It turns out that the paint came off quite easily, actually, with the help of some of Sue Sylvester's homemade solution. I don't even want to know what is in that stuff. After cleaning, I only just managed to persuade Sam not to sneak into the office and get Karofsky's address from his personal file and do some serious damage. Sam is incredibly serious about this, even now. I've calmed him down, just, but he's still livid, I can tell. I'm driving us home- to my house- and I glance at him occasionally. Partially just to look at him and partially because I want to see if that stormy expression that overwhelmed his face has subsided yet. He catches me looking at him. Damn, I try to be nonchalant about it.
"I'm not going to flip my shit in the car, Kurt, if that's what you're worried about." Sam says, surprisingly soothingly.
"It's not that. I just want to make sure you're okay." I stare straight ahead at the road, barely able to look at him. I know the glance he's giving me though. It's one of confusion and slight pity.
"Okay you're either really, really sweet or self-destructive. Of course I'm okay, Kurt. Your car just got vandalised. You were almost almost attacked earlier this morning and from what I can glean, this has been going on for some time now." I take a moment to pause.
"I'm not self-destructive. I just know what effects homophobia can have, even if it's not direct. I've dealt with worse and came out swinging, so I know that I'm okay until worse happens. Is that really pessimistic of me to say?" I almost chuckle, the irony contained, but only barely.
"I get that. I just worry. I've only known you for a day, but I find myself wanting to protect you from them. You'll tell me if anything happens you know. Anything at all. Or if something has happened in the past that you're keeping quiet because you're worried about the consequences if you tell somebody, but it's eating away at you inside and you can't help but feel the pain fresh every day." I get the feeling we're not talking about me anymore. I want to ask about what's troubling him at home, but it's really not my place. I wonder if I should tell him about what happened sophomore year with Karofsky? Would the jock actually kill me for telling? He seemed to mean it when he said it, but I don't know whether it was just an empty threat or not. I can never accurately assess his capabilities and whether he would actually follow through with it. I decide to keep silent, just in case he means it.
"Nothing like that, really. Just the usual high school torture, but in very frequent amounts. It's nothing compared to what a lot of kids get. I'm lucky, really."
"Kurt? It's okay to know that your being bullied. Quite badly, in fact. You don't have to play down the abuse because somebody might have it worse somewhere else, okay? Trust me."
"You keep saying things like that," I begin, and there's no way to stop. Why did I have to open my mouth? He'll probably get angry at me. "Like something's happened to you. Something really bad. And it's okay to speak out. No matter what the consequences might be." It's apparent by Sam's following silence that I'm right, and he knows it, but he gives me a steely glare.
"Just drop it, okay? Yeah, something happened. And I know it's good to talk. But not yet. I'm still processing. I'll do you a deal, Kurt. When I'm ready to talk, I'll come straight to you." I nod.
"And for me, you have to let me help you with Karofsky and the others. None of this 'protecting me' business, okay?" I nod again, unable to disagree with him. His eyes work their usual magic on me and I'm gone. He's in control of me. Transfixed isn't the word. There's something else to it.
"Good."
We arrive at my house, discussing which genre we should tackle for our assignment. We've gotten nowhere. Sam is still a country boy at heart, but my voice simply doesn't go well with country music. I tried.
I open the front door to my house and check for signs of life.
"Dad? Carole? Finn?" I call, not expecting an answer, but still wary. Dad and Carole are at work for a little while longer and Finn is working on his assignment elsewhere.
"Okay, we're alone, so if you hear any noises, call Ghostbusters." I quip, making Sam smile widely. Oh I love that grin of his. I could look at it all day.
"I'll be sure to do just that."
"Sam, do you want anything to drink?" I call behind me from the kitchen. He's lingering by the doorway, politeness kicking in and not wanting to impose. Silly boy, he's always welcome.
"Um, just water would be lovely, thank you." He replies. I turn.
"You don't have to stand there, make yourself at home. If you want to head down to the basement, that's my room, and I'll bring your water down." I suggest. I'm so glad that I'm a tidy person. My bedroom is always spotless and meticulously organised.
"Yeah, sure." I'm positive that he just doesn't want to disagree with me in my own house. I get him his water and grab a can of Diet Coke for myself. Heading downstairs, I pause momentarily, seeing Sam's sad face staring at his phone screen.
"Everything alright?"
"Course. Why wouldn't it be? Thank you." He adds as I hand him his water. I crack open the can and take a sip. I'm very aware of the silence between us.
"Your room is awesome by the way."
"Everyone expects it to be bright pink and full of rainbow posters, but I went for the classic Dior look instead. It was more me."
"I get what you mean. Say, because I like comic books, people think my room is full of Star Wars and Avatar memorabilia."
"And is it?"
