So this is for my friend Stella. I promised her a oneshot ages ago and just now got around to finishing it. Please be aware that this contains extremely triggering content relating to suicide, self-harm, depression and death. Read with caution. This is unbeta'd & part of a new verse titled A Hundred Ways To Drown, as I plan on writing more oneshots with this future!Klaine w/ mental disorders concept, detailing their individual stories and how they heal.

Twenty Notes

(part of the Hundred Ways verse)

2014

"Kurt?" Blaine said quietly, his voice breaking halfway through saying his boyfriend's name.

Kurt stared at the floor. He fell silent as his mind raced; he could feel his heart rate beginning to quicken.

"I-it's not what it looks like." Kurt dared to glance up. Blaine was standing at the entrance to his room, blocking Kurt from going beyond the landing. "Blaine, whatever you found, I promise you it's not what it looks like."

There was a faint sound – the only discernible noise from either of them for a moment – as Blaine began to unfold a piece of paper that had been clutched in his fist.

"Kurt," Blaine said again, the boy's name so far all he was capable of saying. "When…when did you try to kill yourself?"

Through a haze of sudden tears brought on by a combination of shame and fear, Kurt could barely see the note – one virtually identical to about twenty other small messages he had written almost two years prior. It was not dated; though the paper was worn, no one glancing at it would be able to tell how old it was. Copies had been made for everyone who had been part of Glee club, Kurt's favorite teachers, and Burt when Kurt was fifteen years old.

Only two were missing from the small box Blaine had dropped in shock. One was lying in shreds near Blaine's feet; the other had been discarded long before this moment.

"Before I met you," Kurt said, tears now streaming freely down his cheeks. He sank to his knees, for once not caring about the wrinkles doing so would create in his clothing. Holding up his hands, he rushed to explain.

"The bullying…and everything…it just got to be too much."

"Everything?" Blaine's hushed inquiry dropped like a stone between them. "What are you not telling me?" He said desperately, swaying in a way he hadn't since his junior year of high school after that first trip to Scandals. This time, he found himself unable to stay upright out of pure fear.

Blaine knelt as well, putting himself at Kurt's level, and reached out to cradle the boy's cheek in his hand.

"I missed my mom." Kurt's voice broke. "I…I was afraid of what my dad would say when I eventually came out to him, because he's the only parent I have. And I…in the end, I think I just hated myself for weakening to the point that I had these thoughts in the first place."

"Pain means you're human." Blaine's soft reassurance made Kurt flinch – he wasn't used to having his feelings validated in this way, even after so many years spent with Blaine loving him so unconditionally.

"Really?" Kurt said, staring at the floor. "Pain just…it turned me into something less than human."

At this bold confession, Blaine drew in a deep breath.

"It does that to everyone. And everyone has different ways of showing how it affects them. It's nothing to be ashamed of."

"Then can I tell you what happened?" Kurt asked softly.

"You don't have to ask permission to tell me anything, you know that."

"You won't stop loving me if I tell the truth?" Kurt's voice had become small, shrinking under the weight of the secret he carried. He pressed his face against Blaine's chest and inhaled, curling his fingers into the material of his boyfriend's shirt. It was as though Kurt were drowning, thrashing somewhere in the ocean, and Blaine was the lighthouse guiding him back to safety.

It was one of a multitude of roles they played in each other's lives. They were lovers, certainly, but that was a blanket statement that barely implied all that their relationship was composed of. They were each other's protectors, helping their better half to find strength when it seemed to have been left behind in the past they shared. It was what they had done from the moment they met, even if they were not always consciously aware of the impact they made just by being near each other.

Blaine could feel sadness expanding inside of him – beneath it, rooted deep in his chest, was the space where he had buried his own secrets. One day, he was sure, they would come pouring out, but right now he knew Kurt just needed someone to listen to him.

"Nothing you say will make me stop loving you, Kurt. Nothing."

Bracing himself, Blaine closed his eyes as Kurt began to speak again, trembling against Blaine's still frame.

He's thought about killing himself at least once a day since his mother died. It's unusual for an eight year old to be so withdrawn, doctors tell Kurt's father time after time, but given the circumstances, nobody expected a different outcome.

So Burt takes his son home and watches as he loses interest in life itself, not just living. Burt is helpless to do anything for Kurt when doctors refuse to do anything more than medicate him, and every new drug they prescribe sends him further into not sadness, which Burt has been told to watch for, but apathy.

By the time professionals finally recognize what's going on inside Kurt's head, it's literally a race against time to save him.

Kurt stands on shaky legs and makes his way to the bathroom. He's heard about all the places razor blades can be hidden, and his chosen space is cliché – a tiny secret pocket in his messenger bag.

He's waited seven years for it to get better; he has listened to everyone say that happiness is still possible. But it's too hard to wait when he wakes up every morning feeling as though he hasn't slept at all, his eyes red not from crying but from sadness that cannot be expressed in any other way than inscribing lines into his fair skin. Waiting is impossible when he lives out day after miserable day fighting with the voices in his head.

Since his mother died, all he has been doing is waiting.

Things haven't gotten better in seven years and seven more from now, nothing will have changed.

Kurt bows his head, defending himself against the harsh glare of the bathroom lights.

His wrists look whiter in this lighting, but not so pale that he cannot see the hundreds of old scars scoring the perimeter of the largest vein.

He has always been too afraid to slice right through that spot, but everyone has a breaking point.

This is his.

So it is without hesitation, fear or regret that Kurt Hummel slices both wrists vertically, cutting as neatly as he can and using his last bit of strength to be sure the note is in a place his father will be able to find it.

And Burt does find the piece of paper containing one last message of love – by the time it is already sticky with his son's blood.

Kurt has a pulse. The one thing keeping Burt from panicking is being able to feel that heartbeat flutter beneath his fingers as he dials 911. He has never been religious, but right now he finds himself pleading with God not to take the last of his family away.

Kurt had begun to cry openly as he rolled up his sleeves, letting the scars come into view.

Blaine wrapped his arms around Kurt, bending his head and kissing the two long, uneven marks.

"I love you." Blaine held Kurt as they both went limp with relief. "I love you and I'll do everything I can to make sure you never feel like that again."

All Kurt could do was cry, but his kiss said everything that words failed to communicate.