Another fic! It will be posted in two parts as it's quite long

Once again AU :)

Thanks to Gillian Deverone for beta'ing

Enjoy!

He has a pretty horrible feeling in his stomach. It's a heavy, churning sensation that, thankfully, he rarely feels, but today it's prominent. He eyes the banner "Blood Drive Today", accompanied by bright happy, yellow faces.

Finn feels anything but happy, and seeing the words only sinks his stomach further. He catches sight of Kurt, walking a few paces ahead of him, his nose up in the air as he observes the surroundings.

They'd kind of fought on the way over here. Well, not really. Just discussed it, or more his reluctance to give blood because they like stick a needle in your arm and take the blood right front of you. He remembers having injections as a kid, and the pure fear that filled his body as the doctor neared with the needle.

And now he's going to do that voluntarily? Sort of. Because Kurt is not taking no for an answer.

He knows that it can help people and stuff, but he's still scared. He's supposed to be the big man on campus, the leader that isn't scared of anything. If the guys knew about the way he is worrying now, they'd surely laugh right in his face, or pelt him with paintballs again. Man, that sucked…

Finn now finds himself in front of the hospital, staring in intimidation at the large building, like it's going to swallow him up whole, which is kind of what feels like. He gulps, his Adam's apple bobbing as he does so.

"Stop being such a baby," Kurt interjects. Finn rolls his eyes at his brother, suppressing a grumble.

"I feel kind of sick."

This causes Kurt to halt on the spot, spinning on the heel of his boots quickly. "You told me yesterday that you were happy to do this, and now you're as pale as a ghost. Don't tell me that you changed your mind?" He raises an eyebrow, folding his arms neatly across his chest.

The look that he sends Finn immediately drowns the taller boy with guilt. He can't just go back on his word, can he? And it's not like this is going to hurt anybody. On the contrary, it's going to make people better, and there could be someone out there right now who desperately needs some blood and it may just be him that helps them.

He'd like to be able to help someone, even if he never gets to see the effect that him giving this offers. He wants to be a good person. Who doesn't? And this is a selfless act, something that he's relatively happy to do—but the thought of the needles is still creeping him out a little.

But then he's inside before he knows it, and they're cleaning his arm. He vaguely hears the nurse speaking to him, assuring him that everything is fine, and he doesn't need to be so tense. How can he not be tense?

Kurt sits beside him, though he refuses to hold his hand.

And before he knows it: "All done."

The nurse holds the syringe in her hand, the dark red color prominent inside, and he feels a little sick looking at it, or maybe that's because he's just had some of his blood taken out of him… Anyway, he doesn't feel too good. He feels really dizzy too.

"Finn?" Kurt questions, shaking him back into reality. He blinks a couple of times before giving a goofy grin in reply.

"Yup," he nods, the action feeling strange. He receives a wary look from his brother, though it's easily shrugged off as he sits himself in one of the plastic chairs against the wall, leaning his head against the cool surface. Man, that feels good. He wonders what's going to happen to his blood, and where it's going to end up.

Some days slip by without her realizing, the mundane repetition of a schedule – a thing which she used to live her life by – making the days mix into a haze, all blurred into one as though water has been spilled on the painting of her life. But then other days she sits and watches as the hands on the clock travel in a painfully slow circular motion, the rhythmic tick following each jerk of the plastic hand.

She wakes up that morning, feeling like death itself is hovering over her.

This is a bad day.

Her bones ache, a fatigue washes over the small, fragile girl lying in the hospital bed, her limbs hanging limply to the side. She lets out a long sigh, the air smoothing over her dry lips before she smacks them together.

The door begins to open, and her head slowly turns in its direction to see her nurse, Tina, pushing in the food trolley with her breakfast.

"Morning, Rachel," she smiles brightly. "How're you feeling today?"

Tina has worked here for just a year, and is one of the people that Rachel truly feels comfortable around. The woman can be shy, but she didn't mind sitting with Rachel and letting her talk about anything. And she also had solid and helpful advice whenever Rachel needed it.

She starts to sit up, wobbling arms acting as support, but she frowns at the pain that such a small movement brings to her body. "Okay," she says. She used to be as optimistic as Tina, she used to smile and tell everyone that it would be okay. Only, she doesn't exactly remember when she lost that – when she lost hope.

It had all started with a high temperature.

But her daddy had had the flu the previous week, and she supposed that she'd started to develop it too. She'd been weak and tired, and her weight quickly plummeted, not that she had much weight to lose anyway – another one of their concerns.

She was just jammed up with antibiotics and told that it'd be over in a couple of weeks, her body would repair itself.

It didn't.

The word leukemia bounces around in her mind. It still scares her, you know? It's been a long battle – two years long actually, and she feels like she's never truly been free of the terrible disease destroying her from inside. She fears that she doesn't have much time left. The very thought of leaving the world at the tender age of seventeen makes her insides churn uneasily, and her heart shatter into too many pieces to count.

The trolley is pushed over to the side of the bed, the old wheels groaning under the weight of the metal, resistant against the movement. She winces, trying to hide it as Tina sets up the tray on her bed and begins to add her breakfast to it.

"Are you hungry?" she questions gently, her eyes never leaving Rachel's.

Rachel feels herself smiling back – even if it is the tiniest of smiles – and she ignores the slight pain in her stomach before answering. "Not really." She doesn't remember the last time that she's really felt hungry, or looked at food and wanted it. Most days she feels like it's a chore to force each bite in, and she knows that it's important to eat, to give her more of a chance.

But sometimes she wonders why, and that scares her. How did she lose all hope so quickly? She should be fighting it with every fiber of strength she still has, yet lately she's been completely dejected and miserable. Even her fathers can't bring her back to her old, cheery self. Somewhere along the line, she got sick of it all. The visits, the medication, the pain, and when she'd been admitted to hospital full time, it felt like the final part.

She doesn't know how long she has – the doctors keep reassuring her that she has a chance, it might not all be over.

But inside, she can feel it. She knows, and she doesn't feel like there's much time left at all. Not only is her body dying, but her spirit has been led astray, riddled with worry and pessimism that the old her would be downright shocked at seeing.

She isn't the old Rachel anymore though. Leukemia beat her, it won. And now it's going to take her body as the prize, the final piece in this sick game that it's been playing.

Tina says something to her, but it falls on deaf ears. Rachel is in her own little world again, wondering what her life would be like if she'd been spared, if the disease had swept straight past her, not even casting a second glance.

It's silly, she knows, but she likes to wonder about things like that. It's such a human thing to do, to think about how things could have turned out differently, when she knows that nothing can be done about it.

Would she be dating anyone? She is a seventeen year old girl after all and, even as a child, she'd bore her fathers with long and elaborate tales of her prince charming, her high school sweetheart who'd sweep her off her feet and they'd run to New York for their happy ever after. It's never going to happen though. For one, she doesn't leave the hospital. Well, only when her dads take her on trips out, and then they're rare because the doctors worry for her health. Of course, these days are special and well planned (and also very rare) so that she will be safe, but she still feels like a prisoner to her disease during in those times.

"Rachel?" Tina questions, snapping the girl from her thoughts and forcing her to look into the slightly worried eyes of her nurse.

"Hmm?"

"Are you all right? You seem dazed."

She frowns. "I'm just a little tired," Rachel confesses, her gaze dropping to the white sheets covering her, and she idly runs her fingers across the coarse material.

Tina smiles and then nods sadly. "Well, eat up. You've got to have all of your strength for this afternoon. You've got a blood transfusion scheduled."

She pulls a face, though remains quiet. She hates the blood transfusions. Mainly because she always feels sick afterwards, and her arm feels a dull pain for a while. It's there to help her, to give her back what she needs, but she dreads each transfusion, and the pain that it brings.

She wonders whether it were painful for the person that donated it, and maybe even feels a little guilty. They don't even know where their blood ends up, but they give it up anyway – it's such a generous and selfless thing to do, and she's more grateful than she could ever say.

