Disclaimer: I own Glee! (Not)

I ran up the steps of the Jones' household. I'd only been once before to pick up Kurt after he'd slept over with Mercedes. We were going to get coffee together that morning. When we'd gotten to the coffeehouse, we'd realized it was closed, and for some reason found it hilarious. I almost started laughing then and there, remembering the moment, the unbridled joy. But just as quickly my breath caught in my throat. That memory opened the floodgates. Everything came rushing back with perfect clarity. Every single beautiful moment we'd had together was coming back to taunt me.

Not yours, they said. And he wasn't. Not anymore.

I pounded on the door with everything I had, trying to clear my mind even the tiniest bit. It wasn't worth it to torture myself right now. I heard some scuffling, and finally a voice.

"Oh hell to the nah. What do you think you're doing here?" Mercedes shouted through the door after identifying me through the peephole.

"Is Kurt there? I really need to talk to him." I was mortified at how small my voice sounded.

"One sec," she replied. I then heard a muffled yell. "Kurt, are you here?" I assumed he had assented because soon the door was swinging open and I was on the receiving end of a withering death glare.

"Make it quick. And if you even think about hurting him in any way, well, you better watch out." I just nodded. It was a testimony to my helplessness that her threat hadn't even registered. I wasn't here to hurt him.

She led me through various hallways in her relatively large house. My mind was picking up on random details: a modern lamp, a shade of paint, the crown molding. Anything to distract me from the next conversation. How could I convince him that I couldn't live without him there? None of my other efforts had helped. What made me so sure this one would?

But I had my answer. Nothing. I had no idea what would happen. I just knew that it didn't matter what would happen as long as I got to see him again. Yes, his vacant stares would kill me. But it would all be worth it just to see his eyes and hear his voice one last time. If that.

We finally stopped in front of a closed door. The accents were inlaid into the simple white door. The handle, a polished silver. I took a deep breath. Go. Just go. But I still halted. I began to panic. This was a horrible idea, what was I doing here? He wouldn't want to see me, he-

"You going in or not?"

I slowly turned the handle, closing my eyes for a moment. When I opened them, I saw exactly the opposite of what I expected.

He wasn't waiting for me. He wasn't sitting primly, his hair done and moisturizing routine complete, about to tell me to go home. His eyes weren't cold and hard. He wasn't smiling that sad smile I hated so much. He wasn't cool, calm or collected.

What I did see frightened me, to say the least. He was curled up on the bed facing the door. His hair was everywhere, his skin looked blotchy, and his eyes were watery. When he peered up at me through his lashes, my heart panged unpleasantly. His outfit looked like he'd been wearing it since at least yesterday, and I barely heard his strangled gasp when he saw me.

"Hey." The word tasted awful, fake, wrong somehow. He didn't respond, he just kept looking at me. After an uncomfortable silence, he spoke.

"What are you doing here?" He sounded betrayed.

I shifted a little bit, uncomfortable. "I kind of…made Finn tell me."

"Made him?" It was too polite, too formal.

"He gets scared easily," I said, running my hand through my hair. I wasn't exactly proud of my conversation with Finn.

His voice dropped. "I'm glad you came. I was going to find you if you didn't, anyways."

"You were?" I asked incredulously. Surely he didn't mean that.

"I thought I could make it." His voice came out in a harsh whisper, rasping. I had to strain my ears to even hear it at all. He thought he could make it. Did that mean he couldn't? That he couldn't make it without- without me? That after everything we'd been through he'd still take me back? My heart swelled with a dangerous kind of hope. The kind that grips you and consumes you and throws logic out the window. I responded hurriedly, taking advantage of the short pause.

"I didn't even try. I never did. It was always you, Kurt. Always." That had made a lot more sense in my head.

He was already shaking his head. "But that's just it. It was always me. You never had a chance. You got attacked twice because it was always me. I thought I was strong enough to let you go, to do what was best for you. Of course it would hurt, but that was expected. 'Time heals all,' or so they say." His tone was bitter.

"It was never best for me!" I said exasperatedly, "Do you know how hard it was for me? Time just made it harder, because every time I went to that damn coffee shop," he looked shocked at my use of the mild expletive, "I would remember everything about us. Every time I walked into Warblers practice I heard your voice. I never stopped hurting. It never got easier. I just missed you so freaking much, it was- I couldn't-" I trailed off lamely.

He looked up at me in wonder. "You- you don't hate me?"

"I could never hate you." It was so true it almost hurt.

"You don't want to leave me? After all I put you through?" his voice was small and shaky, and all I wanted to do was run and throw my arms around him and kiss him senseless. But that wouldn't be right, not after all this time. Instead I focused on putting conviction in my tone.

"Never. I was terrified you would leave me, actually."

"I tried." His voice shook.

"I know," I responded. His eyes were so tortured, and he seemed bent on making things right. But he was giving me the option to stay. And I smiled the smallest smile, because there it was again, that hope that killed, and I was doing nothing to stop it. We just stayed there, eyes locked, until he spoke.

"Blaine?" I'd never loved my name more.

"Yeah?"

"Please don't leave." And he sounded so sad, so broken, that my resolve wavered for just a moment. And it was in that one, golden moment that my body made the decision my mind wouldn't. I made my way to the bed, sitting next to him, and slowly, ever so slowly, I put my arm around him awkwardly. He relaxed into my grip, sitting up. I was slightly surprised when he turned his head into my chest.

"Oh God, I made a hell of a mess of things, didn't I?" he sobbed into my shirt.

