I'm drunk. Those are the thoughts that Kurt has the night that he and Sam are stretched out across his basement floor, hands outstretched, almost touching. I'm drunk. He repeats to himself, but the words don't have any effect on him. Perhaps it's because he really is drunk. But, more likely than not, it's because he just can't bring himself to give a damn.
Sam himself gives him a bit of an inebriated smile and Kurt returns it. Neither of the boys know what's gotten into them. But still, Kurt still can't be bothered to 's sure Sam shares his sentiment. Positive, in fact.
"Are you afraid of dying?" Kurt asks, and it's a bit of a random question, if not morbid. Sam seems caught off guard for a moment before that little smile returns to his face and eyes and everything is okay for that moment.
"No, I don't think so." Sam replies, looking up at the ceiling fan, which is spinning so quickly it makes Kurt dizzy.
"I think I am." Kurt replies, sighing.
But in that moment, with his hand outstretched, nearly touching Sam's, he isn't.