She smiles at the sight of her dads entering the room, both wearing the same expression as they reach their only daughter, pulling her into tight hugs. "I missed you," she mumbles into her daddy's shirt, feeling tears springing to her eyes. Somehow they always end up crying at times like these, not that she minds much because she know that her daddies love her, and that they hate to see her like this, all pale and weak.

"We missed you too," her dad, Hiram, smiles, stroking her hair delicately. "We're sorry that we're late."

His touch puts her at ease in an instant. Actually, their presence is enough to do that, the mere sight of them. Even the smell of her fathers can set a smile on her face, because it's comforting and it's home, even if she resides in this old hospital.

"Are you okay? Have they been looking after you?" Daddy demands to know, sitting himself down on the edge of the bed. His face is serious, the care radiating from his deep brown eyes. He asks her these questions every time they visit – he'd even asked them on the phone yesterday.

"Yes," she giggles softly, feeling like a small child again with them, almost carefree too, but of course she can never escape her worries or doubts. She holds onto each of their hands, giving tiny squeezes to them, reassuring her fathers that she's okay, she's still got her strength.

They worry about her – she's all that they've got, and they don't want to lose her. What parent would want to see their child die before them? Their grips are stronger than hers, they don't want to let go, not now, not ever. She can sense their fears, and it makes her feel guilty. She's doing this to them.

When it first happened, they'd cried, and lost days of sleep. Her daddy could barely bring himself to go to work anymore, and her dad couldn't even look at her without the tears springing to his eyes. She's almost angry at herself, which is ridiculous; she didn't choose this, and she certainly didn't want it, but it happened, and she didn't stop it.

Her stupid body just gave up, and so did she.

Her dads haven't though. She hears them sometimes, when she's supposed to be asleep, begging the doctors to do something, anything to help her.

The doctors do what they can, but it doesn't stop her dads asking.

Leroy smiles, leaning forward to kiss her hot forehead, eyes gazing lovingly to Rachel. She's sat up in bed, back against the cold headboard. He immediately takes a pillow and gestures for her to move forward. Rachel does so, her stomach protesting in pain from its sudden compression, though it's quickly over once he's placed the pillow behind her.

"Thank you, Daddy," she says, falling into the soft comfort that the pillow offers.

She notices that her dads' free hands are joined together as well, creating a circle of connection between the three.

"How have things been at home?" she asks curiously. She always wonders things like this. Do they still carry on the nightly tradition of singing before dinner, or do they still have their Barbra marathons? Do they still bicker over that dream that her daddy had about Tony Danza?

She misses the simple things of her home life, and wishes that she could return there. "Everything's great Sweetie," her dad tells her, like he does every time she asks. This leads her to fear the worst, that they're just covering up so that she doesn't have anything else to worry about, because even more stress would do nothing for her condition.

"But we've missed our little star." He taps her nose affectionately, his eyes bright.

"That's right," her daddy smiles beside him.

They easily fall into conversation, her fathers doing their best to avoid talking about her illness – they do this a lot, ignore it. Ignore the thing that's in plain sight of them. Anyone comparing a picture of her from two, three years ago and the girl before them now wouldn't even recognize her.

So she has no idea how her fathers can keep the subject away from it, how they can keep on talking about Broadway and their silly little fight on Tuesday, and not slip up, not even once.

Her eyes droop closed for barely a second.

"Are you tired?" comes the fast, immediate response, worry dripping in her daddy's voice, "do you need to rest?"

"I was just closing my eyes for a second," she smiles, because he's being a little ridiculous. It's not like she's falling asleep on him! She'd never do that – the last time she saw them at the same time was a couple of days ago, and she doesn't want to miss an opportunity for this from being exhausted.

It is true though; she hadn't slept much the night prior and it's quickly catching up with her. It's almost like a curse, always been tired, physically worn, yet being unable to drift into the unconscious bliss where she isn't bothered by the pain. She almost yearns for it to be constant, wishes that she could wake up somewhere else, somewhere where her body isn't breaking.

She's never tell her fathers, of course. Such suggestions would be a cause for concern, and they'd be sure to keep her under their watch at all times, if not by them, then definitely by the doctors and nurses. They'd think that she was considering suicide.

But she just… not that… she could never.

The thoughts stop in her mind, the track that they follow dying out and leaving them crashing to the floor clumsily.

It's just easy to get tired, isn't it? When you're only happy a small fraction of the time, it leaves you wondering what if would be like…

Rachel shakes her head quickly, wiping such things from her mind. Her fathers send her questioning looks, because she just shook her head when they were talking about the play that they went to last week.

"I was shivering…" she lies, and hopefully it sounds honest enough for them to believe it. They seem to do that easily, Hiram going to demanding more blankets for her from the nurse while Leroy hugs her, kissing her hairline.

"We'll sort it out for you, sweetie," he says, rubbing his thumb over his arm, though being careful to keep his touch light, not wanting to bruise her.

She wonders whether he wishes that he could "sort out" this illness, if he could find a way to eradicate it from her without pain, or any horrible consequences. She remembers the first time he'd come to the hospital with her, for her first blood transfusion. She'd cried at the sight of the needle in her arm, and then he'd cried at the sight of her tears.

"I know," she tells him. He probably wants to hear it – that after everything she still has utter faith in his ability to make everything okay. That's what a dad does, right? Looks after his children. She smiles, "I love you, Daddy."

His face lights up.

"I love you too, Angel."

She moves through the halls quickly, or as quickly as she can go, to find the right room. She smiles at Tina as she passes her, a bright smile that she rarely wears, and she eventually reaches the door, not even bothering to knock as she enters.

"Blaine!" Rachel smiles at the sight of her friend.

In return, he gives her a half smile, which turns into more of a grimace as he rubs at his left arm. "Rachel," he sounds equally as happy to see her, but then his face falls, "I heard that you stay here permanently now… I'm sorry." His big, puppy dog eyes meet hers, and she truly feels his sympathy.

She perches herself on the edge of his bed, body upright, and she ignores her aching limbs to talk to her friend, "I've been here for a few months now. You should have visited me." She pokes at his chest, frowning when it instantly causes him to wince. "I'm sorry… I didn't mean to, I –"

"It's okay," he replies through a strained voice.

"But I –" She feels bad: she should know by now that it's important to be careful with Blaine, especially in times like this because he's probably much weaker, and in need of more care than she is at the moment, after being admitted here for the fourth, fifth, maybe sixth time this year. She knows that it's a lot, and there is more than one hospital too.

Blaine was born with a ventricular septal defect, or a hole in the heart to put it simply, but the thing is, said hole wasn't discovered until later on, too late. This was when a younger Blaine was continuously fainting, clutching at his chest with strained fingers, and his skin gaining a blue tinge – the lack of oxygen to some of his muscles.

As well as the hole, which is just terrible itself, he has an irregular heartbeat, and this no doubt contributes to all of his problems. But he's already been through many surgeries, and she's sure that there are more planned, which is probably why he's here now.

The first time they'd met was when she'd been told her test results, the very same that were positive and unchangeable. Fifteen year old Rachel Berry had shot out of the room, as if leaving the place flooded with sympathy stares and a heavy atmosphere would let her forget, push the problem to the back of her mind. And then her feet had carried her outside, her physical exhaustion evident to anyone who went past her – that would be the disease.

But then she'd ended up in a garden, the hospital gardens by the looks of it, and it was sunny, and there were butterflies circling a large mass of yellow carnations, and it wasn't right. It was supposed to be gloomy and raining. When she was eight her class had to choose a flower and write about it. Eight year old Rachel Berry had immediately been drawn to the yellow standing out from the crowd – that flower was hers, and she was definitely going to write about it. And then she'd discovered that the flower symbolized cheerfulness which, in her mind, was perfect. Not only was she talented, but she was also the most cheerful girl in the class.

And seven years later, she sat by her favorite flower, and she felt anything but cheerful. In fact, she felt like the whole world was just about ready to swallow her up, lock her somewhere within the deep, hot core and keep her trapped.

