anatomy
Fandom: Glee
Rating: PG
Ship: Hevans/Kum (friendship?)
Plottage: The two are camping out in the parking lot of Sam’s motel room. Stars are a comfort. (Set in S2.)
Disclaimer: I don’t own anything, except for the plottage.
AN: I hope you enjoy. Please review! XD
All he truly remembered was the contact of knee brushing against knee, the feel of denim more evident as his jeans hugged at his thighs and scrunched at the ankles. It was leaning toward being too tight for any boy in his mindset’s liking, but when consistent insisting pressured him into them, there was no turning back. Jeans were jeans. Kurt’s words exactly. The soprano could be so convincing, much to Sam’s dismay. So there he sat, his denim covered knee practically attached to Kurt’s own as they lounged in the parking lot outside Sam’s motel room, a makeshift bonfire made from different assortments of flashlights set out in front of them. This was the closest thing to camping out as they could get.
Under the stars the two were, the background music of crickets playing in the bushes keeping the silence between them tolerable. Reasonable. And there was nothing more than hushed whispers, an exchange of laughs and debate, when the sound of crickets became too deafening, too annoying to wash out the silence in the still atmosphere. Resorting to actual conversation wasn’t what one would call unnecessary, but having it could leave things in an awkward position. Things could be said that shouldn’t be said. Things could be said in place of what should be said. It was all in the matter of finding the right groove of things. To offer proper replies without the means of offending anyone.
Stevie and Stacey had gone inside, their bedtime getting in the way of catching sight of the three stars deemed to be their favorite, Orion’s Belt. The aligned constellation glimmered in the night sky like diamonds in the afternoon sun, shedding light over the heads of the people who cared to watch. This was one of the giving aspects Sam’s part of town had to present, the way the stars were more palpable, a distraction from the humidity the weather liked to drape over the shoulders of state residents. Sometimes, on a really good night, it seemed as though Sam was looking through a telescope with how the shimmering beads of light were so apparent.
Admiring the stars became Sam’s entertainment whenever he found himself unable to fall asleep. It was one of the better replacements than wasting energy on muted television. After all, the flashing images on the screen were too much of nuisance for his parents, because the images were too bright and caused them loss of sleep, in which they needed for the daily job interviews they had prepared and jotted down on their monthly calendars. So at night, Sam put the television to rest and alternated to glancing up at the starry sky every chance he got. Tonight was no exception.
“I think I can make out the Big Dipper.” Kurt’s voice rang in the blonde’s ear, his mop of hair falling in front of his eyes as he directed his line of vision to the section of the sky in which the soprano was pointing to. Though, to Sam’s disadvantage, he couldn’t recognize the formation of the stars, for shapes were never his strong point. Geometry killed him his sophomore year. But he digressed. He squinted his eyes as if that would help him get a clearer view. It didn’t. In fact, the more he forced his mind to find Waldo, the more an aching, pulsating pain resided deep within his skull. A headache.
“I don’t see it, dude,” Sam ended up saying, his shoulders slumping in a defeated manner, eyebrows furrowing all the same. “As much as I love the ole astronomy, I never got stars. I mean, all I see when I look up is, I’dunno, clumps of light.”
The truth was true. For Sam, something about astronomy, the stars and planets and galaxies, something about all that space made his problems seem sort of small. Whether it be his family issues or his dyslexia that held him back from being capable of learning school subjects at the rate of other people, all of that seemed to reduce in size as he further looked into the means of, well, space. Freedom. An atmosphere far from his. The matter lifted weights from his shoulders repeatedly. It allowed him to feel like less of a freak than he believed he already was.
“I suppose you have to have an open mind, then. One more open than it is now.” A smirk captured the pink of Kurt’s lips, casting it in Sam’s direction as he crossed a leg over the other in a comfortable fashion. The blonde felt himself blush, a brisk chuckle rolling off the tip of his tongue before he focused on the flashlights that were bundled together before them. He would say that the batteries were being wasted, but he wouldn’t let this moment go. He wouldn’t bring that topic into the mix of all things natural.
“Yeah, guess so.” Sam shifted in his seat, the lawn chair creaking from the movement, interrupting any sign of condolence on Kurt’s part. The newfound information of Sam’s trouble with picturing constellations still hung in the dry air like a baby tooth attached to one strand of gum. Disgusting. Unreasonable really. Then again, perhaps it was only Sam who felt that way, for Kurt’s expression gave nothing away that he was borderline uncomfortable.
