Thanks to all those who read my story! I'm really sorry about not being able to update this sooner! I really am. I don't know when I'll get to update because of school, and exams, and motherfucking long homework. I'm sorry. Shoutout to OnClairenceLane for being my first ever reviewer! I am honored, *bows*. Thank You!

Hope you enjoy!

Chapter 2: Meeting

"Ugh." Kurt grunted in pain, the locker's metal digging painfully into his back.

Kurt set his lips in a grim line, his heart rate slowly going back to normal. He hated being scared. He hated it. Anger bubbled inside him as he sent an ice-cold glare to Karofsky, who just gave a smug smile and continued walking down the corridor, unperturbed, and disappeared completely in the dense mass of moving bodies.

Kurt exhaled heavily through his nose. He felt humiliated and frightened, and so alone. It never bothered Kurt before, this sickeningly overpowering sense of loneliness. He was losing it. He felt it. He was scared. Kurt felt tired all of a sudden, his energy seeping out of him quickly.

He stood back up; head held high, nose in the air and brushed the dirt off of his designer clothes. He winced internally at the small bruise that he accidentally hit on his thigh. He wouldn't show any kind of weakness while anyone was there to see him. He wouldn't let them see that Karofsky's locker shoves and dumpster tosses affected him. He had his pride after all. He clutched onto the strap of his brown messenger bag tighter and sped off, straight to French.

It was roughly his favorite class, the easiest too. He wasn't in Glee. He had two part-time jobs; on top of that visiting his Father in the hospital took a lot of his time. It would have been nice though. Kurt loved music. He would often sing a Beatle's song whenever he was upset. He learned that from his mother.

Kurt rounded the corner and entered the classroom, sitting in his usual seat next to Azimio.

The dumbass didn't understand a thing about French. Kurt wondered why the gigantic buffoon even took this class. He was even more confused when the idiot suddenly grabbed his arm and announced to the whole class that Kurt was his partner. Kurt was flabbergasted, shocked, and disbelieving, until Azimio shoved him roughly into his chair and told him to do all the work, while he slept soundly in his chair, like a gigantic half-dead sloth.

The moron was dead asleep, a small puddle of drool trickling down his open mouth.

Kurt moved as far away as possible, instantly disgusted. "Wake up you gorilla!" Kurt spat out angrily, in French of course, and kicked Azimio's chair.

He woke up with a start, blinking his eyes sleepily. He yawned loudly, -Eww. He smells like a dumpster. And wiped the drool off his face with his letterman jacket sleeve.

Kurt inched even further and wrinkled his nose in disgust.

"I swear he looks like a gigantic hippo." Kurt thought when Azimio proceeded to open his mouth to form yet another yawn, his garlic breath immediately stinking up the room. Azimio continued to wipe the small pool of saliva on the table with his T-shirt, leaving a large wet stain on the front.

Ew eww eww ew ew!

Azimio glared at Kurt and said: "What you staring at lady face?"

Kurt scoffed and whispered loudly in French: "Nothing but a pathetic excuse for a human being. I never knew monkeys could talk."

Azimio gave him a what-the-fuck-are-you-saying look and spread his arms all over the table, his jacket sleeve still wet from the saliva he wiped off his face, completely knowing that this would tick Kurt off into a mumbling mess and emitted yet another revoltingly, loud yawn.

Kurt crossed his arms and glared at the board. If looks could kill, Azimio was pretty sure that the blackboard would have been on fire right now.

The French teacher was completely oblivious to the silent ongoing battle that was happening right underneath her nose and gave the class a pop quiz.

Kurt grimaced as he tried his best to answer the test and not to ruin his test paper on the left-over saliva that Azimio smeared all over the table.

Looks like it was another sufficiently horrible day for Kurt Hummel.

...

Kurt coiffed his hair back to perfection in the safety of his car, after a particularly painful dumpster throw that both seemed to achieve bruises on his back and ruining his hair. He was going back to the hospital. He decided to skip going to his job as a waiter today. Today was special. Today was a Friday. Kurt felt his heart tighten in his chest at the thought and tried to skimp over to happier thoughts. Child services weren't coming for two more months, even though he was legally, an adult, so Kurt still had time to look for a long-lost relative somewhere. He had at least enough money to pay the bills this month. Kurt nearly had a heart attack on the first time he opened the bills. At least if he had ended up in a comma he would be with his dad, somewhere out there. They'd be together, and Kurt didn't have to go through this torture alone..

