By the time Saturday night rolled around Blaine was so excited he could burst. Just spontaneously explode into a hundred thousand happy pieces - or just start singing and dancing completely uncontrollably to every jubilant, blissful love song he'd ever heard.

She was just so...so amazing.

He had planned on waiting a few days to call Evelyn, then asking her out for the following weekend, but by the time he got home on Thursday after class he had felt so incredible from the combination of the performance and her smile and his headache and trembling finally being gone that he hadn't been able to concentrate on his homework or arrangements or anything, even though he really did want the Mendicants to start performing at least once a week. All he could do was stare at the phone, then at the slip of paper onto which he had dutifully copied her number for fear of pen smudging off his palm before the end of the day and removing his only way of contacting her. He'd picked up the phone and set it down again at least seven times, each time chastising himself for looking too desperate by calling so soon.

He couldn't help it, he was desperate - desperate to see her again.

He didn't know what it was about her that made him so head-over-heels, but he was. Maybe it was the way she laughed at him when his apology for calling so soon tumbled out in a rush - amused by his eagerness, but not mocking, at least not cruelly. Maybe it was the way even her voice held a melody that made him want to listen to her for hours. Maybe it was the way she excused herself to hang up - reluctant, clearly, but excited by the prospect of reading for advanced music theory...no one else he'd ever met liked reading music theory. Maybe that was why no one quite understood him.

No one except Evelyn.

She just made him feel so utterly fantastic. Unstoppable. Normal. Like all the best sensations of performing an amazing song had been materialized into a single person.

So when he had asked if she would go out with him and she had asked when, he hadn't been able to stop himself from suggesting this weekend - waiting a whole week to see her again just seemed cruel to them both, at least assuming she felt half as strongly for him as he did for her. She had taken pity on his desperate, lovestruck self and agreed to Saturday at 7.

Which meant that by Saturday at 4, he was about ready to jump out of his skin.

He changed his outfit four times and his bowtie nine, then finally convinced himself that a nice, long shower would calm him down; by the time he emerged, he was proud to say he was only checking the clock on the nightstand every eight minutes instead of every three. That was a significant enough improvement, he decided with a self-satisfied grin as he carefully pressed his shirt.

He knew it was probably silly - he just couldn't remember ever feeling this way before, certainly not about a girl, least of all before a date. That had to mean something, didn't it?

Blaine stepped in front of the mirror, smiling and singing to himself as he began to expertly tie his bowtie.

Why does my heart skip a crazy beat?
For I know it will reach defeat

Blaine laughed at his reflection as his shoulder automatically shrugged forward in time to accent the words. He hadn't sung the song in years, but he still fell into the way the Warblers had done it. He could remember performing it with the guys, dancing around the Commons and seeing-

Tell me why-

His throat clenched, cutting off the note roughly. The silk bowtie crushed beneath his fingertips, and he tried to force his eyes open to not get lost in the song and everything that came after, to not remember the way he looked that day - with his shrewd eyes much wider and more surprised, a slow grin spreading across that devastatingly attractive face, looking completely out of place and so... If he'd only been able to keep his eyes off that boy, he might have been okay. If Sam hadn't helped drag him into the Warblers, where it was impossible for them to avoid one another, he probably would have been asymptomatic all year. Instead he'd-...Blaine wasn't going to say he showed off for him, but even remembering the way Kurt had stared at him - but now with the knowledge of the illness that had lurked just beneath the brilliant blue-green eyes and adorable grin - was enough to make him feel uneasy and sick.

He swallowed hard and tugged at the tie. He wasn't sick anymore - that was the important part, he reminded himself as evenly and as firmly as he could. He'd had a severe teenage malady, but that didn't mean it would have any bearing on the rest of his life, especially not now that he was going out with his cure.

The right girl could do that, he knew; his father had come home many times bragging about how his once-difficult case had recovered nicely and was engaged to a lovely girl, had gotten married, had a baby on the way...was a good family man with a house and a respectable job and a beautiful wife...

Evelyn would be great for him. He could have all the things he wanted with her - he could already imagine standing in the doorway, watching her rock their child to sleep and singing the most beautiful lullaby...for years, something so blandly pedestrian seemed out of reach, but now with her it suddenly felt possible.

He could love her - he might already. They hadn't talked for very long, but he was so drawn to her, and she made him feel so incredible... If this wasn't love, he couldn't imagine what was.

