else mattered. But now that we're broken up, I feel lost. Why am I here? This is just like when I transferred from Dalton."

"Yeah, but do you remember why you stayed at McKinley after you and Kurt broke up? Because you had a family at McKinley."

"And I had you."

There's a pause on the other end of the phone, but Blaine can practically hear the smile on Sam's face. "You had me," Sam says finally. "You still have me."

Blaine's chest swells and he grins. If there's one person he's happy he still has in his life, it's Sam. So many things had changed and gone not according to plan, but Sam was the one constant he could always count on. "I'm glad," he says.

"Where's the party, anyway?" Sam asks and Blaine swears he can hear rustling on the other side.

"I don't know, uh, Eighth and Lexington? It’s a big building. Really pretty. Not a lot of stairs, I liked that. All parties should be on the first floor--hic--much easier to get there," Blaine babbles as he lets his head lull forward onto the counter, his mouth hovering right over his drink and his phone still on his ear.

"Blaine? Blaine, are you there?"

Blaine raises his head and looks around. "Yeah, sorry, I'm a bit--sorry, what did you say?" he says into his phone.

"Nothing, nothing. Just try to stay awake, man," Sam responds. There's more rustling on the other end of the phone and Blaine wants to ask him what's going on, but the words don't come out.

"Yeah, I'll just--okay," Blaine says. He and Sam exchange goodbyes and end the call. Putting his phone back in his pocket, Blaine slips off the stool and leans against the counter to stay awake. He nuzzles into his drink, the heavy smell keeping him conscious.

Blaine doesn't know how long he's been standing. Time seems to melt together and it doesn't help that the smoke that hangs in the air keeps getting thicker and thicker. He tries to take deep breaths but that just seems to make him more hazy. Low music comes from unseen speakers. It's a slow melody accompany the voice of a woman with a deep, sensual voice with a late night lounge singer quality to it. The song is vaguely familiar to Blaine, like something he's heard on the radio a few times, and he finds himself swaying to the music as he nurses his drink. His eyelids start to fall and his body wavers just as he feels someone's hand on his shoulder. He looks behind him lazily, his eyes half-lidded, and sees Sam smiling down at him. He perks up immediately.

"Sam!" Blaine exclaims, nearly dropping his drink on the floor. Sam grabs it from him, still smiling widely. "How did you get here? What are you--what are you doing here?"

Sam shrugs. "Wasn't hard to find a college party in a fancy looking Lexington building. Tourists were practically pointing it out to me. I thought you could use some company," he says simply. He looks around the room while taking a sip from Blaine's drink. He makes a face when the bitter, tangy, and completely unfamiliar taste of the drink hits his tongue before burning its way down his throat. "Gross, bro, what's in this?"

Blaine shrugs. "Someone handed it to me."

"You can't just take drink that people concoct for you, do you not watch the news?" Sam asks. his eyes wide and eyebrows raised. Blaine grins at how comical he looks (and the fact that he just used the word “concoct”) and shrugs again in response.

"I wanted to get drunk. Somebody gave me a drink," he says.

Sam tries to give him a stern look, but his stomach turns as the alcohol hits it and he staggers slightly. "Whoa, I feel woozy," he says, handing the drink over to Blaine as to not spill it.

"Already? Lightweight," Blaine says before taking a sip from the cup in his hand.

"You, of all people, shouldn't be talking about lightweights," Sam says, trying not to actually fall from the tiny bit of alcohol he had. He's not usually so affected by alcohol, but he's used to beer, not mystery drinks.

"You only had a sip! I've been drinking since before I got here."

"Dude, you really shouldn't do that. The news is always talking about bad things happening to college kids who drink alone," Sam says, trying to use his most serious voice. It's slightly deeper than his regular voice. People respect deeper voiced individuals; that's why people like his Obama impressions so much.

"I wasn't alone. I had them," Blaine says, gesturing vaguely to the people around him.

"Yeah, but I'd rather you drink with people you can trust to get you home safely," Sam responds, glaring as Blaine takes another sip of his drink.

Blaine looks at him for a moment. "You really care, don't you?"

"Of course I care, you idiot. You're my best friend and I love you," Sam says, pushing Blaine's head playfully. In his drunken state, Blaine almost loses his balance it takes Sam grabbing onto his shoulders to steady him. "Sorry about that, man."

Blaine laughs. "It's fine. I-I should probably sit down," he says. He looks for a place to sit when the girl who had pulled all the way to the party comes bounding toward him. She yells "Spin the bottle!" loudly right in his ear, which causes Blaine to flinch, and grabs his arm. Blaine reaches out for Sam and pulls him along.

There's a bottle, a circle of people, and entirely too much alcohol and sexual energy around for this to end well. There's some cheering and then the person next to Blaine is nudging him to spin. He instantly thinks back to the Rachel Berry Party Extravaganza from years ago. It seems like a world away, even though it had only been a few years. Things seem so different now.

