lost in this plastic world ; pg-13
He can’t stop screaming.
He hates LA, he hates the traffic, he hates the parties his troupe keeps forcing him to go to, he hates the inability to shine anymore, he hates the realization that no one wants a skinny, effeminate boy to do anything but smile and wink in the background of toothpaste commercials, he hates waking up every day with his shirt stuck on his body because it was way too humid last night, he hates that he can’t wear anything besides t-shirts and shorts because it’s way too hot for anything else, vests included, and he fucking fucking fucking hates being drunk out of his mind.
So he’s here, stumbling along the beach at 2 am, not caring that the water is almost up to his waist where his phone is.
Fuck the phone.
He finally stops, gasping and sniffling heavily, wiping his face with the back of his hand.
His phone’s ringing.
He ignores it for five seconds, until the pavlovian urge to check who it is becomes too great, and he takes it out, shaking the water off of it and presses the recieve button with a dry, “What.”
“Oh. Um, hi Kurt.”
A small, watery smile crosses Kurt’s face, “Hey Dave.”
“You sound like you’re in a bad mood, and I…guess you don’t want to talk about it.” Good observation. ”I, er, I kind of just wanted to tell you I miss you.”
“Oh, Dave, that’s-”
“A lot. A whole lot. I-”
“Shh, it’s ok.”
“- don’t want you to feel bad ever again. Just say the word and I’ll beat the fucker up.”
Kurt laughs quietly, “I’ll keep that in mind.” A pause. “Go to bed, it’s 5 am there.”
“Couldn’t sleep,” Dave admits. “Could sense you were kind of pissed off.”
“Sure, Dave.”
“No really! It’s kind of like a spidey sense, but I guess I managed to…”
Kurt smiles, walking back onto the shore as he listens to Dave make shit up to make him feel better.
Fuck it, it was working anyways.
He hates LA, he hates the traffic, he hates the parties his troupe keeps forcing him to go to, he hates the inability to shine anymore, he hates the realization that no one wants a skinny, effeminate boy to do anything but smile and wink in the background of toothpaste commercials, he hates waking up every day with his shirt stuck on his body because it was way too humid last night, he hates that he can’t wear anything besides t-shirts and shorts because it’s way too hot for anything else, vests included, and he fucking fucking fucking hates being drunk out of his mind.
So he’s here, stumbling along the beach at 2 am, not caring that the water is almost up to his waist where his phone is.
Fuck the phone.
He finally stops, gasping and sniffling heavily, wiping his face with the back of his hand.
His phone’s ringing.
He ignores it for five seconds, until the pavlovian urge to check who it is becomes too great, and he takes it out, shaking the water off of it and presses the recieve button with a dry, “What.”
“Oh. Um, hi Kurt.”
A small, watery smile crosses Kurt’s face, “Hey Dave.”
“You sound like you’re in a bad mood, and I…guess you don’t want to talk about it.” Good observation. ”I, er, I kind of just wanted to tell you I miss you.”
“Oh, Dave, that’s-”
“A lot. A whole lot. I-”
“Shh, it’s ok.”
“- don’t want you to feel bad ever again. Just say the word and I’ll beat the fucker up.”
Kurt laughs quietly, “I’ll keep that in mind.” A pause. “Go to bed, it’s 5 am there.”
“Couldn’t sleep,” Dave admits. “Could sense you were kind of pissed off.”
“Sure, Dave.”
“No really! It’s kind of like a spidey sense, but I guess I managed to…”
Kurt smiles, walking back onto the shore as he listens to Dave make shit up to make him feel better.
Fuck it, it was working anyways.