A/N: My first Nirvana fic, please no flames, just constructive criticism, hope its good ;)
I couldn’t think.
I couldn’t speak.
I couldn’t feel…or…rather, I didn’t know what to feel, or…maybe, how I was supposed to feel. What can you say anyways?
I wasn’t family. I wasn’t Kurt’s brother, or cousin, much less his significant other. I wasn’t his mentor, or someone he looked up to. Hell, I wasn’t even his best friend, a good friend yes, but this was always Krist’s place. I was just that silly kid who played drums for the band. Like the younger brother he never had, or some shit like that. The one he felt obligated to protect in that sense, an unspoken affection, but very visible if you knew him. Really knew him. Behind closed doors, we were fuck buddies, that’s all it ever was, that’s all it’ll ever be now, but I sometimes wonder.
In the middle of all this chaos, it wouldn’t have been Kurt to die out quietly, cops storming the place now, looking for any evidence of ‘foul play,’ tearing the place apart in their haste, a random detective trying in vain to console a bawling Courtney, random friends scattered about, trying to stay out of the police’s way, Krist alone in a distant corner, eyes downcast, slumped in a chair, fist to head, no doubt imagining the million reasons why this was his fault.
I sighed quietly, looking away as I ran a hand through my hair, brushing it away from my face.
I suddenly felt Kurt’s hand upon my face, saw his eyes boring into mine, and remembered a time when things weren’t such a mess.
I left the room; I couldn’t take the sight of Courtney’s insincere tears another second, the vision of guilt eating Krist alive etched into my brain.
As I left, I could hear the distant shouts of Courtney screaming accusations at my back, "Why are you even here!?! You never cared about him!!!"
I laughed bitterly, trying to put as much distance between myself and the others as possible. Typical Courtney, always trying to make a spectacle of herself. She didn’t even have a clue.
I maneuvered through the throngs of mourners scattered in the hallway, so many people, so many affected. I couldn’t help but think back to a quote I’d once heard about death being merely ‘raindrops on the sea.’ I wondered if, like John Lennon, Kurt would be an exception.
I finally got to the kitchen; what I really needed right now was a drink. I looked at the counter, numerous bottles of alcohol readily laid out, most already opened. I gratefully took the first bottle of hard liquor I found, an old tequila. Grabbing a shot glass out of one of the cupboards, I smirked at the Nirvana propaganda boldly printed there; Kurt was shameless.
I slowly poured the amber liquid, and quickly downed the first shot.
The burn of the alcohol felt good down the back of my throat, and I sighed blissfully as my shoulders slumped and I relaxed a little. It had been a long day, and though it wasn’t very late, I figured I deserved a good drink after all that had happened.
My eyes swept over the island counter and landed on the heart shaped box that had been found resting near Kurt’s body, and again that numb feeling swept over me.
I reached over and grasped it lightly, knowing I probably shouldn’t ‘tamper with the evidence,’ but hardly caring.
No one was looking, despite the many people crowding the room, so I opened the lid quietly. I hadn’t expected to find anything, knowing that the contents had already been thoroughly raided, but looking closely, I saw something peeking out the corner. Realizing it was a two-layer box, I opened the bottom to find a tiny folded piece of lined paper.
I picked it up; about to open it, I had closed my eyes only briefly, when I heard someone step behind me, clumsily fumbling with the forgotten bottles. Snapping my eyes open, I quickly shoved the paper in my pocket, and slammed the lid back on the box.
I turned casually around to meet with the towering awkward figure that could only be Krist, hitting the bottle again, no doubt.
I stepped to the side of him, leaning on the counter as well, watching silently for a moment Krist’s internal debate on which drink to choose first.
"The tequila’s good," I suggested neutrally. He jumped belatedly, the alcohol he’d already consumed having obviously dulled his senses.
He smiled tiredly. "Thanks for the tip, you can never trust Kurt’s taste."
I nodded solemnly, and stuck out my glass for a top off, turning around to grab him a glass as he poured.
When I righted myself, looking back up at him, I noticed the uselessness of the gesture, seeing he had already helped himself to the bottle, ignoring any disapproving stares that might come his way. I shrugged and set the glass down, picking my own up and downing it for a second time.