A boy had come and sat next to her, his face pale, even as the skin basked in the glorious sunshine of the day. "Are you okay?"

The thing that caught her attention the most was that he wasn't giving her the same sympathetic looks that her fathers had been, or the doctor. No, his eyes held care in them, but it wasn't the same. It felt different. It was like he knew, he understood what she was going through and there wouldn't be any promises of "everything will be okay" from him, because how is he supposed to know? Instead, he was offering her a friend, someone to be there right now, and maybe that was what she needed.

Rachel smiled at the boy, at his crazy curls on top of his head, at the hands that then clasped around hers. And she told him everything.

Two years later, they sit in his hospital bed.

"So what happened this time?" she questions her friend.

He pulls a face. "Just pain. Lots of pain. And then I don't remember passing out again – I must have hit my head too." He rubs at the back of his head, fingers moving through the unleashed curls. The last time she'd seen him, he'd been wearing more hair gel than she's ever seen on one person before, but she prefers this, this is better.

She frowns along with him. "Where were you when you passed out?"

"School," he replies, "I'm pretty sure that my teacher had a heart attack from just watching." Rachel giggles, moving to lie next to him in the bed, her legs stretched out and feet resting by his.

"I wish that you'd come to visit me more often," she admits, dropping her head against his shoulder.

"I know," he lets out a long sigh, "I didn't know that you always stay here now. I thought maybe – I thought that you were at home."

Rachel nods. It's a pretty easy assumption to make, seeing as the last time they spent the day together she was in rather good health, or as good as she can be. "What happened?" Blaine questions.

"It just…" she begins slowly, "it got worse. And I was too weak to do anything. I wasn't eating and still I'd feel pain, in my stomach, in my bones – and then I'd get a fever." She can feel his eyes burning into her skin. "The doctors thought that it would be best, with all of the blood transfusions and surgeries."

"Surgeries?"

"I had a tumor on my liver," she says, "a couple of months ago."

"It's gone now though, right?" Rachel finally turns to look at him, her friend, her only true friend who understands what it feels like, how a disease or condition can take over your life in so many ways, and she can see the worry stitched deep into his face.

She offers him a tiny smile. "Yes, it's gone."

The relief spreads through his body, each muscle visibly relaxing.

"Good."

"Good?"

"Yes," he smiles, "you're a fighter, Rachel Berry, and you're not going to let leukemia beat you."

Rachel feels herself grinning back at her best friend. Although she'd like to say that his words are true, that she can come out triumphant, she still has her doubts lingering in the back of her mind. But she wouldn't tell Blaine this – she wouldn't tell anyone.

"Well then the same can be said for you." She adds, "We're in this together, right?"

"Always," he smiles, placing his hand over hers.

Finn finds himself on the unfamiliar route to the hospital once more, this time sans Kurt. He would however call him and ask him to give him a ride home after his appointment, because he's not stupid enough to drive after he's just given blood. He can barely drive when he's in full health – if he's had a few pints of blood taken out of him, then those chances of not crashing are probably not the greatest.

He'd made the decision after doing more research and like, did you know that one donation can help four people? The can take the platelets or the red blood cells and it can help whoever needs it? If one Finn can help four non-Finns, then what is the harm in doing it again?

And it's barely any time until he's back in the office, a nurse named Tina talking him through the procedure.

"I know," he tells her," I've done this before."

Tina smiles, and wipes his arm with some antiseptic before she retrieves the syringe. "So what made you come back?" she questions, her voice sweet yet curious. "To be honest, we don't get many people like you here."

"Like me?"

"People your age," she admits. "It's a nice surprise. So thank you," she checks the chart, "Finn. You're helping out a lot of people."

"You think?" he looks up at her hopefully. It was one thing doing the research himself, but to hear it from another person is actually quite rewarding, and Finn is beyond happy. Maybe this isn't such a selfless act as he originally thought – because he's getting something out of it, the sense of helping others in need. Not that that's a bad thing, especially when he's giving his blood, but it's just food for thought really. He can understand why people do this so much now, and that proud feeling growing in his chest is certainly explained.

Tina nods, and he carries on talking while the needle is stuck in his arm. He barely recognizes the slight sting when it breaks through the barrier on the skin, focusing on his words. "I did some research on this actually. Like, how you have to match in blood type sometimes. And then I asked my mom what blood type I am, but she didn't remember."

He peers up to Tina, a bright smile on his face: it feels nice being able to share his finding with someone, even someone who is already going to know all of this. "You're O negative," she says, "so your blood type is compatible with all of the others; basically you can give blood to anyone." She begins to extract the blood from his arm, and he averts his gaze.

"Really?" his interest pipes up. "That's so cool."

She smiles at him. "Yeah, I guess it is."

"No, but like, anyone. It doesn't matter who it is, just give 'em some of my blood and they'll be better?

Tina lets out a soft chuckle. "But you have to remember that we only take a couple of pints of blood at each session, when there are thousands of people who need it."

This makes him decidedly more mellow, his smile reversing into a small frown. "Oh." It leaves him pretty sad to think of all of the people out there, needing blood for operations and such, but they can't have it because there isn't enough. What if he's never donated in the first place? Would that have meant the difference between life and death for someone? "At least," he begins, "I'm helping at least one person today."

"That you are." Tina removes the now full syringe, cleaning up his arm and placing a small bandage where the needle had entered his skin. It just feels a little irritated, though nothing more. "There was a very lucky girl to receive your blood in this hospital."

"This hospital?"

He knows that she can't really tell him anything more, because there's like patient confidentiality and stuff, but he wants to know more. He wants to… no, that's stupid. He can't do that, right? He doesn't even know this girl and yet he wants to meet her. It's like he needs to do it, like there's something drawing him in. Is that weird? Finn shakes the thoughts from his head.

He leaves quickly after that, waiting for Kurt to give him a ride home. It's not as bad as last time – there's no nausea and he only feels a little lightheaded.

"Come on, Rachel," he recognizes the voice as Tina's and his head jerks in the direction of its source, where he sees the nurse wheeling a girl out of the entrance. "You need to get some fresh air." The brunette sitting in the wheelchair doesn't look particularly happy to be arriving out here at the entrance. Although he thinks it's rather pretty, with the flowers and fountain, and large garden off to the side.

The sunlight hits her pale face, her sad features highlighted and becoming more pronounced. Her eyelids flutter closed and then fully open, revealing large chocolate brown eyes. "But," she begins to protest, "can Blaine not come too?"

"He's been told to stay in bed today," Tina tells her softly, as if she's worried that this Rachel girl is going to react badly to the news. Instead, she gives a dejected sigh. "And you've got another blood transfusion tomorrow," she adds, "so you won't be able to go outside then." She begins to wheel her through to the garden, the mass of greet grass and explosion of colorful flowers.

Finn stares at the path where they'd been only seconds ago. She'd said blood transfusion. Does that – is that the girl that Tina was talking about? It would make sense.

He tries to get another glimpse of her, of the girl who had potentially received his blood. Had he helped to save her life?

They're out of sight quickly, and Finn thinks about the girl, about how sick she'd looked. It makes him sad wondering what he'd do if he was in her situation – he's probably be as unhappy as she looked. But, despite this, she still managed to look pretty, beyond pretty actually. And he'd actually felt a little lightheaded, and not from just having given blood.

Would it be wrong if he could ask to meet her? He finds himself wanting to know more, his curiosity thirsting for further information about this girl, if she is in fact the girl that Tina was talking about.

"So you're on the waiting list too?" she questions Blaine as they talk, this time in her room.

He nods glumly, "I mean, I don't need a new kidney as much as you do, but I still need one." Blaine then sighs, "And now we wait, I guess."

"Oh, Blaine," she pouts, "you'll get one."

"You've been on the waiting list for over a year," he begins, "I just… I don't see how I'll get one soon."

"It'll happen Blaine," she rubs his arm gently. "It will." She's trying to convince herself more than him, feeling her heart sink further than her stomach at this terrible and sudden news. How could they not have noticed? Or maybe it had only just developed… In any case, the news of liver cancer is devastating to anyone, and on top of Blaine's other problems, the news is pretty hard to swallow.

