trigger warning! Kurt deals with sexual harassment and physical violence.
"He would keep the rest where it belonged:
in that tobacco tin buried in his chest where a red heart used to be.
Its lid rusted shut. He would not pry it loose now in front of this sweet sturdy woman,
for if she got a whiff of the contents it would shame him.
And it would hurt her to know that there was no red heart bright
as Mister's comb beating in him."
-Beloved, by Toni Morrison
None of us are strong all of the time. Regardless of the facades Kurt pasted over his face, he faltered, he cried - he cried deeper than he did in front of others. The real tears came when he was alone, curled in bed. Knees up. Sobs raking.
The first time Finn walked in on it, he quickly stumbled out of the room; his mind had jumped to another reason Kurt was making shuffling noises in bed.
"I'm crying, Finn," Kurt said sharply. Or almost sharply. It's hard to be sharp when your features are blurred and ruddy from being the only out gay kid in high school and that new blooming bruise that almost dislocated your shoulder.
It's just hard.
"But good. Leave. Leave me in my cave of disp-"
The door shut with an "Um, alright."
Kurt watched it close, and he was past tears.
"Don't tell dad," Kurt wheezed as he stumbled into the basement door. He shut the door behind him, and leaned with his head against it. His eyes fluttered shut as he breathed something like a sigh of relief until he doubled over, falling against his make-up cabinet.
"Kurt!" Finn's hands were on Kurt's chest and he tried to keep the wilting flower up. Kurt screamed in the inside part of his mouth. Finn looked at what his hands were on Kurt's chest. He saw the material of Kurt's thick gray shirt. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing. The shirt was thick. There was a pattern. Argyle? Blood? Burberry? Prada? Finn didn't know.
Blood?
"I'm fine."
"I'm getting mom-"
"I'm fine, Finn. Finn!"
"Da-"
"I'm fine! I'm fine, I'm okay, Auntie will get me a new shirt."
"This isn't about your goddamn shirt-"
"Finn."
"I'll kill them, I swear to God I will fuck-"
"Finn."
"What?"
Kurt touched Finn's cheek as the place where Karofsky had touched him bled through. "Your testosterone-fueled concern touches me, but please don't cry."
He thought about what Kurt said when he listened to make sure Kurt was breathing in the middle night. Later, which meant after Kurt explained the touching, how Karofsky had hit him this time, how Karofsky used brass knuckles. After Kurt hummed to himself, held his arms across his chest and let his chin fall and said, "He offered to fix me." After he told Finn about the kiss. After Finn broke the make-up cabinet from kicking it too hard - something had to be kicked.
"I'm worth diamonds. I'm not, however, worth your tears."
Finn dreamt of red glitter and football practice and Rachel.
In the middle of the night, the smaller boy nudged him half-awake. Finn groaned and rolled over. "You okay?"
"My heart hurts," Kurt whispered. The room was dark as pitch.
"I knew we should've gotten Burt," Finn said with a panicking voice, a shade lighter and squeaking around the edges. He went to throw the sheets off when a thin wrist grabbed his.
It was too dark to see Kurt. "No. My metaphorical heart."
Finn let the sheets fall back around him.
"What can I do?"
Finn awoke holding Kurt in his arms.
Kurt drew buttery birds on their bedroom walls. Finn had trouble reading long books but could read people. He knew how much it hurt Kurt to leave Dalton after Burt and Carole couldn't pay for it. Additionally, Finn had a front seat view to watch Kurt fall apart at McKinley. After touching the stars, Kurt found himself blinded, back on Earth, and right in Karofsky's trap.
Kurt told Mr. Schuester he had a throat flu.
None of us are strong all of the time. Regardless of the facades Kurt pasted over his face, he faltered, he cried - he cried deeper with Finn than he did in front of others. Comically, Kurt reassured Finn through tears that he was "good at comforting", because Finn always worried. Was he holding Kurt too hard? Were his hands on a bruise? Was this too much for Kurt?
Never, Kurt promised. Finn thought about how it was easy to have Kurt and trail his fingers around the boy's shoulder blades. Kurt's like a girl, Finn thought. No. Not like a girl, like something Finn could love.
At the worst of the beatings, Karofsky spared Kurt's face. Kurt held onto Finn's wrist as the taller teenager pushed up Kurt's polo up to evaluate the damage. Karofsky was an artist. He painted pain in black and blue. "Shit." Coach Beiste taught him how to tell if things were broken inside.
Kurt whimpered as Finn pressed one rib above his heart.
"Is this it?" Finn's asked, mouth dry.
A pause. A nod.
"We're telling Burt."
They hadn't yet. Two whole weeks, and Kurt died every day in school to keep dad from knowing. Finn made Karofsky's life a living Hell how he knew how, but Kurt was always there before Finn tossed a punch, telling him not to be violent. Don't tell dad.
For the first time, Kurt didn't fight back. He lowered his shirt, wincing as he moved stiff shoulders, and turned on the couch he laid on to face the crouching Finn.
Finn looked back at him. After a moment, Finn breathed, "Close your eyes."
Kurt's eyelids dropped like curtains. Stayed close after he heard Finn walking away. Kurt was obedient when he liked his captor, and being caught by Finn was glory.
The sensation that met his face was a hot thing, wet. Kurt blinked his eyes open and couldn't see. Finn sat on the very edge of the couch cushion and pressed a warm cloth against Kurt's face. He gently wiped the cloth down Kurt's cheek.
"You're welcome," Finn replied. "Mom used to do this when I cried. She said it reduced the flames in the eyes."
"Inflammation."
"Sure," Finn said with a grin. Kurt's skin looked like it was covered in dew. The boy's lips were pink. Finn's hand clenched around the edge of the cloth and he stood. The boy's lips were pink.
"Can I kiss you?"
Kurt replied with a senseless, moaning, sigh of a "yes." Finn leaned down, then sat, on his knees, one hand on the couch and the other still wound in the cloth. Beyond the two boys, the kiss wasn't special. It wasn't visually appealing. Both stayed bone silent.
To them, though, it rocked ships.
"Can I keep kissing you?" Finn asked with a nervous laugh when their lips split.
"May I."
"Well, yeah."
"No, it's- Kiss me, you charming buffoon."
Finn found the place on Kurt's neck where Karofsky had pressed his fingers tight. "Can I kiss you here?" He traveled down to where Kurt's pulse sputtered erratically. "Can I push your shirt up?" Kurt's skin was beautiful. "Can I take your shirt off?" His collarbones leapt from his shoulders in pirouettes. "Can I kiss you here?" Finn whispered lips against Kurt's broken rib. "Can I go down?" Kurt's lips wavered. He'd forgotten what it was like to have permission over his body. "Can I kiss your bellybutton?" 'Steady, steady,' Kurt was murmuring. "Can I say you're beautiful?" Steady, steady. "Can I say you scare me with how freaking gorgeous you are?" Finn kissed every bruise. "Can I say I love you?"
"Steady!"
Finn stopped the moment Kurt shouted. Something blind and furious - a makeshift form of love garnered in this moment - it's job was done. Kurt looked loveworn and red and he was smiling for the first time in two weeks. He hadn't moved while Finn had recovered him; still laid out like Venus.
"Go get dad," Kurt commanded.
"Can I?" Finn teased.
"You can."
Finn began to walk upstairs.
"Say it," Kurt added.
"What?" Too much for Finn, who was also processing the boy residue on his lips (skinshine and freckle dust and rosey sweat, Kurt's cologne and secrets).
"You can say it now," Kurt said, eyes on Finn's.
Finn smiled.
"I love you."