Well, hello.

I just want to let you know that this fanfiction is complete! So I will publish a chapter or two per week. I also want to inform you that I'm French Canadian, so I speak French. English isn't my first language, but I think I can handle it since, like, English is everywhere around me, but I want to let you know in case of grammar mistakes. I'm trying my best, but I'm not perfect either! So let me know if I do the same mistakes again and again and it bothers you. I want to better myself. :)

FYI, this fanfiction is loosely based on the movie The Last Holiday with Queen Latifah. I'm just inspiring of the general idea, but overall, it is pretty different. And this is NOT a cancer story. You'll see. :) And if you watched the movie, you'd already know.

Enjoy the story!

He was going to be late. Again. It wasn't his intention, not in the least. Kurt Hummel never came late. It was simply a bad day where he tried so, so hard to please his French teacher about the delicious choux à la crème he made, but the teacher failed him. He said that if he wanted to work with French food, he needed to make French food! Seriously, what was more French then choux à la crème? He said it was disgusting and the Americans didn't know better than fast food. Kurt was really, really upset about it as, well, he knew, like everyone else, that French chefs are horrible to work with and he never, ever eat fast food. He knew good food, he knew how to eat healthy and he knew how to cook.

He didn't need an old man with a thick French accent to say otherwise. Needless to say, with the disappointed grade and his rage toward his chef, he missed the metro. His job in a crappy little Italian restaurant as a waiter was too far from his culinary school. New-York was a big city and he had to break into a run or else, his boss will still be on his back.

As he approached the restaurant in a not so touristic avenue, he came near an ally and stopped, catching his breath. When he heard footsteps in a darkened corner of the ally, he turned his head and shook his head good-naturally.

''Ed.'' He said. A man in his late forties came out from his hidden place. He smiled and showed his yellow teeth at Kurt. He had greasy hair, he wasn't shaved and you could smell him from a far distance.

''My boy!'' He exclaimed. ''Long-time no see.'' He approached the young man and tapped him on the shoulder. Kurt rolled his eyes.

''You saw me yesterday.''

The man shrugged. ''I'll never get tired to see my favorite boy. So, late for work again?'' He asked when he noticed the wild look of Kurt when he was always so put together.

''You bet.'' Kurt nodded. ''But before I go through hell,…'' He searched in his bag for something, then he reached the man's hand with the things he wanted to give him. ''Here. A sandwich and an apple. I know it's not much, but it's my lunch.'' He smiled at the man. He was genuinely happy to see his friend with a smile as large as the sky.

''My boy… I don't know what I'd do without ya… but, hey. You'll have nothing to eat while you're at work!'' He said, wanting to give the lunch back. Kurt shook his head.

''I'll eat the pasta. Mario always makes too much pasta and it's always in the garbage by the end of the evening.''

''Kurt, you're too good for this world.'' Kurt laughed, but Ed was serious. ''You'll do great, kiddo. Me? I screwed my life but you? You'll do great things. And… Everyone try to ignore me on the streets, like I'm some sort of germ. But you? You treat me like a human being since the day we met. You're a good boy. It's rare nowadays.''

There was a silent moment.

''No one deserves to be alone. And hey, you are a human being. Just like everyone else. '' He looked at the restaurant across the street and signed. ''Ed, I gotta go. And don't forget, it's April, so the nights are getting warmer, so if you sleep outside, just make sure to…''

'''ll be fine, boy.'' He waved as Kurt crossed the street and took a big bite of the turkey sandwich. His first meal of the day.

-X-

''Pasta! Table 3.'' The big cook screamed from his kitchen. Kurt, who struggled to put his uniform on, went to take the plates from another waiter.

''I'll take it, Joe. I'm sorry I'm late.'' He said with a small smile. The other man shrugged good-naturally.

''Don't sweat it, Kurt. I covered you.'' Kurt signed relief. ''Thanks,'' He said.

He walked away as fast as he could with the plates for the table 3. He looked down at the plates and he scrunched up his nose in disgust. He didn't know how people could eat stuff like that. The pasta doesn't look good, the sauce looked too red, too thick and too mushy for his liking and he just hoped that the pastas are seemingly well cooked.

