A/N: alrighty guys, I'm really excited for this one! It's based loosely off the movie Philomena. So if you're familiar with the movie, this is the story of the son's life. If you haven't seen the movie (which I highly recommend) absolutely no worries. Everything will still make sense. So just a warning I guess for those that haven't seen the movie, Blaine is dying of AIDS. Updates should be roughly once a week.

I really hope you like it! b/c I'm actually really excited about this one.
Let me know what you think
-Katie
_

In April of 1981, Sandra Ford, a drug technician from Atlanta noticed an unusual demand for pentamine. Pentamine was used to treat Pneumocystis carinii pneumonia, a rare lung infection. A doctor was treating a gay man in his 20s and had asked for a refill. No one ever asked for refills. Over the ten day single dose treatment the patient would either be cured or would die. This patient had done neither. She reported the case to the Center for Disease Control.

Over the months that followed, the CDC began to track this mysterious illness that began popping up within communities of gay men throughout the United States. Pneumonia and Kaposi's Sarcoma, a rare and relatively benign skin cancer, seemed to be the form this death sentence was handed down in. No one knew what it was or how it was spread. It didn't even have a name. Eventually it would come to be known as AIDS and not only decimate the gay communities it originated in but spread quickly to the wider population throughout the globe. It did not prey on only the gay, as once was thought. It preyed on anything human. In 1982 however, still trapped within the pockets of San Francisco and New York, it was dubbed gay related immune deficiency, or GRID.

January 1993

It was a little overwhelming to say the least. Blaine hadn't been out to the clubs in a while. He forgot how loud the music was. Initially he had welcomed the unrelenting beats and perfectly rhymed pop-y lyrics. His ears had filtered so much bullshit lately and the club music helped drown out the echoes. He was now however, slightly concerned about the vibrations he could feel pulse through his heart. It was even becoming hard to think. Blaine chuckled a little and shook his head at himself. Not thinking, escaping it all was the point. That's why he was here, sitting at the bar with a rum and coke scanning the writhing orgy pit of young primal men working out their frustrations by grinding on strangers just as drunk and sweaty and scarcely clothed as they were. Every once in while a couple would break away from the pack and make their way towards the bar and Blaine's hide out. It was always the same. Their smiles would be bright and fall with ease and without thought over their faces. Their hands would drape over each other's skin and Blaine would be able to see sweat bead beneath their groping fingers in the best of ways and smell the pheromones that radiated from their alive and wanting bodies. It was mesmerizing. He could almost get lost in it all just sitting on the side lines and watching the boys move in ways that were reminiscent of his own during his youth when his body would be just another in crowd. That lighthouse guiding him back to shore, home, reality was ever so slightly present though in the way his pager felt heavy on his hip and its clasp was making his skin itch or the way his too tight shirt bunched and clung in weird places. Blaine thought his brain might explode if he actually latched on to one of the boys at the bar – it's not like they would notice another pair of strange hands – and let them lead him out on the dance floor but that was what he wanted. To go back. To get lost. To forget. That's why he was here but the dance floor was just too far.

Blaine sighed and downed the rest of his rum and coke. He fiddled with his dark grey burn out t-shirt to no success. He allowed his eyes to follow the two boys who had been waiting on drinks return to the dance floor hoping that his body and mind would somehow join them. He watched as they moved effortlessly through the crowd, just going with the flow and the beat in a way Blaine knew he never could. When they found their spot, the one leading, wearing a fluorescent pink mesh muscle tank turned back to his boyfriend – date? Soon to be one night stand? – and wrapped his arms around his neck, balancing his drink with practiced ease, and pulled him close. They blended seamlessly, as if they had never left and Blaine's eyes wandered to the couple beside them. This second couple held his attention. The shorter of the two had dark, messy curls, like his own when he refrained from hair gel. He was wearing a tight blue button with the top several buttons undone and a white bow tie hanging untied around his neck. Blaine remembered quite vividly how the undressing process always began well before anyone got home. His dance partner was slightly taller and had lighter brown hair that, as far as Blaine could tell from across the club, he had styled into the perfect coif. He was wearing a tight, neon purple v-neck with a black vest that hung open. Blaine blinked his eyes a few times trying to clear the alcohol that he has earlier been actively trying to get into his system. The two boys just looked so similar to himself and his ex, like he was looking through an old home video of his life from seven years ago. His slightly tipsy vision mimicked the poor quality footage. The taller boy even danced like his ex. His movements were in rhythm to the music but they were still awkward in a way. They were jerky and his thrusts thrusted a little too far one way and then even further back the other way. He didn't care though. He was out there living, free from judgment and responsibility. Until he wasn't. It seemed as if it was their turn to get refreshments and Blaine watched as they pushed through the crowd towards him. As they got closer the home video collapsed. The shorter boy was too short and his eyes were smaller and blue. Blaine waited for the moment when the taller boy would no longer look like his ex but that point never came.

"Blaine?"

"K-Kurt! Hi," he stuttered, blinking again, still not believing what he was seeing.

