A/N: I'm just gonna leave this here. C:

Sorry about this chapter being shorter than the others, though. D:

Part Three.

"Hello again, Lilah," I greet with an open smile. I place a card on her bedside table. I blush a little. "I drew it myself because I find homemade cards more thoughtful and sincere than store-bought ones. But I'm not a very good artist; I can really only draw cats. And sometimes dogs," I tell her.

She laughs and picks it up, reading it and admiring my childish illustrations. "Aw, I think it looks adorable. Thank you, Kurt," she says. She yawns, and her eyes have bags underneath them. "Sorry, I'm kinda tired today. My pain has been worse lately, so they've been giving me something to lessen it, but the drug makes me sleepy."

"And yet you look like you haven't rested," I remark with a slight frown.

Lilah nods. "That's because I haven't. I'm sleepy, but when I try to sleep, I can't fall asleep entirely because there's still a dull ache that won't go away, and it makes it impossible to get comfy enough to sleep when I lay down."

"I'm so sorry," I say, placing a hand on her shoulder for a moment.

Lilah shrugs the sentiment off. "Please don't say that. It's not like it's your fault."

I inhale sharply and hold my breath for a moment as I nod my head once, leaving it bowed. "No, but… I think there might be a way to help. The other day after I left your room I went and spoke to a few people in the hospital. And I set up an appointment today to get a few tests done."

Lilah is only a freshman in high school, hardly very experienced in certain things, but she knows medical procedures and is quick to pick up on my drift. "You didn't! Kurt, even though I appreciate the idea, you can't seriously have –"

"It's no use, Lilah; I already did it. I just came from the appointment." I raise my sleeve and show her my arm, where some of my blood was taken for testing. There's a band-aid in the crook of my left elbow.

She stares at it, and suddenly her eyes fill with tears. They quietly drip down her face. "You're a really generous person, Kurt. Too nice for your own good." She sniffles and looks up at my eyes. "Can you come here so I can hug you?"

"Sure," I answer softly. I get out of my seat and wrap my arms around her slim shoulders.

She sniffles again, and I can feel her tears through my shirt, warm and damp. "Thank you. You're hardly know me, but you're willing to help me."

"Of course I am," I tell her. "And to be honest, it's not just for you."

She breathes a small chuckle and releases me. I sit down again and see the amusement on her teary face. "Yeah, I guessed that. You're doing it for Dave and my dad, too. You want me to be all right for their sake and not just mine."

"Exactly," I say quietly.

"…That so?"

Lilah and I both turn to find Dave standing in the doorway of the ward, an odd expression on his face that is a mixture of too many things for me to put a name to it.

"I thought I saw you through the window in the door," Lilah says meekly. "I just wasn't sure."

"It was me all right," Dave utters slowly as he enters the room and closes the door behind him. "And am I getting this right? You did something, Kurt, and it was for Lilah… and me?"

And he looks a little more than concerned, his face tinting pink in the cheeks and a frown on his brows. I clear my throat and stand, facing him fully. "Um, yes. That's right. I went and got tested today to see if I am a match for her liver."

"You… what!" Dave bursts, and he sputters something for a moment before getting out, "How could –! –Do your parents even know?"

I take a small step toward him and ignore the anxious feeling I'm sensing behind me, coming from Lilah's cot. "Yes, both my dad and step-mom know, Dave. I told them right after I made the appointment, within enough time to cancel. But they told me that I'm over eighteen, which means that I can make decisions for myself. And that if I wanted to help Lilah, I could."

"But Kurt, you –"

"I care about Lilah," I tell him calmly, "And I care about you. I happen to be one of those people who give a damn once they've met someone and been introduced to their family, so you have to let me do this if I happen to be a match."

David sighs and runs a hand through his short, brown curls. His hazel eyes are glazed with unshed tears. There is suddenly a wobbly smile on his lips, and somehow I find the day-old stubble around his jaw and the quirk on his beauty mark from the shallow smile extremely attractive in this fraction of time. "This is way beyond my maturity level, dude."

