I should start putting these little author's notes at the top aha.

Why hello. This is the first time I've written like a series so take pity on me ;) I've only written this so far to see how it rolls.

This story is about an illness that a lot of people seem to be, understandably, sensitive about so this is a warning.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

Glass Bones & Paper Skin

Chapter one: Until it Kills

Kurt realised something was terribly wrong when he noticed that Blaine just couldn't keep up in rehearsals any more.

For anyone else, this wouldn't have been odd. Rehearsals were tough, especially with Wes breathing down your neck every two seconds when you sung a syllable wrong or if your little finger moved when it shouldn't have done. It's nothing abnormal. But Blaine always kept up; Blaine was always the star of the show. He sung every note perfectly, moved every single limb in time to the beat, that show stopping smile that could probably make baby unicorns cry at the sight alone fixed in place for every single second. When performing, Blaine Anderson was flawless. Until now. And Kurt was the only one who sensed that something just wasn't right.

First of all, Blaine looked tired. And that was just bad news within itself because Kurt knew that he was the type to start getting ready for bed at 10 o'clock to get a good's night sleep. If there was something that Blaine Anderson liked, it was sleeping. You can't concentrate with a tired mind, he'd say. And waking him up was like stirring a grizzly bear: if you wanted to keep your head attached to its neck, then don't wake Blaine.

Have you been up late playing video games, Blaine? You've been up texting that new boy at Dalton again, haven't you? We shouldn't have bought that TV for your bedroom last Christmas. Why are you tired, Blaine?

No, I haven't, mom. No, mom. It's not him, it's not the games, it's not the TV. I don't know, Mom, I've been sleeping fine. I just don't feel right.

Maybe we should take you to the doctor's, Blaine...

Then there was the vomiting and the nausea and the moments when he had to stop during a dance routine or even during one of the Warblers' infamous impromptu performances and run to the bathroom to throw up his insides and rest his sweaty cheek against the cold tiled floor as his body shook. Kurt would follow him at times like this and rub his back in a motherly way, trying to ignore every prominent bump of Blaine's spine beneath his fingers, whispering comforting words inside his ear that he was going to be okay.

It's my son, Blaine. He just doesn't seem right these days. There's this lump and he's losing a lot of weight... I think something's seriously wrong.

But it was definitely the times when Blaine had to stop and rest during dance numbers because he just couldn't keep up with everyone else, panting heavily, brow shiny with sweat. He tried to blow everyone off with stupid little excuses, eyes lowered to the ground in fear that anyone found out or guessed his secret just due to his eyes.

"The moves are too complicated, I can't keep up."

"It's a little hot in here, I just feel a bit dizzy."

"I didn't have lunch today."

Or even those times when it was time for his solos and his voice would crack and he just couldn't do it.

"I've got a sore throat. I'll be okay in time for regionals. I promise."

Everyone lapped up his words because this was Blaine after all, truthful Blaine Warbler who wouldn't lie to them. But Kurt wasn't stupid and he always kept Blaine in his sights, knitting his brows together as he watched the broken boy bend forward, bracing his hands on his knees as if he'd just reached the end of the London Marathon, or folding his arms across his chest whenever Blaine leant against the wall for support, to take a shaky deep breathe or two, head thrown back with his eyes closed, long dark lashes brushing his cheeks.

Looking back over your test results, Blaine, I'm afraid that I've got some very bad news...

Blaine had managed to fool everyone else, but he certainly wasn't fooling Kurt.

It was a cold December afternoon and Wes slammed his gavel down loudly, signalling the end of the meeting. The rest of the boys chatted animatedly, surging towards the doors, the prospect of a warm dinner and a night in front of the television at home sounding rather welcoming. From across the room, Kurt watched Blaine struggle to push himself up from the sofa he had settled in, sweat dotting his brow as usual, fingers scrambling at the arm to pull himself up.

Kurt crossed the room and held out a pale hand, his chest aching from seeing his best friend inability to cope with even the simplest of tasks these days. Blaine was the strong one out of them both and seeing Blaine physically breaking apart and coming undone at the seams in front of his eyes killed him inside. Blinking like a deer caught in headlights, Blaine glanced at the outstretched hand in front of him, up into Kurt's dazzling blue eyes, a smile playing upon his lips as he pressed his palm into Kurt's light skin, pushing himself to his feet, knees trembling too obviously for Kurt not to see.

He had also noticed how dead Blaine's eyes looked compared to their usual sparkle and the purple marks underneath. Blain winced as he put his weight on the floor, visibly in pain but grin still stuck in place. He was the strong one out of him and Kurt, the one who stood tall these days to make up for the time that he had ran with his tail between his legs. And he had worked too long and too hard to show weakness. He gripped onto Kurt's hand harder for support, the younger boy noticing how it felt as if Blaine had no muscle or fat upon his fingers any more.

They felt like bone. Pure bone. Skin and bones.

