Blaine was in unusually high spirits today, but he guessed he had reason to be. His life really had turned around for the better in the past few months; he'd met Lee, reunited with his niece, become a part of something bigger than himself where he could do some good, and on top of that, Lee was pregnant. Though he didn't see himself as a family man...he could make it happen.

Recently, he'd had not one, but two incidents where he temporarily regained his feeling, and to an extent, he may have still been remembering that, and hey, he was going to for a long time. He'd had a decent morning, still attempting to get the hang of cooking, but he was gradually getting better, even if Skye still refused to be anywhere near the apartment while he did so.

By now, it was late afternoon, and Blaine was in the gym, dressed in a black muscle shirt that very plainly showed off his muscles, a pair of loose black gym shorts, and black tennis shoes. He'd done his time on the bag, and was uncharacteristically bench pressing now. Since he had no one he could trust to spot him, he was only doing about a hundred fifty pounds. To him, this was a light workout, then again...what constituted an intense workout when you couldn't feel? That was a good question, and one most would probably prefer not to have answered. But it would take a lot for someone like Blaine to think something was physically intense.

In fact, the way he was benching a hundred and fifty pounds, you'd think there weren't any weights on the bar.

"....Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty..." His motions were quick and fluid, almost effortless as his long hair, tied back in a ponytail, hung off of the bench. His breathing steady.

"Hey," an oddly familiar voice pierced through Blaine's counting, though it didn't mess up his rhythm in the slightest, "I can spot if you wanna put some real weight on the bar. You're not even breaking a sweat, bro."

"No thanks, man," Blaine answered, still not breaking his focus, or his rhythm. "A bout twenty more of these and I'll be good."

But he could still see the shadow of the guy looming over him. Paying it little mind, he continued benching, but when the bar hit his chest, a pair of rough, strong hands pressed it to his chest, and since he was lying down, Blaine found himself at a disadvantage. This other guy had all the leverage.

And then...he leaned over, and the face Blaine saw made his blood run so cold that he almost swore he could feel it.

Blaine's face went pale as the short haired man looked down at him, a cocky smirk plastered across his lips. This was the guy Lee had warned him about; the guy who'd been pretending to be him. But why had he? And what was his angle now? Blaine planted his feet firmly on the ground, attempting to lift the weight off of his chest, but the other man stood his ground, and the bar didn't even budge. They were evenly matched in strength, and the stranger had a lot more leverage than he.

"Who are you? Why are you pretending to be me?" he growled, looking up at the other man without the slightest bit of fear or doubt in his eyes.

The other gentleman merely laughed, then leaned in even closer. "Pretend to be you? Blaine...I am you. Well....a better version of you. I'm merely trying to...unlock your potential," he said with a smile that made the long haired former fighter's skin crawl.

"If you were better than me, you wouldn't have to creep around," Blaine said with a scowl, sizing up the other guy. They were the same size, same build, same....well, everything except for haircut. And this guy carried himself differently. Something told Blaine they were more different than this guy was letting on. "Why don't you let me up and see how you do on an even playing field?"

With a scowl, the other guy let the bar go, and Blaine racked it, putting up the weights. The short haired guy was wearing a brown tee shirt and khaki cargo pants.

"A little overdressed, aren't ya?" Blaine asked, not really one for head-games, but...for this guy, he'd make an exception. He obviously didn't hang around gyms much, as noted by his wardrobe, lack of a gym bag, and the fact that he obviously hadn't done any working out.

"Shut up. And get your ass in the ring."

Now this a-hole was speaking Blaine's language. Walking by his gym bag, he picked up his black gloves, putting them on his hands as he climbed into the ring, stretching, and taking his stance.

The other guy, meanwhile, was a more nonchalant, lackadaisical with his movements. Once in the ring, he didn't even take a stance. He just stood there, straight-postured, arms folded across his chest. But the look on his face was nothing but laser guided focus.

However, Blaine's face showed the same amount of focus as the two Blaines sized each other up. But the lack of a stance made the guy hard to read. He was just...standing there. Did he know what he was doing? It could have gone either way. Either he was oblivious to everything, in which case, Blaine was going to mop the ring with him. But it was also possible that he was playing stupid, in which case Blaine had no idea what this guy was capable of.

But he wasn't worried. Blaine never once worried about the outcome of a fight. And he sure as hell wasn't about to start now.

Blaine gave a nod as a signal to start, and his doppelganger did the same. It was on.

Sometimes, there was no time to scout, no time to plan ahead, no time to play it safe. For Blaine, today was one of those times. The guy was just standing there, like he was waiting in line at the grocery store or something. So Blaine rushed in, connecting with a massive right hook to the man's jaw, but he didn't even flinch. Smirking, the other man delivered a punch to Blaine's gut, which knocked the wind out of him, but aside from that, he didn't flinch either. So Blaine followed up with a midsection-targeted punch of his own, only for the guy to respond with a sharp knee to the ribs.

And then things picked up. The two nearly identical men squared off, intensity gradually building as they traded punches and kicks. Neither man showed pain, because neither man felt it.

"Get it now? I can't feel either." As soon as the words came out of his mouth, Blaine punched him in it, followed by a punch to the nose, which the man responded to with mirroring blows of his own. The two men circled each other as a crowd began to form around them; people had stopped working out to watch this, and others had even begun live-streaming the action. Back and forth the strikes came, with neither man making headway, when suddenly Blaine shifted gears, charging in and grabbing the man's legs, pulling them out from under him in a seamless take-down. Then, Blaine mounted him and started pummeling him with punches and forearms.

But the other man rolled with it, and somehow Blaine found himself on the bottom, in a defensive position, but that was just fine. He rolled as well, only he grabbed his opponent's arm, transitioning into a very brief armlock before standing to his feet. It was just a means to an end.

Time passed as the men traded punches, and then they transitioned to grappling and other holds. But again, neither man quite got the upper hand on the other. People came and went, but the live-streaming continued, likely from more than one source. The sun began to set, and both men were starting to grow tired.

Finally, Blaine saw an opening, taking advantage as he took the other man down, then rolled into a kimura lock, much like the one that had snapped his own arm.

"Ha! You think this will work? Or did you forget...I can't feel. Just because this is the move that ended your career...." Blaine froze for a split second, but it was enough. The guy got up, locking him in a--technically illegal--chokehold before whispering in his ear. "This is what makes me better....you hold back. Even though I can't feel either...you kept the safety on. Me though? I don't have a safety. Your emotion makes you weak..."

Blaine struggled against the hold, but it tightened, and though he felt nothing, he could hear his breath growing more desperate, his heart beat no longer pounded in his ears as the adrenaline started to wear off and the circulation was restricted. And then, suddenly, he was released, glorious air returning to his lungs.

And then there was a dull-sounding thud as Blaine hit the mat.

"Get used to looking up at me from above. Because as long as you hold back, you'll never dream of beating me."

Blaine then found himself staring at the ceiling, but not for long, as it slowly faded to black and he lost consciousness, lying on the mat. His face was bruised, nose and mouth were bleeding, and he had some minor damage to his ribs. His face was red, but the thing that was the most broken....

Was his pride. No one even came to check on him. The live-stream ended with a shot of his crumpled body on the mat of the ring.

Sinclaire was no better off, except that he actually walked out of the building of his own free will. When Blaine woke up, he was at his favorite clinic; some good Samaritan had dropped him off.

But it wasn't his body that had been most damaged...