Everyday Kurt came to work; it felt like an insult, a slap in the face and a punch in the guts. He didn't know how Mario (who was the chef) and the other cooks could give their customers this sort of food. It was beyond him. Of course, it wasn't a big and fancy restaurant, but still. The local customers seemed to find the food good, but that's because they didn't know any better. Their food consisted of cheap Italian restaurants across the street, Chinese takeout's and mac and cheese. And the occasional McDo when they feel like going out.

That was how it was, in Brooklyn.

To confirm his theory, Kurt tried the food here once and it was disgusting. Lack of seasoning, the chicken almost burnt but Mario hides it with a ton of gravy, that way, no one knew. And the price for that shit? Ridiculous!

Kurt didn't think of himself as a better human being or a better cook (actually, yes) it's just that this restaurant basically stole their customers with this ''Italian'' food and it just not the way Kurt worked.

''Okay. Who ordered the lasagna?'' He gave an old lady with bleach hair and a tan (and Kurt tried to avoid her stare, because her fashion sense was just tacky) her plate with a false smile. ``The Spaghetti all carbonara?'' An old man with sweaty palms made grabby hands and suddenly, he coughed, reeking cigarettes. Kurt made an effort not to gag in front of the pathetic couple and gave him his plate. He left, feeling sorry for not giving these customers something better.

He was not a bad person. Some people referred to him as the kindest person they ever met. But this place tended to make him mad. Mad because of the food, mad because of the dirty place they had to call a restaurant and mad, because he's seen the cooks cooking some chicken that fell to the floor and gave it to a customer like nothing happened. Kurt signed, shaking his heads and counted to ten. This job offered him a roof in New-York city with his little pay. Every student struggled, it was just a phase. A long, horrible phase.

''Kurt! Back to work!'' Mario yelled from the kitchen and Kurt snapped out of his thoughts. He gritted his teeth and controlled his anger. You never, ever yelled at your employees in front of a crowned restaurant. It looked bad on you, on your employees and on the restaurant. You do it in private, it was way more professional. But of course, Mario, being the bad and alcoholic cook that he was, didn't know that.

Kurt murmured an apology and went back to work. And it was like that every evening, serving bad food and making sure not to punch a customer when he or she judged him on his job (he did his job impeccably, thank you very much) and going back in his cramp little apartment in the middle of Brooklyn, and doing the same thing the next day and going to his school and running around the city like a wild animal for not being late. Again and again and… again.

When he entered his apartment, he left his bag with his books near the door and went to his room and folded delicately his white chef uniform he wore when he was at his culinary school and put aside his dirty black waiter uniform and made a mental note to wash his dirty clothes the second he had the time to go to the dishwashers downstairs of the building and signed dramatically. He hated going down here. It was dark and creepy and he had to wait until his clothes were clean, because he didn't want to leave his clothes alone. Someone could steal them and he didn't want to risk it.

He went to the kitchen to prepare a sandwich and press a button to his phone. He had two messages.

''Hey, Kiddo. I just wanted to chat a bit. We didn't talk for a couple of days and you know me, right? Can't spend three days without hearing my kid. Just always worried, I guess. So, how's school? I hope everything is fine. I talked to Finn and he told me he didn't see you since a couple of days. I know that you're probably busy with school, and all, but don't forget your old man and give me a sigh of life soon. Love ya, Kiddo.''

''Hey, Kurt! Okay, listen, there is this guy at NYADA and he is so, so handsome. He's fashionable, classy, and smart with good manners. Everything you like in a boy! Anyways, I can organize a blind date, if you want. (There was a pause) We should do something together, Kurt. It's been like a week that we didn't see you. I know you said you are busy with school and all, but just give us a call! I'm going out with Finn tonight…'' Kurt pressed the end of the message. He loved Rachel, she was her best friend, but a blind date? Really?

He should've called his dad to let him know he was still alive, but it was late so instead, he walked into the tiny living room where it was also a dining room and a bedroom during a storm when he didn't want to sleep with the rain hitting his face because there was a hole in his bedroom ceiling. Oh, he told the owner of the place a thousand times, but it was a lost cause and he didn't want to waste money on it either.

He sat on the couch with various Vogue magazines and books with many food recipes on the little table in front of him and switched the TV on. It was already on his favorite channel where he could see a beautiful Latina woman with tan skin and long black hair falling gracefully unto her shoulders. She was behind a counter in a tastefully decorated kitchen while mixing some ingredients in a bowl.

