Kurt clenched his hands around the steering wheel.

Rain streaked down the windows and the wipers squeaked against the glass; Kurt watched two freshmen sprint towards the school with a detached interest, sucking his right cheek inwards and chewing on it.

He had to go in. He had to tell Tina. Tell Artie. Tell Mercedes.

He had no idea where he'd begin. He'd spent the entire night trying to figure out what to say. He'd tried to make a joke of it and had asked his dad. He'd ended up sleeping on the couch with his dad–apparently any mention of the leukemia was going to set both of them off into a fit of desperate tears and pathetic "I love you"s–with no answer to his question.

He figured with Artie, the best approach might be a technical, full-of-medical-jargon announcement, and with Tina, a simple request for her to not make a big deal about it might go a long way, but Mercedes was a completely different story.

Not to mention Rachel, who would be devastated if she wasn't included in his tiny list of people-to-tell-that-he's-dying and who, even though it abhorred him to admit it, was actually included on said list.

"Dude, you've got to go in eventually."

Kurt tilted his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes. "I know." Finn reached out and dug his fingers under Kurt's right hand, where the knuckles were turning white on the wheel, and pulled at them until Kurt released it.

"Come on. If you want, I can be with you when you tell them. For, you know… moral support?"

"Yeah. Maybe." Kurt unbuckled his seat and opened his door, sliding from the car before he gave himself a chance to change his mind and drive home.

Finn had come down into their shared room late the night before, apparently having been told to leave him be for a while, and when he'd seen Kurt curled up on his bed, shaking but not crying, he'd turned back around and walked back up the stairs.

"Hey, Mr. Hummel?" Finn hadn't called him Burt since the yelling match in Kurt's room, and until Burt asked him to stop, he'd keep doing so.

Burt and Carole glanced up from the couch, and he'd nodded for Finn to continue, a wary, concerned look growing on his face.

"Uhm, where is Kurt's mom's old dresser?" Carole had simply looked surprised and Burt's eyebrows knitted together.

"Why?"

Finn shifted awkwardly to rest heavily on his right foot, "Kurt told me it makes him feel better sometimes. I thought, maybe, unless you still use it, I could move it down to our room."

The idea of silence being "deafening" had never made sense to Finn, but he'd never had the courage to ask somebody for fear of being stared at like the way everybody stares at Brittany at one point or another, and it had hit him all-too-quickly when Burt's look cleared.

Finn had swallowed, and then winced when it was louder than anything else he'd ever heard.

Burt cleared his throat, and Finn felt ten times worse about what he was asking when he came to the startling realization that Burt was trying not to cry.

"It's the one with the broken door. Left side of the bed."

Finn hadn't expected him to help, so he'd just nodded, turning and climbing the stairs as quickly as he could without making it seem like he was fleeing.

When he had set the dresser down beside Kurt's bed, the other boy had let out a choked laugh and sat up, reaching out to run his hand over it once. He hadn't said anything until an hour later, when Finn was staring at the ceiling and trying to sleep, and Finn hadn't replied, but the quiet, "Thanks," had reached his ears clearly in the too silent room.

Now, Kurt had his arms crossed, almost wrapping around himself like he had when Finn had yelled at him a few weeks before, and was maintaining his uncharacteristically quiet mood. He was walking with Artie towards the cafeteria, and Kurt was beginning to dread sitting down for lunch.

He could imagine it; sitting around with all the original glee clubbers, Kurt would be incapable of avoiding Finn's concerned, encouraging look, and Rachel or Mercedes would be as perceptive as usual and notice it as well and then he'd be forced to tell them even if he wanted to pretend for a little while that he just wasn't sick.

"Kurt!" Kurt twitched, glancing down at Artie with his right eyebrow lifting in a perfect arc, "You've been ignoring me for the past minute. Is something wrong?"

Kurt's mouth went dry. He imagined that all the liquid from his mouth had moved to his hands, but he couldn't bring himself to wipe his hands on his new Jade Howe jeans; a strangled noise escaped his throat instead of a coherent sentence and Artie pulled himself to a stop.

