Sam hates when people cry.
Not because he doesn't like tears or anything, but because he doesn't know what to do when someone is crying. Does he hug them, stay away from them, ask them what to do? So he settles for simply avoiding putting himself in situations when someone may cry around him.
But this is Kurt, and although he expected tears and wasn't looking forward to them, he wasn't about to turn his best friend away.
He shoves his hands in his pockets as Kurt places the small bouquet of colored lilies (he would've done just white, but his mother was vibrant and he thought the colors should correspond to who she was) against the tombstone. Kurt stands back up and is just staring at the inscription, at her name, at her birthday, at the word mother in the part that says "Beloved daughter, sister, and mother."
It's Mother's Day, which is why Sam tied a note to the bouquet while in the car that reads (in Sam's messy but considerate attempt at cursive), Happy Mother's Day. Your son is the epitome of perfection. I can't imagine how amazing you must've been.
Kurt doesn't read it.
The tears have started to fall down Kurt's face silently, his shoulders shaking. Sam notices, and the spark of anxiety starts as he's trying to figure out what to do—although Kurt and him are affectionate friends in private (innocently), Kurt does have weird touching boundaries that Sam is always nervous of crossing. But when he hears the quiver in the countertenor's deep breath, he decides that he can't just ignore his friend. He puts his arm around Kurt's shoulders, his hand resting on his upper arm, and taking another tentative step with rubbing little circles with his thumb. They stand like this for a minute or so, just looking at the lilies and the tombstone and the words inscribed on it until Kurt can't stand it, turning away and throwing his arms around Sam. He hides his face in Sam's shoulder, his body trembling with now audible sobs.
"I miss her, Sam," he whimpers, shattering Sam's heart with that broken, vulnerable tone. "I miss her so much." Sam rests his cheek against the top of Kurt's head, closing his eyes as he listens to Kurt pour out his heart and talk about his mom. Most of it Sam doesn't really understand—it's a mixture of Kurt's sobs and words mumbled into the jacket he borrowed from his dad—but he knows Kurt just wants him to listen, so he does, occasionally murmuring soft words of comfort into his hair.
Kurt's hands make small fists in the fabric of Sam's jacket, and Sam gently tightens his hold on Kurt, their hearts beating against each other's. "She would've liked you," Kurt tells him.
Sam wonders if Kurt feels his heart quicken in pace, and he smiles weakly with the knowledge that not only does he have Burt's seal of approval—he'd have his mother's, as well.
