Seven letters. One word.

Seven letters. One word. Part 5.

Once again, I do not own Glee or any of the characters.

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The buzzing of Blaine's phone awoken him, he jumped up frantically pulling on a grey suit and grabbing his sachel. "I'm so fucking late." Blaine groaned.

"So, are you still coming to my appointment later?" Kurt yawned.

"Mhmm, wouldn't miss it." Blaine mumbled, not concentrating on Kurt. He rushed out of the door.

Kurt sighed and dragged himself from the sofa bed. Kurt stumbled to the kitchen, poured tap water into the kettle and pressed the switch for it to boil. He hummed in boredness and reached for an instant coffee sachet, pouring it into a mug.

As Kurt sipped he wondered how kind Blaine was. At first he thought he may have wanted something from Kurt, not just money... But Blaine was just being there for someone who needed help. He couldn't thank the boy enough. And now he was missing work just to go to his doctors appointment? Promises meant a lot to Kurt, if he promised something he would never break that promise. He hoped that ither people did the same. He hoped /Blaine/ did the same.

Kurt fumbled in his pile of folded clothes, looking for something to wear, usually he avoided making the effort for urgent appointments as he would have very little time to get dressed and out of the door, what was so urgent that his doctor couldn't tell him on the phone? Kurt took little sips of his piping hot coffee and got changed into a pair of faded black skinny jeans and a loose white t-shirt.

'Presentable' Kurt thought to himself.

Kurt stared at himself in the long, expensive mirror that hung from the wall, sighing at the refection. He couldn't even recognise himself anymore.

Before the bastard illness invaded his body, Kurt prised himself on his appearence. On how he could look in the mirror and smile with pride at his dashing ability to pair his amazing collection of clothes in beautiful combinations. He loved how his skin was always clear and peachy, and how his hair was always perfectly shaped with the little help of the dearest hairspray he could buy.

But most of all he loved how his personality shone through: a young, successful, determined, loyal man who was proud of who he was and was never afraid to show it, even in his high school years when his was physically and mentally abused by jocks who wouldn't accept his sexuality.

Now when he looked in the mirror he looked /straight/, it disgusted him. He was ashamed that he was wearing such 'normal' clothes, he was /meant' to be different. He hated what this illness had turned him into. He stared at his face, his skin looked dull, grey and blotchy, his hair was flat and his personality felt like a candle that's flame was too little to be noticed and appreciated for it's warmth and beauty.

Kurt's eyes stung, they wanted to let out unshed tears. Kurt /wanted/ to cry, he wanted to cry until his death, just to let out some kind of emotion. Why was it so hard to just let out a single tear?

Kurt sniffed and stormed away from the mirror, dumping his empty coffee mug into the sink. He looked down at his watch... It was time. Time for yet another pointless agonising trip to the washed out walls and leaflets that read 'Dealing with your cancer' and 'How to tell your loved ones your mental illness.'

Kurt pulled his mobile out of his leather jacket, he dialled Blaine's number and placed the device to his ear.

One ring. Two ring. Three ring.

Kurt heard something vibrating, he walked over to where the sorce of the vibrating was coming from, Kurt opened the drawer to Blaine's bedside table, Blaine had forgotten his phone. Great.