Now he's in the same situation as her, the waiting game. Time slips by, but nothing gets better – always worse.

Rachel smiles sadly at him, wishing that he'd just get the kidney that he needed, so that he could live without the pain, the pain that she's becoming used to.

Her kidneys are broken beyond repair really and she's waited and waited for a new one, but nothing – no one – has helped and so, she has to deal with it, but watching Blaine go through the same thing is painful to watch, painful to even think about.

If she could help him in any way, she would. If she had two healthy, fully functioning kidneys and they were a match, she'd give him one in a heartbeat, because she knows what he's going through.

Blaine rests his head on her shoulder, letting out a long sigh. "It's hopeless."

"Blaine," she tries.

"Look, I know it is. I've accepted it, so I'm not going to convince myself otherwise." She starts to protest, to tell him that it's stupid and he's going to get one, but then she remembers herself when she'd first been put on the list, her hope deteriorating with each day that had slipped by and nothing had happened. She remembers the speech she'd given to him about it, almost identical to the one that she's just heard.

She takes hold of his hand, unable to say anything else – she won't lie to him anymore, but she can stay optimistic, for Blaine.

He lies in bed, feeling a little sleepy from the events of the day. It'd been another time where he'd donated. He doesn't do it often, maybe once or twice a month, because Kurt says that that's best.

His eyes open and close slowly, the room seeming blurry to a sleepy Finn, who's snuggling into his comfortable pillow at this point, dragging his cover above his head to block out the sun. It doesn't help that he was up until about three last night on his video games, and he'd had his appointment at ten, meaning that he'd had to wake up at an unreasonable hour. Hell, he'd even woken up before Kurt, and that's saying something.

When there's a knock on his door, he groans and rolls over in bed, peeking from beneath his cover.

"Finn, Santana an –"

Kurt yelps as he's thrown out of the way and the door opens and, surprise, surprise, Santana's hand is wrapped around the handle. He rolls his eyes, sitting himself up in bed to watch Puck enter after his other friend. Kurt, looking a little ruffled and pissed, shakes his head, glaring at the back of Santana's head for a split second before spinning on his heel, nose in air as he walks off.

"Where were you today?" Puck asks. "We were supposed to meet at Tana's house, but you didn't show."

Shit.

His eyes widen, snapping toward Santana who is glaring at him, lips tight and arms crossed across her chest, pushing up her breasts. He doesn't miss how Puck is trying to stare at them. "Yes, Finnessa? You stood us up, and I was left with this bumbling idiot in my room." She points to Puck, eyes narrowing when she catches the direction of his gaze. "You see something you like, Puckerman?"

"Hell yeah, woman!"

"Get up," she steps nearer to Finn, "I'd pull you up, but I don't want to get your loser germs."

"Please remind me why I'm friends with you Santana, if you just continue to call me a loser and make fun of me?"

She grins. "You love it really."

Finn sighs, "No, I don't. Why would anyone like that? I mean, if I did that to you, you'd be super pissed."

"Well," she begins confidently, "you wouldn't do that to me, 'cause you know that I'd open a can of whoopass on you." After this, she smirks at him, cocking her head. Puck, beside her, smirks too.

"I'd pay to see that."

"Shut up," Finn mumbles, untangling himself from his cover. He's used to this, his friends ganging up on him. When it's just one of them, it's not so bad, but together they can be a nightmare, and he has no idea why he's their "victim".

He notices Puck staring at his arm, and the thin bandage taped over where the needle had been. "Oh, I gave blood this morning," he tells them casually, reaching for his shoes. "Where are we going then?"

"Hold the phone," Santana begins, "you gave blood? What? Why?"

Finn stares up at her, shrugging. "To help someone."

"So you just showed up and gave your blood?" Something clicks in her mind. "Wait, did Hummel drag you there? He keeps nagging the glee club to do it."

"Nope."

"Then wh-"

"I went by myself. I'm a big boy, Sanny, I know how to get to the hospital."

She frowns, "That's not what I meant."

"Look, I'm not doing anything dangerous or stupid, I just gave blood. And like, it's really going to benefit someone. Now, can we just forget about this and go and do something else?" He inwardly groans, standing up and joining the two of them in the middle of his room. They nod simultaneously, and he notices Puck smiling in a really strange way, but brushes it off easily – he's probably just made a perverted joke is his head, and is now proceeding to laugh at himself.

They quickly leave the house, Finn hoping to forget that conversation. Besides, he has other thoughts on his mind, far more important things.

His eyes dart about the room nervously, heart thumping in his chest. How is he supposed to ask? He doesn't even know if it's allowed to meet her, but he's at least got to try, right? Because, if he – he just needs to, okay?

Tina finishes up, adding a small smile as she glances his way.

He clears his throat, conjuring the courage to speak, and finally finding the words, although they come out fragmented. "I…err – I was wondering if I…" He scratches the back of his head idly, as if the simple action will make it easier to ask. Just get it out, he wills himself when the next few words get caught in his throat.

"Yes?" she questions sweetly, eyes never leaving him.

"Well," Finn swallows, "I was thinking like, it'd be cool and stuff if I – if I could meet the girl that, you know, gets my blood and stuff." He notices her hesitate. "I totally understand if I can't 'cause like, it might be against the rule…those hospital rules…" he trails off, eyes dropping to the floor.

The silence that follows is scary, and he doesn't like it one bit.

But then.

"I-I could ask her, if you like."

"I'd like that." A smile tugs at his lips.

He breathes a sigh of relief. The worst part is over.

The worst part is definitely not over.

He tugs at the suit that he shakily put on that morning, unsure of why the nerves have only just began to hit him, because this is just a normal girl who he's going to meet. Only, he's scared. What if he does or says the wrong thing, offends her in some way?

Because he's pretty sure that that's going to happen.

In his hand, he holds the letter that she'd sent him, the scented pink paper clutched tightly between his fingers. He glances down at the elegant writing, smiling at the purple ink that it's been written in.

Dear Finn Hudson,

It would be wonderful to meet you! That way I can thank you in person for the wonderful sacrifice that you make in order to keep me here. Below I've written the visiting hours for my ward. Hope to see you soon!

Rachel Berry

He smiles at the glittery gold star that she'd put after her name, adding even more color to the page. From this, she seems really cheerful and stuff, which is really a contrast to the girl that he'd seen at the hospital. Of course, there could have been a reason for that, he supposes. He finds it curious though, peering at the paper once more.

"Finn!" Kurt calls, "are you ready to go yet?" He sounds a little irritated – probably because he's missing a shopping day with Mercedes as Finn is practically forcing him to go to the hospital. But like, he needs someone there so that he doesn't screw up, and Kurt is most likely to prevent him from doing that, whereas Santana or Puck would just watch him crash and burn, and it's be twice as worse if he took the two of them together.

"Coming," he responds, straightening out his tie once more and checking his appearance. He looks a little pale and sick, though it's really just the nerves taking over his body. He wants to meet her, he really does.

Grabbing the bouquet of flowers from the vase that he'd "borrowed" from his mom, he straightens out his suit once more, runs a hand through his combed hair and hurries downstairs. When he reaches the bottom step, he finds himself receiving the oddest stares from all of his family.

"Finn," Carole begins, taking in his appearance with a raised eyebrow, "you look lovely. Aren't you a little dressed up though?"

"Ma, I'm making an effort." He tries to hide behind the bouquet, which isn't the best idea because it's like super tiny compared to him, and his black suit completely contrasts with the pinks, yellows and whites of the flowers.

Kurt pulls a face. "You're wearing a suit to the hospital? Really?"

He shifts uncomfortably in the suit now, feeling stuffy. "Look, can we just go there?" He points to the door with the bouquet, and it's like his family notices it for the first time. A smile creeps onto Carole's face, while Burt's mouth drops open, almost in realization, though curiosity sweeps over the rest of his features.

