"Sure you don't wanna come, B?"  Finn nods at his friend.  "You sure look like you need some time away from that damn guitar."

Honestly, Blaine looks like he needs a full-expenses-paid trip to the spa, but Finn knows brining that up will only make things worse, so he side-steps it completely.  Instead, he tosses Blaine an apple and waits as patiently as he can for the other man to answer.  "You'd like it there, you know.  Maybe it could get those creative juices flowing again."

Finn smiles, but Blaine doesn't return the action.  He turns the apple around in his hands and shakes his head.  "Not today, man.  Maybe next time."

Frowning a bit, Finn decides not to push it.  He'll come around when he's ready.

"Alright, well, I'll see you in a couple hours."

"Tell Santana and Brit I said hi."

"'Gotcha."

It's hard seeing Blaine this way.  Ever since he's found out about being HIV positive, it's like part of him's been missing.  And lately, it's almost like an entire half of him has fallen away.

Finn just doesn't know why.

---

Automatically, Finn notices a change in the meeting's atmosphere.  Santana and Brittany have their heads bowed together, talking in low whispers.  Most people are in similar positions, if they're even talking at all.

He walks in slowly, tugging his bag from around his shoulder and plopping a bit uncomfortably down beside Brittany.  "Hey, what - "

He's cut off by the low, tired voice of the short, quiet man who usually leads their meetings.  "Let's start today's meeting by going around the room with our fears.  I know it's not easy.  Some days will be worse than others."  His eyes move across the room, heavy with a sadness that speaks volumes, and Finn doesn't even feel like pulling out his camera.  "Sharing can at least...take the weight off our shoulders.  Even if only for a little while."

When no one bothers to make the first move, Santana clears her throat.  Brittany takes her hand.  "I guess...my pride.  I'm afraid of losing it.  People have always seen me as so confident, but I can't help but to wonder..."  She smiles, but it's sad.  "Will I lose my dignity?"

And so it goes.

The somber worries of heavy hearts.

"Will someone care?"

"Will anyone miss me?"

"Does it define me?"

"How long?"

"Will I wake tomorrow from this nightmare?"

By the time they make it through everyone in the room, sans Finn, his eyes are watering and he has to bit his lip to keep from letting a few loose tears roll.  Santana wipes at Brittany's eyes while coaxing simple smiles from her sorrow.

And then something kind of beautiful happens.

Blaine walks in.

He's playing nervously with the hem of his jacket, and the best he can offer the group is an awkward smile.  "Sorry I'm late."

"Not a problem," Santana responds quickly, like a lack of speedy thinking will scare him off.  "Here..."  She slides over and nods at the spot between her and Brittany, barely able to control her grin.  "You're just in time."

Even though he doesn't say much - or, really, anything at all - Blaine's presence seems to lighten the mood.  The conversation still seems stuck on their fears, but on how to soothe them rather than let them grow.

"Just don't forget who you are," Brittany whispers.  "Or who you love."

While Santana and Brittany exchange an unreadable but undoubtedly loving glance, Blaine finds himself staring at his shoes.  A small, almost guilty smile tugs at his lips.

He thinks of Kurt, and he knows he's in the right place.

---

Deciding to walk home together, Blaine, Finn, Santana, and Brittany make their way down the cluttered alleyways of East Village.

Finn turns his camera on each of their faces, committing their smiles to the immortality of film.  Even Blaine, who was before so somber, offers the lens an almost self-conscious grin.

"I hear Santa Fe's nice this time of year," Santana huffs suddenly, kicking at a clump of dirty snow.

Blaine snorts, but there's an ounce of longing beneath the sound. "Right, let's just hop on a plane.  We'll never look back."

"And how would we make a living?" Finn asks, swinging the camera out of focus.

"Sell our voices," Santana muses.  "Or our bodies."  She runs her hands down her torso with an exaggerated wiggle of her hips, resulting in bits of obnoxious laughter.

"We'd start our own restaurant, of course," Brittany states simply.  "Everyone likes food.  We'd never go out of business."

With that thought rolling through their brains, they all find themselves grinning despite the ridiculous improbability of the idea.

Finn imagines his life there.  Living in a dusty old apartment with Blaine and Kurt, making rent in loose change and whatever he could make off his films.  New York is his home, always will be, but what could be so wrong about exploring, about capturing the essence of a different time and place?

Brittany sees herself sitting out by a lake with Santana, holding hands and swapping innocent little kisses.  She imagines herself watching the sky, mentally documenting its change from blue to pink to black.  They'd lie back and count the stars, teetering at the edge of oblivion and not for one second fearing the fall.

Santana imagines the two of them sharing a small cottage, complete with fireplace and well-stocked kitchen.  They'd dance around the living room, feeding each other whatever Santana learned to make that day and using their tongues to clean up the mess.

And Blaine...

Blaine imagines himself with Kurt, playing his guitar while Kurt sings with the same voice that captivated Blaine almost a year ago.  He imagines them lying on a bed together, hands clasped and legs tangled.  He imagines a handful of kisses, some sloppy and some sweet, others just downright desperate.  He images a place where Kurt is free from the needles and the dancing, where Blaine can keep him safe.

Blaine doesn't know how much longer he has, but in this fantasy of his, the days, weeks, months, years - they all revolve around Kurt.

It almost doesn't matter if they never make it there, though.

Because maybe, somehow, they know their dreams don't depend on Santa Fe.

Whatever dreams they have, well, they can be had right here.

---

While Blaine and Finn turn off to help set up Rachel's protest, Santana and Brittany walk slowly towards Santana's apartment, fingers intertwined while they catch snowflakes on their tongues.

Santana feels right at home here, even with the unrealistic call of Santa Fe.  With Brittany, this beautiful, charming, unreal girl.  This girl that makes Santana feel young and invincible, like time is endless (even if it isn't; even if she could probably count the months left on one hand).

This girl that she loves.

She stops walking suddenly, tugging Brittany back.

"Something wrong, Tana?"

And Brittany is so beautiful, so perfectly unbroken despite the shitty hand she's been dealt, that Santana could cry.

Almost does.

"Come here," she whispers, giving the other girl a gentle pull.

Brittany smiles bashfully, stepping forward until their foreheads are touching and their noses are brushing.  Santana brings her hand up to cup Brittany's face, just barely touching the mascara-drawn heart at the corner of her eye.

Something catches in her throat when their eyes meet.  "Stay with me," she undertones.  "Live with me, Brit.  Let me keep you safe."  She curls her arm around the other girl's waist, noting with a soft smile just how well they fit.

Brittany's cheeks are rosy, and there's an almost secret pull to her lips.  She bumps their noses.  "Of course I'll stay with you."

"Good, because I...I..."

Brittany giggles.  "I love you, too."

Then, right there in that alleyway, Brittany closes the small distance between them and seals their mouths together.

It's a promise.

No matter what, I'll keep you safe.  Until the day I die.