Like a Bullet to the Chest (Heathers: a Kurt x reader)

Seventeen (Final)

After the bomb went off, Y/n never went back to the school. It didn't matter what happened; it wasn't her place anymore- she didn't want it to be her place.

She wasn't a Heather, nor was she a Veronica, she was just a tired child, wearing the skin of a jaded adult. That's what it really was- a costume- to keep that child safe. When everything had come to a digestible ending- she knew. It was time to let the child rest.

Instead of seeing what was going to become of social hierarchy of Westerberg High, she'd asked Kurt for a ride home.

He'd agreed, of course. Without question nor hesitation.

This time, when they'd gotten back in his car, the first thing they did was reach for the others hand, meeting in the middle.

She thought about Heather, about her father, about her mother.

Her mother- how long had it been? Just how much time has passed since she'd allowed herself to think about her.

It was about then, in the middle of her thoughts, when Kurt pulled into her driveway and put the car in park.

He'd noticed how despite being right there, Y/n appeared to be somewhere else. He still didn't understand it, he knew he'd never be able to, but he could squeeze her hand and silently ask her to come back.

She squeezed back, finally looking up to meet his gaze,

"Do you want to come in?"

The question initially shocked him, but then he smiled- a boyish, naive smile- and nodded his head, letting go of her hand in favor of unbuckling his seat belt and stepping out of the car.

When she came around the car, she'd immediately reached for his hand and led him to her front door, up the stairs, into her bedroom. She'd insisted he sit on his bed while she'd resorted to sifting through records.

"Have you heard of The Cure?" she asked, pulling the vinyl out of its sleeve.

"No, what are they like?"

"They're a gothic rock band, can I put it on?"

"Sure- I don't really know what gothic rock is, though,"

"That's okay, maybe you'll like it."

After the record- Faith was the album- had been put in and the needle had begun to spin, she'd flopped onto the bed, eyes locking onto the ceiling.

Kurt followed sure, lying parallel as the music played quietly in the background.

It was silent for a bit, save for the music, it was somber and a tad miserable, but it had a rhythm that made it feel more upbeat then it really was.

Eventually, the silence was broken when Y/n, light as a feather, began to speak.

"Do you mind if I tell you about my mother?" she asked.

And the question seemed incredibly vulnerable, how could Kurt even consider turning it down?

"Of course,"

"How much do you know about her death?"

"Not much," he admitted, "Just that it was suicide, and that she did it by shooting herself."

Y/n sighed, reaching for his hand in what she feared was already becoming a habit.

"Yeah, well that's true. But - I was the one that found her," she admitted.

"Oh my god," he breathed out.

"Yep. I was just a kid- fuck, I'm still just a kid. I just walked in one day after school and there she was- on the living room floor. I remember my body almost forcing me to look away nearly a second after I saw her there. Like it knew that if I got a better look, I would never be able to get it out of my head. I just called the cops and huddled on the porch while I waited for them to show up. I think I was scared of smelling it."