Chapter Notes:

Hello reader. :) This is not the type of story I normally read myself, but a while back I was on my tumblr, and I saw someone request a "Kurt is a cutter and there is hurt/comfort Klaine stuff" fic, and I was like, "That would be really hard to pull off, because why would Kurt end up cutting himself, that seems really out of character..." and after pondering that for a while, I came up with a story idea that I really, really liked, and thought I'd go for it and see how ya'll on teh interwebz took it. I am going to tell you now that this story is not for people who are easily offended/squeamish. If it goes the way I plan, there are going to be some uncomfortalbe parts. There is Klaine, hurt/comfort, there'll be some Burt, lots of angst, and a lot of gay bashing (in context of the story). I again stress that it is a cutting fic, and if that makes you unpleasantly uncomfortable, then I wouldn't recommend it.

That said, I hope you do read it, and enjoy it. Here is the first chapter. It's fairly fluffy. Please don't get used to the fluff, as I find it'll get less and less fluffy as this goes on. But for now, feel free to go and "d'awww" at the Klaine, and then promptly go review and tell me how I'm doing, because you're a wonderful human being, and would never read and leave without a comment. Amirite? :D

Happy reading!

Handling It

Chapter 1:

That summer in Ohio had consisted of some of the hottest weather the state had seen in over fifty years. The local weather people stood in front of full-screen maps, dressed in thick, tailored suits which made the viewers cringe as they fanned themselves on their couches in their tank tops and jeans. The weather people would then gesture excitedly, talking about how, "It's another hot one out there, folks! Another record high!", completely oblivious to the middle fingers aimed at them outside of every television set in Ohio.

Lima was not an exception.

The end of May, as well as the end of school, had left with nothing out of the ordinary, but whatever had pissed June off, it showed the next week when the month announced its arrival with sweltering waves of heat and humidity so high it was like swimming through air. The streets were almost barren, with all the residents avoiding the outdoors like the plague.

In short, it was hot as Hell.

Inside of one of the houses in Lima, in one of the unnaturally quiet neighborhoods, in the glorious salvation of air conditioning, was Kurt Hummel, propped up against the backboard of his bed, seated next to his boyfriend, Blaine Anderson, eyes nearly unblinking in unabated attention to the glow of his television screen.

"You've seen this movie so many times. How could you possibly be so interested in it?" Blaine asked, an amused smirk on his face.

"Please, Singin' in the Rain is a classic. What's not to love about it?"

"I never said it wasn't fabulous. I just wouldn't think it would be the same degree of fabulous after the thousandth time."

"Shush, you don't know anything." Kurt waved away his boyfriend's criticism and continued to watch like it was brand new, and even tilted forward a little. Blaine merely chuckled, crossing his arms. It wasn't until about twenty minutes later, when the credits started to roll, did Kurt grant his boyfriend any amount of attention, and the first thing out of his mouth was, "Honestly, how can you wear long sleeves in this heat?"

Shrugging, the other boy said, "It's not hot in here."

"Yes, but it's about a million degrees out there. Honestly, have I ever even seen your arms?"

Blaine pushed his sleeves up and waved his arms obnoxiously in front of Kurt's face, before promptly pulling them back and pushing his sleeves back down. "There."


Blaine flicked his boyfriend's thigh. "I wear long sleeves for the same reason you wear ridiculously tight pants. You can't judge me. At least I'm wearing shorts. Your legs are probably fried."

Kurt draped the back of his hand across his forehead and sighed dramatically. "Oh woe is me. Blaine Warbler, what we go through in the name of fashion…"

"Clearly a travesty."


They laughed together, and Blaine continued to make smart remarks about Kurt's pants, trying to grab hold of part of the fabric, but it was bound so tightly around the other boy's legs he could barely even pinch it up. Kurt rivaled this by grabbing hold of one of Blaine's arms and pushed the sleeve up again.

"You have such nice arms," he whined, running fingers down Blaine's toned forearm. "Why oh why do you insist on wearing long sleeves all the time? I mean, don't get me wrong, you look gorgeous in everything, but come on! I've been through your closet. You have like, one short sleeved shirt." He looked up with Bambi eyes and stuck out his lower lip. Blaine laughed and then shrugged.

