KRADAM BIG BANG: Real Life Version, Part Two
Kris lies out a couple of crappy clarinets, recorders, and a flute on the shitty fold-up table in the classroom, taking an unnecessary amount of time to arrange them. He’s already been asked by five members of staff whether something’s wrong.
“I need sleep,” he’s been saying, and three out of five laughed. The others just looked at him like he was crazy.
Right on time, the kids enter in a perfect line and sit in a semi-circle facing Kris. He opens his mouth and begins the lesson, explaining to the disappointed faces that no, he didn’t manage to borrow a saxophone from that old man down the street after all.
At lunch he doesn’t feel like eating. He talks to people even less than usual, manages to be even more unnoticeable. He never really had any friends at work, or in the area.
When he gets home he goes straight to the neglected pile of essays he was supposed to do yesterday. The ones he was doing when...
Rain. Rain, he so damn sick of it. In the middle of correcting Joey’s poorly constructed paragraph on single versus double reeds, he considers throwing himself out in the street and screaming to the sky at the top of his lungs. But he stops himself, because he knows that that scream wouldn’t really be about the rain.
This is the problem with perfection. Once you experience it, you’re done, you’re spoiled, nothing else makes you happy. Suddenly the girl you’ve been eyeing up at the grocery store for the past month seems nothing special. Suddenly everything you taste is bland, everything you see colorless. Suddenly your life is just... empty.
He couldn’t even find Adam if he wanted to, and Kris pounds his fist on the table where all the essays are spread out, berating himself for considering this no-option for the thirtieth time today. Adam never gave him any information, not even a last name, and deliberately. It was all intentional, the deal - Kris either moves and pursues his dream with Adam, or he stays and they never see each other again.
And that’s the reality. He’s not going to do it. He’s just not. Even though there’s something inside him insisting, this could be your soulmate, sometimes a promise like that just isn’t worth it.
Adam wants all or nothing. Elevate, he wrote. Fucking elevate. Whatever that means.
Maybe it would be easier if the memories weren’t still so clear. Maybe in time, a month or two, it’ll fade. Maybe Adam’s face, his laugh, his voice... but Kris is kidding himself. He knows he’ll never forget. He couldn’t even bring himself to throw out the note, instead pinning it under the fat blue candle Adam held and sometimes even carrying it around in his pocket, stupidly. Don’t forget, it insists.
And then, as he raises his pen to mark a six out of ten, it comes to him. The East Village. That’s where Adam said he worked. A gay club with a singer named Adam. It wouldn’t be that difficult to ask around.
Kris finishes the essays and goes to bed, the option flitting around in his thoughts. The next day he does nothing unusual either, nor the next. He sits on the possibility for over a week, turning it obsessively over and over. He would have to stay hidden, for how would Adam react if he saw Kris there in the crowd? Would he ignore him? Get angry? Or would he forget about his stupid deal altogether?
It’s not a good idea, finding Adam, and Kris knows it. But it hurts too much, realizing that otherwise, their one night will be all they’ll ever have. Adam really would just be a memory, then, maybe even truly reduced to a figment of Kris’ imagination.
He also can’t deny that tiny, sad hope that maybe Adam would change his mind, if they saw each other again.
Kris starts working up the courage, and once he does it’s even easier to find than he thought - it turns out Adam is rather well known in the area. When Kris arrives after a lengthy train ride on a happening Saturday night, it takes only an hour of strategic asking around before he gets to the place.
There are fifty or so people lined up out front, all decked out in glitter, jewelry, tight pants, glamorous makeup, and every color imaginable.
Kris glances down at his plain white t-shirt and jeans, horrified. This was a terrible, terrible idea.
“Don’t worry, sugar, you’ll get in.”
Kris whips his head around. Standing at the back of the line smiling at him is a relatively non-threatening looking young man with spiky blonde hair and about a thousand tangled silver and gold necklaces.
“Huh?”
“You’re cute, you’ve got nothing to worry about,” the guy says, eyes twinkling. “C’mon, get in line.”
Kris blinks a couple of times, and then reluctantly obeys. “I’m Kris,” he says awkwardly, holding out a hand.
The guy clasps it with both of his, holding on a little. “I’m Jamie! I’m guessing you’ve never been here before?”
Kris shakes his head. “I don’t really know why I’m here.”
“Sure you do. You’re here to meet someone amazing!” Jamie says dreamily, necklaces jangling.
Kris sighs. “In a way.”
“Someone in particular?”
Kris looks at the kid, his eyes bright and innocent, friendly. He figures there’s no reason not to tell the truth.
“I had a sort of... non-traditional one night stand with a guy that works here,” Kris says. “We said we’d never see each other again, but I just... I had to find him.”
“That’s so romantic!” Jamie says, quite literally clapping his hands. “Who’s the guy?”
“Adam something. Don’t know his last name. I think he sings here.”