"Oh my god, how are you?" Kurt asked leaning in for a hug. The alcohol Blaine could smell on his breath explained the happy reunion despite their not so happy break up. He was still a little stunned though. The slight gasoline scent combined with the weight and the warmth however, proved to Blaine that Kurt was real and there and not some figment of his imagination. After confirming that he wasn't an alcohol induced mirage, Blaine wrapped his own arms around Kurt's waist. It was short. Kurt was already starting to pull back but the awkward fumbling still managed to feel good. "I'm surprised to see you here."

"Yeah," he chuckled. "I'm surprised too. Trying to keep a low profile." Kurt rolled his eyes and sighed. There was a hint of sympathy though that had disappeared completely in the last several months they had been together. It was hidden in the small smile he gave Blaine in response. It definitely wasn't a happy smile, not like the bright grin he had greeted him with initially. It was more of a disappointed and yet understanding look. Blaine didn't mind though. It was the best he could ask for really.

"Well, let me buy you a drink," he conceded, hitting Blaine playfully on the shoulder.

"Oh, no." Blaine shook his head. "No. You don't need to do that. I've already had too much anyways."

"Please, you're still sitting up straight. Stiff as a bored."

"Um, what about your date?" Blaine whispered, glancing over at the shorter boy with the untied bow tie dangling around his neck. He was leaning against the bar beside where Blaine was seated looking out over the dance floor and paying them no attention.

"Oh, no worries. I don't even know his name. We just kinda clicked out on the floor. See." Blaine looked back at the boy who had now vacated his leaning spot and was walking at an impressive clip across the club, his eyes seemingly fixed on something. Blaine followed his gaze and was met with a tall, buff, shirtless guy, holding two drinks in his hand, one out reached in the direction of Kurt's former dance partner.

"I do." Blaine shook his head with a laugh.

"What?" Kurt asked taking the vacant bar stool beside him.

"Nothing. It's just nothing's changed has it?"

"Well I wouldn't say nothing. But, I mean, why would it? We're young, we're healthy, this is still one of the few places to meet guys so why not take a few for a test drive. It the only way to find the perfect model."

"Still haven't found it yet?"

Kurt shrugged his shoulders. He turned to look at Blaine and Blaine held his gaze that seemed oddly intense to be paired with the aloof shrug. Before either of them could say something else however, the bartender came over. "Can I get you guys something?"

"Ah, yes," Kurt answered. "A rum and coke? If I'm remembering correctly," he said turning back to Blaine to confirm. "And a vodka slime."

The bartender nodded and Kurt pulled out a ten from his pocket and placed it on the counter. "Don't you think I should be getting the drinks?" Blaine asked.

"No. It's tradition," Kurt answered simply with a bright grin. "Or have you forgot?"

Blaine shook his head. "How could I?"

February 1979

Blaine shoved his hands in his pockets as he entered the club. It wasn't his first time. Not by far. But he had always come with somebody else before. He had never been by himself, without and hand to hold, arm to offer, or waist to grip. He felt a little lost. He decided a drink would loosen him up a bit and turned towards the bar but before could even take a step, a tall guy, with muscles bulging form his tight short sleeved v-neck stepped infront of him and hooked a finger in his bowtie.

"This is cute," he said and Blaine almost melted at the British accent that came rolling out.

"So are you," he answered, not missing a beat and not even a minute later he was grinding his denim constrain dick against the British boy's surrounded by others doing just the same. He definitely made the right call in coming here tonight instead of the library he'd been all but living in the past couple weeks.

They were at the bar, waiting for the bartender to take their orders when Blaine asked him if he wanted to come home with him. He hadn't had a drink all night but he didn't really need one. Getting his dick out of his far too tight jeans was what he really need, especially if there was someone else in his bedroom doing them same. British boy looked eager but before they could take a step towards the door, British boy's friends swarmed them and constrained him when neither of them could tell them the other's name. Blaine sighed as he watched British boy being dragged away, and took a seat at the bar. He looked around for a while but no one else really caught his eye.

"Is this seat taken," a voice asked from over his shoulder. He had been sitting there for half an hour, turned away from the dance floor in a tentative defeat.

"Uh, no." Blaine watched as the other guy sat down beside him. He was taller than British boy and had some arm definition but not as much. His eyes were gorgeous though. They shimmered, bright blue, in the dim light of the club.

"Can I get you a drink?"

"I'm uh, actually about to head out."

"So you really are new. Don't worry. I don't bite. Most of us don't."

Blaine laughed. "No, no. I've been here before. I just have an exam tomorrow."

"An exam?"

"The Bar."

"Ooh a lawyer. Well now I really have to buy you a drink. I would kill myself if I let a lawyer slip through my grasp."

"I can take a rain check. I really should be heading."

"No can do. You came out tonight. You knew what you were getting into," he said, pointing and waving his index finger at Blaine in a scolding type manner. "Now, what d'you drink?"

"Uh, rum and coke, I guess," Blaine answered in defeat. The guy was cute. Too cute to say no to. And the smile he received for his order was absolutely adorable. And yet with the way his white jeans hugged his perky ass, and how forward he was, Blaine had no doubt that the adorable stopped at the bedroom door. And with the inspiring lyrics of Rod Stewarts 'Da Ya Think I'm Sexy' coursing through the club, this time he was taking no chances. "I'm Blaine, by the way," he said, offering his hand to shake.