Kurt watched her every move as she walked around the kitchen. He was in awe in front of her and he took a pen and a paper and wrote the recipe that she did on TV.

That woman was Santana Lopez and Kurt Hummel was in love. Okay, no. Not literally, but she was his idol, the person he inspired to be. She is a successful chef at one of the biggest hotel in Europe, the Casablanca's, but not only that, but she has her own cooking show and she is quite famous. She is as famous as Paula Deen, Gordon Ramsey and many others and the remarkable thing about this woman, is that she is only 26 and yet, she has good things coming for her. It's young to be where she is in her career and that was why Kurt loves her so much. The drive, the guts to reach success. Kurt Hummel will have that; as soon as he opened his own French restaurant in Manhattan where the cultured people will love his cuisine.

Yes, he dreamed big. Rachel told him that all the time, but what did he say in return? No as big as being a Broadway star. That shut her up faster than laryngitis ever could.

He opened his scrapbook (a big, baby blue colored book with big silver letter on the front, saying '' My dreams.'') Inside the book, there were pages and pages of his early life with pictures of his friends in high school, his dad and his late mother. Then, there were a picture of his step-mother and his brother and Rachel, his future sister-in-law. There were many recipes of cakes, cupcakes, and the good and rich fine French cuisine. He signed in contentment and put his new recipe in there, promising to decorate the page later. Maybe it was ''kitsch'' or something a grandmother would do, but he loved doing scrap booking and it kept him sane during the bad days.

It was past eleven, but he knew what to do. He wanted to let lose, to forget his frustration of the day, just like he did his every Friday nights. He put his book aside and went in his bedroom to dress himself in something more suitable for the wild night to come.

-X-

He was going to be late. Again. It was really his fault, this time. He went to a rave last night –you know, those parties that you have to dance all night, jumping all over the place with electric music. When he came in New-York in September, he found this place underground where people called it a rave. Kurt frowned at that, because a rave was originally an assembly in the woods and you just let loose, but hey, he wasn't going to argue with them.

When he moved here, Rachel told him to have fun, so that's what he did. Of course, he didn't tell Rachel and his brother about his whereabouts on Fridays, because the raves were known as dangerous with lots and lots of drugs and it was undergrounds, so you have to know someone who knows someone to get a pass. Kurt was just lost on a chilly Friday night and he just found the place.

Oh, he was being careful. He didn't do drugs and didn't sleep around. He just danced, let lose a little and when he was tired, he came back home. It was his little escape and his little secret. Rachel offered him many times to go with her on parties with her NYADA friends, but compared to the raves, the little college parties were nothing. So he declined every time.

It was Joe's day off, today, so he couldn't cover for Kurt this time. It was the week-end, so he just had to go to work in the morning. He cursed himself when he arrived, hoping that his boss wasn't there yet. It was his lucky day.

''Table 3 and table 5!'' one of the cook all but scream from the kitchen.

Kurt went to reach for the plates, but it was snatched from his grip by a girl with boobs as large as pineapples, a head as blond as Pamela and she was chewing a gum just like a cow. Classy. Kurt despised her something fierce.

''That's my plates, Lady boy. '' She said in a nasally voice.

''Fine'' He murmured as he snatched the ketchup from the counter. She rolled her eyes and strutted to her tables at a lazy pace like she didn't give a damn in the world. Kurt shook his head sadly. She was such a bad waitress and he didn't feel bad by thinking so if all the insults she gave him were any indication, she hated him just as much. She only got that job because she fucked the boss. Kurt saw them after one of his shift and he's been so traumatized.

A few hours later, the restaurant was busier than ever. Two other waiters were there as well as the boss. Kurt was sweating a little bit, (it was a normal occurrence when you work you ass-off in a cramp restaurant) He searched the blonde girl because her plates were here on the counter, but she was nowhere in sight. He let out a frustrate sigh. He went to retrieve the plate before it got cold and walked at a fast pace because his own customers were waiting and in Brooklyn, it was all Me-Myself-and-I, so they didn't know how to wait.

''Kurt, your plates are here.'' One of the waiters called after him.

He turned his head to reply to the other waiter across the room, but he slipped on a red pool on the floor (mostly ketchup) and hit his head on the floor pretty hard, the plates shattering around him. He turned slightly his head to the side and the last thing he saw before he blacked out, was his boss zipping his pants and the busty blond whore stepping outside of his office near the bathrooms. It all went black.

