"You're coming next week, right?" Kurt's voice snapped Blaine out of his thoughts. He barely even remembered answering the phone. How did it get into his hand, anyways? Did he even say hello? What was he talking about, again?

"What?" He asked dumbly, still in a dream state between his jumbled mind and reality.

"New York? Next week? Please tell me you didn't forget about the plane tickets I got you for your birthday. Blaine, every time I organize a way for you to come visit, you always have an excuse not to. You're the one who said I've been ignoring you but whenever I attempt to—"

"Kurt," he cut him off, "Kurt, calm down. Of course I'm going down. I just… I didn't hear you the first time."

His voice sounded dead even to himself. The truth was, he did forget about his trip to visit his boyfriend at NYADA, but it wasn't because he was busy or had a bad memory. It was because of the frantic information filling his brain. With that much to think about, he could barely remember his own name anymore.

"Oh, um, sorry." Blaine could practically hear Kurt's eyebrows creasing in confusion, "Blaine, honey, are you okay?"

"What? Of course I'm- I'm fine, just really stressed out." He tried his best to laugh, but it came out more of a sob.

"Blaine?" Kurt asked again, sounding more concerned.

"I said I was fine, okay? I'm just fine." He could barely blurt out the words. He wasn't fine. Not at all. But he couldn't tell anyone, not yet at least. He was finally 18 and, if he didn't want to, he didn't have to tell anybody. He didn't even have to accept treatment.

"You don't sound-"

"Hon, I have to go now. I'll call you later." Blaine rushed, hanging up without so much as an "I love you". Kurt tried to call back. Blaine sent him to voicemail.

He was too busy sobbing in the hospital parking lot, locked in his car to have an afternoon chat. Even if it was Kurt.

Kurt.

How was he supposed to tell his boyfriend that he-

No. No he couldn't. Kurt would book a plane ticket out of New York and drop out freshman year of college. He would ruin his life, coming back to Lima for the rest of the year. So he couldn't tell him anything. That was that.

But just the thought, of having to go through it alone, made Blaine cringe. He could tell his parents, but they weren't exactly helpful halfway around the world and hardly sober on workdays. Cooper was always an option, but he was finally getting to his dream. Commercial acting wasn't exactly movie star material, but it was something Blaine couldn't take away from his big brother. New directions would make a fuss. They would force him to check into the hospital. They would call Kurt. They probably wouldn't even let him compete with them. He only had so much time left to enjoy performing. He wasn't risking that either.

Trying to pull himself together enough to drive home, Blaine clutched the result papers, crinkling them up. It was the only other sound beside his cries filling the all-too-empty car. Hot years poured down his cheeks, and he could feel himself choking to death. He was crying too hard to breath, too hard to see through his own tears.

He was practically killing himself before the cancer had the chance. And Maybe that wasn't a bad thing.

Don't think like that, he chastised himself, you don't know that. You can't know that.

But he did.
"You have stage IIIA Lung cancer." the doctor had said, his face grim, "even with treatment, the rate you'll live just 5 years is somewhat slim."

"How slim?" Blaine asked, keeping any and all panic from his voice.

"14%" the man had to avoid eye contact.

14. Only 14 out of every 100 people would live past 5 years. And even if he lived that long, there was no guarantee for 6.

When his breath finally regulated, something that probably wouldn't happen after this thing had progressed, he thought maybe he could think straight. How did he even get fucking lung cancer? He was eighteen, he didn't smoke, he exercised...

But there he was, fingers wrapped around the crumpled sheet with only one relevant thing- lung cancer. 14%.

That was it. He'd be lucky if he made it to college with Kurt next year. Lucky if he'd be healthy enough to even catch a plane there in a year. Lucky if he was alive next year in general.

He started driving before he could change his mind and end up another hour there. He sped down the road as fast as his engine would let him. And when he got home, he stashed his papers in the bottom of a drawer and tried to forget they were there.

"Five years without illness, you're considered cured," the doctor had informed him, trying to sound optimistic.