Jamie looks stunned. “Adam? Adam Lambert?”
“Yeah, I think so,” Kris says, on edge.
Jamie’s hands start fluttering maniacally. “Omigod, oh my god, you have to tell me everything. Every detail. Quickly before we get inside.”
Kris is suddenly nervous. “What’s the big deal?”
Jamie looks at him like he’s insane. “He’s the reason everyone comes here! He’s absolutely amazing, and gorgeous too. Everyone swears he’s going to be huge someday, he’ll make it big any time now. I’m lucky to have had one glorious interaction with him, when he came out of the bathroom and held the door for me a few months ago,” he says, sighing happily. “It was perfection. But you. You slept with him!”
A couple of people are staring now and Kris’ alarm has heightened into panic. “No! No, I didn’t. But... other stuff happened. I can’t explain it. I just... I have to see him.”
Jamie nods with purpose, like a man on a mission.
And in a few minutes, they’ve made it into the club. Everywhere is color and lights. The bass is overpowering; it makes Kris’ entire body shake. But he kind of likes it. He and Katy never went anywhere like this when they lived in the city.
Jamie shouts into his ear that Adam will be going on in about an hour, and it’s the longest hour of his life. All he keeps hearing about from Jamie and the other people he talks to is how amazing Adam is, how anyone in the club would kill to hook up with him. He’s suddenly intimidated. How could this Adam have ever wanted to be with him?
Finally, finally, it hits midnight and a huge roar draws up from the crowd. The music changes. The stage lights up. Kris can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t even swallow. It’s only the calming hand on his shoulder that keeps him from passing out - Kris doesn’t know what he would have done had he not met Jamie.
And then he has to be held up because Adam walks out onstage. And he’s nothing - and everything - like the Adam Kris thought he knew.
This Adam is in four-inch neon green platform boots. His hair is sky-high, slicked up and practically turned silver because of all the glitter smoothed through it. His eyes are surrounded by black and gold and lime and fuchsia. And Kris cannot stop staring.
He doesn’t know what to focus on, the visual or the audio. Adam’s voice is even better than he remembered, letting loose this time and completely different from the soft falsetto Kris heard under the covers. Watching him is a breathtaking experience.
After the show, Jamie looks at Kris with expectant, raised eyebrows and asks, “So? What’d you think?”
Kris opens his mouth but nothing comes out. Jamie laughs and tries to get him to stay to have a drink or two (because Adam usually comes out and dances afterward) but Kris refuses. That can’t happen. Kris is in a daze; he can’t possibly go up to Adam, especially after that. Besides - he made it perfectly clear that he didn’t want to see Kris again unless everything changed.
The daze lasts all the way home and the next day. It lasts all the way through first half of the week at school. But then it fades, and in its place comes a hollow ache, like a hunger. By Thursday, Kris knows there’s no chance he won’t be going back. He just... has to see him again. One more time. And then he’ll stop torturing himself.
Kris is dressed just as inconspicuously as last time when he shows up at the line the following Saturday, and he spots Jamie right away.
“Couldn’t resist, could you?” Jamie says, slyly.
Kris laughs, but inside he feels sick.
Despite Kris’ determination to stop tempting himself, the hunger always comes back, and he falls into a kind of routine. He and Jamie meet every weekend at the club, and soon enough, in a weird way it feels like Kris has friends for the first time since he moved from Arkansas.
Jamie’s group consists of a red-haired dude from Boston, Luke (Kris suspects Jamie has a crush on him), Cassie, a drag queen from the city, and Emma, a pianist with dreadlocks who doesn’t like to define her sexuality, of whom Kris is especially fond. A few weeks in to Kris’ creepy stalkage of Adam, they all know every detail Kris can remember about the night of the storm, down to Adam’s damning rejection of Kris’ lack of ambition.
“I still can’t believe you met so randomly,” Emma says for probably the eighth time on Kris’ fourth visit, shaking her head. “Lucky bitch.”
“I don’t see what’s so lucky about this situation,” Kris says, taking a depressingly long gulp from his drink. “I wonder if he even remembers me.”
“Trust me,” Cassie says, looking at Kris through long lashes. “He remembers.”
Cassie has been going to the club longer than any of the others, since before Adam worked there, and swears that his performances have been noticeably off since a certain fateful night. Kris doesn’t know whether to believe her - the performances seem spectacular to him.
That night after Adam prances off the stage, covered in sweat, Jamie turns to Kris with a devilish spark in his eyes. “I have an idea.”
Kris looks at him suspiciously. “What?”
“What if you let us dress you up? Make you unrecognizable. Then maybe you could stay a while after the show, if you know what I mean,” Jamie says with a huge grin.
Just then, Kris spots Adam making his way into the crowd. He turns to go when Cassie grabs his arm.
“It could work,” she says, and removes a pen from her bag, feverishly scribbling on Kris’ arm. “It’s dark in here, he wouldn’t know it was you. Here’s my address, we’ll meet there at nine.”
