He hadn't moved in hours. His muscles were sore and his eyes tired. He huddled under his many layers, shivering, his body evidently unaware of the heat wave that burned the outside world. The silence of the house escaped his attention; in fact, all thoughts and senses had been dulled by the pounding in his head.

His cell phone rang for the third time that hour. He did not answer it, though, for he barely had the energy to -focus on the sound to identify the caller.

"Let's go all
The way tonight,
No regrets,
Just love.
We can dance
Until we die.
You and I
Will be young forever!"

He allowed the ringing to continue into the chorus; at the end, the music repeated, and then stopped. A minute later, the phone chirped, alerting him of a new voicemail.

He desperately wanted to answer, to hear the voice on the other end of the line, but there was simply no way he could will his body to move. So he lay there, continuing to shake on his bed, nose streaming and face burning. It felt like a lifetime later when he heard a fist pound on the front door downstairs.

"Blaine?"

Despite himself, Blaine managed a small smile. There it was. The voice.

The knocking continued, growing louder and more urgent. "Blaine, please open the door! Come on, Blaine, are you home? Blaine!"

Suddenly, the knocking stopped, and Blaine could just hear the sound of a key scraping in a lock. "Blaine, I'm coming in, okay?"

The door swung open and shut, and footsteps fell quickly on the stairs, stopping in his open doorway.

"Oh, Blaine."

"Kurt..."

His voice was weak and cracked. Kurt immediately rushed to his side, kneeling on the floor by the bed. His hand shot up to Blaine's forehead, gauging his temperature. His skin was scorching.

"Blaine, what happened? Why didn't you call me?"

Blaine's dry lips split as he spoke. "Can't...move...can't...think...need...you..."

"Sh..." Kurt fixed Blaine's blankets so that they covered him more adequately, and then stroked the sick boy's curly, gel-less hair. "Hey, I'm here, okay? Just relax." He paused for a moment. "Where are your parents?"

"Antigua."

Kurt nodded, and then stood. "I'm guessing you haven't eaten in a while, and you'll need strength if you're going to kick this thing in the butt. I'll go downstairs and make you some tea and soup, okay? I'll be back in a jiffy."

Blaine nodded, and then laughed hoarsely. "I am the only one lame enough to come down with a cold in the hottest time of the summer."

Kurt bent down to kiss his boyfriend on the forehead. "You hush, silly. Try to sleep again. I'll come back with food soon."

He retreated downstairs to the Andersons' expansive kitchen and began to dash around, boiling water and grabbing ingredients from the cupboards and refrigerator. In no time, he had thrown together a meal of Campbell's Chicken Noodle Soup and a cup of chamomile tea with honey. He carried this on a tray back upstairs to Blaine's bedroom, where the boy was drifting in and out of consciousness.

Kurt set the tray on the nightstand and shook Blaine lightly on the shoulder. "Sweetie...I've made you lunch. Do you think you can sit up?" He saw Blaine nod slightly, and helped prop him up against his headboard. He then began to scoop small spoonfuls of the soup through Blaine's lips.

They sat like that for a while, one boy trying to swallow, the other, perched beside him on the bed, nursing him back to health as he marveled at his ability to look beautiful even when he was ill. When Kurt was satisfied that Blaine had eaten enough, he passed him the cup of tea. Blaine had regained enough of his strength to hold the glass himself. After he drained it, Kurt replaced it on the tray. He assisted Blaine as he returned to his prone position, and then just sat there, holding his hand, pushing the curls away from his eyes as he fell asleep, occasionally wiping the sweat from his face with a towel. He stayed there for a while, the room growing slowly darker as the sun sank lower in the sky. Soon, he, too, grew fatigued, and he curled beside Blaine on the bed, still grasping his hand. In no time, both boys were dreaming together—incidentally, each about the other.