He should have seen it sooner. The coughing, harsh and frequent mixed with his on and off fevers. The fatigue always taking over his bones, making it hard to even wake up in the morning. The pressure built in his chest for weeks. He thought it was just anxiety, from Kurt moving away and his parents leaving him deserted for a year.

Apparently, he'd been wrong.

Blaine shuffled numbly into his house, trying not to let everything consume him. We could barely make it up the stairs to his bedroom without passing out. Shock, he was going into shock. He sat at his desk, just staring at the hardwood table, listening to Kurt's ringtone play over and over again.

Eventually, when Kurt hadn't failed to stop calling, Blaine had to pick up.

"Hello?" He sighed, knowing he was about to get an earful.

"Blaine? Oh my god, you can't just hang up on me like that! I know you're stressed but," he took a breath, "you sounded like there was something wrong," his speech was slower now, more calm and willing to listen.

Tell him, Blaine demanded of himself, Now's your chance to tell him.

"Well, Kurt," he started, but his voice wouldn't let him finish. He just made this chocking noise, not quite a sob, but like something an animal would utter.

"Yes...?" Kurt murmured, after minutes of dead air.

"Um, my dad called before you did," he bluffed, "He had some serious things to talk about. You know we don't see eye to eye on things."

That much was true. Blaine and his homophobic father never seemed to tolerate each other. Every conversation always somehow made it back to the topic of Blaine's sexuality in a somewhat negative manner,

"That's all?" Kurt sighed in relief, "I mean, it sucks, but it's nothing new. We can learn to look past it. He can't change the way we feel about each other. He can't change that fact that you're coming to live with me. He won't change anything, and you know it. We'll even look at apartments while you're here."

"Right." Blaine smiled, but his voice broke. Tears filled his vision again, his face scrunching up, making it hard to see anything in front of him but it didn't matter. All he could see anyways was the future he wouldn't get. New York with Kurt, buying an apartment and finishing college, getting married, adopting kids. The jobs he wouldn't have, the people he wouldn't meet. He would never see his 50th anniversary, hell, he wouldn't even see his wedding day. All because of a number. 14.

"Are you... Are you crying?" Kurt asked softly, "Baby, what's wrong? Blaine?"

But Blaine couldn't answer him. Not without spilling everything, anyways. So instead he just said

"I'll see you next week."

"Blaine, don't you dare hang up on-"

But he wasn't listening. He held the phone away from his ear, his thumb hovering over the end call button. He didn't press it. He couldn't. Who knew how long he'd be able to listen Kurt's voice?

"I'm not—I'm not hanging up." Blaine sucked in a shaky breath.

"It has to be more than your dad," Kurt whispered, more to himself than Blaine.

"I just had a really bad day." That had to be the understatement of the century.

"Tell me about it," he soothed, "rant here. I'll listen, no judgment, right?"

Blaine couldn't find his voice. He couldn't will his mouth to form the words

Kurt, I'm sick, he tried to say, I'm dying.

But they just wouldn't come out. So he did what he always did when he got in a tough spot. He plastered on the infamous Blaine Anderson smile, plastic as could be, and let the mask take over his emotions.

"I'll be okay," he said as reassuringly as he could manage, "I haven't been feeling well, you know that. It was just a lot of stress. I have an exam tomorrow and I'm not prepared at all. My dad's phone all pulled me over the edge. After I get some sleep, I'll be okay."

"You're sure?" Kurt sounded skeptical, "you can't work yourself so hard, honey. It'll kill you."

If the cancer doesn't kill me first.

"Yeah, I know. I have to be more careful," His face hurt from the forces smile, "starting with some sleep."

"Of course. Call you in the morning?"

It wasn't even that late, only six thirty, but he needed the excuse.

"Yeah. Yeah, and Kurt?"

"Hmm?"

"I love you." It was a struggle to keep his voice from crackling.

"I love you too."

When he phone went dead, Blaine couldn't tell which emotion was more dominant: the relief, or the loneliness.