“Get you glammed up,” Jamie pipes in.
“I don’t know,” Kris says. “What would be the point?”
“Closure,” Cassie says, and the other three nod enthusiastically. Kris doesn’t see it, but he doesn’t say no either as he’s got a few more drinks in him than usual and Adam’s getting dangerously close to their corner of the dance floor.
“Fine, alright, see you guys then.”
He’s out the door right as Adam’s sparkly head swivels to the spot where he just was.
The whole week is excruciating. Kris’ anticipation builds as he doubts the plan more and more. By the time Saturday rolls around, Kris is feeling extremely hesitant. This is only going to make things harder, he’s sure of it. Closure is not what will come of this, only more torture.
And yet he shows up right on time at Cassie’s place, a small part of him that just can’t resist egging on his every move.
It turns out Cassie has a vast, plentiful, terrifying closet. It’s stuffed full of dresses, belts, jeans, sparkling jewelry, tops in hundreds of colors, and shoes, shoes, shoes, as far as the eye can see.
Kris eyes must be boggling, as Cassie explains with a shrug, “I don’t eat. I buy clothing. Now get that god-awful excuse for a shirt out of my sight - ”
“But it’s just a normal - ”
She gives him a look. “Kris.”
Kris searches for backup (it’s just a random baseball shirt, seriously), but the other three - including Luke, the most reserved of the lot - shrug like they agree. Admitting defeat, Kris scowls and tosses the shirt on the floor.
“Now it’s just confidence you’re missing,” Cassie says a few hours later, eyeing her work in the mirror. “You’re hot. Own it.”
Staring at himself, for the first time Kris can almost believe it. His eyes are thickly lined with black shimmery stuff and he’s wearing blue colored contacts. His skin glows, almost an entirely different shade from his usual somewhat pasty self. Jamie streaked instant highlights and an unbelievable amount of product through his hair so that he appears almost blonde, it’s weird. He’s wearing a low-scooping beige tank-top that barely covers his chest and some of the tightest jeans he’s ever seen on a person, let alone worn. Finally, a pair of deep black army-like boots with chains running up and down the sides tops off the look.
He wouldn’t have believed it before, but he really does look different. Adam might not recognize him in the dark. He’s so nervous at that thought that he has to take deep, calming breaths.
“Relax, Kris,” Cassie soothes. “You’ll be fine.”
At the club, his appearance earns him a completely different reaction than normal. Instead of being ignored, he’s preyed upon. He’s received dozens of stares and has already been offered six drinks, some by very hot guys, by the time Adam begins singing. Kris can feel his self-assurance growing, a glow inside him he’s never had before. For the first time, he feels like he has power - enough power to go up to Adam Lambert with a spark of confidence in his eyes.
Throughout Adam’s set, the feeling grows. Kris wants him. Badly. He wants him right here on the dance floor, wants to touch him so much his nerves are on fire. So when he spots Adam in the center, dancing with friends after the show, he tosses away his empty drink and makes a beeline right for him.
His friends’ cheers and whoops are distant under the throbbing in his ears, the bass of the music pounding in his chest.
And then, he’s right there. Kris’ heart stutters. Adam is absolutely breath-taking this close up. Kris can’t believe it was only a month and a half ago that they were under the covers together.
Adam gives him a long look, up and down, an odd glint in his eyes. Kris swallows, terrified he’ll be recognized. But then the glint disappears and instead Adam’s grinning like he likes what he sees. Kris’ power rushes back.
“I’d like to buy you a drink,” Kris says in his campiest voice possible, all Southern lilt eliminated like he practiced.
“I’d be okay with that,” Adam says, voice low and predatory. “Or we could just get to dancing.”
Kris smiles as sensually as he can manage. “Let’s do that.”
Adam pulls Kris toward him, presses their bodies together. It’s so good. Kris breathes in Adam’s scent and nearly gets high on it, nestling his head into Adam’s chest and clasping his arms around his deliciously sweaty neck. He can’t believe he’s getting to do this. This can’t be real, and it isn’t, he reminds himself. Adam has no idea who he is. And it’s almost an edge of disappointment, in a way, that Adam would just hook up with any random guy when Kris has thought of nothing but him for weeks. But that was such a stupid thing to hope for. He should be grateful he’s getting this, that he’s the random guy.
And indeed, if only to remind him, Adam leans closer and asks, “What’s your name, cutie?”
“Eric,” Kris answers, prepared for this. “And you’re Adam.”
“That’s right,” he says, pleased, sliding a hand down Kris’ side.
Maybe Kris accepted a few too many drinks before, because after no time at all, he finds himself whispering in Adam’s ear, “You’re so hot, so gorgeous,” without even thinking about it.
Adam just clutches him tighter, lets his hands drop lower on Kris’ back, playing with the edge of material there.