"You'll have to see that for yourself." Oh my God, Sam Evans, what are you trying to do to me? "Oh, that was a little forward. Ugh, I have no filter in my head to internalise what Im saying. Most of the time I'll just say what comes into my head. I should have warned you about that."
"Oh, I have that too. Like if Rachel's sweater should be burned amongst a pile of flannel, then I'll tell her. If I think that someone's being mean, I'll tell them. It's detrimental to my social skills, I'll tell you that." Sam nods, like he knows what I'm talking about.
"I think it's a good trait to have actually, Kurt. Brutal honesty is something I advocate so much."
"Yeah, me too. So what would you like on your pizza?" I ask politely, grabbing my phone and dialling the number.
"Um, chicken and sweetcorn, please." I look at him quizzically. "It's diet day." He cares about his health? He's literally perfection.
I order his pizza and a Veggie Supreme for myself and load up my iTunes."
"So for our duet. Where do we want to take this? Do we want to say something with our songs or simply showcase our voices?"
"Well, I don't know about you, but I like to show people how I'm feeling through songs. I hate using regular words to describe my mood or my situations, so finding the perfect song is a must. But if you want to take it a different way, then I'll be happy to do whatever you like." The generosity is pouring from him.
"I was about to suggest the same thing. I mean, I gathered that you performing 'Wasted' in Glee Club was about you telling a story about your life. Shut me up if I'm way off, but that's the vibe I got." I hope I'm not completely off-track here.
"No, you're absolutely right. Plus, I like the song. Which always helps." He chuckles quietly, almost nervously. He fidgets with his hands, and I guess that's his nervous habit. Like I grind my teeth together so nobody realises that I'm nervous. He looks so childlike, in a serene state of thoughtfulness.
"So that's sorted. Do we want to choose a song between us or perform a mash-up of two or more?"
"I think we could pull something really amazing off with two completely different songs that link together by a theme or a concept or something. If I'm not getting too ahead of the game, I kinda already have a song picked out that I was going to suggest." I breathe an internal sigh of relief because I've done the same thing. I scrolled through my iPod during free study and found the perfect song which can show the Glee Club that I'm feeling things but also that I can sing songs written for tenors and baritones quite well indeed.
"Pray tell, I'm sure it's brilliant." He finds the song on YouTube and sings along quietly with it. I'm rather familiar with it. The artist is one of my favourites. The song is performed with so much passion that it's perfect for self-expression. And if Sam can pull it off, there must be talent coursing in his veins, threatening to spill out through every orifice.
I slyly wipe a stray tear from my eye and nod. "That's beautiful. I love that song. I've also thought of something to use, if you want to hear it?" I suggest and find the instrumental of the song I prepared to go into my file on my laptop of random instrumentals in case I need them at any point. As my repertoire expands, so does my need for backing tracks.
I don't sing it full out, only hitting the necessary notes. I casually slip into my higher range, and it only just occurs to me how much my voice has improved lately. I'm training it much more rigorously than I used to, so I'm accrediting that for my rapid progression. Broadway, look out. Kurt Hummel is going to rock your world.
Sam smiles sadly, with emotion brimming at the surface. "Kurt, your voice is beautiful. And that song is so clear yet has so much opportunity for subtext. Hey! I have an idea. I know this song on guitar. Fancy learning it? And you could teach me mine on the piano and we could play them at the same time. We'll have a new duet partner and we'll learn a new instrument. Are you up for this challenge?" He looks at me, a playful determination filling his eyes.
"That sounds…difficult, but definitely doable. That's a great idea! There's a piano upstairs, we could get started after we've eaten if you'd like." I offer, thinking of piano lessons as such an excuse to be close to him. Perhaps there could be a moment where our fingers brush and the electricity would shoot through me and make him realise that he does love me, after all. Or maybe I'm getting ahead of myself? Yes, that's probably it.
"I would love that. I've never really mastered the piano. I only really know what note is what, but I can never play anything."
"That's the same with me and the guitar really. Well, except from the fact that I don't know what any of the strings are. I can only really play Happy Birthday on it. And that's at a stretch." I smile, as does he.
There's a moment. Our gazes linger on, something much deeper crackling beneath the surface of this silent exchange of auras. Unfortunately, because the delivery person is on record time, the doorbell rings. Wow, such a cockblocking delivery person. Maybe they won't get a tip.
Sam gets up to answer it, but I stop him. "What are you doing?"
"You can at least let me pay for the pizza, Kurt."
"It's fine, honestly. If it's Tiffany, I get a discount. I took her shopping once and picked out a fabulous outfit which she used to impress her ex-boyfriend. They're back together now and engaged. She owes me for that, apparently, so she knocks off $10 everytime she delivers here. If she sees you, she'll charge full price." I skip off into the hallway, Sam following behind me.
