Short little look inside Kurt's head.

D/c: Stillllll not mine.

W: Cutting. Self-hatred. Some minor language.

Enjoy

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He always hated the color red. It was such an angry color. It was everything he loathed; every emotion, every thought, everything that caused pain. He didn't even like it at Christmas time, just accepted it as necessary to offset the obnoxious greens. He couldn't stand being surrounded by red in February; hearts, lies, agony, fury everywhere. It also appalled him that he looked fabulous in red and that the Dalton uniform, his safety from the world, had bright lines of the awful color slicing all over the thick fabric.

Every night, he stared into the mirror, scowling at all the red. There was red around his eyes, angry little vines of the color winding through what should have been perfect, bright white. His lips and cheeks were tinged pink, an angry counterpart of that god-awful color. Even the most sensitive, personal places of his body were fucking pink. He couldn't escape it.

But with all of the shade he wished he never had to see, there were... decorations. His fingernail absently scraped over the tight, pale skin of his chest. His eyes followed the line that blossomed in it's wake in the mirror. He stepped back, body moving through a familiar set of motions as his hands found the hard metal, still warm from his pocket, and snicked it open quickly.

He hated red. But he loved decorations. He couldn't control the red, but he could control where it was. Or where it wasn't.

Kurt inhaled sharply while watching the red leave his body exactly where he needed it to. With some satisfaction, his heart felt a little lighter, watching the red run over his now pink, irritated skin, leaving him, washing down the drain.

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Not very long, but something I wanted to write.

Reviews are lovely.

Till next time,
-J X