The drive to the hospital was silent, Kurt too enveloped in thoughts of money and hospital bills to fill the car with music, either by singing or just reaching out a hand to turn on the radio. It wasn't until he parked his car and stepped outside that he realized it was snowing. He closed his eyes, and let himself get lost in his memories.

HeHHe

"Look Daddy! It's snowing!" little six year-old Kurt said, his breath fogging up the glass. He was bouncing up and down on the tiny chair that held him up to look out the window of their kitchen. It was a miracle he didn't fall off of his chair and hit his head. It seemed as if Elizabeth Hummel thought so as well when she hurried over and took a wide-eyed Kurt into her arms.

"Sweetie, look, you forgot to put a smiley face on the glass." Elizabeth said smiling lovingly at the child that squirmed in her arms.

"But Mommy! It's snowing! It's snowing! Just like on t.v! It's snowing!" Kurt said excitedly, stopping his wriggling to point out the window with wide, amazed eyes.

Burt Hummel laughed fondly and put Kurt's mittens on for him, his large hands covering Kurt's small, delicately white ones. Elizabeth put Kurt back down on the ground and whispered in his ear about snow angels and hot chocolate and snowmen.

"Hold my hand Kurt." Burt said with a toothy smile, his big, mitten-covered hand looked humongous to Kurt, who took it happily and skipped between his parents who swung him forward and backward until they reached the front door, letting snowflakes melt on the tip of their tongues.

Kurt was doing just that when he shuffled quickly out of the snow, his boots being the first to blemish the snow's innocently white surface. He felt the familiar stinging on the back of his eyes and held up his mitten-covered hands to his face, rubbing and huffing to get as much warmth as he could. Kurt smiled sadly at the memory, not even caring for once that the snow had ruined his clothes. Kurt combed his hair free of snow and stared warily at the Hospital's double doors.

Kurt never liked the hospital. Never liked the heavy air of sickness and depressing sadness wherever he went. Ironically that's all he felt right now. Sad and alone. Kurt sighed quietly and frowned. His father wouldn't want this. He wouldn't have liked for him to spend his days in despair. He would have wanted him to smile. To live.

But Kurt lost all purpose to live after his father had his attack. He stood and walked tall and proud in the Halls of McKinley High, but if there was anyone who knew him well enough they would know that it would have all just been an act. The walls that protected him from completely breaking down. He hated being tormented and scared and helpless. But Kurt didn't crack yet. He wouldn't let himself break. At least, not in school. But he felt small vines, the pressure of handling the tire business alone, handling 2 jobs at the same time and keeping up with school work; worming through his carefully built walls. He was nearing his breaking point, and Kurt very much knew it.

He smiled his first genuine smile of the day. He was going to see his father again. That always seemed to put him in a better mood. Even if he didn't reply back, or squeeze his hand…

Kurt bit his lip.

No.

He was not going to break. No.

Kurt strode down the halls, until he reached his father's door, took in a shaky breath, and turned the knob.

Kurt winced at the steady beep of his father's heart monitor. He asks daily about the condition of his father, and they would almost always reply him with a sympathetic, "No change yet. I'm sorry. All we can do is to wait." Kurt tried to put on a cheery smile when he gently set out the containers of food out from his messenger bag. It was a Friday after all and Kurt ate dinner with his dad every Friday.

Kurt tried to make up for the times he missed some days and slept in the hospital room with his father every Friday.

Kurt tried to keep up his smile when he sat beside his father and held his hand.

"Dad." Kurt said shakily. "I brought your favorite today, even though it's healthy." Kurt laughed, and smiled bitterly when it sounded hollow and fake. "Turkey sandwiches."

"I- I'm doing okay. I'm still living alone but it- it's okay." Tears dripped onto Kurt's lap, his smile still plastered onto his face.

"Dad. Dad- I-I'm scared dad. I- I'm scared of doing this alone." Kurt said, clutching tighter to the cold, waxy hand he was holding. His face crumpled and his voice shook with emotions Kurt was too tired to place anymore.

He sobbed and broke down, finally letting his quivering walls crumble and fall, it would take a lot of time for Kurt to build them back up again, but that didn't matter right now.