His brother just rolls his eyes, pulling open the door. "Let's go then."

It's a short drive to the hospital: ten, fifteen minutes. But, for Finn, it feels like the car arrives there merely seconds after the two of them setting off on their journey. He gulps, trying to calm him erratic breathing – why is he so nervous? He's met girls before. Hell, he's even been popular with a lot of the girls, so this should be easy, right?

Kurt has to give her name in at reception, since the words get struck in his throat, almost choking him.

Room 407.

He kind of forgets how to read numbers for a few seconds, and everything seems a blur. He purses his lips together before they open once more and his tongue darts out from between them, licking over his dry lips.

A strong hand is soon on his arm, and he looks down to see Kurt's hand, pulling him with a strength that he had no idea his brother contained.

"Let's hurry up!" Kurt says. "No point in dilly dallying through the hallways when time is ticking! Let's meet your lady."

Finn jerks back. "My what?" Did Kurt just say what he thought he said? His eyes go wide in panic, and he glances around the hallways, hoping that no one had heard.

In response, Kurt smirks, "You're blushing."

Finn instantly shakes his head, pulling a face at the ridiculous comment. "Come on." He clutches the flowers more tightly than before, his grip almost breaking the stems of the delicate plants. He soon realizes and relaxes slightly.

They move down the corridor. 404, 405, 406.

The next door is right next to him, just the same as the others. He stares at it likes it isn't – like it's different.

He can feel Kurt's eyes on him as he does nothing but stand before the wooden door, gathering his courage. His shaky hand rubs at his face, running over his smooth chin – he'd made sure to shave again this morning, just so that he looks his best for Rachel.

"Are you going to go in or just admire the door?" Kurt questions.

"Right, I'm going."

And he reaches up his hand to knock, but it sort of freezes mid-air.

"Oh, Finn." Kurt groans, knocking himself.

There's a tense moment as they both wait, the silence of the corridor somehow stronger than any noise.

And then there's a soft, "Come in." God, her voice is so pretty.

His large hand curls around the door handle, and he slowly presses it down to allow himself into the room. Kurt is following him in – he can hear the click of his boot heels on the floor. Once inside, his eyes immediately falls to the bed, where she is lying, surrounded by crisp white sheets.

Against those sheets, her skin doesn't look as pale as the last time he'd seen her and, catching her smile, he finds it hard to concentrate on anything other than the pearly white affair that is her smile. She looks genuinely happy to see him, though he supposes that she mustn't get any visitors, or see many people.

"Hi," he manages, his voice higher than normal.

Her eyes flicker over his appearance, the suit and the flowers, and then widen. "Are those for me?"

Finn peers down at them, taking a step closer to the bed and trying not to trip over his own feet. "Err – yeah. They're – I got them for you so… here!" She sits further up in the bed, the sheets creasing around her and he notices how she tenses a little from her own movement, but then she takes the outstretched bouquet in her tiny, thin hands and brings it nearer to her. Closing her eyes, she smells the flowers with a serene smile on her face, features softening.

"They're beautiful," she now holds them close to her chest, biting her lips. "You really didn't need to."

"But I-I wanted to." He clears his throat, peering back at Kurt who is smiling at the pair.

Apparently happy with the fact that they've managed to begin a conversation, without Finn's word vomit, he points to the door. "I'll just be out here. I'll give you a few moments alone. I'm Kurt, by the way." He nods at Rachel, a smile gracing his lips.

"It's nice to meet you," she says back politely, brushing some hair behind her ear. They both watch as he leaves, and then they look toward each other at the same time, eyes locking. He opens his mouth to speak, but what does he say now? He's given her the flowers – what now?

Thankfully, she comes to his rescue. "You know," she grins, "I really didn't expect you to come in a suit."

"Yeah… I was making an effort, right? I mean, I wanted to make a good impression."

"As if you needed that!" she exclaims, "Finn, you donated your blood to me. I like you already!"

"You like me?"

Her cheeks turn red in color, contrasting with her pale skin. "Well, you know. You're such a generous person. I can never thank you enough." Her eyes become serious, staring into his and holding him in a trance. They're so big and wide, and he can't tear himself away from them. She blinks, and so does he, shaking his head lightly.

"Aw, that's okay."

Her mouth falls open, "You don't need to be so humble about it!" Her hand finds his arm, squeezing it tightly. "You helped to keep me alive. Finn, don't you see how amazing that is?" She'd managed to pull him down onto the bed so that they are at the same level, or as close to it as they could get (this girl is tiny) and he once again loses himself in her gaze.

"Totally," he agrees dopily, a smile sweeping across his face.

Rachel giggles. "To be honest, Finn, I was surprised when Tina said that you wanted to meet me. I still don't understand why you felt the need."

His eyebrows knit together, "I don't even know myself. It's like… like I just had to. There was something in the back of my mind telling me to and I shouldn't ignore myself. That's rude, you know?"

The sound of her laugh, all high and girly, spreads a grin onto Finn's face. "Well, I'm glad that you listened." She looks so pretty right now, her hair wavy, curling at the tips and falling perfectly around her face and really, that smile just completes everything – he could stare at it all day.

"Me too," he says, subconsciously leaning closer to the brunette, who seems to be doing the same thing. He quickly realizes, jerking back with slightly widened eyes. He is getting carried away with himself, thinking things that he shouldn't. Things like kissing her, and spending more time with her, and kissing her some more. But, like, she's not going to be interested in someone like him – she has more important things to worry about that dating someone, especially dating him.

He quickly speaks, hoping to steer the conversation in another direction. "And it doesn't hurt or anything… when they take my blood, that is. The first time I felt sick and stuff, but now I only feel a little dizzy."

Rachel nods in understanding, "Oh, I know. I cried the first time that they took my blood." At this, Finn pouts, the image of tears streaming down her cheeks causing sadness to flood through his body.

"That sucks."

She shrugs, "Yeah, but I've got used to it now."

And then he can't stop himself. Not only does he want to know, but he needs to, and the words fly from his mouth before he can stop himself. "So, why're you in here?" Her gaze suddenly meets the sheets, which she idly plays with. "You don't have to tell me… I'm just curious."

She draws in a deep breath, her chest heaving out and back in again, the sound amplified by how quiet the room had become. "I- I don't usually talk about it. My dads basically avoid the whole thing, and then there's only Blaine bu – "

"Blaine?"

"My best friend," she smiles, instantly continuing as if she doesn't notice the slightly sour look that had grown on his face, "but with other people, not that I meet any other people for starters, it's just a little strange."

"You don't have to," he repeats, because she really doesn't. It's her choice, and he's not going to force her into anything just because he wants to know.

"No," she shakes her head, her head shooting back up, "I'll tell you." Her voice is almost shy, though he feels like she's not normally like that. Is that weird? He hardly knows anything about her, and he's already making assumptions about her personality.

She shuffles closer again, throwing her legs over the edge of the bed, and he ignores the heat that rises to his cheeks as her thigh is flush against hers.

"I have leukemia," she tells him.

His breath hitches, throat closing up. Leukemia…that freakin' sucks. He can't even imagine what she must be going through, how it must feel.

"You don't need to tell me that you're sorry, or that everything will work out, because I honestly don't want to hear it." Her voice sounds on the edge of cracking, tears visible in hers eyes.

"I wasn't going to –"

"Everyone does," she replies, completely sure of herself. The reactions are always the same. "And please don't look at me like that." Her head slowly turns to meet him, "I hate people looking at me like that."

"Well, how I am supposed to look at you?" He bugs out his eyes, "Like this?" He then squints them together, "or this?"

In an instant, her stony expression is forgotten and she bursts out in a fit of giggles, hand flying to cover her mouth. He beams down at her, the girl who can't control her laughter. She falls against him, her head lulling back as she laughs further.

"You're funny, Finn."

"I try," he chuckles.

She smiles, staring up at him through her dark lashes before looking down at the flowers that are now on her lap. "They really are beautiful." Her fingers stroke one of the soft petals delicately.

