Two years ago- May 28, 2000.
Blaine Anderson stood out on the balcony of his shitty apartment and stared at the scene below him.
It wasn't anything pretty. Trash littered the streets. Homeless men and women were either sleeping or digging through the trash. A few policemen were prodding the sleeping ones, yelling at them to move and find a job. The rest were beating the ones sifting through the trash with clubs.
Blaine felt strangely detached. He usually had compassion for people, but he was still in shock. So goddamn numb.
All because of a piece of paper. A piece of paper that signed his death certificate and confirmed his worst fears.
He was HIV-positive.
X-X-X-X-X
This wasn't how life after high school was supposed to be like. They were supposed to be acing their classes, hitting up the biggest parties, and living out the best years of their lives. No money, rat-infested apartments, and canned soup wasn't part of the plan.
And this? They definitely hadn't thought of this.
Santana held her best friend as he cried into her shoulder. She felt panic and hysteria build up, but she forced it down and hugged him tightly. "Shh, it's okay," she whispered, rubbing his back. "We'll get through this together."
X-X-X-X-X
Kurt Hummel quietly slipped into his apartment and headed toward his room. He needed to make a silent escape, one that didn't involve difficult questions. He quickly threw all his clothes and things into a suitcase, debating whether or not to leave a note.
No, it's better to make a clean break.
With that thought, Kurt dashed out of the apartment and vowed never to come back.