-X-

''So…you see these spots?'' The doctor said and Kurt nodded, still not all there. ''You have a rare neurological disorder called Lampington's disease.'' There was a pause. The doctor took off his glasses and put them on his office. He looked back to the photo of Kurt's brain on his wall, then back at the young boy. ''These spots are several brain tumors.''

Kurt looked at the old man, awestruck. It was impossible… did he heard him correctly? Once he found his voice again, he began to speak with a cracking voice.

''…What? I… I have cancer?'' He said his voice weak. The doctor slowly nodded. ''But-but it's impossible! I just hit my head, that's why I'm here! But other than a bump to the head because of the fall, I feel fine! I would have noticed, or… or…'' He gulped, and then spoke again. ''How… how much for an operation?'' He asked, still hoping it wasn't too late. The doctor hung his head and rubbed his bald head.

'' …''

''No.'' He said, refusing to hear the truth.

''I'm sorry… But there're too many tumors in the brain. We can't remove them all.''

The doctor felt truly sorry for a patient as young as him and a bright future awaiting him. It wasn't fair for him.

''How long?'' He said, his blue eyes shining with tears.

''I can't be sure. It can be months from here… or weeks. But I give you… six months, tops.'' He said the last part as gently as he could.

''It's not possible!'' He was still in denial. '' I'm only nineteen. I have so much to do! I'm not dying!''

When Kurt controlled his anger and sadness, the doctor spoke again.

'' … Kurt,'' he said at least, trying to be as close to his patient as possible, ''With the treatment here, you can live for a couple of more months, a year even.''

''No.'' He said coolly. ''I don't want to be stuck in a hospital bed for the rest of my life and looking sick with the treatment and it would cost a lot.'' He said. ``I'm not going to put my dad trough this, through another cancer,'' he whispered more to himself then the doctor.

-X-

Fat tears were streaming down his pale face. Sobs were shaking his frame, but he didn't care if the whole building heard him. He was in pain and for once, he wanted people to see it. It was impossible, he told himself. He took care of himself all his life, he ate healthy food, he didn't drink, didn't smoke, didn't throw himself around.

He suddenly went to his tiny bathroom and retching into the toilet. When he came back into his living room/kitchen, with his eyes even bluer because of all the crying and the redness of his eyes, he took his big scrapbook and turned the pages. He saw tons and tons of recipe, ones he knew he wanted to put on his menu one day, and ones he didn't even try yet. The tears were coming again, because he knew now he couldn't do it, he couldn't open his own restaurant. He came to a page, and then he stopped, frowning. Santana Lopez was on this page, stunning as ever with a cocky smile. (a picture he took from Google.) Besides the picture, they was Casablanca's Grant Hotel, where she worked and where the fanciest and richest people came to have a good time. It was a place where Kurt dreamed to go one day, but he knew he never will, because it wasn't his place. He was simply a culinary student with a teacher that hated his guts, living in a tiny apartment where the rats are king and was working in a filthy restaurant just to pay the rent.

But then, it clicked.

Above Santana's picture, there was something written in silver marker.

If She can, I can.

Of course, he wrote that in his teenage years when Santana was just beginning to get famous in the culinary world, but he was such a fan of her already. He was silly at the time, thinking that he would just have to come in New-York and boum! Success after success. But now, what did he have to lose? He will die so why not pursuing his dreams while he could?

Little did he know that the Santana's picture will change his life forever.

Kurt sat in the plane, breathing deeply. This is the best thing to do, he thought. He booked a flight for Switzerland to go to the Casablanca's. He just hoped he won't regret it.

''He dad. It's me… I-I just want you to know that I'm still alive,'' he said it as a joke but it came with a shaky voice. ''And I'm okay, so don't worry about me. I'm a big boy, now, hein? Daddy… you always told to follow my dreams. I know that you are going to worry about your nineteen years old boy, but I need to do it. Please, don't be mad. You took such good care of me, now it's my turn to look out for me. I'm… going to Europe for a little while. But I'll see you soon, okay?'' His voice cracked. ''I love you, dad.''

Kurt couldn't help but thinking about his message for his father. He didn't know if it was too formal, or if it was enough. Either way, it sounded like he was going to die tomorrow. In a way, he was. But he refused to dwell on his pain. He cried, but he didn't want to die in a depressive way. He was going to see the world, to taste one of his biggest dreams.

