1 Scott.
Scott always meant a lot to me. I was the little German jokester, and he was the all American jock. I remember once we were just hanging out, him doing homework, and me lounging around in the sun, loving my new holo watch. For once I was normal, no blue hair or yellow eyes. I wasn't Night crawler, I was Kurt. A normal teen, only German accent. But hey, the chicks dig the accent, no?
Anyway, I'm not sticking to what I want to say. I was getting almost goosebumps, for once seeing my skin sunburn, tan, and not wave in the breeze.
Kurt, why are so attached to that watch? Why are you wearing that thing like a pair of shoes?
I arched an eyebrow at this unexpected comment, Well Scott, the blue boy is quite liking the whole 'not a freak' look
I still can't believe I was that shallow. I'm a priest now, yes a priest, I'm the trinity's comedian. I've learned that in the Lord's eyes, we're all the same. He loves us no matter how color our hair is, or whether lasers shoot out of your eyes. But back to the story, my mind, Scott, is practically a shmucks [1]I kno what you want to say, and know, I am NOT getting old. Hmph.
But when you said that, it was like a shockwave. I immediately turned off the hologram watch, but by then, you could tell something was wrong.
Kurt? Hey buddy, I'm sorry, you can keep on wearing it if you want.
I stiffened at what you did next, to expecting it. It was a gesture so sweet, so loving, so tiny anyone else would think I'm making a big deal over nothing. You just took a lock of my hair and put it behind my ear.
No more, no less, but I was touched. It was like someone turned on a lightbulb. Someone liked me being a mutant over than a good circus act. You liked the blue hair, the yellow eyes, even the tail. I couldn't believe it. For the rest of the day I just hanged on the chandelier in my room, just laughing and listening to Enya. Yes Enya. And I know what you're thinking Scott, just hush.
We started spending more time together, listening to Linkin Park, and Limp Bizkit, me showing you some classical pieces my parents loved, that your intellect picked up and loved instantly. I remember this, you're favorite was the dance of the blessed spirits, by Gluck.
You always said it brought to mind a feeling of hopelessness, of sorrow, of pain that was pure, the real thing, not like how you feel when you flunk a quiz. I believe you said 'that's the pain of love. The stuff a widow feels, or like when you get rejected from someone like a cold fish'
That was when Jean was going out with Derek, that blond playboy. I felt so bad for you, but what could I do? So I just put my hand on yours and knocked your hair out of your eyes.
When you went to Harvard to be a lawyer, and I went to Israel to learn more about this catholic faith Kitty had been telling me about, I learned how much I had loved you. I, to my shame, realized I loved a man. A man, Scott, a man. Some of the other priests chide a gay 14 year old who often comes in for confessions, yearning to 'cleanse' himself of these forbidden feelings. One time he nearly broke the confessionary in fury at the preist telling him that he, a boy who came to mass everyday was a pervert and would go to hell. Can you believe that?
I took him into my office and told him of how normal it was, and how God cared for you, if you loved him, and if you loved someone else, man or women, he would love you anyway. I had never seen anyone looking so content when he walked out, the boy now gives me updates on the boy he himself likes, and had told the others priests I am the only one he will confide in.
When I came back to the States to visit you all, we met up again. You were the same Scott, still tall, rigid, but kind as ever. I was a man of God, but constantly pulled pranks with Jubilee, man of god or not. One night, when we were having dinner, just the two of us, you held my hand is yours, my 2 fingered hand, in yours, and held it all night. We walked along Bayview Park that night, the moon high above us, and when all was quiet except for the ocean, you leaned over and kissed me. I gave in hungrily as we poured out our feelings and emotions to each other, barely making it back to your hotel room in time. I remember we both lost our child within that night, but the man you helped me bring out is just as playful and happy as ever.
I remember when we were both spent and cuddled next to each other, me ready for bed; you just took my hand and kissed my fingertips softly.
I will never forget that Scott.
Your foster father wouldn't take it, and we were forced to part. You never married, I know, and I think it has only been the church that has led me alive this long, into my 30's. You died a wealthy lawyer, professional, suave, and still a bachelor. At your funeral, everyone spoke of the business man you, not the friend I had, who secretly loved classical, but at the same time loved punk.
Not to say everyone else wasn't there. Kitty and Jean sat with their husbands and kids, Kitty's 3 and Jean's 1, Evan getting a break with his skateboarding business, and Rogue sitting with her husband, a Cajun named Remy Lebeau. They were so happy together, and were so close. The love in Remy's eyes when you puts his arms around Rogue when the lowered you into the ground. why it almost made me wish to be straight.
Right now I'm lighting candles and praying for you, like always, in the church, one of our pictures, one of us washing the car, you getting sprayed by yours truly, in my friars robe. By now God must know you by heart, with all the prayers you've been getting from me. But this still amazes me.
How we started out with a lock of hair.
Authors Note: I love this coupling for some reason. They're great for each other. Kurt's fun enough to get Scott to relax, and Scott can calm Kurt down, without making him a deadbeat. This Story was based on a dream I had of Scott's funeral. At first it was Rogue thinking about it, but then I thought about how much it would be hard for her and Remy to hook up. ((that's my fav. Coupling)) So I settled with Kurt. If anyone's mad, I apologize now, but love is love, no matter who it is. You can flame me for it, but I won't stop writing what I believe is right.
