Author's Note: This one-shot fiction takes place post 3x12 "The Spanish Teacher" and is no way related to "Still Fighting It."

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee, their characters, setting, or plot. All of those belong to Ryan Murphy, FOX, and their affiliates.

A Sensational Beginning

I had been in the dark for the entire day. I went into surgery that morning and when I woke up with bandages around my eyes, it was almost dinnertime. Even though my other senses were heightened, I still felt lost in the world. It was very disorienting to be blind for a day, even if I was just lying in a bed. My parents finally left at nine o'clock. Part of me was relieved to hear them go. I was grateful to have them near me, but all of their nerves and anxiety was wearing me out. My headache was only getting worse and I still had two more hours until the doctors would reward me with another dose of Vicodin. The dark swirls in my eyes were floating along and I tried to examine them closer, but to no avail. I heard the door open and a nurse came in. "How are we feeling, Mr. Anderson?" she asked, putting a hand on my open palm. "Are you awake under there?"

"Yes," I replied, laughing a bit. "I'm okay. I have a bit of a headache though." I could sense her checking the machine that buzzed next to my left ear and heard her pushing buttons with her spare hand.

"Well you're due for more medication at eleven o'clock and that should put you out for the night." I nodded slowly, still trying to stay as still as I could. "I know you've had the room all to yourself today, but they're moving someone into the bed next to yours, okay?" she explained.

"Okay," I replied. I wasn't thrilled about that, but I certainly didn't want to be a pain for the nurses. Their job couldn't be easy, so I just agreed. I heard her shoes brush across the tile floor and shut the door. I couldn't focus with the pain lingering behind my left eye. It wasn't anything sharp or unbearable, just a dull, constant pain holding out like a fermata. When the door opened several minutes later, it caused a temporary distraction from the lingering soreness under my eye.

"Right in here," the same nurse said as the wheels from a wheelchair slid across the floor. Almost right away, I heard the rings holding the dividing curtain skid across the metal bar shielding me from the other patient. "Can you get into the bed okay?" she asked. "You don't need any help?"

"I'm okay," the patient replied with a slide wince in his voice. It was a familiar voice, but I couldn't pinpoint it. The voice I knew was masked behind a gritty tone. The bedsprings squeaked as he got in and at the same moment, I smelled it. Cologne that was familiar as well. Who was that? If I could've just seen when he came in I would know. I cleared my throat, probably more instinctively responding to the other patient's coarse voice as he thanked the nurse. The door shut again and I heard another person talking, an older man.

"We need to discuss what happened," he said with a slight irritation in his voice.

"I already told you, I was trying to do a flip into the pool, but I hit the diving board hard. I was right next to the edge of the pool, so I climbed out and fell on the pool deck before going to the locker room to get help." The mention of the pool brought it to me. I did know that voice. I knew that voice because it belonged to a close friend. It belonged to Sam Evans.

"So you got a black eye, a broken arm, and a bruised jaw from one fall on a diving board?" the man asked him again. His voice was dripping with annoyance and I could tell he didn't believe Sam.

"Yes," Sam replied, even somewhat convincingly.

"There's more to this story, Sam," the older man replied. I was right, it was Sam. "I will find out about it, whether you tell me or not."

"Nothing to tell," Sam shot back. "It's the truth." The older man sighed. I assumed it was his dad. Without another word, I heard him get up from the chair next to Sam's bed.

"I'm going to check with the nurse and make sure you're settled. I'll be back in the morning." I didn't hear Sam reply to his dad, but the door opened and shut again and I waited a long few minutes before I said anything. I listened closely and heard his breathing. It was heavy, labored even. I heard him wince in pain again as he moved around in his bed. The smell from the other side of the curtain was intoxicating. I had always smelled it during glee club, but I could never quite figure out who it belonged to. I guess that was two mysteries solved. Finally, I turned my head as though I could see him.