I laugh a little, and so does Lilah. She smiles at the pair of us and looks relieved and also a little bit like she's watching a dramatized version of an old romantic comedy. But that's ridiculous; it must be my imagination.

Tension dissolved, Dave moves to come sit near us. "Goddamn. I thought I had you pegged, Kurt, but I should've known better. You're one of those self-sacrificing types, aren't you? The sort of guy who is too good-natured and too full of high morals to be real, and yet is. You religious, too?"

"Not in the least," I smile. "I might have been at one time, but that was before I love my mother and before I found out what the Bible says about gays."

"Yeah, I can understand that. But me? I like to have faith in something bigger than myself, gay and motherless myself or not," Dave remarks as he leans back in his chair. He looks over at Lilah and reaches out to shake her knee playfully, but gently. "How you feelin', kiddo?"

"Like I could really use some chocolate," Lilah whines. "But they won't let me have too much sugar or anything! They say that I have to keep my diet 'clean' for right now. What does that even mean? My liver is failing, I'm not diabetic! My kidneys are fine! Uhg."

Dave just laughs heartily and gives her a peck on the forehead after leaning out of his seat. "You'll get over it. Know why?"

"Humph. Why?" she says, playing along.

"Because as soon as you're all better, I'm taking you out for chocolate ice cream. My treat," Dave tells her once again in that foreign, sweet tone he only uses with her.

"It's a date," she smirks. She gives him a weak punch in the (toned, but not that I'm looking) bicep. "You are seriously the coolest college-aged brother anyone could have. Most college guys in general are just… well, big drunks and potheads and slobs, but not my brother~! –And not you either, Kurt, of course," she adds with a wink. She yawns again. "Ohh, and there goes my burst of energy. I'm gonna crash again."

"Finally tired enough to sleep, huh?" I say.

"Yeah," she says. "Thanks for visiting, you two. And tell Dad to get some sleep, Davey, because I know that he isn't. He must be a zombie at work."

"I will," Dave promises. He ruffles her hair – earning a, "Really, Dave? Really? I'm not a little boy! –And I haven't showered yet, so now it's gonna look all gross!" from Lilah – and then we leave the room at the same time. I give one last wave her wait, and even through her finger-combing she smiles at me and waves back, mouthing, 'thank you' as an afterthought just as I close the door.

"So," I propose as casually as possible while Dave and I pace out of the hospital, "Would you like to have lunch with me? I was planning on finding a Panera Bread somewhere for some soup and much-needed chai tea."

He chuckles a tad embarrassingly and shoves his hands into his jacket pockets. "I actually have practice to go to in a few hours –"

"Aw, come on. You need something to eat to fuel those fires. I'll pay," I say, still trying to keep it casual. He needs a pick-me-up, and, well… I won't lie: I kind of like him.

And for once, the odds are in my favor, because he's within my sexuality and type range. – Yes, I'm a bit shallow; I like jocks. Sue me, but I have a thing for height and muscle, both of which Dave has on me, even if the height is by mere inches and the bulk is also part chub, but it's just a comfortable layer around his muscle, nothing unattractive. Quite the opposite, really, and I can't get it out of my head that I was lucky enough to meet a guy in college who's sweet and gay. Unlike many of my crushes in the past during high school and parts of junior high when all the guys I like were either sweet and straight or a jerk and straight, but always, always athletic and attractive.

So yeah, I just met him earlier this week and I already like him, and he might only want to stay friends, but I can't help it; I want to spend more time with him.

Dave takes one long, sideways look at me before he caves in with a sigh. "All right, all right. But it has to be quick, okay? Like a drive-through at a fast food place. And then I need to get going so I have time to change and stuff before practice."

"Can do," I assure him. "MacDonald's it is."

"I prefer Wendy's."

"Wendy's it is," I correct, laughing. "And to be honest, I prefer Wendy's myself on the few select occasions that I actually indulge in fast food."

"I knew you must be a health nut," Dave laughs as we step out onto the pavement of the parking lot from the hospital sidewalk. "You're so skinny."