''Hey, guys. It's Kurt… I…'' He took a deep breath, and then continued. ''You know how the world is big, right? There's so much to see, so many… things to touch. I learned far too soon for my liking that I don't have all the time in the world to do what I want to do in my life. So… I'm not in New-York anymore. I'm somewhere I wanted to be for a very, very long time but I never had the guts to go. Don't try to find me and don't contact me. I'm fine, I promise. It's just… a little vacation. It'll be cool if you take care of my apartment while I'm gone. I know that I don't have much, but it could be nice if I don't have a rat nest when I'm back, you know? I don't know when I'll be back, but surly not for a little while. And Rachel, as the mother hens I know you to be, yes, I have enough money. I've got that… covered. Don't worry. Bye guys… I love you.''

Finn and Rachel were one year older than him, so they moved to New-York before him and even if he considered them like his closest friends, Rachel tended to play the big sister, sometimes. It's annoying, really.

But he liked both of them with all of his heart and leaving them is one of the hardest things he ever did. But when he looked outside the window and see the clouds surrounded him, he thought about The Casablanca's and Santana Lopez, and smiled.

-X-

Blaine Anderson rolled over in his bed, panting. When he was in control of his breathing, he looked to his left and saw the man besides him naked. He rolled his hazel eyes and signed deeply.

''That was… that was so good.'' The man said, smiling bashfully and looking up to the freshly painted ceiling in a beautiful and creamy beige color.

''Yeah, I know,'' Blaine said pensively and stood up and walked all the way to the impressive set of windows that overlooked the mountains surrounding the area. His room – his chambers- offered him a splendid view of nature. He lights up a cigarette and opened a window to let the smoke escaped and a small breeze entered and Blaine inhaled deeply. ''Show yourself out,'' he said, not looking behind him, nor intimate to still be naked in front of someone else.

Instead of a closed door, the man came behind him and Blaine could feel his not erected penis against his leg and the man touched his shoulders with his firm hands. ''You're up for round two?'' he asked with a coy smile. Blaine rolled his eyes; it wasn't the first time he had to deal with a guy who always wanted more, always wanted something deep and profound.

''You're a good lay, I have to admit,'' Blaine said, shrugging. ''But that's it,'' he turned around just in time to see the man's smile disappear. He couldn't be older than his early twenties. ''So pack your shit and leave.''

''But…''

''No buts,'' Blaine said, his cigarette between his lips as he dressed himself from the clothes scattered on the floor. ''I have other stuff to do and I never have the same ass twice or else, I'll get bored,'' Blaine explained.

The blond man stood there for a minute, registered the fact that he overstayed his welcome in this luxurious suit. He shouldn't cry; not really. He knew what he was dealing with, whom he was dealing with, but at the time, with those warm eyes looking lustfully at him, how can he resist? How can he resist when THE Blaine Anderson wanted you? He was a public image, you don't turn it down, but people falling for his charm always wished to be someone special to him. But people knew all along that Blaine Anderson didn't love, he seduced.

Now, being awake from the passion of last night and the fog replaced by clarity, the man saw reality.

''You're just a whore,'' the man scoffed as he dressed himself as quickly as he could with a frown.

''And you're just an easy slut if the way you threw yourself at me last night is any indication. We're even.'' He replied coyly. The other man was agitated.

''Just wait- everyone will know who the true Blaine Anderson is and you won't…''

''Oh, come on,'' Blaine said as he crawled on the bed to be face to face with the upset man. ''People already know who I am and what I do.''

''And I'm sure you're proud of it,'' the man sneered in his face and Blaine only smiled, nodding.

''And you, on the other hand…'' he whispered hotly in his ear as he squeezed his ass. ''I'm not sure if your father, whose the mayor of this beautiful city, will appreciate the fact that his son loves cock and likes to get pound into the mattress.''

''You… You wouldn't… you…'' the man didn't finish and just left the room, but before he could close it firmly behind him, Blaine was laughing and throwing his arms in the air as he yelled: ''Welcome to the Casablanca's hotel, baby. Daddy made sure that we get a warm welcome to the newcomers!''

As the door closed, he threw himself on the massive bed and smoked until it was time to make an appearance.