Taking a few deep breaths to banish the unpleasant memories of his symptoms, he tied his bowtie neatly and pulled on his blazer. He had a great feeling about tonight, and no reminders of his illness were going to stand in the way of that.

* * * * *
It had been a long time since Blaine had taken a girl on a proper date, but he was sure he would have remembered one as nice as this if he'd ever had one before. Evelyn looked amazing in the candlelight, though he suspected she would be stunning in any light; her brown hair curled around her shoulders, brushing against the straps of her pink dress, showing off her slender neck. She had been so beautiful when she had opened her door that he hadn't known what to say and she had simply smiled and rolled her eyes fondly as she stated, "I take your speechlessness as a compliment - will I need a sweater where we're going?"

He loved how easy she was about everything, how effortless. He felt more often than not like he was trying and struggling and thinking and pretending so hard, just to come across as not-too-noteworthy. But Evelyn just was; she seemed completely unpretentious. She said what she was thinking instead of talking around everything, but never in a mean way, just like...well, like she had a right to say what was true and refused to be bothered by rules about what should be said on a date, and that made everything she said right. It didn't feel stiff and formal and forced, like two people who had known each other less than a week, and Blaine found himself able to relax and just gaze at her by midway through their appetizers until it occurred to him that he wasn't being a very good date yet.

"What made you want to move all the way out here?" he asked.

She looked up from her menu, a little surprised, but she smiled easily as she replied, "My family's from Oregon. I wanted to be close enough to visit more than once a year if I wanted. Breaks could get so lonely when everyone else went back home but I stayed in New England. But I can go back for Thanksgiving and Christmas this year, so I think I made the right choice." Blaine couldn't imagine wanting to be near his family or see them more often; his own ticket home sat threateningly on top of his dresser, and every time he saw it he felt a shudder of dread. The distance from everyone and everything was part of Stanford's appeal, if he were being entirely honest. But she made it sound so nice... "Does that mean you're close to your family?"

"Oh, absolutely,” she smiled broadly. "Don't get me wrong, I'm not the kind of girl who wants to go right back to her hometown and settle down after graduation. I want a little more distance than that. But it's nice to be able to go back every so often. Especially on holidays. My mother makes the most amazing turkey you've ever tasted..."

Maybe it was the alien image of a proper mother in the kitchen, let alone cooking something so tantalizing, but Blaine let himself get lost in the home Evelyn described - moderately-sized and packed to the brim with extended family, smelling incredible from all the different food piled high on the dining room table. None of it was fancy, but that didn't matter. And in the living room, in front of the big picture window, was a tree covered from floor to ceiling with handmade ornaments with a beautiful star on top and a heap of presents beneath... He could imagine himself there, sandwiched on the couch between two of her uncles as they enthusiastically watched a basketball game. And he would look across the room to here Evelyn stood talking to her sisters (did she have sisters? She hadn't said yet, but she had mentioned cousins - she could be talking to cousins then), laughing and animated and relaxed and...home.

No Christmas in the Anderson house had ever felt that way. With his parents, it never would But with Evelyn...

Maybe he was jumping the gun a little, he acknowledged reluctantly to himself. It was only their first date, after all, they hadn't even kissed yet, but no one made him feel like this. So hopeful for the future. People said you just knew when you found the girl you were meant to be with, didn't they? And he knew she was right for him. She had to be. He didn't know anyone else who could make him feel at once so breathless and completely comfortable. He could marry her.

She was staring at him, and he hoped desperately he hadn't said that out loud. "I'm sorry?"

"Where'd you go?"

"Just picturing what you were talking about," he stated honestly. Mostly. "It sounds like a great way to spend Christmas."

"What about you? Are you close to your family?"

It was such a simple question, so easy for someone like her to answer for several reasons, but Blaine felt trapped by it. No, he wasn't. But any response would require an explanation and there were no explanations that would be appropriate for a polite conversation like a first date. even if he were willing to follow her lead and drop the strict social rules —and he wasn't — he didn't know how to even begin to explain the answer to that question. To be close to someone required that they let you, and neither of his parents would ever be capable of that. One refused on principle, stating that an overly-needy child was a sign of failed parenting, and the other was so lost in a societal fog that she couldn't comprehend any real closeness. To be close would mean warmth and emotion and actual conversation, and no, there wasn't any of that in his family. But saying it like that...

