-Author's note-

So, this is the first chapter fic I've put up here. It was super sad to write, and I'm just at the first chapter. I'll be a mess by the end of it.

Anyways, I sincerely hope you like it; I really truly appreciate any reviews/comments, so feel free to leave them! I'll try to keep it updated as often as possible.

Enjoy!

DISCLAIMER - I do not own or profit in any way from these characters.

Blaine sat silently on the uncomfortable green chair outside his doctor's office, flipping through the stack of magazines piled high on the table beside him, trying to find something, anything, that looked vaguely interesting. He was awaiting the results of the blood test he had taken only a few days ago. He let out a tired sigh. God how he hated these tests. He had no choice of course; when his and Kurt's relationship became more serious they had both agreed to get routine STI tests. Blaine was used to them by now, but there was no denying the slight nagging feeling of nervousness he had this time. He knew why, deep down. But there was no admitting it. Not to anyone. Not even to himself - especially not to himself.

Blaine tried his best to discard these feelings as he thumbed through his magazine; he had settled for an issue of Vogue which was now two years old. He smirked as he thought of how disapproving Kurt would be of him reading such an out of date copy. Five minutes later Blaine was still flipping through that same magazine; he couldn't get into it the same way that Kurt did. He had seen him read Vogue before. He was always so absorbed in it; scrutinizing each word of each article, each piece of each outfit. Blaine tried to do this, but ended up paying more attention to the male models in the ads. He put down the magazine, now bored of seeing what appeared to be the same article over and over again. Almost simultaneously the door swung open, and out walked a tall blonde woman with a clipboard in her hand. She consulted it before looking up,

"Blaine Anderson?" she called, eyes searching the room.

He looked up at the woman and forced a smile; an attempt to tell her that he was Blaine Anderson without actually having to utter a word. She got the message and smiled back.

"Doctor Hansman is ready for you," she said in a soft, yet quirky tone. Blaine gathered himself and stood up, his legs now almost asleep; he had been sitting down for a good half-hour. He stretched his arms in front of him before sleepily walking towards the door of the doctor's office. His nerves had been almost completely forgotten; it turns out thinking of his beloved boyfriend was all it took to distract him. Well, that and some good looking models. Blaine only had to take several steps before he arrived at the door. He walked past the blonde woman and made his way into the small, stuffy room, completely oblivious as to what was coming next. The door closed behind him, making a soft banging sound - one of the very last sounds Blaine would hear before it happened. For everything else would merely sound like a faint undertone compared to what the doctor was about to tell him.

Blaine stared forward blankly, his vision blurred. The doctor's voice right next to him, though sounding as though it was miles away. The room was spinning. It felt as though the world was crashing down before him. He inhaled a sharp breath and clumsily stumbled backward, dropping down into a nearby chair. He couldn't hear what the doctor was saying, couldn't think straight; different thoughts and recollections all jumbling together in his head, forming one long, depressing feature film. Everything felt dull and numb. His doctor's words were still ringing in his head. '...I regret to tell you...your test...HIV positive...'. Suddenly all those thoughts and feelings he had been suppressing earlier came rushing back to him. That night last summer. The night he had never told anyone about. His mind raced back. Resentment, guilt, regret...

'No one will have to know'...'It'll be fun'...'It's just one night'...

Blaine shuddered as he recalled the all-too-familiar voice in his head. Just one night. One night which, unknown to him, would change the course of the rest of his life. Blaine was all of a sudden overcome with new feelings; feelings of anger towards himself. How could he have been so naive. So inconsiderate. So...so stupid. Beads of sweat were now forming on Blaine's forehead. His heart was thumping hard against his chest. He felt as though he might pass out. Blaine blinked a few times, suddenly aware that the doctor's hand was outstretched towards him, holding a large looking pamphlet.

"Blaine?" The doctor said abruptly, a look of concern in his face.

Blaine took the pamphlet from his hand without looking at it, now wondering how long he had been trying to get his attention.

"This should cover any questions you may have, but if you need anything else - advice, help,...moral support, just come to me, ok?"

Blaine looked up to see his doctor's kind expression. He knew he meant it genuinely - he had been Blaine's doctor since he was a mere eight years old; he had helped him through a lot since then.

"Th-thanks. I will." Blaine managed to stammer out. He tucked the pamphlet inside his jacket pocket and stared glumly at the floor. There was a question that was bothering him - it had been gnawing at him since the doctor told him of his condition. He almost didn't dare ask it, he was so afraid of the answer...

"Doctor Hansman?" Blaine asked warily, his eyes still focused on the floor, not daring to look up.

"Yes, Blaine?"

"I was wondering, just... what's the...what's the...the life expectancy..." Blaine grimaced at the words which were coming out of his mouth. Doctor Hansman took a deep breath; he looked as though he knew this question was coming.

"There's no definitive answer, Blaine. Everybody's different; it really depends on how well your body responds to the treatments, and how well you look after yourself. Someone diagnosed with HIV at an early age could still potentially live a full life-"

Blaine kept his eyes on the ground. Hot tears were now forming in them. 'Could', 'Potentially'. The words were ringing in his head. What if he didn't? What if he didn't live a full life? What if all his dreams were no longer plausible? Going to university, getting married, raising kids... Doctor Hansman seemed to read his thoughts,

"Blaine, you'll be fine. You're a strong, determined young man. You always have been. I can still remember the little curly-haired boy who once sat in this very seat, demanding that I treat him for his strep throat as soon as possible so that he could sing at his school production of Peter Pan. You were so determined to get better before the performance, and you did. You were great."

