He sees him crawling on his knees, hands scattering about, needing to sense and touch everything surrounding him. Dave only watches, brown eyes following the pitiful form on the floor.
But oh, how he loves that pitiful form. He fingers the guitar strings, still watching intently while the singer crawls about the house, drugs overtaking his mind at the moment. The drummer wished he could be the one to save him, but Dave knows no one can save Kurt. He’s too lost inside himself, but he knows he can distract him and so he sets the guitar aside and slowly crawls towards him on all fours.
Kurt feels a pair of arms wrap around him and he sighs with content as he leans in towards the warm body. His fuzzy mind that has been numbed by the drugs and he tries to seize control of reality. He gives in when he realizes that thinking is not going to work at this moment.
The singer smells like grease and drugs and cinnamon and apples. Dave inhales and closes his eyes, holding onto Kurt as if the tiny man was going to run away and hide forever.
It was like this every time. Kurt crawled around the house they shared, searching blindly for his drummer, even managing to call out his name once in a while. Dave sifted through the muddle in their house and wrapped his strong, lean arms around the puny blonde.
Kurt shivered, even though it was the middle of August and the windows were all open in the house. Dave only wrapped tighter around the guitarist, promising to never let go. Suddenly, Kurt sloppily turned around and sat face-to-face with Dave, brown sorrow-ridden chocolate eyes to dilated shocking blue stormy eyes.
Dave could feel the muggy, disgusting carpet underneath his ass and he shifted in order to get more comfortable. He tried to look into Kurt’s eyes but he was reminded of the drug-induced state he was in and then he would look away, biting his lip nervously. Kurt always made him nervous when he was high. He would ramble sometimes about the pain suffocating his mind or he would break down and cry. Sometimes he would even laugh and relive the days when he was happy. He’d tell stories of the first songs he wrote on guitar and the first day he met Dave and how excited he was for him. Some times he’d even mention more recent times such as that party they went to where everyone was retarded and he and Dave had spent the whole time laughing at freaks. He wished he could some how climb over this mental block in his head which forced him to look at everything in a negative perspective. He wanted to be happy, he really did. But he just did not know how and there, Dave was speechless.
Dave wished he could help Kurt. He tried to give advice but Kurt wouldn’t remember it the next day and he’d just go on everyday, living the pain induced drug hazed life he did. Numbing his pain and music were the only things he lived for now.
Dave muttered into Kurt’s hair, “Please…close your eyes. I’ll carry you to bed. Please…”
He couldn’t take this pain anymore. Sometimes he wondered if his best friend would be better off dead. Anything to stop him from feeling this pain.
His lips were on his now and Dave couldn’t push him away. He couldn’t force another disappointment to Kurt’s life and so he complied, softening his lips and accepting the kiss. It wasn’t the first time, but every time Kurt kissed him, he felt more and more claustrophobic but he was too afraid to push him away.
Lips. And they felt so damn good. Drugs and kisses always make the best combination. Except for some awesome kick-ass movies and songs. But Dave’s lips were the best. Kurt ran his fingers through Dave’s greasy, long, brunette hair. He bit down gently on the drummer’s lips, eliciting blood. Dave whimpered, and pulled away briefly, only to bring his fingers to his lips and smear away the blood, his dark eyes looking up and down over Kurt.
“Not today, Kurt. Let’s just get you into bed.”
Kurt only nodded, words unable to leave his lips as he allowed to Dave to place his arms under his body and lift him with a silent grunt.
A quick kiss on his moist forehead, covering his shivering body with the quilt and turning the lights off and Dave was all too familiar with this routine. He sighed as he closed the door and slid to the ground, asking himself for the hundredth time.
What the hell had he gotten himself into?