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“You know I would totally go with you, don’t you?” said Sam, who was seated across the library table from Blaine. The librarian shot a pointed glance their way, so Sam lowered his voice and practically whispered, “It’s Evan. He doesn’t get your obsession with short shorts. He doesn’t get why you want to help Coach Sylvester, either. Reign of Terror, remember?” Sam shook his head in frustration. “He’s really pissed at me, dude. I’m so sorry.”
Before Blaine could answer (and these days it took a lot of patience to answer him composedly), Sam whipped out his cell phone, dialed, and said, “Where are you? I’m talking to Blaine right now.” He paused, then put the device back in his pocket. Jerking his thumb toward the library’s entrance, he said, “He’s heading over—I’m just gonna go and get him. Stay right here!” And then Sam bolted out of his seat.
Blaine sighed. He thought for sure that by now, Sam would’ve let go of his imaginary twin. At least Sam was “back” at McKinley. For the entire day after Mr. Schue’s lame apology, they’d been stuck with Evan alone, because Sam had apparently moved to Alaska. That had been a long day, what with Evan’s accent (which reminded Blaine of Cooper in ways he didn’t care to think about at the moment) and his panic over misplacing the sweater he’d typically drape over his shoulders. For a good fifteen minutes after gym class, Blaine had helped Evan search the locker room. Once it was clear the sweater was indeed gone, Blaine had taken in how disheveled Evan appeared. His slicked-back hair looked Sam-tousled due to Evan running his fingers through it in a panic, and he kept palming the front of his now-bare t-shirt, as if he expected to find answers in the material. The only thing that shouted “Evan” were his eyeglasses, and they were slightly askew. So Blaine grabbed a spare red cardigan out of his own locker and reached up to place it around the taller boy’s shoulders. Then he tied the sleeves into a loose knot while saying hopefully, “I’m sure the other one will turn up.” And then he’d basked for a moment in the grateful expression on Sam’s—Evan’s—face.
And there was Evan now, heading right toward him in the library. Blaine couldn’t help but smile as he recognized the borrowed cardigan. But that smile disappeared quickly as soon as Evan plopped himself down at the table, his arms crossed tightly in front of him and a perturbed look on his face.
“Hey—Evan,” Blaine said, tentatively. Oh, Sam, he thought. What now?
Evan leaned across the table, and tapping his finger firmly on its surface for emphasis said, “You’re not making any sense these days.”
Blaine’s silent, wide-eyed response (of disbelief, of what—seriously?) seemed to egg Evan on. “You’ve got some nerve, going to Coach Sylvester. How’s bringing her back here going to make anyone feel safer? I talked to Sam about it and I—”
Blaine held up his palm in protest. “Look, something’s not right. I told you—I mean I told Sam about Becky acting so weird. We just have to get to the bottom of it, we have to make things right. And I’m sorry, but this is the only way.”
“By you going to her aerobics class?”
“Look. You don’t have to go. Sam doesn’t have to go. Wait—why are you so angry at me?” Blaine felt more frustrated by the minute, and honestly, just missed his friend. Sam would’ve been all-in with regard to their plans; Sam wouldn’t have wanted special proof. Blaine hated the way Sam increasingly seemed to need Evan’s approval for everything. He just wasn’t sure he quite understood why. But he was going to have to think about it later, because Evan was positively glaring at him now.
“You just … You think you can be there for everyone, that you can solve all these problems, but you can’t,” Evan said, shaking his head. “You can’t. Sam can’t—”
“What about you?” Blaine interrupted, confused but curious at the same time, because Sam was in there, somewhere. And he wanted desperately to understand and help him.
“I’m smarter than that. I know better than to question a good thing. Coach Sylvester is gone—I thought that’s what you and Sam wanted? Things should be safer now. They will be safer now.”
“But maybe we were wrong about her. Becky—”
Evan threw his hands up in the air. “Just go, then,” he said. “But count me out. Sam, too.”
Blaine sighed and got up, grabbing his messenger bag off the table. “Tell Sam I said ‘hi,’” he said, sadly. “Tell him that I’m here for him, and that I hope he’ll be interested in what I find out.”
Evan checked the knot on his sweater, and avoiding Blaine’s gaze, merely nodded in reply.
***
The next day when the lights suddenly went out in the choir room, Blaine felt a quick spike of adrenaline. Hearing Sam shout out “zombie apocalypse” calmed Blaine’s nerves, but only for a moment, because in light of recent events, the images it put into his head, of the world falling apart, of feeling helpless in the face of danger, just made him uncomfortable—and made him even more concerned for Sam.
