It's April, and everyone shows up to the study group wearing blue. Abed stops dead in the doorway, and Annie runs into him. He turns to look at her, and she matches. Everything slides into place, and it makes sense that she has broken her usual trend of wearing purple on Wednesdays.
He steps into the room like he's dodging land mines, and takes his place at the table with a half smile that's more like a cringe. Everyone wears the color differently.
Annie wears the blue cardigan tied over her shoulders like a banner, like she understands being on the outside. She wears it like it's a banner for a rehab group, or the subject of a twelve-step program. Abed doesn't want to know what's written on the blue band around her wrist.
Jeff wears a blue button-up (sleeves rolled to his elbows for maximum sexiness) like an apology, eyes averted to the table. He wears it like he's waiting for an excuse to change. He wears it in a way that gives him room to say that he didn't mean it, not really.
Shirley wears her blue blouse like a prayer, because after all, it took Ben longer to say his first words than it ever took Elijah or Jordan.
Britta wears her blue tee-shirt like a uniform, like she's got a job to do, like she is the only one who can do it. Like he would never really understand. She wears a puzzle piece pinned to the jersey cotton.
Hickey wears a blue tie because he has this one nephew. And Abed is on fire, he's blazing in an orange hoodie. He's like a too-bright sun in the sky, but it's the sea of blue that burns, instead. It swims in front of his eyes, and opening his mouth to speak is like getting a mouthful of sea water drowning him, and all things considered, he's mixing metaphors now.
It occurs to him, briefly, just before he goes under, that there is someone out there, on a real sea, thousands of miles away, who isn't wearing blue. He keeps waiting for that person to pull him out and save him, but he never does.
Abed leaves school early.