"I'm sorry," Evelyn stated sincerely when he didn't answer, and Blaine tried in vain to grin to make it seem like there was nothing wrong with the question. "I ask too much and talk too much, I should—" She started to pick up her menu again, but Blaine reached across the table to quickly catch her hands.

"No - you don't talk too much. Or ask too much," he stated unequivocally. "That's just...a complicated question," he admitted. "Complicated" was probably the nicest word he could put on it, and he was proud of himself for his restraint.

"Then I'm sorry for that, too."

Blaine had heard people apologize plenty of times in his life, especially for uncomfortable issues or out of politeness in a host of social settings. Evelyn was the first person he'd heard sound genuinely sincere. He flashed a quick smile, then steered the conversation to something far more comfortable and not nearly so complicated. "Did you always know you wanted to study music?"

Evelyn laughed softy. "No. My teachers all swore I'd study literature. I love to read. But there's something that music can do to me that even the best novels can't."

Blaine smiled because he understood completely. He'd always done well enough in English class, and teachers at Dalton had praised his essays, but there was still something so analytical about it all for him - not like the freedom and unbridled emotion of a beautiful piece of music. "Of course," he replied.

"Everyone was surprised when I told them I'd applied to Berklee... even if none of them were surprised I was accepted. Maybe they just knew well enough to pretend." Blaine laughed softly. "I thought about studying other things, doing something else, but music kept pulling me back. I don't know what I want to do when I'm done with school, I just know that music is the one thing that always makes sense." She paused, studying him, then added, "But I doubt I have to explain that to you. I saw the way you perform."

Blaine smiled at the acknowledgment. "And here I thought you listened to the whole thing with your eyes closed so you could pick apart the first tenors," he teased, hoping it was the right level of humour - it could be hard to tell, there were reasons jokes were discouraged at formal events with unfamiliar company-

But Evelyn simply smirked. "You just aren't used to anyone who isn't blinded by your charm," she shot back, and he laughed, unable to quite believe how easy all of this felt. He'd resigned himself to having to force himself to sort-of like a girl until something could blossom between them, but Evelyn made everything feel natural in a way he had almost given up on. She was so warm, even when she made fun of him and ripped apart the Mendicants' music... Of course, it made sense given where she came from. His father was always quick to point out that individuals were the product of their families; of course, he was almost always trying to blame a mother's overbearing nature or a father's absence or pitiable lack of masculinity for his patients' illnesses, but Blaine had long believed it had to work the other way as well - that people who were fortunate enough to come from warm families were themselves open people with an inherent warmth that was completely unlike his own family.

For years he had wondered if, by virtue of where he came from, he would be forced to live out his life as an emotional cripple - or, worse, if he would have to work as hard and as continuously to make up for his stunting in that area as he had to work to combat his symptoms. He didn't know if he had enough fight in him for that. The way Evelyn made him smile, though, made him think that she could help him be warm if he let her. She could let him show how he felt and not be afraid. And together, they could create a family -a home for their children that would be like everything he had wanted growing up: family dinners at tables that were the right size, with actual conversations, with emotions and kids' school pageants and...and love. Joy. Music.

All through dinner, he couldn't stop himself from watching her and imagining their life together: when she smiled over the menu, he saw the way she would beam when he proposed to her in song - backed up by a dozen dancing boys; when she twirled the pasta around her fork elegantly, he pictured a hectic dinner with three kids and the way they would glance across the table at one another and still feel time stop when they caught each other's eye; when she rolled the 'r' lightly as she ordered the tiramisu, he imagined them traveling through Europe with their life savings, wanting to feel glamorous and worldly and experience everything the continent could offer; as she tucked her hair behind her ear, he could see her greying and aging but never being any less beautiful than the stunning young woman who sat before him, bathed in soft candlelight. The conversation never stopped, though they did slip into comfortable silence for a few moments at a time, and by the time he slipped money into the check folio his cheeks almost ached from smiling for so long. He couldn't remember enjoying himself so thoroughly in-...ever.

No party could ever compare to a night like this. Peter had been right: there were much better things in life than beer-soaked evenings he couldn't remember. The half-glass of wine he'd had with dinner tasted great with the meal but hadn't impaired or numbed or changed anything, and for once he was glad for it. He didn't want anything to come between him and this night, to dull the things he felt.

He wanted to remember this date forever.