"I'm not skinny, I'm lithe," I retort huffily. "Being 'skinny' implies that I am too thin and almost sickly. I am perfectly healthy and I actually have some muscle, thank you. Enough to climb up onto and hang upside-down from monkey bars."

"Okay, okay; I take it back, then," Dave says with a falsely defensive tone and a smile in place. He laughs a little at my expense, and I feel myself pouting. "But really, I didn't mean to, like, offend you. You're just… I dunno, you look like you really don't eat out much unless you're ordering a salad. I, on the other hand…"

"What are you talking about? You look fine," I answer immediately, but a slight rise in blood on my cheeks betrays me. I had, after all, just been thinking about his build seconds ago.

He snorts. "Whatever you say," he tells me. "But whatever. I just have self-image issues. I'm such a girl." And this last bit is said with heavy resentment and disgust.

"Nonsense. Everyone has insecurities, but looks should never be one of them, in my opinion. Unless you count fashion; then it counts quite a bit. But the face and body people are given and how they choose to treat both is up to them, so no one should sit there and feel like they have to be like anyone else, if you understand my point."

"I think I do," Dave mumbles, shrugging. "But what that mostly sounded like was a bunch of crap. Everyone fusses over their looks, and with good reason. Because half the time, they can change how they look, but they're too lazy or depressed or both to do it. I happen to be the lazy sort."

"But what do you expect to look like? Me? Or a body-builder or model? That's impossible, Dave. Your body isn't built like mine, and body-building and modeling is hazardous to one's health, and isn't always attractive. So please, do me a favor and drop it. We're getting fast food, both of us, and we're going to share a laugh and forget about everything depressing and moot for the time being," I inform him with finality, and Dave raises both hands in the air in mock surrender as we reach our cars.

"Whoa, whoa! Okay, Kurt! God, you're a fireball. Remind me not to set you off again," Dave says, and there's a hint of a smirk in his voice even without one being on his face.

"Yeah, you better not," I tell him. I look at my car and notice that his isn't too far away. "Hey, did you park near me on purpose?"

"Um, sort of. I was looking for empty spots on this half of the hospital since my sister is here, and I spotted your license plates. I remember them from when you gave me a ride here the first time. I remember thinking, 'What guy in his right mind has the word 'diva' worked into his personalized plates?'"

I laugh and pat the hood of my car. "I can see that. I chose it when I was freshly sixteen with a driver's license, and that's back when I was a lot less mature and a lot more into becoming a famous Broadway star one day."

He cocks his head to the left a bit and shrugs. "Well, why aren't you?"

"I couldn't get into NYADA," I sigh. "There were other schools I could try with good programs, but then I found out that my best friend, Rachel, applied here, so I did the same, because I didn't want to be alone at a school anyway. And besides that, I realized that my true passion was in fashion and design, not necessarily in singing, even though I sound pretty good, if I do say so myself." I smile here, and Dave does the same.

"I bet you do. I mean, I kinda like to sing, but I'm more of a in-the-shower or in-my-car sort of singer than someone who can make it big. Plus, I love football too much to leave it. But hey, it's cool that you can sing and that you can, like, design clothes. I don't really have any talents like that," Dave says simply. He points a thumb back at his car. "So am I tailing you, then? 'Cause it's not like I'll have time at this rate to come back for it and still make it to practice."

"Oh, uh, yes. Follow me, and we can go in together, order, eat, and depart," I say, waving my hands in the air for a moment as I turn and unlock my vehicle.

"Cool," Dave agrees with a smile, and soon, we're starting our cars and heading out of the parking lot, tagging along with one another, nearly having a race.

I make it to Wendy's first, but only by milliseconds. Once inside, Dave orders something disgustingly full of meat and empty calories (a triple-stack Baconator with medium fries and a large chocolate Frosty-float mixed with root beer), whilst I order something simple and not quite as fattening (two five-piece chicken nuggets and a diet Sprite).

"That's all your getting?" he says with a laugh as we take our trays of food and sit down at a small table for two.