Blaine crawls on his knees to the center of the rather large circle and hopes to God he's drunk enough to randomly make out with a stranger. He spins the bottle with all his strength and sits back in his seat, waiting for it to stop spinning. When it stops, Blaine just stares at it, tilting his head. It pointing to him and he doesn't know the rules, but he doesn't think that means he has to make out with himself. He looks up at the people in the circle and someone yells "Spin again!" so Blaine does.

This time it definitely doesn't land on him. It doesn't land on a stranger either. He follows the trail from the brown bottleneck to where it points: straight at Sam. Blaine swallows hard and Sam looks down at the bottle with wide eyes. People in the circle cheer and shout out things Blaine doesn't catch. The people in the room hardly know Blaine and definitely don't know Sam or that they're friends or how straight Sam is. Sam's eyes trail up to Blaine's face and Blaine expects him to look reluctant or uncomfortable, but, to his surprise, Sam just grins at him.

  Sam's the one to lean in close. Goosebumps ripple throughout Blaine's skin as Sam runs a hand down Blaine's bicep and flashes him that boyish that makes Blaine melt every time.

"Is this--is this okay?" Sam asks, his eyes moving from Blaine's lips, causing Blaine subconsciously run his tongue over them, to his eyes. There are so many words that Blaine wants to use to assure him it's so okay, but instead he just nods. Sam cups Blaine's face and gives him a soft, tender kiss. Blaine breathes in sharply, his senses going into overdrive as he deepens the kiss and Sam responds by moving in closer. The room is suddenly spinning and the world is moving too fast for Blaine's drunk mind to handle and he holds on Sam, grabbing the front of his shirt tightly. They eventually separate, breathing heavy, faces inches from each other. Blaine grins at his best friend.

"You don't know how long I've wanted this." He whispers his admission into Sam's collar, his fingers curling at the nape of Sam's neck. His body is buzzing and his head is humming, but he swears he hears Sam whisper back "Me too." They kiss again. This time it's urgent; it's heated and electric and too much and not enough. Air doesn't feel like it's entering Blaine's lungs; he feels like it's all being replaced by desire and need and he's going to burst any minute.

Suddenly his clothes feel uncomfortable against his skin and the temperature in the room rises a few degrees. His hands make their way to the hem of Sam's shirt and that's when he feel Sam's own hands off his face and his lips off his. Blaine hardly notices as Sam gets to his feet until he feels the other boy hauling him up by his arms and tugging him toward the wall.

"What's..." Blaine starts, his mouth too dry and his brain too muddled to form any proper sentences. "I thought you were okay with..."

"We can't do this here. I-I can't do this. Not like this," Sam says and Blaine swears he can hear regret in his voice. That sobers him up a bit and, all at once, embarrassment and shame set in. He folds his arms in front of his chest and looks away from his best friend. He can feel the back of his neck heat up. There's a stiff smell of booze and weed in the air and the scent mixed with the situation makes Blaine feel queasy. He just hopes he doesn't vomit.

"I'm sorry, I'm an idiot. I didn't mean to...I'm sorry," Blaine mutters. Sam laughs and grabs Blaine's arms, tugging them apart. They're in their own little corner and Sam takes a step back to separate themselves from the party a little more. He pulls Blaine to him. They're incredibly close, the air between them nonexistent. Sam hesitates and his eyes flicker down to Blaine's lips. Barely a second passes before he's surging forward and his mouth is on Blaine's again. Sam's kisses are intoxicating and Blaine just wants more. He leans up, chasing Sam's lips as the other boys leans back against the wall, his arms slipping around Blaine's waist. The kisses are intense and deep and Blaine's fingers scratch against the lower part of Sam's back that isn't touching the wall. He grips his shirt tightly as he feels Sam's thumbs press circles over his hipbones. Blaine's skin feels electric and Sam's just a bigger and bigger spark until it's overwhelming his senses and Blaine's the one to separate them.

"What is this? What are...we?" he asks, his eyes red and wet from the smoke in the air and the alcohol in his bloodstream.

"We can be whatever you want," Sam replies with a smile, a huge part of him wanting nothing more than Blaine to say he wants them to be more than just friends.

"Can we be everything?" Blaine mumbles, resting his spinning head on Sam's broad chest. Sam doesn't exactly know what he means by that, but he figures he can always ask him to clarify when he's a bit more sober. Blaine's eyes feel heavy and he lets them slide closed as he listens to Sam's heartbeat which vibrates from his ears to all over his body. He doesn't even feel corporeal; nothing feels real. He grips tighter to the back of Sam's shirt, knowing full well that he's real. He's always there when Blaine needs an anchor to the world to stop from floating away into the sky of his anxieties and insecurities. Blaine knows he's resting his full body weight on Sam now, but the other boy isn't complaining and Blaine isn't ready to let go.