Nothing mattered at all.

Blaine Anderson was yet again standing in his hospital room, but he was not alone, like before. Frantic bodies ran through and around him in all directions, screaming, whispering, and sobbing. He wasn't surprised that he ended up here again but he didn't expect it. He watched his family members cry for him, he longed to hold them and tell them he was going to a better place, but he didn't know if he was, so he settled for holding his mother's wrist and stroking her hair while she cried.

The normally calm beeping sound of his heart monitor had gone on a rampage, unstopping, frantic, and calming all at the same time to Blaine. It was deafening, and the doctor's commands for more electricity cut through him like a knife. He wasn't going to wake up. Never again.

Blaine watched his body jump slightly on the bed, unresponsive, practically dead. He cried quietly, mourning for the life he dreamed of having, mourning for the friends he would never see, mourning for the people he would never meet, and crying for the people that cried for him, because he fully well knew that if he wasn't on the brink of death right now, these people would never have come and see him. These people if you could even call them that had never thought of him as family. Ever since he came out, he had been known as that "fag" it had almost killed him when he found out about his familial 'identity'. He ran out of the house ashamed and lost with purpose. His mother found him two days later, shivering, and whimpering on a sidewalk, bloody and hungry.

Looks like his mother can't save him now.

He started when he felt an electric shock go through him. He closed his eyes, and let an overpowering sense of calm overwhelm him, and let the mysterious and cliché white light lead him, far, far away.

A blinding white was all Blaine could see, so he shut his eyes tight and tried to look between his open fingers. He was- standing on a cloud?- and different swirls of color erupted from all around him, bursting and sparkling. Stars were seen overhead, and it looked so close, he reached out his hand and caught a shooting star, a small sparkling gem of glitter that dimmed and faded away like what a firework would do on an inky, black sky.

He looked up and saw eyes, could you call them that? They swirled with different colors, changing every second, then Blaine heard a voice, slippery and dazzlingly sweet, telling him to go back, to return to the place he came from, he had to finish what he was supposed to do, the voice said, all the while Blaine nodded with his eyes closed and smiled dreamily, he didn't even know he was crying, when a gentle wind wiped the tears off his face, whispering that he'll come back to this- this place in 200 days.

200 days? What was with 200? Blaine thought, though his thoughts were jumbled up together, memories twisting and turning.

And then all the warmth he felt was gone, the euphoria and the dreamy sensation of floating in mid-air disappeared, and Blaine was left with a suffocating hollow feeling.

He opened his eyes, the smile wiped completely of his face, though the elation of being There was still buzzing in his ears. What remained of his broken heart pounded loudly and heavily, because he was, once again, in a hospital? Blaine thought he was, the depressing, white walls remained the same, and the acrid, stench of alcohol was still in the air, but he was facing a door.

It was a rather ordinary door, so Blaine had no idea why turning the knob filled him with a great sense of right. The door opened silently, and closed in the same way. But Blaine was surprised to not be in his own room. He was looking- staring at a dazzlingly, beautiful boy, the color of his eyes, a deep swirl of grays and blues. They were shimmering with tears, and he had milky, white vanilla skin.

Blaine's chest thudded, his stomach dropped, and his mouth opened in surprise.

"Dad. Dad- I-I'm scared dad. I- I'm scared of doing this alone." The beautifully unreal boy said, clutching onto a hand that Blaine noticed just now. He assumed that he was his father, his hand was waxy and pale, and thin, and Blaine felt that he had to comfort him.

He noticed a pile of sandwiches that seemed to have gone cold, and a pile of pillows on an improvised bed of sheets.

His heart thudded when an overpowering sense of protection told him to hug him, tell him it was alright, everything was gonna be okay.

Blaine hesitantly wrapped his arms around the boy's middle and dipped his head in the boy's neck.

Blaine jumped as far away as possible when he felt the boy's soft skin, and smelled his perfume.

The boy's head whipped around, confused and tired, looking straight at him, when he said:

"Who are you?"

Done. Ha. Sorry. Short chapter is short.

Please review. They seriously make my day a kazillion times better! Please. Also, don't go easy on me. I need as much help as I can get for a beginner so please please pretty please review. I'm begging you. Thank You for reading.