The song changes and Kris loses himself in it, feels Adam’s firm hands running up the back of his shirt. They’re getting sweatier, breathing harder, Kris can feel himself getting harder. Adam has him so hot so fast, it’s ridiculous.
Adam’s lips make contact with Kris’ shoulder, work their way toward his neck, soft kisses turning into tongue and teeth, almost like he can’t help himself. Kris instinctively throws his head back, unable to hide the ecstasy that must be showing all over his face.
When Kris looks back, Adam’s eyes are black in the low light.
“You have no idea what you’re doing to me,” Adam says, and Kris grabs fistfuls of his shirt as he redoubles his efforts on Kris’ neck, circling the bite marks with his tongue.
He’s sure he’s going to have bruises everywhere in the morning, and he should care, really. But he’s so hard he could die, and when Adam suddenly grabs his ass to grind their dicks together, licking all along his collar bone, Kris has to physically pull himself together to stop from coming right there and then. He shudders all over in Adam’s arms and just gives up control, because letting Adam do whatever he wants is pretty much all Kris wants in the world.
Apparently what Adam wants is to rut up against Kris, hard, again and again, once grinding isn’t enough anymore. Kris’ mouth is hanging open of its own volition, letting out all these stupid little noises and whimpers.
“Oh my god,” Adam says, strained, sounding like he’s completely lost it. Kris can’t even take it, Adam’s strangled moaning, they’re moaning together, his dick dragging up Kris’ in just the way to make sparks fly behind his eyes. He’s so close, so unbelievably close so quickly, and then, without warning, Adam is shaking against him, violently, slamming them together again and again and again. “Krisssss,” he hisses so quietly Kris isn’t sure it’s real.
It’s only when Adam’s body sags slightly that Kris realizes he just came. Against Kris. In his pants. Saying his name.
Kris can hardly believe it, torn between elation because jesus christ Adam is pining for him, the real him, and the need to come right this second. They’re surrounded by people but no one even seemed to notice or care, all moving to their own music. It’s the most freeing feeling Kris has ever experienced.
After a short moment, Adam says in a low voice in his ear, “Let me blow you. Right now,” and Kris almost loses it for a second time. He’s so desperate he can’t speak, nodding frantically against his shoulder. Adam whispers, “Please,” like he needs it, and then Kris is tugging him across and off the dance floor.
The bathroom is absolutely disgusting. Who even knows how many people have fucked in here. But Kris is just like them, wanting it bad and right now.
The breath is knocked out of him as his back is slammed against the wall, Adam’s hands strong and pinning Kris against it at his hips. And Kris loves it; He loves being thrown around.
Adam slides his jeans down painfully slowly - Kris curses the goddamn tightest pants in the Universe - and cups his dick through his underwear far too lightly. Kris sucks in a breath, letting out a shocked sigh when Adam puts his lips right over the head of his dick through his underwear, mouthing there gently with zero urgency. Kris doesn’t think he’s ever been this desperate to come in his entire life.
Once all obstacles are finally removed, Adam just stares, hands gripping Kris’ thighs and doing nothing at all. For fuck’s sake.
“Adam. C’mon. Adam... please.”
Adam looks up at him, eyes huge and innocent, a faux question mark.
Kris can’t take it anymore. He snaps, grabbing Adam’s head and pulling it forward. “C’mon, suck me,” he says roughly, and he’s pretty sure he’s never said anything like that to anyone ever.
Adam gasps, launches himself, and thank jesus fucking finally, takes Kris all the way down his throat in one fluid motion.
Kris knew it would be amazing, but this... this is insane. He feels crazy, completely fucked up as he struggles to keep his eyes open, fixed on the amazing visual of Adam’s cheeks hollowed, bobbing with expertise. Eyes closed and smothered with gorgeous colorful eyeshadow. Long lashes lowered and brushing his cheekbones with every downward movement.
Kris just tries to keep breathing; he can’t believe he’s held on for even this long when all he wants to do is slam into that beautiful face until he sees stars.
Adam seems to sense that Kris is holding back, for he pulls off and breathes, voice all throaty, “C’mon, really fuck me, I can take it.”
Kris moans, long and loud and ridiculous, and once Adam takes him in again, doing that insane stroking thing with his tongue, it’s seconds before Kris loses it with a shout, holding Adam’s head and using him until he’s so gone he collapses back and sinks to the floor, knees weak.
Adam’s hands find his shoulders, steadying him as they pant together.
“Woah,” Kris says, clunking his head back against the wall.
Adam laughs deliriously. “More like holy fucking shit.”
And that’s when Adam moves in to kiss him, which can’t happen. Kris turns his head away, cringing. He can’t bring himself to look at Adam’s reaction, whatever it is. It’s worth the pain and awkwardness, as Adam would definitely recognize him with a kiss.
But they’re in the light, Kris realizes with dawning horror. Florescent, horribly revealing bathroom light.