Krist looked terrible, he was pale and worn looking, the shaggy distended beard exaggerating the recent gauntness of his face, and I knew that this probably wouldn’t be the last of his drink for the night, but there was nothing I could say.
Not able to watch my other friend poison himself, I gripped his shoulder for a moment, and left the room, unnoticed.
I made my way down the stairs towards Kurt’s room, not the place he slept, not the room he shared with her, she’d never even think to step foot in there, and not merely because of his objections, the room he used to escape from all of that, the only place we could pretend that things were like they used to be.
I turned the doorknob slowly, unreasonably apprehensive, not knowing exactly what I expected, but as I pushed the door open, nothing happened.
It was just the same, nothing had changed. I don’t know why I thought anything different. Kurt’s notebook lying open to an unfinished song at his desk, crumpled sheets of paper strewn about the floor, not even one having reached the wastebasket, his guitar still out, plugged into the Marshall amp turned to stand-by, at a closer glance, needles littering the floor by the chair, I could just picture his glazed over eyes, insane with inspiration and passion as he shot up another dose, always never enough.
The stillness of the room was striking. I couldn’t remember a time it was ever this quiet, or if I was even alone in this room before, without the stolen glances of Kurt smiling up at me every so often from his guitar, Krist oblivious as he sounded out his latest bass riff, or snuck another hit off his private flask. Even when things were good, we were always closer and closer to the edge, fracture lines subtly appearing.
I sat down at Kurt’s desk, staring vacantly at the blank wall in front of me for a minute or two. My gaze eventually drifted over an old photograph framed and sitting towards the back of the desk. I picked it up disinterestedly, really only wanting something to focus on rather than being left alone with my thoughts.
Three faces smiled back at me, happy ones, laughing and goofing off, was that ever really us? I checked the date at the back, seeing the characters ‘90’ printed there in pencil in Kurt’s messy handwriting. That was back when I first joined the band. I couldn’t believe how little time had passed, and how much had happened.
Four years. Nothing.
I remember the first time I met him.
His eyes burning into me from across the room, making me sick with nerves, the wall flower, they always call him, this was true but at the same time he was just the opposite.
He didn’t say much at our first meeting, but when Krist left to get drinks, he became almost a different person.
We sat there in silence for a moment, when he stood up, gesturing for me to follow him.
Next thing I knew, I was up against the wall, his tongue down my throat, his body pinning me, surprisingly strong for a small guy, and surprisingly violent for the calm exterior he had shown before.
He pulled away for a second, my eyes wide, and probably innocent at the time, connecting with his intense piercing stare.
I felt a shudder ripple through my body. I could almost feel that gaze even now.
I looked down shyly, my face betraying me as I felt the heat rush. He leaned his face against mine, I could feel his smirk as he snickered lightly. He returned his lips to mine, working my mouth intensely; his hands, one resting against my neck, the other slid down my side to grip my crotch. My eyes widened even more. He pulled away quick though, hearing distant footsteps, and, winking at me, smiling, he returned to his place, once again taking on the role of the observant wall flower.
Krist walked in before I had the chance to take care of my…problem, damn I must have looked like a fool just standing there with a fuckin’ redwood between my legs, as Kurt, that bastard, just sat in the corner doodling or whatever the fuck he was doing in his notebook, all but grinning.
I smiled at the memory, realizing that nearly half an hour had gone by since I stumbled upon the photo. Setting it down, I got out of the chair, and kneeled down to open some of the drawers.
I almost felt guilty, looking through his stuff, but what did it matter anymore?
I grabbed one of his old notebooks, and set myself towards the far end of the nearest wall, leaning against it as I opened to read.
Looking through the pages brought so many memories, and I didn’t even know why. I’d only casually glanced through his books before, never paying much attention. There wasn’t really anything remarkable about the content. Some random comics, and drawings, his songs of course, but otherwise…
I turned the next page, and instantly it brought a grin to my face. I shook my head, giggling at both the drawing and the memory that came with it.
We were just hanging out, not doing anything productive. He was just scribbling in his notebook, and I was lying back on the bed, puffing idly at my smoke.
I sighed, seductively I guess, because Kurt jumped on me right then, but this was long since the awkward first encounter and I knew how to handle him by now.