"Well, yes. It was either this or one set of nuggets and one small fry, but without a vanilla Frosty to dip my fries into, I find them useless," I return as I pop a nugget into my mouth.

"…Then why not just get the damn Frosty?" Dave wonders.

"Oh, I couldn't. I already had my sugar intake for the day when I had some sugary cereal this morning," I say quietly.

"Oh, my God. I swear that I am never going to bother to eat 'healthy,' because that is just ridiculous. How many times to you go to Wendy's?"

"Not often," I say shyly, looking atg my food and not his face.

"Then you should at least get one of those mini-Frosties! The ones that are, like, four bites in total. That's it, I'm getting you one," he says, and stands from the table. "And a dollar-menu fry, too."

"What? David, no –" I protest, but he's already halfway to the register.

I sigh and move one of my cups of nuggets to his tray. He can have them if I'm going to eat what he's buying for me. I pick up my soda and sip at it. At least this is diet; I feel less guilty about that.

"Here," Dave says, handing me a small vanilla Frosty and the tiny paper bag of fries. "And why are your nuggets on my tray? You bought 'em, so you're eating 'em, too. I dare you." And he smirks.

"What! I am above dares," I retort.

"You're in college, Kurt. And in my book, that means you're still in the dare-taking age range. So g'head, chow down. I bet I can finish all my good before you can even get to your second round of nuggets," Dave challenges, smiling broader. "Act like a college boy for once and pig out."

"While everything you just said is completely absurd and offensive, I am going to prove you wrong," I tell him with narrowed eyes. "You have way more food than me, which means I can certainly finish before you."

"You're on," Dave says, laughing. "But I'm a champ at scarfing down food, Kurt. I've had years of practice."

"We'll see about that."

And sure enough, in way too short of time – mere minutes, which is sickening, really – I am able to consume all of my chicken nuggets, fries, and Frosty. I'm sucking down on my soft drink to wash it all down while Dave is still on his last three French fries.

"Damn! I've never seen a little guy like you pack it away so quick! I must say: I am impressed," David laughs. He drinks his Frosty-float down the remainder of the way and scoops out the last bite of ice cream in it as it he does so. Then our trays are empty of food and I have only felt this full during Thanksgiving. I'm almost sick, because it feels like a rock in my gut already, but at the same time, I feel a little smidge of dumb pride and victory, so I smile and bear the slight discomfort.

"And I must say: I am disgusted. I have never acted so much unlike myself before. If I never do it again it will be too soon," I groan, and Dave smiles even broader. I smile back, however, because he looks so cute like that, spirits lifted and mind eased.

"Oh, shit," he says suddenly, looking to his watch. "If I don't leave right now, Coach will kick my ass. I'm already on thin ice for leaving a game before. I hate to eat and run, but I'll see ya soon, 'kay, Kurt? Thanks for lunch."

"No problem," I say as I look up at him. He's standing and slinging on his jacket, taking his tray to dump on the way out. Once he's gone, I'm picking up my tray and dumping it into the trash myself, placing the brown tray where it goes. I feel a little foolish as I slink back out into the parking lot toward my car. I had gotten what I wanted – I cheered up Dave – but I think part of me was hoping that us going to lunch would turn into a date, but I was wrong. It didn't mean anything, and I wonder, now, if he likes me at all the way I like him. His sister seems to thinks so, but… I don't know.

Sighing, I get into my car and drive back to my dorm. I have some homework I should probably do.

0o0o0

Later that night, I get a text from Dave. He says something about wondering if I wanted to come to his next game (he would pay for my ticket, because student discount or not, it's kind of pricey) and maybe grab a bite to eat afterward. I tell myself over and over as I reply to the text that he means as friends, not as a date. I agree to it, even though I could care less about the football scene. When I ask him where we'll be eating afterward, he just says that he has a place in mind.

And then it's settled. I have my weekend planned for me, and I feel a little bubbly about it.

I only hope that the result I'll get for my tests within the next couple of days doesn't ruin it.

-0-