Title: Love Heals
Paring: Kurt/Blaine
Warning: Thoughts of suicide, could possibly be a trigger for self-harm; although that one's iffy, sweet, sweet Klaine kisses
Summary: Kurt reaches out for help and finds that it really does get better.
AN: This is my first Glee story. Although it's more in-between drabble and one-shot. It's slightly angsty, but I make up for it with Klaine fluff! I know there's a lot of Trevor Project fics, but that's only because the need for the word of this amazing organization needs to be spread. This is the first thing I've completed since I swore I'd give up writing for numerous reasons, so it's a little rough, but it wanted to be written and so I wrote it. Title from song by Jonathan Larson of the same name.
A trembling, porcelain hand tightly gripped the phone- his life line. In the other hand, there was a razor blade- his escape.
Silent tears streamed down his cheeks; he was too dignified to let the world know of his turmoil. He dialed the number for the fifth time before closing out of the call screen once more. By doing so, he revealed the text messages. He had received one from almost every member of the football team. The cool metal of the razor against his arm soothed his burning skin. His fingers trailed over old scars. The blue vein in his wrist throbbed tauntingly; he knew how quickly it could all be over. Blue eyes wandered to the laptop perched on the desk on the other side of the room. In his hand, he held every hateful slur and spiteful word known to man, but on that screen, that screen that was just out of reach, "It gets better," was proclaimed in proud letters. Once more, shaking fingers clumsily typed in the number he'd memorized. He pulled in a jagged breath and pressed send. When the dial tone sounded, he jumped, suddenly unsure of himself.
"Hey, thanks for calling the Trevor Project."
"I need help, please," a broken sob that caused the operator's heart to wrench painfully, "I'm so scared. I've never done this before. I'm a Hummel. We deal with our own problems, but I just can't take it anymore! No one understands; no one understands why it gets to me," his voice trailed off.
"It's okay. It's my job to listen; you can tell me why it gets to you."
The small, tired voice continued, "I'm alone. I know who I am, and I'm proud of it, but you can only be shoved into a locker so many times. You can only be called a fag so many times. You can only be hurled into a dumpster so hard that you break a rib so many times!" The gentle voice rose until it was hysterical and overcome by sobs.
"I know it's scary, because I've been there. You'll find that no matter how old you are or where you go, people will continue to be ignorant. Just know that you have friends here. We're here so that you can call us when things get out of hand and we'll help you find a way out. That, being said if there's ever any fear for your safety, please let us know. We'll help you. My name's Jason, and please never hesitates to ask for me when you call."
The call lasted for three hours. In those three hours, Kurt Hummel found reason to hope again. About an hour into the call, he told Jason of his plans to kill himself. About an hour and a half into the call, the razor was thrown out of his window. About two hours into the call, Kurt was laughing.
The last thing said that night was, "Remember Kurt, it gets better."
It did get better.
A year ago tonight, Kurt Hummel made the lifesaving call to the Trevor hotline. It was because of that call that Kurt was alive, and to say that Blaine was grateful for that would be an understatement. Tonight, Blaine held him close and whispered sweet nothings into his ear.
Kurt clung to him, remembering the feeling of isolation that had been dominant in his life at this exact time last year. The older boy leaned down and placed a soft kiss on his forehead before trailing kisses down his face until he met his lips. Just like every other time they kissed, Kurt felt complete.
Blaine removed the boy from his lap and sat him down on Kurt's dorm room issue bed. He kneeled in front of him and took both of his wrists firmly in his hands, calloused fingers rubbing soothing circles into his palms. Slowly, his lips brushed against every scar that marred Kurt's beautiful porcelain skin.
"You're so beautiful, Kurt."
It truly did get better. And Kurt Hummel was living proof.
Thank you for reading!