I think I'll leave this as a one-shot. There is room to expand it, but I'm not too sure if I should or not. Feedback is always appreciated, so don't be too hesitant in leaving a comment! Thanks for taking the time to read this.
Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or any of the characters etc.
Sam stepped out of the building and briefly surveyed his surroundings. The area appeared deserted, with only a few cars filling the otherwise barren space.
Swinging his mustard coloured back pack over his right shoulder, the blond teen proceeded in exiting the car park and made his way down the empty street.
Sam swiftly turned the corner, and was hit by the harsh sound of life; loud voices boomed and music far from his own tastes plagued the air.
Sam hated this area; the noise, the buildings, the ignorance of people. But he was stuck here for the next two weeks.
'Isn't work experience just delightful', Sam sarcastically muttered to himself, weaving in and out of the never-ending supply of annoying individuals, intent on making his day as bad as possible.
With his lunch in his bag, the teen began his search for a place of tranquility in the heavily urbanized area. After around ten minutes of intense walking, Sam had found nothing. Besides buildings and rude people, of course. He paused on the side walk, a began to look at the details of his new home in hope of finding clues of this hidden and remote place he knew was nearby.
At first, he noticed the road. Or what should have been the road. Old metal frames filled the space, covered in tatty tarpaulin and playing host to a variety of tacky items, as well as 'fresh' fruit and vegetables. The scene resembled the slums of India that Sam had seen in Slumdog Millionaire, except the people in the film looked far less shabby.
He noticed the ageing buildings, enveloped in cracks and missing chunks, standing next to the newer buildings, still glistening in a ghastly and over-the-top fashion. Then it clicked. Sam realized that the obviously run-down area was going through some form of a make-over. The majority of the new buildings were situated at the far side of the district; the only place Sam hadn't checked. Triumphant, the blond boy strutted through the crowded street with an elegance that demanded people move out of his way.
'I should do this as a job...' He thought to himself. 'Detective Evans does have a nice ring to it'.
A large smile played on Sam's plump lips when he saw what he was finally looking for.
The spacious grassy field Sam desired was just mere metres away from him. He wasn't sure whether he was dreaming or whether it was actually happening, but the sun appeared to be shining solely on a quaint bench, placed several paces from an elderly tree, full of leaves.
A heavy believer in fate, Sam practically galloped over to the bench, plonking himself perfectly in the centre of it, preventing anyone else sitting alongside him.
After finally finding his sanctuary, Sam was lost. He didn't know what to do with himself. He sat, perched on the edge of the bench, frustrated with himself for not planning this far ahead. His eyes began searching for something - anything - to do, until the sound of his stomach growling solved the problem.
'Thanks', he whispered, before giggling softly at his own stupidity.
He scooped up his bag from beside him, and placed it softly on his lap. Kurt had treated Sam to the bag as a 'work experience gift'; a gesture Kurt had clearly stated should not be returned. The bag was something that wasn't usually his style, but was growing on him fast. Ironically, just like Kurt Hummel himself. The bag was made from a soft canvas material, a deep yellow in colour, with four nicely sized pockets, tied shut by brown leather buckles. The main body of the bag was closed by an odd drawstring contraption, which baffled Sam until Kurt explained - and also modelled - numerous times. Sam loved it when Kurt modeled clothes and accessories for him, parading up and down the room, unknowingly treating Sam to a perfect eyeful of Hummel booty.
Speaking of Kurt, Sam had to find a way of telling him how he felt. He'd known of his own feelings for a long time now, and was on the verge of confessing them all to Kurt, just days before Blaine began that scripted speech and planted that cliché kiss. Sam thought he had lost Kurt for good; forever. But after Blaine had laid his eyes on the new shelf-stacker in Walmart, the pair drifted. Kurt decided to end the relationship, not needing the dead weight on his already frail shoulders, and began to spend more and more time 'helping' Sam.
Of course, Sam didn't need his help. His father had finally found himself a state-paid job, with a lengthy contrast and a guaranteed compensation fee if he was made redundant once more. Additionally, his mother had began working part-time as a cleaner for a small, local company. The Evans still lived in the motel, but things were far different from a few months back.
As for Sam's relationship with Kurt, the pair were slowly growing more intimate as time passed. Sitting apart became sitting next to one another. Waves goodbye became hugs goodbye. Playful touching became sensual stroking. The steady pace of their friendship never quickened, but the intensity of their chemistry heightened constantly. Sam had noticed the changing friendship, and was sure Kurt had realized that things were surpassing the 'friends' level. But Sam had also noticed that Kurt was never one to act on his impulses and attractions after the whole Finn saga.
Kurt had told Sam of his crushes, and how he was too scared to take the plunge – to put his dignity on the line once more. Kurt Hummel was done with chasing boys. He'd reluctantly accept the hand fate had dealt him, and watch from afar. He'd settle for dreams and fantasy rather than the hurtful truth of reality. But Sam wanted Kurt to live his fantasy in the real world. Sam knew that Kurt was truly happy with him. Sam could understand the witty remarks. He could have the mental stamina to spend days planning an outfit for a simple trip to grocery store. Sam could watch Mary Poppins over and over and still giggle at the ceiling tea party; he could learn all the songs from Wicked and re-enact the famous scenes. Sam could when everybody else couldn't. It was that simple.
Sam's train of thought was derailed when his phone vibrated in his pocket, rattling against his keys. He thrusted his hands in his left pocket, managing to extract his phone on the third attempt. He saw a new message.
Look to your left and prepared to be amazed.
"So, are you amazed?" A familiar voice asked.
"K-Kurt! You're here. A-Aren't you… Work experi-" Sam, evidently, was beyond amazed.
Kurt sashayed his way in front of Sam, coming to a swift halt.
"My workplace doesn't do business on Mondays. Well, the head designer doesn't do business on Mondays. It's in her contract." Kurt finished with a hint of admiration in his voice, overshadowed largely by his realization of the audacity of his boss. Sam face remained in a bewildered state, so Kurt continued.
"And…" he said, stretching the word far longer than needed "This sweater is just too good not to parade around town, so I thought I'd come visit you and treat you to lunch."
Sam was flattered, but he didn't like people caring for him, making exceptions for him because his was in a poor financial state.
"Kurt, I'm not a charity…"
"Can't a friend treat a friend?" Kurt teased, keeping the conversation light.
"Not when the friend doesn't have the money to treat you back." Sam replied bluntly, peering down at his shoes.
"Sam, you do treat me back. Your currency is different. I buy you lunch, and you force me to sit in a comic book store for four and a half hours and call it entertainment."
Kurt swung out an arm, waiting for Sam to reach for it. He didn't. Instead, he shuffled to his right slightly, gesturing for Kurt to sit next to him.
Kurt gently placed himself next to his friend, sitting so close that their thighs touched one another's, raising both of their heartbeats slightly. Sam slowly moved his hand across his body, before taking Kurt's manicured fingers in his own. Intertwined; connected; together. Sam was ready. Ready to chase the chaser.