((I do not own Glee, or any of it's characters. I do not own the city of Vancouver, or Capilano College. I do however, own any interactions found between characters.))

The first thing that Sam did was to through the bloody stupid box of music across the floor, taking heated pleasure at the sound of the wooden box splintering and cracking. He stared at it a moment, his tired eyes bloodshot and broken. Then, he ran to the box, picked it up again, and threw it at the other wall. It shattered as it made contact, and a chunk of the wall crumbled onto the mess of paper and wood, creating a catastrophe scene. He didn't care. He stared at the mess, falling to his knees. Crawling over to it, he pulled the nearest sheet over to himself with the tips of his fingers, staring intently at the notes.

He opened his mouth, trying to sing, but the notes wouldn't come. It was if he had taken them when he had gone. But he wanted to sing the notes so badly. He wanted to sing them. Tears came to his eyes, his face crumpling up as if someone had come in and levelled his world with a bomb. And they had. His world had been levelled. Slowly, he lowered the music down to the ground, and laid it reverently down, smoothing the crumpled bits. A tear fell down onto the paper, and he hastily backed up, falling back on his butt. It hurt because there were buttons on the pockets of his jeans.

He barely registered the motion, as his reflexes had thankfully allowed his hands to catch him. Instead of trying to stand up though, he let his arms collapse and he fell on his back with a thud, taking his breath away. The funny thing was, that his breath had already been taken away. Squeezing his eyes shut, he pulled his arm across his face, blocking out the light of the lamp's harsh glow in the room. And something was pushing at his brain, trying to leak out, but he wouldn't let it burst through. If it came, then the rest would come. Images. Horrible, horrible images.

Kurt had said that the SUV was unbreakable, impenetrable, and most certainly safe as a armoured car. And had seemed to be. A couple months ago when they had been in that crash, Sam figured that they were safe. Neither of them seemed to be too damaged. Kurt had been jolted a bit, and had hit his head. Sam had cut his arm on the shattered glass of the back seat popping on the passenger side. He had needed stitches, but he wasn't going to die from blood loss. Kurt had smiled shakily at him, and then kissed the wound, like his mother had kissed his booboos before she had died.

Sam turned to the side on the hardwood floor, slamming a fist onto the ground of the flat. He wasn't supposed to have let the image out. It was supposed to have stayed away. Desperately, he pulled himself up, grabbing the sheet of music, he ran out of the flat that he and Kurt shared. He took the elevator down to the street, and began to run down the hill to the ocean. After high school, Kurt and him had moved to Vancouver, Canada. There were lot's of good opportunities there, as lots of good colleges were there. Such as Capilano, for the arts. It was apparently the best on the West Coast or something. Whatever, he had followed Kurt.

Being famous hadn't been important to Sam. But it was to Kurt. They had both auditioned for Capilano, and they had both got into the three year musical theatre program. They were a team, and eventually, the students called them their nickname that they had been called for the past few years already. They had often been found making out in the wings before a show, and had therefore been nicknamed Skurt, as a play on the word, legs. In theatre speak, legs were the wing curtains. But more often they were called Kum. College minds were dirty.

Sam still remembered the day that the first set of parts had been given out. He remembered holding kurt's hand as the teacher stapled the sheet of names to the bulletin board outside the theatre. He was just as calm, as Kurt was shaking. Sam already new that Kurt had gotten the role. It didn't even matter. Kurt could do anything. Sam could totally see kurt as being the next president because of how amazingly stubborn he was when wanting to get his way. Anyways, once the teacher had stepped away, Kurt had rushed the sheet like a paparazzi. He had stared at the paper for a moment, his shoulder's slowly slumping. The lemon bleached blonde's face fell.

"kurt?" he asked.

'Sam…I…"

Sam began to come up with words of comfort, first feeling angry at the teacher for not recognizing Kurt's obvious talent. He had worried that she might be homophobic or something, although it was kind of impossible to be when involved with theatre. He growled low, feeling predatory, and territorial. But before he could do anything, or say another word, Kurt turned around, and leapt onto Sam, wrapping his legs around him even as they fell together. He was smiling madly, and only a couple inches away from Sam's face. Sam could feel a blush spreading, and was about to question when Kurt almost screamed at him.

