Something about all this space
Kurt/Sam, K, ~600 words
Summary: Kurt Hummel was like New York City. Sam Evans was like a small town in Tennessee. And the thing is, in New York, you can't see stars in the night sky. It's too bright.
Beta: Alyssa
Kurt Hummel was like New York City. Sam Evans was like a small town in Tennessee.
And the thing is, in New York, you can't see stars in the night sky. It's too bright.
Sam has always liked astronomy; as a little kid he spent many nights just staring through the window, thinking about all that space up there, about being a small boy in the universe and wondering about the meaning of things until his head started to hurt from thinking.
As he grew a little older, he got this idea that he might not be the brightest boy around, and that his writing might be a little-tiny-bit-or-maybe-a-little-more-awful, but at least he can show someone the world, guiding them through the sky with his words. Like in Disney movies.
The first ones he introduced to the sky were his siblings. Hearing the first question asked by Stevie, Sam felt somehow like a hero, and deep down decided to do everything to stay this way forever.
Quinn had pretty eyes.
Quinn was his first girlfriend and he really wanted to do things right. And things felt a little more right in astronomy class, at least for him, with all these models and maps all around; he thought it gave everything romantic vibe. So it was here that he asked her to sing with him, that he tried to kiss her, and later, that was where he proposed to her. He told her that they were the real stars of McKinley High.
Maybe it was the feeling of artificiality deep down in his heart, maybe it was her little embarrassed smile every time he said something nerdy – yeah, cute, Sam, but please, never again – but he never felt like stepping out of astronomy class, with all these plastic planets, and asking her to see the real things with him.
Deep down he knew they weren't real enough.
And sometime after, the universe disappeared and the world became incredibly small, with all the girlfriends and jocks and motel rooms, and in this small world all his problems were big and there was not enough space for all of them, especially not the ones that made his heart flutter.
So Sam wasn't looking at the stars anymore.
He noticed them again the night he delivered pizzas to Dalton Academy, right above Kurt's head when the boy in uniform squeezed his arm comfortingly.
The fact he wasn't looking didn't mean they disappeared.
And then Kurt gave him clothes. And help, and occasional food, and he never made it seem like he was pitying him. But most importantly, he gave him himself, in that way when you have only one person to talk to about world falling down and somehow it feels like the world wasn't falling down at all anymore.
During one night, on the front porch of the motel, Sam showed Kurt one of his favorite stars. And Kurt asked him some question. And he listened to Sam's answer.
And it felt real.
Sometimes, when he grew up and stared into the night sky, he wondered if Kurt might be seeing the same stars, too. Somewhere, out there, at exactly the same moment, recalling what Sam told him when they were teenagers in Lima, Ohio.
But them Sam reminds himself.
You can't see stars in New York.