Notes: I've been working on this story for a while, so I thought, "Why not put it up?" Enjoy, tell me what you think, etc. Thank you!

Also, I do not own Glee... Yet. Mwahaha!

No, but really, I don't. :(

Chapter 1

Lockers slammed all around him, and students passed by with loud feet and even louder mouths. Why some people felt they had to yell their conversations to the world, he would never know. A few students smiled as they made eye-contact. Others quickly averted their eyes and darted out of range. But that was to be expected. Just because he had returned to McKinley High, didn't mean any of the students had changed their opinions. Some were still highly homophobic and didn't want anything to do with him, and others just down right hated his guts.

Whatever, he thought with a smile. Every star has their fans, and every star has their haters. These people are just sending me one step closer to becoming famous. If they want to hate me, let them hate me. In fact, let them hate me with a passion. Because I'm back in this school, and I'm here to stay. And with their hatred, I'll be a celebrity in no time.

He held his head a little higher after that thought, and his steps were more confident. As a student scowled at him, he grinned. And as another student tried to avoid him entirely, he tapped them on the shoulder and said a quick friendly, "Hello," then walked off to his next class.

Since he had moved back to his old school from Dalton, he had felt pretty confident. Things were moving along smoothly. He wasn't getting bullied anymore, he and Blaine were getting closer, and all of his friends had welcomed him back with open arms. To put it frankly, everything was perfect. Especially the part about Blaine.

He grinned brightly at the thought of his uniformed boyfriend. He could almost see him now, parading down the hallway with the other Warblers in tow, serenading him with a thoughtfully picked song of choice. Blaine, in all of his dapper, hair-gelled beauty, would sway back and forth, looking excited and willing to sing anything for his boyfriend. He would end the song with a big finish, his triangle-eyebrows just fractions away from his hairline as they raised happily, and his mouth wide as he belted out the last note. They would look deeply into each other's eyes, then kiss romantically with a chorus of "Aw"'s in the background as bystanders clapped and cheered for the lovely couple.

Ahead of him, Brittany and Santana were holding hands, which surprised him. Usually they were holding pinkies. But he gained another peek at the two girls' hands, and they were, in fact, holding full hands today. He smiled slightly, putting his previous daydream into the back of his mind for later. The two former Cheerios were, as almost everyone in Glee knew, madly in love. However, he thought, frowning now, weren't Karofsky and Santana 'dating'. Sure, they were obviously each other's beards, but did they break up?

He stopped thinking about it, figuring he'd find out in Glee. If Santana and Brittany weren't in rehearsals, no doubt they were somewhere else in the school, all over each other with a flurry of kisses and touches. Or, perhaps, they'd come to rehearsals and do the same, just to spite Rachel. No doubt, the brunette would have a hissy fit if the entire club was distracted or ¾ gasp ¾ turned on and too preoccupied to practice any sort of music. He could almost see the girl, standing off in a corner, her brown eyes wide and innocent as she shielded herself from the two lovers, and at the same time tried to calm everyone down.

He shook his head to clear it, thinking that he was getting way off track. At the moment, there was only one thing to be preoccupied by: Blaine Anderson. The uniformed prince had promised to take him out to dinner tonight, and he was, at the moment, having that anxious/sick feeling. His stomach was turning over and over onto itself, and he wondered briefly if he'd even be able to eat. And what if he puked? Or what if he puked on his boyfriend?

Suddenly his anxious feeling morphed into a full-on freak-out. He could feel his heart pounding, but not like it normally did when he thought of Blaine. Usually it was just a little erratic. But now, he wondered momentarily if he should go to the nurse. He couldn't even imagine a scenario where he puked on his date. He would probably die, right then and there. And Blaine would, probably, hate him for it anyway.

But more importantly, he thought suddenly, his panic escalating to incredible heights, what am I going to wear?

I can't do this! I can't do this! He was pretty sure he was having a heart attack at the moment. His class was just around the corner, but he didn't care. He stopped and rested his face on a cold locker. His cheeks were hot and his forehead was burning up. I'm sick, I can't go on a date with Blaine! But maybe I can… I mean, I'm sure I won't puke on him. I can hold it back long enough to get away from him. And I really want to see him…

With a final, decisive breath, he took his face off of the cool, metal locker door and straightened his jacket. There was no reason to get worked up about nothing. He was going on his date with Blaine, and he was going to enjoy himself. With his head held high and his chest puffed out confidently, he took a step forward…

And puked.

"Kurt!" Oh dear Gaga! He looked down before him at the monstrosity that was splattered all along the tile floor and a locker beside it. He didn't know whose locker it was, and he honestly didn't have any desire to figure it out. He was sure that he wouldn't want to see the expression on their face as they looked at the boy who barfed on their locker.