The sky was full of stars, visible even beneath the glare of streetlights, by the time they stepped out of the restaurant into the balmy September night air. "It's not too late yet," Blaine observed. "What do you want to do now?"

Evelyn leaned in and kissed him quickly – just a light peck on the corner of his lips. It caught him off-guard, and he shifted to look at her more directly. Her smile looked softer now, almost shy but at the same time very sure, eyes sparkling in the uneven light. She gave a half-nod of encouragement, smile pulling to one side a bit. Blaine wrapped one arm gently around her, pulling her close as he lowered his lips to hers and kissed her slowly. Her mouth was soft and warm beneath his, and he felt-

…nothing.

That didn’t make any sense, he thought, fighting the instinctive panic rising in his chest. She was gorgeous and smart and witty and he was completely in love with her – wasn’t that supposed to make the kiss magical? He’d always heard- or seen in movies, anyway, because his parents certainly wouldn’t say such a thing and boys didn’t really talk about things like that…But it was supposed to be like fireworks, like the most amazing feeling, like something other than nice-enough lips squishing against one another.

Which meant something was wrong.

Blaine pulled back slightly, wondering if maybe it was a problem for both of them – and if Evelyn knew how to fix it – but her eyes were still closed, smile broadening for a moment before she let her eyelids flutter open slowly like waking up from a great dream…which meant it wasn’t a problem she was having as well. It wasn’t mutual. It was just him.

No. No no no. No. She was perfect, and there was no way-

He’d been able to have great kisses before, he knew that for certain. Besides the ones that made him sick to think about, there were plenty of times he’d loved kissing girls – at parties, and at bars, and-…

That was it, he assured himself, feeling slightly more at-ease. He was just remembering the way kisses felt when he was drunk. In the same way that all the memories of house parties were a little fuzzier and more disjointed than memories from high school (even though those were a lot longer ago), kisses with half a glass of wine just felt different than ones with half a bottle of vodka. That was all.

...It just didn’t feel as good as he expected. Not nearly as good as he wanted it to feel, especially not with the girl he was going to marry. He liked to think that, of all people, there would be a spark with her.

“Have you ever been to Sid’s?” he asked.

“No,” she replied slowly, clearly not sure where this was going.

“It’s a piano bar, they always have some really great people, especially on a weekend.” He was trying to rack his brain for more specifics that might entice her, but she grinned.

“Sounds good,” she replied, slipping her hand into his.

Why couldn’t her mouth feel as perfect against his as her hand did against his palm?

By the time they reached Sid’s, Blaine was feeling better and far less cagey. For one thing, listening to Evelyn talk all the way across campus about her friends at Berklee and the amazing showcase they had put on in May and all the dating across schools – and ensuing rivalries – in Boston and Cambridge, made for a quick walk that could lift anyone’s spirits. For another, he had a fool proof plan to make sure the date ended as perfectly as it had begun.

He knew he had given up his old drunken ways, but the beer he ordered wasn’t really going back to them – not at all. It was just an experiment. In biology sophomore year, they had talked extensively about the importance of a control group; it was essential to leave one item or group unchanged and change only one thing in each experiment – at least compared to the control – in order to tell what was the result of the experiment and what was just a natural occurrence. He had no way of knowing whether the lack of a spark in the kiss was because of his newfound sobriety and a foggy recollection about what kisses were meant to feel like or because of the girl unless he put one of those to the test.

He had no interest in kissing anyone but Evelyn tonight – and she would take offense if he did. But if he had a couple drinks… if he still felt nothing, he would know it was a question of the girl involved; if he felt something, he would know he just wasn’t used to kissing girls sober anymore, and that there was nothing wrong with his chemistry with Eveyln.

And if the alcohol failed, at least he’d still have the most foolproof option he knew: a song or three was always good to get the right emotions coursing through him, and it was the language he and Evelyn both spoke best. If anything could connect them where a beer or two failed, that was sure to be it.

And so, armed with a Coors and a lengthy repertoire of appropriately in-love songs, he escorted Evelyn through the crowded bar toward his favourite booth. It was exactly opposite the piano and stage so both patrons could see the performances – unlike the ill-conceived booths lining the wall opposite the bar, where only one person of four could actually watch the singers. At the same time, the booth’s position behind the tables gave a bit more privacy, since almost everyone was facing forward and not watching half-drunk couples make out in the back booth… which was what Blaine hoped his night would yield.