"It's just an old habit. I've worn long sleeves pretty much every day since Freshman year. Gotta admit, the Warbler uniforms certainly don't help the obsession."

"Why would you do such a thing?"

Blaine shrugged again. "I dunno. At my old school, I hung around outcasty types, which, in my neck of the woods, consisted of Goths and, I guess you would call 'em "emo" kids. Like, the kinds of kids who listened to a lot of alternative rock music and spent their time smoking in the ravine down a ways from the back of the school, who wore tight pants and long sleeves all the time. I guess I just picked up on their clothing habits."

"I wouldn't peg you as an emo kid, Blaine."

"I wasn't one, really. In all honesty, I sorta stuck out like a sore thumb. It wasn't so much that I fit the clique. It was more like, I was one of two outed gay kids, and that automatically stuck me on their peg on the social status ladder. I mean, don't get me wrong, some of them were really nice, and were pretty good friends of mine, but I just did not fit the image. I had to try to get included in somehow, and the clothing was the only thing that worked. I like to think my wardrobe has gotten better since then."

"Why," Kurt asked dramatically. "Did you ditch the tight pants, but decide to keep the long sleeves?"

"Because tight pants are uncomfortable, and long sleeves aren't?"

"Yeah, and they also hide your glorious arms. Seriously, Blaine, sexy dapper or not, you need to show off more flesh. I mean, to have skin this nice," he made a pointed look at Blaine's arm, which he still had grasped tightly in his hand. "Without doing any sort of moisturizing treatments, and not showing it off, well, that's just blasphemous. Besides, the emo style is simply designed to make you look like a fashion wasteland while simultaneously hiding all the slashes on your wrists."

"Hey, be nice," Blaine said, giving his boyfriend a significant look. "Not all emo kids are cutters, and even if some of my friends were, you don't need to judge 'em for it. They were good people, Kurt."

"I don't doubt that for a second, but I'm going to judge anyone who makes it so I am deprived my basic wants and needs."

"And your basic wants and needs consist of my arms?" Blaine asked, chuckling.


"Ah, well then, I'll go out and buy myself a nice short sleeved shirt next time I'm at the mall. Would that make you feel better?"

"Only if I can go to the mall with you."

"Of course. I wouldn't dream of it any other way."

Blaine wrapped an arm around Kurt's shoulder, while Kurt took the remote and flipped through channels. He stopped on a local one when he saw a weather warning being issued on the screen. The two listened as a, as always, nicely, but excessively, attired weather person rattled on and on, this time about an incoming storm for their part of Ohio.

"With this humidity, it's probably going to be pretty nasty," Blaine ventured.

"Probably, yes. Which means," Kurt said, turning to look at his boyfriend with a bit of a pout. "You should probably get going, sucky as that is. I don't want you trying to make that commute back to your house in a storm."

Blaine's face morphed into a pout to match Kurt's, and he 'hmphed'. Nevertheless, he said, "Yeah, you're probably right. I have to go to work pretty early tomorrow, anyway." He sighed melodramatically as he unwound himself from his boyfriend, and sat on the edge of the bed to put his shoes on. He stood up, reaching his arms up over his head, elongating his body into a big stretch, his shirt lifting up just enough to make his happy trail visible (Kurt didn't even try to hide his gaze). He yawned. "Bleh, next time, let's do something with more movement. Watching movies with you is awesome, but the lethargy makes the drive home super irritating."

Kurt swung himself gracefully over the other side of his bed. "I'll fill a thermos up with coffee for the rode," he offered.

"Nah, it's okay. If I do that then I'll just have to pee halfway there."

"Better to have a full bladder than to have your body splattered across the pavement because you fell asleep and crashed head onto a truck or something."

"I doubt that's going to happen."

But five or ten minutes later, Blaine was standing at the door with a thermos of lukewarm coffee in his hand, after yawning one too many times to convince Kurt that he was okay to drive without it. He grabbed the handle, and Kurt cringed as Blaine opened the door and a wave of heat hit them.

"Disgusting," Kurt mumbled, waving a hand in front of his face like a fan.