"It's okay. We're fine. We're fine now." I rubbed his back comfortingly, and he sank into me the littlest bit more, crying the whole time. I saw Mercedes slowly back up, and I met her eyes for just a second.

Thank you.

She whispered, "Anything for my white boy," and I grinned. Anything indeed.

The things we did for love.

Xxx

"Should I wake him up?"

"No, don't! He only just got back, maybe-" Kurt's voice was cut off by a coughing fit that sounded like it had ripped his throat apart.

"Okay, that's it. I'm going to- oh. Blaine. You're awake."

I'd opened my eyes, looking around blearily. Where was I? Mercedes was looking down at me, a concerned expression on her face. Right. The Jones' house.

"Yeah, I'm awake. What's-" I was interrupted by yet another cough. He was going to lose a lung if he kept that up.

"Kurt? Are you okay?" Real clever, Blaine. Of course he's not okay, he's sick! He-

Mercedes overrode Kurt's weak protest at the same time as interrupting my internal sarcastic rant. "He's been up since four in the morning coughing, but he wouldn't let me wake you up. I'll spare you the details, but this boy is sick."

Four in the morning? What time was it now? Glancing at the clock, I took a minute to comprehend that he'd been miserable for three and a half hours. And he wouldn't wake me up.

I slowly made my way over to his bed, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. I was relatively alert now that I'd stood up.

If I'd thought he looked bad yesterday, I was badly mistaken.

"Oh my God, Kurt! Mercedes, why didn't you do something? Do you have medicine, or a thermometer, or something?"

"Tried it," she replied sharply, "And nothing happened. I gave him Dayquil and his temperature has been around 101 since he woke up."

"I'd appreciate if we didn't talk about me like I'm not here," chimed the lump on the bed. It seemed like his sarcasm was the only part of him not damaged. He looked up at me, and I started. His eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot, and most of his face was flushed a bright red. The few parts that weren't were a deathly pale, and his lips were dry and cracked. He stared up unashamedly, not caring that I'd seen him at his worst. My heart swelled unexpectedly.

As I looked on, more silent coughs attacked his body. When they finally ended, he whimpered quietly, curling in on himself.

"Go," he whispered, though to who it was directed I wasn't sure. Most likely me. But would it really hurt to pretend he'd ever use that tone with Mercedes? Just for a moment?

"No one's leaving, Kurt. I never leave a diva in need, and this boy seems to like you too."

"Well put."

He snorted at our words, then moaned in pain, clutching his stomach.

"I hate life," he groaned, turning away from me.

"Your stomach too?" I threw a panicked glance at Mercedes, "Do you think we should get him to a hospital or something?"

And suddenly Kurt's eyes were watering and the tears were welling up and he looked fully and completely panicked, and Mercedes was sending me the most frosty, withering death glare, and all I could do was take it back. I raised my hands in surrender, backing up.

"Okay, okay, no hospitals. Sorry?"

"Yeah, you better be sorry," her tone was biting. Why had they reacted so strongly? It was just a hospital.

"'Cedes! Give him a break. My mom passed from cancer when I was eight, and we had a recent scare with my dad's heart. He went into a coma," he explained, "It just isn't a place I'd like to go until I absolutely have to."

I knew his mom had passed, but I hadn't known how until Kurt told me. And I'd had no idea about his dad. Wow. The hospital had been a terrible idea. If I'd just bothered to find out about him…

"I'm so sorry Kurt, I didn't realize…but we need to do something. Do you know what it is?"

When he replied with a quiet negative, I told Mercedes to bring a laptop. She quickly did, and soon I was typing in symptom after symptom, trying to find the right disease. Kurt answered patiently, his voice cracking every so often. He winced at the sound more than the pain, of that I was certain. And I could fully sympathize. To lose your best weapon? Heartbreaking.

I was fairly certain it was the flu, but it was anything but a mild case. Shivers wracked his slight frame and his coughs made me wince. Every so often he would clutch his stomach and a few tears would leak out. It was painful to watch.

I told him my findings.

"Oh joy, now my misery has a name."

It didn't help when I told him the best thing for him was rest. Though with Kurt, that wasn't a surprise.

Xxx

"Blaine, stop it! I'm probably contagious, and Mercedes doesn't need to take care of two deathly ill people. I'm sure one is perfectly sufficient!"

"First, I got my flu shot last month. Second, you are not deathly ill. Third, I honestly don't care if I get sick," I said, pushing his hair away from his forehead. He was really warm due to his fever, a slight sheen of sweat covering his body. He seemed to have no reply to my impressive, if a bit disjointed, logic.

I'd expected our reunion to be just the slightest bit more uplifting. Maybe I was hallucinating the littlest bit with the whole running through the meadow thing, but a guy could dream, couldn't he?

Of course, when it came to Kurt, expectations were never a good idea. You just never knew.

A/N: I really needed to get this out before BTW showed tomorrow and canon was once again viciously uprooted. I know Kurt ends up moving to McKinley, but I can't decide if this fic should stay at Dalton or not. I'm thinking of moving it, but a few opinions would be nice.

If you hadn't notice, the second half was my attempt at fluff (read - less angsty portion of story). Any constructive criticism on this fic would be fantastic as well. It's my first ever full-length story and it would be great to get some feedback on the technical part. (Though I'll admit I grin like an idiot every time I see a new review/alert/favorite, no matter what it entails)

Gah Kurt's back at McKinley tomorrow! (I'm still having a mini freak out from last week, so please bear with me)

Reviews = extreme happiness and excitement in my heart