Evelyn took a sip of her Yuengling and glanced around. “This is… quite a place,” she offered charitably.

“You should have seen it when it had a ceiling,” Blaine joked. His freshman year, it had been a dimly-lit, claustrophobic place with a low ceiling and light coming from a handful of ugly wall sconces that didn’t match the building’s Spanish mission style at all – tacky faux-gold with scrolls and a bargain “old Hollywood” feel. Over Christmas break, the crawlspace of an “attic” that served as a storage area had collapsed, leaving half the bar exposed all the way up to the underside of the terra cotta roof. Upon finding out just how much a new ceiling would cost, Sid had told the repairman to just rip the rest down instead. It gave the bar more headroom but also a decidedly half-finished look, especially with lights now swinging from long chains to try to light the larger space… and because the top half of the room was now painted about three shades lighter than the bottom half.

“That sounds ominous.”

“All good places should have some mystery,” he offered before taking a long swig from his bottle. He didn’t want to have to wait too long, in a hurry to make things go back to feeling right - the way they had before he stopped feeling anything but anxious and wrong again. Evelyn had made him feel so incredible earlier, and he could get back to that sense of everything being perfect – he was sure of it.

Assuming this worked.

With more determination than ever he settled sideways in the booth, back against the wall, to listen to a group of drama majors singing selections from Hello Dolly.

As Blaine finished his first beer and signaled the busboy that he needed another – Jimmy would run drinks from the bar for people who were in there a lot, or who he liked; Blaine was in both categories – he reached across the table to take Evelyn’s hand. She glanced away from the stage to flash him a quick but sincere smile. He wondered if he would ever take that smile for granted – even when they’d been married for fifty years, he liked to believe he would still love that expression on her face. He kept his hand around hers and only looked away to grab his next drink when Jimmy placed it on the table.

Just as the second drink was almost empty, Jimmy brought a third beer without prompting, and Blaine smiled broadly in thanks. He was starting to feel almost lazily merry, buzzed enough to know he’d had some alcohol but not so much that he wouldn’t remember this. He pushed away the empty bottle and looked over at Evelyn. “D’you need another?” he asked, seeing her bottle almost empty as well. “I can have Jimmy bring-“

“No thanks – I’m fine,” she said slowly, eyeing him suspiciously.

Uh oh. That didn’t sound good. It was time to move on to the next phase of his experiment before the entire thing exploded. “Do you want to leave? We could go somewhere quieter and talk,” he offered. He loved hearing her talk, she was so smart and charming and adorably enthusiastic… “I could take you home, but I don’t want the date to end yet,” he admitted, and she softened a little, smiling.

“We could walk around for awhile,” she suggested. “You’d have to lead, I don’t know the area. But it seems safer than Boston.”

“Very safe,” he assured her. He stood, taking a final swig that emptied almost half the bottle – it seemed a shame to waste the beer, and since they couldn’t resell it after it was opened and at the table – and tossed $5 on the table. Reaching over, he took Evelyn’s hand, almost sighing at how perfect this was. How perfect she was. How perfect their kids would be…

They had barely made it out the door when he decided now was the time. She looked incredible in the moonlight – or parking lot light, he guessed – and he’d wanted to kiss her for what felt like forever and if he was going to marry her one day, he needed to be sure he could kiss her, right? Before she was standing in front of the whole big family a white wedding dress, he needed to know that the problem was him and not her. He tugged her gently to stand in front of him, and she laughed in surprise as she almost fell into his chest. She looked up at him with bemusement, ready to say something, but he couldn’t help himself. He leaned down to kiss her, cautious and worried this might not work, and then what? What did a man do if he didn’t like kissing the girl he wanted to spend the rest of his life with?

He didn’t have to worry; kissing Evelyn felt completely normal. Really good. Satisfied with the results of his experiment, and proud of the ingenuity it had taken to come up with such a genius plan, Blaine smirked to himself as he deepened the kiss, arms tightening around her a little. They fit together, he noticed, and he just wanted to kiss her and feel her all night – and smell her, he hadn’t noticed her perfume before but whatever it was smelled amazing.

“Let’s go to my place,” he urged against her lips. “God, Evelyn, you’re so beautiful, I-”

He didn’t understand what happened next. He felt hands on his chest shove him back hard, and he heard Evelyn yelling at him, but the sound started before the words – like an old TV he’d seen once where the sound would come out of the speakers while the screen was still warming up.