"It's nothing," he says, "from one friend to another."

"Friend?"

"Of course."

Kurt smiles as he sees Finn move closer to Rachel again, and then he says something about leaving, giving them some alone time. He is still a little worried that Finn might slip up, but Rachel doesn't look like she'll be easily offended, if the smile that she's giving Finn is anything to go by.

He's happy to see Finn like this, even if the flowers that he'd picked didn't go together at all and his suit was from what, two years ago. He's still making an effort, especially for a girl who he barely knows, something which is still intriguing him.

He heads toward the bathroom, needing to find a mirror to check that his hair is still in place, when he turns the corner and collides into someone. "Whoa, hey, sorry. I was sort of in a rush," he smiles at the curly-haired boy, clad in his red dressing gown and blue, striped pajamas.

He tries to say something back, his mouth opening, but instead a strangled sound comes out of it and his eyes roll to the back of his head as he passes out, falling to the floor in a heap before Kurt.

Kurt stares, wide eyed. Is this really happening?

He knees to the floor, turning the boy over. Oh damn, what is he supposed to do now?

"Help!" he calls out, "anybody!"

It takes barely a few seconds for a couple of nurses to get there, checking for his breathing while Kurt watches with blurred vision, almost like everything is in slow motion. Everything except for the beat of his heart, that is, because he feels like it's about to thump out of his chest.

He finds himself following them back to his room – he needs to know that he's going to be okay. He's scared for this boy that he literally just ran into.

Watching from the doorframe, Kurt tries to calm himself as the guy is placed on the bed. He's injected with something, not that Kurt would know, and now his features are peaceful as he lays there.

"Are you family?" someone asks behind him, a nurse with a soft smile.

He freezes: they'll probably kick him out if they realize that he isn't family.

"I…err," The words normally flow to him easily, but for once in his eighteen years he finds himself utterly speechless. "I'm just a friend," he lies.

"Well, Blaine won't be having any visitors for the day, so if you could come back tomorrow…"

"I will," he nods, "I will."

He slowly begins to walk away, his limbs still feeling fuzzy, like this isn't real. Blaine, he thinks. That's his name. He manages a peek through the door, staring at him once again, now resting in sleep.

Maybe he will come back.

Finn decides that he loves the sound of her laugh, and he loves making her laugh too. Like, it's just so pretty, like a little song and he'd do anything to hear it, including making an idiot out of himself, which is why he's telling her old, embarrassing stories about growing up with Puck and Santana.

He's just told her about the time when they stole his clothes at the pool and he'd had to run home naked, behind a big inflatable duck.

She holds onto her sides tightly, her face scrunched up as she laughs heartily at his tale. Deep breaths can be heard from her, Rachel trying to control the laughter and her breathing. Eventually, she calms, the occasional giggle spilling out.

The door opens, and in walks Tina. "Visiting times are over," she tells them, watching as Rachel casts a sad look in Finn's direction, her bottom lip poking out. "Rachel, you need to stay in bed," she says, gesturing to the girl who is sitting on the edge, the sheets no longer covering her. "Come on, doctor's order."

With a small grumble, she begins to climb beneath the sheets again, as Finn stands up. "It was awesome finally getting to meet you."

She smiles as she smoothes out the sheets. "And you too, Finn." She looks at the flowers, "Will you visit me again sometime?"

And he totally feels like he's on cloud nine. "Sure. I-I'd love to!" Maybe he sounds a little too eager, but he doesn't care because this means that she likes him, and that's good because he likes her too. Mutual liking is always good. Before he leaves to find Kurt, he sends her a bright smile, something which she quickly returns.

His heart is beating very fast as he leaves the room.

She walks slowly to Blaine's room today, still thinking about Finn's visit, and the connection that she'd instantly felt with him. She's drawn to him in a way that she can't explain and it's completely flattering that he wore a suit and even bought her flowers. Just the thought of Finn in his suit causes her to blush a hot pink, and she ducks her head so that nobody can see.

Entering Blaine's room, she puts on a huge smile, which soon drops when she sees him lay in bed, looking weaker and more tired than usual. "Blaine?" she questions, her forehead creasing and stomach flipping uneasily at the sight of him.

His eyes slowly open, "Rachel." Giving a tiny smile, he pats a space on his bed. She's there in an instant, her hand holding his – they do this a lot. She considers him to be one of her best friends, and probably always will.

"What's wrong?" she pouts, squeezing his hand gently.

Blaine frowns, unwilling to give away the story, and not wanting to worry her.

"Blaine," she pushes with a stern voice.

"Okay, okay," he sighs, "I passed out."

"You passed out," she repeats. "Was it your heart again?"

He nods. "They think so." Blaine, as usual, quickly changes the subject to something else, not wanting to talk about his problem. "So, did you meet him?" he teases, "your Finn Hudson."

She rolls her eyes. "He's not my anything. Just… just – oh, who am I kidding? Blaine, he's amazing. He brought me flowers an –"

"Flowers?"

"Yes!" she nods excitedly, "and he wore this really expensive looking suit, and he'd combed his hair." She falls back onto his bed dramatically, "Blaine, he was so sweet. He said that he'd visit me again." Her smile is impossibly wide and Blaine looks at her fondly.

"So you like him then?"

"Like him?" she questions, "of course I do. He – wait, not like that." She catches his gaze, his raised eyebrow, "It''s not that he isn't good looking. On the contrary, he's extremely handsome. Just…I've only just met him."

"There's still time."

She smiles toward her friend – he's always been like this, high hope for romance, an abundance of love stories stocked away in his mind. He's smiling back at her too, face soft and eyes shining.

Kurt doesn't know how to do this. Does he just go in and introduce himself or would that be too forward? He doesn't even know this guy and yet he wants to see him once more.

That's why he's waiting outside his hospital room, pacing the floor nervously and trying to stay calm. Now he knows how Finn felt.

"You can do this, Kurt Hummel," he tells himself. "Confidence and a big smile, that's all you need."

He forces on the big smile. Good, that's half of it. And for the confidence… he knows how to work that, as long as this Blaine doesn't leave him completely speechless.

Summoning the courage, he knocks on the door and steps inside. "Hi," he says.

"You."

Blaine is on the bed, in some light blue pajamas and a book in his hand. His eyes widen at the sight of Kurt, mouth falling open. "It's you."

"I didn't know that I was famous," Kurt jokes lightly.

"I remember you."

His heart skips a beat, "You do?"

The conversation flows easily, from Blaine remembering Kurt's face as the last thing he'd seen before he collapsed to the more casual talk of how the day had been. Kurt was right – he made the right choice by coming back.

He slowly walks through the corridors, the bandage on his arm irritating his skin a little, but it's not really too noticeable.

He's supposed to be heading home now. In fact, he should have called Kurt already, but all he can think about is seeing Rachel again and apparently that's where his feet are leading him to, their journey completely unstoppable, not that he minds.

On the contrary, he's quite happy about it.

The door to her room doesn't seem as intimidating as the last time he'd arrived, even now that he stands alone, no Kurt to knock for him. Thankfully, it's during visitor hours, and he isn't going to get in trouble for just randomly being there…

He has the courage to knock himself today, blinking a couple of times before he opens the door. She must have been sleeping because her hair is matted to her head, and there are pillow marks on her face. "Finn," she calls out in surprise, "what're you doing here? Have you told someone? I – l –"

"Tina knows that I'm here," he points outside to the nurses' station where Tina is sitting, before closing the door and moving over to her bed. She sits up, brushing her hands through her hair and trying to improve her dishevelled appearance, not that Finn thinks it needs improving at all. "She's pretty awesome, huh?"

"She's great," she smiles, "a really good friend." She tilts her head in his direction. "Are you okay? You look a little pale."

He nods, the slight movement feeling strange. "I just… err, I just gave some more blood."

"Oh!" she says, her eyes widening, "Finn, you need to sit down!"

"That's okay. I feel fine."

She pulls a stern face, pointing to the bed, despite there being a seat right beside her bed. "Down. Now."