Kurt didn't stop, and he knew he would be ashamed of what he was about to do the moment he decided to do it, but he launched himself at the next flight of stairs.

He heard somebody gasp behind him and Artie called his name, loud and horrified, but he couldn't bring himself to turn around.

Of all places, he hid in the gymnasium. He slouched down against the wall at the top of the bleachers, trying to hide from Sue Sylvester's penetrating gaze. She shouted through the megaphone at the female cheerios, who were practicing a routine for next year that he wasn't involved in.

Brittany waved excitedly at him, her face falling when he barely lifted his hand in response, but he knew there was no way she'd risk the wrath of Sue Sylvester or Santana by breaking out of formation.

He was there for at least twenty minutes–he couldn't be sure–and he spent the time stretching his hand and trying to ignore the fact that joint pain was a symptom of his leukemia.

Artie wheeled into the gym with a solid half hour of lunch to spare. Kurt didn't see him until he'd pushed his chair to the foot of the bleachers, where Kurt was sitting on the second highest bench. Artie folded his hands in his lap and looked up at Kurt, a frown on his face.

Kurt sighed and stood up, turning and examining the back of his pants and wiping off imaginary dust to delay the inevitable. He walked to the stairs and made his way down, sitting down heavily in front of the wheelchair, and Artie pushed a little closer, as if to trap him there.

"I didn't text the girls, because I'm pretty sure your girl would bust some more windows." Artie tried to grin at him, and even though Kurt knew he was forgiven, he couldn't force a smile onto his face. Artie's mouth dropped quickly into a frown, "Seriously, Kurt. What's so bad you had to bolt up a flight of stairs to avoid me?"

Kurt averted his eyes. Sue had dismissed the cheerleaders and they were skipping out in groups of twos and threes; he watched Brittany glance over and nod to herself when she saw him with Artie.

"I don't know how to..." Artie stayed silent. Kurt glanced back at him, ashamed to feel tears welling in his eyes again. This was Artie. If it were one of the girls, or he wasn't at school, maybe he'd feel a little better about crying, but he didn't.

"Hold up. Are you going to cry?" Artie's eyes widened behind his glasses, and Kurt closed his eyes, afraid that he was going to leave. He reached up to brush a tear away, and Artie swore vehemently. It surprised Kurt more than anything–the worst he'd ever heard Artie say was "damn," and that was usually when Artie was talking like he thought he was black.

Kurt didn't even try to brace himself; he just let the words go with the breath he didn't know he'd been holding. "I have leukemia."

He opened his eyes after a moment, staring at Artie through his hair, which had fallen out of place to hang in front of his eyes. Artie's eyes had widened behind his frames and his eyebrows were coming together.

"For real?" Kurt nodded, feeling his upper lip quivering, "Why didn't you just tell me?"

He stared past Artie, focused on not breaking down in tears, and avoided looking at Artie's face. He shrugged, "I didn't know how," he glanced down at his knees, pressed firmly together on the bench, "I didn't want it to be real."

"I think we should skip school."

Kurt twisted his head back up, "What?"

Rachel took that moment to storm into the gym, all clicking heels and determined arm swinging. She spotted them immediately. Kurt stared at Artie's face, eyes wide.

"Girls, I found him!"

Artie rolled his eyes as the other two came bursting through the gym doors, calling out without looking away from Kurt, "I found him, actually!"

"Yeah, but you didn't tell us you were looking…" Rachel trailed off. Kurt didn't look up at her, he kept his eyes on Artie, but he could see her arms drop from her waist, "Is he... Kurt, were you crying?"

Artie saved him, mercifully, "We were just deciding to skip school."

Tina laughed and high-fived Mercedes, who smiled despite the immediate concern that had flooded her features when Rachel had noticed his tears, but Rachel started protesting immediately, "Artie, while I understand that skipping school is a stereotypical and perceived-as-essential part of any student's high school experience, we could get in trouble and I know Kurt has Spanish and I'm sure Mr. Schuester will be worried if he doesn't show up and–"

"Chill, white girl," Mercedes cut across, her voice laced with her usual sass, "Why are we skipping, again?"