Afterwards, as we lay there, me once again with a cigarette in my mouth, despite the risk of a second performance, he grinned satisfied, with his arm thrown protectively over my waist. He could get like that sometimes. I looked down suspicious.
"What are you smiling about?" I asked. He just laughed quietly.
"Well," he said, "you know what I was doing before you forced me to abandon my work and jump your bones with that damn thing," he asked, taking the cigarette from me and pulling a long slow drag.
"What?" I asked, glaring as I grabbed my smoke back. He just smiled wider, as he leaned over me, naked ass in the air, and grabbed for his notebook, sitting up excitedly, flipping through the pages to find his latest ‘masterpiece.’
"Ta da," he announced half-heartedly as he shoved the unflattering caricature of myself in my face. "An uncanny likeness, wouldn’t you say?"
"My nose isn’t that big!" I glared petulantly. He smiled, leaning over and comforting me with another kiss.
"It’s a caricature sweetie, everyone has a big nose," Kurt stated mockingly. My glare deepened, and I grabbed a pillow and smacked him over the head as hard as I could.
Just as in the memory, I was pulled from my fantasy by the jiggling of the door handle.
I sat there, enduring the knocking for minute or two, before the person just got bored and walked away.
I sighed and stood up, stretching slightly, a little pull inside from that time I got banged up outside the club. I didn’t remember much from that night or even the day before. I got high or something and stepped out for a smoke I was told and some guys jumped me.
Kurt was rather upset about the whole situation, having been the one who found me in the alley and all, stoned to the point his delusions probably led him to think I was dead. He never recounted much about it though, hell, his memory of the ordeal probably wasn’t great either.
I was never allowed a private smoke for a long time after the event though. You wouldn’t know it by looking at him, or even by knowing him really, but Kurt could actually be a rather paranoid and even concerned person. He wouldn’t ever put it in so many words though. It was in his actions.
He could get jealous and even possessive at times as well, though he was a complete hypocrite if you ask me. He’d get passive aggressive if I ever even mentioned a fling and even out right pissed at times. Though I’ll say this, those were some of the hottest nights of my life.
I remember once when he knew I was scheduled to meet with some groupie or something after a show, and in between sets he pulled me into the nearest closet and took me right there. Of course, after that, it wasn’t exactly a welcome experience to be sitting on a drum stool for another hour, and I wasn’t exactly up to fucking that girl after my pre-workout, if you will, but I’m sure that was his plan all along, considering the satisfied smile he gave me when I returned early to the apartment, rubbing at my butt with a sharp intake of breath every now and then.
As I reached into the drawer to pull out another notebook, I heard the door slam open, and I was greeted with a shrieking Courtney screaming at me to ‘get the fuck out,’ so I grabbed a few things, unnoticed in her inebriated state, and happily obliged.
That’s why I never told him, I remembered bitterly as I left the house. She just always gets in the way.
I remember when I finally got up the courage to tell him how I felt, my hopes that maybe we could be more than just a good fuck. I had been agonizing over this decision for weeks, months even. It had been eating me alive, making me sick at the possibilities. But I could hardly stand it anymore, could hardly stand the lonely nights, always waking up cold and alone, seeing Kurt with his latest whore.
When I did decide to tell him, he had news for me as well. Luckily, I let him go first.
"Courtney and I are getting married," he told me excitedly. I was shocked. I felt betrayed, used. Of course, I couldn’t let this show, because those were the unspoken rules. We never got involved in each others’ relationships, at least not outright. I didn’t have the right to feel this way. We were never exclusive, much less a couple. But still…
"Congratulations," I said, trying to sound happy for him, though falling slightly flat, though in his excitement he hardly noticed.
"Thanks," he smiled. "So, what was it you wanted to tell me?" he asked, eyes shining in enthusiasm.
"Huh?" I asked, startled out of the thoughts flooding my brain of what this would mean for us, for the band. "Oh, its…its not important," I lied unconvincingly.
"C’mon," Kurt said knowingly, "just tell me."
"I-I lost my train of thought," I said quickly. Noticing he wasn’t really buying it, I leaned forward and kissed him passionately, trying to distract him if only for the time being, he’d forget.