“You look so...” Adam starts to say, and Kris lowers his head even more. Mother of fuck. He’s an idiot.
“Listen, I have to go,” Kris says, hastily sliding his pants back up. “This was really... really great, I - ”
The sound of crumpling paper. Kris looks up, sees Adam unwrapping a note... his note, which fell from his pocket, which he had brought for good luck.
Adam freezes, staring at the note. The silence is excruciating, the drip drip of the tap suddenly booming in the tiny room. Kris really couldn’t be more stupid.
“You brought this with you,” Adam states eventually, eyes raking over Kris. “And changed your hair. And your eye color. Why?”
Kris slumps back down to the slippery tiles. “Because I missed you.”
Adam’s swallow is audible. The drip of the tap makes everything slower.
“Giving you up was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done,” he says to the floor. “But I want you to be happy more. You’re too good at what you do to waste your life on anything else.”
“So you’re using yourself as incentive,” Kris says slowly. “So I’ll move and turn my life around or whatever.”
Adam frowns. “No, I mean. Maybe. I guess I just thought you’d realize how unhappy you are if I made it a little harder for you.”
A couple of seconds of silence, during which Kris starts to feel a little pissed off. It’s an unexpected feeling, but really, who even does that?
“You really think you’re that great, huh?” he finds himself saying, heart beating faster.
Adam’s head shoots up. He looks shocked. “Excuse me?”
“You think I’m gonna give up everything I’ve earned just to be closer to a guy I met once?”
“For what you love!” Adam’s shout rings through the tiny room. “For music, for a better life, to get over your girlfriend - ”
“My fiancée.”
Adam scoffs. “Yeah, what-fucking-ever, you’re using it as an excuse. You’re going to end up empty, with nothing in twenty years, safe and boring and alone if you don’t take a fucking risk for once in your life. I just want to help you.”
“Why do you care so much?” Kris demands. And if that doesn’t beat him nothing will. Because Kris can’t lose this fight, he can’t be wrong here.
Adam just looks at him for a moment, his huge blue eyes devastated, and... suddenly Kris feels fucking awful.
“I thought maybe we had something,” Adam says carefully. “I guess not. If this is nothing, if you’re determined to remain a useless lump for the rest of your life, then fine, go ahead and have my fucking number. We can be casual if that’s what you want.”
Kris stares at him, but he appears to be serious, grabbing a paper towel from the sink and taking the time to write clearly with a pen he produced from nowhere. He gets up and tosses it at Kris where he’s curled against the wall.
“And you should know that I never fuck around with people who don’t do shit with their lives for long, so enjoy your time,” Adam says, voice icy. “See you whenever, Kris.”
The door slams, and Kris really is alone.
In the next few days, he comes up with hundreds of arguments, thousands of things he could have said, a million reasons to hate Adam.
Adam, the person who wants the most from him and the person he wants the most.
But next Saturday after the show, Kris ends up in his bed, casual, just like he said.
He comes twice before the night is over, first from Adam’s hand on his dick as Kris sucks him inexpertly, and then from Adam’s fingers. Three of them, and then the tip of the thumb, for over an hour until Kris is begging for Adam’s cock.
Adam doesn’t give it to him, though, just watches as Kris gasps and whines and comes on his fingers. It’s so different from the tenderness they shared under the covers on Kris’ pull-out couch. It’s like they’re different people, and even though Kris washed the crap out of his hair and the makeup off his face, maybe they are.
The worst part is, Kris can’t even tell if Adam enjoyed it. He looks satisfied, Kris guesses, but in a detached, angry sort of way. And though there’s this awful sense of unease and closure throughout, Kris is having the best orgasms of his life, and Adam is just... far away.
Once Adam’s done in the bathroom and returns to Kris tangled in his sheets, he says shortly, “Next time I’ll fuck you but then that’s it.”
Kris nods, swinging his feet out of the black and white bedspread and groping for his boxers. Because if that isn’t a dismissal, Kris doesn’t know what is.
“Next week then,” Adam says at the door as Kris shuffles his way out.
“Yeah,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets. He looks up, then, catches a flash of sadness in Adam’s eyes. Kris’ hand twitches like it wants to reach out and touch his cheek, brush his eyelid. But it stays firmly lodged in Kris’ jeans and the moment ends as Adam closes the door, the lock’s click resonating all down the hall of the apartment building.
Kris leans forward, lets his forehead connect with the scratchy wood of Adam’s door. He doesn’t want to leave yet. He doesn’t care that he’ll be home way too late if he stays. So he’s there for a long time, thinking about nothing, a weird sense of comfort coming from the fact Adam’s right there and still nowhere near him. Not really at all.
He doesn’t walk away until he hears footsteps on the other side of the door too many minutes later, realizing that Adam didn’t move either.