He can't deny her, can he?

But, as soon as he's sat down, she practically drags him into a lying position, his head against her pillow. "What're you doing?" he questions in shock, staring at her like she's crazy, practically manhandling him.

Rather than be embarrassed by her forward actions, she raises an eyebrow at him. "What? You need rest. I've had blood taken before, and I always have to lie down afterwards. You weren't going to drive home, were you?"

He smiles up at her, shaking his head, an answer which she feels satisfied with.

"You're bossy, do you know that?"

She gasps, "I am not. Take that back!"

"See?" He grins at Rachel having just proved his point. She rolls her eyes, though she can't hide the smile on her lips.

"Oh, shut up."

"Really? More bossing me around?" he chuckles.

He shifts on the bed, pressing his face further into the large pillow. He kind of feels bad for taking up so much space, but then again Rachel is tiny and wasn't taking up much anyway, and he's scared of what she'll do if he tries to sit back up again.

"I just want you to be okay," she mumbles, thinking that it's too quiet for him to hear, but he does hear it. And his cheeks tint pink before he can stop them.

Rachel isn't looking at him though; she's staring off straight ahead of her, features relaxed and thoughtful. He yawns out loud, and her head snaps in his direction. "I knew that you'd be tired." Her smug look is actually the cutest thing that he's ever seen.

"Okay, okay, you win. This time."

"This time?" she folds her arms neatly across her chest, "I'll have you know that my winning rate is currently an impressive one hundred perfect, and you can do nothing to change that."

"Oh yeah?" he grins.

Her face scrunches up with the thought of losing. "Yes!" she says quickly.

"We'll see about that."

She looks taken back, her mouth falling open. It's easy to tell what she's thinking, she's like an open book at that moment, and Finn really likes that. But the smile springs back onto her face and she shoves him gently. "You just go to sleep."

He frowns. "Sleep?"

"You'll feel better," she assures him. "Trust me."

"But this is your bed," he starts to get up, "I can't sleep on here. You should be the one resting. You're –"

He cuts himself short, noticing her expression. In the short time that he's known her, he's realized that she hates people treating her different because of her condition. "I'll sleep," he changes, "but only if you sleep too. I woke you up before."

With a sigh, she begins to shake her head, "I'm not tired."

"Rach."

"Okay, fine. I'll sleep."

She pushes herself down the bed, and tries to get comfortable, wincing slightly and holding her side.

"Are you alright?" he questions, his heart almost skipping a beat.

Rachel forces a smile onto her face, "It's fine." Her eyes sweep closed and then he realizes how close he is to her. He can hear her breathing, the soft, slow rhythm as she inhales and exhales, some of her warm breathe hitting his face. He gulps.

She falls asleep quickly, her fingers dropping limply against his hand, but Finn can't sleep. He's tired, man is he tired, yet he can't seem to do it. It's just that she's so close, and he's never been this close to girl other than his mom and Santana. Sure, other girls kind of oogle at him in the hallway and ask for his number, but he never really lets it amount to anything.

How in the world is he supposed to sleep right now?

So he just doesn't…

He finds himself watching her, totally ignoring that it's probably a little creepy. She's beautiful, she really is. Everything about her, from those plump pink lips to her slightly large, but unique nose. Her eyelashes are long, brushing against her cheeks.

Finn smiles.

He stays there until Tina tells him that he has to leave.

Finn visits her a couple of times after that too, 'cause she's actually pretty awesome and she's really great to talk to. She doesn't get to talk to people much, she tells him, so seeing him brightens her day.

He likes to listen to her talk.

It seems like she could go on and on forever, probably about the same topic too. She just has so much to say about everything, and kind of dumps all of her thoughts on him, not that he minds.

And they really talk about anything. She went from talking about Johnny Depp films to informing him of her long line of work for PETA. In like, two minutes. It was impressive.

She gives him her cell phone number and he calls her sometimes, and then some more. He just wants to talk to her, enjoys the sound of her voice, and they just become friends so easily, like they were always supposed to be friends.

He likes it.

"Blaine?" he calls through shyly, peeping around the edge of the door. "Can I come in?"

Upon hearing his name, Blaine glances over the magazine that he was engrossed in and smiles at the sight of Kurt there. "Hey! Kurt, how're you?"

He practically skips into the room, "Wonderful. I hope you don't mind me coming early?"

"Not at all. I get to spend more time with you now." With a smile, he pats the side of the bed invitingly for Kurt before moving his curls out of his face. His hair has grown a lot in the time that he's been here, and he really needs a haircut, or some gel. Just anything to tame this mess.

Kurt chuckles beside him, observing his every move and then raising his eyebrow.

"It's annoying me," he mumbles, adding a tiny little pout. Kurt thinks that he looks adorable.

"Here, let me help." He ignores Blaine's protests and reaches into his bag to pull out a small bottle of gel. He keeps it for emergencies, though has rarely ever used this particular packet, and now Blaine can take advantage of that. As cute as his little locks are, they are really long and kind of distracting. He takes a pea sized amount of the gel on his hands. He beckons Blaine, curling his finger slowly and Blaine leans forward tentatively.

His hands run through Blaine's thick hair, spreading the gel around carefully, his eyes concentrating hard.

Blaine smiles at the gentle feeling of the motion. It feels nice, and Kurt has these really soft hands and they just kind of know exactly what to do.

He notices the tip of Kurt's tongue poking out of his lips, those luscious looking lips. Oh God, now he can't stop staring at them…

Averting his gaze, he stares down at his hands, suddenly finding them extremely interesting. Kurt is practically leaning over him, still styling his hair, and he really needs to stop his heart from beating so fast or something bad is going to happen.

"There!" he announces happily, "you're very welcome, Blaine Anderson." He judges his work proudly. "For a minute job, it looks wonderful!"

"…and I think that they like each other, you know? But they're both too damn stubborn to admit it. I mean, they definitely are physically attracted to each other. The amount of times that I've had to listen to Puck drone on about her boobs is kind of ridiculous…" Finn explains, though he's mostly talking to himself. Kurt never lets him discuss his friends, since he's not too fond of Puck or Santana, but Rachel seems genuinely interested.

She nods her head along eagerly to his words, eyes wide and mouth open, as if ready to offer her advice at any time. She's a really good listener. She like, doesn't judge him or anything, and she makes him feel really comfortable with her. He likes it.

Even though she hasn't met his friends, she still listens, she makes an effort.

But yeah, maybe he should talk about something that they can both enjoy. He sighs, "You must be getting bored hearing me go on and on about my friends…" He looks sheepish.

"No, not at all," she smiles. "I actually quite enjoyed it. You looked happy."

"Really?" his eyebrow rises in suspicion, because she's probably just lying to him to make it look better.

She just nods, "Oh, of course Finn!" A small blush suddenly creeps across her skin for a second, her gaze dropping to the floor. She changes the subject quickly. "How's school going?" He finds it a bit strange that she's asking about school of all things, but her smile is so big and he can't not reply to her.

"Good, I guess. Math is kind of a killer though. I just suck at it. And, if I don't do well in math, then my chances of getting a scholarship are pretty low."

"You want a scholarship?" she looks surprised. Crap, that's not good. Does she think that he's dumb or something?

Finn idly rubs the back of his head, staring straight ahead, "Yeah, I mean…Coach says I'm pretty good at football, and my brother made me join glee club. He thinks that I'm good."

The excitement that radiates from her is overwhelming. "Glee club!" She clasps her hands together tightly, her smile so big that he's positive it's hurting her cheeks. "You can sing? Why didn't you say so before?"

His face scrunches up in confusion, "…should I have…?"

Totally not the right thing to say.

Rachel huffs, folding her arms neatly across her chest. "Well, it would have been helpful. Of course, you're a wonderful and lovely young man on your own, but now I know that we share the passion of music, I can't help feeling a special bond forming between the two of us." She finishes with a brilliant smile, and he notices that her hand is on his arm. That happens a lot, like she doesn't realize that she's holding him. It's a totally subconscious thing, but yeah, he likes it.

