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Sam let Finn be the one to sleep in for once. He was in for a big day, after all- it was March 17, Saint Patrick’s Day, and the Hudson/Hummel family were proud of their Irish roots- much alcohol would be consumed today.
Finn needs a hearty meal, and a slow, lazy morning. Sam prepared the hash. As the meat and potatoes sizzled on the stove, he compared little plastic baggies. He packed Finn’s mom’s pipe with the smoothest grass.
The breakfast tray was loaded as such: the biggest plate he could find, piled high with carbs and protein; a stein of milk; the pipe; a lighter; and some random flower from the yard, set in a tiny vase. Sam set the tray on the bed, then turned on the tv and PS2. They could play FF7 backwards and half asleep, so it would be a good way to reacquaint Finn with sound and vision and his own hands.
On the subject of hands, Sam tangled his fingers in Finn’s as he wrapped his body around Finn’s from behind. He kissed Finn’s neck and whispered “Good morning,” into his skin until Finn moaned and groaned his own greeting, his voice deep and thick with slumber. It was one of Sam’s most favorite sounds in the world. He kissed Finn, soft and lazy. Today was going to be the best day ever.
Across the hall, Kurt and Blaine could smell all the wonderful things Sam was cooking up. Kurt had woken an hour earlier, his pre-binge skin care is extensive, and woke Blaine when he heard the pots and pans rustling in the kitchen. That Sam is not subtle. The boys lay in bed listening to the other boys whispering loudly. “Is this perverted?” Kurt asked Blaine. Finn had just told Sam he loves him. “Maybe,” said Blaine, “But aren’t they so sweet?”