"Tiffany," I smile, opening the door. "How are you, lovely?"
She beams back at me. "I'm just grand, Kurtie! Wedding plans are taking over my life."
"You should've told me you started, I'm great at organising weddings. I can help, if you want." I suggest. I do love a good wedding to plan.
"Oh, you're a star. We'll pay you, of course. And you have such great taste, why didn't I think of you before? This guy that Daryl hired is useless, literally. He things that I shouldn't have a white dress. He says that we're not a traditional couple so our wedding should be eccentric and wacky. I'm firing him tomorrow." She laughs, pleased with herself. "Oh, you have company," She adds, seeing Sam behind me. "I'll leave you to it." She raises her eyebrow an infinitesimal amount, but just enough for me to catch the underlying ellipsis of her sentence. I shake my head quickly and she nods, handing over the pizza.
"That'll be $7, Kurt. My service was incredibly poor today, so I'll give you some money off." She winks at me, but recites her usual speech for Sam's benefit. It's our little deal.
"Thank you, Tiffany. Call me about the wedding planning." I remind her.
"Oh, don't worry, I will. Apparently we have a lot to catch up on." She wiggles her eyebrows jokingly and waves goodbye.
I shut the door behind her.
"Kurt Hummel, wedding planner extraordinaire?" Sam grins.
"You can laugh now, but I'm amazing at wedding. My Power Rangers got married and divorced in so many different combinations, they were like Fleetwood Mac." I chuckle. Sam laughs too, evidently getting the pop culture reference.
"No kidding. I did divorce my friend's Barbie and Ken dolls once, though, because Ken was in love with Barbie's best friend so who was I to stand in the way of soulmates?" Yeah, no kidding. Just kiss me, Sam, I dare you. Go on. Do it. Now.
"You did the right thing, Sam. Right, I'll go and put some plates together. I've found that the aroma lingers for far less time if the box is immediately discarded."
"So you paid for the pizza, but I'm washing up. You can't even stop me." I think about it. A guy who wants to do chores. It's not very often that this comes around.
"Deal," I say, shaking his extended hand. Oh, the warmth that rushes through me feels like delirium at its most potent. There's a helium-esque lightness to my head that feels quite dangerous. My heart pounds so rapidly that it could just burst at any time. I let go, not wanting to prolong the vulnerable feeling of lust.
Whilst eating, we discuss so many different topics; music, movies, TV, fashion and even Glee Club. I give him a summary of the Glee Club members and eventually invite him to my sleepover. I feel a little giddy at him staying at my house, but I keep reminding myself that just because he's gay, it does not give me automatic rights to being his boyfriend. He accepts the invitation gratefully and announces that its time for him to wash up. We were done eating quickly, not getting large pizzas. His diet and my quest for completely healthiness led us to not stuff our faces with greasy Italian food.
I'm startling when his phone rings. I poke my head around the basement door.
"Sam, your phone's ringing. Want me to get it?" His head whips around quickly. He considers it.
"Yeah, just tell whoever it is to leave a message with you."
I descend the stairs again, clicking the green icon on his phone.
"Hello, Sam's phone, Kurt speaking."
"Kurt? I don't know a Kurt. Who are you?"
"I'm one of Sam's friends, he's not able to reach the phone. May I ask who's calling?"
"Tell Sam that it's Alex and he needs to get home as soon as he can." The tone is gravelly and dark.
"I'll pass the message along."
"Make sure that you do." The command is sharp and makes a little nervous.
"I will." I hang up, not assuming that a goodbye was even necessary, let alone a politeness feature.
Sam dries his hands and meets me back in my bedroom. "Who called?"
I relay the message. "They weren't very specific. Just that Alex needs you to come home as soon as you can. He didn't say why, just that you needed to. It sounded important, is everything okay?"
Sam's face pales and he grabs his phone from the bed, stuffing it in his jeans pocket. "Yeah, everything's fine. I just forgot that I needed to get home. Thank you for the pizza and we'll work on this in Glee tomorrow?" I nod. "Cool, bye Kurt."
"Wait, Sam! I'll add you on Facebook if you need to talk or anything."
He nods impatiently and dashes up the stairs, taking them three at a time and slams the door behind him.
I quickly retrieve my own phone and Facebook search him. Finding him instantly (Rachel is already friends with him, no surprises there), I click add and then drop a quick message. Hope everything's alright at home. x
Leaving the kiss at the end is a risky move, but what's done is done and I use it generally as a sign of respect and affection. I have both for Sam. But my mind can't stop thinking about that Alex guy and what could possibly be up with him at Sam's home. Is he the babysitter that Sam talked about? Is he Sam's boyfriend? Brother? I have no idea, but I'm hoping that Sam will confide in me if he needs to.
Author's Note: Make sure to leave a review! Reviews are love! x