~Fern
Scott always meant a lot to me. I was the little German jokester, and he was the all American jock. I remember once we were just hanging out, him doing homework, and me lounging around in the sun, loving my new holo watch. For once I was normal, no blue hair or yellow eyes. I wasn't Night crawler, I was Kurt. A normal teen, only German accent. But hey, the chicks dig the accent, no?
Anyway, I'm not sticking to what I want to say. I was getting almost goosebumps, for once seeing my skin sunburn, tan, and not wave in the breeze.
Kurt, why are so attached to that watch? Why are you wearing that thing like a pair of shoes?
I arched an eyebrow at this unexpected comment, Well Scott, the blue boy is quite liking the whole 'not a freak' look
I still can't believe I was that shallow. I'm a priest now, yes a priest, I'm the trinity's comedian. I've learned that in the Lord's eyes, we're all the same. He loves us no matter how color our hair is, or whether lasers shoot out of your eyes. But back to the story, my mind, Scott, is practically a shmucks [1]I kno what you want to say, and know, I am NOT getting old. Hmph.
But when you said that, it was like a shockwave. I immediately turned off the hologram watch, but by then, you could tell something was wrong.
Kurt? Hey buddy, I'm sorry, you can keep on wearing it if you want.
I stiffened at what you did next, to expecting it. It was a gesture so sweet, so loving, so tiny anyone else would think I'm making a big deal over nothing. You just took a lock of my hair and put it behind my ear.
No more, no less, but I was touched. It was like someone turned on a lightbulb. Someone liked me being a mutant over than a good circus act. You liked the blue hair, the yellow eyes, even the tail. I couldn't believe it. For the rest of the day I just hanged on the chandelier in my room, just laughing and listening to Enya. Yes Enya. And I know what you're thinking Scott, just hush.
We started spending more time together, listening to Linkin Park, and Limp Bizkit, me showing you some classical pieces my parents loved, that your intellect picked up and loved instantly. I remember this, you're favorite was the dance of the blessed spirits, by Gluck.
You always said it brought to mind a feeling of hopelessness, of sorrow, of pain that was pure, the real thing, not like how you feel when you flunk a quiz. I believe you said 'that's the pain of love. The stuff a widow feels, or like when you get rejected from someone like a cold fish'
That was when Jean was going out with Derek, that blond playboy. I felt so bad for you, but what could I do? So I just put my hand on yours and knocked your hair out of your eyes.
When you went to Harvard to be a lawyer, and I went to Israel to learn more about this catholic faith Kitty had been telling me about, I learned how much I had loved you. I, to my shame, realized I loved a man. A man, Scott, a man. Some of the other priests chide a gay 14 year old who often comes in for confessions, yearning to 'cleanse' himself of these forbidden feelings. One time he nearly broke the confessionary in fury at the preist telling him that he, a boy who came to mass everyday was a pervert and would go to hell. Can you believe that?
I took him into my office and told him of how normal it was, and how God cared for you, if you loved him, and if you loved someone else, man or women, he would love you anyway. I had never seen anyone looking so content when he walked out, the boy now gives me updates on the boy he himself likes, and had told the others priests I am the only one he will confide in.
When I came back to the States to visit you all, we met up again. You were the same Scott, still tall, rigid, but kind as ever. I was a man of God, but constantly pulled pranks with Jubilee, man of god or not. One night, when we were having dinner, just the two of us, you held my hand is yours, my 2 fingered hand, in yours, and held it all night. We walked along Bayview Park that night, the moon high above us, and when all was quiet except for the ocean, you leaned over and kissed me. I gave in hungrily as we poured out our feelings and emotions to each other, barely making it back to your hotel room in time. I remember we both lost our child within that night, but the man you helped me bring out is just as playful and happy as ever.
I remember when we were both spent and cuddled next to each other, me ready for bed; you just took my hand and kissed my fingertips softly.
I will never forget that Scott.
Your foster father wouldn't take it, and we were forced to part. You never married, I know, and I think it has only been the church that has led me alive this long, into my 30's. You died a wealthy lawyer, professional, suave, and still a bachelor. At your funeral, everyone spoke of the business man you, not the friend I had, who secretly loved classical, but at the same time loved punk.
Not to say everyone else wasn't there. Kitty and Jean sat with their husbands and kids, Kitty's 3 and Jean's 1, Evan getting a break with his skateboarding business, and Rogue sitting with her husband, a Cajun named Remy Lebeau. They were so happy together, and were so close. The love in Remy's eyes when you puts his arms around Rogue when the lowered you into the ground. why it almost made me wish to be straight.
Right now I'm lighting candles and praying for you, like always, in the church, one of our pictures, one of us washing the car, you getting sprayed by yours truly, in my friars robe. By now God must know you by heart, with all the prayers you've been getting from me. But this still amazes me.
How we started out with a lock of hair.
Authors Note: I love this coupling for some reason. They're great for each other. Kurt's fun enough to get Scott to relax, and Scott can calm Kurt down, without making him a deadbeat. This Story was based on a dream I had of Scott's funeral. At first it was Rogue thinking about it, but then I thought about how much it would be hard for her and Remy to hook up. ((that's my fav. Coupling)) So I settled with Kurt. If anyone's mad, I apologize now, but love is love, no matter who it is. You can flame me for it, but I won't stop writing what I believe is right.
~Fern