Kris spends his week torn, dreading the last time he’ll see Adam and desperate for it at the same time. It’s killing him, knowing that what he has to offer Adam just isn’t enough. They’ll leave each other empty, achingly aware of what they might have had.
On Friday, it’s guitar day for the kids, so Kris brings his Martin in for a demonstration. It’s nice to finally show off an instrument he knows how to play well. He starts off with the basic chords.
“This is G, which I play by placing my third finger on the third fret of the first string...”
There’s a chorus of oohs as the chord rings true. Kris’ face breaks into a grin and he plays an F, transitioning back and forth between the two chords a few times and demonstrating a picking pattern.
“Wow, Mr. Allen, you’re really good!” Joey says. Kris is shocked - it’s the first time the little boy has ever spoken in class without being called on.
“Thank you, Joey,” Kris says, and proceeds to show chord after chord until the kids start demanding a song. His lesson plan goes entirely astray; he had originally decided to explain the instrument by the book, mentioning all the key figures in history and whatnot. But he lets go, does what feels right instead. He plays everything the kids want to hear, from the Beatles to Britney Spears. They are amazed at how he can hear a melody just once and transfer it perfectly into acoustic arrangements. Their praise makes Kris’ heart melt, because it’s his favorite thing to do besides writing songs, and he knows it’s a rare gift.
Class goes way over time, the kids as reluctant to leave as Kris is to stop playing. But the bell rings for a second time and Kris puts the guitar back in its case.
“School’s over, guys,” he says as firmly as he can, quashing his smile. “Go home and play, alright?”
He finishes packing up his stuff and is pretty sure the room is empty, when -
“Mr... Mr. Allen?”
Kris wheels around.
It’s Gina standing there, twisting her fingers together, a quiet girl with pigtails. Slightly behind her is Joey.
“We were wondering if maybe...” she starts to say, but then covers her face with her hands.
Kris drops to his knees. “Hey, it’s okay. What were you wondering?”
Gina glances over at Joey, clearly pleading with him.
“Would you teach us how to play?” Joey asks in a tumbling rush of words.
Kris is stunned. “Teach you? Guitar?”
“Yeah,” Joey says, eyes to the floor. “After school sometimes maybe? Or on Saturdays? You just looked like you were having so much fun, and we want to try.”
“But it’s okay if you can’t,” Gina squeaks. “Since our mom and dads can’t... pay you.”
But it’s not even a question for Kris. “Of course,” he says, placing a hand on each of their shoulders. “I’d love to teach you.”
He meets them at Joey’s house the next day, talks to the boy’s parents who can’t seem to thank Kris enough.
“It’s really so wonderful, you doing this for no money at all,” his doe-eyed, tired looking mother says to Kris in their beaten-down kitchen. “So selfless. He’s loved music for so long and never had a real opportunity.”
After spending a few amazing hours with the kids, marveled and touched by their bright interest in learning from him, he heads home feeling the lightest he’s felt in months. He takes out his guitar right away and writes a song. And he likes it, thinks it’s one of the best things he’s ever come up with. He feels so great, he forgets he was supposed to meet Adam tonight.
It’s already ten by the time he realizes. Too late to make it to the show, too late to sleep with him after.
And it’s strange, but... Kris is almost relieved.
Adam doesn’t call when Kris doesn’t show. He doesn’t call the next week either, and by then Kris has completely thrown himself into his after-school lessons. He spends so much time on them he forgets about the stuff he’s supposed to be teaching during the day.
It doesn’t take long for his boss to notice.
“If it’s on your own time for free, that’s your choice,” she says a few weeks into the lessons. “But either we’re your priority or we won’t have anymore use for you.”
This worries Kris, but he can’t stop. It’s almost feverish, the effort he puts into his new project. It’s the way he gets when he knows he doing something good.
One month in, Kris’ after school classes have expanded to include almost all the original kids from his music section, plus more from other grades who found out about it by word of mouth. He buys as many cheap guitars as he can to go around, spends all his day time planning and all his night time writing. He hasn’t written this much in years - he even starts recording it. Just for fun.
He teaches the kids how to write their own stuff, too, once they’ve gotten three or four chords down.
“It’s like writing poetry,” Kris explains.
Every kid in the semi circle facing him groans.
“But there’s more than one step,” Kris assures them hastily, holding out his guitar. “I like to start with the melody, which sort of dictates the mood, right? Then I let the words come. For me it’s easier than staring at a blank page.”
A new girl to the class, Emily, raises her hand. “Do you write love songs, Mr. Allen?”
Kris’ hands slip on the strings. “Um, yeah, of course. Love is the biggest thing in life. Almost all songs in the world are about love.”
“But you’ve never played any for us,” the little girl says, looking up at him with big eyes.
It’s true; too many of his recent love songs have been about Adam, all dark, all a trigger for questions he doesn’t want to answer.
“Maybe I will,” he says after a moment, “once those songs get happier.”