He was being silly, probably. But then Sam played a song in the dark. It was simple and sweet and Blaine always did love when Sam played guitar, he was really good at it and—
It was just so sad.
Later, after most everyone had left the choir room Blaine approached Sam, who he hadn’t talked to since he’d run from the library. The room was pretty dim now that everyone had gone—only one or two lamps stay lit on the floor. Everything was so still. There was no hum from the florescent light fixtures overhead, and even the halls were quiet, as students had to concentrate on not tripping a little more than usual. “That was really beautiful,” Blaine said. “The song. And I want you to know that I agree with what you said, about the, um, Twitterverse and stuff.” Then he waited for Sam to meet his eyes before he added, “Are we okay? Evan—”
Sam sighed, the neck of the guitar still in his hand, and was still for a moment before speaking again. “He’s just being difficult, and … he just worries about me.” Sam slowly walked the guitar to its stand before turning to face Blaine again. He shrugged. “Brittany just keeps getting these calls from MIT and like, Lady and Lord Tubbington aren’t getting along and I just want to stop feeling so uncertain about everything all the time.” Blaine nodded sympathetically and kept his gaze locked on Sam’s. All of a sudden Sam pulled his phone from his pocket and said, “You know what? I’m going to call him and tell him that—”
Blaine moved closer to Sam and put his hand over the phone. “Forget about it,” he offered. “It’s fine. Really. I’ll let you know everything that happens when I check on Coach Sue, okay?” He squeezed Sam’s hand as it held tight to the phone. “It’s fine,” he said again.
“Yeah.” Sam said, putting his phone away again. “Yeah, okay.”
***
Turns out, there were some things about the aerobics class that Blaine was going to keep to himself.
It had been a while since anyone other than Kurt had looked at Blaine in that way. Not that Blaine hadn’t, at times, imagined Sam flirting with him. There was no denying that. Regardless that one look made his stomach flip flop, and he had found himself working a little bit harder at Coach Sue’s routine and consequently, working harder to hide the extent to which that routine was kicking his ass.
He was being silly. And sure enough, after the workout ended he spied that same cute guy strolling over to one of the women who’d been working out behind Blaine. Just another guy not interested in him, he thought, even as his mind flashed to Kurt.
After Blaine told Coach Sue that McKinley needed her (the Cheerios really were in a panic about the surgeries Coach Roz kept talking about), he grabbed his bag and walked straight out of the workout room, only to crash right into Evan.
And Evan seemed—kind of different today. His hair was Sam-styled, for one. And while he wore his eyeglasses, Blaine noticed that the sweater (still the one he’d borrowed from Blaine) was tied not around Evan’s neck, but his waist instead.
“Uh, Evan?” Blaine ventured.
“Hey, Blaine,” Evan answered, looking a bit nervous. “So this is where the class was,” he added, gesturing toward the open workout room. “I take it you saw Coach Sylvester, then? Any, um, intel?” he added, a hopeful expression on his face. Evan cast a look up and down Blaine’s body. “And uh, nice outfit,” he said.
Blaine raised an eyebrow, then nodded. “Well,” he said, “She knows we’re suspicious now—that I’m suspicious now, anyway. I even told her why I rejoined the Cheerios,” he added, raising his arms slightly.
“So now what?” asked Sam—at least Blaine thought it was Sam, because he heard no accent.
Blaine squinted slightly at that and said, “I guess we see what she does next. Maybe—”
“Ooh!” said Sam. “When the good guys tell the bad guys they’re onto them, the bad guys always go right to their accomplice. This is perfect!”
Blaine smiled widely at his friend, who seemed more and more himself. “Yeah,” he said. “Now we just need to find a way to get the truth from Becky.”
As they headed down the hallway, Sam got increasingly animated as they talked, as they brainstormed ways to nudge Becky to tell the truth. And if he reached for his phone, it was only to respond to a text from Brittany, announcing that Lord Tubbington had been caught nestled up against Lady Tubbington on the bed.
Outside the 23-Hour Fitness, Blaine walked Sam to his car. He watched as Sam opened the car door, then took his eyeglasses off and tossed them onto the passenger-side seat.
“You’re okay now, right?” Blaine asked, looking up at Sam hesitantly.
“Yeah—yeah, I am. Everything’s fine,” he said, as he tossed Blaine’s borrowed sweater right at him.
Blaine caught it, smiling, then turned to head toward his own car. He glanced back at Sam to make sure he wasn’t looking, then held the sweater to his nose. The scent wasn’t Evan’s at all—it was always just Sam’s.