Blaine managed to smile at the thought of this memory. He looked up to meet the doctor's eyes, only to notice a look of concern in them. The smile disappeared off his face as quickly as it had appeared.

"You're boyfriend-"

"Kurt." Blaine interjected promptly.

"Yes, Kurt. Has he been tested?" The doctor asked Blaine cautiously.

"Yeah, he got tested last week." Blaine replied shortly,

"And has he received his results?..." Blaine's heart plummeted. The thought which now possessed him made him want to bury himself 20 feet underground and never return to the surface. His stomach twisted itself into a thousand untieable knots. Kurt. Oh god - Kurt. Had...had Kurt contracted it from him? A mixture of guilt and worry surged through Blaine's veins.

"...N-no. No. He's-he's not got them back yet." Blaine managed to reply, his eyes now burning hot with the tears which he was trying tirelessly to blink back. The doctor looked concerned.

"Blaine, you do realize that you are legally obliged to inform your partner of your condition as soon as possible. Now, you have several options: provider referral, in which your health-care provider informs your partner for you; dual referral, in which you and the health department notify your partner together; or self referral, in which you would inform your partner yourself. It's your choice."

"I'll tell him myself." Blaine needed no time to consider the other options; he had to tell him himself. He...he needed to explain. The doctor nodded and looked down to scrawl something on the chart he was holding in his hand.

"Ok. Well, we'll schedule another appointment for you and we can look at different treatment options then." The doctor took a look at Blaine and sighed "I'm not going to lie, Blaine, this isn't going to be easy. But we'll try and help you to the best of our abilities. In the meantime, you may want to find someone you can talk to; your parents, a friend, a teacher..." Blaine grimaced at the thought of discussing this with any of the people Doctor Hansman had just suggested, but he nodded and tried his best to look grateful. He stood up, more than ready to leave. He needed to get out of there; needed to be alone. The doctor took his hand with his own and shook it, smiling at Blaine sympathetically. Blaine made a half-hearted attempt to smile back and headed for the door,

"Blaine?" He heard his doctor's voice echoing from behind him. He stood still for a minute, frantically trying to wipe away the tears which were now desperately trying to escape his eyes. He turned back around to face the doctor, not making any attempt to smile this time. He stared solemnly at the space between the two of them, not wanting to make eye contact. He stifled a soft 'yeah' in reply to the doctor, hoping the shakiness in his voice wasn't too apparent .

"This is a tough issue to deal with - for anyone. Especially a boy of your age...Just, know that when I said you'll be fine, I meant it."

Blaine looked up at the doctor appreciatively,

"Thanks."

With that, he turned around one last time and headed through the door and back into the dimly-lit waiting room. He walked past the table piled-high with magazines, past the row of poorly constructed chairs, past the busied receptionist, and out the sliding doors into the car park.

Blaine reached his car and fumbled for his keys. Glad to finally be alone, he opened the door and sat silently in the driver's seat. He took a deep, shaky breath. It was all too much. He was seventeen. He was in high school. The only problems he was meant to be having at his age were getting a D on his geometry test, or not having enough time to rehearse for sectionals - but all those things which he had been worrying about a few days ago seemed stupid compared to this. Blaine's head was now pounding. He couldn't think straight. What was he going to tell his parents; how was he going to tell Kurt? He felt alone and ashamed. What was he going to do? He ran a hand through his thick curls before placing his face in both hands. He did the only thing he had left to do; he cried. He let the tears which had been struggling at his eyes roll down his cheeks. He let them mingle with the beads of sweat which were trickling down from his forehead. He let go of any attempts to keep himself composed, and just cried.

Minutes passed before Blaine finally lifted his head from his hands. He turned to look at the clock, catching a glimpse of himself in the rear-view mirror. He frowned at the man who was staring back at him. He was a mess. His eyes puffy and red, his hair matted, his cheeks hot. He looked away in disgust, turning his attention back to the clock. It was nearly 5:30. He let out a low breath and leaned against the icy glass of the window, the coldness feeling good against his throbbing head and burning cheeks. His heavy eyes closed for a minute before re-opening. He was exhausted. His emotions had completely drained him of all energy. He hadn't cried that hard since he was a little boy. In fact, he'd hardly cried at all. He had always been so concerned with his image; had never wanted people to think of him as weak or pathetic. So he had just concealed any negative emotions. There was always a smile plastered on his face. He had become Always-Cheery-Blaine, and he was happy with that. He didn't want anyone to think otherwise.

His fingers traced the buttons on his jacket. Would they think of him differently if they found out. Would he become Never-Cheery-Blaine. Would people give him constant looks of sympathy, just like Doctor Hansman had. Blaine thought about this for a moment before his eye once again caught the clock. 5:37. He breathed a heavy sigh, straightening up in his seat. He had tried to put off going home for as long as he could. He had been dreading telling his parents almost more than anything. He pictured their reactions; his mother's worried eyes, his father's harsh glare. He put the keys in the ignition and turned them; if he waited any longer he was sure he would be too exhausted to even hold the ability to drive. He tried his best to ignore the knotted feeling in his stomach as he reversed out of the parking spot and onto the road, beginning the journey towards home; the journey towards the unsettling glowers and worried stares that awaited him; the journey towards the beginning of a life that would never be the same.