The kids stare at him for a few seconds, confused, but they appear to forget about it once he divides them into pairs to get started.
He spends that night by his silent phone, playing random melodies, stringing together spontaneous chord progressions. Trying to find a happy love song.
But Adam took them all away.
A few days later, Kris gets fired. And then the music program is taken out of the school. It still comes as a shock, even though he isn’t exactly surprised. It’s weird, waking up whenever he wants, getting to spend all his time doing something he really cares about. Writing and teaching to write.
Then there’s the ache of guilt for the poor kids that are losing out because he fucked up his job. But the smiling faces he greets at his guitar lessons dull that ache. He’s still making the difference. He’s still having an impact. And so he redoubles his efforts to advertise free lessons for more kids, and tries to refuse as much money as he can, though a few parents force tips on him.
In the end he’s glad for them. Within a couple of weeks the lack of income starts to have an effect and Kris fucking hates McDonald’s. He’s going to have to get a job soon, and the prospect has all sorts of implications he hasn’t absorbed yet.
On a Saturday night between McNuggets, he gets a call he should’ve been expecting.
“What the fuck.”
Kris laughs, sprawling out on his bed. “Jamie, it’s been a while.”
“Been a... been a while?!” Jamie repeats, hysterical. “What the hell happened to you?”
“I got fired and now I do the same job for free.”
“Whatever, you think I care about that shit? I mean with Adam, obviously.”
Kris sighs. He should’ve known this conversation was inevitable when he picked up the phone. Lately, he’s been doing a better job at keeping his thoughts of Adam at bay.
“Nothing’s going on. But I’m writing again, Jamie. I’m... I’m making music. My music.”
A few seconds of silence.
“You realize,” Jamie says in the most serious tone Kris has ever heard from him, “that there’s pretty much nothing standing in your way anymore? If you want him, you can have him.”
Kris can’t pretend he hasn’t realized this. It hit him this morning while he was taking a shower, the loofa slipping from his hands as he leaned his forehead against the dripping tiles, heart pounding.
He’s kind of terrifyingly close to having some semblance of an album, and it wouldn’t really take much to start shopping it around. All he would have to do is... sell the house. Move. Do something on the side to pay the bills. Start playing at bars. Travel back once a week for the kids’ guitar lessons. It’s the life he’s always wanted, the life Adam wanted for him.
“Who’s to say he’d even still have me at this point?” Kris says, aware of how pathetic he sounds. “We’re casual now. It’s set. It’s been months.”
“You said yourself he wrote ‘forever’ on the note. You tell me what that means.”
Kris breathes into the phone. “I just don’t think... I don’t know. People don’t always mean ‘forever’ when they say it. In the end, it was only one night.”
“I think he’s still thinking about you,” Jamie says, voice laced with determination. “I think he misses you, and you should call him.”
There’s something about this that’s still so hard. An invisible wall in Kris’ way, which he should be able to walk through it but can’t.
“At least come to the club tonight and hang out with us. We miss you.”
Kris misses them too, misses having a social life, misses the city. But his guitar is calling him. Tonight, he has to think. He makes his apologies to Jamie and the others, wondering dully whether he’s screwed up that part of his life, too, and heads to the living room.
It’s raining. Fucking again.
He lights Adam’s blue candle and sets it next to his notepad, turns to a fresh page. When he starts playing, the song is about Adam, of course it is, and he almost laughs to himself remembering how Adam got jealous of Katy’s song. He has no idea, Kris thinks, and writes an opening line.
We’re perfect for each other, but something’s in our way.
“I’m in our way,” Kris mumbles aloud, burying his face in his hands, on the verge of tears out of nowhere. “There’s nothing stopping me.”
He rubs at his face a little, repeats that to himself.
There’s nothing stopping me.
Suddenly, he doesn’t feel like playing anymore. Suddenly, he feels like taking action.
He grabs his laptop and opens his email, types in the addresses of lesser-known record companies he’s been collecting in his contacts. Attaches his nine best mp3s. Writes a professional message with a picture of himself at the end. Then he does a little apartment search, something cheap but not terrible either. He knows he’ll get decent money for the house, be able to live on that plus some other random salary he’ll get in the city. Then he texts Katy, telling her. He also calls his parents, leaves a message since they’re probably asleep. They won’t be happy he’s moving back where it’s dangerous and risky, he knows, but it’s time to worry about himself. The time has come for his own happiness, and maybe if he gets somewhere, really makes it, everyone in Arkansas will be even more proud of him.
But they’ll be proud of him no matter what, he thinks with a rush of emotion, believing what he thought were his family’s empty words for the first time.
Once everything is done, he goes back to his email where the mp3s are still sitting in his attachments, the draft waiting to go out.
This is it, he thinks. It’s time to step through that invisible wall. Make something happen.
He takes a deep breath, and presses send.
And then his heart leaps out of his chest because the doorbell rings. Twice, and then a third time.