Kurt smiled into the kiss and reciprocated completely, his hands taking their usual position on my body, so familiar to him after all this time. He then slid his hands up my shirt, moving them over my chest and bringing them down to grip my waist and as he pushed me back onto the couch easily.
"Take off your shirt," he whispered huskily, pulling back slowly, reluctantly to watch. I nodded, slowly complying, still shy to his piercing gaze even now, as he stared at me so intently. We sat there for a moment as his gaze wandered my exposed chest. It was so intense, erotic even, I didn’t say anything for fear of breaking the moment. He then came forward again, straddling my waist this time, kissing my collarbone softly, his tongue poking out to run a thin line along it, trailing along my neck up to my ear.
"Now take off mine," he said seductively.
I nodded, unable to refuse even if I wanted to, and slowly slid the light t-shirt off of his thin pale body, his skin hot against the coolness of my hands.
He smiled again as he leapt into action, pushing me down on the couch and ravishing me, running his hands through my hair and up my sides and intervals. He always did love my long hair, completely the opposite of Courtney's ironically.
He then unbuttoned my fly, resting his head on my abdomen as he unzipped and began to slowly, agonizingly so, work me out of my jeans.
Suddenly the door opened. I sat up immediately, Kurt knocked off in my speed.
"What’s the matter?" he asked, hand brushing a strand of hair behind my ear and returning to its customary place on my neck, thumb rubbing my carotid artery, one of the most fragile spots on the human body, he always told me.
My eyes widened even more, as Courtney burst in, obviously high, shrieking at the top of her lungs once she saw us.
"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING!?!?!" she screeched. Kurt jumped up instantly, his eyes widening as well, one of the only times I’ve ever seen him surprised, much less lost for words.
"WELL!?!?!" she shouted again, grabbing a lamp off the desk. "GET OFF HIM ALREADY!!!" she shouted at him. Kurt stood up instantly. Realizing the situation was escalating, he moved in front of me.
"Get out of here man," he said to me quietly, "I can handle this." And when I made no move to get up, "Go!"
I don’t know exactly what ended up going down that day, but he did show up with bruises at the next recording session. I never tried to tell him again.
As I drove home, not paying as much attention to the road as I should in the constant downpour of Seattle, I reflected quietly on the fact that we grew apart then, not physically really, in fact he was as horny as ever after he married Courtney, always knocking on my door at all hours of the night, surprise surprise, but we grew distant emotionally; I felt like he closed himself off from me, but I suppose he felt the same way about me. Since I felt so strongly for him, and knew that he didn’t care back, well, I guess he could tell I was trying to distance myself from him, though he didn’t know why I’m sure.
When I got home, not even bothering to shield myself from the rain on my way to the house, I took off my coat and hung it up, setting the journals and pictures I had taken from Kurt’s room down on the living room table, and setting my keys down with them.
Sitting down, I felt a sharp, yet almost unnoticeable pain in my hip, and standing back up and reaching into my pocket, I felt the piece of paper I had found earlier stored there.
I had forgotten about it entirely, taking it out. I sat down, and carefully unfolded the lined piece of paper.
I honestly hope to God that its you that finds this note, and not Courtney or Krist or anyone, but I figured that I’d take a risk, seeing as you’re the only nosy bastard who’d probably look here and I’ll be dead anyways whenever someone reads this.
Either way, I’m just going to say the point of this.
I know it sounds cheesy, but I love you Dave.
There, I wrote it. Whew, the first step out of the way! But really…
The thing is, I’m really sorry about what I’m doing, I know it’s selfish, and cowardly, but I just can’t take this shit anymore.
I hate that Courtney screwed us up Dave, and not just me and you, but the band too, and it’s my fault. I never expected things to turn out as they did, not in the slightest.
Because, I just…didn’t ever think that you wanted to be with me really, to be more than just a good fuck when one of us is horny. Just know I never thought of you that way, as just a good fuck.
You were one of my best friends, my lover, and as commercial and cheesy and horrible as it probably sounds, maybe even my soul mate.
Maybe one day we’ll meet again, if it’s true that there is a place past this fucking miserable life, and if so, I want to do things right.
Tell Krist I love him too, and that I’m sorry for all the shit I caused between us.
That’s all then, I hope you don’t think I’m a complete sap.
Love and Goodbye,