“What is wrong with you?” she demanded, hands on her hips, eyes blazing.

He had no idea what she was even asking – what he’d done to make her so mad. She’d liked kissing him earlier, now he could like kissing her too, why not- “What’s wrong?”

“I didn’t think anywhere could have boys who were more obnoxious with booze than the ones in Boston, but you take the cake!”

Blaine blinked, not sure what that had to do with anything. “Evelyn-” he tried, but she just kept yelling. “Why are you mad at me?” he demanded, frustrated.

“You act like a gentleman to lure girls into a false sense of security, but get a couple drinks in you-…Let me tell you something, Blaine Anderson: I have no interest in being loose, or in being with someone who only wants to kiss me when they’ve had a few too many.” She turned and began to storm across the parking lot toward the street.

Blaine ambled after her. “Where are you going?’

“Home!” she called over her shoulder as she hung a right out of the parking lot.

Blaine was pretty sure she needed to go left to get home. “That’s the wrong way,” he tried to call helpfully, but she just kept walking as fast as she could away from him, leaving him standing alone in front of Sid’s.

He didn’t understand. Everything had been great, and then it had been perfect, and now she was storming off and furious with him? That had never happened before, and now of all times, when things finally felt right, when he finally felt the way a boy was meant to feel when he kissed a girl he liked, she turned on him with no explanation – at least, none he could understand. He played it over and over again, her pushing him, her ranting about Boston, saying-

…Wait. Had his experiment been this flawed? Had it been the drinks that had driven her away? Admittedly, suggesting she come home with him had been a little forward for a first date - Okay, fine, very forward, but he’d never had a girl leave over that before. Actually, he couldn’t remember a girl turning him down before, but that was different. Evelyn was different. She was independent and assertive but traditional in a way he loved. Respected. Envied. Of course she wasn’t the same as some girl he met at a fraternity Halloween bash dressed as Marilyn’s ghost or something similar. Those girls went to parties for the same reasons he did: to have a good time, to feel good, to be part of a group of people all feeling blissful and drunk and normal…

The same stupid, hedonistic selfish reasons he went.

And the worst part, he concluded as he began to walk dejectedly across the parking lot, hoping he’d given Evelyn enough of a head start that she wouldn’t think he was trying to follow her. The worst part was that he could recognize all the ways she was different – not just incredible, but different than other girls he’d kissed before they ever went to Sid’s. But he’d been trying so hard to make kissing her feel like kissing a girl in a stranger’s bedroom while there was a party downstairs… How dumb could he be? He kicked at a rock as he walked, frustrated.

This was the real reason he needed to stop drinking, he concluded defeatedly. He’d gotten so used to artificial pleasure that he couldn’t enjoy the best thing to happen to him in years. He’d let it get in the way and drive away the most perfect girl he had ever met.

He had to get her back somehow.

He couldn’t just let this girl who understood him so well, who made him so happy, get away. They were meant to be together, he knew they were- he loved her. He was completely in love with that girl after half a date and that meant he couldn’t let one idiotic mistake run her out of his lie forever. But how could he fix this? All he could think of was trying to sing his feelings, but that might not be enough. It would be part of the apology, absolutely, but it needed to be more than that…and for anything beyond a heartfelt production number he was drawing a blank.

There had to be someone who could give him advice and help him out, but he was drawing a blank there, too. While all (okay, most) of the Mendicants were experienced ladies’ men, they tended to be in the same boat he was: great at getting a girl but rotten at keeping her. None of the guys he knew in his classes or building had anyone long-term that he knew of. And for good advice generally he could think of exactly one person at Stanford who had given him a useful suggestion in the whole four years he’d been there.

Actually, he realized, as much as it pained him and made him uncomfortable to admit…if he’d just listened to Peter, Evelyn wouldn’t have stormed off. If he’d stopped drinking and stayed stopped, the whole mess could have been avoided, and they would probably still be walking through Palo Alto together.

He didn’t necessarily want to go to Peter for advice. It would never be a good idea for him to spend time around men who were sick…but if Peter could help him get back the woman of his dreams, then surely spending a few minutes around a gentleman in a fedora was a small price to pay for something so important.

And Peter had told him to come back anytime…

With a renewed sense of purpose, Blaine turned left and headed in the direction of the desperately-ill boy he hoped might help him get back the girl who would cure him.