“Jesus fucking christ,” he mutters to himself, jittery and surprised. That doorbell really is unnecessarily loud.
When he opens the door, it takes a second or two to overcome the immediate reeling of déjà vu.
Standing there, hunched over, soaked, and clutching himself tightly, is Adam. His hair is plastered to his forehead, glitter runs down his cheeks and his pink eyeshadow is smudged, but it’s him. A combination of the Adam he first met and the Adam everyone else sees, glammed up on a stage. It’s eerie, and it’s perfect.
It’s too early for Adam to have made it all the way out here. Kris wonders whether he left in the middle of his show, or if he even performed.
“Hi,” Adam says, smile so shy and nervous and promising.
“Hi,” Kris says back, holding the door open, unable to move.
They stare at each other for a moment. Kris barely even notices the rain as it hits him, bleeding through his clothes.
He opens his mouth. “What are you doing here - ”
“I just wanted to - ”
“Come inside - ”
“I’d rather - ”
“Okay,” Kris says, letting the door close behind him. “Let’s do this out here.”
Kris looks at Adam expectantly. Adam’s mouth falls open; he looks lost. The longer he stands there, the more the rain pounds down, and the more naked he appears.
“Kris, I came to tell you something,” he begins, eyes huge and scared. “I... I knew it was you.”
It only takes a moment for Kris to figure it out. “At the club?”
Adam lowers his eyes. “Yeah. Right away. And I was so awful to you, trying to make you change when I wasn’t any better, when I saw you there and wanted you just as bad, I was lying,” he says, and it all starts pouring out. “I was trying to be all noble... I thought maybe you’d move for me, and thank me in the end. That’s how much I believe in you, Kris.”
Kris just looks at him, dumbfounded, willing him to continue.
“But I was being stupid, I realized, when you didn’t show up that last time. I wanted you too much and your life shouldn’t matter, only you should matter, and I was going to call you and tell you I would be with you whatever you chose to do, I really was. But then I just... couldn’t.”
Adam shakes his head, sending water everywhere, seemingly unable to explain. But Kris understands. It’s the wall, the pride, the something in you that keeps you from doing what you know you should, the something in you that’s afraid.
“But then,” Adam continues, a new light in his eyes, “some adorable kid told me. Came straight up to me tonight and told me all this shit, you’ve been writing again, jesus, you’ve been fired, I don’t even know.”
“It’s true,” Kris says, and Adam takes a step forward, reaches to fist a hand in Kris’ shirt.
“And I knew I had to come here,” he says softly. “Kris, I knew I had to see you.”
Kris looks at him. He knows it’s time for him to do his own confessing.
“The thing is,” he says, unable to keep a smile off his face, “you are that great.”
Adam stares at him, uncomprehending.
“Remember, in the club bathroom, when I said, ‘you really think you’re that great?’”
Adam looks ashamed.
“Well, you are,” Kris tells him, firmly, wrapping a hand around Adam’s against his chest. “You really are, and because of it, you don’t need to believe in me anymore. My belief is what matters now, thanks to you.”
“I’ll never stop believing in you,” Adam whispers, heartbreakingly sincere. Kris’ fingers tighten around his.
They’re silent for a moment, eyes locked.
“You’re soaked,” Kris says eventually, offering a weak smile.
“What else is new,” Adam mutters. Kris laughs.
“You want to come in?”
Adam’s grin grows. He brings his hand to cup Kris’ cheek. “I think right here will do just fine.”
Their lips meet, and there, that’s it. A rush, back to how they’re supposed to be, back how it was soft and warm and perfect under the covers of Kris’ pull-out couch. Only this time it’s wet, Adam’s hair dripping as Kris streaks his fingers through it, Adam’s palm cool and slippery as it runs down Kris’ back to bring them closer. Their mouths sliding and damp skin the delicious source of heat wherever they touch.
“Okay, I lied,” Adam says, pulling away after a minute, the rain bearing down on them harder than ever. “I think we’ll do even better inside.”
Kris grabs his hand, goes for the door. “Soon enough we won’t have a house to retreat to. Just another shitty apartment in the city.”
Adam’s smile is brighter than it should be in the darkness. “I don’t think you’ll be needing that apartment, to be honest,” he says as they step inside.
“What about your crappy roommate?”
“Kicked him out right before I came here.”
Kris turns around, places a hand over Adam’s heart. “Then no, I guess we won’t be.”
They’re both drenched from head to toe. Kris can’t wait to get dry together.
// ART & SOUNDTRACK POST //
A huge thank you goes out to my RL beta, to the wonderful people at kradambigbang for organizing this amazing challenge, and to buyo105 who created the most awesome art possible including banners, a drawing, a background, soundtrack covers, and dividers. Please go check it out and squee appropriately.
I really expected not to make it when I first signed up for this. I'm so proud of us 50+ writers! Thanks for reading!
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