"Sam?" I said, more as a question, but still sure it was him.

"Who's that?" he asked.

"It's me, Blaine."

"No way!" he exclaimed, his voice still raspy. I heard him start to move.

"Don't get up!" I said quickly. "I don't want you to hurt yourself." The bedsprings stopped squeaking before I heard him move slowly back to rest in his bed.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

"I had surgery this morning. For my eye."

"Oh duh," he said out loud, as though he should've known why I was there. I could just imagine what everyone in glee club was like. McKinley was far different than Dalton. The New Directions thrived on drama. I tried my best to stay invisible, but this latest incident kind of forced me into the spotlight. "How are you feeling?" he asked quietly.

"I'm okay," I said. "Still have a lot of pain in my head, but I'll be fine."

"Well check you out," he replied playfully, sending butterflies to my stomach. "You're quite the trooper over there." He let out a laugh which only made the butterflies worse. I had always thought Sam was the most attractive guy at McKinley High. He was bold, confident, well-grounded. And at the same time, he held all that confidence without being arrogant. He was charming, kind, always thought of other people. He was even a bit of a geek. But I learned a long time ago not to dwell on fantasies. Sam dated Quinn, Santana, even Mercedes. Well, not anymore, but still, he was trying. There was no place for me to be involved with him. Not past being friends.

"Well what about you? Took the spill on the pool deck?" I asked trying to move past his compliment. I had been talking about myself with everyone who visited. My eye was the last thing I wanted to talk about. Sam laughed.

"Not exactly. I actually got the shit kicked out of me."

"What?" I asked in disbelief. "Enough to go to the hospital?"

"Yeah," he replied, "but I had it coming."

"By who?" I asked with alarm.

"Shane. And some other football players. I deserved it though. The way I was going after Mercedes wasn't cool," he admitted. I had to agree with him. It really wasn't cool at all. I watched it go on, subtly at first, but then it got awkward.

"Well, you still don't deserve to get beat into a hospital."

"No, I did," he said coolly. This is what drove me crazy. He was almost too understanding. At some point, he had to stand up for himself. "I was going after Mercedes for all the wrong reasons. I could've really messed up her chance for a good relationship."

"So why are you lying about how it happened?"

"Mercedes begged me. She was mad as hell at him, but she told me she didn't want to see him get in trouble. So I made up the story about the pool." I didn't say anything. Instead I just listened for a few moments. His breathing was still labored. It made me sad, simply put. The humming from my machine was still lulling in the background and I was getting anxious as Sam's scent began to dissipate.

"So you're not going after her again?"

"No, she deserves to do what she wants without me complicating it," he said, sighing. "Besides, she wasn't exactly my type. I just..." His voice trailed off and I lifted my head as though waiting for him to finish. "I dunno," he finished. I took a heavy breath before laying my head down on my pillow.

"It's really big of you to give her that chance. It didn't go well when I let Kurt go, but things have gotten better. And at the end of the day, he deserved to find someone who really loved him the way he wants." Things got quiet again. The clock ticked silently on the wall between us. "What time is it?" I asked, trying to alleviate the tension.

"Ten o'clock," he answered. I grunted in reply. "You're trustworthy, right?" he asked me. What kind of question was that? It certainly came out of nowhere. I didn't really know how to tell him I was. It sounds almost rhetorical. Who's going to say they aren't? But at the other hand, I knew that I could assure him he could trust me and I wouldn't let him down.

"Yeah," I responded simply. "Why?" He took a long time to answer. His breathing was faster now. I could hear it becoming louder and picking up the pace.

"I didn't go after Mercedes because I love her," he said quietly. I could barely hear his voice above the sounds of the machines running. "I did it because I didn't want anyone to know about me. Or…I guess, I didn't want to admit it to myself." I almost choked. I knew exactly where this was going and I was instantly grateful that my heart monitor wasn't an audible beep. It would've been a dead giveaway to him if it was.