“Anyway.” A change in subject was about to take place. “Thank you for inviting me here. It’s been a magical evening of sorts. Not to mention, seeing your siblings is always a joy, even if you sometimes don’t agree.” That chuckle of his fell from Kurt’s mouth, a twinkle glaring in the boy’s eyes as the moon casted a glow of a hue on the outline of his body. So Sam noted. He always noted.
“No problem, man. Honest. My pleasure. Uh, thanks for, you know, bringing everything. Lawn chairs and all. The flashlights were a nice touch, gotta admit.” It was Sam’s turn to chuckle, a wink twitching from his eyelid. He then smoothed out the nonexistent wrinkles on his jeans, as if doing so was a distraction from noting anything anymore.
This was what the brunette influenced upon Sam. Giddiness. Also along those lines, the influence of building a ball of antsy nerves in the blonde’s system. Those affects had Sam smiling. Laughing. And for a few seconds, he would get the sensation of normality. Consistency. Two words that weren’t used very much in the dictionary centered on his existence. And he grew fond of this, as if he thrived off of it. Needed it. Because it was one, but a positive sentiment. He wouldn’t throw that away for the world.
“Oh, and the glow in the dark star stickers you gave the sibs were pretty legit, too. Those were like, all over my bedroom ceiling when I was a kid. My dad helped me put up all the constellations. Said it was the closest thing to looking at pictures in books.” Instead of a chuckle, Sam just curled the corners of his plump lips, the grin wide and present, enveloping his cheeks so. The memory was vivid in his brain, ricocheting from one side of the skull to the other as joy flowed through the blood and veins beneath the skin of his body.
If he could relive a year or so in his life, it would be the age when he turned six. First grade. At that age, in the environment he was in, there was no room for judgment or pointing fingers. It was all the matter of fun and games. Nothing more. Nothing less. Not in the hearts of innocent children in the midst of exploring their first year of grade school. Most definitely not. And for Sam, that was anything a kid could ask for, a year without the means of wondering if you were good enough. Because then, everyone was.
High school was a different story, and it shall remain. The game of all trades was judging, pointing fingers, and blending in, slipping by without any cracks to fully break before graduation. And having people being victimized and belittled was a common occurrence at William McKinley High School. To say that Sam was one of those victims, let alone witnesses of someone else being victimized, was a high card to play in the poker game that was Dave Karofsky. Slushees. Lockers. Retorts. Three problems to one solution. Standing up for oneself. As though people took the chance to do that. Unless that person happened to be Kurt Hummel.
“Of course. They were on clearance at Target. Figures.”
“Figures.”
The two boys connected eye contact, right then, a knowing grin on Sam’s face and a knowing smirk on Kurt’s. And as if out of instinct, Sam reached over and swatted at the soprano’s knee, still managing to grin all the same. He couldn’t wipe it off. They connected eye contact once more. And, again, as if out of instinct, Sam jolted forward and closed the distance between them, his plump lips capturing the heat that was Kurt’s cheek before he automatically pulled away. The only reaction he could handle glimpsing at was the doe wide-eyed expression, blushing and all, on Kurt’s face. Sam was embarrassed for himself. He was frozen in place. They were both frozen in place. No eye contact connected.
“Sam-”
“Look, I’m sorry, dude-”
“I have a boyfriend.”
“I-I wasn’t thinking. Like, you know.”
“Sam-”
“Kurt-”
“Sam, I have a boyfriend.”
A wire caught fire inside the blonde’s mind, which burned down his spine to the tips of his fingers. All the while, a buzz shot through his ears, as though Psycho background music was playing behind him or something. Because he was freaking out. Internally. He was punching walls. Internally. He was kicking bedposts. Internally. His walls that he spent years building were crashing down. Internally. Externally.
The stars weren’t shining as brightly as before.
“I know.” Pursing his lips into a thin, ghostly white line, Sam tried to control his breathing rate, his heart jumping from its socket and pressing up against his ribs unnervingly. He then tilted his head back and glanced up at the night sky, the irises of his eyes that were once green now dark and clouded. His hand shot out above him, pointing. “I think I can make out the Big Dipper.”
Astronomy. Somewhere in that galaxy out there. Somewhere. His problems were much smaller than they appeared.
Much smaller.