“I don’t think you understand the importance of True Jackson and it’s implications on the lives of tweens everywhere, Blaine! And if you don’t get, it can’t be explained. It just is. I mean she’s smart, she’s savvy, she’s badass and she teaches lessons that can be applied in the boardroom and in the classroom. What’s not important about that?” Sam eyed Blaine suspiciously, “So…are you going to help me write this letter or not? Because I know I’m not the only person that wants this show – which is totally ahead of it’s time – back on the air.”
Sam getting any cuter was simply. not. possible. Blaine knew the blond was passionate about his one true love television character. That went without saying. If you even brought up her name (or even if you didn’t and she went through Sam’s mind..), you were going to get an earful about the injustice that the show being cancelled was. Now? There’s this. Hearing Sam’s master plan to spearhead efforts to resurrect it was so so sweet that Blaine would never be able to turn him down. Not even a little bit. He just didn’t want him to be disappointed if it never happened. Which, face it, it wouldn’t. However, he’d never be the one to ruin Sam’s dream. Which, he was sure if someone ever committed such a crime? Was punishable by seven years bad luck or something equally as mirror-breaking or walking under a ladder-like bad.
“You know–you’re right. Here. Have a seat and let’s get started,” he smiled and waved at the empty seat beside him, “Let’s try to get their attention. You never know until you give it a go.”
“Is it weird that before you and Kurt dated he had the hots for me?” Sam asked, or more accurately blurted out as he laid stretched out across Blaine’s bed after a long period of silence between them. Silence wasn’t bad, not between Blaine and Sam, especially when they were knee deep in comics or playing video games, or just laying about listening to music. It was comfortable. But often broken but ‘deep’ revelations that swirled around in Sam’s head when he wasn’t using his brain to formulate intelligent conversation. “I mean, would I be the bowtie guy? If that had happened?” He asked, turning onto his stomach and resting his face in his hands, his elbows propping him up. “I’d have like slicked back hair and wear tight pants?” He raised a brow in genuinely thought and some confusion.
Blaine stretched, hazel eyes lazily roaming over the patterns the paint and texture created on the ceiling above his bed. Being like this was so easy with Sam. Relaxed and letting the pressure of the outside worl– friendship problems, practicing performances, studying and anything else that normally zapped away so much of his attention on a daily basis–all fade into a comfortable quiet. A welcome break that seeped into his muscles and drained it all away. Success! He finally found the face of the puppy he once made out of a sweep of a paintbrush and some plaster as a kid he’d been trying to find up there ever since he stopped seeing it. Or how he could cloud dream other objects up above. Likw rhw horse jumping into the dark shadow between the ceiling and the forest green striped wallpaper he was imagining as Sam spoke up. A brow lifted and Blaine’s lips curved into a small, quizzical smile at the question. It took him a second to recover from the innocent adorable that was entirely Sam Evans when he slipped into his philosophical self before he could answer. “I don’t think that you would have literally become me. I mean–I was already me. But,” he darted his gaze back and forth across Sam’s. “I can definitely imagine the flannel and bowtie look on you. Not bad in my head. We could always put one on you and see. However? I like your hair just fine without the gel..” To prove it, Blaine reached one hand over and ruffed it up into haywired blond strands before breaking out into a chuckle that scrunched his nose. “Yeah. Perfect. Just the way it is. I’m curious. Why do you ask?”
pianokeysandbowties 