"Kurt." Kurt offered his own hand. "Firm. Very lawyer-y."

"Yeah, no objections?"

Kurt licked his bottom lip and caught it between his teeth. "None."

January 1993

It wasn't long before the catching up had been put on hold and Blaine had follow Kurt out onto the dance floor, his hands firm around the narrow waist he remembered so well. In his defence, a club was not a place to talk and a crowded dance floor made it too easy to get separated, especially for someone like him who was out of practice. He let Kurt find them a spot and smiled and pulled him close when he finally stopped walking and turned to face him. Alcohol had nothing on the buzz he got when Kurt actually let him pull him close and returned the gesture, wrapping his own arms around Blaine's neck. It was like the world disappeared. Other people kept bumping into them but their rhythm was never disrupted. Kurt kept thrusting a little too far one way and even further back the other way and Blaine simply held on and followed with absolutely no care to how they looked to others. Because the others didn't exist in their little space of heat and sweat and a bubbling want that Blaine had forgotten he possessed. The music urged them on, its beat physically reverberating within his body and forcing him closer and closer to the boy who was once again in his arms. It forced all other thought from his mind other than Kurt, his long legs, swaying hips, his still oh so perky ass that still filled out Blaine's hands and pushed back against them whenever his dick wasn't pushing forwards. Blaine buried his nose in Kurt's neck, reveling in the low cut of the v-neck. And then he buried his mouth. It smelled faintly of his cologne that Blaine remembered from years before. It was damp from sweat and Blaine happily licked and nipped and sucked at the perfectly pale skin. He could feel Kurt's fingers working into his gelled hair at the base of his neck and cursed himself for not washing it out before he came because Kurt's hands in his hair felt so good. Kurt's other hand traveled down his back and rucked up his t-shirt resting against his bare skin. Blaine pushed back against the hand, melting in its warmth and sure grip. He felt Kurt trust his pelvis forward, chasing the friction he must have lost. Blaine couldn't complain, letting out an inaudible moan at the contact. This was it. This is what he had been looking for. What he needed.

He pulled Kurt from the club sometime later. He had no idea how long they had been lost on the dance floor. Time was irrelevant out there, with Kurt, and he was in no hurry to return to the ticking clock. He held Kurt's hand tight, even when they were out on the street hailing a cab and throughout the ride back to his house. Kurt made some comment about impressive size and the impressive neighbourhood that Blaine ignored in favour for sucking harder on Kurt's neck and pushing the black vest from his broad shoulders. Blaine's t-shirt was next to go. Earlier he had wanted rid of it because of all the awkward bunching but now all he could think of was bare skin. His, Kurt's, together, touching. Nothing else crossed his mind. Kurt worked his belt off, taking pause to eye his pager in disdain but he was either truly over the past or still too drunk to care. Blaine guessed it mostly the second but then Kurt's lips were on his and his fingers were back undoing his button and unzipping his fly and giving him one more forceful grind before shoving his pants down. He cupped him and rubbed him through his boxer briefs and Blaine moaned and writhed in his hand. He squeezed Kurt's ass and then moved his hands up gripping the bottom of his purple shirt. Kurt backed away, pulling his shirt over his head and turning to Blaine's desk and folding it neatly on top. Blaine laughed at the familiarity and crossed the room to Kurt, coming up behind him, pressing his bare chest to the now bare, lean and muscular back, his dick to the round and perky ass, and burring his face once again into his neck.

"Some things never change," he mumbled against the already bruised skin.

"I could say the same thing."

Blaine laughed again and snaked his hands around to the front of Kurt's waist and began working his pants open and down as well.

They were naked soon enough and Kurt pushed his way past Blaine, sauntering to the bed. Blaine's eyes were glued to his now naked ass that he was swaying with purpose. Kurt turned back with a smirk on his face but it was quickly wiped away when he slipped on a piece of paper discarded on the floor. Blaine watched in horror as he fell to the bed, laughing high and light once his body hit the soft landing and he realized no damage was done. But to Blaine the damage was done. He watched the piece of white paper flutter in the air and float down to its new spot on the floor. With each inch it fell, Blaine was pulled further and further from Kurt and back to the reality he had been so desperate to escape. The reality that dictated so clearly that they couldn't be together. He stumbled back towards his desk and braced himself on it shaking his head.

"Blaine?" He heard faintly, as if being called awake from a dream. Except it was Kurt that was the dream. "Are you okay? What's wrong?"

"I can't." He shook his head frantically. His eyes comically wide and now glued to the piece of paper. "I can't. I can't. I can't."

"Oh my god, Blaine. Blaine. It's okay. It's okay. It's me. You're okay."

"No I'm not. Kurt, I can't."

He watched, frozen as Kurt stood up slowly from the bed and walked over to the piece of paper. He hesitated before bending down to pick it up. Blaine didn't stop him. He watched as Kurt read it. He watched as the confusion turned to heartbreak.

"Y-you're positive."

Blaine only nodded, a sob issuing before he could stop it.