"What do you mean?" I asked anxiously, but having a pretty good idea what he wanted to tell me.

"Do I have to say it out loud?" he asked. "You of all people should know."

"I think I know what you mean," I answered, almost too quickly. "It has something to do with the kind of people you like…the same as me, right?" I stumbled over my words as I spoke, trying not to come across too forward or threatening. I felt my mouth get dry, but I knew this situation was delicate. I didn't want to mess anything up for him.

"Yeah," he said simply. "Now look at where it got me." He snorted tersely before letting out a small grunt of pain. "Damn it," he said. "Still not used to laying on my back. Not with this stupid arm."

"Sam, why do you hide it?" I asked.

"I don't know," he answered. "I'm kind of stuck between a rock and a hard place. I'm not you or Kurt. I don't know how to just be gay." He choked on the last word. I could hear it come out of his mouth like saltwater. I gave him a small laugh before turning my head in his direction.

"You don't have to be anything but yourself, Sam." I sighed heavily before continuing onto what I knew would be the death of me. "The fact is, you're a great person. You're attractive and you're confident and you're funny. None of that changes because you like guys. You're still you, just a more honest version." I instantly heard the high pitched squeals of the bedsprings. The butterflies came back. "Sam, you should really stay in bed," I suggested nervously. "You don't want to hurt yourself anymore." He didn't respond, but I heard him take a few steps towards the curtain, limping a bit. The curtain rings slid across the metal bar and I opened my mouth to object, but found myself held back. I didn't know what to say.

My senses were exploding. I could feel every bit of my body, every hair on my arms. I could hear the smallest sounds. Best of all, Sam's scent filled the air around me. He moved a step closer, now standing right next to me. "You can't see anything?" he asked. I shook my head, my mouth still slovenly dropped open. "Oh," he said in reply. My chest got tight as I felt his hand slide into my palm. I gasped in response and he laughed. "I won't hurt you," he said quietly. "I promise."

"I trust you," I answered with a bit of a smile.

"I trust you too," he said as he sat on the edge of my bed. "You're really…something else, Blaine."

"What do you mean?" I asked. I reached out with my left hand and touched his back moving up to his arm and finally resting on his shoulder.

"You're just…special," he explained, sighing. "Give me your hand," he said, slipping away from my palm and taking my other hand from his shoulder. He pulled it to his face and I cupped his cheek, feeling the coarse stubble on his jawline. It was probably barely visible, but feeling it got me to realize it.

"What are you doing?" I asked him, still trying to stop myself from grinning.

"Well you can't see me, but I'm smiling. I figured you can at least feel me smiling." With that, I moved my fingertips over to his full lips and let them linger before moving down to his chin and back to his cheek. My hand was getting closer to my own face, but somehow still staying on his. My brain didn't quite realize how this was possible until it was already happening. He kissed me. It was the most electrifying, sensational, yet gentle, kind, subtle kiss I ever experienced. I moved my hand behind his head, not wanting him to move away. His lips tasted like…I couldn't even describe it, but it was good. At some point, his lips finally parted ways with mine. I inhaled loudly and wanted nothing more than to rip these bandages off so I could just see him.

"You're…wow," I said, clearly at a loss for words. I licked my lips, still tasting his own on mine.

"I know you probably think it's just the Vicodin speaking, but I really do think you're special. Maybe when we're both out of here we can hang out or something?" he asked. My own smile crept onto my face.

"That would be great," I answered as I nodded toward him.

"Awesome." He kind of laughed as he said it. It was endearing to say the least. "So is that kind of like being Daredevil? All of your other senses are like super-heightened?" he asked. I laughed out loud. He would bring up a comic book hero.

"It's exactly like that." I reached out for his hand, my remaining senses taking in everything I could. Being blind for tonight was exhilarating to say the least. But one thing was sure. I couldn't wait to wake up and see Sam laying next to me, secretly hoping it would be the first of many times to come.