"I GOT THE PART SAM. I'M HER. I GET TO PLAY Elp!"

Before Sam could react, Kurt began to kiss Sam madly, unbuttoning his shirt already. Sam hated it, but he had, had to push Kurt off. They were in the middle of the school's main hallway for god's sake. The furthest they got was the wings of the empty theatre before Kurt had pulled Sam's pants off. Kurt had run his hands along Sam's naked abdomen, circling each pictorial muscle that Sam still kept maintained weekly at the gym, as Sam felt his lips swell at the feisty kisses he gave and received.

Sam slammed his fist down on the hood of the SUV. Luckily, Kurt had forgotten to turn the alarm off, so nothing happened. There was a bit of a dent however. His hand was beginning to bruise but Sam didn't care. Anything to keep him form the images. He stared at the car, his mind churning up high school images of Sam and Kurt in the car, eating popcorn with liquorice at the only entertainment other than the roller rink at Lima, the drive-in. it had been one of the places they had gone for their first date. They had seen, "Gone with the Wind" on old movie night.

Sam shook his head. He didn't want to remember. He began to jog up the hill in north Vancouver. It was late now, so there wasn't too much traffic about. He was jogging to somewhere he didn't want to be at the moment. But he did want to be there so badly. Running helped him not think anyways, so he would be fine for a bit. He ran until he couldn't breath anymore, and then further. He ran all the way to the ferry terminal to the smaller islands, and Nanaimo, and then he stopped outside a clean looking building on the edge of town. Looking up at the building title, he remembered more.

He had come home from work, and let himself into the flat. He smelled the air, taking pleasure in the smells of cooking in the apartment. It was so nice to have such a talented boyfriend. Without Kurt, he would be eating Nutella and instant noodles all the time. Instead he got gourmet meals. Walking up behind Kurt, he had slid his arms around the slender and petite boy's waist, resting his head on top of his brown, lavish hair. "smell's good!" he whispered, happy to be home. He realized something was wrong the moment Kurt stiffened and then began to tremble in Sam's muscular arms.

"Wh-what do you want with me?" his voice was broken, scarred, something that Sam had never heard directed at him.

Slowly, he let go, backing away, "Kurt? It's me? Your boyfriend? Sam?"

Kurt turned around to stare at him, his expression scarred, just as his voice had been. "Sam? What the hell? You're dating Quinn! How'd you get into my home anyways?" he looked so confused, and suddenly Sam was just as confused.

Slowly, he whispered out a few words, "…Kurt….that was in high school, like three years ago….and it was only for a couple months….she dumped me when she found out….you know….and, I live with you…."

Now Kurt's face screwed up into higher confusion, "Um, Sam…I don't even think I want to know what you're smoking, but I don't know about you, I'm still in high school. And you told me yourself you weren't gay….although I still think you are…" He looked thoughtful…and then suddenly glared, "Is this some type of cheap football trick Evans?"

Sam reeled, speechless, was Kurt tricking him? He was in acting school. All he could think about was the movie "Inception". The word Inception repeated itself over and over in his mind. "Kurt, why would I trick you?", he finally blurted out. A thought popped into his head, "Besides, why are you in a flat and not with your dad if I'm tricking you?" He felt triumphant, as if he had just proved something amazing. It was like he was smarter than Kurt for once.

But the expression on Kurt's face wiped the smirk off his. He suddenly looked scared, and stared down at the wooden spoon he had been using to stir pasta sauce with a moment ago. Suddenly, he dropped it, sauce splattering all over Kurt's clothes. But Kurt did nothing. Nothing about the fact that his Marc Jacobs jeans were now going to be stained with tomato sauce if he didn't do something quick. He was shaking, even as he just stood there, looking down at the splatter. Finally he looked up, his already porcelain skin paler than usual.

"I don't know," he had whispered, and then a moment after he had fainted.