And like, all of her words were a blur, other than 'passion' and 'special bond', and he guesses that they're good things, so he just nods too. "Yeah, awesome."

He never really thought about singing as a passion – to be honest he doesn't really think of much as a passion, or anything for that matter. He just knows what he's good at and what he isn't. He's okay at singing – but not a star or anything, but Rachel is looking at his with those wide, excited eyes and, for a second, he kind of feels like that.

It's a little weird, he thinks, but also kind of cute. She does that a lot – falls in awe of things about him. Normal things too, which leaves him even more curious.

"I don't get out much," she'd once joked, though he hadn't seen the way that her face had fell. It really sucks that she's stuck here all the time, looking at the same faces day in day out. He can just get up and leave whenever, do whatever he wants at any point, but she can't. Rachel is almost a prisoner to her own condition.

She has good days and bad days, though he hasn't seen her through any bad days just yet and quite frankly it scares him, the thought of seeing her even more vulnerable than she already appears.

Snapping out of his thoughts, he finds her staring at him, head tilted to the side, an amused look on her face. "Er…" he clears his throat, "so…singing! Do you like singing?"

And he knows that he's said something right when she grins and bounces a little where she's sat, bursting with excitement. "Singing is my life." Her face suddenly slips. "Well, it was."

Rachel feels her whole body slump, as do her emotions, and her heart. She doesn't sing anymore, she doesn't even remember the last time she'd done so, happily copying her most admired singers. Patti, Barbra, Celine… Singing was something that brought her joy, let her escape her reality. But her dream had been to be on Broadway, to be someone, a star. A star who shines so bright that nothing else can be seen in their presence.

She feels Finn's eyes on her, burning into her skin. He probably has dreams, dreams for his future, and he'll probably achieve them too – he's happy, in good health. Why not? The smile is now completely gone from her face, and she's pale as she considers how she's lost her dream. Her dads still remain hopeful, they constantly tell her that one day they'll be "watching their little girl perform her heart out", but they won't. She knows that they won't.

No one will.

"Rach?" he sends her a questioning look, a tiny smile placed on his lips, like it's trying to radiate some form of happiness to her, just to stop her from looking so empty. "You okay?"

"No," she says bluntly, the word forced out. "No, I'm not."

Worry is etched onto his face, and she hates that it's her that caused it – she doesn't want to do that to him at all.

"Was it something I said?"

She can't take her eyes off of him. His innocent face is staring back, eyes intense. His fingers brush against her hand, almost taking hold of it, almost. Finn's never been as forward as her, not that it's a bad thing: his hesitance is actually rather endearing.

"I just… I can't remember the last time that I sang…"

It sounds ridiculous, her statement, and so, she's not affected when Finn's eyebrows swoop together, forehead creased with fine lines. "What?" He laughs, he shouldn't be laughing, but the sound escapes his mouth easily, filling the silence that follows.

Rachel looks kind of scary right now. Like, really pale and almost shaky, and he wants nothing more than to hold her in his arms and scare away all of her demons. But all he can manage to do is to encase her soft hand in his, squeezing it gently. "Come on," he tries again, "you can tell me." Trust me, he's almost begging.

She can definitely be dramatic at times, but this is odd. He's never seen her like this before, and it's setting his caring mode on an all-time high. Though the smallest smiles, she speaks. "When I grew up, I wanted nothing more than to be a performer. The only thing I ever talked about, much to the annoyance of my peers, was Broadway, and singing. I was so sure of it, Finn. I'd watch The Way We Were or Funny Girl and –"

"I don't know what they are."

"And I knew that that was my calling," she continues, regardless of his interruption. She doesn't look at him now, her eyes closed as she talks, focusing on the words. "I was going to be amazing. I'd fantasize about people, young girls who would look up to me, wanting my autograph, photographers fighting to get the best picture of me. My name in lights." Her eyes open at this point, brighter than any light he could imagine, and then she sighs, "But that was just childish thinking. That's never going to happen now."

"Why isn't it going to happen?" He frowns. Rachel is one of the few people that he knows who is determined enough to succeed in such a difficult career, and he knows that she'd be perfect. Every note, every line – she'd nail it. All of this and he's never even heard her sing, seen her acting, but he just knows. He'd be willing to bet on it right there and then.

She looks sad, like a sad, lost puppy. It hurts him to see her like this. "Because," she says quietly, "how can I do that when I'm not alive?"

It hits him harder than he could ever imagine. "W-what?" he chokes out. Did she really just say that? He tries to imagine a world without her and it feels wrong.

Her eyes catch his in a piercing gaze, causing goosebumps to rise on his arm. "You really don't think that I'm going to survive this, do you?"

And like, she's talking about it so causally, and it's leaving him pretty speechless. She's talking about death, her death, as if it's nothing, as if no one will care. But he does, he cares. "Rach, I –"

"I stopped trying to convince myself months ago." There she goes again, not being able to look him in the eye, "it's easier that way. If only my fathers had the same intentions, but I know that they're grasping onto hope."

He wants to stop listening, for her words to disappear, but they don't. They swirl around his head, getting louder and louder.

She thinks that she's going to die.

No, no, worse. She's okay with it. She's okay with dying.

"Rach," her name is strained on his lips – he doesn't want to have this conversation, ever. It's too late.

"What?" she sounds upset, like when someone is suppressing their cries. Maybe she does care after all, but she's hiding it. "I've been in here for months, Finn. In and out of hospital. But now I can't leave. I'm never going to leave this place…" her eyes flutter closed, "alive."

"You don't know that!" His voice is so full of pain that he hates hearing it himself, and she winces, eyes watering.

"Finn, it's okay, I –"

He shakes his head, "It's not okay! How can you say that this is okay?"

"You haven't been dealing with it as long as I have," she raises her voice. "I've had so long to accept this."

His face drops into his hand. He can't look at her, not when she's saying things like that. Her hand grasps onto his more firmly now, and her other cups his chin, tilting it upwards. "Look at me," she says, "I've been through all the crying and hurting – I know that my time is going to be over soon. I can feel it, Finn." He tries to move again, so that he doesn't have to look at her face, "and when it happens you have to stay strong." She stumbles over the words, "And you should forget me."

He squeezes his eyes closed. That…he…no, he can't. "Rach, please." He begs, he needs her to be positive like him, to convince herself that she's going to be okay. She will be.

Finn's hands holds onto hers – he's scared to let them go, to let her slip away from him. He holds on tighter.

But Rachel's crying, and he doesn't know how to handle crying girls. He never has. They've only been friends for just over a month. People aren't supposed to get that close so quickly, are they? Things like that only happen in the movies and yet, here they are, the thought of Rachel not being in his life making him feel physically sick.

"You're gonna be just fine," he whispers,

He feels her breath hit him, they're so close. He wants to be like this forever, just the two of them without the pain that reality brings, but that's not going to happen.

Rachel wipes away her tears and stares at him with her large, puffy eyes and he feels sick again. He'd do anything to wipe that look off his face, anything.

"You can expect me to just sit around and watch you…you…"

He'd said it. Well, almost. He'd almost admitted that she was going to… Damn, he can't even think it, how is he supposed to witness it?

"I don't expect anything from you, except to carry on living your life to the fullest, no matter what happens," she manages a smile. "You have your whole future ahead of you, Finn." Her fingers now caress his face, eyes adoring. "Can you promise me that?"

"I can't –"

"Yes, you can," she says.

But Finn knows that he can't, and he certainly doesn't want to either. Because then that's like accepting it and he isn't ready.

She isn't going to take no for an answer though. He knows Rachel, she's stubborn and at times bossy, of course she's not going to let him deny her this. Her gaze doesn't move from him, eyes still leaking tears. "I – I promise."

She nods. "Thank you, Finn." Rachel searches his face before pressing a soft kiss to his forehead, a small smile gracing her full lips. He tries to keep that feeling with him, how amazing the brief contact felt.

A second later she's asleep, the feeling lost with it.

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