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Handle Me

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“This isn’t working,” Blaine says, putting down the glue and the paper.

“Of course not, honey,” Kurt mumbles, without taking his eyes off of where he’s aligning two different sheets of paper. “I told you to use the glue stick.” It’s the beginning of summer, and they’re up in Kurt’s room, making a graduation scrapbook. Or rather – Kurt is making one, Blaine helps by putting the photos on heavier paper and look pretty while doing it.

“No, Kurt, that’s... not what I mean,” Blaine says. “Look at me,” he pleads. Kurt looks up, reluctantly.

“What’s not working then? I told you, you can go play Xbox with Finn if you’d rather.”

Kurt.” It’s something in his voice, in his expression, that gives Kurt a hunch of where this conversation is heading. It is not a pleasant direction. He swallows.

“What?” he asks.

“Us,” Blaine says. Kurt closes his eyes.

He has known this was coming, has waited for it for months, but he’d hoped they would have more time. Had hoped Blaine wouldn’t dump him just yet.

“Is this because...” he asks, and flickers his gaze downwards for a second. He knows that Blaine knows what he’s asking. It’s an unnecessary question, Kurt can guess the answer, but still, he has to ask.

Blaine looks like he wants to cry. “I...” he starts, then stops. Opens his mouth again, closes it again. “Yes,” he says, finally, as if deciding that Kurt deserves the truth. “Kurt, I’m sorry,” he says then. “But it’s not just that, it’s... you’re going to New York, and---”

“I didn’t get in,” Kurt interrupts, voice tense from trying not to have a breakdown.

“But you’re still going, whether it be now or in a year,” Blaine presses. “And I don’t even know if I...” but Kurt tunes him out. He doesn’t want to hear it. He stares down at his papers, at the black and red acid free fifteen by fifteen inch sheets with white dots, thinks that it’s a good thing that he still hasn’t glued any pictures of Blaine, or himself and Blaine, into the scrapbook yet. The best for last.

He can’t tell how he wanted this conversation to turn out. He doesn’t know if it’s better to have your boyfriend of one and a half years, your first love, and your high school sweetheart, dump you because of your weird anatomy, or have him dump you despite of it. He does know that the combination of the two sucks. This wasn’t what Kurt expected.

He had expected it to end, though. He knows you can’t be in a sexual relationship with someone who asks you to keep your underwear on when you go to bed, someone who doesn’t want to touch you, ever.

“Kurt, you’re my best friend,” filters through to Kurt’s brain, and he snaps his head up.

“I think you should go,” he says, and he’s surprised at how calm he sounds. Blaine stops talking.

“Kurt,” he tries, but Kurt interrupts him.

“Like, now.” He stands up and starts shuffling all the papers and photos together, not caring if they glue together or crease. Blaine winces, he knows how careful Kurt is about these things usually. He reaches out to help, but Kurt drags the things away from him before he can assist in saving the scrapbook.

“You know where the door is,” Kurt says, with one final look at Blaine. He starts throwing the things into his scrapbook box, knowing he’ll regret this later, but right now he really can’t bring himself to care. He sees in the corner of his eye how Blaine reaches out for him, but he backs away, eyes still firmly on the box. He can hear Blaine sigh, but then he finally understands that Kurt is serious, because he stands too, and walks to the door.

“I’ll... see you,” Blaine says, tentatively. He waits a beat to see if Kurt replies, and when he doesn’t, Blaine leaves. Kurt waits until he hears the front door close before he sits down again, staring at the mess that is now his desk.

No NYADA. His best friend is in New York without him. His brother is signing up for military service. No boyfriend. Kurt wants to cry, he really does, but he can’t. He’s just empty.