"I know you are but what am I?" Blaine asked playfully, receiving a well-deserved jab in the side from his boyfriend. He leaned over and kissed him on the mouth. "Love you," he muttered.

"Love you, too. Text me when you get home so I'm not panicking the rest of the night."

"Of course." He kissed his boyfriend again, and when Kurt started to pull away, he grabbed hold of him and deepened the kiss excessively until they were both chuckling, and Kurt was red in the face.

"You're letting all the air out," he mumbled, taking Blaine's hands off of him and cocking an eyebrow.

"My bad," Blaine said with a smirk. He turned to leave.

"Wear a short sleeved shirt next time!" Kurt yelled after him. Walking towards his car, his back to the door, Kurt saw him raise an arm in the air and make a thumbs up sign. Rolling his eyes in an "oh you!" sort of way, Kurt waited until Blaine had backed all the way out of the driveway, and watched as he drove down the street, waving while he did so, despite all the air conditioning he was letting escape from the house.

Kurt went back to his room and turned Singin' in the Rain back on, fast-forwarding through the duller parts, and rewatching all of his favorite songs, singing along half-heartedly, vaguely aware of how much Blaine would tease him if he could see him right now. Eventually, he got bored of that, and began flipping through a library book – a new biography he had found about Pippa Middleton, which he hoped would give him some sort of inspiration for his musical (Pip Pip Hooray), which he had been having a surprisingly hard time writing.

He wasn't sure how long he had been lying there reading, but he was taken out of his royalty-sister trance unexpectedly by a very loud crash of thunder. It was so loud Kurt could feel it, the house rumbling and rattling beneath him. Immediately, he wondered if Blaine had made it home safely.

As if on cue, a snippet of Teenage Dream belted out from his phone, which was sitting on the bedside table next to Kurt, indicating that he had just received a text from his boyfriend. He grabbed the phone and read the message.

"Is it thundering as bad over in your neck of the woods as it is here? Damn! Anyways. Just got home – not splattered on the pavement anywhere, so no worrying. :) Love you. Call you later. ~BLAINE"

Kurt smiled, replied something to the effect of, "I'm glad you're not dead and I love you too" and continued to read.

About twenty minutes later, as he was scribbling down a few bits of inspiration he had gotten from the book in near-illegible cursive onto an old math notebook – which, admittedly, had more doodles and little hearts with "Kurt & Blaine 4eva" drawn inside of it than actual math – the rain really started to come down, and every few minutes, there was a loud crash of thunder, which always sounded like the world was cracking in half. Over the sound of the storm, Kurt heard the doorbell ring.

Wondering who the Hell would brave the storm to stop at their door, he scribbled a couple more reminders to himself in the margins, and sat his notebook down, leaving his room to go investigate.

From the hallway he could hear that his father had beaten him to the punch. Burt was saying something, and his voice sounded distantly angry, making Kurt stopped in his tracks to listen. He couldn't make out everything his dad was saying, but he heard things like, "Why do you want to see him?" and "No business here."

Curious, but not wanting to intrude, Kurt turned to go back to his room, when his dad suddenly showed up behind him, his arms crossed, and a stern look on his face.

"Kurt, there's someone at the door for you."

"For me?" he asked, puzzled.

"Yeah." It was clear Burt wasn't exactly happy with this visitor, whoever they were, and when his father didn't offer up any explanation, Kurt took it upon himself to go find out.

He walked down the rest of the hallway, and turned the corner, to see no one standing there waiting for him, but the front door cracked just a little. Whoever this person was, Burt hadn't felt it necessary to invite him inside. Even more curious still, Kurt went to the door and pulled it open all the way.

Like the last time he was hit with a wave of overwhelming heat and humidity, this time accompanied by tiny water droplets, that were being blown onto his porch from the high speed winds of the storm. In the background, a few lightning strikes hit the ground, making the sky look illuminated for a moment, and as soon as they disappeared, the thick storm clouds made everything look ominous and dark.

Kurt looked at the person before him, and had to blink a couple of times before it registered.

There, dripping wet from head to toe, with a somber expression on his face, was none other, than David Karofsky.