But he didn't notice the metallic flavor. All he knew was that he desperately desired to rip everything in his line of vision apart, including the callous Dr. Howell.

"I'm sorry to inform you that your son has stomach cancer," he said.

"Stage IV."

"It is very rare to see a case so advanced in such a young male."

"If it had been discovered earlier, we could have done more for him."

"But a cure is not likely at this stage."

"A cure is not likely at this stage," fell like ice from the doctor's lips and broke the silence with the most earsplitting crash ever conceived.

Burt and Carole tried to suppress their hysterics, so as to not wake Kurt up, but Blaine bolted out of the room, with Dr. Howell not too far behind.

"Sir! Please, stop!" But Blaine couldn't. He couldn't face this freight train of disaster that was barreling towards him, destroying all that he loved.

"Someone, stop him!" And at that, a mountain of a security guard placed himself in Blaine's path. He had to give up, then. Blaine stood still, but did not turn to face the doctor as he spoke;

"I'm sorry, son. I know this must be hard for you."

"I am not your fucking son. You do not know me and you do not have the slightest idea about how I fucking feel," Blaine spat, "so, I suggest that you leave me the hell alone because I don't need your sympathy."

Dr. Howell opened his mouth, but was interrupted;

"But let me tell you this; that boy in there, he is the my everything. He has taught me so much more than he knows and I'm…" Blaine fought back the tears, "I'm losing him. I am losing the one person who can pull me out of the darkest abyss, make me laugh until it aches, kiss me even though my breath smells like shit, and love me despite my countless faults. Do you know how that feels, sir?

He shook his head;

"No. Now, go ruin someone else's life, you bastard."

The burly guard raised his eyebrows in surprise and stepped aside in order to let Blaine slowly walk out of the hospital and into the still parking lot.

When he reached his car, he tugged open the door and slid in, letting his head fall heavily onto the steering wheel. He wept until his temples pounded in protest and then gripped the wheel and viciously thrust himself into the back of his seat, causing the entirety of the vehicle to shake. He noticed the curious glimpses that the passers-by gave him and all he wanted to do was hide from them, hide from everyone.

Blaine simultaneously dragged his sleeve across his wet nose and twisted the key in the ignition. The frosty air blasted out of the vents and happily greeted the warmth of his cheeks. He was just about to close his eyes, when his phone unexpectedly rang, sending a jolt of fear throughout his body. Blaine mumbled a curse word before finally taking the call;

"Hey, man. Uh, I just got home and no one's here. I tried calling my mom and Burt, but neither of them answered. Kurt's still with you, right?" Finn asked.

Blaine's hand tensed around the phone.

"You there?"

The question echoed in Blaine's ear, and he thought about hanging up, but decided against it, nonetheless.

"He's not with me, he's in the hospital. Come if you want. I'm leaving."

Before Finn could make an attempt at carrying on the conversation, Blaine hit the "end" button.

The drive home was long and void of all noise, except for the dull rumble of the engine. He played no music; didn't sing to himself like he usually would, he just looked straight ahead, his thoughts far more chaotic than the evening traffic.

As the sun began to set, it sent streaks of light across the windshield and into his hazel eyes; he squinted in return. Blaine wondered how many more times Kurt would get to see the bright oranges and yellows fall across the tips of the trees. He wondered how many more times he'd get to wake up next to Kurt and watch as the morning cast a subtle shimmer over his delicate cheek bones; those cheek bones that Blaine gently kissed, persuading him from his slumber. And he wondered how many more times he'd get to drift into his own slumber, lulled by the comforting thumps of Kurt's core.

Blaine came to his driveway and hastily wiped away the sheen from his lashes before walking inside. He'd expected to see blood still clinging to the floor and furniture, but instead, it had all been covered with towels and sheets. He cautiously ventured deeper into the house, only to discover his parents sitting in the kitchen.

"Oh, honey," his mom gasped, taken aback by the gruesome condition of his clothes. Blaine shrugged his shoulders in reply and continued to carry his numb body up the flight of stairs.

"Son, wait! We want to talk to you!" his father called. A chill crept up his spine as he remembered Dr. Howell referring to him in just that way. His mouth was like lead and he couldn't seem to find the strength to open it, so he sauntered into his room and shut the door with enough volume, so his parents would know he didn't feel like conversing.

Blaine immediately darted for the bathroom, leaving a trail of clothing behind, and turned on the shower. He stepped in, even though it was scolding, and let the pellets of water melt away the layer of burgundy that covered him. He scrubbed his body until it felt raw, but no matter how hard he scrubbed, he could still feel the dried blood cracking in the creases of his skin.

After standing under the foggy stream for 30 minutes, Blaine finally willed himself to turn it off. He reached a hand out into the frigid air and blindly searched for a towel; a towel that should have been hanging on the rack, but it was crumpled up on the slippery floor. He threw open the curtain and sharply took in a breath as the breeze cloaked him.

"God damn it, Kurt!" he shrieked, "I told you to always replace the towels!" Blaine plucked the used one from the floor and twisted it around his waist as he made his way to the sink.

Of course, more of Kurt's clutter awaited him there; moisturizers, facial cleansers, tweezers, and various other beauty products. A low grumble rose from his chest and he shoved everything into the garbage can that was conveniently placed to the right of the sink. He then met his reflection and was tempted to shatter that glass as well. The eyes that were staring back at him…were not his own. They were bursting with hatred and rage. Could he actually hate Kurt for making him feel this way?

Blaine ran his hands over his wet hair, grabbed clumps of it and pulled at his scalp; he was disgusted with himself. He collapsed onto the floor and buried his face in his knees, his heart stuttering as he tried to catch his breath.

Searching for a way to calm down, he began to trace the grooves in the tile. He pictured Kurt, pictured running his lips along the outline of Kurt's jaw, slowly making his way to the boy's mouth and lingering there for a brief moment before closing the small gap between them.

"No," he said, in response to his previous question.

Blaine thought he was imagining the faint sound of the ringtone he'd picked to be Kurt's, but it was there, just outside the door. He pushed himself up and sprinted to his phone;

"Hello?" he answered.

"Sweetheart, where are you? I'm sorry. This…this is not how things were supposed to go!" Kurt blurted. Blaine shook his head and managed to let out a minute chuckle.

"I'm the one who should be apologizing. I'm sorry. I went home to take a shower."

"A shower? God, what I would give for one of those! But hey, you're more than welcome to come give me a sponge bath."

Blaine could hear the smile in Kurt's voice. He must have been unaware of what was really going on.

"Yeah? Are you a dirty boy?"

"Oh, my lord. Blaine. Stop talking. I mean, Could you get at cheesier?"

"What? I thought it was pretty hilarious!"

"Of course you did, dear," Kurt said, "and I know it's kind of late, but I hope you're coming back here to see me. Maybe even stay? I also have this light above my bed, I can dim it, totally set the mood. This picture of a tiger on the wall does wonders for that, too!"

Blaine could feel the lump rising in his throat, but he forced it back down;

"Don't worry, I'm headed that way in a few."

"You can head down south when you arrive, if you know what I mean."

"And you told me to stop talking! Kurt, baby, I think you need to lay off the drugs a little bit."

"Why, do you want me to save you some?"

"Haha. No, thank you. I'm hanging up now! I love you. So much."

"I love you, too. More than you could possibly fathom," Kurt whispered.

He couldn't help it, as soon as he hung up, Blaine succumbed to the stinging in his eyes and let the tears trickle down once more.