One month later...

The university Blaine attended had several different undergraduate and graduate departments, so he really had no idea what range of people to expect when he walked in to the counseling office for the first group session. The initial pre-session a week earlier with just himself and the moderator, Emma, and had felt okay. He wasn't usually nervous around new people or anything, but he was busy and she really had convinced him that this group was worth fitting into his schedule. The fact that she was openly gay and pregnant, which he supposed wasn't so unusual for New York City, still made him feel implicitly comforted and accepted.

It smelled like freshly baked brownies when he walked into the office. Yum. He saw a plate of them on the secretary's desk and a colorful sign that said "Help Yourself." He was about halfway done with the brownie when he realized he hadn't asked anybody if it was made with milk, and that it probably was. He wasn't sure if he would get symptoms or not, and figured fuck it, why not finish the brownie. The damage was done already. But maybe he should cancel his study date tonight just in case he needed to make an embarrassing beeline for the bathroom.

Emma appeared and called him in. He followed her a few more paces behind than he normally would, suddenly overcome with a sense of anticipation. He was going to meet people like him, who had what they were calling "Invisible Chronic Illnesses" for the purpose of the group. He needed this so badly right now. He needed something else in his life. His classes weren't going so well, his roommate was turning into a total asshole, he got rejected for a tutoring job at the school's academic center, and he had just had a fight with his mom on the phone an hour ago. The entire past week had been kind of a bust, actually. He was feeling out of it and basically spent his time either in class, studying, or sleeping with ear plugs in so he didn't hear Andy and his new boyfriend screwing. That guy had no shame.

Smile, Blaine reminded himself, things could be worse, and this could be amazing if he was open to it.

Emma led him into a room that looked like an unkempt living room in an old house. The couches and chairs arranged in a circle were mismatched but cozy. Emma's desk was on the far side of the room, but she sat in the circle with the 6 of them. Blaine took a first look at his cohort, and immediately recognized the boy from the counseling center with the fliers from that bad bad day he had a month ago. He chucked to himself. Of course life would do this to him.

"Hello everybody, welcome. I am so glad each of you are here," Emma began. "I will start by introducing myself and we will go around in a circle. After introductions, though, we won't use the circle as a way to decide order of speaking. In my experience, informality and speaking when one chooses to speak it is more conducive to a therapeutic atmosphere." She cleared her throat a little. "I am Dr. Emma Pillsbury, as you know. I have been a psychologist for 16 years, and this is the 7th group therapy program I am leading. I have had severe OCD since I was a child, and when I went to group therapy for invisible illnesses in college, it was an experience that shifted my entire perspective. I hope that this will do the same for all of you. Each of you belongs in this room. You are here because you have an invisible illness and waned an outlet to speak about it. You are also here because you are kind and respectful and intelligent. I think you can help each other. I also want to remind you all that you signed a confidentiality agreement, so what is said in this room will remain in this room."

Emma looked at Blaine and made a motion with her hand that he should speak next. He actually kind of loved going first in these situations. It made him a sort of leader.

"I'm Blaine Anderson. I don't really want to go into excruciating disgusting detail about what is wrong with me, so I will say that I have a chronic autoimmune condition that is stress-induced. I have had it for 10 years. I have never had a safe space to talk about this stuff before, and people get really really uncomfortable when I try to tell them about it. Oh, and I'm majoring in biology and I'm a sophomore." Blaine then pointedly looked over to the boy he had been rude to. "And I'm sorry about that day on the street when I was mean to you. I was having a horridly stressful day."

The boy nodded very slightly while looking briefly into Blaine's eyes, then looking down at his pants. Emma motioned to the Indian girl sitting to his right. She was really beautiful, Blaine thought, and looked quite young.

"I am Deera, I'm in my third year doing a PhD in women's studies, and I had a kidney transplant when I was 20, so that was five years ago." Oh, Blaine had been wrong about her age. "There are a lot of expectations that people put on me that aren't realistic, and I guess I am hoping to learn how to get better at talking about illness with coworkers and with my family. I have to take pills on a timer every day, that make me more susceptible to catching colds or worse infections."

Blaine settled into his chair and looked at each member of the group with focused attention, taking in their words and wondering about their stories. Sugar and Quinn both had fibromyalgia, and Artie had a spinal cord injury that hadn't put him in a wheelchair but caused him constant pain.

The only one who had chosen not to share his illness with the group during this session was the boy from the street, whose name was Kurt. He said he was a theater major. When no one pushed him to reveal more than he was comfortable with, Blaine knew that this group was going to be something special.

He had just met these people a few minutes ago, but already felt as protective of them as he would a newborn baby. He wanted them to be understood, and happy, and have lives that were complete and fulfilled. He wanted every person who had ever made fun of them or insulted them to get punched in the balls. These people knew what it was like. Blaine felt tears prickling at his eyes and tried to blink them away.

When Blaine got back to his dorm room that night, he put on headphones with loud music to pretend Andy wasn't there, and went digging for that old flier that Kurt had given him. It had a website for an LGBT events page. He unashamedly spent the next two hours Googling Kurt, who was probably the most interesting person he had met so far in New York. He was a senior, had been in more musicals than Blaine could count, including a Harry Potter parody on YouTube that had made Blaine laugh until he cried. He hadn't realized that Kurt had been in the ensemble. Kurt wasn't his usual type physically. He tended to go for men with tattoos and earrings and deep sexy voices, but he had to admit that Kurt was compelling. Rich and snotty, most likely, based on what Blaine read online about his family, but that didn't matter.

Blaine was cut off from his trolling by an ominous grumble from his stomach. Damn brownie.

Meanwhile, Kurt was in his two bedroom apartment in Greenwich village, composing an email to Emma about why he could not continue with the group.

Dear Dr. Pillsbury,

Although I very much appreciate your input and experience...

No, that sounded too formal. He deleted it and tried again.

Dear Emma,

Thank you so much for having me be a part of this important group. I appreciate your efforts, but I have decided that based on my class schedule I will be unable to continue with it. I wish you all luck with the program and hope it is a meaningful experience.

Sincerely,

Kurt Hummel

Short, to the point, face-saving. Good enough. He hit send.