The boy looked up pitifully at Will Schuester, the teacher who had yelled his name. The man had run up to the sick student, dropping papers and snaking through students. He was staring at the mess on the floor, obviously trying not to look disgusted. He put a hand on Kurt's shoulder and smiled comfortingly. It didn't help.

"I'm so sorry…" He whispered, trying not hurl again when he caught a whiff of the gut-wrenching smell. He didn't dare look at it again. As he took deep breaths, he let Mr. Schue tug him away to the nurse's office. She said the obvious and sent him home, and Mr. Schue insisted on driving him, claiming he was too sick to drive himself. He didn't argue.

Kurt held his phone in his right hand, contemplating on whether or not to call his boyfriend or simply text him. Or just not contact him at all. He groaned -which sent him into a coughing fit- and covered his face with the thick blanket he was under. He couldn't cancel with Blaine. The Warbler had spent weeks planning the perfect date, and he couldn't bear to think of his boyfriend's beautiful face, frowning in disappointment as he stared down at his sick boyfriend.

Suddenly a new fantasy popped up into Kurt's teenage mind. He smiled and giggled a little as he thought of Blaine taking care of him. He imagined him in a doctor's costume, asking him in a deep voice, "Where should I put the thermometer?" He was sent careening into a fit of laughter as he thought of how ridiculous that was. As if his dapper boy would ever use sexy phrases or pick-up lines on him. However, the idea wasn't exactly unappealing…

"How're you feeling?" Burt suddenly burst through Kurt's bedroom door, holding way too many things in his arms. He walked over to the bed, balancing the objects precariously in his hands. His son laughed as he set them all down near the sick teenager.

"I'm feeling the same as when you asked me five minutes ago." His voice was stuffy, and he sniffed, trying to clear his sinuses. He noticed Burt had brought him two boxes of tissues. "Only now I have to deal with a crisis."

Burt set two bottles of pills and a box of vitamins on his son's bedside table, then gave his son a small bowl of chicken soup. "What's your crisis?" He asked, opening a box of tissues and handing Kurt a mug of hot tea.

"I have to cancel my plans with Blaine."

"So?"

"So? We haven't hung out in forever. And he tried so hard planning this date. I can't just- DAD!" Kurt shoved his dad's hand away from his face. Burt had been moving to stick a thermometer into his mouth, and his other hand was pressed against his forehead. Kurt's face grew red as he was sadly reminded of his previous daydream. Somehow, it didn't seem as sexy now that his dad was the one with the thermometer.

"You feel warm. I think you're running a temperature." Burt squinted and held out the thermometer, leaving his son to take his own temperature. After making sure that Kurt stuck it under his tongue properly, he stood up and stuck his hands into the depths of his pockets. "If you need anything just call me. I'll check on you in a few minutes." His son rolled his eyes.

"Really, that's not necessary, dad. I can take care of myself." Kurt snapped, then instantly regretted the words once they were out of his mouth. Burt winced fractionally and nodded, looking away from his son. He was obviously stung by what had been said.

"I know, I know." He sighed and patted his son's perfectly styled hair. Even when he was sick, he had to look at least sort of fabulous. "I keep forgetting you're not my little boy." Kurt reached up and grabbed his dad's hand as he walked away, then let it slip from his fingers.

"Love you," he said feebly, holding back a coughing fit as his dad exited his room. Burt grunted affectionately in response and closed the door quietly, leaving Kurt to stare around himself at the array of things his dad had left him. Tissues, Tylenol, vitamins, tea, soup… A sick man's dream. He smiled inwardly. His dad really cared about him. Really cared. When he was young and he would get sick, his dad would do this same thing. He would go way overboard, going to the store to get anything and everything that anybody suggested for his sick son. Even if he just had a stuffy nose, Burt wouldn't rest until Kurt was feeling one-hundred percent.

Kurt sighed in content and breathed in the hot smell of his soup. As much as he hated to admit it, he loved it when his dad spoiled him like this. It made him feel special. He took a sip of his tea, surprised at just how many herbs there were in it. The strong, bitter tea burnt the roof of his mouth, and he set it aside for later. As he set the mug down, his hand brushed up against his phone.

He really did need to call Blaine…

The sick teenager groaned and stared deeply into his soup. Setting the hot food aside next to his tea, he covered himself with his blanket, pulling it up to his nose so only his eyes peeked over the rim. He watched the wall for a few minutes before yawning.

Maybe he could call Blaine in a few minutes…