He didn't say anything. His interrogation would happen later and it had to be gentle because Blaine looked like he could break at any moment. Fragile like glass and tissue paper. That's all Blaine seemed to be made out of these days.

And bone. Lots and lots of bone.

Kurt made sure Blaine was steady upon his feet before walking with him towards the huge oak doors, leaving their fingers tangled together. The limp that Blaine had seemed to have developed seemed more prominent today and Kurt walked slowly in silence to keep pace with his best friend. Maybe this was worse than initially thought.

Next stop, the Lima Bean. Commence Operation Interrogate Blaine Anderson.

"Blaine, there's something you're not telling me."

Blaine's grip tightened around the cup of coffee settled upon the table in front of him, the writing on the side of it suddenly becoming very interesting so he doesn't have to make contact with that dazzling blue gaze from across the table. The knots in his stomach also tightened, his heart doing the quick step within his chest. So Kurt had noticed... maybe he wasn't so good at this 'strength' thing after all. Kurt couldn't know. This was Blaine's secret. Only his parents and himself knew. They hadn't even broken the news to his little sister Lily yet. Why share the heartache with her too? This was Blaine's pain and Blaine's alone.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Blaine unleashed that smouldering look upon Kurt that he knew just drove him crazy, in hopes to just distract him and make himdrop this. He'd done so well at hiding everything from the Warblers, so hard from his Grandparents when they came over for Sunday lunch, so hard from his sister and his teachers and especially Kurt because, as much as he didn't like to admit it, his love for the boy was no longer platonic. But Kurt needed strength, care and friendship, not love, rough kisses and fumbling hands. He just cared too much to tell Kurt what was up. This would break Kurt. And if he had to see Kurt break, he would surely follow, causing the walls that he had built up, to stop the flood of fear, pain and hurt, crumble down. Blaine just couldn't let that happen.

He had managed to stay strong so far. Even if he was only made out glass and tissue paper. And bone. Lots and lots of bone.

"Don't play stupid. You know what I'm talking about. Something's up and you're hiding it from me... we're meant to best friends, Blaine," Kurt leaned back in his seat, crossing one long slender leg over the over, a disapproving look fixed upon his features. It was always that disappointed look that got to Blaine, making him feel sick right down to his stomach.

"We are! I just... it's nothing. There's nothing wrong." It's something. It's a very big something. And everything's wrong. If I tell you, I don't think you'd be able to cope with the weight of it. Let me just keep this to myself. Please, Kurt.

"Yes. There is. Please stop insulting my intelligence, Blaine. I've been watching you. I've seen you struggling. Just don't lie to me when I full on know that something's up. I'm always honest with you. Whatever's wrong, I can be there, I can help. I promise. I care about you. Trust me."

The smile that followed this small speech made the first crack in Blaine's heart.

"It's not that I don't trust you. It just doesn't matter. And I don't need you worrying on top of that. Now, just drop it, please." Blaine looked sadly up into Kurt's eyes, trying to tell him with his eyes alone that he was sorry that he couldn't tell him, that it was for more Kurt's sake than his own, that he couldn't even bring himself to say the words out loud.

Kurt's smile slipped, clearly not reading the message in the boy across the table's eyes, his knuckles growing whiter as his grip on the table tightened, the volume of his voice rising. "Don't need me worrying? Don't need me worrying? I'M ALREADY SICK WITH WORRY, BLAINE. I'm watching you fall apart and you won't even tell me what's up, when I can fully 100% see that this isn't 'nothing' and it really is 'something' yet you won't even confide in your best friend! What is wrong with you?"

At this, Blaine saw red, like a curtain slowly sliding down in front of his sight, hands beginning to shake. What's wrong with me? You wouldn't want to know, Kurt. Trust me, you wouldn't want to know. I'm doing this for your own well being too and you're taking it as a personal insult?

"I'm not doing this to spite you, Kurt, believe it or not. But I'm doing this for you. I'm trying to get my head around it as it is and you're already jumping on my back because of it. Just let me breathe, Kurt. Let me understand for myself. But I need you step back and realise that yeah, maybe I want to keep things to myself. Maybe there are things that must be kept to myself. And this is one of those things. So what's wrong with me is my problem. I know you care and I know you're trying to help but just lay off. Let me breathe." Blaine rose from the table, pushing the chair back shakily with the backs of his knees. He was angry. He was frustrated. He was tired. He was in so much fucking pain. And when he used that tone of voice, it was so much worse than when he shouted. Just like when his parents turned to him when he first came out all of those years ago and said "we're not angry, we're disappointed."

So much for gentle interrogation. "Look, Blaine. I'm not finished..." Kurt slid his hand across the table as if to reach for Blaine but he was already walking away...

"I am."

Why couldn't Kurt just drop this? This wasn't his life, this wasn't his body...

Maybe I shouldn't have been so harsh... he's only trying to look out for me. But I'm trying to look out for him too...

This would kill him. But not if it doesn't kill me first.